Girouard v CJC: An Administrative State Coup?

The administrative state is not a constitutional mandate

A few weeks ago in this space, I mooted the arguments that could stand against the constitutionality of the administrative state. I alluded to an argument—percolating in Canada—that the administrative state could be mandated by the Constitution. I wrote this piece in a fully hypothetical mindset. But I forgot about a case in the Federal Court, Girouard v Canadian Judicial Council, in which the Canadian Judicial Council [the CJC] essentially attempted to constitutionalize its status as a statutory administrative tribunal by making it beyond judicial review. The Federal Court thankfully rebuffed the argument.

First, the brief facts. The CJC is a statutory body that has authority to review the conduct of federally appointed superior court judges. The CJC is made up of 39 members—chief justices, associate chief justices, and other senior judges—and is chaired by Chief Justice Wagner.

When a complaint is made against a member of the judiciary, the CJC has authority to investigate. It could do so through an Inquiry Committee [IC]. According to the Judges Act, which governs the CJC, the CJC may appoint an IC consisting of its membership or members of the bar of a province having at least ten years standing (s. 63(3)). After the inquiry has been completed, the CJC will report the conclusions and make recommendations to the responsible Minister (s.65).

Two inquiries were completed in the case of Justice Girouard, a judge of the Quebec Superior Court. In 2012, Justice Girouard was caught on a video that allegedly showed him involved in a drug deal. The CJC was asked to review Justice Girouard’s conduct. The first inquiry rejected the allegations against Justice Girouard, but raised concerns about the credibility and reliability of the facts reported by Justice Girouard. The CJC accepted the conclusion of the IC. In 2016, the Minister and Minister of Justice of Quebec filed a joint CJC complaint regarding Justice Girouard’s lack of credibility during the first IC. A second IC was convened, which found that Justice Girouard was not forthcoming during the first inquiry process. The CJC accepted that conclusion in its recommendation report to the Minister. In the main judicial review, Justice Girouard challenged the IC report to the CJC and the CJC report to the Minister, among other decisions.

The case here was a motion to strike brought by the CJC, which essentially argued that the CJC was a superior court, and not a federal board, commission or tribunal subject to judicial review under the Federal Courts Act. To the CJC, the Judges Act expressly notes that the CJC is “deemed” to be a superior court. Apart from the Judges Act, the CJC also argued that judicial independence as a constitutional principle compels the conclusion that the Federal Court has no authority to review the CJC, composed as it is of s.96 judges. The Federal Court rejected these arguments, concluding that the CJC is a statutory federal body subject to judicial review under the Federal Courts Act. Relatedly, the Federal Court concluded that the CJC does not possess the traditional indicators of a superior court, despite the fact that its membership is drawn from the ranks of s.96 judges.

The legal arguments presented by the CJC, to my mind, are problematic on three fronts: the implication of the CJC’s argument runs into problems at the level of fundamental principle; second, on specific legal points; and third, on the context in which this decision was made.

The first issue: if we accept the CJC’s argument, we can conclude that at least some of the administrative state is constitutionalized, simply because a s.96 judge (acting non-judicially) is on the committee. This is because the CJC argues that it is superior court, unreviewable without a right of appeal, despite being a body created by Parliament. Specifically, the CJC argues that the Federal Court cannot review the CJC because it does not fall into the definition of a federal board, commission, or tribunal in the Federal Courts Act. According to the CJC, this seems to be for two reasons: (1) because, properly interpreted, the definition does not encompass s.96 courts and (2) a principle of judicial independence precludes the Federal Court from exercising review over s.96 judges.

Both arguments run into what I call the fundamental principle of all administrative law: its statutory character, open to amendment or rescission at any time by the legislature. Tomorrow, for example, Parliament could remove the Immigration and Refugee Board, because the Constitution does not require the maintenance of a body to process refugee applications. We would revert to a pre-administrative law world, in which the executive (the responsible Minister) would process humanitarian and compassionate applications, for example. Put differently, and except in defined circumstances (such as those in Vriend, where Parliament has already spoken on a matter), the Constitution does not ordinarily require a legislature to positively act, much less to establish a robust administrative state. If the CJC is not open to judicial review under the ordinary channels, its actions are insulated from review, taking on a constitutional character. In the ordinary course, we would reject this argument—both on principle and because the Supreme Court has said that Parliament cannot establish s.96 courts (Crevier).

Why does this matter? While the CJC did not expressly argue this, its argument implites that the CJC can be put beyond review. An administrative actor created by statute should never be put beyond review, new-fangled theories of “constitutional structure” and administrative law constitutionalism notwithstanding. In constitutional democracies, government power must be subject to law. This means a neutral arbiter must determine if government properly exercised power according to law–the Rule of Law, at the very least, encompasses this principle of legality. If an administrative decision-maker, no matter the rank of its members or their august titles, is put beyond review, we approach a government by executive fiat and prerogative, not a government of laws adopted lawfully.

I see this case as an extreme example of the modern trend of administrative law: towards more regulation and more administrative decision-makers that have court-imposed “unlimited” powers (see West Fraser, at para 11). Once we accept even one instance of such a decision-maker, vested by statute, we have to conclude that no court can speak ill of that “unlimited” decision-maker. Obviously this has profound effect on the Rule of Law, individual liberties, and due process. Take this case–dissenting members of the CJC were concerned that certain anglophone members of the CJC could not evaluate the entire record, which was in French. This implicates the fairness of the process for Justice Girouard. A purpose of judicial review is to ensure this basic fairness, but if we make administrative decision-makers beyond reproach, we sit them alongside the basic law of the land–the Constitution. And of course, legislative bodies acting alone cannot establish new constitutional provisions.

