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While collective redress mechanisms continue to develop in much of Europe and in pockets around the world, the oldest class action regimes are undergoing reform. This contribution explores the state of reform in the first and second generation class action jurisdictions: the United States, Australia, Israel and Canada. Their respective class action procedures are outlined in Sect. 2. Section 3 discusses the reform initiatives of the past two years in each of the four countries. In Sect. 4, common areas of concern as well as areas of divergence are explored. Comparing and contrasting these reform efforts illustrates the evolution of class actions in these countries and provides useful insights for those studying and contributing to the development of newer collective redress systems.

In her book Copyright and Collective Authorship — Locating the Authors of Collaborative Work, Dr. Daniela Simone identifies root causes of the deficiencies in the law’s treatment of (joint) authorship, and provides an admirable roadmap and analytical framework to orient the judiciary and all others concerned about ascertaining who should be the authors of collective works. Simone’s analytical framework and prescriptions rely on four case studies that involve large amounts of collaboration: Wikipedia, Australian indigenous art, scientific collaborations and film. Throughout the book, I was struck by Simone’s commitment to integrity, ethics and fairness in her treatment of contributors of creative processes, pointing to power imbalances, misguided practicality and efficiency rationales, and how those factors may have the law turn its back away from otherwise deserving authorial contributions.

"10 Simone's approach is reminiscent of Jessica Silbey's work11 - having conducted an empirical study of various participants12 in creative and innovative industries, to situate creators' motivations in relation to the utilitarian objective of intellectual property to incentivize creation and innovation.13 Silbey, and to some extent Simone, apply the insights derived from their studies of creative communities to challenge the extent to which copyright (intellectual property) is necessary to incent authors to create.14 Silbey concludes that misalignments between intellectual property laws and the needs and aspirations of creators and innovators are desirable to some extent, but she also calls for some improvements of the law.15 Simone applies the insights derived from the case studies to rehabilitate the concept of (joint) authorship through an inclusive and contextual approach, sorting out what (often overlooked) contributions should count within the objectives of copyright law. The book focuses mainly on U.K. copyright law and how it addresses concepts of (joint) authorship, with an incursion in Australian law regarding its treatment of Australian indigenous art.16 As such, the analysis the book provides is relevant to Canadian copyright law, under which the basic conception of (joint) authorship bears similarity to U.K. copyright law.17 As recommendations are made in the context of Canada's ongoing copyright law reform to look into the adequate protection of indigenous traditional cultural expressions,18 the book is particularly relevant for its detailed discussion on the interaction between copyright law and indigenous traditional cultural expressions.19 On the law's exigencies surrounding authorship, despite uncertain contours, Simone identifies a "stable core" pointing to "the creator of the protected expression,"20 and argues that authorship requires more than de minimis contribution of creative choices or intellectual input to the protected expression.21 Taking a close look at the requirements of joint authorship,22 namely that contributors (i) act in pursuance of some collaboration or common design (ii) make a contribution that is not distinct, that is significant and that is of the right kind, Simone makes three important observations that highlight the strengths and deficiencies of the legal conception of joint authorship when applied to large groups of collaborators.23 First, the test is heavily fact-driven, which, in itself, is a strength that allows flexibility in the test's application to different creative processes and contexts.24 Second, Simone notices a restrictive approach in the application of the joint authorship test that limits the number of individuals qualifying as authors to one or a few dominant creators.25 Simone suggests that this restrictive trend to joint authorship leans toward imposing a higher standard of authorship for joint works than for single-author works. [...]higher standard for joint authorship is not justified by the CDPA.26 Simone attributes this tendency to a pragmatic instrumental approach adopted by courts where it is deemed more desirable to limit the number of authors in collaborative works.27 This pragmatic instrumental approach is disjointed from the core meaning of authorship in copyright law, i.e., contribution(s) of creative choices to the protected expression.28 Third, Simone notes a preoccupation of the judiciary to maintain aesthetic neutrality in its assessment of joint authorship.29 While some judicial restraint on the assessment of aesthetic merit is understandable given that copyright protection of a work does not depend on this criterion, it is difficult to ascertain (joint) authorship without some resort to aesthetic criteria, e.g, to determine what makes something literary, artistic, dramatic, etc? [...]Simone prescribes the adoption of a contextual approach to the joint authorship test by accounting for the social norms governing authorial groups to assess questions of facts in the test.39 This said, not all social norms are relevant to this exercise and resort thereto should be restricted to social norms based on their certainty, representativeness and policy implications.40 Resort to social norms is particularly important for the requirement of collaboration or common design, which should rely on the shared assumptions of the creators.41 Particularly relevant to Canada where case law diverges on the requirement of intention to be joint authors,42 Simone notes that while

