A Respectful Dissent From the Khadr Consensus: Ward Revisited

The case of Omar Khadr gives scholars a rare opportunity to question the fundamentals of public law damages. Such damages are notoriously difficult to quantify. As Lord Shaw once put it, “the restoration by way of compensation is therefore accomplished to a large extent by the exercise of a sound imagination and the practice of a broad axe.” This is doubly true respecting violations of rights and freedoms.

Despite these difficulties, most observers have made near-conclusive and wide-ranging claims about damages in the context of the Khadr case. For example, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau has argued that $10.5M is the invariable cost, in this case, of a Charter of Rights and Freedoms violation. Prof. Audrey Macklin similarly argued that the settlement is justified because the Government of Canada’s actions were “morally reprehensible”; and what’s more, a damages award at trial would have “dwarfed” the settlement figures. Prof Craig Martin simply argues that a restoration of “Canadian values” justifies the Khadr settlement. Other examples abound.

Whether the settlement and its quantum are justified in comparison to a damages award at trial is a fraught question. There are no easy answers provided by the law of constitutional damages. Yet the observers above reason from political premises about the importance of the Charter to Khadr’s “human rights” to wholly justify the settlement, without considering the legal justifications and difficulties associated with awarding Charter damages in this case. Indeed, much of the analysis has not engaged with Ward v Vancouver (City), in which the Supreme Court of Canada discussed the legal considerations directly relevant to Khadr.  In this post, I use the Ward analysis to critique two of the main claims used to support the settlement and its quantum: (1) that a sizeable settlement is appropriate based on the circumstances (2) quantum: that a damages award at trial would have “dwarfed” the settlement figures. Instead, it is just as likely that a damages award may not have reached $10.5M at all.

As we shall see, uncertainty is the watchword. That is what the law, not politics, prescribes–and why I dissent from the orthodoxy on this issue.

*****
I will start with the former claim.  Let’s begin with what is true. The Charter must apply for a damages award to be available. Contrary to Conservative MP Erin O’Toole, the Charter does apply extraterritorially in this case. While there is a complex set of cases on Charter application abroad (see the recent episode of The Docket for a solid analysis), the Supreme Court held in Khadr 2010 that the Charter applied. That is now a decided legal point. The fact that Khadr could be characterized as a jihadist is also irrelevant for the purposes of Charter application—constitutional rights exist to afford protection  to those who the majority may not consider worthy of protection.

But it is not enough for the supporters of the settlement to draw a direct line from a Charter violation to the settlement. In Ward, the Supreme Court held that a complex analysis is required after a Charter breach is found in order to determine whether damages are an “appropriate and just remedy,” as per the text of s.24(1) of the Charter. The Court outlined the functional justifications for a Charter damages remedy which a claimant must trigger in order for damages to be appropriate: the remedy must compensate, deter future unconstitutional government action, or vindicate Charter rights.

It follows that whether a Charter damages remedy qua settlement is “appropriate” writ large is the wrong question. Instead, we must ask what the functional justification for the Khadr settlement is in the context of Ward. The settlement could be justified from different perspectives. This is a question of legal policy.

Compensation and vindication in this case are near-impossible to achieve. Though separate justifications, both vindication and compensation seek to resolve the intangible loss associated with a Charter violation. Millions of dollars will not put Khadr in the position he would have been in but-for the narrow Charter breaches, because his loss (the violation of Charter rights) cannot be measured. It will differ from judge to judge, court to court. It is true in the private law context (see Andrews) that courts routinely award for intangible, non-pecuniary loss.   It is also true that damages in the private law context are primarily justified by the Supreme Court on a compensatory basis: Blackwater v Plint, para 81. Much of this thinking informed the reasoning in Ward, where the Court held that the difficulty of measuring a harm should not be a bar to the availability of constitutional damages.  But both private and public law recognize the limitations of compensation for immeasurables by controlling for mass recovery in such circumstances.  For example, Andrews introduced a cap for non-pecuniary loss. On the other hand, Ward holds that even if a functional justification is identified, “good governance” concerns may militate against the award of Charter damages. If one cannot conclude that damages would properly compensate Khadr’s loss, Ward provides appropriate guidance, at para 53: “Large awards and the consequent diversion of public funds may serve little functional purpose in terms of the claimant’s needs and may be inappropriate or unjust…” In other words, we should not throw good money after bad, even to vindicate Charter rights in an abstract sense. This does not mean  that the law should not compensate when it is difficult—private law is fundamentally about compensation in such circumstances. It simply means that, especially in the Khadr case with no pecuniary loss, compensation may be a weaker justification than the alternatives—especially when the law itself recognizes the limitations.

Deterrence is a more promising function in this particular case. Law and economics theory tells us that the goal of damages-as-deterrent seeks to affect the incentives of future defendants by forcing them to internalize the costs of their tortious actions. Opponents claim that deterrence theory requires defendants to be perfectly rational economic actors, and that the empirical evidence is weak to support such a claim. However, as Professor Norman Siebrasse essentially claims in one of a series of blog posts, perfection is not of this world.  Damages fail on the deterrence rationale only if a defendant is perfectly irrational. If a defendant has some regard to consequences, deterrence theory can provide an explanation and justification for damages, including Charter damages where the compensatory rationale is exceedingly weak. This is because the possibility of liability affects, in some regard, the choices presented to a defendant in a given circumstance.

On this argument, the Khadr settlement might be justified on a deterrence basis. While government actors may not be cost-conscious, they are creatures of politics. They seek to avoid Khadr-type news cycles which obsess over multi-million dollar awards. Government actors may avoid violation of constitutional norms simply because it is in their interest to do so, having regard to the settlement consequences. Awards based on deterrence, for example, might be likely in respect of discriminatory police conduct based on race. The recent Elmardy case at the Ontario Divisional Court demonstrates how the Ward analysis is used to affect the incentives of future governments on a deterrence rationale, especially given the newsworthy nature of such police misconduct (see also Gabriella Jamieson’s recent analysis of Ward in the context of race, and the importance of deterrence).

In short, whether the Khadr settlement is justified is a question of legal policy. Different theories of public law damages can provide different perspectives. As of now, however, no proponent of the settlement has engaged with deterrence theory in a fulsome way. In other words, simply reasoning from abstract principles of “human rights” does not justify Charter damages as a legal matter, and provides no answers as to the suitability of the Khadr settlement or Charter damages.

*****
The second point, on quantum, is one which admits of no easy answers. Yet most observers do not seem to question the Prime Minister’s assertion that the litigation of Khadr’s suit would have cost the government up to $40M. For at least two reasons, this is an impossible prediction to make or accept. Even if awarded, a damages award consisting of Charter damages might not have reached even $10.5M. I should note that I do not address liability in tort respecting quantum. While that is a relevant consideration, I am responding primarily to the commentators who have focused their analysis on the Charter breaches and damages flowing from same. Much of the uncertainty respecting Charter damages applies to the relationship between common law and constitutional damages, at any rate.

First, there is a paucity of Charter damages case law with which to analogize and compare the Khadr settlement in order to make these conclusions. Ward holds that quantum is governed in deterrence and vindication cases (such as Khadr) by a number of factors, including precedent and the seriousness of the breach: see paras 51-52. Since 2010, when Ward was decided, only a handful of cases have awarded Charter damages awards in the millions. Henry involved a case of wrongful imprisonment for a period of around 27 years. The BC Supreme Court awarded $7.5M in Charter damages, designed to vindicate Henry’s rights; an additional $530 000 was awarded for pecuniary loss. In BCTF v British Columbia, a trial court awarded $2M for bad-faith legislation—a rarity in constitutional remedies. Finally, in Conseil scolaire francophone de la Colombie-Brittanique v British Columbia, the BC Supreme Court awarded $6M in Charter damages for the underfunding of a minority education transportation system. The facts, quantum of damages, and justifications for the remedy in each of these cases diverge wildly—making it difficult to draw any legal conclusions or precedential value for the Khadr case.

Moreover, few Charter damages awards since Ward have come close to $10.5M, with most cases awarding nominal damages. This is true even of recent solitary confinement cases which might be analogized to Khadr. In Ogiamien, Justice Gray held that $85 000 would compensate for the losses of two plaintiffs who suffered under conditions which “outraged standards of decency.” In that case, the court found that the conditions violated protections against cruel and unusual punishment contained in s.12 of the Charter. If that amount of money satisfied the judge’s “outrage” in that case, it might very well satisfy any outrage in Khadr. This goes to the basic premise—compensation will be in the eye of the beholder, a trial judge. Reasonably, there is enough for a judge to conclude that $10.5M is not justified because of the limited breach.

