[Note: I have to tread lightly here, so forgive me if this is a little opaque.]
The Federal Court issued an opinion today ordering the Canadian government to request Omar Khadr’s repatriation from Guantanamo Bay. Two thoughts:
First, the opinion’s logic strikes me as flawed. The fundamental holding is that Khadr’s Section 7 Charter rights have been violated because (a) he has been detained at Guantanamo Bay as a ‘child’ and (b) while at Guantanamo Bay he has been subjected to sleep deprivation prior to interrogation. These alleged acts violate Khadr’s Canadian constitutional rights, notwithstanding the fact that they occurred outside of Canada and at the hands of non-Canadians, because Canadian government officials were complicit by virtue of their interrogation of Khadr in these circumstances. The court concludes that the only plausible remedy is an order compelling the government to exercise its heretofore-prerogative power to request Khadr’s return.
I don’t think the court’s logic follows. Khadr’s claim (as I read it) is not that the government must request his repatriation because his Section 7 rights have been violated; his claim is that the government’s failure to request his repatriation itself violates his Section 7 rights. The court blurs the distinction, but it’s an important one. If the rights identified by the court—detention while a child and sleep-deprivation—were violated, they were violated some time in the past. Khadr is no longer a child, and the allegations regarding sleep-deprivation relate to events occurring between 2002 and 2004. Given that these violations occurred in the past, how does repatriation now—when the violations are not alleged to continue—remedy the wrong? That doesn’t mean there should be no remedy at all; if the Canadian government was complicit in the violation of these rights, it seems to me the appropriate remedy is an action for money damages against the Canadian government. But I don’t think it follows that because Khadr’s rights were violated in the past, but are not being violated now, the Constitution requires the Canadian government to demand his return as a means of remedying the past wrong.
The second thought is a more general one. The court explicitly acknowledges that it is infringing on what is traditionally a prerogative power of the executive branch. Indeed, it can cite to no other case—anywhere in the world—that has infringed on this power in this way. The result is to mandate the appropriate exercise of this consular power; that is, the court’s decision erases any discretion the government has traditionally had, and declares that only one possible choice among the universe of policy choices in this circumstance is constitutional.
We seem to be seeing a lot of that these days—attempts to mandate a particular policy choice by determining that alternative policy choices are unconstitutional. But by mandating a particular policy choice, the deciding court places that choice outside the realm of politics, thereby foreclosing debate and discussion. That’s bad for democracy. There are good, honest arguments on both sides of the repatriation debate. Both sides should have the opportunity, and ability, to affect government policy. And if government policy ultimately strays from popular opinion on a particular choice, the people have an opportunity to alter that policy—at the ballot.
There is a great temptation, always, to declare an opposing policy alternative to be so wrong, so immoral, so contrary to received notions of good government, that it cannot be tolerated by law. But when we succumb to that temptation, we constrict the realm of politics, restrict our collective ability to make policy choices, and reduce the involvement of the electorate in the process of governance. That’s not my idea of democracy.