The Journal of Political Affairs 2020 Edition by JPAEIC

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JO NAL OLI ICAL AFFAI

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The Journal of Political Affairs is comprised of undergraduate papers (in French or English) relating to scholarship in political science. The Journal encompasses essays in public policy, political theory and philosophy, international politics, comparative politics, Canadian politics, and international political economy – and papers from other disciplines that address issues of political importance.

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Copyright Ⓒ Journal of Political Affairs 2020 The Journal of Political Affairs retains First North American Serial rights The JPA is a yearly publication produced by the Political Science Department at Concordia University, Montreal Except for brief passages quoted in newspapers, magazines, radio or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, inducing photocopying or recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author of the essays. ISSN 2371-2694 | Online Design, Layout and Cover Art by Sarah Bahsali

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Journal of Political Affairs Concordia University 1445 De Maisonneuve Blvd. W., Montreal Quebec, Canada H3G 1M8 http://www.facebook.com/jpajournal https://www.concordiajpa.com Instagram: @jpoliticalaffairs concordiajpa@gmail.com

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Edi ors-in-chief Sarah Bahsali Camille Ross-Williams

Associa e Edi or Chloe Hughes-L gar Associa e Edi or Alexia Parent Assis an Assis an Assis an Assis an

Edi or Edi or Edi or Edi or

Manisha Kumar Anthony-Vincent Regusa Hannah Rogers Stella Forbes

Ar Direc or Sarah Bahsali

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Le 17 décembre 2010, Mohamed Bouazizi s'immole après que ses marchandises soient confisquées par les autorités tunisiennes. S'en suit alors un mois de protestations dans le pays, durant lesquelles, la jeunesse tunisienne s'indigne du taux de chômage, de la répression et de la corruption qui gangrènent le pays (Malet 2011). La révolution tunisienne obtient la fuite de Ben Ali (Shadid 2011) et devient le berceau d'une série de révolutions qui bousculent de nombreux pays du monde Arabe, avec des résultats différents pour chacun d'entre eux. Ces évènements, connus sous le nom de Printemps arabe, ont soufflé un vent de révolution qui est arrivé jusqu'en Chine où l'idée d'une "Révolution du Jasmin" orientale voit le jour. Elle naît plus précisément sur un site internet chinois, Boxun, sur lequel des appels à la manifestation sont lancés, probablement par des individus de l’extérieur du territoire chinois motivés par la ferveur des printemps arabes. Cependant, loin de l'effervescence des révolutions du monde arabe, les manifestations ne rassemblent qu’une poignée de participants, la foule principalement composée de journalistes ou de curieux. Dès mars, la révolution est considérée comme un échec, voir même un non évènement (Ramzy 2011). Pourquoi la Révolution de Jasmin en Chine n'a pas suivi le chemin de celles qui l’ont inspirées, les révolutions tunisienne et égyptienne? Il s'agit ainsi de s'intérésser aux différences qui ont menées à ces deux issues radicalement opposées. Dans un premier temps, nous montrerons que contrairement à ce qui a pu être avancé, le contexte socio-économique chinois n'est pas si différent de celui qui a été le terreau fertile des révolutions tunisienne et égyptienne. Ensuite nous montrerons en quoi la réaction des états face à leur révolution respective a différé et en quoi le contrôle de l'état sur sa population et ses institutions a été un facteur majeur.

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Le parti communiste chinois explique l'absence de montée du mouvement par la simple absence de désir de révolution de la part de la population (Ribao 2011). La réussite économique du pays, et ainsi l'augmentation rapide du niveau de vie de ces habitants protègent le gouvernement d'une éventuelle révolution : les chinois seraient trop heureux pour l'envisager. Cette vision d'une Chine prospère économiquement est largement partagée et pour cause la Chine connait depuis 30 ans une forte croissante. En 2010, elle passe devant le Japon dans le classement des puissances mondiales et se place donc deuxième avec un PIB annuel de 5878,6 milliards de dollars (Desné 2011). Cette même année, sa croissance dépasse les 10% (Desné 2011). Le revenu national brut est lui passé de 940$ en 2000 à 5060$ en 2011 ("Chine | Data" 2019). Cependant, la Chine est loin d'offrir à ses citoyens un contexte socio-économique sans faille. En effet, la population chinoise fait en 2011 face à des problèmes qui sont en plusieurs points similaires à ceux qui indignent les jeunes révolutionnaires tunisiens et égyptiens. Premièrement, les printemps arabes sont, à l’origine, des révolutions de la jeunesse. Une jeunesse diplômée et éduquée, qui peine à trouver des emplois stables et adaptés à son niveau d’études (Kamal Eldin Osman Salih 2013). La Chine fait face à cette même situation. Le nombre de diplômés a augmenté de manière exponentielle après que les études supérieures soient devenues un objectif majeur pour le gouvernement chinois. Cependant, les postes à pourvoir ne sont pas aussi nombreux que les candidats. Ceux que l'on désigne par "la colonie de fourmis" se retrouve ainsi à "grouiller", sans emploi ou occupant des postes non qualifiés, avec des parents qui ont pour certains grandement investi dans les diplômes universitaires de leurs enfants (He and Mai 2014). Entre 2003 et 2009, le salaire de démarrage moyen pour les travailleurs non qualifiés a augmenté de 80%. Pour la même période de temps, celui des jeunes

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diplomés n'a pas bougé, voir même diminué si nous considérons l’inflation (Jacobs 2010). À cela s’ajoute un problème de corruption qui tout comme en Égypte et Tunisie, gangrène l'économie. En Chine, elle coûterait 3% du PIB national par an. Or comme le rappelle Pei : "Les expériences d'autres pays en dévelopement montrent qu'une corruption galopante mine les institutions gouvernementales, alimente le ressentiment du public, exacerbe les inégalités socio-économiques, créé des distorsions économiques massives, et amplifie les risques de crises." (Pei 2007) À cela s’ajoute la bulle immobilière. D'après un rapport de l'Académie des sciences sociales datant de 2010, 85% des chinois ne peuvent s'acheter de logement (Desné 2010). Si la Chine se trouvait dans un contexte similaire à celui de la Tunisie ou de l'Égypte cela signifie que d'autres facteurs ont été déterminants. Or, de part sa réaction, souvent jugée disproportionnée, le gouvernement chinois a montré être lui même préoccupé par ces appels à la révolution qu’il considère pouvoir constituer une menace pour sa stabilité. Il s'agit à présent de montrer en quoi la réaction du gouvernement chinois et ainsi le contrôle qu'il exerce sur sa population et ses instituions, ont joué un rôle important dans l'étouffement de la révolution. En Tunisie la révolution a fait 338 morts, en Égypte, 890 ("Tunisia Protests 'Left 200 Dead'" 2011). Même si des victimes sont à compter également du côté de la police, ces chiffres se font la preuve de la violence des affrontements. Ainsi, la réaction du régime peut être considérée comme violente. Sur ce point-çi, la réaction de l'état ne semble pas s'éloigner de la réaction sévère de la Chine que nous développerons plus tard. Cependant, il y a un élément majeur qui entre en jeu dans les printemps arabes : l’armée.

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Considérée comme pouvant être dangereuses pour les régimes, les armées ont été progressivement marginalisé par les dirigeants tunisien et égyptien. En parallèle, des "systèmes de sécurité" ont été développés pour protéger spécifiquement le régime. Dans le cas de l'Égypte, ses membres étaient même plus nombreux que l'armée même. La mise en place de ces système a creusé un fossé entre armées et états, l'armée devenant ainsi une institution marginalisée, prenant de l'indépendance. Cet écart et la frustration des armées ont poussés ces dernières à soutenir les manifestants et ainsi a participer grandement à la chute des régimes. Le fait que les états tunisien et égyptien n'aient pas le contrôle de cette institution majeure qui est l'armée a été un facteur important du succès de la révolution (Frisch 2013). En Chine, l'éventuelle révolution a également était accueillie par un grand nombre de policiers munis de tout leur équipement. Les routes menant aux lieux désignés ont été bloquées. The Guardian rapporte également que des véhicules de nettoyage ont permis d'empêcher les passants de ralentir et qu'un site de construction est "apparu" sur l'avenue, proche du McDonald’s qui devait servir de point de rendez-vous (Branigan 2011). La crise de Tiananmen toujours dans la mémoire du parti, la politique de répression fut la suivante: "Tous les mouvements populaires et les idées politiques non sanctionnés doivent être pulvérisés, rapidement et totalement." (Swartz 2011) Sur ce point-ci, la Chine semble avoir eu une réaction similaire à celles des régimes arabes. De plus, la Chine priorise elle aussi la sécurité intérieure dont les dépenses dépassent celle de l’armée (Buckley 2011). Cependant, l'armée chinoise connue sous le nom de l'Armée populaire de libération, est loin d'être marginalisée, au contraire elle est intégrée au parti. En effet, elle remplie toujours son rôle principal d'armée du parti communiste chinois, rôle assuré par une institution différente en Égypte et en Tunisie (Tuan-sheng 1948). Le parti communiste chinois est

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ainsi assuré du soutien de son armée qui ne devient pas une potentielle force extérieure à l’état comme ce fut le cas en Égypte et en Tunisie. Le rôle des réseaux sociaux et d'internet dans la mise en place du printemps arabe a énormément été étudié, voyant s'opposer deux groupes que Comunello et Anzera qualifient d' "évangélistes digitaux" et de "techno-réaliste". Toujours d’après Comunello et Anzera, le premier surestime le rôle des réseaux sociaux au détriment de l'aspect humain de la révolution, le second minimise leur impact. Or si leur rôle a pu être quelque peu surestimé, ils n'en restent néanmoins des outils puissants qui ont permis aux foules de s'organiser et de propager idées et informations primordiales. Ils restent un élément déterminant des révolutions égyptienne et tunisienne (Comunello and Anzera 2012). Facebook et Twitter ont ainsi permis l’organisation de manifestations de grande ampleur (Davison 2015). D’après une dépêche de l’AFP, le nombre de tweets rédigés en arabe a également explosé soulignant la place qu’a prise le réseau social dans les printemps arabes. La chine de son côté est réputée pour son efficace et stricte contrôle des réseaux sociaux et d'internet de manière générale. Twitter et Facebook ou encore youtube sont tout bonnement bloqués dans le pays et d'autre sites sont soumis à des restrictions sévères. La population chinoise n'a donc pu jouir de cet outil de diffusion alternatif majeur. Il existe certes des réseaux sociaux exclusivement chinois mais ils sont tout d'abord limités par leur aspect national et sont surveillés de très près par les autorités (Bamman, O'Connor and Smith 2012). De plus, les prémices de la révolution du Jasmin chinoise ont poussées le gouvernement à ajouter de nouvelles restrictions en bloquant notamment des mots-clés jugés tendancieux. Ainsi les mots "Égypte" ou encore "Jasmin" par exemple se sont vu bannir de l'internet chinois (Ramzy 2011).

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En bloquant les communications sur d'éventuelles manifestations, le gouvernement chinois a empêché la circulation des informations et la propagation d'idées qui leur seraient défavorables voir dangereuses. Nous pourrions également ajouter que sans la diffusion rapide des informations, l’acte de Bouazizi serait rester inconnu et n’aurait put être l’étincelle qui lance la révolution. Avec un tel contrôle des informations, la Chine peut également s’assurer que de tels actes ne soient pas connus. Plus généralement, les médias sont également controlés de manière différente en Chine qu’elles ne le sont en Égypte ou en Tunisie. Les médias traditionnels sont certes, contrôlés par le gouvernement de chacun de ces pays, mais, comme le rappelle Dale Swartz, la chaîne pan arabique Al-Jazeera n'a pas d'équivalent en Chine où la totalité des médias sont contrôlé par le Parti Communiste chinois (Swartz 2011). Pour ce qui est des médias internationaux, les journalistes se sont vus dans chacun des pays accusé, agressés voir même détenus (Shanghai 2011). Cependant, la maîtrise de l’information internationale est bien plus stricte en Chine où des sites internets d’information comme "Le monde" par exemple ne sont absolument pas accessible. Ici, le contrôle strict du paysage médiatique rejoint celui des réseaux sociaux : l'information ne peut correctement être diffusée, ni au sein du pays, ni dans le reste du monde. Pour conclure, la Chine n’est en effet pas le Moyen-Orient, mais sa croissance économique n’est pas l’unique facteur à prendre en compte lorsque l’on souhaite expliquer le projet avorté que fut la révolution de Jasmin. Il est ainsi intéressant de se pencher sur le contrôle que l’état chinois exerce sur ses institutions et sa population. Néanmoins, ce sont des éléments à nuancer, d’autres facteurs tels que la relation entretenue avec l’idée de citoyenneté, ou encore l’attachement culturel à l’État ont également un rôle à jouer dans le succès ou l’échec d’une révolution.

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Bibliographie Malet, Pierre. 2011. "La Génération Facebook Plus Forte Que Ben Ali". Slate.Fr. http://www.slate.fr/story/32201/facebook-manifestations-ben-ali-sidibouzid-tunisie. (French) Shadid, Anthony. 2011. "Joy As Tunisian President Flees Offers Lesson To Arab Leaders". Nytimes.Com. https://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/15/world/ africa/15region.html. Ramzy, Austin. 2011. "State Stamps Out Small ‘Jasmine’ Protests In China". TIME.Com. http:// content.time.com/time/world/article/ 0,8599,2052860,00.html. Ribao, Renmin. 2011. "China Is Definitely Not Middle East - People's Daily Online". En.People.Cn. http://en.people.cn/ 90001/90780/91342/7314966.html. Desné, Julie. 2011. "La Chine Consacrée Deuxième Économie Mondiale En 2010". Le Figaro.Fr. http://www.lefigaro.fr/conjoncture/ 2011/02/14/04016-20110214ARTFIG00367-la-chine-consacree-deuxiemeeconomie-mondiale-en-2010.php. (French) Desné, Julie. 2011. "En Chine, La Croissance A Dépassé Les 10% En 2010". Le Figaro.Fr. http://www.lefigaro.fr/conjoncture/ 2011/01/20/04016-20110120ARTFIG00399-en-chine-la-croissance-atteint-103en-2010.php. (French) "Chine | Data". 2019. Donnees.Banquemondiale.Org. https:// donnees.banquemondiale.org/pays/chine?view=chart. (French) Kamal Eldin Osman Salih. 2013. "The Roots And Causes Of The 2011 Arab Uprisings". Arab Studies Quarterly 35 (2): 184. doi:10.13169/ arabstudquar.35.2.0184. He, Yu, and Yinhua Mai. 2014. "Higher Education Expansion In China And The ‘Ant Tribe’ Problem". Higher Education Policy 28 (3): 333-352. doi:10.1057/hep.2014.14. Jacobs, Andrew. 2010. "China’S Army Of Graduates Faces Struggle". Nytimes.Com. https://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/12/world/asia/12beijing.html. Pei, Minxin. 2007 Corruption Threatens China's Future. Carnegie Endowment For International Peace. Desné, Julie. 2010. "85% Des Chinois Ne Peuvent Pas S'acheter De Logement". Le Figaro.Fr. http://www.lefigaro.fr/conjoncture/

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2010/12/09/04016-20101209ARTFIG00549-85-des-chinois-ne-peuvent-pas-sacheter-de-logement.php. (French) "Tunisia Protests 'Left 200 Dead'". 2011. BBC News. https:// www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-12335692. Frisch, Hillel. 2013. "The Role Of Armies In The Arab Uprisings – An Introduction". Journal Of Strategic Studies 36 (2): 177-179. doi:10.1080/01402390.2013.791619. Branigan, Tania. 2011. "China's Jasmine Revolution: Police But No Protesters Line Streets Of Beijing". The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/ world/2011/feb/27/china-jasmine-revolution-beijing-police. Swartz, Dale. 2011 “Jasmine in the Middle Kingdom : Autopsy of China’s (Failed) Revolution.” China File, www.chinafile.com/jasmine-middlekingdom-autopsy-chinas-failed-revolution. Buckley, Chris. 2011. "China Internal Security Spending Jumps Past Army Budget". U.S.. https://www.reuters.com/article/us-china-unrestidUSTRE7222RA20110305. Tuan-sheng, Ch'ien. "Davison, Stephanie. 2015. "An Exploratory Study Of Risk And Social Media : What Role Did Social Media Play In The Arab Spring Revolutions ?". Journal Of Middle East Media, no. 11: 1-33. doi:10.12816/0023480.". Pacific Affairs, vol 21, no. 3, 1948, p. 239. JSTOR, doi:10.2307/2752101. Comunello, Francesca, and Giuseppe Anzera. 2012. "Will The Revolution Be Tweeted? A Conceptual Framework For Understanding The Social Media And The Arab Spring". Islam And Christian–Muslim Relations 23 (4): 453-470. doi:10.1080/09596410.2012.712435. Davison, Stephanie. 2015. "An Exploratory Study Of Risk And Social Media : What Role Did Social Media Play In The Arab Spring Revolutions ?". Journal Of Middle East Media, no. 11: 1-33. doi:10.12816/0023480. Bamman, David, Brendan O'Connor, and Noah Smith. 2012. "Censorship And Deletion Practices In Chinese Social Media". First Monday 17 (3). doi:10.5210/fm.v17i3.3943.

