I Said Don’t Do It

The federal government is wrong to involve Québec in the process of appointing the next Supreme Court judge

In 2014, after the Supreme Court invalidated the appointment of Justice Nadon to one of its seats reserved for Québec judges or lawyers, the federal government got the Québec government to propose a shortlist of candidates for the vacant-again position. This process resulted in the appointment of Justice Gascon to the Supreme Court. The federal government meant the outsourcing of the shortlist to be a one-off; the Québec government was hoping that it would create a precedent. Québec’s wishes were ignored when the next appointment to one its seats (that of Justice Côté) was made.

But now Justice Gascon is now retiring ― sadly, much before his time ― and a version of the process that produced his appointment is being brought back. As the Canadian Press reports,

[t]he federal and Quebec governments have reached what the province is calling a historic deal that ensures it will play an active role in the process of selecting the next Supreme Court of Canada justice from Quebec.

An advisory committee similar to those used for previous appointments made by the current federal government submit will then

submit a shortlist of candidates to the federal and provincial justice ministers. … [T]he premier of Quebec will also provide an opinion and forward a recommendation to the prime minister, who will make the final decision weighing the recommendation of the federal justice minister and Quebec’s input.

The provincial government’s role is, if I understand correctly, not as important as in the 2014 process, since it doesn’t extend to unilaterally determining the Prime Minister’s range of choices. But it is still significant. The province seems delighted. The Canadian Press writes that the provincial justice minister “called the deal precedent-setting” ― yes, again ― “saying it would allow the province to take a ‘direct and significant part’ in the judicial appointment”.

The rest of us should not be happy. In fact, we should be rather angry. I criticized the 2014 process at some length here, and I believe that that criticism is still applicable, albeit in a slightly watered-down form, to the new process. It is common enough for members of the Canadian chattering classes to claim that the federal government’s power of appointing Supreme Court judges without taking provincial preferences into account is a defect in our federal system. But this view is mistaken. Here’s part what I said in 2014 (with references updates):

[H]ow much of a flaw is it really that the federal government appoints judges unilaterally? In practice, the Supreme Court’s recent blockbuster decisions ― the one concerning the eligibility of Justice Nadon, Reference re Supreme Court Act, ss. 5 and 6, 2014 SCC 21, [2014] 1 SCR 433 and that in the Reference re Senate Reform, 2014 SCC 32, [2014] 1 SCR 704 ―, as well as Reference re Securities Act, 2011 SCC 66, [2011] 3 SCR 837, which declared a proposed federal securities regulator unconstitutional belie any claim that the Supreme Court is biased in favour of the federal government.

And even at the level of theory, there is a good argument to be made for unilateral federal appointments. Canadian history has borne out James Madison’s famous argument in Federalist No. 10 that small polities are more vulnerable to “faction” and the tyranny of the majority than larger ones. Our federal governments have tended to be more moderate than provincial ones, and less susceptible to takeovers by ideological entrepreneurs from outside the Canadian mainstream, whether the Social Credit of Alberta or the separatists of Québec. Foreseeing this, the framers of the Constitution Act, 1867 gave the power of appointing judges of provincial superior courts to the federal rather than the provincial governments. It stands to reason that the judges of the Supreme Court, whose decisions have effect not only in one province, but throughout Canada, should a fortiori be appointed by the government more likely to be moderate and representative of the diversity of the views of the country ― that is to say, by the federal government.

Québec’s case is illustrative. The federal government presumably is comfortable with, or at least not very worried about, outsourcing the selection of potential Supreme Court judges to a relatively friendly, federalist government. Would it have felt the same way if the Parti Québécois ― not only separatist, but also committed to the infamous “Charter of Québec Values” (which the federal government had vowed to fight in court!) had won the recent provincial election? 

The latest developments sure give us some food for thought on this last question. The Parti Québécois, it is true, not only remains out of government, but is currently the fourth-largest party in Québec’s legislature. Yet its idea of purging the province’s public service of overtly religious persons ― especially if they are overtly religious in a non-Catholic way ― is alive, kicking, and in the process of being enacted into law, as Bill 21, by the Coalition Avenir Québec’s government. This is the same government, of course, that its federal counterpart wants to involve in the appointment of the judges who may yet be called upon to pronounce on Bill 21’s consistency with the constitution.

Back in the sunny days of 2015, when illusions about the current federal government being formed by the “Charter party” were still possible, the Prime Minister wrote the following to his Attorney-General:

[Y]our overarching goal will be to ensure our legislation meets the highest standards of equity, fairness and respect for the rule of law. I expect you to ensure that our initiatives respect the Constitution of Canada, court decisions, and are in keeping with our proudest legal traditions. You are expected to ensure that the rights of Canadians are protected, that our work demonstrates the greatest possible commitment to respecting the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, and that our government seeks to fulfill our policy goals with the least interference with the rights and privacy of Canadians as possible.

The “Mandate Letter” in which these wonderful commitments are set out is still on the Prime Minister’s website, although its original addressee was eventualy fired for acting like an actual Law Officer of the Crown and not a political weather-wane. But the same Prime Minister’s government is now going out of its way to hand over part of its constitutional responsibility for appointing the judges of Canada’s highest court to a provincial government bent not only on trampling on fundamental freedoms, but also on insulating its actions from review for compliance with the Charter. I should have thought that this is an odd way of respecting the Constitution of Canada, of ensuring that the rights of Canadians are protected, and of demonstrating the greatest possible commitment to respecting the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. But what do I know?

Well, I know this. Five years ago wrote that

[t]he power to appoint Supreme Court judges belongs to the federal government, and it alone, for good reason. … [T]he constitutional edifice built in 1867 (and 1875, when the Court was created, and then 1982 when it was, so it says, constitutionally entrenched) has weathered some great storms, and given us all shelter and comfort. It is in no danger of crumbling. Do not try to rebuild it.

Don’t do it. Just don’t.

Devaluing Section 33

What happens to “Charter values” when a statute invokes the “notwithstanding clause”―and what this might mean for Québec’s Bill 21

Here is a little puzzle I have thought of when reading an intriguing Policy Options post by Grégoire Webber, Eric Mendelsohn, and Robert Leckey. Their argument, in a nutshell, is that the invocation of section 33 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, the notorious “notwithstanding clause” by a legislature ― for example, by Québec’s legislature enacting
Bill 21, an anti-religious dress code ― does not prevent the courts from pronouncing the statute to which it applies contrary to the Charter. The “notwithstanding clause” does not insulate the statute from judicial review, but merely means that the statute continues to operate regardless of that review’s outcome. I am tentatively inclined to agree, and may have more to say on this soon. But for now, I want to raise a somewhat different issue.

