The morning before the story broke, I got a message from a colleague informing me that a scandal involving Ottawa lawyer James Bowie was imminent. Within hours, social media platforms were abuzz with news about accusations of sexual misconduct leveled against Bowie, alleging predatory behaviour targeting female pro bono clients.
My first reaction was shock and upset, followed by trepidation. As a fellow lawyer acquainted with Bowie on social media and someone who recently used his legal services, I was worried about his mental state, concerned about the complainants’ well-being, and afraid that I would be smeared by association. Having been the target of an online harassment campaign for close to two years, I braced for impact.
That night, it began – based solely on my sporadic interactions with James on Twitter and two photos of us together, vicious imputations started flying. Writer and self-styled politico Alheli Picazo led the charge: I had “worked closely” with James, I “very publicly partnered” with him, I had knowledge of his behaviour or somehow condoned it. She construed that I “frequently, and performatively, worked (works?)” with James and demanded I make a statement supporting Bowie’s victims, not bothering to ask whether I too, as one of his pro bono clients, could be among them.
Weeks earlier, I received second-hand information about complaints made in a Discord chat about inappropriate messages Bowie had sent to women. When I pushed him for an explanation, he reassured me that it was a consensual exchange. At the time, no complainants had come forward and I hadn’t seen any verifiable evidence to substantiate the rumours.
Struggling against a growing sense of unease, I briefly considered switching lawyers. Bowie was defending me from trespassing charges following my arrest by Hamilton Police outside an Ontario Progressive-Conservative campaign stop in May 2022. The matter was already set to be withdrawn as a result of his advocacy; how could I summarily dismiss him in response to gossip?
And so I waited, not realizing what would come next.
I first became acquainted with James through #lawtwitter, a hashtag that enables lawyers and the legal community to connect and stay updated on court developments. In retrospect, it was he who slid into my DMs in July 2020 with a statement along the lines of “Let’s be friends.” After my arrest, he proposed pro bono representation to me. It was the first offer I received.
I met him in person only twice, in February and July 2022. Our first meeting took place during the time I returned to Ottawa to attend convoy organizer Pat King’s bail hearing. We went for dinner at a restaurant James suggested, where he was a regular. He brought along a date and kept offering tequila shots, which I declined. We sat at the bar and chatted. His back was to his date most of the night.
He was engaging, a braggart – and really into law. I’d watched him rapidly ascend to Twitter fame during the convoy bail hearings, his live-tweeting gaining him tens of thousands of overnight fans. It was a running joke that I had to spend several weeks in the blistering cold to do less than what he managed in a couple of days, cozy indoors. It was his idea to take a photo for our followers and he teased about who would get more traction. He “won.”
James picked up the tab, which I found generous. The girl he was with hugged me after. I was probably the one who spoke to her most that night.
Our second meeting was in July, when I was in town to document the convoy’s Canada Day shenanigans. Again James suggested one of his regular haunts, and again we took a picture (posing with the restaurant owner) for our overlapping Twitter supporter bases. Like the first time, he insisted that we do shots. I left shortly after the fireworks and paid my own bill.
As a lawyer, James was elegant in his efficiency and got my charges withdrawn with two emails and one phone call. I have no complaints about his representation.
How many of us have taken a random selfie with a stranger at a party, never considering the speculations that might follow if the person we posed with becomes embroiled in scandal? As public figures will attest, you don’t realize how vulnerable you are until you end up at the mercy of strangers who fabricate stories about what they imagine other people’s relationships to be, based on a single snapshot.
I have both first- and second-hand experience with violence and exploitation. As part of graduate-level dissertation research, I studied the Gujarat pogrom of 2002. I was immersed in accounts of horrific, inconceivable acts of violence. Women and children were assaulted, dismembered, burned alive by Hindu nationalists for no fault other than being Muslim. Learning how sexual violence was used as a tool to destroy entire communities, I grappled with the state’s complicity and the judiciary’s inability or unwillingness to stop the ethnic cleansing.
I never presented my dissertation. The material affected me deeply, and was compounded by my personal experience of rape while attending law school in Ottawa.
I never filed any kind of report or complaint about my assault. That regret is probably part of what fuels my visceral desire to confront bullies head on. And I root for those with the courage to speak up where they feel wronged, and pursue recourse within the parameters of law.
There are people who think I landed where I am today strictly because of my convoy coverage, failing to realize I have worked tirelessly to build my name for the past six years.
I am an accomplished litigator and media personality. I practice housing, criminal and cannabis law. I produce incisive political cartoons. I have been a college instructor, advisory board member for an access to justice non-profit, and executive director of a national cannabis advocacy organization. I was a mere 421 votes shy of being elected to the Law Society of Ontario’s governing board as a four-year call. I document controversial political rallies. My commentary and footage is used across Canada, and internationally. I set myself apart by speaking uncomfortable truths.
To have my reputation threatened by people who undermine and undervalue my work makes me feel powerless. This emotional state is inextricably linked to my trauma, which triggers the shame and stigma related to my assault itself. It’s needlessly cruel, and presented with smug self-righteousness.
Being a successful woman in the public eye automatically sets you up for greater scrutiny. Your every move is under a microscope; everything you say or do gets dissected and reinterpreted in countless ways. As a lawyer who represents controversial people, I am used to being judged unfairly based on my clients’ reputations – but never did I expect to be judged on my own lawyer’s conduct.
To be coerced into publicly speaking on James Bowie lest I be judged by those who feign concern for his alleged victims (but don’t care to inquire about my safety), is retraumatizing and insidious, as is the pressure to disclose personal matters in order to shield myself from further victimization.
Thousands of Twitter users retweeted and amplified Bowie; to my knowledge, I am the only one being singled out. Why? Because of a photo? Twitter is not a courtroom – if I had information, I would be more inclined to share it with relevant authorities than on a social media platform. These are serious allegations, and whatever the outcome none of the parties will emerge unscathed. I wish healing and justice to everyone involved.
It’s easy for people to say, “I knew all along.” Everyone wants to think they were right, that they called it. Makes them feel better. But the truth is, we don’t know which allegations are true and which aren’t; rumour mills tend to make the situation worse. Mob-like social media pile-ons are antithetical to due process.
Having my name associated with Bowie’s alleged abuse of power makes me sick to my stomach. It’s infuriating because it’s pure conjecture, and a lazy attempt to tarnish me with another person’s alleged moral failings. I should not be forced to divulge my own trauma in order to clear my name. And yet, here we are.
Caryma Sa’d is a Toronto-based lawyer and political satirist. You can find her on Twitter @CarymaRules.
