"My days at Princeton... were the single most transforming experience I have had. It was here that I became truly aware of my Latina identity." -- Sonia Sotomayor in a 1996 speech at Princeton

Does Sonia Sotomayor have a racial bias? The question informed much of the Republican line of query in her recent Senate hearings. Sen. Jeff Sessions of Alabama and his GOP colleagues on the Judiciary Committee pointed out Sotomayor's membership in a Puerto Rican activist group and her now-infamous speeches on diversity. (The phrase "wise Latina" was uttered no fewer than 27 times over the four days, by one blog's count.) Sotomayor's assent on the 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals panel that rejected Frank Ricci's discrimination suit -- which the Supreme Court later overturned -- created even more fodder for her skeptics.

What confounded Sotomayor's critics, despite her record of active involvement in identity politics and head-scratching comments, was her mainstream jurisprudence. Sotomayor is widely considered to be a liberal, but her record "has not been radical by any means," Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-S.C., remarked. This seeming disconnect was the topic of a recent article in Newsweek. As Graham asked Sotomayor during the hearings, "Who are we getting here?"

Understanding Sotomayor's activism requires looking at the place where her lifelong passion for minority rights took root. "My days at Princeton... were the single most transforming experience I have had. It was here that I became truly aware of my Latina identity," Sotomayor said in a 1996 speech at her alma mater. Although Sotomayor had been one of the few minority students at Cardinal Spellman High School, a Catholic school in the Bronx, it was her experience as one of the first women and Latino students at Princeton that seemed to have galvanized her advocacy.

Princeton was one of the last Ivy League universities to accept women, and it was one of the last schools north of the Mason-Dixon to integrate -- and when it did, it was only on the behest of the federal government in the midst of World War II. When Sotomayor arrived at Old Nassau in the fall of 1972, her class was only the fourth to be coed, and men outnumbered women by more than three to one. Furthermore, the school had just begun admitting racial minorities above token numbers.

Princeton was an alienating place for racial minorities, according to Sotomayor and many of her classmates. Sotomayor recalled in 1996, "Although I had some experiences with discrimination in high school, it was limited, and I was protected by my family and friends in the close cocoon we had around us." The difference between Spellman and Princeton, said Sotomayor, was that "when I came to Princeton... that cocoon was gone."

The university was still predominantly white, and for many minority students, arriving at Princeton was a culture shock. The school lacked an institutional support system for minority students. The patrician eating clubs and faculty mentors that white students depended on, but were alien to minority students, further deepened their sense of otherness. Although they rarely experienced overt racism, many minority students say they felt unwelcome. "I remember seeing graffiti on some of the construction sites referring to the coeds as dogs," said Margarita Rosa, a fellow Puerto Rican classmate. Minority students were also aware of the angry alumni letters that flowed into campus. For Rosa, the antipathy "permeated" the campus. "I felt like I was expected to prove myself -- to prove that I had a right to be there," Rosa said.

Princeton's affluent student body was another source of shock for many minority students who came from modest families. Joe Schubert, a Mexican-American classmate from New Mexico, had always thought he was middle-class until he arrived at Princeton. "Then I realized that I was probably not," said Schubert, whose freshman-year room overlooked where the cars came onto campus. "I'll never forget the first day of classes. I counted 16 limousines," he said.

Schubert was even more bewildered when his next-door neighbor arrived in a limousine with an interior decorator who proceeded to redecorate the dorm room. "I thought, 'Wow, what planet have I landed on here?'" Schubert said. "I hate to use the term 'radicalize,' but it made you feel that you were different, and that you stood out, and that you had a choice to make. You could try to adapt and fit in and assimilate as best you could, or you could embrace your differentness and celebrate it." For many, fitting in wasn't much of an option when one could not afford the lifestyle.

