Tag: deference

#LOLNothingMatters

The Supreme Court’s decision to uphold deferential review of administrative decisions that implicate “Charter values” is deeply unserious

I’m a bit late to the debate, I’m afraid, but I did want to say something about the Supreme Court’s decision in Commission scolaire francophone des Territoires du Nord-Ouest v. Northwest Territories (Education, Culture and Employment), 2023 SCC 31, delivered last week. The decision is very significant insofar as it purports to uphold the approach to judicial review of administrative decisions implicating constitutional rights and vibes first outlined in Doré v Barreau du Québec, 2012 SCC 12, [2012] 1 SCR 395, which had been severely criticized by both judges and scholars of administrative law, and whose validity was specifically left in doubt in Vavilov v Canada (Citizenship and Immigration), 2019 SCC 65, [2019] 4 SCR 653.

Co-blogger Mark Mancini has already explained what was at stake and made many astute observations about the case, in particular about the practical difficulties that are likely to result from it. I will not say much about the substance of the decision, on which I have little to add to my own previous criticism of Doré and its progeny and to Mark’s post, or its consequences. My focus is on SCFTNO’s disregard of legal authority and of the artificial reason of the law on which judges depend for no small part of their authority. Specifically, I will argue that SCFTNO is inconsistent with several important cases or lines of cases, including Vavilov, as well as recent cases on constitutional interpretation and, arguably, even Doré itself. Moreover, Justice Côté’s reasons for the unanimous court do not respond to the academic and judicial criticisms of Doré. In short, they make no effort to integrate the decision into the fabric of Canadian law. They are the work product of a court that does not understand or does not care about law at all.

As most readers will know, SCFTNO was a judicial review of the respondent minister’s refusal to exercise her discretion to allow several children whom section 23 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms did not entitle to attend the applicant’s schools to nevertheless do so. This could have been decided simply enough, by pointing to Vavilov’s admonition that decisions that have very significant consequences for the individual concerned must be thoroughly justified and holding that the Minister’s justification was not sufficient. I think there is a fairly strong case for saying that a decision as to whether children can attend school in the language of their parents’ choice is a important one, calling for substantial justification. The case for holding that the reasons were insufficiently responsive would have been a closer one, but not implausible either. But the Supreme Court did not choose the easy route.

Instead, it held that “the Minister was required not only to consider the values embodied in s. 23 in exercising her discretion … but also to conduct a proportionate balancing of these values and the government’s interests”. [8] This is even though all concerned agreed that section 23 as such did not actually apply. Decision-makers, such as the Minister in this case, must consider “Charter values” and balance them against the government’s aims whether or not the rights associated with these values actually apply. For this proposition, Justice Côté cites Doré itself, as well as 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. The courts will then review the decision on a reasonableness standard.

For Justice Côté, this is an easy case. “There can be no doubt about” the duty to consider Charter values “because ‘[t]he Constitution — both written and unwritten — dictates the limits of all state action’”. [65, citing Vavilov [56]] There is, moreover, “no reason to depart from [the reasonableness] standard of review”. [60] But for anyone who’s thought seriously about the issues involved, there are very good reasons for departing from reasonableness review and plenty of doubt about the propriety of forcing decision-makers to give effect to “Charter values”. It’s just Justice Côté doesn’t give a flying flamingo.

Start with deference. The same passage from Vavilov on which Justice Côté purports to rely here insists on correctness review for constitutional issues, though it specifically leaves the consideration of the standard applicable to judicial review of discretionary decisions affecting Charter rights to another day. If indeed what is at stake here is constitutional constraint of administrative discretion, the reasons for correctness review are obvious: the meaning of the constitution is a question for the courts, as Vavilov recognizes for every other context and as the Supreme Court had acknowledged long before. For example, as I noted in the article linked to above,

in Re Manitoba Language Rights, [1985] 1 SCR 721, the Court pointed out that ‘[t]he judiciary is the institution charged with the duty of ensuring that the government complies with the constitution’ and any arrangement whereby constitutional compliance is left to the executive’s discretion “would be entirely inconsistent” with this duty. (7, citing Manitoba Language Rights at (754))

There is more. As I pointed out in that article and as Mark has argued in his own work on this subject, Vavilov pulls the rug from under the justification for reasonableness review that was given in Doré. The argument there had been that administrative decision-makers were experts in applying their “home statutes”, and that expertise extended to the application of constitutional values to the legislation. This was consistent with the rationale for broader judicial deference to the administrative state that the Supreme Court had given in the then-leading case, Dunsmuir v New Brunswick, 2008 SCC 9, [2008] 1 SCR 190.  But Vavilov rejects expertise as a rationale for deference, and endorses an altogether different one, namely legislative intent. It is not crazy (although still wrong) to suggest that the delegation of decision-making power to officials necessarily implies a delegation of interpretive power over the enabling legislation, which it has enacted, to the exercise of which courts can defer; it is in effect a sort of implied Henry VIII clause (*shudders*).

Yet a legislature cannot require, implicitly or explicitly, courts to defer to the executive’s views about the import of the constitution, no more than to its own: nemo dat quod non habet. If deference in constitutional cases is warranted, this can only be for reasons implicit in the constitution itself. It is worth noting that Nova Scotia (Workers’ Compensation Board) v Martin, 2003 SCC 54, [2003] 2 SCR 504, on which Paul Daly relies for the proposition that administrative decision-makers can consider the Charter specifically explained that this would not endanger the constitutional order because their decisions would be subject to judicial review on a correctness standard.

Thus, deference to administrative decisions implicating the Charter does not sit easily, to put it mildly, with Vavilov and with broader constitutional principle. At a minimum, Justice Côté ought to have explained on what basis such deference is now justified. But she could not be bothered. Instead, she went for the cheap rhetorical trick of claiming that her position was self-evidently right. If she did not see that this was not so, she is a much worse lawyer than I thought. If she did, she wrote in bad faith. I’m not sure which of these alternatives is worse.

Before leaving the issue of the standard of review, it is important to note that, as Mark points out, Justice Côté’s approach to reasonableness review is also inconsistent with Vavilov in two important ways. As Mark explains, “remarkably, it may be a requirement for decision-makers to consider Charter values even where not argued” by the parties. And, to quote Justice Côté again (though Mark makes this point too), while “[a]s a general rule, a reviewing court must not, in assessing the reasonableness of a decision, reweigh the factors underlying the decision”, [71] “the Doré approach requires reviewing courts to inquire into the weight accorded by the decision maker to the relevant considerations in order to assess whether a proportionate balancing was conducted by the decision maker”. [72] This is antithetical to any sensible definition of reasonableness review.

In other words, Justice Côté seems to have endorsed ― nay, required ― disguised correctness review when “Charter values” are at stake, while proclaiming that she “cannot see” why anyone would question the applicability of the reasonableness standard. I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. This is simply unserious “reasoning”, unless Justice Côté is playing some sort of four-dimensional chess in order to quietly eviscerate deference in the guise of upholding it. More on why she just might be doing that below, but it is worth recalling that, when they play deference chess, judges can only lose, even to themselves.

Consider now the supposedly indubitable administrative duty to consider “Charter values” as part of the executive’s duty of compliance with the “unwritten constitution”. The most obvious thing to note here is that, after Vavilov, the Supreme Court decided Toronto (City) v Ontario (Attorney General), 2021 SCC 34, where the majority purported to cut the unwritten constitution down to size. To be sure, what was at issue there was a constitutional principle, not “Charter values”, and the claim was that the principle could be invoked to invalidate legislation, not just an administrative decision. Perhaps these are important distinctions, though to my mind that is not obvious. And of course I have argued here that City of Toronto itself was not at all convincingly reasoned. Perhaps Justice Côté agrees! But if so, she needs to say this. Instead, once again, she simply breezes past the difficulties and does not even begin to explain how she deals with them.

The broader point is one that Mark makes in his post. The idea that “Charter values” can be used to, in effect, expand the Charter’s protections, or at least (and I’m not even sure about that) some toned-down versions of these protections, to people who, by everyone’s admission do not benefit from them according to the Charter’s text is flatly inconsistent with City of Toronto and with the Supreme Court’s other recent decisions. As I have argued (and as others have noted too), the majorities in these cases adopted textualist and sometimes even originalist approaches to constitutional interpretation, according to which courts ― and, one would have thought, administrative decision-makers too ― are to apply the Charter’s text and not an expanded edition incorporating the Supreme Court’s own idea of what our constitution ought to be. Here, at least, City of Toronto, with its explicit rejection of the use of unwritten norms to expand the deliberately chosen wording of Charter rights seems pretty much on point ― and on more solid ground than in its broader attack on written constitutional principles, since in this it follows British Columbia v Imperial Tobacco Canada Ltd, 2005 SCC 49, [2005] 2 SCR 473.

For this reason, I am not persuaded by Professor Daly’s invocation of a “constitutional settlement” that has embraced “the decentralization of the Canadian Constitution”, by which he means the Supreme Court has allowed administrative decision-makers to decide constitution questions. It’s one thing to say that these decision-makers are required to endeavour to comply with the constitution. It is another, as I note above, to take the further step, as significant as it is indefensible, to demand judicial deference to these decision-makers’ views. But it is a further step still, and no part of a “settlement” as I will further explain below, to say that it is not just the actual constitution that has been “decentralized”, but also the vibes that the courts, and perhaps decision-makers too, feel when they dream about the constitution they would like Canada to have.

Be that as it may, Justice Côté again doesn’t deign to say anything about any of this. One thing she does do throughout her judgment is invoke the specialness of section 23 of the Charter. This provision “imposes positive obligations on the state” and “is therefore meant to alter the status quo”. [2] It also grants collective and not merely individual rights. But section 23 is unique in another way too. It is quite obviously the product of a careful political compromise, granting robust protection to some people and withholding it from others (subject, of course, to legislatures adding similar entitlements by statute, or indeed to the executive doing so in exercising statutorily-enabled discretion). As Benjamin Oliphant and I have noted, both early cases on section 23 and some more recent ones (though admittedly not all) have made a point of noting this origin and held that it ought to have consequences for how this provision is to be interpreted. This is consistent with how the Supreme Court has approached other cases involving positive obligations of the state and collective entitlements, such as British Columbia (Attorney General) v Canada (Attorney General), [1994] 2 SCR 41 (the Vancouver Island Railway Case) and Caron v Alberta, 2015 SCC 56, [2015] 3 SCR 511.

Needless to say, expanding the entitlements created by section 23 to (at least some) people not covered by it upsets the compromise the constitution embodies and is inconsistent with those cases that have emphasized its significance. Once again, Justice Côté says nothing about this, though she does note that the Court is not “endorsing freedom of choice of the language of instruction, a model expressly rejected by the framers under s. 23”. [103] Well, if the choice of the framers of section 23 matters to that extent, why doesn’t it matter in full? On a practical note, when parents in Quebec start relying on “Charter values” to get their children into English public schools, it will be time to get out the popcorn. Justice Côté is trying to caveat her way out of this problem, but that won’t be enough. As the Charter’s framers understood, sometimes you need bright line rules. The Supreme Court’s endorsement of “Charter values” undermines this choice too, as well as that which defined the scope of section 23.

It is surely no accident that an opinion so replete with incoherence, self-contradiction, and disregard of authority fails to engage in any sort of dialogue with both academic and judicial opinion on the issues it decides. I have already noted that I have criticized the Supreme Court’s jurisprudence mandating, or purporting to mandate, judicial deference to administrative decisions affecting rights. So has Jonathan Marynuk, here, and Edward Cottrill. Mark has pointed out that this jurisprudence had no justificatory leg to stand on after Vavilov, and I have made this argument too. Of course, it is a bit greedy to expect the Supreme Court’s to respond to one’s criticism of its decisions, if only in substance (I am not so naïve as to hope for citations). But only a bit. After all, Doré itself purported to respond to academic criticism of the Court’s earlier approach to administrative decisions implicating the Charter.

And even if the Supreme Court’s ignoring unruly academics is to be expected, the Doré framework generally and its reliance on “Charter values” specifically have been called into question by judges too. The best-known examples of this are probably the joint opinion of Justices Lauwers and Miller in Gehl v Canada (Attorney General), 2017 ONCA 319 and that of Justice Lauwers, with Justice Miller concurring, in ET v Hamilton-Wentworth District School Board, 2017 ONCA 893. In the former, Justices Lauwers and Miller point out that

Charter values lend themselves to subjective application because there is no doctrinal structure to guide their identification or application. Their use injects a measure of indeterminacy into judicial reasoning because of the irremediably subjective — and value laden — nature of selecting some Charter values from among others, and of assigning relative priority among Charter values and competing constitutional and common law principles. The problem of subjectivity is particularly acute when Charter values are understood as competing with Charter rights. [79]

These are compelling, or at any rate very serious arguments. Justice Côté has no answer for them.

