Who we are, how we see ourselves, how we want to be seen, what we value, how our memories connect us to specific histories in specific places — we communicate this information best through narratives. In Spanish we sometimes call such stories cuentos — an accounting. I encourage all of you to take time over the next few days to celebrate your graduation, this singular accomplishment of your lives, by accounting — by telling stories to those who have helped you, held you up, fed you, wiped your tears, paid your bills. Share your recollections

Montoya, Margaret E.

English

University of New Mexico

5-15-2009 
Commencement Address, CUNY School of Law 
Margaret E. Montoya 
University of New Mexico - School of Law 
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Margaret E. Montoya, Commencement Address, CUNY School of Law, CUNY School of Law 1 (2009). 
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Cuny School of Law Commencement Address 
 
By Margaret E. Montoya 
May 15, 2009 
 
Class of 2009, distinguished guests, faculty, families, friends, Good afternoon y 
buenas tardes. Class of 2009, we are here to celebrate you. I offer you my sincerest 
congratulations y felicidades. The climb has been steep; you have reached this 
mountaintop. You should feel very proud. Education is universally valued; in every 
culture, through every epoch, and in every society, education is a source of respect; 
the Juris Doctor degree is one of the scarcest and most prized markers of academic 
achievement. 
 
It is a great honor for me to speak on the occasion of your graduation. I stand here as 
the holder of the Haywood Burns Chair, humbled and inspired by the passion and 
habits of heart that drove Haywood Burns to implement a new model of legal 
education based on the commitment to public interest. Twenty years ago he was 
completing his first year as dean. On the occasion of his inauguration in September 
of 1988, he spoke these words, “Now more than ever, there is a need to produce 
lawyers who will go into the public interest…now more than ever we need voices for 
the voiceless.”  
 
Lawyers have a special role in democracies and especially in this society that is more 
divided than ever by race, income, wealth; divided, in Haywood Burns’ words, “by the 
thickness of your billfold or the amount of melanin in your skin.” Lawyers are the 
sector from which this society draws its leadership. Now more than ever, you CUNY 
law grads have a special role to play in social reform and civic re-engagement 
because of your training using law for social justice. 
 
Law and its institutions are changed through small steps and occasional large 
insurgencies. I am delighted that today a student has the opportunity to speak on 
behalf of the class. When I asked the faculty to describe this class, I was told you 
were activists and showed a special solidarity. Students told me that having a 
student speak during graduation was a change in the institution’s rituals that you 
particularly wanted. So the students organized themselves and arranged to meet 
with Dean Anderson. Some were nervous as the meeting approached. Who is at the 
table and who gets to speak is vitally important; including many different voices 
chips away at the walls of silence and the walls of words that keep us from 
understanding one another, paradoxically the need to advocate for one’s right to 
speak can have a silencing effect. In this case, the students’ request was embraced. I 
applaud the students who organized to add a student speaker to this program and 
Dean Anderson for listening and acting. 
 
Let me once more invoke the spirit of Haywood Burns by repeating his words, 
“Though I know we [at CUNY Law School] are on the right track, we can expect 
more adversity, for those who comfort the afflicted will ever afflict the comfortable. 
We must continue undaunted, still believing that truth crushed to earth shall rise 
again; still working to build a law school and a society founded on what Learned 
Hand called the one commandment of the law—‘thou shall not ration justice.’” Thou 
shall not ration justice. 
 
Our future depends on educated students such as you. As scarce and valuable 
resources, you are your community's treasure. You are entering the profession at an 
historic time when those who have little power, money or prestige will make a claim 
on you and your talents. 
 
It has become a cliché to say that we owe our accomplishments to the efforts of 
many other people and that we stand on the shoulders of others. But there are 
meaningful ways of recognizing those who have helped us. Twenty years ago, 
Haywood Burns began his deanship by naming some of those who cleared the path 
for him: William Henry Burns, his grandfather, Junious, his father and Josephine, his 
mother “who as a little orphan girl with one dress and no shoes, dreamed, in the red 
Virginia dust, of a better day.” Allow me to share two stories with you, told by two 
members of your class. I have no doubt that others of you could also tell such stories. 
I share these two stories with you to induce you to think about those who opened 
doors for you. 
 