If Bill said that public servants guilty of wearing religious symbols are to lose their jobs, or that overtly religious persons cannot be hired for the positions to which clause 6 applies, then that rule would be protected by the “notwithstanding clause”, and so would be its straightforward application. But in fact Bill 21 does not itself specify what happens if its prohibition, in clause 6, on “wearing religious symbols” is disregarded. Rather, clause 12 merely provides that “[i]t is incumbent on the person exercising the highest administrative authority” over those to whom that prohibition applies “to take the necessary measures to ensure compliance”. The taking of those necessary measures would presumably be an administrative decision, subject to judicial review. And this is where things get interesting, in the sordid way in which anything having to do with judicial review of administrative decisions is interesting.

In a sane system of judicial review of constitutionally suspect administrative decisions ― like the one set out in Slaight Communications v Davidson, [1989] 1 SCR 1038 ― a decision to discipline, and eventually to dismiss, a public servant for breaching the prohibition on wearing religious symbols would, I think, have to be valid, so long of course as Bill 21 is protected by the “notwithstanding clause”. Such a decision is impliedly authorized by the statute, so to challenge its constitutionality one would need to challenge the statute itself, and the “notwithstanding clause” means that, whatever other consequences that challenge may have, the statute continues to operate.

But we no longer have a sane system of judicial review of administrative decisions that raise Charter issues. (I should make clear that I have grave misgivings about Slaight‘s correctness on the merits; it is only its approach to judicial review that I approve of.) What we have, instead, is the approach first set out in Doré v Barreau du Québec, 2012 SCC 12, [2012] 1 SCR 395, under which the issue is not whether an administrative decision is authorized by a statute interpreted so as to comply with the Charter, but whether it gives as full an effect to “Charter values” in light of the statute’s objectives. How the “notwithstanding clause” fits into this scheme is not at clear.

The question is, does the application of the “notwithstanding clause” to a statute suspend the application of “Charter values” to decisions authorized by that statute? And the answer to that question is by no means obvious. Doré itself, of course, is silent on the matter, as are its successors Loyola High School v Quebec (Attorney General), 2015 SCC 12, [2015] 1 SCR 613 and Law Society of British Columbia v Trinity Western University, 2018 SCC 32, [2018] 2 SCR 293. So too is the text of section 33 of the Charter, which speaks of legislation “hav[ing] such operation as it would have but for the provision of th[e] Charter” (emphasis mine) in respect of which section 33 is invoked. The Charter says nothing about “values”.

Are these values the same as Charter rights, in which case they might be ousted along with the “provisions” muted by the invocation of the “notwithstanding clause”? The cases at least suggest otherwise. In particular, in Loyola, the majority spoke of “Charter protections” as a category encompassing “values and rights” [35; emphasis mine], suggesting that values and rights are different. It added that “Charter values [are] those values that underpin each right and give it meaning”. [36] And so, one might at least make a serious argument to the effect that the values remain intact regardless of the temporary inapplicability of the Charter‘s provisions (and rights), and that Doré‘s injunction that “administrative decisions are always required to consider fundamental values” [35; emphasis in the original] remains in full force, notwithstanding the “notwithstanding clause”.

The reluctance of the framers of Bill 21 to spell out, in the legislation itself, the unpalatable consequences they presumably intend, combined with the perverseness of the administrative law doctrines endorsed by the Supreme Court, may thus result in the nullification of one of the bill’s most significant features ― its attempt to exclude judicial scrutiny. I hope that no one doubts my distaste for Bill 21. I have denounced its illiberalism here, arguing that Quebeckers ― and the rest of us ― need to stop fearing “the way in which others might use their liberty if we do not preemptively coerce them”. And I have myself defended what some might think of as a workaround designed to challenge the constitutionality of Bill 21 despite its invocation of the “notwithstanding clause”. And, more broadly, I have long argued that the “notwithstanding clause” would be best left untouched. But I cannot say I find the idea of relying on “Charter values” to subvert the invocation of the “notwithstanding clause”, even one as distasteful as Bill 21’s, especially satisfactory either. The whole concept of “Charter values” is a figment of the judicial imagination, and it usually serves, no matter the protestations of the TWU majority, to water down constitutional rights and to subvert the authority of the supreme law more broadly.

One should note, also, that even if the argument that Charter values continue to apply despite the “notwithstanding clause” is successful, there would remain the issue of weighing these values against statutory objectives. I will not say much about this here, beyond observing that there is glaring conflict between the ostensible aims of Bill 21 as a whole, stated in its clause 4, which are “(1) the separation of State and religions; (2) the religious neutrality of the State; (3) the equality of all citizens; and (4) freedom of conscience and freedom of religion”, and its real aims, and in particular, the aim of the ban of wearing religious symbols. I am not sure how a court would deal with this, but here again the reluctance of the framers of of Bill 21 to forthrightly admit that they are trying to simply purge Québec’s officialdom of overtly religious individuals may well open a space for judicial subversion.

It may yet be, then, that the story of Bill 21 will turn out to have something that will look, from the standpoint of the protection of individual rights, more or less like a happy ending. But we should not let ourselves be deceived. Two wrongs do not make a right. One can hardly make up for the Québec legislature’s unwillingness to be bound by constitutional law by exploiting similar unwillingness on the part of the Supreme Court. And maybe, just maybe, the court would in fact recoil before the prospect of following the implications of the Doré line of cases all the way to the nullification of section 33 of the Charter. Who knows ― they might even seize the opportunity for getting rid of Doré and restoring some sanity to the Canadian law of judicial review.

To be honest, I’m not sure which outcome is more desirable. On the one hand, I want to see Bill 21 undone. On the other, although the Québec legislature would have no cause for complaint if it is tripped up by its own cowardice, those of us who care about the Rule of Law could not happy by its further subversion, even if we like the immediate results. But then again, I have the luxury of worrying about the Rule of Law from a distance. Those personally affected by Bill 21 may feel differently about this.

Ce qui compte

Que le projet de loi anti-religieux du Québec soit ou non raciste ou islamophobe est sans importance. Ce qui compte, c’est son illibéralisme

Dans le débat autour du Projet de loi 21, la législation mise de l’avant pour faire de la laïcité la doctrine religieuse officielle du Québec et pour imposer une tenue vestimentaire fondée sur ce dogme aux enseignants, juristes et policiers de la province, on consacre beaucoup d’attention à la question de savoir si ce projet est un reflet du racisme, de l’islamophobie ou d’une autre forme de discrimination. Ceux qui critiquent le projet de loi le disent souvent. Ceux qui le défendent, et même certaines personnes qui ne le font pas, s’en déclarent offusqués et insistent pour dire que la forme agressive de laïcité que le Québec cherche à imposer découle d’une vision politique fondée sur des principes. Or, il me semble que tout cela est sans importance. Que le Projet de loi 21 soit le produit de la discrimination ou de principes fondamentaux importe peu. Il est tout aussi abominable dans un cas comme dans l’autre.

