Silencing the Bullies

In my last post, I wrote about the decision of the Supreme Court of Nova Scotia in Crouch v. Snell, 2015 NSSC 340, which struck down that province’s Cyber-Safety Act, a law intended “to provide safer communities by creating administrative and court processes that can be used to address and prevent cyberbullying.” Justice McDougall held that the statute both infringed the freedom of expression and could lead to deprivations of liberty not in accordance with principles of fundamental justice, contrary to sections 2(b) and 7 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, and was not justified under section 1 of the Charter. As I indicated in the conclusion of my last post, I believe that this was the right decision. Here are some thoughts about why that is so, and also about some deficiencies, or unanswered questions, in Justice McDougall’s reasons.

Perhaps the most interesting question Justice McDougall raises is whether the limits the Cyber-Safety Act imposed on the freedom of expression are “prescribed by law” within the meaning of section 1 of the Charter. Justice McDougall holds that they are not, because to issue a “protection order” meant to stop a person from engaging in cyberbullying a justice of the peace or a judge must not only find that that person engaged in cyberbullying in the past, but also that “there are reasonable grounds to believe that [that person] will engage in cyberbullying of the subject in the future.” (Subs. 8(b)) Justice McDougall is concerned that there is no indication in the statute as to what those reasonable grounds might be, and that the procedure, especially the ex-parte procedure before a justice of the peace, will not yield sufficient evidence on the basis of which to decide whether the “reasonable grounds to believe” requirement is met.

I find this reasoning intriguing and perplexing at the same time. It seems to me that Justice McDougall’s real concern is not with the vagueness of the statute’s words ― as is usually the case when courts ask whether a limitation of Charter rights is “prescribed by law” ― but with the procedure the statute creates. The concept of “reasonable grounds to believe” already exists in criminal law without attracting censure for vagueness and, as Justice McDougall himself observes, judges are sometimes asked to determine whether there exists a risk that an offender will re-offend in the future. But such determinations are made on the basis of substantial evidence submitted by both parties to an adversarial process. Here, by contrast, the decision must be made on the basis of (potentially flimsy) evidence submitted by one party alone. I agree that this is disturbing, and ought to be regarded as constitutionally problematic, but I’m not sure that “vagueness” is the appropriate name for this problem. Nor is it obvious that any other part of the Oakes test ought would be a better place to address the issue that Justice McDougall raises. Perhaps we need to recognize a procedural element to the “prescribed by law” prong of section 1, in keeping with Jeremy Waldron’s insight that the Rule of Law, and arguably the very concept of law, are crucially dependent on the existence of certain procedures through which the application of legal norms can be channelled and contested, as well as on formal requirements such as publicity and intelligibility that are better captured by the notion of vagueness.

Another question worth asking about Justice McDougall’s reasons is whether he is correct to find that the ex-parte process created by the Cyber-Safety Act is not rationally connected to the Act‘s objectives, except in emergencies or in cases where it is impossible for a victim of cyber-bullying to identify the perpetrator. Courts have seldom found that a law was not rationally connected to its purposes ― it is usually a low bar. Again, I am sympathetic to Justice McDougall seeing a procedure that give no notice to a person whose writings ― no matter how troublesome ― are about to be censored as a serious problem. Still, I’m not sure that, problematic though it is, an ex parte procedure is an irrational response to legislative concerns with timeliness and accessibility of remedies against cyberbullying, which Justice McDougall acknowledged in his decision. It will be interesting to see if appellate courts approach this issue in the same way as Justice McDougall did.

So much for the procedure created by the Cyber-Safety Act. As disturbing as it is, its contents is, if anything, even more troubling from a constitutional standpoint. Somewhat curiously, Justice McDougall does not have all that much to say about the scope and effect of the Cyber-Safety Act, which he addresses under the headings of minimal impairment and balancing between the Act’s positive and negative effects. What he does say, however, is damning indeed: the definition of cyberbullying, in particular, he finds to be “a colossal failure,” [165] catching “many types of expression that go to the core of freedom of expression values.” [175] That is true, but the point might bear some elaboration.

