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Canada and Nova Scotia Finalize Equivalency Agreement on the Control of Greenhouse Gas Emissions in the Electricity Sector

Tue, 08/05/2014 - 10:00am

By: Nigel Bankes

PDF Version: Canada and Nova Scotia Finalize Equivalency Agreement on the Control of Greenhouse Gas Emissions in the Electricity Sector

Documents commented on:  Agreement on the Equivalency of Federal and Nova Scotia Regulations for the Control of Greenhouse Gas Emissions from Electricity Producers in Nova Scotia;Proposed Order in Council Declaring that the Reduction of Carbon Dioxide Emissions from Coal-fired Generation of Electricity Regulations do not apply in Nova Scotia, Canada Gazette vol 148 (2014), June 28, 2014 and the accompanying Regulatory Impact Analysis Statement

This Agreement is the first greenhouse gas (GHG) equivalency agreement to be finalized between Canada and a province. The Agreement and the accompanying draft Order in Council will serve to suspend the application of Canada’s Reduction of Carbon Dioxide Emissions from Coal-Fired Generation of Electricity Regulations, SOR/2012-167 (the federal Coal Regulations or the CFGRs) made under s.93 of the Canadian Environmental Protection Act, 1999, SC 1999, c 33 (CEPA, 1999) in the province of Nova Scotia. For comment on the CFGRs see the post by Astrid Kalkbrenner here. The Agreement will be of considerable interest to other jurisdictions (including Alberta) which are negotiating equivalency agreements with Canada to avoid the application of federal GHG regulations. While a draft of the Agreement has been available for a couple of years (see here, and for a very short summary of the two supportive comments received see here), and there are very few changes between the draft and the final version, what is new is the release of the Regulatory Impact Analysis Statement (RIAS) which casts some light on the methodology that the federal government will apply in assessing equivalency.

Interested parties have 60 days to provide comments and/or file a notice of objection requesting establishment of a board of review under s.333 of CEPA, 1999.

Federal Greenhouse Gas Regulations

As is well known, the federal government proposes to reach its Copenhagen commitment to reduce greenhouse gas emissions by implementing a sector by sector regulatory approach. This has proven to be painfully slow. The federal government adopted the CFGRs in 2012 but promised regulations for other sectors, including the oil and gas sector, have been repeatedly delayed. The CFGRs establish a performance standard of 420 tonnes of carbon dioxide per gigawatt-hour (tCO2/GWh) for new coal-fired electricity generation units and those that have reached the end of their useful life. According to the RIAS, the application of the CFGRs would require the province (Nova Scotia Power) to retire its coal fired units totalling 952 MW of capacity between 2020 and 2030. Nova Scotia sought to avoid this result (with the implication that it would need to build new natural gas capacity) and therefore entered into negotiations for an equivalency agreement.

Equivalency

The CFGRs are enacted pursuant to the Canadian Environmental Protection Act, 1999. Section 10 of CEPA, 1999 allows the Governor in Council to make an order declaring that specific regulations “do not apply” to a particular jurisdiction where the Minister of Environment and the government of the other jurisdiction “agree in writing” that there are laws in force in the other jurisdiction, the provisions of which “are equivalent to” the regulations. The premise of the Nova Scotia Agreement is that an “outcome-based” equivalency agreement is adequate to meet the terms of s.10 thereby justifying an order making the federal regulations inapplicable. Thus, the purpose of the Nova Scotia Agreement is to allow existing coal fired facilities to continue generating even though they will not be able to meet the standards prescribed by the federal regulations. A finding of equivalency is justified on the basis that Nova Scotia will achieve reductions equivalent to those that will be achieved through the federal regulations by reduced generation at coal facilities and by other measures that have nothing to do with the coal sector. These other measures include a commitment to increase the share of renewable energy in the province’s energy mix through a number of initiatives including a feed in tariff program, and support for the Muskrat Falls hydro project, as well as various energy efficiency programs including smart metering. In addition, Nova Scotia was also required to amend its regulations to ensure that electricity producers must meet certain caps prescribed in the Agreement. This is perhaps the crucial element here – the adoption of a hard cap for the sector rather than the technology based target – because it provides some certainty as to reduced emissions in the sector.

If we assume that the outcomes based approach to equivalency is appropriate (and it is not entirely clear that it is, since s.10 of CEPA 1999 focuses on the provisions of the laws of the other jurisdiction, not on the effect or outcome of the measures taken in the other jurisdiction) it is of course necessary to show that the provincial measures will reduce GHG emissions by at least as much as the reductions that would be achieved by application of the CFGRs. It is evident that this assessment requires the construction of two scenarios. The first is a business as usual (BAU) scenario in which emissions are assessed on the basis that the equivalency agreement is not concluded and thus that the CFGRs will apply as well as any applicable provincial rules (other than incremental commitments made as part of the equivalency agreement – see s.8.2.3 of the RIAS and the “caps” that the province undertook to impose). The second scenario, the regulatory scenario, establishes what the electricity generation sector is expected to look like with the implementation of the proposed Order in Council (i.e. the federal regulations are backed out and the incremental provincial commitments apply).

The RIAS summarizes the comparison between the two scenarios (here I focus on the reduced emission rather than the more general cost-benefit analysis, which, for example, assumes avoided decommissioning costs at coal generation facilities by pushing them out beyond the period of review, 2021 – 2030) as follows (RIAS, s.8.2.3):

Standing down the federal coal-fired electricity regulations would allow the electricity producer to continue to operate coal-fired units reaching the end of their useful life that would otherwise have been closed in the BAU scenario at the end of their useful life. This flexibility is expected to result in avoided natural gas capacity investments. ……

Also, prior to 2030, the electricity producer is expected to generate, relative to the BAU scenario, less electricity from coal-fired units and natural gas units in order to comply with provincial GHG emission caps for 2021–2030. Therefore, the electricity sector is expected to show a cumulative reduction in generation in Nova Scotia and correspondingly in Canada. It is also expected that Nova Scotia would need to rely more on importing renewable energy from the Muskrat Falls project in order to meet demand and the provincial renewable energy standards. This reduces, relative to the BAU scenario, the generation available for export to the United States from Muskrat Falls through New Brunswick, leading to an overall reduction in electricity exports. The reduction in generation from coal-fired units and natural gas units also leads to additional benefits from GHG emissions reduction, additional changes in air pollutant emissions, avoided fuel costs, avoided variable O&M costs associated with less reliance on coal-fired units and natural gas units.

The RIAS also provides an analysis of changes in demand (RIAS s.8.4.1) (a small reduction in demand in the regulatory scenario presumably because of the emphasis on demand side management (DSM) measures), and changes in the generation mix to meet that demand (RIAS, s.8.4.3) (projects less investment in new natural gas capacity in the regulatory scenario). The overall analysis is that over the 2015–2020 period, the regulatory scenario is “expected to result in an incremental reduction of 0.3 Mt CO2e of GHG emissions” and over the 2021–2030 period “incremental GHG reductions are estimated to be about 3 Mt CO2e of GHG emissions”.

Commentary

The principal difficulty with any scenario analysis such as this is the same difficulty that faces any offsets analysis and that is the challenge of showing additionality (especially over such a long time frame). For example, one might expect that a utility would take DSM measures in any event to avoid or defer building new capacity and so it is not clear why any reductions associated with DSM should be credited to the regulatory scenario. Similarly, the BAU analysis assumes that natural gas generation would be added to replace retired coal generation but at this stage we do not know what any sector specific regulations might look like for the natural gas sector. This might of course influence what is business as usual and what is therefore additional – that which is required by law is not additional.

I think that this points to the general difficulty of negotiating equivalency agreements on a sector by sector basis where the potential equivalent commitments that provinces may offer involve activities in other yet-to-be-regulated industrial sectors; it would be perverse if a province were offering equivalency commitments from activities undertaken in another sector which then falls to be covered by new federal regulations for that sector.

One paragraph was added to the final version of the Equivalency Agreement which goes some way to addressing this issue:

4.3 The Parties agree that, should they develop further regulations relating to greenhouse gases or air pollutants affecting the electricity sector in Nova Scotia, they will in good faith use their best efforts to conclude an equivalency agreement in respect of those regulations.  If the regulation pertains to greenhouse gases, the Parties may choose to amend the present agreement and determine equivalency on the basis of a comparison of the aggregate impact of both the Reduction of Carbon Dioxide from Coal-Fired Generation of Electricity Regulations and any new federal regulation on electricity sector emissions in Nova Scotia with the impact of the Greenhouse Gas Emissions Regulations on electricity sector emissions in Nova Scotia.

All of this of course is connected to the duration of the proposed arrangements and here the RIAS attempts to choreograph a merry dance between the competing needs of regime certainty (to obtain the needed investments and to avoid stranded assets) and flexibility (to respond to the sort of complexity referred to above as well as to provide the opportunity for adjustments should equivalency prove to be unattainable). The RIAS attempts to offer certainty by analysing emissions projections over a sixteen year period from 2015 – 2030 (the first year coinciding with the entry into force of the CFGRs and the Agreement and Order in Council and the second, more subjectively, based on “the time frame of the amendments made to Nova Scotia’s regulations to enter into the equivalency agreement for the control of GHG emissions from the electricity sector in Nova Scotia.” (RIAS, s.8.2.2)) The Agreement itself however tells a different story since it provides that it terminates on December 31, 2019 – or by either Party giving at least three months’ notice. The latter provision flies in the face of the need for certainty and that concern is only partially met by Canada’s commitment that if the Agreement is terminated before the end of 2019 Canada will “start applying” the CFGRs in the province “with as little disruption as possible in the circumstances, in a manner that takes into consideration the importance of a reliable supply of electricity that does not place an undue economic burden on Nova Scotia.” (s.5.4). That might be enough comfort in a province where the only coal fired generator is a Crown corporation; it might not be enough in a province like Alberta where all of the generation is privately owned. However, the challenge is built in to the Act; both the five year term and the three months notice to terminate are prescribed by s.10(8) of CEPA, 1999.

The Agreement addresses its possible extension or renewal as follows:

Should both Parties be in compliance with the Agreement on June 1, 2019, the Parties commit to initiate its renewal, provided that the effect on greenhouse gas emissions levels in the electricity sector in Nova Scotia of the limits to be imposed pursuant to the [provincial equivalent measures] is still considered equivalent to the effect on greenhouse gas emissions levels that would result from the application of the Reduction of Carbon Dioxide Emissions from Coal-Fired Generation of Electricity Regulations in Nova Scotia during this period.

It will be interesting to see if the finalization of this Agreement triggers the finalization of additional equivalency agreements. It will also be interesting to see if any party attempts to trigger the review procedure contemplated by s.10 and s.333 of the Act.

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Competition for Underground Disposal Space

Fri, 08/01/2014 - 10:00am

By: Nigel Bankes

PDF Version: Competition for Underground Disposal Space

Decision commented on: Alberta Energy Regulator, Canadian Natural Resources Limited, Application for Disposal, Lloydminster Field, 2014 ABAER 008

Previous posts on ABlawg have commented on sub-surface resource conflicts especially as between gas storage operations and oil and gas production: see Kallisto # 1 here and Kallisto # 2 here. This decision involving Canadian Natural Resources Limited (CNRL) illustrates that there may also be competition for good disposal sites and that the disposal operations of one party may affect the disposal operations of another party. While this decision involves the use of pore space for water disposal operations we can also anticipate competition for the use of pore space for carbon dioxide disposal purposes (i.e. carbon capture and storage, CCS) if that technology rolls out as anticipated to mitigate Alberta’s greenhouse gas emissions.

CNRL produces oil in the Lloydminster area which is associated with high volumes of produced water that it must dispose of. CNRL already has significant infrastructure in place for waste water transport and injection but its increased production in the area means that it also needs to expand its disposal capacity in order to avoid needing to shut in wells. Accordingly, CNRL identified a new disposal target in the form of the 3-17 well which was the subject of this contentious hearing and decision. CNRL first proposed to drill and complete this well for injection into the sandstone Dina formation but amended that application upon receipt of objections from Ener T (which owned the offsetting 16-7 injection well) so as to provide for completion in the Moberly and Cooking Lake Formations instead. The Alberta Energy Regulator (AER) licensed the well for these two formations but as a result of the poor injectivity that it encountered CNRL renewed its initial application asking for approval to abandon the 3-17 well in those two formations and recomplete it for injection purposes in the Dina Formation. Ener T renewed its objections resulting in the AER scheduling a hearing in which Ener T, having filed a statement of concern, was granted full participation rights.

The AER hearing panel identified four issues (at para 13):

    • the need for additional disposal capacity,
    • the evaluation of alternative disposal zones,
    • the capacity of the Dina Formation for injection fluids, and
    • the potential for adverse effects on Ener T’s AB/16-7 well.

On the question of need the Panel ruled as follows:

[20] The panel acknowledges that CNRL has productive oil wells that are shut in due to insufficient produced water disposal capacity. It accepts that CNRL’s ability to fully exploit and maximize the recovery of oil reserves from its land holdings in the area will be constrained if additional water disposal capacity is not obtained. The panel therefore finds there is sufficient evidence to support CNRL’s need for additional disposal capacity in the area.

On the question of alternatives the Panel noted that CNRL had explored a number of different options including the recompletion of abandoned wells but the Panel agreed with CNRL (at para 31) that “the existing wells reviewed may have wellbore integrity issues and that injecting into a new well, such as 3-17, will minimize risk with regards to containment.” The Panel also noted (at para 28) that CNRL’s proposal would tend to “minimize the effects on the landowner by eliminating the need for additional surface impacts of a new well or additional facilities.”

The Panel also examined the alternative formations that might be proposed for disposal. CNRL preferred the Dina formation because it was a proven disposal zone (with more than 300 wells in the region disposing into that zone). The Panel agreed with that assessment and noted (at para 40) that alternative formations proposed by Ener T would not typically be approved for disposal since they were potentially oil bearing.

The most interesting discussion in the decision relates to the potential for CNRL’s activities to harm Ener T’s injection operations at its offsetting 16-7 well. Here Ener T argued that CNRL’s operations would prejudice its own disposal activities and it therefore asked the AER to establish a protective set back or buffer zone to recognize its priority in point of time in identifying and developing this (disposal) resource:

[64] Ener T argued that it is not in the public interest to allow a large operator such as CNRL to effectively “wash out” a small operator’s operation. It also argued that it is not in the public interest to allow large operators like CNRL to select disposal locations that have been established by small operators to be effective disposal zones and drill its well in the same zone and vicinity as the small operator with no consideration of the effects. Instead, Ener T submitted that it is in the public interest to reward people that “get somewhere first” and “incur the risk and the cost of drilling into a certain area.”

To protect its interest Enert T asked the AER to impose a 1.6 km buffer on “competing” (my term) injection operations. In effect Ener T was seeking some sort of exclusive or at least prior entitlement to the disposal capacity of the Dina reservoir – which from the map included in Figure 1 of the decision would seem to go beyond the geography of its lease (although we actually learn nothing in this decision about Ener T’s production or its disposal rights).

The Panel rejected Enert T’s claim for relief. As for the specific request that the AER establish a buffer:

[74] The panel notes that the AER’s regulations do not restrict the distance between disposal wells. The AER’s Directive 065 does provide that notification of a disposal application is to be given to unit operators, approval holders, well licensees, mineral lessees and lessors, and landowners within a 1.6 km radius of a proposed disposal well where the disposal zone is known to be present.

More generally however it would seem that Ener T’s claim failed on the basis that it had not convinced the Panel of the likelihood of prejudice. The Panel thought that the evidence supported the idea that the target was “open and regionally extensive” rather than characterized by local barriers (at paras 62 and 76) and accordingly was likely a situation in which the reservoir should be able to accept disposal fluids from both wells. The Panel also thought that if there were any impacts on Ener T’s operations they would be limited because of the standard maximum wellhead injection pressure that would be imposed on CNRL’s operations. Given that the risk of adverse impact was low but with the positive benefits of increased production and royalties flowing to the province, the Panel approved the application. The Panel did not discuss what would happen if it was wrong and the Dina formation in this location turns out to have a limited capacity for taking injected water. Presumably it will be open to Ener T to apply to the AER to have it review its decision but it is not clear that the AER believes that Ener T has any entitlement that the AER believes that it should protect. This seems quite different from the two Kallisto decisions where the regulator was at pains to develop conditions to protect the prior natural gas storage operation from interference.

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What Does Radical Title Add to the Concept of Sovereignty?

Thu, 07/31/2014 - 10:00am

By: Nigel Bankes and Jonnette Watson Hamilton

PDF Version: What Does Radical Title Add to the Concept of Sovereignty?

Case commented on: Tsilhqot’in Nation v British Columbia, 2014 SCC 44

The Crown’s radical title plays a larger role in the Supreme Court of Canada decision in Tsilhqot’in than it has in the Court’s previous Aboriginal rights decisions. However, it is unclear what the Court means by radical title in Tsilhqot’in or what work the concept is performing. One way to try to figure this out is to reflect on our understanding of the relationship between Aboriginal title and the Crown’s radical title before the Tsilhqot’in decision, describe Tsilhqot’in’s discussion of radical title, and then consider whether it adds anything to the concept of sovereignty.

Radical Title Pre-Tsilhqot’in

Pre-Tsilhqot’in it was generally understood that the Crown acquired radical title when it asserted sovereignty. The Crown’s radical title was burdened by Aboriginal title. (“Radical title” is also referred to as the “ultimate” or “underlying” or “final” title.). See, for example, the Privy Council decision in St. Catherine’s Milling and Lumber Co v The Queen (1888), 14 AC 46, [1888] JCJ No 1 at para 6: “[T]here has been all along vested in the Crown a substantial and paramount estate, underlying the Indian title, which became a plenum dominium whenever that title was surrendered or otherwise extinguished.”  See also Delgamuukw v British Columbia, [1997] 3 SCR 1010, 1997 CanLII 302 at para 145: “Aboriginal title is a burden on the Crown’s underlying title. However, the Crown did not gain this title until it asserted sovereignty over the land in question.”

Just what Aboriginal title is, how large an interest it is, and therefore how much of a burden it is on the Crown’s radical title has been described in various ways. Those ways range from the dismissive “personal and usufructuary right, dependent upon the good will of the Sovereign” in St. Catherine’s (at para 6) to that same case’s expansive identification of Aboriginal title as an “Interest other than that of the Province” (at paras 10 and 12) and therefore an interest to which the Provincial Crowns’ ownership of the “Lands, Mines, Minerals, and Royalties” within their boundaries is subject, pursuant to section 109 of the Constitution Act, 1867, 30 & 31 Vict, c 3. The Judicial Committee of the Privy Council’s decision in Amodu Tijani v. Secretary, Southern Nigeria, [1921] 2 AC 399 at 402-404 and 409-410 (quoted in Calder v Attorney General of British Columbia, [1973] SCR 313, 1973 CanLII 4 at 354-355 and 401-402) reinforced the latter expansive understanding of Aboriginal title within the British Empire: “[T]itle to land occupied by a native community … is prima facie based … on a communal usufructuary occupation, which may be so complete as to reduce any radical right in the Sovereign to one which only extends to comparatively limited rights of administrative interference.”  What is also clear in the pre-Tsilhqot’in jurisprudence is that the Crown’s pre-surrender radical title is not a beneficial interest. The Crown only acquires the beneficial interest once the land is “disencumbered” of Aboriginal title: St. Catherine’s at 59; AG Canada v AG Quebec, [1897] AC 199 at 205, 206; Smith v R, [1983] 1 SCR 554 at 562. Aboriginal title is therefore a very large interest.

Another way to approach the question of the content of the Crown’s radical title pre-Tsilhqot’in is to ask what duties the Crown owed as a result of acquiring radical title and what rights or powers it gained when it acquired radical title.

On the question of the Crown’s duties, our pre-Tsilhqot’in understanding was that there were none arising from radical title. Guerin v The Queen, [1984] 2 SCR 335, 1984 CanLII 25 is most instructive. The only reason the Court in Guerin discusses the Crown’s radical title is that Aboriginal peoples have always had to deal with the Crown because Aboriginal title is only alienable to the Crown, i.e., they are vulnerable. In Guerin (at 376), Dickson J (as he then was) addressed the source of the Crown’s fiduciary duty, stating “[t]he conclusion that the Crown is a fiduciary depends upon the further proposition that the Indian interest in the land is inalienable except upon surrender to the Crown.” It is the inalienable-except-to-the-Crown nature of Aboriginal title that gave rise to the fiduciary duty owed by the Crown to Aboriginal people. The source of the fiduciary duty was not the Crown’s radical title.

On the question of the rights or powers associated with radical title pre-Tsilhqot’in, the only entitlement was the Crown’s exclusive entitlement to acquire the burden on its radical title by consent, i.e. by treaty in conformity with the terms of the Royal Proclamation, 1763. Any power to diminish Aboriginal title was not a power associated with radical title, but rather with sovereignty. The Crown as sovereign had the power to diminish Aboriginal title if it did so constitutionally — and just what it took to do so constitutionally changed over time. The Crown lost the ability to make laws by prerogative authority that impinged on Aboriginal title once it established a representative legislature; the representative legislature lost the power to extinguish Aboriginal title unilaterally with the coming into force of section 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982.

The content of the Crown’s radical title pre-Tsilhqot’in was therefore very limited. That limited nature may be why radical title was so little discussed by the Supreme Court pre-Tsilhqot’in. In addition to the decision in St. Catherine’s Milling rendered by the Privy Council as Canada’s final court of appeal, and the (unnecessary) discussion in Guerin already referenced, only three other decisions touch on radical title: Calder v Attorney General of British Columbia, [1973] SCR 313, 1973 CanLII 4 at 354-355, quoting Amodu Tijani v. Secretary, Southern Nigeria, [1921] 2 AC 399 at 402-404; R v Van der Peet, [1996] 2 SCR 507, 1996 CanLII 216 at para 39, relying on Mabo v Queensland (No 2) (1992) 175 CLR 1, [1992] HCA 23 at 58; and Delgamuukw v British Columbia, [1997] 3 SCR 1010, 1997 CanLII 302 at para 145 (using radical title to set a date for proof of Aboriginal title).  In most of these instances the Supreme Court merely quotes the words of others rather than developing the concept itself.

