Kienapple to Jordan: Some Thoughts on How Cases Become Icons

It is mid-August and I am busily writing a paper on W(D). Instantly, all criminal lawyers nod their head. Just the evocation of those initials recalls the penultimate paragraph of Justice Cory where he sets out the “ideally, appropriate instructions on the issue of credibility” and imprints, in words and in precedent, the trial judge’s obligation to assess credibility as an aspect of the presumption of innocence and consistent with the burden and standard of proof in a criminal case. Unsurprisingly, this “idealism” became “the law,” so to speak, as judge’s have taken Justice Cory’s words to heart resulting in over 9000 case citations (CanLii has 8590 mentions to date, while Westlaw finds 9, 133) of W(D) since its release in 1991. The case initials, W(D), have essentially become a constant reminder of the duty of a trial judge in a criminal trial. This transformation from case to icon, is not just about words and precedent, but is about something much more profound. Those two initials, like the madeleine savoured by Marcel Proust in Remembrance of Things Past, conjures up images of the “ideal” democratic society imbued with our principles of fundamental justice, of the impartial and independent trial judge as the gatekeeper extraordinaire, and as a symbol of our “community sense of justice.” Now that’s a heavy burden for one case! Yet, I would suggest, that W(D) does not stand alone in this iconography or more accurately, semiotic state (Umberto Eco, A Theory of Semiotics). Why or how a case attains this status is, I think, an interesting exercise for us to enter into as a different way to understand the development of law and precedent.

First, an admission. I came to this idea from some non-legal reading. Martin Kemp, an art historian and Leonardo Da Vinci “specialist,” not the Martin Kemp who was the bassist for Spandau Ballet, is an engaging and fascinating writer. His authorship glides over the orthodox as in The Oxford History of Western Art, but also wanders into the fringes in The Science of Art: Optical Themes in Western Art from Brunelleschi to Seaurat. His book, Christ to Coke: How Image Becomes Icon, runs through various obvious choices in this image/icon transmutation such as the Coke bottle and E = mc2 but also some non-traditional icons arising from photographic imagery such as the Pulitzer Prize winning photo by Nick Ut of the Vietnamese children running from the napalm blast on June 8, 1972. Although a reading and viewing of this book reveals the many and varied pathways to “stardom” or icon status, it also highlights the element these images share: the ubiquitous-ness of the image in the public psyche. As with Proust’s madeleine, the visual becomes a short hand for an avalanche of memories, facts and emotions. This is one time when a popularity contest works.

So how does all of this translate in the dicta of case law? Those cases which, at the same time are more than their name whilst being represented by just their name, become a short hand or an abbreviation for the case itself. I say, “for the case itself” as these cases go beyond the traditional ratio decidendi of the case and can encapsulate the implementation of that rule of law such as an in-court procedure employed to engage the issues raised in the case as in the Corbett application or as in W(D) an instruction or even more evocative, as a warning such as in Vetrovec. Highest status goes to those cases which become “grammarized” as verbs. Thus, a conviction can be “Kienappled” as referenced by imminent criminal defence lawyer, Alan Gold, at page 302 of his commentary "Appeal Courts - Jurisdiction" in the 1990, Volume 32 Criminal Law Quarterly. Sometimes, grammar changes – instead of a case being “Askoved” (see Alison Hatch Cunningham, North of the 49th Parallel: The Criminal Justice System of Canada, 13 Crim. Just. 21, 27 (1998)), we now, a year after its release, speak of a case being “Jordaned” (see Kelly Egan’s article online from April 28, 2017, Justice ministers focus on five areas to cut court delays). This grammatical construction is also akin to the vocative case in Latin where language directly “calls out” a subject of a sentence, usually done with a judicious use of an exclamation mark. Finally, the “iconizing” of a decision can make what is inanimate an animated object such as the “KGB statement.”

From case to icon means that the dicta or words found in the case are compressed or squeezed into the case name and become part of the verbal lawyerly language we employ in court, in discussions within our profession, and even in the advice we give our clients. Why these particular cases have such impact and such iconic status is a difficult question to answer but may be a result of their instrumentality or even more controversially, their weaponization, as cases which lead to determinative action such as in the Corbett application or as in the Askoved case. Their staying power may also rest on their dual status as used in both the bounded space of the courtroom and the boundless space of social media. As mentioned earlier, icon status also suggests a case meaning which transcends the obvious ratio and implies meaning which touches the inner core of societal ethos.

In a broader view, this inclination for iconography is also about the significance of naming in our society or more accurately our penchant for labelling, categorizing and listing. It leads us to ponder on the purpose of this short hand – are we cutting away too deeply by employing this “sound bite” approach or are we making law more accessible by promoting seminal and pivotal cases into everyday nomenclature? This concept of legal iconography also leads to further speculation on the role of the visual in law and one of my interests in visual jurisprudence as studied by the legal visual theorists, Peter Goodrich at Cardoza School of Law and Richard Sherwin, Director of the Visual Persuasion Project at New York Law School. It finally leads us to even broader considerations of access to justice and the kind of “human-centered design” we must be open to in the next generation of law iconography.  

W(D) is a case but it is more than that but what more it is, I am determined to find out!

 

A Short Note On Why Behavioural Economics Should Matter to Criminal Lawyers

In some sense this blog posting is both a book review and a legal analysis. It is a book review as this blog arises from my reading of the Daniel Kahneman’s book entitled Thinking, Fast and Slow. It is also a legal analysis as the ideas and theories arising from Kahneman’s Nobel Prize winning research form the basis of my suggestion that it is time to critique some traditional criminal law principles. In the end what this blog is about is connections and how we, as in the legal profession “we,” must be cognizant of new and innovative developments in other subject areas, in this case social sciences, in order to craft new and innovative arguments. New arguments can lead to new law and this book might just be the catalyst for this kind of change.

I will not belabour the specifics of the book nor will I give a deep analysis of it. That kind of discussion should be done in a formal setting as in a well-reasoned journal article but I will leave that to a later opportunity. Essentially, Kahneman and his research partner did a series of break through behavioural testing which turned the field of economics on its head.  The two researchers, as psychologists, approached the construction of the rational Economic or Econ person in a totally different manner than the economists did previously. When I say previously, I mean the theories had been in place and used for decades. This would be, in Kahneman’s view, a good example of theory-induced blindness. In any event, Kahneman showed that the basic Econ, which was a staple figure in economic theory, was not in fact rational and at times, even down right irrational. Well, not really irrational, as the research showed there were a pattern to the behavioural responses but not the expected pattern of the Econ. Instead the Econ was really a Human – someone who made choices, often seemingly economically irrational choices, not based on the utility theory favoured by the economists but based on other more ephemeral reasons including fear, loss, and bias. What caused such a stir in the field of economics was that Kahneman and his partner could actually prove, through research data, that this was so. The rational Econ was a false promise and not the stuff upon which sound economic theory should be based. Additionally, what economic theory needed were better reference points – starting points from which the Human could become a better decision maker. In other words, the Econ was not working with a full deck or full information upon which these economic decisions or even life changing decisions should be made.

There is, of course, more to the book and the prize winning economic theory, called prospect theory, which arises out of Kahneman’s research. For instance, the first part of the book dwells on the cognitive theories of how and why we make decisions or choices. According to Kahneman we have an intuitive System 1, which thinks fast enabling us to make split second decisions and gives us speedy answers to questions like one plus one or the colour of the sky. We also have a slower or lazier System 2, which kicks in when we need to give a decision some thought such as the answer to 124 times 26 or remembering the lines of a poem we may have learned when we were young. These systems do not work totally independently. Although being aware of these two systems we can improve the correctness of our outcomes by slowing down our thought processes to allow System 2 to take over so we can improve our chances of “getting it right,” mostly we reflexively defer to our System 1, particularly when faced with exigent circumstances. This often produces acceptable outcomes as our System 1 works so fast as it is primed with crucial experiential information. However, these stored memory fragments are sometimes incorrect leading us to make bad choices and erroneous decisions. In those instances, we have no real choice but to simply go along for the ride.

So how does this lead to a critical analysis of legal principles? By extrapolating and applying these research based theories to the underlying reason for certain legal constructs, we can argue that certain unquestioned legal principles used in criminal law such as the “reasonable person” standard and the well-accepted premise that we intend the natural consequences of our actions (see my blog on the Walle case), may in fact no longer be valid. It is time, therefore, for the legal profession to break out of our theory-induced blindness and integrate, in the appropriate case, theories from other areas of the science and humanities to ensure that the law is a real reflection of society. Now, doesn’t that sound reasonable?