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En 1845, les récoltes de pommes de terre en Irlande avaient été attaquées par le mildiou. À cette époque, au moins la moitié de la population irlandaise était dépendante de la récolte de la patate pour assurer sa survie. La famine, fortement causée par l’arrivée de ce parasite, avait forcé approximativement un million de personnes à quitter leur terre natale pour aller vivre dans une autre partie du globe (Bartlett 2010, 280-282). En 1847, l’année la plus dévastatrice de la Grande Famine, on comptait quotidiennement 2000 immigrants arrivant à Montréal (Horner 2018, 270). Ce texte fera l’analyse de la réaction de la ville de Montréal face à la Grande Famine des années 1840, en comparaison avec la gestion de la ville pendant l’épidémie de choléra de 1832. Il sera, tout d’abord, question de l’inquiétude collective concernant l’économie de la ville. Par la suite, le texte élaborera sur le désintérêt qu’avait eu Montréal à commémorer la tragédie des évènements qui avait fait partie de la réalité de ces nouveaux arrivants. En terminant, je ferai la comparaison entre les réactions de la population montréalaise face à la crise du choléra de 1832 et face aux immigrants irlandais ayant fui la Famine dans les années 1840. En premier lieu, la réaction de Montréal face aux immigrants qui fuyaient la Grande Famine en Irlande, semblait être fortement influencée par une inquiétude collective concernant l’économie et la population de la ville. Cette inquiétude semblait prioriser ces deux aspects plutôt que le rétablissement et l’intégration des nouveaux arrivants. L’élite de la ville doutait que les immigrants irlandais fuyant la Famine puissent s’épanouir économiquement et socialement dans leur ville d’adoption. Ce doute constituait l’élément central des préoccupations de la classe au pouvoir (Horner 2013, 363). À la moitié du 19e siècle, Montréal était une ville importante pour le commerce nord-américain et elle s’était développée rapidement autant économiquement que socialement. Ce développement rapide a engendré une polarisation des richesses. La richesse et la pauvreté

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démesurées coexistaient dans la ville. Cette démesure avait fait naître une réticence de la part de la classe au pouvoir face à la place des personnes moins aisées dans la société. Les immigrants irlandais, ayant quitté leur terre natale pour fuir la Famine, faisaient majoritairement partie de cette classe moins aisée et ils avaient besoin de l’aide publique afin de survivre au typhus et de s’établir dans leur nouvelle ville (Horner 2013, 353-354). La réaction de la classe au pouvoir était fortement influencée par la situation économique de ces nouveaux arrivants. La contribution sociale et économique immédiate des immigrants irlandais était le principal souci dans l’opinion publique plutôt que l’intégration de ces derniers. En 1847, ce doute avait engendré un sentiment de panique face au manque d’intervention de la part des autorités coloniales à Montréal et du gouvernement à Londres. Les opinions étaient polarisées. Le public demandait des mesures d’accueil plus strictes, tandis que les commerçants exprimaient leur mécontentement face à une quarantaine prolongée. Ces derniers craignaient un impact économique négatif sur leurs affaires. Les autorités ont répondu aux inquiétudes en mettant sur pied le Conseil de la santé. La solution générée par cette nouvelle organisation était la mise en place d’une deuxième station de quarantaine à Boucherville. Tel que mentionné dans le texte de l’historien Dan Horner, intitulé « A Population Takes Flight: The Irish Famine Migration in Boston, Montreal, and Liverpool, and the Politics of Marginalization and Criminalization, » cette nouvelle station de quarantaine allait tout simplement devenir une deuxième zone de détention pour les immigrants irlandais. Ces derniers allaient être punis pour avoir fui une situation hors de leur contrôle. Cependant, les autorités coloniales s’étaient opposées à la suggestion du Conseil de la santé en défendant que cette deuxième station de quarantaine encouragerait un sentiment de dépendance entre les immigrants irlandais et l’État (Horner 2018, 270-271). Le focus des autorités n’était pas de

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prioriser la santé des nouveaux arrivants, mais plutôt l’intérêt économique de la ville. Le journal La Minerve avait publiquement critiqué les autorités en déclarant que le Canada subissait les répercussions de l’incompétence du gouvernement britannique. L’article questionnait la capacité de la ville de Montréal à se développer puisqu’elle continuait d’accueillir des immigrants qui se trouvaient dans une situation économique précaire. Plus précisément, l’article de La Minerve qualifiait les nouveaux arrivants irlandais de pauvres et pathétiques (Horner 2013, 363). L’opinion publique montréalaise manquait de sensibilité face à la situation dans laquelle se trouvaient les immigrants irlandais qui avaient fui leur terre natale à la recherche d’une meilleure qualité de vie en Amérique du Nord. De plus, en 1847, des nouvelles provenant d’Irlande indiquaient une aggravation de la Famine et prédisaient une forte vague migratoire. Pourtant, les autorités locales et les autorités impériales étaient confiantes que les infrastructures mises en place à Grosse Île, pendant l’épidémie de choléra en 1832, étaient entièrement suffisantes pour gérer cette crise. Ceci dit, il ne fallut que quelques semaines avant de réaliser que la station de quarantaine n’était pas suffisante pour le nombre d’immigrants et pour la gravité de leur condition médicale. Le personnel ne fournissait pas et les bateaux s’accumulaient au quai de l’île. Le public montréalais, en réaction à cette situation de crise, avait fortement critiqué le fait que les autorités avaient fermé les yeux sur la gravité de la situation et avaient manqué de préparation (Horner 2013, 356-357). Par contre, la population était plus préoccupée par le risque d’épidémie venant de Grosse Île, que par le sort des arrivants irlandais affamés et malades. Les citoyens montréalais demandaient qu’une deuxième station de quarantaine soit mise en place aux limites de la ville et cette demande avait été appuyée par le maire John Easton Mills qui avait défendu la nécessité d’avoir des « fever sheds » à Pointe-Saint-Charles. Par contre, ces « fever sheds » n’étaient pas

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sanitaires et ils étaient inefficaces. Lorsque l’épidémie fût contrôlée, on comptait six mille morts du typhus, majoritairement des immigrants irlandais, dans les « fever sheds » de Montréal (McMahon 2007, 48). En réaction à l’avertissement annonçant l’importante vague migratoire ainsi que la gravité de la situation dans laquelle les immigrants se trouvaient, les autorités de la colonie n’avaient aucunement élaboré de plan d’action. Leur inaction démontrait le désintérêt de Montréal, ainsi que de la colonie dans son entièreté, de la qualité de vie des nouveaux arrivants. L’importante vague migratoire a engendré un débat sur les politiques d’immigration de la colonie. Malgré le mécontentement des citoyens montréalais, la population avait dû se rendre à l’évidence qu’elle ne pouvait pas se protéger totalement des conséquences négatives de l’arrivée des immigrants irlandais (Horner 2013, 350). Les autorités de la colonie semblaient démontrer du désaccord face à leur propre implication dans une crise dont l’origine n’était pas locale. Elles n’étaient pas d’accord avec le fait que l’argent public allait être utilisé pour venir en aide à ces nouveaux arrivants. Encore une fois, le focus des réactions de la ville de Montréal était mis sur l’importance de l’économie. Les autorités municipales montréalaises critiquaient l’absence d’intervention du gouvernement à Londres et elles revendiquaient une aide financière. La classe au pouvoir de la ville de Montréal dénonçait aussi que les autorités impériales utilisaient la colonie pour disperser ces personnes en situation de crise (Horner 2013, 359-361). Les critiques utilisaient l’économie de la ville comme argument principal plutôt que la qualité de vie des nouveaux arrivants. L’empathie n’était pas au centre des préoccupations. Tel que mentionné précédemment, à la moitié du 19e siècle, Montréal était concentrée sur son développement économique et social (Horner 2013, 353-354). Ce focus vers un essor fructueux pouvait avoir fortement influencé la réaction du public ainsi que son manque d’empathie envers la

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situation des nouveaux arrivants. Donc, la réaction de la ville de Montréal, face aux immigrants irlandais qui fuyaient la Grande Famine, était influencée par une inquiétude collective concernant l’économie plutôt que les conditions médicales de leurs nouveaux concitoyens. En deuxième lieu, suite à l’arrivée des victimes de la Grande Famine à Montréal, la ville d’adoption de ces nouveaux arrivants n’avait pas eu de réel désir de commémorer la tragédie des évènements. Montréal, tout comme la province de Québec dans son entièreté, n’avait pas démontré de réelles intentions face à la mise en place d’un lieu-demémoire en l’honneur des victimes de la Famine. Pourtant, la crise a eu un impact important sur la population montréalaise. Les immigrants irlandais avaient été mis en quarantaine dans des situations inhumaines tandis qu’un sentiment de panique s’était répandu parmi les habitants de la colonie (McGowan 2007, 49). Lorsque le Monument commémoratif a été érigé près du pont Victoria par les travailleurs irlandais, une longue lutte pour défendre la validité de ce monument avait suivi. Le monument a été mis en place en 1859 par les travailleurs d’origine irlandaise qui avaient été engagés pour la construction du pont Victoria. Pendant la construction, une fosse commune, ayant servi à enterrer des victimes du typhus, avait été découverte. Dans le but de créer un lieu de recueil, les travailleurs ont installé une imposante roche gravée près de la fosse commune. En 1898, la compagnie ferroviaire Grand Trunk Railway désirait fortement obtenir le lot de terre sur lequel se trouvait le monument. La même année, l’évêque Bond a accepté de créer un comité qui enquêterait sur la validité du monument. Selon le comité, l’existence de la fosse commune, ayant servi de cimetière, ne pouvait pas être prouvée. Par contre, aucune conclusion n’avait été mise de l’avant quand la compagnie ferroviaire a décidé de déplacer le monument. Une longue lutte entre la communauté irlandaise de Montréal, l’Église anglicane et la Grand Trunk Railway s’était étirée

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sur plus d’une douzaine d’années. Ce fût seulement en 1912 qu’un accord vit le jour afin que la compagnie ferroviaire retourne le monument à son endroit initial. Cette lutte, qui avait pour but de faire reconnaître la crise par la ville de Montréal, démontre parfaitement le désintérêt et le manque de sensibilité de la classe au pouvoir face à la tragédie vécue par une partie de la communauté (McMahon 2007, 49-53). De plus, la controverse entourant le Monument commémoratif irlandais n’était pas un cas isolé puisqu’une situation similaire s’est produite à Grosse Île à la fin du siècle dernier. L’île est située près de la ville de Québec, mais elle avait tout de même été le premier arrêt obligatoire de 80 000 immigrants irlandais qui avaient par la suite fait leur chemin jusqu’à Montréal (Horner 2013, 353). En 1991, plusieurs communautés irlandaises du Canada ont fortement réagi face au désir qu’avait Parcs Canada de créer un site touristique thématique sur Grosse Île, qui était plutôt un lieu-de-mémoire (McGowan 2007, 48). Pendant l’audience servant à entendre les témoignages du public sur Grosse Île, l’emphase semblait avoir été mise sur les Canadiens-Français ayant contribué à la station de quarantaine ainsi que sur les membres du clergé irlandais (King 2012, 25). Il est, bien entendu, important de se souvenir du rôle que ces personnes avaient joué dans l’arrivée des immigrants qui fuyaient la Grande Famine, mais ils ne constituaient pas le groupe principalement touché par les ravages du typhus et par les infrastructures inadéquates de la station de quarantaine. L’audience organisée par Parcs Canada avait donné une voix à la majorité en oubliant de mettre l’accent sur une communauté qui était jadis une minorité et qui avait grandement souffert. L’absence d’écoute et de reconnaissance envers le traumatisme vécu par les immigrants irlandais reflétait bien le désir inexistant de commémorer la tragédie des évènements.

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En troisième lieu, il sera question de la comparaison entre les réactions de la ville de Montréal face à la crise du choléra de 1832 et face aux immigrants irlandais fuyant la Famine dans les années 1840. Dans les deux cas, les intérêts économiques d’un groupe en particulier avaient été utilisés comme argument pour mettre les nouveaux arrivants en quarantaine et pour les blâmer d’avoir mis la ville de Montréal en état de crise. Louis-Joseph Papineau et le Parti Patriote, en réaction à l’épidémie de choléra de 1832, avaient dénoncé l’arrivée des immigrants irlandais comme étant un plan du gouvernement britannique pour nuire aux Canadiens-Français. Le chef du Parti Patriote demandait des mesures d’accueil plus sévères afin que les intérêts économique et culturel des Canadiens-Français soient préservés. De plus, il avait spéculé que le manque d’intervention du gouvernement était une tentative pour exterminer ces derniers. Tel que mentionné dans l’article écrit par l’historien John B. Osborne : « The Patriote party accused the administration of importing Irish immigrants infected with cholera in order to kill the French-Canadian population and replace them with English speakers » (Osborne 2008, 35). Les propos du chef du Parti Patriote encourageaient la discrimination ethnique. Louis-Joseph Papineau utilisait la crise dans laquelle se trouvait les immigrants irlandais pour servir son agenda politique. L’épidémie et le manque de mesures mises en place par le gouvernement britannique mettaient en valeur la critique faite par Papineau envers les Canadiens-Anglais. Le Parti Patriote utilisait la victimisation des Canadiens-Français dans une situation de crise où les membres d’un autre groupe ethnique étaient les réelles victimes qui avaient besoin de l’aide des autorités coloniales. En outre, les infrastructures mises en place pendant la crise du choléra de 1832 et pendant la vague migratoire engendrée par la Grande Famine, dans les années 1840, étaient les mêmes. Elles étaient précaires et

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insuffisantes. Le but premier de ces infrastructures était de tenir les immigrants irlandais à l’écart de la population afin de ne pas la contaminer et de calmer le sentiment de panique collectif. Le focus principal des autorités ne semblait pas être de favoriser le rétablissement des nouveaux arrivants afin de mieux les intégrer dans la communauté. En 1832, les conditions de vie dans les « fever sheds, » se trouvant sur la rive de l’île de Montréal, étaient inhumaines. Certaines cabines n’avaient pas de plancher et de la paille était utilisée comme lits. Les gens en convalescence étaient étendus avec ceux qui mourraient et ceux qui étaient déjà décédés. On comptait 1000 morts du choléra à Montréal en début juillet 1832 (MacKay 1990, 138). De plus, la fin du Passenger Act était une autre décision prise pour favoriser l’essor économique au détriment des gens. En 1803, cette loi avait été mise en place afin de favoriser les conditions de vie à bord des navires traversant l’Atlantique. Le Passenger Act établissait un nombre maximal de personnes pouvant se trouver sur les bateaux, obligeait l’équipage à avoir un médecin parmi ses membres et demandait à ce que des rations de nourriture supplémentaires fassent partie de la traversée. En 1817, la loi a été modifiée afin qu’un plus grand nombre de passagers se trouvent à bord et les rations supplémentaires avaient été abolies. Dix ans plus tard, soit cinq ans avant la crise du choléra de 1832, le Passenger Act n’existait plus (Ibid., 202-203). L’abolition de cette loi avait augmenté les risques de propagation du vibrion cholérique lorsque l’épidémie s’était infiltrée à bord des navires. Encore une fois, une décision favorisant l’économie avait été priorisée au détriment de la qualité de vie des immigrants irlandais. En conclusion, la réaction de Montréal face à l’arrivée des immigrants irlandais, qui fuyaient la Grande Famine, semblait être fortement influencée par une inquiétude collective concernant l’économie de la ville. Ce sentiment de panique avait mis les autorités coloniales et

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impériales dans l’eau bouillante puisque la population montréalaise les avait pointées du doigt suite à leur manque d’intervention. Malgré qu’elles eussent été informées de la détérioration de la situation en Irlande, les autorités sur le continent nord-américain n’avaient pas anticipé de trouver des solutions adaptées à l’ampleur de la vague migratoire. En outre, suite à l’arrivée des victimes de la Grande Famine, Montréal n’avait pas eu de réel désir de commémorer la tragédie des évènements. D’ailleurs, Montréal n’était pas un cas isolé, puisque la même situation s’était présentée à Grosse Île. Pour ce qui est de la différence entre la crise du choléra de 1832 et l’arrivée des immigrants irlandais fuyant la Famine dans les années 1840, les réactions de la ville de Montréal avaient été similaires. Dans les deux cas, les infrastructures précaires et insuffisantes avaient été les mêmes et l’économie avait été priorisée plutôt que le rétablissement des nouveaux arrivants.

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Bibliographie Bartlett, Thomas. Ireland : A History. Cambridge : Cambridge University Press, 2010. Horner, Dan. « A Population Takes Flight : The Irish Famine Migration in Boston, Montreal, and Liverpool, and the Politics of Marginalization and Criminalization. » Dans The Criminalization of Migration : Context and Consequences, édité par Idil Atak et James C. Simeon, 257-280. 3e édition. Montréal : McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2018. Horner, Dan. « If the evil now growing around us be not staid » : Montreal and Liverpool Confront the Irish Famine Migration as a Transnational Crisis in Urban Governance. » Histoire sociale/Social history Vol. 46 No. 92 (Novembre 2013) : 349-366. King, Jason. « Remembring and Forgetting the Famine Irish in Quebec : Genuine and False Memoirs, Communal Memory and Migration. » The Irish Review No. 44 (Été 2012) : 20-41. MacKay, Donald. Flight from famine : the coming of the Irish to Canada. Toronto : McClelland & Stewart, 1990. McGowan, Mark. « Famine, Facts and Fabrication : An Examination of Diaries from the Irish Famine Migration to Canada. » The Canadian Journal of Irish Studies Vol. 33 No. 2 (Automne 2007) : 48-55. McMahon, Colin. « Montreal's Ship Fever Monument : An Irish Famine Memorial in the Making. » The Canadian Journal of Irish Studies Vol. 33 No. 1 (Printemps 2007) : 48-60. Osborne, John B. « Preparing for the Pandemic : City Boards of Health and the Arrival of Cholera in Montreal, New York, and Philadelphia in 1832. » Urban History Review / Revue d'histoire urbaine Vol. 36 No. 2 (Printemps 2008) : 29-42.

