Student Spotlight: Vanessa Attah ’26

AnBryce Scholar, Birnbaum Women’s Leadership Center Fellow

How did you decide to pursue law?
I’ve always been drawn to fairness and justice. Even as a child, I naturally stood up for the “little people” and detested bullies and anyone who marginalized others. That instinct stayed with me as I grew older, but it evolved into a deeper, more global concern for the rights of women—particularly women marginalized by class, ethnicity, or citizenship status.

As a Nigerian immigrant myself, born to parents who were economic migrants first to Europe and later to the US, I witnessed firsthand the way overlapping factors like gender, ethnicity, and immigration status shape the opportunities that women have. I also saw how systems can either protect or prey on the most vulnerable.

I chose law because it is both a language of power and a tool for change. For me, becoming a lawyer is about equipping myself to challenge those overlapping systems of oppression and to amplify the voices of women and communities that are too often ignored.

You’re a student fellow in the Birnbaum Women’s Leadership Center (BWLC). Tell us about that experience.
Being a fellow in the Birnbaum Women’s Leadership Center has been one of the most formative experiences of my time in law school. The mentorship I’ve received from Sara Moss ’74, Jennifer Weiss-Wolf, Melissa Murray [Frederick I. and Grace Stokes Professor of Law], Morenike Williams, K.M. Zouhary, and others has been invaluable. They’ve modeled what it means to lead with integrity, while also showing me that leadership isn’t about fitting into a mold but about crafting your own leadership style in spaces that might not always feel welcoming.

One of the most impactful lessons I’ve taken away is the importance of resisting the urge to shrink myself. In law school and in the profession, it’s easy to feel as if my perspective or voice doesn’t belong. Through the BWLC, I’ve learned to lean into my voice and to see it as a source of strength, not something to mute.

The week-long Leadership Institute was perhaps the most effective training I’ve ever received—it pushed me to interrogate my own style of leadership and gave me tangible tools to grow. Just as importantly, the community of fellows has been inspiring, and they are some of the most brilliant women I’ve ever met. I’ve also found joy in supporting upcoming and prospective fellows however I can, whether through mentorship, encouragement, or simply sharing my own journey.

Which Law School class or experience has had the biggest impact on you?
Two experiences stand out.

The first is the Human Trafficking Seminar with Judge Taryn Merkl and Professor Liz Geddes. It was invaluable to study trafficking not just from a policy standpoint, but also through the lens of people who are multiply marginalized—women exploited across intersections of race, class, and immigration status. Too often, the dominant narratives erase or flatten those realities. The seminar gave me a sharper context for understanding how trafficking operates in a global city like New York, and how the law can intervene—or fail to intervene—in meaningful ways.

The second is the Family Defense Clinic with Professors Christine Gottlieb and Nila Natarajan. Over the course of a year, I worked with another 2L and a social work student to represent two Black mothers in family court. Before this clinic, I knew little about the family policing system. The experience forced me to confront big questions: Who gets to mother in peace? Who is extended grace? What assumptions does the system make about what parenting should look like, and who is punished for not fitting that mold?

Both the seminar and the clinic taught me that law is never neutral but is always situated within larger systems of power.

Earlier this summer, you wrote an article for Ms. Magazine about sex trafficking in the global South. How did the piece come about? How does it connect with the work you’ve been doing at the Law School?
The piece actually began as an assignment for the Human Trafficking Seminar. It grew out of a personal frustration that I had with much of the existing popular discourse, which often doesn’t capture what sex trafficking really looks like for marginalized women. Too often, the focus is on sensationalized empowerment narratives, while the day-to-day realities of exploitation, survival, and constrained choice go unnoticed.

I wanted to ask: what does “choice” mean when, as so many marginalized women experience, all you have are bad options? What does sex work look like when viewed through the lives of women navigating poverty, racism, citizenship insecurity, and gender-based violence? What other options can we ensure that all women have, so we can make meaningful choices?

Writing the article allowed me to bridge the gap between academic analysis and public storytelling. It gave me an outlet to shine a light on issues that matter deeply to me, and it affirmed that I want my legal career to include writing and advocacy beyond the courtroom. I hope to continue publishing on these topics and using both law and writing as tools for change.

What do you most like to do outside of class? What’s your favorite way to spend a day in New York City?
Outside of class, I love slow travel. During my 1L year, I took the Amtrak all the way to Montreal and stayed in a hostel—it was one of my favorite adventures. I’ve also taken trips to Cold Spring and Beacon in upstate New York, and Northampton, Massachusettes. Those small journeys give me the space to reflect and recharge.

In New York itself, I gravitate toward books, nature, and music. I spend time wandering through bookstores, discovering corners of the city, and exploring unexpected natural landscapes—Shirley Chisholm State Park, Marine Park, Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge, and tucked-away spots in Brooklyn. I also love long, aimless walks in Manhattan, letting the music in my headphones color the city.

Have you read any books or heard any podcasts lately that you would recommend?
I’m currently reading Maame by Jessica George, a witty and deeply moving coming-of-age story about a young British Ghanaian woman. I’ve been especially drawn to fiction lately, particularly work by authors who explore the Afro-diasporic postcolonial experience. Maame stands out because it manages to be funny and accessible while also touching on big themes of family, identity, and migration.

I haven’t been listening to many podcasts recently, but I’ve been enjoying hour-long live performances of Malian music, including Rokia Traoré, a guitarist and singer; Oumou Sangaré, a singer-songwriter; and Ballaké Sissoko, a kora player. Their music blends traditional West African sounds with contemporary influences, and I especially love hearing the kora—it has such a soulful, haunting sound. Listening to them brings me peace and helps me stay centered.