Making A Split-Decision In The Supreme Court of Canada

Last month the Supreme Court of Canada released their statistics covering the last decade of decisions. The graphs make interesting reading if you want to know how long it takes for decisions to be rendered or which provinces send the most appeals. If those issues are not at the top of your must-know list, the graph on the number of unanimous decisions versus split decisions may be the graph to pique your interest. The lowest percentage of split decisions in a given year was in 2006, where 20% of the cases heard resulted in a dissenting decision. The highest percentage of dissenting decisions occurred in 2007 with 38% of the cases. Last year, 32% of the cases produced dissents.

What could have made these statistics even more enticing would be a break down on who sits in dissent most often and why. Are there thematic connections? Well, of course there are: a justice dissenting on a specific issue would not be expected to change his or her mind if the same or even similar issue arises. However, change does occur, as we know when reviewing the decade of cases from the 1990s on the mens rea requirements for criminal negligence. This change or shift in the court’s decision-making is appropriate and welcome: we want our courts to be reflective of societal fundamental values and this ability for change in legal principles permits this. We also want our jurists to be open to this change, in a principled way, of course. So, analyzing SCC decisions is a way to track change and to better understand the court’s position or change in position on any given issue.

Instead of waiting another decade for these interesting numerical tidbits, I crunched the criminal law numbers for this year. From January to mid-March there have been 13 criminal cases in which written decisions were rendered. Out of the 13 cases, nine of the cases resulted in unanimous decisions. Quite frankly these unanimous decisions are very short and merely the Court agreeing with the lower level appeal courts. Four cases, however, were split decisions. Roughly, 30.7% of the cases are therefore split or dissent decisions. This percentage is fairly consistent with last year.

 

Now, let’s move away from the empirical side and look at these four decisions for meaning. What kind of split decisions are these?

I have spoken about the Babos case in a previous blog entitled When Dissent In The Supreme Court Matters. This type of split decision, where there is only one Justice in dissent, signifies a fundamental difference in opinion between the majority written by Justice Moldaver, on behalf of the five other justices on the panel, and the lone dissenter, Justice Abella. As such, the dissent is heartfelt and invokes value-laden terms such as the “exceptional assault on the public’s sense of justice” in the face of “egregious state conduct.” Justice Abella, with her background in human rights, is speaking out in a case where her dissent may not really matter in legal principle terms but is a matter with which she disagrees “on principle.” I would call this a “moral/ethical” decision.

The MacDonald case is more benign. It is a “true application” decision. The disagreement does not involve a direct disagreement on the issue at hand but a disagreement on the true or correct application of previously decided legal principles. Thus, the dissent written by Justice Moldaver and Justice Wagner with Justice Rothstein concurring takes umbrage with the majority’s application or misapplication of the Mann case, decided a decade earlier, on the reasonableness of protective police searches. Ironically, Justice LeBel, who wrote the majority decision, was a member of the majority Mann decision. The dissent does not fail to appreciate this irony when they write:

The majority in this case purports to apply Mann.  Respectfully, however, it does not.  Instead, it renders Mann redundant, depriving police officers of the limited search powers they need to protect themselves and the public in fluid and often unpredictable situations of potential danger.

Such a case leaves the legal profession wondering if the Court can’t apply its own case properly, who can? Keep an eye on how this decision, which did not cause the flurry of attention in the legal profession it should have, will affect trial matters in the lower courts.

In Sekhon, the court considered the admissibility of a police officer’s “expert” evidence on drug couriers pursuant to the Mohan criteria. Although, both the majority decision, written by Justice Moldaver, and the dissent, written by Justice LeBel (notice how quickly the tables turn in the SCC in terms of who is in the dissent and who is in the majority!), agree that the evidence was inadmissible, the differences come in the application of s. 686(1)(b)(iii) and whether the appeal should be dismissed as there was no substantial wrong or miscarriage of justice. Again, both the majority and dissent agree on the basics: that the admission of the evidence was not a trivial error. However, in Justice Moldaver’s view the evidence of guilt was overwhelming and therefore it is within the public’s interest not to send the matter back to trial considering the costs to the criminal justice system. Justice LeBel agreed “that ordering a new trial places demands on judicial resources,” however, “this cannot override the appellant’s right to a fair trial based solely on admissible evidence.” In Justice LeBel’s view, the inadmissible evidence went to the very issue before the court – the guilt or innocence of the accused. This kind of decision is the “tug of war” decision.

Finally, the Hutchinson case is the “throw-back” decision. What did we say in Mabior again? While this case does not re-litigate the issues, as Mabior was a unanimous decision written by Chief Justice McLachlin, it does build upon some of the key pronouncements in that case. Thus, in Hutchinson, the majority, written by Chief Justice McLachlin and Justice Cromwell, agree that sexual assault offences protect sexual autonomy but not absolutely as the “blunt instrument of the criminal law” must be used with “appropriate restraint.” On the other hand, the dissent written by Justice Moldaver and Justice Abella view the protection of the sexual integrity of a person, as the controlling issue in the meaning of consent, within the broader context of public policy. Interesting to see the majority speak of traditional criminal law principles in the context of offences, which, for public policy reasons, are the least traditional criminal law offences in the Code. Clearly, there is much more to be said on the issue and a further “throw-back’ decision would not be unlikely.

So, there is a lot to be said about the court’s decisions over and beyond the simple statistical graphs we review every ten years. I wonder what the next few weeks will tell us? 

Ideablawg's Weekly Connections: From Pronouncing to Pronouncements

This week I looked at the dual nature of the word “pronounce.” Although in both meanings to “pronounce” is a speech word, the effects of the meanings are very different.

1. Pronounce: In this meaning – to make a sound of a word or letter with your voice – is something we do everyday. Even in this digital age, the speech act is integral part of being human. However, how we pronounce our words has developed over time and the dialect or way in which we pronounce a word has changed radically in the English language. For example, every teen is required to read Shakespeare, typically Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, and Hamlet, but inevitably with present-day pronunciation. True we recognize the words and the grammatical structure differs from ours but few of us consider that pronunciation in the 1500s was quite different. Thanks to the linguist, David Crystal, Pronouncing Shakespeare, is possible. Listen here for the correct pronunciation (i.e. as Shakespeare would have pronounced them) in Romeo and Juliet. To follow along, the text is here. Just to connect Shakespeare to law, I remind everyone of the famous passage in Act 4, Scene 2 of Henry the IV, wherein Dick states "the first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers," which presages the disintegration of society and the beginning of anarchy.

2. Pronounce: Another aspect of pronouncing a word is to speak the word properly. In law, Latin words and phrases are common. Indeed, two such phrases come immediately to mind when I teach criminal law. The first is actus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea, which means there is no guilty act without a guilty mind and from where the terms mens rea and actus reus, the essential elements of a crime, come. As an aside mens rea and actus reus are never used in the Criminal Code of Canada. The second Latin maxim is the causation concept of de minimis non curat lex or the law does not concern itself with trifles. Although the Latin language is liberally sprinkled throughout legal textbooks and case law, Latin is not a required course in law schools. But thankfully there are opportunities for self-study. Just buy Wheelock’s Latin and go online for the correct pronunciations. Your law professor will thank you for it.

3. Pronounce: The second meaning of the word is to declare or announce something formally or officially. A Judge, when he or she renders a decision, is making a pronouncement. How the Judge or trier of fact comes to a decision is a matter of much academic speculation and argument. Critical legal theorists spend much of their academic career trying to articulate this seemingly inarticulable process. Is decision making predictable? Is it based on preconceived views of the trier of fact? Is it random or guided by an innate sense of justice? These heady questions are still being deconstructed in legal jurisprudence. As a primer, read Benjamin Cardoza on The Nature of the Judicial Process for an enlightened view on the subject.

4. Hazmat Modine: to end this week’s connections, I decided to move completely away from my theme and leave you with some excellent music and an example of how our world seamlessly mixes all genres to produce new sound – kind of like how our pronunciations have changed over time. Enjoy!

 

 

 

Section 12 – Anyone Want To Play Double Jeopardy?: Episode 14 of the Ideablawg Podcast on the Criminal Code of Canada

Double jeopardy, like the presumption of innocence, is a legal term, which is a familiar part of our social discourse. The phrase is at once a movie, a book (actually multiple books), and even a segment of a game show. The concept, that an accused may not be tried or punished for the same offence more than once, is ancient and runs deep in our “fundamental freedoms” psyche. The Greek orator, paid speech writer, and all-around democrat, Demosthenes in his speech of 355 BCE Against Leptines, reminded the Athenian jury that “the laws forbid the same man to be tried twice on the same issue.”  Roman law later codified this concept when they published The Digests or Pandects of Justinian and referred to the maxim ne bis in idem or “not twice in the same” in Book 48, Title 2, Section 7(2). The maxim eventually was subsumed into English common law, however it was strictly defined and originally applied to those acquitted or convicted of capital offences. See Blackstone Commentaries in Book 4, Chapter 26 for more on the English law equivalent.