And there is another noteworthy judicial critic of the Doré line of cases, as persuasive as any and more important than the others by virtue of her office. It is, of course, Justice Côté herself. This is why I suggested above, if only in bitter jest, that Justice Côté might be trying to undermine Doré while purporting to uphold it. Her joint dissent with Justice Brown in Trinity Western cautioned that rights claims are to be disposed of by applying “legal principles that guide the relationship between citizen and state, between private and public. And those principles exist to protect rights-holders from values which a state actor deems to be ‘shared’, not to give licence to courts to defer to or impose those values.” [265; emphasis removed and added] Chief Justice McLachlin and Justice Rowe, whom Mark quotes in his post, also challenged the legitimacy of the use of “Charter values”.

Hence, I do not think that one can speak of a “constitutional settlement” requiring the use of “Charter values”. It’s not just that the Supreme Court cannot effect a settlement that subverts the one reached by political actors who were amending the constitution in accordance with the relevant rules, though it certainly can do no such thing. But it is also, in addition, simply not the case that there existed ― until, seemingly, now ― a consensus on the Supreme Court itself, let alone within the broader judiciary and the Canadian legal community ― to the effect that such a settlement would be desirable or even defensible.

The Supreme Court’s failure to address any of these issues in a decision on a point of fundamental constitutional importance (and one that, whatever Justice Côté may say, was very much not open and shut), is a serious matter. Supreme Courts, as Justice Jackson famously observed, are not final because they are infallible but only infallible because they are final. If they are to have greater authority than that of ipse dixit, they cannot rely on finality alone. They need to engage in a reasoned dialogue with other courts and even, at least on occasion, with academics. They don’t have to agree with us; that much their finality means. But to act as if no one else had views worth considering on the issues they decide is a conceit that risks being fatal to their credibility. #LOLnothingmatters is the maxim of a troll, not a jurist.

The CSFTNO decision is inconsistent with precedent, as well as with constitutional sense, and instead of explaining itself it affects to be self-evidently correct. It refuses to engage with well-reasoned critiques of the precedents it purports to apply, effectively telling the critics, whether academic or judicial, not to bother engaging with the Supreme Court’s pronouncements. After all, even a Supreme Court judge can flip-flop from being a vigorous critic of an idea to its enforcer and not bother giving an account of her change of heart.

Years ago, I wrote here about a symposium I attended about “the responsibility of doctrine”. I took the occasion to discuss the very different, but nonetheless related, ways in which common lawyers and civilians use that word. The key similarity that unites them despite the differences is this:

The important thing about both is that they are the products of, and indeed very nearly synonymous with, collective thinking about the law. La doctrine, as I already mentioned, is a set of writings, a discourse involving multiple authors. … And doctrine is, of necessity, derived from a multitude of judicial decisions rendered over time. A person can be un auteur de doctrine, and a judicial decision can illustrate a legal doctrine, but doctrine and doctrine are both, fundamentally, ongoing conversations.

Justice Côté’s opinion for the Supreme Court in CSFTNO disclaims its responsibility to be part of collective thinking about the law. It is an exercise of unreasoned power, a flex. No number of roadshows can restore the credibility of a court that behaves in this fashion.

It’s Nonsense But It Works

The Supreme Court’s latest administrative law decision is welcome, but it too is unsound in principle

Yesterday, the Supreme Court decided Mason v Canada (Citizenship and Immigration), 2023 SCC 21, which could turn out to be an important administrative law decision ― though my past assessment of how important administrative law cases are likely to be have often been badly wrong. Mason is noteworthy for being, in some ways, a resounding confirmation of Canada (Minister of Citizenship and Immigration) v Vavilov, 2019 SCC 65, [2019] 4 SCR 653, and in some a clarification of that decision, potentially resolving some of the tensions latent in it in favour of robust judicial review of administrative decisions. At the same time, Mason provides yet another illustration of Vavilov‘s unsoundness in principle, even as it makes a commendable effort at making it work in practice.

At issue in Mason is s 34(1)(e) of the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (IRPA), which makes non-citizens “inadmissible” to Canada ― or, as here, liable to be expelled if already present in Canada ― “on security grounds for …  engaging in acts of violence that would or might endanger the lives or safety of persons in Canada”. Specifically, the question is whether the acts of violence in question had to be connected to “the security of Canada” as a nation, or whether ordinary, albeit perhaps relatively serious, violence that endangers individual Canadians but not the country would suffice. While at first glance the statutory text seems broad, this provision is only one of several that deal with inadmissibility, including inadmissibility on the grounds of “serious criminality” and “criminality” tout court. The latter two require criminal conviction; s 34(1)(e) does not. There are also differences in the recourses available to people declared inadmissible under different provisions, including in that people found to be inadmissible under s 34(1)(e), unlike those inadmissible on grounds even of “serious criminality”, are unable to seek relief on “humanitarian and compassionate” grounds.

The Immigration Appeal Division of the Immigration and Refugee Board considered that s 34(1)(e) can apply to any acts of violence, regardless of any connection to national security. The Federal Court disagreed and set its decision aside, but gave the government permission to appeal by certifying a “serious question of general importance”, as permitted by the IRPA. The Federal Court of Appeal restored the Appeal Division’s decision, holding that, while not explicit on certain points, it was not unreasonable.

Before getting to the substance of the case, the Supreme Court must decide on the standard of review. Generally, under Vavilov, when administrative decision-makers like the Appeal Division interpret legislation, they are entitled to deference, and the reviewing court will only ask if they have sufficiently justified their interpretation to make it reasonable. But this is only a presumption, which can be rebutted if the legislation signals that the reviewing court should impose its own view of the legislation or, even in the absence of such a signal, if, among other things, the case presents a “general question of law of central importance to the legal system as a whole”. Is, then, the certified question mechanism either a legislative signal for correctness review or an indication that a question that has been certified is one of central importance?

The Supreme Court splits on this issue. The majority, in reasons by Justice Jamal, says “no”. It says that precedent supports reasonableness review even when the Federal Court has certified a question and that, important though it may be for the individuals to whom the provision might be applied, the interpretation of s 34(1)(e) is not of central importance to the legal system as a whole, notably because it only matters within the context of the administration of the IRPA. The majority also points out that no certified question exists until the Federal Court gives judgment on a judicial review application, which means that it would, logically, have no reason or even opportunity to apply correctness review in a case that, as it ultimately turns out, will eventually present such a question.

For her part, Justice Côté, who concurs in the result and, on most other points, in Justice Jamal’s reasoning, thinks that certified questions should be reviewed for correctness. The precedents are not nearly as unequivocal as the majority suggests. More importantly, the certification mechanism is a signal that Parliament wanted the courts to be clarifying the meaning of the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act, instead of leaving it to administrative decision-makers; indeed, the certification of questions would be pointless if they did not have to be definitively answered by the Federal Court of Appeal. This makes sense, moreover, in light of the fact that many provisions are subject to concurrent jurisdiction of different decision-makers in the immigration ecosystem. But the Rule of Law principle also requires correctness review. Justice Côté argues that because

[a] question whose answer turns on the unique facts of the case will not be certified … [b]y definition … certified questions concern issues of broad significance or general importance within Canada’s immigration and refugee protection regime. [160]

Correctness review is then in order. Moreover, when expulsion from Canada, possibly to persecution or even torture is at stake, nothing less than a correct legal interpretation can suffice to justify such action by the government and avoid arbitrariness that is antithetical to the Rule of Law.

Turning to the substantive issue, Justice Jamal begins by recapitulating ― at remarkable length ― Vavilov‘s instructions on conducting reasonableness review. He also reproves the Federal Court of Appeal for having suggested that a reviewing court should start with “a preliminary analysis of the text, context and purpose of the legislation just to understand the lay of the land before . . . examin[ing] the administrators’ reasons”. Justice Jamal worries that this is tantamount to the court “starting with its own perception of the merits”, which “may lead [it] to slip into correctness review”. [79] Justice Jamal summarizes the Appeal Division’s reasons, noting that they “applied several recognized techniques of statutory interpretation”. [84] However, he faults them for failure to address some key arguments.

First, it ignored the differences between the recourses available to people found inadmissible under s 34(1)(e) and other inadmissibility provisions, leading to a paradoxical situation where people who fall within the scope of the former on the basis of conduct that might have amounted to a crime for which they have, nonetheless, not been convicted are worse off than those actually convicted of that same crime and found inadmissible on the basis of that conviction. Justice Jamal writes that these considerations might not be “determinative” [91, 95] but failure to address them is a reviewable error, which could not be disregarded by inferring, as the Federal Court of Appeal did, that the Appeal Division considered them implicitly. Second, the Appeal Division did not sufficiently consider the potentially sweeping nature of its interpretation of s 34(1)(e). And third, it did not attend to “the legal constraints imposed by international law on its interpretation”. [104] The interpretation adopted by the Appeal Division could result in Canada expelling people who are not a danger to its security, in violation of its commitments under the Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees, to which IRPA explicitly points as a mandatory interpretive consideration. Justice Côté agrees with these points, emphasizing the significance of expulsion to the person affected.

Having concluded that the Appeal Division’s interpretation of s 34(1)(e) is unreasonable, Justice Jamal addresses the question of the remedy. Normally, deference means that the administrative decision-maker will be asked to interpret the statute anew, albeit drawing on the reviewing court’s guidance. But here, “[t]he relevant legal constraints cumulatively point overwhelmingly to only one reasonable interpretation of s 34(1)(e) — the provision requires a nexus to national security or the security of Canada”. [121]

Let me start with what I see as the positive aspects of this decision. As I have argued here and elsewhere, and as other said too, after Vavilov, there was a great deal of uncertainty about what its actual implications could be. While co-blogger Mark Mancini and I expressed some cautious optimism that it would lead to meaningful judicial review of administrative interpretations of law, it could also, quite plausibly, have been read with an emphasis on deference and judicial restraint, leading to continuing judicial abdication to the administrative state. As I noted at the time, this ambiguity, which was probably the product of compromise in the quest for a broad majority as much as of theoretical confusion, left Vavilov “open to future manipulation by courts that do not share its spirit or find it inconvenient in a given case”. In particular, of course, the danger was that, as the Supreme Court’s composition changed, the deferential reading of Vavilov would come to the fore. Mason suggests, to my mind at least, that this is not happening.

The Supreme Court is essentially unanimous in adopting an intrusive approach to reasonableness review, in which even a comparatively thought-through administrative decision is vulnerable to correction for failing to engage with relatively subtle issues raised by the applicable statutory scheme. The majority also doubles down on Vavilov‘s rejection of the earlier cases inclination to make up administrative reasons and defer to these judicial concoctions ― what I described as a court playing chess with itself and contriving to lose. I think it’s very ironic for the majority to reprove the Federal Court of Appeal for failing to follow this rule. The Court of Appeal’s decision was given by Justice Stratas, who penned the pre-Vavilov locus classicus on this exact point, writing in dissent in Bonnybrook Park Industrial Development Co. Ltd. v. Canada (National Revenue), 2018 FCA 136: “My job is judicial review of the Minister, not judicial impersonation of the Minister. I do not work for the Minister. I am not the Minister’s adviser, thinker, or ghostwriter.” I do not suppose that Justice Stratas, of all people, has decided to take the job of ghostwriter for the Immigration Appeals Division. But, however uncalled for, the Mason majority’s criticism of him at least shows that the Supreme Court will not tolerate others doing so. The majority’s refusal to remit the case to the Appeal Division and its insistence that there is only one sensible reading of the statute also signal that courts should not pretend that they lack the wisdom to read legislation administered in the first instance by some bureaucrat.

All this is happening four years after Vavilov, with three members of the Vavilov majority gone from the Supreme Court. It is happening the agreement of Justice Karakatsanis who, along with the now-retired Justice Abella, attacked that majority for being insufficiently deferential. At the risk of being unduly optimistic, I will take this as a positive sign that the robust interpretation of Vavilov has legs and is likely to stand even as the turnover on the Supreme Court continues. It is probably not a coincidence that, like Vavilov, Mason is an immigration case. In decades past, too many leading administrative law cases featured friendly neighbourhood labour arbitrators solving annoying disputes between big business or big government and big labour. The more these cases are drawn, instead, from the immigration world, where the state red in tooth and claw is baring its fangs at the individual, the more we can hope for robust judicial review doctrine.

