Here's the text of my actual personal statement that I submitted to the U of A law school, for the second time:

-----------

When Gregory Wayne Cable came into my office and asked me to proofread his letter to Ivan Milat, I felt awkward and unsure of myself. Both Greg and Ivan had been convicted of committing notorious murders and had experienced the horrors of maximum security prisons. They inhabit a world that I can only hope I never fully understand. Who was I to judge how they communicate? There were times when, as coordinator of Justice Action, a prisoners' human rights group, I was terrified of the violence these people represented, but I came to understand that in order to break the cycle of prison-release-reoffend-arrest-prison, it is important that society support the offenders, and give prisoners the opportunity to change, rather than punishing them when they don't. Eventually, I felt proud and strong to be able to stand beside those that had been rejected by the rest of Australia, in order to stop the cycle and ultimately, prevent crime. (click on the title to read the full text)
My decision to go to law school was strongly influenced by my experiences at Justice Action. In this statement, I will explain how these experiences influenced me, and the direction of my career. Justice Action is an independent prison reform advocacy group run by and for ex-prisoners in Sydney, Australia. I was coordinator from 2003 - 2006. The goal of Justice Action is to represent the experiences of the most despised members of society to the legislators and bureaucrats who create and implement prison policy. The issues we raised were some of the most contentious any society must deal with; specifically, the treatment of convicted criminals, victims of crime, and their families and communities.
In my job as coordinator of Justice Action, I faced many challenges. First, I was a 'cleanskin' with no criminal record, and that was considered a mark against me. Being a cleanskin in an organization of 'crims', as they called themselves, helped define my position as a manager and advocate for the group - but not a member, and not qualified to create policy. The coordinator role was usually filled by a cleanskin for this reason, but part of the job was to separate my own interests from the interests of the prisoners and ex-prisoners. I was constantly reminded that no matter how much I think I might know about prisons, the proper call for prison reform must come from the people who have been subject to it.
Sometimes I felt embarrassed to be a cleanskin. How could I understand the motivations of Brett Collins, my supervisor, who occupied the roof of a prison for 4 days in protest before being put in super-maximum security? How could I empathize with Chris Binse, a member who was released while I was coordinator, who had smeared himself with his own fermented excrement so that the guards wouldn't want to go near him? This is not to say that I wanted to do these things myself, but telling stories of life in prison to a cleanskin presented a considerable risk to the crims, and therefore I felt indebted to them for taking that risk so I could better understand their complaints and ideas for reform.
Another challenge was being a female in the hyper-masculine world of criminals. Justice Action does not discriminate between male and female prisoners in its advocacy campaigns. However, approximately 95% of prisoners are male, therefore the ex-prisoner culture, which is a fundamental part of Justice Action, is very male oriented and at times even sexist. It irritated me when I was treated as a less valuable part of the team, but I realized that hyper-masculinity is a reality created by the atmosphere of gender segregated punitive detention.
A third challenge was being a foreigner working in Australia. In general, Americans in Australia are either loved or loathed. The Australian government has taken steps to more closely align itself with the U.S., but there are many citizens who feel antagonistic towards American involvement in Australian affairs, such as the U.S./Australian Joint Defense Space Research Facility at Pine Gap in the Northern Territory, and sending Australian troops to support the American effort in Iraq. The staff and volunteers at Justice Action tended to be the type to loathe Americans. However, they were not shy in testing my opinions about such things, and quickly discovered that we agreed on many issues.
I took the job at Justice Action after having worked and studied for 7 years in live theatre production. After graduating from Northern Arizona University with a B.S. in Arts Management, I apprenticed with London Pacific Productions, based in San Francisco. The company is known for its controversial political style and has produced such works as "Survival" (1977), a national tour portraying the lives of five native South Africans living under the apartheid regime, and "F**k Censorship", a free-speech cabaret of local artists in San Francisco, California; Santa Fe, New Mexico and Sydney, Australia. I went to Sydney with London Pacific to produce a show for the Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras, an annual festival that started its life as a protest against police repression of homosexual culture.
In Sydney, "F**k Censorship" was produced as part of my Masters of Management at the University of Technology, Sydney. My thesis was an investigation into the most effective innovators among live theater companies in Sydney. By comparing ratios of self-defined successful innovations to total expenditure, I concluded that small, independent companies were much more effective innovators than the highly subsidized, professional companies.
I graduated on September 12, 2001, just in time to watch the political atmosphere in Australia fill with tension and oppression. Already militarily insecure, Australia seemed to perceive 9/11 as an attack on its own soil, despite being on the other side of the planet from New York City. Australia has no bill of rights, therefore the permissible actions of authorities are not as well defined as they are in the U.S. Political activist tactics that were once tolerated as benign, suddenly became unacceptable and subject to police action. The most interesting theater was happening in the streets, but as a non-citizen, I was afraid of subjecting myself to arrest, lest I be deported.
