Pistes de réflexion

Dans mon billet de vendredi, j’ai discuté de la complexité de la pondération du droit à l’image et à la vie privée et de celui à la liberté d’expression et à l’information dans le contexte de la publication d’une photo d’une personne sans le consentement de celle-ci. Comme je l’ai expliqué, je crois que les tribunaux québécois, dont notamment la Cour supérieure dans son récent jugement dans Hammedi c. Cristea, 2014 QCCS 4564, n’accordent pas suffisamment d’importance à la liberté d’expression et au droit du public à l’information, et ont une conception trop large du droit à l’image. L’équilibre voulu par le législateur québécois, qui a, à l’article 36 du Code civil, posé l’intérêt public comme limite au droit d’une personne de ne pas voir son image publiée sans son consentement, n’est pas atteint. Dans ce billet, j’aimerais proposer quelques pistes de réflexion supplémentaires pour ce débat qui, comme je l’expliquais vendredi, a parfois manqué de nuances.

La première piste dont j’aimerais parler a été tracée par Pierre Trudel dans son sage billet sur le jugement Hammedi, oû il a soulevé l’arrêt de la Cour suprême dans Alberta (Information and Privacy Commissioner) c.Travailleurs et travailleuses unis de l’alimentation et du commerce, section locale 401, 2013 CSC 62, [2013] 3 R.C.S. 733, dont j’ai discuté ici. La Cour y a invalidé la législation albertaine de protection de la vie privée en vertu de laquelle un syndicat avait été condamné pour avoir pris et publié des photos de personnes traversant une ligne de piquetage. La Cour suprême a statué que la législation ne reflétait pas une pondération appropriée du droit à la vie privée, qu’elle protégeait de façon excessive, et du droit à la liberté d’expression, qu’elle négligeait. Le prof. Trudel voit en ce jugement la preuve de ce que, pour la Cour suprême, «  la liberté d’expression protège le droit de capter et d’utiliser des images prises dans un espace public ». Il a peut-être raison ― j’aimerais, même, qu’il ait raison ― mais je n’en suis pas certain. Le jugement rédigé par les juges Cromwell et Abella insiste spécifiquement sur l’importance, pour un syndicat, « de communiquer avec le public et de le convaincre du bien‑fondé de sa cause, compromettant ainsi sa capacité de recourir à une de ses stratégies de négociation les plus efficaces au cours d’une grève légale » (par. 38). Il s’agit peut-être d’un argument plus ou moins superfétatoire employé par des juges qui sont probablement les deux membre les plus pro-syndicaux de la Cour suprême. Mais peut-être est-ce une indication que le contexte particulier de l’affaire avait une importance réelle pour la décision, et que, dans une autre situation, celle en cause dans Hammedi par exemple, la Cour suprême ne pondérerait pas la liberté d’expression et le droit à la vie privée de la même manière. Du reste, la Cour souligne que sa « conclusion ne nous oblige pas à cautionner toutes les activités du syndicat ». Elle se contente d’indiquer que les restrictions à la liberté d’expression imposées par la loi albertaine sont inacceptables, sans préciser, comme elle le fait pourtant souvent, quelle pondération des droits en cause serait constitutionnelle. Je soupçonne, en fait, qu’elle ne le sait pas elle-même. Son jugement mérite certainement d’être invoqué dans le contexte québécois, mais il ne nous fournit pas toutes les réponses, loin de là.

Un autre arrêt de la Cour suprême qui pourrait alimenter la réflexion sur la pondération du droit à l’image et de la liberté d’expression est Grant c. Torstar Corp., [2009] 3 RCS 640, 2009 CSC 61. La Cour y a statué que le droit de la diffamation, en common law, ne respectait pas suffisamment la liberté d’expression. Pour la Cour suprême, le droit à la réputation, que le droit de la diffamation protège,  est lié, dans une certaine mesure à celui à la protection de la vie privée et aussi à la dignité de la personne.  On peut donc soutenir que l’arrêt Grant, même s’il n’est pas directement pertinent en droit québécois, témoigne donc lui aussi d’une volonté de la Cour suprême de donner plus de poids à la liberté d’expression de sa pondération avec des droits reliés à la vie privée et à la dignité, dont le droit à l’image est un aspect, selon le Code civil. Cette volonté résulte entre autres de la conscience de la Cour de l’effet paralysant (« chilling effect ») que peuvent avoir les règles insuffisamment protectrices de la liberté d’expression sur la communication de messages qui devraient pourtant être entendus dans le cadre de la recherche de la vérité et du libre débat démocratique.

