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I first experienced it as a fourth grader. After the tragedies of September 11th, I felt isolated and scared; something no child should have to endure. The color of my skin, my non-American accent and my long hair wrapped in a turban made me vulnerable to discrimination. Vandalism at my home and death threats towards my family forced me to cut my hair. As I watched the long black strands hit the floor, I realized my hair was not the only thing I would break away from. I had cut the roots to my culture, religion and identity. At the time, I could not comprehend why removing my joora was the safe thing to do, however, I understood almost 10 years later.

It was my second semester at UC Merced when I came out of a lecture to hear my mother’s weeping voicemail. My grandfather and his dear friend had been relentlessly gunned down in my hometown of Elk Grove, California. My grandfather was pronounced dead at the scene, and his friend passed away two weeks later. Both wore turbans and the murders were investigated as a hate crime, but the assailants were never found. The crime sparked an all too familiar sense of fear and isolation throughout the community, although this time it resulted in aggression by the young Sikhs. Middle and high school boys started to feel threatened by their peers and as a result they began a surge of violence in their schools. The head of my temple asked me to talk to the youth in order to control the hostility. In a two-month span after the murders, I went to seven different schools to prevent over 15 fights.

After much thinking I approached the various schools’ administrations to offer an open dialogue on the roots of Sikhism and the corrosive effects of hatred in general. This created an obligation on part of the Sikh boys to uphold the teachings of the Sri Guru Granth Sahib (the Sikh holy book), which includes caring for your neighbors, inclusiveness and equality of all people. It also erased most reservations that any non-Sikh students may have had when they realized how much our local temple had done for the under-privileged communities in Sacramento, regardless of faith.

My efforts to overcome my grandfather’s void have molded the ambitious individual I am today. There is always a structured way to address hatred and bigotry, whether it is creating a platform for dialogue, like I did with the schools, or through shaping our laws and reinforcing our legal system. In 2012, to further advocate for religious tolerance, I took a leadership position in lobbying California’s legislature for the passage of Assembly Bill 1964 and Senate Bill 1540. Respectively, the bills prohibit discrimination against workers who wear visible signs of their religion, including turbans and hijabs, and a revision of how social sciences are taught to include the history and contributions of California Sikhs. This victory brought hope to me that change can be achieved through strengthening our laws, which in turn strengthens our increasingly diverse communities. Being an advocate for issues of discrimination is not what I want to do, it is who I am.

My grandfather always stressed the importance of education. My first semester in college before his passing, he would call me weekly and ask about my courses. I knew it was not because of his interest in supply and demand principles, but rather he was proud that his hard work as a farm laborer in Punjab had paid off through his grandchild. When I was younger, I recall holding his hand and commenting on how rough it was. He responded in Punjabi by saying, “My hand is like this so yours does not have to be.” His words will stay with me forever. Since his passing, I averaged a 3.77 cumulative GPA, became president of the largest club on campus, participated in a prestigious finance internship and created a micro-finance project when I traveled to Port-au-Prince, Haiti. My grandfather’s hard work and sacrifices inspired me to achieve the life he envisioned for me. Although it may be naïve to think I can change society altogether, my academic drive and personal background compel me to address the issues of hatred and discrimination that plague regions across the world.

With my ambition and UC Berkeley Law School’s academic excellence, I believe that I can transform communities to see past race, religion, and nationality. Berkeley has a tremendous amount of resources in the field of race and ethnic studies and I am determined to take full advantage of those opportunities, if accepted. Professor John. A. Powell’s background and expertise in civil rights draws me to this school, because his work illuminates the foundation and implications of my own cultural misfortunes. To learn from him in an academic setting would provide me with an unmatchable and complete set of experiences to achieve my lifelong purpose.