Robots are an increasingly common feature in North American public spaces. From regulations permitting broader drone use in public airspace and autonomous vehicle testing on public roads, to delivery robots roaming sidewalks in major US cities, to the announcement of Sidewalk Toronto — a plan to convert waterfront space in one of North America’s largest cities into a robotics-filled smart community — the laws regulating North American public spaces are opening up to robots. In many of these examples, the growing presence of robots in public space is associated with opportunities to improve human lives through intelligent urban design, environmental efficiency, and greater transportation accessibility. However, the introduction of robots into public space has also raised concerns about, for example: the commercialization of these spaces by the companies that deploy robots; increasing surveillance that will negatively impact physical and data privacy; or the potential marginalization or exclusion of some members of society in favor of those who can pay to access, use, or support the new technologies available in these spaces. Laws that permit, regulate, or prohibit robotic systems in public spaces will in many ways determine how this new technology impacts public space and the people who inhabit that space. This begs the questions: how should regulators approach the task of regulating robots in public spaces? And should any special considerations apply to the regulation of robots because of the public nature of the spaces they occupy? This paper argues that the laws that regulate robots deployed in public space will affect the public nature of that space, potentially to the benefit of some human inhabitants of the space over others. For these reasons, special considerations should apply to the regulation of robots that will operate in public space. In particular, the entry of a robotic system into a public space should never be prioritized over communal access to and use of that space by people. And, where a robotic system serves to make a space more accessible, lawmakers should avoid permitting differential access to that space through the regulation of that robotic system.

Forthcoming, Dalhousie Law Journal.A lawyer should be a loyal ally for each client, and should never exploit a client for personal gain. Legal services regulation should prevent such exploitation. It should also create certainty, and foster trust in every lawyer-client alliance.When it comes to time-based legal fees, Canadian legal services regulation is not yet doing its job. Throughout Canada, rules say that legal fees must be “fair and reasonable,” and “disclosed in a timely fashion.”1 These fine sentiments are supported by long lists of factors to be considered when a legal fee is called into question and then assessed retrospectively. That is, more or less, all that the codes of conduct have to say about time-based legal fees.What we lack are clear rules and efficient procedures to determine what specific billing and disclosure practices are -- and are not -- “fair,” “reasonable,” and “timely.” The status quo gives unethical lawyers room to take advantage of inexperienced clients in niches such as family law, estate law, and employment law, in which time-based billing is common.2 It also subjects ethical lawyers, and their clients, to unnecessary distrust and disputes regarding fees. Reconciling the obvious need to charge and collect fees with the ethical obligation to practice “honourably and with integrity” raises complicated ethical issues,3 for which regulators should offer more concrete guidance. Without fixing prices or curtailing flexibility in billing arrangements, regulatory reform can create a much fairer field for agreements between lawyers and clients about time-based fees.Part 1 of this article considers first the beginning, then the middle, and finally the end of a typical retainer involving time-based billing and an inexperienced client. At each of these three junctures, we find ethical ambiguity creating both opportunities for exploitation and conflicts of interest. The vagueness of the rules requires a lawyer to unilaterally make decisions that increase or decrease the client’s bill. This creates a conflict between the lawyer’s financial self-interest, and their fiduciary obligation to put the client’s interest first. Part 2 argues for more detailed regulation of time-based legal fees, in order to prevent exploitation, create certainty, and eliminate fee-related conflicts of interest that undermine trust in the lawyer-client relationship. Wherever possible, the best practices for time-based billing already used by ethical and conscientious lawyers should be enshrined in regulation. Drawing on regulatory theory, I argue that a move from the current vague standard to more precise rules would create certainty, without significantly constraining flexibility. Part 3 turns from the rules to the procedure that is meant to enforce them. I argue that the court-based process for identifying and remedying unethical billing is inaccessible, inconsistent, and vulnerable to strategic abuse by both lawyers and clients. Making law societies fully responsible for regulating legal fees would make the system more holistic, accessible, and consistent.

