Law360 Canada (October 28, 2026, 3:24 PM EDT) --
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| Janvi Pathak |
As I entered the Law Society of Ontario’s Convocation Hall for the 12th Annual International Wrongful Conviction Day evening program, I was immediately struck by its grandeur. The polished wooden floors, towering bookshelves lined with legal texts and magnificent glass windows seemed to embody the prestige of the legal profession. I even caught myself wondering whether pushing on one of the books might reveal a secret passageway.
Yet, as the evening unfolded, the opulence of the room gradually faded into the background, eclipsed by the voices, stories and raw emotions of the exonerees before us. I did not know it then, but that evening would challenge not only how I understood justice, but how I understood my own responsibility in its pursuit.
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Before that evening, I understood wrongful convictions largely through words on a page. Yet no textbook could have prepared me for the experience of sitting in a room with those who had lived through such profound injustice. Listening to Jennifer Gaskin and Tim Rees, the two newest exonerees supported by Innocence Canada, brought an entirely different dimension to what I thought I understood.
Jennifer spoke of being accused of killing her own child and the devastating separation from her other children that followed. Tim spent 23 years behind bars for a crime he did not commit. How does one begin to quantify such losses? How do you restore the years, relationships and ordinary moments of life that were taken away?
A conviction may be overturned, and a name may be cleared, but the passage of time cannot be reversed. Beyond these devastating losses, I found myself contemplating the profound isolation of knowing one’s innocence while living in a society convinced otherwise. Imagine the weight of having your identity defined by an act you did not commit, simply because society placed its trust in a system presumed to have gotten it right.
Having studied criminology and socio-legal studies before entering law school, I was no stranger to the imperfections of our criminal justice system. I did not enter the legal profession with starry-eyed idealism, nor did I believe that the administration of law was necessarily synonymous with the pursuit of justice. Yet, I came to appreciate that there is a profound difference between understanding injustice intellectually and being confronted by those who have endured it.
Too often, the law is discussed in the abstract, reduced to legal principles, procedural rules and judicial decisions, while the human lives at its centre become secondary. Sitting among the exonerees and their families reminded me that behind every case citation is a person whose life extends far beyond the pages of a judgment. It is an experience I believe every aspiring lawyer, particularly those entering criminal practice, should have.
As I navigate my placement at Lockyer Zaduk Zeeh and look toward my future in this field, I am increasingly conscious of the responsibility that accompanies the privilege of practising law. I entered this profession wanting to stand beside individuals confronting the formidable power of the state, particularly those for whom the legal system is unfamiliar and intimidating.
The presumption of innocence, the burden of proof and the right to make full answer and defence are not merely legal doctrines to be recited in courtrooms. They are safeguards rooted in the recognition that every person, regardless of guilt or innocence, is deserving of human dignity.
Through the Innocence Canada event, I realized advocacy begins with the willingness to genuinely listen, to see beyond the allegations, and to recognize the person who exists independently of the accusations against them.
It is easy to become disillusioned with the justice system, but it takes a certain strength to continue fighting once the illusion has worn off. The work of Innocence Canada reminds us that even the most deeply entrenched injustices can be challenged. Much like a physician who continues to care for a patient despite an uncertain prognosis, a lawyer’s duty to advocate does not disappear simply because the harm cannot be entirely undone.
For those who have been wrongfully convicted, no judicial declaration can restore the years lost, the relationships fractured or the moments that can never be relived. Yet, there is profound dignity in having one’s innocence recognized, in reclaiming one’s name and in finally being heard by a society that once refused to listen.
As I embark on my own legal career, I hope never to lose sight of the humanity behind every case file, nor the responsibility that comes with possessing the knowledge and privilege to make a difference. Perhaps justice is not found in the belief that our institutions are infallible, but in our willingness to confront their failures and continue striving to make them better.
Janvi Pathak is a law student at Lakehead University’s Bora Laskin Faculty of Law, currently completing her integrated practice curriculum placement at Lockyer Zaduk Zeeh in Toronto. Her legal interests include criminal defence and civil litigation involving state accountability. She holds a bachelor of arts from the University of Toronto, where she double-majored in criminology and sociology.
The opinions expressed are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views of the author’s firm, its clients, Law360 Canada, LexisNexis Canada or any of its or their respective affiliates. This article is for general information purposes and is not intended to be and should not be taken as legal advice.
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