Oregon State bar wall of diversity.jpg

The Oregon State Bar unveiled its diversity timeline, a wall-sized art piece that tracks a century's worth of struggles and success in recruiting more minority lawyers and judges.

(Casey Parks/The Oregonian)

The timing was uncanny.



Oregon State Bar members had spent years working to make diversity more than a buzzword. The first tangible result of their work came out the same month as the Ferguson decision.



As protesters took to the streets, the Oregon State Bar unveiled its diversity timeline, a wall-sized art piece that tracks a century's worth of struggles and success in recruiting more minority lawyers and judges.



Press coverage of the Ferguson protests focused on police. But bar leaders say protesters' criticisms had much to do with the judicial system and show that now, more than ever, people of color need to see themselves reflected in the ranks of prosecutors, defense attorneys, jurors and judges.



"Most days, when you call a lawyer, it's not your best day," said Kateri Walsh, a spokeswoman for the state agency that regulates lawyers and judges. "The importance of having someone you can relate to and trust is critically important."





When Mercedes Deiz was admitted to the bar in 1960, she became the first black woman admitted. In 1970, she was appointed to the Multnomah County District Court. Two years later, Multnomah County voters chose her again, making her the first woman of color to be elected judge in Oregon.

Early on, the state bar seemed poised to be a leader in diversifying the judicial system. McCants Stewart, a black man, became a lawyer in 1903, when the bar was just an association. Oregon lawyers were part of the 1964 Freedom Rides to Mississippi. By 1969, the state even had its first black judge, Aaron Brown. The next year, Multnomah County voters elected African-American lawyer Mercedes Deiz as a district court judge.



But such milestones were few and far apart. In 1976, only 27 bar members -- less than 1 percent -- represented a racial or ethnic minority. By the early 1990s, that number had risen only to 3 percent. Oregon Supreme Court Chief Justice Edwin Peterson created a taskforce to examine whether racial bias was a problem in Oregon.



The task force's 1994 report was scathing. Intentional or not, judges and other court officials were discriminating against minorities, Peterson wrote. Too few lawyers spoke a second language. Too few minorities were called for jury duty, and even fewer were actually chosen. Only one African American was a partner in a large firm.



That lack of diversity in leadership was leading to bleak results for minorities, Peterson wrote: Minorities were more likely to be arrested and charged with crimes, and less likely to be let out on bail. They also were more likely to be sent to prison.





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Peterson's 121-page report suggested several dozen ways to diversify Oregon's judicial system, from widening the jury pool to appointing an ombudsman to investigate racial bias complaints. The report called for more scholarships for aspiring minority lawyers and better training of Oregon State police officers in cross-cultural awareness.



"I don't recall any groundswell of support for what we had done from the general public," Peterson said recently. "But there was a very strong positive response from lawyers, judges and law schools."



Bar members and legislators banded together to make changes. They hired interpreters. They improved the jury summons process to insure more minorities made it onto juries.



The new awareness led to the creation of Opportunities for Law in Oregon (OLIO), a bar program that pulls together diverse law students to create a community where more bar hopefuls feel they belong.



Jonathan Patterson knew no one when he moved to the University of Oregon from Wichita, Kan. His first year in law school, he would go days without seeing another African American, he said.



"OLIO allowed me to find a place where I could be comfortable," said Patterson, who graduated in 2013. "For new attorneys, finding some comfort zone is so important to surviving law school and the profession. You may never see people like you, but because you've been in OLIO, you know they still exist, so you never feel like you are alone."



The program introduced Patterson to Oregon legal pioneers such as Adrienne Nelson, a Multnomah County judge for whom Patterson now clerks. In 2006, Nelson became the second African-American female judge in the state.



Four years ago, when Mariann Hyland began working for the bar, the African-American lawyer suggested erecting a wall memorializing people who had worked to diversify the organization, such as Nelson. Hyland enlisted a historian and a graphic designer. Bar members chipped in private donations to pay for the $38,000 memorial.





Bill Van Atta was one of the first blind attorneys to join the Oregon State Bar.

The timeline tells the story of Bill Van Atta, one of Oregon's first blind attorneys, and Angel Lopez, the first Latino to serve as bar president. It memorializes Rives Kistler, who in 2003 became the first openly gay man to sit on any state supreme court. It ends with the decision this year by U.S. District Court Judge Michael McShane to overthrow Oregon's gay marriage ban.



Bar association leaders unveiled the wall at a November ceremony in the bar's Tigard offices. Twenty-four bar members, including former Chief Justice Paul De Muniz and Marva Fabien, the first black member of the Oregon State Bar Board of Governors, wore nametags designating them as pioneers.



"When people are the first, the pioneer, it's a silent and lonely journey," Hyland said.



"And most are so humble," Kranovich said. "They say 'it's no big deal,' but they're out there doing amazing things."



Two weeks after the ceremony, a Missouri grand jury voted not to indict a police officer for fatally shooting an unarmed African American man. Protesters in Portland and elsewhere took to the streets, arguing that the legal system was stacked against minorities.



Nearly 7 percent of Oregon bar members now identify as a racial or ethnic minority. That's about 1,000 people. But it's still not representative of the state's general population. Nearly a quarter of Oregon residents identify as a race other than white alone.



"We have to stay constantly aware if we are are to have our power structure and the make-up of our membership reflect the community we serve," said Tom Kranovich, who until January was bar president. "I don't think we've reached those numbers yet. There's still work to be done."

-- Casey Parks

503-221-8271

@caseyparks