Marco Navarro-Génie

Speech Crimes on Campus

Frances Widdowson, a former colleague professor at Mount Royal University, was arrested this past week on the University of Victoria campus. Her offence? Walking, conversing, and asking questions on a university campus. She was not carrying a megaphone, making threats, organizing a protest, or waving foreign flags. She was planning quietly to discuss, with whoever wished it, a widespread claim that has curiously evaded forensic scrutiny in Canada for five years: that the remains of 215 Indigenous children lie beneath the grounds of the former Kamloops Residential School.

UVic Campus security did not treat her as a scholar. Nor even as a citizen. They treated her as a contaminating source.

The director of security, a woman more reminiscent of a diversity consultant than a peace officer, almost shaking, presented Widdowson with papers and told her to vacate “the property.” When Widdowson questioned the order, citing her Charter rights and the university’s public nature, she was told to leave. She refused, and she was arrested. No force, no defiance, only a refusal to concede that inquiry is trespass.

Widdowson is no provocateur in the modern sense. She is not a shock-jock in a cardigan. She is a once-tenured academic with a long record of challenging orthodoxies in Indigenous policy, identity politics, and campus culture.

In 2008, she co-authored Disrobing the Aboriginal Industry, a book that deconstructed the bureaucratic machinery that profits from preserving Indigenous dependency. The book was methodical, sourced, and daring enough to be labelled heretical in some quarters, but simultaneously boringly Marxist materialistic.

Her arguments have made people uncomfortable for a long time. When I assigned her book to my political science students in the Department of Policy Studies, where Frances also taught, I was summoned by the department head’s office. Someone in my class complained about the book, though I ignored what was said, and the technocratic colleague, as chair of the department, had prepared a host of arguments to chastise me for assigning the book.

Widdowson was good enough to be hired as a colleague of that department, but they were all afraid of her ideas, and perhaps her manner. I have often wondered if the folks in the Mount Royal hiring committee had bothered to read her book. Hey, they had a female Marxist applying for a teaching job. Knowing how they operate makes me think they made giant assumptions about Frances.

My bureaucratic colleague relented. I got the impression that the department head was putting on a show, going through motions he didn’t want to engage in, but which he had to perform for administrative purposes. He had to act on the complaint, though the complaint had no substance. He tried to tell me that the ideas in the book might offend some students, and then went on with the typical dribble about being caring, but agreed that protecting feelings was not the objective of an education, nor the job of a professor.

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I went to my campus office after the conversation with the department head, typed up a memo detailing our discussion, and emailed it to him to ensure there was a record of my viewpoint. The email got no response. He never mentioned it again, and to this day, 15 or 16 years later, we still haven’t spoken about it.

Some academic arguments are meant to shake things up. That is the purpose of scholarship: to stir the sediment of consensus. To challenge conventional views. Marxist or no, scholars are supposed to push the envelope. Expand the boundaries of our understanding. But in today’s academic culture, discomfort is treated as injury and dissent as violence. So, Widdowson was treated as a threat merely by walking and speaking.

Was the university within its legal rights to remove her? Possibly. Universities can invoke property rights, ironically in Cowichan territory, and provincial legislation sometimes grants them a curious status: publicly funded yet selectively private. But the question is not merely legal. It is cultural and constitutional.

The University of Victoria is a publicly funded institution, governed under provincial authority and subsidized by taxpayers. Its grounds, though some claim they are on unceded Indigenous territory, are functionally administered by the Crown. The university is not a monastery. While it is not a temple to be kept free of doubt, it is not a temple to be torched either. It is a civic institution. An institution of higher learning. When it uses its resources to shield ideology and expel dissenters, it forfeits its academic character.

Consider the contrast. On this same campus, as on many others across the country, protests have called for the destruction of Israel and the extermination of Jews. Banners are waved, slogans chanted, and genocidal euphemisms like “from the river to the sea” are uttered without hesitation. These demonstrations, some of which praise Hamas or glorify martyrdom, proceed unimpeded. Security stands down. The administration issues boilerplate statements about inclusion and respect.