Un autre facteur dont la Cour suprême a tenu compte et qui mérite qu’on s’y attarde en réfléchissant à la meilleure interprétation de l’article 36 du Code civil est le rôle des médias. La solution adoptée dans Grant consistait en la création, en droit de la diffamation en common law, d’une défense de « communication responsable concernant les questions d’intérêt public ». S’inspirant de pratiques du « journalisme responsable », la Cour a tout de même voulu protéger tous les « propagateurs de nouvelles et d’information », y compris ceux qui utilisent « de nouveaux modes de communication (beaucoup d’entre eux en ligne) permettant de traiter de questions d’intérêt public et ne faisant pas appel à des journalistes » (par. 96).  La Cour a souligné qu’une publication qui respecte les normes du journalisme pourrait ne pas résister à une analyse devant un tribunal et que, par conséquent, « exiger que la couverture des questions d’intérêt public atteigne à une certitude judiciaire peut aboutir à empêcher la communication de faits qu’une personne raisonnable tiendrait pour fiables et qui sont pertinents et importants pour le débat public » (par. 53). La situation dans Hammedi, où la Cour supérieure, sans véritablement se demander si la photo en cause était pertinente au débat public et pouvait faire avancer celui-ci, ou si sa publication était justifiée comme une pratique journalistique responsable, a imposé sa compréhension de ce qui était « nécessaire » pour publier l’article qui l’accompagnait ressemble à celle que la Cour suprême a cherché à corriger en matière de diffamation.

Une dernière piste de réflexion que je voudrais proposer, mais non la moindre, concerne l’impact des nouvelles technologies sur la mise en oeuvre du droit à l’image. Encore à l’époque où la Cour suprême a décidé, dans Aubry c. Éditions Vice‑Versa, [1998] 1 R.C.S. 591, que la publication d’une photo d’une personne sans son consentement constituait une faute, seuls des journalistes et quelques hobbyistes avaient les moyens de prendre et de publier de telles photos. Or, les choses ont bien changé. Presque tout le monde a désormais un téléphone cellulaire doté d’une caméra, et deux Québécois sur trois sont sur Facebook. Et il est rare qu’on demande le consentement préalable d’une personne avant d’en publier la photo sur Facebook (ou un autre réseau social). Dans la mesure ou cette personne accepte par la suite d’être « taguée » (désolé, j’ignore s’il y a un terme français!) dans cette photo, on peut en inférer son consentement rétrospectif, mais qu’en est-il de celle qui ne l’accepte pas ou, simplement, n’est pas sur Facebook, ou encore de celle dont on publie une photo sur une plateforme qui n’offre pas de fonctionnalité équivalente? Il me semble bien que ces personnes là pourraient poursuivre l’auteur de la photo. Est-ce un résultat souhaitable? Et même si ce l’est, force est de constater qu’il existe un écart très considérable entre la règle juridique, telle que posée dans le Code civil et dans Aubry, et la norme sociale qui a émergé en réaction au changement technologique après l’adoption de cette règle.

On le sait, la publication sur internet d’images intimes de personnes qui n’y ont jamais consenti est un problème réel et grave. Les conséquences, pour les personnes affectées, sont affreuses, voire même tragiques. Tant mieux si l’article 36 du Code civil pourrait aider les victimes à obtenir réparation des responsables. Cependant, une règle qui est appropriée dans le cas d’images qui, en raison de leur contenu, sont vouées à rester (très) privées ne l’est pas nécessairement pour celles qui sont parfaitement banales, et encore moins pour celles qui peuvent raisonnablement servir à illustrer des sujets d’intérêt public. Comme le dit le prof. Trudel, il est temps que la Cour d’appel et, éventuellement, la Cour suprême se penchent sur les nombreuses questions que le droit à l’image et sa mise oeuvre en droit québécois soulèvent en 2014. Le législateur aussi, d’ailleurs.

The Course of Human Events

David R. Johnson and David Post have published a fascinating essay, “Governing Online Spaces: Virtual Representation,” at the Volokh Conspiracy, arguing that Facebook ought to move towards becoming something like a representative democracy. While various attempts at regulating Facebook and other online services and communities from the outside are a frequent topic of discussion, including, for example, here and here, Mr. Johnson and prof. Post raise a different, albeit related issue, that of internal governance.