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On the evening of April 6, 1994, Rwanda experienced one of its darkest times when the attack on the Falcon 50 left the Rwandan president, Juvenile Habyarimana, and the Burundian president, Cyprien Ntaryamira, dead (Onana, 2005). What followed this attack was one of the bloodiest events in world history —the Rwandan genocide against the Tutsi. Following the Rwandan genocide, the hastiest explanation for this event has been attributed to the killing of the thenRwandan president, Habyarimana. Not surprisingly, scholars, within the political, social and economic realms, have sought to scrutinize the past for answers. This paper seeks to simply the same; it will scrutinize the past and explore the answers to the question of which factors shaped and led to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. The main argument for this paper is as follows: poor political leadership on the part of Rwandan presidents has shaped and led to the 1994 Rwanda genocide. Concertedly, this paper argues that the decisions to adopt ethnic politics — made by the Rwandan political leaders — have increasingly amplified tensions along ethnic lines (i.e., Tutsis versus Hutus). To demonstrate this, this paper will first examine and discuss the different perspectives in literature about the 1994 Rwandan genocide. Following this, it will outline the definitions and characteristics of poor political leadership. This concept is crucial in the clarification of the main argument of this paper. Further explanation will then be provided about the past political leaders (Grégoire Kayibanda, Juvénal Habyarimana, and Paul Kagame) who have led Rwanda by examining how features of poor political leadership shaped and led to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. Literature Review Many scholars have provided various theories as to why the 1994 Rwandan genocide in the first place. For instance, from colonial rule, economic status, political instability, ethnicity to external influences — scholars have tried to explain the causes behind the 1994 Rwandan genocide. In his book Aiding Violence, Peter Ulvin points out that the colonial period is the place to look for an explanation. He argues that the hierarchical relations between the major “racial” groups (Hutu and Tutsi) established by colonial power, were responsible for shaping what later became a genocide (Uvin, 1998). In other words, Ulvin’s point is that the colonial structures — where the Tutsi were being more favored than the Hutus — created and fostered a power struggle environment. The relationship between these groups has aggravated throughout time, which has gradually led to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. Moreover, he argues that by

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creating a hierarchical structure, the colonial powers in Rwanda gave the power to one “ethnic” group over the others (Uvin, 1998). For instance, when the colonialists employed indirect rulership to rule Rwanda through its existing political structures, they used the Monarchy and King (who were Tutsis), who in turn, were legitimized and given authority to rule on the colonialists’ behalf (Reyntjens, 2018). According to Mahmood Mamdani, this power-relation between the “racial” groups was further reinforced by the Germans when they politicized the Rwandan population (Mamdani, 2001). Put differently, the political advantage that was given to the Tutsi gave them the upper hand in political matters. Consequently, Mahmood’s arguments and explanations are an extension to Ulvin’s arguments — the colonial structures and the politicization of the Rwandan people aggravated the political tensions between the Tutsis and Hutus, which has therefore, shaped and led up to the Rwandan genocide. In challenging the prevailing research on the Rwandan genocide, Scott Straus states in his article that the main contributing and explaining factors of the 1994 Rwandan genocides are ethnicity, ideology and mass media indoctrination (Straus, 2015). In other words, Straus introduces a new viewpoint of mass media indoctrination as a factor that shaped and led to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. For instance, it is documented that the “Radio-Television Libre des Milles Collines used by Hutu leaders to advance an extremist Hutu message and anti-Tutsi disinformation, has helped spread fear of a Tutsi genocide against Hutu, identifying specific Tutsi targets or areas where they could be found, and encouraging the progress of the genocide” (Montreal Institute for Genocide and Human Rights Studies, n.d.). On the other hand, Helen M. Hintjes states that the Rwandan nation provides the ultimate explanation as to why the genocide happened — meaning, how the regimes responded to external forces has shaped the political atmosphere in Rwanda (Hintjes, 1999). For instance, the author states that the severity of the economic conditions of the 1980s weakened the Habyarimana regime (Hintjes, 1999). In other words, the weakness of the Habyarimana regime — mainly due to financial repercussions — has left the country prone to the rebel’s attacks — the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF). To further advance the discussion, Lee Ann Fujii actually disorients the mainstream explanations (i.e. colonial structures, ethnic divisions and regimes) of the Rwandan genocide. She claims that it is also important to explore why ordinarily people would accept or decline to kill their neighbors during the 1994 Rwanda Genocide. In order to back up her arguments,

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she conducts interviews on genocide survivors, yet, only to find out that social ties at a local level were a determining factor that led the Rwandan people to participate in the 1994 Rwandan genocide. In other words, she concluded that leaders used their social and family ties to get people into killing others. Moreover, John Clarke states that the 1994 Rwandan Genocide was shaped by the presence of two nationalist movements — the Tutsi nationalism and Hutu nationalism. He argues that both groups (Hutu and Tutsi) had their own goals and aspirations for self-identification as the main group who would rule the nation (Clarke, 2006). It is worth mentioning that this is different from what Mahmood states. As Mahmood looks at the politicization of ethnic groups and colonial structures, Clarke specifically scrutinizes the issue at hand in terms of nationalism. Put in different terms, for Clarke, having two nationalist movements in the same country (or territory) can be a precondition of political struggles — as one group seeks to define itself as the leading party that belongs to the nation, the other would respond unfavorably. Therefore, such an environment, as Clarkes seemingly argues, has shaped and led to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. The above-mentioned short literature review provides us the mainstream arguments that most of the scholars have outlined in efforts to explain the possible factors that have led to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. What is important to observe and to note here is that the literature review proves, even at present, a loophole in the arguments. Where some scholars and authors point to the state and the economic struggles as the leading factors, others have pointed to social factors. With that, it is undeniable that their claims do provide strong evidencebased arguments. In fact, it would be wrong to claim that there was one unique factor that led to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. However, within the mainstream arguments outlined above, the literature has not sought to focus on how the Rwandan political leadership was a prevailing factor that has shaped the course of the Rwandan genocide. The importance of looking at political leaders to explain the reason genocides happens, demonstrates the critical role that political leaders can play in preventing and causing genocides. As it will be elaborated in the remainder of this paper, political leaders can have an ultimate power in shaping the course of political environments that favor or disfavor political tensions. With that, this paper presents a slightly better explanation of the events that have influenced to shape and led to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. For instance, had political leadership been “strong” in Rwanda, aspects of the above-

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mentioned arguments such as colonial structures, economic inequalities, ethnic or racial cleavages, and social factors, would have been effectively and efficiently circumvented or perhaps lessened. This research paper seeks to revisit the pre-colonial, colonial, and afterindependence periods in Rwandan history in order to shed light on what might have led to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. I seek to provide a different explanation looking at the trend of poor political leadership in Rwandan politics (i.e. presidents). In particular, this paper will look at the unwillingness of political leaders in solving the tensions that were between the Hutus and the Tutsis and the rationale behind their inattention on this matter. Ultimately, this paper contributes and supplements the literature that uses the “top-down” approaches to understand why genocides — like the 1994 Rwandan genocide — civil wars and interstate wars happen. Defining “Poor Political Leadership” In order to define poor political leadership, this paper will use Jo-Ansie Van Wyk’s definitions. In his article, Political leaders in Africa: President, Patrons or Profiteers?, Wyk sought to provide the characteristics of political leaderships in Africa. For the sake of this paper, we shall mainly focus on the characteristics of poor political leadership. First, the author states that “good political leadership is exercised in the public interest, rather than in the leaders’ self-interest” (Wyk, 2007). In other words, the leader that acts and does the opposite of this description, portrays characteristics of poor political leadership. Secondly, poor leadership is described as leaders seeking to divide the people in a given country (Wyk, 2007). Put differently, a weak political leader will show no signs or initiatives of unifying a country. In short, poor political leadership can be summarized as follows: (1) division of a people and (2) self-interest over public interest. It is important to keep these definitions of poor political leadership throughout the next sections of this paper. A Brief History of Rwanda: The Colonial Period (1885-1962) Before getting into the main part of this paper, it is vital that we describe the colonial history of Rwanda. This will enable us to better situate and understand the main argument of this paper. Like many African countries, Rwanda also experienced colonial rule. Unlike many African countries, Rwanda was one of the few countries colonized by the Germans (Mamdani, 2001).

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During the German colonial rule, Rwanda went through radical transformations in its political, social and economic realms. With the establishment of the colonial structure, the colonialists privileged the Tutsi over the Hutu (Uvin, 1998) — politically and economically. What had made the Germans become more appealing to the Tutsi was their physical trait as they were described to be taller, thinner, and had longer noses, as opposed to the Hutu, who were shorter and had larger noses (Mamdani, 2001). In fact, according to Mahmood, this led to the greatest crime committed by the German colonialists — the politicization of the Rwandan population along racial lines (Mamdani, 2001). Arguably, this is what accounted for the rigidification of these racial groups — consequently, leading the genesis of racial tensions in Rwanda. In short, the establishment of the Bazungu’s (Glosbe, n.d.) colonial legacies had major repercussions on the Rwandans — it further caused the rigidification of Hutu-Tutsi tensions. Where the former was denied political power, the latter was granted it. What is important to retain from here is that both Tutsi and Hutu were categorized according to race. Moreover, this section also demonstrates that colonial authority introduced political, social, and economic hierarchy between the Hutus and the Tutsis. In short, this is important because it showcases where the tensions between the Hutus and the Tutsis originated and grew from. Most importantly, this is where most scholars and researchers have named this incidence as the 1994 Rwandan genocide. This is not to claim that looking at the colonial period for explanations as to why the Rwandan genocide happened is invalid. This research paper seeks to, rather, deviate from that explanation by providing a different perspective while demonstrating that the post-colonial political leadership was also poor political leadership. Although the legacies of colonial rule might have partially led to the 1994 Rwandan genocide, Rwandan political leaders and their poor political leadership should also be put under scrutiny. Conversely, “good” political leadership would have lessened, or perhaps prevented, the 1994 Rwandan Genocide. In short, this paper seeks to demonstrate that the politics from poor political leadership is yet another factor that shaped the course of the Rwandan genocide.

Rwanda’s Road to Independence Having explained the definition of poor political leadership and outlined the colonial period in Rwanda, this section seeks to scrutinize all the political

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leaders (presidents) that Rwanda has had in the post-colonial period. In doing so, the section will seek to demonstrate that the politics of poor political leadership in Rwanda shaped and led to the Rwandan genocide. Grégoire Kayibanda as First Prime Minister Gregoire Kayibanda, a Hutu, was the first political leader to initiate a critic on the then- Tutsi Monarchy. As the first political leader, Kayibanda sought to criticize the nature of politics in Rwanda prior to independence. In fact, Kayibanda put forth a Bahutu (African Studies Center: University of Pennsylvania, n.d.) manifesto which was a way of declaring the racial inequalities between the Tutsi and the Hutus (Mamdani, 2001). On the surface, Kayibanda’s initiations demonstrate a committed leader who wanted to solve the racial problems that have long existed between the Hutus and the Tutsis. However, as it will be explored, Kayibanda portrayed the traits of a weak political leader, and therefore, did not seek to build bridges between the two “racial” groups. Before independence, Kayibanda founded the PARMEHUTU, a Hutu political party in 1957 (Mamdani, 2001). The founding of this political party — being exclusive to the Hutu — demonstrates that Kayibanda was never interested in creating an inclusive political party. As a matter of fact, he, as a political leader, showed no interest in solving the “racial” inequalities between the Tutsis and the Hutus. Rather, he sought to not only rigidify these same inequalities that the colonists left behind in Rwanda, but also reverse political power (now inhands of Hutus) rather than initiate a power-sharing solution. In fact, as the first prime minister of the Republic of Rwanda, Kayibanda sought to focus on promoting politics of exclusion. In 1959, Kayibanda proclaimed and prohibited Tutsi from the Rwandan politics — marking a line of difference between the Tutsis and Hutus (Mamdani, 2001). For example, in 1965, Kayibanda made his party PARMEHUTU the de facto single party, holding all the seats in the National Assembly (Emmanuel, 2010). In other words, he reversed the situation from back in pre-independence, where the Tutsis had the ultimate political power, the Kayibanda sought to redistribute it to Hutus only. Consequently, this led to the expulsion of the Tutsis from Rwanda to Uganda (Clarke, 2006). He also proclaimed the Tutsis and Hutus as two distinct nations (Mamdani, 2001) — making him the first political leader to initiate a Hutu nation. As explored above, Kayibanda took no relevant steps in the building of a civic nation. Instead, his politics of exclusion and his initiation of the Hutu “race”

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as a nation demonstrate his unwillingness to solve the racial problems that were deep-rooted between the Tutsis and the Hutus. Moreover, Kayibanda, as political leader, did not aim at unifying the country. For instance, after stating and promising to unify the republic during his first speech at the United Nations General Assembly (United Nations General Assembly, 1962), Kayibanda sought to radically re-implement the use of “racial” identity cards that were first introduced by the colonists (Childress, 2015). Hence, we can clearly assert that Kayibanda portrayed features of poor political leadership. Juvénal Habyarimana President of Rwanda In 1973, Juvénal Habyarimana, a Hutu, founded his political party, the National Republican Movement for Democracy and Development, also known as “Le Mouvement révolutionnaire national pour le développement,” in order to challenge and overthrow Kayibanda (Clarke, 2006). Given that both political leaders were Hutus, one might question whether they were advocating for their own benefits or their “Hutu” identity. Indeed, it is arguable that Habyarimana’s actions were fueled by his ambitions or greed for political power. Subsequently, this demonstrates that Rwanda was going to experience poor political leadership under Habyarimana. For instance, as president, Habyarimana sought to deal with his oppositions, including the then-Prime Minister of Rwanda, Kayibanda with death (Clarke, 2006). Moreover, Habyarimana sought to manipulate the constitution by declaring his National Republican Movement for Democracy and Development as the only legitimate political party in Rwanda — making him win the elections of 1983 and 1988 at 99.98% (International Panel of Eminent Personalities, 2000). Put differently, Habyarimana was authoritarian in nature and banned all other political parties. In short, Habyarimana's rise to presidency clearly demonstrates poor political leadership. The president is characterized with greediness of power, and manipulation of the rule of law for his own benefit. Just like his predecessor, Habyarimana also showed no interest in building a national identity that includes the Hutus and the Tutsis. Yet, it would be wrong not to accredit Habyarimana’s steps — the first ever done by a Rwandan political leader — to lessen the tensions between the Hutus and the Tutsis. For instance, as President, Habyarimana came to a compromise that would give some political power to the internal Tutsi — those that stayed after the social revolution — in order to end violence. Consequently, Rwanda did not experience any massacre against these internal Tutsis for first 17 years of his presidency (International Panel of Eminent Personalities, 2000). In fact, to further strengthen the relations

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between the Tutsi and the Hutu, Habyarimana proclaimed to be the protector of all Rwanda’s children, regardless of one being Tutsi or Hutu (Mamdani, 2001). However, as it will be discussed, Habyarimana’s political leadership had soon turned out to intensify the Hutu-Tutsi tensions. Later, Habyarimana’s presidency did not come out clean as it had projected to be. The president sought to promote politics of exclusion. As Mahmood clearly states it: “The key change from the First to Second Republic — a change that seems to have gone unnoticed by an observer of Rwandan politics — was a shift in the political identity of the Tutsi from a race to an ethnic group” (Mamdani, 2001). In fact, the president also reinforced or reissued the use of identity cards based, not on race as in the colonial periods, but on ethnicity” (International Panel of Eminent Personalities, 2000). Clearly, these policies of exclusion demonstrate that Habyarimana turned out to be unwilling to tackle the country’s issues of identity. One might ask what were the prevailing forces behind his actions on ethnicity. In his article Ethnicity without groups, Roger Brubaker claims that when looking at ethnicity it is important that we see them through practical categories. For instance, as political projects (Brubaker, 2002). What does this have to say about Habyarimana’s presidency, another might ask? It is undeniable that identity in Rwanda was very malleable — meaning, political leaders — whether colonialists or Rwandan political leaders — saw it as an opportunity to utilize them for their own benefits. In the Habyarimana’s case, one might argue that he had sought to use ethnicity not as a way to consolidate the deep-rooted tensions between the Hutus and the Tutsi, but rather, as a strategy for his own good. In other words, having the majority of the people in Rwanda — over 80% Hutu — was a way out for Habyarimana. In fact, as Clarke states, what Habyarimana ever wanted was to simply stay in power (Clarke, 2006). To sum up, Habyarimana, as president of Rwanda, demonstrated poor political leadership. First, he ended up not unifying the people in Rwanda. Secondly, he never not only provided solutions to the external Tutsi — those that were exiled during the social revolution — but also his initial actions to lessen violence between the Hutus and the internal Tutsis ended up endangered by his exclusive Hutu policies. Paul Kagame in Uganda Paul Kagame is another Rwandan leader that showed poor political leadership prior to the Rwandan genocide. Kagame and his family fled to Uganda