That said, Mason shows that, at the level of principle, this doctrine is as unsound as ever. It remains beset with the contradiction between the rhetoric of deference and the practice of robust review. This is illustrated, for instance, by Justice Jamal’s criticism of the Federal Court of Appeal’s “preliminary analysis” for the risk of slipping into correctness review ― combined with also criticizing the Court of Appeal for not conducting reasonableness review with enough vigour. Logically, the Court of Appeal wasn’t insufficiently and excessively deferential at once. The “preliminary analysis” it suggested is just the natural way a flesh-and-blood judge will approach judicial review, whatever the Supreme Court may say. Indeed, Justice Jamal himself begins by reciting the applicable statutory provisions. Are we to suppose he just copied them with no shade of reflection on what they might mean having entered his mind? Sorry, but I don’t believe this. But the posture of largely fake deference to the administrative state forces the Supreme Court into such implausible pronouncements.

More seriously, I’m inclined to think the majority is wrong to insist on deference in the context of certified questions under the IRPA. Justice Côté is right that the legislative scheme indicates that Parliament, for good reason, wanted the courts to sort out the legal issues arising out of IRPA’s interpretation, and that their failure to do so risks creating arbitrariness in high-stakes cases where it is utterly unacceptable from a Rule of Law standpoint. But Justice Côté’s reasons hint at a deeper problem with Canadian administrative law doctrine, which she does not address, and indeed might not see as a problem at all. Justice Côté writes:

[T]he risk of arbitrariness may be acceptable in the context of decisions regarding the extent of an income replacement indemnity during a temporary plant closure … or alleged violations of a provincial collective agreement … to use the two examples referred to in Vavilov … . It is not acceptable when the identity of the individual decision maker is what determines who is permitted to remain in Canada, as in these companion appeals, or in the context of other serious questions of general importance under the IRPA. [164]

But, even allowing, as one must, that the practical stakes of an immigration decision are much higher than many others ― indeed, they are as high as it gets in a legal system that does not impose the death penalty ― why exactly is arbitrariness tolerable in other contexts?

Questions of law ― at least pure questions of law whose answers, to quote Justice Côté, do not “turn[] on the unique facts of the case” ― are by definition of general importance insofar as laws, unlike commands directed at individuals, exist to apply to unknown numbers of unknown future cases. By definition, they have “broad significance or general importance” in whatever legal regime they arise in. On one point, Justice Jamal is actually right: the certified questions regime is, first and foremost, a leave to appeal mechanism rather than a way of distinguishing some special category of legal questions. But in a sound administrative law regime this would not have the consequences he says it does, which are wrongheaded for the reasons Justice Côté explains. (For that matter, even without moving to an entirely sound administrative law regime, progress could be made simply by reversing the fit of judicial madness that was Canada (Citizenship and Immigration) v Khosa, 2009 SCC 12, [2009] 1 SCR 339, and holding that, in accordance with the Federal Courts Act, immigration decisions are reviewable for error of law on a correctness standard. This would eliminate the paradox of differing standards of review at the Federal Court and the Federal Court of Appeal when a question is certified.) Vavilov, with its misbegotten claim that questions of law need not be given unequivocal answers to comply with the Rule of Law, does not a sound administrative law regime ground.

Its unsoundness is, finally, further illustrated by the majority’s decision not to remit the case back to the Appeal Division because there is actually only one reasonable reading of the provision at issue. As I have written here,

I find it odd to say that reviewing courts must start from the position that “respect for [the] institutional design choices made by the legislature” in setting up administrative tribunals “requires a reviewing court to adopt a posture of restraint on review”, [Vavilov, 24] but then insist that respect for legislative choices also requires the courts to be vigilant in case these choices leave only one permissible interpretation. The view, endorsed in Dunsmuir, that deferential judicial review reflects the inherent vagueness of legal language, was empirically wrong (and indeed implausible, as I argued here), but coherent. The recognition in Vavilov that statutory language is sometimes precise and can have a definitive meaning is welcome, but it is logically incompatible with an insistence on deference and judicial restraint.

The conclusion that there is only one justifiable (and hence not only reasonable but also correct) reading of a statutory provision doesn’t need to come at the end of a big, but fake, show of deference. It should be the first thing a reviewing court decides, as part of its duty to say what the law is, and so of giving decisions that are definitionally of general importance.

I remain hopeful that one day, Canada’s administrative law will recognize these truths, even if it does not yet hold them to be self evident. But yesterday was not that day. The absurdity at the core of our law remains. But, at least, the law in action might just make more sense than the law on the books. The Supreme Court seems committed to playing a meaningful role in upholding the Rule of Law in the face of administrative overreach and to instructing other courts to do likewise. As the recent history of Canadian administrative law reminds us, this is no small blessing, and I am grateful for it.

Deferring to Discriminators

The US Supreme Court explains why courts should not defer to officials when it comes to rights issues

Deference to administrative decision-makers who limit constitutional rights is, to put it mildly, a controversial issue in Canadian law. It is mandated by the Supreme Court’s precedents, notably  Doré v Barreau du Québec, 2012 SCC 12, [2012] 1 SCR 395. It was challenged by the amicus curiae but not touched in Canada (Minister of Citizenship and Immigration) v Vavilov, 2019 SCC 65, [2019] 4 SCR 653. Both co-blogger Mark Mancini and I have criticized it sharply. Some comments in the opinions in the recent decision of the US Supreme Court in Students for Fair Admissions v President and Fellows of the Harvard College are worth considering in thinking about it.

The issue in the case was the constitutionality and legality of the use of racial categories as a factor ― in some cases a very important factor ― in admissions to public or publicly-funded universities. The applicants claimed that it amounted to unconstitutional and illegal discrimination. Harvard insisted that that this was necessary in order to achieve sufficient diversity in its student body. The US Supreme Court had previously held that an “educational judgment that such diversity is essential to [a university’s] educational mission is one to which we defer”. (Grutter v Bollinger, 539 U.S. 306 at 328 (2003)) 

The majority in Students for Fair Admissions was not sold on the idea. As Chief Justice Roberts put it, “[u]niversities may define their missions as they see fit. The Constitution defines ours.” (26) Far from deferring to universities on whether racial classification is necessary, “[c]ourts may not license separating students on the basis of race without an exceedingly persuasive justification that is measurable and concrete enough to permit judicial review”. (26) Consistently with the general trends of US constitutional law, the courts must verify compliance with the constitution for themselves.

Justice Thomas’s concurring opinion is more instructive, however. He argues that “it is error for a court to defer to the views of an alleged discriminator while assessing claims of racial discrimination”. (27) He points out that the courts

would not offer such deference in any other context. In employment discrimination lawsuits … for example, courts require only a minimal prima facie showing by a complainant before shifting the burden onto the shoulders of the alleged discriminator employer. … 

This judicial skepticism is vital. History has repeatedly shown that purportedly benign discrimination may be pernicious, and discriminators may go to great lengths to hide and perpetuate their unlawful conduct”. (27-28) 

I think this is very relevant to Canadians, even though the actual questions addressed in Students for Fair Admissions would be dealt with quite differently under Canadian law in light of s 15(2) of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.

Canadian law does sometimes require courts “to defer to the views of an alleged discriminator”. One example that comes to mind is the “maths is racist” decision of Ontario’s Divisional Court, Ontario Teacher Candidates’ Council v The Queen, 2021 ONSC 7386. The claim there was that a test that aspiring teachers were required to pass discriminated against non-white candidates in some mysterious way. In deciding whether the alleged discrimination was justified, the Court accepted that it had to defer “to the legislature’s choices”. [132] Whether the Court actually deferred is, admittedly, another matter. As I wrote here, I think it did not. I also argued that the court’s whole approach was misconceived ― it wasn’t a legislative choice but an administrative policy that was under review. But that doesn’t matter for my purposes here because if the Court had followed what I think was the required method and applied Doré, it would have had to defer as well. Either way, it was or would have been deference “to the views of an alleged discriminator”.

I honestly struggle to see why that would be right. I am sure many of my readers do not think much of Students for Fair Admissions and/or of Justice Thomas’s concurrence in particular. But whatever you make of the main issue in that case, what objection is there to this specific point? When the government or one of its instrumentalities is alleged to engage in discrimination, why should its views on the matter carry more weight than those of the people who say they are its victims ― or of independent and impartial judges?

Of course the point generalizes. It’s not just about discrimination. There is no more reason for the courts to defer to alleged censors or religious bigots than to alleged discriminators. “Judicial scepticism” is necessary in the face of allegedly benign restrictions on free expression, religious liberty, and any other right, just as it is, as Justice Thomas rightly says, in the face of allegedly benign discrimination. Insofar as it says otherwise, our law of judicial review is misbegotten and in dire need of reform.

Simplicity in the Law of Judicial Review of Regulations: Auer and TransAlta

This post is derived from this week’s edition of my newsletter, the Sunday Evening Administrative Review.

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Auer v Auer, 2022 ABCA 375 (November 22, 2022); TransAlta Generation Partnership v Alberta (Minister of Municipal Affairs), 2022 ABCA 381 (November 23, 2022)

Context and Holding: In these decisions, the ABCA deals with the question of how courts review regulations for compliance with primary law. The cases hold that the framework set out in Katz Group Canada Inc v Ontario (Health and Long-Term Care), 2013 SCC 64 applies, rather than the revised judicial review framework in Vavilov. In so doing, the ABCA sets itself up directly opposite from the Federal Court of Appeal, which has endorsed Vavilov as the starting point for the review of regulations: Portnov v Canada (Attorney General), 2021 FCA 171 (Issue #7). It is also set up opposite the BCSC/ BCCA: see e.g. Pacific Wild Alliance v British Columbia (Forests, Lands, Natural Resource Operations and Rural Development), 2022 BCSC 904 at paras 68-75; Whistler (Resort Municipality), 2020 BCCA 101.

Analysis: As readers of this newsletter will know, I strongly disagree with the ABCA’s conclusion, and the reasons underlying it. Reading Auer and TransAlta together, the ABCA advances several reasons for preferring the “hyper-deferential” Katz framework for the review of regulations over Vavilov:

  1. Vavilovian reasonableness impermissibly invades the exercise of legislative powers, violating a core tenet of the separation of powers. Katz “maintains the integrity of the separation of powers and the role of the legislative branch of government. It ensures that courts do not enter the legislative field by weighing in on matters that properly fall within the sphere of the legislature and the executive” (Auer, at para 58; see also para 83). Or as put in TransAlta, at para 50: “[t]o decide whether a valid regulation is, in outcome ‘reasonable’ is to judge the merits of the path chosen by the delegated lawmaker to achieve the objectives of the enabling statute.”
  2. Vavilov cannot be taken to implicitly overturn Katz: it makes only one passing reference to Katz (see Auer, at para 42; TransAlta, at para 47).
  3. There are practical problems with applying Vavilovian reasonableness review to regulations. As Auer notes, “…[m]any of the contextual factors highlighted in Vavilov simply have no application to a vires review” (Auer, at para 77).

I will respond to these three concerns, but I first want to highlight a core feature of my response. There have long been debates in the law of judicial review over the need to “limit and simplify” versus the need to “tailor deference to variety” (US v Mead Corp, 533 U.S. 218 at 236). Of course, this is rarely a binary, and because of the subject matter, some consideration of variety will be necessary (as Vavilov‘s acceptance of context demonstrates). This is inevitable. Nevertheless, I am on the side of limitation and simplification to the extent possible. The fact that administrative decision-makers come in all shapes and sizes does not mean we require legal rules that track every individual type of decision-maker or decision, absent any fundamental reason. To my mind, all that is required is: (1) the recognition of fundamental principles that guide the doctrine (in Vavilov’s case, legislative intent and the rule of law); (2) the creation of general, all-purpose doctrinal rules plausibly connected to these principles; (3) guidance on how to apply the doctrine.

Vavilov and its progeny accomplish this. While Vavilov is, admittedly, contextual, it simplifies judicial review because it provides (1) a set of standard of review categories that plausibly map to legislative intent and the rule of law (though imperfectly); (2) on the reasonableness standard, it provides guidance about the contextual constraints that are relevant in a given case–this guidance limits these constraints so courts and litigants know when they will be relevant. Most importantly, when I speak of simplicity, I think of the fact that Vavilov provides an agreed-upon starting point, connected to fundamental principles, for all review of action of all kinds taken under delegated power. In this sense, Vavilov is a hard-won template. As we will see, the recent case of Law Society of Saskatchewan v Abrametz, 2022 SCC 29 (see Issue #48), inexplicably unmentioned by the ABCA, endorses the “start with Vavilov” idea on a question outside Vavilov’s contemplation: procedural fairness. This shows Vavilov’s utility as a general framework.

