Editorial: Judge Ricardo Martinez and the power of a pen

On occasion, a federal judge comes along who plays a remarkable role in shaping the direction of society, which is why their appointments are often so hard-fought. Consider William Dwyer, who, during his 15-year tenure on the federal bench in Seattle, did more to protect the Pacific Northwest’s last stands of old-growth forests than probably any other single individual. When he died seven years ago, the New York Times’ obituary referred to him as a judge “of vast influence.”

On occasion, a federal judge comes along who plays a remarkable role in shaping the direction of society, which is why their appointments are often so hard-fought. Consider William Dwyer, who, during his 15-year tenure on the federal bench in Seattle, did more to protect the Pacific Northwest’s last stands of old-growth forests than probably any other single individual. When he died seven years ago, the New York Times’ obituary referred to him as a judge “of vast influence.”

Now, Islanders are considering the words of a new, relatively little-known federal judge, Ricardo Martinez, who — with the mighty force of his pen — has again profoundly shaped our Northwest environment.

His 28-page ruling put a halt to Glacier Northwest’s efforts to build a barge-loading pier in an aquatic reserve off of Maury Island. And he did so with words that will likely resonate for years.

He took federal officials to task for something conservationists have been railing about for years: They made decisions about the environment without using science as their foundation. And he captured eloquently the meaning of cumulative impact, the need to see each proposed project not as the final death knell to a natural system but as part of a long process that is slowly but surely spelling its demise.

“Which raindrop caused the flood?” he wrote.

Martinez’s parents were migrant workers who didn’t speak English, according to an interview with him on the Washington State Bar Association’s Web site. His childhood was shaped, he said, by his need to act as an interpretor at a young age for his parents, helping them to buy a car or to understand a doctor’s advice. His parents’ struggles, he said, fueled his interest in law; he realized, he said, that “if you truly want to have an impact, if you want to make a real difference, law is the field that you should go into.”

Martinez did not act in a vacuum, of course. Without the tenacity of Preserve Our Islands, the acumen of its lawyers and the utter determination of hundreds of Islanders, the debate over Glacier’s expansion plans would likely never have landed in his courtroom. Amy Carey, Sharon Nelson, Bill Moyer and dozens of others have been tireless in their efforts and brilliant in their strategy.

Martinez, meanwhile, has achieved the dream he first articulated as a young Latino boy in Whatcom County. He’s used the law to make a huge and potentially lasting difference. Many are fighting for the restoration of Puget Sound. With his decision, they now have something powerful in their pockets — a clear and eloquent articulation of the legal need to do so.