At present, Facebook’s relationship with its users is akin to that of a “benevolent dictator[],” or perhaps an enlightened absolute monarch, a sort of digital Frederick the Great, with his subjects. That relationship is governed by the Terms of Service (TOS) that users must accept in order to use Facebook. And the company reserves the right to change those Terms of Service at will. As the law now stands, it is entitled to do so. But, say Mr. Johnson and Prof. Post, this is  wrong as a matter of principle. The principles of “self governance and self-determination” mean

that all users have a right to participate in the processes through which the rules by which they will be bound are made.  This principle is today widely accepted throughout the civilized world when applied to formal law-making processes, and we believe it applies with equal force to the new forms of TOS-based rule-making now emerging on the Net.

Market discipline―the threat of users leaving Facebook in favour of a competitor―is not enough, because the cost to the user of doing so is unusually high, due both to the users having “invested substantial amounts of time and effort in organizing their own experience at the site” and to network effects.

But attempts to have users provide input on Facebook’s Terms of Service have not been very successful. Most users simply cannot be bothered to engage in this sort of self-governance; others are ignorant or otherwise incompetent; but even the small portion of users who are willing and able to contribute something useful to Facebook’s governance comprises way too many people to engage in meaningful deliberation. Mr. Johnson and Prof. Post propose to get around these problems by setting up a system of representation. Instead of users engaging in governance directly, they would

be given the ability to grant a proxy to anyone who has volunteered to act on his/her behalf in policy discussions with Facebook management. These proxy grants could be made, revoked, or changed at any time, at the convenience of the user. Those seeking proxies would presumably announce their general views, proposals, platforms, and positions. Anyone receiving some minimum number of proxies would be entitled to participate in discussions with management — and their views would presumably carry more or less weight depending upon the number of users they could claim to represent.

This mechanism of virtual representation would, Mr. Johnson and Prof. Post argue, have several benefits. Those seeking and obtaining proxies―the representatives in a virtual democracy―would be people with the motivation and, one expects, the knowledge seriously to participate in Facebook’s governance. Representation sidelines extremists and gives power to the moderate voices and the silent majority ignored by direct democracy. At the same time, it gives Facebook the means of knowing how users feel about what it does and what it proposes to do differently in the future, which is handy for keeping them happy and avoiding having them rebel and desert to a competitor.

The proposal is not―”yet”―for a full-scale virtual democracy.  Mr. Johnson and Prof. Post accept that Facebook will retain something like a monarchical veto over the demands of its users’ representatives. Still, it is pretty radical―and pretty compelling. By all means, read it in full.

As Mr. Johnson and prof. Post recognize, “there are many unanswered questions.” Many of those concern the details of the virtual mixed constitution (to borrow a term from 18th-century political philosophy) that they are proposing, and the details of its implementation. But here’s another question, at which their discussion hints without quite reaching it.

Suppose Facebook reorganizes itself into a self-governing polity of some sort, whether with a mixed constitution or a truly democratic one. What effect would this have on its dealings with those who wish to govern it from the outside? Mr. Johnson and prof. Post write that “Facebook’s compliance with the clearly expressed will of the online polity would also surely help to keep real-space regulators at bay.” But what if it doesn’t? Not all of those regulators, after all, care a whole lot for democracy, and even if they do, their democratic constituents are citizens of local polities, not of a global one. Could this global democratic polity fight back? Could its members

dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them?

Mr. Johnson and Prof. Post allude to Alexander Hamilton and James Madison as their inspiration. But what about Thomas Jefferson?

There’s Nothing in That Name

This morning, the Supreme Court delivered a decision that is a further small step in the debate about the right of litigants to privacy and the right of the public to know what goes on in our courtrooms. I blogged about these issues here and here.

The applicant in the case, A.B. v. Bragg Communications Inc., 2012 SCC 46, is a teenage victim of cyber-bullying. Someone created a fake Facebook profile using her name and picture and wrote all manner of nasty things there. In order to sue that person for defamation, she applied for a court order to compel the internet provider associated with the I.P. address that was used to create the fake profile to disclose the name of the person to whom the address belonged. As part of that application, she also requested the right to proceed anonymously and a ban on the publication of the contents of the fake profile.

The internet provider did not oppose this application, but Global Television and the Halifax Herald did oppose the application for the right to proceed anonymously and the publication ban. They succeeded both at first instance and on appeal, with the courts concluding that the applicant failed to show how the publication of her name and details of the bullying she suffered would harm her. (The media then failed to defend their position before the Supreme Court, which appointed an amicus curiae to do it. Perhaps it dawned on them, rather late in the game, that this was not the best case to defend the freedom of the press.)

