By Eunice Yong
It’s around 6:45 a.m. when the birds outside my window begin their morning songs. In Toronto’s Annex, their sweet melody quickly fades beneath the revving of engines and impatient horns—a steady hum of urban urgency. Through the delicate walls of my apartment, I catch the rhythms of life stirring: a soft “good luck today,” keychains jingling against children’s backpacks, a rushed “I love you” shouted over a shoulder. The city is awake—and already moving.
And so am I.
I reach for my phone, silence the alarm, brush my teeth, drink water, prepare my breakfast and coffee. I log on, greet my colleagues, and begin the day’s work. That week, I was assigned files involving sections 2 and 3 of the Charter, assessing whether they were matters in which the CCLA could—and had the capacity to—intervene. While I was reading through them, writing memos and drafting research summaries, I could not help but feel the distance between the gravity of the work and the quiet comfort of my home office.
What does it really mean to advocate for the rights of others—from behind a screen? To engage with injustice from a place of relative security? At times, the experience felt surreal—almost dissonant. And yet, through it all, one thing became clear: the Canadian Civil Liberties Association is a force.
Despite its modest size, CCLA’s presence is large. They intervene in high-stakes cases, challenge unjust laws, and have built a remarkable track record of defending fundamental rights within our democratic society. Their work is purposeful, strategic, and often successful. But more than that, it is deeply human. The lawyers I have met carry themselves with a sense of mission that is both inspiring and humbling. They speak and act with a clarity of conviction—grounded not in ego, but in service to others.
I hope to emulate that one day.
For now, I am still figuring it out. I often wonder whether my contributions are truly making a difference. There is a part of me that longs for immediate impact—for clear signs that what I’m doing matters. But I am learning that advocacy does not always come in the form of grand gestures or courtroom wins. Sometimes, it’s quiet: a well-researched memo, a thoughtful question, a small step in the right direction. I know this in theory, but in my heart, I still wrestle with it.
I am also learning to accept the fatigue that comes with this work. Human rights advocacy can be exhausting. At times, the issues feel overwhelming or far away. But in those moments, I return to what I have seen at CCLA: a team of people who show up, again and again, because they believe that civil liberties are worth fighting for. Their example reminds me that purpose does not come all at once—it’s built slowly, through daily choices to engage, to care, and to persist.
And so I continue—hopeful, humbled, and grateful to be part of something larger than myself.
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“Polar Night” by Agust D (Suga) is a song I’ve found myself reflecting on often during my time in the city. It captures the thoughts that have lingered in my mind since the beginning of this summer in a ways that I can’t articulate myself. Found a video with English lyrics… Have a listen :3