Not surprisingly, this restricted concept was handed down to us when we codified our Canadian criminal laws. In the 1892 Criminal Code, section 933 codified the Canadian principle under Proceedings After Conviction pertaining to “Punishments Generally.” As it is very similar to our present version under section 12, I will not reproduce it here but please note that the prohibition against double punishment is not limited to capital crimes. Also note that I referred to the concept as “double punishment” and not “double jeopardy.” To explain this difference, let’s read section 12:

Where an act or omission is an offence under more than one Act of Parliament, whether punishable by indictment or on summary conviction, a person who does the act or makes the omission is, unless a contrary intention appears, subject to proceedings under any of those Acts, but is not liable to be punished more than once for the same offence.

Immediately, it is clear that this section protects double punishment, not double jeopardy – an accused can therefore be charged and tried for similar offences, but once convicted, the accused cannot be punished more than once. This is much different than the American concept of double jeopardy as found in the Double Jeopardy Clause of the Fifth Amendment, in which a person, who is subject to the same offence, is not to be “twice put in jeopardy of life or limb.” In the American version, therefore, even the risk or danger of being convicted is being protected. The Canadian codification in the Code, like the English principle, does not go as far.

In fact, even our Charter protection under section 11(h), albeit broader than section 12 of the Code, is still not as robust as the American conception.  Section 11(h) of the Charter reads: 

Any person charged with an offence has the right if finally acquitted of the offence, not to be tried for it again and, if finally found guilty and punished for the offence, not to be tried or punished for it again.

The Charter prohibits double punishment, like section 12 of the Code, but also prohibits retrying an already acquitted accused. It is unsurprising that section 12 of the Code does not refer to acquittals considering its antecedents as a section under the punishment part of the original Code. Also, both of these concepts – not to be convicted or tried twice – come from the common law and, as we learned in a previous podcast, common law defences under section 8(3) are still available. Therefore, does section 12 really need to be under the Criminal Code? Those common law defences are known as autrefois acquit and autrefois convict. Autrefois acquit, meaning previously acquitted, and autrefois convict, meaning previously convicted, are actually referred to in the Criminal Code as “special pleas” under s. 607. Yes, we will eventually discuss this section but much much further down this podcast road.

In any event, autrefois convict has been further refined as it only applies after there has been a complete adjudication on a matter including sentence. Before punishment, pursuant to s. 12 of the Code, an accused who has been tried and convicted of offences arising out of the same transaction, can rely on the case law principle prohibiting multiple convictions from the 1975 SCC R v Kienapple. Thus, an accused charged and convicted of driving with over 80 mgs of alcohol (section 253(1)(b)) and driving while impaired (section 253(1)(a)) arising from the same transaction, will not be punished for both offences but will have one of the charges stayed or “kienappled” as defence lawyers like to call it. As an aside there are a few cases, which have become verbs in the legal nomenclature, such as a case being “askoved” or stayed due to a trial not being heard within a reasonable time pursuant to s. 11(b) of the Charter.

The lesson learned from this podcast and the previous podcast on s. 6 the ersatz “presumption of innocence” found in the Code, is that our societal perspective of law is not really reflected in our Criminal Code. Instead our perspective is coloured by the media, by the American experience, and by our own assumptions of what the law is and what the law is not.

Join me for the next podcast when we discuss section 13 of the Criminal Code.

 

 

Episode 14 of the Ideablawg Podcast on Section 12 of the Criminal Code of Canada

Section 10 of the Criminal Code – Revisiting The Common Law Contempt of Court: Episode 12 of the Ideablawg Podcast on the Criminal Code of Canada

In the last episode, we discussed how codification of Canadian criminal law replaced the common law by prohibiting common law offences but with the exception for the common law offence of contempt of court. Section 10 continues this conversation by providing a mechanism for appealing this lone common law offence to the applicable provincial appellate court. This is therefore a procedural section to ensure that the common law offence, which sits outside of the Criminal Code, is nevertheless subject to the rules of fundamental justice as found in the Code. As straightforward as this section may be, there are two items of interest to point out. Section 10 (1) and (2) read as follows:

   (1) Where a court, judge, justice or provincial court judge summarily convicts a person for a contempt of court committed in the face of the court and imposes punishment in respect thereof, that person may appeal

(a) from the conviction; or

(b) against the punishment imposed.

(2) Where a court or judge summarily convicts a person for a contempt of court not committed in the face of the court and punishment is imposed in respect thereof, that person may appeal

(a) from the conviction; or

(b) against the punishment imposed.

There are two contrasts in this section: first, subsection 1 speaks of “contempt committed in the face of the court,” while subsection 2 refers to contempt “not committed in the face of the court” and second, subsection 1 applies to a “court, judge, justice or provincial court judge,” while subsection 2 applies to a “court or judge.” So, what do these differences mean?

Let’s work through the second contrast first. In order to understand the different wording, we must look to the definitions of these words. Obviously, subsection (1) is broader than subsection (2) as subsection (1) not only refers to “court” and “judge” as does subsection (2), but it also applies to a “justice or provincial court judge.” As we already know from the beginning of these podcasts, section 2 of the Criminal Code is the general definitional section. According to that section, “justice” is:

justice of the peace or a provincial court judge, and includes two or more justices where two or more justices are, by law, required to act or, by law, act or have jurisdiction;

and

 “provincial court judge” is:

a person appointed or authorized to act by or pursuant to an Act of the legislature of a province, by whatever title that person may be designated, who has the power and authority of two or more justices of the peace and includes the lawful deputy of that person.

“Judge” and “court” are not defined under s. 2 but they are general terms used throughout the Criminal Code. When the Code speaks of a specific level of court, then the specific term such as “provincial court judge” or “judge of a superior court of criminal jurisdiction,” which in Alberta would be the Court of Queen’s Bench, is used, or a specific section is referred to such as “a judge as defined in section 552.” However, once that primary designation is given, the Code may then further refer to the entity as simply a “judge.” So “judge” may be interchangeable with any level of judges, except a justice of the peace, who is referred to as “justice” and never “judge.” I would therefore suggest that the meaning of “judge” depends on the context of the section.

The context for our purposes is supplied by the other difference between these subsections, the concept of contempt committed in the face of the court and contempt not committed in the face of the court. We have, in fact, visited this issue already. You may recall in the previous episode, I discussed the differing jurisdiction between the provincial courts and the superior courts. The provincial court derives its jurisdiction from statute, which is the source of its power. Conversely, the superior courts such as the Court of Queen’s Bench of Alberta have inherent jurisdiction or intrinsic powers outside of statute, conferred through the common law. There is no exact description or even limitation of these inherent powers. Legal scholars have been singularly unable to give an all-encompassing definition of the inherent jurisdiction enjoyed by the superior courts but the procedural jurist Sir Jack Jacobs, Q.C (Senior Master of the Supreme Court – England, who was a visiting professor at Osgoode Hall Law School) comes closest in his 1970 article entitled "The Inherent Jurisdiction of the Court" wherein he mused that:

For the essential character of a superior court of law necessarily involves that it should be invested with a power to maintain its authority and to prevent its process being obstructed and abused. Such a power is intrinsic in a superior court; it is its very life-blood, its very essence, its immanent attribute. Without such a power, the court would have form but would lack substance. The jurisdiction, which is inherent in a superior court of law is that which enables it to fulfill itself as a court of law. The juridical basis of this jurisdiction is therefore the authority of the judiciary to uphold, to protect and to fulfill the judicial function of administering justice according to law in a regular, orderly and effective manner.

Thus this inherent jurisdiction, which cannot be abrogated by the government, is, I submit, the reason the Criminal Code protects the common law contempt of court process. But it is also the uniqueness of the common law offence of contempt of court, which results in the Code exception. Common law contemptdoes have a Criminal Code equivalent in s. 708 contempt of court. But this equivalency is in name only. Section 708 is specifically limited to a witness who fails to attend or remain in court in order to give evidence. Conversely, the common law offence of contempt of court, although not specifically delineated, can be any act, which interferes “with the due administration or course of justice” as found in the 1983 Alberta Court of Appeal Vermette case,  which was upheld by the SCC. There are, however, different classifications of the common law offence and that is where the concept of contempt in the face of the court and contempt not in the face of the court arise. This is also where the differences between inherent jurisdiction and inferior jurisdiction intersect with the differing kinds of common law contempt.

The SCC Vermette case helps to explain these differences. According to the decision, although the provincial court has some jurisdiction to control its own process through a common law contempt charge, this jurisdiction is limited to contemptuous acts within the four walls of the courtroom. Thus, inappropriate acts committed in the presence of the provincial court judge or “in the face” of the court could form the basis of a common law contempt charge. On the other hand, the superior courts by virtue of their ancient and essential inherent jurisdiction had the additional power to cite an individual for contempt ex facie or not in the face of the court, meaning outside of the presence of the judge. It is important to note however that even for those acts committed outside of the court’s presence, the acts must connect to the court’s process. There is no common law contempt without the court as the aggrieved party.