This connects to the second point: because damages require an imaginative judiciary, and because there is little case law on the matter, much depends on how a trial judge would have analyzed the facts and the evidence respecting the “seriousness of the breach.” Michael Spratt argues that the breach was quite serious, given Khadr’s youth and circumstances. But Professor Macklin characterizes Khadr 2010, which found the breaches, as a “narrow” ruling, simply based on questioning and interrogation—no cruel and unusual punishment as in Ogiamien, torture, or otherwise (though, as noted above, Macklin supports the settlement). However a judge would resolve this debate will tell the tale. There is enough doubt, though, to question confident predictions of any “dwarfing”–and to support the opposite conclusion.

This is an unsatisfying conclusion. But there is no problem in stating what the law and the facts dictate: one cannot claim in any probabilistic sense that the damages award at trial would have “dwarfed” the settlement figure. There are simply too many variables to make that conclusion—there is at least some reasonable doubt.

*****

At the end of the day, while the Charter protects the fundamental rights of those like Khadr, that does not mean that a violation of a particular right leads inexorably to any particular remedy. It does not mean that compensation follows, or that it is justified from a legal policy perspective. Much nuance has been left out of the public comments on the Khadr settlement. Many have found it appropriate to simply say that a damages award, no matter the quantum, is justified because of the violation of Khadr’s rights. That may be a sound political argument. But the law requires more. It would be appropriate to see observers engage with the legal justifications for Charter damages rather than political justifications. Moreover, it would be helpful for analysts to recognize the limitations of the law in predicting the ceiling on an award of Charter damages. Engaging on those terms will improve the state of constitutional remedies and provide more convincing analysis.

 

 

Mancini on Khadr

Announcing a guest post by Mark Mancini on the Khadr Settlement

I am delighted to announce a forthcoming guest post by Mark Mancini on the Canadian government’s settlement with Omar Khadr. There have been many hyperbolic reactions to it, so I am very much looking forward to what I expect will be nuanced and thoughtful comments on an important issue that deserves more serious treatment than it has mostly received. Mr. Mancini is a recent graduate of UNB, already a published scholar, and a friend of this blog. I am delighted to welcome him as a contributor.

The Blog of John Henry

A comment on Nick Barber’s thoughts on “The Legal Academic in the Internet Age”

How is the internet going to change the ways in which legal academics teach, publish, and engage with the outside world in the medium term? Nick Barber addresses this question in a provocative post over at the UK Constitutional Law Blog. Blogs, he argues are the way of the future, while both social media should be resisted, and traditional lectures are destined for the dustbin of history. You might think that as a blogging enthusiast I would agree, or at least find the idea exciting. But prof. Barber doesn’t think that the future belongs to any old blogs; he has a specific type of blog in mind ― professional, edited outfits (like the UK Constitutional Law Blog itself), which will fuse with more traditional journals. A future in which such outlets are the dominant medium does not strike me as blogging utopia at all.

I will not say too much about prof. Barber’s views on the future of teaching. He thinks

that lectures will increasingly be replaced by shorter, fifteen or twenty minute, vlogs that will be designed for the medium; that is, they will consist of lecturers talking to camera, perhaps with slides incorporated into the broadcast. A series of these vlogs will then combine to cover the material that used to be covered in the lecture.

This will be both less demanding for the lecturers, who will be able to re-use recordings, and less boring for the students, who will be able to consume them in more digestible chunks and at their own pace. Prof. Barber thinks that by replacing lectures, “the rise of vlogs will free up time for more interactive teaching” to small groups of students. It’s a tempting vision, as I’m planning my lectures next term to classes of, potentially, 270 and 60. But whatever the chances that it will be realized at Oxford, where prof. Barber teaches, or at similarly well-heeled institutions, I don’t see how law schools like the one at which I am will have the resources to replace my four hours of pontificating to 330 students by the appropriately astronomical number of hours needed to afford them all small group teaching.

Similarly, I will not say too much about prof. Barber’s dismissive attitude to social media (i.e. Facebook and Twitter), which he says “encourage folly and, worse, they then go on to preserve this folly for posterity”. Steve Peers has responded with a Twitter thread that points out that Twitter, in particular, enables people to interact over the barriers that separate different professions (or branches of the legal professions) and academic disciplines, which (at least sometimes) makes it possible for conversations that would otherwise happen within these different groups to be enriched, for the benefit of all involved. I would only add that social media also help break down geographical barriers in a way that not only traditional publications, or even good old email, do not, and also the barriers of rank or standing within each profession or discipline. I understand why some people will prefer to heed prof. Barber’s call for caution, and do not agree with people who occasionally come close to saying that every academic ought to be on Twitter, but I am pretty sure that many will find it useful. I know I do; indeed I think that I have benefited a great deal from my (initially very reluctant) embrace of that medium. (To give just one example, I’m not sure if my collaboration with Benjamin Oliphant would have come about if we hadn’t been interacting on Twitter, as well as reading each other’s blog posts.)

I want to comment in some more detail on prof. Barber’s views on the present and future of blogs. Prof. Barber is enthusiastic about “the emerging capacity of blogs to permit academics to engage with important constitutional issues as they unfold”, without being constrained by the “glacial” pace at which articles, even short and topical ones, in traditional publications come out. Moreover, ” the rise of the blogs has also brought with it a welcome relaxation of style”, allowing scholars to engage with lay audiences. At the same time, as with social media, prof. Barber worries that

[t]he ease and speed with which material can be published increases the risk of error and of ill-considered scholarship. This may be partly due to the laziness of scholars but it is, also, the product of a collective pressure to publish quickly.

Half-baked or outright mistaken arguments that would never have made their way onto the printed page can appear in blog posts, and live on forever in cyberspace.

Prof. Barber sees the solution to this problem in the professionalization of blogs. “We need”, he argues, “to create structures that will make use of the speed and accessibility of the Internet whilst avoiding the risks of sloppy scholarship and blow-hard opinionizing.” Already, prof. Barber says, “[t]he best law blogs, like journals, now play an editorial role, reviewing and critiquing submissions before they are posted.” Whether these structures develop as part of what are now blogs or what are now journals, they will cause the quality of blog output to improve. This, in turn, will lead to academia finally crediting blog posts similarly to more traditional publications for the purposes of promotion, and also cause “the era of the personal blog as a serious academic enterprise [to] come to an end”, as independents are out-competed on quality by “edited blog[s]”.

Unlike prof. Barber, I do not see these developments as something to be wished for. It’s not that I’m against quality, of course ― I try to achieve it with my own posts here. But I know that I occasionally produce bloopers, and suspect that I am not quite alone in this. So I can see the attraction of prof. Barber’s position ― if we think that the most important thing for us (as scholars or as lawyers) is that everything written on law be of high quality. But I don’t think that this is the only thing that matters, and I’m afraid that rather more will be lost ― and perhaps less gained ― in the quest for quality than prof. Barber cares to admit.

For one thing, I’m skeptical about the ability of blogs to “play an editorial role”, at least a meaningful one, in a timely fashion. As they become more institutionalized, less the preserve of enthusiasts who pour the hearts into blogging without counting the hours, and especially if the volume of contributions (and perhaps the competition to get published) increases, as prof. Barber expects that it will, edited blogs will be likely to acquire some of the less pleasant characteristics of the journals, the “glacial” pace among them. The more quality assurance one wants to have ― the more editing and stages of peer review ― the slower the process becomes, until the only time savings over the traditional journals are those made by eliminating printing.

More importantly, the institutionalization of blogs and the disappearance of independent blogging would likely close down an important avenue that is now available to people who lack the exalted status and distinguished credentials of prof. Barber and his fellow contributors to the UK Constitutional Law Blog for communicating their ideas about the law. When I started this blog, I was a graduate student with exactly one academic publication to my name. Nobody would have given me a platform in a serious edited blog. But less than three years later, Double Aspect was named the best law blog in Canada. Paul Daly had a much fuller CV and a higher perch when he started Administrative Law Matters, but he too was “only” a junior academic at that point. Yet within a couple of years his blog was an indispensable resource on public law, and he also won (well deserved, in his case!) recognition as the best in Canada. Independent blogging democratizes academic and professional conversations about law by allowing upstart voices to join in and, just possibly, be heard if they have something interesting to say.

Independent blogging can also be an avenue by which unorthodox ideas that might not pass the test of editorial quality control can be developed. I doubt that any blog editor would have cared much for my early musings about originalism. Two peer-reviewed articles later, I can say that they were not as silly as they might have seemed at the time, though of course the process of working on those articles with Mr. Oliphant involved developing and clarifying my (and his) initial ideas a great deal. But without those early unedited musings, the articles would not have happened. And, to repeat, if I didn’t have my own blog, and had to count on the good will or open mind of an editor ― who would, in the nature of things, be an established, and more or less orthodox, academic ― to get them published, I doubt that they would ever have seen the light of day.