The only wrinkle in the Girouard case is the membership of the CJC—in part, s.96 judges. A principle of judicial independence does require some separation between the judicial branch and the other branches of government. Resting on this, the CJC argued that s.96 judges—whenever acting in any capacity—exercise powers as a member of a court of inherent jurisdiction. But the CJC is established not as a loose confederacy of s.96 judges acting in a judicial, adjudicative role, deciding individual cases and applying the law. This is the hallmark of the judicial function (see Residential Tenancies at 743). Rather, it is established as a statutory investigatory institution, vested with powers only so far as the statute allows. The CJC has no other inherent power—no constitutional power to vindicate a right with a remedy—and has no supervisory jurisdiction, other powers typical of a superior court. It is acting only as a sort of self-governing professional body for judges, according to the terms of the statute. In absence of any exercise of a judicial function, and given the statutory basis of the CJC, there’s no reason to believe that the CJC should be constitutionalized as a s.96 court simply because, in another capacity, members of the CJC exercise judicial functions–notwithstanding the specific facts of the Supreme Court’s comments in Ranville (distinguished by the Federal Court).

In fact, the implication of the converse is absurd. The CJC stands and falls as a whole–as an institution. As I note above, the CJC ICs, for which the CJC sought immunity from review, is in part made up of s.96 judges. But the ICs can also include members of the bar of 10 years standing. The CJC’s argument implies that this does not matter so long as there are s.96 judges on the IC, the IC and the CJC together exercise s.96 functions, acting as members of a court of inherent jurisdiction. This sets up an interesting set of incentives. In order to make statutory bodies immune from review, Parliament could set administrative decision-makers composed in part by s.96 judges—perhaps composed of just one s.96 judge among other lawyers. On the CJC argument, this body would be beyond review without a right of appeal. Parliament could use the Constitution to game the fundamental principle of administrative law.

The real question is whether judicial review by the Federal Court infringes the judicial independence of a s.96 judge. Judicial independence has some textual mooring (ss. 96-100 of the Constitution Act, 1867 and s.11(d) of the Charter), but it is an “unwritten constitutional principle,” which guarantees “administrative independence, financial security, and security of tenure” (Provincial Judges Reference, at para 118). The CJC says that security of tenure is at stake, as removal of a judge requires an impartial process. The Court in the Provincial Judges Reference said something similar regarding financial security, but I am not sure the same result is compelled in these circumstances. It is not as of the Federal Court is some government administrative body that could allow the executive to interfere in the workings of the CJC—thus breaking the wall that should be set up between judiciary and executive. The Federal Court is itself independent. In the ordinary course, again, constitutional principles do not compel a particular legislative process or system. It simply requires a reality; that judges and executive/legislatures be separate.

Finer legal points also work against the CJC (though I note the CJC’s very sophisticated statutory analysis-see the factum below). The CJC argued that it is not subject to review in the Federal Court because the Federal Courts Act expressly excludes s.96 judges—and the power of the CJC is rooted not in a federal law (the Judges Act) but in a constitutional principle. The CJC says that if the Judges Act were removed tomorrow, the authority of the judiciary to investigate other judiciary members would remain. Again, on this I recoil instinctively. The CJC makes decisions as an institution—this the CJC recognizes. That institution, separate from its individual members, is created by statute. The Judges Act is one statutory manifestation that implements the principle of judicial independence, but is not the only one and perhaps not even the best one.

The CJC also points to s.63 of the Judges Act, which says that the CJC is deemed to be a “superior court.” In written argument, the CJC spends a lot of time discussing this deeming provision. I’m alive to the idea in statutory interpretation that a deeming provision creates a virtually irrebuttable legal fiction, but an unconstitutional statutory provision (deeming or no) cannot stand. An attempt by Parliament, through a deeming provision, to establish a s.96 court runs into constitutional problems on federalism grounds and on the Crevier grounds noted above. Even if this was not so, the particular deeming provision in this case is similar to ones that exist in other statutes. For example, the Canadian Transportation Agency similarly has “…all the powers, rights and privileges that are vested in a superior court” (Canadian Transportation Act, s.25). Yet no one argues that this provision alone grants the Canadian Transportation Agency the power to act as a superior court beyond powers pertaining to the procedures of the Court.

Finally, the context of the decision indicates that the CJC is aware of its statutory character. As noted by Paul Warchuk, the CJC tried once—the right way—to amend the Judges Act to make itself immune from review. A few years ago, the Minister of Justice sought recommendations on how to amend the Judges Act. The CJC recommended at that time that it be put beyond the ordinary judicial review procedure, subject only to an appeal to a statutory appeal body.

The CJC failed in these efforts, which basically mirror its submissions in Girouard. But implicit in this attempt is a recognition by the CJC that it is a statutory body subject to review by the Federal Courts system like any other federal body. After all, Federal Court judges are superior court judges (see s.4 of the Federal Courts Act, which establishes the Federal Court as a “superior court of record”). I’m not sure what changed between this recognition of its status and the Girouard case.

Overall, while counsel for the CJC argued the best case it could and ably so (whatever my opinion is worth), I’m less inclined to support the argument because of its implication: a further extension of the administrative state into unknown terrain. The coup failed this time, but as I’ve written elsewhere, the administrative state is a fickle bedfellow.

NB: To be fair, I’ve attached the CJC’s submissions below. Thanks to Alyssa Tomkins, counsel for the CJC, for sending them over.

Mémoire CCM

Taming the Administrative State

Two books in the administrative law literature

In the spirit of the upcoming review of Dunsmuir by the Supreme Court, I’ve read two important books about administrative state skepticism in the United States: Phillip Hamburger’s The Administrative Threat; and Joseph Postell’s Bureaucracy in America: The Administrative State’s Challenge to Constitutional GovernmentBoth books address the constitutionality and necessity of the “administrative state,” and I see some of these conclusions transferring to the Canadian context. What follows is my tortured look at the problems of constitutionality and necessity with a Canadian twist.

Hamburger’s short, pithy text is a condensed version of his other important work, Is Administrative Law Unlawful? The Administrative Threat starts from an historical perspective and builds a sustained response to the administrative state. Hamburger analogizes modern administrative power to the English prerogative power. This prerogative power was famously abused, it was absolute, and it operated outside of the law—it was, according to Hamburger, “extralegal.” To Hamburger, the Star Chamber is the quintessential example of such power.