Take another look at the statutory definition of cyberbullying. It

means any electronic communication through the use of technology including, without limiting the generality of the foregoing, computers, other electronic devices, social networks, text messaging, instant messaging, websites and electronic mail, typically repeated or with continuing effect, that is intended or ought reasonably [to] be expected to cause fear, intimidation, humiliation, distress or other damage or harm to another person’s health, emotional well-being, self-esteem or reputation, and includes assisting or encouraging such communication in any way. (Par. 3(1)(b); brackets apparently in the original.)

Think about it. Any communication using computers or cell phones that “ought reasonably to be expected to cause … damage to another person’s … emotional well-being” ― anything that a reasonable person ought to know will make anyone else, anyone at all (since the statute does not in any way restrict who the “other person” whose well-being mustn’t be harmed), upset or feel bad counts as cyberbullying and is liable to be censored. As Eugene Volokh points out in an important article (as well as a bunch of posts on the Volokh Conspiracy) that the defenders of ant-cyberbullying legislation would do well to read, sometimes telling things that will have that effect on people is necessary to explain your own feelings or actions:

[i]f you want to explain to your friends why you’re depressed, or why you’ve broken up with someone, or why you’re moving out of town or taking another job, you might need to tell them about your husband’s cheating, your ex-boyfriend’s sexually transmitted disease, your ex-girlfriend’s impending bankruptcy, or even your mother’s dementia. (761-62)

Sometimes, indeed, you even want to make people feel bad, and with good reason:

speech remains valuable to public debate even when the speaker is motivated by hostility. Often much of the most useful criticism of a person comes from people who have good reason to wish that person ill—if you are mistreated by a politician, religious leader, businessperson, or lawyer, you might acquire both useful information about the person’s faults and resentment towards that person. (774)

And of course, quite apart from any contribution to the public debate, being able to tell why you are aggrieved at someone is important to self-expression. It is often said that people should not have to suffer in silence. But under the Cyber-Safety Act, they are likely to have to do so, since it may well be impossible to explain their emotions in ways that will not hurt the feelings or injure the reputation of the person they blame ― correctly or otherwise ― for their suffering.

Justice McDougall hints at these issues when points at the absence of defences such as truth in the Cyber-Safety Act, and notes that it applies to private and public communications alike. However, I think that it is important to explain in more detail, and with examples, why the extremely broad definition of cyberbullying in this legislation is so problematic. Moreover, even adding the defences of truth absence of ill-will would be enough to remedy the problem. The former is inapplicable to statements of opinion. The latter is insufficient for the reasons explained by prof. Volokh.

Beyond its (very real) unfairness and procedural defects, the fundamental problem with the Cyber-Safety Act is that it seeks to censor communications which the law has never regarded ― and, indeed, still does not regard ― as wrongs, whether civil or criminal. A statement need not be defamatory or otherwise tortious, much less amount to hate speech or be otherwise criminal, to fall within the definition of cyberbullying. The legislature, presumably, thought that this is not a problem so long as it was not imposing a penalty for the making statements considered to be cyberbullying. Whether the requirements that can imposed as part of a “protection order” issued pursuant to the Cyber-Safety Act, which can include not only prospective and retroactive censorship, but also a ban on using certain devices or online services really are not penalties is questionable in my mind, but let’s put that to one side for now. Even if the legislature is right that “protection orders” can be fairly characterized as preventive rather than punitive in nature, what exactly is it that gives it a right to prevent people from doing things that in its own view are not actually wrong? The legislature itself is acting like a bully, albeit a well-intentioned one. It’s a good thing that Justice McDougall silenced it.

Platonic Guardians 2.0?