Je dois dire que, personnellement, je me doute bien de ce que la xénophobie contribue, de façon plus que négligeable, au soutien politique dont bénéficie le Projet de loi 21. Sans une peur irrationnelle d’un « envahissement », des étrangers (réels ou supposées tels) qui « imposent leurs façons de faire » aux populations existantes (30, 50, voire 100 fois plus nombreuses), l’ambition des tenants de la laïcité dogmatique d’imposer leur croyance au Québec serait selon toute vraisemblance restée parfaitement théorique. Elle l’a été, après tout, des décennies durant, avant que cette peur ne fût gonflée suite à la décision de la Cour suprême dans Multani c Commission scolaire Marguerite-Bourgeoys, 2006 CSC 6, [2006] 1 RCS 256, alias l’affaire du kirpan. On nous demande certes de nous rappeler la relation unique et troublante qu’a entretenue le Québec avec la religion (catholique), mais l’appui à la laïcité virulente était sans commune mesure avec son niveau actuel à une époque où, pourtant, la mémoire de cette relation était bien plus vive qu’elle ne l’est à présent. Cependant, quoi qu’il en soit en général, on devrait probablement être réticent à l’idée de lancer des accusations de xénophobie à des individus ― à moins, bien sûr, d’avoir des raisons spécifiques de le faire dans leur cas particulier.

Concentrons-nous donc sur les principes qu’on prétend justifier le Projet de loi 21. Présumons, pour les fins de l’argument, que ceux qui l’appuient croient réellement que, pour citer Christian Rioux dans Le Devoir, “the diversity of modern societies makes state secularism an increasingly unavoidable requirement. The pluralist societies are, more citizens demand that the state’s religious neutrality be beyond reproach” (translation mine here and below). Let us ignore the delightful irony of a man named Christian preaching secularism. Let us even avert our eyes from the sleight-of-hand involved in the equation of “state neutrality”, which as the Supreme Court explained in Mouvement laïque québécois v Saguenay (City), 2015 SCC 16, [2015] 2 SCR 3, “is required of institutions and the state, not individuals”, [74] with the “neutrality” of men and women who work for the state. Let us concede, or imagine, that the supporters of Bill 21 believe in good faith that their vision of secularism is morally justified.

Pourquoi ont-il néanmoins tort? Tout simplement, parce que cette forme de laïcité requiert de grossières violations de la liberté individuelle. Elle veut dire que l’État peut imposer aux individus une façon particulière de pratiquer ou de ne pas pratiquer leur foi ― leur dire, donc, s’ils pourront ou non vivre selon leurs valeurs fondamentales. M. Rioux soutient que le Projet de loi 21 ne fait rien de tel, puisqu’il n’affecterait pas le droit de vivre sa foi, mais seulement le « droit de l’afficher pendant les heures de travail » ― comme si on pouvait avoir une foi à temps partiel. L’idée est risible. Si on demandait à M. Rioux de porter une kippah, mais seulement pendant les heures de travail, ça lui irait? (C’est pour cette raison que les tentatives, fréquentes, de dresser une analogie entre le Projet de loi 21 et les interdictions sur l’auto-identification politique ne fonctionnent pas : l’engagement politique, lui, est toujours à temps partiel, même pour un partisan endurci, et peut être mis de côté, puis renouvelé, alors que la foi religieuse ne le peut pas.)

Il va sans dire, l’État peut limiter, voire nier, la liberté d’une personne pour l’empêcher de s’en servir pour porter atteinte à la vie, à la liberté ou aux biens d’autrui ; et, peut-être, pour l’empêcher de nier l’appartenance égale d’une autre personne à la communauté. Or, les détenteurs de charges publiques ou les employés de l’État qui refusent de se convertir à une religion à temps partiel ou de faire acte d’apostasie ne font rien de tel. Ils ne volent personne, ils n’empêchent personne de faire quoi que ce soit, ils n’imposent leurs croyances à personne. Ils sont, bien sûr, manifestement identifiables comme appartenant à une confession religieuse ou une autre, mais la plupart de nous sommes manifestement identifiable comme apparentant à un genre ou à un groupe racial plutôt qu’un autre. Une enseignante musulmane qui porte le hijab ne fait pas plus de ses élèves des Musulmans qu’un enseignant blanc n’en fait des hommes blancs. (Il est bien sûr possible qu’une enseignante ou un fonctionnaire croyants fasse du prosélytisme ou accorde un traitement de faveur à un co-religionnaire. C’est cela qu’il faut réprimer, le cas échéant, tout comme il faut réprimer la propagande ou le favoritisme fondés sur d’autres aspects d’une identité personnelle.)

Sauf que, pour leur part, les obsédés de la laïcité qui soutiennent le Projet de loi 21 acceptent que l’État dénie la liberté individuelle pour bien d’autres raisons encore. M. Rioux écrit que, « [f]ace au multiculturalisme qui tente d’imposer partout sa pensée unique, le premier ministre a eu raison d’affirmer dimanche dernier que “c’est comme ça qu’on vit ici” », parce que « les Québécois ont beaucoup plus qu’une langue en partage ». Passons outre, encore une fois, l’ironie d’une dénonciation de la pensée unique conjuguée à l’insistance que l’État peut priver les citoyens de leur liberté au nom de la façon dont on « vivrait ici » et de ce qu’on aurait, supposément, « en partage ». Si M. Rioux n’était pas un hypocrite, l’idée qu’une façon de vivre officiellement reconnue ― réputée largement partagée malgré et, en fait, précisément en raison de l’évidence frappante du fait qu’elle ne l’est pas ― peut être imposée par la force par l’État à ceux qui n’y souscrivent pas ne serait ni moins fausse ni moins pernicieuse. Cette idée, c’est la prétention que ceux qui détiennent le pouvoir sont autorisés à dicter leurs croyances et leur façon de vivre à tous, pour la seule et unique raison qu’ils détiennent le pouvoir. Elle est incompatible avec toute liberté digne de ce nom.

Bien entendu, cette opinion illibérale est largement répandue. Elle n’est le propre d’aucun groupe racial ou religieux, d’aucune nation. M. Rioux en appelle, à l’encontre des accusations d’islamophobie, au fait qu’une large majorité de Musulmans français seraient favorables à des restrictions similaires à celles qu’imposerait le Projet de loi 21. Ils ne peuvent pas être islamophobes, eux, n’est-ce pas? C’est très juste, et sans pertinence aucune. Un Musulman français peut être tout aussi illibéral qu’un Canadien français catho-laïque. D’ailleurs, les chouchous judiciaires des intellectuels canadiens bien-pensants se sont montrés tout à fait capables de verser dans l’illibéralisme de cette sorte quand ils ont invoqué de mythiques « valeurs communes » pour permettre à un organe de l’État de nier une accréditation à une institution religieuse dissidente.