Hamburger argues that the US Constitution from the beginning barred such prerogative power, repackaged in “administrative” terms. Articles I (legislative power exclusively in the Congress) and III of the US Constitution (judicial power exclusively in the courts), block “irregular” or “extralegal” power, according to Hamburger. When decision-makers create binding rules, they operate outside of the constitutional structure. The worry is more pronounced when decision-makers combine rule-making (legislative), adjudicative (judicial), and investigatory (executive) functions. From a separation of powers perspective, we should be  concerned about such power concentrated in the hands of bureaucrats.

On the other hand, Postell’s book attempts to place the administrative state and its challenges in the context of American constitutional history. Postell argues that “administrative state skepticism,” far from being a new, radical movement, is entrenched in the idea of American constitutionalism. Similarly, to Postell, modern administrative law insufficiently addresses the threat of the administrative threat and its combined executive, judicial, and legislative power. Postell’s review of history demonstrates how Americans have dealt with the threat of administrative power, if imperfectly.

What do these books have to say to Canadians? The books basically assault (1) the constitutionality of the administrative state and deference to it and (2) the necessity of the administrative state. These arguments can transfer, if uneasily, to Canadian law. It’s worth mooting them out to see where they go, if we view a generalized notion of the separation of powers as a worthy organizing principle of the legal system.

Canada’s separation of powers is in part rooted in the judicature provisions of the Constitution Act, 1867. Section 96 protects the role of superior courts of inherent jurisdiction. Parliament cannot divest these courts of their core powers, while non-core powers can be divested if they were not exercised exclusively by superior courts in 1867, or if they were but the broad policy context of the decision-maker transforms the decision-maker’s function (Reference Re NS Tenancies Act).

It could be tempting in the Canadian context to say, as Hamburger does in the American, that the vesting of power in administrative tribunals somehow deprives the constitutionally protected courts of their powers of adjudication and interpretation of law. At first blush, there is no case for this in Canada, because the “core” of s.96 powers is drawn narrowly, and clearly law adjudication and application is not part of that core. For example, the Federal Court is a statutory court created under s.101 of the Constitution Act, 1867.  The Supreme Court itself is a mere “s.101 court.” Yet both courts clearly have the power to interpret and apply law, and that power does not derogate in any meaningful way from the power of s.96 courts to do the same. If the logic follows, therefore, there is no constitutional problem with similarly constituting administrative tribunals.

But this is an unsatisfying conclusion, because there is a meaningful distinction between s.101 courts, for example, and administrative decision-makers. Most importantly, the former can stand in review of the latter (ie) the Federal Court to the Refugee Appeal Division. And there are certain principles that thelcourts must uphold–judicial independence, the Rule of Law, the list goes on. In upholding those principles in cases, the courts must interpret and apply law against the delegated decision-maker. One has a supervisory function over the other, a constitutional role recognized as a part of the Rule of Law. On this question, the distinction is not between s. 96 courts and all other decision-makers, but rather between supervisory courts and other statutory creations.

So, even if interpretation and application of law is not a core function of courts, it is a function on judicial review conducted by courts. This function of law  interpretation and application is something quintessentially judicial. The transfer of these powers to statutory institutions, created by the government that adopts the laws under interpretation, seems to remove something from the uniformity required by the Rule of Law and implicit in ss. 96 and 101. Law that is interpreted by a thousand statutory creations cannot be a uniform law interpreted and enforced across the legal system by courts with a constitutional connection. If this is a constitutional problem, it would require a recognition that s.101 courts (and perhaps other supervisory courts) have some higher constitutional purpose alongside s.96 courts. Such an argument is not new,  and in my view, it is implicit in the Rule of Law, the requirements of judicial review, and legal uniformity. Delegation (read: divestment) of the powers of s.96 and 101 courts would, on this account, raise constitutional concerns.

This is a rough-and-ready attack on delegation, but it is admittedly not where the debate currently is in Canada.  Instead,  Professor Glover recently asserted that the administrative state could be constitutionally mandated.  But the same concerns I’ve noted above are relevant here. Apart from whether the administrative state is constitutional in the first place, the effect of constitutionally entrenching the administrative state (whatever that term means) would be the establishment of at least some adjudicative bodies alongside s.96 courts. Yet the Supreme Court has said that legislatures and Parliament cannot, in effect, constitute s.96 courts (see McEvoy, at 719). More importantly, it would be an odd constitutional mandate that requires the legislature to maintain an aspect of the Constitution through ordinary legislation, putting it in the realm of majority control. This is the opposite of what a Constitution is about–putting certain matters beyond the reach of the majority.

If we accept that there may be constitutional concerns with delegation, deference to that delegation should similarly raise problems. As Hamburger notes, deference has a little explained practical effect. When courts defer to administrative decision-makers in Canada, they effectively impose an onus on claimants to rebut a presumption of legality. Government lawyers have the upper hand—the decisions of their own statutory creations are what they defend. This raises a question of doctrinal independence, though emphatically not independence in the traditional, judicial sense. On questions of law, as Dunsmuir notes, a core function of s.96 courts (which extends to all judicial review courts) is the enforcement of that law against administrative decision-makers.  But deference to the administrative state dilutes that enforcement function, sacrificing it at the altar of expertise, while giving the government an upperhand. The concern here is that the decision under review is viewed as presumptively legal when there is no reason to presume it so.

This raises the necessity question, and whether administrative law and its doctrines can save us from the constitutional worries associated with the administrative state. Or perhaps there is another option. The books raise the prospect that we may not need the administrative state if we embrace certain constitutional principles.

To Postell, the administrate state is broken, and we do not need it in its current form. More importantly, administrative law can’t save us. As I have written before, and as Postell demonstrates, the tools of delegation and deference are used as quintessentially political tools. From the New Deal to the conservative counter-revolution, deference evolved as a way for governments to impress on courts their political will—their desire to limit the supervisory function of courts. These tools have operated at the same time as the administrative state has grown, an insatiable beast eating up more basically adjudicative and legislative functions.

