In the five months or so since I've been licensed, I have been joining and participating in organizations that I otherwise wasn't able to, due to lack of time and lack of title.
One of the first groups I joined was the Hispanic Community Affairs Council, aka HCAC. This group was started in 1978 as a place for the Latino community in Alameda County to organize around economic opportunities. The HCAC is best known for its annual scholarship program, which raises money for scholarships that are given to students from high school to post-grad school. About a decade ago (whoa), I received a scholarship from the HCAC for $1500, which was a big deal. The application process is pretty intense, since you have to submit official transcripts and tax info as part of the application, then sit for an interview, then attend a luncheon, etc. There are hundreds of applicants each year.
The second year I applied, I was in my first year at Mills and the only Latina student in the entire pre-med program. I thought for sure I would be awarded the HCAC scholarship again, and I was completely crushed when I didn't get it. I thought, not only did the rich, white, privileged, private school kids not want me in their program (I was very out of place there), but my own people didn't even think I was worthy of winning a scholarship I had been worthy of the year before. It totally hurt.
It still hurt me a decade later, which is why I decided to join the HCAC scholarship committee. I don't know what I was looking for, but I knew I wanted a chance to right a wrong.
Well, as it turns out, I not only came to fully understand what happened, but I also totally made my peace with it. For the past couple months, I have been a member of the scholarship committee, which means I got to participate in the entire process of receiving the applications, opening them and putting all the pieces together, scoring students based on GPA and financial need, sending out interview letters, interviewing applicants, deciding who gets a scholarship, and mailing out rejection letters. I put in so many hours working on this project this year.
The most intense day was during the first week of April, when we interviewed students who passed the first qualifying round. Now, let's be clear. I am NOT easily impressed at all. I am not easily swayed by people's sob stories about how hard it is for them. It was hard for me, and it is hard for everyone to achieve their goals. I don't give out any extra sympathy because someone also happens to be brown.
Well, that evening of interviews totally kicked my butt. I was so blown away by the circumstances of many of the students and what they are actually facing on a daily basis. Yeah, there were a few thugs and some average folk, but a few really touched me. I had a script of questions I was supposed to ask, and one of them was, "What is the greatest challenge you face right now?" Two of the girls I interviewed broke down into tears as they told me what was going on, and another student made me get all choked up as he told me his story. About 100 students were interviewed that week, but the group that I got were the ones who were transferring from community college to a four-year school (like me).
One student had been born in Juarez and we chatted about the situation there right now. It's not even a situation, it's a straight up war that going on just five minutes from the US border. I've seen it, he's seen it. It's that real.
The students opened up and just talked to me. They told me their stories about family responsibilities, immigration status, fears about being undocumented, inability to qualify for loans or financial aid, AB 540, racial and gender discrimination, gangs, drugs, poverty, violence, lack of mentors in the community, handling academic pressure, state and local budget cuts making it harder to be accepted to college or programs or to study what they want to study, being the first in their family to graduate from high school or go to college . . . oh, their stories. They balance multiple jobs, community service projects, church, family illnesses, and endless translating, while maintaining 4.0s and trying to be good people in the midst of chaos and despair. Really, they just want to go to college.
I felt drained by the end of the night, and very helpless. I also felt a bit of gratitude that I didn't get the scholarship the second year I applied, because I sincerely hope it went instead to a student like the ones I interviewed. Funny how that happened.
We're not entirely finished with the scholarship process yet. We know we're going to award 57 scholarships, which is good news. This morning, unfortunately, I had the job of mailing off 175 rejection letters to students who did not receive the scholarship they so desperately wanted. As I stuffed a stack at a time through the slot at the post office, I whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't give up. I'm sorry." I wish I could do so much more. It's so symbolic to be rejected by a group that's supposed to represent and encourage you. I know, I was there.
There's just not enough money. Ugh. It shouldn't have to be this hard.
4 comments:
FAFSA isn't an option for most of these kids? Usually it will cover almost your whole tuition at most state schools.
To use the FAFSA, you have to be a citizen or an eligible non-citizen with a social security number. A lot of students don't qualify, because they were brought to the US when they were 1, or 2, or 3, and their family is now afraid to try to apply for an SSN.
I didn't know that you were involved in this organization. What a challenge it must be to award scholarships. The sheer volume of need is enough to intimiate. Maybe you'll be able to award a couple more next year?
I sure hope we'll have more money to give next year. Dutra Enterprises used to be a major donor until they also had to cut back and now their annual contribution is a fraction of what it once was. As soon as the economy turns around a bit, we'll be able to get our donors back, hopefully.
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