Radical Title in Tsilhqot’in: The Supreme Court’s Exposition

In Tsilhqot’in, however, the Court develops the concept of radical title in its own words. The Court begins (at para 12) by attributing the invocation of radical title as the theory underlying Aboriginal title to Dickson J in Guerin. His judgment is said to be the “starting point” for characterizing the legal nature of Aboriginal title (at para 69). (St. Catherine’s Milling is not cited in Tsilhqot’in.) Dickson J is said to have held that the Crown acquired radical title to all the land in British Columbia at the time of assertion of European sovereignty, but this Crown title was burdened by the pre-existing and independent legal interests in land of the Aboriginal peoples who occupied and used the land prior to the arrival of Europeans (at paras 12 and 69, citing Guerin at 379-382). The idea of Aboriginal title attaching “as a burden on the underlying title asserted by the Crown at sovereignty” is reiterated in Tsilhqot’in (at para 75), as is the characterization of Aboriginal title as “an independent legal interest” (at paras 12, 69).

The Court then comments on the content of the Crown’s title. Radical title is apparently “what is left when Aboriginal title is subtracted from it” (at para 70). And because Dickson J said in Guerin (at 382) that Aboriginal title is a beneficial interest in land, the Court concludes that the Crown “does not retain a beneficial interest in Aboriginal title land” (at para 70, emphasis added).  They later add that “[t]he Crown’s underlying title in the land is held for the benefit of the Aboriginal group and constrained by the Crown’s fiduciary or trust obligation to the group” (at para 85).

Continuing with the “subtraction” idea, the Court next asks: “What remains of the Crown’s radical or underlying title to land held under Aboriginal title?” (at para 71). The answer, according to the Court’s interpretation of the authorities, is two things: (1) the fiduciary duty the Crown owes Aboriginal people when the Crown deals with Aboriginal lands, and (2) the right to encroach on Aboriginal title if the government can justify its encroachment (para 71).

Radical Title Post-Tsilhqot’in: Implications and Questions

What are we to make of the Court’s explication of the Crown’s radical title in Tsilhqot’in? Importantly, the general understanding that the Crown acquired radical title at the time of assertion of sovereignty, but burdened by Aboriginal title, remains the same. On this fundamental idea, there is no change.

What does the Court’s emphasis on Aboriginal title as “an independent legal interest” add to that basic idea? It appears to be an acknowledgment of two things: first, that the Crown is not the source of Aboriginal title, and, second, that Aboriginal title is capable of being vindicated in a competition with the Crown, i.e., it is enforceable against the Crown. Again, these are important ideas although they have been around since St. Catherine’s.

But what are we to make of the idea that radical title is “what is left when Aboriginal title is subtracted from it” or that the appropriate question is what “remains of the Crown’s radical or underlying title to land held under Aboriginal title?” This way of conceptualizing radical title is attributed to section 109 of the Constitution Act, 1867 which makes Provincial ownership “subject to any Trusts existing in respect thereof, and to any Interest other than that of the Province in the same” and to Delgamuukw (presumably a reference to para 175 where Lamer CJ holds that, while section 109 vests underlying title in provincial Crowns, it qualifies provincial ownership by making it subject to the “any Interest other than that of the Province in the same” and noting that in St. Catherine’s Milling, the Privy Council held that Aboriginal title was such an interest). The subtraction and remainder language is a new and metaphorical way to talk about the concept of the Crown’s radical title being burdened by or subject to Aboriginal title but it is not obvious that the new language adds anything of value.

The Court’s conclusion that the Crown “does not retain a beneficial interest in Aboriginal title land” is perhaps the most troubling specific passage. It suggests that, at least before an actual declaration of Aboriginal title, the Crown’s radical title is a beneficial interest.  It may be wrong to rely too heavily on one word, but “retain” means “to keep or to hold, to continue to have.” The Court could have said that, because Aboriginal title is a beneficial interest in the land, the Crown’s radical title cannot be a beneficial interest, but it did not. Instead it implies that Aboriginal title takes away the Crown’s beneficial title. At best, this seems like a confusing way to frame the issue but it also seems to contradict the idea that the Aboriginal title is independent of the Crown’s interest and came first.

It is difficult to know what to make of the later idea (at para 85) that the Crown’s radical title “is held for the benefit of the Aboriginal group.” Is the Court really suggesting that the Crown holds its radical title in trust for the Aboriginal group? If so then the Aboriginal group should be able to collapse the trust and take a full legal and beneficial title – an idea the Privy Council scuttled a long time ago in St. Catherine’s.

Lastly we come to the Court’s idea that what remains of the Crown’s radical title once Aboriginal title is subtracted are two related elements: (1) the fiduciary duty the Crown owes Aboriginal people when the Crown deals with Aboriginal lands, and (2) the right to encroach on Aboriginal title if the government can justify its encroachment.

As for the fiduciary duty (and as we have already noted above) it seems to us that the foundation for the duty is not the Crown’s radical title but rather its inalienable-but-to-the Crown quality. It is not helpful to ascribe such a duty to the Crown’s title. The Court has spent a lot of time and effort in narrowing the ambit of the Crown’s fiduciary duty to Aboriginal peoples in cases like Wewaykum Indian Band v Canada, [2004] 4 SCR 245 at paras 72 et seq and Manitoba Metis Federation Inc. v. Canada (Attorney General), [2013] 1 SCR 623, 2013 SCC 14 (CanLII). It seems cavalier to suggest that radical title is the source of fiduciary obligations rather than ideas such as vulnerability or (better still) reasonable expectations of a duty of undivided loyalty: Alberta v. Elder Advocates of Alberta Society, 2011 SCC 24 (CanLII), [2011] 2 SCR 261.

And what of the Court’s enumeration of a “right to encroach” as part of the Crown’s radical title?  Surely the Crown’s power to encroach, constitutionally exercised, is an aspect of sovereignty, or imperium. Whether the encroachment was an exercise of raw political and military power in the early days of European exploration and settlement, or unilateral extinguishment by federal legislation pre-1982, or a post-1982 justifiable infringement, radical title cannot justify a power to encroach. Encroachments are the acts of a sovereign exercised in lawful ways. Sanctioning this power as an element of the Crown’s radical title does not legitimize or add the patina of respectability to what is occurring.

Conclusion

It appears that there is more to the Crown’s radical title than we thought pre-Tsilhqot’in.  If the subtraction/retaining framing is not a mis-framing, then Aboriginal title is now conceived of as something that takes away from the Crown’s radical title. The Court’s conceptualization of radical title now includes what was formerly thought of as the sovereign’s power (executive or the legislature) to encroach upon Aboriginal title.

None of the Court’s new ideas about the Crown’s radical title seem particularly helpful or explanatory. Some of them obscure the exercise of political power by wrapping that exercise in the concept of title rather than sovereignty. In the end, we conclude that the notion of the Crown’s radical title does not add anything valuable to the concept of sovereignty; instead it is mere obfuscation of the sort that the Court decried in Delgamuukw (at para 122) in relation to the much misunderstood decision in St Catherine’s.

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The Importance of Location and Context to the Future Application of the Grassy Narrows Decision of the Supreme Court of Canada

Wed, 07/30/2014 - 10:00am

By: Kirk Lambrecht Q.C.

PDF Version: The Importance of Location and Context to the Future Application of the Grassy Narrows Decision of the Supreme Court of Canada

Case commented on: Grassy Narrows First Nation v Ontario (Natural Resources), 2014 SCC 48

This post discusses the future application of the decision of the Supreme Court in Grassy Narrows First Nation v Ontario (Natural Resources), 2014 SCC 48, to the Prairie Provinces of Canada.  The proposition advanced here is that Treaty rights in Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta are constitutionally protected under the Natural Resource Transfer Agreements of 1930, all of which are schedules to the Constitution Act, 1930, as well as being constitutionally protected by s. 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982 and the doctrine of the Honour of the Crown.  The scope and extent of Treaty harvesting rights in the Prairie Provinces, and how the constitutional protection afforded by the Natural Resource Transfer Agreements within the Constitution Act, 1930, may affect the exercise of provincial proprietary and legislative powers, is anticipated by, but not specifically addressed in, the Grassy Narrows decision.  This will require future judicial analysis when Grassy Narrows is applied in the region west of the Ontario/Manitoba border.

In constitutional law cases the courts are careful to address the issues arising in the specific factual context of a particular case. The factual context of the Grassy Narrows case involved the taking up of land under Treaty 3 in Ontario, but did not involve the Natural Resource Transfer Agreements within the Constitution Act, 1930.  Treaty 3, like the other historical numbered treaties, included a clause authorizing the taking up of land within the Treaty area.  The Treaty 3 clause provided that the Government of the Dominion of Canada could take up the land:

Her Majesty further agrees with Her said Indians that they, the said Indians, shall have right to pursue their avocations of hunting and fishing throughout the tract surrendered as hereinbefore described, subject to such regulations as may from time to time be made by Her Government of Her Dominion of Canada, and saving and excepting such tracts as may, from time to time, be required or taken up for settlement, mining, lumbering or other purposes by Her said Government of the Dominion of Canada, or by any of the subjects thereof duly authorized therefor by the said Government.

(Emphasis added)

The ratio decidendi of Grassy Narrows is:

    • that Ontario has power in respect of Crown lands by ss. 109, 92A and 92(5) of the Constitution Act, 1867; and also
    • that the exercise of Ontario’s powers under ss. 109, 92A and 92(5) of the Constitution Act, 1867 “is burdened by the Crown obligations toward the Aboriginal people in question.”

The implication of this, for Ontario, in the context of the Ojibway, was stated as follows:

[50] Here, Ontario must exercise its powers in conformity with the honour of the Crown, and the exercise of those powers is subject to the fiduciary duties that lie on the Crown in dealing with Aboriginal interests. For Treaty 3 land to be taken up, the harvesting rights of the Ojibway over the land must be respected. Any taking up of land in the Keewatin area for forestry or other purposes must meet the conditions set out by this Court in Mikisew Cree First Nation v. Canada (Minister of Canadian Heritage), [2005] 3 SCR 388, 2005 SCC 69.

(Emphasis added)

Read carefully, the Court appears to say that burdens on the exercise of provincial power apply to, but are not necessarily limited to, the taking up of land.  This would be consistent with the Court’s earlier jurisprudence on the nature and application of the honour of the Crown, summarized in Manitoba Metis Federation Inc. v. Canada (Attorney General), 2013 SCC 14, [2013] 1 SCR 623 at paragraphs 65 to 83; and, further, in the Court’s jurisprudence on consultation and accommodation, which repeatedly affirms that consultation and accommodation may extend to strategic, higher level decisions that may have an impact on Treaty rights, and is not limited to decisions which constitute taking up Crown land.

The Court’s decision in Grassy Narrows has been the subject of a variety of case comments: see e.g. here, here, here, and here.  These comments all recognize some constitutional protection of Treaty rights. They necessarily focus on the constitutional protections afforded Treaty 3 rights in Ontario, and make reference to the duty to consult specifically.  The focus of these comments is the constitutional protection of Treaty 3 given by s. 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982 and the doctrine of the honour of the Crown, and the implications of this for the exercise of provincial powers under ss. 109, 92A and 92(5) of the Constitution Act, 1867.

The application of Grassy Narrows to the Prairie Provinces will necessarily involve a consideration not before the Court, i.e. the scope and extent of Treaty harvesting rights in the Prairie Provinces, and how the constitutional protection afforded by the Natural Resource Transfer Agreements within the Constitution Act, 1930, may affect the exercise of provincial proprietary and legislative powers.

Canada retained administration and control of Crown lands when the provinces of Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta were created; and it assumed this responsibility in the Railway Belt and Peace River Block of British Columbia.  In 1930, through the Schedules in the Constitution Act, 1930, these Provinces assumed administration and control over these Crown lands.  The purpose of the Constitution Act, 1930, was to put the Prairie Provinces in the same position as Ontario (and the other original Provinces of Confederation).

Since Grassy Narrows confirms that the exercise of proprietary and legislative powers of Ontario as regards Crown lands and resources are subject to Treaty rights, it follows necessarily that when administration and control of Crown lands and resources was transferred through the Constitution Act, 1930 to the provinces of Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta, each therefore also took proprietary and legislative powers subject to Treaty rights.

The Grassy Narrows decision therefore necessarily means that the powers of the Prairie Provinces under ss. 109, 92A and 92(5) of the Constitution Act, 1867are also burdened by obligations to Aboriginal peoples.  To track the language of the Court, provincial powers must be exercised in conformity with the honour of the Crown, and the exercise of those powers is subject to the fiduciary duties that lie on the Crown in dealing with Aboriginal interests.   For Treaty land to be taken up, the harvesting rights of First Nations over the land must be respected. Any taking up of land in the Prairie Provinces must meet the conditions set out in Mikisew Cree. None of this is a surprise. Alberta’s Policy on Consultation with First Nations on Land and Natural Resource Management, 2013, recognizes that “Alberta’s management and development of provincial Crown lands and natural resources is subject to its legal and constitutional duty to consult First Nations and, where appropriate, accommodate their interests when Crown decisions may adversely affect their continued exercise of constitutionally protected Treaty rights.”

But the duty to consult is derived from the honour of the Crown and the constitutional protection afforded Treaty rights by s. 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982.  Beyond this, the Constitution Act, 1930, provides additional constitutional protections for Treaty rights west of the Ontario/Manitoba border. These additional constitutional protections are anticipated, but not explicitly discussed, by the constitutional framework affirmed by the Grassy Narrows decision.

Important contextual factors exist in the Prairie Provinces.  By section 1 of the Constitution Act, 1930, provincial jurisdiction over lands and resources was expressly made subject to existing trusts or other interests; and the exercise of provincial powers was further limited by the Natural Resource Transfer Agreement provisions applicable to each Province.  Moreover, the Treaty rights were altered by the Constitution Act, 1930, through merger and consolidation.

There is a considerable body of jurisprudence respecting the Natural Resource Transfer Agreements.  This jurisprudence recognizes that the Treaties and the Natural Resource Transfer Agreements both involve solemn assurances of continuity of practices, traditions and customs integral to First Nation societies.  In these respects, location is important to First Nations.  Treaty harvesting rights of hunting, fishing and/or trapping are more than privileges of hunting, fishing or trapping somewhere.  The Court recognizes this reality in Mikisew Cree, where Binnie J. for the Court writes that “for aboriginal people, as for non-aboriginal people, location is important” (2005 SCC 69 at para 47). The late Gerard V. LaForest made the same point in his book Natural Resources and Public Property under the Canadian Constitution (University of Toronto Press, 1969) at page 120:  “It does, of course, matter to them where they hunt and fish….”.

The Natural Resource Transfer Agreements

    • provide that the rights to fishery were to belong and be administered by the Province “[e]xcept as herein otherwise provided.”   Since the transfer of public lands generally was
    • subject to Treaty rights, it seems to follow logically that provincial rights in relation to the fishery are subject to Treaty rights to fish.
    • provide that provincial laws respecting game were to be applicable to Indians “in order to secure to the Indians of the Province the continuance of the supply of game and fish for their support and subsistence.”  This can be viewed as a constitutionally protected right to the continuance of a supply of healthy fish and game necessary to the exercise of Treaty harvesting rights for support and subsistence.
    • assure to the Indians the right to hunt for food on “all unoccupied Crown lands and on any other lands to which the Indians have a right of access.”  This includes, of course, Indian reserve lands. This is a substantive right to hunt for food.

In conclusion, it is proposed here that the future application of the Grassy Narrows decision to the Prairie Provinces of Canada will necessarily involve a consideration of how the exercise of provincial proprietary and legislative powers are burdened by Crown obligations to First Nations which arise from the Natural Resource Transfer Agreements in the Constitution Act, 1930. 

Kirk Lambrecht, Q.C. represented the intervener the Fort McKay First Nation in the Grassy Narrows case before the Supreme Court of Canada.

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The Keewatin Case: “Taking up” Lands under Treaty 3

Mon, 07/28/2014 - 11:40am

By: Jennifer Hocking

PDF Version: The Keewatin Case: “Taking up” Lands under Treaty 3

Case commented on: Grassy Narrows First Nation v Ontario (Natural Resources), 2014 SCC 48

On July 11, 2014, the Supreme Court of Canada issued its decision in the Grassy Narrows case (also known as Keewatin).  The Court held that the province of Ontario has the power to “take up” lands surrendered under Treaty 3 so as to limit the Ojibway First Nation’s hunting and fishing rights within the Keewatin area of Treaty 3 in Northwestern Ontario.  Based on the Court’s decision in Mikisew, this power is subject to the duty to consult, and, if appropriate, accommodate, First Nations interests (Mikisew Cree First Nation v Canada (Minister of Canadian Heritage), 2005 SCC 69).  This duty is grounded in the honour of the Crown and binds the Province of Ontario in the exercise of the Crown’s powers (Keewatin at paras 50-51).  A potential action for treaty infringement will arise if the taking up leaves the First Nation with no meaningful right to hunt, fish or trap in the territories over which they traditionally hunted, fished, and trapped (Keewatin at para 52). In cases where the taking up of lands by Ontario constitutes an infringement of treaty rights, an analysis based on section 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982 and the Sparrow and Badger decisions will determine whether the infringement is justified (R. v Sparrow, [1990] 1 SCR 1075; R. v. Badger, [1996] 1 SCR 771.)  The doctrine of interjurisdictional immunity does not preclude the Province from justifiably infringing treaty rights (Tsilhqot’in First Nation v British Columbia, 2014 SCC 44, and for an earlier post on the Court’s handling of interjurisdictional immunity in Tsilhqot’in see here).     

The Court’s analysis in Keewatin is based in part on sections 109, 92(5) and 92A of the Constitution Act, 1867.  Pursuant to section 109, the Province of Ontario holds the beneficial interests in all lands in the province.  Section 92(5) gives the provinces exclusive power over the “Management and Sale of the Public Lands belonging to the Province and of the Timber and Wood thereon” and section 92A gives the provinces exclusive power to make laws in relation to non-renewable natural resources, forestry resources, and electrical energy (Keewatin at para 31).   Based in part on these sections, Ontario effectively replaced the federal government as the government that could take up lands pursuant to the terms of Treaty 3.

The Keewatin decision follows logically from the Horseman decision, in which the SCC held that the Alberta government could regulate hunting rights under Treaty 8, even though the treaty was signed by the federal government (R v Horseman, 1990 1 SCR 901).  In Horseman, the operation of section 12 of the 1930 Natural Resources Transfer Agreement resulted in the Alberta government in effect replacing the federal government as the “Government of the country” with the right to regulate the treaty rights to hunt, fish and trap.

The Keewatin decision leaves an important question unanswered. The Court makes it clear that a taking up of lands that leaves a signatory First Nation with no meaningful right to hunt, fish or trap may constitute a potential infringement, and it would appear to be very difficult for the Crown to justify the taking up under those circumstances.  However, the Court does not comment on whether taking up a significant portion of lands (but not the entire lands) over which a signatory First Nation traditionally hunted, fished or trapped would prima facie constitute an infringement of treaty rights.  Future cases may address this issue as more and more lands become subject to forestry and mining tenures and to settlement.

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“Putting” Browne v Dunn into Perspective

Thu, 07/24/2014 - 10:00am

By: Dylan Finlay

PDF Version: “Putting” Browne v Dunn into Perspective

Case commented on: R v KWG2014 ABCA 124

The century old rule in Browne v Dunn (hereinafter “the rule”) holds that if counsel intends to present evidence contradictory to a witness’s testimony as part of his or her argument, he or she must put this version of events to the witness during cross-examination.  But just how far must counsel go to satisfy this requirement? The Alberta Court of Appeal has recently shed some light on this question.

The rule is summarized in R v Pasqua, [2009] AJ No 702, 2009 ABCA 247: “there is a general duty on counsel to put a matter directly to a witness if counsel is going to later adduce evidence to impeach the witness’ credibility or present contradictory evidence.” The purpose of the rule is well-grounded; witnesses should be given an opportunity to respond to competing versions of events. Applying a rigid interpretation to R v Pasqua, it would appear as if during cross-examination, counsel would have to say the words “I put to you …” before presenting the witness with contradictory evidence. This formal and rigid interpretation of the rule has now been clarified, and a more flexible approach adopted.

In the British Columbia Court of Appeal decision R v Drydgen, 2013 BCCA 253 the court was unanimous in its interpretation of the rule. The case involved a home invasion. Despite allegations that the accused had pointed a silver handgun at the resident of the home, the police did not find a handgun on or near the accused. This fact became a central issue at trial. The victim was cross-examined extensively on the reliability of his evidence; however defence counsel did not suggest to him that he was mistaken about the existence of the handgun. On appeal, Justices Ian Donald, Mary Newbury, and Harvey Groberman ruled that the trial judge had erred in applying Browne v Dunn to the case.  The relevant paragraphs from the British Columbia Court of Appeal decision are reproduced below:

17 While a problem of fairness could theoretically arise from a failure to cross examine on a point later advanced in argument, the concern will almost always be considerably attenuated.  This is especially so when the argument flows naturally from the direction taken in cross-examination, rendering any suggestion of ambush illusory: see R v Ali, 2009 BCCA 464 at para. 39.  The confrontation must be a meaningful exercise rather than merely the performance of a ritual where the witness is invited to agree with a proposition later to be argued to the effect that his testimony is unreliable.  I refer in this regard to the remarks of Chief Justice McEachern in R v Khuc, 2000 BCCA 20, 142 CCC (3d) 276:

[44]  Crown counsel’s point is well taken.  There can be no doubt that the general rule is that counsel must confront a witness with any new material he or she intends to adduce or rely on after the witness has left the box.  However, the rule does not go so far as to require counsel to ask contradicting questions about straightforward matters of fact on which the witness has already given evidence that he or she is very unlikely to change.

(Emphasis original)

The position taken by the British Columbia Court of Appeal was adopted unanimously by the Alberta Court of Appeal in R v KWG.  This case involved allegations that the accused had sexually-touched his step-daughter when she was 10-11 years old. On appeal, the appellant argued that the crown prosecutor did not expressly put allegations of collusion, perjury, and witness-coaching to him and his wife. It was argued that by not expressly putting these allegations to the appellant, the crown prosecutor had violated Browne v Dunn. In response, the Alberta Court of Appeal cited R v Drydgen and concluded that “[n]ot every matter of contradicting evidence or comment needs to be put to a witness.  Therefore, the prosecutor was not required to expressly put allegations of collusion to the defence of other witnesses.” (at para 45)   Rather, witnesses must be “appropriately confronted” (at para 46) in order to avoid a scenario where the opposing party is surprised by allegations.

These rulings make it clear that at times the rule can be overzealously applied. Browne v Dunn persists as a precedent, however the rule can be easily satisfied. During cross-examination, counsel must appropriately confront the witness with the competing theory or story. He or she need not explicitly put all contradicting evidence to a witness. If a question is truly redundant, it need not be asked.  Finally, the magic words “I put it to you …”, need not be said.

