In the halls of the Ottawa courthouse, where Lady Justice is supposed to reign supreme, blindfolded and impartial, one might have expected a fair and balanced trial for Juteah Downey. However, in what can only be described as a legal circus featuring a judge and crown prosecutor more in sync than Batman and Robin, fairness seemed to have taken an extended lunch break—never to return.

Justice Somji, newly robed and perhaps overly eager to leave her mark, conducted the trial with the precision of a chef who had already decided how the dish should taste before even seeing the ingredients. Defense lawyer Bob Carew, an experienced legal advocate, might as well have been arguing with a brick wall—except a brick wall would at least let him finish his sentences. The judge’s sympathy for the complainants was so overwhelming it wouldn’t be surprising if she had personally knit them comforting blankets during recess.

Now, one might assume that a judge, entrusted with upholding the sacred principles of justice, would raise an eyebrow—perhaps even two—upon hearing that the lead investigator was about as trustworthy as a used car salesman with no inventory. Yet, when this investigator, caught red-handed coaching a complainant facing deportation, suggested, "There are lots of loopholes in your statement, let's make a new one," the reaction from the bench was... nothing. Crickets. This complainant, who went on to craft not one, not two, but three different police statements, openly admitted in court that she was willing to tailor her testimony to avoid deportation. A revelation that, in any normal trial, might have led to some reconsideration. But not here. In Justice Somji’s court, inconvenient truths were simply brushed aside like crumbs on a judicial robe.

Then there was the revelation that a police officer had maintained a three-year personal relationship with a complainant while actively speaking negatively about the accused. A clear conflict of interest, right? Not according to Justice Somji, who treated this glaring ethical breach with the casual indifference of someone dismissing a parking ticket. And let’s not forget the cherry on top—the discovery that officers investigating the case were engaging in intimate relations with co-accused individuals and sex workers at the very house under investigation. If that isn’t a plot twist worthy of a crime drama, what is? Yet, when presented with these details, the judge simply declined to review the notes, as if ignorance were a valid legal strategy.

The defense's ability to cross-examine witnesses was further kneecapped by a 276 application, effectively barring any questions about the complainants’ past relationships or affiliations. This legal safeguard, intended to prevent unnecessary victim-blaming, instead operated as a cloak of invisibility, shielding inconsistencies from exposure. Even when complainants themselves testified that they had not been exploited, the court seemed determined to believe otherwise. If there was no direct evidence of Downey forcing anyone into sex work, well, that was just a minor inconvenience. The judge, it seems, opted for the "must have" doctrine—if the story doesn’t fit, force it anyway.

Legal experts have long raised concerns about Canada's approach to human trafficking laws, which seem to operate on the assumption that every sex worker is a victim and every man standing within a five-foot radius of one must be a trafficker. This broad-strokes approach to justice makes it nearly impossible for accused individuals to receive fair trials, particularly when systemic bias is conveniently tucked away behind publication bans and judicial discretion.

But if there were any lingering doubts about whether this trial had been fair, Justice Somji’s final blow left no room for debate. Juteah Downey was sentenced to 15 years, a decision bolstered by—wait for it—his nonexistent past human trafficking conviction. That’s right. The judge’s findings, which spread through the media like wildfire, were later parroted by Justice George of the Ontario Court of Appeal, who confidently stated that Downey had a prior human trafficking conviction. When Downey himself corrected this falsehood, the appellate judge had no choice but to admit, on record, that the trial judge had been wrong. This stunning admission, documented on November 8, 2023, should have been enough to unravel the case, but instead, it merely highlighted just how easily misinformation can seep into the highest levels of Canada’s justice system.