The New York Times has published an essay by Eric Schmidt, the Chairman of Google, about the role of the Internet, and especially, of the exchange of ideas and information that the Internet enables, in both contributing to and addressing  the challenges the world faces. The essay is thoroughly upbeat, concluding that it is “within [our] reach” to ensure that “the Web … is a safe and vibrant place, free from coercion and conformity.” Yet when reading Mr. Schmidt it is difficult not to worry that, as with students running riot on American college campuses, the quest for “safety” will lead to the silencing of ideas deemed inappropriate by a force that might be well-intentioned but is unaccountable and ultimately not particularly committed to freedom of expression.

To be sure, Mr. Schmidt talks the free speech talk. He cites John Perry Barlow’s “Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace,” with its belief that the Web will be “a world where anyone, anywhere may express his or her beliefs, no matter how singular, without fear of being coerced into silence or conformity.” He argues that

[i]n many ways, that promise has been realized. The Internet has created safe spaces for communities to connect, communicate, organize and mobilize, and it has helped many people to find their place and their voice. It has engendered new forms of free expression, and granted access to ideas that didn’t exist before.

Mr. Schmidt notes the role online communication has played in enabling democratic protest around the world, and wants to reject the claims of “[a]uthoritarian governments  … that censorship is necessary for stability.”

But his response to these claims is not just a straightforward defence of the freedom of expression. “The people who use any technology are the ones who need to define its role in society,” Mr. Schmidt writes. “Technology doesn’t work on its own, after all. It’s just a tool. We are the ones who harness its power.” That’s fair enough, so far as it goes. Mr. Schmidt warns against “us[ing] the Internet exclusively to connect with like-minded people rather than seek out perspectives that we wouldn’t otherwise be exposed to,” and that is indeed very important. But then the argument gets ominous:

[I]t’s important we use [the Internet’s] connectivity to promote the values that bring out the best in people. … We need leaders to use the new power of technology to allow us to broaden our horizons as individuals, and in the process broaden the horizons of our society. It’s our responsibility to demonstrate that stability and free expression go hand in hand.

It’s not that I’m against the idea that one should act responsibly when exercising one’s freedom of expression (or that one should just act responsibly, period). But is the responsibility of a speaker always to foster “stability” ― whatever exactly that is? And to whom ought we “to demonstrate that stability and free expression go hand in hand”? To the authoritarians who want to censor the internet? Why exactly do we owe them a demonstration, and what sort of demonstration are they likely to consider convincing? Last but not least, who are the leaders who are going to make us “broaden our horizons”?

Mr. Schmidt has a list of more or less specific ideas about how to make the internet the “safe and vibrant place” he envisions, and they give us a hint about his answer to that last question:

We should make it ever easier to see the news from another country’s point of view, and understand the global consciousness free from filter or bias. We should build tools to help de-escalate tensions on social media — sort of like spell-checkers, but for hate and harassment. We should target social accounts for terrorist groups like the Islamic State, and remove videos before they spread, or help those countering terrorist messages to find their voice.

He speaks “of leadership from government, from citizens, from tech companies,” but it is not obvious how citizens or even governments ― whom Mr. Barlow taunted as the “weary giants of flesh and steel,” powerless and unwelcome in cyberspace ― can “build tools” to do these sorts of things. It is really the other sort of giants, the “tech companies” such as the one Mr. Schmidt runs, that have, or at least can create, the means to be our benevolent guardians, turning us away from hate and harassment, and towards “global consciousness,” ― whatever that too may be. Google can demote websites that it deems to be promoters of “hate” in its search results, as indeed it already demotes those it considers to be copyright-infringers. Apple could block the access to its App Store to news  sources it considers biased, as indeed it has already blocked a Danish history book for  featuring some nudity in its illustrations. Facebook could tinker with its Newsfeed algorithms to help people with a favoured peace-and-love perspective “find their voice,” as it already tinkers with them to “help [us] see more stories that interest [us].”