Yet, the answer is not necessarily a strict politics-administration dichotomy. Instead, Postell puts forward the idea of a “constitutional administration,” where representation and republican protections are the organizing principles of the administrative state, rather than rule by experts.  Postell points out that contrary to scholarly “consensus,” antebellum America was not a place of robber-barons and laissez-faire, but instead a place where this constitutional administration flourished. There was an administrative state, and much of it operated at the state and local governments, subject to strict judicial review. At the national level, a stricter separation of powers governed, based on principles of non-delegation of legislative powers and strong-form judicial review. These forms of regulation, though based on simple principles rather than variable forms of expertise, accomplished the policy goals of the era.

In contrast, modern administrative state sympathizers argue that complex problems require complex solutions and that an expert administrative state is required to efficiently manage public policy. First, one has to seriously query whether the administrative state any longer accomplishes this goal, if it ever did. Expertise is not empirically demonstrated by administrative state defenders. And not all administrative tribunals are “flexible” (whatever that means), quick, and cost-effective, like the Court seemed to think in Edmonton East .As an example, the wait time for a refugee hearing before the Immigration and Refugee Board is currently 20 months.

More fundamentally, and as Richard Epstein points out, a complex society does not necessarily require complex rules in a complex bureaucracy. Simple legal rules based around the common law can transform and adapt to exigencies of modern society while similarly protecting individual liberty. Further, much of the administrative state is executive action that could be completed by the executive itself, as Hamburger notes. If the legislature stays in its lane by adopting clear rules, and the executive completes its executive functions, the combination of powers in the administrative state is avoided.

None of this should be construed as a full acceptance of either Hamburger or Postell’s thesis in the Canadian context. A simpler system of administrative law based on republican principles is not doable in Canada. But both authors give us something to think about. It might be worthwhile thinking about taming the administrative state.

Despotism, Revisited

Thoughts upon belatedly reading an (anti-)administrative law classic

I have, rather belatedly, read an (anti-)administrative law classic, The New Despotism by Lord Hewart’s  ― an attack on the power of what would come to be called the administrative state published in 1929 by the then-Lord Chief Justice of England. The book made quite an impression when it was published, prompting the government to set up an inquiry, and even has its own Wikipedia page. However, I don’t think The New Despotism is often discussed in Canada these days. (A quick HeinOnline search shows no more than occasional citations in the past decade; and, what little that’s worth, I hadn’t heard about it until I sat in on my colleague Vernon Rive’s administrative law lectures.) So perhaps some comments here may be of interest, if only to my fellow dabblers, despite the book’s antiquity.

In a nutshell, Lord Hewart was alarmed by the expansion of unreviewable legislative and adjudicative powers delegated by Parliament to officials within the executive branch. While he is almost certainly skeptical of the administrative state generally, Lord Hewart mostly suspends this skepticism and focuses his attacks not on the exercise of power by administrative decision-makers as such, but on the fact that, all too often, administrative power is exercised more or less secretly, without the persons affected by it being able to make submissions to decision-makers, or without decision-makers having to take these submissions into account, or to explain how they reached the conclusions they did. He criticizes legislation empowering administrators to override statutes, or to interpret and apply them without any judicial oversight. Such legislation, he insists, creates a system that is not, properly speaking, one of “administrative law”, such as it exists in Europe (Lord Hewart doesn’t share A.V. Dicey’s notorious disdain for continental administrative law), but one of “administrative lawlessness”.

The remarkable thing is that, while it is fashionable to describe The New Despotism (insofar as it is referred to at all) as a “tirade” delivered by an apologist for the nightwatchman-state dark ages, his critique has been largely accepted ― including by the latter-day defenders of the administrative state ― and incorporated into modern administrative law. Whatever our views on the Canadian (and American) practice of deference to administrative interpretations of statutes, even those who defend this practice accept that some judicial oversight over administrative decision-makers is constitutionally essential. And they, like their critics, would share Lord Hewart’s indignation at decision-making processes in which anonymous officials may act without receiving evidence or submissions from affected parties, whom they need not appraise of their concerns, and are not required to give reasons. He might not be kindly remembered, but in a very real sense, Lord Hewart won the battle of ideas. Pro- or anti-administrativists, we largely agree with him, and indeed among ourselves. The outstanding disagreements are of course significant, but not nearly as significant as the general assent to the subjection of administrative decision-making to judicial review in matters both procedural and substantive.

Interestingly, however, this consensus was not implemented in the manner Lord Hewart envisioned. It is largely reflected in the development of the common law, and not so much in changes to legislative practice which he urged. Some legislative changes have occurred. In particular, there are better, though I suspect still deficient, mechanisms for Parliamentary review of regulations, which Lord Hewart called for. But legislatures have not ceased purporting to delegate vast and unreviewable powers to the executive. What has changed is that the courts came to take a much more skeptical approach to such legislation, and seldom give it its full effect. This, I think, is not surprising. Lord Hewart thought that, to eradicate administrative lawlessness, “what is necessary is simply
a particular state of public opinion”, for which to “be brought into existence what is necessary is simply a knowledge of the facts”. (148) This seems almost touchingly naïve ― almost, because, as a former politician himself, Lord Hewart ought to have known better. It is implausible that public opinion can be drawn to, let alone firmly focused on, issues that are bound to strike non-lawyers as purely technical matters. This is something worth pondering as we reflect on the relative legitimacy of judicially-articulated and legislated rules, whether generally or specifically in the context of administrative law.

