Maha Sardar
Barrister at Garden Court Chambers
I have always loved stories. As a child I was fanatical about books, and would often read, buried under my duvet, torch in hand, into the early hours. Stories have the ability to transport us to another time and place. Powerful storytelling can elicit an emotional connection from which we can better understand others, and ourselves.
Storytelling is part of the human experience, and it can foster social cohesion and instruct social norms. As I grew older and my reading matured, I mulled over what stories tell us about what it means to be human. I was captivated by Plato’s The Symposium and The Republic. My copies of J S Mill’s On Liberty and Voltaire’s Candide were among my most thumbed and worn.
While many of my favourite stories were written in different times and in fictitious settings, their themes resonated throughout my life. Living through and learning about the genocides in Rwanda, Bosnia, Cambodia, and many others, I was horrified by the idea that apparently some human lives mattered less than others. Indeed, all humans are equal, “but some are more equal than others” as Orwell put it. I became fascinated with the notion of human rights, and the idea that there are certain rights inherent to all human beings, regardless of who they are. But human rights are not just a utopian and idealistic set of philosophical values. They are a collection of basic freedoms built into and protected by a legal framework which allows us to experience what it means to be human.
Human rights law represents a window between all our stories; those we live and those we hear of others living around the world. To be a defender of human rights, I thought, was to be empowered - I could make sure the protagonist was protected by the law and use the legal framework to challenge the mistreatment of others by a public authority.
I suppose it is not difficult to imagine how my love of storytelling combined with my passion for social justice ultimately led me to a career at the Bar. I also suspect that watching endless episodes of LA Law and Rumpole of the Bailey with my Godmother, the anthropologist and writer Merryl Wyn Davies, played a part!
The twists and turns of life meant my journey to the Bar has not been linear – so few stories are. However, my passion for social justice and the law never waned. After reading law at UCL and being called to the Bar, I had an unexpected foray into entrepreneurship. During this phase of my life, I felt I could do real good for my own community. I set up the first speed dating business in the UK for the South Asian community, which attracted considerable media attention and financial success. At the same time as running my business, I also volunteered with numerous charities where I kept my interest in human rights alive and fulfilled my need to do right by others, especially the globally disadvantaged.
I sold my business and returned to academia and studied for an MA in International and Comparative Legal Studies at the School of Oriental and African Studies. Here I broadened my potential and really explored the diversity within the field of law. I worked as an advocate for several years with Refugee and Migrant Justice and when the organisation went into administration, I moved onto other law firms. During this time, I also cross qualified and became a solicitor. I obtained pupillage at Garden Court chambers, but then shortly after, my personal circumstances dictated a move to Istanbul. However, my passion for human rights remained high, especially as, at the time, human rights, and justice in general, was in rather short supply. I lectured on human rights at a local university and did a short stint with the UNHCR in Ankara. On return, I re-joined Garden Court Chambers where I remain as a practising barrister in the immigration team.
Your trajectory to the Bar does not have to be straight. Indeed, entering the Bar with maturity and a diversity of experience can only be an advantage. My own tangential adventures not only enriched me as an individual, but reignited my compassion for others and dedication to the defence of human rights. A career at the Bar is very demanding both physically and mentally. In recent times there has been an acknowledgment that barristers, as a result of their emotionally potent cases, can suffer from vicarious trauma.
It was difficult to enter the profession as a young Muslim woman of South Asian origin where you didn’t often see others who resembled you; at the time the Bar was predominantly ‘pale, male and stale’ – a preserve of the privileged white elite. Sheer perseverance got me through; I was adamant to turn childhood imagining into reality. As a second-generation immigrant I had to become, what Roger Ballard described, a skilled cultural navigator. I maintained a strong sense of identity but had to be adaptable in the face of different cultures and ways of life, code switching between different worlds. The Bar was one of those worlds.
I am fortunate to have many female role models at the Bar. But when I was applying for pupillage, it wasn’t as easy as it is now to connect with people, so although strong female role models existed at the time, they weren’t as visible or accessible as they are now. In particular, Sonali Naik KC was a huge inspiration. I started off as her pupil at Garden Court Chambers and we soon developed a close friendship. I have been fortunate to work alongside her, and she has led me in some important and interesting cases such as the initial Rwanda litigation (where I was part of the large legal team that grounded the first charter flight) and representing prominent female Afghan judges and prosecutors, challenging the discrimination between Ukrainian and Afghan nationals.
As a barrister working in immigration and asylum, I represent some of the most vulnerable members of society. My clients are often victims of trafficking, torture, and persecution. Many have complex mental health problems. As an advocate, it is a privilege to be privy to the histories and stories of your clients and to hear what will probably be the most traumatic events of their lives. While storytelling offers many an escape, it is also a powerful tool for bringing reality home to those who are otherwise unaware. It is incumbent upon us as advocates to bring out the humanity in our briefs. Storytelling is the building blocks of a strong case which allows the judge to better understand the history and plight of your client, whist weaving in the facts, law, and evidence. It is also an opportunity to challenge certain stereotypes which are often seen as self-evident truths.
The Bar is changing and adapting, but there are still significant systemic obstacles facing female barristers and especially Black and Asian women, as highlighted for example by The Bar Council’s report, Race at the Bar: A Snapshot Report, November 2021. Addressing this is critical. In order for justice to thrive in our society, we need a diverse, representative, and virtuous cast of characters, carrying forward as many voices as possible, utilising our legal framework for the betterment of all.