Of course, Mr. Schmidt’s intentions are benign, and in some ways even laudable. Perhaps some of the “tools” he imagines would even be nice to have. The world may (or may not) be a better place if Facebook and Twitter could ask us something like “hey, this really isn’t very nice, are you sure you actually want to post this stuff?” ― provided that we had the ability to disregard the advice of our algorithmic minders, just like we can with spell-check. But I’m pretty skeptical about what might come out of an attempt to develop such tools. As I once pointed out here, being a benign censor is very hard ― heavy-handedness comes naturally in this business. And that’s before we even start thinking about the conflicts of interest inherent in the position of Google and of other tech companies who are in a position of being, at once, the regulators of their users’ speech and subjects of government regulations, and may well be tempted to so act in the former role as to avoid problems in the latter. And frankly, Mr. Schmidt’s apparent faith in “strong leaders” who will keep us free and make us safe and righteous is too Boromir-like for me to trust him.

As before, I have no idea what, if anything, needs to or could be done about these issues. Governments are unlikely to wish to intervene to stop the attempts of tech companies to play Platonic guardians 2.0. Even if they had the will, they would probably lack the ability to do so. And, as I said here, we’d be making a very risky gamble by asking governments, whose records of flagrant contempt for freedom of expression are incomparably worse than those of Google and its fellows, to regulate them. Perhaps the solution has to be in the creation of accountability mechanisms internal to the internet world, whether democratic (as David R. Johnson, David G. Post and Marc Rotenberg have suggested) or even akin to rights-based judicial review. In any case, I think that even if we don’t know how to, or cannot, stop the march of our algorithmic guardians, perhaps we can at lest spell-check them, and tell them that they might be about to do something very regrettable.

Twelve Banned Books Weeks

Once upon a time, I mused about whether Parliament could ban books as part of its regulation of election campaign spending. The specific question that interested me then was whether the exemption of “the distribution of a book, or the promotion of the sale of a book, for no less than its commercial value, if the book was planned to be made available to the public regardless of whether there was to be an election” from the definition of “election advertising” in section 319 of the Canada Elections Act (CEA) could be abolished. But now, just in time for Banned Books Week, life ― or, rather, the Public Service Alliance of Canada ― has come up with a somewhat different censorship scenario.

La Presse reports that the Alliance has complained to Elections Canada about political commentator, consultant, and activist Éric Duhaime’s giveaway of 5000 copies of his book Libérez-nous des syndicats! (Free Us from the Unions!). Mr. Duhaime is apparently giving the books away for free in order to counteract an anti-Conservative (and pro-NDP) campaign by Québec’s largest union, the FTQ, to which the Alliance is associated. In the Alliance’s view, the anti-union book falls with the definition of “election advertising” in section 319, and since it is being away for free during the election campaign, the exemption for books sold “for no less than [their] commercial value” does not apply. Since Mr. Duhaime has not registered with Elections Canada to advertise as a “third party” as section 353 of the CEA requires, he is, the Alliance says, acting illegally.

Mr. Duhaime says that he is not campaigning for or against a political party ― only against unions ― and thus is not infringing the CEA. But that’s not quite obvious. The CEA deems to be election advertising

the transmission to the public by any means during an election period of an advertising message that promotes or opposes a registered party or the election of a candidate, including one that takes a position on an issue with which a registered party or candidate is associated. (Emphasis mine)

The key issue, it seems to me, is whether Mr. Duhaime’s book (which, to be clear, I have not read) can be considered as “tak[ing] a position on an issue with which a registered party … is associated.” Is the anti-union position Mr. Duhaime expresses “associated with” the Conservatives ― as the Alliance seems to believe? Or is the pro-union position Mr. Duhaime combats “associated with” the NDP? I’m not sure, but I don’t think that the argument is an impossible one to make. As best I can tell, there is no case law interpreting s. 319 generally or the notion of “an issue with which a registered party or candidate is associated” in particular. And these terms aren’t exactly self-explanatory.