I also think that personal or (relatively) small-group blogs (such as the Volokh Conspiracy or Balkinization) have another advantage over institutional ones: they require, and thus select for, commitment. Institutional blogs make it possible for any given person to contribute at large intervals, perhaps only sporadically. That can of course be a good thing ― people who only sometimes think they have something to say in blog post form have an outlet for those occasions. (For this same reason, I think guest-posts are generally great, and am delighted to have hosted a number of them of the years.) But I do think that there is something to be said for committing to a platform that leaves you no cover and forces you to blog not just now and then, but week in and week out. It’s bloody hard ― as my occasional bouts of silence show, even maniacs like me sometimes find it impossible ― but as with so much else, there are benefits to regular practice. It makes one develop one’s voice and style; it allows one to cover a variety of subjects in some depth; it provides one with a well-developed record of one’s observations and opinions that can be useful for other purposes (like teaching, or simply keeping track of legal developments) in the future.

Even if the personal blog cannot compete with a professionally edited platform for high-level scholarship on pure quality, it has its own, different value. It can be a way for new and rebellious voices to enter into and enliven the conversation. It can be a proving ground for people and ideas. It can be the record of a coherent or developing thought process. In can, in short, be many things that a edited blog cannot. Call me a blogging romantic if you will,

But before I let your steam drill beat me down,
I’d die with a hammer in my hand, Lord, Lord,
I’d die with a hammer in my hand.

 

New Year, New Look

For 2017, Double Aspect has a new look and a new address

This is just a quick note to let my readers know that I’ve given the blog’s look an update. Nothing crazy, but I hope that it looks better than it did before ― or at any rate that it looks reasonably well. If you have any concerns please let me know.

In addition, the blog now has a new URL ― doubleaspect.blog. You don’t actually need to update your bookmarks, as you’ll be automatically redirected to the new address even if you go to the old one, but if you want to save yourself that fraction of a second, then go ahead.

I don’t suppose my posts were much missed during the holidays, which I hope were happy for all. But now that that’s over, I will resume normal blogging in short order. Happy 2017, everyone!

#Clawbies2016

My nominations for this year’s Clawbies, and some other recommendations

December in the Southern hemisphere means that summer, not winter, is around the corner, and while the Santa Parade and Christmas trees are all there, they mostly provoke cognitive dissonance in those of us used to their being accompanied by snow (or grumblings about the lack thereof). That, and also concerns about Santa and his reindeer suffering a heatstroke. (On the plus side, I suppose there is no danger of getting burned in a chimney.) One holiday tradition that is not so weather-bound (though it will still be upended ― by the time difference that is; by the time the results come it, it will very much be 2017 in New Zealand) is that of the Clawbies ― the Canadian legal blogosphere’s yearly dose of self-congratulation.

We are about half-way through the nomination period, and some people, to whom I am very grateful, have been kind enough to put a word in for Double Aspect. It’s time for me to make my own suggestions. To be clear, by nominating some blogs and not others, I am not suggesting that these blogs are in some objective, absolute way “better” than others. What I am saying is that I like them, and think they deserve attention from readers and recognition from the Clawbies’ judges. Plenty of others do too, but the Clawbies’ rules say we are limited to three nominations, but the truth of the matter is that picking only three is pretty much mission impossible. So I will also bend the rules a bit, and make a few recommendations ― blogs I do not formally (and in some case am not permitted to) nominate, but which I still think should get considered for (and indeed win) some Clawbie or other.

Indeed, I will start with a recommendation, because it is for a blog that I could, and perhaps should, have nominated: Paul Daly’s Administrative Law Matters, last year’s big winner. Having nominated his blog repeatedly, I hope prof. Daly will forgive me for taking a break this time. I am pretty sure I will be nominating him again very soon, and indeed he would be a richly deserving winner again this time.

So for my actual nominations:

  1. The Université de Sherbrooke’s Law Faculty blog, À qui de droit: I mentioned it last year as a possible future nominee, and here it is. Sherbrooke’s response to Calgary’s ABlawg and the University of Alberta Faculty of Law Blog doesn’t (yet) have the former’s Clawbies-winning pedigree or the latter’s record of placing its contributors on the Supreme Court, but it is the best such collective effort east of the 110th meridian.
  2. Édith Guilhermont’s Juris Blogging: last year, I described Dr. Guilhermont’s as “the tireless apostle of legal blogging in Québec (although, ironically, not yet a blogger herself ― nudge nudge!)”; now, fortunately, the main part of this description is even more true, while the parenthetical no longer is. Juris Blogging is, so far as I know, the only blog devoted to law blogs in Canada. This may seem insular, but if Dr. Guilhermont is right that, for an increasing number of lawyers, blogs will be a supplement to, and even a substitute for, traditional legal scholarship, then she will be describing an increasingly important component of the legal culture and practice.
  3. Lisa Silver’s Ideablawg: Prof. Silver’s probing reflections on difficult issues in the criminal law are a must read for anyone interested in the subject. To my lasting regret, I didn’t care one bit for criminal law as a student, and avoided classes in it except for the compulsory one; Ideablawg helps me make up for the resulting ignorance, and I am grateful to its author for this! Thrice a Clawbie runner-up, it’s time Ideablawg were a winner already.

And here’s another recommendation, for a blog that I cannot nominate because I occasionally contribute to it (which reminds me that I’m overdue on my next installment): that of the CBA’s National Magazine. Its variety of subjects, contributors, and perspectives is pretty unique in the Canadian blawgosphere.

Finally, I thought I’d mention a couple of bloggers from my new home, New Zealand, which has more to teach Canadians about matters constitutional than we tend to suspect. One is Edward Willis, whose blog offers some very thoughtful takes on constitutional law and theory; the other is Andrew Geddis, whose posts on Pundit are always interesting, and will often highlight to Canadian readers the remarkable similarity of the issues faced in our two countries.

Passing Observations

Some thoughts on writing exams, from a guy who just graded 240 of them

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I recently graded (or, as we say in New Zealand, marked) more than 240 exam papers (or scripts). So I thought I’d volunteer some observations, in case any students who might be reading this are looking for tips. Of course, much of what follows will feel intuitive to many, and perhaps to most. The art of answering exam questions is not especially difficult to master. But there are, I can now tell, more than a few people who really could use some advice before they sit another final. (Whether they read my blog is a different question, admittedly.)

By way of introduction, let me say something of which students don’t think (I know: it’s not very long ago that I was a student myself!). A student writes only four or five exams, at most, at the end of a semester, but an instructor has many dozen, and possibly (as in my case) several hundred of them to read. This means that I only have a few minutes to devote to each script. (Ever complained about the marking taking too long? I know I have. But if it had to be done faster, that would mean even less time to look at your answers!) If I don’t know what you are saying ― whether that’s because your answers are poorly structured or even because your handwriting is atrocious ― I’m not going to spend a lot of time figuring it out. If you want me to understand you, it’s your job to make sure I do.

And beyond that, it’s in your self-interest to make sure that I… how to put this nicely… don’t get too worked up while reading your answer. Sorry as I am to say this, when reading the answer to the same question two hundred times over, it is unfortunately easy to find small things aggravating. I know one should not get aggravated, and I try not to. But still, don’t give me reasons to become annoyed. Try to spell correctly ― especially when you are writing my name on the exam booklet. (Seriously. I’ve seen my name spelled a couple dozen different ways, though the best one was the student who wrote my last name as Sinatra.) Try to punctuate sensibly ― instead of just randomly strewing periods all over your answers, or at the end of each line. Try to use proper syntax. In particular, ensure that your sentences have subjects and conjugated verbs, and that they are not just subordinate clauses floating around without anything to attach them to. (Of all the annoying things I’ve seen, this one is perhaps the most bizarre.) If your writing tone is formal, don’t be pretentious; if it is conversational, don’t be familiar. Oh, and please, don’t make unfunny jokes. Keep in mind that if you feel the need explain your joke, it’s probably not funny. And when in doubt about whether a joke you want to make is funny, abstain.

This all goes to the form of your answers. Let’s now turn to the content. The single most important thing is also the simplest one: answer the question you are asked! I will at least try to overlook those annoying periods all over the place, ignore ignorance of apostrophes, and put those free-floating subordinate clauses down to the stress of the exam room; but I can’t pretend that you are answering the question when you are not. In particular, if the question is a descriptive one, asking you what the law on a certain point is, don’t answer it as if it were a normative one, asking you what the law ought to be. And if the question asks you for a prediction about the consequences of a development in the law, don’t answer by explaining why this development ought not to, or will not, happen. That’s just not what I want to see, and as a result, your grade for that question will not be one that you want to see.