A number of doctors in Ontario have challenged the policy of the provincial College of Physicians and Surgeons that requires its members to provide a patient with an “effective referral” to another doctor if they were unwilling or unable on moral grounds to offer a particular medical service, such as an abortion or medical assistance in dying. The doctors argue that if they were to give an effective referral, they would be complicit in acts that in their view were immoral. I will argue that the significant issue in this case and other conscientious objection cases, is not, as the courts have said, the reasonable balance between the individual’s religious interests or commitments and the interests or rights of others in the community, but is instead whether the individual’s religiously-based objection should be viewed as an expression of personal religious conscience that should be accommodated, provided this can be done without noticeable harm to others, or as a religiously-grounded civic position or action that falls outside the scope of religious freedom and may be subject to legal regulation. The commitment to religious freedom requires that a distinction be made — a line drawn — between civic and spiritual beliefs or actions. An individual’s spiritual practices are both excluded and insulated from political decision-making. However, their beliefs concerning civic issues, such as the rights and interests of others and the just arrangement of social relations, even if grounded in a religious system, must be subject to the give-and-take of ordinary politics. In determining whether a particular (conscientious) objection should be viewed as a personal or spiritual matter or instead as a civic or political position, two factors may be relevant. The first is whether the individual is being required to perform the particular act to which they object only because they hold a special position not held by others, notably some form of public appointment. The other factor is the relative remoteness-proximity of the act that the objector is required to perform from the act that they consider to be inherently immoral. The more remote the legally required action, the more likely we are to regard the refusal to perform it as a position about how others should behave or about the correctness of the law, rather than as an expression of personal conscience.

Claiming that the criminal justice system fails to effectively prohibit protest and civil disobedience, corporate lawyers embrace the pervasive use of injunctions and contempt of court charges in struggles over resource extraction in British Columbia, dubbing this approach the “new normal.” Yet even a cursory review of protest policing in Canada reveals that state intervention in resistance movements is alive and well and that Indigenous peoples and allied social movements are made subject to repression, surveillance, and criminalization through the mechanism of injunctions and contempt, among other legal tools. Based on my direct experience with injunctions and contempt in BC as an activist legal support organizer and a settler ally, this article argues that the reliance on injunctions by extractive industries embroils the courts and police in struggles over public and/or collectively held lands and resources that are nonetheless constructed by the law as private disputes, largely insulated from the reach of constitutionally-derived Aboriginal rights. After tracing the long history of BC’s “injunction habit,” I examine the judicial and policy practices that make the “new normal” claim possible—and show how it is ultimately not accurate. As crucial tools in the legal arsenal of settler-colonial states, injunctions and the subsequent use of contempt charges carve out a distinctly colonial space within Canadian law for the criminalization of Indigenous resistance, facilitating access to resources and lands and easing the operation of extractive capitalism.

This paper analyzes the constitutionality of the Law Society of Ontario’s (now repealed) Statement of Principles requirement. First, this paper conducts a statutory analysis of the requirement. It explains how the requirement merely obligated that licensees acknowledge extant professional and human rights obligations, rather than creating novel obligations. Second, this paper conducts a theoretical analysis of the requirement. It applies a critical race theory lens to unveil the ways in which liberty claims relating to free speech obscured how significant resistance to the requirement’s modest obligation was galvanized by opposition to diversity and denial of systemic racism. Third, this paper conducts a constitutional analysis of the requirement. It explains why the requirement did not violate freedom of conscience or freedom of expression. In contrast with prior scholarship, this paper argues that the Statement of Principles requirement failed every stage of the legal test that designates state activity as compelled speech. Specifically, the requirement failed to compel an expression with non-trivial meaning (Step 1) and failed to control free expression in Canada, when such control is properly construed through a purposive rather than colloquial lens (Step 2). This paper concludes by noting how the requirement’s self-drafted structure provided an innovative opportunity for licensees to reflect on their perhaps unwitting participation in systemic racism.

By: Joshua Sealy-Harrington PDF Version: (Dis)Proving Racism: A Rebuttal to Klippenstein’s Critical Review of the Law Society of Ontario’s Report on Challenges Facing Racialized Licensees Document …

Robots are an increasingly common feature in North American public spaces. From regulations permitting broader drone use in public airspace and autonomous vehicle testing on public roads, to delivery robots roaming sidewalks in major U.S. cities, to the announcement of Sidewalk Toronto – a plan to convert waterfront space in one of North America’s largest cities into a robotics-filled smart community – the laws regulating North American public spaces are opening up to robots. In many of these examples, the growing presence of robots in public space is associated with opportunities to improve human lives through intelligent urban design, environmental efficiency, and greater transportation accessibility. However, the introduction of robots into public space has also raised concerns about, for example, the commercialization of these spaces by the companies that deploy robots; increasing surveillance that will negatively impact physical and data privacy; or the potential marginalization or exclusion of some members of society in favour of those who can pay to access, use, or support the new technologies available in these spaces. The laws that permit, regulate, or prohibit robotic systems in public spaces will in many ways determine how this new technology impacts public space and the people who inhabit that space. This begs the questions: how should regulators approach the task of regulating robots in public spaces? And should any special considerations apply to the regulation of robots because of the public nature of the spaces they occupy? This paper argues that the laws that regulate robots deployed in public space will affect the public nature of that space, potentially to the benefit of some human inhabitants of the space over others. For these reasons, special considerations should apply to the regulation of robots that will operate in public space. In particular, the entry of a robotic system into a public space should never be prioritized over communal access to and use of that space by people. And, where a robotic system serves to make a space more accessible, lawmakers should be cautious to avoid providing differential access to that space through the regulation of that robotic system.

