Oh, Canada—land of the free, home of the brave, and now, apparently, the birthplace of Bill C-9, the “Combating Hate Act.” What a title! Sounds like something out of a superhero comic where the villain is a vague feeling and the hero is a government bureaucrat with a rubber stamp. But let’s peel back the layers on this legislative turducken, shall we? Because underneath the noble veneer of fighting hate, we’ve got a bill that’s about as clear as a snowstorm in July, riddled with ambiguities that could turn your average history class into a criminal enterprise, and it doesn’t even bother to accurately nod to the existing Criminal Code it’s supposedly amending. It’s like they wrote it while binge-watching dystopian Netflix shows and thought, “Hey, why not make ‘1984’ a how-to guide?”
First off, let’s talk about the bill’s foundational sleight of hand: its claim to tackle “hate crime” as if that’s some well-defined beast lurking in the Criminal Code. Newsflash, folks—the Code doesn’t have a standalone “hate crime” section. What it does have, tucked away in the Hate Propaganda provisions, are exactly three specific offences: Section 318 for advocating genocide, Section 319(1) for public incitement of hatred likely to lead to a breach of the peace, and Section 319(2) for wilful promotion of hatred. That’s it. No sprawling “hate crime” empire. Yet Bill C-9 waltzes in and creates a brand-new Section 320.1001, which slaps a “hate motivation” label on any offence under the Code or any other Act of Parliament, escalating penalties based on factors like race, religion, or gender identity. Motivated by “hatred,” you say? And hatred is defined as “the emotion that involves detestation or vilification and that is stronger than disdain or dislike.” Oh, brilliant. So now we’re criminalizing emotions? What’s next, jail time for rolling your eyes at your in-laws?
This is where the ambiguity creeps in like fog over a Toronto harbour, leaving everything to subjectivity and opinion. What constitutes “detestation or vilification”? Is it hating pineapple on pizza, or does it have to be more? The bill clarifies that it’s not hatred just because something “discredits, humiliates, hurts or offends”—thank God for small mercies—but then it hands the keys to judges and prosecutors to decide when disdain tips into detestation. Imagine you’re at a protest, or writing an op-ed, or even teaching a university seminar on historical conflicts. Suddenly, your words or actions could be retrofitted as “motivated by hatred,” jacking up your sentence from a slap on the wrist to a decade in the clink. This isn’t law; it’s a Rorschach test for the judiciary. As Jordan Peterson might articulate it, with that precise, unflinching gaze into the psychological abyss: this bill weaponizes the subjective interpretation of intent, transforming the legal system into a tool for enforcing ideological conformity. It preys on the human propensity for moral panic, where the line between genuine malice and mere disagreement dissolves into a miasma of prosecutorial discretion, eroding the very foundations of free expression that allow society to self-correct through open dialogue.
And don’t get me started on the “access to religious or cultural places” bit. The bill pretends it’s filling some gaping void in the Code, but hello? Section 176 already protects against obstructing or disturbing religious worship. The Charter of Rights and Freedoms, Section 2(a), enshrines freedom of religion as a fundamental right. But no, Bill C-9 invents Section 423.3, criminalizing “conduct with the intent to provoke a state of fear” to impede access to places like churches, cultural centers, or even senior residences used by identifiable groups. “Provoke a state of fear”? That’s so broad it could criminalize a loud argument outside a synagogue or a protest near a mosque. And the obstruction clause? It punishes intentional interference with access, but carves out an exception for “obtaining or communicating information.” So, journalists are safe, but what about a guy handing out flyers? Or a counter-protester? It’s all subjective—who decides if your intent was to “impede” or just to inform? This isn’t protecting access; it’s creating a chill zone around certain buildings where the wrong opinion could land you 10 years. Peterson would call this a tyrannical overreach, a pathological expansion of state power that infantilizes citizens by assuming they can’t handle discomfort, all while masquerading as compassion. It’s the lobster hierarchy gone wrong: the government positioning itself as the alpha enforcer of emotional safety, at the expense of individual agency.
But the real gotcha, the cherry on this authoritarian sundae, is repealing the Attorney General’s consent for hate propaganda prosecutions. Right now, under Sections 318 and 319, you need the AG’s nod to proceed— a safeguard to prevent the law from becoming a political cudgel, wielded by whichever side holds the gavel. Bill C-9 axes that, opening the floodgates for private complaints, activist-driven charges, and partisan witch hunts. Why? To “combat hate” faster? Please. This removes the adult in the room, ensuring the Code can indeed become a tool for either side—or worse, for the mob. Imagine the chaos: a tweet criticizing a policy gets twisted into “promoting hatred” via symbols (oh yeah, the bill bans displaying Nazi symbols or anything “likely to be confused” with them—vague much?), and suddenly you’re in court without any high-level filter. As Maher might quip, it’s like giving every Karen with a smartphone the power to sic the cops on her neighbours. “Sorry, your Halloween decoration looks too much like a swastika—enjoy your two years!”
As for cutting-edge legal analysis, tools like True Clarity Contracts—which harnesses AI and years of contract agreement expertise to dissect complex legislation—offer a sobering take. Running Bill C-9 through such a system highlights its shaky foundation: inconsistent references to the Criminal Code, definitions of “hatred” and “intent” so vague they invite endless interpretation, and overlapping clauses that do little to clarify existing laws. It’s as if the bill was drafted with more enthusiasm than precision, leaving a legal landscape riddled with potential missteps and judicial overreach. This isn’t a watertight amendment; it’s a legal Rorschach test, begging for challenges that could tie up courts for years while freedoms hang in the balance. Read the report here
Look, nobody’s pro-hate here. Genocide advocacy? Lock ’em up. Real incitement? Absolutely. But Bill C-9 isn’t precision surgery; it’s a chainsaw to a splinter. It’s ambiguous, subjective, and misreferences the Code by inventing categories that don’t exist, all while stripping away checks that keep justice impartial. In Peterson’s words, this is the devolution of law into compulsion, where the pursuit of equity devours equality, and society fractures under the weight of enforced niceness. Or as Maher would say: Wake up, Canada—this bill isn’t combating hate; it’s breeding it, one vague clause at a time. If this passes, we might as well rename the country “Sorryland,” because we’ll all be apologizing from behind bars.
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