In clubby France, a Muslim woman as justice minister

Dati was born in the village of Saint-Loup-de-Varennes, where her Moroccan father worked as a stone mason. But she spent most of her youth in Chalon-sur-Saone, first in a rundown housing project and then in a newly built suburb of factories and apartment blocks.

She was sent, along with her younger sisters, to a private Catholic school. In her catechism class, she convinced the teachers to let her read out a weekly passage from the Koran for discussion by her fellow students.

At 14, according to her own accounts and those of her family, she sold cosmetics door-to-door. At 16, she worked at night as a nurse's aide in a clinic.

While studying economics at a college in Dijon, she noticed a newspaper story about an upcoming reception at the Algerian Embassy in Paris for then-Justice Minister Albin Chalandon. She requested, and got, an invitation. At the party, she zeroed in on Mr. Chalandon and asked him to help her find a good job.

In an interview with Le Monde, he described being "dazzled by this energy that radiated from her."

"I can help you put one foot in the stirrup," he said he told her, "but you have to prove that you can put the other one there."

Chalandon was only the first of the many high-placed officials and corporate titans that she sought out and approached for support. From short stints at French companies, including the oil giant Elf-Aquitaine, she nurtured an impressive list of contacts.

In 1997, at the urging of her influential mentors, she applied to the prestigious National College of Magistrates. Being a judge, one of them told her, would give her status in French society. She won a place in the training school and worked for two years as a magistrate, dealing mostly with bankruptcy and financial-fraud cases.

But she had bigger ambitions to influence policy. Her opportunity came in October 2005, when Sarkozy made a tumultuous visit as Interior minister to the crime-ridden housing projects in Argenteuil.

Surrounded by hostile, shouting residents, his official car in flames, he took the cellphone numbers of some of the angry young people who demanded to talk to him. A few days later, he invited a group to the ministry and assigned Dati to work with them.

An ear – and a model – for minorities

Over the next year, she made numerous forays to the suburbs, meeting at least monthly with a core group of activists. They ended up producing a hefty report on discrimination and held a conference last December.

"We created a real professional relationship," recalls Mr. Hamida. "He gave her the green light and left her the initiative. And Rachida Dati was very good with us. We always had her ear."

None of the young people had been in a government ministry, much less met a minister. Nor had they met many people like themselves – the children of poor and illiterate Arab immigrants – who had achieved success in politics or business.

"A lot of young people in the suburbs don't even have such dreams because they're not exposed to success," says Hamida. "Because no one was doctor or an engineer in their environment, they have the impression that success is reserved for others."

Dati provided a model, he added. "When you see a woman from an immigrant background becoming a minister, you think, 'OK, she worked hard and got somewhere, so it's possible.' "

As the new Justice minister, her diplomatic skills will be put to the test. Many people in the judicial system have been offended over the past few years by Sarkozy's brusque comments and hard-line approach.

Her loyalty to the new president seems heartfelt and personal. "No one ever gave him anything," she once said of Sarkozy. "What he has achieved, he seized on his own. Something about that resonates within me. A refusal to accept destiny, perhaps."

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