Recently, I read an article entitled, Law schools fail on domestic violence training, experts say. It just so happens that I attend one of the law school that fail on domestic violence training. The article pointed out that my school “does not include domestic violence training in mandatory courses” but that “the subject is covered in [some courses].” Yes that is very true. But I think that this article (and ultimately the recommendation to include VAW mandatory training) misses the point in trying to suggest changes to law school curriculum.

The article highlights that the recommendation to include domestic violence training into the law school curriculum made by the Domestic Violence Death Review (DVDR) committee in 2012 have not been implemented except for in two schools. The aim of the recommendations were “preventing deaths and reducing domestic violence in general” (Source). One might ask how does mandatory domestic violence training in law schools help prevent deaths and domestic violence in general? Well, the report revealed that on more than one occasion that women consulted with lawyers prior to their murders by their intimate partners. One lawyers suggested to a domestic violence murder victim to stay in the family home to protect her matrimonial real property interests. This is similar to Harper’s response to intimate partner violence against Indigenous women on reserves (you know, when he created the Matrimonial Real Property on Reserves Act instead of actually addressing the crux of the problem).

The article also highlights that the Law Commission of Ontario also created violence against women modules for Ontario law schools to include in their curriculum (You can see more about those modules here). I think this is a more benign approach to address the issue of domestic violence which does not accomplish the overall goals of the original DVDR committee. Remember the aims were “preventing deaths and reducing domestic violence in general”? Yes these goals are quite aspirational and noble. But is mandating violence against women courses in law school really addressing issue? No.

I go to one of the schools listed as “snubbing the recommendations.” I also made it quite clear that I was a survivor of domestic violence in my law school application. I have also written about these experiences in many instances (the domestic violence and how it is linked to my criminalization, like here). While I have no mandated courses on domestic violence or courses I have to take with VAW lessons, there have been many instances where VAW issues appear.

For instance, in my one course, I had a passionate professor (note: all my professors are passionate) who did talk about VAW realities. This course is mandated for all first years. I do not know if the VAW topic was mandatory. When I listened to this professor talk about these issues, I felt she spoke from a place of love. Her passion and respect for this issue emanated in her lecture. Sure, not all professors are great lecturers but this topic is a very sensitive topic and I think it matters more about who teaches it and how it is brought up in particular courses. Can such a requirement be included in all courses in first year (that I have experienced so far)? I am unsure but I do see how it can be included in specific courses. However, there are also certain cases in specific courses that do have a VAW-component. Sometimes those VAW components never make it to the discussion in the classroom. This isn’t the problem with the law school curriculum though. I argue that it is an issue with how legal decisions are organized which is more of an issue with the actual structure and formation of the law than the teaching of the law itself. If we look at R v J.A. case, the VAW history between the complainant and the accused are not discussed in the SCC decision (and this is a case that is about sexual assault and consent, not domestic violence… because law). There are hints of it but one does not notice it unless someone points it out (or unless you read LEAF’s factum, which I don’t entirely agree with 100% but the VAW history is mentioned there). Again, this is an issue with how law is formed not an issue with actual law school curriculum.

To return to my initial statement, that the article and the report miss the point about domestic violence, I think it matters more about who we let into law school and who is teaching about VAW. Because if this is an issue that needs to be attended to, simply adding a mandatory course to the law school curriculum does not address the larger issues with how the VAW issue is taken up in other institutions that shape and form law. But, ultimately, I think it matters more about who we admit into law school (and who is teaching law) than the courses we teach if we actually want to see change surrounding the VAW issue.

Last December, I decided to give back to an organization that helps sex workers in London, Ontario from a harm reduction approach (and a truly harm reduction, non-judgmental approach). The timing was perfect because of the whole kerfuffle with the new bullshit anti-sex work law. Ultimately, I didn’t want to be thinking about that for the entire of month of December. I needed to shift my focus to something else. I also wanted to, as I said, to give back to an organization.

I wanted to say thank you to all the people who were able to purchase a tee-shirt. Your assistance with this campaign helped raised funds to help pay rent for Safe Space. As you know, they are an organization that is run by volunteers and they also support the decriminalization of sex work (because helloooooo! sex workers’ have the right to work safely too!). It really warmed my heart that many came forth wanting to buy tee-shirts. I also know that it was kind of bad timing since it was also Christmas. Immediately after Christmas, others began asking about how they could order shirts too. So, if you are still wondering how you can order shirts, you can order them here.

For me, as a person with sex working experience, I want to explain briefly the importance of organizations like Safe Space.

