Not on Our Watch: Standing Up for Inclusion Amid Rising Threats

Good afternoon, everyone.

Let me start by thanking the Canadian Bar Association, BC Branch for this incredible honour. I’m deeply humbled to be standing here today, especially knowing the remarkable individuals who have received this award before me. It’s truly a privilege to be in their company.

We don’t do this work for awards or recognition — although it’s nice to be acknowledged. We advocate for equity and justice because we must — because we understand both the responsibility and the privilege that comes with our role as lawyers. And because we believe, at our core, in advocating for a legal system that is a tool for inclusion, not exclusion — for healing, not harm.

For me, this work isn’t abstract. It’s personal. I came of age as a brown-skinned Muslim teen in the post-9/11 era, a time when people in my community were questioned, surveilled, and sometimes detained without due process — not because of anything they had done, but because of their names, and what they believed. I experienced that suspicion firsthand and witnessed it all around me.

At the time, I didn’t have the vocabulary to explain what was happening. I didn’t yet have the legal tools to push back. But those moments planted a seed. They lit a fire that led me to the law — and continue to shape how I move through the world today.

That urgency hasn’t faded. It’s grown stronger. We’re living in a moment where hard-won rights and freedoms are under threat. The rhetoric and tactics we’re seeing south of the border — where legal systems are being weaponized to target trans people, racialized communities, equity initiatives, and civil liberties — are disturbingly familiar.

They echo the fear-driven policies of the post-9/11 era, when entire communities were treated with suspicion simply for existing.

And now, that rhetoric and those tactics are no longer distant concerns. They’re quietly taking root in our own institutions and communities. That’s what makes this work feel more urgent than ever. We can’t allow that. Not here. Not in our communities or institutions. And not on our watch.

And I believe we won’t — because I know how many of you, how many of us, are committed to building something better, something fairer, something just.

That belief in something better was instilled in me by my family.

My parents — who are here tonight, along with my uncle — came to Canada in the late ’70s with little more than hope and a willingness to sacrifice. They worked tirelessly to give my sister and me opportunities they never had. They didn’t always have the language of “anti-racism” or “equity”— but they taught us resilience. They taught us to be proud of who we are. And most of all, they taught us that we deserve to be treated with dignity and respect — not despite our identities, but because of them.

Despite the legal education, degrees, and human rights work — all of which have shaped me — the most enduring lesson I’ve carried is the one they gave me: that every person, no matter their race, gender, faith, or background, deserves dignity. Especially before the law. That belief continues to light the path forward.

So thank you, Mom and Dad, for your love, your sacrifices, and your unshakable belief in me. And thank you again to CBABC for this recognition. This award doesn’t just belong to me — it belongs to all those who came before me, and all those continuing this work, often without recognition.

Let’s keep pushing forward. The work isn’t done — but together, I believe we can get there.