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because of the 1959 social revolution — led by Kayibanda — that had left political power to the Hutus (Clarke, 2006). As mentioned in the earlier sections, Habyarimana’s focus on the Tutsi in Rwanda and ethnic grouping had left him blind to what was going on with the Tutsi diaspora in Uganda. As a result of being critical of the situation in Rwanda, Kagame, alongside Fred Rwigyema, founded the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), also known as the “Front patriotique rwandais,” in 1987 (Clarke, 2006). This move, on behalf of Kagame and Rwigyema, to create the RPF demonstrates that the organization was reactional to the Hutu dominance in Rwanda. In other words, the leaders of the RPF did not seek to cooperate with the Hutu leaders, but rather, they led to intensification of the tensions — which are now ethnic — between Hutus and Tutsis. In addition to this, Kagame, as a leader, sought to use military means as a solution. In 1990, the Tutsi-led army, at the commands of Kagame, initiated its first attack on Rwanda (Onana, 2005). Whether or not this attack was legitimate, the facts of this case lead us to the conclusion that Kagame was not interested in compromising his power. Put differently, Kagame’s initial leadership portrays characteristics of poor political leadership. He never once aimed at looking for compromises with the Hutu president — which was, then, President Habyarimana — on the matters pertaining the Hutu-Tutsi tensions. Therefore, unifying the country, at this stage, was not in his options. During the 1990s, the world intervened in the tensions between the Tutsis and the Hutus. In fact, Belgium, the Organization of African Unity (OAU), France, and the United Nations initiated peace talks and negotiations between the Kagame’s RPF, and the president of Rwanda, which was, then, President Habyarimana (Onana, 2005). Together, they proposed a solution of powersharing between the Hutus and the Tutsis (Onana, 2005). These plans, which aimed at bringing about negotiations between the two leaders, ended up being “empty talks.” How so? Let us begin with Kagame. As the leader of the RPF, Kagame was never, as mentioned above, interested in compromising his power. Henceforth, it is not misleading to think that he would not go ahead with the commanding of his groups to overcome President Habyarimana. In fact, Kagame was the commander behind the 1992 explosion of grenades, in Kigali (Onana, 2005). Moreover, regardless of having signed the peace treaty with the Rwandan president, Kagame commanded the second attack in 1993 — killing 40 000 civilians and displacing one million civilians (Onana, 2005). What we can observe from all this is that Kagame was a self-interested leader — portraying

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the attributes of poor political leadership. In fact, from the facts stated above, it would not be wrong to assume that what Kagame ever wanted was to have power over Rwanda, and not simply fighting for the “Tutsi-led movement.” As we have mentioned in the previous sections, ethnic grouping can also be utilized for a political project. In other words, a leader can claim to be of a particular “ethnic group” only to use it as leverage for their own attainment of political power. On the other side, at the beginning of the peace talks, Habyarimana had accepted to introduce a multiparty system of voting as a solution (Mamdani, 2001). However, the problem here was that a certain threshold had already been crossed — Kagame had already commanded forces to attack Rwanda. In fact, Habyarimana efforts to power-sharing in Rwanda had its own repercussions. Within the National Revolutionary Movement for Development’s leadership, the political party divided itself — leading the founding of the Coalition for the Defense of the Republic or also known as the “Coalition pour la Défense de la République,” in 1992 (Mamdani, 2001). This is significant because it shows the consequences that come with the political unwillingness to tackle a country’s deep-rooted problem, which then has a snowball effect. The fact that Habyarimana did not tackle effectively the tensions between the Tutsis and the Hutus early in his presidential term, made it impossible to implement it by 1900. This is due to the fact that his policies on ethnic identity rather normalized the attribution of political power to the Hutus. Consequently, we see a rise of other leaders, such as Bosco Barayagiwizaa. Barayagiwizaa proved to be reluctant to the power-sharing and multiparty solutions, and brought out of the peace and negotiations talks. Instead, he introduced the concept of Hutu Power and pushed for the creation of Interahamwe (Mamdani, 2001). This concept is significant because it played a central role in the genocide. For instance, messages of antiTutsi and Hutu power were regularly stated through the Radio-Television Libre des Milles Collines (Montreal Institute for Genocide and Human Rights Studies, n.d.). In short, this section has demonstrated how the political leaders, involved within the peace talks and negotiations, were unwilling to share power over Rwanda. In particular, Kagame was very reluctant to the proposed solution of power-sharing as he continued commanding his group to attack Kigali. On the other hand, by the time that Habyarimana was willing to accept power-sharing as the solution, his attempt to do so was not only a “too late” action, but was also negatively received by the Hutus under his political party.

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The 1994 Rwandan Genocide On April 7, 1994, Rwanda saw a climax of its long-lived tensions between the Hutus and the Tutsis — a genocide against the Tutsis. The mystery of who was responsible for the attack on the President’s remains unsolved. Is it Kagame’s RPF or the Hutu extremists? Clearly, this is out for debate. For the next 100 days, Rwanda lived its darkest moment in history where an estimation of 800,000 to 1,000,000 people was slaughtered (A&E Television Networks, 2018). What this paper has sought to claim is that poor political leadership is one of the many factors that led to the Rwandan genocide. The unwillingness and inability on behalf of all political leaders (Kayibanda, Habyarimana, Kagame and others) to face the Hutu-Tutsi tensions, and to provide necessary solutions to combat them, provide another perspective as to what shaped and led to the Rwandan Genocide.

Beyond the Rwandan Genocide: Kagame as President Since this paper is about how poor political leadership shaped and led to the Rwandan genocide, it is equally important that we assess how Kagame, as president, has ruled Rwanda in the post-Genocide period. Kagame is portrayed as a “weak” leader by some and “strong” by others. Let us begin with the good. Kagame, as president of Rwanda, has made effective steps in tackling the tensions between the Hutus and Tutsi. For instance, Kagame has sought to eliminate Hutu and Tutsi as political identities (Mamdani, 2001). In other words, this demonstrates a characteristic of good political leadership that the political leaders before him did not possess during their terms as presidents. One might also argue that this is a good step forward in unifying the country and building a civic identity (i.e. Rwandan). Furthermore, as president, Kagame has sought to reunite and reconcile the Rwandan people through long-term strategies. The president introduced the Gacaca trial courts which aim to promote reconciliation between the genocide perpetrators and the victims (Encyclopedia Britannica, 2016). Whether or not these courts have actually led to reconciliation is out for debate; but, what is necessary to retain here is that President Kagame has made efforts to build a Rwandan national identity — regardless of being Hutu or Tutsi. Not only has he, as president, sought to reconcile the country, Kagame has also shown and taken a brave step towards encouraging gender-related politics. As of

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2018, Rwanda is the world-leading country with 61.3% of women holding positions in the country’s parliament (Thornton, 2019). In short, Kagame’s programs and policies have sought to halt the deep-rooted tensions between the Hutus and the Tutsis. On the other side, Kagame has been criticized mainly for his presence in Eastern Congo. There, it is claimed that Kagame has committed atrocities against Hutu extremists who fled during the Rwandan genocide to eastern Democratic Republic of Congo (Autesserre, 2010). In addition to this, Kagame repeatedly stated that “…if Rwanda’s enemies were not disarmed…the RPF would have no choice but to remain in the DRC until [Hutus] were neutralized” (International Panel of Eminent Personalities, 2000). At the surface of his actions, one might argue that Kagame is employing the Rwandan army against the Hutu extremists in Congo in order not to jeopardize Rwanda’s political stability. However, if the issue were to be well scrutinized, one might also question why Kagame does not use “peace talks” or find solutions of integrating them. In short, it is true that the current president of the Republic of Rwanda has sought to halt the deep-rooted ethnic tensions, which, thus, portrays features of good political leadership. Yet, it is also the case that Kagame’s presence in Eastern Congo is not about “peace talk,” but a sort of revenge. In conclusion, this paper has sought to demonstrate that poor political leadership should also be considered as one of the factors that shaped and led to the Rwandan genocide. The first section of this paper summarizes the mainstream literature pertaining to the research question for this paper. Following that, the paper has outlined the definition of weak political leaders. The sections that followed were crucial in outlining and describing the traits of poor political leadership that political leaders in Rwanda portrayed. Given that this paper has uniquely studied the Rwandan genocide, future research can further test the extent to which poor political leadership is a reliable factor in explaining the causes of other genocides (i.e., the Cambodian, Indonesian and Bosnian genocides).

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References A&E Television Networks. (2018). “Rwanda ethnic tensions.” Retrieved from https://www.history.com/topics/africa/rwandan-genocide African Studies Center: University of Pennsylvania. (n.d.). “East Africa Living Encyclopedia: Burundi – ethic groups.” Retrieved from https://www.africa.upenn.edu/NEH/bethnic.htm Autesserre, S. “The Trouble with the Congo: Local Violence and the Failure of International Peacebuilding.” (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010) P. 47-48 Barry R. Posen, “The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict,” Survival 35 (1993): 27-47. [20] (Access through scholar.google.com) Charles Onana, Les Secrètes de la Justice Internationale, Enquêtes truquées sur le génocide rwandais. (Paris: Duboiris, 2005). Emmanuel, V. (2010). “Kayibanda Grégoire.” SciencesPo : Violence de masse résistance. Retrieved from https://www.sciencespo.fr/mass-violence-war-massacre-resistance/fr/document/ kayibanda-gra-goire-0 Encyclopedia Britannica. (2016). “Gacaca Rwanda court system.” Retrieved from https://www.britannica.com/topic/gacaca Eric Weitz, A Century of Genocide: Utopias of Race and Nation (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003): 16-52. [36] Fujii, Lee Ann. (2008). “The Power of Local Ties: Popular Participation in the Rwandan Genocide.” Security Studies, 17 (3), p.568–97. Gilbert, E. & Reynolds. (2004). Africa in World History: From Prehistory to the Present. United States: Pearson Education, Inc. Glosbe. (n.d.). “White in Kinyarwanda.” Retrieved from https://glosbe.com/en/rw/white Hintjes, H. (1999) ‘Explaining the 1994 genocide in Rwanda’, The Journal of Modern African Studies, vol. 37, no. 2, pp. 241-286.

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International Panel of Eminent Personalities. (July 2000). “Rwanda: the preventable genocide.” Retrieved from https://www.refworld.org/docid/4d1da8752.html Jo-Ansie van Wyk. “Political Leaders in Africa: Presidents, Patrons or Profiteers?” Occasional Paper Series: Volume 2, Number 1, (2007). John F. Clarke. “After Independence: Making and Protections Nations in Postcolonial and Postcommunist States” Chapter on Rwanda: Tragic Land of Dual Nationalisms. (Michigan: Michigan Press, 2006). Mahmood Mamdani. When Victims Become Killers. (Princeton: Princeton University press, 2001). Matthew, K. (2005) “International Intervention and the Severity of Genocides and Politicides,” International Studies Quarterly 49, 3: 363-387. [25] Reyntjens, F. (2011). “Constructing the Truth, Dealing with Dissent, Domesticating the World: Governance in Post-Genocide Rwanda.” African Affairs, 110 (438), 1–34. Rogers Brubaker, “Ethnicity Without Groups,” Archives Europeennes de Sociologie 43, no. 2 (2002): 163-189. Stephen E. Childress. “From Revolution to ruin: A Preliminary look at Rwanda’s First Two presidents, Grégoire Kayibanda and Juvénal Habyarimana, and their Administrations.” University of Missouri-Kansas City. (2015), p. 154. Straus, S. (2015). Making and Unmaking Nations: War, Leadership, and Genocide in Modern Africa (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press,): 54-86. [33] Thornton, A. (2019). “These countries have the most women in parliament.” World Economic Forum. Retrieved from https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2019/02/chart-of-the-day-thesecountries-have-the-most-women-in-parliament/ “United Nations General Assembly, 17th Session.” United Nations. (September 1962). Retrieved from: https://undocs.org/en/A/PV.1122

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The discussion surrounding interest groups and their methods in the context of Canadian democracy remains controversial. Although many stand firm in their concern that the wealthy and privileged remain a priority in the eyes of government officials, it is inappropriate to universalize this assumption (Rival et al., 2018, p. 100). On the contrary, the humanitarian and reformative workings of “interest groups” are invaluable to Canadian democracy, and actually improve it on municipal, provincial, and federal tiers. This paper will begin with a brief background on lobbying and interest groups, followed by a succinct list of the variety of topics in question in Canada today. Next, with the example of the workings of the Two-Spirit, Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Questioning, Intersex, Asexual (2SLGBTQQIA) communities and animal rights activists, the relevance, optionality and components of lobbying will be explored, in addition to the risks historically associated with the practice (Timsit, 2019). The latter part of the essay will analyse and provide examples of interest groups who have opted solely to raise awareness without lobbying, and have been successful.

Lobbying Whilst Canada prides itself in its Charter of Rights and Freedoms, it did not always have the globally renowned egalitarian reputation it does today (Lynk, 2016, p. 301). Human rights movements in the country date back to the first half of the twentieth century, with the withholding of opportunities to religious and racial minorities. The active humanitarian and philanthropic workings of interest groups advocating for causes reduce the inequality gap, and include but are not limited to animal rights; global warming; environmental laws and limitations; pollution; sexual and physical abuse; discrimination on the basis of racial, sexual, religious, and ethnic backgrounds; immigration; health care; feminism, and wage violations (p. 302). Interest parties are a collective of individuals who strive for common interests, as well as make policy pleas to the government. An interest group may form to protect the collective and personal profits of its members (Epstein et al, 2013, p. 77). Interest groups attempt to mold legislation by influencing voters or elected officials directly, and may make financial contributions or public petitions to influence office (Bertrand et al., 2014, p. 3886). While some interest groups seek only to raise awareness for a particular cause or struggle, others attempt to

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persuade lawmakers to further financial and personal aspirations; an exchange referred to as “lobbying”. More often than not, lobbyists are experts in the fields of interest to the individuals by which they are hired, and provide considerable influence on legislative issues that otherwise would not get exposure (p. 3887). The notion of lobbying has acquired a negative connotation over the years due to mainstream media coverage received pertaining to unlawful behaviors of some lobbyists (Stos, 2018, p. 23-24). As a result, it has been suggested that the working of interest groups contribute and serve as an incentive for politicians to engage in bad faith, with malicious intent to further personal agendas, rather than public service (p. 27). Nonetheless, lobbying corruption and bribery scandals are heavily outweighed by the established work and success of reformative petitions by interest groups inciting positive change for the lives of Canadians. Lobbying works in favor of the Canadian pluralistic democracy, where interest groups are free to compete with and regulate one another accordingly (p. 24). There is increased opportunity for political participation when there is a wide array of interest groups co-existing and competing, and thus reducing the risk of a monopoly in the eyes of the law (p. 26). As a result, the quality of life for the aforementioned minorities is improved over time, making reform most prominent when taken into account from the perspective of the least advantaged. Interest groups strive to change policies, and resort to using the insider and outsider strategies of lobbying to influence policy makers. Insider strategies aim to influence and persuade policy makers directly. Revised lobbying regulations reduce the risks of bribery and corrupt practices encompassing tax rebates (used by major corporations to profit from and cheat the system), while serving as a disincentive for misconduct on all levels of government and their affiliates (Dellmuth et al., 2017, p. 707). Outsider strategies models incorporate interest groups calling on public opinion, and using external factors to project their causes on micro and macro levels of the Canadian political stage. Regulations Technological advancements and social media platforms have allowed organized advertising campaigns and protests to directly reach out to parliament officials, by indirect forms of communication to raise awareness, and allow for the effective combination of both insider and outsider strategies (p. 708). To further prove the legitimacy of lobbying on behalf of interest groups, regulations such as the federal Lobbying Act (1989), the Quebec Act (2002) and the

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Lobbying Code of Conduct (2015) have been constituted and require lobbyists and government officials alike to maintain the highest levels of integrity and transparency by reporting all exchanges on a monthly basis (Stos, 2018, p. 23). The effectiveness of the present system has been questioned on a multitude of occasions, and albeit Nova Scotia has merited reasonable doubt, the rest of Canada, including British Columbia, Quebec, and Ontario have remained most successful in enforcing the bills. Consequently, the established ethics and trust between citizens, lobbyists and elected officials are maintained (p. 25). Inclusivity & Access Canada would not be the inclusive country it is today if it were not for the working of special interest groups. Canadian citizens have the right to speak freely, petitioning the government vote for issues they deem pressing. For instance, same-sex marriage would have remained illegal had it not been for the activism of 2SLGBTQQIA communities and the individuals who lobbied in their defence (Lynk, 2016, p. 302; Timsit, 2019). Although same-sex marriage is no longer prohibited in Canada, religious groups and conservative associations continue to oppose gay rights on federal levels; serving as an example of when personal interests clash because what is favorable for one group may not be for another (Reidel, 2009, p. 262-263). Similarly, an online study conducted on sexual minorities and violence in Quebec universities found that students identifying as part of the 2SLGBTQQIA community had an increased chance of getting raped, bullied, and harassed (Martin-Storey et al., 2018, p. 702-704). The Public Service Alliance of Canada found that 70% of transgender people in Canada had uncomfortable encounters in public restrooms, and in Ontario, 57% of transgender individuals avoided public bathrooms altogether out of fear of harassment (2018, p. 2). Consequently, it was concluded that the youth felt most comfortable when provided with access to gender-neutral restrooms; a pressing new category for government funding (Porta et al., 2017, p. 107-112). Indigenous Communities & Animal Rights Movements Animal welfare has been lobbied on environmental and food production tiers. The process by which animal products are supplied to grocery stores and restaurants has undergone ongoing scrutiny to improve the living and transport conditions prior to slaughter. The animal farming industry has witnessed a drastic hike in investments towards the wellbeing of their livestock; pork and poultry

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products in particular. A multitude of lobbyists, and the respective organizations they represent, have gone as far as producing petitions to boycott the meat and dairy industries altogether. Millennials (and consumers overall) have become increasingly sensitive to cruelty against animals, and consume accordingly (Hobbs et al., 2011, p. 284-286). By October of 2019, it was found that 2.3 million Canadians led a vegetarian lifestyle, 850 000 were vegan, and the province with the highest population of both vegetarians and vegans was British Columbia (Bedford, 2019). Moreover, the 2014 #Sealfie outburst went viral on social media platform Twitter, and called for the protection of the tradition of seal hunting in territories primarily occupied by the Inuit. Similarly to the debate amongst religious officials and the 2SLGBTQQIA communities mentioned prior, this is an illustration of internal tension between special interests: Indigenous traditional way of life and animal rights. There is a direct correlation between the benefits of lobbying in a pluralistic democracy and opportunity for open debate while discovering common ground to resolve overlapping disputes (Dobson et al., 2018, p. 424). Indigenous Communities & Governmental Tensions Indigenous communities remain among the most marginalized people in Canada. Without the endorsement and awareness raising by special interest groups, First Nations’ issues such as poor housing conditions, systemic poverty, intergenerational trauma, missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls, drug and substance abuse, land claims, and wage gaps would have continued to go unnoticed and sufficient funding to rectify the injustices unprovided (Lamb et al., 2018, p. 227; Lynk, 2016, p. 303). Conflicts over the use of Indigenous land in Canada remain ongoing: the Trans Mountain gas pipeline project has been at the centre of Indigenous protests and the federal government (Stand.earth, 2019, 31). In 2015, ten Indigenous Members of Parliament were elected, which remains a noteworthy advancement for their respective communities: the increased presence of Indigenous members promotes acceptance and provides insight on Indigenous issues. Although government intervention and awareness are key to getting government funding, when analysed in retrospect, a long road of activism remains ahead for these communities. Evidently, it is essential to elect officials who remain open to negotiations for reform (Morden, 2018, p. 127).