In the situation that the rule is broken, the question turns to the appropriate remedy.  R v McNeill, [2000] OJ No 1357, 144 CCC (3d) 551 provides two potential remedies. The primary remedy, and the one to be considered first, is to recall the witness. The aggrieved party can then either accept or decline the recall of their witness. Should they decline it, the secondary option need not be considered. In situations where it is impossible or highly impracticable to recall the witness, the secondary remedy is for the trial judge to consider giving the jury special instructions. If special instructions are warranted, the jury should be told that in assessing the weight to be given to the uncontradicted evidence, they may properly take into account the fact that the opposing witness was not questioned about it. The jury should also be told that they may take this into account in assessing the credibility of the opposing witness.

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Curious Interactions between the Charter, Contempt Orders, and the Evolution of Section 1

Wed, 07/23/2014 - 11:20am

By: Sarah Burton

PDF Version: Curious Interactions between the Charter, Contempt Orders, and the Evolution of Section 1

Case commented on: Alberta v AUPE, 2014 ABCA 197

In Alberta v AUPE the Alberta Court of Appeal reviewed the validity of a civil contempt order issued against the Alberta Union of Public Employees (“AUPE”). While ultimately upholding the order for civil contempt, the unanimous Court of Appeal sizably narrowed its provisions to protect AUPE’s freedom of expression. The decision turned on two issues: the admissibility of televised news reports as evidence, and the constitutionality of court orders that restrict free speech. Of these two issues, the Charter discussion is particularly interesting. The Court of Appeal presented and applied an alternative to the Oakes test, holding that Oakes is ill-suited to challenges that do not involve laws of general application. In addition, the Court curiously failed to consider a critical threshold issue – namely, whether the Charter applied to court orders at all. Thus, Alberta v AUPE not only widens a narrow exception to the Oakes test, it imposes Charter restrictions on contempt orders without discussing its authority to do so.  

Background Facts

In April of 2013, a “wildcat” strike (one without union leadership’s authorization or support) arose at the Edmonton Remand Centre. It quickly expanded to several correctional facilities across the province. The striking employees were governed by the Public Service Employee Relations Act, RSA 2000, c P-43 [PSERA], which prohibits strikes (PSERA at s. 70). As such, the government of Alberta filed a complaint with the Alberta Labour Relations Board (the “Board”).

The Board issued a series of directives that (a) ordered the striking AUPE members to return to work, (b) directed AUPE to “immediately” notify the striking members of the directives, and (c) ordered AUPE to make reasonable efforts to bring the strike to an end (the “Directives”). The Directives were filed with the Court of Queen’s Bench, wherein they became court orders. When the strike continued, the Government of Alberta brought an application against AUPE for civil contempt of the court orders.

The Honourable Associate Chief Justice Rooke in chambers granted the government’s application. In reaching this decision, Justice Rooke relied on televised video clips in which various AUPE officials made contemptuous statements about the court orders (para 11). Justice Rooke also reviewed material on the AUPE website, finding its effort to comply with the Directives “wholly inadequate” and “an insult” (para 11).

The resulting Order (the “Contempt Order”) emphasized purging the contempt. It created escalating fines in case the strike continued, and further directed AUPE to (at para 13):

    • Remove references to solidarity or support for the strike;
    • Publish the Court Orders on its website;
    • Prohibit any of officers of AUPE from publishing solidarity with the strike on social media or other website;
    • Publish clear statement encouraging AUPE members to comply with the Directives and return to work on the AUPE website;
    • Refrain from publishing their version of the news covering the strike (collectively, the “Impugned Provisions”).

AUPE appealed the ruling of civil contempt, and the content of the Impugned Provisions. AUPE argued that Justice Rooke erred by (at para 14):

    • Finding AUPE in civil contempt;
    • Acting without jurisdiction and contrary to PSERA;
    • Relying on inadmissible hearsay to hold AUPE in contempt;
    • Admitting evidence that was more prejudicial than probative;
    • Failing to consider the impact of the Contempt Order on those who were not represented in Court; and
    • Unreasonably restraining AUPE’s s. 2(b) Charter rights (with regards to the Impugned Provisions)

AUPE’s Civil Contempt

The Court of Appeal upheld the ruling of civil contempt.

AUPE had attempted to exclude evidence of its contempt. It argued that Justice Rooke identified AUPE representatives through video news clips, and that this identification amounted to inadmissible hearsay (paras 20 – 22). It also argued that the prejudicial value of these clips outweighed their probative effect (para 27).

These arguments were largely unsuccessful. On the hearsay issue, AUPE had posted many of the clips on its own website, and added its own clips as AUPE “news reports”. AUPE thus identified many of its own representatives, and held them out with the authority to speak on its behalf. The Court of Appeal ruled Justice Rooke was entitled to rely on this evidence (paras 24, 25).  Some clips featured speakers who were not identifiable as AUPE representatives by government affiants or AUPE’s website. This evidence was inadmissible, but since Justice Rooke did not rely on these statements, the error was not fatal (para 26).

As to the prejudicial effect of the evidence, AUPE argued that the video clips contained considerable (prejudicial) commentary about the strike, while they had little probative value. While the Court of Appeal agreed with this characterization for some videos, the Court of Appeal observed that Justice Rooke did not focus on the overtly prejudicial clips (para 32). Given the degree of discretion owed, and the substantial evidence supporting contempt, the Court of Appeal held there was no palpable and overriding error issuing the Contempt Order.

The Constitutionality of the Impugned Provisions

While the decision on civil contempt stood, the Impugned Provisions did not survive Charter scrutiny. The Province of Alberta argued that AUPE’s Charter challenge was nothing more than a collateral attack on s. 70 of PSERA, and refused to make submissions on the issue. The Court of Appeal rejected the government’s collateral attack argument, and held that the Impugned Provisions unjustifiably infringed AUPE’s freedom of expression.

Section 2(b) Infringement

The Court of Appeal reviewed a history of case law to demonstrate the importance of freedom of expression in the context of labour disputes. It held that AUPE had a constitutionally protected right to make and post video clips about the strike, and that the Impugned Provisions clearly limited AUPE’s ability to meaningfully express itself (para 45). Thus, the Court of Appeal held that the Impugned Provisions (which contained both positive and negative directions) directly impacted AUPE’s freedom of expression. The Court of Appeal drew strength from the Supreme Court of Canada decision in Slaight Communications Inc v Davidson, [1989] 1 SCR 1038 [Slaight], where a “similar direction” was made in the context of an arbitrator’s order (para 46).

Section 1 Analysis

Turning to the s. 1 justification, the Court of Appeal considered two options: applying the Oakes test, or adopting the Dagenais/Mentauk framework. The Court of Appeal described these tests as “alternative[s]” (para 51), with the latter being developed in the context of publication bans to balance freedom of expression with other important interests. The Court drew on statements in R v NS, 2012 SCC 72 [NS] (dealing with a witness’ right to where a niqab while testifying), that the Dagenais/Mentauk framework now has a broader application (para 49, quoting NS at para 7).

The Court remarked that the Oakes analysis is “difficult to apply” in cases that do not review the constitutionality of a general law (para 52). The Supreme Court of Canada has made similar comments when faced with Charter challenges to discretionary decisions (See for example Doré v Barreau du Québec, 2012 SCC 12 [Dore] at para 37). Thus, while the Dagenais/Mentauk framework was developed in a different context, the Court of Appeal opted to apply a balancing framework guided by its principles.

The Dagenais/Mentauk framework has two stages once it is clear competing interests are engaged (at para 53, see also Re: Vancouver Sun, 2004 SCC 43at para 32). First, it considers whether the infringement (and extent thereof) is necessary to protect the administration of justice. If so, the second stage considers whether the salutary effects of the infringement outweigh its deleterious effects.

Justice Rooke did not consider the necessity and effects of the Impugned Provisions. Indeed, given that the constitutional challenge arose out of the Contempt Order, Justice Rooke did not consider a Charter issue at all. The Court of Appeal held that, despite valid arguments regarding the necessity of the Impugned Provisions to protect the administration of justice, they were not properly balanced with AUPE’s freedom of expression. As such, the Impugned Provisions were struck for unjustifiably breaching AUPE’s s. 2(b) Charter rights.

Commentary

The Charter’s Application

Alberta v AUPE is a peculiar decision – but the peculiarity stems more from what is not said, rather than what is. The Court of Appeal plainly assumes that the Charter applies to the Contempt Order. The closest they come to discussing this issue comes by way of reference to the Slaight decision. In discussing the s. 2(b) breach, the Court states:

[46] [P]aragraph 11 of the Contempt Order imposes positive obligations on AUPE by directing it to make specific statements encouraging AUPE members to comply with the Board Directives and to publish the Board Directives to its website. The Supreme Court found that a similar direction infringed freedom of expression by putting words in the mouth of the speaker: see Slaight. There, an adjudicator required the employer to write a reference letter for an employee with specified positive content. The Supreme Court held that forcing a person to make specific statements is a clear infringement of the s 2(b) right to freedom of expression. Similarly in this case, the Contempt Order requires AUPE to make statements it may not agree with and imposes the same kind of action that infringes s 2(b) in Slaight.

(Emphasis added)

Slaight dealt with an order from an administrative adjudicator. Unlike the present case, in Slaight the Supreme Court of Canada questioned whether the Charter could apply to an adjudicator’s decision. They answered in the affirmative, because the adjudicator was a creature of statute. His entire authority was statutorily derived, and therefore, the exercise of that authority was limited by the Charter. Justice Lamer (dissenting in part, but whose reasoning was accepted on this point) explained (at pp 1077-1078):

The fact that the Charter applies to the order made by the adjudicator in the case at bar is not, in my opinion, open to question.  The adjudicator is a statutory creature:  he is appointed pursuant to a legislative provision and derives all his powers from the statute.  As the Constitution is the supreme law of Canada and any law that is inconsistent with its provisions is, to the extent of the inconsistency, of no force or effect, it is impossible to interpret legislation conferring discretion as conferring a power to infringe the Charter, unless, of course, that power is expressly conferred or necessarily implied ….  Accordingly, an adjudicator exercising delegated powers does not have the power to make an order that would result in an infringement of the Charter, and he exceeds his jurisdiction if he does so.

(Emphasis added)

In the present case, Justice Rooke in chambers is not a statutory creature – his authority as a superior court justice is not granted by statute, and his jurisdiction is inherent. The Slaight reasoning does not assist the Court of Appeal in establishing that the Charter applies to the Contempt Order.

Peter Hogg has weighed in on this issue, and attempted to reconcile a collection of inconsistent case law on the Charter’s application to court orders (Peter W. Hogg, Constitutional Law of Canada: 2013 Student Edition, (Toronto: Carswell, 2013) at 37-21 [Hogg]). Perhaps unsurprisingly, these contradictory cases often arise in the context of labour disputes. In Retail, Wholesale and Department Store Union v Dolphin Delivery, [1986] 2 SCR 573 [Dolphin Delivery], the Supreme Court of Canada held that the Charter did not apply to a court order that restricted a union’s secondary picketing activity. Later, in British Columbia Government Employees’ Union v. British Columbia, [1988] 2 SCR 214 [BCGEU]the same Court ruled that an injunction restricting picketing in front of the British Columbia Court House infringed s. 2(b), but was saved by s. 1.

Hogg has attempted to reconcile (or at least accommodate) the apparent contradiction by drawing two points of distinction: (1) labour disputes that involve purely private parties, and (2) the application of a statute to the dispute. Hogg explains (at 37-21):

[In Dolphin Delivery] [n]o government was involved in the dispute, and no statute was applied to the disputeThe ratio decidendi of Dolphin Delivery must be that a court order, when issued as a resolution of a dispute between private parties, and when based on the common law, is not governmental action to which the Charter applies … Where, however, a court order is issued on the court’s own motion for a public purpose (as in BCGEU), or a proceeding to which government is a party … than the Charter will apply to the court order.

Hogg’s reasoning, applied to the present case, would conclude that the Charter does apply to the Contempt Order as the government of Alberta was a party to the proceeding (and perhaps also, that the PSERA was involved in the decision). But despite the fact that the Court of Appeal (may have) reached the correct decision, this does not excuse its failure to engage with this foundational, complicated and unsettled issue.

It is possible that this failure stemmed from Alberta’s refusal to make submissions on the Charter argument (other than that it was a collateral attack on PSERA).  The Court of Appeal, therefore, did not argue points that were not put to them. Nonetheless, failing to flag the issue of application leaves a significant gap in the Court’s reasoning. By refusing to engage this issue, one is left with the impression that all court orders are subject to the Charter, regardless of the situation. This is plainly not true, and casts an uneasy shadow over the judicial authority to issue contempt orders.

The Expansion of Dagenais/Mentauk

The second point of interest flows from the Court’s choice to apply the Dagenais/Mentauk framework over the Oakes test. Typically, the Dagenais/Mentauk approach is seen as a complement rather than an alternative to Oakes. However, two 2012 Supreme Court of Canada decisions (NS and Dore) provided support for expanding the Dagenais/Mentauk test as an independent alternative when dealing with challenges to discretionary or common law decisions

In Alberta v AUPE, the Court of Appeal clearly endorses this development. This decision, therefore, may be viewed as part of a larger trend ending the Oakes monopoly on s. 1 analysis.

The Dagenais/Mentauk analysis arises incases that do not challenge a law of general application. It’s growth has roots in logistical difficulties. According to various judges, when a Charter challenge focuses on discretion rather than a law, Oakes is a difficult fit.  For example, is a discretionary decision “prescribed by law” or does it pursue a “pressing and substantial objective”? Dagenais/Mentauk attempts to preserve the proportionality, necessity and (to some extent) the minimal impairment components of Oakes, while de-emphasizing the aspects that are geared to legislative challenges. In the Court of Appeal’s view at least, the Dagenais/Mentauk framework asks similar questions to Oakes, but in a more relevant way.

Notably, however, the Dagenais/Mentauk framework appears to import more deference than Oakes (Dore at paras 36 – 45). The focus is on balancing competing rights such that the greater good is advanced. While minimal impairment analysis may be integrated into the “necessity” stage of Dagenais/Mentauk, this issue is wrapped into broader concerns.

It will be interesting see where the Dagenais/Mentauk framework will go next. While the Oakes analysis is currently alive and well in the criminal sphere, the rationale advanced by the Alberta Court of Appeal and the Supreme Court in NS would, on its face, apply to a broad variety of criminal Charter challenges. Whatever happens next, it appears we are witnessing a significant evolution in s. 1 analysis. It remains to be seen if this development weakens individual Charter protections when challenging a discretionary decision.

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Private Health Insurance and Charter Section 7

Fri, 07/18/2014 - 10:00am

By: Linda McKay-Panos

 PDF Version: Private Health Insurance and Charter Section 7

Case discussed: Allen v Alberta, 2014 ABQB 184

Over the past few years, various courts across Canada have addressed the ambit of the Charter right to life, liberty and security of the person in the context of access to private health insurance.  Allen v Alberta, 2014 ABQB 184 (“Allen”) is Alberta’s recent case on this issue.

Dr. Allen, a dentist, experienced a back and knee injury in 2007, and required a Magnetic Resonance Imaging (“MRI”) test. He was told it would take six to eight months for the MRI because of Alberta’s waiting list. Dr. Allen paid for the MRI himself in order to avoid the wait. The MRI revealed bulging and degeneration of his lumbar spinal discs (paras 2 to 5).

Dr. Allen was treated for the pain by medication and injections, but his work as a dentist was affected. In 2009, a specialist recommended back surgery (para 8). He was told he would have to wait one year for a special test (“discogram”) and a further year for surgery (to June 2011). In June 2009, a new MRI test revealed further degeneration and herniation of the lumbar discs (para 10).

A specialist in Montana took a further MRI and recommended surgery (para 11). Dr. Allen ceased his dental practice due to the pain.

Dr. Allen contacted the Alberta Health Minister’s office and was able to expedite the discogram to September 2009. He arranged to have surgery in Montana in December 2009, but later cancelled this because surgery became available in Alberta in December 2009 (para 15). However, the Alberta date was later cancelled and re-set for June 2011 (para 14). Dr. Allen contacted the surgeon in Montana and was able to revive the December 2009 date in Montana and paid for the surgery himself.

Following surgery the pain decreased gradually but Dr. Allen claimed (without proof) that the delay in obtaining surgery left him with permanent nerve damage. He sold his dental practice in 2010 (para 17). Dr. Allen had not been able to purchase private health insurance.

Justice P. Jeffrey was unable to conclude that Dr. Allen was delayed in receiving  “any other medical service beyond a time either convenient to him or that was first medically advisable” (para 20).

Justice Jeffrey discussed Alberta’s implementation of the recommendations in the Final Report of the Federal Advisor Wait Times (Ottawa: Health Canada, 2006) (“Postl Report” available  here) , including wait times initiatives and primary care networks (para 22). While Alberta had tracked specific medical conditions in order to ascertain whether their treatment was delivered within target timeframes, it did not specifically track disc replacement surgery (para 26). Alberta testified that it did not know how many Albertans were on waiting lists for surgeries and suffering through severe pain or unable to function on a daily basis because of their conditions (para 28).

Section 3 of the Canada Health Act, RSC 1985 c C-6 provides:

3. It is hereby declared that the primary objective of Canadian health care policy is to protect, promote and restore the physical and mental well-being of residents of Canada and to facilitate reasonable access to health services without financial or other barriers.

The relevant subsection of the Alberta Health Care Insurance Act, RSA 2000, c A-20 (“AHCIA”) provides:

26(2) An insurer shall not enter into, issue, maintain in force or renew a contract or initiate or renew a self-insurance plan under which any resident or group of residents is provided with any prepaid basic health services or extended health services or indemnification for all or part of the cost of any basic health services or extended health services.

Dr. Allen applied to the court for a declaration that AHCIA subsection 26(2) violated his rights under section 7 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms (the Charter), which provides:

7. Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of the person and the right not to be deprived thereof except in accordance with the principles of fundamental justice.

As a preliminary issue, Alberta argued that Charter section 7 did not apply here because AHCIA subsection 26(2) was neither part of the adjudicative context nor the administration of justice (para 34).  Justice Jeffrey relied on Canada (Attorney General) v PHS Community Services Society, 2011 SCC 44 (“PHS”), which provides that “when a policy is translated into law or state actions, those laws and actions are subject to scrutiny under the Charter.”  He concluded that AHCIA section 26(2) (“the Prohibition”) was therefore subject to Charter review (paras 34, 36).

Justice Jeffrey noted that in determining whether section 7 of the Charter is violated, R v Beare, [1988] 2 SCR 317, provides for a two-step inquiry. First, the court looks at whether there has been a deprivation of the right to life, liberty and security of the person, and, second, whether the law (AHCIA, section 26(2)) is contrary to the principles of fundamental justice (para 32).

Dr. Allen argued that his security of the person was violated in this case. He relied on Chaouilli v Quebec (Attorney) General, 2005 SCC 35 (“Chaouilli”) for the proposition that “any statutory prohibition on private health care violates the right to security of the person” (para 39). Justice Jeffrey disagreed with this position. He noted that breaches of section 7 must be demonstrated with evidence: PHS, Chaouilli, Blencoe v British Columbia (Human Rights Commission), 2000 SCC 44, [2000] 2 SCR 307, Canada (Attorney General) v Bedford, 2013 SCC 72, 366 DLR (4th) 237” (para 40). Justice Jeffrey held that the authorities require an applicant to demonstrate that the law in question prevents access to health care. Dr. Allen had not so demonstrated (para 41).

Dr. Allen also argued that the conclusion of Justice Deschamps in Chaouilli— that the policies with respect to private health insurance in Quebec and Alberta are the same—supported his lack of evidence (para 43). Justice Jeffrey said that that was the decision of one Justice, not the majority of seven. Further, Alberta’s policy may have changed since Chaouilli was heard. Justice Deschamps’ statement was made when summarizing expert evidence that was accepted by the Trial Judge in Chaouilli, not when determining that AHCIA section 26(2) violated Charter section 7 (para 44).

Justice Jeffrey noted that the majority judgment of the Supreme Court in Chaouilli relied on conclusions based on the specific record that was before the court. He held:

[48] I am bound by the Supreme Court of Canada’s majority decision legal pronouncements. I am bound to apply its ratio decidendi to similar causes of action arising from similar fact situations.But I am not bound to apply a conclusion of mixed fact and law from a Supreme Court of Canada case to another case that merely shares a similar allegation but offers no evidence to establish the allegation in fact.

[49] Dr. Allen’s injury and its ensuing effects were most unfortunate, but no evidence causally connected his wait time experience in the Alberta health care system with the Prohibition. Nothing was presented showing, for example, his wait time to be longer than it otherwise would have been because of the Prohibition or to show that absent the Prohibition his wait time would have been shorter.

Justice Jeffrey also noted that there are a number of alternate possibilities for the added wait times in Alberta that may have nothing to do with AHCIA section 26(2), such as underfunding, mismanagement, shortage of qualified practitioners, increased incidence of the particular condition, and unexpected population increases, among others (para 50).

Because Dr. Allen had failed to show that AHCIA section 26(2) deprived him of life, liberty or security of the person, his application failed at the first step in the section 7 analysis; the court therefore did not need to address the second, fundamental justice, step (paras 55-56).

Commentary

Chaouilli involved a patient who had to wait several months for hip replacement surgery. The patient and his physician (Dr. Chaouilli) challenged the Quebec law that prohibited private health care insurance for publicly insured health services. They argued that this provision offended both the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms and the Quebec Charter of Human Rights and Freedoms. On June 9, 2005, a 4-3 majority of the Supreme Court ruled that Quebec’s ban on private insurance violated the Quebec Charter of Human Rights and Freedoms. Three of the majority concluded that the ban also violated the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, while three judges held that it did not, and the seventh judge was silent on the matter. The majority therefore only ruled that there was a violation of the Quebec Charter.

This decision has been interpreted in different ways, depending on whom you ask. Advocates of privatization and two-tiered healthcare see this case as a victory. However, advocates for Medicare indicate that the direct consequences of the ruling are limited to the application of the Quebec Charter and the province of Quebec (See the Canadian Doctors for Medicare, The Chaouilli Decision here). These advocates note that the majority decision concluded that the Quebec Charter guarantees a right to private insurance where the public system is inadequate.

They note that the case did not rule that a parallel private insurance system is guaranteed by the Constitution, or that a single-tier publicly insured system is unlawful. Advocates of Medicare also point out that the Chaouilli case arose from circumstances that existed in 1997 in Quebec, before that government and others across Canada had initiated strategies to address waiting times. Finally, the Supreme Court’s reliance on comparisons to European health care systems has been widely criticized because the court failed to recognize that wait times are actually longer in those countries that have parallel private insurance. Further, the majority of European countries that permit private insurance do not allow people who can afford it to obtain preferential treatment by queue jumping (see the Canadian Doctors for Medicare, The Chaouilli Decision, above).