The Supreme Court allowed the appeal in part, in a unanimous decision by Justice Abella, holding that evidence of harm to the individual applicant was not necessary in a case such as this to support the right of the applicant to proceed anonymously. “Objective harm”―that is, a legal presumption of harm―is sometimes enough to justify banning the publication of certain details about legal proceedings. This is a case that warrants drawing the presumption. The law is especially solicitous of children’s privacy because it recognizes their vulnerability, and “[i]t is logical to infer that children may suffer harm through cyberbullying” (par. 20). Furthermore, says Justice Abella (par. 20)

we must consider the resulting inevitable harm to children — and the administration of justice — if they decline to take steps to protect themselves because of the risk of further harm from public disclosure.

As for the public interest in open courts, it is not much affected by allowing a victim of cyber-bullying to proceed anonymously. Just as in sexual assault cases where the publication of the victim’s identity is prohibited, the media can still attend the hearings, see and hear the evidence, and present the details of the case, except the victim’s name, to the public. Once the applicant is allowed to proceed anonymously, there is no need for a further publication ban, says Justice Abella, because the harm that she might suffer would result from tying the allegations of the fake profile to her, and not for their mere airing.

That seems like the right decision, so far as it goes. The interesting question, however, is whether it can go further. There is some ambiguity, as is usual in common law cases, especially those addressing novel issues, about which of the arguments that the decision relies on are essential and which are not. In other words, is this a case about cyber-bullying of children, or about any form of unpleasantness involving children, or about cyber-bullying generally, or about something broader still?

The decision makes much of the special vulnerability of children and of the special harms of cyber-bullying. But must the two be present in a case in order to trigger the presumption that harm to the victim will result from the publication of his or her name? What if the case is about old-fashioned schoolyard bullying? Or what if it’s cyber-bullying, but the victim is an adult? Justice Abella also mentions the risk that victims will be discouraged to come forward if the nasty things said about them will end up all over the media. That’s surely right, and not only in cyber-bullying (and sexual assault) cases. It affects defamation cases generally, for instance, since the media is entitled to report on the allegedly defamatory statements if they are the object of litigation. And the idea that the harm to freedom of expression and freedom the press from the anonymization of court cases is minimal can be applied in all sorts of cases, as I discuss in my previous posts on this topic.

Only future cases will tell what the courts will make of these possibilities.

Unsettling Settlement

I blogged some time ago about a settlement between an unspecified group of plaintiffs and Facebook regarding Facebook’s approach to what it calls “sponsored stories” which tell us that such and such friends “like” a certain company’s page. I raised some questions about the way in which this settlement works to create new rules, social and/or legal.  Is the influence which the plaintiffs (rather than any number of similarly situated individuals or groups) acquire over the formation of these rules by virtue of being the first to sue and settle with Facebook legitimate? Even apart from legitimacy, is it a good thing from a policy standpoint? For example, how do we know that this particular group is motivated by the public interest and, assuming that it is, capable of evaluating it correctly and of being an effective negotiator?

As the New York Times reports today, the judge who had to approve the settlement for it to go into effect also has questions, and will not give his approval until the parties come up with some answers.

As part of the proposed deal, Facebook agreed to better inform users about sponsored stories, to limit their use and to allow people under 18 to opt out of the function. The company also agreed to pay $10 million to a dozen research and advocacy groups that work on digital privacy rights, and $10 million to cover legal fees for the plaintiffs. But the settlement did not inhibit Facebook from continuing to serve up sponsored stories.

On Friday, Judge Richard G. Seeborg of United States District Court in San Francisco rejected the draft order and asked both sides to justify how they had negotiated the dollar amounts. “There are sufficient questions regarding the proposed settlement,” he wrote.

Judge Seeborg said he wanted clarification on whether there could be relief for the millions of Facebook users whose names and photographs had already been used.

From this report, it looks like Judge Seeborg is worried, as I was, about the legitimacy of the settlement as a rule-making procedure, as a “mode of social ordering,” to use Lon Fuller’s language. How do we know, he asks, that the agreement the parties reached makes sense? Is it fair to those who did not take part in the settlement negotiations but will end living by those rules with which the parties have come up as a result of an nontransparent process? Are we sure the settlement does not just benefit the parties, their pet charities, and the plaintiffs’ lawyers?