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To conclude, interest groups continue to thrive in Canadian democracy for the purpose of bettering society, and actively participate in the prosperity of our just institutions. As demonstrated in this paper, the choice to lobby, raise awareness, or both depends heavily on the financial standing and desired outcome of each interest group. The national success of Canada depends heavily on lawmakers’ ability to adapt and meet the needs of individual provincial goals, as the needs of citizens shift over the years and must be altered accordingly. Although the poor have less monetary capability, it would be a mistake to project the misconception that those with most impactful voices, are the wealthiest. There is something to be highlighted about the momentum an interest group may gain if strategically broadcasted, or given the alternative to opt for representatives to lobby and network on their behalf. Keeping in mind that the vast majority of small minority interest groups report oppression and human rights violations, it is they who gain the most drive because citizens of all walks of life increasingly identify with their cause. In the end, they are most effective in executing legislative reform.

Works Cited: Bedford, E. (2019), “Vegetarianism and veganism in Canada - Statistics and Facts”, Statista. https://www.statista.com/topics/3262/vegan-vegetarian-diets-in-canada/ Bertrand, M., Bombardini, M., Trebbi, F. (2014), “It is whom you know or what you know? An empirical assessment of the lobbying process”, American Economic Review, 3885-3920. Dellmuth, L. M., Tallberg, J. (2017), “Advocacy Strategies in Global Governance: Inside versus Outside Lobbying”, Political Studies Association, 65 (3), 705-723. Dobson, K., Knezevic, I., Pasho, J. (2018), “Seal Hunts in Canada and on Twitter: Exploring the tensions between Indigenous Rights and Animal Rights with #Sealfie”, Canadian Journal of Participation, 43 (3), 421-439. Epstein, G., Mealem, Y., Nitzan, S. (2013), “The Efficiency and Efforts of Interest Groups in Post Elections Policy Formations”,Economics of Governance, 14 (1), 77-105. Hobbs, J. E., Uzea, A. D., Zhang, J. (2011), “Activists and Animal Welfare: Quality Verifications in the Canadian Pork Sector”, Journal of Agricultural Economics, 62 (2), 281-304. Lamb, D., Turk, M., Yap, M., (2018), “Aboriginal/Non-Aboriginal Wage Gaps in Canada: Evidence from the 2011 National Household Survey”, Université Laval: Département des relations industrielles,73 (2), 225-251. Lynk, N. (2016), “Taking Liberties: A History of Human Rights in Canada”, Letters in Canada, 85 (3), 300-303. Martin-Storey, A., Paquette, G., Bergeron, M., Dion, J., Daigneault, I., Hebert, M., Ricci, S. (2018), “Original article: Sexual Violence on Campus: Differences Across Gender and Sexual Minority Status”, Journal of Adolescent Health, 62 (6), p. 701-707. (Last consulted: February 26th, 2020) Morden, M. D. (2018), “Parliament and the Representation of Indigenous Issues: The Canadian Case”, Western University: Department of Political Science, 71, 124-143.

Lynk, N. (2016), “Taking Liberties: A History of Human Rights in Canada”, Letters in Canada, 85 (3), 300-303. Martin-Storey, A., Paquette, G., Bergeron, M., Dion, J., Daigneault, I., Hebert, M., Ricci, S. (2018), 60 “Original article: Sexual Violence on Campus: Differences Across Gender and Sexual Minority Status”, Journal of Adolescent Health, 62 (6), p. 701-707. (Last consulted: February 26th, 2020)

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Morden, M. D. (2018), “Parliament and the Representation of Indigenous Issues: The Canadian Case”, Western University: Department of Political Science, 71, 124-143. Porta, C. M., Gower, A. L., Mehus, C. J., Yu, X., Saewyc, E. M., Eisenberg, M. E. (2017), “Kicked out, LGBTQ youths’ bathroom experiences and preferences”, Journal of Adolescence, 56, 107-112. (Last consulted: February 26th, 2020) Public Service Alliance of Canada. (2018), GENDER-INCLUSIVE WASHROOMS IN YOUR WORKPLACE: A guide for employees and managers”, PSAC, 1-4. (Last consulted: February 26th, 2020) Reidel, L. (2009), “Religious Opposition to Same-Sex Marriage in Canada: Limits to Multiculturalism”, Human Rights Review, 10 (2), 261-281. Rival, M., Major, R. (2018), “What Lobbying Ethics and What For? The Case of French Lobbying Consulting Firms”, Journal of Business Ethics, 150 (1), 99-116. Stand.earth. (2019), “Trans Mountain Pipeline: The truth about construction”, British Columbia, 4-53. https://www.stand.earth/sites/stand/files/Standearth-TransMountainPipelineConstructionReportSeptember2019-Final.pdf Stos, W. (2018), “CSPG Seminar: Regulating Lobbying in Canada”, Revue Parlementaire Canadienne, 41 (1), 23-27. Teach Magazine. (2017), “Suffrage: Canadian Women and The Vote”, LE PROF –CURRICULA13-18. Timsit, A. (2019), “Canada begins reconciliation process after inquiry into missing or murdered indigenous women ends”, Quartz: Missing in Action. https://qz.com/1637321/canadas-inquiryinto-missing-or-murdered-indigenous-women-ends/

Additional Works Consulted: Farney, J. (2017), “Stability amid change: Ontario’s Religious Schools and Canada’s regime of secularism”, American Review of Canadian Studies, 47 (1), 74-88. Hoffman, V. (2012), “Lobbying for the Rights of Refugees: An Analysis of the Lobbying strategies of Pro-Migrant groups on the qualification directive and its recast”, Journal of Contemporary European Research, 8 (1), 21-40. Jia, N. (2018), ‘The make and/or buy decisions of corporate political lobbying: integrating the economic efficiency and legitimacy perspectives”, Academy of Management Review, 43 (2), 307-326. Luxton, M. (2015), “Feminist Scholarship and Family Sociology: New ways of thinking, outstanding questions”, Canadian Review of Sociology, 52 (2), 212-221. Strong-Boag, V. (2014), From There to Here: The Making of a Feminist Historian, Canadian Historical Review, 95 (2), 242-265. MacDonald, S. (2005), “A Failure to communicate”, Quill & Quire, 71 (5), 25. Weil, S. (2017), “The strange case of pluralist lobbying in a corporatist setting: Defending Western business interests in China”, Business and Politics, 20 (1), 70-97. Weiler, D. (2005), “Small steps for school libraries”, Quill & Quire, 71 (5), 25.

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Introduction Indigenous Peoples in Canada, particularly those living on-reserve, are disproportionately burdened with inequitable access to healthcare services when compared to their non-Indigenous counterparts (Lavoie et al. 2010). The result of this inequity is a substantial gap in health status between Indigenous Peoples and non-Indigenous Canadians. Although there are many social, economic, cultural and political factors at play when it comes to the health disparities that exist between Indigenous and non-Indigenous communities, the focus of this paper will be on the ambiguity in defining government-level responsibility for healthcare services. This ambiguity is the result of a long-standing federalprovincial jurisdictional debate, in which the level of government responsible for the delivery of healthcare services to Indigenous Peoples is highly contested. This issue of jurisdiction comes largely as a result of the British North America Act (BNA Act), in addition to the Indian Acts of 1876 and 1985. Through an analysis of the Romanow Report on Canadian Healthcare (2002), Jordan’s Principle (2007) and the Federal Auditor-General Report (2015), I will demonstrate that the jurisdictional debate between federal and provincial governments, as a result of the BNA Act of 1867 and the Indian Acts of 1876 and 1985, has had a negative impact on the health status of Indigenous Peoples living on-reserve in Canada today. More specifically, the issue of jurisdictional ambiguity has created bureaucratic delays that have impacted Indigenous Peoples’ ability to access services that are easily accessible for non-Indigenous Canadians. Consequently, this has created gaps in healthcare between Indigenous and non-Indigenous individuals, as well as with non-status or First Nations people living off-reserve. First and foremost, I will begin by briefly outlining the historical background of the federal-provincial jurisdiction debate. Secondly, I will analyze the 2002 Romanow report on Canadian Healthcare, in addition to presenting its findings and recommendations. Thirdly, I will delve into a case study that accurately demonstrates the consequences of the aforementioned debate, specifically that of Jordan River Anderson of Norway House Cree Nation, which led to the adoption of Jordan’s Principle by the House of Commons in 2007. The fourth section of this paper will focus on the 2015 Auditor-General Report and its findings. Finally, I will evaluate the concept of self-governance as a possible alternative to the current system.

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Historical Background The BNA Act of 1867, also known as the Constitution Act, created the Federal Dominion of Canada and defined much of the operations of the Government of Canada (Lavoie and Forget 2011). The BNA Act stipulates that “Indians and the lands reserved for Indians” (Section 91[24]) fall under the federal jurisdiction, while healthcare falls under provincial jurisdiction, thus beginning a jurisdictional debate over Indigenous health that persists up to the current day (Kent 2015). Adding to this debate is the Indian Act of 1876, which had and continues to have two major influences on the delivery of healthcare services to Indigenous Peoples (Indigenous Foundations). Firstly, the Indian Act dictates who is and who is not considered to be “Indian” by assigning status. “Indian Status” refers to the specific legal identity of Indigenous persons in Canada (Indigenous Foundations). The Indian Act of 1876 defines “Indian” as any male person of Indian blood reputed to belong to a particular band, any child of such person and any woman who is or was lawfully married to such person (Indigenous Foundations). For those who are considered to be “status Indians,” the Indian Act of 1876 stipulates that they are the responsibility of the federal government; this stipulation only adds to the confusion regarding jurisdiction (Kelly 2011). Moreover, the Indian Act of 1876 also established the laws and jurisdiction regarding the reserve system. The latter is another mechanism used to define federal jurisdictional boundaries, due to the fact that the federal government restricts its responsibility to healthcare delivery to “onreserve” (Kelly 2011). According to Kent (2015), the Indian Act of 1876 provides no specific clarity for First Nations’ health governance, stating that “although it was enacted to regulate and monitor the system of band council governments, it does not define jurisdictional responsibility for the provision of health services for First Nations - on-reserve or otherwise” (Kent 2015, 136). Together, the BNA Act of 1867 and the Indian Act of 1876 complicate Indigenous Peoples’ healthcare and make the Canadian healthcare system a difficult system to navigate. As a result of this complex policy framework, Indigenous Peoples receive health services through a combination of federal, provincial and First Nations-run programs and services. In practice, the provinces are responsible for providing all aspects of health services to their residents, including Indigenous Peoples living on and off-reserve via provincial networks of clinics, hospitals and other treatment facilities (Kent 2015). The federal government, however, through the First Nations and Inuit Health (FNIH) Branch, is responsible for delivering

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primary health, public health, and health promotion services to First Nations reserve communities (Kent 2015). That said, according to Kent (2015), the federal government restricts its responsibility for healthcare providers to “onreserve,” therefore leaving provincial governments to cover healthcare services for First Nations people living off-reserve. These complicated jurisdictional divisions “indirectly affect inequalities in health status by creating barriers to access to healthcare for first nations people” (Kent 2015, 136). Adding further to the complexity of the Canadian healthcare system is the Indian Act of 1985. Until 1985, a status First Nations woman who married a non-status man lost her Indian status and all the entitlements that came with it. Likewise, the same provisions were applicable to the children born into such a marriage. As a result, many women and children lost their right to live on-reserve with their relatives and, as far as healthcare goes, were now under provincial jurisdiction. When this discriminatory provision was removed from the Indian Act with the adoption of Bill C-31 in 1985, there was a dramatic increase in the number of individuals entitled to access services offered on-reserve in First Nations communities. Although there was a dramatic increase, it was not accompanied by adjustments in community health and other services (Lavoie and Forget 2011). Essentially, Bill C-31 increased the number of Indigenous Peoples with status, as well as the number of Indigenous Peoples living on-reserve, with no real adjustments made in terms of healthcare services, making access to healthcare for on-reserve Indigenous Peoples even less accessible. Furthermore, according to Lavoie and Forget (2011), the Indian Act of 1985 gives the federal government the authority to make regulations related to medical treatments and public health, but it “does not outline an obligation to provide services, and does not provide sufficient authority for a comprehensive public health and health service regulatory framework on First Nations reserves” (Lavoie and Forget 2011). The Romanow Report In 2002 the Royal Commission on the Future of Health Care in Canada, led by Roy Romanow, produced an in-depth study on the future of healthcare in Canada. The paper, known as the Romanow Report, contained a section devoted to the plight of Indigenous Peoples’ in the face of their lack of access to healthcare services. This section will center on the contents of Section 10 of the report entitled “A New Approach to Aboriginal Health” which, as the title

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implies, focuses on the changes needed to improve the health status among Indigenous Peoples (Romanow 2002). The sentiment and general theme articulated in Section 10 is that “there are deep and continuing disparities between Indigenous Peoples and non-Indigenous Canadians, both in their overall health and in their ability to access healthcare services” (Romanow 2002, 211). According to the report, federal funding supports three types of health programs and initiatives. First, public health or community health programs. Second, national initiatives that are directed at health and health-related issues (such as the Aboriginal Diabetes Initiative and the National Native Alcohol and Drug Abuse Program). Third, individual funding provides support for prescription drugs, dental, and vision care and transporting patients to and from specific healthcare services (Romanow 2002). As of 2001, the total amount of funding by the federal government for health under direct First Nations and Inuit control came to $588.6 million, with approximately 31% of that covered by transfer agreements. While the Romanow report maintains that the Canadian government is responsible for funding and organizing services for some groups of Indigenous Peoples living on-reserve, the report also stipulates that there is no constitutional obligation or treaty that requires the federal government to offer health programs or services to Indigenous peoples (2002). As a result of this constitutional-related omission, Romanow asserts that the federal government limits its responsibilities to be the “payer of last resort” (Romanow 2002, 212). Not surprisingly, Indigenous Peoples tend to disagree with the federal government’s views on this issue. Romanows’ research found that Indigenous People often believe that federal health programs are more broadly linked to statutory or treaty obligations, and therefore, that these obligations are part and parcel of the trustee role adopted by the federal government (Romanow 2002). Adding to this confusion, Romanow found that a large proportion of healthcare funding goes to individuals through the Non-Insured Health Benefits Program (NIHB) (Romanow 2002). This program functions more like an insurance plan, rather than an integrated healthcare system for First Nations; prone to misuse as it encourages both patients and providers to “over-consume” care (Romanow 2002, 2016). Furthermore, according to the report, there exist no mechanisms in place to encourage more effective care or to change the behaviour of patients or providers, such as prevention programs and/or health education. Moreover, in addition to federal programs, Indigenous Peoples rely most often on medical care that is available in their home province and even benefit from these

