Tell us about your community growing up. Looking back, how did they shape who you are now?

I grew up in a small town in northeastern New Jersey and spent the entirety of my childhood summers in Puerto Rico visiting family. In Jersey, there weren’t many people who looked like me at the time, and I always think back at how blatantly folks in positions of power, like teachers and police officers, went about treating people of color in town differently. But growing up, I found my real community in Puerto Rico. Raised in a deeply Puerto Rican and Dominican culture, the dynamic between my life in New Jersey and my summers in Puerto Rico influenced me tremendously. In the states, I saw how systemic issues raised obstacles for people of color attempting to progress economically. And in Puerto Rico, I saw the deeply entrenched consequences of a colonial status. These two realities motivated me to go to law school and is why I research and write at the intersection of criminal procedure and U.S. territorial governance.

Describe your journey to law school. What motivated you to apply?

I decided on going to law school early on in college. I was working as a research assistant for my mentor and friend Professor Samuel K. Roberts Jr. when he asked me to look into some legal documents at an archive. Although I am fairly certain he wanted me to take an interest in becoming a historian, looking at those documents confirmed that I wanted to become a lawyer. When I reviewed those documents I saw, in my hands, bad policy becoming law, and how the effects of that policy resulted in discriminatory policing and application of criminal law.

Those documents confirmed my lived experiences. As I mentioned before, being one of the few children of color in my hometown made me keenly aware of the racial dynamics. From being followed by employees in the local stores, to being treated differently by teachers in school and getting questioned by police officers for just hanging out, I had a sense that something was amiss. This, I would soon learn, was just a small part of the racial animus driving injustices like mass incarceration, the unequal application of the law in the U.S. Territories, and, as a general matter, systemic racism. I applied to law school to become a public defender, fueled by my life experiences and religious beliefs that, at their core, seek justice and reconciliation. I believed that law school would allow me to do a small part in rectifying some of these injustices, and those realities motivate me to this day.

What was your law school experience like?

I loved law school. I think I attended Cornell Law School at a perfect time. I was there when Eduardo Peñalver, who became a mentor, started as the law school’s first Latino Dean. When I became the president of LALSA, I worked closely with him and many other professors and students on student-led events. Many of the faculty members, like Gerald Torres, Angela Cornell, and Aziz Rana went out of their way to make the school welcoming for students of color. I also found my way into a community of folks committed to providing quality representation to people on death row and juveniles sentenced to life without parole. Learning from, and working alongside, professors like Sheri Lynn Johnson, John Blume, and Keir Weyble made law school a fantastic experience and also set me on the path to appellate litigation and academia. I also relied heavily on my LALSA and BLSA communities. These communities were at the heart of my law school experience and provided me with much needed support and lifelong friends.

Did you know about appellate work in law school? If not, when and how did it first get on your radar and why were you drawn to it?

I first learned about appellate and post-conviction work in law school when I worked in the death penalty clinic. I found appellate work to align with my personality and my approach to working on cases. I appreciated that the life cycle of an appeal could be rather long, and as a result I could communicate with my clients often and work carefully on my cases. I also loved the rush of appellate advocacy. There is nothing like hearing your case called by the judge, seeing the argument timer light up and beginning your oral advocacy—it’s all systems go, and months of preparation lead up to that moment. The mental sparring and discussions with the judges can be exhilarating and, most importantly, result in real, material benefits for your client. I was drawn to post-conviction work for similar reasons. Cases take a while to develop, and I enjoyed working on investigations and marshalling those findings to formulate powerful narratives and creative legal arguments. Academia, where I spend most of my time these days, was attractive for similar reasons.

Tell us about one of your appellate cases that you found particularly meaningful.

Every criminal appeal and post-conviction proceeding I’ve handled has impacted me in a meaningful way. As a former appellate public defender, I’ve dealt with the difficult reality that my client’s future is in my hands and, as most appellate public defenders know, the odds of victory even when the law seems to be on your side, are miniscule. The frustration commensurate with legalized injustice is incessant and living with both the victories and defeats have significantly impacted my worldview. My clients have also taught me so much about advocacy and different lived experiences. I think about them often.

I also often think about the first case in which I was able to get a positive outcome. I had a client who was facing mandatory deportation as a result of a series of drug possession convictions. The case required hours of investigation through which I got to know my client extremely well. After making our way through post-conviction proceedings, a judge vacated their most serious drug possession offense, which placed my client outside of mandatory deportation proceedings. This, and other cases I’ve worked on, continue to motivate me, despite the horrors of the criminal legal system, and the uphill battles constraining direct appellate and post-conviction work.

How often do you encounter Hispanic people in the appellate field? Why do you think that representation is important?

Rarely. A quick search of big law appellate groups tells much of the story. For a whole host of reasons, Latinos, and people of color generally, rarely make their way into appellate practice to the detriment of the bar and the clients we serve. This is likely a direct consequence of racial bias—conscious and unconscious—of employers, career service folks, and professors. These groups, among others, rarely suggest the appellate field to students of color and emphasize different career opportunities. Representation is important not just for the diverse approaches and perspectives on cases but also as a signal to other people that look like you—that they, too, can work in the appellate field.

What advice would you give to a law student of color who aspires to be where you are now?

First and foremost, you should carve your own path and follow your passions when able. I think it is helpful to look at what others have done to become appellate lawyers and, in my case, professors. But ultimately, law students should know that they are the captains of their careers and being curious and brave in charting that course is key. Second, I always encourage clerking for a trial and appellate court judge if your financial situation allows. I consider myself lucky to have clerked for both a federal district court and court of appeals judge, and I found those experiences invaluable to my personal and professional development. Through these experiences I became a better writer, lawyer, and oral advocate, while gaining lifelong friends and mentors along the way. I also believe clerking opens the door to innumerable opportunities and makes your application stronger for competitive appellate positions and any legal job you desire. Finally, I would remind students of color, as I try to remind myself daily, that practicing law is a constant work in progress. You learn to be better with every day, every brief you file, and every oral argument you make. This is a lifelong learning process, and once you embrace that perspective, I think it makes it easier for you to simultaneously invest in the moment you are in and enjoy your journey.

What’s one thing law schools and/or the appellate bar can do to ensure our highest courts are representative of all our communities?

I believe law schools should adopt a more holistic approach when choosing which students are encouraged to apply for clerkships and highly coveted fellowships, especially appellate ones. These opportunities open doors to specific types of positions and typically result in getting more substantive work earlier in your career. For example, appellate fellowships commonly offer the opportunity to argue cases in state and/or federal court sometimes just a year or two removed from law school. Not only do these positions increase the attractiveness of a person’s resume, but they also provide real-world experience early on in someone’s career.

Further, although clerkships are invaluable experiences, the appellate bar should not only hire former or incoming clerks or fellows. For many folks of color, a clerkship results in a salary cut that they cannot afford. The absence of a clerkship does not mean that someone cannot be a fantastic appellate lawyer—in fact, many great appellate attorneys have never clerked. We should, instead, focus more on the person and their relevant characteristics as opposed to certain career markers that are proxies, not guarantees, for excellence.