Alaska Needs a Law School

According to the American Bar Association, there are 198 accredited law schools in the United States. Alaska is the only state without one.

The Last Frontier is the largest state in the country, rich in oil, natural gas, and other resources—and with legal needs to match. Yet Alaska’s lack of a law school is more than a geographical curiosity. It leaves the state dependent on out-of-state institutions to train attorneys for a legal market with distinctive needs and persistent shortages. 

Despite its size and strategic importance, America’s northernmost state still imports its legal workforce, and many Alaskans who leave for law school don’t come back—a trend often described as the state’s legal “brain drain.”

The state’s shortage of lawyers is felt particularly in rural communities and in public defense and prosecution. Part of the problem is how hard it is to recruit attorneys to remote areas, made all the more difficult by the absence of a local law school.

All of this drives up the cost of legal services, makes them harder to access, and leads to dismissed cases and citizens going without legal counsel.

The fact that Alaska has no law school isn’t just an anomaly. It’s a structural flaw that needs to be addressed.

Unique Legal Needs 

Alaska is not just another state with a “regular” legal market. The Last Frontier has a legal environment shaped by its geography, natural resources, and cultural and ethnic complexity—unlike anywhere else in the country. All of this makes reliance on out-of-state lawyers unsustainable in the long run. A homegrown legal workforce would be far better positioned to navigate these complexities.

The state’s economy is driven by the energy sector—oil, gas, and mining—which creates a need for attorneys who understand Alaska’s unique regulatory landscape. A homegrown legal workforce would be far better positioned to navigate these complexities than lawyers trained elsewhere.

Alaska is home to a large and diverse Indigenous population, distinct from tribes in the continental U.S., and it faces tribal and Indigenous legal issues unlike those anywhere else. Add in the geographic isolation of many communities, persistent attorney shortages, and limited access to legal services, and the case for a law school becomes clear. Outsiders often lack the context, local ties, and long-term commitment to stay. 

As a bridge between Asia and North America—and as the race for the Arctic heats up among the U.S., China, and Russia—Alaska’s geopolitical importance will only grow. Resource competition, security challenges, and maritime disputes will undoubtedly become more common in the decades ahead. That makes establishing a public law school in Alaska more than an academic or economic issue, but one of national strategic importance.

As Texas Goes, So Goes the Nation

Earlier this year, the Texas Supreme Court officially ended the state’s recognition of the American Bar Association’s (ABA’s) monopoly on law school accreditation. The decision allows graduates of non-ABA-approved schools to sit for the Texas bar exam. In effect, accreditation authority shifted from the ABA to the Texas Supreme Court.

Shortly thereafter, the Florida Supreme Court changed Florida’s rules for bar admission, ending the ABA’s  status as the sole accreditor in the state and opening the door to alternative accrediting bodies.

Texas and Florida are among the country’s largest and fastest-growing legal markets, making these rulings a blow to the ABA’s longstanding hold over legal education standards and accreditation. These are the most consequential challenges the ABA has faced in years, and they could reshape the national legal landscape.

In 1983, the Texas Supreme Court delegated its authority over bar admission standards to non-governmental accrediting bodies, and the legislature codified the ABA’s exclusive role that same year. Other states followed, turning the ABA from a voluntary association into an accreditation gatekeeper. One can hope states will now reverse course and return that authority to their own supreme courts.

Given the ABAs outdated standards, this is a logical move. The ABA has been slow to adapt to the digital age, withholding accreditation from J.D. programs at non-traditional law schools. It also requires schools to maintain a set number of physical books, regardless of their relevance. The result is a system that favors traditional brick-and-mortar schools, stifles innovation, limits competition, and ignores the specific needs of states—especially underserved markets like Alaska.

Instead of chasing the ABA’s outdated, ideologically driven standards, Alaska has a chance to chart its own course and build a public law school that fits its needs.

A Path Forward 

Establishing a law school in Alaska should be seen as a long-term investment in the state’s future. With more than a third of young people leaving for the Lower 48, a public law school would help keep top talent in-state and slow the brain drain.

A law school tied to the University of Alaska system would strengthen the state’s workforce and support local institutions and government. It would also boost the economy, especially in a state so heavily focused on energy production.

Energy companies operating in Alaska wouldn’t have to rely on out-of-state lawyers, but could hire and train talent at home for top-paying roles. And over time, the legal tensions between energy development and environmental protection would be handled by Alaska-trained attorneys, not lawyers ignorant of the state’s unique dynamics. Opponents often argue that Alaska’s population is too small to support a law school. That doesn’t hold up.

The long-term return is clear. Partnerships with the state, local institutions, and energy companies would help offset the upfront cost of building a public law school in Alaska.

Opponents often argue that Alaska’s population is too small to support a law school. That doesn’t hold up. Wyoming—the least populated state—still has a public law school at the University of Wyoming, and it plays a significant role in the state’s economy.

American legal education is changing fast, shaped by new technology and demand for more flexible, affordable models. More schools are rolling out hybrid, part-time programs that only require students to be on campus a few times a month. Add in the recent push in Florida and Texas to challenge the American Bar Association’s hold on accreditation, and Alaska has a real opening to think creatively about building its own public law school. Instead of chasing prestige, an Alaskan public law school should be focused and fiscally disciplined.

Instead of chasing prestige, an Alaskan public law school should be focused and fiscally disciplined. Think of a small inaugural class of 25–30 students, a flexible hybrid program, and a curriculum built around the state’s specific needs.

Beyond the state legislature putting up initial funding, operating costs could be covered through public-private partnerships and support from donors with ties to Alaska. To make the school attractive to in-state students, the state could offer full-ride scholarships, guaranteed clerkships, and loan forgiveness for graduates who stay and practice in Alaska.

This is all doable, and if the Alaska Supreme Court steps in to handle accreditation, as Florida and Texas have begun to do, it can be done without jumping through the cumbersome hoops established by the ABA

Alaska Deserves a Law School

Alaska is the largest state by land area, with a GDP of about $55.8 billion in 2025, and it consistently ranks among the top five energy producers in the country. It also sits just 55 miles from Russia, giving it strategic weight in the U.S. defense system. 

Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport, furthermore, is one of the busiest cargo airports in the world, a key hub linking Asia and North America. 

Establishing a public law school in Alaska is a matter of state pride and self-governance. It’s a genuine test of federalism, a core principle of the U.S. Constitution. A state as large as Alaska—with an energy-driven economy and unique legal needs—should take control of its legal destiny.

Jovan Tripkovic is communications manager at the James G. Martin Center for Academic Renewal.