Those are sensible questions. The trouble is, as I wrote in my first post on this topic, that even if we conclude that the settlement is not an appropriate mode of social ordering, the alternatives aren’t great either. Legislation is slow and thus ill-suited to regulating an area in which change is constant and very fast. (A post by Stewart Baker at the Volokh Conspiracy, describing a proposed law that would have killed Gmail in its infancy by requiring the consent of both sender and receiver of an email for the email service to be able to scan its contents to serve up ads, shows just how ill-suited it can be. Social expectations of privacy have moved faster than the legislative process; Gmail now has close to half a billion users; and the proposed law is no more than a somewhat embarrassing memory.) And adjudication comes with serious problems of its own, which I described in the original post.

As then, I still don’t see any good way out of this conundrum.

In with the New?

Last week, I suggested that “[n]ew technologies seem not so much to create moral issues as to serve as a new canvass on which to apply our old concerns.” But there is no doubt that our legal rules, unlike perhaps moral ones, need updating when new technology comes along. How this updating is to happen is a difficult question. Lon Fuller, in his great article on “The Forms and Limits of Adjudication,” distinguished “three ways of reaching decisions, of settling disputes, of defining men’s relations to one another,” which he also called “forms of social ordering”: elections (and, one has to assume, resulting legislation), contract, and adjudication. All three can be and are used in developing rules surrounding new technologies, and the distinctions between them are not as sharp as Fuller suggested, because they are very much intertwined. Some recent stories are illustrative.

One is a report in the New York Times about a settlement between an unspecified group of plaintiffs and Facebook regarding Facebook’s approach to what it calls “sponsored stories” which tell us that such and such friends “like” a certain company’s page. Pursuant to the settlement, Facebook “will amend its terms of use to explain that users give the company permission to use their name, profile picture and content [and] offer settings that let users control which of their actions — which individual like, listen, or read — will appear in Sponsored Stories.” More than the (substantial) costs to Facebook, what interests me here is the way in which this settlement establishes or changes a rule – not a legal rule in a positivist sense, but a social rule – regulating the use of individuals’ names and images in advertising, introducing a requirement of consent and opt-out opportunity.

What form of social ordering is at work here? Contract, in an immediate sense, since a settlement is a contract. But adjudication too, in important ways. For one thing, the settlement had to be approved by a court. And for another, and more importantly, it seems more than likely that the negotiation would not have happened outside the context of a lawsuit which it was meant to settle. Starting, or at least credibly threatening, litigation is probably the only way for a group of activists and/or lawyers to get a giant such as Facebook to negotiate with them – in preference to any number of other similar groups – and thus to gain a disproportionate influence on the framing of the rules the group is interested in. Is this influence legitimate? Even apart from legitimacy, is it a good thing from a policy standpoint? For example, how do “we” – or does anyone – know that this particular group is motivated by the public interest and, assuming that it is, capable of evaluating it correctly and of being an effective negotiator? I think these are very troubling questions, but there are also no obvious ways of preventing social ordering through adjudication/negotiation even if we do conclude that it is problematic.

That is because alternative modes of social ordering are themselves flawed. Legislation is slow and thus a problematic response to new and fast-developing technologies. And adjudication (whether in a “pure” form – just letting courts develop rules in the process of deciding cases – or in the shape of more active judicial supervision of negotiated settlements) comes with problems of its own.

One is the subject of a post for Forbes by Timothy B. Lee, who describes how the fact that judges are removed from the communities that are subject to and have to live with the rules that they develop leads them to produce rules that do not correspond to the needs of these communities. One example he gives is that “many computer programmers think they’d be better off without software patents,” yet one of the leading judges who decides cases on whether there should be such patents “doesn’t have a very deep understanding of the concerns of many in the software industry. And, more to the point, he clearly wasn’t very interested in understanding those concerns better or addressing them.” Mr. Lee believes that this would be different if the judges in question happened to have friends or family members among the ranks of software developers. Perhaps – but, as he acknowledges, it is not possible for judges to have personal connections in every walk of life. Even trying to diversify the courts will only do so much. Furthermore, the individual experiences on which Mr. Lee thinks judges should rely might be atypical and thus tend to produce worse, rather than better, rules. Here too, questions about just how much judging ought to be informed by personal experience – as a matter both of policy and of legitimacy – are pressing.

