The Friendly Bar Series, No. 8: Sweating for justice

Law360 Canada (August 15, 2025, 2:55 PM EDT) --

Concillia Muonde

At The Friendly Bar, we share more than case law. We exchange courtroom war stories, debate best practices and, during a heat wave, map out which of us has a dog pool deep enough to lie face-down in.

This summer, as Ottawa melts into its asphalt, I find myself reflecting on the discomforts of practising family law. Especially as a lawyer accepting Legal Aid Ontario (LAO) certificates. Especially as the mercury soars.

There is irony to it. We endure bitter winters in this country, both literal and professional. The former freezes our fingertips; the latter drains our dockets and our spirits. In February, we sometimes allow ourselves the decadent thought of a tropical vacation, seven days to thaw out and remember we are more than affidavits and urgent motions for access. But the joke, it seems, is on us. Because when July comes, the weather turns violent and the same folks who begrudged our week in Jamaica now say: Be grateful. It is summer!

Grateful? It is 48 degrees with the humidex. I have melted into my office chair and become a human post-it note. Worse still, I must endure the perennial microaggression: “Come on, you are from Africa, it must be like 1,000 degrees over there!”

Let me be clear. Yes, it is hot in Africa. No, I do not enjoy being slow-roasted in my black robes. And yes, there is something uniquely cruel about being told to be grateful, while calculating whether you can afford to take yet another LAO certificate client who just told you their last lawyer “did nothing,” but who cannot provide a single disclosure document, witness name or phone number.

This is where the heat wave meets the ethical dilemma. When you accept LAO certificates, there is an unspoken expectation of martyrdom. That you should be grateful to serve, even when that means subsidizing your client’s photocopying needs and accepting a legal aid rate to manage a case that, if billed privately, would command four times the rate and one-quarter of the heartache.

Let us also be honest about the clients. We do not say this out of scorn, but out of truth: those who qualify for legal aid certificates are often the very embodiment of the complexities of family law, mental health crises, addiction, trauma, poverty, cognitive limitations, housing precarity, parenting fears and systems distrust. They are not easy clients. But they are our clients. They come to us raw, frightened and often deeply alone.

And here is the paradox: they deserve experienced counsel. The same counsel who, on paper, should not need to take LAO work anymore. And yet, so many of us still say yes. Not because it makes business sense. It does not. Not because we are saints. We are tired. We do it because we believe in the substance of the work, because we have seen the fallout when no one steps up, and because we have witnessed the quiet power of helping someone at the moment they needed it most.

But this system, as currently constructed, is not sustainable. And frankly, it is not just new calls who need support; it is mid-career and senior counsel too, those holding the line in case after case, working 24-hour certificates on files that require 240.

We navigate clients in crises, never just a single one, but multiple, all at once, courts in backlog, dysfunctional court technologies, and a legal aid panel that has not seen a meaningful rate increase since dial-up internet. This is not a volunteer sector. This is litigation under public mandate. It requires realism, not reverence.

Which brings me to LAO itself — not the institution, but the rhetoric that surrounds it.

The messaging is always the same: legal aid work, especially certificate work, is a great way to gain experience. And yes, it can be. But here is the uncomfortable truth: experience without systemic reform is just burnout with a ribbon on it.

Newer calls should not be expected to build their careers on the economic wreckage of access to justice. They should not have to choose between doing meaningful work and running a sustainable practice. And yet, here we are.

So perhaps it is time to ask the bigger question:

Could this be the moment the Law Society of Ontario mandates that all licensees perform some measure of legal aid certificate work?

No, not as punishment. Not as penance. As a principle. As structural recognition that access to justice is not the moral burden of a few, but the shared responsibility of the entire profession. If articling students must demonstrate competencies in professionalism and equity, diversity and inclusion, why should practising lawyers not be asked to carry, even briefly, the load of real-world justice delivery?

Too radical? Or too long overdue?

Because here is the reality: those of us still accepting LAO certificates are not just propping up individual files, we are holding up the illusion that this system is functioning. And we are tired. If more of us were required to serve, even one certificate per year, we might not only relieve the pressure; we might finally force the structural change that decades of polite policy papers have failed to produce.

We need a legal aid system that accounts for the actual practice of family law, not the theoretical idea of it. We need recognition that a certificate lawyer does not cost the system money when they resolve matters early, avoid motions, de-escalate conflict, and carry the emotional labour of clients who are one court loss away from disaster. We need proper funding, flexible billing, mental health supports for counsel, and most of all, respect.

In Ontario, the Legal Aid certificate system places annual caps on the number of hours and dollars a lawyer may bill, making “maximum LAO billing” an ironic benchmark. The ceiling is low, and most of us never reach it, though we often reach our emotional limit trying.

At The Friendly Bar, we practise with integrity. We laugh when we can. We rage when we must. And we reserve the right to sweat without apology, ethically, politically and meteorologically.

And yes, about that dog pool: truth be told, most of us certificate-accepting lawyers can barely afford one. Pet ownership itself might be a stretch, perhaps reserved for the fortunate handful who reach maximum LAO billing per annum. For the rest of us, we are not in this for the perks. We are in this because we still believe there is some nobility in trying.

So, if you find us lying face-down in the splash pad beside a Labrador named Lord Denning, or Disclosure, depending on the stage of the proceeding, do not ask questions. Just bring a towel. And maybe a bylaw amendment.

This is part eight of a series, a collection of reflections on how we build a more respectful, inclusive and ethical legal profession, one relationship at a time. For links to previous parts of the series, click here.

Concillia Muonde, B.Sc. (Econ), B.S.W. (Hons), M.S.W., J.D., is the founder and principal of Concillia Muonde Law Office, a family law practice based in Ottawa. Drawing on a multidisciplinary background in law, social work and economics, she brings a trauma-informed, client-directed approach to resolving family law matters. Her practice is focused on supporting survivors of family violence, LGBTQ+ clients and others navigating complex parenting and relationship breakdowns.

The opinions expressed are those of the author and do not reflect the views of the author’s firm, its clients, Law360 Canada, LexisNexis Canada or any of its or their respective affiliates. This article is for general information purposes and is not intended to be and should not be taken as legal advice.

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