The Allen case seems to be an attempt to distinguish Chaouilli, or at least the interpretation it has been given by some two-tiered healthcare advocates. Dr. Allen was not arguing that he had a right to parallel private insurance, merely that the inadequacies of the public system had violated his Charter section 7 rights. Justice Jeffrey focused on the lack of evidence that the Prohibition was to blame for Dr. Allen’s increased wait time. Arguably, it would be almost impossible for a person to demonstrate the causes of wait times without data; the Alberta government acknowledged that it did not collect information about patients on wait lists who are suffering through severe pain or who are unable to carry out their day-to-day activities because of their medical conditions (Allen, para 28). Thus, any individual would have a great deal of difficulty providing the required evidence. Justice Jeffrey’s mixed findings of fact and law will also make the case difficult to appeal, as the appeal courts will defer to his findings of fact.

Perhaps this case also demonstrates the reluctance of courts to enter into the sphere of government policy, especially in an area that is very dear to many Canadians­—our public health care system.

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What Happens When an Insolvent Energy Company Fails to Pay its Rent to a Landowner?

Thu, 07/17/2014 - 10:00am

By: Shaun Fluker

PDF Version: What Happens When an Insolvent Energy Company Fails to Pay its Rent to a Landowner?

Decision commented on: Petroglobe v Lemke, 2014 ABSRB 401

The law in Alberta provides an energy company with the right of surface access on private lands to drill for oil and gas.  This access allows the company, among other things, to construct an access road and clear lands for the well site.  In most cases, the company and the landowner enter into a surface lease whereby the company agrees to pay rent in exchange for this access.  In other cases, surface access is governed by a Right of Entry Order issued by the Alberta Surface Rights Board (website) whereby the company obtains access in exchange for the payment of rent.  This case is about what happens when an insolvent company fails to pay its rent.

Surface access and the compensation payable by an energy company to a landowner is governed by the Surface Rights Act, RSA 2000, c S-24 (the text of the Act can be viewed here).   Section 36 deals with situations where the company fails to pay its rent.  Where a landowner provides the Surface Rights Board with satisfactory evidence of non-payment, section 36 obligates the Surface Rights Board to demand payment from the company:

36(3) Where any money payable by an operator under a compensation order or surface lease has not been paid and the due date for its payment has passed, the person entitled to receive the money may submit to the Board written evidence of the non?payment.

36(4) On receiving the evidence, if the Board considers that it satisfactorily proves the non?payment, the Board shall send a written notice to the operator demanding full payment.

Where the company fails to comply with this demand for payment, the Surface Rights Board has the power to extinguish the company’s surface access rights and direct the Minister to pay the landowner (sections 36(5) and (6)).

We might then summarize these provisions simply as holding that Albertans collectively guarantee that a landowner will receive their rent as compensation for having to endure the disruptions to their quiet enjoyment brought by the oil and gas industry.  The applicable provisions in the Surface Rights Act include a mix of obligatory and discretionary language and thus do not literally suggest this is a guarantee, however section 36 has been judicially interpreted as some form of guarantee for landowners.  In Provident Energy v Alberta (Surface Rights Board), 2004 ABQB 650 Justice Erb stated:

[27] In my opinion, the purpose of Section 36 of the Act is obvious. It is to provide a mechanism by which the surface owner is guaranteed payment of the compensation to which he is entitled whether the compensation has been fixed by an agreement or not. In order to carry out its duties in some sensible fashion, the Board would have to determine whether the lease was valid and whether compensation was payable to any party and by whom. As Sirrs J. held in the Devon case, the application of Section 36 is discretionary and even if a land owner shows sufficient evidence that a lease exists, the Board is not bound to order compensation. If the Board was bound to do so, this would amount to a fettering of its discretion.

Which brings us to the Lemke decision at hand.  In 2006 Doug and Marg Lemke entered into a surface lease with Petroglobe in relation to a well operated by the company.  The Lemkes filed evidence with the Surface Rights Board to demonstrate: (1) they are the registered landowner of the subject lands; (2) there is a valid surface lease between the parties; and (3) that Petroglobe failed to pay its 2013 rent under the lease.  This documentation satisfied the Lemkes’ obligation under section 36(3) to demonstrate non-payment of rent.

The twist in this case is that Petroglobe was insolvent and, according to the Surface Rights Board decision, was assigned into bankruptcy in October 2013 pursuant to section 50.4 of the Bankruptcy and Insolvency Act, RSC 1985, c B-3 (the BIA) (the text of the BIA can be found here).  The Surface Rights Board held that the BIA precludes it from proceeding with a section 36 application for payment of rent.  The decision itself has very little reasoning to support this ruling other than citing provisions of the BIA which, generally speaking, state no proceedings outside of the BIA process may be commenced against an insolvent person who has made a proposal to its creditors or has been assigned into bankruptcy, and the Supreme Court of Canada’s Canadian Western Bank v Alberta, 2007 SCC 22 decision for the principle that a federal statutory provision trumps a provincial provision in cases of incompatibility.

The Surface Rights Board essentially ruled the doctrine of federal paramountcy means section 36 of the Surface Rights Act is inoperable in this case because a section 36(4) claim for non-payment of rent is not allowable under the BIA.  The Surface Rights Board has applied similar reasoning in other recent cases as well (See eg Pahl v Magnus One, 2013 ABSRB 331 here ).

There are a number of problems with this decision which are magnified by the fact the Surface Rights Board appears to have taken this position generally.  The reasoning provided by the Surface Rights Board for such a complex suite of legal issues including statutory interpretation and constitutional matters is unsatisfactorily brief.  The result here seems absurd and defeats the purpose of the Surface Rights Act to ensure that a landowner is compensated.  And finally, it isn’t clear to me that there is incompatibility between the Surface Rights Act and the BIA in these cases.  Section 36(4) requires the Surface Rights Board to issue a demand notice to the insolvent company for payment of rent.  In a case like this where the company does not pay, it is Alberta taxpayers who are potentially on the hook for the bill not the insolvent company.

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Leave to Intervene Denied in an Appeal of an Important Freehold Oil and Gas Lease Case

Fri, 07/11/2014 - 11:25am

By: Nigel Bankes

PDF Version: Leave to Intervene Denied in an Appeal of an Important Freehold Oil and Gas Lease Case

Case commented on: Stewart Estate (Re), 2014 ABCA 222

The Freehold Petroleum and Natural Gas Owners Association (FHOA) applied for leave to intervene in the appeal of the Calder or Stewart Estate litigation (for my post on the trial decision see here).  Justice Patricia Rowbotham dismissed the application commenting at the end of her reasons that if FHOA had jurisprudence that it wished to bring to the attention of the Court it could always do so by passing relevant authorities on to the appellants’ counsel.

Justice Rowbotham summarized both the purposes of permitting interventions and the factors to be considered as follows:

“[t]he purpose of an intervention is to present the court with submissions which are useful and different from the perspective of a non-party who has a special interest or particular expertise in the subject matter of the appeal.” The case authorities have considered the following factors in determining whether to grant intervener status:

1. Will the intervener be directly affected by the appeal;

2. Is the presence of the intervener necessary for the court to properly decide the matter;

3. Might the intervener’s interest in the proceedings not be fully protected by the parties;

4. Will the intervener’s submission be useful and different or bring particular expertise to the subject matter of the appeal;

5. Will the intervention unduly delay the proceedings;

6. Will there possibly be prejudice to the parties if intervention is granted;

7. Will intervention widen the lis between the parties; and

8. Will the intervention transform the court into a political arena?

See Pedersen v Alberta, 2008 ABCA 192 at para 3, (sub nom. Pedersen v Thournout), 432 AR 219 (panel)

In her judgment Justice Rowbotham addressed two principal factors: the alleged special interest of FHOA and the possibility that FHOA might bring a fresh perspective. As to the first, Justice Rowbotham concluded that (at para. 6): “there is nothing about the association that sets it apart from any other member of the public who might be interested in the development of the jurisprudence in a particular area of the law.”

And as to the second factor (which is really a version of the “will it be useful” test), FHOA had indicated that its submission, if granted leave, would deal with the following matters:

1. The doctrine of stare decisis;

2. The interpretation of the provisions of the lease;

3. The nature of a petroleum and natural gas lease generally, the form of lease at issue in this appeal, the historical intent and purpose of parties that have entered into such leases and the fiduciary nature of the relationship between the mineral lessor and lessee therein created; and

4. The nature of a continuing course of conduct or series of related acts or omissions necessary to postpone the running of the ultimate limitation period as set forth in section 3(3)(a) of the Limitations Act, RSA 2000, c L-12.

FHOA’s arguments with respect to items 1, 2 and 4 were not persuasive since (at para. 9) “These are issues of law to which the applicant brings no special expertise” and which were already well covered in the appellants’ factum. Item 4 was problematic since an intervenor must take the case as she finds it and in this case there was no evidentiary basis on which to ground a fiduciary argument. And given counsel’s disavowal of any intention to bring an application to introduce fresh evidence it was not clear, absent that, how FHOA could, as they suggested, deal with the intent of the parties in entering into oil and gas leases. That left FHOA to indicate that it would, if given the chance, bring additional case law to the attention of the Court. Justice Rowbotham’s somewhat tart response to that contention is referred to above.

Item # 3 (contained in Mr. Speir’s affidavit for FHOA) was clearly problematic since it seemed to go beyond the record at trial; but more generally, Justice Rowbotham’s approach suggests that it will be very hard to gain the right to intervene even when the matter engages the interpretation of industry standard forms – appellate rulings on which will affect the interests of many similarly situated parties. I am struck by this having just finished posting on the Tsilhqot’in case, 20014 SCC 44 – a case in which there were no less than 13 interventions in addition to the Attorneys General. Treaty litigation, such as the Keewatin case due down shortly from the Supreme Court, draws similar numbers of interventions and for the very good reason that an appellate court’s decision on Treaty 3 will be significant for all of the numbered treaties. Given that there is little chance these days that an oil and gas case will ever make it to the Supreme Court of Canada perhaps the Court of Appeal should take a more liberal approach on the “will it be useful” question in intervention applications in litigation dealing with industry standard forms. While there is no standard form lease in the same way as there is a standard from operating agreement we know that there at least common forms and common clauses.

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The ‘Inherent Limit’ Post-Tsilhqot’in: Where Indigenous Law and Land-Use Planning Meet

Thu, 07/10/2014 - 11:40am

By: Martin Olszynski

PDF Version: The ‘Inherent Limit’ Post-Tsilhqot’in: Where Indigenous Law and Land-Use Planning Meet

Case commented on: Tsilhqot’in Nation v British Columbia, 2014 SCC 44

The focus of this post, the fourth in a series of ABlawg posts on the Supreme Court of Canada’s Tsilhqot’in decision (see here, here,and here), is the concept of the “inherent limit” pursuant to which Aboriginal title lands “cannot be used in a manner that is irreconcilable with the nature of the claimants’ attachment to those lands” (Delgamuukw v. British Columbia, [1997] 3 SCR 1010, at para 125).  From conversations with my colleagues here at the law school, there appear to be at least three concerns about this aspect of Aboriginal title law: that it is paternalistic, that it has never been satisfactorily sourced or rooted in indigenous laws (a complaint going back to Delgamuukw), and that it creates uncertainty for development.  In this post, I propose an approach to what the Chief Justice in Tsilhqot’in described as the “negative proposition” (at para 15) that addresses each of these concerns (perhaps especially the latter two), while also addressing a more general concern with respect to Canadian Aboriginal law, which is to say the absence of any role for indigenous laws.

For the purposes of this post, the most relevant passages from Tsilhqot’in are the following:

[74]Aboriginal title, however, comes with an important restriction — it is collective title held not only for the present generation but for all succeeding generations.  This means it cannot be alienated except to the Crown or encumbered in ways that would prevent future generations of the group from using and enjoying it.  Nor can the land be developed or misused in a way that would substantially deprive future generations of the benefit of the land.  Some changes — even permanent changes – to the land may be possibleWhether a particular use is irreconcilable with the ability of succeeding generations to benefit from the land will be a matter to be determined when the issue arises.

[75]  The rights and restrictions on Aboriginal title flow from the legal interest Aboriginal title confers, which in turn flows from the fact of Aboriginal occupancy at the time of European sovereignty which attached as a burden on the underlying title asserted by the Crown at sovereignty.  Aboriginal title post-sovereignty reflects the fact of Aboriginal occupancy pre-sovereignty, with all the pre-sovereignty incidents of use and enjoyment that were part of the collective title enjoyed by the ancestors of the claimant group — most notably the right to control how the land is used.  However, these uses are not confined to the uses and customs of pre-sovereignty times; like other land-owners, Aboriginal title holders of modern times can use their land in modern ways, if that is their choice.

(Emphasis added)

To the extent that the “inherent limit” is now an entrenched fixture of Aboriginal title law, I suggest that title holding groups may wish to make it work for them.  By this I mean they could use their own laws respecting the natural world and resource use, which generally speaking “saw and understood the checks and balances that were exhibited by the cycle [of life],” to prescribe how their traditional territories should be used (M. Wilson, “Wings of the Eagle,” in J. Plant and C. Plant, eds., Turtle Talk (Philadelphia: New Society Publishers, 1990). See also Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples(Ottawa: Minister of Supply Services, 1996), vol. 2, c. 4, s. 1; John Borrows, Recovering Canada: The Resurgence of Indigenous Law (University of Toronto Press: Toronto, 2002)).  Doing so could represent a small first step towards creating, as Nigel Bankes and Jennifer Koshan have described it, “a space within which indigenous laws can operate.”

How would such laws operate in “modern times”? In my view, the Tsilhqot’in (and future title holders) might consider creating and implementing a land-use plan for their title lands that would allow for some development while at the same time preserving the land’s benefits for future generations.  By doing so at the outset, title-holding groups would reduce the uncertainty associated with the “inherent limit,” as any reviewing court would be loathe to interfere with land-use decisions properly based on such a scheme.  Such an approach, if properly carried out, should also reduce the potential for conflict over development within the title-holding group (see e.g. Behn v.Moulton Contracting Ltd., 2013 SCC 26).

Finally, land-use planning is actually something that Canada’s Aboriginal peoples have considerable experience and expertise in (see e.g. CIRL Occasional Paper #38).  Indeed, the controversies surrounding the more recent Lower Athabasca Regional Plan (LARP) in Alberta and the Peel Watershed Land Use Plan in the Yukon suggest that First Nations better understand the principles and processes behind land use planning than provincial and territorial governments do.  Without minimizing the time, effort, and money that such an endeavor would require, the Tsilhqot’in decision offers Aboriginal peoples the opportunity to engage in land-use management on their own terms.  Should they choose to accept it, my sense is that all Canadians would benefit.

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Striking a Balance: Efficiency and Fairness in an Evolving Justice System

Wed, 07/09/2014 - 10:00am

By: Sarah Burton

PDF Version: Striking a Balance: Efficiency and Fairness in an Evolving Justice System

Case commented on: Martin v. Sievers, 2014 ABQB 357 (CanLII)

In Martin v. Sievers, 2014 ABQB 357 (Martin), Master Smart confirmed that lawyers control the flow of relevant documents in an Independent Medical Examination (IME). This persists despite a more efficient mechanism for hired experts to access a party’s full medical record. Martin stands for the proposition that the “cultural shift” towards efficiency in the courtroom cannot sacrifice long-standing quality protections for the justice system (at paras 10, 12). Viewed from an access to justice perspective, Martin held that increasing access should not sacrifice justice in the process.

Background Facts

Martin was an application to compel the Plaintiff to attend an IME and execute a consent form without modification (at para 5).  In September 2013, the Plaintiff attended an IME organized by defence counsel, but did not proceed with the examination after a dispute arose regarding the doctor’s consent form (at para 2). The consent form permitted the medical examiner to “collect” the Plaintiff’s entire medical record, not just the documents produced in the action (at para 4).

In attempting to reschedule the examination, the medical expert refused to proceed if his ability to access the Plaintiff’s full medical record was restricted. The doctor explained his rationale: after conducting a medical history during the IME, he would access the Plaintiff’s medical records using the online source Alberta NetCare. Using Alberta NetCare, he could review “all relevant medical documents” immediately while the Plaintiff was still in the room (at para 4). This would save considerable time because it removed the need to formally request additional documents through lawyers, and then conduct a re-examination. In addition, it saved time and money because the medical expert did not have to re-familiarize himself with the file on several occasions. In short, it was a much more efficient way of proceeding. The medical examiner added that he had “no interest or time” to review medical records that were not relevant or pertinent to the action (at para 4).

Defence counsel argued that the arrangement was “logical, reasonable and practical” (at para 6). This method of proceeding advanced the efficiency of the legal system and could promote more timely resolution of disputes. Any complaints the Plaintiff may raise regarding prejudice could be adequately addressed by the trial judge (at para 9).

Counsel for the Plaintiff disagreed. They argued that lawyers determine what is relevant and material in an action, not defence-hired medical experts (at para 8). Medical professionals have no training to determine what documents are relevant and producible in a court action. The medical examiner’s consent form provided defence counsel with backdoor access to the Plaintiff’s entire medical record. This circumvented the clear provisions in the Alberta Rules of Court, Alta Reg 124/2010 (the Rules) on document production.

The Decision

Master Smart found that the Rules do not mandate what documents are provided to experts (at para 7). However, the Rules should always be interpreted with a view to enhancing efficiency and the timely resolution of disputes (at para 10). The Supreme Court of Canada echoes this view, recently declaring the need for a “cultural shift” in civil litigation to promote “timely and affordable access to a civil justice system” (at para 10, quoting Hryniak v. Mauldin, 2014 SCC 7 (CanLII) at para 2 (Hryniak)).

These overriding concerns made defence counsel’s argument “compelling” (at para 11). However, despite these pressures, Master Smart did not approve of the consent form. The Plaintiff should not have to open her entire medical record to an independent medical examiner.

The Rules on document production are well-established and based on sound principles (at para 12). While the legal system is moving towards efficiency, this cannot come at the expense of the justice system’s established practices and procedures. Therefore, despite the fact that inefficiencies may arise, the Court should not sacrifice its core tenets for the sake of expediency. In Master Smart’s words,  “[q]uicker access to justice must not mean accepting less stringent practices which diminish the quality of a judicial process such that fair and proper adjudication is, or is seen to be, compromised” (at para 12).

Moreover, Master Smart was not persuaded that a trial judge could remedy any prejudice. Just as there needs to be a cultural shift in favour of efficiency, Courts need to cast aside the “legal fiction” that most cases proceed to trial (at para 11). Trials are a rarity, not the rule. Therefore, any theory that a trial judge can fix the problems caused by circumventing the Rules is not persuasive.

Discussion

In this decision, Master Smart was asked to balance the competing objectives of an evolving justice system. On the one hand, judges and rule-makers have declared that efficiency is a priority in civil litigation. This extends to the time and money spent by all actors — including litigants, lawyers, judges, and (presumably) the experts and witnesses called in an action.  On the other hand, while the rules on document production may be inefficient, they are fundamental to trial fairness. Irrelevant and/or privileged documents are rightfully protected from the prying eyes of opposing counsel and their agents.

Martin outlines a limit on efficiency as a priority. The pursuit of expediency and economy cannot compromise the integrity of the justice system.  Giving medical experts access to complete medical records may make things quicker, but only because it disregards a collection of fundamental safeguards. It promoted efficiency, but sacrificed too much fairness in the process.

Master Smart also grappled with the “shifting culture” argument that has been advanced in the wake of the Hryniak decision. The culture of civil litigation is attempting to shift towards efficiency and away from technical and procedural impenetrability. Defence counsel was persuasive in arguing this point, but it was undercut by their proposed solution to the Plaintiff’s concerns. By invoking the outdated notion that a trial judge can handle any prejudice, an air of artificiality was implanted into an otherwise practical argument. Given that most civil actions settle, it is unlikely that the parties would ever see a trial judge. Indeed, the prospect of settlement would only increase after a defence-hired expert was given unfettered access to the Plaintiff’s medical records. Moreover, Hryniak’s efficiency-driven legal system advocates for early resolution and settlement of disputes, not trial. In his decision, Master Smart held that one cannot cherry-pick aspects of the new efficiency-driven legal culture.

Advancing access to justice is a critical issue facing the justice system, and increased efficiency is a crucial component of this movement. Notwithstanding this pressing concern, it is difficult to disagree with Master Smart’s decision. Document production is almost always a hotly contested issue in civil actions. This is especially so when dealing with medical records. Allowing a defence-hired expert unlimited access to the Plaintiff’s entire medical records effectively undermines the well-established (and well litigated) rules regarding document production. In essence, it allows a fishing-expedition by proxy. Any significant change to the rules of document production should be set out in formal amendments to the Rules.

If there is any critique to be made, this decision does undoubtedly emphasize the view that lawyers own and control the justice system, and that anyone else who interacts with it has little to independently offer. The Plaintiff’s argument was premised on the notion that only lawyers know what is relevant, and that medical experts cannot be trusted to have the knowledge, training (or possibly the integrity) not to draw on irrelevant documents to form their opinions (at para 11). While Master Smart doesn’t expressly make this point, his decision implicitly supports this view.

Relevance is a legal question that lawyers are practiced in determining. It is understood, however, that lawyers regularly make these determinations by relying on their experts. This reliance increases with the complexity of a file. To take the present case as an example, in all likelihood the medical expert will now conduct his restricted IME, and then inform defence counsel which “relevant” medical documents should be requested from opposing counsel. Legal relevance will then be screened through the adversarial system. More likely than not, the outstanding documents deemed relevant by the expert will end up in a supplementary affidavit.

In this case the adversarial system’s role was missing. Master Smart rightfully held that this vital step cannot be circumvented in the name of efficiency. While this conclusion is sound, the attitude underlying the Plaintiff’s argument requires re-examination as the justice system evolves to facilitate access.

The notion that lawyers know best (and everyone else’s opinions are deficient) is repeatedly identified as a significant barrier to accessing justice (see, for example, The Canadian Bar Association, Access to Justice Committee, Reaching Equal Justice: An Invitation to Envision and Act(Ottawa: The Canadian Bar Association, November 2013) at 129; Action Committee on Access to Justice in Civil and Family Matters, Access to Civil & Family Justice: A Roadmap for Change (Ottawa: Action Committee on Access to Justice in Civil and Family Matters, October 2013) at 7)). This view cannot continue unabated if meaningful reform of the justice system is to occur. Thus, while the decision in Martin may be the right one, there may be a case for formally identifying the role of experts and other actors in determining relevance. This would not diminish the role of lawyers in reaching these determinations, but would acknowledge that the justice system is owned and operated by the public, not a small group of legal professionals.