Which, in my view, is a big problem. Here we have a statutory provision that can be applied to punish speech, to impose fines on someone whose “crime” is to give away a book ― and we don’t actually know what it means. Mr. Duhaime probably enjoys the free publicity that comes with the complaint, but not everyone will feel that way. The problem of chilling effect from speech-restricting legislation that is imprecisely worded and thus difficult to interpret in advance of application is a real one.

Here’s another issue with the drafting of s. 319, while we’re at it. One of the exemptions from the general definition of “election advertising” concerns “the transmission by an individual, on a non-commercial basis on what is commonly known as the Internet, of his or her personal political views.” So suppose that Mr. Duhaime had put the text of his book on a freely-accessible website. That would pretty clearly fall within the exemption ― even if the website were only set up for the duration of the election campaign, since the statute says nothing about internet communications having to be “regardless of whether there was to be an election,” as it does for books. But now consider a somewhat different example. Suppose that, instead of just putting the text of his book on a website, Mr. Duhaime makes his book available as an ebook, say through the Kindle store ― again, for free. Does that count as an illegal “distribution of a book … for … less than its commercial value,” or as a legal “transmission by an individual, on a non-commercial basis on what is commonly known as the Internet, of his or her personal political views”? I have no idea. On the one hand, it’s not clear that an ebook ought to be treated any differently from a dead-tree book. On the other, it’s equally unclear why a text in .azw, or .mobi, or .epub format should be different, for the purposes of election law, from the same text in .html format. I guess it would be a fun question to put on a statutory interpretation exam, if you are a slightly sadistic professor.

But again, laws that restrict expression, especially expression on political issues, should not be written for the benefit of slightly sadistic professors of statutory interpretation. If expression must be restricted, as the Supreme Court believes the expression of “third parties” ― that is citizens and organizations who are not candidates or political parties ― must be restricted, at least the restrictions should be clear and narrowly defined. Citizens should not have to guess; nor should they be at the mercy of complaints by other citizens or groups who simply happen to detest their politics.

The shoe was once on the other foot. After the 2003 election campaign in Québec, another union associated with the FTQ was prosecuted by Québec’s election authorities for distributing a pamphlet criticizing a party that took an anti-union position ― a party whose leader Mr. Duhaime was then advising, as it happens. The union then challenged the constitutionality of the Québec legislation on third-party participation in election campaigns ― unsuccessfully. Now, it would seem, labour has learned to use this sort of law as a weapon against its enemies. (In fairness, however, Québec’s law was even more restrictive than the CEA. A union’s distribution of a pamphlet to its own members would not be a violation of the federal statute.) But we should, I think, be concerned that our election campaigns are in danger of becoming twelve-week-long periods for banning books.

Pity the Censor

I have started reading the WWI memoir of a British journalist, Philip Gibbs, called Now It Can Be Told. At least part of the reason for the title is that during the war, what he saw could not be told because of military censorship. Gibbs’ description of the censors’ modus operandi is worth quoting at some length:

It seemed the G.H.Q.―mysterious people in a mysterious place―were drawing up rules for war correspondence and censorship; altering rules made the day before, formulating new rules for tomorrow, establishing precedents, writing minutes, initialing reports with, “Passed to you,” or, “I agree,” written on the margin. The censors who lived with us and traveled with us and were our friends, and read what we wrote before the ink was dry, had to examine our screeds with microscopic eyes and with infinite remembrance of the thousand and one rules. Was it safe to mention the weather? Would that give any information to the enemy? Was it permissible to describe the smell of chloride-of-lime in the trenches, or would that discourage recruiting? That description of traffic on the roads of war, with transport wagons, gun-limbers, lorries, mules―how did that conflict with Rule No. 17a (or whatever it was) prohibiting all mention of movements of troops?

