9 Trial Lawyer • Spring 2024 See In Our Voices 10 of that and it had a profound effect on me because up and until that point, I had spent my entire life thinking of lawyers, judges, professors, surgeons as people who I logically knew existed but had no real conceptual idea of who they were or what they looked like outside of how they were depicted on television. They felt inaccessible, blending into the backdrop of the bustling city. The only “professionals” I recognized growing up were gang members, drug dealers, and basketball players. Those were the only folks accessible to me who provided a sense of what success looked like. The Notorious B.I.G. famously rapped about the dearth of options growing up black and in the ghetto on his 1994 hit song “Things Done Changed,” when he professed, “Either you slang crack rock, or you got a wicked jump shot.” Those words sum up the narrow lens that I and scores of my family and friends held for what was possible. And why did we feel that way? Access or, rather, lack thereof. Audacity of hope In 2008, my life changed forever. I was in my second year at Umpqua Community College and trying to figure out what I wanted to do with this opportunity. That is when I was introduced to someone with whom I shared some key attributes and characteristics. Barack Obama’s campaign for President is perhaps the single most important event in my life for breaking down the barriers for what I believed attainable. For a long time, I knew I was relatively intelligent. Even that 1.7 GPA in high school didn’t fool me in to thinking I was inept. However, the single most prohibitive barrier in my life was not believing I had a place in the legitimate landscape of America. Barack Obama changed all of that for me. I followed the primary campaign every night on TV, enthralled with watching a man who I believed could understand me and the things I had gone through. When I looked at him, I saw myself and I saw my friends and family. Even during his presidency, President Obama remained a symbol of access for blacks in this country. You might recall a photo from early in his presidency where he bent down and allowed a fiveyear-old boy named Jacob to touch his hair. Just before that photo was taken, Jacob asked President Obama, “Is your hair like mine?” I believe that the simple act of connecting with Jacob on that level had an impact much more farreaching than simply satisfying Jacob’s curiosity. That act showed that a person’s potential is not limited by the color of their skin or the texture of their hair. That, for me, is what it is all about. Access. And it gave me hope. Access to justice All of that somehow led me to where I am today: a Circuit Court Judge in Oregon’s 16th Judicial District (Douglas County). I am the first Black judge in the history of Douglas County and while I recognize how special that honor is, for me, it more importantly represents a step toward access. That isn’t exclusive to one demographic, either. One of the amazing things I have learned living in rural Oregon for the better part of 20 years is that people, regardless of their cultural identifiers, have a shared desire for connection. Because of this understanding, I have made it a point in my career to prioritize access. So, what is access? In the context for which I’m using the term it means leaving people with the belief and confidence that regardless of the outcome,
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