Looking back to section 10, we can now understand why the section refers to both categories of common law contempt to ensure a mode of appeal for both.

I would like to make one more comment on the section as it relates to a judge “summarily” convicting the accused of the common law offence. This refers to the immediacy of the procedure as the court deals with the matter as soon as the judge cites the person for the contempt. There is no formal arrest and the accused does not follow the usual paths of the criminal justice system. There is no right to a jury trial. For more information on this summary process, see the 2003 SCC Arradi case.

 

Episode 12 of the Ideablawg Podcast on the Criminal Code of Canada: Section 10 - Revisiting Common Law Contempt of Court

The Golden Thread Metaphor: Section Six And The Other Presumption Of Innocence Episode Nine of the Ideablawg Podcasts on the Criminal Code of Canada – Text Version!

The presumption of innocence – the concept that an accused is presumed innocent until proven guilty - is easily the most well known legal principle. As important as this principle is to our concept of justice, the presumption of innocence has become much more than a legal tool. It has become part of the fabric of our society. Today, every citizen is aware of the presumption of innocence in a criminal case. This principle has transcended the legal arena to become one of our society’s fundamental values. It is not only a value understood by all but it is part of our culture.

Indeed, as an example of the ubiquitous nature of the presumption of innocence, we can find the concept used as a title of a book, such as in Scott Turow’s novel, Presumed Innocent and the movie version with Harrison Ford. Or used as almost a character flaw as in one of my favourite legal literary heroes, Rumpole of the Bailey, written by John Mortimer Q.C. In those stories, Horace Rumple, the rumpled everyman barrister, finds personal solace in his belief in “the health-giving qualities of claret, of course, the presumption of innocence, and not having to clock into chambers in the morning.” In the classic play/movie 12 Angry Men, when Juror #8, played by Henry Fonda, reminds Juror #2, played by John Fiedler, that “the burden of proof is on the prosecution. The defendant doesn’t even have to open his mouth. That’s in the Constitution,” we nod our heads in agreement and relief. Although many of us could not say which section of the Charter (s. 11(d): “to be presumed innocent until proven guilty”) encapsulates this concept, we all take comfort in knowing it is there.

But there is another place where the presumption of innocence is recorded in Canadian law and that is section 6 of the Criminal Code, which is entitled “presumption of innocence,” the first part of which reads as follows:

Where an enactment creates an offence and authorizes a punishment to be imposed in respect of that offence,

(a) a person shall be deemed not to be guilty of the offence until he is convicted or discharged under section 730 of the offence; and

(b) a person who is convicted or discharged under section 730 of the offence is not liable to any punishment in respect thereof other than the punishment prescribed by this Act or by the enactment that creates the offence.

Now, that’s not really the “presumption of innocence” we have come to expect, is it? When you read this section it just does not seem to have that visceral punch I talked about earlier when reacting to the lines spoken in 12 Angry Men. It also does not seem to be conveying the deep, and almost personal societal, values underlying this fundamental premise.

First, let’s look at the wording. Unlike the Charter equivalent, there is nothing in section 6 about a “presumption” only a “deeming.” So the very word, we hang on when discussing innocence, the “presumption,” which gives the concept such solemnity, is gone. Second, there is nothing in the section about “innocence” although the title suggests it. However, as we know from my previous podcasts, in the Criminal Code the headings are there for convenience only and do not form part of the section itself. Instead, I would suggest, the section seems to be contrary to the presumption of innocence as it focuses instead on the concept of guilt and punishment. The section describes the circumstances in which the court can finally impose punishment. Now to be sure the court needs to hold off until conviction, but as soon as that pre-condition is fulfilled the sanctioning regime kicks in and punishment is not only available but also inevitable. Section 6(1)(b) continues this punishment theme by ensuring that the punishment can only be that as prescribed or authorized by law but it adds nothing to our concept of the presumption of innocence. So this section is not really about the fundamental premise of our criminal justice system, the golden thread of criminal law, but about when punishment can, and will, be meted out.

To understand why this section reads as it does, a little legislative history is in order. The section first arose in 1886 legislation on punishment entitled An Act Respecting Punishment, Pardons, and the Commutation of Sentence, and was not only subsumed into the first Criminal Code but was placed in the latter part of the Code where the punishment sections resided. The purpose of the section was not therefore to trumpet the fundamental principle of the presumption of innocence but to reinforce the applicability of punishment at the time of a finding of guilt. This concept of punishment only upon conviction was not only consistent with English criminal law but was consistent with chapter 39 of the Magna Carta which stated that:

No freemen shall be taken or imprisoned or disseised or exiled or in any way destroyed, nor will we go upon him nor send upon him, except by the lawful judgment of his peers or by the law of the land.

In the original Latin phrase of this article “nisi per legale judicium parium suorum vel per legem terrae,” the Magna Carta protects the accused from punishment without judgment of his equals and in accordance with “the law of the land.” So this idea that an accused is guilty only when he is found guilty, remained under the general punishment section of the Code until 1955, when it was moved to the front part of the Code, namely to section 5(1), but was still viewed as a punishment section as it was then entitled Punishment Only After Conviction. However the wording of the 1955 section does resemble the wording we have today under section 6. It is not until the 1985 revision of the Code, when the section was repealed and reinvigorated as section 6 that it becomes the more venerable presumption of innocence. Of course this reconstitution (forgive my pun) came after the 1982 enactment of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms.

Understanding this legislative history does give us a better sense of how it came into the Code but why it was renamed the presumption of innocence is an unanswered question requiring deeper investigation than an Internet search. Certainly, looking at case law, this section is rarely invoked as authority for the principle of the presumption of innocence. A quick survey of cases reveals there are only a few such cases (these cases can be found here, here, here, and here) where section 6 was relied upon as propounding the concept but always invoked with the constitutionalized version found under s. 11(d) of the Charter.

Although I cannot explain why this presumption section is so named, I would like to take a few moments to consider where the concept of the presumption of innocence arose in the first place. In my earlier posting on the issue, I suggested, through the academic writings of George Fletcher that the concept actually migrated to criminal law from the English civil law. I do not want to return to that discussion, instead I want to take us to the moment when the presumption of innocence becomes imbued with the gravitas it now enjoys – the particular moment when the presumption of innocence transformed into the fundamental principle it is today. I have already alluded to that moment earlier in this podcast when I described the presumption as the “golden thread of criminal law.” In first year law school there a few seminal or landmark English cases we discuss and end up knowing virtually by heart. One of them is the case where this “golden thread” metaphor is first used, the 1935 English House of Lords case of Woolmington v. DPP.  The facts of the Woolmington case do not concern us here but the decision, what is written by the then Lord Chancellor of Great Britain, Viscount Sankey, does.

In order to set the stage for this momentous decision, I need to give a quick legal backgrounder on Lord Sankey and the great impact he had on Canadian law. After the Supreme Court of Canada in 1925 found women were not “persons” under the British North America Act and therefore ineligible to sit in the Senate, the case, known as the Persons case, was appealed to what was then the highest level of appeal, the British Judicial Committee of the Privy Council. Civil appeals to the Privy Council were abolished in 1949, while criminal appeals ended in 1933. Lord Sankey, as a member of the Privy Council, wrote the appeal decision in the Persons Case or Edwards v. Canada (Attorney-General). In the case, reversing the Supreme Court of Canada decision and finding women were indeed “persons,” Lord Sankey commented on the argument that historically women were disbarred from public office. Despite this historical fact, Lord Sankey concluded that “the exclusion of women from all public offices is a relic of days more barbarous than ours” and that “customs are apt to develop into traditions which are stronger than law and remain unchallenged long after the reason for them has disappeared.” In the Persons Case there was no reason why women could not discharge the parliamentary duty of office. In terms of the efficacy of the actual British North America Act, which today we call the Constitution Act, 1867, Lord Sankey, famously remarked that the Act “planted in Canada a living tree capable of growth and expansion within its natural limits.” This metaphor of the Constitution as a living tree has taken root since the 1930 Persons Case and has become a guiding doctrine in our constitutional jurisprudence.

Needless, to say Lord Sankey has a way with words and the Woolmington case was no exception. On the issue of presumption of innocence, Lord Sankey surveyed the textbooks on the issue and was perplexed to find a suggestion that the presumption was one of guilt and the burden was on the accused to prove otherwise. After running through more cases, Lord Sankey described the fundamental importance of the presumption as:

Through-out the web of the English Criminal Law one golden thread is always to be seen that it is the duty of the prosecution to prove the prisoner's guilt subject to what I have already said as to the
defence of insanity and subject also to any statutory exception.