This brought to mind my post about the struggles of the Alberta Court of Appeal in defining hate speech. To be sure, there is a great deal of difference between trying to eliminate one particular, and narrowly, if imprecisely, defined sort of undesirable speech and the sort of comprehensive censorship which Gibbs describes. There might also be a difference―at least the common law’s traditional position was that there was a great difference―between “prior restraints,” the requirement of the state’s permission to publish (the imprimatur―”let it be printed”), and the possibility of punishment or liability after publication.

Still, the two cases illustrate just how difficult any attempt to prohibit some speech on the basis of its content is bound to be. Perhaps paradoxically, the difficulty is especially acute if the censors enforcing the prohibition try to go about it in good faith and with the general sense that they should not prohibit or punish more than is necessary. It is easy enough to be a brutal censor and just prohibit anything at all in case of the slightest doubt. But being a conscientious censor is very hard indeed.

Of course, something being difficult is not a conclusive reason for refraining from it. For instance, it is difficult to maintain the law of defamation while respecting freedom of speech, but I think that there are good reasons not to give up trying, as the U.S. pretty much have. Nonetheless, the difficulty of censorship is a good reason (among many others of course) for having as little of it as possible.

More about Election Law

There are two things to mention today, both related to election law, and more specifically to restrictions on “third-party” speech in the pre-electoral context.

First, Radio-Canada reports that Québec’s Chief Electoral Officer has been in touch with the leaders of the student organizations who are protesting the tuition fee hikes announced by the provincial government. The protesters are angry at Premier Jean Charest and the Québec Liberal Party and have made no secret of their desire to help defeat them when the next election is called – there was speculation that it might happen this spring, but the fall now seems more likely. Well, as I have argued in an op-ed that Cyberpresse published in mid-April, the expenses the protesters will incur during an eventual election campaign will be covered – and severely limited, indeed almost to the point of being prohibited – by the draconian third-party spending provisions of Québec’s Election Act. Radio-Canada quotes the Chief Electoral Officer’s spokesperson as saying that the “objective was not to prevent [the protesters] from expressing themselves. The goal was to make sure that they comply with the law.” The trouble is, the effect of the law will be to prevent the protesters from expressing their views. As I said here already, Québec’s law was intended to prevent the rich from capturing the democratic process, but operates to silence not only the rich, but also those who are not well-off, while shielding the incumbent politicians from criticism by political outsiders.

And second, NYU’s Richard A. Epstein has an interesting (albeit asininely entitled) essay responding to Jeffrey Toobin’s story of the U.S. Supreme Court’s Citizens United decision. As before,  I will avoid discussing the merits of the Citizens United decision itself (though I find prof. Epstein’s essay well-argued, as I did a lecture he gave at NYU in September 2010; at least, a good criticism of Citizens United would need to address the points prof. Epstein makes). I want to mention, however, that prof. Epstein is skeptical of the distinction that Mr. Toobin sought to make between “electioneering” by means of TV advertisements and books. He writes that

Toobin … fights against modern technology when he seeks to draw a hard and fast line between “the pervasive influence of television advertising on electoral politics” and books that operate “in a completely different way,” given that individuals have to make an “affirmative choice to acquire and read a book.”

Oh? Thanks to the internet, books can be excerpted and transmitted in a thousand different ways online to consumers who need only a single click to ignore messages they don’t like. Given the vast reduction in cost in the production of information, it seems positively odd to ban, or even regulate, one form of dissemination while allowing other forms to survive unregulated.

His conclusion, of course, is not that we should censor books, but that we should not restrict other forms of “electioneering” either. That’s pretty much what I argued in my previous post on this topic. The distinction between books and TV ads is not obvious, and indeed probably not tenable. Canadian election legislation makes it, exempting (some) books from its application, but it is not a principled distinction. The principle underlying our law would in fact allow censorship of books (indeed it already allows censorship of some books, as I explained), and that suggests that this principle is misguided.

UPDATE: The Globe also has a story about the Chief Electoral Officer’s warning to student organizations. It emphasizes limits on individual contributions to electoral campaigns, but I think this emphasis is misplaced. The real problem is not with contribution limits, but with those on third-party spending.

