Liliana Angarita fled Colombia ten years ago. Her husband, Mario Guilombo, was a corruption investigator, dangerous work that earned him pernicious attention: their four-year-old daughter was shot in the leg by officials he had been pursuing. And then they threatened to kill his mother.

Fearing for their lives, the family approached a Canadian Embassy, sending into high gear a refugee system that too often generates bad press. Within 48 hours, they made their escape, traveling to Montreal via Mexico, and then onward to Toronto, which has been home ever since.

"It's very difficult," says Angarita. "You're alone, only three people you know. You know nothing in Toronto. No English. Nothing, nothing. And there was too much cold. We weren't appropriately dressed. And in Mexico, I lost my luggage. So for one week, no dress or nothing. I stayed in churches for one month."

They persevered, eventually finding an apartment through government assistance. Not long after that, they began a human rights collective, an effort that, four years ago, flowered into the Canadian Human Rights International Organization (CHRIO). All three of them work there. They're joined by 100 volunteers with a mandate to help newcomers combat discrimination in Canadian society.

In May, Angarita's journey was plucked from the tapestry of similar stories that define much of Canada's immigrant and refugee communities. She was voted one of the country's top 25 immigrants by Canadian Immigrant Magazine and RBC. The contest is in its third year, and Angarita shares the 2011 distinction with the likes of Jean Augustine, the founder of Black History Month and first black woman elected to Parliament in Canada; Michael 'Pinball' Clemons, the record-breaking Argonaut who lofted Grey Cups like candy canes; and Robert Herjavec, the millionaire who holds up the kinder side of CBC's The Dragon's Den. Voting was conducted online, with over 25,000 participants.

"It was a big surprise for me," Angarita says. "One worker here nominated me. I had no idea."

She was given $500 to donate to a cause of her choice, and she immediately poured the money into CHRIO, where money is tight and bills are forever accumulating.

"We promote and offer training about human rights with workshops and seminars about human rights," says Guilombo, CHRIO's executive director. "We temper everything according to the provincial human rights code. We have a serious problem here with discrimination. For everyone. Newcomers and Canadians. Permanent residents and refugee claimants. We support them. We explain all things about their rights and responsibilities, and we prepare the complaints for the tribunals."

While it may fly in the face of national myth, Canadians are hearing more and more about the country's less than exemplary human rights record. In May, outgoing Auditor General Sheila Fraser used her farewell address and exit interviews to highlight the anguished state of the First Nations reserves. The month before, Amnesty International took aim (pdf) at Canada's record, saying national leadership has been ailing on a number of fronts, from indigenous rights to maternal health, Omar Khadr to social and economic rights.

With a backdrop like that, it's probably not surprising that the CHRIO phones ring off the hook. Guilombo says the group frequently deals with situations in which workers are ripped off and harassed by employers, or denied work because they're struggling with English. Landlords can also be a problem. The Ontario Human Rights Code has jurisdiction over employment and accommodation, and CHRIO helps its clients leverage the legislation.

And yet, maybe because of his own extreme experience, he isn't cynical about the system.

"This is the reason the government protects the rights for everyone," he says. "And all provinces have a human rights code. And Canadian human rights are here for everyone."

Their expertise brought Guilombo and Angarita before a Parliamentary committee when Canada was negotiating the 2009 free-trade agreement with Colombia. While some activists decried the deal because of Columbia's penchant for trade unionists and activists, Guilombo frames the deal as positive, especially because it includes an annual human rights review.

"The free trade agreement is good for Colombia and good for Canada," he says. "But the most important thing is that, every year, the Canadian government reviews the human rights situation in Colombia. That's the most important thing for us as human rights defenders."

Meanwhile, Angarita and Giulombo have only been back to Colombia once, when they gave a human rights seminar in Bogata. Their daughter, now in high school, has recovered from her injuries and operates CHRIO's teen outreach arm. It's just that Guilombo's mother, who is still alive, never came to Canada.

"My mother is a nationalist woman," he says. "She says, 'I prefer to be dead in Colombia. If they need to kill me, kill me here.'"