Starting with the same well of conceptual resources for all sorts of decisions simplifies the law of judicial review, and is no small thing. Simplification isn’t just aesthetic. Lawyers—to their detriment—sometimes overcomplicate matters beyond what is necessary, perhaps out of academic self-satisfaction. But the reality is this: the law of judicial review must be workable. It must connect to fundamental principles but at the same time be applicable by judges and understood by parties who bear the brunt of state action. This is the gargantuan challenge of administrative law. In this sense, Vavilov has done an extraordinary thing by largely accomplishing this goal. Parties now tend to argue about the merits of their cases rather than the standard of review. The ABCA’s discursus on Katz, unfortunately, is a step back to the old days of distinctions between legislative/quasi-legislative/adjudicative functions, where there are islands of government power uninhibited by the regular law of judicial review. If there was a compelling reason in principle for this, that is one thing. In this case, the Court’s decision endorses Katz because of its own erroneous perception of what the separation of powers, Vavilov, and general principles of administrative law require.

On to some specific points of contention:

  1. The ABCA’s separation of powers argument does not get off the ground because of (1) a fundamental (though understandable) confusion about the word “merits” in Vavilov; and (2) a confusion about the role of secondary legislation. As Paul Daly argues, (1) leads the ABCA astray. Auer says that “[a] true Vavilov approach can only be accomplished by the reviewing court descending into a consideration of the merits of the policy decisions underlying the regulations and formulating its own reasons why the regulation was a reasonable policy choice” (Auer, at para 75). As Daly says, it is true that Vavilov speaks of its framework applying to the “merits” of administrative decisions (e.g. Vavilov at paras 2, 10, 16). But this does not mean that Vavilov endorses a judicial questioning of the policy wisdom of an administrative decision. This simply cannot be the case as a matter of fundamental principle. Vavilov’s reference to merits, instead, refers to the substance of administrative decisions as opposed to procedural concerns. As is well-known, judicial review polices the boundaries of the administrative state according to the concepts of legality, reasonableness, and fairness. This is different than questioning the policy merits of an administrative decision in the abstract. Judicial review—and Vavilov reasonableness—does not mean that courts arrogate to themselves the right to make certain policy choices. A few specific examples are relevant to show how this works throughout the law of judicial review:
  • In Alberta Teachers’ Association, 2011 SCC 61, the Supreme Court addressed the situations in which it would be appropriate for litigants to make new arguments on judicial review. Generally, the presumptive rule is that new arguments cannot be made on judicial review, because “the legislature has entrusted the determination of the issue to the administrative tribunal” (Alberta Teachers, at para 24). This is a recognition that judicial review cannot proceed as a trial de novo, a recognition of the space left to the decision-maker to flesh out the law in its field so long as the decision fits within the purview of the statute.
  • As the Federal Court of Appeal has stated with reference to new evidence on judicial review, the same rule applies because the legislature delegated the power to the administrator to “determine certain matters on the merits”; permitting new evidence routinely would undermine the demarcation between legislative and judicial roles, and so “[t]his Court can only review the overall legality of what the Board has done, not delve into or re-decide the merits of what the Board has done” (Association of Colleges, 2012 FCA 22 at paras 17-18).

Deference under Vavilov takes on a similar hue. Courts do not reweigh the evidence on judicial review (Vavilov, at para 125); deference necessarily involves a restriction on the court in intervening with an administrative decision-maker because that decision-maker has been delegated the power to make decisions (Vavilov, at para 13). These decisions may have policy consequences, but courts do not second-guess those consequences; they only ensure that a particular decision fits within the purview of the statute, and meets the basic requirements of rationality. This is even so where regulations are made after submissions in a legally-defined process: in such a case, the submissions form part of the record that courts use to assess whether the secondary legislation is justified by the law and the facts to which it applies. None of this involves, properly applied, an impermissible intrusion into the realm of lawmaking because the court is not formulating policy alternatives nor weighing in on which alternatives are best. It is only asking whether the action fits the bounds of the law and the evidence, like it does for all executive action. Indeed, this is the same rule we apply to all acts taken by the executive under statutory authority, including municipalities and other bylaw-creating bodies. As I will point out, the sweep of Auer/TransAlta is unknown, and presumably it should capture these bodies as well.

This is related to the second problem. The ABCA skirts over what I consider to be the real issue: the subordinate nature of what we call “executive legislation.” The ABCA’s entire point apparently seems to rest on the assertion that regulations are part of the primary legislative process—that, legally, the exercise of legislative powers by the Governor in Council is subject to the same rules that apply when Parliament enacts laws as an exercise of primary legislative authority (Auer, at para 53, citing Mikisew Cree First Nation v Canada, 2018 SCC 40 at para 32). Primary legislative authority is the authority to “enact, amend, and repeal statutes” (Pan-Canadian Securities Reference, 2018 SCC 48 at para 76). These statutes cannot be reviewed except for constitutionality, and this was the context of Mikisew Cree (notably not executive legislation). But this ignores a fundamental distinction between primary and secondary legislation. Inexplicably, the ABCA recognizes that regulation-making is “an act incidental to the legislative process” (Auer, at para 56), but does not take this to the logical conclusion. Secondary legislation (regulations) is subordinate legislation, which must fit the terms of the primary legislation. But regulations can be reviewed in order to determine whether they fit the scope of their enabling statute. Read literally, Auer seems to prove too much: if one simply transposes, as Auer does, the primacy of primary legislative authority to secondary legislation, one is endorsing a “hands-off” approach in judicial review altogether when it comes to executive legislation. But as we know, even if we follow Katz, secondary legislation can be reviewed to determine its fit with the governing statute, and so the analogy Auer draws to the primary legislative process is inapposite.

The point here is that secondary legislation is still executive action, amenable to review like all executive action–with the caveat that because of the legislative form of the action, it will be reviewed under Vavilov in a certain way (see point #3 below).

  1. The “Vavilov does not mention Katz” argument has been made before: see e.g. Ecology Action Centre v Canada (Environment and Climate Change), 2021 FC 1367, and this post from Martin Olszynski and I. We were not impressed with this argument at the time, and I remain unimpressed, for two reasons. First, the “Vavilov does not mention x” argument has lost a lot of steam after Abrametz. Again, Abrametz held that questions of procedural fairness that arise under a statutory right of appeal are reviewed under the appellate standards. These questions were not mentioned in Vavilov. Following Abrametz leaves the ABCA on shaky territory. Second, as Prof. Olszynski and I wrote, the question is not whether this or that case was mentioned. Vavilov tells us where (as with Katz) there is a question as to the appropriate standard of review, a court “should look to these reasons first in order to determine how this general framework applies to that case” (Vavilov, at para 143). The ABCA in Auer and TransAlta do not even attempt to do this. This is despite the fact that Vavilov is a “holistic” framework (Vavilov, at para 143), one that is “sweeping and comprehensive” (Portnov, at para 25). Auer and TransAlta suggest that courts use a magnifying glass to see if particular examples of executive action are mentioned within Vavilov. This is unnecessary. They simply need to follow Vavilov’s general principles, as outlined in Vavilov, at paras 143-144.
  1. The practical problems of applying Vavilov to regulations, with respect, do not exist. When Auer maintains that some of the legal and factual constraints listed in Vavilov do not apply in cases of regulation, the Court appears to misunderstand how Vavilov works. Not all of the constraints have to apply in a given case for Vavilov to be relevant. In some visa decisions, for example, statutory interpretation will not be the forefront consideration—these cases generally turn on evidence and findings of fact. With regulations, the dominant constraints will be the legal ones mentioned in Vavilov, and in many cases, deference will be expansive. This is not a surprise, though perhaps it is to the ABCA, which erroneously sees Vavilov as a more intrusive standard, always and everywhere (Auer, at para 61).

But the Court is also is too quick to discard the other constraints because it focuses on only one type of regulation-making: secondary legislation of general application. But as Portnov shows, this is not all there is. Portnov concerned the Governor in Council’s ability to “issue an order or regulation restricting or prohibiting any dealings with certain property held by designated individuals,” eighteen in total (Portnov, at paras 3,5). In such a case, the mere fact that the Governor in Council proceeded by secondary legislation does not immunize it from review on Vavilov grounds. In such a case, the statutory prequisites to the exercise of the power will be central. But because the court must also discern how the Governor in Council understood the authority granted to it under the primary statute (ie) to apply a regulation in these limited circumstances, the record must disclose the Governor in Council’s basis for its legal conclusion as applied to these individuals. In other regulatory cases, determining whether the regulation is justified by the primary law will depend on what explanations find their way into the record. This is the nature of Vavilov review, which is not always and everywhere more aggressive than Katz. Indeed, when we apply this review in cases of other “legislative” bodies including law societies and municipalities, the review looks fairly deferential, respecting the legislative posture of these bodies. While the Court calls this state of affairs “confusing,” (TransAlta, at para 49), I beg to differ: the same contextual constraints from Vavilov apply, with different force depending on the decision at issue. Regulations, if they are not primary legislation, are similarly nothing special as executive action.

I could say more—I hope to in longer form soon. But I end where I began. The ABCA’s approach will complicate the law of judicial review, not just because of its endorsement of a carveout for Governor in Council regulations. We do not know how far this could go. Are regulations made by agencies with a responsible Minister also captured by this rule? The logic should follow—and yet it would be a stretch to say that agency law-making is the same as primary law-making, especially given the deficiencies in the scrutiny of regulations process. What about rules of binding “legislative” effect created by agencies? These are unanswered questions left open by these decisions. The bottom line: when in doubt, start with Vavilov.

Paul Daly
John Mark Keyes

If It’s Broke, You’re Not the One to Fix It

The Québec Court of Appeal takes it upon itself to update obsolete election legislation. That’s not its job.

This post is co-written with Mark Mancini

One of us (Sirota) has written any number of times about Québec’s Election Act, which is remarkable by the staggering restrictions it imposes on election campaigns and by its drafting that has, on many points, not been updated this century. This combination of severity and obsolescence leads to all manner of controversy and problems in the Act’s application. A recent decision of the Québec Court of Appeal, Therrien c Directeur général des élections du Québec, 2022 QCCA 1070, illustrates this. 

At issue in Therrien was s 429 of the Act, which provides that, in the week after the writ for an election

is issued, no person, except the Chief Electoral Officer [CEO], may broadcast or cause to be broadcast by a radio or television station or by a cable distribution enterprise, publish or cause to be published in a newspaper or other periodical, or post or cause to be posted in a space leased for that purpose, publicity relating to the election.

As the Court (Justice Cournoyer writing with the agreement of Justice Dutil; Justice Fournier, who had also been on the panel, passed away before the decision was issued) recognizes, “when s 429 … was amended in 1995, social media did not exist. … The ordinary meaning of the words ‘post’ and ‘space leased’ could not envision virtual reality, be it virtual posters or virtual spaces”. [62]-[63] (We translate here and throughout.) The question was whether s 429 nonetheless applied to prohibit advertising on Facebook, such as an ad that the CAQ, for which the appellant was the social media manager, took out in the first week of the 2014 election campaign.

2014, you might think, is a long time ago. We’ll return to this below. You might also think that s 429 is unconstitutional. We are inclined to think so too. In Thomson Newspapers Co v Canada (Attorney General), [1998] 1 SCR 877, the Supreme Court struck down a publication ban on polls for part of an election campaign, and a part both more sensitive and shorter than the one at issue here, namely the last three days. It is hard to argue that a ban on some advertising in the campaign’s first week is more justified, although perhaps a court would accept that it is necessary to maintain fair electoral competition. But the issue does not seem to have been raised in Therrien, which is a pure case of statutory interpretation. The Court observes that the issue of the applicability of a provision to circumstances that were not and could not have been anticipated at the time of its enactment is “a classic in statutory interpretation, but its solution, as this case shows, is not always obvious”. [9] With this much we agree. The Court’s solution in this case is that s 429 does apply to social media advertising. This we believe is wrong, in light of the―to repeat, obsolete―drafting of the Act.

The Court begins by interpreting s 429 on its own terms. Its effect is to ban some―though not all―political advertising in the first week of an election campaign. Its purpose, inferred from what it prohibits, is “to foster fairness and equality among all political parties at the outset of an election campaign”, [54] by preventing the incumbent from getting a jump-start on its competitors. As the Court notes, fixed election dates weren’t in place when s 429 was enacted.

