One Student’s Fight to End Alaska’s Legal “Brain Drain”

Kathrine Coonjohn ’25, a law student at Lewis & Clark and native Alaskan, has made a strong case for Alaska’s first law school in her recent law review article, “Glacial Progress: Thawing the Path to a Law School in Alaska,” to be published in a forthcoming Alaska Law Review issue. In addition to her writing, Coonjohn recently moderated a panel at the 2024 Symposium on Expanding Access to Justice in Alaska, co-hosted by the Alaska Law Review and the University of Alaska-Anchorage Justice Center. Held on October 16, the symposium brought together voices from across the state to discuss tribal jurisdiction, Alaska’s legal services shortage, and the need for local legal reform. A recording of the symposium is available here.

This article is more than academic: it is a call to action in support of HCR-14, a bill that was introduced to the 33rd Alaskan Legislature, aimed at establishing a law school in the state. The 33rd Legislature concluded its regular session on May 15, 2024. Since HCR 14 did not advance out of committee before the session ended, it effectively “died in committee.” For the bill to be considered in future legislative sessions, it would need to be reintroduced.

Alaska, the only U.S. state without a law school, navigates unique legal opportunities and complexities stemming from its remote geography, rich Indigenous heritage, and abundant natural resources. Coonjohn argues that the lack of an in-state law school creates barriers for Alaskans interested in legal careers, especially those in rural areas, and results in a “brain drain” that weakens Alaska’s legal infrastructure. Without a local law school, aspiring Alaskan lawyers must leave the state to receive a legal education—something Coonjohn had to do herself. This migration often leads Alaskans to settle in other states permanently, taking valuable legal talent and local knowledge with them.

“Many Alaskans considering law school have to travel to more urban areas, such as Anchorage or Fairbanks, just to take the LSAT. Trips like these cost a lot of time and money,” Coonjohn shared, highlighting the challenges rural Alaskans face in accessing legal education. “When COVID hit, I was able to take the LSAT Flex from home. For many in small communities, this accessibility made all the difference. It’s not just about education; it’s about making sure Alaskan voices are part of the legal process and advocating for Alaska-specific needs.”

Coonjohn’s article suggests that an Alaskan law school would provide a much-needed local focus on issues like indigenous land rights, environmental law, and access to justice in remote areas. Currently, all Alaskan lawyers and judges have been trained out of state, often with little focus on Alaska-specific legal matters. Tribal courts, which are integral to many indigenous communities, could benefit greatly from legal professionals trained locally, she argues. With an in-state law school, future lawyers could gain hands-on experience within the unique legal and cultural landscape of Alaska.

Adding to the disconnect that Alaskans face in their own legal scholarship, the Alaska Law Review, where Coonjohn’s article is published, isn’t even based in Alaska. Instead, it is housed at Duke University School of Law in North Carolina. This arrangement exemplifies the broader issue of Alaskan legal scholarship and decision-making happening outside the state, far removed from the unique local context. Coonjohn argues that this disconnect between Alaska’s legal research, its legislature, and its Supreme Court underscores the need for an in-state law school, where scholarship, training, and policymaking can better align with the real needs of Alaskans.

Coonjohn acknowledges that establishing a law school will not be easy. Financial concerns have long held back similar proposals, with past feasibility studies emphasizing the high costs of building and maintaining a law school. But she believes collaboration with the state’s industries and tribal communities can help distribute costs, creating a “quilting effect” where multiple stakeholders support the initiative. Coonjohn envisions partnerships among oil companies, tribal organizations, and the state itself, sharing both financial responsibility and expertise to make the school sustainable.

“People outside Alaska often argue that we’re too small to support a law school,” Coonjohn explains. “But with a population of over 733,000, we don’t need a massive institution like Harvard—just a small, community-focused school designed to meet Alaska’s needs.” She notes that Alaska’s unique challenges require a tailored approach: the state spans 663,268 square miles (an area that would stretch from Atlanta, Georgia in the east to San Francisco, California in the west and to Minneapolis, Minnesota in the north), housing 229 federally recognized tribes and over 180,000 tribal members across its diverse landscape. Additionally, Alaska is home to around 23 distinct Native languages, which highlight the cultural diversity a law school would serve.

For Coonjohn, the establishment of a law school in Alaska would symbolize self-determination and legal autonomy—an institution that could bring together diverse voices to address Alaska’s complex legal issues. As she engages with lawmakers and stakeholders, her article serves as a passionate case for an Alaskan law school that reflects and strengthens the state’s legal identity.

Although HCR-14 did not advance out of committee in the last legislative session, the bill’s introduction has sparked vital conversations and highlighted the pressing need for an Alaska law school to address the state’s unique legal challenges. Kathrine Coonjohn’s advocacy demonstrates that, despite this setback, the fight for a homegrown legal education in Alaska is far from over. As Alaskans and lawmakers consider reintroducing this initiative, the vision of an Alaskan law school remains a powerful call to action, underscoring a commitment to legal self-sufficiency, local expertise, and a future where Alaska’s legal community is trained within its borders.