When the world witnessed the murder of George Floyd, I had just moved to Hartford, Connecticut, to prepare for the California bar exam and start my district court clerkship. I was agitated and my anger was a distraction – one that I was certain did not hinder my white counterparts (so I felt). I remember my white colleagues checking in on me via texts. This gesture was appreciated, but I felt as if George’s death did not cut as deeply with them as it did with me. Geo...
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