Let me now go back to the disagreement between those who favour judicial deference to administrative decision-makers and those who resist it. That Lord Hewart would surely have been in the latter camp will not persuade anyone who is not, given his reputation as an arch-anti-administrativist. But there is another jurist, whose name carries more authority in Canada than Lord Hewart’s, whom I am happy to claim for non-deferential camp (to which I belong): none other than Lord Sankey, of the “living tree” fame. In an extra-judicial speech, delivered just months before the opinion in Edwards v Canada (Attorney General), [1930] AC 124, a.k.a. the Persons Case, and quoted by Lord Hewart, Lord Sankey emphasized the importance of the Rule of Law, and of the courts as its enforcers:

Amid the cross-currents and shifting sands of public life the Law is like a great rock upon which a man may set his feet and be safe, while the inevitable inequalities of private life are not so dangerous in a country where every citizen knows that in the Law Courts, at any rate, he can get justice. (151)

And then, describing the threats to the courts’ role in upholding the Rule of Law, Lord Sankey pointed to

what has been described as a growing tendency to transfer decisions on points of law or fact from the Law Courts to the Minister of some Government department. (151)

And as for Lord Hewart himself, he did have an answer to at least one objection to judicial oversight of the administrative state that the defenders of deference still trot out from time to time: that allowing unobstructed judicial review of administrative decisions will lead to too much costly litigation. (For instance, in Edmonton (City) v Edmonton East (Capilano) Shopping Centres Ltd, 2016 SCC 47, [2016] 2 SCR 293, Justice Karakatsanis’ majority opinion claimed that “[a] presumption of deference on judicial review … provides parties with a speedier and less expensive form of decision making”. [22]) Lord Hewart responded to this concern by pointing out that

what is desired is not that there should be endless litigation but rather that litigation should be rendered as a rule unnecessary by the diffused and conscious knowledge that, in case of need, recourse might be had to an impartial public tribunal, governed by precedent, and itself liable to review. (155)

The point is one that goes to the very nature of the Rule of Law:

Nobody outside Bedlam supposes that the reason why Courts of law exist in a civilized community is that the founders of the State have believed happiness to consist in the greatest possible amount of litigation among the greatest possible number of citizens. The real triumph of Courts of law is when the universal knowledge of their existence, and universal faith in their justice, reduce to a minimum the number of those who are willing so to behave as to expose themselves to their jurisdiction. (155)

Just last year, the UK Supreme Court adopted essentially this reasoning in R (Unison) v Lord Chancellor [2017] UKSC 51, in the course of explaining the importance of access to adjudication ― perhaps ironically, in that case, adjudication in administrative tribunals, albeit ones functioning quite differently from those decried by Lord Hewart. Arch-anti-administrativist he may have been, but Lord Hewart was a more intelligent, and is a more relevant, jurist than those who dismiss him might realize. If you are interested in administrative law and haven’t read The New Despotism, you probably should read it.

The Paradox of Simplicity

Dunsmuir failed to simplify administrative law; the framework that replaces it must account for the administrative state’s complexity

In Dunsmuir v New Brunswick, 2008 SCC 9, [2008] 1 SCR 190, the Supreme Court sought to bring clarity and (relative) simplicity to the law of judicial review of administrative decisions, which as it acknowledged with some understatement “ha[d] not been without practical and theoretical difficulties, [or] free of criticism”. [39] But subsequent decisions, digesting, developing, and departing from Dunsmuir, revealed the futility of its promise of simplifying the law of judicial review in Canada. Practical and theoretical difficulties, and criticism, still abound ― at least when it comes to review of administrative decisions on questions of law. The law on this issue, as other contributions to this symposium note, is in a parlous state. The Supreme Court’s decisions fail to provide guidance to litigants and to lower courts. They are difficult to understand, unrealistic, and appear to do something very different from what they say they do. A fundamental re-assessment, of a magnitude at least equal to that of Dunsmuir, seems to be inevitable.

In my view, one reason why Dunsmuir failed to simplify and clarify the law of judicial review once and for all is the weakness and incoherence of the justifications it provided for judicial deference to administrative decisions. In this post, I review these justifications and argue that none of them can account for the broad scope of deference that Dunsmuir and subsequent cases mandate. Any attempt to reformulate the law of judicial review in the future must acknowledge the weakness of the available explanations for deference, and can only require courts to defer to administrative decision-makers in narrow circumstances where such deference would be well and truly justified.

* * *

Dunsmuir proclaimed that “determining the applicable standard of review is accomplished by establishing legislative intent”. [30] If courts were sometimes, or often, to defer to administrative decision-makers’ interpretations of law, that was because legislatures wanted them to do so. “The existence of a privative or preclusive clause”, [52] providing that an administrative decision was not to be interfered with by the judiciary, was the indication par excellence of the enacting legislature’s desire to commit the determination of issues arising out of the operation of a statutory scheme to a tribunal rather than a court.

But Dunsmuir itself and subsequent cases undermined what the simplicity of a hypothetical regime where privative clauses trigger deference ― and their absence, logically, leads to non-deferential review. For one thing, as Dunsmuir acknowledged, to the extent that they purport to oust judicial review completely, privative clauses cannot be given their full effect, because under the constitution “neither Parliament nor any legislature can completely remove the courts’ power to review the actions and decisions of administrative bodies”. [52] But even putting this constitutional limitation to one side, under the Dunsmuir framework a privative clause is not the only signal of deference. Indeed, according to Edmonton (City) v Edmonton East (Capilano) Shopping Centres Ltd, 2016 SCC 47, [2016] 2 SCR 293, even a provision creating a right of appeal on a question of law, which seems like an explicit indication that a legislature does not want courts to defer to administrative decisions, is not enough to oust a “presumption of deference”, which thus takes on a life of its own, unmoored from legislative intention.

Another reason for judicial deference to administrative decisions, according to Dunsmuir, is that “certain questions that come before administrative tribunals” ― including questions of law ― “do not lend themselves to one specific, particular result”. [47] The multiplicity of possible answers to the questions facing administrative decision-makers combined with the need to “respect … the legislative choices to leave some matters” [49] to their arbitrament to justify deference.

The problem here is that there is little reason to think that the sets of questions of law that “do not lend themselves to one specific particular results” and of questions on which deference is required under the Dunsmuir framework (or the Dunsmuir framework as modified by subsequent Supreme Court decisions) are identical. Dunsmuir called for deference “where a tribunal is interpreting its own statute or statutes closely connected to its function, with which it will have particular familiarity” [54] or related common law rules. Yet the great variety of statutes setting up administrative tribunals, and indeed of particular provisions within any one of these statutes, makes it unlikely that all of the interpretive questions to which they give rise lack definitive answers. Perhaps the suggestion is that the very legislative choice of setting up administrative tribunals to address these questions means that legislatures think that these questions lack definitive answers, but that too seems implausible. A legislature may wish to set up an administrative tribunal for any number of reasons that have nothing to do with the existence or not of clear answers to interpretive questions: cost-effectiveness, accessibility, the need to execute a law (and not just adjudicate disputes), even patronage.