Le dire maintenant peut sembler étonnant, mais le débat autour du Projet de loi 21 démontre aussi bien que n’importe quel autre ne pourrait le faire que l’égalité, et les -phobies et les -ismes qui l’accompagnent, prennent beaucoup trop de place dans notre pensée et notre discours. Il ne s’agit pas de dire que ces choses sont sans importance. Cependant, ce qu’il y a de mauvais dans notre vie publique n’est pas toujours mauvais parce que cela contrevient à la valeur d’égalité. Par ailleurs, ce qui n’y contrevient pas n’est pas forcément permis pour autant, et ce qui contribue à la réaliser n’est pas, dès lors, requis. Il est temps qu’on se rappelle que la liberté est tout aussi importante ― mieux encore, qu’on réalise qu’elle est plus importante, mais je n’en demande pas autant tout de suite. Il est temps qu’on se rappelle que les individus en chair et en os, et non des abstractions rêvées ou des communautés imaginées, sont ce qui compte. Il est temps qu’on cesse de craindre l’usage que feraient les autres de leur liberté si on ne les menottait pas par prévention. Il est temps qu’on soit libre.

What Really Matters

Whether Québec’s anti-religious bill is racist or Islamophobic is beside the point. What matters is its illiberalism

In the debate about Bill 21, Québec’s proposed legislation to make “laicity”, whatever exactly that is, the province’s official religious doctrine, and to impose a correspondingly faith-based dress code on its teachers, lawyers, and police officers, much attention is being devoted to the question of whether the endeavour reflects racism, Islamophobia, or other forms of discrimination. The proposal’s critics often say that it does. Its defenders, and indeed some critics, profess offence at the suggestion, and insist that the aggressive form of secularism the Québec seeks to enforce is a principled political vision. It seems to me that this all quite beside the point. Whether or not Bill 21 is the product of discrimination or of high principle does not matter. It is equally despicable either way.

Now, I should say that I personally have little doubt that xenophobia makes a more-than-deminimis contribution to such political support as there is for Bill 21. Without an irrational fear of “invaders”, of foreigners (actual or presumed) who “impose their customs” on the established populations (which outnumber them by 30- or 50- if not 100-to-1), the ambitions of dogmatic secularists to impose their creed on Québec would in all likelihood have remained perfectly theoretical. This is, after all, what they had been for decades, before this fear started being inflated in the wake of the Supreme Court’s ruling in Multani v Commission scolaire Marguerite-Bourgeoys, 2006 SCC 6, [2006] 1 SCR 256, a.k.a. the kirpan case. For all that we are asked to remember Québec’s uniquely fraught relationship with (Catholic) religion, there was nothing like the current degree of support for virulent secularism at a time when the memories of this relationship were fresher than they are now. Still, whatever may be the case in general, we should probably be reluctant to make accusations of xenophobia against individuals ― unless, of course, we have specific reasons to do so in their particular case.

Let us focus, then, on the supposed principled justifications for Bill 21. Let us presume, for the sake of argument, that its supporters really believe that, as Christian Rioux put it in Le Devoir, “the diversity of modern societies makes state secularism an increasingly unavoidable requirement. The pluralist societies are, more citizens demand that the state’s religious neutrality be beyond reproach” (translation mine here and below). Let us ignore the delightful irony of a man named Christian preaching secularism. Let us even avert our eyes from the sleight-of-hand involved in the equation of “state neutrality”, which as the Supreme Court explained in Mouvement laïque québécois v Saguenay (City), 2015 SCC 16, [2015] 2 SCR 3, “is required of institutions and the state, not individuals”, [74] with the “neutrality” of men and women who work for the state. Let us concede, or imagine, that the supporters of Bill 21 believe in good faith that their vision of secularism is morally justified.

Why are they wrong? Simply because this form of secularism involves gross violations of individual liberty. It means that the state gets to tell people how, or how not, to practise their faith ― whether they will be allowed to pursue their fundamental commitments. Mr. Rioux denies that Bill 21 does any such thing, since it only affects “the right to publicize [one’s religion] during working hours” ― as if one could have a part-time faith. This is laughable. If Mr. Rioux were asked to wear a kippah, but only during working hours, would that be all right by him? (This is why the frequent attempts to analogize the policy of Bill 21 to bans on political self-identification do not work: political commitments are indeed part-time things, even for hardened partisans, and can be set aside and then resumed, in a way that religious commitments cannot.)

Needless to say, the state may limit or even take away a person’s liberty to avoid it being used to interfere the life, liberty, or property of others; and, perhaps, to avoid it being used to deny others’ equal membership in the community. But public officials or employees who refuse to convert to part-time religion or to commit apostasy do no such thing. They do not take anyone’s property; they do not deprive anyone of their ability to do anything; they do not impose their beliefs on anyone. Sure, they are visibly, manifestly, identifiable as having a religious affiliations; but most of us are visibly, manifestly identifiable as members of particular genders and racial groups, not to mention as being of a certain age. A Muslim teacher wearing a hijab no more makes her students Muslim than a white male teacher makes his students white men. (Of course it is possible that a religious teacher or public servant will engage in proselytism, or unduly favour co-religionists. These things should be punished, just as propaganda or favouritism based on other commitments or aspects of one’s identity should be punished.)

The secularist obsessives supporting Bill 21, however, have a much more expansive view of the reasons for which the state can deny people’s liberty. Mr. Rioux writes that, “faced with a multiculturalism that seeks to impose its single-minded thinking everywhere, the premier [of Québec] was right to assert … that ‘this is how we live here'”, because “Quebeckers have much more than a language in common”. Never mind, again, the irony of denouncing single-minded thinking while insisting that a state may deprive citizens of liberty in the name of “how we live here” and of what they purportedly “have in common”. Were Mr. Rioux not a hypocrite, the idea that state-sanctioned ways of doing things ― said to be widely or even universally shared despite, and indeed precisely because of, glaring evidence of the fact that they are not ― can be imposed by force on those who do not share them would be no less wrong-headed, and no less pernicious. This idea purports to authorize those in power to dictate their beliefs and their ways of living to everyone, for no other reason than that they are in power. It is incompatible with any liberty that deserves the name.

