The reality of Black women in law

This year marks 10 years since the release of the Law Society’s report on challenges faced by racialized licensees. At the time the report was launched, I was an articling student just beginning my journey in the legal profession. I remember engaging with its findings as someone trying to understand my place within the profession.

A decade later, I return to it not only as a lawyer, but as someone who has navigated, witnessed, and supported others through many of the very issues the report sought to name. What is striking is not only the significance of the report at the time of its release, but the extent to which these conversations remain necessary.

The report set out 13 recommendations aimed at addressing systemic barriers faced by racialized licensees. In the years since, there have been important developments, including the introduction of the now-standard one-hour minimum of professionalism accredited programming focused on equity, diversity, and inclusion each year.

In reflecting on the report, I want to be intentional about where I focus my attention. While the report speaks broadly to the experiences of racialized licensees, there is a need to more explicitly centre the experiences of Black women within the profession. This is not to suggest that these experiences exist in isolation, but rather to recognize that they are distinct and often under-examined.

The term misogynoir coined by Dr. Moya Bailey captures the specific form of discrimination that Black women experience, shaped by the intersection of anti-Black racism and sexism. In the Canadian legal context, misogynoir is often normalized and difficult to name. It can show up in questions about competence, in assumptions about tone or professionalism, in the policing of their presence in courtrooms and courthouses, and in the heightened scrutiny applied to decision-making and advocacy. These experiences are systemic and reflect broader patterns about whose knowledge is recognized, whose perspectives are valued, and whose presence is seen as legitimate within legal spaces.

The case involving Justice Corrine Sparks remains a powerful and instructive example. In R. v. S. (R.D.), comments that drew on social context were interpreted as evidence of bias, leading to findings of a reasonable apprehension of bias. What is often lost in discussions about the case is the broader implication: when a Black woman names the realities of anti-Black racism, that perspective is not always received as informed or grounded, but rather as partial. This is not simply a historical example but reflects ongoing dynamics within the profession, where Black women continue to navigate an additional layer of scrutiny that others do not.

Importantly, these dynamics must be understood through an intersectional lens. The Ontario Human Rights Commission defines intersectional discrimination as arising from the interaction of multiple protected grounds under Ontario’s Human Rights Code, producing unique and compounded forms of disadvantage. Where two or more grounds are engaged, the experience is qualitatively different and often more severe.

For Black women, this means that the experience of discrimination cannot be fully understood by looking at race or sex in isolation. It is the interaction between these identities, in addition to disability, creed, sexual orientation, gender identity and expression, or record of offence (in the employment context), that shapes how discrimination is experienced within the profession.

This context is particularly important as we situate these reflections within Black History Month, Women’s History Month, and Sexual Assault Awareness Month, which call on us to reflect on histories and realities of exclusion and resistance. When considered together, they underscore the importance of understanding how different forms of marginalization intersect in professional and legal spaces that are often framed as neutral. The significance of the racialized licensee report, then, is not simply that it identified inequities. It is that they were named within a profession that has historically resisted such acknowledgment.

This is especially relevant as the profession engages in ongoing discussions about modernizing the licensing process and enhanced reporting. These conversations are often framed in terms of fairness, access, and public confidence. But without an intersectional analysis, there is a risk that changes in the profession will replicate existing inequities.

Professional responsibility plays a critical role in this work. Rule 6.3.1 of the Law Society of Ontario’s rules of professional conduct makes clear that lawyers have a special responsibility to respect human rights laws in force in the province and to honour the obligation not to discriminate in both professional employment and in their dealings with others. This responsibility extends beyond individual interactions and speaks to how we understand our role within the profession and the broader legal system.

Similarly, our obligations relating to competence and the provision of quality of service require us to understand the social context in which law is practiced. If these obligations are taken seriously, they have the potential to move us beyond performative commitments toward meaningful, structural change because the work of transforming the profession requires nothing less.