In 2023, the American Bar Association, ABA, released a study entitled: “Excluded and Alone: Examining the Experiences of Native American Women in the Law and a Path Toward Equity.” A law professor shared the report with me via email, and I remember being in tears by simply reading the title. My initial thought was, “Finally, I am not crazy!”

My experiences were validated, and written evidence confirmed an unfortunate truth. I immediately shared it with other law school professors and staff whom I previously made aware of my experiences. I have been very vocal about my story on a local and national level among Indigenous peers.

Vicki Alberts- J.D. candidate University of North Dakota School of Law

While attending an Indigenous law student conference, a speaker told us to look around because we represented 10% of all Indigenous law students in the country. There were 56 of us from law schools across the country, and that statement was very impactful. According to a 2023 Ejuris report on Minority Representation in U.S. Law Schools, there were only 513 American Indian students enrolled in law school nationally. Therefore, I have been open about my journey in hopes of encouraging and helping improve the experiences of those Indigenous students who come after me.

During a conversation with school administration, I referred to my time in law school as, “nine months of isolation.” That statement and realization was proof of the rocky terrain we, as Indigenous women, endure in pursuit of legal education and career. For me, it is a dream to understand the law and to act as a bridge to improve the experiences of my community within the legal system and other areas, such as governance and policy.

The ABA Report discussed six focus areas and sub-topics. The two I felt the most connected with were: the Consideration of a Career in the Legal Profession (Law School Admissions, Pre-Law Preparation); and Experiences in Law School (Feelings of Isolation and Exhaustion, Financial Resources, Bias and Harassment, Navigating High Levels of Stress). I wish I could say my path to law school was straight and easy. Alas, that would be a lie. It was an unrealized dream.

I was someone who never thought I would attain a college degree beyond the associate level. I saw my mother go back to school later in life to earn her bachelor’s and then two master’s degrees. She was a major inspiration, and education was always promoted growing up. Unfortunately, my educational journey was a blessing born out of tragedy.

In 2013, my mother was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia and was given three and a half months to live. We immediately sought care for her at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota, and I left my job to act as her full-time caretaker. During that time, a former advisor at Nueta Hidatsa Sahnish College, NHSC, encouraged me to return to school. One of the greatest memories that I shall cherish, was my mother attending my graduation before her passing in 2016.

Early in the COVID-19 pandemic, I decided to take my LSAT as a rainy-day option, not realizing that day was right around the corner. While seeking new job opportunities, I also applied to law school on the last day applications were due.

My advice: Do not do this.

“The law school admissions committee thought I belonged here, but at that moment, it was apparent not all faculty shared that opinion and were not afraid to say it.”

Vicki Alberts- J.D. candidate University of North Dakota School of Law

That fall, I was offered a new job opportunity in a different state, and the next day I received a call informing me of my acceptance to law school. I was aware of programs such as the Pre-Law Summer Institute. PLSI, but that was not an option for me, since my application and acceptance were close in range. Therefore, I showed up to orientation – a day late – with no preparation and no idea what to expect.

I have often been referred to as a chameleon for my ability to adapt quickly to new environments, and I consider myself to be intelligent. Yet, I immediately found out that law school required a whole new way of thinking and operating. I entered law school at the age of 39 and was one of the few Indigenous students, less than four, in my first-year class of 90-plus students.

My closest reference to law school was the movie Legally Blonde. Therefore, I knew study groups were important. However, much like Elle Woods, I found no study group to join, no colleagues to discuss exchange ideas, no knowledge of any supplemental programs (Quimbee or Barbri) to bolster my understanding of the first-year law curriculum, and no sense of community.

As someone who enjoys challenging environments and tries to approach every problem with solution-based thinking, I made attempts to develop professional collaboration among my colleagues. First, I was active in student organizations and took on leadership roles, but it was evident that the connections made did not extend beyond our general meetings.

Next, I organized a class-wide study group during my first year and solicited the help of our upper-class academic assistants. The sessions were advertised on all available law school platforms, but nobody showed. While I was appreciative of the one-on-one tutoring, I was hopeful for collaboration but was left going back to the drawing board.

I began to do some self-reflection. Why did my peers not want to connect or collaborate? Was it because I was an older student, a female, Native American, or all the above? Unfortunately, the woman who outside of the law school was known for her bubbly and positive personality became a different person in this new unwelcoming environment, and the isolation was evident.

In classes that required something as elementary as a discussion with our neighbor, I was left to work on my own. I found it strange since I was in a professional school, but the idea of professional development was not being fostered.

“Nonetheless, it was in these moments that I am grateful for my age, experience, and cultural values that have prepared me for these situations.”