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services in the same way as other residents (Romanow 2002). However, the federal government does not compensate provinces for providing healthcare to Indigenous Peoples (except under some specific local agreements). Recent estimates of the costs of these services suggest that they could be as high as 80% of the average healthcare costs of the population of a province (Romanow 2002). The report states that data from the province of Saskatchewan demonstrates that combined federal and provincial “per capita health expenditures” for First Nations communities in that province are close to double the provincial average (Romanow 2002, 217). This brings us to the crux of the matter, namely; inter-governmental quarreling and debating on the issue of who is responsible for healthcare services for Indigenous Peoples in Canada. The report dwells on the fact that differing interpretations of jurisdictional law (with regards to constitutional responsibilities), amongst different levels of government, is the major issue confronting Indigenous healthcare. The report puts special emphasis on the importance of this critical impasse. This persistent debate has become the main barrier to accessing healthcare services for Indigenous peoples. In fact, the report suggests that the conflicting views are borne from a confusing mishmash of federal, provincial, and territorial programs and services. According to Romanow, this long-standing (and seemingly never-ending) debate between federal and provincial lawmakers is the primary reason for impeding Indigenous Peoples’ access to healthcare; and is the main contributor to creating a disparity between Indigenous Peoples and non-Indigenous individuals across the country (Romanow 2002). Findings and Recommendations The Romanow report found that the current funding situation is confusing and unsatisfactory; stating that not all Indigenous Peoples have equal access to programs and services offered by the federal government, and that benefits vary depending on whether someone lives on or off-reserve. Moreover, funding for Indigenous health services is distributed among federal, provincial, and territorial governments (as well as Indigenous organizations), making it difficult to coordinate and get the maximum benefit for the amount of funding available. Studies on the issue suggest that the problem is not the amount of funding available for healthcare services, but rather the fragmented nature of the

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funding, which leads to poorly coordinated programs and services (Romanow 2002). The report offered a two-pronged approach to solving the issue. The first approach suggests that the current funding for Indigenous health services provided by the federal, provincial, territorial governments, as well as various Indigenous-led organizations, should be pooled into a single consolidated budget within the jurisdiction of each province and territory (Romanow 2002). The goal of this approach is to consolidate and integrate Indigenous healthcare services, which will, in turn, improve access to healthcare and provide adequate, stable and predictable funding (Romanow 2002). The second recommended approach is to allocate a portion of the consolidated budget to target the funding of new Aboriginal Health Partnerships that would be responsible for developing policies, providing services and improving the health of Indigenous Peoples (Romanow 2002). These partnerships, according to the report, should reflect the needs, characteristics, and circumstances of the communities it serves. In sum, the Romanow report found that mismanagement of healthcare funding and a poorly designed system of care has left Indigenous Peoples to face significant health inequities, and essentially recommended that all levels of government come together to begin restructuring Indigenous healthcare. Case Study - Jordan River Anderson The case of Jordan River Anderson of Norway House Cree Nation demonstrates the ways in which the federal-provincial jurisdictional debate negatively impacts Indigenous Peoples (and in this case Indigenous children in particular). Jordan River Anderson was born in 1999 with a complex genetic disorder and severe developmental delay (Lavalle 2005). Jordan had a tracheotomy, was ventilator-dependent and was fed through a gastrostomy tube. He was non-verbal and required a wheelchair for mobility. His formal diagnosis was Carey Fineman-Ziter syndrome (Lavalle 2005). Jordan spent his entire life in an institutional hospital setting until he passed away at the age of four years old. The tragedy, in this case, is that he did not actually have to stay in the hospital for medical reasons. Jordan remained there for two years because government departments could not decide on whether the provincial government or the federal government was responsible for paying for his at-home care (Lavalle 2005).

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Unfortunately, Jordan’s case isn’t an isolated one. Many other Indigenous children with special needs continue to be the victims of constant federal and provincial jurisdictional and funding disputes. Children with similar needs as Jordan, who are deemed to be a provincial responsibility, do not face the jurisdictional disputes that Indigenous children living on-reserve do. Children off-reserve benefit from “much quicker accessibility to supports and services that promote healthier developmental well-being (Lavalle 2005, 527). According to Lavallee, the average Canadian gets services from federal, provincial and municipal governments at an amount that is more than two times greater than that received by Indigenous individuals (Lavalle 2005). The case of Jordan River Anderson clearly illustrates the deeply harmful impact of the federal-provincial jurisdiction debate on Indigenous Peoples across Canada. It is interesting to note that Lavallee’s article was written in 2005 and that it referred to a decade-long dispute between the province of Manitoba and the federal departments of Indian Affairs and Health Canada. This 10-year long dispute centered around who had (or did not have) the authority to meet the costs of Indigenous children living on-reserve and in the care of child welfare services, to which the Department of Indian Affairs claimed that they were not authorized to do. The Department of Indian Affairs also stated that they did not “have the authority to cover any medically-related costs, because non-insured health benefits and costs for status Indians fall under the First Nations and Inuit Health Branch (FNIHB) of Health Canada” (Lavalle 2005, 527). Likewise, the FNIHB indicated that because the child was under the care of a First Nations child and family services agency, the Department of Indian Affairs had the responsibility to pay because it was already receiving federal health transfer dollars for both insured and non-insured health benefits. Finally, when it came to the federal departments, they stated that the provincial Department of Family Services should be the one to pay, because it has constitutional authority under section 91 of the BNA Act of 1867, for the delivery of child and family services (Lavalle 2005).

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Jordan’s Principle In response to Jordan River Anderson’s case, and with the support of Jordan’s family and community, a child-first principle to resolving jurisdictional disputes called Jordan’s Principle was created (Blackstock 2008). Jordan’s Principle, according to the Canadian Public Health Association, is “an approach to resolving disputes related to the provisions of public services to all First Nations children living on- or off- reserve” (Jordan’s Principle and Public Health 2017). The principle requires the provincial and federal governments to meet the needs of the child first and to figure out the jurisdictional dispute later. In December 2007, Parliament unanimously supported Private Member’s Motion-296 in support of Jordan’s Principle, which states that “in the opinion of the House, the government should immediately adopt a child-first principle, based on Jordan’s Principle, to resolve jurisdictional disputes involving the care of First Nations children” (Blackstock 2012, 368). This motion should have ended situations in which Indigenous children are caught in the middle of government disputes. Unfortunately, Jordan’s Principle has never been fully or properly implemented (Blackstock 2008). In 2016, the First Nations Child and Family Caring Society filed a complaint with the Canadian Human Rights Tribunal (CHRC), which issues a “landmark” ruling in January 2016, ordering the Canadian government to fully respect Jordan’s Principle and end racial discrimination and delays in funding (Blackstock 2016). After four compliance orders, the government said it will fully respect the ruling, and in 2018, it had already budgeted $1 billion in additional funding over the following 5 years (FNCFCS 2019). Unfortunately, according to a submission by the First Nations Child and Family Caring Society of Canada to the CHRC on February 4th, 2019, “Canada has repeatedly been found in non-compliance with the Tribunal’s orders”(FNCFCS 2019). The submission states that the Caring Society continues to receive a significant number of complaints regarding the failure of the federal government to implement Jordan’s Principle. Furthermore, the Caring Society asserts that Canada has yet to share the amount and terms and conditions for funding for Jordan’s Principle (FNCFCS 2019). The Caring Society’s submission to the CHRC suggests that Indigenous children in circumstances similar to that of Jordan River Anderson are still falling victim to jurisdictional debates between the federal government and provincial governments, twelve years after Motion-296 passed in Parliament, due to the failure of the federal government to properly implement Jordan’s Principle (FNCFCS 2019). The failure to implement

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Jordan’s Principle continues to impact Indigenous children’s access to healthcare, creating health disparities and contributing to the poor health status of Indigenous children when compared to non-Indigenous children in Canada.

2015 Auditor-General Report When considering access to healthcare for Indigenous Peoples, it’s important to consider those living in remote communities, as well as how their access to healthcare holds up in comparison to the rest of the non-Indigenous Canadian population. In 2015, an audit sanctioned by the Minister of Health was performed by Micheal Ferguson, the then Auditor General of Canada, with the specific mission of reviewing the procedures and practices currently in place to provide access to healthcare services to Indigenous Peoples living in remote communities in Manitoba and Ontario. The results of this audit report were an eye-opener, but not for the right reasons. One of Health Canada’s primary objectives is to provide Indigenous Peoples, specifically those living in remote communities, with comparable access to healthcare services as other provincial residents living in similarly isolated locations. The audit report states that Indigenous individuals living in these communities face unique challenges in obtaining essential health services and rely on federal support to access them (Ferguson 2015). In the report, Ferguson lays out several ways in which Health Canada is failing to provide proper healthcare to 54 Indigenous communities. Ferguson found that only 1 in 45 nurses had completed all of the training courses required to work in challenging and isolated communities (Ferguson 2015). Due to the isolation of these communities, nurses are often required to handle emergency situations that nursing school would not have prepared them for (Ferguson 2015). In fact, Health Canada even requires nurses to take five additional courses in specialized skills, such as advanced cardiac and pediatric life support. However, the auditor found that only 12% of the nurses surveyed had completed the International Trauma Life Support training, and only 31% had completed the department’s training program covering the use of controlled substances in Indigenous communities (Ferguson 2015). Moreover, the report found that Health Canada had identified numerous deficiencies in nursing stations related to health and safety requirements or building codes (Ferguson 2015). Out of 30 deficiencies identified, the Department could not provide any evidence that the deficiencies had been addressed (Ferguson 2015). In one case,

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one of the residences at a nursing station visited by Ferguson had been unusable for over two years because the septic system had not been repaired (Ferguson 2015). In consequence, nurses and other health specialists had canceled their visits to that particular community, leaving those living in the community to fend for themselves (Ferguson 2015). Adding to this predicament is the bureaucratic squabbling over jurisdictional issues between federal and provincial governments. Health Canada, under the 2005 Medical Transportation Policy Framework, covers the costs of transporting Indigenous individuals to the nearest appropriate health professional or health facility to meet their medical needs (Ferguson 2015). According to the report, $175 million was available to Indigenous Peoples, as long as they were registered with Aboriginal Affairs, but unresolved jurisdictional challenges continued to hamper the process, including uncertainty over who should pay for the services in Manitoba (Winter 2015). Findings of Report The report established that Health Canada did not carry out its objective of ensuring that Indigenous Peoples living in remote communities had comparable access to healthcare services as other provincial residents living in similarly isolated locations (Ferguson 2015). The report pointed to one glaring omission: Namely, the lack of cooperation between federal and provincial governments (Ferguson 2015). For instance, when it comes to providing healthcare services to remote non-Indigenous communities, the responsibility falls on the provincial governments in Manitoba and Ontario (Ferguson 2015). The audit report affirmed that the information gathered from the Manitoba and Ontario provinces could have been used by Health Canada to determine whether or not they were providing comparable access to services for Indigenous Peoples in similar geographic locations, but they failed to do so (Ferguson 2015). This failure to measure whether Health Canada provides comparable access reflects a lack of collaboration between the federal government, provincial governments and Indigenous communities (Ferguson 2015). Finally, the report concluded that committees comprising representatives of Health Canada in Manitoba and Ontario “had not proven effective in developing workable solutions” to interjurisdictional challenges that negatively affect Indigenous Peoples’ access to health services (Ferguson 2015). The report acknowledges that the failure “to clearly delineate the roles and responsibilities of stakeholders” has resulted in service gaps, and access problems continue to exist for both federally and

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provincially funded health services (Ferguson 2015). It is clear from the report that the fact that health services for these communities are the responsibility of the federal government instead of the provincial governments is causing disparities in access to services, as well as the quality of services. Indigenous Self- Governance as a Solution The Romanow Report (2002), Jordan’s Principle (2007) and the AuditorGeneral Report (2015) all demonstrate the ways in which the federal-provincial jurisdictional debate negatively impacts Indigenous peoples access to healthcare, as well as the quality of healthcare provided, especially when compared to that of non-Indigenous Canadians. The literature on jurisdictional ambiguity and its impact on access to care points to Indigenous self-governance as a solution (Lavoie et al. 2010; Kent 2015; Lavoie 2013) and establishes ways in which this could be best implemented (Kent 2015). According to Kent, the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (1996) proposed a comprehensive “action plan for moving forward”, which advocates for self-government as a means of empowering Indigenous communities to plan and manage their own health systems (Kent 2015, 140). Kent also states that Indigenous Peoples’ right to selfdetermination stems from “unceded sovereignty” and is entrenched by both the Canadian Constitution (Section 35[1]) and the United Nations Declaration of Indigenous Rights (Kent 2015, 140). Unfortunately, recognition of these rights is “limited in scope and undermined by paternalistic power dynamics”(Kent 2015, 140). The proposed solution is a complete restructuring of the health system and government structure that would accommodate and promote self-governance (Kent 2015). According to Kent, Indigenous communities need to reclaim control over both local government and healthcare, which would give them authority over policy-making, program planning, service delivery and monitoring of health outcomes (Kent 2015). By managing and delivering health services in their communities, Indigenous governments are empowered to increase community awareness of health issues, deliver healthcare that is culturally informed, create or improve employment opportunities for community members and in general, improve the community’s health status (Kent 2015). A study conducted by Lavoie et al. (2010), came to similar conclusions. The study found that investment in on-reserve health services and initiatives to promote community control improves health outcomes (Lavoie et al. 2010). More specifically, the study indicated that communities with better local access to primary healthcare

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showed lower rates of “Ambulatory Care Sensitive Conditions” or ACSC (conditions for which hospital admission could be prevented by interventions in primary care). The study also found that the longer community health services had been under Indigenous Peoples’ control, the lower the ACSC rate was (Lavoie et al. 2010). The same study also uncovered a relationship between increased Indigenous control of health services and reduced suicide rates (Lavoie et al. 2010). Lavoie refers to these findings as “groundbreaking” and suggests that this result is a clear message for the federal government that “when First Nations communities have more direct control over health services, health outcomes will improve” (Webster, 2009). While it has been established that self-governance is viewed generally as a positive and effective solution to the issue of access to healthcare, there is still a debate over what it should look like in practice. Several frameworks of selfgovernance have been proposed and are being used within provinces, regions, and communities. A few models in particular, according to Kent, have shown “potential for broader implementation” (Kent 2015, 142). One example is the Health Transfer Policy, which facilitates the decentralization of some healthcare administration to Indigenous governments. Another is the Tripartite Framework Agreement, which essentially transfers the administration of Indigenous healthcare services to a new provincial health governance structure specific to these communities. Lastly, the third system of government could be one in which Indigenous Peoples would be viewed as distinct political entities “entering unique government-to-government relationships with mutual respect for sovereignty” (Kent 2015, 146). Although all three frameworks are a step forward, the latter is viewed as being the most ideal and was proposed by the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples as “an imperative action for First Nations to reclaim control of their lands and livelihoods”(Kent 2015, 146). This third system of government, according to Kent, would empower Indigenous governments to manage their own resources, tax their citizens, make their own laws, use traditional systems of government and justice, in addition to providing health and social services that meet the needs of their communities without interference from federal or provincial bodies. The autonomy promised under this framework, unlike that of the Health Transfer Policy or the Tripartite Framework Agreement, offers Indigenous governments genuine autonomy to be self-determining and would empower these communities to “rediscover and reinstate traditional concepts of health, healing knowledge and health systems” (Kent 2015, 146) that

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continue to exist despite colonization. With that being said, there are limitations to this framework, in that it assumes that communities have the financial, human and infrastructure capacity to support increased jurisdictional powers. Without properly addressing this issue, implementing a system of Indigenous selfgovernance would be a “futile endeavor”(Kent 2015, 147).

Conclusion In conclusion, it is evident that the federal-provincial jurisdictional debate has had a deeply negative impact on the ability of Indigenous Peoples living on-reserve to access healthcare services that are made easily available to non-Indigenous Canadians. The ambiguity resulting from the jurisdictional debate comes largely from the BNA Act of 1867 and the Indian Acts of 1876 and 1985, which fail to clearly establish jurisdictional responsibility. The impact of this lack of clarity is demonstrated in the Romanow Report of 2002, which established that there are indeed deep and continuing disparities between Indigenous Peoples and non-Indigenous Canadians, both in their overall health and in their ability to access healthcare services. These disparities come directly as a result of jurisdictional ambiguity and the resulting fragmented nature of funding for Indigenous health services. The report recommends that Indigenous health services provided by the federal, provincial, territorial governments, and Indigenous organizations be pooled into a single integrated budget within the jurisdiction of each province and territory. Moreover, the case of Jordan River Anderson demonstrates the real-world impact of the aforementioned ambiguity. The case of Jordan River Anderson led to the adoption of Jordan’s Principle in 2007, which essentially requires the provincial and federal governments to meet the needs of children first and to resolve the jurisdictional dispute later. Unfortunately, Jordan’s Principle was not properly implemented and, as a result of the issue of jurisdiction, continues to impact Indigenous children’s access to healthcare today, creating health disparities and contributing to the poor health status of Indigenous children when compared to non-Indigenous children in Canada. Furthermore, the Auditor-General Report conducted in 2015 found that Health Canada, the federal department responsible for funding the delivery of health services in remote Indigenous communities, failed in its objective of ensuring that Indigenous Peoples living in remote communities had comparable access to healthcare services as other provincial residents living in similarly

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isolated locations. In fact, the report found that Health Canada had not proven effective in developing workable solutions to inter-jurisdictional challenges that negatively affect Indigenous Peoples’ access to health services. Consequently, Indigenous self-governance has been proposed as a solution to the problems created by jurisdictional ambiguity and, more particularly, the implementation of a third order of government, in which Indigenous Peoples would be viewed as distinct political entities. Indigenous peoples living on-reserve in Canada have long been burdened with inequitable access to healthcare services when compared to their nonIndigenous counterparts. As a result, significant health disparities exist between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Canadians. While there exists a plethora of social, cultural, and economic reasons for such disparities, this essay focuses on the ambiguity in defining government-level responsibility for healthcare services. This ambiguity comes largely from the BNA Act of 1867 and the Indian Acts of 1876 and 1985, which fail to clearly establish jurisdictional responsibility. This essay analyzes the 2002 Romanow Report, 2015 the Auditor-General Report, and the case of Jordan River Anderson of House Cree Nation in order to establish the negative impact of this persistent federal-provincial quarraling. Findings indicate that the ongoing federal-provincial jurisdiction debate has had a deeply negative impact on the ability of Indigenous Peoples living on-reserve to access healthcare services that are made easily available to non-Indigenous Canadian. Indigenous self-governance is examined and proposed as a solution to the problems created by jurisdictional ambiguity and, more particularly, the implementation of a third order of government, in which Indigenous Peoples would be viewed as distinct political entities The impact of this lack of clarity is demonstrated in the Romanow Report of 2002, which established that there are indeed deep and continuing disparities between Indigenous Peoples and non-Indigenous Canadians, both in their overall health and in their ability to access healthcare services. In addition, the Auditor-General Report conducted in 2015 established that Health Canada had not proven effective in developing workable solutions to inter-jurisdictional challenges that negatively affect Indigenous Peoples’ access to health services.