Inferring this purpose from the mischief sought to be remedied is an unremarkable tool of interpretation, but in this case, we fear the Court’s analysis is backwards. It may be true that the purpose of the provision is to foster fairness and equality at the outset of the campaign. But this purposive analysis must build on convincing evidence in the text and the choices reflected in that text. In this sense, the Court’s analysis is flipped. At a number of points, it puts no weight on the ordinary, accepted meaning of the text, seemingly allowing the Court’s own view of the statutory purpose to drive the analysis. 

This leads the Court down the incorrect path. Drawing on Perka v R, [1984] 2 SCR 232 and R v 974649 Ontario Inc, 2001 SCC 81, [2001] 3 SCR 575, it states that while a statute’s terms are to be given the meaning they had at the time of their enactment, they “must not necessarily be confined to their original meaning” [65] at that time. What this means is that statutory language, provided it is sufficiently general, can be applied to facts and phenomena that weren’t or couldn’t be contemplated when it was enacted. But the focus of the analysis must be on the language used in the statute, and whether it could conceivably cover the phenomenon at issue. The issue, then, is “whether the text of s 429 prevents its extent to virtual posting in a virtual space”. [67]

The Court is right to cite these authorities at the outset, for they confirm the basic rule: the original meaning of statutory terms governs. This point was expressed most recently in R v Kirkpatrick, 2022 SCC 33, in the concurring opinion of Coté, Brown, and Rowe JJ. The concurrence articulated the accepted rule, unchallenged by the majority:  “[i]t is a fundamental error to apply the ‘living tree’ methodology to the interpretation of statutes” [55]. But the Court of Appeal disregards the basic principle it cites. Rather than asking whether the words can bear the “adaptation by the courts of general concepts to these new realities” [68], it expressly concludes that the meaning of the words “post” and “space leased” “could not contemplate virtual reality” [63]. It then moves to conclude that the terms “post” and “space” “do not prevent their application to the virtual dimension specific to social networks” [67].

Here both the method and the conclusion are faulty. As we note, the accepted method asks whether the provision, in its purposive context, can accommodate the new technological developments. The Court, instead, reasons backwards: instead of asking “does this provision apply?”, it asks “why wouldn’t this provision apply?”. This is inappropriate on several grounds.  Most basically, it is always for the party alleging that a provision applies―here, the CEO―to prove that this is so, and for good reason. Legislators who vote for legislative proposals do not and cannot time travel. The reach of statutes is fundamentally limited by their wording. By failing to positively affirm that a provision applies in a given circumstance, the Court distorts the reach of the law to cover phenomena that the text simply may not support. This, as we shall see, is an unacceptable form of spurious interpretation.

There are other normative reasons to reject the Court’s interpretation. Since the provision at issue is a penal one and restricts political speech, both the rule of lenity and the principle of legality counsel against applying it to doubtful or borderline cases. And substantively, the idea of a “virtual space” isn’t just a novel application of the existing concept of a space in the way that, say, same-sex marriage is a new application of the old concept of marriage. It is a metaphor and cannot do the work the Court wants it to.

The Court’s so-called purposive approach is also left wanting on its own terms, as it fails to have proper regard to the legislative context and to show why the purpose of the provision compelled its chosen interpretation. Consider the Court’s analysis of the history of s 429. In Frank v Canada, 2019 SCC 1, [2019] SCR 3, the dissenting opinion (unchallenged on this point), noted that “[t]he state of the law as it existed prior to an impugned provision coming into force can…give insight into why the provision was enacted” [131]. This, of course, is one way to discern the meaning of text; changes in wording can indicate changes in legislative purposes (as opposed to inferences based on what a legislature did not do).  In this case, the appellant sought to draw the Court’s attention to the fact that s 429’s predecessor provisions were phrased in general terms and did not specify particular forms of advertising prohibited in the early campaign, arguing that the legislature’s choice to now ban some forms of ads and not others had to be respected. The Court simply isn’t interested: “the history of the amendments to s 429 does not matter as much as the parties think in interpreting its text”. [55] In our view, this is a mistake. As noted in the Frank dissent, the history of a provision can often illuminate the textual means by which a legislature was attempting to solve a particular mischief. If the appellant is right (and the Court does not even bother setting out the previous version of s 429, so we cannot tell), his argument deserved to be taken seriously.

The Court goes on to add that its interpretation of s 429 is in agreement with that of the CEO, which can be taken into account without being binding. It is a bit difficult to say how much this argument influenced the Court―it is probably not a major factor in the decision. But any reliance on it is, nonetheless, disturbing. A court would not take special notice of the police’s interpretation of the Criminal Code. There is no reason to treat an administrative enforcement agency with any more indulgence. (It is telling, too, that the case on which the Court relies here, Cayouette c Boulianne, 2014 QCCA 863, is at root a dispute among neighbours, which turns on the meaning of a municipal by-law. Giving some weight to the municipality’s views in that context is not nearly as problematic as doing that when the administrator is the prosecutor.)

All in all, the Court’s analysis on this point is backwards as a matter of method, but the result is also problematic. Some may ask why the original meaning rule should be followed in a case like this, where new technological problems are so evident. The answer relates to the point of statutory interpretation. The job of courts is to interpret the text through which legislatures seek particular objectives (MediaQMI v Kamel, 2021 SCC 23, [39]). The text discloses how a legislature wanted to achieve its ends. By updating the statute for the legislature, the Court assumes that the legislature (a) wants its law extended; and (b) wants the law extended in this particular manner. It deprives the legislature—the exclusive law-maker—of the opportunity of creating a new regime that balances on- and offline expression. Citizens can rightly begin to question where the law is made.

The Court also accepts an alternative argument based on the effect of Québec’s Act to establish a legal framework for information technology (IT Framework Act) on s 429. In a nutshell, this law is meant to ensure that digital documents are treated the same as their analogue counterparts for various purposes. Documents are defined as follows, in s 3 of the IT Framework Act:

Information inscribed on a medium constitutes a document. The information is delimited and structured, according to the medium used, by tangible or logical features and is intelligible in the form of words, sounds or images. The information may be rendered using any type of writing, including a system of symbols that may be transcribed into words, sounds or images or another system of symbols.

Moreover, pursuant to s 71

The concept of document, as used in this Act, is applicable to all documents referred to in legislative texts whether by the term “document” or by terms such as act, deed, record, annals, schedule, directory, order, order in council, ticket, directory, licence, bulletin, notebook, map, catalogue, certificate, charter, cheque, statement of offence, decree, leaflet, drawing, diagram, writing, electrocardiogram, audio, video or electronic recording, bill, sheet, film, form, graph, guide, illustration, printed matter, newspaper, book, booklet, computer program, manuscript, model, microfiche, microfilm, note, notice, pamphlet, parchment, papers, photograph, minute, program, prospectus, report, offence report, manual and debt security or title of indebtedness.

The Court holds that

the concept of document necessarily includes virtual posts, because the posts consist of information inscribed on a medium which has the same legal significance if it includes the same information, regardless of the medium … In this respect, “to post” or “cause to be post” includes the use of a medium on which information is inscribed, i.e. a document within the meaning of s 3.  Meanwhile … the absence of words “poster”, “post”, or “cause to post” from the list in s 71 is of no consequence. The use of the phrase “such as” to introduce the list of many types of document is clearly aimed at excluding any restrictive interpretation of the term document, as defined in s 3. [86]-[87] (Paragraph break removed)

Here too we are not persuaded. For one thing, open-ended though it may be, we do not think that the IT Framework Act’s definition of a document extends to virtual posts, or any other media of a broadcast nature. The IT Framework Act’s purpose provision, s 1, refers to “documentary communications between persons, associations, partnerships and the State”. Elsewhere, the IT Framework Act speaks of documents producing “legal effect” or having “legal value” (e.g. ss 5 and 9). A poster―or a radio or TV ad―aren’t “documents” within the IT Framework Act’s meaning any more than in ordinary language.

Section 71 supports this view, although of course the Court is right that its enumeration is not strictly speaking closed. It is, however, remarkably exhaustive (which is why we thought it worthwhile to reproduce it above). And, tellingly, while it does include audio and video “recordings”, it does not include broadcasts. Considering the exhaustiveness, the fastidiousness even, of the enumeration, we do not think the omission is accidental or that it can be gotten around by relying on the “such as” language. This might not be the proverbial elephant, but we do not think the National Assembly hid a beaver in s 71’s mousehole. At minimum, the Court had to explain in what sense a virtual post is “such as” the objects enumerated in s 71, and it does not do this.

So much for Therrien itself. But we think it is important to point out that it is not an isolated case, but rather part of a pattern of very questionable decision-making by both the Québec Court of Appeal and successive CEOs with respect to the Act, which is in dire need of reform. In effect, those in charge of administering the Act are trying to maintain or even extend its reach while avoiding, on a case-by-case basis, consequences they find intolerable.

So far as the Court of Appeal is concerned, we have in mind the decision in Métallurgistes unis d’Amérique (FTQ), section locale 7649 c Québec (Directeur général des élections), 2011 QCCA 1043, which upheld the Act’s draconian restrictions on “third party” political spending. In that case, a union was fined for criticizing a political party in communications addressed to its own members. More generally, individuals who are not candidates and unincorporated groups are limited to spending 300$ on election advertising. Corporations, including not-for-profit ones, are prohibited from spending a penny. This is difficult to reconcile with the Supreme Court’s decisions in Libman v Quebec (Attorney General), [1997] 3 SCR 569 and Harper v Canada (Attorney General), [2004] 1 SCR 827, which recognized the right of “third parties” to engage in electoral advertising even as they also accepted the principle that such advertising can be strictly limited.

As for the CEOs, they attempted to censor “third party” interventions in each of the last two election campaigns ― that of a group opposed to the then-proposed “Charter of Values” in 2014 and that of environmentalist NGO Équiterre in 2018 ― provoking a public outcry. In 2014, the then-CEO flip-flopped and ended up withdrawing his objections. The 2018 story has only concluded recently (egregious delay is also, it seems, a pattern with the CEO), as Laura Lévesque and Thomas Laberge report in Le Soleil. The CEO has “blamed” and warned Équiterre but apparently not fined it. Yet as Sirota wrote at the time, the CEO was right to find fault with the campaigners on both occasions.

As further discussed in this post on the 2014 climb-down, the then-CEO reinterpreted the relevant provisions in a way that may have been sensible in light of the social and technological change since their enactment, as well as protective of the freedom of expression, but was not tenable in light of their text. The choice of merely “blaming” Équiterre is also, at first glance, understandable on the merits but not something provided for by the Act, except presumably as an exercise of an implicit prosecutorial discretion. In effect, the CEO is deciding what the Act means and when―and his decision to go easy on fairly clear violations by NGOs while prosecuting a debatable one by a political party is worth highlighting.

All this suggests, unequivocally to our mind, that the Act needs to be reformed so as to accommodate the social and technological realities of the 21st century. As it happens, the Canadian Press’s Jocelyne Richer reports that the CEO wants the Act to be “updated”―but mainly so as to introduce even more restrictions, specifically on advertising during the “pre-campaign” period. (In fairness, he was already asking for such an “update” in 2016. So far, the National Assembly has not obliged.) Parliament has added such restrictions to the Canada Elections Act some years ago, and Ontario has used the Charter’s “notwithstanding clause” to extend its censorship regime, which now covers more than one year in every four.

These rules are bad and possibly unconstitutional, as Sirota argued here and here. But, quite apart from their other problems, they would hit especially hard in Québec unless the Electoral Act’s existing strictures are relaxed to some degree, and also unless it is re-drafted so as to be technologically neutral to the extent possible. In the meantime, however, it is not the role of either the CEO himself or the courts to fiddle with the Act to make it work better. The law is broke, but they are not the ones who have the tools to fix it.

Right Is Wrong

What an ordinary case can tell us about the problems of Canadian administrative law

Last month, I wrote here about a decision the Federal Court of Appeal (Alexion Pharmaceuticals Inc v Canada (Attorney General), 2021 FCA 157) which, although a good and faithful application of Canada (Minister of Citizenship and Immigration) v Vavilov, 2019 SCC 65, actually highlighted its conceptual defects. This is another post in the same vein, focusing on the choice of the standard of review in Morningstar v WSIAT, 2021 ONSC 5576 to point out (yet again) that the Vavilov approach to jurisdiction makes no sense. I then also point to a different issue that Morningstar usefully highlights with arguments for the administrative state based on access to justice. If you are tired of my fire-breathing neo-Diceyanism, you can skip to the latter discussion.