The amendments to the Indian Act over the past forty-four years have done very little to assist First Nations women and their children in their fight to reclaim their identity and their connections to their ancestry. The Act, originally enacted in 1876, has had a few amendments since that time. In 1982, the Constitution Act of Canada was legislated and with it came the Charter of Rights and Freedoms so the federal government was designated to remove any discrimination in all of its legislation. This included the Indian Act. The amendments following were in 1985, commonly referred to as Bill C-31 as well as C-3 in 2011 and S-3 in 2017. These amendments have resulted in many heated and disturbing conflicts amongst First Nations people, including First Nations women and their children who have been directly affected by the sexually discriminating sections of the Act. This chapter provides a historical overview of the Act, its origins and its inherent racist and sexist policies. As well it discusses those amendments affecting First Nations women and her descendants, specifically the registration and membership provisions that continue to discriminate against First Nations Women and her descendants who are both male and female.

This article examines the use of Facebook’s Libra as a substitute for fiat money. It considers Libra’s prospects for success in light of the fact that it purports to substitute trust in a technology for the traditional legal supports that bolster public trust in traditional fiat currencies. The legal doctrines that support fiat currencies do so for the purposes of recognizing the economic functions that money performs and are also meant to support public policies that promote monetary stability, protect consumers and help to enforce anti money laundering statutes. It is argued that Libra will result in unintended challenges for monetary authorities that will subject the world financial system to greater consumer transaction risks, increase systemic risks, and make it more difficult to combat money laundering efforts. The ultimate question is whether the public can place its trust in Facebook and its partners to manage a global currency, or is that trust better placed in the hands of central banks?

Remedies: Cases and Materials, 8th Edition is a comprehensive casebook that covers recent developments in both the law of damages assessment and the granting of equitable remedies. This publication examines all areas of remedies law in Canada, including damages, injunctions, specific performance, and equitable relief. Coming into its eighth edition, Remedies has become a reliable resource, providing updated case reports alongside detailed academic commentary. This edition was written by leading authorities on remedies, each of whom offer their expertise in specific areas. It also reviews recent Supreme Court of Canada cases and outlines how these decisions impact the law of remedies in Canada.

Volume 51, Issue 1

This study analyses interviews with frontline service workers employed in agencies in Windsor, Ontario, Canada who work with persons without immigration status. Through these interviews, frontline service workers provided insights into their work with persons without status, including the significant barriers to effective service provision requiring 'covert practices' as part of their work. The interview subjects ultimately conclude that an access without fear (AWF) policy would indeed bolster their efforts to work with persons without status, buttressing claims that an AWF policy can be a useful tool to support the basic needs of persons without status. However, the interviews also raise questions about how the law is understood by frontline service workers and the very real potential that AWF might be yet another unmet promise. Underlying these interviews were also questions of trust and relationship-building that re-emphasise both the need and limitations of policy.

Using Palestine as its case study, this chapter posits that judicial trustworthiness represents an important ameliorating factor for transitional justice to take hold and that judicial education constitutes an ameliorating factor that can nurture judicial trustworthiness. Distinguishing trust, distrust and trustworthiness, we explain the importance of judicial institutional trustworthiness as an ameliorating factor. Drawing on literature that identifies institutional trustworthiness as a function of three features: ability, integrity and benevolence, we then explore how the Karamah model of judicial education helped build judicial institutional trustworthiness. Karamah was developed in Palestine and adopted dignity as its overarching theme. Working with an interdisciplinary and international team through Karamah, Palestinian judges invoked dignity as a legal principle, a statement of shared political values and an aspect of their professional identity. In the process, they articulated a framework for thinking about the ability, integrity and benevolence of the Palestinian judiciary. Finally, we chronicle the ways in which the Karamah model of judicial education impacted the judiciary and the judiciary system in Palestine. We end with a note of caution: if rule of law programming, judicial reform and judicial education are substituted for transitional justice measures, conflicts can become even more intractable.