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Blackstock, Cindy. 2008. “Jordans Principle: Editorial Update.” Paediatrics & Child Health 13, no. 7: 589–90. https://doi.org/10.1093/pch/13.7.589. Blackstock, Cindy. “Jordan’s Principle: Canada’s Broken Promise to First Nations Children?” Pediatrics and Child Health, January 2012. https:// doi.org/10.1093/pch/17.7.368. Blackstock, Cindy. 2016. “Toward the Full and Proper Implementation of Jordans Principle: An Elusive Goal to Date.” Paediatrics & Child Health 21, no. 5: 245–46. https://doi.org/10.1093/pch/21.5.245. Ferguson, Michael. 2015. Report 4 - Access to Health Services for Remote First Nations Communities. https://www.oag-bvg.gc.ca/internet/English/ parl_oag_201504_04_e_40350.html “Indian Status.” indigenous foundations. Accessed March 9, 2020. https:// indigenousfoundations.arts.ubc.ca/indian_status/. “Jordan's Principle and Public Health.” 2017. Canadian Public Health Association | Association Canadienne de Santé Publique, https:// www.cpha.ca/jordans-principle-and-public-health. “Jordan’s Principle and Outstanding Issues.” 2019. First Nations Child and Family Caring Society (FNCFCS). https://fncaringsociety.com/ publications/caring-society-submissions-february-4-2019-jordansprinciple-and-outstanding-issues Kelly, Miranda D. 2011. “Toward a New Era of Policy: Health Care Service Delivery to First Nations.” International Indigenous Policy Journal 2, no. 1. https://doi.org/10.18584/iipj.2011.2.1.11. Kent, Alexandra. 2005. “Restructuring First Nations Health Governance: A Multilevel Solution to a Multifaceted Problem.” The Arbutus Review 5, no. 1 (2015): 131–54. https://doi.org/10.18357/ar.kentajm.512014. Lavallee, Trudy L. 2005. “Honouring Jordan: Putting First Nations Children First and Funding Fights Second.” Paediatrics & Child Health 10, no. 9: 527– 29. https://doi.org/10.1093/pch/10.9.527.

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Lavoie, Josee, and Evelyn Forget. 2011. “Legislating Identity: The Legacy of the Indian Act in Eroding Access to Care.” The Canadian Journal of Native Studies 31. Lavoie, Josée Gabrielle, Evelyn L. Forget, Tara Prakash, Matt Dahl, Patricia Martens, and John D. O’Neil. 2010. “Have Investments in on-Reserve Health Services and Initiatives Promoting Community Control Improved First Nations’ Health in Manitoba?” Social Science & Medicine 71, no. 4): 717–24. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.socscimed.2010.04.037. Lavoie, Josée. 2013. “Policy Silences: Why Canada Needs a National First Nations, Inuit and Métis Health Policy.” International Journal of Circumpolar Health 72, no. 1: 22690. https://doi.org/10.3402/ ijch.v72i0.22690. Palmer, Karen, Joshua Tepper, and Micheal Nolan. 2017. “Indigenous Health Services Often Hampered by Legislative Confusion.” Healthy Debate. https://healthydebate.ca/2017/09/topic/indigenous-health. Romanow, Roy J. 2002. Building on values: the future of health care in Canada, Building on values: the future of health care in Canada. Webster, Paul. 2009. “Local Control over Aboriginal Health Care Improves Outcome, Study Indicates.” Canadian Medical Association Journal 181, no. 11. https://doi.org/10.1503/cmaj.109-3072. Winter, Jesse. 2015. “Auditor General: Remote First Nations Communities Health Care Lacking.” Ottawa Citizen, https://ottawacitizen.com/news/ politics/auditor-general-remote-first-nations-communities-dont-getproper-health-care

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After justice, the regime is the most discussed topic in The Republic, as its founding, preservation, and decay becomes the focus of the latter half of the dialogue. Even at the end of the dialogue, it remains unclear just which regime stands as the best one. Considering the discussion given to the just regime and its superior position to all the others, it may be argued that Socrates favours this one; however, this preference may not be consistent with other sections found in The Republic, for it may be argued that Socrates favours democracy to the other regimes. To this end, this paper will argue that the democratic man approximates the just person, which is to say, in other words, that the democratic regime approximates the aristocratic one. This statement is significant because it questions the logic by which the regimes are ordered. Democracy is fourth down, close to being the worst regime, so to argue that it is actually somehow more favourable than aristocracy, timocracy, or oligarchy is to question the soundness of the order. First, I will discuss the premises on which the just regime is founded. I will also discuss the leader’s inherent deficiencies and the decay of the city. Second, I will discuss how timocracy and oligarchy lead to democracy. Third, I will discuss why Socrates thinks that democracy leads to tyranny. Fourth, I will examine and discuss why democracy is favourable to the other regimes since it may inhibit the development of tyranny. Socrates, Polemarchus, Glaucon, Adeimantus and Thrasymachus are the founders of the original city so described in The Republic, which carries with it the initial description of the just regime and the characteristics of the ruler who ought to govern it.

After a long dialogue covering the topics of justice,

education, virtue, the city, the ruler, and the nature of wisdom, which comprises books two to six, Socrates determines that they had developed the conditions necessary to create a good ruler. He claims, for example, in a clear allusion to the philosopher-king, that “our job as founders is to compel the best natures to go study [...] to see the good,” and that when they do see the good, that they return, except that they should not go among the prisoners and share their “labours and honors, whether they be slighter or more serious” (Bloom 1991, 198 [519d-519e]). The reasoning behind not letting rulers interact with prisoners is to ensure that the city remains harmonious and preserved, a concern which spearheads the later books (Bloom 1991, 198; 224 [520a-520b; 546a]).

The

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preservation of the city is correlated with the preservation of the ruler just described, a person to whom Socrates attributes good and bad methods of interacting with the city. Having focused on the former, he now begins to discuss the latter. Socrates recognizes that the rulers are human and that human nature has implications for the survival and transformation of the city. He draws a parallel between the city and animals on Earth, in that he observes that they both decay and dissolve, leading him to claim that “even a composition such as this [the city] will not remain for all time” (Bloom 1991, 224 [546a]). The dissolution of the city is due to the breakdown of the technical components that make it harmonious. The most harmonious regime is the aristocratic regime, which Socrates considers the most just in addition to being “good and right” (Bloom 1991, 126-127 [445d-449a]). However, as to the possibility of a regime truly existing, Socrates even appears distressed at some point in the dialogue in his belief that such a regime will never exist (Bloom 1991, 153-154 [473d-473e]). The regime’s rightness depends on the extent to which conflict is inhibited and a sense of community established, as Adeimantus suggests that holding things in common determines whether a regime will be “right or not right” (Bloom 1991, 128 [450a]). It was then established that the gold-souled female and male guardians will hold each other and their children in common the same way that they keep the same common goals and receive the same education (Bloom 1991, 94; 127; 135-136 [415a; 449c; 456d-457d]). The collective goal-sharing contributes to the harmonization of the city as different parts bind and work together, and also to the reduced likelihood of people acting out of their own selfinterest (Bloom 1991, 198 [519e-521a]). Considering this, the dissolution of the city begins when its citizens choose to exercise freewill and turn away from that which benefits the community. Of all the types of human self-interest, Socrates identifies sex and the inability to control reproduction as the principal causes behind the fall of the aristocratic regime. After Glaucon inquires about the nature and order of the five regimes, Socrates once again likens the city to a man and his soul, where there exist five forms, one good and four bad (Bloom 1991, 222 [543c-544e]). The

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single good one is of course the aristocratic regime, the aristocratic ruler, goldsouled, whose successful rule is premised on the wholeness of the city. Concerning how regimes change, Socrates contends that the development of faction in the ruling class as the first point at which the regime begins to descend, when that sense of wholeness is disturbed (Bloom 1991, 223 [545d-545e]). This disturbance is caused by the gold-souled guardian’s ignorant decision to mate, by chance, with silver, bronze, or iron souls, indulgences which result in the begetting of children of “mixed” soul types who have neither “good natures nor good luck” (Bloom 1991, 223-224 [546a-546d]). The “inharmonious irregularity” serves as the basis of faction as the children-become-rulers of bronze and iron souls pull the regime toward money and land-possession (Bloom 1991, 223 [547b]). Bloom, in his interpretative essay of The Republic, writes that the guardians’ mixing of souls via mating represents the failure of the “science of eugenics” and the failure of the regime initially described by Socrates (1991, 467-468). Things that were held in common are now held privately, after which point the guardians become more concerned with self-protection and [internal] war, (Bloom 1991, 199; 224-225 [521a; 547b-547c]). In this process, “mixed” natures lead to more “simpler and spirited” men, laying the groundwork for the types of rulers seen in the succeeding regimes. Glaucon concedes that factions in the ruling class are the “source” of transformation within the city (Bloom 1991, 225 [547c]). It follows that this pattern of transformation spearheads all subsequent changes to it. Considering this, it is easy to chart how the democratic regime is reached via timocracy and oligarchy. Socrates stresses that the timocratic regime imitates the one preceding it (Bloom 1991, 225-226 [548c-549a]). Assuming that a timocratic youth grows up in a city not governed by a good regime, like the initial one just described, and whose father is not honored, it follows that his upbringing cultivates an increased love of honor (Bloom 1991, 226-227 [549c-550b]). Already the city is divided into two, those who are honored and those who are not, representing a further disharmony. This disharmony is strengthened in an oligarchic regime, where the poor and rich are plainly divided except that, with the rulers being rich, laws are changed to suit their interests and wealth is established as a requisite for holding office (Bloom 1991, 228-229

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[551a-551d]). In addition to citizens of an oligarchy being the result, and want of, bad education, rearing, and regime, Socrates even postulates that oligarchies have the greatest evils because they allow a man to sell everything to another person, which takes away his status as a citizen of the city and turns him into a beggar (Bloom 1991, 230 [552a; 552e]). Whatever wholeness or sense of community that existed in the initial just regime is dissipated in an oligarchic one. Observing this, Adeimantus suggests that the deep grievances brought about by faction will become great enough to cause civil war, which Socrates concedes, and that democracy establishes itself when the poor win (Bloom 1991, 235 [556e-557b]). Initially, Socrates speaks highly of democracy, but the characteristics which he praises he also criticizes for being the regime’s pitfall. He calls it “probably the fairest of the regimes” and, thanks to free speech and the “license” to do whatever one pleases, democracies allow every “species” of regime to exist (Bloom 1991, 235 [557a-557d]). However, Socrates argues that the democratic youth, still retaining a stingy attitude from their oligarchic predecessors, will be unfettered once given access to any available pleasure, such that the imperative will be to indulge any desire at any time given democracy’s license to be free (Bloom 1991, 238-240 [559d-561e]). Democracy’s love of freedom and equality inherently sets it up to descend into tyranny. Since equality renders any sense of hierarchy obsolete, teachers contend with students, children talk back to their elders, and all actors imitate each other only in an attempt to charm the other (Bloom 1991, 241 [563a-563b]). Since public and private discourse centers around charming, it follows that democracies are susceptible to demagoguery, where “the rulers who are like the ruled and the ruled are like the rulers” (Bloom 1991, 241 [562e]). Given this, Socrates' suspicions of democracy are well-founded for two reasons. The first is that, unlike in the timocratic or oligarchic regimes, there is not a clear faction in the ruling class over who should be in power. Rather, democracy’s chosen ruler will be picked based on popularity and the voter’s selfidentification with the leader. It is harder, then, to notice when a regime changes. Where a transformation of a timocratic regime to an oligarchic one represents a shift in values from honor to money, a transformation in a democracy presents no

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such changes as the values are always representative of, and consistent with, the people who choose the leader. In other words, democratic people become the ruling class in such a regime as a result of democracy’s license to provide each person equal access to rule (Bloom 1991, 243 [564e]). For clarification, there are actually three classes in the democratic regime: a class composed of people who rule or seek office, those who love money (the oligarchs leftover from the previous regime) and those who “do their own work, don’t meddle in affairs, and don’t possess very much” (Bloom 1991, 242-243 [564b-565c]).The latter group will, most often, only participate in politics if it encourages the distribution of wealth, which the former group allows, but who sneakily take more as a result. The oligarchs, of course, take the most. The ruling class is composed of those who wish to lead and those who do not, which is troubling given that Socrates believes that a tyrant “sprouts” from leadership and nowhere else, meaning that anyone in the former group has the inherent disposition to become tyrannical (Bloom 1991, 244 [565d]). It is only after a leader has taken control over an “obedient” mob that a tyrant emerges (Bloom 1991, 244 [565e]). The transition is so subtle that it may not be noticed until it is too late. It is perhaps for this reason that Socrates says that “too much freedom seems to change into nothing but too much slavery” (Bloom 1991, 242 [564a]). The conditions necessary for a subtle regime change is perhaps the second reason why Socrates is suspicious of democracy, for it may appear like a just regime when it is not. Since people choose the leader, it follows that they believe that he ought to be just, but this perception is misdirected. A just leader, after all, ought not to engage with the labours and honours of the prisoners, but in a democracy the leader’s role is premised especially on such engagement. There is also the perception that democracy may liken a just regime in that it seems to hone a sense of community and a feeling of harmonic whole, given that its citizens seem to share and work toward the same goal(s), be it money or freedom. This is a misperception as well because each citizen cares after their own needs and not necessarily the city’s. Things are still held privately, albeit more intensely, increasing the odds that conflict develops. Democracy’s approximation of the just regime, then, is superficial and a false imitation that spurs the development of its exact opposite, tyranny. However, the descent Socrates describes may not be so certain as he claims.

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The democratic person’s life, from youth to old age, suggests that tyranny may be overcome. The youth of each regime represent how that specific regime will develop. In the democratic person, it is necessary that there should be an experience of tyranny before true democracy can develop. In Socrates’ description of the democratic youth’s upbringing, he claims that, without a good education, the young person will be susceptible to influence from different desires that inspire factions and counter factions within him, causing an outright rejection of the two (Bloom 1991, 238 [559b]). The rejection leaving him open to influence, the “exiled” desires, like insolence, anarchy, wastefulness, and shamelessness, return and invade the “acropolis of the young man’s soul,” leading to a further rejection of moderation (Bloom 1991, 23 [560e-561a]). The democratic person then grows up and liberates and unleashes himself to participate in “unnecessary and useless pleasures” (Bloom 1991, 239 [561b]). During this time, it is as if the democratic person’s emotions approximate the control of a tyrant since they inhibit any development of order in the person’s soul. Socrates suggests that such a person could spend an entire life living like this. However, he also claims that if the person does not go “beyond bounds” and is able to grow older, that maybe the “great disturbances” will pass over, allowing the exiled desires, like freedom, courage, magnificence, and good education will be “readmitted” (Bloom 1991, 239 [561b]). Moderation, having been banished before, is likely to return, as the older democratic person will indulge in all desires equally and satisfactorily (Bloom 1991, 239 [561b]). If the soul is like the city, then this story demonstrates that, while tyranny may take over, it is the wisdom and calm nature of old age, longevity and preservation, that allows the chance of a return to the democratic disposition to equally enjoy all pleasures. The Republic completes its thematic cycle here, as this point can be understood as a reference to the remarks Cephalus makes in book one. By becoming old and wise, a democracy that becomes tyrannical may become democratic again. This is the first time in the bad regimes that a chance of an ascent in the order is possible. Democracy, then, may not be so bad as Socrates demonstrated earlier. An equal enjoyment of all pleasures may lead to the development of the just man. Likening the soul to the city once again, Socrates claims that the two can be divided into three pleasures: the love of learning, spiritedness, and a

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nameless pleasure which Socrates contends is filled with a desire that is strongly felt in a given moment (Bloom 1991, 261-262 [580e-581a]). Since a matured democratic person indulges in all pleasures, it is evident that the love of learning, which is further defined as “learning-loving and wisdom-loving”, is also enjoyed (Bloom 1991, 262 [581b]). A wisdom-loving person is the most capable of judging, being prudent, and being adept at argument, such that these competencies allow one to look upward, figuratively, to the Truth, since the “pleasure of learning” reveals the “natural characteristics of the things which are” (Bloom 1991, 263-264; 268 [582b-583a; 586a]). Socrates claims earlier that it is the collective job of all characters in The Republic, as founders of the city, to make the rulers as philosopher-kings study and see the good (Bloom 1991, 198 [519d-519e]). It appears that, in the democratic person, Socrates allows a chance for the just ruler to exist again. Since the just person’s soul is harmonious, it is likely that such a person may have a positive influence on the disharmony present in the democratic regime. Justice, which has long been dissipated, is once again introduced. Following this logic, it is evident that the democratic regime may lead to tyranny, but it does not preclude the possibility of the just regime. Since democracy is considered the “fairest” of the regimes, in that it allows for every kind of person and regime to exist, it follows that the democratic regime necessarily allows for the chance that a just or aristocratic person will be among its people. In other words, the implication that democracy is disposed to participate in the greatest injustice also means that it can enjoy the greatest justices. The democratic regime represents an opportunity for redemption in regime order. Democracies may then be the most favourable of all the regimes considering that it better situates itself on the virtue/vice spectrum by better managing the desires. It is evident that the fall of aristocracy parallels the tyranny of desire as seen in the democratic youth as its descent is caused by a change in desire, from love of learning to the physicality of sex. This descent into desire continues through the timocratic and oligarchic regimes. Democracy, however, can better manage desires if it is given the time to mature and grow, so long as the regime itself is preserved during times of great instability.

