By Robert Cribb and Emma Jarratt
After a three-decade career as a lawyer in Toronto, there isn’t much that intimidates Martha McCarthy.
But ask her about the climate of sexual harassment among colleagues in her profession and she chooses her words carefully.
“I’m not afraid of very much but I’m kind of afraid of talking honestly. There’s so much fear around coming out about these issues, and, if one does that, what is the retaliation?” says McCarthy.
McCarthy was first called to the bar in 1991. Before the end of her year as an articling student, she had already endured comments about her appearance from senior lawyers and judges. It hasn’t stopped since, she says.
“I personally experienced (sexual harassment) in my professional life at the hands of judges, colleagues and clients at least once a week from the time I was called to the bar until today.”
Dozens of female lawyers who spoke with reporters say they believe a culture of sexual impropriety flourishes thanks to entrenched power imbalances.
“This is not a big firm versus little firm issue. It is a law issue. There is an arrogance in the profession. And there hasn’t been a reckoning,” says Alexi Wood, a civil litigator in Toronto.
“Law has not had its Me Too time.”
Women outnumber men as law school graduates, but they are leaving law firms — and the profession altogether — at a troubling rate, with many citing “discrimination” and “harassment” as reasons.
This exodus points to a dark underside of an industry defined by a professional code of integrity, good character and public trust. Ontario’s law society has received hundreds of anonymous complaints by legal professionals about their colleagues alleging discrimination and harassment.
Few go through with formal complaints because of fear of retaliation. Lawyers who sound an alarm often face repercussions at work or stunted career trajectories.
Lawyers play a vital role in society. They are supposed to help defend our rights, keep our money safe, guard our secrets and oversee our estates when we die, among other responsibilities.
With that unique responsibility and privilege comes a heightened expectation of trust.
“For a profession engaged … in dealing with justice and rights and values … you say to yourself, ‘but you guys should know better,’ ” says Marie Henein, a 30-year career criminal defence lawyer in Toronto.
“We should know better.”
‘I saw him as a mentor’
Jenny was living out her childhood dream as an articling student at a boutique downtown Toronto firm.
Just four years later, she was so disillusioned with her profession that she left it.
Jenny, whose real name is being withheld at her request based on fear of retaliation, says a partner at the firm she joined in 2018 invited her to industry mixers and initiated a romantic relationship with her. Soon, he asked her to move in with him but demanded their relationship be kept secret. He soon became psychologically and verbally abusive, Jenny alleges.
She felt trapped. He was a young but decorated criminal lawyer. She worried about how to extricate herself given his influence on her reputation and career.
“I saw him as a mentor,” Jenny said. “He’s got the upper hand from beginning to end. I admired and respected him and the profession so much that I just wanted to feel like I was good enough and accepted. But all I felt was vulnerable.”
The Star/IJB is not disclosing the name of Jenny’s former colleague and boyfriend to protect her privacy. He declined multiple requests for an interview.
His lawyer, Peter Downard, said, “With respect to the inference that [my client] engaged in an inappropriate relationship while his partner was completing her articles under the supervision of another lawyer in his firm … this was a personal and consensual relationship between two adults.”
Jenny was presented with a quandary that daunts many women in the law profession who are considering speaking out about the improper behaviour of a male colleague.
“There’s a real fear that if people come forward and complain that they’ll be labelled as troublemakers. That is distinctive in law because of the power imbalance, this culture of competition and this culture of never showing weakness,” says Fay Faraday, who serves as lead lawyer for the Law Society of Ontario’s Discrimination and Harassment Counsel (DHC).
Discrimination, harassment driving women from law firms
The DHC was created in 1999 as a result of growing concerns about women leaving law in troubling numbers, “often in response to discrimination and harassment within the profession,” says Faraday.
That problem persists today.
In 2021, a Law Society of Ontario survey found women are leaving private practice at a significant rate for reasons that include “work-life balance,” “poor fit” and “discrimination/harassment,” reads the report. In many cases they move from law firms to corporations, governments and non-profits, into jobs known as “in-house counsel.”
Many of those are leaving the profession altogether.
A 2022 Law Society report found women were leaving law at a higher rate than men — a pattern that has not “changed in three decades” due to “deep and stable institutional factors.” Women are also much less likely than men to become firm partners.
The DHC provides confidential assistance to anyone who has experienced harassment or discrimination of any kind by a member of the legal field.