Catalina Rosales remembers receiving a phone call telling her that she was being 
admitted to CUNY Law School. She ended the call and told her mother Rosa Agudelo 
the news. Her mother’s tears cascaded down her cheeks as she told Catalina and 
herself, “It has all been worth it.” Her mother had trained as a nurse in Colombia 
before emigrating to the U.S., but unable to work in that capacity, she cleaned 
houses and offices, often working until 3 or 4 in the morning. Catalina remembers her 
mother handing her a tax refund check for $2000 and her mother worrying that it 
was not enough to pay for college expenses. Cleaning after others, riding buses and 
subways, losing sleep — it has all been worth it, she said. Catalina can still hear her 
mother’s voice admonishing and encouraging –“Do something for “us” — do 
something for the immigrants, for the working families. Catalina remembers food — 
sancocho, arroz con pollo. Her mother would cook large batches on Sundays, freeze 
it so Catalina wouldn’t have to spend time or money cooking. 
 
Samantha Thomas also remembers on whose shoulders she stands. Sam had already 
earned a BA and a Master’s degree when she informed her parents that she was 
planning to go to law school. Her folks Leopold and Nella Thomas come from the 
Caribbean islands; Leopold is from Trinidad and Nella from Grenada. Immigrating to 
another land and a different culture is never easy. In the U.S., they have worked to 
create opportunities for Sam and her siblings, so it was worrisome for them when 
Sam announced that she would continue with three more years of school. 
 
Ask Sam about the first year and she becomes quiet and looks away. She says, 
“Groceries. I remember my father sitting near the security desk with a bag of 
groceries. I had been studying until late at night. The truth is that I had been eating 
irregularly. I couldn’t take the time; I didn’t have the money. So he went and bought 
food — cereal, peanut butter, bread. Then he came to the law school, but the security 
officer stopped him at the door. So he sat and waited until I appeared. I was amazed; 
I was delighted. I still remember that bag of groceries and the many times that he 
brought me food. Over time he even became friends with the security guards.” 
 
Your siblings, cousins, neighbors, classmates will gain inspiration from your success 
as law graduates, especially those of you who come from families who have not been 
benefited by ancestral power, ancestral wealth or ancestral connections. Legal 
education represents an investment of money, time and hopes in any one student 
from a complex network — of teachers, employers, community leaders; but mostly 
it’s an investment by parents and the extended family. A law degree is a social 
escalator, which helps other members of the graduate’s family gain ground—socially, 
politically, psychologically. 
 
Who we are, how we see ourselves, how we want to be seen, what we value, how our 
memories connect us to specific histories in specific places — we communicate this 
information best through narratives. In Spanish we sometimes call such stories 
cuentos — an accounting. I encourage all of you to take time over the next few days 
to celebrate your graduation, this singular accomplishment of your lives, by 
accounting — by telling stories to those who have helped you, held you up, fed you, 
wiped your tears, paid your bills. Share your recollections. Ask your parents, your 
partners, your sisters and brothers to tell you what they remember about these past 
three years. Have you changed? How have you changed? I think one of the things 
that law schools do least well is helping students retain their cultural and family ties. 
For that reason, I encourage you to make this transition by remembering who you 
were when you started law school by telling your stories, finding stories about your 
family and community and then writing them down, recording them, videotaping 
them. They will be a worthy gift to your children’s children some day. 
 
In closing allow me to offer a blessing. 
 
May you be blessed with a restless discomfort about easy answers, half-truths and 
superficial relationships, so that you may seek truth boldly and love deep in your 
heart. 
 
May you be blessed with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people 
and the earth so that you will work for justice, equity, and peace among all peoples. 
 
May you be blessed with tears to shed for those who suffer so you will reach out your 
hands to comfort them and transform their pain into joy. 
 
And may you be blessed with the foolishness to think that you really CAN make a 
difference in the world, so you are able to do the things, which others say cannot be 
done. 
 
Congratulations, Class of 2009. Si se puede. 


Commencement Address, CUNY School of Law

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Commencement Address, CUNY School of Law

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