A battle from Bangladesh to the bar

Around New Year’s Day in 2016, a tired, hungry, unhoused refugee claimant sat on the seawall in Vancouver’s Stanley Park. He was floating from one odd job to another but, at that moment, vowed to himself that he would be a lawyer.

“Something about this spot was calling me to sit there and just look out into the ocean,” recalls Sam Bhattacharjee of that fateful day at Third Beach.

In his mind’s eye was the Komagata Maru, a Japanese ship full of British Indians seeking refuge in Canada in 1914. Most were turned away and forced to return to India, where many were later arrested or killed. Bhattacharjee had read accounts of some of the passengers, and their descriptions of their first glimpse of the North Shore mountains stuck with him.

“Just over 100 years later, I'm here, and I remember thinking…I’m going to make it. You guys may not have made it, but I'm going to make it.”

Having just been granted refugee status, Bhattacharjee knew he would only make it if the law let him remain in Canada. He was determined not to rely on anyone else to gain that freedom.

“If someone else can read the law and tell me whether I get to live, I can read the law, and I can do that for myself,” he says. “That's when I was like, I'll never feel this type of helplessness ever again.”

This past December, the 31-year-old was called to the bar of British Columbia surrounded by friends, loved ones, and colleagues during his law firm’s Christmas Party. 

Bhattacharjee’s story is one of grit, wit, and determination to overcome seemingly insurmountable challenges.

He was born in Chittagong, Bangladesh, into a family “torn asunder” by the country’s 1971 liberation war. Like many low-income families from the region, his father moved to Oman for work and was essentially “enslaved” in a blacksmithing workshop. When Bhattacharjee was six months old, he and his mother joined his father. They all lived in a tiny shed behind the workshop.

Bhattacharjee’s father saw education as the only way out for his kids. He hired a tutor to teach his son English from age two. When they came along, Bhattacharjee’s three younger siblings also learned English and attended a “top-notch” Indian school in Oman.

Early on, Bhattacharjee says he knew he was different from the other boys. He didn’t think girls were cute but knew it was “very inappropriate to say” who he did think was cute. For much of his youth, he felt something was “deeply amiss” with him. He was small for his age and constantly picked on by other kids. Groups of Omani boys would lay in wait and frequently attack him on his way home from school. Their attacks grew more violent as he got older.

Shortly after graduating high school, Bhattacharjee, then 16, was seriously assaulted by four men, which he could not hide from his family. Six months later, he came to Canada. 

Bhattacharjee excelled academically and had started applying to U.K. universities at 14 but was told he was too young. Upon finishing high school in 2010, he discovered a homestay program that led him to Abbotsford, B.C., where he lived with a Mennonite pastor’s family while attending the University of the Fraser Valley.

While his host family were somewhat uncomfortable with “the gay part,” Bhattacharjee says they were kind to him. He flourished for a while, but by his final year, his past started catching up with him mentally. He started having trouble concentrating and developed an irrational fear that people were always following him.

Around the same time, in mid-2014, his mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He went to Bangladesh to see her, knowing he couldn’t stay there despite his mother’s pleas.

“I knew staying would mean, and I don't mean this lightly, but death for me,” he says. “You pay a very heavy price for freedom, and you pay it daily, sometimes. Or you pay it in a lump sum, and you have to deal with it.”

Bhattacharjee returned to Canada, but his academic work suffered. He left school with a diploma instead of a full bachelor’s degree, which led to problems (and refusals) once he tried to get a post-graduate work visa. 

He says his only option to stay in Canada without a work visa was to apply for refugee status. By that point, he’d moved to Vancouver and was living with someone. But as a “very stubborn, proud person,” Bhattacharjee felt he couldn’t put that kind of pressure on his partner.

“We were young kids, and it's not fair for young love to have to deal with that type of instability. So I broke up with him.”

He distilled his life down to four garbage bags and an air plant — which is still alive today and “flourishing!” 

