Have you ever had that moment of clarity about your career decisions? Or do you discover more gradually that you are standing at a crossroads?

It hit me last year at a meeting of senior career colleagues in the U.S. Department of Justice (DOJ) Civil Rights Division: A wave of clarity, followed by a riptide that pulled me sideways and ultimately gave me a new perch. After 25 years of protecting and advancing civil rights for DOJ, it was time to build a new chapter and find another way to serve that would allow me to stay true to my values.

Working as an attorney and then chief in the Civil Rights Division, I was part of remarkable teams that advanced and protected civil rights daily. Together and in coalition, we ensured language access in court proceedings, law enforcement encounters, education, healthcare and more. We helped communities that faced race and national origin discrimination, who dealt with raw sewerage pooling in yards in Lowndes County, Alabama, and illegal dumping sites in neighborhoods in Houston, Texas. We worked to ensure that people who identified as LGBTQI could access health, social service and education programs without discrimination. Together and in partnership with others, we fought discrimination based on race, sex, national origin, religion and disability. Being a manager in the Civil Rights Division at DOJ was one of the best jobs in one of the finest institutions imaginable.

Of course, it was never perfect, as no organization or job is, and I was part of a team of career civil servants who worked hard to make the agency more accessible and responsive across administrations. Staying in a job always involves a dance of considerations, but I consistently felt like I could keep to my North Stars: public service, integrity, staff development, vindicating rights and being able to look my kids in the eye and tell them I was proud of what I did. About those kids: I raised them solo after being widowed young, so the security and benefits of federal employment meant a lot as well. Serving under five administrations and multiple attorneys general, those North Stars held.

This time was different.  Not just for me, but for hundreds of attorneys in the division who also left.

Everyone has their own rubric for considering when their professional home is no longer the right fit. For me, it included: Could I provide legal counsel in a manner that leadership would listen to, even if they didn’t take it? Could I protect and develop my staff? Was there a sweet spot in the Venn diagram where the circles of interest/priorities overlap, and my office could pursue civil rights matters that were also the priority of the administration? For instance, every administration I worked for until the second Trump administration had supported the division’s work to ensure that people with limited English could access critical programs. Could I make things better and more efficient through training and operational improvements? Not all of this had to be true at once, of course. New administrations bring new priorities. And political-appointee skepticism of career civil servants is neither new nor inherently partisan. It takes months and sometimes longer to develop a rhythm of trust and communication between new appointees and career leaders.

But for me, the final piece always had to be true: I would have to leave when I was unable to avoid doing harm.

Years of service showed me the power of protecting rights, but also the limitations of the system. My passion lay not just in enforcement, but also in innovating and nurturing the next generation. I struggled with how to do that; with what to tell my staff and how to explain decisions from above? What would be my impact in shaping new lawyers under this administration? What would happen to the civil service and public service?

And so, after a quarter century at DOJ working to protect civil rights, I realized it was time for a change. Work, once deeply meaningful, began to shift in ways I could no longer support. The new political leadership blew up decades-old norms, and the department moved toward weaponizing our work against the very ideals of a multi-racial democracy that our office was created to protect and advance. In a press release abruptly terminating a settlement agreement in our Lowndes County, Alabama, the assistant attorney general indicated that the matter was closed to “eradicate illegal DEI preference and environmental justice.” It was an earlier indicator that mainstream traditional civil rights enforcement itself was considered by this administration to be a violation of civil rights.

My time as a Law and Policy Fellow at Northeastern has given me the space and support to recognize that leaving the Civil Rights Division did not mean leaving the mission behind. It has provided time to prepare for something new, both for myself and for a future government.

Recently, my former team got together, and here is the thing: there is hope. Former Civil Rights Division career staff have planted seeds of new ideas across the country and even the world. Former staff are building their own projects; taking on leadership roles in state and local government offices, legal aid groups, national and international nonprofits, and advocacy organizations; and teaching the next generation. Importantly, many are also thinking ahead about reconstructing DOJ and public service: not rebuilding what was there but reimagining how government can be more responsive and support democracy and the rule of law.

As for me, the Northeastern approach of engaging in the world, experiential learning and empowering the academic community to innovate, solve problems and pursue impact resonates deeply with me. This, too, brings hope. As I continue to build on this next chapter, I plan to stay connected to this community and that mission.

July 2026