My Beloved World

by Sonia Sotomayor

  JUST AS I had to learn to think like a lawyer, I would have to teach myself to think like a judge. In my small, steady steps I have mastered the conceptual tools of a trial judge wrestling with fact and precedent and of an appellate judge dealing with the theory of law on a more abstract level. I have been a happy sponge, soaking up whatever lessons I could learn from mentors generous with time and spirit. I have been thrilled by the learning that came from the opportunities I’ve had to teach and the energy drawn from interaction with my law clerks and the freewheeling exchange of ideas I have nurtured in my chambers. Now my education continues on the Supreme Court as I reckon with the particular demands of its finality of review. Almost daily, people ask me what I hope my legacy will be, as if the story were winding down, when really it has just begun. I can only reply that if I were to determine in advance the character of my jurisprudence, mine would be a far more blinkered and unworthy legacy than I hope. My highest aspiration for my work on the Court is to grow in understanding beyond what I can foresee, beyond any borders visible from this vantage.

  In this connection, one memory from high school days comes to mind. During my junior year, I was chosen to attend a conference of girls from Catholic schools all over the city. Over a weekend of discussions on religious and social issues, I found myself sparring again and again with one individual, a Hispanic girl who identified herself as a Marxist. I remember her wearing an impressive Afro of the sort I had seen before only on television; nothing so radical ever appeared in the halls of Cardinal Spellman High School.

  The two of us were engaging with far more energy than anyone else at the table, a vigor that, for my part at least, derived not from the certainty of my convictions but from my love of the push and pull of ideas, the pleasure of flexing the rhetorical muscles I had been building in Forensics Club, and an eagerness to learn from the exchange. I argued, as I would so often with lawyers years later, not from a set position but by way of exploring ideas and testing them against whatever challenge might be offered. I love the heat of thoughtful conversation, and I don’t judge a person’s character by the outcome of a sporting verbal exchange, let alone his or her reasoned opinions. But in my opponent’s responses I sensed an animosity that over the course of the weekend only grew. After the final roundup session, at which we reflected on our experience of the meeting, I told her that I had very much enjoyed our conversation, and I asked her what had inspired the hostility that I sensed from her.

  “It’s because you can’t just take a stand,” she said, looking at me with such earnest disdain that it startled me. “Everything depends on context with you. If you are always open to persuasion, how can anybody predict your position? How can they tell if you’re friend or foe? The problem with people like you is you have no principles.”

  Surely, I thought, what she described was preferable to its opposite. If you held to principle so passionately, so inflexibly, indifferent to the particulars of circumstance—the full range of what human beings, with all their flaws and foibles, might endure or create—if you enthroned principle above even reason, weren’t you then abdicating the responsibilities of a thinking person? I said something like that.

  Our conversation ended on that unsettled note, but I have spent the rest of my life grappling with her accusation. I have since learned how these considerations are addressed in the more complex language of moral philosophy, but our simple exchange that day raised a point that remains essential to me. There is indeed something deeply wrong with a person who lacks principles, who has no moral core. There are, likewise, certainly values that brook no compromise, and I would count among them integrity, fairness, and the avoidance of cruelty. But I have never accepted the argument that principle is compromised by judging each situation on its own merits, with due appreciation of the idiosyncrasy of human motivation and fallibility. Concern for individuals, the imperative of treating them with dignity and respect for their ideas and needs, regardless of one’s own views—these too are surely principles and as worthy as any of being deemed inviolable. To remain open to understandings—perhaps even to principles—as yet not determined is the least that learning requires, its barest threshold.

  With every friend I’ve known, in every situation I’ve encountered, I have found something to learn. From a task as simple as boiling water, you can learn a worthwhile lesson. There is no experience that can’t avail something useful, be it only the discipline to manage adversity. With luck, there will be plenty of time ahead for me to continue growing and learning, many more stories to tell before I can begin to say definitively who I am as a judge.

  Who I am as a human being will, I hope, continue to evolve as well, but perhaps the essence is defined by now. The moment when, in accordance with tradition, I sat in Chief Justice John Marshall’s chair and placed my hand on the Bible to take the oath of office for the Supreme Court, I felt as if an electric current were coursing through me, and my whole life, collapsing upon that moment, could be read in the faces of those most dear to me who filled that beautiful room. I looked out to see my mother with tears streaming down her cheeks and felt a surge of admiration for this remarkable woman who had instilled in me the values that came naturally to her—compassion, hard work, and courage to face the unknown—but who’d also grown with me as we took our small steps together to close the distance that had opened up between us in the early years. I might have been little Mercedes as a child, but now I was equally my mother’s daughter. I saw Junior beaming proudly, and my family who traveled from New York and Puerto Rico to be there, and so many friends who have stood by me through the years. The moment belonged as much to them as to me.

  I sensed the presence too, almost visible, of those who had recently passed: my friend Elaine, who had suffered a series of strokes but to the very end managed to leaven both her own dying and the drama surrounding my nomination with her humor; Dave Botwinik, who had set this whole dream in motion toward reality.