As co-blogger Mark Mancini explains in his invaluable Sunday Evening Administrative Review newsletter (subscribe!), the applicant in Morningstar tried to argue that correctness review should apply to a decision of the Workplace Safety and Insurance Appeals Tribunal to the effect that she was not entitled to bring a civil lawsuit against a former employer and should have pursued administrative remedies instead. The idea was that the jurisdictional boundary between a tribunal and the ordinary courts should be policed in much the same way as, Vavilov said, “the jurisdictional boundaries between two or more administrative bodies”, [63] ― that is, by have the court ensure the boundary is drawn correctly. But courts are not “administrative bodies” in the sense the Vavilov majority meant this phrase, and the Divisional Court makes short work of this argument. As Mark suggests, while the reasons it gives are very questionable, the conclusion is clearly correct.

But it shouldn’t be! Ms. Morningstar’s argument was, in Mark’s words, “doomed to failure” under Vavilov, but as a matter of principle it is actually exactly right. The Vavilov majority explains, sensibly, that

the rule of law cannot tolerate conflicting orders and proceedings where they result in a true operational conflict between two administrative bodies, pulling a party in two different and incompatible directions … Members of the public must know where to turn in order to resolve a dispute. … [T]he application of the correctness standard in these cases safeguards predictability, finality and certainty in the law of administrative decision making. [64]

That’s right so far as it goes. But what exactly changes if we replace the phrase “two administrative bodies” in the first sentence with “two adjudicative bodies”, so as to encompass the courts? Are the Rule of Law’s demands for predictability, finality, and certainty suddenly less stringent because a court is involved? Need members of the public not know where to turn in order to resolve a dispute? The Rule of Law applies in exactly the same way to jurisdictional conflicts between courts and tribunals as between tribunals, and should require correctness review in both situations.

It might be objected that this argument ignores the privative clause in the statute at issue in Morningstar. Section 31 of the Workplace Safety and Insurance Act, 1997 provides that the Tribunal “has exclusive jurisdiction to determine”, among other things, “whether, because of this Act, the right to commence an action is taken away”, and further that “[a] decision of the … Tribunal under this section is final and is not open to question or review in a court”. The true and tart response is: who cares? In Morningstar, the Divisional Court not only questioned and reviewed, but actually quashed the Tribunal’s decision on the question of whether, because of the Act, the applicant’s right to commence an action is taken away.

This isn’t a mistake, of course. Courts already ignore privative clauses, and rightly so. Vavilov explains why. As I pointed out here, it

embraces the Rule of Law principle … clearly and, crucially, as a constraint on the legislative power. According to the Vavilov majority,

Where a court reviews the merits of an administrative decision … the standard of review it applies must reflect the legislature’s intent with respect to the role of the reviewing court, except where giving effect to that intent is precluded by the rule of law. [23; emphasis added]

The majority goes on to specify that “[t]he starting point for the analysis is a presumption that the legislature intended the standard of review to be reasonableness”, [23] but “respect for the rule of law requires courts to apply the standard of correctness for certain types of legal questions”, [53] legislative intent notwithstanding.

If a statute attempted to make anything less than correctness the standard of review for jurisdictional boundaries between two administrative tribunals, Vavilov says that it should be ignored, because the Rule of Law, with its demands of predictability, finality, and certainty, requires it. A privative clause that attempts to exclude altogether review of decisions on the jurisdictional boundary between a tribunal and the ordinary courts should similarly be ignored.

But the Vavilov majority could not bring itself to take that approach, because it would be fatal to the entire conceit of deferential review on questions of law which the Supreme Court embraced in CUPE, Local 963 v New Brunswick Liquor Corporation, [1979] 2 SCR 227, and on various forms of which it has doubled down ever since. As Justice Brown wrote in West Fraser Mills Ltd v British Columbia(Workers’ Compensation Appeal Tribunal), 2018 SCC 22, [2018] 1 SCR 635, “in many cases, the distinction between matters of statutory interpretation which implicate truly jurisdictional questions and those going solely to a statutory delegate’s application of its enabling statute will be, at best, elusive”. [124] When an administrative decision-maker is resolving questions of law, notably when it is interpreting the legislation granting it its powers, it is always engaged in the drawing of the boundary between its jurisdiction and that of the courts. To admit ― as one ought to ― that the Rule of Law requires these questions to be resolved by courts would cause the entire structure of Canadian administrative law to come crashing down. And so, to preserve it, Vavilov asks the courts to pretend that things that are actually entirely alike from a Rule of Law perspective are somehow mysteriously different. It is, as I said in the post linked to at the start, an instance of post-truth jurisprudence.

Now to my other point. In a couple of ways, Morningstar reminds me of the Supreme Court’s decision in Canada (Attorney General) v TeleZone Inc, 2010 SCC 62, [2010] 3 SCR 585. The issue there was whether a litigant who sought private law damages as compensation for an allegedly unlawful act of the federal Crown had, before bringing a civil claim in a provincial superior court, to pursue an application for judicial review in the Federal Court to establish the unlawfulness. It was, in other words, a conflict between remedial regimes potentially open to alleged victims of government wrongdoing. The Federal Court of Appeal had held that such victims had to seek judicial review first; the Ontario Court of Appeal ruled that they did not. The Supreme Court agreed with the latter. It noted that following the Federal Court of Appeal’s approach “would relegate the provincial superior courts in such matters to a subordinate and contingent jurisdiction”. [4] It added too that the case was “fundamentally about access to justice. People who claim to be injured by government action should have whatever redress the legal system permits through procedures that minimize unnecessary cost and complexity.” [18]  

Morningstar, like TeleZone involves a conflict between two possible venues for redress, albeit of a private wrong rather than one resulting from government action. Employees who think they have been wronged in the course or during the breakdown of their employment relationship might seek compensation from the administrative regime supervised by the Tribunal or sue the employer in the civil courts. The substantive question in Morningstar was which of these regimes was the appropriate one on the facts. The courts should be able to resolve this conflict without deferring to the views of the venue administering one of these regimes, just as the Supreme Court did not defer to the Federal Court of Appeal in TeleZone. And, to be sure, there is a difference: the Superior Court that would be one of these conflicting jurisdictions would also be the court resolving the jurisdictional conflict. (The Divisional Court is a division of the Superior Court.) But that’s how our system is set up, and it’s not a reason for deferring to the other jurisdiction involved.

But the deeper and perhaps more important similarity between TeleZone ― and, specifically, the approach the Supreme Court rejected in TeleZone ― and Morningstar has to do with the functioning of the Workplace Safety and Insurance Act. Its section 31 directs employees and employers to apply to the Tribunal for a ruling on whether they are can go to court, before they can actually litigate their claims ― much like the Federal Court of Appeal in TeleZone said those who consider suing the Crown for damages must first go to the Federal Court and seek judicial review. Former employees might then find themselves in the Divisional Court (and perhaps further in the Court of Appeal) for a judicial review, before they can start litigating the merits of their dispute, if it is one that can be litigated in the Superior Court.

To repeat, in TeleZone, the Supreme Court held that the conflict between competing remedial regimes should be resolved in such a way as to maximize access to justice and minimize cost and complexity. Specifically, this meant that litigants should be able to avoid a pointless journey through the Federal Courts before launching their claims in the Superior Courts. The Workplace Safety and Insurance Act might as well have been designed to do the exact opposite ― maximize cost and complexity and undermine access to justice. Of course, that’s not what the legislature was trying to do. It wanted to preserve the jurisdiction of the Tribunal. The legislature might even say, “hey, it’s not our fault that the Tribunal’s decisions can be judicially reviewed ― we said they can’t”. But the legislature acts against a background of constitutional principles, which have long included the availability of judicial review. It knew that its privative clause is constitutionally meaningless. And still it went ahead and created this nonsensical arrangement, instead of simply allowing the jurisdiction of the Tribunal to be raised, perhaps by way of a motion for summary judgment, in any litigation in the Superior Court.

The creation of administrative mechanisms such as the Tribunal ― and their partial insulation from judicial review by the application of deferential standards of review ― is often said to promote access to justice. Perhaps it might do so in the abstract. If a dispute stays within the confines of an administrative tribunal, it will usually be handled more cheaply than in the courts. But, at the very least, such arguments for the expansion of the administrative state must take into account the reality that multiplying jurisdictions means multiplying conflicts both among them and, even more often, between them and the courts. And the resolution of these conflicts is neither cost-free nor something that can be simply wished away. It’s a reminder that, in public law as elsewhere in heaven and earth, there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.

Morningstar is, in a sense, a rather uninteresting case, at least in the part that I have addressed here. A first-instance judicial review court applies a clear instruction from the Supreme Court and, despite some loose language in its reasons gets it right. But it is still revealing. In Canadian administrative law, courts that do things right, or roughly right, so far as their duty to apply precedent is concerned, are still doing things wrong if we judge them by first principles. This is not a good place for the law to be.

Post-Truth, Redux

A faithful application of Vavilov reasonableness review exposes the rot at the core of Canada’s administrative law

Co-blogger Mark Mancini has already posted on the Federal Court of Appeal’s recent decision in Alexion Pharmaceuticals Inc v Canada (Attorney General), 2021 FCA 157. He argues that it is a good illustration of how courts should review administrative decisions on the reasonableness standard, following the Supreme Court’s instructions in Canada (Minister of Citizenship and Immigration) v Vavilov, 2019 SCC 65. I agree with Mark’s analysis, so far as it goes: as a rigorous application of Vavilov that rightly emphasizes legal constraints on administrative decision-making, Justice Stratas’ reasons for the Court in Alexion are excellent. (In fact, let me highlight an additional passage that Mark does not mention: Justice Stratas notes, rightly, that administrators must interpret statutes “in a genuine, non-tendentious, non-expedient way … Result-oriented analysis is no part of the exercise”. [37] Amen!)

But, in my view they are also an excellent illustration of the considerable flaws of the Vavilov framework, with its insistence on the centrality of administrative reasons on all issues subject to the reasonableness standard of review, including issues of statutory interpretation. Indeed, Alexion illustrates the fundamental soundness of the approach taken in the case that is the great bogeyman of Canadian administrative law: the House of Lords’ Anisminic Ltd v Foreign Compensation Commission [1969] 2 AC 147. The concurring judges in Vavilov accused the majority of following Anisminic. If only!

As Mark explains in more detail, Alexion reviewed a decision by the Patented Medicine Prices Review Board that the company was selling a product “at a price that, in the Board’s opinion, is excessive” (s 83 of the Patent Act). The Court of Appeal invalidated the Board’s decision, holding that it did not explain its reasoning on key issues, including the interpretation of s 85 of the Patent Act, which sets out the criteria the Board must apply in deciding whether the price of a patented medicine is “excessive”. As Justice Stratas notes,

[a]t best, on this point the Board obfuscated, making it impossible for a reviewing court to know whether the Board has helped itself to a power it does not lawfully have. By obfuscating, the Board has effectively put itself beyond review on this point, asking the Court to sign a blank cheque in its favour. … 

[T]he Board may have helped itself to powers the statute has not given it. The absence of a reasoned explanation on certain points means that we cannot be more definitive than that. [44]-[45]

Justice Stratas notes that the Board appears to have found the pricing of Alexion’s product unreasonable, and expresses his “fundamental concern … that the Board has misunderstood the mandate Parliament has given to it under s 85. At a minimum, a reasoned explanation on this is missing“. [48; emphasis mine] And further:

Section 85 speaks of “excessive” pricing, not  “reasonable” pricing. The two seem much different. If in fact they are not different, in the circumstances of this case the Board had to explain why. Nowhere does the Board do so. [52; emphasis mine]

If I may paraphrase Justice Stratas, he is saying: it looks like the Board is doing something it’s not supposed to be doing under the statute, but hey! maybe it’s not do these things, or maybe it can do these things after all ― and we, the Federal Court of Appeal, can’t know for sure. The suggestion here ― that, absent good quality reasons given by the administrator, a reviewing court cannot say whether the administrator, in Justice Stratas’ eloquent words, “helped itself to a power it does not lawfully have” ― is entirely consistent with Vavilov. There the majority insisted that

the focus of reasonableness review must be on the decision actually made by the decision maker …  The role of courts in these circumstances is to review, and they are, at least as a general rule, to refrain from deciding the issue themselves. Accordingly, a court applying the reasonableness standard does not ask what decision it would have made in place of that of the administrative decision maker … conduct a de novo analysis or seek to determine the “correct” solution to the problem. [83]

On this approach, Justice Stratas and his colleagues are not supposed to come to their own view of the meaning of s 85 and verify the Board’s compliance with it. They are confined to assessing the Board’s explanations as to whether it has complied. Absent an explanation, the exercise fails. Vavilov is an improvement over the earlier cases in that, when such failures occur, it allows the reviewing court to stop there and send the matter back to the administrator for a do-over, instead of making up an explanation and deferring to it. (See Mark’s post for more on this).