Of course this illiberal view is widely held. It is not confined to any particular racial or religious group, or any nationality. Mr. Rioux appeals, against the charge of Islamophobia, to the fact that a large majority of French Muslims apparently support restrictions similar to those that would be imposed by Bill 21. They can’t be Islamophobes, can they? This sounds like a good argument, so far as it goes, except that it doesn’t go anywhere that matters. A French Muslim can be as illiberal as a French Canadian lapsed Catholic. For that matter, the judicial darlings of Canada’s bien-pensant multiculturalist intelligentsia have proven themselves quite capable of this sort of illiberalism when then invoked mythical “shared values” to authorize an arm of the state to deny an accreditation to a religious dissenting institution, in Law Society of British Columbia v Trinity Western University, 2018 SCC 32.

It might be odd to say so now, but the debate around Bill 21 shows as well as any other that equality, and its attendant -phobias and -isms, occupy too large a space is our thought and discourse. This is not to say that these things do not matter. But not everything that is wrong in our politics is wrong because it contravenes the value of equality. Nor is anything that does not contravene this value therefore permitted, or anything that supports this value therefore required. It is time we remembered that liberty is no less important ― or, better yet, that we realized that liberty is more important, but I am not asking for everything at once. It is time we remembered that living individuals, not intellectual dreamt-up abstractions or imagined communities, are what really matters. It is time we stopped fearing the way in which others might use their liberty if we do not preemptively coerce them. It is time we were free.

Is Québec’s Dress Code Unconstitutional?

There is a serious argument to be made that Québec’s ban on religious symbols infringes the federal division of powers

Back when a previous Québec government sought to impose a dress-code on the province’s employees, I suggested here and here that, should the province seek to insulate its legislation from review based on its manifest violation of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms and Québec’s own Charter of Human Rights and Freedoms by invoking these Charters’ respective “notwithstanding clauses”, the question of constitutionality could still be raised. That is because such legislation may well infringe not only the constitutional guarantees of religious liberty, but also the federal division of powers, to which the “notwithstanding clauses” do not apply. 

The idea of a dress code for (some) public employees is back, in the shape of a bizarrely named Bill 21, An Act respecting the laicity of the State. (Pro tip for the legislative draughtsman: “laicity” is not a synonym of “secularism”.) And as Bill 21 invokes the “notwithstanding clauses”, the issue of its consistency with the federal division of powers must be addressed.


Fortunately, Maxime St-Hilaire has posted a thorough review (en français) of the relevant case law over at À qui de droit. With his kind permission, a (very slightly shortened and re-formatted) translation follows:

Section 33 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms in no way allows Parliament or a legislature to suspend the federal division of legislative powers. Only the federal emergency power makes it possible to do this, temporarily.

Recall that, in 1852, before Confederation, the legislature of the United Province of Canada enacted a Freedom of Worship Act. In 1867, the protection of religious freedom was not, as such, assigned to either Parliament or the legislatures. The Freedom of Worship Act remains purportedly valid as a law of Québec.

However, in Saumur v City of Quebec, [1953] 2 SCR 299, which involved a by-law subjecting the distribution of any literature in the city’s streets to the approval of the chief of police, four of the nine judges took the position that religious freedom was outside the scope of provincial jurisdiction, and within that of Parliament. In somewhat different ways, the four took the position that, being a restriction on freedom of religion, the by-law could not be justified as an exercise of the provincial power over “Property and Civil Rights in the Province” provided by section 92(13) of the Constitution Act, 1867, or that over “Municipal Institutions in the Province”, or any other provincial power, including that over “Matters of a merely local or private Nature in the Province”, provided by section 92(16). Rather, religious freedom was a matter within the scope either of the federal criminal law power (section 91(27)), or of the section 91 residual federal power over “Peace, Order, and Good Government of Canada”. Two other judges were content to raise this argument without either endorsing or rejecting it: “It may well be that Parliament alone has power to make laws in relation to the subject of religion as such”. (387; per Cartwright J). Only three of the nine judges took the position that freedom of religion fell within the scope of the provincial power over “Property and Civil Rights” or, perhaps, “Matters of a merely local or private Nature”.

Saumur was ultimately decided on the basis of the by-law’s interpretation, rather than its validity. Two years later, in Henry Birks & Sons (Montreal) Ltd v City of Montreal, [1955] SCR 799, the Supreme Court unanimously held that a Québec statute specifically allowing municipalities to prohibit the opening of shops on designated Catholic holidays was ultra vires the province, because in pith and substance it was colourable criminal law. Justice Kellock (with the agreement of Justice Locke), went so far as to suggest that 

[e]ven if it could be said that legislation of the character here in question is not properly “criminal law” within the meaning of s. 91(27), it would, in my opinion, still be beyond the jurisdiction of a provincial legislature as being legislation with respect to freedom of religion dealt with by the [Freedom of Worship Act]. (823)

This was also the view of Justice Rand, for whom “legislation in relation to religion the provision is beyond provincial authority to enact”. (814)

In Dupond v City of Montreal, [1978] 2 SCR 770, Justice Beetz, for the majority, argues that the freedom of religion belongs partly to the federal criminal law power, so far as the imposition of religious observance is concerned, and partly a matter of provincial competence over purely local matters (similarly to the “freedoms of speech [and] of the press”). (796-97)

This was confirmed in R v Big M Drug Mart, [1985] 1 SCR 295, where Justice Dickson, for the majority, held that

Parliament’s legislative competence to enact the Lord’s Day Act depends on the identification of the purpose of the Act as compel­ling observance of Sunday by virtue of its religious significance. Were its purpose not religious but rather the secular goal of enforcing a uniform day of rest from labour, the Act would come under s. 92(13), property and civil rights in the province and, hence, fall under provincial rather than federal competence. (354)

Since the freedom of religion includes the freedom of conscience, and thus the freedom not to believe, it is tempting to argue that any law that imposes either a form of religious belief or non-belief falls under Parliament’s exclusive power over criminal law. However, as explained in Reference re Assisted Human Reproduction Act2010 SCC 61, [2010] 3 SCR 457, to belong to the realm of criminal law, a law must “suppress an evil, … establish a prohibition, and … accompany that prohibition with a penalty”. [233]

However, it seems settled that both Parliament and the legislatures are able to protect or to justifiably limit, within the meaning of section 1 of the Charter, the freedom of conscience and religion, through the use of their ancillary powers. The power over religion is thus a shared one within the federal division of powers. The Supreme Court has confirmed this, for example in R v Edwards Books and Art Ltd, [1986] 2 SCR 713. Justice Dickson, uncontradicted on this point, expressed the following view:

[T]here exist religious matters which must similarly fall within provincial competence. … It would seem, therefore, that the Constitution does not contemplate religion as a discrete constitutional “matter” falling exclusively within either a federal or provincial class of subjects. Legislation concerning religion or religious freedom ought to be characterized, I believe, in light of its context, according to the particular religious matter upon which the legislation is focussed. … 

Applying the above principles to the appeals at bar, it is, in my opinion, open to a provincial legislature to attempt to neutralize or minimize the adverse effects of otherwise valid provincial legislation on human rights such as freedom of religion. (750-51)

There is nothing impossible about a Québec statute on secularism enacted notwithstanding the Charter being held invalid as a violation of the federal division of powers. The outcome will depend largely on the evidence and arguments related to the (real) purpose of the law. If those challenging the law were able to persuade the court that the purpose of (and not only the means taken by) the statute is religious in the legal, that is to say broad, sense of the term, and restrictive, the court could strike it down in whole or in part, notwithstanding its use of the notwithstanding clause.