When I first moved to London, Safe Space was not around. I was moving to London in the context of sex work. I bought a one way bus ticket down to London. I had only a few bags of clothing. When I arrived, I only had a few bucks in my possession. I had no idea where I was going to live. As soon as I arrived in London, I went straight to work. I ended up finding temporary housing at the dancer’s house of a local club. But this housing wasn’t the best. I eventually befriended some of the other dancers and sometimes they invited me to stay at their place for a night or two. One even invited me to stay at her place permanently but it was a very unstable environment. I moved back to the dancer house and then another dancer invited me to stay at her place too. Again, it wasn’t a very stable environment. I eventually ended up leaving that place. I drifted in and out of homelessness. Soon enough, I decided to try to find my own place and I decide to go back to college.

When I first arrived to London, I was close to the Old East Village area. I didn’t know of that area until I was able to find my own place (with the help of another dancer and my then-boyfriend) and became more familiar with London and its neighbourhoods. When I first moved to London, it was a very isolating and alienating experience. I had no friends and no family. I didn’t even know if I wanted to live in London. I almost moved to Windsor (silly me! lol). I relied a lot on other dancers (and others employees of the places I worked at in London which was basically at all the clubs) for their support and their knowledge of living and working in London.

I never had the chance to use the services of an organization like Safe Space, an organization that provides non-judgmental assistance to sex workers in London. If Safe Space was around when I first moved to London, I think the initial move there would have been a lot more easier. London would have felt less alienating and isolating. So this is why I choose to help this organization for the month of December: Even though I didn’t utilize their services, I understand the importance of the services they offer, especially as someone who moved to London in the context of sex work.

If you still want to help Safe Space, you can still purchase a tee here. And ps. they are kind of badass thanks to the designer, Jess Gillis

When I started to draft this essay, I hesitated. This hesitation was unsettling. I enjoy writing and in particular, I enjoy writing self-reflection pieces. When I finished my chart, the source of this hesitation became clear. The “cultural competence” section in my chart remained empty for about a week. What do I put into this section when the Law Society of Upper Canada (LSUC) remains largely silent on cultural competence?

This silence speaks for itself especially as the profession remains (mostly) tacit when it comes to the latent racism in law school and the legal profession itself. I want to interrupt this silence. I want to speak back to the legal profession in its attempts to establish itself as an ethical and fair profession. For this essay, I will argue that the profession needs to address its silence on cultural competence to move forward as a more inclusive field. Utilizing Patricia Monture-Angus’s collection of articles based on her experiences in the 1980s, I will highlight that little has changed since the publication of her works. Second, I will discuss the importance of making visible the issue of racism in this conversation. Third and final, I will suggest some ways to move forward.

Monture-Angus details her law school experiences in her collection of essays in her book entitled, Thunder in my Soul: A Mohawk Woman Speaks. I refer to a specific collection of essays under the subheading, “Flint Woman Speaks.” Together, these articles call attention to the complex issues that, I, as an Indigenous woman, still battle with while in law school today: racism.

My indigeneity is visible. I recognize both the benefit and the struggle in this visibility. Nobody questions whether I am Indigenous. Yet, I do not enjoy the benefits of White privilege. Interactions with my non-Indigenous peers are markedly different. I am both visible and invisible. This (in)visibility is sometimes my solace. However, it has usually been an area of difficulty for me.

Similar to Monture-Angus, I understand the significance in naming these incidents and “writing them down” (p 54-55). Monture-Angus writes, “[t]hings happen and I write them all down [and] writing—talking back—is the process through which I come to terms with my pain, anger and emotion” (p 54). I call attention to these events in law school to talk back to these truths to break the silence.

Monture-Angus published her collection in 1995 and she began her law school endeavours in the 1980s (p 54). In her first article, she eloquently describes the instance of being the only Mohawk woman at a legal conference (p 23). I have similar experiences sometimes being the only visible-Anishnaabe kwe in my classes. Remember this context when I describe a troubling incident.

During midterms, I posted a quote on Facebook referencing the work I do for the communities I represent. The quote must have caused some displeasure for my White peer as she claimed I did not care about the most marginalized or vulnerable people in society. To the contrary, of course, I care about the most marginalized and vulnerable people in society, because as an Indigenous woman that is the definition I am born into. I fight to overcome this definition. On this day, however, my refusal to back down to my peer’s discontent with my position on the issue of sex work did not bode well with her. “Just because you think you are an Aboriginal, don’t think that you can run your mouth,” she wrote. Surprising, but it is nothing new. Still when these very personal and very racist attacks occur, it hurts. The solution to this comment was that I delete all my peers from my Facebook to protect myself from any further comments and gossip. This move ultimately caused me to feel more isolated and alienated from my peers.

