By: Janice L. Austin
I have spent the last twenty-four years of my life working in
the admissions offices at four law schools (two private and two
public) and one MBA program, all affiliated with large research
universities. I don’t think this was the professional life I had
planned, but it found me. And in doing so, I’ve embraced this
calling. I would often introduce myself as having come to adulthood
in the world of high stakes admissions. At all of the places of my
employment—some highly ranked, others not —I have always served as
a member of the admissions committee. During those meetings,
I have listened, debated, argued, enlightened, and at times feigned
ignorance. At each school, I witnessed and participated in the
struggle to define and incorporate the paradigm of race and merit
into the educational mission and ultimately, our enrollment
goals. This is no easy task. Sometimes being referred to as a
witness might suggest being complacent or silent, but perhaps to
the chagrin of some, I’ve been neither. Instead, I know that by
being a witness I’ve been able to develop the skills and the
knowledge to vigorously advocate for minority applicants, and by
doing so, to attempt to enlighten and educate my various law school
communities.
Today, one of the key qualifiers for an acceptance letter from a
law school is the LSAT—the Law School Admissions Test—or as I might
dub it, the “Law School Access Test.” As you begin to slice the
LSAT performance pie there continues to be one racial group whose
slice is a tad smaller than the rest, resulting in a wider
disparity in acceptance rates. Thus, as a group, African-Americans
are more likely than any other racial or ethnic minority group to
be unsuccessful in a process that places a premium on high LSAT
scores. Translated, this means to me that in the near-term, unless
schools demonstrate a willingness to buck the trend and enroll
students who possess a wider range of LSAT scores, they may find
their entering classes, at
worst, void of African-Americans or perhaps, at best, enrolling
some majority of black students whose ancestral roots extend beyond
places like Compton, East Oakland, the Bronx, or even my hometown
of Newark, New Jersey.
I know firsthand how special our role can be and how unforgiving
is the challenge that my colleagues and I face every year. We
accept a gargantuan task: to enroll a diverse class that meets,
and/or exceeds the institution’s numerical goals. Only the real
naive among us thought the Grutter case would make this task
easier. Actually, I believe that in many ways the weight of this
task has gotten heavier and, as a result, professional fatigue
often takes its toll on the most talented among us. From my own
personal experience and that of others, I know how heavy this
burden can be and how the weariness of suffering from professional
fatigue can shatter many
minority admissions professionals.