Over the last two decades, the office logged more than 1,200 complaints, about half from the public and the other half from within the profession, according to anonymized statistical reports the DHC publishes twice annually.
And the vast majority of women who contacted the DHC since 2017 have been racialized women or those with disabilities, says Faraday.
Sexual discrimination and harassment were the most common reasons for complaint.
“For almost every six month period that I’ve been in the program, sex and sexual harassment combined are the top, the most frequent, category,” says Faraday.
“Systemic sex discrimination is present in a pervasive way in the legal profession … The tone is overwhelmingly one of fear and a sense of betrayal. I hear deep concern of that within the legal profession, which, of all professions, should be adhering to the law.”
‘I understand the silence, I understand the fear’
Reporters sought interviews with representatives of 13 Law Societies in Canada for insight into sexual impropriety complaints. None agreed to an interview, but some provided near-identical emailed statements that said they take complaints seriously and regulatory action where appropriate.
Star/IJB reporters also reached out to the seven largest law firms in Toronto seeking information about their processes for handling complaints of sexual impropriety. Six firms did not respond at all, while Blake, Cassels and Graydon wrote, “Blakes has policies and expectations about the professional and respectful behaviour of all Firm members. We cannot speak to the experience of other firms or of the industry as a whole.”
Henein, a veteran Toronto criminal lawyer, says she is frequently approached by female colleagues asking for advice on how to navigate issues ranging from inappropriate comments to sexist jokes to being sidelined.
Most female lawyers decide not to go public with formal complaints, she says.
“I understand the silence, I understand the fear. When you come forward, it’s not just about the law, it’s not the prospect of ‘maybe I don’t get a gig.’ It’s the prospect of, ‘I’ve got to go to work and sit in the boardroom with the guy I’ve just accused,’” she says. “It’s incredibly intimidating.”
Even women at the most senior ranks of law say they still feel vulnerable.
“I have colleagues that are male … who speak to me, regularly, like I’m a child to be bossed around with immense disrespect,” says McCarthy. “But I never fought back.”
For Julie Hannaford, a 35-year career family law litigator in Toronto and the founder of her own firm, the fear doesn’t stem from what the individual could do to her. “I’m afraid of what all of their colleagues and their army will do to me.”
Sexual misconduct thrives with power imbalances
Jenny chose not to take formal action, believing it would imperil her future in law. But she didn’t escape consequence.
When she finally left the relationship, Jenny says she was scandalized in downtown Toronto legal circles.
“It’s a small community so there was a stigma. Everybody found out about it in this really horrific, disgusting way that made me feel really small.”
And she received little support from the firm’s partners, she says.
“They resisted talking to me because they were worried that I was going to sue them or that I was going to go to the Law Society and file a complaint,” Jenny says. “There’s a lot of secrecy around senior lawyers’ misbehaviour because juniors do not wish to risk their jobs and their reputations.”
Organizations in which harassment thrives are those with significant power imbalances — which is a hallmark of the legal profession, says Christine Thomlinson, co-founder of Rubin Thomlinson, a firm specializing in workplace harassment.
“The majority of sexual harassment that we see is people who are more senior sexually harassing people who are more junior.”
Wood, a veteran lawyer who was called to the bar in 2007, says she has quietly carried the weight of sexual harassment she experienced on the job.
“Things that have happened in my past, I don’t want to talk about them because I am worried that it would still affect my career. I didn’t tell [my husband] for the longest time about any of this.”
In 2017 Wood started her own boutique litigation firm after years of working at several firms on Bay Street. She started the firm for many reasons. Building a workplace free from sexual harassment and discrimination in the profession was one of them.
“I took the best of Bay Street and I left behind the stuff that I didn’t like. I wanted to create a firm that was what I thought Bay Street ought to be. I took my ball and went and created my own playing field.”
Lawyers risk ‘backlash’ for speaking out
Lawyers who chose to go forward with complaints — either through their firms, their law societies, courts or Human Rights Tribunal — told reporters they faced repercussions at work or their career trajectories often changed dramatically.
“There is real backlash to being labelled a troublemaker in the legal profession, a complainer or somebody who is a nuisance,” says Angela Chaisson, a senior Toronto criminal defence attorney.
“[Backlash] may look like not getting jobs, not getting cases, having a bad reputation in a profession where your reputation is absolutely everything.”
From courts and tribunals across Canada, the Star/IJB found 65 cases since 2000 that feature allegations of sexual misconduct made against lawyers by their colleagues.