Another general point is that you won’t get very far by simply spewing the notes you took in class, and a fortiori the notes that I provided, right back at me. For the most part, doing this just shows that you have no idea what you are talking about and are throwing the proverbial kitchen sink at me. The same goes, of course, for keywords from my Powerpoint slides inserted into answers regardless of relevance. A related point is that if the exam is wholly or partly open book, you shouldn’t just print out your entire notes for the semester. Prepare an aide-mémoire that synthesizes what you’ve learned ― it will help you study, and finding things during the exam will be much easier than rummaging through a semester’s worth of notes. The one I used for the first year contracts exam, for a full-year class, was all of seven pages long, in size 12 font. It’s perfectly doable if you put in the effort. And of course, “putting in the effort” means actually understanding the material, enabling you to show the instructor that you have understood ― which is precisely what he or she wants to see.

Some more specific issues now. Perhaps the most important one is that you need to distinguish what is and what ought to be. This is one of the most important things in legal education, and it’s a safe bet that most instructors try to get you to do this, and want to see you do it on an exam. So don’t assume that things are necessarily right the way they are, and don’t assume that things were necessarily wrong in the past, when they were not as today. Don’t assume that judges always act as they are supposed to ― they are only human beings, prone to error and susceptible to the corrupting effects of power, especially to the desire to increase the power of courts at the expense of other institutions. But don’t assume that Parliaments and governments are always looking out for the public good, either. Don’t assume that they are all always wrong, or corrupt, or evil, of course. Judge each case on its own merits, and don’t forget that there is a decent chance that, if you are being asked a question, the answer to it is not altogether clear-cut or obvious. Pay attention to the context of your answer, perhaps especially on problem questions: if you are asked to write a memo for a client, it is probably not helpful to launch into philosophical disquisitions, or discussions of Roman law. Whatever the question, however, avoid making pompous general statements, which are invariably untrue and almost as invariably irrelevant (these include, for example, declarations that something has been done “throughout history” or needs to be done “in every country”). Last but not least, know your stuff! Don’t confuse Governor-General and Attorney-General. Don’t represent a concurring or a dissenting judgment as that of the court (even if I focused on that particular judgment in class). And don’t bring up a case to illustrate the application of a common law rule developed or a statute enacted years after that case was decided (in other words, know when the cases we studied were decided).

Contrary to what some students think, it’s actually a lot more fun for an instructor to give good grades than bad ones. It’s certainly more fun for me. But that doesn’t mean I’ll do it without good reason. I’m happy to interpret borderline cases favourably to you ― but not to pretend that your work is better than it really is. Do it well, and we’ll both be happy. Good luck!

St-Hilaire on Parliamentary Privilege

I have been completely snowed under, despite the coming Southern hemisphere summer ― or perhaps because of it, since coming summer means end of the semester, and end of the semester means exams to grade (or to mark, as we say around here). 243 exam papers (or scripts, in Kiwi), to be precise, in my Constitutional Law class (or paper). This is very nearly done, and I hope to resume blogging by the end of the week. In the meantime, my friend, and occasional guest here, Maxime St-Hilaire, will entertain us with a post on parliamentary privilege, cross-posted from the Université de Sherbrooke’s blog, À qui de droit. I am looking forward to it!

Charitable Status and Freedom of Expression: Testing Labour Union Exceptionalism in the context of the Charter’s Fundamental Freedoms

The charitable organization Canada Without Poverty (“CWP”) has created some buzz lately with its constitutional challenge to a provision in the Income Tax Act that makes charitable tax status contingent on refraining from engaging in certain “political activities”.

As a preliminary matter, there is always a risk in assessing laws impacting expression that our thinking will become clouded by sympathies for the expression at issue. In order to avoid this at the outset of this egregiously long post, I would like to invite readers to not think of this as a challenge brought by an anti-poverty group. No one likes poverty. Think of it as a challenge brought by an organization whose otherwise lawful political expression you find obnoxious or distasteful. I, for instance, will imagine that the challenge was brought by a not-for-profit organization dedicated to promoting the interests of self-described “foodies”.

So the question is: does this lawful organization (whose ideas or objectives you dislike) have a constitutional entitlement to favourable tax treatment not available to other organizations, and to use the additional funds for their political purposes, as an incident of their fundamental freedoms?

Positive and Negative Rights

This challenge raises a number of unresolved issues that go to the very nature of the concept of “freedom” used in section 2 of the Charter, and in particular everyone’s favourite but murky (if not analytically unstable) distinction of “positive” vs. “negative” rights.

These difficult issues arise because the Government does not prohibit, restrict, or otherwise impose sanctions on organizations for engaging in political activities or expression. No one is stopping any organization from saying or doing anything, as such.

Rather, what the law does is make beneficial tax status contingent on refraining from engaging in political activities, including political expression. As I understand it, charitable organizations can engage in political activities and expression, or obtain tax breaks, but not both.

The difficulty with the CWP’s position is that we normally think of “freedom” as requiring the government to not interfere with the fundamental freedoms (religion, expression, assembly and association), but not as requiring positive state assistance for those activities. Presumably, we would all have greater opportunity to expend funds on religious, expressive or associational activities if we were afforded state assistance for them, be it through beneficial tax status, government grants, or positive legislative protections designed to facilitate these activities. But if you walk into court and say that the government has violated your fundamental freedoms because they have not left you with enough post-tax income to build a church or to run prime time election ads or to rent lane-time so your bowling association can practice, you will probably not get very far.

This point is not lost on the lawyers for the CWP. In their Notice of Application, they assert that they are seeking an entitlement to charitable status as such, but rather take the existence of charitable tax status as a given:

  1. CWP is not arguing that Parliament is constitutionally obliged to confer the benefit of charitable status for the promotion of any particular purpose or view. Though an argument could be advanced that governments have an obligation to provide statutory or financial support for organizations such as CWP to promote the relief of poverty, that is not the issue in this case. Parliament has accepted that relief of poverty is a charitable purpose and CWP has been granted charitable status to pursue this purpose. CWP relies on the fact that even if there is no constitutional obligation to provide charitable status for the relief of poverty, Parliament must ensure that where it chooses to provide the benefit, it does so in a manner that complies with the Charter. Restrictions imposed on CWP’s political expression must therefore be in compliance with the Charter. Section 149.1 (6.2) has as its clear purpose the restriction of political activities or expression. All of CWP’s activities that are subject to this restriction have expressive content, thereby bringing them prima facie within the scope of s. 2(b) protection.

While there are a number of ways this challenge could go,* I will focus on the constitutional principle underlined above – that while the government may not be constitutional required to confer a certain benefit, once it chooses to do so, it must do so in compliance with the Charter.

This principle is rather obviously true in general, but is more readily applicable in certain respects than in others. In particular, in the context of section 15 equality challenges, the government cannot extend a benefit to some and deny it to others on discriminatory grounds, and then claim it has not breached the Charter because the persons deprived of the benefit would have no entitlement to it in addition to their right to not be unlawfully discriminated against. The whole point of equality rights – and in particular the rights to “equal benefit” and “equal protection” of the law – is to forbid the discriminatory extension of benefits, burdens and protections.

The question the CWP application raises is different.  It is not raising a section 15, relative-entitlement equality claim – I am entitled to this state benefit/protection/support because others get it.  Rather, by relying on section 2, the CWP claim (or at least the angle I am focussing on) enters into the field of absolute entitlements – I am entitled to this additional state benefit/protection/support regardless of what other people get, because it is necessary to permit me to meaningfully exercise my fundamental freedoms.

Positive and Negative Rights and the Fundamental Freedoms

Generally, the courts have been resistant to extend state benefits or protections in that way under the fundamental freedoms. For instance, in Haig v. Canada, a case involving the government excluding persons from voting in a referendum due to their fluid residency status, L’Heureux-Dube J. made the following remarks:

As a starting point, I would note that case law and doctrinal writings have generally conceptualized freedom of expression in terms of negative rather than positive entitlements. (…)

It has not yet been decided that, in circumstances such as the present ones, a government has a constitutional obligation under s. 2(b) of the Charter to provide a particular platform to facilitate the exercise of freedom of expression.  The traditional view, in colloquial terms, is that the freedom of expression contained in s. 2(b) prohibits gags, but does not compel the distribution of megaphones… [at 1035; emphasis added]

In applying this principle to the expressive ‘benefit’ at issue (the ability to express oneself through voting in a referendum), the Court in Haig found that there was no such entitlement:

A referendum is a creation of legislation.  Independent of the legislation giving genesis to a referendum, there is no right of participation.  The right to vote in a referendum is a right accorded by statute, and the statute governs the terms and conditions of participation.  The Court is being asked to find that this statutorily created platform for expression has taken on constitutional status.  In my view, though a referendum is undoubtedly a platform for expression, s. 2(b) of the Charter does not impose upon a government, whether provincial or federal, any positive obligation to consult its citizens through the particular mechanism of a referendum.  Nor does it confer upon all citizens the right to express their opinions in a referendum.  A government is under no constitutional obligation to extend this platform of expression to anyone, let alone to everyone.  A referendum as a platform of expression is, in my view, a matter of legislative policy and not of constitutional law.