But to say that Vavilov improves over what I once described as a post-truth jurisprudence requiring judges to play chess with themselves and contrive to lose is not to say much. In fact, Vavilov does not even leave post-truth jurisprudence behind. For how else should we think of a requirement that judges ― of an appellate court, no less ― insist that they “cannot be definitive” about the interpretation of a statutory provision and about whether an administrator “helped itself to a power it does not lawfully have” ― which is to say, exceeded its jurisdiction (there, I said it) in applying that provision?

The truth is that judges can be definitive on such things. The truth is that Justice Stratas has much to say about the meaning of s 85 and the way in which it has to be applied, as well as the more general principles of statutory interpretation (see, in particular, his important caution that “[t]he authentic meaning of the legislation … is the law, not what some politicians may have said about it at some place, at some time, for whatever reason”). [53] (I recently addressed this point here.) The truth is that, as Justice Stratas notes, “[o]ver and over again, authorities have stressed that the excessive pricing provisions in the Patent Act are directed at controlling patent abuse, not reasonable pricing, price-regulation or consumer protection at large”. [50] A jurisprudence that requires a court to assert that, notwithstanding all of this, an administrative tribunal might somehow explain all that away, and show that when it said “reasonable” it meant “excessive”, and that when it “disregarded most of the … authorities”, [51] it still complied with the law, is the jurisprudence of la-la-land.

In reality, the Board’s decision has all the appearances of a textbook example of what Lord Reid in Anisminic described as an administrative tribunal having “misconstrued the provisions giving it power to act so that it failed to deal with the question remitted to it and decided some question which was not remitted to it”. When a tribunal does so, even though in a narrow sense “the tribunal had jurisdiction to enter on the inquiry”, it loses jurisdiction in a broad sense, and the resulting decision is a nullity. Canadian courts should be able to say so ― which means that they should be free, contra Vavilov, to “decide the issue themselves”, without waiting, or even affecting to wait, to be instructed by administrators who lack the legitimacy, the independence, and the competence to speak on questions of law with any real authority.

Why is it that we can’t have nice things? An important part of the problem is the fusion, in Canadian administrative law, of what in the United Kingdom (and New Zealand) are known as legality review and reasonableness review into a (supposedly) unified category of merits review. To make things worse, the Supreme Court remains committed to an oversimplified approach to merits review, such that it almost always has to be conducted on the same reasonableness standard. The reasons-first approach may be suitable for review of fact- or policy-based administrative decisions, but applied to issues of statutory interpretation it leads to Alexion-style absurdity.

What makes Alexion even more galling, though, is the nature of the administrative body it concerns. And that’s not only, and perhaps even so much, that, pursuant to s 91 of the Patent Act the Board’s members can legally be the first five strangers the Minister of Health meets on the street one day ― or hacks. (As I wrote this, I thought I’d look up the Board’s actual membership, in the hope of being able to add a disclaimer to the effect they are all, in fact, wise and experienced experts. Only, there doesn’t seem to be any information about them on the Board’s website. Of course that doesn’t prove that they actually are hacks, let alone people the Minister met on the street, but one might have thought some transparency was in order. UPDATE: Mea culpa. The information is there, however counter-intuitive its presentation may seem to me. The members’ bios are here.)

Worse is the fact that the Board acts as both prosecutor and judge in the cases it handles, the separation of powers be damned. This par for the course in the administrative state, to be sure ― but no less pernicious for all that. I note, for the sake of completeness, that it is “Board Staff” that “filed a Statement of Allegations” against Alexion, rather than Board members ― but staff (pursuant to s 93(2)(b) of the Patent Act) are managed by the Board’s Chairperson, i.e. one of its members. The Board’s internal “separation of powers” is more sham than ersatz.

Why exactly should the views of this judge-and-prosecutor, this two-headed abomination against due process of law, about the meaning of the statute it is charged with applying be entitled to any regard by actual judges? In Vavilov, the Supreme Court insists that this is to respect Parliament’s intent. But, as I have been saying since my first comment on Vavilov here, the Court ignores Parliament’s direction, in s 18.1(4)(c) of the Federal Courts Act that the federal courts grant relief when administrative decision-makers err in law, which clearly requires these courts to come to their own view about what statutes mean and whether the administrator in a give case has complied with the law. In this way too, Vavilov perpetuates Canadian administrative law’s disregard for truth.

In case this needs to be clarified, none of the foregoing is a critique of Justice Stratas and the decision in Alexion. As I said above, I think that the decision is about as good as it could have been while being a faithful application of the Vavilov framework. If the Board takes what Justice Stratas seriously, it will make a much better, and most importantly, a lawful decision next time. It is the framework itself that is rotten.

But the rot set in four decades ago, and no judge of the Federal Court of Appeal can solve them ― even one who has made Herculean efforts to, like Justice Stratas. Perhaps even the Supreme Court cannot fully undo the damage it has inflicted on our law when it turned away from the Anisminic path and waded into the dark forest of deference to the administrative state. But if Alexion illustrates the possibilities ― and the limits ― of what the Supreme Court accomplished in Vavilov, and I think it does, then one has to conclude that the Supreme Court hasn’t tried very hard at all.

Unholy Trinity

Introducing a new article that makes the case against judicial deference to administrative applications of constitutional law

Readers may recall my unhappiness when the Supreme Court decided the companion cases in which the Trinity Western University challenged the denials of accreditation to its proposed law school by the law societies in British Columbia and Ontario, Law Society of British Columbia v Trinity Western University, 2018 SCC 32, [2018] 2 SCR 293 and Trinity Western University v. Law Society of Upper Canada, 2018 SCC 33, [2018] 2 SCR 453. I argued that “[t]he Supreme Court’s decision and reasoning subvert the Rule of Law and nullify the constitutional protection for religious freedom“.

One salient feature of these cases was the Supreme Court’s (re-)embrace of its earlier decisions in Doré v Barreau du Québec, 2012 SCC 12, [2012] 1 SCR 395 and Loyola High School v Quebec (Attorney General), 2015 SCC 12, [2015] 1 SCR 613, which urged judicial deference to administrative decision-makers who applied (or indeed simply ought to have borne in mind) the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. The Trinity Western cases emphasize this deference, as well as various other aspects of the Canadian judiciary’s surrender of its interpretive authority over the law, which has now been partially walked back in Canada (Minister of Citizenship and Immigration) v Vavilov, 2019 SCC 65.

At the kind invitation of Matthew Harrington in his capacity as editor of the Journal of Commonwealth Law, I have put my thoughts on this aspect of the Trinity Western cases and generally on the misbegotten idea of judicial deference to administrative applications of constitutional law into article form. The piece, “Unholy Trinity: The Failure of Administrative Constitutionalism in Canada”, is now available from the Journal’s website and my SSRN. Here is the abstract:

The jurisprudence of the Supreme Court of Canada that follows Doré v Barreau du Québec involves administrative decision-makers as key actors in the implementation of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. The Supreme Court emphasizes their expertise in implementing constitutional rights and “Charter values” in the context of the regulatory regimes they are charged with enforcing, and holds that this expertise entitles administrative tribunals to deference when they make decisions that affect the rights the Charter protects or the values that underpin these rights. This article argues that the Supreme Court is wrong to endorse this deferential approach, sometimes described as “administrative constitutionalism”.

It does so by examining the Supreme Court’s decisions in the companion cases that upheld the denial of accreditation by the law societies of British Columbia and Ontario to a proposed fundamentalist Christian law school (the Trinity Western Cases). After reviewing both academic defences of “administrative constitutionalism” and Supreme Court’s previous engagement with it, the article shows that the Trinity Western Cases illustrate the failure of “administrative constitutionalism” to live up to the main arguments made by its supporters. This failure is not accidental, but consistent with significant trends in Canadian administrative law. The article then goes on to consider the implications of the Supreme Court’s decision in Canada (Minister of Citizenship and Immigration) v Vavilov for the future of “administrative constitutionalism” in Canada, arguing that Vavilov undermines the theoretical foundations of “administrative constitutionalism” or, at a minimum, will change the way it is implemented. The article concludes with an argument that, in addition to not delivering on the promises made on its behalf, “administrative constitutionalism” is also contrary to the Rule of Law. “Administrative constitutionalism” is second-rate constitutionalism in practice, and wrong in principle. The sooner it is recognized for the misguided idea that it is and abandoned, the stronger our actual constitution and the rights it protects will be.

The issue of whether, or at least to what extent and on what conditions, courts should continue to defer to administrative applications of the Charter is very much a live one in the aftermath of Vavilov. Lower courts have ask themselves how to apply Doré in light of Vavilov’s guidance on reasonableness review, and my article makes some suggestions which might be useful in this regard. And the Supreme Court itself, having punted on deference in Charter cases for now, will have to revisit the issue, presumably once Doré‘s author and staunch defender, Justice Abella, retires next year. I would like to think that my paper ― and the somewhat less uncompromising one by co-blogger Mark Mancini, which is set to appear in the Dalhousie Law Journal ― can contribute to the arguments that those challenging Doré will make on that occasion. I’ll be happy to speak to anyone making such arguments. Doré must go, and the delusion of “administrative constitutionalism” and the injustice of the Trinity Western cases must go with it.

Against Administrative Supremacy

A response to the “Guest Posts from the West Coast” Series

This post is co-written with Mark Mancini

Over at Administrative Law Matters, Cristie Ford, Mary Liston, and Alexandra Flynn have published a series of posts critiquing the Supreme Court’s decision in  Canada (Minister of Citizenship and Immigration) v Vavilov, 2019 SCC 65 for what they regard as its departure from the principles of deference to the administrative state that long characterized Canadian administrative law. As we are going to show, this critique reflects a commitment to what Jeffrey Pojanowski describes as “administrative supremacy”, “an unapologetic embrace of the administrative state”. (861)

Yet in our view this critique rests on a distorted representation of the relevant constitutional principles, such as democracy, separation of powers, and the Rule of Law, and of the stakes involved in judicial review. More robust judicial review of administrative decisions ― if indeed that is what Vavilov will lead to, which is not yet clear ― would not cause a dismantling of the administrative state. It should, however, result in an application of the laws enacted by Parliament and the legislatures more in accordance with their terms, which is what the relevant principles, properly understood, require.

Professors Ford, Liston, and Flynn all see Vavilov as a break with a decades-long history of judicial recognition of and deference to the administrative state. Professor Ford writes that “[o]nce upon a time, in the days before the modern administrative state, there was one standard of review for errors of law: correctness”. These pre-historic days ended, however, with a “[g]rudging acknowledgment of administrative tribunals’ jurisdiction, at least in hard cases” in CUPE v NB Liquor Corporation, [1979] 2 SCR 227. Since then, and until Vavilov, the courts would defer to administrative interpretations of law, unless they were unreasonable, perhaps even patently so.

The embrace of deference reflected a certain view of the law, of the institutions of government, and of their relationship with one another. It rested, in Professor Ford’s words, on a “recognition that the rule of law could be a multifaceted, legitimately contestable thing”, part of “a captivating legal pluralist world”. Courts acted with “humility” in the face of “multiple kinds of expertise” embodied by administrative tribunals, accepting “that expertise could even mean knowing what it was like to be the recipient of social benefits”. They also recognized that “administrative tribunals were more diverse and more representative of the population at large than the judiciary was”. For her part, Professor Liston adds that the turn to deference aimed at

realizing the intertwined principles of democracy, parliamentary sovereignty and the rule of law; affirming the administrative state as a legitimate fourth branch of government; [and] respecting the separation of powers by minimizing judicial review when the legislature indicates that the decisionmaker has primary jurisdiction to fulfill its mandate and interpret the law in relation to that mandate.

Professors Ford and Liston also both argue that the deferential approach was meant to foster access to justice, but acknowledge that it has ultimately failed to do so. There was too much play in the joints, too many opportunities for argument about the appropriate degree of deference. Judicial review lost its “focus remained on [the] merits” of the cases and became bogged down in “law office metaphysics”, as Professor Liston puts it (citing Justice Binnie).