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Today’s Word on the Street – “Consent”, Brought to You by the Supreme Court of Canada

Tue, 07/08/2014 - 10:00am

By: Sharon Mascher

PDF Version: Today’s Word on the Street – “Consent”, Brought to You by the Supreme Court of Canada

Case commented on: Tsilhqot’in Nation v British Columbia, 2014 SCC 44

 On June 26, 2014, the Supreme Court of Canada (SCC) granted the Tsilhqot’in Nation a declaration of Aboriginal title over 1,750 square kilometres of its territory.  That the SCC has granted the first ever declaration of Aboriginal title in Canada, in and of itself, makes this a decision of great significance (see Jonnette Watson Hamilton’s post on that issue here). However, through its unanimous decision, the SCC has done much more than this – it has refocused the discussion around the infringement of Aboriginal title away from its current pre-occupation with consultation towards consent.  In this respect the decision is momentous – not only for Aboriginal title holders but for all Canadians.  For this reason, this decision may indeed mark, in the words of Tsilhqot’in Nation Tribal Chair Joe Alphonse, the beginning of a “new Canada” (see here).

Consent – as a Starting Point

Of course, in Tsilhqot’in the SCC has not gone so far as to endorse the concept of free, prior and informed consent, as articulated in the 2007 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (see: Articles 10, 28, 29, 32). It has not said that the consent of Aboriginal title holders is always required before their land can be used by others. However, in its decision, the SCC has emphasized consent as the starting point:

[76] The right to control the land conferred by Aboriginal title means that governments and others seeking to use the land must obtain the consent of the Aboriginal title holders.  If the Aboriginal group does not consent to the use, the government’s only recourse is to establish that the proposed incursion on the land is justified under s. 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982.

The SCC goes on to emphasize the importance of consent repeatedly in the discussion that follows (see paras 88, 90, 92, 97 and 124).

This emphasis on consent stands in contrast to the approach of earlier SCC decisions. Most notably, in Delgamuukw v British Columbia, [1997] 3 SCR 1010, Lamer CJ’s leading judgment commences the discussion of infringement of Aboriginal title by pointing to the vulnerability of Aboriginal title, as follows:

[160] The aboriginal rights recognized and affirmed by s. 35(1), including aboriginal title, are not absolute.  Those rights may be infringed, both by the federal (e.g., Sparrow) and provincial (e.g., Côté) governments.  However, s. 35(1) requires that those infringements satisfy the test of justification.

Indeed, Lamer CJ only refers to “consent” once in his analysis.  The reference comes in the context of satisfying the fiduciary relationship between the Crown and Aboriginal peoples by involving Aboriginal peoples in decisions taken with respect to their lands (at para 168).  Lamer CJ first states that there is “always a duty of consultation” and explains that the “nature and scope of the duty of consultation will vary with the circumstances” before going on to state that “[s]ome cases may even require the full consent of an aboriginal nation, particularly when provinces enact hunting and fishing regulations in relation to aboriginal lands.” (at para 168).

What’s in a Word? Are We Really Talking about Consent post -Tsilhqot’in?

Tsilhqot’in does, however, recognize that in the absence of consent the government could justify its incursion on Aboriginal title land under s. 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982.  At first blush, the end result appears, therefore, to be not unlike that in Delgamuukw. Given this, is it really accurate to suggest that Tsilhqot’in moves the justification process towards consent?

In my view, the answer is yes.  Why is this?  Well, absent consent from Aboriginal title holders, the SCC tells us in Tsilhqot’in that the Crown must show three things to justify overriding the Aboriginal title-holding group’s wishes on the basis of the broader public good (at para 77):

(1)  that it discharged its procedural duty to consult and accommodate;

(2) that its actions were backed by a compelling and substantial objective; and

(3)  that the government action is consistent with the Crown’s fiduciary obligations to the group.

With consultation and accommodation identified as a separate procedural duty, numbers two and three on this list appear to mirror the two-step infringement test articulated by Lamer CJ in Delgamuukw (and earlier established in R v Sparrow, [1990] 1 SCR 1075). But look a little closer at each of these requirements and it becomes clear that in Tsilhqot’in the SCC has left much less room for the Crown to justify its incursion on Aboriginal title land in the absence of consent.

(1)     that it discharged its procedural duty to consult and accommodate

In Tsilhqot’in, the SCC characterizes the duty to consult as “a procedural right that arises from the honour of the Crown prior to confirmation of title” (at para 78).  The SCC confirms that the degree of consultation and accommodation lies on a spectrum – with the required level of consultation and accommodation greatest where title has been established.   McLachlin CJ makes no mention of the passage from Delgamuukw referred to above where Lamer CJ states that the duty to consult in “[s]ome cases may even require the full consent of an aboriginal nation, particularly when provinces enact hunting and fishing regulations in relation to aboriginal lands.” Perhaps this is because in his judgment Lamer CJ articulated the duty to consult in the context of discharging the fiduciary duty, rather than as a separate procedural step?  Regardless, it is clear that a very high level of consultation and accommodation is required once Aboriginal title is proven – particularly when the government contemplates action that would have a serious adverse impact on the claimed right.  And, meeting that high level and ensuring adequate consultation or accommodation is of course crucial – as where it is found to be inadequate, the SCC confirms that “the government decision can be suspended or quashed” (at para 79).

(2)    that its actions were backed by a compelling and substantial objective;

When Aboriginal title is proven, in addition to the procedural duty imposed on the Crown to consult, and where appropriate accommodate, the Crown must also demonstrate that the proposed government action is consistent with its duties under s. 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982.  This requires first that the Crown show that the government action has a compelling and substantial objective.  This is, of course, not new and Tsilhqot’in draws from R v Gladstone, [1996] 2 SCR 723 to explain that the objectives which can be said to be compelling and substantive (Gladstone at para 72, cited in Tsilhqot’in at para 81):

… will be those directed at either the recognition of the prior occupation of North America by [A]boriginal peoples or — and at the level of justification it is this purpose which may well be most relevant — at the reconciliation of [A]boriginal prior occupation with the assertion of the sovereignty of the Crown.

(Emphasis added)

Also not new is the list of interests potentially capable of justifying an incursion on Aboriginal title – with McLachlin CJ restating Lamer CJ’s now familiar passage in Delgamuukw suggesting that the range of legislative objectives that can justify infringement of Aboriginal title “is fairly broad” and could include, in Lamer CJ’s opinion (Delgamuukw at para 165, cited in Tsilhqot’in at para 83):

… the development of agriculture, forestry, mining, and hydroelectric power, the general economic development of the interior of British Columbia, protection of the environment or endangered species, the building of infrastructure and the settlement of foreign populations to support those aims …

However, there is a subtle difference in the reasoning. Lamer CJ in Delgamuukw framed the objective of reconciling Aboriginal peoples’ interests with the broader community from the perspective of the broader community, of which Aboriginal societies are a part.  Quoting from his judgment in Gladstone, Lamer CJ said:

[161] Because . . . distinctive aboriginal societies exist within, and are a part of, a broader social, political and economic community, over which the Crown is sovereign, there are circumstances in which, in order to pursue objectives of compelling and substantial importance to that community as a whole (taking into account the fact that aboriginal societies are a part of that community), some limitation of those rights will be justifiable.  Aboriginal rights are a necessary part of the reconciliation of aboriginal societies with the broader political community of which they are part; limits placed on those rights are, where the objectives furthered by those limits are of sufficient importance to the broader community as a whole, equally a necessary part of that reconciliation.

(Emphasis added in Delgamuukw; “equally” emphasized in Gladstone)

In Tsilhqot’in, McLachlin CJ instead accepts that the compelling and substantial objective of the government “must be considered from the Aboriginal perspective as well as from the perspective of the broader public” (at para 81).  This means that “[t]o constitute a compelling and substantial objective, the broader public goal asserted by the government must further the goal of reconciliation, having regard to both the Aboriginal interest and the broader public objective” (at para 82). Following Tsilhqot’in, it would seem that the reconciling of Aboriginal title holders’ s. 35 rights with the broader community, in order to justify infringement, is no longer a one way street.

(3)  that the government action is consistent with the Crown’s fiduciary obligations to the group.

Even if a substantial and compelling objective is established, the government must also show that a proposed incursion is consistent with the Crowns’ fiduciary duty.  And, it is in McLachlin CJ’s articulation in Tsilhqot’in of what this demands that the limitations on government actions on Aboriginal title land, absent consent, become most obvious.

In Delgamuukw Lamer CJ suggested, in obiter,that the fiduciary duty might be satisfied through priority in the allocation of resources; involvement of Aboriginal peoples in decisions taken with respect to their lands, most commonly through consultation and accommodation; and, compensation (at para 169).  In Tsilhqot’in the SCC makes clear that acting in a manner consistent with the Crown’s fiduciary duty towards Aboriginal title holders demands much more.   This is so in relation to title because “the Crown’s underlying title in the land is held for the benefit of the Aboriginal group and constrained by the Crown’s fiduciary or trust obligation to the group” (at para 85). This impacts the justification process in the following two ways:

[86] First, the Crown’s fiduciary duty means that the government must act in a way that respects the fact that Aboriginal title is a group interest that inheres in present and future generations [...]  This means that incursions on Aboriginal title cannot be justified if they would substantially deprive future generations of the benefit of the land.

[87] Second, the Crown’s fiduciary duty infuses an obligation of proportionality into the justification process.  Implicit in the Crown’s fiduciary duty to the Aboriginal group is the requirement that the incursion is necessary to achieve the government’s goal (rational connection); that the government go no further than necessary to achieve it (minimal impairment); and that the benefits that may be expected to flow from that goal are not outweighed by adverse effects on the Aboriginal interest (proportionality of impact).  The requirement of proportionality is inherent in the Delgamuukw process of reconciliation and was echoed in Haida’s insistence that the Crown’s duty to consult and accommodate at the claims stage “is proportionate to a preliminary assessment of the strength of the case supporting the existence of the right or title, and to the seriousness of the potentially adverse effect upon the right or title claimed” (at para 39).

Both of these points suggest very substantial limitations on the type of acts that might be undertaken on Aboriginal title lands without consent and each deserves comment.

First, Tsilhqot’in makes clear that going forward the government cannot justify incursions on Aboriginal title if the result would be to substantially deprive the Aboriginal title holders’ future generations the benefit of the land. The SCC leaves no room for exceptions: no matter the economic case or the political desire, the government cannot justify an interference with Aboriginal title that deprives future generations of their s. 35 rights to the land.  What will this look like going forward?  That, of course, remains to be seen.  In the immediate future, it certainly seems to call into question government approvals of projects, such as Northern Gateway, where uncertainties remain regarding the socio-ecological effects on the land, at least as that approval relates to Aboriginal title land (for a recent blog on this issue by Shaun Fluker see here).

Second, even if an incursion on Aboriginal land will not substantially impact the land into the future, Tsilhqot’in tells us that the Crown’s fiduciary duty infuses an obligation of proportionality into the justification process.  This means that the incursion must be necessary to achieve the government’s goal; the government can go no further than necessary to achieve it; and the benefits that may be expected to flow from that goal are not outweighed by adverse effects on the Aboriginal interest.  Again, it isn’t possible to say how this will look going forward.  When will an incursion be “necessary” to achieve the government’s goals? Arguably never when there is another alternative. What does the principle of minimal impairment – that the government go no further than is necessary – require? Perhaps that all available measures are required to be taken to minimize the potential impact of an incursion on the land, no matter the economic implications?  And finally, in what circumstances will an incursion that is being forced on otherwise unwilling Aboriginal title holders have benefits that do not outweigh the adverse impact on the Aboriginal interest?  While difficult to say in the abstract, what is clear is that asking Aboriginal title holders to bear a disproportionate adverse impact on their land for the benefit of the greater Canadian public will not meet this test.

Interestingly, the test for justification of incursions on Aboriginal title set out at para 87 is very similar to the test used to justify infringements of Charter rights under s 1. While the SCC introduced the justification test for s. 35 violations in Sparrow (and see the post by Bankes and Koshan on the problems with that reading of s 35 here), some of the elements articulated in Tsilhqot’in are new to s. 35, in particular the rational connection and proportionality of impact considerations. These elements are part of the test for s 1 Charter justifications, and in fact the proportionality of impact consideration gained new significance only recently under the Charter in Alberta v. Hutterian Brethren of Wilson Colony, [2009] 2 SCR 567, 2009 SCC 37. Again, however, there are some subtle differences here. Most importantly, the rational connection test under the Charter only requires a logical link between the government’s goal and the incursion, while Tsilhqot’in appears to set the bar higher by requiring a necessary link. And will this newly articulated justification test apply to violations of Aboriginal and treaty rights more broadly? What will become of the other factors mentioned in Sparrow as relevant to justifying the violation of Aboriginal rights, including the priority to be accorded to Aboriginal interests?

Returning to the focus of this post, are we really talking about requiring the consent of Aboriginal title holders for incursions on their land post-Tsilhqot’in?  The answer is yes, unless of course the Crown: engages in the high level of consultation and accommodation required for proven Aboriginal title; demonstrates a substantial and compelling legislative objective that furthers the goals of reconciliation from both the Aboriginal and broader public perspective; demonstrates that future generations of the community holding Aboriginal title will not be substantially deprived of the benefit of the land; and, shows that the incursion is necessary to achieve the government goals, has a minimal impairment and does not ask the Aboriginal title holders to bear disproportionate adverse impact. Or, put another away, the answer is yes, except in what appears to be quite exceptional circumstances.

Do We Really Need to Think About Consent Now?

At present, only the Tsilhqot’in Nation has been granted a declaration of Aboriginal title, with a handful of other Nations having agreements recognizing their Aboriginal title. A much more substantial amount of land is the subject of claimed, but as yet unproven, Aboriginal title. Tsilhqot’in confirms that prior to the establishment of title by either court declaration or agreement, the Crown is required to consult and, where appropriate accommodate, Aboriginal groups asserting title to land in accordance with the principles established by cases such as Rio Tinto Alcan Inc. v. Carrier Sekani Tribal Council, [2010] 2 SCR 650 (at para 89).  It is only after Aboriginal title is established that, absent consent, the Crown must ensure that its actions are substantially consistent with the requirements of s. 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982 (at para 80).

So, what does this mean in the immediate future when dealing with Aboriginal groups that claim, but have not yet established, Aboriginal title over land? Is there any role for consent at this stage?  As McLachlin CJ, herself, said in Haida Nation v. British Columbia (Minister of Forests), [2004] 3 SCR 511 in the context of the duty to consult:

[48] This process does not give Aboriginal groups a veto over what can be done with land pending final proof of the claim.  The Aboriginal “consent” spoken of in Delgamuukw is appropriate only in cases of established rights, and then by no means in every case.  Rather, what is required is a process of balancing interests, of give and take.

However, Tsilhqot’in casts this statement in a new light:

[92] Once title is established, it may be necessary for the Crown to reassess prior conduct in light of the new reality in order to faithfully discharge its fiduciary duty to the title-holding group going forward.  For example, if the Crown begins a project without consent prior to Aboriginal title being established, it may be required to cancel the project upon establishment of the title if continuation of the project would be unjustifiably infringing.  Similarly, if legislation was validly enacted before title was established, such legislation may be rendered inapplicable going forward to the extent that it unjustifiably infringes Aboriginal title.

Given this paragraph, in my opinion, it is no longer enough to simply discharge the procedural duty to consult pending final proof of a claim.  To begin a project without the consent of Aboriginal title holders, or ensuring that the incursion is not unjustifiably infringing, risks its long term viability.

So, in light of what the SCC has said in Tsilhqot’in, today’s word on the street – consent.

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Tsilhqot’in: What Happened to the Second Half of Section 91(24) of the Constitution Act, 1867?

Mon, 07/07/2014 - 10:37am

By: Nigel Bankes and Jennifer Koshan

Case commented on: Tsilhqot’in Nation v British Columbia, 2014 SCC 44

The Delgamuukw decision of the Supreme Court of Canada, [1997] 3 SCR 1010 was an important decision both on aboriginal title and also on the division of powers under the Constitution Act, 1867- in particular for its robust reading of the “lands reserved” head of s.91(24) and the companion language of s.109 (provincial title subject to “any interest other than that of the province in the same”): see Bankes, “Delgamuukw, Division of Powers and Provincial Land and Resource Law: Some Implications for Provincial Resource Rights” (1998), 32 UBC L Rev 317-351 and Kent McNeil “Aboriginal Title and the Division of Powers: Rethinking Federal and Provincial Jurisdiction” (1998) 61 Sask L Rev 431-465. The Tsilhqot’in decision is also an important decision on both issues; but it will be remembered (if it too does not go the way of Marshall and Bernard, [2005] SCC 43 – read into nothingness as our colleague Jonnette Watson Hamilton points out here) on the division of powers issues as the decision that, in extended obiter dictum (see paras 98 and 126), eviscerated the lands reserved head of s.91(24).

The Court mentions the term “lands reserved” only twice in its entire judgement – both times as part of quoting the entire head of power “Indians and lands reserved for Indians” and never alone; most of the time the Court simply refers to the application of provincial laws to Indians (see paras 104, 140). The compelling logic of Delgamuukw on division of powers is now dismissed as leading to a number of “difficulties” (at para 133) and the startling conclusion that the doctrine of interjurisdictional immunity is not just out of fashion (we know that from cases like Canadian Western Bank v Alberta, 2007 SCC 22, although see paras 60 – 61 of that case on the application of the doctrine to the “Indian Cases”), but it has no role whatsoever to play in relation to aboriginal title lands (at para 151) and perhaps even more generally in relation to the entire head of power (see paras 140, 150). Instead, the constitutionality of provincial laws is to be resolved pursuant to the aboriginal rights framework under s 35 of the Constitution Act 1982 and R v Sparrow, [1990] 1 SCR 1075 (Tsilhqot’in at paras 139, 151).

What are the implications of this part of the Tsilhqot’in decision?

1. It dramatically limits the availability of one traditional source of constitutional protection and constitutional space for aboriginal communities. It does not completely abolish that source of protection since a provincial law in relation to lands reserved will presumably still be considered ultra vires. Thus, a provincial law that provides that a province may dispose of standing timber on aboriginal title lands will be of no force or effect (because it singles out those lands for special treatment): R. v Sutherland, [1980] 2 SCR 451. There may be some doubt about that now, since the Court states that a province could amend its forestry legislation “to cover lands held under Aboriginal title” (Tsilhqot’in at para 116, see also para 117); would not such an amendment have to be aimed at aboriginal title lands? But in any event  a law providing that the province can dispose of standing timber on any lands in the province would under Tsilhqot’in be both valid and applicable (para 102) to aboriginal title lands because the Supreme Court no longer seems to care whether the power to dispose of resources on title lands is part of the core content of “lands reserved” within the exclusive jurisdiction of the federal government.

2. It casts doubt on the line of cases (even modern cases) which suggest that provincial land laws and related residential tenancy laws do not apply on Indian reserves and other First Nation lands: see e.g. Sechelt Indian Band v. British Columbia (Manufactured Home Park Tenancy Act, Dispute Resolution Officer), 2013 BCCA 262. The Supreme Court reached this conclusion itself in Derrickson v. Derrickson, [1986] 1 SCR 285 and Paul v. Paul, [1986] 1 SCR 306 (finding that matrimonial property laws do not apply to Indian reserve lands).

3. It makes unnecessary the two step analysis of the applicability of provincial laws suggested by s.88 of the Indian Act, RSC 1985, c I-5 (at least so far as provincial laws are claimed to apply to “Indians” rather than “lands reserved”) and the Court’s decision in Dick, [1985] 2 SCR 309 – in fact we don’t need s.88 any longer since there are no longer any inapplicable provincial laws that need to be made applicable by operation of a federal statute. Presumably however until s.88 withers away the statutory protection offered to treaties by the opening words of s.88 of the Indian Act will continue (see R. v Sioui, [1990] 1 SCR 1025) – leading to the anomalous situation that statutory protection of the Indian Act is more complete and hard edged than that offered by the Constitution.

4. By focusing on the judicially created justifiable infringement test rather than inapplicability, Tsilhqot’in will allow a province to argue the justifiability of the application of its provincial resource laws (e.g. forest, mining, and oil and gas legislation) to title lands in each and every case rather than dealing with applicability at a more principled level. The result is likely to be continuing uncertainty and lengthy and expensive litigation if provincial governments decide to push the envelope. Clearly the Court preferred the subjective and discretionary justifiable infringement test over the brighter line of inapplicability – but at what cost in providing certainty to all parties? And recall as well that the judicial creation of this test (to parallel the express provision in section 1 of the Charter) has been critiqued for being inconsistent with the structure of the Constitution Act 1982 as well as ignoring aboriginal sovereignty and the limitations already placed on aboriginal rights by indigenous laws and traditions (see e.g. John Borrows, “Frozen Rights in Canada: Constitutional Interpretation and the Trickster” (1997/98) 22 American Indian L Rev 37 at 59).

5. The Court does acknowledge that provincial powers will continue to be subject to the doctrine of paramountcy, such that federal legislation will prevail in the case of a conflict with provincial legislation (para 130). It then confuses things by suggesting that “interjurisdictional immunity is designed to deal with conflicts between provincial powers and federal powers” (para 144). Conflicts have not traditionally been required for the interjurisdictional immunity doctrine to apply; in fact the Court acknowledged this as one of the problems with the doctrine in Canadian Western Bank. The Court’s reference (Tsilhqot’in at para 136) to R v Marshall, [1999] 3 SCR 533 as support for the proposition that interjurisdictional immunity does not apply where provincial legislation conflicts with treaty rights is also puzzling, as the applicability of provincial law was not at issue in that case –Marshall involved a prosecution under federal legislation, the Fisheries Act. All the Court said in Marshall – and it is actually the rehearing decision in Marshall that is referenced in Tsilhqot’in – is that in Marshall #1 it had been “most explicit in confirming the regulatory authority of the federal and provincial governments within their respective legislative fields to regulate the exercise of the treaty right subject to the constitutional requirement that restraints on the exercise of the treaty right have to be justified on the basis of conservation or other compelling and substantial public objectives.” (Marshall #2 at para 24, citing R v Marshall, [1999] 3 SCR 456 (Marshall #1) at para 64). This re-reading of Marshall is similar to the Court’s re-reading of Marshall and Bernard.