Lord Sankey then connects the presumption of innocence with the burden of proof, which requires the Crown to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. This connection is explored in my previous blog on the issue. So, it was Lord Sankey who gave use this strong visualization of the presumption of innocence and turned the principle into something much more.

How Lord Sankey came to this golden thread metaphor is puzzling. I suggest that this metaphor must have come from the Greek myth of Ariadne and Theseus. Ariadne gave Theseus a golden thread to help him escape the Minoan Labyrinth after he killed the Minotaur. Thus, the presumption of innocence, as the golden thread of Ariadne, leads the accused out of the maze-like machinations of the criminal law.

This thread theme is reinforced by a further metaphor, which I also referred to earlier in my podcast; that the presumption of innocence is part of the “fabric” of our society. Indeed, I found a 1965 case, R v Dixon, from the then District Court of Ontario, written by Mr. Justice Robinson wherein he describes the presumption as the “golden thread” that “runs through the warp and woof and is thus firmly imbedded in the whole fabric of the administration of English and Canadian criminal justice.” When I first read this passage, not unlike a Wiki page, I thought someone added the phrase “warp and woof” for a joke. But, like a good researcher, I looked up “warp and woof” and found the following definition:

The essential foundation or base of any structure or organization; from weaving, in which the warp — the threads that run lengthwise — and the woof — the threads that run across — make up the fabric: “The Constitution and the Declaration of Independence are the warp and woof of the American nation.” This expression, used figuratively since the second half of the 1500s, alludes to the threads that run lengthwise ( warp ) and crosswise ( woof ) in a woven fabric.

So this thread metaphor is taken in a different direction but is also a good candidate for explaining Lord Sankey’s “golden thread” turn of phrase. By the way, I did take my research a little further to find other cases that have used this archaic phrase. I found only a few cases, some which were actually about fabric making but there was a use of this metaphor in two Supreme Court of Canada constitutional Division of Powers cases; Reference as to the Validity of Section 6 of the Farm Security Act, 1944 of Saskatchewan and the 2009 Consolidated Fastfrate Inc. v. Western Canada Council of Teamsters. Notably, in the 2009 case, Mr. Justice Binnie used the phrase in a delicious quote invoking the world of the 1860s:

The current Canadian economy would be unrecognizable to the statesmen of 1867 and, to borrow an analogy from Thomas Jefferson, one would not expect a grown man to wear a coat that fitted him as a child.  The coat is of the same design, but the sleeves are longer and the chest is broader and the warp and woof of the fabric is more elaborate and complex.  Adopting a purposive approach to constitutional interpretation, as we must, what is important is not how transportation was viewed in 1867 but rather to match in our own era the level of regulation (federal, provincial or territorial) appropriate to the nature and scope of the undertaking.  Now, as in 1867, when a transportation undertaking connects or extends “beyond the Limits of the Province” its regulation is assigned by the Constitution Act, 1867 to the federal level of authority.

In 1859, Charles Dickens also used a golden thread metaphor in A Tale Of Two Cities, to suggest a strong bond of familial love created by the indomitable Lucie. Although, there is a strong affiliation between the criminal law and the presumption, I still prefer the Greek myth connection. I should recommend here my previous blog on Charles Dickens and the law called Charles Dickens Is On The Side Of Justice wherein I discuss some of the more legally minded passages of Dickens’s novels. 

One final aside on this golden thread metaphor brings us to American literature and Nathaniel Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter, where Hester is required to sew a letter “A” onto her clothing as her punishment as an adulterer. As time wears on, Hester proudly marks her shame with an “A” made of golden thread. For Hester, the golden quality of the thread reflects the shame of the community who branded her with their cruelty.

In some way the golden thread of the presumption of innocence protects us from a similar fate – a society devoid of compassion - or as Chief Justice Dickson, as he then was, reminded us in the 1986 Supreme Court of Canada Oakes case, the presumption of innocence "confirms our faith in humankind; it reflects our belief that individuals are decent and law‑abiding members of the community until proven otherwise." To me, his words are indeed golden.

 

 

This Takes Precedence! How the Bedford Case Empowers Legal Precedent

The Bedford case is interesting on many levels. On the public level, it recognizes the modern realities of what historically has been considered a vice in our society. On the private level, it recognizes the harshness of the prostitution laws on those whom the laws were meant to protect. On the Charter level, it recognizes the breadth of the principles of fundamental justice in our society while giving shape and meaning to the phrase “life, liberty and security of the person.” Finally, on the legal jurisprudence level, the case recognizes the importance of a flexible concept of case precedent.

In a previous posting, I discussed a judge’s use of legal and factual analogy to come to a decision in a case. The concept of legal precedent, whereby a decision is made based on previous similar decisions typically from a superior level of court, not only provides a solid basis for a decision, it also gives the decision an aura of authority and power. Power, in the sense of persuasive power.Authority, as in the correctness or soundness of the decision. It is a remarkable tool, which serves a dual purpose: the power and authority arising from precedent maintains the rule of law in the legal sphere and in the public sphere. Precedent, used appropriately, empowers the words of the court and gives them the force of the law. For further discussion on the coercive power of judicial pronouncements, see my postings here on Robert Cover and his seminal essay on “Violence and The Word.”

In Bedford, the majority needed to deal with the issue of legal precedent to lend their decision an air of legitimacy. The prostitution laws at issue had already been the subject of previous constitutional arguments before the highest level of court: the Supreme Court of Canada. To make pronouncements again and by a lower court seemed officious and redundant. In the case of the prostitution laws, the stakes were even higher as the laws were the second-generation iteration of what were originally known as the “soliciting laws.”

In the 1980s, after the advent of the Charter, the government was forced to change the soliciting laws as a result of the Supreme Court of Canada’s interpretation of the word “solicit” as found in the section. The original section prohibited “everyone who solicits any person in a public place for purposes of prostitution."

In the 1978 Hutt case, the Supreme Court of Canada defined “solicit” as pressing and persistent conduct. Hutt, a 23 year-old prostitute working on the infamous Davie Street in Vancouver, British Columbia, had made eye contact with a potential client driving slowly by her. Hutt smiled and the client, an undercover police officer, smiled back and stopped his car. Hutt jumped into the car, agreed on the cost of her services, and was promptly arrested. The SCC, by defining “soliciting,” found that a mere nod of a head was not enough to fulfill the actus reus or prohibited act requirements under the section. Soliciting required something more than just agreeing to sex for money. It required the prostitute to accost and importune, not just smile.

The result of the decision was explosive: the police refused to lay charges under the section. This public pressure caused the government to finally change the section in 1985 to the present day offence of communication for the purpose of prostitution under s. 213 of the Criminal Code. The meaning of “communication” is much broader than “solicits.” One can communicate through word or gesture and would most certainly describe Hutt’s contact with the undercover officer.

But that was not the end to the narrative. The new section, created in the new Charter era, was further scrutinized; not on the basis of nomenclature but on the basis of constitutionality. This was done preemptively through a reference to the Supreme Court of Canada. As discussed in previous posting, a reference permits the court to pre-vet an issue and to make pronouncements on the efficacy of legislation before it is enacted and subject to legal attack. In the Reference on the prostitution sections, the Court found the new communication for the purpose of prostitution laws were inconsistent with freedom of expression under s. 2(b0 of the Charter but were justified in a free and democratic society and thus appropriate.

Fast forward to today and the similarities are apparent. One of the arguments in the Bedford case, attacked the constitutionality of the very same communication section as previously considered by the SCC. In that instance, the Bedford decision sits solidly behind legal precedent by dismissing the argument as already decided by another, more authoritative court. The more interesting issue is the constitutionality of the other prostitution related charges: keeping a common bawdy house under s.210 and living off the avails under s.212(1)(j). It is here the court relied on a more flexible and contextual approach to legal precedent, while still upholding the concept of court hierarchy.

Two scenarios were discussed. One scenario contemplated the ability of a trial court or lower level court, to permit counsel to build a record of evidence, which would then form the foundation of a future argument before a higher and thus more authoritative court. This higher level court would be in the position to revisit the issue to determine if the passage of time has changed the issue to require a new and different look at the issues involved. The other scenario, contemplates situations where the issues to be argued may be related but are framed differently enough that a decision on the matter is not tied by the rules of legal precedent. This flexibility permitted the court in Bedford to come to a decision on the case and to tackle, head-on, the modern paradox found in the overly broad prostitution sections.

Although the passages on precedent are not the crux of the Bedford case, the court’s view of the issue brings or shall we say, drags, traditional legal principles into the 21st century and beyond.

