From the Cotton Fields of the Mississippi Delta to the Highest Court in the Land

My Unforgettable Juneteenth Moment at the U.S. Supreme Court

I never imagined this moment—not as a boy chopping cotton in the Mississippi Delta, and not as a young soldier fighting in Iraq.

But this morning, during Juneteenth week, I walked up the storied steps of the United States Supreme Court.

The marble was gleaming. The line of attorneys filing in was long and diverse—men and women from across the country, dressed sharply, many accompanied by proud family members. We had gathered for one of the greatest honors a lawyer can experience: to be sworn into the Bar of the United States Supreme Court.

As we made our way toward the courtroom, we passed the painted portraits of past Justices. My eyes scanned the walls until they found the one that stopped me in my tracks—Justice Thurgood Marshall. I paused there with Sabrina, my wife, and someone kindly snapped a photo of us. Mississippi standing next to a piece of American history.

Inside the chamber, everything felt bigger than life.

Tall, white marble columns. Deep red velvet curtains with golden trim. Nine high-backed chairs aligned perfectly behind a long mahogany bench, with American flags on either side. Every seat in the courtroom was filled. The energy was reverent. Sacred.

Then a woman in an all-white suit approached the lectern.

“MR. CHIEF JUSTICE, AND MAY IT PLEASE THE COURT, I MOVE THE ADMISSION OF THE FOLLOWING ATTORNEYS.”

She began reading names—attorneys from California, Florida, Illinois, Maryland, and the District of Columbia.

Then came:

“From the state of Mississippi, Tyrone Cortez Pinkins.”

I stood.

And as I did, my eyes drifted to the end of the bench—where Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson sat. The first Black woman to serve on the United States Supreme Court. And in that moment… she smiled.

Maybe she was simply smiling at the occasion. Maybe she didn’t even see me. But it didn’t matter. As a son of Mississippi, standing in that chamber during Juneteenth week, with a Black woman on the bench and my name echoing through the highest court in the land—I felt an unshakable sense of pride. A quiet thunder in my chest.

The motion was formally made: I was of good moral and professional character. The sponsoring attorney requested admission.

Chief Justice John Roberts responded:

“The motion is granted. The applicants will be admitted.”

I was officially sworn into the Bar of the United States Supreme Court.

Let me tell you something: growing up in Rolling Fork, Mississippi, this was not a day I could’ve imagined.

I chopped cotton in fields under a scorching Delta sun. I lived in a house without indoor plumbing. I watched my parents work hard, pray harder, and survive through times that would've broken lesser spirits. I served in the U.S. Army for 21 years—including three combat tours—then earned my J.D. and LL.M. from Georgetown University Law Center. I served in the West Wing under two U.S. Presidents. I’ve seen the machinery of power up close.

But nothing compared to this.

Because on this day—during this week—we aren’t just talking about law. We’re talking about legacy.

Juneteenth reminds us that freedom didn’t come with the Emancipation Proclamation. It came late. It came only after resistance. Only after persistence. And only because people kept pushing—even when they had every reason to give up.

I thought about my ancestors—people who were once considered property under the law—and how, just a few generations later, I was standing in front of the most powerful legal body in the land. Not as a defendant. Not as a petitioner. But as a member.

That moment didn’t belong to me alone. It belonged to every little boy and girl in the Mississippi Delta who’s ever been told to shrink their dreams.

This isn’t a finish line. It’s fuel to keep going.

Fuel to fight for everyday people. Fuel to keep pushing for transparency and ethics in government. Fuel to protect Social Security and Medicaid. Fuel to end insider trading in Congress and corporate greed in our politics.

If you’ve walked with me on this journey—thank you. You were with me in that courtroom.

And I promise you: I’ll carry you into every room I enter from here on out.

Let’s keep going.

~Ty