Another set of questions about the courts’ handing of new technologies is the subject of a great paper by Kyle Graham, a professor at Santa Clara University and the author of the entertaining Non Curat Lex blog. Focusing on the development of liability rules surrounding new technologies, and using the examples of some once-new gadgets, mostly cars and planes,  prof. Graham points out that

[t]he liability rules that come to surround an innovation do not spring immediately into existence, final and fully formed. Instead, sometimes there are false starts and lengthy delays in the development of these principles. These detours and stalls result from five recurring features of the interplay between tort law and new technologies … First, the initial batch of cases presented to courts may be atypical of later lawsuits that implicate the innovation, yet relate rules with surprising persistence. Second, these cases may be resolved by reference to analogies that rely on similarities in form, and which do not wear well over time. Third, it may be difficult to isolate the unreasonable risks generated by an innovation from the benefits it is perceived to offer. Fourth, claims by early adopters of the technology may be more difficult to recover upon than those that arise later, once the technology develops a mainstream audience. Fifth, and finally, with regard to any particular innovation, it may be impossible to predict whether, and for how long, the recurring themes within tort law and its application that tend to yield a “grace” period for an invention will prevail over those tendencies with the opposite effect. (102)

I conclude, with my customary optimism, that there seem to be no good ways of developing rules surrounding new technologies, though there is a great variety of bad ones. But some rules there must be, so we need to learn to live with rotten ones.

Rants and Freedoms

Some university students think the lecturer whose class they are taking is doing a lousy job. Someone creates a hyperbolically-named Facebook group to rant; others join; a few post derogatory messages on the group’s wall. So far, so normal. But, after the semester ends and the lecturer, for reasons unknown, is no longer employed by the university, she somehow learns of the Facebook group, and complains to the university’s authorities. A kangaroo court is held, and finds the members of the group ― including those who posted no messages at all, and those whose messages were quite innocuous ― guilty of “non-academic misconduct.” Some of the students are required to write an apology letter to the former lecturer and put on probation. An appeal to a higher university instance is fruitless, and the university’s Board of Governors refuses to hear a further appeal. Judicial review and an appeal ensue.

That’s the scary story of Keith and Steven Pridgen, (former) students at the University of Calgary, whose right to rant the Alberta Court of Appeal vindicated in a recent decision. One has to hope that it will serve as a lesson for professors and university administrators (as well as teachers and school principals) in the future. Students, in case such people forget, have always ranted about their professors, and always will. It’s not always nice, and it’s not always fair; get over it. (This is, as much as anything else, a note to self as an aspiring academic.) The fact that rants now leave a digital record does not change anything, it seems to me: just because they used to circulate (and of course still circulate) by word of mouth, rants were no less pervasive and durable in the past. Stories about professors are handed over from one cohort of students to the next; they are an ineradicable part of university’s environment.

Legally, the Alberta Court of Appeal is interesting in a number of ways. Each of the three judges wrote a separate opinion. They all agree in finding the university’s decision unreasonable  and hence invalid on administrative law grounds, because the university’s decision bore little, if any, relationship with the evidence it ought to have been based on ― evidence of harm to the lecturer, or of the specific actions of each accused student. Justice O’Ferrall also finds that the utter failure to consider the students’ free speech rights contributes to making the decision unreasonable. The judges disagree, however, on whether to address the other issue debated by the parties (and several interveners) – the applicability of the Charter, and its guarantee of freedom of expression.

Justice Paperny thinks the question deserves to be addressed, since it was debated at length by the parties and is important; her colleagues disagree, because it is not necessary to the resolution of the case (since it can be resolved on administrative law grounds) and important constitutional questions should not be addressed unless it is necessary to do so. Both arguments have merit; I’m not sure on whose side I would have come out if I had to vote. Justice Paperny devotes much of her opinion to arguing that the Charter does indeed apply to universities, at least in their disciplinary dealings with their students. Her review of the case law is comprehensive, her argument about the universities’ and the government’s roles in contemporary society sometimes sweeping. And it is persuasive (and Justice Paperny’s colleagues, one senses, do not actually disagree with its substance).

One final thought. The court did not pause to consider whether the university even had the power to punish students for something they wrote on Facebook. Yet it seems to me that it’s a crucial jurisdictional question. (Needless to say, the university did not consider it either.) I can see why a university might be interested in what is being said in its lecture halls, or online on forums it maintains (in connection with courses for example). It does have an interest in maintaining a welcoming, respectful learning environment, although arguably this interest does not play out in the same way as a school’s, since everyone at a university is an adult and is there by choice. But does this interest give a university the right to police the conduct of its students off-campus or online? I think not; but in any case, it’s too bad the court did not ask itself the question.