Access to Justice Delayed
It was a sunny day in late November of 2023.
It had been two years since I was forced to drop out of the Lincoln Alexander School of Law. I met up with Abby O’Brien, a CTV News reporter, at Toronto Metropolitan University’s (TMU) campus. We were there to talk about my lawsuit against TMU, systemic anti-Black racism, and the intricacies of racial exclusion in Canadian legal education.
The story began back in 2018 when there were spirited debates amongst the legal establishment about TMU’s desire to open a law school. Did Toronto need another law school? Was the employment market prepared for hundreds of new graduates? With the two existing law schools — Osgoode Hall Law School and the University of Toronto Faculty of Law — being arguably the two most elite and prestigious law schools in the nation, when Lincoln Alexander launched in 2020 at TMU, it needed to stand out.
I’m a Black man with a unique life story — a first-generation Canadian citizen from humble origins, I spent my teenage years in the United States. In my early 20’s, I began selling pot, a bad decision that changed everything for me. When I got caught in 2010, I pleaded guilty, did my time and figured I had paid my debt to society. If the story ended there, it wouldn’t be that remarkable. But then, I was picked up by ICE. America didn’t want me anymore. I spent weeks in an ICE detention centre until I realized my ticket to freedom was to be deported back to Canada. So on my 45th day in the ICE detention centre, I was escorted to the Peace Bridge in Buffalo. I was free but with only a suitcase stuffed with some clothing, less than $200 in my pocket, and my whole life left behind, it didn’t feel like it.
When I was accepted into the inaugural year of TMU’s Lincoln Alexander School of Law 10 years later, I considered it a well-earned fresh start. How great! An establishment looked at me as I was, and said not only, ‘We’ll take you,’ but, ‘We want you,’ it changed things for me, as it does for all of us. I’d long had an interest in law, forged in the library at the ICE detention centre — and I knew my way around the courts, having spent hundreds of hours at the Ontario Superior Court of Justice University Avenue courthouse, observing cases.
TMU had set out to be a “different type of law school” — a law school of the people, committed to social justice. I didn’t create the narrative about TMU building a different type of law school, the law school did — and happily enlisted me, their star applicant, along for what they promised would be a great ride. I wrote a Toronto Life article — for which I won a gold at the National Magazine Awards in 2020 — about my past, and future in law school. “I couldn’t believe it. I was ecstatic,” I wrote about getting TMU’s acceptance.
My time in law school didn’t go as planned, however. In a civil lawsuit, I’m seeking $300,000 in damages from TMU. The lawsuit alleges that the institution convinced me to attend on ‘broken’ financial promises and used my likeness for commercial gain, among other things. In short, they accepted me and bragged about it, but then misled me, intentionally, about the lack of available funding. All the while profiting off my persona. With tuition and fees at around $23,000 and the realities of rent and life in Toronto, it’s inconceivable that anyone like me could afford to attend. Without the law school’s help, that is.
She had taken about three or four shots when a man standing to my left began to yell. At first, I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then he started hitting the N’s, G’s and hard R’s. I knew immediately what was happening — I was accustomed to this type of aggression. I ran through the usual thought process.
Who was he? Was I in danger? I landed where I usually did — resigned acceptance. “Oh, so you don’t like Black people?” I politely asked the man. I didn’t get an answer. As we walked away, he followed us for about a block and continued screaming “NIGGER!” at me. “So, where were we? Anti-Black racism?” I asked Abby, as we continued the interview.
What happened that day is one obvious example of how anti-Black racism rears its ugly head. But it has been woven into the fabric of my life — when I was criminalized for selling a substance that is now considered morally okay and other people (mostly white, including some prominent figures in law enforcement) are now getting fabulously wealthy from it. Or when I accepted a position at a law school based in part on my life experience, which fit with the university’s promise of training a “different type” of lawyer — but then was cast aside when I required compassion and support.
I think, if you asked any Black Canadian, they would be able to quickly tell you their own stories. To say I’m used to being treated as “less than” feels glib. As if I should just accept a life of anti-Black racism, both blatant and systemic.
What must have come across as aloofness to Abby or any bystanders that day is a lifetime’s worth of armour built up and called upon when needed. As I continue to fight my way into the legal profession, I hope I have to reach for that armour less often. I have my doubts.