But when a female academic arrives to ask whether the number “215” refers to actual remains or mere radar anomalies, she is marched off by police. The imbalance is not accidental. It is a product of institutional capture.

Contemporary universities have adopted a new moral vocabulary. Terms like “safety,” “inclusion,” and “harm” are now treated as constitutional categories. But their terms are undefined, fluid, shaped by ideology rather than principle. “Safety” no longer refers to bodily security, but has become an emotional preference. “Inclusion” does not mean openness to different ideas and people, but a validation of specific identities. “Harm” is not an act, but a feeling.

Under this logic, Widdowson’s presence becomes a form of injury. Her questions are recast as wounds. And because feelings have been elevated to rights, her removal becomes a public good.

This ideology has structure. It is not random. It rests on a model of revolutionary politics in which dissent must not be part of the conversation. A differing opinion is an obstacle to be cleared. The new inclusivity has become a form of exclusion. It uses the language of welcome to police belief, and the rhetoric of tolerance to enforce conformity.

Charter rights were once the guardrails of public life. They are not supposed to vanish down the rabbit holes when one steps onto that university lawn. The right to free expression, to peaceful assembly, and to enter public space are not conditional on popularity. They are not subject to the feelings of a security director or the preferences of a DEI office.

Widdowson is testing this principle. She did not resist arrest, nor did she make a spectacle of herself. She acted as a citizen asserting a constitutional right. The courts may eventually rule on whether her rights were infringed. But the deeper issue is already visible.

If our public institutions can exile peaceful critics while accommodating radical political agitators who cheer for foreign terror movements, we are not in a neutral society. We are in an elite-managed consensus.

This consensus is enforced by policy. It does not need debate. The consensus managers already know what is true and treat challenges as threats. In this environment, universities are no longer places where young minds wrestle with the pangs of uncertainty. They are enforcing temples of doctrine. Their priests wear lanyards. Their rituals involve land acknowledgments. Their blasphemies include asking inconvenient questions about graves that no one has bothered to exhume.

Frances Widdowson may not be universally admired. No one is. Her conclusions are sharp. Her manner is uncompromising. But that is precisely why her treatment should alarm us. The test of a free society is not how it treats the agreeable, but how it tolerates the disagreeable, to paraphrase Bernard Crick.

When universities lose the confidence to host dissent, they cease to be universities in any meaningful sense. They become echo chambers with fancy libraries. They educate students in the same way a treadmill provides runners with travel: motion without movement.

We are at a moment of reckoning for universities and for Canadian liberal democracy. When citizens cannot openly raise questions without fear of removal, the Charter becomes ornamental. If the test of allowable speech is whether it affirms prevailing narrative and myths, then neither truth nor inquiry has a place among us.

Widdowson’s arrest is not an isolated event. It is a signal that tells us who is welcome in the public square and who is not. It tells us that the basic right to question popular opinions is now conditional. And it affirms for us what we already know: that the guardians of inclusion are, in practice, the agents of exclusion.

No democracy can afford such arbiters. Certainly not one that still calls itself liberal.

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By Caroline Elliott

BC government advisors believe ‘settlers’ must atone for Canada’s ‘original sin’

British Columbians are understandably perplexed as to why their provincial government is going headlong down an economically devastating, undemocratic and divisive “reconciliation” path that is so obviously counter to the public interest.

But the reason is simple, and it’s in plain view for anyone who cares to look. Premier David Eby has surrounded himself with advisors who fervently believe in a radical ideology that sees the drastic reshaping of our society as a moral imperative.

One advisor has even suggested that Canada’s formation is analogous to an “original sin,” and his recipe for redemption demands — in his own words — turbulence, rupture, sacrifice, pain, and the utter transformation of human affairs.

Understanding this alarming worldview is necessary for anyone concerned with where things are headed on the reconciliation front.

In early November, Eby came as close as he’s ever been to revealing the “original sin” mentality behind his agenda, stating in a video that changes resulting from B.C.’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act (DRIPA) are “about correcting that original colonial mistake.”