Finally, Dunsmuir insisted that courts need to defer to administrative decision-makers out of “respect … for the processes and determinations that draw on particular expertise and experiences”. [49] Since then, as the dissenting opinion in Edmonton East noted, “the notion of ‘expertise’ has become a catch-all trigger for deferential review”, [82] even though “this presumption of expertise has rarely been given much explanation or content in our jurisprudence”. [83] Meanwhile, the majority opinion suggested that expertise was independent of the qualifications or functions of administrative decision-makers. The very existence of a specialized tribunal made it an expert.

Perhaps the popularity of the presumption of expertise is due to the Supreme Court’s realization that the other justifications for deference are unpersuasive. Perhaps it is a convenient means to disclaim responsibility for decisions taken elsewhere (similarly, for instance, to the Supreme Court’s insistence, starting in Canada (Attorney General) v Bedford, 2013 SCC 72, [2013] 3 SCR 1101, on deference to first-instance judges’ findings of legislative fact). Other contributors to this symposium challenge the notion of administrative expertise as a foundation for deference in greater detail. Suffice it for me to say that, just like legislative intent and the impossibility of a definitive answer, expertise is often a judicial fiction and thus an unconvincing justification for deference.

All this is not to say that there are no cases in which deferential review on a reasonableness standard would not have been intended by a legislature setting up an administrative tribunal, or in which there is indeed a multiplicity or a range of plausible answers to legal questions, or in which the administrative tribunal is (more) expert (than the reviewing court). My point, rather, is that, at a minimum, these justifications do not support deference across the board when administrative decision-makers are interpreting their “home statutes”, which Dunsmuir, and especially cases like Edmonton East require. Indeed, these justifications can operate at cross-purposes, as when the legislature authorizes appeals on questions of law from the decisions of expert tribunals, or when administrative decisions are insulated by privative clauses from review of their answers to questions which do in fact “lend themselves to a specific result”. The Supreme Court’s jurisprudence suggests that all these conflicts must be resolved in favour of deference, but it does not provide any explanation for why this is the case.

* * *

The Supreme Court, presumably, can see these difficulties as plainly as its critics. They might account for at least some of the frequency with which ostensibly deferential review exhibits no sign of deference at all ― another issue that other contributions to this symposium highlight. The only way forward, in my view, is for the Court to allow its explanations to match its decisions, and abandon the pursuit, or the pretense, of across-the-board deference. If deference is ever appropriate, it can only be justified with reference to the circumstances of particular cases. This is not the place for a full exploration of the circumstances in which courts ought to defer to administrative decision-makers on questions of law, if indeed there be any. I will, however, venture a few observations.

First, it should not be presumed that deference is due to all the decisions of a particular administrative tribunal or type of tribunal, or to tribunals interpreting a type of statute. As the dissent in Edmonton East pointed out, a single tribunal may be called upon to decide different types of issues, some of which implicate its expertise or involve policy considerations, while others do not. In particular, even if deference is appropriate to tribunal decisions fleshing out the meaning of vague terms such as “just”, or “reasonable”, or “in the public interest”, it does not follow that it would be called for when the same tribunals answer questions about, say, the relationship between provisions of a statute (even their “home” statute) or two related statutes. The former type of question calls upon the tribunals’ specialized knowledge of the standards of justice or reasonableness, or the requirements of the public interest in the field they regulate. The latter is concerned with more general legal skills which courts possess no less, and often more, than tribunals.

Further, even when dealing with a type of question answers to which would normally attract deference, administrative decision-makers are sometimes so constrained by judicial precedent that their decision-making is not meaningfully different from that of a trial court striving to apply appellate authority. The decision that led to in Quebec (Commission des normes, de l’équité, de la santé et de la sécurité du travail) v Caron, 2018 SCC 3 is a good example, as the relevant analysis concerned the scope of the jurisprudence of the Québec Court of Appeal. In similar circumstances, a trial court’s conclusions would not be entitled to any deference on appeal. Why should the administrative decision-maker’s? Assertions to the effect that judicial review and appellate review are not identical are not convincing in those cases where the nature of the decision under review is such that they practically are.

Finally, and more substantively, it is important to recall what is at stake in judicial review of administrative decisions. Proponents of deference often think of it as a means of protecting the decisions of an administrative state devoted to economic regulation in the name of social justice, or at least of enlightened technocracy. But there is much more to the administrative state economic than labour boards or arbitrators, whose decisions supply a disproportionate share of material for the Supreme Court’s administrative law decisions. The law of judicial review of administrative action applies also to the review of correctional authorities, professional licensing bodies, immigration officers, human rights tribunals, even universities and municipalities, and much else besides. People’s ability to enjoy their property or to practice their profession, their right to enter into or to remain in Canada, even their liberty (or at least the conditions of their detention, which the Supreme Court recognizes as a liberty interest) can depend on the way in which an official or a body exercising powers (purportedly) delegated by a legislature interpret the law. Is it enough to tell them, as Dunsmuir effectively does, that it is sufficient that the interpretation that causes them to lose these rights or benefits be justified, transparent, and intelligible?

* * *

Dunsmuir sought to simplify Canadian administrative law by setting out a unified analytical framework based on “the structure and characteristics of the system of judicial review as a whole”. [33] As part of this process, it set out a number of justifications that were supposed to support a wide-ranging policy of judicial deference to administrative interpretations of law. Well-intentioned as it was, the attempt did not succeed. The justifications advanced in Dunsmuir cannot justify deference in many cases where the Supreme Court said it is due. The weakness of, and occasional conflicts among, the justifications for deference advanced in Dunsmuir have fostered renewed confusion in the law of judicial review.