 

 

Blogs As Graffiti? Using Analogy and Metaphor in Case Law

Legal reasoning requires the decision-maker to use both factual and legal analogies and precedents. Legal precedent provides a solid foundation for a decision as it is based upon an earlier decision, typically from a superior level of court, made in the same circumstances to the one being decided. Analogy is a much subtler concept, involving similarities between the two situations. Analogy, therefore, requires an analytical dissection of the two circumstances to find comparables. The beauty of analogy is not only in the similarities, but in the dissimilarities as well: oftentimes it is the distinctions between the cases that matter. Although there are a set of principles and rules to assist in the appropriate use of precedent and analogies, courts have also used metaphoric language to come to legal conclusions.

A metaphor “expresses the unfamiliar in terms of the familiar.” A connection is therefore made between seemingly unconnected objects with the happy result of revealing the objects true and very real similarities. Metaphors are rich and varied and a very compelling way of defining an object or concept. Advertising uses metaphors the best: for example, the “life is a journey” concept “flies” well when considering travel options. As a subset of metaphor is the language technique of “simile,” whereby the comparison between the two objects is proffered more directly by suggesting one object is like another. A simile such as “this fog is like pea soup” conjures up an immediate physical description of the fog, which transcends describing the fog as merely “dense.” But how useful is the use of figures of speech in case law? Is it a  “good fit” (using a tailor metaphor) with the legal principles of precedent and analogy?

Let’s look at a recent example. On March 2, 2012 the UK High Court in considering the issue of defamatory blog comments in Tamiz v Google Inc Google UK Ltd, found Google Inc., the provider of the blog platform, not responsible for the clearly defamatory comments. Justice Eddy came to the conclusion using a “wall covered in graffiti” analogy: Google is like the owner of a building and the defamatory comments are like graffiti placed on the external wall of the building. Just as the owner of the wall is not responsible for the content of the graffiti, Google, as the mere provider of the “space” in which the comments were made, is not responsible for the content of the blogs. Justice Eddy recognized that the owner of the wall or “internet space” may, once the graffiti or comments are made, remove or “whitewash” (do I sense another metaphor here? Whitewash as in censorship perhaps?) the comments. As stated by Eddy J., “That is not necessarily to say, however, that the unfortunate owner must, unless and until this has been accomplished, be classified as a publisher.”

This colourful and powerful analogy, although not truly a legal analogy, becomes the defining moment of this case. Google Inc. is then “cut” (sorry another tailor metaphor) from the case. But as compelling as this analogy is, the question still remains whether this is sound reasoning; sound enough to extricate Google from a lawsuit?

Let’s delve deeper into this analogy: Google provides the wall. Using the analogy to its fullest, Google doesn’t just provide the wall; Google owns the wall - as in the owner of the building with the graffiti sprayed on it. Taking this analogy further, Google owns the wall, which is then provided to others, bloggers, for their use. But the owner of the building does not “provide” the graffiti makers with a wall to spray. In fact, the graffiti on the wall is there without the consent of the owner.

Furthermore, the owner of the wall does have responsibilities to, as Justice Eddy so eloquently put it, “whitewash” or remove the offending marks. Not to do so, is usually in contravention of a City by-law, making the provider of the wall responsible for removal of the comments. Is that not the issue really in this defamation case? Removal of the comments is what is at the core of the lawsuit. Removal, which if it is not done in a timely fashion, does implicitly suggest the owner “likes” (as in Facebook “likes” if you need a metaphor) the comments.

The recent, Supreme Court of Canada case, Crookes v. Newton, is another slight twist on the provider as publisher conundrum. Newton, as the owner and operator of a website, provided hyperlinks to other Internet material, one such link contained defamatory comments regarding Crookes. The majority of the SCC, was careful to “contain” (yes, another building metaphor) the argument to the issue of hyperlinks as a form of expression and not as a form of publication. To hyperlink is not to “like” or approve of the linked material – it is merely to extend the research to another document and provide the reader with another source of information, which the reader can then access or not, and agree with or not.

To come to this conclusion the majority used good old fashion legal precedent and legal analogy based on case law. However, the generous use of metaphor assisted in creating a more compelling argument. In dismissing the Crookes publication argument, Justice Abella used the space or size metaphor to visually describe the spatially immense implications of “broadening” the meaning of publication in the circumstances of the case. Movement metaphor was also used to discuss the “innocent dissemination” exception as passive – almost robotic, without thought or action. The most powerful metaphor by far was the crux of the case as “hyperlinking is referencing”; a print metaphor, using visions of University research papers and academic writing. Then, to give the argument further weight (metaphor), Charter values are brought into the discussion with the caution against restricting the “flow” of information – a movement metaphor and a water metaphor.

The above illustrates an excellent use of legal principles and figures of speech to arrive (journey metaphor) at a cogent argument that has “legs.” This is another movement metaphor that implies the argument is not only a successful one but also a decision that will “achieve strong audience acceptance or interest.”

Which brings me back to the analogy in Tamiz and the dual difficulties found in that decision. The case highlights the difficulty in using analogy or figure of speech to enhance the already cogent legal analogy or precedent. It also shows the care which must be used in using figures of speech to make a point: if so used, the analogy or metaphor must logically connect the two objects as any fallacy arising from the connection will most certainly detract from the argument or finding.

We use metaphor constantly in making sense of the world around us. I highly recommend the book “Metaphors We Live By” written by the linguist George Lakoff and philosopher Mark Johnson for further reading on this fascinating subject. As a result of this seminal book, there is now a whole area of legal jurisprudence on the use of metaphor in legal reasoning (see also publications by professor Steven Winter). Being aware of this human penchant for metaphor and connection does provide another analytical tool (a device or work metaphor using the mind as physically embodied in the hands using a tool) to enhance our reading of legal text. It also provides us with a different view of legal argument and how that argument is communicated through case law.

Required Reading For the Criminal Lawyer

The following five classic books should be required reading for any criminal lawyer or anyone simply interested in understanding the reason behind fundamental criminal law principles:


  1. Rethinking Criminal Law by George P. Fletcher. Although written in 1978, this book by George P. Fletcher, a prolific and thoughtful legal scholar and now Chair of Jurisprudence at Columbia Law School, is still a relevant and fascinating journey through the landscape of criminal theory. From his first chapter entitled The Topology of Theft to his last on The Theory of Justification and Excuse, Fletcher covers the wide and varied spectrum of criminal offences and defences through elegant, yet colourful, language. Throughout, he questions the reasons behind traditional common law precepts and lends a decidedly American dimension to criminal law principles.

  2. Punishment and Responsibility by H.L.A. Hart. What Fletcher is to American criminal jurisprudence, Hart, who was a professor of Jurisprudence at Oxford University, is to English criminal law, and then some. Hart, a legal positivist, expounded his legal philosophy in a series of books written in the sixties, his most famous being The Concept of Law in 1961. It is, however, his volume of essays in legal philosophy compiled in Punishment and Responsibility from 1968, which I have read and re-read since my first days in law school. Hart is definitely not for the “faint-hearted” as he extends and refines the theories of John Austin and Jeremy Bentham. Both John Rawls and Ronald Dworkin, also “giants” of legal philosophy, were past students of Hart’s and greatly influenced by him. Indeed, the “Hart-Dworkin” debate on the efficacy of legal positivism is legend in the annals of legal philosophy.

  3. The Limits of the Criminal Sanction by Herbert Packer. Another American legal scholar, Packer coined the present-day models of criminal process: the “crime-control” model, which emphasizes the efficient apprehension and punishment of criminals in order to protect the law-abiding citizen and the “due process” model, which protects the rights of the accused through a fair and just criminal process. In this 1968 book, Packer extends his models and discusses the role of punishment or sanction in our criminal law. He speaks of both traditional modes of sanctioning and the ability for these methods to deter crime. As well, he offers alternative methods. Interesting to note that some 40 years later, we are still struggling with the same issues.

  4. Narrative, Violence, and the Law: The Essays of Robert Cover. Although not a complete book written by Robert Cover, but a compilation of his works, the essays found within the covers are some of most mind-bending legal works I have read. Robert Cover, whom I discussed in a previous posting, was, in his short lifetime, a profoundly creative legal thinker, whose writings force the reader to think of traditional issues in a startling new way. I highly recommend Cover’s essay entitled Violence and the Word.

  5. Criminal Law: The Meaning of Guilt: Strict Liability, Working Paper No. 2 1974, Limits of Criminal Law: Obscenity: A Test Case, Working Paper No. 10, 1975, Criminal Responsibility for Group Action, Working Paper No. 16, 1976 – all by the LRCC. In the early to mid-1970s, Antonio Lamer, who later became Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Canada, was the Vice-Chairman and then Chairman of the Law Reform Commission of Canada (LRCC). During his sojourn as head of the organization, the LRCC produced a number of excellent Working Papers on criminal law generally but more specifically, on the issue of criminal liability. Three, in particular stand out, and are a must read for anyone interested in the fault element of crime or criminal intention. They are written in a very clear manner as they were intended for public consumption. The actual 1976 Parlimentary Report is entitled Our Criminal Law.