The following caveat is, however, in order here.  While s. 2(b) of the Charter does not include the right to any particular means of expression, where a government chooses to provide one, it must do so in a fashion that is consistent with the Constitution.  The traditional rules of Charter scrutiny continue to apply. Thus, while the government may extend such a benefit to a limited number of persons, it may not do so in a discriminatory fashion, and particularly not on ground prohibited under s. 15 of the Charter. [at 1041; emphasis added]

On this logic, the Court has rejected various constitutional challenges where the claimant sought state assistance or a certain ‘platform’ to facilitate their expression (i.e. a positive right). For instance, in NWAC, the Court rejected the claim that the government was constitutionally required under s. 2(b) to provide an aboriginal women’s group with funding and access to facilitate their position in constitutional negotiations:

It cannot be claimed that NWAC has a constitutional right to receive government funding aimed at promoting participation in the constitutional conferences (…) The respondents conceded as much in paragraph 91 of their factum as well as in oral argument. Furthermore, the provision of funding and the invitation to participate in constitutional discussions facilitated and enhanced the expression of Aboriginal groups. It did not stifle expression. (…)

At this point, I should add that it cannot be said that every time the Government of Canada chooses to fund or consult a certain group, thereby providing a platform upon which to convey certain views, that the Government is also required to fund a group purporting to represent the opposite point of view.  Otherwise, the implications of this proposition would be untenable.  For example, if the Government chooses to fund a women’s organization to study the issue of abortion to assist in drafting proposed legislation, can it be argued that the Government is bound by the Constitution to provide equal funding to a group purporting to represent the rights of fathers?  If this was the intended scope of s. 2(b) of the Charter, the ramifications on government spending would be far reaching indeed. [at 654-656; emphasis added]

At one time, this was the default assumption that applied to all of the fundamental freedoms. As Robert Charney has recently explained, it has been applied in the context of freedom of religion, in cases like Adler:

Persons seeking funding for private religious schools have argued that without government funding they are unable to establish a religious school, or, if established, students who might want to attend would be unable to do so because they could not afford the tuition. In other words, they argued, that for at least some individuals, the right to attend a private religious school was meaningless in the absence of government funding to build and support such schools. This argument was rejected by the Supreme Court, which held that freedom of religion does not entitle one to state support for one’s religion. As Chief Justice Dubin stated in the Ontario Court of Appeal:

The right [to freedom of religion under Charter s.2(a)] involves the freedom to pursue one’s religion or beliefs without government interference, and the entitlement to live one’s life free from state-imposed religious beliefs. It does not provide . . . any entitlement to state support for the exercise of one’s religion.

Robert E. Charney, “Should the Law society of Upper Canada Give Its Blessing to Trinity Western University Law School” (2015) 34 NJCL 173 at 182; see also Adler, at para 199-200, per McLachlin J, at paras 171, 175, per Sopinka J., and at para 58, per L’Heureux‑Dubé J..

Similarly, in the context of freedom of association, the Court (at one time) rejected the proposition that the Government was required to extend certain ‘positive’ entitlements under the rubric of the fundamental freedoms, such as affirmative labour rights designed to facilitate or promote associational activities.

In Delisle v. Canada, for instance, the Court rejected the submission that excluding certain employees (there, RCMP members) from the protections found in the general labour relations statute violated their freedom of association. The RCMP members were left free to associate and to make representations to their employer about working conditions; they simply were not provided with the affirmative statutory protections necessary to enhance the power of that association in the collective bargaining context. In essence, the employer could ignore them. The majority explained the distinction between the principle’s application in the context of section 15 and in the context of the fundamental freedoms:

The structure of s. 2 of the Charter is very different from that of s. 15 and it is important not to confuse them.  While s. 2 defines the specific fundamental freedoms Canadians enjoy, s. 15 provides they are equal before and under the law and have the right to equal protection and equal benefit of the law.  The only reason why s. 15 may from time to time be invoked when a statute is underinclusive, that is, when it does not offer the same protection or the same benefits to a person on the basis of an enumerated or analogous ground (on this issue, see Schachter v. Canada, [1992] 2 S.C.R. 679), is because this is contemplated in the wording itself of s. 15.  The distinguishing feature of s. 15 is that the Charter may require the government to extend the special status, benefit or protection it afforded to the members of one group to another group if the exclusion is discriminatory and is based on an enumerated or analogous ground of discrimination. (…)

It is because of the very nature of freedom that s. 2 generally imposes a negative obligation on the government and not a positive obligation of protection or assistance. (…)

On the whole, the fundamental freedoms protected by s. 2 of the Charter do not impose a positive obligation of protection or inclusion on Parliament or the government, except perhaps in exceptional circumstances which are not at issue in the instant case.  In accordance with the decision of the majority of this Court in Professional Institute of the Public Service of Canada v. Northwest Territories (Commissioner), supra, there is no violation of s. 2(d) of the Charter when certain groups of workers are excluded from a specific trade union regime.  The ability to form an independent association and to carry on the protected activities described below, the only items protected by the Charter, exists independently of any statutory regime. (…) [at paras 25, 26, 33]

As can be seen, the Court was characteristically cautious to never say never. In Haig, for instance, the majority mused that “a situation might arise in which, in order to make a fundamental freedom meaningful, a posture of restraint would not be enough, and positive governmental action might be required”. It gave the example of “legislative intervention aimed at preventing certain conditions which muzzle expression, or ensuring public access to certain kinds of information”, which it implied may require constitutional protection, despite the fact that it could be characterized as an assertion of a ‘right’ to positive protection or assistance (Haig at 1039). And as discussed below, the Court has taken this ball and thrown deep, especially (or perhaps exclusively) in the context of freedom of association and labour rights.

However, even after that ball started rolling, the Court has generally hewed closely to the orthodox distinction in most other contexts. In Siemens v. Manitoba, the Court again confirmed that freedom of expression did not entitle an individual to vote in a referendum, relying on Haig. And in Baier v. Alberta, the Court developed a somewhat obscure framework for the extension of positive rights in the context of section 2, in the course of rejecting the claim that freedom of expression was violated by excluding certain persons from running in a school board election. Notwithstanding the unique expressive advantage conferred by being a school trustee – i.e. it enhances the meaningfulness of expression – the court found that “claiming a unique role is not the same as claiming a fundamental freedom” (Baier at para 44).

Thus, I take it to be the general rule under section 2 that state may not act to impede religious belief or practice, expression, or associational activities, but it need not actively facilitate, promote, enhance or assist those activities.

Departing from the Rights vs. Freedom Distinction

The Court has since departed from this general s. 2 rule in a rather big way, albeit almost exclusively in one particular context: labour rights designed to facilitate meaningful association in the workplace. The first departure came in Dunmore v. Ontario, where the Court found that section 2(d) of the Charter required the extension of statutory rights specifically designed to facilitate the act of association, namely, protections against unfair labour practices of employers discriminating against employees who choose to associate (i.e. firing someone who joined a union), which employers are free to do at common law.

Since Dunmore, proceeding to BC Health and Fraser, and on to MPAO and Saskatchewan Federation of Labour, the Court has found that a broader range of affirmative statutory rights are necessary to permit workers to “meaningfully” exercise their fundamental freedom of association in the labour relations context. In these cases, no law or state actor stopped anyone from freely associating, generally speaking. The problem was that the association so created was not able to achieve what it was designed to achieve in the absence of unique statutory protections: i.e. engaging in meaningful collective bargaining, including by placing an obligation on the employer to bargain in good faith, protecting employees from termination lawful at common law, having access to a right to strike, and so on.

I do not think the Court has yet extended this principle outside the labour relations context, with one possible exception. In CLA, the Court found that section 2(b) of the Charter could require the government to disclose information in its possession where doing so was necessary to facilitate expression on the subject matter of the disclosure.  I happen to think is not so much an exception to the general rule, but that discussion is beyond the scope of this post. In any event, and beyond the CLA case, the extension of fundamental freedoms to require positive state support appears to only really apply in the context of labour relations. As the Court stated in Dunmore, with perhaps some degree of understatement, “it may be asked whether the distinction between positive and negative state obligations ought to be nuanced in the context of labour relations” (at para 20).