When January came around, it was unclear how the term would progress. Admittedly, I did have some anxiety about the upcoming January term. My anxiety stemmed from the idea of being placed in a team with the above peer. Except for one instance in class, I only had to interact with her once. In recalling being the only Mohawk woman at a conference and encountering racism, Monture-Angus maintains, “[f]or what had been done to me that day was violence” (p 20). Even today in law school, the on-going racism and all of its alienation and isolation that I continue to face, I name this as violence too. I plan my day just to avoid this peer. And in case you missed the notice, it is now 2015. Monture-Angus documented her experiences from the 1980s and published them in the 1990s (p 54). Monture-Angus contends that it is vital to change things for the children of today and tomorrow (p 23). I am one of those children that Monture-Angus refers to in her piece. But today is now yesterday and nothing has changed.

A Toronto Star (The Star) article entitled “Discrimination a daily reality for visible minority lawyers in Ontario, report says” highlights an LSUC report investigating the discrimination that legal professionals endure in their work environments. The Star’s chosen title of the article and the title of the LSUC’s report tells us plenty in its choice to use deceitful term to silence the hard issues. While it is only briefly mentioned in both sources, the term racism remains mostly hidden from the discussion of discrimination against racialized legal professionals. Who benefits from this erasure? Certainly, the legal profession does not benefit from this silencing and erasure of an issue that continues to exclude the same people it claims to embrace.

In discussing this same erasure and silencing, Monture-Angus asserts, “In law, we do not discuss racism. We discuss discrimination” (p 37). True to form, even the LSUC Rules of Professional Conduct refers to discrimination but not racism when talking about lawyering responsibilities to our peers, our clients and “any other person or in professional dealings with other licensees or any other person.” To distinguish between the two concepts, discrimination is the visible actions and racism is the invisible thoughts, feelings or beliefs which structure our worlds (Monture, p 40). In calling racism merely discrimination, the regulatory body that governs the legal profession prioritizes one world over another, and thus, it contributes to this silencing of the realities of racism. In this silencing, the legal profession refuses to confront the underlying issues that cause discrimination.

As someone who wants to eventually enter the legal profession, I refuse to remain silent. I do not want my truths erased from these discussions because they are real and they impact both my learning and work environments. Just because a legal institution makes space for Indigenous peoples, specifically Indigenous women, it does not mean that these spaces are safe. Frank and honest discussions about these issues that cause people like me to feel alienated and isolated from these spaces need to take place. This reluctance to address these issues represents a missed opportunity for the legal profession.

In naming my experiences, I talk back to them to overcome my pain and anger. I will never forget these words. And from elementary school to law school, the patterns and experiences remain the same. While calling attention to these events are principal in ending the silence and ultimately ending the alienation, isolation and exclusion racialized and Indigenized peoples endure in the legal profession, Monture-Angus suggests that “[w]e must do more than offer our pain […] we must also offer our visions on what must come” (p 29). I agree and as I offer my pain, I have a vision for the future.

Some of the steps we can take to make this profession inclusive begin the law school classroom. In the short term, I suggest incorporating a day dedicated to culture which includes someone from the Algonquin community to acknowledge the unceded-Algonquin territory the University is built on and acknowledge the history and culture of the Algonquin peoples. Other Canadian law schools can follow suit. Schools can also be pro-active and adopt social media policies to address racist behaviours outside the classroom. In the long term, perhaps the LSUC can stop referring to racism as discrimination and challenge the feelings, beliefs and thoughts embedded within Canadian society. Like Patricia Monture-Angus stated in 1995, we have an obligation to the children of today and tomorrow.

So it has been a while since I talked about my law school adventures. Finals/midterms was… just unexplainable. I wrote some exams and I think I may have disassociated from myself during that entire traumatic experience. I know that the last time I wrote about my law school experiences, it wasn’t exactly the best experience.

Since then, this is what I have been up too…

After finals/midterms, I was having doubts. I really had no idea what I was doing here. I just felt like a zombie: going to school, walking to school, attending classes, doing my readings (and trying to understand what the fuck the ratio was), reviewing readings, studying, going to bed, waking up and doing it all over again. It felt like I wasn’t really learning anything. I just felt like I was not really progressing.

Then over the winter break, I realized that the end goal isn’t always the end goal. What the… did I just say?!? You know, obtaining passing grades (‘cause lord knows if you will ever see an “A” in your first year). The end goal: trying to get that job that hundreds of others are vying for at the same time.

Screw the jobs! Screw the “A”s! Screw law school!