Tracing The Presumption of Innocence Through A Survey of Supreme Court of Canada Cases

In yesterday’s blog, the presumption of innocence, as a legal principle, was traced from its seemingly innocuous origins as a rule of evidence in civil cases to the status of a fundamental, constitutionally entrenched, principle of the criminal law. Today, I will detail how the presumption of innocence took on such elevated standing through a brief survey of early Charter and pre-Charter Supreme Court of Canada cases.

On a quick review of the Supreme Court of Canada cases discussing the presumption of innocence, it is the 1985 SCC reference case of Re B.C. Motor Vehicle Act, which explicitly crystallizes our present concept of the presumption of innocence as a fundamental principle of the criminal law and as a fundamental societal value. Justice Lamer described the presumption as not just a procedural tool but also as a substantive concept which “has both a societal and an individual aspect and is clearly fundamental; to our justice system.” The Charter’s influence in protecting such an expansive view of the presumption, thereby making the principle a right, is evident in other early post-Charter cases on the issue, such as the earlier case of Dubois in 1985, Oakes in 1986, and Whyte in 1988.

As an aside, it is no surprise that it is Justice Lamer who gives the presumption of innocence such an expansive and meaningful definition. Prior to his judicial appointments, Antonio Lamer was the Vice-Chairman of the Law Reform Commission of Canada (LRCC) in 1971 and Chairman thereof in April 1976 at a time when the LRCC was actively involved in shaping the jurisprudential landscape of the law.

In terms of pre-Charter, although Justice Estey, dissenting in the entrapment case of Amato in 1982, called the presumption of innocence a “fundamental doctrine,” there is little of this nomenclature in earlier cases. For example, in the 1969 Lampard case, the presumption of innocence is merely called “rebuttal,” hardly a powerful descriptor of the “cornerstone” of criminal law. Other pre-Amato cases characterize the presumption in the same manner: as a presumption, which ceases if the Crown can prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Even in some earlier cases, the presumption is referred to as the “general presumption of innocence,” again a thoroughly unsatisfactory way of describing a constitutionally entrenched right. Interestingly, in all of these cases, the presumption is an adjunct to the burden of proof.

Finally, consistent with Fletcher’s theory of the origins of the presumption in English civil law, is the 1883 SCC case of McRae v. White. The case was one of unjust and fraudulent preference in an insolvency action. Although a civil suit, the case does have shades of fraudulent and therefore criminal intention, but the result is based upon a failure of the plaintiff to satisfy the onus as required by the Insolvency Act of 1875.

In other words, the plaintiff could not rebut the negative: that a man is presumed to fulfill his legal obligations. In this case, the defendant, in good faith, took on debt with the honest belief he would fulfill his obligations. The plaintiff was unable to establish otherwise. Admittedly, there is no mention of the actual phrase “presumption of innocence,” but the headline of the case reads “Insolvent Act of 1875—Unjust preference—Fraudulent preference—Presumption of innocence.”

Clearly, the presumption of innocence has matured into a much more powerful concept than originally imagined. This is so, at least in the legal arena. In my final posting on the issue, tomorrow I will discuss the international development of the presumption with an additional look at the historical non-legal usage of the concept.

 

 

 

 

 

The Presumption of Innocence: The Making of a Principle

The presumption of innocence is at the heart of our criminal justice system. As a cornerstone of criminal law principles, the presumption of innocence guarantees a fair trial for all. By ensuring only those individuals who are found guilty will be punished, it protects the vulnerable individual from the awesome powers of the State. It is indeed a fundamental principle, constitutionally entrenched in our Charter, and an integral part of our rule of law.

As important as this principle is to our concept of justice, the presumption of innocence has become much more than a legal tool; it has become part of the fabric of our society. Today, every citizen is aware of the presumption of innocence in a criminal case. This principle has transcended the legal arena to become one of our society’s fundamental values. It is not only a value understood by all but it is part of our culture. It can be found in journalism, literature, movies, and television.

Yet, historically, according to academic scholars, the presumption of innocence was not a fundamental principle but a general rule of evidence used in civil cases. In a series of articles, George Fletcher, a well-known scholar now Cardoza Professor of Jurisprudence at Columbia Law School, maintained the presumption of innocence did not become part of the common law nomenclature until the mid-1800s.

In fact, the concept of the presumption arose from a series of civil cases in the early 1800s wherein the court applied the common sense evidentiary rule that a man (yes, this is the early 19th century) is presumed to fulfill his legal obligations. Thus, if a plaintiff is alleging the negative situation, that the defendant did not fulfill his legal obligation, then the plaintiff must prove otherwise. Only later, did this evidentiary rule apply to criminal case and then became, what we call, the presumption of innocence.

According to Fletcher, even the core concept of the burden of proof in a criminal case, which requires the Crown to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt developed separately from the presumption of innocence and only later, in the 1850s, did these two principles become connected. In the Commonwealth, the ultimate articulation of this connection is found in every first year law student's curriculum: the House of Lords case of Woolmington v. D.P.P from 1935. In this seminal case, Lord Sankey famously describes the presumption of innocence and the burden of proof in a criminal case, which is to prove the crime beyond a reasonable doubt, as the "golden thread...woven deep into the fabric of our law."

In the Oakes case, Chief Justice Dickson waxed eloquent on this dual concept and found the presumption of innocence essential to society as it "confirms our faith in humankind; it reflects our belief that individuals are decent and law‑abiding members of the community until proven otherwise." It was indeed the Charter which elevated and crystallized the presumption of innocence as the fundamental concept of our criminal justice system.

Let's Talk About: The Word "Crime"

What's in a name? A name is a label or a representation of an object, which through usage and custom, is accepted by society and then becomes identified with the object. The name gives us a familiar reference point which we can then use in discussing the object with others. A name becomes the short form of the object. Instead of describing and re-describing in detail the properties of an object when refering to it in conversation, we simply provide the given name and we have instant recognition and understanding.

Etymology is the study of the history of names: from where the word came and at what period in our history the use of the word began. This history of a word is intriguing. Much like a puzzle, the history of a word can reveal a secret past, which may provide an unexpected connection. Thus, the original intent of the name, which may have transformed through time and usage, is retrieved to provide knowledge to those who desire it.

The word "crime" is defined as "an act punishable by law, usually considered an evil act." In a later posting, we will look at differing definitions, when we discuss what is a crime in the context of law generally and criminal law specifically. But for our purposes today, the definition given is the one we will accept. The first known usage of the word "crime" was in the High Middle Ages around 1250. Within this time, the Medieval period, or "Age of Faith," was drawing to an end as Marco Polo explored and returned laden with spices and stories. The Renaissance was not too far behind.

The etymology of "crime" is from the Old French crimne, which came from the Latin crimen meaning accusation and the Latin root cerno meaning "I decide. I give judgment." However, Rabbi Ernest Klein, a Romanian-born Canadian linguist, in his Comprehensive Etymological Dictionary of the English Language, suggests that crimen is actually derived from the phrase, "cry of distress." The Latin was derived from the Ancient Greek word krima, which means a judicial sentence or condemnation.

The history of the word does reveal shades of today`s meaning but embues the word with much more colour than the dictionary meaning we used at the beginning of this posting. Crime also now speaks to the concept of accusation, which in turn speaks to the presumption of innocence as the accused has yet to be found guilty. Or the idea of justice or judgment as in the Latin and Greek root of the word. Finally, crime speaks of a cry of distress, an individual who has lost his or her way in life and looks to society to not condemn or judge but to lend guidance.

In this historical word play, crime has taken on different shades of meaning and caused us to think of the word in different way.

Let's Talk About: The Importance of Asking "Why" When Discussing Criminal Law

In teaching criminal law, I like the class to think about why certain behaviour is deemed criminal and why other behaviour is acceptable. In learning, it is far too easy to memorize principles without a true understanding of why the principle is given and the reason behind it. The importance of why can lead to a deeper and better understanding of a concept, which can lead one to question the ideas contained therein and can ultimately lead to innovative and unique perspectives on a familiar issue.

 For some forms of behaviour we can quickly understand why the underlying acts are contrary to the law. Murder, theft, and assault are such examples. These are all acts, which we all agree are worthy of sanction. These crimes, which we call true crimes, lies at the essence of what we as a society believe is wrongful and immoral conduct. Not every immoral act is a crime, but in the case of true crimes, morality and legality are both present as philosophy and jurisprudence connect.