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Democracy occupies a very interesting spot in the order of the regimes. While it may be suggested more often than not that it precipitates the rise of the demagogue and the manifestation of tyranny, it is also possible that the just person may reappear and make the democratic regime more just. This is simply the condition that a desire like freedom affords. Considering this, the restorative and detrimental nature of democracy makes it the most flexible of regimes, indicating the importance of its role in the order that Socrates describes.

Bibliography Bloom, Allan. 1991. The Republic of Plato, New York: Basic Books.

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The Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA) is one of the main actors holding the authority to determine who can be detained and what constitutes ‘reasonable’ detention (Dawson 2014). The CBSA detains foreign nationals, permanent residents, asylum claimants and refugee claimants (“Who are immigration” 2019), on the basis that these individuals are believed to be inadmissible, a public danger or associated with criminal intentions, at 'flight risk’ (unlikely to appear to further hearings to establish immigration processes) or unable to satisfy identity claims (whether due to missing documentation or suspicion regarding their ‘true’ identity) (Silverman 2014). It is important to note that those in detention are not criminals, nor are they facing criminal charges, but rather are being detained as precautionary and regulatory measures. In fact, the International Detention Coalition iterates that immigration detention is a ‘coercive administrative mechanism’ utilized by states to both control immigration patterns and restrict non-citizens’ liberty, but not completely criminalization (Wachuku 2019). Alternative measures to detention are still heavily debated, with the costs and reliability of high-tech bio-metrics and electronics still in question.

Exploring Canadian Detention Policy and the Canadian Institutional Context Canada differs from most other Western liberal democracies, as it is one of only a few countries with mandatory detention policies (“Immigration Detention” 2018). The Canadian immigration enforcement system is closely tied to the criminal justice system, demonstrated by the use of jails and prisons to hold detainees despite no criminal charges, causing both public and international scrutiny. Between 2012 and 2017, nearly 40 percent of immigration detainees were confined in provincial criminal jails and prisons, rather than designated detention institutions (“Immigration Detention” 2018), while nearly all long-term detainees were subjected to such criminal facilities. As of currently, there are CBSA-run immigration holding centers in Toronto, Laval, and Vancouver. The former two can detain up to 195 and 109 detainees, respectively, while Vancouver’s center holds only 24 detainees, with a timelimit of 48 hours (Dawson 2014) (Bensadoun 2019). The inadequacy of Canada’s detention system is evident when comparing detention facilities’ housing limits with the actual number of immigrants detained: CBSA reports 6,609 detainees in 2017-2018 with approximately 1,800 held in jails

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(CBSA 2019). Immigration detention costs Canadian taxpayers around CAD 250 per detainee per day, equating to 90,000 CAD per year per detainee (Gerami 2017). Additionally, the Federal government pays provinces a “20% premium in addition to per capita costs,” which implies that costs per detainee increase, as observed in Ontario’s detainees costing the federal government averaging $258.83 per day (Kennedy 2017). Federal powers and legislation are of huge influence in immigration detention. The primary federal legislation regarding detention is the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (IRPA), which replaced the 1976 Immigration Act in 2002, and provides the foundation for the detainment of foreign nationals and regulates detention review, release conditions and detention of children (Pratt 2005). The Act is administered and enforced by the CBSA, as well as the Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (IRCC) (Chiu et al. 2016). Additionally, Immigration and Refugee Protection Regulations (IRPR) is utilized to apply IRPA’s provisions (Cleveland 2015), while the Minister of Public Safety and Emergency Preparedness manages the enforcement of the act as related to arrests, detentions, removals and establishment of policies revolving around inadmissibility due to security,

crime or human rights violations (Dawson 2014). Despite the rather recent development of the Act, IRPA has come under scrutiny from political scientists, civil societies, and the international community for being contradictory and negatively stereotyping new migrants and immigrants, while placing heavy emphasis on enforcement and expanding exclusionary guidelines and detention powers (Pratt 2005). IRPA states that migrants should only be detained after all other alternatives to detention are explored and specifies that individuals should only be detained if there is a posed flight risk or a risk of public danger risk as stated in subsection 55(1), which declares that “an officer may issue a warrant for arrest and detention of permanent resident or foreign national if the officer has reasonable grounds to believe they are inadmissible and is a danger to the public or unlikely to appear for examination (“Immigration and Refugee Protection Act” 2001). Yet, the subjectivity of these risks as determined by CBSA agents can lead to unjust detention. IRPA’s initial lack of coordinated appeal measures was also of significant concern, as many migrants, most of whom may not be able to speak English or French and are unable to quickly obtain legal assistance, would be unable to appeal their case and thus subjected to wait

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for board review, though a provision in section 63 of IRPA, the Immigration and Refugee Board (IRB) did not have such mechanism in place, causing a disjointed and inefficient appeal process (“Immi-gration and Refugee Protection Act” 2001). The Immigration and Refugee Board is an independent administrative tribunal board tasked with the refugee status determination process (RSD), administrative assessment and detention review (Silverman 2014). The Board is comprised of a refugee protection division, refugee appeal division, immigration appeal division, and immigration division. If detention decisions were made based on IRPA’s factor of public risk or flight risk, the IRB would be able to review the legitimacy of these claims to detain, but would be unable to review the legal validity of the Minister’s decisions (Cleveland 2015). CBSA is mandated to notify IRB if a foreign national or permanent resident is detained based on immigration-related grounding. From then on, initial detentions can last for up to 48 hours, in which a detention review hearing will be heard by IRB’s Immigration Division (Government of Canada 2015). If the IRB official determines to extend detention, the case will be revisited after seven days and every 30 days afterward; detainees do however hold the right to request an

earlier review if new information is collected on their case (Government of Canada 2015). Technically, the IRB reports to the Canadian parliament through the IRCC, but it remains an officially independent administrative tribunal. Bill C-11 was introduced in 2010 and a Refugee Appeal Division (RAD) was officially mandated to recenter appeal mechanisms. Before the Bill, those who failed to obtain refugee status were given 15 days to file and complete an appeal application (“C-11 Regulatory” 2011), sparking criticism and outrage as many argued the tight timeframe didn’t allow claimants an adequate timeline to cohesively prepare for an appeal. Furthermore, the timeline was seen as discriminatory for children, youth, refugees who do not speak French or English, and many other vulnerable refugees, as RAD’s decisions are based on documentation rather than court hearings (Grant, Rehaag 2016). In 2012, provision C-31 (otherwise known as Protecting Canada’s Immigration System Act) amended the IRPA and allowed the Canadian government to secure broad discretionary power to assign the title of ‘irregular arrivals’ to certain groups of foreign nationals entering the country. The Minister of Public Safety

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may designate the title to certain groups based on untimely examinations or under smuggling suspicions. Under the amendment, once deemed ‘Designated Foreign Nationals (DFNs)’ those over 15 years of age are subject to mandatory detention with limited review access. Moreover, the Minister is allotted the power to detain children under 16 or forcibly separate them from their parents for up to one year (Cleveland 2015). DFNs would be subject to restrictions even if accepted as refugees, including restriction to travel, inability to sponsor and reunification with family members, and a ban on permanent residency status for five years (Silverman 2014). This added to the mounting stigma new immigrants faced and even those wrongfully detained would have to suffer these unjust repercussions. Furthermore, Bill C-31 saw asylum claimants split into three categori-zations; DFNs, Designated Countries of Origin (DCOs), and Regular Refugee Claimants. Those under the DCO were subjected to reduced rights during asylum/refugee claimant processes if they originated from ‘safe’ states or countries who were determined to not regularly produce refugees due to a positive human rights record and strong state protection (Silverman 2014); another inherently subjective categorization done by the Canadian

federal government that hinders refugees’ chances of refugee claimant success. DCO individuals were subjected to expedited review processes of 30-45 days, in comparison to the 60 days allotted to ‘regular’ refugees, causing similar stress as IRB cases, in which the claimant would have short timelines to compile cases or find legal representation within a foreign system they may have no knowledge in (Immigration 2019). In hopes of creating a fairer immigration detention system, the National Immigration Detention Framework (NIDF) was established based on the pillars of transparency, mental health, partnerships and alternatives to detention (National Immigration Detention Framework 2017). With an investment of $138 million to be used over 5 years, the NIDF is meant to improve immigration holding centers and increase usage of detention alter-natives such as biometric voice-recognition checkin systems (Gros, Song 2016) and electronic monitors. The CBSA states that the framework is designed to keep children out of detention, promote families to stay together, reduce the use of criminal institutions for detainment and emphasize alternative measures (CBSA 2017). Thus far, the reform has seen some evident changes, with the number of detainees

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held for three or more months dropping nearly 30 percent and the overall number of detainees dropping five percent during 2016-2017 (CBSA Statistics 2018). Alternatives to Detention (ATDs) have consistently been toted by the CSBA as possible, but implementation is only slowly expanding. In addition, CBSA agents can assess and determine whether detainees are eligible for ATDs; if it is determined that they are of flight risk or may cause public safety concerns, they are almost immediately denied ATDs (Gros, Song 2016). CBSA’s current ATD program offers Community Case Management and Supervision (CCMS) in collaboration with the Salvation Army, the John Howard Society of Canada (a Canadian non-profit specializing inhumane responses to crime) and Toronto Bail Program (an NGO built around ATDs) to offer community services for individuals released from detention but require supervision or programming to continue with immigration requirements. Electronic supervision is being developed as ways of removing tracking and o ff e r i n g b e t t e r f a c i l i t a t i o n o f communication with CBSA without detention. Options can include Voice Recording (VR), where biometric voice pattern technology is used to

verify individuals’ identity and allow them to report to CBSA through phone calls at scheduled times, or Electronic Monitoring (EM); this is currently in pilot project stages and is currently only introduced within the Greater Toronto Area (Government of Canada -Alternatives to Detention 2018). An important factor is ATDs are available to detainees only within the first 48 hours of detention, after which IRB will take over and decide the next steps (Government of Canada -Alternatives to Detention 2018). Canadian Political Mobilization The idea of detention is inherently associated with negative connotations, and with the critiques of dysfunctional appeal systems, criminal treatment for non-criminals, and heavy governmental reach, Canadian civil societies have made it clear they are unhappy. In October 2017, a collective of Canadian-based civil society organizations published a joint submission to the United Nations’ Universal Periodic Review (UPR), stating that the immigration detainees within Canada were suffering significant human rights violations (Muscati 2017). They highlighted that detention constituted cruel, inhumane and degrading treatment, and vulnerable individuals (such as children or those with pre-existing

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mental health conditions) could develop long-lasting psycho-logical damage and called for change. Their recommendations included screening by CBSA agents to identify vulnerable individuals, mental health assessments conducted before detention, and community-based alternative detentions for families with children (Muscati 2017). The sub-mission included the statement that Canada was willing to and have begun progress in addressing the deeply ingrained issues within the detention system, but stated that the treatment of vulnerable individuals still violates “binding international law” (Muscati 2017). In a three-part report named “Caged by Canada”, the Toronto Star (an Ontario-based independent newspaper) interviewed various lawyers who all attested that the hearings were ‘fundamentally unfair, particularly for long-term detention”. Hearings were conducted primarily over teleconference, the government’s evidence was not tested as rigorously as in criminal courts, detainees were typically unrepresented and the longer the duration of detention, the less likely the hearings would be compelled to depart from the initial decision (Kennedy 2017). CBSA agent reports (most of which are subjective and not held to a standard)

were categorized as evidence, yet the same agent would not appear before tribunals thus eliminating the chance for cross-examination (Wachuku 2019). The Canadian Red Cross is another example of a Canadian civil society mobilizing for change. Visiting detention centers that have granted access quarter-annually, the CRC makes assessments based on both domestic and international standards taking into account the treatment of detainees, the conditions of detention, the ability of detainees to make and continue contact with family and the legal safeguards protecting legal and human rights (Canadian Red Cross 2019). The CRC uses one of the most comprehensive assessments and measures compliance in comparison to the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, the UN Refugee Convention, the UNHCR Detention Guidelines, and the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (Canadian Red Cross 2019). It is essential to note that the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms is binding to Canadian citizens and courts have repeatedly maintained that immigration detainees are not held to all the same rights enshrined in the Charter. It should be said that while detainees are guaranteed to certain rights such as access to information about the reasons for their detention,

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legal counseling and free interpretation services, there has been witness accounts that these guarantees are not maintained and there lacks any formal mechanisms to file complaints (Anstis, Blum, and Will 2017). International Context of Canadian Immigration Detention The United Nations and its international multilateral agreements, most specifically on human rights treatments, often come with normative and legal instruments to adopt global initiatives. In 2005, Canada’s security certificate procedures (as provided by IRPA legislature) were found to have multiple flaws by the UN Working Group on Arbitrary Detention (WGAD). WGAD determined that the procedures allowed for migrants to be detained for years based on suspicion, despite the absence of criminal charges (United Nations General Assembly Report 2015). Such a loophole allows for prolonged detainment without legal repercussions, but such confinements have been shown to cause psychological, physical and familial damages to detainees (Gros, Song 2016). In Canada, there is no identifiable limit to the duration of detention. As of 2018, Canada has still failed to ratify the Optional Protocol to the Convention against Torture, which

pushes to “establish a system of regular investigations and visits by independent national and international bodies to establishments where individuals are deprived of their liberty”, which includes immigration detention (Optional Protocol to the Convention against Torture 2002) There has been immense international pressure on Canada to ratify the convention by the UN, member states and civilians alike. Prime Minister Trudeau declared in 2016 that Canada would take “the first steps” towards formal consultations with provincial governments but there has yet to be any true development (Canadian Press 2017). Canada has, however, ratified the UN Convention on Refugees, and abides by the international custom to protect persons seeking refuge as long as they report immediately to the CBSA upon entry (Wachuku 2019). Other respected international nongovernmental organizations (INGOs) such as Amnesty International have criticized Canada’s immigration detention systems calling them “legal blackholes” whose processes are detrimental to detainees’ mental health (Amnesty International 2015). Global Detention Project (an independent interdisciplinary research initiative) examined the role of immigration in global migration patterns and found that in 2011, more than 8,832 people were detailed for an average of 25

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days within Canada (Hussan 2014). UNICEF Canada has released large comprehensive documents calling for the restructuring of the immigration detention system, specifically in respect to children; pressuring Canada to remember that whether the child is a migrant or refugee, their rights are inalienable under the Convention of the Rights of the Child (UNICEF Canada). Despite this international pressure and Section 60 of IRPA reaffirming that a “minor child shall be detained only as a last resort”, an average of 77 children per month were detained in 2008 (Canadian Council for Refugees 2009), and between 2005-2010, children made up 8% of those detained under the asylum seeker/refused refugee group (Nakache 2011).

Conclusion Immigrant detention within Canada has often been swept under the legal rug, hiding behind Canada’s welcoming public image and an immigration detention system shared between multiple mechanisms and institutions. With the powers vested to the Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA) through the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act of 2002 (IRPA), CBSA officers are allotted great powers over which individuals

can be deemed detainable. The IRPA's powers are applied through the Immigration and Refugee Protection Regulations (IRPR) while the Minister of Public Safety and Emergency Preparedness (as appointed by the Prime Minister of Canada) has management over policies of detentions, arrests, and removals. In addition, the Immigration and Refugee Board (IRB) is an independent board tasked with detention reviews, with hearings every 48 hours, 7 days and 30 days after. All of this information is often convoluted and difficult to follow, especially so for migrants or refugees who may not speak English or French. The messy nature of detention can be further seen in the initial lack of appeal boards available for detainees and Canada's lack of detention length cap; there are reports of individuals who have remained in detention for seven years due to lack of citizenship proof (Kennedy 2017). There has been a slow expansion on alternatives to detention, with community programs often catering to individuals already released from detention and other electronic supervision programs only starting to become truly viable and out of pilot stages. Canada has faced great scrutiny both domestically and internationally, and while progress has been made through the National Immigration Detention Framework

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(NIDF), the criminalization of noncriminal detainees, the inadequate safety provisions for detainee mental health and unjust drawn-out time-

frames for reconsideration of detention speak volumes about the change that Canada's immigrant detention needs.

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