  Then I caught the eye of the president sitting in the first row and felt gratitude bursting inside me, an overwhelming gratitude unrelated to politics or position, a gratitude alive with Abuelita’s joy and with a sudden memory, an image seen through the eyes of a child: I was running back to the house in Mayagüez with a melting ice cone we called a piragua running sweet and sticky down my face and arms, the sun in my eyes, breaking through clouds and glinting off the rain-soaked pavement and dripping leaves. I was running with joy, an overwhelming joy that arose simply from gratitude for the fact of being alive. Along with the image, memory carried these words from a child’s mind through time: I am blessed. In this life I am truly blessed.

  Acknowledgments

  Before thanking the people who helped me with this book, I must thank the inordinately large number of friends and family, mentors and colleagues, who have made significant contributions to my life, without whom there might be no reason for a book. Even acquaintances and strangers have made lasting impressions. Just as I was unable to include in these pages many of my experiences and people who have played a part in my life, I cannot acknowledge all of you here by name. To those who have shared important parts of my life, know you are deeply valued even if you or those experiences are not mentioned.

  There are many who helped me in the writing of this book by sharing memories or gathering information. If I do not acknowledge you here, it is because your importance in my life and my gratitude to you has already been made clear to the reader. Others who are vitally important to me today are not mentioned because you entered my life after I first became a judge, where this book ends.

  I do want to give special thanks to a number of friends not included in the book who have been directly instrumental in the process of its creation and publication.

  Given the demands of my day job, this book would not have been possible without the collaboration of Zara Houshmand. Zara, a most talented writer herself, listened to my endless stories and those of my families and friends, and helped choose those that in retell
ing would paint the most authentic picture of my life experiences. Zara, you are an incredible person with a special ability to help others understand and express themselves better; I am deeply indebted to your assistance. One of the most profound treasures of this process has been the gift of your friendship, which will last a lifetime.

  I am truly grateful for the contributions of my editor at Alfred A. Knopf, George Andreou, in helping make my stories come alive. George’s deft editorial touch added much, but he also expertly guided me through the publishing process. I am enormously grateful as well to Sonny Mehta, the publisher of Knopf, who has treated me with much kindness and attention. Everyone at Knopf with whom I have met and worked, and everyone at Random House, Inc., Knopf’s parent, has extended assistance with professional skill and grace. I am appreciative of all of your efforts.

  Research related to Puerto Rico, help in reviewing the manuscript, and translation of this book from English to Spanish were particularly important. I am especially indebted to three people for their tireless efforts in this part of the book’s development. I can never catalogue all of the work they have volunteered in helping me with this book or the many gifts of love they have given me through the years. I can only say thank you to Xavier Romeu-Matta, a brilliant lawyer who was my law clerk during my first year as a federal district court judge; his wife, the accomplished writer Lyn Di Iorio, professor of English (and unofficial language and literature in Spanish expert) at the City College of New York and CUNY Graduate Center; and Emérida Rivera, who has traveled repeatedly throughout Puerto Rico to help in my research and proven by example that saintly hearts and souls still exist in the world. The Hunter College Center for Puerto Rican Studies also provided invaluable background materials. Thanks are due also to Ligia Pesquera and Ángel Rivera, whose kind hospitality supported our research in Puerto Rico; to Sylvia Gutiérrez, who assisted with travels; and to Lourdes Pérez, who provided background on Puerto Rican poetry.

  I am grateful to Amanda Tong, Colin Wright, and Kate Beddall for their help in transcribing and translating interviews, and for the reflections they offered.

  Another gift in the process of producing this book has been working with and befriending my book agent, Peter Bernstein, and his wife, Amy Bernstein, of the Bernstein Literary Agency. You both have shepherded this book with consummate professional skill, sage advice, and caring. I thank John S. Siffert of Lankler Siffert & Wohl LLP, and his wife, Goldie Alfasi, for introducing me to Peter and Amy and for being such supportive friends during this process. I also thank John for introducing me to Richard Hofstetter and Mark A. Merriman of Frankfurt Kurnit Klein & Selz, PC, and for their legal and professional advice. John, I am especially grateful for the wise legal counsel you gave me in drafting the book proposal, overseeing the contract negotiations, and reviewing this book. I have three brothers: my birth brother, you, and Robert A. Katzmann. All three of you have supported me through my recent life experiences in ways that cannot be acknowledged here but are inscribed in my heart.

  Some friends who are not named in the text shared memories that appear in the book or reviewed the manuscript to offer advice. Each of you is special to me and I acknowledge you here in chronological order of your appearance in my life: Peter Kougasian, with whom I shared experiences at Princeton University, Yale Law School, and the New York County District Attorney’s Office; Paula DiPerna, a journalist and author whose book Juries on Trial: Faces of American Justice provides an account of the child pornography trial; Cynthia Fischer, the second female partner at Pavia & Harcourt, and David Glasser, an associate then at the firm; Nicole Gordon, founding Executive Director of the New York City Campaign Finance Board; Mari Carmen Aponte, now United States ambassador to El Salvador and then member of the Puerto Rican Legal Defense and Education Fund (now Latino Justice); Robert Sack, a former colleague on the United States Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit Court; and Jennifer Callahan, documentary film producer and writer.