6. Notwithstanding several references to the customary laws of indigenous communities (see e.g. paras 31 and 35), Tsilhqot’in presents a view of aboriginal title as simply “Aboriginal land law” (at para 10) rather than as part of a more comprehensive normative order. We say this because the division of powers part of the judgement (commencing at para 98) is full of all sorts of references to two levels of government (see e.g. para 141) and similar comments about “interlocking federal and provincial schemes” that make it abundantly clear that this Court has given no thought to the space within which indigenous laws may operate within the modern constitutional order (for recognition that the law making authority of aboriginal peoples pre-dated the Crown’s acquisition of sovereignty, was not extinguished by that acquisition of sovereignty and was not impaired by the division of legislative powers between the federal and provincial governments in 1982 see Campbell v British Columbia (2000), 189 DLR (4th) 333 (BCSC) and Justice Deschamps in Beckman v Little Salmon/Carmacks First Nation, [2010] 3 SCR 103 at para 97). The Court’s argument (at para 114) that “no one would have been in charge” of the forests unless the BC government intended the words “vested in the Crown” to apply to lands with pending claims of aboriginal title is further evidence of the Court’s lack of acknowledgment of the possibility of indigenous laws. Thus the Court is very adept at inventing inherent limits (allegedly grounded in the indigenous laws of all communities) to aboriginal rights but less imaginative when it comes to creating a space within which indigenous laws can operate.

In sum, Tsilhqot’in is undoubtedly a welcome decision on aboriginal title. It is considerably less helpful on traditional division of powers issues. There is more talk than usual in this decision about what is ratio and what is obiter dictum – likely as a way of avoiding the logic of Delgamuukw (at para 135). Perhaps a later Court will dismiss Tsilhqot’in on the federalism issues as mere obiter and return us to constitutional orthodoxy – but not, one surmises, without a lot of pain and uncertainty; the sort of pain and uncertainty engendered by Marshall and Bernard for close to a decade. We cannot help wondering if the Court’s discussion of federalism issues in this case was the price that had to be paid to get a unanimous judgement. To answer that question we will have to await a biography of Chief Justice McLachlin that draws on a set of sources that is just as rich as the marvellous biography of Brian Dickson by Robert Sharpe and Kent Roach (Brian Dickson: A Judge’s Journey). That biography contains an insightful discussion of the story behind the Court’s unanimous judgement in Sparrow which was co-authored by Chief Justice Dickson and Justice Laforest.

Don’t Gossip About Your Client to the Press… Some (Mildly) Complicating Thoughts on Robidoux

Fri, 07/04/2014 - 10:00am

By: Alice Woolley

PDF Version: Don’t Gossip About Your Client to the Press… Some (Mildly) Complicating Thoughts on Robidoux

Decision commented on: In the matter of the Legal Profession Act, and in the matter of a hearing regarding the conduct of Kristine Robidoux, QC, a Member of the Law Society of Alberta

On June 9 2014 the Law Society of Alberta suspended Kristine Robidoux for four months after she admitted to violating her duties of confidentiality and candour to her client, provincial Conservative party candidate and former journalist Arthur Kent. Robidoux was legal counsel to Kent’s election team in the 2008 Alberta provincial election. She was also Kent’s agent and the Conservative party’s quadrant chair for five of the electoral constituencies in Calgary. During that time Robidoux had e-mail correspondence with Don Martin, a journalist, in which she gave Martin information about problems with the Kent campaign and, in part based on which, Martin wrote a column that “was unbalanced and wholly negative, thereby leaving a misleading and false impression about the candidate” (Agreed Statement of Facts, para 24).

Because of Robidoux’s admissions, the Law Society Hearing Panel reasons (see here) are relatively limited. After noting that Robidoux was Mr. Kent’s counsel, they state that they had “no difficulty in accepting that she improperly disclosed confidential information” (para 11), that she was not candid about having done so (para 12) and that there was an “element of cover-up” given her failure to admit what she done, instead hoping that journalist-source privilege would mean her disclosures were never revealed (para 13).   The bulk of the Panel’s decision focused not on the finding of professional misconduct, but rather on the issue of whether the 4 month suspension proposed by the Law Society and Ms. Robidoux was the appropriate sanction.

In this post I will argue that, as a matter of the law governing lawyers, Robidoux’s conviction was based on relatively weak grounds. The justification for the decision can only follow because the central problem with her behaviour was that she violated the central ethical obligations of the lawyer – loyalty and confidence keeping – and she did so in circumstances proximate to legal practice, even if not actually related to legal practice.

As a matter of professional regulation, finding that Robidoux violated her duty of confidentiality requires showing that she disclosed information subject to that duty. But the information disclosed by Robidoux was not provided to her in relation to her provision of legal advice to Kent.  She told the reporter about: (1) the candidate’s decision making and his failure to follow “the advice of his campaign team” (Agreed Statement of Facts, para 18); (2) the resignation of the candidate’s finance agent; (3) the candidate not attending an announcement by the Premier (information she learned from a third party); and, (4) that campaign brochures had scattered across Deerfoot Trail while workers scrambled to pick them up. Some of this information was inaccurate. None of it was communicated directly to Robidoux by Kent.  None of it related directly to any legal matter or question brought to her by Kent. Some of it was based on Robidoux’s own observations, rather than information provided to her.

The information Robidoux communicated to Martin was thus not privileged. Was it confidential? Under the Alberta Code (and all other provincial codes) confidentiality covers “all information concerning the business and affairs of a client acquired in the course of the professional relationship.” The breadth of that definition does seem to cover the type of information Robidoux disclosed – it makes it irrelevant that the information was not from the client or that it was known to third parties. All that is required is that the information be acquired “in the course of the professional relationship”.

But was it? Robidoux did provide legal advice to Kent. She advised him about setting up the campaign’s bank account, paying for radio ads, about Election Act provisions related to volunteer door knocking, executing the official nomination papers and reimbursing expenses (Agreed Statement of facts, para. 43). These are, however, discreet and straightforward legal matters; it seems likely that the vast majority of the work Robidoux did on the campaign did not relate to the provision of legal advice. It seems a bit of a stretch to say that the information she learned, which was not communicated by Kent, which had no obvious connection to the matters on which she gave him legal advice, and which she learned while working on his campaign in a variety of ways, was nonetheless “acquired in the course of a professional relationship”.

If Robidoux did not violate her duty of confidentiality, the allegation that she violated her duty of candour also becomes suspect. The duty of candour arises only in relation to the lawyer’s professional obligations. The candour required is in relation to the provision of legal services, not generally. If Robidoux did not violate confidentiality in her legal role then there was no violation she was required to disclose.

But when examined on more general ethical grounds, these arguments seem fairly obviously to miss the point. Robidoux is a lawyer. She was Kent’s legal counsel, even if only for narrow and discreet purposes. And while occupying that role Robidoux violated the key ethical duties that lawyers owe: loyalty, confidentiality and candour (See, e.g., R. v. Neil, 2002 SCC 70 at para 19). She may not have done so in her capacity as his legal counsel, or in relation to the legal services she provided. But there are good reasons not to allow lawyers to rely on “well, I wasn’t a lawyer then” defences when they act improperly in matters closely related to their legal role; otherwise lawyers could simply frame activities as outside legal practice in order to escape professional duty. In Robidoux’s case the defence based on the law governing lawyers may have had some legitimacy given her narrow advising role and her broader campaign involvement.  Nonetheless, the significance of her ethical violations, the centrality of those violations to the ethical duties of lawyers, and the fact that she and Kent were in a lawyer-client relationship, make her admission of professional misconduct, and the severity of the sanction, understandable.

In short, “I acted disloyally and I told secrets I was obligated to keep, but I wasn’t being a lawyer in the precise moment when I did so” doesn’t carry much water as a defence to professional misconduct. And nor should it.

This comment was originally posted in Alice Woolley’s column on Slaw.             

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Northern Gateway Approved Despite Uncertain Environmental Effects: Is This What Sustainable Development Looks Like?

Thu, 07/03/2014 - 10:00am

By: Shaun Fluker

PDF Version: Northern Gateway Approved Despite Uncertain Environmental Effects: Is This What Sustainable Development Looks Like?

Decision commented on: National Energy Board, Northern Gateway Decision Statement

On June 17, 2014 the National Energy Board issued a decision statement to Enbridge under section 54(1) of the Canadian Environmental Assessment Act, 2012, SC 2012, c 19, s 52 announcing that the federal Governor in Council had approved the Northern Gateway pipeline subject to the 209 conditions recommended by the Northern Gateway panel (The panel report was the subject of earlier ABlawg comments here and here). The Governor in Council accepted the panel’s recommendations that the pipeline will have significant adverse environmental effects to populations of woodland caribou and grizzly bears, but that these effects are justified in the circumstances. I will comment on this approval by comparing it to another major resource project decision issued on the very same day, June 17, 2014 – albeit one issued on the other side of the globe in New Zealand.

This approval of Northern Gateway by the federal Conservatives was a foregone conclusion. Before the Northern Gateway review panel even commenced formal hearings in January 2012, the federal Minister of Natural Resources issued an open declaration that Canada needs more access to Asia-Pacific markets for resource exports.  In the words of Minister Oliver himself:

Canada is on the edge of an historic choice: to diversify our energy markets away from our traditional trading partner in the United States or to continue with the status quo.  Virtually all our energy exports go to the US.   As a country, we must seek new markets for our products and services and the booming Asia-Pacific economies have shown great interest in our oil, gas, metals and minerals. For our government, the choice is clear:  we need to diversify our markets in order to create jobs and economic growth for Canadians across this country.  We must expand our trade with the fast growing Asian economies. We know that increasing trade will help ensure the financial security of Canadians and their families. (See Natural Resources Canada, Media Room).

 Oh sure, the law tells us the National Energy Board is an independent administrative agency. But let’s inject some realism here. In the face of the Minister’s open declaration, the only real decision in this whole process was what conditions to attach to the approval.  After hearing evidence and considering submissions for 180 days, the Board arrived on 209 conditions it deemed necessary to mitigate the risks and adverse socio-ecological effects associated with the pipeline and its associated infrastructure to ensure the project is in the public interest.  The conditions are set out in the Appendix to the panel report (See here).

My concern is that this project was given the green light despite so many uncertainties concerning these socio-ecological effects.  For example, readers may recall that there was extensive disagreement before the panel on whether Enbridge conducted adequate research to fully assess the impact of the project on threatened caribou and marine species. The panel concluded it was uncertain whether Enbridge could successfully mitigate impacts on caribou populations and that there was insufficient knowledge on the effects of vessel traffic and noise on marine species.  Enbridge asserted it would conduct more detailed surveys and gather more baseline data after the project receives regulatory approval, and use the information to develop species protection plans. The panel and subsequently the Governor in Council accepted this position incorporating these commitments into the conditions.  See conditions 57 to 59, which require Enbridge to conduct a pre-construction assessment of caribou habitat impacted by the project and conditions 51 and 191, which require Enbridge to prepare a construction phase and operations phase marine mammal protection plan.

Is this what sustainable development looks like?  A widely contested project with potentially severe and in some cases uncertain socio-ecological impacts gets approved in order to open new markets for bitumen, and we will sort out the difficulties later. Never mind who exactly will hold Enbridge to account for the content and integrity of its post-approval assessments and plans.

Canada might learn a thing or two about sustainable development by reading the Trans-Tasman Resources Marine Consent Decision issued by New Zealand’s Environmental Protection Agency (NZ EPA) on the same day that Northern Gateway was approved. The Trans-Tasman decision is available here.   Trans-Tasman applied to excavate iron ore from the bed of the Tasman Sea off the western coast of New Zealand’s north island.  This was the first application for a resource consent under the Exclusive Economic Zone and Continental Shelf (Environmental Effects) Act, Public Act 2012 No 72(the EEZ Act) and, like the Northern Gateway project, it promised economic gains but only in exchange for uncertain and potentially significant environmental risks.  The NZ EPA denied the application.

I am familiar with the Trans-Tasman application because the hearing took place during my stay in New Zealand as an academic visitor with the Te Piringa Faculty of Law at the University of Waikato.  I was studying the role of public participation in resource project decision-making in New Zealand, and came across a local group organized as Kiwis Against Seabed Mining (KASM) which had become the front of opposition to the Trans-Tasman mining proposal. My introduction to KASM was instructive because it led me to the broader controversy in New Zealand concerning offshore resource development in the country’s exclusive economic zone and the enactment of the EEZ Act in 2013.

The size of New Zealand’s exclusive economic zone far exceeds its land mass, and has attracted a large amount of interest from resource exploration companies in recent years. In turn, the New Zealand government foresees a windfall of future royalties from this largely untapped and unknown region.  The EEZ Act was enacted in 2013 to provide a regulatory framework to manage the environmental effects of offshore resource development such as oil exploration and seabed mining. The objective of the EEZ Act is the familiar sustainability rhetoric – enable economic growth while maintaining ecological integrity – but it is tricky business because these are large capital-intensive projects in remote locations that bring environmental risks that are considered low probability with severe consequences.  Sound familiar?

The EEZ Act sets up a typical licensing framework for resource development projects. Most proposals require the consent of the Environmental Protection Agency, with the exception of those deemed to have low environmental impact such as scientific studies or mineral prospecting (section 20).  An applicant for a resource consent must file prescribed documentation and an environmental impact assessment completed to the satisfaction of the regulator (section 38).  With the exception of activities prescribed by regulation, all resource consent applications are subject to a full public hearing if requested. Any person may trigger and/or participate in the hearing; you will not find any reference to a ‘directly affected’ test for standing in this framework. The Environmental Protection Agency received 4700 submissions on the Trans-Tasman application, and all but 20 of those submissions were opposed to the mining project.

The mining activity was proposed for a 65 square kilometre region between 22 and 36 kilometers offshore. The process involves the excavation of seabed materials which are processed on a floating platform to extract iron ore.  Approximately 90% of excavated seabed would be returned to the ocean floor along with tailings, creating a sediment plume approximately 1000 square kilometres in size. The project had a project lifespan of 20 years. Submissions at the hearing revealed significant uncertainties on the effects of the project on primary productivity in the water ecosystems, impacts on endangered marine mammals, and impacts on existing indigenous and commercial fishing interests.  The EPA panel hearing the application also questioned the economic benefits of the project beyond royalties paid for resource development. The EPA denied the resource consent on the basis of the uncertainties and was not convinced the applicant’s proposed conditions and adaptive management scenarios would ensure sustainable development (See the executive summary of the decision here).

No doubt we should be cautious about reading too much into a comparison between resource project decisions governed by different statutory regimes in countries separated by half the globe. Nonetheless, for me the comparison is instructive and both CEAA 2012 and the EEZ Act share a common purpose of promoting sustainable development. The Trans-Tasman decision is an illustration of what precaution looks like in practice and is a sincere effort to ensure sustainable development of resources.  The Northern Gateway decision is an illustration of throwing caution to the wind.

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Establishing Aboriginal Title: A Return to Delgamuukw

Wed, 07/02/2014 - 9:30am

By: Jonnette Watson Hamilton

PDF Version: Establishing Aboriginal Title: A Return to Delgamuukw

Case commented on: Tsilhqot’in Nation v British Columbia, 2014 SCC 44

The declaration of Aboriginal title by the Supreme Court of Canada on June 26, 2014 — a first in Canada — is a momentous decision that should have long-lasting significance for the Tsilhquot’in Nation, other Aboriginal groups, and the rest of Canada. The unanimous Supreme Court decision made new law in the areas of the duty to consult and accommodate, governments’ justification of infringements of Aboriginal title, and federalism — matters that my colleagues Nigel Bankes, Sharon Mascher and Jennifer Koshan will be writing about. On the law of Aboriginal title — the focus of this post — the decision is extremely important for at least two reasons. First, as part of its return to principles set out in the Court’s 1997 decision in Delgamuukw v British Columbia, [1997] 3 SCR 1010, Tsilhqot’in Nation includes a return to an equal role for Aboriginal perspectives that includes Aboriginal  laws, instead of the exclusive focus on Aboriginal practices that was a feature of R v Marshall; R v Bernard, 2005 SCC 43, [2005] 2 SCR 220, the Court’s second post-1982 decision on Aboriginal title. Second, Tsilhqot’in Nation clarifies an understanding of occupation that accords with a territorial approach to Aboriginal title, one that does not require and piece together intensive use of well-defined tracts of land. In doing so, the Court turned its back on the approach it took in Marshall/Bernard, an approach that was the source of the arguments made by the governments of Canada and British Columbia in Tsilhqot’in Nation and the basis of the British Columbia Court of Appeal decision in this case (William v British Columbia, 2012 BCCA 285). The June 26 decision therefore brings increased certainty to the law of Aboriginal title by clarifying the type of occupation that will ground Aboriginal title. It also increases the likelihood of more successful Aboriginal title claims and, hopefully, more intensive and good faith negotiations in modern land claims and treaty processes.

The unanimous decision in Tsilhqot’in Nation is written by Chief Justice Beverley McLachlin. She is the only member of the current Supreme Court who also heard Delgamuukw in 1997. In addition, she authored the majority judgment in Marshall/Bernard in 2005.

Chief Justice McLachlin tells us relatively little about the Tsilhqot’in people and their occupation of their traditional territory or about the evidence presented during 339 trial days before Justice David Vickers in the Supreme Court of British Columbia (Tsilhqot’in Nation v British Columbia, 2007 BCSC 1700). Justice Vickers’ 1,382 paragraph judgment summarizes much of that evidence, but the Supreme Court of Canada’s focus is on the law. They do mention that the immediate roots of this action are found in the province’s 1983 grant of a forest licence to cut trees in part of the Tsilhqot’in Nations’ traditional territory. After blockades and unsuccessful negotiations,  the Xeni Gwet’in First Nation — one of six bands that make up the Tsilhqot’in Nation — sued for a declaration prohibiting commercial logging. That lawsuit was amended in 1998, one year after Delgamuukw was decided, to include a claim for Aboriginal title on behalf of all Tsilhqot’in people. No mention is made of the gold and copper mine proposed for the area, but the Tsilhqot’in peoples opposition to that proposed mine and its consequences for area lakes and rivers is well known and another factor sustaining their quest for a say over at least some of their traditional territory (see, e.g., Kristian Secher, “Tsilhqot’in celebrate as feds again block New Prosperity mine”, The Hook, 27 February 2014).

The test for Aboriginal title

The Chief Justice begins the discussion of the test for Aboriginal title by emphasising occupation. Initially, the test is put in the context of what she calls “a semi-nomadic indigenous group”, a characterization of the six bands making up the Tsilhqot’in Nation (para 24, 29), but the test does apply to claims for Aboriginal title by all Aboriginal groups. The test is a highly contextual one (para 37). Intensity and frequency of use is to vary with the characteristics of the Aboriginal group and the nature of the land (para 37). The characteristics of the Aboriginal group include “its laws, practices, size, [and] technological ability” (para 41).

Chief Justice McLachlin reiterates (at para 26) the three-part test for Aboriginal title that was first set out in Delgamuukw:

(i) the land must have been occupied prior to sovereignty,

(ii) if present occupation is relied on as proof of occupation pre-sovereignty, there must be a continuity between present and pre-sovereignty occupation, and

(iii) at sovereignty, that occupation must have been exclusive.

In her words, the type of occupation that grounds Aboriginal title must have three characteristics: “(i) it must be sufficient; it must be continuous (where present occupation is relied on); and it must be exclusive” (para 25). The sufficiency of the Tsilhqot’in peoples’ occupation was the main point of disagreement between the Tsilhqot’in Nation and government and also between the judges of the two lower courts.

In a puzzling paragraph, the Chief Justice next makes the point that the three elements of the Delgamuukw test could be considered to be related aspects of a single concept, quoting from the High Court of Australia’s decision in Western Australia v Ward (2002) 213 CLR 1 at para 89 for the idea that there is little merit in assessing the different elements of occupation separately (para 31). The Chief Justice ties the idea of a holistic approach to Aboriginal title to the Aboriginal perspective, saying that “ancestral practices” should not be forced “into the square boxes of common law concepts” (para 32). However, she then notes that sufficiency, continuity, and exclusivity are “useful lenses through which to view the question of Aboriginal title” (para 32) and in the following paragraphs she proceeds to consider each of those elements separately. A role for a more integrated approach to Aboriginal title is therefore left up in the air. Even more confusing is the fact this paragraph ends with the metaphor of translation, a metaphor introduced in the Chief Justice’s judgment in Marshall/Bernard. In that earlier case she stated (at para 48) that “[t]he Court’s task in evaluating a claim for an aboriginal right is to examine the pre-sovereignty aboriginal practice and translate that practice, as faithfully and objectively as it can, into a modern legal right.” In Tsilhqot’in Nation, she states that forcing “ancestral practices … into the square boxes of common law concepts” is to be avoided because it would “frustrate[e] the goal of faithfully translating pre-sovereignty Aboriginal interests into equivalent modern legal rights” (para 32). The problems with Marshall/Bernard’s portrayal of Aboriginal title as a translated right held under English common law were succinctly described in Brian Slattery, “The Metamorphosis of Aboriginal Title” (2006) Can Bar Rev 255 at 279-81, an article unfortunately not cited by the Court in Tsilhqot’in Nation. Is the Chief Justice suggesting in this paragraph in Tsilhqot’in Nation that Aboriginal interests are to be translated into modern legal rights that are not common law concepts? Is this simply a way of saying Aboriginal title is sui generis (something she does say at para 72)? Or that it is an inter-societal concept?  And what effect do those ideas have on the three elements of the Delgamuukw test?

Immediately following that particular paragraph, the Chief Justice turns to the first of the three elements of the Delgamuukw test.

On the central question of the sufficiency of occupation, the Chief Justice reaffirms Delgamuukw by holding that the issue must be looked at from both the common law and the Aboriginal perspective (para 34). And the Aboriginal perspective includes “laws, practices, customs and traditions of the group” (para 35), another Delgamuukw point. As pointed out in the opening paragraph, this is one of the ways in which the Chief Justice breaks with Marshall/Bernard and reaffirms the approach in Delgamuukw, i.e., she includes the laws of Aboriginal peoples and not just the facts of their physical occupation. (The omission of Aboriginal law in Marshall/Bernard was critiqued in the concurring judgment by Justices Fish and LeBel in that case.)The Aboriginal perspective appears to be taken more seriously, with the Chief Justice acknowledging that it might require a conception of the possession of land that differs from that of the common law (para 41).