I would only add a few comments. To begin with, following up on Professor St-Hilaire’s conclusion, it is important to note (as I already did in my original posts) that what might, to some, feel like a runaround to avoid the effects of the invocation of section 33 of the Canadian Charter is nothing of the sort. Some runarounds have been proposed in the last couple of days, for example by Louis-Philippe Lampron and Pierre Bosset, who suggest that unwritten constitutional principles can be invoked to impose limits on the legislature’s ability to invoke section 33. This is just not plausible. In British Columbia v Imperial Tobacco Canada Ltd2005 SCC 49, [2005] 2 SCR 473, the Supreme Court made it clear unwritten principles cannot be used to make up perceived shortcomings in the scope of the Charter’s protections. This logic must apply to the “notwithstanding clause” as much as to the gaps in the Charter‘s substantive rights. By contrast, however, the limits on a provincial legislature’s legislative power that pre-existed the Charter remain intact and enforceable. Section 31 of the Charter itself tells us as much. It provides that “[n]othing in this Charter extends the legislative powers of any body or authority.” 

Next, I would argue that the purpose of Bill 21 is quite clearly religious, or rather anti-religious. These two things, as Professor St-Hilaire points out, are equivalent for constitutional purposes. The bill’s preamble proclaims that “it is incumbent on the Parliament of Québec to determine the principles according to which and manner in which relations between the State and religions are to be governed in Québec” and that “it is important that the paramountcy of State laicity be enshrined in Québec’s legal order”. Clause 1 provides that “The State of Québec is a lay State”. (Pro tip for the legislative draughtsman: “lay” is not a synonym of “secular”; this is another calque, just like “laicity”.) Clause 2 sets out “principles” on which “[t]he laicity [sic] of the State is based”, including “the separation of State and religions” and, supposedly, “the religious neutrality of the State”. (This is a rather transparent lie, since the bill would exclude religious individuals from a variety of functions within the purportedly neutral state.) And Bill 21’s centrepiece is, of course, Clause 6, which provides that various public employees and some contractors “are prohibited from wearing religious symbols in the exercise of their functions”. Only “religious symbols” ― not political ones, or those that have to do with any other aspect of people’s identities ― are targeted. This is a regulation of religion, and nothing else.

Consider, then, the arguments that the Québec government might make in defence of its legislation. The authority for it, if it exists at all, presumably comes from section 45 of the Constitution Act, 1982, or section 92(4) of the Constitution Act, 1867. The former provides that, subject to limitations that are not relevant here, “the legislature of each province may exclusively make laws amending the constitution of the province”. The latter grants the provinces power over “The Establishment and Tenure of Provincial Offices and the Appointment and Payment of Provincial Officers”. The scope of section 45’s predecessor provision, section 92(1) of the Constitution Act, 1867, was explained by Justice Beetz in his majority reasons in Ontario (Attorney General) v OPSEU, [1987] 2 SCR 2. To determine whether an enactment qualifies as an amendment to the constitution of the province, one must first ask:

is the enactment in question, by its object, relative to a branch of the government of Ontario … ? Does it for instance determine the composition, powers, authority, privileges and duties of the legislative or of the executive branches or their members? Does it regulate the interrelationship between two or more branches? Or does it set out some principle of government? (39)

However, even if the answer to this first question (or set of questions) is in the affirmative, one must keep in mind the restrictions on the provinces’ legislative authority imposed by the federal division of powers, and other limits imposed by the constitution of Canada as a whole. One can certainly argue that Bill 21 imposes duties on members of the three branches of Québec’s government, and sets out a “principle of government”. But if its true purpose is not so much to regulate the functioning of the provincial government as to compel religious non-observance, then it is still not valid legislation amending the provincial constitution. And I would add that, although the government might claim that it is not trying to prevent anyone from being religious outside of their working hours, religiosity is not something that can be switched off from 9AM to 5PM and then back on again. 

Indeed, Justice Beetz’s comments in OPSEU on section 92(4) are suggestive here. Justice Beetz wrote that limitations on civil servants’ political activity at both the federal and the provincial level “constitute a term or condition of tenure of provincial office, enforced by compulsory resignation or dismissal. Their object is to ensure in this respect, not partial virtue, but global political independence for provincial officers.” (48) One can certainly say that Bill 21’s limitations on religious expression are a term or condition of tenure of provincial office. But if the government argues that their object is to ensure not partial, but global irreligion on the part of its employees, then the proposition that Bill 21 is not aimed at banning religious observance should be a tough sell.


Quite apart from constitutional issues, Bill 21 is a disaster from the standpoint of political morality. It is a massive violation of religious liberty of those who already are, or might in the future like to become, employed by the Québec government or hold provincial office. While less discriminatory on its face than Québec’s previous attempts at a dress code, in that it purports to ban all religious symbols and not just “ostentatious” ones (i.e. the hijab, the kippah, and the turban, but not the cross worn by Catholics, lapsed or otherwise, who constitute the majority of Québec’s population), it still transparently invites discrimination. It seems unlikely, to say the least, that anyone will be looking for crosses under civil servants’ shirts. Hijabs, kippahs, and turbans, on the other hand… But the constitution, despite the Québec government’s attempt to shove it aside, might yet stand in the way of this iniquity.

Quand on se compare

Les traditions tant française qu’américaine de laïcité sont moins monolithiques qu’on ne l’a parfois prétendu. Reste qu’imposer la « neutralité » aux individus est injustifié.

Dans le débat entourant la Charte de la honte que le Parti Québécois proposait il y a un an, on a beaucoup invoqué les traditions française et américaine de la laïcité. La première, a-t-on prétendu, surtout chez les partisans de la Charte de la honte, justifierait l’exclusion des symboles religieux de la sphère gouvernementale, voire de la sphère publique, au nom de la neutralité religieuse. La religion, disait-on, est une affaire privée. Et tant chez les partisans que chez les détracteurs de la Charte de la honte on a contrasté cette vision de la laïcité avec la tradition américaine, ouverte à l’expression religieuse, du moment que l’État lui-même (et non simplement un de ses représentants plus ou moins directs) ne prenait pas position en matière religieuse. (La fameuse lettre de Bernard Drainville et Jean-François Lisée au New York Times, tentant de récupérer l’héritage de Thomas Jefferson pour défendre la Charte avait été largement ridiculisée.) Or, ces deux traditions, ces deux visions de la laïcité, sont moins monolithiques qu’on ne le pense, comme deux récents textes permettent de constater.