  Lee Llambelis and Ellis Cose, you encouraged me to write this book and guided me in the initial process of thinking about having it published. I give special thanks also to Sue Anderson and Kitty Reese: you pitched in each time I needed help to get things done while I worked on the book. You are all incredible friends. Thank you.

  Finally, I thank Ricki Seidman, whom I worked with during my Supreme Court confirmation process and who has become a precious friend. Ricki tirelessly reviewed multiple revisions of this book and offered thoughtful suggestions that have improved it immeasurably.

  A life filled with loving and caring family and friends such as mine is truly blessed.

  Glossary

  abuelita: grandma

  aguinaldo: here, Christmas folk song

  ají: pepper; hot pepper

  arroz con gandules: rice and pigeon peas

  Bendición, Abuelita: Bless me, Grandma; blessing

  bisabuela: great-grandmother

  brujería: witchcraft

  burla: mockery

  café con leche: coffee with milk

  chiflado: literally, crazy, a looney, and used to translate for “stooge” in the title and show The Three Stooges

  china: orange, as in the fruit

  chuletas: pork chops

  como una maldición: like a curse

  Dame un cigarrillo: Give me a cigarette

  despedida: farewell

  Dios te salve, María, llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo. Bendito tú eres entre todas las mujeres y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre: Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte …

  Hail Mary, full of grace: The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among all women and blessed is the fruit of your womb: Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of our death …

  (from the Roman Catholic “Hail Mary” prayer)

  el jurutungo viejo: the boondocks; the end of the world

  el luto: mourning

  embusteros: liars

  “En Mi Viejo San Juan”: “In My Old San Juan.” A bolero written by Puerto Rican composer Noel Estrada in 1943. It is considered by many Puerto Ricans to be a kind of unofficial anthem. It enshrines the narrator’s desire to go back to his longed-for city by the sea, and the melancholy realization that this will never happen.

  Es el precio de hacer negocios: It’s the price of doing business

  espera: wait

  espiritismo: Spiritism

  ¡Estás loca!: You’re crazy!

  Feliz Navidad: Merry Christmas

  fiambreras: lidded, stackable dinner pails made of iron or other metal; also, the food that is made elsewhere and delivered in these pails

  ficha: a playing piece; usually refers to dominoes

  flamboyán: flamboyant; also known in the anglophone Caribbean as the flame tree or the Royal Poinciana

  grosella: a small acidic yellow or red berry that grows in backyards, or wild, in Puerto Rico; sometimes known as an Otaheite gooseberry

  guagua: bus

  güiro: musical instrument made from an elongated, hollowed-out gourd with notches on one side, played by rubbing a stick with tines along the notches

  jíbaro: the straw-hatted peasant farmer or laborer who plays a significant role in Puerto Rican culture and identity; the values attributed to this almost mythical figure are being traditional, hardworking, plainspoken, and sagacious

  la nata: cream; also, the skin on milk

  la tetita: the tit; here, to denote the crunchy end of a loaf of Puerto Rican criollo bread

  lechón asado: roasted pig

  Mercedes chiquita: little Mercedes

  merienda: midday meal; light lunch; snack

  mi’jita: my dear; honey

  Nacimiento: Nativity scene

  nena: girl

  ¡No me molestes!: Don’t bother me!

  No tengas miedo: Don’t be afraid

  para: here, stop

  picadillo: seasoned ground beef


  Que Dios te bendiga, te favorezca, y te libre de todo mal y peligro: May God bless you, favor you, and deliver you from all evil and danger

  ¡Qué guapo!: He’s so handsome!

  ¿Quieres una china?: Do you want an orange?

  quinqué: country-style oil lamp

  recao: an herb also known as culantro, or Thai parsley, which is one of the basic ingredients of the spice mixture known as sofrito used in so many Puerto Rican recipes

  rosario: rosary

  santos: saints; here, statues of saints

  sebo de flande: mutton tallow used as a folk remedy for bruises and cuts

  sofrito: seasoning sauce made of tomatoes, chopped peppers, onions, garlic, and recao or culantro

  tamarindo: tamarind

  ¡Te vas a enfermar!: You’ll get sick!

  tío: uncle

  titi: a term of endearment for tía, or aunt

  tostones: fried green plantain

  ¿Tú estás ciego?: Are you blind?

  ¡Vámonos de parranda!: Let’s go out caroling!; let’s party!

  velada: séance (although in Puerto Rico, the connotation is more often that of vigil, as for a corpse)

  vendedor: salesman

  vivero: livestock market

  Yo soy Celina: I am Celina

  A PUERTO RICO (REGRESO)