I am a retired Alaska judge. In 1981, Gov. Jay Hammond appointed me to the district court, and in 1991, Gov. Wally Hickel appointed me to the superior court. I was a 30-year-old former public defender. I knew neither governor, nor had I contributed to their campaigns.

I was simply the beneficiary of Alaska’s constitutional system of judicial selection based on merit, not patronage, and public retention votes based on performance, not politics.

I served for more than 20 years, including six years as the presiding judge of the Third Judicial District — an immense area spanning from the Canadian border to the end of the Aleutian Chain, roughly the size of three Californias. Our judges traveled to remote, unstaffed communities to administer justice according to the rule of law.

Throughout my career, Alaskans voted periodically to retain me. Most voters did not know me personally. Instead, they relied on the Alaska Judicial Council, which evaluated each judge’s legal ability, impartiality, integrity, temperament, and diligence. The council surveyed attorneys, jurors, court employees, law enforcement, and social workers.

The feedback from these evaluations helped me learn how to improve and become a better judge. Voters relied on these evaluations when voting for judges they did not know.

Most of my career focused on criminal and family law. Toward the end of my service, I received an invitation at my home to a “Five-Year Sobriety Celebration” for a man named “Tom.”

I had sentenced thousands of people and did not recognize his name. I left the invitation on my home desk, thinking I should turn it over to Judicial Services for security purposes. But later, I saw it in my stack of papers, and it happened that the celebration was that very day. Though apprehensive about attending since the invitation had been sent to my home, I decided to go. It turned out to be an AA meeting in a church basement. I sat in the back.

When introductions began, I introduced myself as Tom’s invitee. Tom was shocked that I had shown up to his celebration. He then stood up and shared his story.

He had previously appeared before me for a probation violation. His lawyer warned him he was likely going back to jail. As Tom spoke, my memory was jogged. I recalled that despite his failure on probation, he had made a serious effort and had strong support from his sobriety community. By that time in my career, I had gained sufficient humility to know that my initial assessments were not always right, so I decided to give him one more chance instead of sending him back to jail. Tom told the room that my decision changed his life.

This event provided a rare opportunity for me to witness the long-term impact of a judicial decision. I was grateful to have been invited. The reason I tell you this story is to let you know it takes time, practice, patience, and courage to do the job of a judge. It is a hard and important job. Judges put faith in Alaska voters to recognize that judges who are recommended for retention are doing the right thing for the right reason and they need to be supported in that journey by the citizens they serve.

This November, 21 judges will be on the ballot for retention based on objective performance criteria. You likely do not know them, as most voters did not know me. But the judges on the ballot have been rigorously evaluated. Their performance scores are available in your voter pamphlet and on the Judicial Council website (ajc.state.ak.us).

Please review these evaluations. Avoid voting no simply because you do not know a judge or dislike a single decision. Public participation is essential to secure the vision of our constitutional Framers: maintaining a fair, impartial, and independent judiciary. Please finish your ballot and vote.