It is important that this confusion be eliminated. Canadian administrative law is reaching a point where it can scarcely be called law at all, such is its inability to provide guidance to those who must apply it or predict how it will be applied. Yet ― perhaps paradoxically ― the way to clarity passes not through the application of a single all-encompassing principle, but through greater attention to the circumstances of individual cases. As these circumstances vary, so must the applicable rules. It is Dunsmuir’s attempt to deny or at least avoid this complexity that is responsible for its failure.

Dunsmuir and the Constitutional Status of the Administrative State

Have the courts built the administrative state into the constitution’s architecture?

Kate Glover, Western University

I presented some of the ideas summarized here at the ‘Re-writing the Canadian Constitution’ Conference at Boston College Law School, Boston, MA, 19-20 October 2017. This piece is part of a larger project that explores the constitutional character of the administrative state, as well as the implications of that character

The contemporary administrative state in the United States is, Gillian E Metzger writes, under siege on political and judicial fronts.[i] The attack is waged in the President’s tweets, in the administration’s policies, in budget cuts, in failures to fill administrative roles, and in Supreme Court decisions. While Metzger’s descriptive account of the state of administrative justice in America does not reflect the current Canadian experience, it still raises a question worth asking in the Canadian context, namely, would there be any legal recourse in the event of a similar “siege” north of the border?

Part of the answer to this question lies in the constitutional status of the administrative state. Does the network of public actors and institutions that make up the administrative state fall within the protective scope of the constitution? Or, more specifically, does this collection of actors and institutions fall under the protective arm of the constitutional amending formula?[ii] If the administrative state is entrenched within the architecture of the constitution, then the answer is yes. And if the answer is yes, action taken to dismantle or undermine the administrative state could be deemed unconstitutional, thwarted by an absence of the multilateral consensus required under the amending formula.

What, then, is the constitutional status of the administrative state?

The law has traditionally told a story about governance in Canada that imagines the administrative state not as constitutionally necessary, but as constitutionally permissible and, ultimately, constitutionally welcome. Administrative decision-makers are, as Justice Abella explains in Rasanen v Rosemount Instruments (1994) 17 OR (3d) 267 (CA), “designed to be less cumbersome, less expensive, less formal and less delayed”. These actors are, she reasoned, “to resolve disputes in their area of specialization more expeditiously and more accessibly, but no less effectively or credibly”. They are, in other words, established and operate in service of access to justice and the rule of law, but can be created – and reformed and dismantled – at the free hand of the legislature, with few constitutional constraints.

But a study of modern public law jurisprudence in Canada reveals an alternative story of governance and public justice that leads to a different conclusion about the constitutional status of the administrative state. In this alternative account, the administrative state – not in all its particulars, but in its essence and function – is a necessary or essential feature of Canada’s constitutional architecture. It follows, as noted above, that the administrative state is entrenched within the constitution and therefore tucked under the protective arm of the amending formula.

* * *

So what is this alternative account and what does Dunsmuir have to do with it?

In short, the alternative story is told by simply noticing three turns in the public law jurisprudence. Each of these turns reflects an expanded appreciation of administrative decision-makers as part of a common justice project, and together, they support the conclusion that the administrative state is now, as a doctrinal matter, constitutionally necessary. Dunsmuir and its progeny, as it turns out, are an important part of the story. They represent the first turn in the jurisprudence that is important for the story. It is in this turn that we see the emergence of the courts’ commitment to a deferential posture when engaged in review of administrative action. Relatively speaking, this posture is new. The early eras of the administrative state witnessed the courts’ active intervention in administrative decision-making. The courts relied on an expansive category of ‘questions of jurisdiction’ to justify intrusions into administrative decision-making.[iii] The message was that administrative actors were inferior decision-makers requiring strict supervision by the judiciary in the service of the rule of law.

Today, judicial resistance to administrative power has been replaced by an attitude of deference to administrative decisions, including deference on questions of law and statutory interpretation. This deferential approach emerged incrementally as the courts grappled with the challenges of relying on reasonableness as a meaningful standard of review.[iv] The commitment to deference was rooted in respect for, in the words of Professor Mullan and invoked by Justices Bastarache and LeBel in Dunsmuir, “the reality that, in many instances, those working day to day in the implementation of frequently complex administrative schemes have or will develop a considerable degree of expertise or field sensitivity to the imperatives and nuances of the legislative regime”.[v] Ultimately, in the post-Dunsmuir world, defence is the norm. While correctness review remains available on some matters, reasonableness is the default standard whenever an administrative decision-maker is interpreting its home statute or statutes that are close to home,[vi] as well as the de facto default standard in a vast number of other contexts.

The second jurisprudential turn of note is witnessed in the expansion of administrative decision-makers’ jurisdiction over constitutional matters. The law has not always granted these actors direct access to, or responsibilities under, the constitution. However, since the later decades of the twentieth century, public law jurisprudence has been loosening the judicial grip on constitutional interpretation. Where do we see this loosening? Martin and Conway are two examples.[vii] Here, we see the Court invoking access to justice, administrative expertise, and constitutional logic to conclude that public officials who are empowered to decide questions of law are also necessarily empowered to answer related constitutional questions and to grant Charter remedies, unless such authority has been clearly revoked. Doré is another example.[viii] There, the Court counselled deference when reviewing decisions of administrative decision-makers that engage Charter values. Again, tracing the increasingly broad and central role of administrative decision-makers in carrying out constitutional analysis and duties seen in Baker, Conway, and Dunsmuir, the Court in Doré held that a deferential approach reflects the “distinct advantage that administrative bodies have in applying the Charter to a specific set of facts and in the context of their enabling legislature”. Clyde River and Chippewas of the Thames First Nation are two final examples.[ix] These cases confirm that the actions of administrative decision-makers can both trigger and fulfill the Crown’s duty to consult Indigenous peoples whose rights and interests are affected by public decisions. In effect, these cases confirm that administrative actors are drawn into treaty relationships, bear the weight of upholding the duties of the honour of the Crown, and share responsibility for pursuing the goal of reconciliation of Indigenous peoples and the Crown. Ultimately, this set of cases suggests that public decision-makers have a direct and close relationship to the constitution, bearing meaningful responsibility in upholding, fulfilling, and applying constitutional obligations and remedies. It is a relationship that would be difficult to reconcile with the notion that the administrative state is not itself central to the architecture of the constitution.