There were some dark times while Bhattacharjee waited for his refugee claim to be assessed. He was forced to do what he could to survive: odd jobs, couch surf, sleep rough, fight off bedbugs, and even forage in the trash for food. In March 2016, he reconnected with a former classmate, who offered him a place to live, which gave him some breathing room to get his life back on track. It was during this time he had his epiphany about becoming a lawyer.

Before he could go to law school, Bhattacharjee knew he needed a degree, so he applied to the University of Victoria. His terrible final-year grades from UFV were a stumbling block, but as that was a one-year blip on a transcript of superior marks, he made a case for admission without having to do any remedial courses.

“I was a lawyer, even before I became a lawyer,” he says.

Bhattacharjee excelled through his undergrad, firmly focused on law school. His first attempt at the LSAT in 2019 went “horribly,” but with the help of a tutor, he smashed it the second time and got into UVic law, the only place he applied.

Despite starting online during COVID (and despising tort class), he enjoyed law school. He got involved in all aspects of academic life, including being elected as a student member of the admissions committee, volunteering with Pro Bono Students Canada, and holding positions in the Law Students’ Society.

UVic's former dean of law, Susan Breau supervised Bhattacharjee in his final dissertation and says his “was one of the best thesis or papers I’ve read.”

She recalls a dream student who was brilliant, kind, hard-working, and proud Canada gave him a chance.

“He's got enormous potential,” she says.

During second-year OCIs, Bhattacharjee landed a spot at McCarthy Tétrault in Vancouver, where he articled. He recalls looking down at some garbage bins from the firm’s 24th-floor downtown office one day. He had “flashbacks of that little Sam walking by looking for food in that garbage can,” a world away from where he now stood.

Ultimately, while he found corporate law fascinating, he decided it wasn’t for him.

“You have to align who you are with what you want, and that brings peace of mind,” he says.

A friend from law school who was working at YLaw, a small, diverse Vancouver firm focusing primarily on family law, convinced him to apply there. While Bhattacharjee has only been on board a few months, firm founder Leena Yousefi says he’s doing great and fits right in.

“He wanted somewhere to feel like home. He wanted to be accepted and to practise law in an environment where he felt comfortable being himself,” she says. 

Bhattacharjee’s turbulent life hasn’t made him cold or callous, as one might expect, says his fiancé and partner of seven years, Matthew Monchak. Family law has turned out to be just right for him.

“Sam is just genuinely a very sweet, kind, and caring person,” he says, adding his clients will benefit from that.

“He'll bring that understanding attitude and really care for what they're going through.” 

When Bhattacharjee was called to the bar, he says his life flashed before his eyes.

“I could see myself sitting on the seawall. I could see myself on that couch. I could see myself just wet and cold. And after all that, just because I wanted to bring myself here, there were people helping me.”

Yousefi has seen many lawyers called to the bar but never witnessed the look of humbleness, accomplishment, and transformation that she saw on Bhattacharjee’s face when he swore his oath.

“It was one of the best Christmas parties we ever had.”

Becoming a lawyer made Bhattacharjee feel like he was “finally someone,” says Monchak.

“I think that validation to himself, that he could do it, put to rest a lot of those demons that questioned if he could or not.” 

Bhattacharjee says reflecting on what he’s overcome to achieve his goal, “put a pep in his step.” After the party, he went home and stood before a photo of his mother, who passed away in 2017.

“I did it, Mom, I did it,” he told her.

Despite the demons and struggles, Bhattacharjee wouldn’t change anything about his life.

“It's given me perspective that everything exists on a spectrum,” he says.

“My suffering is no worse than yours. But this country that we live in, we have won the lottery in life. Whoever reads this, I want them to take that part away.”

While Canada may not be perfect, Bhattacharjee says, “It’s a privilege to be able to complain against your government and not disappear. It's a privilege to question your society and not be imprisoned. It's a privilege to disagree, to dissent, and still be free.”