With the political pressure rising, my interests shifted from fiction to non-fiction. While theater, which is almost all fiction, can influence the culture, and therefore the politics of a society, it does so subtly and slowly. I felt pressured by circumstances to deal more directly and urgently with non-fiction and the issues of the day. I was honored and enthusiastic therefore, when I was offered the opportunity to be the coordinator for Justice Action.
I was first introduced to Justice Action through Kerry Nettle, who had been my housemate in 2000-2001, and is now a Member of the Federal Parliament of Australia as a representative for the Australian Green Party. Kerry had been the Coordinator for the "Stop The Women's Jail" campaign in 2001, and had introduced me to the employees and members of Justice Action. I volunteered on campaigns in 2002-3, and when their previous Campaigns Coordinator resigned, I was offered the position, and granted a temporary work visa by the Australian Government for three years.
The basic skills of business management were similar in both theater and human rights advocacy; maintaining mailing lists, editing copy for publication, press releases and relations, and volunteer supervision. The major difference was the subject matter. While I would have been dealing with crime fiction or historical crime as a theater producer, the crimes were real and sometimes very current as coordinator at Justice Action. The Director, Brett Collins, is passionate about accepting the highest risk offenders as members, and so, with few resources, our constituents sometimes follow the other 60% of their fellow ex-convicts, and reoffend.
I found this to be a fascinating area, particularly in light of Australia's origins as a penal colony of England. The very first white government in Australia was composed of prison guards, and its first white inhabitants were prisoners. I expected more sympathy for the plight of the prisoner in a country with such a history. I was surprised to find that the prison system still retains many of the same traditions and priorities that guided colonial authorities. For example, the principles of retribution and deterrence are still the primary functions of the prison system according to the Minister for Justice (the title was changed in 2003 from "Minister for Corrective Services"). In colonial times, one of the most important aspects of the penal colony was that it inspired fear in the hearts of English, and later Australian free citizens. The prison guards were expected to create conditions of cruelty and deprivation as a spectacle for the media to relay to a terrified public. No thought was given to the effects of this policy on the prisoners, their families, or the long-term health of the community in general, nor is it taken into consideration today.
One of the most exciting issues I was involved in was the publication of "The Australian Prisoners' Election Newspaper" for Justice Action (copy enclosed). Australian legislation dictates that all eligible citizens must vote; if they do not, they are penalized with a fine. The laws vary in different jurisdictions, but some prisoners are considered eligible, and therefore obligated, to vote. Because of this, we argued that these prisoners have a constitutional right to receive information with which to inform their vote. The newspaper was banned from NSW prisons, and formed the basis for an emergency challenge before the Supreme Court of NSW.
George Williams, Director of the Gilbert + Tobin Centre for Public Law, offered to undertake representation pro bono. Because of the fundamental nature of the challenge, it could have set a precedent for prisoners' human rights. The Court extended us a huge amount of discretion, with the federal election only a few days away. I am confident the challenge would have been successful, except, unfortunately the Department of Corrective Services brought the date of polling in the prisons forward, apparently for the purpose of preventing the challenge from being heard in Court.
In the three years that I worked at Justice Action, I learned many things about criminal justice and myself. I discovered that even murderers have ideas that are worthy of attention and that I am capable of working with people who have been isolated from society. I witnessed surprising changes in both their lives and government policy. I learned that the legal system is a powerful medium for advocates of social change. I learned that I have a strong desire to help make those changes.
At the end of my visa, I decided that the most effective use of my time and energy was to return to Tucson to pursue a law degree. I chose Tucson because it is my hometown, and I have the support of my parents to help me succeed in law school.
Since returning to Tucson, I have volunteered for No More Deaths, a pro-migrant, humanitarian aid organization. I helped to distribute food, water, and medical care to recently deported migrants in Nogales, Sonora during some of the hottest months of the summer. I also participated in decision-making conversations with the group. I chose No More Deaths because it focuses on the people at the core of the controversy: the migrants. Migrants are similar to the prisoners and ex-prisoners I worked with at Justice Action. Many people consider them to be criminals because their desire to migrate motivates them to violate the immigration laws in search of a better life. Because of this, they often find themselves as prisoners, and enter the same cycle of prison-release-reoffend-arrest-prison.
At Justice Action I learned that controversial issues can't be solved without the participation of those effected by them. Without these people, it is often left to those with an inadequate understanding of the issue to make decisions, which may make them feel better, but don't actually help solve the problem. In my activist experiences, I have seen this happen many times, and I feel frustrated that it happens so often.
With a law degree, I will be able to more effectively represent these people, and their interests, and help them make the changes in policy necessary to solve the problems that are causing unnecessary harm, suffering, and death on all sides of the issue. I believe that the exploration of these issues will also be of benefit to the legal profession and the practice of conflict resolution. It is my intention to practice law in the United States, and likely in Arizona.