Vavilov and its companion case Bell Canada v Canada (Attorney General), 2019 SCC 66, however, usher in a radical change. Professor Ford writes that “[t]he velvet glove is off. Vavilov signals a retrenchment by a more assertive, and conservative, Court” (a label that Professor Liston endorses), and that “[w]e are done with letting 1,000 rule of law flowers bloom”. Focusing on Bell (which she describes as “the tell in the shell game that is administrative law”), Professor Liston laments its disregard of administrative expertise, of “the broad grant of discretion” to the CRTC “to make decisions in the public interest that touch on fundamental policy objectives” (reference omitted) and “the democratic and fair process that led to the ultimate decision”, involving protracted consultations and responsive “to the views of ordinary Canadians” who complained to the CRTC about not being able to watch American Super Bowl ads. Instead, Professor Liston sees Bell as having “imported” “political currents from the south”, such as “the libertarian attack on the administrative state”.

As noted above, this view of the administrative state and its relationship with the courts is consistent with Professor Pojanowski’s description of “administrative supremacy”, which

sees the administrative state as a natural, salutary outgrowth of modern governance. In its strongest form, it sees the role of courts and lawyers as limited to checking patently unreasonable exercises of power by the administrative actors who are the core of modern governance. To the extent that durable, legal norms are relevant, the primary responsibility for implementing them in administrative governance falls to executive officials, who balance those norms’ worth against other policy goals. (861)

In our view, the administrative supremacist critique of Vavilov and Bell suffers from two fundamental flaws. On the one hand, the principles on which administrative law rests, and which it purports to apply, do not mean what administrative supremacists think or say they do. On the other, a rejection of administrative supremacy does not necessarily lead to the dismantling of the administrative state, supremacists scare-mongering to the contrary notwithstanding.

Start with the principles. The administrative supremacist view is that democracy is at least equally, if not better, embodied in the decisions of administrative tribunals as in legislation enacted by Parliament or legislatures. For one thing, tribunals are acting pursuant to a mandate from the legislatures. For another, the administrative process itself can be characterized as democratic, as the CRTC’s is in Professor Liston’s post.

Yet it simply isn’t the case that a decision actually made by an appointed official, or even a group of officials, is democratic in the same way as a statute debated and enacted by an elected assembly ― even if the assembly itself gave away its decision-making power to the officials in question. To give an extreme example, if Parliament contented itself with simply delegating its full law-making powers to the Prime Minister, we would not, I hope, regard this as a democratic arrangement, even if it may be legal. Somewhat less extreme but more real and just as undemocratic, the recent briefly-mooted plan to delegate plenary taxing power to the federal government was undemocratic too, and would have been undemocratic even if rubber-stamped by a Parliament content to abdicate its responsibility.

And the possibility of public input into an administrative decision offers no more than a partial correction to the problem. This input need not be in any sense representative of “the views of ordinary Canadians”; it is much more likely to be driven by a small group of motivated activists or rent-seeking economic actors, as the “capture” era of American administrative law demonstrates. Besides, even if the CRTC’s decision-making follows a process that could be described, however precariously, as “democratic”, not all administrative decision-makers operate this way. Consider “line decision-makers”, many of whom follow minimal process before reaching their decisions. Vavilov’s reasoning requirements will likely change what these officials do going forward, but the rank administrative discretion they exercise is not in any sense “democratic” on its own; it can only said to be so by virtue of the delegated power that the decision-makers exercise—nothing more or less.

Administrative supremacy similarly distorts the meaning of separation of powers. While Professor Ford, to her credit, associates this principle with the view that “[t]he courts’ role is to police the executive’s exercise of authority”, Professor Liston writes of “the administrative state as a legitimate fourth branch of government” and considers that separation of powers requires “minimizing judicial review when the legislature indicates that the decisionmaker has primary jurisdiction to fulfill its mandate and interpret the law in relation to that mandate”.

Separation of powers is, to be sure, a slippery and complicated idea, but there is, at its core, the Madisonian view that “[t]he accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive, and judiciary, in the same hands … may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny”, and further “that each department should have a will of its own”. The administrative “fourth branch” exists precisely to subvert the distinctions between the other three, accumulating in its hands the ability to make policy, execute its decisions, and decide disputes about them. This subversion is compounded by arguments to the effect that the courts can have their core function of saying what the law is taken away from them by legislatures, and that they must defer to legal interpretations propounded by the “fourth branch”, so as to have no will of their own. While Canadian law probably permits the delegation of significant powers to the administrative state, there is a major risk in concentrating these powers. This is why the courts must ensure that administrative decision-makers only exercise those powers actually delegated to them, for the purposes for which they have been granted.

Moreover, the mere fact of delegation does not speak to the intensity of review a court should apply. While the Vavilov Court adopts a presumption of reasonableness based solely on the fact of delegation, this must be considered an organizing default rule that is a product of compromise ― it cannot be defended on the grounds that there is a principled link between delegation and deference. Indeed, the political science literature holds that legislatures may delegate for any number of reasons, none of which have to do with what a court should do on review. Better for a court, in our view, to review the legality of an exercise of administrative power de novo, at least absent some signal from a legislature that it intends deferential review (Vavilov, at [110], outlines some of these signals well).

Last but not least, administrative supremacy embraces a highly misleading view of the Rule of Law. Its proponents suggest that the Rule of Law is possible in ― indeed, that the better understanding of the Rule of Law requires ― a legal environment when legislation has no settled meanings dispassionately elucidated and consistently applied by independent courts. Recycling (and magnifying tenfold) a Maoist metaphor, they would have “1,000 rule of law flowers bloom”, as Professor Ford puts it.

Yet on any serious account of the Rule of Law stable, clear rules, consistently applied so as to create a predictable legal environment, are the heart of this concept. So is the idea that government power is limited by these rules. Judicial control over the meaning of legal rules and over government’s compliance with them is not an ideological caprice, but a necessary corollary of the principle. Only the courts ― not administrative decision-makers subject to control by the executive and invested with an explicit policy-making mission ― are sufficiently independent and can be committed to keeping the government within legal boundaries, as Dicey notes in his Law and Public Opinion. Abstract legal pluralism is, to us, no substitute for the legal certainty which the Rule of Law requires and to the maintenance of which the courts are essential.

And, as far as that point goes, there is another problem with the administrative supremacist argument as it pertains to the Rule of Law. In Professors Liston and Ford’s posts in particular, we see the classic supremacist argument from pluralism and expertise. Encompassed in this ideal is the idea of a “culture of justification” in which expertise could be brought to bear by administrative decision-makers in the reasons justifying administrative action. But there are limits to these principles that Professor Liston does not acknowledge. For one, expertise is not a legal reason for deference. It may be, as Professor Daly notes, an epistemic reason for deference, but what is the legal rationale for a court to abdicate its reviewing function under the Rule of Law in the name of alleged expertise?

Even as an epistemic reason for expertise, the presumption of expertise for all administrative decision-makers, which Professor Liston seems to tacitly endorse, was never justified as a matter of first principle. Indeed, as the Vavilov Court notes, it was impossible to distinguish matters over which administrators were expert from those where they were not. As we know in the prison context, in immigration law, and beyond, decision-makers’ claims to expertise, especially in legal or constitutional interpretation, can be exaggerated or outright unfounded. To give up on the role of the courts in enforcing legal boundaries in the name of unproven assertions of expertise is, in our view, contrary to the Rule of Law.

Our second objection to the administrative supremacist argument can be dealt with more briefly. An administrative law that rejects administrative supremacy and gives effect to the principle of the Rule of Law, properly understood, does not entail the demolition of the administrative state. (For one of us, this is a matter of considerable regret, but it is true all the same.) The administrative state exists in the United Kingdom and in New Zealand, where courts insist on their role of policing the boundaries of its authority, largely without deferring to its legal interpretations. The approach there is summarized in Lord Diplock’s words in the GCHQ case, Council of Civil Service Unions v Minister for the Civil Service, [1985] AC 374:

the decision-maker must understand correctly the law that regulates his decision-making power and must give effect to it. Whether he has or not is par excellence a justiciable question to be decided, in the event of dispute, by those persons, the judges, by whom the judicial power of the state is exercisable.

This approach would not prevent the delegation by Parliament or the legislatures of discretionary or adjudicative authority to administrative agencies and tribunals. It would mean, however, that these agencies and tribunals must give effect to the laws that give them their powers and to the general law of the land, rather than to their preferred policies and predilections.

To take up Professor Liston’s example, the CRTC’s view that it would be a good idea to impose some requirement on those subject to its licensing authority does not exhaust the question of its authority to impose this requirement. The question is whether the CRTC actually has this authority, because Parliament has granted it. The administrative state can exist if Parliament or a legislature has willed it into existence. But democracy and separation of powers, no less than the Rule of Law, should lead to the conclusion that the administrative state, and its powers, exist only to the extent that they have been willed into existence, and that their bootstrapping claims deserve scrutiny by the judiciary.

In part, disagreement about deference comes down to how one ought to conceptualize the administrative state. For Professors Liston and Ford in particular, the administrative supremacist view leads to the conclusion that administrative power is to be encouraged; that administrators all have something valuable to say about the law; that a Dyzenhausian view of “deference as respect” best encapsulates the role of courts vis-à-vis administrative actors. We view this as a decidedly Panglossian view of the administrative state. A basic deceit at the core of Canadian administrative law is the tendency for observers to concentrate on the tribunals that best demonstrate, to these observers anyway, the virtue of the administrative state: labour boards and the CRTC, for example. The harder question is what to think of administrative actors that do not fit this mould.

In this respect, Professor Liston and Ford put forward an old view of administrative law that dates back at least to the 1930s and the New Deal ― which is not a good time from which to borrow ideas. A 21st century version of administrative law must contend with the growth of the administrative state into the licensing state, the exclusionary state, and the carceral state; incarnations of the state that, due to a lack of expertise or otherwise, may not be owed respect under the benevolent standards of review Professor Liston wants. Adopting general language of “pluralism” and “expertise” masks the real work: how to legitimize administrative power that is not characterized by the functional reasons for deference, as in Vavilov itself.

Again, this is not an ideological quirk. With respect, we find puzzling the claims that Vavilov is the work of a “conservative” court influenced by “libertarian” “political currents”. Six of the seven members of the Vavilov majority signed the “by the Court” judgment in R v Comeau, 2018 SCC 15, [2018] 1 SCR 342; three were also in the five-judge majority in Law Society of British Columbia v Trinity Western University, 2018 SCC 32, [2018] 2 S.C.R. 293. However one might describe these judgments, conservative, let alone libertarian, they were not. People of all persuasions should be concerned about the scope of administrative power, no less than that of legislatures or, say, police forces. And if sometimes this rebounds to the benefit of those actuated by the profit motive, we do not think this is as sinister a possibility as Professor Liston seems to find it.

All in all, we differ from the defenders of administrative supremacy in one fundamental respect. The principles at play—democracy, separation of powers, and the Rule of Law—are not licenses to justify administrative power. Instead, they are properly viewed as constraints on that power. Vavilov was right to reject justifications other than legislative delegation for administrative power, and to insist on meaningful scrutiny of the compliance of the exercise of this power with its legislative warrant. For better or for worse, this will not undermine the administrative state, but the reminder that administrative power is something to be constrained using ordinary legal tools, not unleashed in service of the bureaucratically determined common good, is a salutary one.

New Paper on Doré and Vavilov

Frequent readers of this blog will know that I have written here on the subject of the propriety of Doré post-Vavilov. As many of you know, I do not believe that Doré can stand in light of Vavilov. I have now outlined more extensively why that is is, in a paper that will appear in the Dalhousie Law Journal later this year. Here is the abstract:

This paper argues that, without substantial doctrinal amendment, there is a fundamental conceptual gap between the cases of Doré and Vavilov. This is because both cases are motivated by different conceptions of administrative law. In Vavilov, the paper suggests that the Court melded together two theories of judicial review: first, a Diceyan theory based on a harmonious understanding of the principles of legislative sovereignty and the Rule of Law; and second, the imposition of a “culture of justification” for administrative decision-makers, in which decision-makers are asked to justify their decisions to receive deference. On the other hand, Doré is motivated by a pure functionalist understanding of administrative law, in which the expertise of the decision-maker in deciding constitutional matters is emphasized. While not total opposites, the theories are also not entirely complementary, such that they lead to different doctrinal prescriptions. The paper explores the doctrinal gap, and suggests two ways in which it might be bridged. First, Doré might be recalibrated to bifurcate the standard of review analysis, so that decisions implicating the scope of Charter rights is reviewed on a correctness standard, while the proportionality/application stage is reviewed on a reasonableness standard. Second, Vavilov’s justificatory standards might be imported into the Doré context to bridge the gap.

The paper can be accessed here.