Notably, in defending the position that section 2 imposes positive obligations on the government in some circumstances, the Court has arguably gone beyond the wholly defensible position that the distinction between (positive) rights and (negative) freedoms can be murky and will at least admit of borderline cases, to the more radical proposition that there is really no distinction at all, stating for instance that “(t)he freedom to do a thing, when guaranteed by the Constitution interpreted purposively, implies a right to do it.” (Fraser, at para 67).

I think that taken too far, this view is problematic, if for no other reason that it would tend to put the courts in the position of doling out governing funding and statutory rights based on some arbitrary baseline entitlement to ‘meaningful freedom’. I doubt that is something that would be contemplated outside of the unique labour relations context. As I have put it elsewhere:

For example, consider freedom of religion. Section 2(a) does not impose any positive duty on the government, even if my lack of resources makes an important incident of this freedom (e.g., going on pilgrimages to Mecca or building a church) all but illusory, vapid or ‘impossible to exercise’. Likewise, if you are without the means or opportunity to effectively distribute your message to an audience, or simply no one cares to listen to you, your freedom of expression may be effectively rendered ‘pointless’. The absence of state action in this case may have the effect of ‘precluding’ meaningful expression, and the futility of the enterprise may indirectly ‘discourage’ it, but this does not entitle you to a constitutional remedy on the basis of government inaction. (…)

While the Court has shied away from strictly categorizing guarantees as ‘rights’ or ‘freedoms’, there can be little doubt that the questions “can the state prevent me from building a church?” or “can the government criminalize my political message?” are categorically different than “must the government purchase a parcel of land for my church?” or “must the legislature force private broadcasters to disseminate message?” While both state action and state inaction can operate to effectively ‘preclude’ the meaningful exercise of one’s substantive freedom, depending on the circumstances, the two inquiries are and must be treated differently as a matter of constitutional law. Simply stating that the line between ‘rights’ and ‘freedoms’ can occasionally be a hazy one cannot obliterate the line entirely.

On a more practical level, a ‘right to the meaningful exercise of a freedom’ standard necessarily requires the courts to attempt the almost impossible task of determining with any degree of certainty what is required to ‘meaningfully exercise’ a freedom – at what degree of meaningfulness does the state obligation to enhance the purposes and objectives of the association, expression or religion, begin and end? Many freedoms that the state may not unjustifiably encumber, such as writing papers on constitutional interpretation in obscure legal journals, may be done in vain, but that does not normally entitle authors to constitutional remedy.

Benjamin Oliphant, “Exiting the Freedom of Association Labyrinth:  Resurrecting the Parallel Liberty Standard Under 2(d) & Saving the Freedom to Strike” (2012), 70 UTFLR 36 at 68-71.

In other words, I think there is a fundamental distinction between section 15, relative – entitlements – you cannot deprive me of this benefit you give to everyone else – and the task of defining baseline entitlements to ‘meaningful freedom’, and we should not conflate them.  It is one thing for the Courts to erect a wall of freedom over which the state may not intrude, but quite another to start directing the distribution of government funds and legislative protections to achieve some abstract amount of ‘freedom’. The latter strikes me as a rather massive expansion of judicial power, made deceptively easy in the labour relations context by a ready-made statutory superstructure of positive protections (i.e. the Wagner Act labour relations legislation established across the country).

The Counter Point

All of that being said, I agree that the distinctions accepted in a range of cases discussed above – between a freedom and a right, between positive and negative entitlements, between state action and inaction, and so on – are not bright line rules that can resolve hard constitutional cases on the basis of an initial characterization.

To see how the distinction can break down, consider the Government conditioning access to a public space – e.g. holding a political rally in a city park – on supporting a particular partisan viewpoint.  I should think that a rather intolerable intrusion upon freedom of expression, despite the fact that a publicly-maintained public park could be characterized as access to a ‘platform’ of sorts. So the mere fact that a claim can be characterized as access to a state ‘platform’ or ‘benefit’ cannot end the analysis.

The US case law here might be instructive. The general rule applied by the US Courts is consistent with the orthodox position stated above. As recently outlined in AID v. Alliance for Open Society Intern.:

As a general matter, if a party objects to a condition on the receipt of federal funding, its recourse is to decline the funds. This remains true when the objection is that a condition may affect the recipient’s exercise of its First Amendment rights. See, e.g., United States v. American Library Assn., Inc., 539 U.S. 194, 212, 123 S.Ct. 2297, 156 L.Ed.2d 221 (2003) (plurality opinion) (rejecting a claim by public libraries that conditioning funds for Internet access on the libraries’ installing filtering software violated their First Amendment rights, explaining that “[t]o the extent that libraries wish to offer unfiltered access, they are free to do so without federal assistance”); Regan v. Taxation With Representation of Wash., 461 U.S. 540, 546, 103 S.Ct. 1997, 76 L.Ed.2d 129 (1983) (dismissing “the notion that First Amendment rights are somehow not fully realized unless they are subsidized by the State” (internal quotation marks omitted)). [at 2328]

One of the cases cited for the general rule, Regan v. Taxation With Representation of Wash, closely resembles the CWP challenge, as it deals with restrictions on charitable tax status. There the Court rejected the premise that freedom of expression requires the Government to extend state subsidies for public activities, stating:

The reasoning of these decisions is simple: “although government may not place obstacles in the path of a [person’s] exercise of . . . freedom of [speech], it need not remove those not of its own creation.” Harris, 448 U. S., at 316. Although TWR does not have as much money as it wants, and thus cannot exercise its freedom of speech as much as it would like, the Constitution “does not confer an entitlement to such funds as may be necessary to realize all the advantages of that freedom.” Id., at 318. (…)

TWR contends that § 501(c)(3) organizations could better advance their charitable purposes if they were permitted to engage in substantial lobbying. This may well be true. But Congress — not TWR or this Court — has the authority to determine whether the advantage the public would receive from additional lobbying by charities is worth the money the public would pay to subsidize that lobbying, and other disadvantages that might accompany that lobbying. (…) It is not irrational for Congress to decide that tax-exempt charities such as TWR should not further benefit at the expense of taxpayers at large by obtaining a further subsidy for lobbying. [at 549; emphasis added]

As in Canada, however, this is not a hard and fast rule. I don’t presume to be an expert in First Amendment jurisprudence, but it seems that they have come up with a few subsidiary doctrines to deal with borderline cases where an otherwise meritorious claim could be characterized as one to state support.

First, if the ‘benefit’ being denied is one traditionally available to all to use for the purposes of expression (as in our public parks example above), the government cannot deny it without a good reason: “the existence of a Government “subsidy,” in the form of Government-owned property, does not justify the restriction of speech in areas that have “been traditionally open to the public for expressive activity” (see United States v. Kokinda, 497 U. S. 720, 726 (1990)).

Second, in the AID case quoted above, the majority found that the Government could not make federal funding for a program contingent on engaging in expressive activities that are in some sense beyond the scope of the objectives of the program itself, and perhaps especially where the condition “requir[es] recipients to profess a specific belief”. This distinction is itself a fine one, and I think that particular case shades into a different area – the coerced expression cases. However, because the CWP case does not involve requiring the endorsement or forswearing of any particular political message, I am not sure this angle will be helpful.

Third, and most relevant to the CWP challenge, the US Supreme Court seems to be relatively comfortable with restricting the use of public funds and subsidies for certain expressive activities, but much less comfortable with blanket prohibitions tied to the group itself. As explained in Rust v. Sullivan:

In contrast, our “unconstitutional conditions” cases involve situations in which the Government has placed a condition on the recipient of the subsidy rather than on a particular program or service, thus effectively prohibiting the recipient from engaging in the protected conduct outside the scope of the federally funded program. In FCC v. League of Women Voters of Cal., we invalidated a federal law providing that noncommercial television and radio stations that receive federal grants may not “engage in editorializing.” Under that law, a recipient of federal funds was “barred absolutely from all editorializing” because it “is not able to segregate its activities according to the source of its funding” and thus “has no way of limiting the use of its federal funds to all noneditorializing activities.” The effect of the law was that “a noncommercial educational station that receives only 1% of its overall income from [federal] grants is barred absolutely from all editorializing” and “barred from using even wholly private funds to finance its editorial activity.” 468 U. S., at 400. We expressly recognized, however, that were Congress to permit the recipient stations to “establish ‘affiliate’ organizations which could then use the station’s facilities to editorialize with nonfederal funds, such a statutory mechanism would plainly be valid.” Ibid. Such a scheme would permit the station “to make known its views on matters of public importance through its nonfederally funded, editorializing affiliate without losing federal grants for its noneditorializing broadcast activities.” Ibid.