They involve legal professionals across the spectrum from law clerks to judges. The allegations include groping in the workplace, senior partners dating their firm’s articling students and alleged sexual assaults.
While the names of most complaints are redacted from the public records, the Star/IJB were able to identify outcomes for alleged victims in 32 complaints. Of those, 23 left their jobs and three were fired for unknown reasons after the alleged sexual impropriety.
Women’s careers derailed by sexual harassment
The sexual misconduct of one lawyer can derail the careers of several victims.
In July 2022, B.C. lawyer Rowan Davison admitted to sexually harassing six employees at his family law office in a law society tribunal hearing. He was accused of sexual harassment, with allegations ranging from unwanted kissing and touching to lewd comments, including a sexual proposition and an instance in which he allegedly told another she had “bondage hair.”
An associate lawyer working at Davison’s firm alleged he kissed, hugged, massaged her shoulders and pulled on her clothing and hair between 2018 and 2019. She declined to comment for this story.
Davison was suspended from practice for four and a half months for professional misconduct.
At least three of the women resigned from the firm, including the associate lawyer, law society records show. One of the victims said she suffered hair loss, anxiety and anger as a result of Davison’s behaviour toward her and others.
Davison did not respond to repeated requests for comment, and his status on the B.C. Law Society’s registry is “non-practising.”
‘I couldn’t breathe’
It was an office Christmas party where Julie Lamothe alleges she was sexually assaulted by her colleague.
She was a 25-year-old articling student. He was a partner at the firm.
In a secluded room, she alleges Adam Castonguay forced himself on her. “He was choking me, telling me I would like it better if I was unconscious,” she later testified. “I couldn’t breathe.”
She reported the alleged December 2020 assault to her firm, Sudbury police and the Law Society.
Castonguay was arrested and charged with multiple offences, including sexual assault and assault causing bodily harm in January, 2021.
Castonguay would later testify during his criminal trial that the two engaged in consensual kissing, but he never choked or assaulted her.
He was acquitted.
“This verdict does not mean that I can find the allegations did not take place or did take place. I simply cannot make a finding beyond reasonable doubt that they did,” said the judge in her decision.
Castonguay did not respond to multiple requests for comment and his lawyer declined to comment on the criminal trial or allegations of domestic abuse involving a former girlfriend. Castonguay entered into a 12-month peace bond in June 2021 and the assault and forcible confinement charges stemming from his former girlfriend’s allegations were withdrawn.
Castonguay continues to practice. Lamothe, meanwhile, struggles to see the point in her chosen field anymore.
Despite wanting to be a lawyer since she was five years old, Lamothe says nothing she learned or heard about law prepared her for the professional sexual impropriety she says she experienced.
“I kind of felt like a fool. When it got out, people around town said if it was going to be anyone it would have been him. Why didn’t someone say something? People were thinking this and no one bothered to say, ‘watch out for this guy.’ ”
Lamothe asked the court to lift a publication ban on her identity as an alleged victim of sexual assault so she could speak out about her experience. She has also filed a civil lawsuit against Castonguay.
In a statement of defence filed in response to Lamothe’s civil suit, Castonguay denies “he assaulted the plaintiff, sexually or otherwise” and “there was never any non-consensual sexual touching.”
For Lamothe, the fallout from her experience has been profound. To control her anxiety about her professional environment Lamothe says she decided to avoid working in law firms and became a sole practitioner.
There are days when she considers leaving law entirely and questions her decision to speak out in the first place.
“You hear all the time, ‘oh, it’s changed. People come forward now … society’s different.’ And that’s not true at all,” she says. “It’s a male-dominated field. It’s completely understandable why people don’t want to say anything. There are days where I wish I’d never said anything.”
With reporting from Emma Buchanan, Emma Sandri, Santiago Ramer, Kirti Vyas, Cassidy Garbe, Manuela Vega, Adrian Bueno, Maria Sarrouh, Christina Flores-Chan, Alexandra Holyk, Abigail Hughes and Mariyah Salhia, Toronto Metropolitan University School of Journalism
This Story was also published in the Toronto Star.
The Investigative Journalism Bureau is an impact-driven, collaborative newsroom that brings together professional and student journalists, academics, graduate students and media organizations to tell deeply-reported stories in the public interest.
Your support is crucial to our mission. By donating, you help us continue to uncover the stories that drive meaningful change and hold power to account. Join us in our commitment to high-quality, independent journalism.