No really, I lost sight to the reasons why I applied to law school in the first place: I want to help my communities that I belong too. Indigenous communities. Sex working (fabulous) communities![1]

The first term of law school really got to me. It really brought me down. I wasn’t happy to be where I was anymore. I was losing sight of the bigger picture.

Then I remember a conversation I had with one of the key people at the pre-law program I attended during this past summer. I had the same doubts there too: did I really want to be here? I felt like I didn’t belong. I cried in her office. It was really brutal. She proceeded to ask me, “What is it that you want to do with law school?” And I told her, “I want to help the communities I belong too.” She help to reframe the problems I was having. Ultimately, my problem was looking at the small picture as opposed to the long-term/larger picture. Law school is only a short (yet both long and hard at the same time) road to accomplishing the larger, long-term goals that I want to accomplish.

If you want to know what law school is like, it’s hard. But I know that I have overcome many more obstacles when I was younger. Like moving away from home for the first time or graduating high school on the honour roll two years sooner than the doctors said I would complete my high school education. When I was 15, I was in a car accident and the doctors said I should expect lower grades and a longer high school education plan—I said screw them! Then actually moving away from home (for real this time) to a new city with no family and no friends.

I know it’s really hard for some of my peers and for some people thinking about applying to law school. But if there is only one thing that I can say it is this: It will be hard but if you made it this far, then I know you can accomplish anything you set your mind too!

This past month has been a real eye opener; I am trying to be a better student. I don’t know if I can try to be better but I mean personally…looking at the bigger picture. I am trying to take steps to visit with professors. They have a lot to share when it comes to their passion for law, learning and teaching. It wasn’t until this past month that I actually started to enjoy going to school.

But in the end, I really wish all Indigenous students could be introduced to an education system and people in that system that care about how well they do in school and that want to see them achieve their goals–kind of like how my law school supports its students. Because the reality is that yes, sometimes you will fail and that yes, sometimes you will feel shitty. Just don’t give up. Everyone is waiting for another Indigenous student to fail and another Indigenous person to end up on the streets and end up in jail. I’ve been there done that and that’s where the rest of the world expects to find you, me… us! They don’t expect us to be in the courtroom unless we are in the prisoner’s box. [2] We can change that. I want to change that.

And yes, you will want to feel like you want to give it all up but…Don’t give up. This is only the beginning. 

[1] Not that I wasn’t doing anything for the past few years 😉
[2] Note: I don’t want to shit on other Indigenous peoples who do have their own struggles. Those problems are real and I understand and appreciate them. I am speaking strictly from my own lived experiences both inside and outside the systems.

This week’s readings examined the concept of possession and its various components, like knowledge and control. The first case, R v Pham, involved an accused being charged under the Controlled Drugs and Substances Act. At the trial level, Pham was convicted for possession of cocaine. However, there was no evidence of actual possession and “the Crown’s case rested on constructive or joint possession” (para 1). Pham appealed to the Ontario Court of Appeal that the verdict was unreasonable, not supported by evidence and that the Trial Judge misinterpreted the evidence. However, the sentence appeal was abandoned, and subsequently, the conviction appeal was dismissed.

When I first read Pham’s case, I recalled three women I met while I was at the Elgin Middlesex Detention Center (EMDC). I was there that weekend for breach of recognizance.

The three women I met included another Indigenous woman who was not from London and two Asian women who recently moved to the area. The Indigenous woman was from northern Ontario. I did not know her but she knew the same people I knew. The two Asian women were arrested for drug-related offences. They were worried about the process and did not know what was going to happen to them. They were arrested at their apartment while watching drugs. However, they were not the main people who were dealing the drugs. They were just watching the drugs.

This experience taught me a lot about how non-white women support each other while in the criminal justice system. The Indigenous woman began to explain to the Asian women what would happen in the courtroom, after the courtroom and potentially after their release. It became clear that through this conversation they were girlfriends of the men who were the main dealers. After reading Pham, I am reminded of this same experience.

When I was reading Pham, I questioned what happened to the other individual who was arrested and charged in relation to the same event. I also felt that something was missing from Pham’s story or felt that parts of her story were exaggerated. For instance, the ability to see drugs being exchanged between closed doors through a peephole seems very improbable. While one can assume that drugs are being sold at the apartment with the amount of foot traffic coming and going, I find it hard to believe one can see drug dealing through a peephole. The witness would have to be constantly watching the peephole when she hears footsteps near her door. The size of these bags and the amount of drugs in these bags are usually so small that a simple handshake will suffice to complete the transfer of drugs.