In a key passage, the Chief Justice spells out the standard for sufficient occupation (para 38):

[T]he Aboriginal group in question must show that it has historically acted in a way that would communicate to third parties that it held the land for its own purposes. This standard does not demand notorious or visible use akin to proving a claim for adverse possession, but neither can the occupation be purely subjective or internal. There must be evidence of a strong presence on or over the land claimed, manifesting itself in acts of occupation that could reasonably be interpreted as demonstrating that the land in question belonged to, was controlled by, or was under the exclusive stewardship of the claimant group.

On the sufficiency of occupation point, the Chief Justice also adopts (para 39) the reasoning of Justice Cromwell (as he then was) in R v Marshall, 2003 NSCA 105, rather than her own reasoning in Marshall/Bernard (the appeal from the Nova Scotia Court of Appeal decision).  Justice Cromwell had analogised the standard to establish Aboriginal title to the requirements for general occupancy at common law, requiring an actual entry and actions from which an intent to occupy land could be inferred. The wide variety of acts that could be evidence of an intention to occupy land is emphasised, varying from obvious practices such as “enclosing, cultivating, mining, building upon, maintaining, and warning trespassers of land” to acts such as “cutting trees and grass, fishing in tracts of water, and even perambulation” (para 39). Exactly which acts will be sufficient to prove Aboriginal title depends on the nature of the land and the way of life of the Aboriginal people in question.

The Chief Justice also adopts Justice Cromwell’s positioning of the standard of occupation, from the common law perspective, as lying between the minimal occupation which would permit a person to sue a wrongdoer in trespass and the most onerous standard required to ground title by adverse possession as against a true owner (para 40).

Justice Vickers summarized (para 960 BCSC) the evidence in this case as revealing village sites occupied for portions of each year and tied to cultivated fields, hunting grounds and fishing sites by networks of foot trails, horse trails and watercourses that defined the seasonal rounds. He found these sites and their interconnecting links set out large tracts of land in regular use by Tsilhqot’in people at the time the Crown asserted sovereignty. Thus, for Justice Vickers, a finding of Aboriginal title to approximately 40 percent of the Claim Area was warranted (and the Claim Area was itself only about five percent of the Tsilhqot’in’s traditional territory).

The key point of disagreement in the lower courts and between the parties was whether a court’s approach to occupation should be what came to be called a “territorial approach” or whether it should be what became known as a “site specific approach.”

The BC Court of Appeal called Justice Vickers’ approach a territorial approach (paras 125, 214 BCCA) that had been rejected by the Supreme Court of Canada in Delgamuukw (based on the examples used in that case rather than on the test it articulated) and, especially, in Marshall/Bernard (paras 219-225 BCCA). The Crown had argued, and the Court of Appeal agreed, that Aboriginal title could only be proven and declared for well-defined, intensively used areas. The Tsilhqot’in Nation characterized this approach as a “postage stamp” approach to Aboriginal title, a characterization Justice Vickers had agreed with (para 610 BCSC).

To the surprise of many, the Supreme Court of Canada rejected the narrow “postage stamp” or “site specific” approach to Aboriginal title used by the Court of Appeal, and adopted the broader territorial approach of Justice Vickers. Indeed, the Chief Justice recognized that Delgamuukw affirmed a “territorial used- based approach to Aboriginal title” (para 57). Thus the primary area of uncertainty in the test for Aboriginal title, introduced by Marshall/Bernard, has now been clarified by the Supreme Court.

In her discussion of Aboriginal title, the only mention by the Chief Justice of her judgment in Marshall/Bernard is in two paragraphs that refute British Columbia’s interpretation of her decision in that 2005 case (paras 43-44). The province had argued that Marshall/Bernard rejected a territorial approach to Aboriginal title and instead required intensive use of specific, defined sites. The Chief Justice, however, held that Marshall/Bernard required only “sufficiently regular and exclusive use” of the land and followed Delgamuukw on this (para 44). She did acknowledge that her Marshall/Bernard decision framed the issue of sufficient physical possession in terms of whether the common law test for possession was met (para 44). However, she stated that the need to consider the perspective of the Aboriginal group was not abandoned in her earlier decision.

With all due respect, the Chief Justice’s lack of reliance in Tsilhqot’in Nation on her own decision in Marshall/Bernard speaks more loudly than does her insistence that Marshall/Bernard has been misunderstood. Many people feared a negative outcome in Tsilhqot’in Nation based on the Marshall/Bernard decision.

Charlotte A. Bell, Q.C., “A Corner Turned: Supreme Court of Canada Decisions of the Year Past” (2006) 34 SCLR (2d) 433 at 436 sets out the general understanding of the difference between Delgamuukw and Marshall/Bernard after the latter case was decided:

The 1997 Delgamuukw decision evoked visions of vast tracts of hunting territory, “exclusively used and occupied” by a First Nation (essentially, being under the sovereign power of a First Nation), that were declared to be, in the present day, lands from which the First Nation was entitled to exclude all others, even the Crown. However, the Bernard and Marshall decisions introduced new language into the definition of Aboriginal title. The mantra “exclusive use and occupation” is now more adjective intense. In order to establish title to land, a claimant must demonstrate that their activity was “sufficiently regular and exclusive” and thus, comports with title at common law.

This expanded definition severely limits the expectation of the size of a tract that can be declared subject to Aboriginal title. The speculation after Delgamuukw was that all of the territory between and around an even infrequently used hunting tract would qualify as Aboriginal title. Some might say that now, only actual village sites can qualify.

See also Kent McNeil, “Aboriginal Title in Canada: Site-Specific or Territorial?” (at 5), arguing that even though the territorial approach was not explicitly adopted in Delgamuukw, Chief Justice Lamer’s decision “points undeniably in that direction.” McNeil traces the British Columbia Court of Appeal’s “postage stamp” approach directly back to Chief Justice McLachlin’s decision in Marshall/Bernard, noting that “she disagreed explicitly with the territorial approach that had been taken by Cromwell J.A. (as he then was) of the Nova Scotia Court of …, favouring instead a site-specific approach whereby Aboriginal title has to be established by proof of physical occupation of specific sites …”.

The governments of British Columbia and Canada and the British Columbia Court of Appeal adopted what they understood to be Marshall/Bernard’s changes to the test set out in Delgamuukw. Marshall/Bernard has been forcefully criticized for ignoring Aboriginal law and for insisting on intensive use of specific sites in order to found Aboriginal title. See, for example, Paul LAH Chartrand, “R. v. Marshall; R. v. Bernard: The Return of the Native” (2006) 55 UNBLJ 135; Margaret McCallum, “After Bernard and Marshall” (2006) 55 UNBLJ 73; S. Imai, “The Adjudication of Historical Evidence: A Comment and an Elaboration on a Proposal by Justice LeBel” (2006) 55 UNBLJ 146; and Nigel D Bankes, “Marshall and Bernard: Ignoring the Relevance of Customary Property Laws” (2006) 55 UNBLJ 120. Unfortunately, none of this scholarly literature, nor that of Slattery, Bell or McNeil cited above, is cited by the Court (though earlier pieces by Slattery and McNeil are cited).

Tsilhqot’in Nation’s repudiation of the widespread (mis)understanding of Marshall/Bernard, even if not acknowledged to be such, is welcomed — and necessary for a successful claim for Aboriginal title in this case.

On the element of continuity, the second part of the test for Aboriginal title in Delgamuukw, the Chief Justice adds nothing to what was said in that case (para 45). Delgamuukw required that continuity between present and pre-sovereignty occupation be proved if the former was relied upon as proof of the latter. However, she does expand somewhat on the element of exclusivity, the third part of the test. Delgamuukw required that the Aboriginal group (or groups under the notion of shared exclusivity) had to have the intent and capacity to retain exclusive control over the land. The Chief Justice expands on exclusivity with examples similar to those set out in Delgamuukw (para 48), and adds an emphasis on context and the need to use both the common law and the Aboriginal perspective (para 49).

After setting out the clarified test for Aboriginal title, the Chief Justice then applies it to the facts of this case noting that, because it is a question of fact, the issue is whether Justice Vickers made a palpable and overriding error (para 52). The Chief Justice found that there was no basis on which to disturb the fact findings of Justice Vickers on the elements of sufficiency, continuity or exclusivity.

The content of Aboriginal title

Chief Justice McLachlin also took the opportunity in Tsilhqot’in Nation to discuss the characteristics of Aboriginal title. Before doing so, however, she discusses the content of the Crown’s underlying or radical title in Aboriginal title land, a notion seldom discussed in Canadian jurisprudence.

She begins with the conceptually difficult but not new idea that the Crown acquired underlying title to all the land in British Columbia at the time of assertion of European sovereignty (para 69). Following that assertion, Aboriginal title is conceived of as a burden on the Crown’s underlying title. The Chief Justice also says something about the content of the Crown’s underlying title, stating that it is “what is left when Aboriginal title is subtracted from it” and it is not a beneficial interest in the land (para 70). Once Aboriginal title is declared, as it was in this case, what remains of the Crown’s underlying title is two things: first, a fiduciary duty owed to the Aboriginal title holders when the Crown is dealing with the Aboriginal land, and, second, the right to encroach on the Aboriginal title if the government can justify the encroachment (paras 71, 85).

On the content of Aboriginal title, as the Chief Justice notes, Delgamuukw established that it “encompasses the right to exclusive use and occupation of the land held pursuant to that title for a variety of purposes” (para 67). It is a beneficial interest in the land (para 70), conferring “the right to use and control the land and to reap the benefits flowing from it” (para 2). The incidents that attached to that title are analogised to those associated with fee simple titles: “the right to decide how the land will be used; the right of enjoyment and occupancy of the land; the right to possess the land; the right to the economic benefits of the land; and the right to pro-actively use and manage the land” (para 73). Aboriginal title holders may use their Aboriginal title land in modern ways if they wish to do so (para 75). These aspects of title — all previously set out in Delgamuukw — make up what the Chief Justice calls the “positive proposition” associated with the content of Aboriginal title (para 15).

There is also what the Chief Justice calls a “negative proposition” associated with Aboriginal title, namely, that the Aboriginal title holder’s use of the land “must not be irreconcilable with the nature of the group’s attachment to that land” (para 15, quoting Delgamuukw at para 117). The Chief Justice elaborates on this “important restriction” which she directly ties to the collective nature of Aboriginal title, a collective nature that not only encompasses the present members of the group, but also succeeding generations (para 74). As a result of this negative proposition or, to use Delgamuukw’s words, this inherent limitation, Aboriginal title land can only be alienated to the Crown; cannot be encumbered in ways that would prevent future generations from using and enjoying it; and cannot be developed or misused in ways that would substantially deprive future generations of the benefit of the land (para 74). Nonetheless, the Chief Justice states that even permanent changes to the land may be possible. No examples are given. Although the Chief Justice elaborates somewhat on this inherent limitation on Aboriginal title, the scope of this limitation and the types of activities that are restricted are still uncertain and their resolution awaits a case in which the inherent limitation is itself the issue.

Other questions remain unanswered by Tsilhqot’in Nation. Neither continuity nor exclusivity were contentious in this case. Thus, for example, the significance of overlapping and competing claims to Aboriginal title over the same territory is uncertain.

Conclusion

As a result of the Tsilhqot’in Nation decision, we will most likely see many more First Nations bringing forward to the courts claims for declarations of Aboriginal title. Within hours of the Tsilhqot’in Nation decision the Tahltan First Nation announced it planned to launch an Aboriginal rights and title claim (Emma Crawford Hampel and Nelson Bennett “First Nations armed with Supreme Court ruling put mines in their sights” June 27, 2014, The First Perspective).

Tsilhqot’in Nation’sclarification of the test for Aboriginal title and its return to the promise and more expansive nature of the territorial approach in Delgamuukwshould also affect the positions of both First Nations and governments at treaty negotiation tables. Although the only question the rest of Canada (or at least the mainstream media) seemed to be interested in is the impact of the Court’s decision on resource development, it seems likely that a much broader understanding of just how the ground has shifted will become both a necessity and a good in the future.

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U.S. Supreme Court Narrows Greenhouse Gas Rules: What It Means for the U.S. Climate Agenda

Tue, 06/24/2014 - 10:20am

By: James Coleman

PDF Version:U.S. Supreme Court Narrows Greenhouse Gas Rules: What It Means for the U.S. Climate Agenda

Case commented on:Utility Air Regulatory Group v. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), USSC No. 12–1146 (June 23, 2014)

On Monday, the U.S. Supreme Court struck down a portion of the United States’ first regulations for greenhouse gas emissions from industrial sources. The Court held that the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) may not apply its “Prevention of Significant Deterioration” (PSD) program to new industrial sources on the basis of their greenhouse gas emissions. Instead, EPA can only regulate greenhouse gas emissions from new sources that are already subject to the PSD program because they emit other pollutants.

This is the first Supreme Court decision on EPA’s authority to regulate greenhouse gases from industrial sources, so it has important implications for EPA’s future climate agenda—including its recently proposed rule for the electricity sector. And the varied opinions offered by the Supreme Court justices offer hints about how courts will approach the inevitable legal challenges to those regulations.

EPA’s PSD program has two basic requirements:

1)    You need a permit before you build a new major industrial source of air pollution.

2)    And to get a PSD permit, you must show that you are using the “best available control technology” for the air pollutants that you emit.

In this case, the Supreme Court held:

1)      EPA may not require new sources to get a PSD permit simply because they will emit large amounts of greenhouse gases. The Court held that it would be unreasonable for greenhouse gases to trigger the permit requirement, because the PSD permit program is only meant to apply to the thousands of industrial sources that emit conventional pollutants, not the millions of sources that emit significant amounts of greenhouse gases.

2)      But if a source needs a PSD permit anyway, because it emits other pollutants, then EPA may require it to adopt the “best available control technology” for greenhouse gases, along with other air pollutants.

I will not say anything more about the complexities of the decision, because I described them extensively in a previous post, which read the tea-leaves of oral argument in the case, and suggested the Supreme Court would reach exactly this compromise. So you can read that post both for a description of the statutory interpretation question and an explanation of the reasoning that the court eventually followed.

The most pressing question raised by the case today may be its implications for the United States’ future climate agenda, including EPA’s recently proposed rule for existing power plants. There are three important implications, and each could spell trouble for EPA’s climate agenda.

First, the Court suggested that one reason for rejecting EPA’s rule is that “it would bring about an enormous and transformative expansion in EPA’s regulatory authority without clear congressional authorization” because millions of sources would be subject to a greenhouse gas permit requirement. EPA, it is true, had suggested it would only regulate a reasonable number of them, but the court was not willing to leave that decision in the agency’s hands.  The court noted: “When an agency claims to discover in a long-extant statute an unheralded power to regulate a significant portion of the American economy, we typically greet its announcement with a measure of skepticism.”

This passage will trouble EPA. In the agency’s recent proposal to cap greenhouse gas emissions from state power sectors, which the agency calls the “Clean Power Plan,” the agency is using a long-ignored statutory provision, Clean Air Act §111(d), to overhaul the nation’s electricity sector. As noted in a previous post, §111(d) has rarely been used, and it is so obscure that when Congress passed the Clean Air Act amendments in 1990, no one even noticed that the House and Senate had passed two different versions. Talk about unheralded.

Second, the Court expressed some skepticism about controlling greenhouse gas emissions through energy efficiency, which is an important part of EPA’s climate agenda. Carbon dioxide, the most common greenhouse gas, is the inevitable result of burning fossil fuels. Clean combustion of clean fossil fuels emits carbon dioxide and water. And once carbon dioxide is emitted, it is hard to pull out of the air. So most attempts to limit carbon dioxide emissions are really attempts to limit fossil fuel combustion. The only other option is carbon capture and storage, which is usually too costly to be feasible. EPA’s Clean Power Plan and its guidance on what is the “best available control technology” under the PSD program both rely on encouraging energy efficiency.

But the Supreme Court was not willing to endorse this approach. First, it stated that it didn’t need to decide whether energy efficiency could be the “best available control technology” because EPA also said states could consider carbon capture and storage. Second, it said that even if EPA could mandate energy efficiency at new sources, it could not redesign the source, require it to consume less electricity, or otherwise micromanage industrial source proposals. In doing so, the Supreme Court handed industry arguments to use against regulators in permit proceedings.

A third important takeaway from the case is that Justice Scalia, the conservative justice that authored the Supreme Court’s opinion, was able to convince Justice Kennedy to join his opinion limiting EPA’s authority to regulate greenhouse gases. Justice Kennedy is generally considered the Court’s swing vote and he was a deciding vote on the Court’s 5-4 decision in Massachusetts v. EPA, 127 S.Ct. 1438 (2007),which required EPA to consider the climate consequences of greenhouse gases from cars and trucks.

Justice Kennedy has seemed very supportive of EPA’s efforts to regulate greenhouse gases. At oral argument, he admonished industry’s lawyers that he would continue to follow “both the result and the reasoning” of Massachusetts v. EPA—and the reasoning of Massachusetts v. EPA stressed the possible benefits of greenhouse gas regulation. Until now, EPA may have been justified in believing that the Court’s swing justice would sympathize with the challenges they face in adapting the Clean Air Act to address global warming and give them the benefit of the doubt. But Monday’s decision shows that Justice Kennedy’s sympathy only goes so far: he is quite willing to strike down overly broad climate regulations. That may have much longer-term implications for EPA’s climate agenda—only the coming years will tell.

Full disclosure: Before entering my academic career in 2011, I represented some of the petitioners in their challenge to EPA’s regulations.

This post originally appeared on James Coleman’s blog Energy Law Prof.

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Conservation Easements and Fraud under the Land Titles Act

Mon, 06/23/2014 - 8:30am

By: Jonnette Watson Hamilton

PDF Version: Conservation Easements and Fraud under the Land Titles Act

Case commented on: Nature Conservancy of Canada v Waterton Land Trust Ltd, 2014 ABQB 303

This 130 page, 605 paragraph judgment penned by Justice Paul R. Jeffrey deals with a number of note-worthy legal issues in a fascinating factual context. The case started when the Nature Conservancy of Canada (NCC) tried to enforce a conservation easement that it had registered against its title to the Penny Ranch, a large cattle ranch near Waterton Lakes National Park in the south-west corner of the province. One of the main purposes of the conservation easement was to ensure that, when the NCC sold the Penny Ranch, development by the purchasers or their successors in title would not impede wildlife migration through the area, an area which the NCC described as the “North American Serengeti.” The case ended (barring appeals) with Justice Jeffrey finding that defendant’s new bison fence was not a breach of the conservation easement and ordering the NCC to pay over $700,000 to Thomas Olson for the NCC’s failure to issue him a timely tax receipt. In between, numerous legal issues arose, including: (1) the nature of conservation easements under the Alberta Land Stewardship Act; (2) contract rectification; (3) fraud as an exception to indefeasibility; (4) rectification of a caveat with a missing page in the underlying document; and (5) damages for the late issuance of a tax receipt. In this post, I will deal with only one of those issues and that is the fraud issue. Colleagues will address some of the other issues. General Background

The NCC is national registered charity dedicated to conserving Canada’s natural heritage through land conservation. It partners with individuals, corporations, foundations and governments to protect ecologically significant land, plants and wildlife.

Thomas Olson is a tax lawyer who splits his time and his transnational tax planning and tax litigation practice between Alberta and Utah. He and his family owned three other bison ranches in Western Canada and operate a bison meat distribution business.

The Penny Ranch lies on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains and within the migratory corridors of a wide variety of species. The NCC bought the ranch from Penny in 2001 for $3.3 million. The ranch consisted of eleven mostly contiguous quarter sections, plus a leased twelfth quarter section, within a narrow strip of land lying just northeast of Waterton Lakes National Park. The ranch occupied the last fringe — a five to six mile wide band — between cultivated or otherwise developed lands to the east and the mountainous lands to the west. The NCC arranged to sell the ranch to Thomas Olson, who planned to raise wild bison there. Before selling the ranch to Olson, the NCC had a conservation easement registered against the titles to the ranch.

In July 2003 the NCC filed caveats against the titles to the Penny Ranch to protect a “placeholder” conservation easement. It was their practice to use a standard form conservation easement for this purpose and then later negotiate and revise its terms using an amending agreement to suit a specific purchaser, while still satisfying the NCC’s conservation goals. In this case the placeholder conservation easement was granted by the NCC to the Alberta Conservation Association (ACA), rather than to itself. The idea was that once the NCC sold the ranch, the ACA would transfer the conservation easement back to the NCC. The placeholder conservation easement dealt with fencing, including fencing height restrictions. The parties negotiated and reached an amending agreement that included new terms for the height and location of replacement fencing on the ranch.

The first caveat the NCC filed to protect the conservation easement amending agreement had several defects. Most importantly, the filing omitted page 5 of the attached amending agreement which contained a replacement fence height restriction. The first caveat was discharged and an amended second caveat was filed against the titles to the ranch on August 3, 2004. While this second caveat corrected many of the defects of the first caveat, the entire page 5 of the five-page amending agreement attached to the caveat was still missing.

The NCC transferred the Penny Ranch to Olson on August 11, 2004 and the transaction closed on August 24, 2004.

As soon as he bought the ranch, Olson began to replace the old cattle fences around its perimeter with new fencing that he claimed would be more effective at restraining his bison, while still allowing wildlife to migrate through the ranch. The NCC claimed that the new fence violated the conservation easement because it was higher than it was allowed to be and it would obstruct migrating wildlife. When Olson disagreed and the parties were unable to settle the matter, the NCC sued to enforce the conservation easement and to force Olson to modify his new fencing.

When the placeholder conservation easement was replaced by the one negotiated by the NCC and Olson, the parties disagreed on whether the oral agreement they reached about the height and location of replacement fencing was accurately reflected in the written agreement. That is the contract rectification issue. Justice Jeffrey did rectify the amending agreement to accord with the parties’ actual oral agreement, which he found to be as Olson described it. Olson claimed the conservation easement was only partially registered on the titles to the ranch because of a different lawyer’s conveyancing error and that the NCC’s interest in the fencing restrictions in particular was an unregistered interest. That is the land titles rectification issue based on the defective second caveat, an issue Justice Jeffrey resolved by rectifying the caveat.  It had not been rectified at the Land Titles Office before Olson transferred the ranch to a third party which was a limited partnership/corporate trustee arrangement Olson had created for the purpose of holding title to the ranch. The parties disagreed on whether the fence height restriction in the conservation easement was binding on the successor in title to Olson, raising the fraud issue. Justice Jeffrey found there was no fraud.

Olson also presented a number of questions about the validity of the conservation easement itself. He argued that the fencing terms of the NCC’s version did not satisfy the statutory purposes for conservation easements and the conservation easement was therefore invalid and unenforceable. He also argued that the conservation easement was invalid because of the relationship between the NCC and the ACA before and at the time NCC sold the property to Olson. Justice Jeffrey concluded the conservation easement was valid and enforceable.  He also found that Olson’s fence did not breach the fencing restrictions in the rectified conservation easement.