Le premier est une entrevue accordée à Sonya Faure de Libération par Stéphanie Hennette-Vauchez et Vincent Valentin, qui soutiennent que les mesures d’exclusion de la religion de l’espace public adoptées par la France ces dix dernières années sont une perversion plutôt que la continuation de la tradition française de laïcité. Les profs. Hennette-Vauchez et Valentin dénoncent une ambiance sociale où « la présence de la religion est désormais jugée insupportable, indépendamment de tout trouble à l’ordre public ou atteinte à la liberté d’autrui » et une « vision de la laïcité [qui] tend à imposer l’obligation de neutralité aux personnes privées » plutôt qu’à l’État. Cette « nouvelle laïcité », expliquent-ils, s’inscrit

dans une logique de contrôle. Elle veut neutraliser tout ce qui, dans le religieux, différencie, singularise. On mobilise la laïcité pour aseptiser le religieux, perçu comme un microbe qui corrompt le vivre-ensemble. Les citoyens devraient renoncer à la part d’eux qui n’est pas commune, dès lors qu’ils entrent dans l’espace public.

Or, selon les profs. Hennette-Vauchez et Valentin, vouloir confiner les manifestations religieuses à la « sphère privée», les éliminer de l’espace public, « n’est pas du tout l’esprit de la loi de 1905 » qui a laïcisé l’État. C’est en fait vouloir effacer la distinction entre l’État et la société, imposant à celle-ci les obligations qui n’incombaient, jusque là, qu’à celui-là. De plus, plutôt que défendre la

liberté […] de croire ou de ne pas croire[,] les partisans de la nouvelle laïcité veulent imposer des restrictions. Ils défendent non pas un droit mais une culture, une certaine manière d’être. On touche déjà à la manière de s’habiller, pourquoi pas bientôt à la manière de manger, ou autre ?

On assiste, en somme, à l’émergence d’ « [u]ne sorte de catéchisme républicain. Derrière la défense de la laïcité, c’est un moralisme national, républicain, politique qui se dessine ». Les restrictions aux libertés individuelles sont justifiées non seulement par la protection des droits d’autrui, mais aussi par « un ordre public immatériel, symbolique [consistant de] valeurs abstraites qui justifient, elles aussi, une restriction de la liberté ». Certes, les considérations morales ont toujours eu un certain rôle à jouer en droit, mais la tendance était à la restriction, sinon à l’élimination de ce rôle. Or, cette tendance s’est désormais inversée.

La logique de contrôle et d’élimination de la différence, faut-il le rappeler, a été bien en évidence dans l’argumentaire déployé au soutien de la Charte de la honte. Force est de constater que ― les profs. Hennette-Vauchez et Valentin ne le disent pas explicitement, mais à mon sens ils le suggèrent fortement ― ce « projet politique » frise le totalitarisme, dont les différentes formes ― fasciste, communiste, religieuse ― ont justement pour parmi les principales caractéristiques communes la fusion entre l’État et la société, ainsi que le moralisme omniprésent et liberticide. Or, les profs. Hennette-Vauchez et Valentin nous permettent de comprendre que, contrairement à ce que les zélotes de la laïcité voudraient nous faire croire, ce n’est ni une conséquence nécessaire de la tradition française de la laïcité ni une lecture universellement partagée de celle-ci.

Le second texte que je voulais aborder dans ce billet présente quant à lui un aspect moins connu de la tradition américaine de laïcité. Il s’agit d’un billet de Eugene Volokh, qui discute une plainte visant un professeur d’une école publique de la Pennsylvanie qui porte un collier avec une étoile de David. Comme l’explique le prof. Volokh, une loi de la Pennsylvanie interdit effectivement le port de « tout vêtement, signe, emblème ou insigne indiquant que ledit enseignant est un membre ou adhérant d’un quelconque ordre, secte ou dénomination religieux » (je traduis, ici et plus bas). Au moins un autre État, l’Oregon, a déjà eu une loi semblable, bien qu’il l’ait abrogée en 2010. Qui plus est, ces lois ont été jugées constitutionnelles par des Circuit courts (mais non, quant au fond, par la Cour supême). Pas Thomas Jefferson, donc, mais il y a bien aux États-Unis un courant de pensée ― si minoritaire soit-il ― voulant que le port de symboles religieux par les professeurs des écoles publiques pourrait être perçu comme un positionnement de l’État en faveur de la religion.

Cependant, comme l’explique le prof. Volokh, la loi de la Pennsylvanie est probablement inconstitutionnelle, et la décision contraire du 3e Circuit, erronée, l’interdiction du port de symboles religieux par des employés individuels n’étant pas nécessaire pour dissiper une telle perception. (D’ailleurs, s’appuyant sur une jurisprudence qui la remet en question, l’école a refusé de donner suite à la plainte contre le professeur au collier à l’étoile de David.) Comme le dit le prof. Volokh, un enfant qui comprend qu’un vêtement ou un bijou reflète une affiliation religieuse doit aussi pouvoir comprendre que des personnes de religions différentes travaillent au sein d’un même établissement, et que cela ne signifie pas que l’établissement est affilié avec toutes ces religions:

De façon générale, les vêtements et les bijoux ne sont pas perçus par ceux qui les voient, même par de jeunes personnes, comme des tentatives [de la part de ceux qui les portent] de persuader les autres de la vérité de leur religion. En fait, tous les États sauf la Pennsylvanie permettent aux enseignants de porter des bijoux ou des couvre-chefs religieux et des objets semblables, et je ne connais aucune preuve de ce que les élèves dans ces États perçoivent ça comme un positionnement en faveur de la religion de la part de l’école.

Et même si cela n’était pas vrai pour de très jeunes étudiants, il faudrait restreindre l’interdiction à ceux qui leur enseignent. Un adolescent, dit le prof. Volokh, peut assurément comprendre

que l’école peut employer des professeurs ouvertement catholiques, des professeurs ouvertement juifs et des professeurs ouvertement musulmans, sans endosser l’une ou l’autre religion.

(Et dire que le PQ voulait imposer les même interdictions dans les universités!) Du reste, souligne le prof. Volokh, dans la mesure ou de jeunes élèves pourraient ne pas le comprendre, l’école devrait tout simplement expliquer que les enseignants sont libres de s’identifier à une religion de leur choix, sans que l’école ne les encourage ni ne les condamne:

Même pour de jeunes élèves, ce n’est pas une leçon difficile, et elle vaut probablement la peine d’être enseignée. Et on peut l’enseigner sans discriminer contre des pratiques religieuses et sans exclure, dans les faits, des enseignants qui se sentent motivés ou obligés de porter des vêtements ou des bijoux religieux.