Additionally, I find there is a gendered issue at play with Pham, like with the two Asian women I met while at EMDC. The two Asian women were only watching the drugs. Yet, they were the ones who were arrested. Some may argue that drug dealing is bad and Pham should be punished for her actions. There is also the argument that many times women who are involved in the drug trade are normally lower echelon drug dealers. Police also happen to target the lower echelons of the drug trade in hopes of obtaining more information. I do not agree with targeting and criminalizing population groups that do not have as much power as the ones at the top all in the name of “protecting” society. This idea to target lower echelons of drug dealers is kind of antithetical to the idea of protecting victims. Though I am not arguing Pham or these two Asian women are victims, the over-criminalization of women seems to be an issue that is subordinate within criminal justice theorizing.

This week we read the R v Hutt decision. Hutt is a Supreme Court of Canada (SCC) decision on appeal from the British Columbia Court of Appeal. At all three levels, there was an acquittal. The SCC affirmed the acquittal and quashed the criminal conviction. The charges were in contravention to section 195.1 of the Criminal Code. This section relates to the act of solicitation.

The issue at the SCC level was determining what constitutes an act of solicitation, which is the criminalized act or the prohibited act in question. The SCC found that the definition of solicitation referred to something more than an “intention to make herself [Hutt] available for prostitution.” The SCC defined “something more” as pressing or persistent. As a result and based on the facts, the SCC ruled that Hutt’s actions did not translate into pressing or persistent actions with an intention to make herself available for prostitution.

For this journal, I want to highlight a major issue with criminalizing prostitution related offences. At this moment, bill C-36 is proceeding through the House of Commons. Bill C-36 is in response to the Bedford decision which was also a SCC decision. The Bedford decision ruled three sections of Canada’s anti-prostitution laws as unconstitutional. However, it did not rule all sections of Canada’s anti-prostitution laws as unconstitutional. Bill C-36, which is entitled The Protection of Communities and Exploited Persons Act, is expected to pass without any changes (the bill passed with only relatively minor changes, not including changes to the communication provision).

One of the most controversial sections within the bill is the communication section. In 1985, the solicitation provisions in the Criminal Code were repealed and replaced with sections criminalizing communication for the purposes of prostitution. This change was meant to capture both clients and sex workers under the same law. However, the results reflected more of a simple change in wording as opposed to capturing both clients and sex worker as sex workers were and are primarily the ones still being targeted under the communication section. However, despite the SCC ruling this section as unconstitutional, the bill reintroduces this same communication law. The previous laws were aimed at preventing public nuisances as well as preventing the exploitation of prostitutes. The bill’s preamble recognizes prostitution as inherently exploitative and inherently violent. As reflected in the preamble, some feminists refer to prostitution as being oppressive and exploitative in nature. It may be argued then that both the previous laws and bill C-36 objectives were to prevent to the exploitation of prostitutes, minus the treatment of prostitution as a nuisance.

The discussions around prostitution remain divided. On one hand, there is one camp of feminists that argue for the complete abolition of prostitution, who sometimes call themselves “abolitionists.” On the other hand, there are some feminists that call for the complete decriminalization of prostitution. The response to the Bedford decision has brought this discussion to the forefront. “Abolitionists” argue that the most vulnerable women in prostitution are the ones who often include the ones who work on the streets, Indigenous and racialized women. These same feminists also argue that no women who enters into prostitution chooses to engage in prostitution freely, especially those who work on the streets. If women who enter into prostitution do not have the agency to choose to freely enter into prostitution, then a contradiction presents itself with this feminist analysis with reference to criminalizing prostitution in efforts to “protect” women in prostitution. This contradiction being that if prostitutes cannot choose (and thereby, not have human agency) to engage in prostitution if prostitution is defined as oppressive and exploitative, then how can prostitutes be committing a criminal act if a criminal act (the act of solicitation/communication) must entail the actus reus, which ultimately recognizes human agency and choice. It is literally repugnant to have such a law to protect women especially as one argues these laws are meant to protect them. Since it is still the same law that polices these same women at greater instances. How is the increased criminalization of women in prostitution “protecting” them?

Referring to Razack’s piece on George, she admitted Indigenous women are over-policed. She failed to acknowledge they are under-protected. In that same journal, I briefly talked about a missing and murdered Indigenous women inquiry. Positioning Hutt within this discussion, we already had a missing women inquiry for women in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside (DTES). Hutt was arrested in Vancouver, assumingly in Vancouver’s DTES. Wally Oppal’s inquiry reports that the criminal regulation and other legal regimes, as well as colonialism and the retrenchment of social programs, contribute to the marginalization of women (page 111). Oppal also reports that this criminal regulation then contributes to the isolation and alienation of women in the sex trade. If people were really concerned about the safety of women, especially the most marginalized and vulnerable, then there at least should have been an outcry over the re-introduction of this same communication law under bill C-36 and there was none. Shameful.