However, it is when law and morality do not connect and do not occur contemporaneously that we may be uncertain or unable to agree to the underlying reason or the why such behaviour is prohibited. Then, we may turn to our courts and our judges to decide whether the behaviour does in fact deserve sanctioning. Such an example is the abortion laws, which made abortion and the concomitant acts illegal and the judge-made law, through the interpretation of our Charter, which turned this prohibited conduct into acceptable behaviour.

Or we may question the efficacy of making the behavior contrary to the law and the subsequent public pressure may lead to the government changing the law to make the conduct acceptable and therefore not sanctionable. This ability of public opinion to change the law can be most clearly seen in the consumption of alcohol and the end of Prohibition or Temperance. Thus, our criminal law shifts and changes as our fundamental values as a society change and grow.

It is this flexible concept of the law, which makes learning the law so refreshing and exciting. It is the "why" which makes law relevant to us all and makes us mindful of the transformative effect law can have on a society.

Let's Talk About: The Participants In The Criminal Justice System

Over the next few weeks, I will present a series of periodic blogs on the role of the main participants in the criminal justice system. Although a seemingly simple topic choice, to actually describe, define, and delineate these participants is a challenge.

We can all identify and recognize who they are: trial judge, prosecutor, defence lawyer, police, victim, and accused. But the real challenge comes in explaining what they do and why they do it. Often, the public perception of a participant's raison d'etre differs from the legal construct. It is when this disconnect occurs, when the public's expectations are unfulfilled, that cause public discontent with the criminal justice system.

These blogs will attempt to bridge the gap between society's assumptions and the legal requirements. This does means the discussion may reproduce the prototype of the participant, a general sketch or a likeness, which will not mimic every actual individual participant in the system. But, having a standard for which one can compare, will enhance our understanding of the criminal justice process.

 

Impression Or Claim: Are They Both The Same?

I recently read an interesting law and language blog by linguist, Julie Sedivy, discussing the linguistic implications of choosing brand names, which by virtue of the name, makes a product claim. The impetus for her analysis were the recent struggles encountered by Health Canada and the Canadian Food Inspection Agency (CFIA) in regulating food product health claims. Sedivy specifically discussed the recent case of infant formula manufactured by Enfamil, called "A+" and "Gentlease A+." The difficulty with these brand names is obvious: is the A+ brand truly superior to all others and is Gentlease A+ truly easier to digest than all other brands? In this situation, there appeared to be a struggle between Health Canada and the CFIA, with the inspectors raising concerns over the labelling claims while Health Canada preferred a wait and see attitude.

Although Sedivy makes a linguistic distinction between a direct or implied claim (something that is either true or false) and a mere impression, Canada's Food And Drug Act makes no such semantic distinction. Both s. 5(1), relating to food, and s.9(1), relating to drugs, makes either a claim or an erroneous impression an offence when it states:


No person shall label...any (food or drug) in a manner that is false, misleading or deceptive or is likely to create an erroneous impression regarding its character, value, quantity, composition, merit or safety.

The possible vagueness of the phrase "erroneous impression" was discussed by the Supreme Court of Canada in Canada v. JTI-MacDonald Corp., a 2007 case involving tobacco advertising to young people. In an unanimous decision, the SCC found the phrase "erroneous impression" was not overbroad, vague, or too subjective. In the Court's view, the phrase was "an attempt to cover the grey area between demonstrable falsity and the invitation to false inference" such advertising conveys. Thus, "leading consumers to infer things that are not true" about a product is a proper restriction on freedom of expression rights under the Charter.

This case decision is completely consistent with prior SCC cases on misleading advertising such as the 1979 Labatt Breweries case, where the majority found the brand name including the word "lite" as the "phonetic equivalent" to "light" would lead a consumer to mistakenly assume the beer was indeed a "light beer" according to regulatory standards. Even on the basis of "ordinary usage of language today" this is so: merely consider "nite" vs. "night" as recognized, although not unanimously approved of, synonyms.

It is clear misleading claims, impressions, and inferences can attract penalty but how about metaphorical branding? Metaphors do not just require inferences to be drawn but require deep connections to be made between the named object and another object or idea, which,without the metaphor, would not be readily connectable. An example of this would be the metaphors used in relation to the internet, which involve movement through a landscape: Netscape Navigator, Safari, and Internet Explorer all use this deeply rooted metaphor.

Whether this kind of branding would be clearly prohibited under the FDA may be more difficult to decipher. To read more on metaphors, I highly recommend Metaphors We Live By written by the linguist George Lakoff and the philosopher Mark Johnson. Metaphors also have a place in legal discourse but I will leave that journey for another time.

There is No Road To Redemption?

Yesterday, I made a connection between fictionalized (or as in the example yesterday musicalized) revenge, redemption, and retribution and our real-life sentencing principles. These concepts of punishment are particularly relevant as the Canadian Criminal Code has gone through many changes in sentencing. We will, of course, be seeing even more changes when the Federal government passes, what we call the "omnibus crime bill" or  Bill C-10. I have discussed certain aspects of this Bill in a previous blog that can be found here.

To shed light on the issue, I referred to the UK's effort to reform sentencing in the consultation paper and in the Government's Response, which was tabled in June of 2011, with recommendations on sentencing reform. I ended the blog rather ominously, asking if redemption was, in fact, dead.

Why? The UK Government response is telling: most of the recommendations flow from the Government's first recommendation or promise to make punishment "demanding, robust, and credible." Indeed, the UK will accomplish this goal by transforming "prisons into places of hard work." Suddenly, we are transported to Dickensian England with penal work houses or even to the American dirty thirties with the ubiquitous chain gangs. 

But the road to no redemption does not end there. Another goal is to make offenders pay back to the victim. This is not a concept of restorative justice. No, this is retribution, as those same prisoners who will be put to "hard work" will have those earnings partially estreated in favour of victim services programs. This is much different than the victim surcharge program we have in our Criminal Code under s.737 or the restitution orders available under s.738.

There are more examples of how this reformation has gone retro; taking us back to the old theories of Herbert Packer's crime and control model and the notion of the "stick is better than the carrot" at deterring crime. Will this "reform" work? Only time will tell. In a country like the UK, where riots turn particularly nasty (although who are we to judge in light of Vancouver's riots), there is immense public pressure to "get tough on crime."

In the end, however, whichever road is taken will not provide the real answer to how a society can minimize crime without compromising the principles of fundamental justice. In the end, only time will tell.

The UK tabled, on June 22,2011, new sentencing legislation to reflect the proposed reforms. According, to a UK blog found here, the reforms are not as "ambitious" as first proposed.

The Road Taken by the Supreme Court of Canada

The Supreme Court of Canada, this Fall has already released a number of important judgments. The PHS Community Services Society decision on Ministerial discretion, or lack thereof, under s.56 of the CDSA for an exemption of a safe injection site in Vancouver is one such case. Another, is the Crookes v. Newton case in which the Court described a hyperlink in a website article as a reference and not a defamatory publication. 

The Court has also heard and reserved on some controversial cases such as the Whatcott case involving the constitutionality of the hate speech provisions in the Saskatchewan Human Rights Code. Whatcott is a good example of the difficult issues found in a Charter case involving conflicting fundamental freedoms as the freedom to express competes with freedom of religion. Not unusually with these conflicts, there is rarely a clear winner. As Ronald Dworkin, an American constitutional scholar, would say, one right does not "trump" another. For our rights in Canada, although guaranteed, are limited within the Charter itself. Ever reasonable, we Canadians prefer the balanced route, the road taken so to speak.

For tomorrow's blog we will be "taking rights seriously" as I speculate on the case the SCC has not yet heard, but should, and possibly, will. 

 

Am I Late For This Supreme Court of Canada Appointment?

I wake early. This morning was no different, except this morning I woke to the news of the long-awaited and speculated upon appointments (actually nominations) of the Supreme Court of Canada (or SCC - another acronym).

I was on the whole relieved and pleased. Although I do not know Madame Justice Karakatsanis, I do know Mr. Justice Michael Moldaver. He will be an asset to the Court. He is smart, hard-working, and humorous. He has experience as both a trial judge and an appeal judge. He has written judgments in all areas of the law, including criminal law.

He is an oft-quoted judge, even as a trial judge in the superior court. His reasoning tends to be impeccable. Even when he is in the minority on an issue, Moldaver deserves and receives respect. In the SCC Find decision on challenges for cause based on the partiality of potential jurors in a sexual assault against children trial, Moldaver's dissent formed the basis of the accused's appeal. Althought the SCC did not agree with Moldaver's outcome, it is clear that his reasons gave the Court pause for thought and helped illuminate the issues. As the Chief Justice stated:

 As Moldaver eloquently observed in Betker, supra, at p. 447, "the test for partiality is not whether one seeks to change the law but whether one is capable of upholding the law...

I, for one, will look forward to the change.