Cette leçon, les apôtres de la Charte de la honte et les tenants de la « nouvelle laïcité » plus généralement feraient bien de l’apprendre une fois pour toutes. En fait, on se rend bien compte, en lisant le billet du prof. Volokh, que la thèse que ces derniers défendent, la thèse voulant qu’il est nécessaire, pour préserver la neutralité religieuse de l’État, d’exclure la religion des institutions gouvernementales, voire de l’espace public, est non seulement liberticide et discriminatoire, mais aussi carrément infantilisante. Prétendre que les citoyens ne sont pas capables de distinguer une croyance individuelle d’une prise de position officielle, c’est les mépriser.

Quand on compare le débat québécois sur la laïcité à la situation en France et aux États-Unis, on peut se consoler. Non pas parce que les choses sont pires ailleurs (elles le sont, me semble-t-il, en France, mais ce n’est pas une consolation), mais bien parce qu’on constate que, si les idées liberticides qu’on observe chez nous sont , hélas, universelles, la résistance à ces idées l’est tout autant. Et si l’exemple français nous montre combien cette résistance peut être difficile, l’exemple américain suggère qu’elle peut, et doit, triompher.

NB: Je remercie Jean-François Gaudreault-DesBiens pour le lien vers l’article de Libération

Le sens de la laïcité

L’actualité a publié sur son blogue politique un billet de Frédéric Bastien appelant à la poursuite du débat sur la « laïcité » et défendant la pertinence de la Charte de la honte, alias Charte de laïcité, alias Charte des valeurs, proposée par l’ancien gouvernement péquiste. Malheureusement, comme bien d’autres interventions des partisans de cette charte, telles que les mensonges de son auteur, Bernard Drainville, au sujet des avis juridiques qu’il aurait prétendument obtenus à son sujet, le texte de M. Bastien s’appuie sur une distorsion profonde de la réalité. Contrairement à ce qu’il prétend, le droit canadien, y compris la Charte canadienne des droits et libertés, s’opposent non pas à la laïcité, mais à une conception particulière de la laïcité, que M. Bastien représente à tort comme la seule accepté ou acceptable.

M. Bastien fait grand cas d’une récente décision de la Cour européenne des droits de l’homme statuant que la loi française interdisant le port du voile intégral en public n’enfreint pas la liberté de religion ou, plus exactement, qu’elle cadre dans la marge d’appréciation que ce tribunal transnational laisse aux États dans la mise en œuvre de leurs obligations en matière de droits de la personne. (J’ai critiqué cette décision ici, l’estimant fondée sur un raisonnement essentiellement totalitaire.) Au Canada, une telle interdiction générale serait inconstitutionnelle car contraire à la garantie de liberté de religion de la Charte canadienne. Prenant la Cour européenne en exemple, M. Bastien soutient donc «que la classe juridique canadienne et ses alliés dans les médias ne détiennent pas le monopole de la vérité sur ce sujet ». En fait, selon lui, ces classes juridique et médiatique « s’opposent très majoritairement à la laïcité ».

C’est faux. Il n’est pas sans intérêt de rappeler qu’une des toutes premières décisions de la Cour suprême à appliquer la Charte canadienne, R. c. Big M Drug Mart, était une affirmation sans équivoque du principe de la laïcité, en ce qu’il rejetait l’imposition par le législateur des croyances d’une religion à l’ensemble du public ― en l’occurrence, la croyance chrétienne concernant le caractère sacré du dimanche, protégé par la Loi sur le dimanche (Lord’s Day Act, dans sa version anglaise). C’est sur cet arrêt que s’appuie l’ensemble de jurisprudence canadienne en matière de liberté religieuse. Et, si tant est que l’on puisse imputer une opinion unique à l’ensemble des journalistes et des juristes canadiens, personne d’eux ne s’oppose au principe voulant que l’État doit être neutre en matière religieuse et qu’il ne peut donc ni privilégier ni pénaliser une opinion religieuse (y compris, bien sûr, l’incroyance) plus que les autres.

Au-delà de ce principe généralement accepté et général, il reste des questions complexes sur lesquelles il existe des désaccords profonds. L’État manque-t-il à son devoir de neutralité, et enfreint-il donc la laïcité, lorsqu’il subventionne des écoles religieuses qui dispensent aussi un enseignement laïc? L’État doit-il accommoder des personnes aux croyances desquelles une loi généralement applicable impose un fardeau particulièrement lourd? Comment réconcilier la liberté religieuse et l’égalité? Ces questions méritent bien de faire l’objet de débats sérieux, mais la simple invocation du terme « laïcité » ne nous aidera pas à y répondre.

En effet, il n’existe pas de définition unique de ce concept. Pour M. Bastien, la laïcité consiste apparemment à interdire le voile intégral. Pour Bernard Drainville, elle consiste apparemment à garder un crucifix bien en vue à l’Assemblée nationale. Pour l’ex-candidate péquiste Louise Mailloux, à propager des théories du complot antisémites et islamophobes et à comparer le baptême au viol. Cependant, ces visions de la laïcité ― du reste, fort différentes les unes des autres ― ne sont pas les seules qui soient.

On peut aussi défendre une vision de la laïcité qui ne cherche pas à exclure l’expression de croyances religieuses, y compris des croyances religieuses minoritaires et impopulaires, de l’espace public. Une vision de la laïcité attentive au fait qu’une telle exclusion pèse plus lourd sur certains groupes religieux, dont la foi requiert le port de certains symboles visibles, que sur d’autres, dont celui qui se trouve à être majoritaire au Québec. Une vision de la laïcité fondée sur la conviction que la diversité d’une société est une richesse à mettre en valeur et non danger à refouler. Une vision de la laïcité, donc, qui la voit comme une contrainte à imposer à l’État et non aux citoyens.

M. Bastien a raison de d’affirmer que le débat sur les rapports entre la religion et l’État n’est pas terminé au Québec, pas plus qu’il ne l’est ailleurs, d’autant plus que, contrairement à ce qu’il laisse entendre, la montée du fondamentalisme religieux n’est pas la seule cause de conflit dans ce domaine. L’expansion de la réglementation de l’État, son intrusion dans de nouveaux domaines d’activités autrefois privées y est aussi pour beaucoup. Cependant, si le but visé est une société plus juste plutôt qu’une simple victoire partisane, il faut reconnaître qu’il s’agit d’un débat sur le sens à donner à la laïcité plutôt que d’une confrontation entre défendeurs et adversaires de cette valeur, en réalité, commune.