Sherene Razack’s article on R v RDS was an informative piece. I appreciated her discussion of the case and how racialized persons, regardless of their social position, are policed against a white standard. Her spectrum of formalists (colour blindness) versus realists (race as a social factor) is a useful tool in the discussion of racism within our judiciary. As someone who has previously read Razack’s work, this is one of her better pieces. Her work has a tendency to reduce racialized peoples to merely bodies. One piece by Razack that demonstrates this reduction of marginalized persons to merely bodies is the article that was mentioned in class today. In this piece mentioned, Razack explores the murder of Pamela George, an Indigenous woman that was murdered by two white, middle-class men. Pamela George was also a prostitute (I use this term purely as a legal term). I will discuss this piece in parallel with her article on RDS.

In her article about RDS, Razack begins with April Burie’s question to the Supreme Court of Canada, “What does it mean for a Black person to live in a place where racism and the legacies of slavery are routinely and energetically denied?” (p 60, Column A). In both articles, Razack highlights the significance of locating both acts within a historical context. In Gendered Racial Violence and Spatial Justice, Razack outlines that it is the history of Pamela George that is missing from the trial (p 126). One might ask then, what does it mean for an Indigenous person to live in a place where racism and the legacy of colonialism are routinely and categorically denied? The two questions together ask: how does slavery play a role in colonialism and the marginalization of both groups to merely bodies? Keeping this in mind, Razack makes two serious errors. In the RDS article, Razack ignores the history of Black people in Halifax. In the piece about Pamela George, she blatantly ignores the history of Canada’s anti-prostitution laws. I question then who benefits from this erasure of particular histories?

After the enactment of the Indian Act in 1867, there were several sections that were later enacted which included specific reference to prostitution. These sections were changed numerous times and each time, they added more force than the previous. Since these sections were enacted under the Indian Act, they only policed Indigenous peoples. By 1892, the Criminal Code (Code) was enacted and all sections relating to prostitution were removed from the Indian Act and placed in the Code. Razack’s article on Pamela George also places George in a space of prostitution and Aboriginality (p. 125). I would argue, however, that George lived in a space of criminalization both as an Indigenous person and as a woman; George was criminalized for being Indigenous first and for being a woman second.

Within the context of over policing and incarceration, like Razack mentions in her article, positioning Georges as living and working in criminalized spaces is important to the lived realities of Indigenous women in Canadian society. After highlighting that Indigenous women experience over policing and increased incarceration, Razack also calls attention to the fact that many Indigenous women can be both offenders and victim (p 134). If over policing and increased incarceration is the issue, then why are the police not there to protect Indigenous women? More specifically, if police are around to arrest Indigenous women all the time, then the police should at minimum be there to protect them.

The discussion question for today’s classed asked if we should have a national inquiry for missing and murdered Indigenous women (MMIW). I have written extensively on this issue and I have been asked to speak on this issue. Each time, I say no. We know from Razack herself that over-policing is an issue. I know as an Indigenous woman that under-protection is also an issue. Yet, Razack fails to acknowledge this under-protection, while at the same time ignoring the history of Canada’s anti-prostitution law. Ironically, in that same breadth, she also acknowledges there is a particular history is missing from trial (p 126).

Razack both denies and erases an entire colonial history about how Indigenous women’s sexualities have been criminalized. We have to ask ourselves, who benefits from this complete erasure of history? More importantly, who benefits from colonialism? We also have to acknowledge that the history of Indigenous peoples’ and Black peoples’ are intricately interconnected. Yet in her two articles, Razack ignores these important histories.

I critique Razack’s piece in more detail in this post.

Today’s class discussed Justice Cory’s decision in the R. v S. (R.D.) case. This was the plurality decision of the case and as a result, there was no majority. But there were six Justices that did agree that there was no bias. I found this part of the case to be troublesome but not because there is no majority decision.

Cory J.’s decision references the “Hitler test.” It can be said that individuals entering law school will most likely know about the history of Hitler. Cory J. highlights that condemning this particular history is “objectively justifiable” (at para 105). Yes, condemning Hitler is something that ought to be done. But I found it awkward that our own Supreme Court Justices could not come up with a more localized example for the objectively justifiable bias test.

For example, Canada has a history of slavery. More specifically, Halifax has a poor history for its treatment of Black Canadians. Halifax was an entry point for Black slaves. It was also an area where many Black slaves who escaped their owners in the United States came to settle and begin a new life. But what they encountered, as Black people, was not freedom in the sense that white Canadians experienced freedom.