Can Canada Ban Books?

The New Yorker has published an interesting, albeit tendentious, as The Volokh Conspiracy’s Jonathan Adler explainsaccount by Jeffrey Toobin of the notorious Citizens United decision of the U.S. Supreme Court, which struck down limits on corporations’ spending on pre-electoral advertising. According to Mr. Toobin, the key to Supreme Court’s engagement with the  case was a question asked by Justice Alito: while the law at issue applied to “electronic communications” – first and foremost television – could its constitutional rationale also apply to justify prohibitions on appeals to vote for or against a candidate published in a book? Could the government censor books published by corporations (that would be all of them) in the pre-electoral period if they contained “electioneering”? The U.S. government’s lawyer said it could.

The Justices leaned forward. It was one thing for the government to regulate television commercials. That had been done for years. But a book? Could the government regulate the content of a book?

“That’s pretty incredible,” Alito responded. “You think that if a book was published, a campaign biography that was the functional equivalent of express advocacy, that could be banned?”

It is at that moment that the case became one about censorship generally, rather than the specific and unusual circumstances actually at issue.

The trouble is, Mr. Toobin contends, the lawyer “was wrong. Congress could not ban a book. [The law at issue] was based on the pervasive influence of television advertising on electoral politics, the idea that commercials are somehow unavoidable in contemporary American life. The influence of books operates in a completely different way. Individuals have to make an affirmative choice to acquire and read a book. Congress would have no reason, and no justification, to ban a book under the First Amendment.” Prof. Adler argues that it is Mr. Toobin who is mistaken. “[T]he government,” he observes, “never sought to defend the law on the basis that it was limited to electronic media. After all, the point of the was to limit the role of money in campaigns, not limit television advertising. The position the government was defending was that Congress could limit corporate expenditures related to campaigns, not that it could regulate TV.”

My purpose is not to dwell on the rights or wrongs of Citizens United, but to look at the way the issue raised by Justice Alito plays out in Canadian election law. Par. 319(b) of the Canada Elections Act exempts “the distribution of a book, or the promotion of the sale of a book, for no less than its commercial value, if the book was planned to be made available to the public regardless of whether there was to be an election” from its definition of “election advertising” which it sharply restricts. Québec’s Election Act contains a similar qualified exception in subs. 404(2). So, since the exemptions are qualified to only apply to books published “regardless of whether there was to be an election,” books published with a view to an upcoming election, or books the publication of which has been accelerated to coincide with an electoral campaign, would not be exempt. Overrunning the spending limits (which are exceedingly low federally, and even more so in Québec) on publishing and promoting them would be an offence, as would be not reporting these activities to election regulators. Is this the sort of restrictions on the freedom of expression we are prepared to live with?

But prof. Adler’s argument points to a still more serious problem. Even the qualified exemptions now existing do not sit easily with the rationales for the regulation of and restrictions on election spending, especially by actors other than political parties, which the Supreme Court of Canada embraced in Libman v. Quebec (Attorney General), [1997] 3 S.C.R. 569 and Harper v. Canada (Attorney General), 2004 SCC 33, [2004] 1 S.C.R. 827. Those rationales are that non-party voices must be muffled, if not quite silenced, in the pre-electoral debate, lest political parties have trouble being heard, and that the influence of money ought to be reduced, if not quite eliminated. The exemption for books seems to run counter to these purposes. Could Parliament and provincial legislatures abolish it if they felt like it? Quite possibly. Doing so would, I have argued, be rationally connected to the overall objectives of election spending regulation. It is harder to guess whether it would be held to be a “minimal impairment” of freedom of expression, and whether the courts would find that its salutary effects will outweigh the deleterious ones, but if the prohibition on publishing an ad in a national newspaper has been upheld (in Harper, as the dissenting judgment points out), why not that on a book? Once again, isn’t there something wrong with our approach to freedom of expression in the pre-electoral context if it countenances prohibitions of this sort?