When I was 16, I borrowed a friend’s car. After a long day (partly due to an inaccurate fuel gauge) I returned the car low on gas and dirtier than I got it. I felt bad. I decided then that if someone trusted me enough to let me borrow something, I’d return it in as good or better shape. This became a maxim in my life, and it’s something I carried with me when I became a lawyer.
As lawyers, we borrow the justice system for our short time in the profession. We take an oath not to pervert the law, to uphold the system, and to preserve it for the next generation. Our goal is not to take advantage of it but to improve it where we can, to leave it in good shape for those who come after. In my own career, I promised myself that I would do this. In my own corner of the justice system, I’ve tried to push back against injustice, to stand up for those whose freedoms were threatened by government overreach. I’ve worked to defend the role of the courts in keeping the state from intruding on the basic freedoms that make us human.
But I’ve seen some troubling patterns develop over time. One of these is what I call the “tribunalization” of justice, where meaningful court checks on the government have been undermined by moving matters to government in-house administrative tribunals, especially in cases involving drivers. Important protections to ensure the fairness of evidence, particularly when a police officer’s word stands against that of an ordinary citizen, have eroded. I was part of a group of lawyers that fought back. We made some progress, but the government’s agenda ultimately prevailed because they are clever, and they get to write the law. The system is harmed in my view, and it was disappointing not to be able to preserve it in better shape. Along the way, I made enemies, which happens if you speak out. But I chose to stand up because, when I see injustice, I feel compelled to push back, even if it means taking risks.
The justice system has many flaws, and those who work in it know this. One of the most dangerous limits we now face, however, is a restriction on our freedom to point out these problems. As lawyers, we’re no longer free to criticize the system. This isn’t a matter of tradition; it’s the result of legislation. Traditionally, we were expected to respect the system, yes, but we were also free to call out its weaknesses. Now, this criticism is off-limits, which is a serious issue, especially when it’s the people working in the justice system who see its problems most clearly. Lawyers already face significant restrictions on their freedom of speech, including speech to point out problems with the government’s view of the processes in the justice system.
This brings me to the current threat to our profession. The government has taken steps to remove the independence of the bar and take over regulation of the legal profession. They’ve already passed legislation to allow it, and it’s just waiting to be activated by regulation. A new government is in place, and the gears are turning. Lawyers will soon face direct oversight from the government, which is deeply concerning.
Every day in my work, I deal with government tribunals and prosecutors. I see the general tendency to side with authority, to align with the police as the representatives of state power. Our role as lawyers is to question this authority and hold it accountable. We are supposed to be the counterbalance. If we lose our independence, our ability to perform this role is gutted. The chilling effect and the damage it will cause may be difficult to establish in evidence, but it exists and a robust recognition by the bar and the courts is a necessity.
This isn’t about resisting necessary changes or sensible improvements. Our profession should be open to evolution, and there are many areas that could be better. But the government’s takeover of the legal profession isn’t improvement; it’s a complete transformation with far-reaching consequences. This isn’t a hypothetical concern—when lawyers think twice about challenging the government because of potential retribution, it will have an immediate, chilling effect on justice.
Edmund Burke warned about the risks of revolution. What he was saying was that society, even in its imperfect form, is something we’ve cobbled together over generations. It’s far from flawless, but if we tear it apart for some ideal of perfection, we risk ending up with something fundamentally inhumane. Evolution is slow and complex, but it works. The government’s decision to remove the bar’s independence is a revolutionary change, not an evolutionary one. The long-term implications are clear: the government employs more lawyers than any other organization, and when it has the power to regulate and discipline lawyer who oppose them, the legal profession’s role in preserving freedom is in serious jeopardy.
This is why I decided to run for bencher. I want to preserve the profession, to ensure that it remains as strong as it was when I was given the privilege of borrowing it. I worry that, if we allow this change to go through improperly challenged or unchallenged, we won’t return the profession to the next generation in as good a shape as we received it.