The Black people that settled in the Halifax region built up a community, which they called Africville. The city of Halifax did not extend any infrastructures or supports to Africville. So, there was no sewage system or police and fire department service in Africville. They built and maintained their own institutions, like church and school. Frequently, white Canadians would go to Africville and raid their homes, knowing well that the police would not help the residents of Africville. Then by 1960, four hundred Africville residents were forced to relocate. Under the guise of urban renewal, Africville was demolished. This occurred fifty-four years ago.

I remember reading the discussion questions that were prepared for the first day of class. One of the questions proposed that we think of the unjust laws that existed one hundred years ago. That would begin in the year 1914. World War I was set to begin. By the end of WWI, white Canadian women won the right to vote. Then, one of the same women that fought for white Canadian women right to vote is the same woman that advocated for the forced sterilization of Indigenous women (and also “feeble-minded women”) in the province of Alberta. At the time, “feeble-minded women” may have included poor or marginalized non-Indigenous women. This was in the late 1920s. It was not until the 1960s that Indigenous people, including Indigenous women, won the right to vote. This was also the same era that Halifax officials decided to demolish Africville, effectively displacing four hundred Black Canadians.

The frustration with Cory J.’s decision originates from the complete erasure of Canada’s treatment of marginalized individuals, like Black Canadians. Cory J. acknowledges the history of Hitler Germany. The Hitler test is an established objectively justifiable bias test. Yet, at the same time, Cory J. ignores the history of Halifax, where the R. v S. (R.D.) was originally heard, and how Halifax has historically treated Black Canadians. It is particularly telling that our own Supreme Court Justices acknowledge the history of over there, Hitler Germany, but not here, Halifax, Canada. Racism is embedded within and inherent to Canadian institutions. Canada is built on protecting and maintaining its whiteness which is implicit and explicit in our (in)justice systems.

I am very thankful for my experiences that I have encountered in law school this far, and it is barely a month into this multi-year journey. On this particular evening, I attended the special guest lecture by William Mullins-Johnson, who talked about his experiences within the criminal justice system as a wrongfully convicted person. I did not know Mullins-Johnson before this presentation. But I do recall reading about his case while I was living in London, Ontario.

When I first read about his case, there were no details about the history of his case. I remember reading an article in the London Free Press and it briefly mentioned Mullins-Johnson. To me, at the time, this was just another news article and I went on to read the next news article. I did not think for a moment about those people who were affected by Dr. Charles Smith’s extremely flawed pathology reports. But the moment Mullins-Johnson said he was from Sault Ste. Marie and from an Aboriginal background, my heart sunk to my stomach. When I lived in Sault Ste. Marie, I do not remember his case in detail. I would have only been about seven or eight years old.

Mullins-Johnson presentation represents something that I find is lacking within the cases that I read. For instance, the cases that I have read so far in each of my classes focus on the facts relevant to the issues, for obvious reasons. However, to build upon the articles I read for class on September 9, the conventional legal education framework, which relies on the case law, may erase the person and the story behind the cases. I almost did not attend the Mullins-Johnson presentation because I felt I did not have enough time. I am glad I did set some time to attend his presentation.

I did not know too much about the presentation before attending. I think if I would have been aware of the fact that the presenter was from Sault Ste. Marie, I may not have attended. There is a history I left behind in Sault Ste. Marie that I sometimes do not wish to return too. However, attending the presentation reminded me that my decision to apply to law school is not about me. My decision to enter law school is much larger than personal interests or individual desires. My decision to enter into law school is about helping other Indigenous persons and Indigenous communities. Mullins-Johnson’s presentation reminded me of this decision.

At the end of the presentation, I was able to ask Mullins-Johnson a question. I asked him about his opinion on the restorative justice approach within the criminal justice system. As an Indigenous woman who has experience with this approach, I tend to find the restorative justice approach goes unquestioned while inadvertently (or perhaps purposively) maintaining the status quo. Almost everyone praises this approach without questioning the contradictions within it. Indigenous offenders have to plead guilty before they can access cultural and personal supports and these supports only readily available while in prison. These cultural and personal supports should be in place before it is too late—once the crime is committed and once the Indigenous person pleads guilty. When speaking about the history of residential schools and the Aboriginal prison population, a former mentor of mine said, “It [residential schools] was an institution that took away our culture and it [prisons] is an institution that is giving it back.” Prison is the new residential school.

