Canada has made international news recently for two pieces of legislation aimed at curbing the spread of hatred. At the same time, religious leaders have raised concerns about how these laws might limit religious expression. Observers outside the country may reasonably wonder: what exactly is happening in Canada?
Part of the answer lies in the broader global context. Tensions related to the conflict in Gaza have been reflected in Canadian cities, particularly in Montreal, which is home to a large Jewish population. Pro-Palestinian protestors, particularly in Montreal, have disrupted synagogues, engaged in public Friday Islamic prayers in front of synagogues and churches and engaged in marches and protests that include expressions of hatred against Jews, including death threats. Similar, though not identical, tensions have appeared in other major Canadian cities.
Against this backdrop, governments have responded with new legislative measures.
In Quebec, where laws on secularism are already among the most stringent in the Western world—arguably even more so than French laïcité, on which they were modeled—the provincial government introduced Bill 9, An Act respecting the reinforcement of laicity in Quebec. The law restricts “collective religious practice” in public spaces, except under specific circumstances. While the policy appears aimed in part at limiting public Muslim prayers, its scope is broader. Other religious practices—such as Catholic Way of the Cross processions on Good Friday or outdoor Easter sunrise services—could also be affected. Notably, although the bill came into force just before Easter, authorities did not intervene in such services over that weekend.
At the federal level, Parliament is considering Bill C-9, which proposes amendments to sections 318 and 319 of the Criminal Code dealing with hate speech. The bill contains several widely supported provisions. It introduces new offences for promoting hatred through the display of terrorist symbols and for intimidating individuals by obstructing access to religious buildings, educational institutions, and cultural centres. These measures respond directly to incidents reported during recent protests.
The primary controversy surrounding Bill C-9, however, emerged during the legislative process. An amendment proposed by the Bloc Québécois would remove the “good faith on a religious subject” defence to the offence of public incitement of hatred. Supporters of the change argue that this exemption could shield religiously framed expressions of antisemitism or homophobia. The bill has passed the House of Commons with this amendment and is now under consideration in the Senate.
Many religious leaders, particularly within Christian communities, have expressed serious concern about this development. The Evangelical Fellowship of Canada, for example, has argued that the good faith defence helps ensure that criminal law does not capture the expression of sincerely held religious beliefs. Some have gone further, suggesting that even quoting the Bible could become legally risky. This even though Canada has a Charter of Rights that guarantees both freedom of religion and freedom of expression.
The concerns raised by religious leaders, however, may overstate the legal reality. The good faith defence has never protected speech that crosses into hatred. One of the few cases directly addressing this issue, R. v. Harding (2001), illustrates the point. In that case, a Christian pastor distributed pamphlets that portrayed Muslims in highly negative and generalized terms, including claims that they were inherently violent and hateful. When he invoked the good faith defence, the court rejected it, concluding that the pamphlets went beyond expressions of religious belief and were not supported by reasonable grounds. As the judge put it, “This is not an argument expressed in good faith.”
Importantly, the court distinguished between religious teaching and inflammatory generalizations. Harding’s statements were not grounded in Scripture but consisted of sweeping assertions about an entire group of people.
Other cases on related issues have drawn similar lines. Court cases addressing issues such as Holocaust denial and denunciations of homosexuality have generally not treated the mere citation of Scripture as constituting hate speech. For example, in Owens v. Saskatchewan Human Rights Commission (2006), the court recognized the difference between quoting Scripture and promoting hatred against identifiable groups.
Recent developments abroad have nevertheless heightened anxiety. In Finland, the prosecution of Dr. Päivi Räsänen—a Christian legislator and former government minister—has drawn international attention. Räsänen faced charges under Finland’s hate speech laws after reposting a church pamphlet on homosexuality and sharing related Scripture passages. She was convicted in relation to the pamphlet, which characterized homosexuality as a disorder, but acquitted with respect to the Scripture citations posted on social media. The case illustrates, once again, that it is typically not the biblical text but accompanying commentary that courts scrutinize.
Does this mean individuals should exercise care in how they speak about sensitive issues? Certainly. But that has always been true. The law has long distinguished between robust expression of belief and the promotion of hatred.
The more significant concern may be the broader chilling effect. When religious leaders and others are uncertain about where legal boundaries lie, they may choose silence over risk. Even if the likelihood of prosecution is low, the prospect of investigation, public scrutiny, and reputational damage can be a powerful deterrent.
Developments in other jurisdictions reinforce this concern. In Scotland, for example, more than 7,000 complaints were reportedly filed in the first week after a new hate crimes law came into force—an indication of how quickly such laws can generate widespread uncertainty and, potentially, overreporting.
No one wants to face criminal charges, regardless of the outcome. The personal and social consequences alone are enough to alter a life. That is precisely why the state’s responsibility must be exercised with restraint: it must protect individuals and communities from real threats of violence and intimidation while also preserving the fundamental freedom to express deeply held beliefs.
But where should that line be drawn? How do we shield vulnerable groups from genuine harm without drifting into the policing of ideas and beliefs? Jews in Canada are right to be concerned about rising antisemitism, and efforts to hold those who promote hatred—especially those who incite violence—accountable under criminal law are both necessary and justified. Protecting people from violence is not optional; it is a core duty of government.
The problem arises when the law reaches beyond that clear objective. It is not only speech that advocates violence that risks criminal sanction. While the government has attempted to respond to concerns by defining “hatred” in Bill C-9 as “an emotion of an intense and extreme nature… associated with vilification and detestation,” that definition remains broad and inherently subjective. It captures far more than direct incitement to violence—and that should give us pause.
In a free society, the threshold for criminalizing speech must be high. Otherwise, we risk creating a chilling effect where individuals self-censor not because they are promoting harm, but because they fear legal consequences for expressing unpopular or controversial views.
That concern is particularly acute for religious expression. Pastors and other faith leaders should not have to wonder whether quoting sacred texts—however contentious the topic—could expose them to criminal charges. The former “good faith” exemption provided at least some measure of protection. Without clear and robust safeguards, even the remote possibility of prosecution can discourage lawful, good-faith expression.
To be clear, the issue is not whether hate should be condemned—it should be. The issue is whether the law is being drawn with sufficient precision to target true harm without ensnaring legitimate expression. Given the already rare use of these Criminal Code provisions, expanding their scope risks doing more symbolic than practical work—while quietly raising the stakes for free expression.
A just legal framework must do both: confront real threats decisively and protect fundamental freedoms uncompromisingly. If it fails at either, it risks undermining the very society it seeks to defend.
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