*Certain details of this story, including names, have been withheld or changed to protect the confidentiality and safety of our clients and staff.*
The fluorescent lights of the Nanaimo courthouse hallway hummed steadily as Jo adjusted the collar of his crisp button-up shirt. It was the first time in fourteen months his skin had touched cotton that wasn’t correction-issued red. The simple act of wearing real clothes, dark slacks that fit properly, a shirt with buttons instead of a zipper, made his hands tremble as he straightened the fabric.
The red sweatsuit he’d worn since his arrest now sat folded in a correctional center property bag at his feet, its synthetic fabric still holding the sterile smell of institutional laundry. Dressing like a free man, even temporarily, reminded him of a self he’d nearly forgotten existed, someone who belonged to a family, a community, a Nation.
Stacked Systems
Jo’s case file told a familiar story in Canada’s justice system, two drug trafficking charges from a contested police search that turned up cocaine and heroin, followed later by an additional commercial break-and-enter charge. Like so many Indigenous people caught in the legal system’s web, he found himself repeatedly denied bail on all counts, left to wait in custody while the machinery of justice slowly turned. The charges on paper told one story, but the real narrative, of intergenerational trauma, systemic neglect, and a life shaped by forces beyond his control, remained buried in the fine print, waiting to be uncovered by someone willing to look deeper.
Previous lawyers had focused solely on technical defenses. The Staff Lawyer at the Indigenous Justice Centre, Jessica, saw something else, a 32-year-old man from a strong Nation who had spent half his life cycling between foster care, shelters, and jail.
“The Gladue report will be crucial here,” Jessica explained as they prepared for trial. The specialized pre-sentence report for Indigenous people who have been charged through the justice system, mandated by a 1999 Supreme Court decision, would contextualize Jo’s life experiences, something Canadian courts had failed to do for generations.
Turning Point in Court
The wood-paneled courtroom hummed with tension, the Crown’s drug evidence stacked neatly on the table, cold, clinical, and utterly disconnected from the truth.
Jo took the stand and told the judge about his struggles with addiction and the churn of criminal charges. The Judge heard him and accepted that he had the substances on him for survival, not profit.
Jessica stood, her gaze steady on the arresting officer. “Constable,” she began, ”when you saw the marks on Jo’s arms, did you see a criminal? Or did you see a man trying to survive what was done to him?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history. The Gladue report on the judge’s desk told the real story, Jo lived a life shaped by residential school Survivors, a childhood spent in foster care, and a system designed to disappear his people, not heal them.
The conviction stood.
Canada’s laws still bent toward punishment, not justice, but the sentence shifted. Because survival is not a business plan. Addiction is not a choice. And Jo was never the crime; he was the consequence.
The Law of the Land vs. The Law of the People
Months later, at the bail hearing, Jessica presented a legal argument that was a lifeline, one woven by Jo’s mother, his Nation, and the land itself. Letters from Elders, counselors, and even chaplains spoke of returning. Of a man rediscovering his place in a web of kinship that colonization had tried, and failed, to sever.
The judge studied the papers, then Jo. Noticing he had something rare, a way back. The judge agreed that he had served his sentence, and now it was time for Jo to go home.
It wasn’t mercy. It was the barest flicker of recognition that Indigenous justice had already begun its work long before the courts caught up.
Justice as Healing, Not Punishment
Today, Jo walks the forest trails in his homelands working for his Nation, a life he may have never known if it weren’t for the way his support people walked with him through his hard times. The Crown stayed his final charge after hearing the witness of his new journey.
For Jo, standing tall on his homelands, the truth burned clear, the day they finally saw him as human, the day he buttoned a good shirt for court, held his head high, was the day the system failed a little less. But his people? They had never needed a courtroom to know his worth. Their recognition ran deeper than any judge’s gaze, older than any law. While the courts struggled to see a man, his Nation had always seen a relative.
The Care Behind the Case
When Indigenous clients and kin access support from an Indigenous Justice Centre, the experience is different. Here’s how:
The Facts
Jo had been in jail for over a year awaiting sentencing when he met Indigenous Justice Centre lawyer Jessica. He had three charges against him:
- 2 x drug trafficking (from a contested police search that turned up cocaine and heroin)
- 1 x drug trafficking
- 1 x break and enter (commercial building)
Jo had already worked with three different Legal Aid lawyers before interacting with the Nanaimo IJC. He has been denied bail on both trafficking charges and hadn’t applied for bail on the break and enter file.
His trials were slated for the Supreme Court, with two lasting a week each and one spanning two weeks.
Our lawyer’s approach
Jessica took over Jo’s case at the Nanaimo IJC. To support him through his first trafficking trial, she:
- Picked up clothes for him so he wouldn’t have to wear the red sweat suit from the correctional centre in court. “Just that small change gave him a noticeable boost in confidence,” she said.
- Brought forward a section 8 Charter challenge (everyone has the right to be secure against unreasonable search or seizure), but the judge ruled the search was done legally.
- Argued that the drugs were for personal use and not trafficking, which was partially successful. Jo was convicted of one of the counts, but the second was reduced to simple possession.
- Decided with Jo that he would plead guilty to the second trafficking charge to negotiate a combined sentence, significantly reducing his trial time.
- Arranged for a Gladue Letter submission to shift the focus in sentencing toward a healing-based plan.
- Negotiated a sentence of two years minus time served with the Crown, meaning Jo only had about two months left in custody.
During Jo’s first trial, Jessica worked with another IJC lawyer to prepare a strong bail application for the break and enter charge. Together, they:
- Proposed that Jo live with his mother on his home Nation’s land.
- Included the same Gladue Letter submitted in the first trial.
- Collected support letters from people who had seen Jo’s progress, including his substance use counselor, a chaplain, a mental health counselor, and the Indigenous cultural liaison at the correctional facility.
The outcome
Jo was granted bail. He returned to his community, stayed sober, kept up with counseling, and began working for his Nation. He also started exploring education programs to expand his career options.
As Jo continued to make progress, Jessica kept advocating for him. She asked the court to ease some of his bail conditions. Upon review, the Crown stayed the break and enter charge and cancelled his upcoming week-long Supreme Court trial.
The IJC lawyer’s trauma-informed, culturally grounded approach allowed her to represent Jo in a way that honored his story and potential.