Despite being triggered during his lecture, Mullins-Johnson was a breath of fresh for me. It was validating to hear another Indigenous person, especially one from my own community, talk about the realities of the prison system in Canada and the racism within the system. I have witnessed and experienced the systemic and institutional racism he shared with my peers. It is nice (sadly) when I do not have to be the only Indigenous person to bring up these realities. Growing up with these experiences is sometimes disheartening. One almost wants to give up when one begins to internalize the messages these systems and institutions are sending: the problem is you, not them. But this law school journey is not about me. As I said earlier, it is much larger than that; it is about helping others. I am thankful for being able to attend Mullins-Johnson’s presentation and to be able to attend law school.

The following posts will feature a journal assignment that I finished for my first-term, first-year criminal law class. Some journals may have been edited to be more suitable for a blog post and/or for my readers. The readings are informed by experiences as an Indigenous woman (obvs) in a Canadian law school.

The introductory readings for this class conversed with each other in a unique way. First, Shin Imai’s article stressed the importance of working with community members in a collaborative method. Imai argued that this collaborative method could be attained through “unteaching” or undoing the lessons taught in traditional legal education frameworks. Second, Duncan Kennedy’s article explored the ways customary law school classrooms are manifestly and latently organized to produce a specific hierarchal outcome, like a sort of socialization. Third and final, the speech by the Right Honourable David Johnson explored a “new definition of the lawyer as professional.” From my perspective, these articles conversed to a particular type of law student, and as an Indigenous woman in law school, I did not feel like these articles spoke to me. Rather, I felt these articles spoke to a particular type of law student.

The concept of collaborative methods, which Imai emphasizes in his article, is not new to me. This idea of working together to address community needs is something that I recall vividly while growing up in Northern Ontario and also while living and working in Northern Alberta. When I was reading this article, I found myself agreeing with everything that Imai was saying. Yet, I felt like it did not speak to me because a community-based and collaborative way of living within Indigenous communities is necessary for survival. I have experienced this method prior to law school.

I saw this necessity to work together while living and working in Northern Alberta as well as growing up in Northern Ontario. Even though I did not feel like this article spoke to me, it did remind me of the importance of working with communities and community members to achieve objectives specific to communities. I learned the importance of this lesson growing up in my own community who was often a host community to flood evacuees from more northern communities. As a child, I saw my mother, cousins and aunts give up their time to cook food for evacuees and sometimes open their own home when no hotels were available.

When I lived and worked in Northern Alberta, the community experienced both a flood and an oil spill in less than a three-month span. In order to survive these events, it was vital that the community worked together. I also witnessed community members share the game they hunted. Sharing resources like traditional meat is essential in Northern Alberta as the cost of regular (westernized) food is high and the cost of healthy (westernized) foods are even higher. In the end, through my experiences I have learned that our individual interests are less significant than the interests of the overall community when it comes to solving problems that affect everyone. The article did not speak to me but it reminded me of the importance of community-based and collaborative methods, or methods that I would correctly call Indigenous methods. After reading Kennedy’s article, I felt it built upon Imai’s work.

Comparatively, the pieces spoke to law students as each wrote from their own experiences either as a student, professor or legal scholar. Kennedy’s piece, however, went a step further by questioning the larger systems surrounding legal education. Additionally, while Imai’s piece talks about unteaching, Kennedy’s piece, arguably, emphasizes the need to unlearn conventional methods of both teaching and learning. Unteaching, for Imai, requires modifying how knowledge is gained and the need to change class hierarchies. Still, I believe unteaching is only achievable through unlearning. Kennedy describes how students reify legal education hierarchies which remain unquestioned once they have graduated and started their careers. For me, this article reminded me of the importance of critically assessing institutions, how they inform each other and how they maintain other systems like race, gender or class.

The last article by Hon. Johnson is the most unsettling article of the three. As an Indigenous woman, I do not identify with being Canadian. History tells me that I am not supposed to be here. Canadian policy even stated that Indigenous people could not attain a post-secondary education unless they gave up their Indian status. Policy even stated that Indigenous people could not hire lawyers. Did they hope that we would not become lawyers too? Additionally, Hon. Johnson’s comments about gender disparity becoming a thing of the past are false. We have to ask ourselves, what kind of women are being accepted into law school, graduating law school, being hired by law firms or being hired by law schools. As a result, this was the piece that I felt least connected too, both as an Indigenous person and as a woman.

The readings for this class caused me to reflect on why I applied to law school. At one pre-law school presentation, I remember an Indigenous peer articulating the importance for Indigenous offenders in the criminal justice system to have Indigenous representation. I think it is dangerous to tell future Indigenous lawyers this is something we have to look forward too. We can play other roles too. As future lawyers, we need to use our knowledge and expertise as Indigenous peoples to hopefully change the systems, like the criminal justice system, so that we do not have to look forward to just representing Indigenous offenders. As an Indigenous woman, I feel we are here to do something more.