Similarly, in Regan we held that Congress could, in the exercise of its spending power, reasonably refuse to subsidize the lobbying activities of tax-exempt charitable organizations by prohibiting such organizations from using tax-deductible contributions to support their lobbying efforts. In so holding, we explained that such organizations remained free “to receive deductible contributions to support … nonlobbying activit[ies].” 461 U. S., at 545. Thus, a charitable organization could create, under § 501(c)(3) of the Internal Revenue Code of 1954, 26 U. S. C. § 501(c)(3), an affiliate to conduct its nonlobbying activities using tax-deductible contributions, and at the same time establish, under § 501 (c)(4), a separate affiliate to pursue its lobbying efforts without such contributions. 461 U. S., at 544. Given that alternative, the Court concluded that “Congress has not infringed any First Amendment rights or regulated any First Amendment activity[; it] has simply chosen not to pay for [appellee’s] lobbying.” Id., at 546. We also noted that appellee “would, of course, have to ensure that the § 501(c)(3) organization did not subsidize the § 501(c)(4) organization; otherwise, public funds might be spent on an activity Congress chose not to subsidize.” Id., at 544. The condition that federal funds will be used only to further the purposes of a grant does not violate constitutional rights. “Congress could, for example, grant funds to an organization dedicated to combating teenage drug abuse, but condition the grant by providing that none of the money received from Congress should be used to lobby state legislatures.” See id., at 548. [at 197-198; emphasis added]

If I were a betting man, I would suspect the Canadian courts might find this compromise position appealing. That is, while the government could condition the receipt of funds (or tax breaks) on using that money for certain purposes and not others (i.e. political activities), it cannot then prevent the organization from using funds collected from other sources for those political purposes. Whether this is a sustainable distinction in principle or a workable idea in practice is something I will leave to others.

Conclusion

The challenge raised by CWP is not an easy one to resolve.  However, it is a good one to test the theory of labour union exceptionalism in the context of section 2, i.e., that the courts are willing to extend relatively robust “positive” protections to labour unions to make their freedom of association more meaningful, in a way they would typically not contemplate in other contexts, either for other associations who might benefit from additional statutory protections (as most associations would), or for other persons who could benefit from government ‘enhanced’ freedom of expression or religion.

I should clarify that I do not mean to suggest that there’s any sort of ideological predisposition in favour of labour unions, at the Supreme Court level or otherwise. I suspect the discrepancy in the case law, if there is one, is better explained by path dependency and a sense of fairness than either some high constitutional principle or bias. That is, because the Wagner Act model has been extending affirmative rights to labour unions for nearly a century, and these rights were in exchange for a rather dramatic diminution of the freedom of workers (discussed here at 260 n. 28), the Court appears uncomfortable with legislation that fails to extend its baseline protections, even if there would be no independent constitutional entitlement to these particular statutory protections but for the historical fact of the Wagner Act model.

Nevertheless, in light of the relative success labour unions have had in claiming positive protections under freedom of association as compared with others in the context of the other fundamental freedoms, we should not be surprised that the CWP included a freedom of association claim in their Application, using language that conspicuously mirrors the that the Court has used in the context of extending affirmative protections to labour unions (see Notice of Application at paras 23-27).

If nothing else, this will put the courts to the task of deciding whether there are other associations beyond labour unions that require positive state protection or support to make their expressive and associational activities sufficiently “meaningful” to pass constitutional muster. This becomes a hard question once we realize that every organizations “freedom” to achieve their objectives and purposes would be enhanced in so far as they received government funding or positive statutory protection not available to everyone else.

At the very least, there is no doubt that the CWP’s expressive and associational activities will be enhanced to the extent that it would continue to benefit from beneficial tax treatment, without the corresponding responsibility to refrain from engaging in “political activities”. The question is whether the government is constitutionally obliged to support the expressive and associational activities that help the CWP advance its mission. Or, put differently, is there some principled reason why CWP’s claim to ‘meaningful’ expression and association does not require affirmative state protection of this sort, but that labour unions are entitled to certain positive protections to enhance the meaningful exercise of their freedoms? I think the CWP deserves a good answer to this question.

 

* First, the idea that the impugned ITA provision has an unconstitutional purpose , which the CWP’s Notice of Application asserts, might be a clever end run around all of the above, and raises other complications that I have not addressed in this post. For my purposes, I have assumed that there is some sort of rational basis for the provision that extends beyond the mere objective of repressing political expression, as such. Second, I recall there being allegations that the audits being undertaken by the previous government were politically motivated. I have no idea whether this is true and this does not appear to form the basis of CWP’s Application, and so I have assumed that not to be the case for the purposes of the post. If that were the essence of the allegation, however, it would raise constitutional issues, whether or not the impugned provision is permissible as a general rule.  In particular, I think that would get us into whether the government had an unconstitutional purpose in deciding to audit particular organizations, which might involve a Doré type analysis (scrutinizing the administrative discretion exercised by the CRA), or perhaps a Little Sisters type challenge, both of which raise complications I have not addressed.

 

Oliphant on Challenge to Charities’ Political Spending Limits

Just a quick announcement: my friend, co-author, and occasional guest Benjamin Oliphant will have a post soon discussing the Charter challenge to the limits the Income Tax Act imposes on the amounts charitable organizations are able to spend on political advocacy (without losing their charitable status). I am looking forward to reading it!

Constitutional Purposes vs. Constitutional Text: On R. v. Pino

In my previous guest post at Double Aspect, I asked an intractable question: what is it that we are doing when we are engaged in constitutional interpretation?  Depending on how one answers this question, different sources of meaning will become more or less significant.  However, one source must always be at least relevant: the Constitutional text itself.  It is the one, and perhaps only one, fixed star in the constellation of sources one draws upon in the course of constitutional interpretation, and I have previously argued that we should pay particular attention to it as a result.  The judicial conscience or temperament, social values, public policy objectives, academic prescriptions, international law, and many other potential sources, may differ between reasonable people and may change with the times. The actual Constitutional text can and will not, and it is only source that has withstood the crucible of democratic decision-making and been enacted into law. While the text alone cannot answer many of our difficult questions, when it does give an answer – or, as importantly, rule out an answer – we should consider that significant.

Of course, no plausible approach to constitutional interpretation self-consciously ignores the text or treats it as irrelevant– but some pay greater attention to it than others.  A recent Ontario Court of Appeal decision, R. v. Pino, asks us to consider how much attention is enough.

I will not get too deep into the facts of that case, because they tend to complicate matters, and I happen to think that the very same outcome was available by another route without getting into the interpretive swamp into which I now leap. But in very brief: the police received a tip that the accused was running a grow-op, which seemed to be borne out by subsequent observation of her residence; the police followed the suspect, obtained incriminating evidence from the trunk of her car in a lawful search incident to arrest, but committed Charter violations in the course of that arrest, then failed to adequately inform the accused of her right to counsel, and denied that right for a period of time later on.

The issue I am interested in was the Court’s conclusion that evidence otherwise collected lawfully can be considered “obtained in a manner” that infringed the Charter, due to a subsequent Charter breach. The section at issue is section 24(2), which provides:

(2) Where, in proceedings under subsection (1), a court concludes that evidence was obtained in a manner that infringed or denied any rights or freedoms guaranteed by this Charter, the evidence shall be excluded if it is established that, having regard to all the circumstances, the admission of it in the proceedings would bring the administration of justice into disrepute. [emphasis added]

As the Court of Appeal in Pino notes, this provision, plainly read, seem to require a causal connection between the Charter breach and the obtaining of the evidence:

On a superficial reading of s. 24(2) one might be tempted to conclude that the “obtained in a manner” requirement can only be met by a causal connection between the breach and the discovery of the evidence: “but for” the breach the evidence would not have been discovered. [para 50]

However, the Court found that one should resist that temptation, because “the Supreme Court has long recognized that a causal connection is unnecessary” [para 50]. We should pause to consider why.

As I read the Supreme Court’s decision in R. v. Strachan (and I confess that I am slightly outside my comfort zone here), the primary reason the Court gives for why “obtained in a manner” does not require a causal connection between a breach and the discovery of evidence is because it should not. The Court says that including a causation requirement (an unavoidable and familiar inquiry in many areas of law, but leave that aside) would present a “host of difficulties” [at para 39]; it would be ungenerous and restrictive [at para 40-42]; and it would prevent the courts from reaching what the Court considers to be the “more important” branch of the 24(2) inquiry, which is whether the admission of the evidence would bring the administration of justice into disrepute [at para 47].  In short, requiring a causal connection would be not “useful”, “fruitful”, or ‘sensible’; a “better approach”, according to the Court, “would be to consider all evidence gathered following a violation of a Charter right, including the right to counsel, as within the scope of s. 24(2)” [para 45].

