When the conversation ended, I simply stared into space, stunned. I must have misheard the official from the U.S. Agency for International Development. This can’t be happening to me, I thought.

“We would like you to accompany Justice Sandra Day O’Connor on her trip to Mongolia this fall to support democratic reforms,” he said. It was summer 2000, and I had just returned from Mongolia, where I helped develop the country’s first justice system strategic plan.

I was astonished and elated by the opportunity—but not intimidated—as I had first met Justice O’Connor in Bulgaria in 1994, where I was serving as a pro bono rule of law liaison for the Central and East European Law Initiative, a project of the American Bar Association. Justice O’Connor, the first member of CEELI’s executive board, was in Bulgaria for its 1994 board meeting.

At the suggestion of Homer Moyer Jr. and Talbot “Sandy” D’Alemberte, CEELI was founded after the fall of the Berlin Wall to support democratic transitions abroad by providing U.S. legal expertise in judicial reform, strengthening of legal frameworks, and promoting accountability and transparency in governance. USAID was its principal funder with additional support from the Department of State.

Within its first decade, CEELI mobilized more than 5,000 American lawyers, judges and legal scholars, serving as unpaid volunteers, to work in former communist countries alongside their counterparts—local legal pioneers committed to advancing the rule of law. Together, they helped improve the lives of millions across more than two dozen nations.

Justice O’Connor was deeply committed to CEELI’s historic mission. Over more than a decade, she never missed a single board meeting.

Working with CEELI became my passion, leading me to volunteer for five years. Over that time, Justice O’Connor and I developed both a professional and personal friendship. We met often at the Supreme Court and shared meals together with her husband, John, in Washington, D.C., at their Arizona home and in my hometown, San Francisco.

I was thrilled to return to Mongolia. After the era of Genghis Khan, Mongolia had nearly become forgotten. That changed in the 1990s with the collapse of communism, which hurled Mongolia back onto the world stage. Mongolians were no longer the only ones who knew how stunningly beautiful their remote country was.

When Justice O’Connor and John arrived in Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia, their first request was to visit the countryside. That didn’t surprise me, since I knew Justice O’Connor would be more at home roaming the hills among wandering cattle than whirling around Ulaanbaatar in a Russian-built automobile.

It was during this trip to Mongolia that I got to know John well. He and Justice O’Connor were remarkably similar—exceptionally intelligent and lighthearted when off duty. Although a nationally prominent lawyer, John, like Justice O’Connor, never let titles interfere with friendships or professional relationships. His self-confidence was essential to their relationship. When others heaped praise on Justice O’Connor, he would remind her that she was once a cowgirl who rode horses and swam in a cattle tank. No matter how often he said it, she always laughed.

U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor (center) and Mary Noel Pepys (right) pose with a local man and a camel in Mongolia in 2000. (Photo courtesy of Mary Noel Pepys)

On our first day, our driver took us on a countryside tour. As we drove through the open landscape, Justice O’Connor lit up at the sight of Mongolian cowboys with their lassos.

“The horses make me feel at home,” she said, pointing to one in the distance. “That reddish-brown one looks like Chico.” He was her favorite horse on her family’s ranch.

To learn how nomadic cowboys live, I suggested we visit a family living in a ger— a Mongolian yurt. Though uninvited, I reassured them that in nomadic cultures like Mongolia, strangers are always welcomed.

As we approached, a graceful woman emerged from her ger and introduced herself as Altansarnai. There was no need to identify us beyond being Americans—nomadic Mongolians measure status by livestock, not titles.

Altansarnai invited us into her ger and offered lunch. What looked stark from the outside dazzled us inside. The floors and walls were covered with vibrantly colored rugs and fabrics in stately jewel tones. Above the ger hung a side of raw mutton—stored there for lack of refrigeration. Altansarnai brought it inside and whacked it into small pieces. Beside the wooden stove sat a container of cow dung, which she used to heat both her ger and our meal.

With help from our driver, we asked her opinion of elections in Mongolia. She eagerly described the recent presidential race, concluding, “There is a sanctity in freely voting for the candidate of your choice.” Justice O’Connor and I sighed.

Americans often take for granted rights handed to them on a silver platter.

On our return to Ulaanbaatar, Justice O’Connor grew curious as we passed a village with a modest courthouse and three camels nearby. I described its interior from a prior visit: one courtroom, a shared office for three judges, a hallway with benches—and no restroom. “You mean the courthouse has its own outhouse?” John quipped. We all laughed, picturing robed judges trudging through snow to a shack midtrial.

Back at the hotel, Justice O’Connor reviewed her 10-page schedule promoting democratic reforms: numerous briefings with U.S. and Mongolian governmental officials, a keynote at a rule of law conference, a roundtable with Mongolia’s women trailblazers, a seminar with law students, press conferences and official dinners. Exhausting for John and me—but not for Justice O’Connor.

On our last day in Mongolia, she asked if we could take a camel ride. She had to be joking. “A camel ride,” she repeated calmly, as if asking for a cup of tea.

I had worked hard to accommodate not only the needs of Mongolians but also to anticipate Justice O’Connor’s interests. A camel ride was not among them, and arranging it at the last minute was impossible.

However, Justice O’Connor was like the E.F. Hutton ad from the 1980s—when she spoke, people listened.

Dressed as we were, we set off to ride the camels. As mine lurched forward to stand, I shrieked, certain I was about to be catapulted to the ground. Justice O’Connor, on the other hand, sat tall and steady, her hand resting casually on the saddle. Once a cowgirl, always a cowgirl.

Two decades later, during my last visit with Justice O’Connor at her retirement home in Phoenix—her dementia seeping into our limited conversation—I reminisced about our trip to Mongolia, her love for CEELI and her commitment to the universal importance of the rule of law.

She praised the 5,000 American lawyers and judges for their unwavering commitment to advancing the rule of law abroad, describing their volunteerism as a hallmark of American citizenship and an inspiring act of selflessness that made a meaningful difference in the lives of others.

One can only wonder what Justice O’Connor would make of the global backsliding of the rule of law, now compounded by USAID’s dismantling. Knowing her as I did, I’m confident she would urge us to press on—at home and abroad—to resist authoritarianism, defend human rights and uphold the rule of law. Let’s commit to doing just that.

Since 1993, Mary Noel Pepys has helped to advance the rule of law in more than 45 countries, specializing in international legal and judicial reform. More recently, she has focused on the rule of law and judicial independence in the United States through the Alliance for American Rule of Law, a network of international rule of law practitioners.

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