Inspired by reporting from The Guardian, a criminal defence lawyer reflects on a life-changing case in the Canadian Arctic that challenged their understanding of memory, perception, and personal trauma.
I spent nearly 20 years working as a criminal defence lawyer in the remote communities of Nunavut, Canada. Covering an area roughly the size of western Europe with fewer than 40,000 residents, most of whom are Inuit, I witnessed extreme conditions and the challenges of delivering justice in isolated regions.
Nunavut has no roads connecting its 26 communities; aircraft is the primary mode of transport, except for a short ice-free period when supplies arrive by boat. Travelling circuit courts set up temporary courtrooms in gyms or community halls for three to four days several times a year. Despite its small population, the territory records one of the highest violent-crime rates per capita in the world.
Early in my career, I represented a young Inuit man accused of firing a rifle at a parked car full of innocent passengers. Witnesses gave consistent statements, describing seeing him leave his house with a rifle, walk toward the vehicle, and fire. Miraculously, no one was seriously injured.
In the holding cell, my client adamantly denied firing a gun. Police reports suggested bullet damage and smelled gun smoke, making the case appear straightforward. However, forensic analysis revealed the rifle had never been firedβit was inoperable. The accused had used the old rifle like a blunt object to smash windows. Charges of discharging a firearm and endangering lives were dropped.
This case highlighted how fear and trauma can distort perception and memory. Witnesses werenβt lyingβthey genuinely believed they saw a gun fired. Yet their memories had been subtly reshaped by fear and trauma over time.
The incident made me realize how malleable human memory is. Confidence does not equal accuracy. Throughout my career, I repeatedly saw genuine belief clash with reality, but this early case shook me profoundly. It not only made me question the reliability of eyewitness testimony but also prompted reflection on my own life experiences.
As a child, I nearly drowned when two older boys prevented me from getting out of a pond. I inhaled a large amount of water and was rescued, but never spoke about the incident. Over the years, I would wake in the night gasping for breath, haunted by lingering sensations of drowning.
Instead of confronting it through therapy, I challenged myself with extreme water activities: scuba diving around the world, surfing in South America, swimming long distances, and free-diving in the frigid North Atlantic. I believed I was being resilient, but water had become an adversary, and the trauma remained unresolved.
Just before the pandemic, I sought psychiatric help to process the drowning incident. Over months of therapy, I revisited the event in detail, exploring every sensation and emotion. During one session, my psychiatrist helped me ground myself physically while describing the incident, which led to a profound emotional releaseβI sobbed uncontrollably for the first time in my life.
I spent months doing breathwork and consciously reframing the traumatic memory. Gradually, night terrors ended, and my mental health improved dramatically.
Both the case and my personal experience showed that human memory is fallible. Trauma, fear, and external influence can reshape recollections, but we also have the power to rewrite our responses. As William Burroughs said, βEverything is recorded, and if it is recorded, then it can be edited.β
I learned that we can reinterpret traumatic events, react differently to triggers, and move beyond self-imposed limitations. In essence, we can become the authors of our own lives.