These may all be excellent reasons not to link the exclusion of evidence to whether or not they were “obtained in a manner” that breached the Charter. But as a matter of interpreting that language, the logic (taken alone) is somewhat unsatisfying: just because one interpretation would have consequences an interpreter does not consider sensible does not necessarily confer a license to circumvent an authoritative direction. (The fact that it may not be sensible to locate a stop sign on a normally-vacant rural road does mean that the sign actually says “yield”.)

The Court of Appeal in Pino follows the Strachan logic quite closely, and expands it quite naturally, to capture Charter breaches that occurred after the evidence was obtained. In coming to that conclusion, the Court quoted the eminent Professor Kent Roach, who points out that:

From a regulatory perspective, it should not matter whether the evidence was obtained before or after a serious Charter violation. In both cases, the administration of justice could be brought into disrepute if the courts appear to condone a serious Charter violation. If the court is concerned with responding to serious violations, there is no reason why evidence discovered before a violation should not be considered for exclusion. [para 69]

Thus, and notwithstanding the Supreme Court’s apparent direction that evidence must be gathered following a breach to qualify for exclusion under 24(2) [Pino at para 63], the Court of Appeal devised an approach it considered more sensible, and better directed at achieving the purpose of the section:

A generous approach to the “obtained in a manner” requirement makes good sense because this requirement is just the gateway to the focus of s. 24(2) – whether the admission of the evidence would bring the administration of justice into disrepute. (…)

So, should it make a difference whether the s. 10(b) breaches occurred before or after the discovery of the evidence? I do not think so. In either case, the administration of justice could be brought into disrepute if the court condoned serious Charter violations. [paras 56, 77, emphasis added]

In short, the Court appears to reason that the “overall purpose of the section”, which it finds is to determine “whether admission of the evidence would bring the administration of justice into disrepute” [at para 51], would not be achieved by being too finicky about exactly how or when that evidence itself was obtained.

However, as the Court of Appeal itself recognized earlier in the judgment, 24(2) imposes two requirements for the exclusion of evidence: 1) that it was obtained in a manner that violates the Charter; and 2) that its admission would bring the administration of justice into disrepute (see Strachan at para 36, Pino at paras 35-36). A provision permitting the exclusion of evidence wherever the administration of justice would be brought into disrepute could be easily drafted. Here, look, I’ll draft one now:

(2) If a person charged with an offence has had their Charter rights breached, the Court may exclude any evidence if the admission of it in the proceedings would bring the administration of justice into disrepute.

But that is not the provision in the Charter, and I think we should be cautious before reading it in that manner.

In fairness, the Court of Appeal did not go that far, emphasizing that there must at least be some “contextual” link between the breach and the evidence, whatever the sequencing of the two [paras 72-74].  Returning to its reasoning, the Court of Appeal quoted with approval the trial judge’s extra-judicial writings, in which he had observed:

There are also sound reasons of policy for leaving this door open. Assume that the police discover marijuana during a lawful and reasonable pat-down search and then publicly and needlessly go on to strip search the suspect. Is a court to be deprived of the power to exclude the evidence because of the sequence of events? To insist on the breach preceding the discovery of evidence as an absolute precondition to exclusion means that ex hypothesi evidence can be admitted even where its admission would bring the administration of justice into disrepute, just because of the order in which things happened to occur.

As in Strachan, this is an excellent reason for not including certain words (like “obtained in a manner”) in a constitutional provision, but with great respect, I am not sure how far the logic takes us as a matter of interpreting what those words mean.  One does not typically ignore one requirement because applying it would prevent him or her from considering the second requirement. That is not normally how “requirements” work. (It might be how “gateways” work, to use the Court of Appeal’s word, but only to the extent that gateways not actually require anything or serve any discernable purpose.)

This is a relatively intuitive point that I fear can be obscured by lawyerly creativity, so consider a direction from your parents: “If you want dessert, you may have some, but only if you finish your supper first”. No non-lawyer familiar with the English language would suggest that a child may ignore the supper requirement because it would be impractical in some circumstances to eat supper, or because it would prevent the child from focusing on the “more important” inquiry of whether the child wants to have dessert.

And I am not sure that this trouble can be avoided by reciting the words “broad” and “generous” over and over. It is worth pointing out that every time evidence is excluded from a proceeding, society’s interest in having persons held accountable for the commission of offences is compromised. Accordingly, the old common law rule was that all relevant evidence was admissible, with courts adverse to the conclusion that the “criminal is to go free because the constable has blundered”. Section 24(2) has unequivocally changed that, and to many of us, for the better; society, like the accused, also have an interest in law enforcement acting in a constitutionally sound manner. But that does not make the exclusion of evidence somehow costless, and on some level, it must have been that trade-off motivating those charged with drafting and approving the “obtained in a manner” requirement.

The same tension exists whenever it is the constitutionality of a statute that is at issue. Every time the Court reads a Charter right or freedom broadly and generously, they necessarily read the corresponding scope of democratic governance narrowly and restrictively.  Of course, this tension is an unavoidable (and expected) result of enacting constitutional rights; every application of the Charter, no matter how narrowly interpreted, limits the scope of democratic self-governance to some extent, which is entirely the point of entrenching constitutional rights.  So pointing out consequences is not suggest the courts should ignore their constitutional function; it is only to suggest that any gain in terms of rights comes at a cost in terms of democracy.  As such, an overly broad interpretation results in an unduly narrow scope for democratic self-governance, and vice versa.  It is not obvious to me that either error should be deemed presumptively preferable, and the proposition that Charter rights should necessarily and always be interpreted as broadly as possible is more often asserted than defended.  A sound interpretation of any Charter provision, including section 24(2), may be broad, or it may be narrow, or it may be in between, but presumably that should be the conclusion of the interpretive process, not the predetermined objective.

One other point might be made. With each step we take away from genuinely trying to understand what the text means, the next step further away gets easier. The Court in Strachan found that the phrase “obtained in a manner” imports no strict causal requirement, but nevertheless stated that any breach at least had to precede the discovery of the evidence. This chronological threshold has now been scrapped, essentially because it made no sense once you have deemed causation to be irrelevant. The next judicial step may be further away, still: if maintaining the repute of the administration of justice is our primary (or exclusive?) goal, why should we insist on any meaningful connection between the breach and the discovery of evidence? Is that requirement not ‘artificial’, in the same way as the other thresholds; i.e. because, in certain cases, it may prevent us from reaching the “more important” inquiry of whether admission of the evidence would bring the administration of justice into disrepute? For instance, why should evidence collected lawfully be excluded because a suspect was beaten savagely in the course of an immediately succeeding arrest, but not if the savage beating occurred back at the police station a few hours, a day, or two days later?

The point is that while each step away from the one before may seem minor and defensible enough, if we keep walking we may eventually lose sight of where we started. I should state my view that the Court of Appeal’s decision in Pino has much to recommend it: while a chronological requirement makes sense with a causation requirement (something cannot be caused by something that comes after it), it does not seem to serve any obvious purpose if we are not at all concerned with causation. Thus, as a matter of reading the case law, I’m not sure the Court of Appeal’s decision can be gainsaid. But as a matter of reading the Constitution, I wonder if we have not gone too far, or are at least teetering on the edge: we have now arrived at a situation where evidence may be considered to have been “obtained in a manner” that breaches a Charter right, because a Charter right was breached after the evidence was “obtained in a manner” that does not breach a Charter right.

Professor Sankoff made something like this point on twitter, asking: “isn’t it just time to stop pretending that ‘obtained in a manner’ has any meaning?” Now, I do not take the Professor to be implying that the words are actually meaningless; “obtained in a manner” is not gibberish, it is a grammatically sound and intelligible English phrase. The question he may have been asking is whether we should stop pretending that we care what that meaning is, and that is a fair question, if the answer could possibly be “no”.

Finally, and I cannot stress this next point enough: downplaying the ‘obtained in a manner’ requirement might result in a better provision; it may be easier to apply; it may be a more just and sensible provision; and I may well prefer it myself, if I had my druthers. So I do not question whether where we have ended or might ultimately end up may be preferable in many respects; I question whether implicitly redrafting the language in a way that is more preferable constitutes an “interpretation”, or something else.

As I’ve argued before, where judicially-defined purposes not only inform but overwhelm the text, we might well end up with a better constitution; but it will be one to which no democratically elected body assented. Maybe we don’t care about that, or at least not very much, as long as we approve of the results. And we can certainly take solace in the fact that our judiciary is comprised of thoughtful, principled, and eminently – well, sensible – people, and I personally have no doubt on that score.  If I were to choose a group of people I trust with writing a new constitution, our judges would be among the top of my list.  But for the time being, they have been tasked with interpreting the Constitution written and approved by others, not to write it anew. While the line between the two functions is murky, there must be a line.