The tax receipt issue arose because Olson had bought the ranch from the NCC at a significant premium over fair market value for a property with a conservation easement on it, with the excess understood to be his charitable donation to the NCC. However, the NCC did not issue a tax receipt for the charitable donation to Olson for more than five years because Olson had taken the position that the conservation easement was unenforceable. Olson therefore counter-claimed for damages for the NCC’s failure to issue the tax receipt within a reasonable time. He was successful, with Justice Jeffrey ordering the NCC to pay Olson more than $700,000 in damages.

Facts Specific to the Fraud Issue

Olson had purchased the ranch in his personal capacity in August 2004. He was bound by whatever agreement about fence height restriction had been reached with the NCC, regardless of whether or not the amending agreement needed to be rectified and whether or not the attachment to the second caveat was missing page 5 with the fence height restrictions. However, the defective second caveat had not been rectified at the Land Titles Office before Olson transferred the ranch from himself to a third party. That third party was a limited partnership/trustee/trust arrangement that Olson had created specifically for the purpose of holding title to the ranch. The corporate trustee in that arrangement bought the ranch from Olson in March 2005 for $500,000 and the limited partner interest in the limited partnership, after Olson had been asked to help rectify the second caveat and the missing page 5 and after the NCC threatened litigation over the fencing problems. Olson encumbered the ranch with almost $2 million in mortgages and promised to continue to make the mortgage payments, but that promise was unsecured. Olson’s limited partner interest was substantially redeemed for just over $1.6 million by the end of 2005.

Olson created the Waterton Land Trust on September 28, 2004. He created the Waterton Land Trust Limited Partnership as trustee for the Waterton Land Trust on March 10, 2005 by an agreement between himself and Waterton Land Trust Ltd, the trustee. The only limited partner of the Limited Partnership was Olson. The general partner of the Limited Partnership was the Waterton Land Trust. The trustee of that trust was the corporation, the Waterton Land Trust Ltd.  The Waterton Land Trust Ltd. had only two directors: one a good friend of Olson and also Olson’s partner in his law firm, and the other a professor of neuroscience at the University of Calgary who lived near Olson’s home in the Bragg Creek area of Alberta. The trust included the use of a “protector,” a role held by Olson at all relevant times. The protector oversaw the management of the trust by the trustees; had the power to appoint, remove and replace trustees; had the power to veto any decision by trustees; and had to be given 30 days’ written notice of the trustees’ intended exercise of many of their powers.

The trust was intended to be a typical “asset protection trust,” created to ensure the preservation of the ranch and protect it from creditors through future generations. Olson had used comparable limited partnership/trust/ trustee arrangements with his other bison ranches. When the trust was created, Olson’s intention was to keep the property in his name until the end of 2004 and then transfer it to the trust in early 2005. Olson wanted to remain owner of the ranch to the end of the personal tax year to mitigate the risk he might not be entitled to the charitable donation tax receipt in his personal capacity.

The Arguments and Decision on the Fraud Issue

s interest in the fencing restrictions was an unregistered interest. Normally, under the Land Titles Act, RSA 2000, c L-4,sections 60, 62 and 203, that would mean that the new owner was not bound by NCC’s unregistered interest.

But the NCC argued that the transfer by Olson to a limited partnership/trust/trustee over which he had effective control was a “self-serving sham transaction” (at para 273). It argued that Olson engaged in the series of transactions that culminated in the ranch being transferred to the Waterton Land Trust Ltd, while the fencing dispute remained unresolved, to ensure that the conservation easement and caveats could not be rectified and bind the new registered owner. That conduct, the NCC argued, amounted to fraud under the Land Titles Act.

Justice Jeffrey examined what amounts to fraud for the purposes of the Alberta land titles system (at paras 445-450). There is no definition of fraud in the Land Titles Act. Butthe statute does tell us what is not fraud. Section 203 states that mere knowledge of an unregistered interest, even when combined with the knowledge that registration will defeat that interest, is not fraud: Holt Renfrew & Co v Henry Singer Ltd (1982), 37 AR 90, 20 Alta LR (2d) 97 (CA). Cases consistently hold that “something more” in the way of dishonest dealings is required than just knowledge of the unregistered interest: Holt Renfrew; Boulter-Boulter-Waugh & Co v Phillips (1919) 58 SCR 385.

Olson made a novel argument about the test for recognizing fraud in the land titles context. He argued that Holt Renfrew established an additional requirement for a finding of fraud. In addition to knowledge of an unregistered interest and “something more,” the holder of the unregistered interest had to rely on the new owner’s fraud and had to have been induced by that reliance to conclude the transaction. Justice Jeffrey decided that Olson was wrong about the need for reliance (at para 452). An argument that reliance is required seems to be a misreading of Holt Renfrew, which held that reliance was required in order to find a fraudulent misrepresentation, which is what amounted to the “something more” in that case. But fraudulent misrepresentation does not have to be proved in order to prove fraud under the Land Titles Act and there was no allegation of fraudulent misrepresentation in this case.

Olson also submitted, rather bizarrely, that the relevant transaction was his purchase of the ranch from the NCC, i.e., that it was the transaction that had to be tainted by fraud in order for the trustee’s title not to be indefeasible. The basis of this argument was not disclosed in the judgment. Justice Jeffrey held that Olson was wrong about which transaction was to be scrutinized (at para 452-454). The transaction to be examined for fraud was the sale by Olson to the limited partnership/trust/trustee.

The test for fraud used by Justice Jeffrey was thus the well-established one that requires knowledge of an unregistered interest and “something more.”  The NCC successfully argued that the new registered owner, Waterton Land Trust Ltd, had knowledge of the NCC’s unregistered interest and knowledge that registration of the transfer to the trustee would defeat that interest because Olson personally had such knowledge and he effectively controlled the trustee and trust. The NCC did not succeed in proving that there was “something more.”

Knowledge

The NCC first argued that the creation of the trust and the transfer of the Penny Ranch by Olson to the limited partnership/trust/trustee arrangement were not arm’s length transactions. Justice Jeffrey agreed. He concluded (at paras 246, 275) that Olson retained de facto control over the various family corporations and limited partnerships and trusts, including the Waterton Land Trust, and thus he retained control of the Penny Ranch after he transferred it to the limited partnership/trust/ trustee arrangement. Justice Jeffrey enumerated three reasons for reaching the conclusion that it was “difficult to imagine a situation in which Olson could be any less of a non-arms’ length party” (at para 280):

(1) As “protector” of the trust, Olson had the ability to effectively control it.  His control of the trust gave him control over the Penny Ranch (at para 276).

(2) Olson also controlled the trust because the trustee’s directors did not exercise independent judgment (at para 277). The director of the Waterton Land Trust Ltd responsible for the trust’s purchase of the Penny Ranch was simply a “straw man” acting on Olson’s directions (at paras 250, 252).

(3) Olson was not acting at arm’s length to the trustee or the trust on the transfer of the ranch because, at that time, he held all of the shares of the trustee, which also served on behalf of the trust as the general partner of the limited partnership, of which he was the sole limited partner (at para 279).

“Something more”

The key question on the fraud issue was therefore whether “something more” existed. First year Property law students should recognize in the fraud-specific facts of this case a situation analogous to that in Alberta Minister of Forestry, Lands & Wildlife v McCulloch (1991), 83 Alta LR (2d) 156 (CA) aff’g 1991 CanLII 5819, 78 Alta LR (2d) 375 (QB).

McCulloch provides an example of “something more.” In 1986, McCulloch purchased a mill site, which was subject to a caveat protecting an option to purchase the land at a specified price in favour of the Crown. In 1987, an error in the Land Titles Office resulted in the Crown’s caveat being cancelled. McCulloch discovered the cancellation and told a Crown employee about it. Then, a few days later, McCulloch transferred the mill site to a numbered company of which he was the director and president. The new title in the name of the numbered company was free of the Crown caveat. The Crown sued, seeking declarations that the transfer to the numbered company was made in circumstances amounting to fraud and that the numbered company’s interest in the mill site was subject to the Crown’s interest. Sinclair J. found for the Crown. He held that the numbered company was deemed to have knowledge of the Crown’s unregistered interest when it acquired the mill site by virtue of the knowledge of its director and president, McCulloch. While knowledge of an unregistered interest does not, by itself, constitute fraud under the Land Titles Act, the purpose of the transfer to the numbered company was to defeat the Crown’s interest and to relieve McCulloch of his obligations to the Crown. Therefore, the court held that the numbered company acquired the parcel in circumstances amounting to fraud.

As was the case in McCulloch where the knowledge of its director and president was imputed to the numbered company, Justice Jeffrey had imputed Olson’s knowledge about the missing page 5 in the registration of the conservation easement to the trust because of Olson’s de facto control of the trust (at para 457). However, Justice Jeffrey held that Olson did not take advantage of his knowledge of the unregistered interest (at para 458). The key distinguishing fact appeared to be that more than three months passed between the time Olson learned of the defective caveat and the time he transferred the ranch to the trustee. The sale by McCulloch to the numbered company he created for the purpose of defeating the Crown’s interest took place within a few days of McCulloch learning that the Crown caveat had been accidently discharged (at para 462).

Justice Jeffrey noted (at para 262) that the NCC could have filed a caveat against the title to the ranch in that three month period to protect its position against all third parties that Olson might transact with. He accepted Olson’s argument that the NCC’s failure to file a caveat when they learned of the missing page 5 in December 2004 did not mean that Olson’s transfer three months later was either hasty or fraudulent (at para 467).

In addition, unlike McCulloch, Olson did not create the limited partnership/trust/trustee for the purpose of defeating the NCC’s unregistered interest (at para 460). Olson had a long term pre-existing plan that he carried out in the normal course (at para 459). The trust had been created in September 2004, before Olson knew that the amending agreement’s fencing restrictions were different from what he and the NCC had agreed on and that page 5 containing those fencing restrictions was missing from the conservation easement amending agreement attached to the second caveat (at para 256). Olson did not accelerate the timing of the transfer to Waterton Land Trust Ltd. as he had only intended to hold the ranch personally until the end of the 2004 calendar year and the transfer actually happened later than planned, in March 2004 (at para 261).The limited partnership/trust/trustee arrangement was also one that Olson had previously used for his other bison ranches (at para 258).

The NCC tried to add to the list of things that Olson did that, taken together, might amount to “something more”, by arguing that Olson, a lawyer, breached the standards of professional conduct required of him by the Law Society of Alberta. They pointed specifically to his failure to disclose his awareness of the missing page 5 of the conservation easement amending agreement during the fencing negotiations with the NCC and his hasty transfer of the ranch to the limited partnership/trust/trustee arrangement. However, Justice Jeffrey held that Olson’s conduct did not provide the NCC with a cause of action (at para 318). If there was any professional misconduct, it was a matter for the Law Society of Alberta.

The NCC also made an argument based on “badges of fraud,” i.e., fact situations which had been accepted as circumstantial evidence of fraud (at paras 468-72). While the phrase stems from the fraudulent preferences context and is unknown in the Alberta land titles context, the argument really amounts to nothing more than a series of analogies to facts which have been held in other cases to amount to “something more.” Justice Jeffrey appeared to be unpersuaded that “badges of fraud” was an appropriate approach.

Conclusion

Justice Jeffrey therefore concluded that Olson did not engage in fraudulent conduct when he transferred the Penny Ranch from himself to the limited partnership/trust/trustee. Olson’s knowledge of the NCC’s unregistered interest was imputed to the new registered owner, the trustee, due to Olson’s effective control of that entity. However, there was no “something more” to take the transaction beyond section 203 of the Land Titles Act. In applying the test set out in the leading case of Holt Renfrew, this case provides us with another example of drawing the line between fraud and not-fraud in the Land Titles Act context. Justice Jeffrey’s distinguishing of McCulloch is one of the most valuable aspects of this case. It creates a helpful precedent by narrowing down the instances in which a transfer to an entity created and controlled by a transferor, which has the effect of defeating a prior unregistered interest that the transferor knew about, amounts to fraud.

Justice Jeffrey also dealt with a number of novel arguments. He correctly dismissed the claim that reliance was required in order to prove fraud in the land titles context. He also correctly focused the fraud inquiry on the transaction alleged to be the fraudulent one, rather than on the too-early transaction transferring the land to the party alleged to be the fraudster. Justice Jeffrey did not accept that allegations of professional misconduct might be relevant to the fraud inquiry. He also refused to accept the “badges of fraud” approach, although he did not indicate his reasons for not doing so. Aside from the fact it is not the approach adopted in the leading cases, such as Holt Renfrew, presumably he thought that approach added nothing to the usual exercise of analogizing and distinguishing the facts in the case in front of him from those in other cases dealing with the same issue.

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Defining Prosecutorial Discretion (With an Invitation to the Court to Re-define Abuse of Process)

Fri, 06/20/2014 - 6:58am

By: Alice Woolley

Case Commented On: R. v. Anderson, 2014 SCC 41

With its unanimous judgment in R. v. Anderson, 2014 SCC 41, the Supreme Court has clarified the scope of “prosecutorial discretion”, distinguishing it from matters that go only to “tactics and conduct before the court” (para 35) while confirming its application to a “wide range of prosecutorial decision making” (para 45).  The Court also confirmed the non-reviewable nature of prosecutorial discretion absent demonstration of an abuse of process, and reviewed the law governing assessment of an abuse of process. Finally, the Court held that Crown counsel have no constitutional obligation to consider an accused’s aboriginal status when they tender Notice to the accused that the Crown intends to seek the mandatory minimum punishment that may be applicable given that accused’s prior convictions.

On the matter of prosecutorial discretion, Justice Moldaver’s judgment is persuasive.  It is consistent with prior Court decisions on the subject – Krieger v. Law Society of Alberta, 2002 SCC 65 and R. v. Nixon, 2011 SCC 34 – while also clarifying confusion that had apparently arisen following Krieger. The constitutional decision also seems justifiable given that, as the Court points out, the consideration of the accused’s aboriginal status is a matter for the trial judge; the Notice offered by the Crown only ensures that the mandatory minimum sentence is properly before a court.

In this brief comment I will summarize the Court’s decision and support its approach to prosecutorial discretion.  I will also note, however, an issue with the Court’s test for establishing abuse of process, and in particular the Court’s emphasis on the motivations and intentions of Crown counsel, rather than looking only at the actions taken by the Crown.  I suggest that requiring the accused to provide evidence that the Crown has acted in “bad faith” or with “improper motives” (para 55) misdirects the inquiry to the ethics of the actor rather than to the effect of the action.  It also places defence counsel in an untenable position given how the law societies have articulated the duty of civility. This latter argument is one that has been made persuasively by Donald Bayne, a criminal defence lawyer in Ottawa, most recently at the Canadian Bar Association’s first annual Legal Ethics Forum.

The Decision

Anderson pled guilty to impaired driving contrary to s. 253(1)(b) of the Criminal Code, RSC 1985, c C-46. It was his fifth conviction, and the Crown served a Notice that it would be seeking a mandatory minimum sentence of not less than 120 days imprisonment (para. 6). Anderson argued that the Criminal Code provisions imposing the mandatory minimum sentence and requiring the filing of the Notice violated s. 7 of the Charter by transferring “what is a judicial function to the prosecutor” (para 7) and violated s 15 because “it deprived an Aboriginal person of the opportunity to argue for a non-custodial sentence” (para 7).

The trial judge accepted this argument, holding that the Crown must “provide justification for relying on the Notice” in all cases, and that the legislative provisions violated s 15 if applied to Aboriginal offenders. He sentenced Anderson to 90 days in prison and imposed two years’ probation and a five-year driving ban (para 8).

The Newfoundland and Labrador Court of Appeal denied the Crown’s appeal of this decision, holding that the Crown must consider an accused’s aboriginal status. The Crown had to include a “specific direction to consider the offender’s Aboriginal status” (para 9, emphasis in original). The majority of the Court of Appeal also held that tendering the Notice was not part of the Crown’s “core prosecutorial function” (para 10).

The Supreme Court rejected the constitutional argument and allowed the Crown’s appeal.  It held that the constitutional argument “conflates the role of the prosecutor and the sentencing judge by imposing on prosecutors a duty that applies only to judges” (para 20). A constitutional issue would arise if “a mandatory minimum regime requires a judge to impose a disproportionate sentence” (para 25); it does not arise simply because a prosecutor puts the mandatory minimum before a court. Further, the Court did not accept that imposing a constitutional requirement on the Crown to consider an accused’s aboriginal status in exercising its prosecutorial discretion was consistent with fundamental justice.  It would rather be “contrary to a long-standing and deeply rooted approach to the division of responsibility between the Crown prosecutor and the courts” (para 30).  It would make a matter that is not properly subject to judicial oversight “up for routine judicial review,” which would be “contrary to our constitutional traditions” (para 32).

The Court went on to consider whether, apart from constitutional grounds, the Crown’s “decision to tender the Notice is reviewable in some other way, and if so, under what standard” (para 34).  The Court held that the decision to issue the Notice was a matter of prosecutorial discretion and, as such, was “only reviewable for abuse of process” (para 36, emphasis in original). Prosecutors have independence in their exercise of their discretion to ensure their freedom from “judicial or political interference” and to allow them to fulfill “their quasi-judicial role as ‘ministers of justice’” (para 37).  Contrary to what has been suggested by some courts subsequent to the Krieger decision, there are not “core” and “outside the core” exercises of discretion (para 43); rather, prosecutorial discretion is a single “expansive term that covers all ‘decisions regarding the nature and extent of the prosecution and the Attorney General’s participation in it’” (para 44). This covers a “wide range of prosecutorial decision making” (para 45) and includes repudiation of a plea agreement, pursuing a dangerous offender application, preferring a direct indictment, proceeding by summary conviction or indictment, charging an accused with multiple offences, negotiating a plea or pursuing an appeal (para 44). And it includes tendering the Notice, given that it “fundamentally alters the extent of prosecution” (para 62, emphasis in original)

What prosecutorial discretion does not include are “tactics or conduct before the court” (para 57) or the satisfaction of constitutional obligations, such as providing proper disclosure: “prosecutorial discretion provides no shield to a Crown prosecutor who has failed to fulfill his or her constitutional obligations such as the duty to provide proper disclosure to the defence” (para 45).

Prosecutorial discretion can be reviewed for abuse of process – i.e., to determine if it “‘undermines the integrity of the judicial process’ or ‘results in trial unfairness’” (para 49).  Also relevant is whether there are “‘improper motive[s]’ and ‘bad faith’” (para 49).  If a Crown decision was “motivated by prejudice against Aboriginal persons [it] would certainly meet this standard” (para 50).

To require the Crown to explain its decision the applicant must establish a “proper evidentiary foundation” for the allegation of an abuse of process (para 52); “prosecutorial authorities are not bound to provide reasons for their decision, absent evidence of bad faith or improper motives” (para 55, citing Sriskandarajah v. United States of America, 2012 SCC 70), emphasis added by Court).  A failure to comply with a Crown policy may be relevant to establishing the evidentiary threshold, but “Crown policies and guidelines do not have the force of law, and cannot themselves be subjected to Charter scrutiny in the abstract” (para 56)

Where a matter is not one of prosecutorial discretion, but is rather a matter of tactics and conduct, it is subject to the courts’ “inherent jurisdiction to ensure that the machinery of the court functions in an orderly and efficient manner” (para 58). The Court also noted, however, that tactical decisions by lawyers are subject to “a high degree of deference” (para 59), and that sanctions should be directed at the “conduct of the litigants” but not at the “conduct of the litigation” (para 59, emphasis in original). These matters may also be reviewed for abuse of process “but abuse of process is not a precondition for judicial intervention as it is for matters of prosecutorial discretion” (para 61).

Comments

As noted at the outset, Justice Moldaver’s analysis of the scope of prosecutorial discretion makes sense, and is consistent with the Court’s original approach in Krieger.  In Krieger the Court considered the propriety of law society discipline of Crown prosecutors, and noted that while exercises of prosecutorial discretion are not generally susceptible to law society review (absent egregious impropriety), Crown conduct that does not fall within prosecutorial discretion may be subject to law society review.  In Krieger the Court had said that “prosecutorial discretion refers to decisions regarding the nature and extent of the prosecution and the Attorney General’s participation in it” (Krieger at para 47; cited in Anderson at para 40). The Court’s definition of prosecutorial discretion in Anderson tracks that definition exactly, and appropriately eschews the idea that a decision can be sort of within prosecutorial discretion, any more than one can be sort of pregnant.

There is, however, some reason to be concerned with the Court’s continued linking of abuse of process to a demonstration that the Crown has acted with improper motive or bad faith. There are two difficulties with this emphasis. First, it assesses the propriety of conduct through the motivations or intentions of the actor. While the personal motivations or attitude of a Crown prosecutor may be relevant for a disciplinary hearing, it is hard to see its relevance to the determination of whether conduct undermines the administration of justice. Well-intentioned idiocy that undermines the integrity of the trial process or results in trial unfairness should be as concerning to the court as malicious decisions do so; the effect on the accused and on justice – which is the real concern – is the same in either event.

Further, and this is the point made by Donald Bayne, emphasizing the mala fides of the Crown counsel as part of the test for abuse of process places defence counsel in an impossible position, in which their legal obligations conflict. On the one hand is the need to raise issues of trial fairness, and to frame those issues in the relevant legal terms – i.e., with reference to the improper motives and bad faith of the Crown. On the other hand is the obligation of defence counsel to honour their duty of civility, which has been held to preclude personal attacks on opposing counsel, including prosecutors (See, e.g., Groia v. Law Society of Upper Canada 2013 ONLSAP 41 at para 10).  If the defence counsel suggests that the Crown acted with improper motives or bad faith that could be construed as a personal attack, yet if the counsel does not allege improper motives or bad faith she will not establish an evidentiary basis for the court to consider whether there has been an abuse of process.

While one response to this is for law societies to refrain from disciplining defence lawyers who make allegations of an abuse of process, another response is for the Court to shift the emphasis in abuse of process cases to the conduct rather than the motives for the conduct. Such an approach makes more sense given that the purpose of abuse of process is to protect the administration of justice, not to explore the ethics of Crown lawyers.  And given the ongoing (although tempered) enthusiasm of Canadian law societies for civility regulation, a shift in the abuse of process doctrine may be a more realistic response to this dilemma than an elimination of civility regulation for defence counsel (see this paper I wrote in 2013 indicating the number of civility prosecutions: Uncivil by Too Much Civility).

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