The third and final turn in the jurisprudence is seen in the shrinking limits on administrative powers and jurisdiction under section 96 of the Constitution Act, 1867. Section 96 protects the special status and core jurisdiction of the superior courts. In the early decades of the twentieth century, section 96 was interpreted broadly and strictly, precluding the transfer of any judicial power to administrative decision-makers or statutory courts.[x] This protectionist stance was hostile to the creation and expansion of the administrative state, severely limiting the dispute resolution and adjudicative powers that could be delegated to administrative decision-makers and the sectors in which they could be involved. On this model, the courts, and more specifically the superior courts, were at the centre of the legal system and were to be protected against the intrusion or usurping of power by the burgeoning administrative state.

In fairly short order, the interpretation and application of section 96 – and the limits it created for the creation of the administrative state – loosened.[xi] In the latter half of the twentieth century, the courts pivoted to a liberal and generous approach to section 96.[xii] This flexible approach authorized the administrative state to take up novel jurisdictions, with novelty measured against the conceptual categories of the nineteenth century, and to perform adjudicative roles that are either important to policy goals or integrated into a broader institutional setting.[xiii] With this shift, the courts have contributed to the conditions in which the administrative state can be nimble, sprawling, and directly responsive to the diverse social problems it is intended to address. Together with the other two jurisprudential turns chronicled here, this shift contributes to the conclusion that the administrative state can no longer fairly be conceived of as merely permitted. It is, rather, difficult to conceive of Canada’s constitutional architecture without it.

* * * * *

Dunsmuir is a case about the structural dimensions of the constitutional order; questions of standard of review always are.  And so its tenth anniversary is an opportunity to reflect not only on the particulars, but also on where Dunsmuir might fit within the grander constitutional vision. As I’ve argued here, Dunsmuir is part of a vision that sees the administrative state as a central part of the expansive set of institutions on which the country relies in the pursuit of a flourishing public life. Perhaps this shields us somewhat from a siege on the administrative state and perhaps by Dunsmuir’s next anniversary, we’ll know.

[i] Gillian E Metzger, “Foreword: 1930s Redux: The Administrative State Under Siege” (2017) 131:1 Harv L Rev 1.

[ii] On the protective function of the amending formula, see Sébastien Grammond, “The Protective Function of the Constitutional Amending Formula” (2017) 22:2 Rev Con Stud 171.

[iii] See e.g. Port Arthur Shipbuilding Co. v. Arthurs, [1969] SCR 85; Metropolitan Life Insurance Co v International Union of Operating Engineers, Local 796, [1970] SCR 425.

[iv] CUPE v New Brunswick Liquor Corporation, [1979] 2 SCR 227. See e.g. UES, Local 298 v Bibeault, [1988] 2 SCR 1048; Pezim v British Columbia (Superintendent of Brokers), [1994] 2 SCR 557; Canada (Director of Investigation and Research) v Southam Inc, [1997] 1 SCR 748; Pushpanathan v. Canada (Minister of Citizenship and Immigration), [1998] 1 SCR 982; Dr. Q, supra; Dunsmuir v New Brunswick, 2008 SCC 9.  

 [v] DJ Mullan, “Establishing the Standard of Review: The Struggle for Complexity?” (2004), 17 CHALP 59 at 93, cited in Dunsmuir, ibid at para. 49.

[vi] Alberta (Information and Privacy Commissioner) v. Alberta Teachers’ Association, 2011 SCC 61.

[vii] Nova Scotia (Workers’ Compensation Board) v Martin, 2003 SCC 54, [2003] 2 SCR 504; Nova Scotia (Workers’ Compensation Board) v Laseur, 2003 SCC 54, [2003] 2 SCR 504; R v Conway, 2010 SCC 22, 1 SCR 765 [Conway].

 [viii] Doré v Barreau du Quebec, 2012 SCC 12.

[ix] Clyde River (Hamlet) v Petroleum Geo-Services Inc, 2017 SCC 40; Chippewas of the Thames First Nation v Enbridge Pipelines Inc, 2017 SCC 41.

[x] See e.g. Toronto Corporation v York Corporation, [1938] AC 415.

[xi] See e.g. Labour Relations Board of Saskatchewan v John East Iron Works Limited, [1949] AC 134.

[xii] Procureur Général de Québec v Barreau de la Province de Québec, [1965] SCR 772; Tomko v Labour Relations Board (Nova Scotia), [1977] SCR 112; The Corporation of the City of Mississauga v The Regional Municipality of Peel et al, [1979] 2 SCR 244; Reference re Residential Tenancies Act 1979 (Ontario), [1981] 1 SCR 714.  Indeed, the case law shows that over the past several decades, on the occasions when administrative decision-makers are challenged on section 96 grounds, the vast majority are unsuccessful. See e.g. R v Morrow, 1999 ABCA 182; Campisi v Ontario, 2017 ONSC 2884; Northstar Lumber v USWA Local 1-424, BCCA; Council of Canadians v Canada (AG), [2006] OJ No 4751 (CA); Air Canada v Canada (Commissaire de la concurrence, [2003] 18 Admin LR (4th) 14 (QCCA); Spellman v Essex (Town), [2002] OMBD No 784; Cameron v Sparks; Teal Cedar Products Ltd v British Columbia (Minister of Forests), 2008 BCSC 239; Pye v Pye, 2006 BCSC 505; Saskatchewan (Workers’ Compensation Board) v Saskatchewan (Board of Inuqiry), [1998] SJ No 503 (Sask Ct QB). Contra: Halme’s Auto Service Ltd v British Columbia (Regional Waste Manager), Decision Nos. 1998-WAS-018(c) & 1998-WAS-031(a) (Environmental Appeal Board).

[xiii] Reference re Residential Tenancies Act 1979 (Ontario), [1981] 1 SCR 714; Reference re Amendments to the Residential Tenancies Act (NS), [1996] 1 SCR 186.