Vicki Alberts- J.D. candidate University of North Dakota School of Law

One very impactful moment occurred in a class where I sat alone on one side of the room while every other class member sat together on the opposite side. It spoke volumes without anything being said. In a distance course, we were instructed to share something about the topic being discussed and then choose another classmate to speak.

I sat and watched all of the cliques and classmates choose one another until only myself and the other two non-Caucasian students remained. Whether it was an unintentional oversight by classmates, I felt it was important to point out. While my professor acknowledged and validated my expression, not much changed among my colleagues.

In another class, a classmate would shove the attendance sheet at me without looking or acknowledging his behavior. At first, I chose to overlook his behavior, but as it became more frequent, something had to be said. I asked this person if he was going to treat his clients in the same fashion and shove documents at them. I informed him that I was a person and needed to be treated as such.

Of course, it was met with some sarcastic remarks from his counterparts, but it was what I call a “teachable moment” for this person. Whether it made any impact, remains to be seen. Nonetheless, it was in these moments that I am grateful for my age, experience, and cultural values that have prepared me for these situations.

Looking for guidance and help also presented its challenges. Now, the faculty and administration did take the time to listen to my concerns. However, not all demonstrated their support. As a non-traditional student, who left full-time employment to return to school, I did not have any familial financial support to rely on and had to work while attending law school. I was pursuing a dream, but my real-world bills did not stop pursuing me. In my first year, I maintained a part-time job, but my grades suffered. In my second year, I opted to not work due to suffering from burnout and to focus on my grades. That year, my grades improved, but I was left in a financial mess.

Dealing with a mental health challenge such as burnout was something new to me. I was someone who endured the loss of her parents, held four jobs at one time, and someone who never in their life relied on substances or ever had a drink of alcohol. Living a sober life required mental strength, and acknowledging it felt like a weakness. Thankfully, I was able to find the help needed to work through the burnout.

In my third year, working while attending law school was a reality I had to accept, but this time I have the tools to maintain balance. I currently hold multiple roles, which include serving as adjunct faculty for a tribal college. It is an opportunity I am truly grateful for, and it is the experience that brings the story back to unsupportive individuals.

“Unfortunately, my educational journey was a blessing born out of tragedy.“

Vicki Alberts- J.D. candidate University of North Dakota School of Law

I was on campus after hours and decided to get ahead on my reading following teaching remotely. That evening, I had a candid discussion with a professor about some of my law school challenges, expecting some kind of sage advice. Instead, I was told, “Some people know when to quit, but you’re still here.” Those words stuck with me as proof that not everyone supports our journeys. The law school admissions committee thought I belonged here, but at that moment, it was apparent not all faculty shared that opinion and were not afraid to say it.

However, this individual did not know a couple of things about me. First, he did not know the arduous path that led me to law school. Second, he did not know from a young age that this rez girl had parents who did nothing but sing her praises and molded her armor to prevail in a world when they were not here. Sadly, that world is my current reality due to losing both of my parents. Therefore, there is nothing, not even cruel words, that will deter me from pursuing my dream.

My purpose for attending law school does not lie in the opinion of others, but it is deeply rooted in the examples set for me. It was the time spent at my grandmother’s, witnessing her organize grassroots movements. It is about securing a dream in honor of my mother, who chose her family over the pursuit of her law degree. Lastly, it is enacting the words of my father who always told me, “You have a voice, use it.”

Am I the most exemplary law student? I am the first to admit; no, I am not. I do not know where I lie in the class rankings, nor do I care. As I finish up the last semester of my last year, I have sacrificed so much financially, socially, and emotionally. Yet, the sacrifices are temporary, and it is often the most difficult times that show us the beautiful things that lie ahead.

As I look back, I went from the desire of someday finishing school to earning a bachelor’s, master’s, and soon a J.D. I share my story not to boast or to deter Indigenous students from attending law school. Rather, I share it to improve educational experiences, promote law school preparation, foster a professional community, and encourage more Indigenous students to consider law school.

I leave you with the words of another Indigenous female attorney and mentor whose positive words reminded me of the outside community who supports me, “You are needed in this profession.” It is up to us to change the academic and professional future for Indigenous men and women in the legal field.

Vicki Alberts is a 2024 J.D. candidate at the University of North Dakota School of Law and UND Native American Law Students Association-President. In addition, she serves as the Spirit Lake Tribal Court-Judicial Law Clerk, an NSDPQC Tribal Liaison, and a Nueta, Hidatsa and Sahnish adjunct faculty-English. She is a law clerk at Harbott, Knutson, Larson, & Holten, PLLP.