Sotomayor's Princeton was a college in the midst of social change -- just like campuses across the country. Although Princeton was relatively tame compared to the unrest at other universities, the late 1960s and 1970s were still a tumultuous time. The university's investments in South Africa during apartheid, ROTC recruitment, and the Vietnam War engendered student protests and demonstrations. In addition, the push for multicultural and ethnic studies was in vogue, and students demanded greater input in university decision-making. In 1968, 1,100 protesters marched on Nassau Hall, and in 1969 a group of black student activists took over an administrative building.

The sense of otherness had a profound impact on Sotomayor. "I felt isolated from all I had ever known, and very unsure about how I would survive here," she said in the 1996 speech. Sotomayor channeled her alienation into advocacy, making her mark on a turbulent college campus. "She was," former Princeton President William Bowen said, "a student of her generation." Or, perhaps her critics may think, a victim of it.

Sotomayor would become co-chair of Accion Puertorriquena by the end of her sophomore year, leading the charge for more Puerto Rican and Chicano representation at Princeton. Sotomayor's activism did not develop overnight; rather, it appears to have been a slow, calculated evolution.

"She wasn't quick to join," said Rosa, who was a member of Accion Puertorriquena. "We had to persuade her to join us. We had to earn her trust and have her get to know us better before she agreed to participate regularly." Rosa believes her friend's initial hesitance was an example of her methodical decision-making. Schubert, meanwhile, speculates that student activism "was a new world for her as well." After all, he said, Sotomayor's parochial school background would not have exposed her to much activism. "She wanted to dip her toe into the water before she plunged in," he adds.

In her new leadership position with Accion Puertorriquena, Sotomayor filed a discrimination complaint against the university in April 1974. She accused Princeton of "an institutional pattern of discrimination" and trying to "relegate an important cultural sector of the population to oblivion."

Sotomayor's harsh words may have been a sign of the times. "I don't know if there are any villains in this story. I just think there was a sense among students of color that progress wasn't going fast enough," said Sergio Sotolongo, who was Sotomayor's classmate at both Spellman and Princeton.

As Newsweek reported, Sotomayor was often a moderating voice, urging her peers to pursue legal means of protest rather than disruptive ways like occupying offices. Schubert was originally skeptical when he heard about the discrimination complaint. "I thought that it would have a backlash," he said. "But I was wrong, and I became persuaded." In hindsight, Schubert thinks the complaint was the right thing to do because it forced the university to pay attention and start making changes. "I am convinced that without the filing of the complaint and the dialogue that resulted from that, there would have been a much longer period of time before we had things like Puerto Rican studies courses and greater efforts at recruiting Latino faculty," Schubert said.

Ken Moy, who was a year ahead of Sotomayor at both Spellman and Princeton, rejects any notion that she is racially biased. Moy grew up in a low-income Chinese immigrant family in East Harlem; he met Sotomayor while serving as Spellman's girls forensics coach and helped convince her to attend Princeton. Moy said Sotomayor's personal causes must be considered in context of where she came from. Her activism doesn't stem from bias, he said, but rather from realizing how fortunate she has been in life.

"When you are talking of people from my generation, and the time period in which we grew up, there are many trailblazers amongst us," Moy said. "I'm not sure Sonia would lay claim to that title... but sometimes circumstances put us in that position. And when you are there, you have some duties that go with having been privileged enough to have the opportunity to go a place like Princeton.... And if you don't hold up your end of the bargain, you not only failed for yourself, but you may have failed for others. In that context, I think we're all drawn to at least respond to that call when it's necessary to do so."

Ultimately, Moy said, Sotomayor wants to make a difference without losing touch with where she came from. "There are many, many, many other people -- like Sonia Sotomayor, like Ken Moy, like a whole bunch of people -- who have moved from the strata we began in to where we are now today, who are equally skilled and talented, but... didn't make it. The context wasn't provided, the opportunity wasn't provided," Moy said. "When you know that, and you're sitting where you are, I think you have to bring to everything else you do a certain sense of humility and a certain duty to serve."