By Carina Cutillo
I went into this summer hoping to reconnect to the law. To excite myself about being a lawyer and remind me why I chose this path. The first year of law school was difficult. I don’t think you’d meet a person that says otherwise, and if you do, all power to them. While first year is a foundational experience that prepares you to develop a legal mindset, I still found myself disconnected from the hopes and goals that lead me to law school. I started to fear the limitations of being a lawyer. My fears grew around the limitations of the law itself.
I went into this summer disillusioned by the infringements we’ve seen around the world. As the genocide in Palestine nears its 23rd month, escalating beyond a critical stage, I still lack hope in the rule of law. It’s hard not to when some exist so far above the law. Untouchable.
When I first for the offer to join as an intern at Lawyers for Human Rights (LHR) I was overjoyed. With South Africa’s rich history of anti-apartheid activism, carrying over into their challenge of the genocide in Palestine today, I couldn’t have envisioned a richer ecosystem in which to grow as an advocate.
Exploring the history of the anti-apartheid movement was incredible. Far beyond the history of Mandela, I delved into the daily struggles and impacts of the backward system. By far the biggest privilege was having conversations with those who lived under apartheid, fighting against the systems of oppression.
While the fall of apartheid was a revolutionary shift in South African society, I would be wrong to paint South Africa as a fair, equal, and just society today. Its “progressive” Constitution drafted in 1994 illuminates the divide between law and reality, as South Africa remains one of the most unequal societies in the world. Unsurprisingly these inequalities fall sharply along intersections of race and gender. A statistic that stuck with me being that 64% of Black South Africans live in poverty.1 While the statistics are grim, the culture of resistance in South Africa is rife. Through its inequality, South Africa breeds an activism that is powerful and inevitable.
In my time at Lawyers for Human Rights, I learned what kind of lawyer I want to be. Speaking to Sharon Ekambaram, a staunch activist for Human Rights, with decades of experience, I learned her perspective on advocacy. She reinforced that there is no advocacy without activism. Law, at its best, is a tool of activism, and there is no substitute for it. This is a lesson I will carry with me for life, guiding not only my career, but my life in general. It also carries a message on privilege: The ability to remain silent, to exist comfortably within the status quo can only mean that you belong to the privileged class. To be an activist, and further an activist advocate, requires you to use this privilege.
It was also Sharon who invited me to my first rally in Johannesburg. Outside of Glencore stood several LHR workers, joined by social organizations and members of the public. It was a reminder that legal work doesn’t happen in a vacuum, and rather it is inseparable from movements, communities, and people.
At LHR, I learned that doing human rights work is not just about the lawyer you are, but about the person you are. My colleagues embodied this daily and inspired me in more ways than I could have imagined.
Nyeleti, one of the most dedicated and capable people I know, showed me the value of passion, perseverance, and ultimately trust in yourself. Tania, who carried out every task with such poise, taught me the power of composure. Ntokozo who brought personality and warmth in her work, taught me that your charm and individuality is what makes your success.
Last, but certainly not least, our leader Nabeelah. She not only cares for us as a team, and as individuals. She epitomizes people-centered work, always pushing us to recenter the perspective of our clients. Over time, many professionals grow hardened by repeated cases, some successful, others not. Seeing Nabeelah, with decades of experience, an incredible amount of knowledge, still holding on to her humility and desire to learn from those she serves. That, to me, is extraordinary.
I would be remiss not to mention the people I spent the most time with: my fellow McGill students Faith Dehghan and Tuviere Okome. While only a year above me in school, they both carry a depth of knowledge and character that I strive towards. Faith is one of the most kind-hearted and understanding people I have ever met. She embodies her values in every interaction, offering a level of empathy rare among people. Tuviere is radiant, wise, and truly unique. She is true to herself always and inspires me to be the same. There are many more people that have had a lasting impact on me throughout this journey, and unfortunately I don’t think space will allow me to acknowledge them all.
Looking forward to the next year of school is bittersweet. I am excited to be back with my newfound knowledge and passion. I’m excited to grow and strive to be increasingly like those that inspired me these past months. But on the other hand, I think I could have stayed inspired at LHR for a lifetime.
- See the 2017/2018 report compiled by the South African Human Rights Commission (SAHRC), ↩︎