This isn’t just a passing remark. It’s a tip of his hand exposing a disconcerting philosophy long held and frequently expressed by his hand-selected reconciliation advisors.

Doug White and Dr. Roshan Danesh both played key roles in expanding B.C.’s Indigenous policies.

White serves Eby directly as special counsel to the premier on reconciliation, providing guidance on Indigenous policy and the implementation of DRIPA, which is the B.C. government’s enabling legislation that gets its framework from the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP).

Danesh served the government as a facilitator on reconciliation and wrote the report upon which the province’s interim approach to implementing DRIPA’s section 3 was based (this is a crucial section that requires the province to take “all measures necessary” to ensure consistency between the laws of B.C. and UNDRIP).

In addition, both White and Danesh have been officially acknowledged for playing an “absolutely fundamental role” in the Haida agreement. That agreement set a concerning policy precedent by recognizing Aboriginal title over private property in B.C. for the first time, a precursor to the B.C. Supreme Court’s seriously problematic Cowichan decision, which has created considerable uncertainty for property owners across the province.

Given the critical role played by White and Danesh in some of the province’s most consequential reconciliation initiatives, it’s important to understand their views on what reconciliation truly requires.

In a 2023 joint article titled “Rising to the Challenge of Reconciliation,” Danesh and White write of their desire to achieve “turbulent transition,” and of how “this moment in history is one of rupture.”

“We cannot build the new,” they write, “on infirm foundations.” Achieving true reconciliation “will require human affairs to be utterly reorganized. We must all be persistent and audacious in our efforts to advance and achieve this outcome.”

The changes involved in the “work of true reconciliation” are described in the article as analogous to “the struggle of a human being coming of age. At such a time, widely accepted practices and conventions, cherished attitudes and habits, are one by one being rendered obsolete.”

When asked about the article’s revolutionary language during legislative debates in 2024, then-minister of Indigenous relations Murray Rankin responded that the language in the article did “not strike (him) as extreme at all.” He went on to say reconciliation “is not for sissies.”

Danesh had previously expressed such views in a 2021 video on reconciliation saying, “this appeal to harmony in conditions of injustice is really just the veiling over of systems of oppression all over again. The hard work, the real work of building unity is not hanging out and getting along with each other and being understanding. It involves sacrifice. It involves structural, systemic, individual, collective societal change.” In the same video, he calls for “painful” change that ought to “reshap(e) the patterns of relations.”

In a paper for the Union of B.C. Indian Chiefs in 2019, White explicitly summons the notion of “original sin.” He explains that “transformative” federal and provincial programs “hold the potential to place the future on a different course — one which significantly diverges from the original sin of Canada.”

Danesh similarly speaks of “original sin,” and its consequences for Crown title and private property rights. In a 2020 paper  for B.C.’s First Nations Energy and Mining Council, he writes, “the history of colonialism has created what might be called the ‘domino effect’ among property rights in Canada. The original sin of ignoring Indigenous title, and as such denying Aboriginal title, knocks down much of what has been presumed to be aspects of Crown title in Canadian history, which then knocks down much of the foundation for certainty of fee simple property title,” — the standard form of private land ownership in Canada.

Radical perspectives on land ownership are not confined to Eby’s advisors. They are held by key elected members of his government as well.

In 2023, then-minister for mining Josie Osborne commented, “our approach to natural-resource development must be done in collaboration and partnership with the rightful owners of the land.”

Current Indigenous relations minister Spencer Chandra Herbert, in reference to 1.2 million acres of public land on the Sunshine Coast, has said, “if it’s (shíshálh Nation’s) land, they get to make decisions on it.”

And Eby’s previous Indigenous relations minister, Christine Boyle, is a staunch believer in the “LandBack” movement, an initiative that has been critical of Canada and the provinces’ “stubborn insistence… that they own the land” and that holds that change must involve “Canada ceding real jurisdiction to Indigenous peoples.”

Another B.C. NDP MLA, Rohini Arora, suggested in the legislature that non-Indigenous British Columbians are “settlers,” “colonizers,” and “uninvited guests,” to the applause of her colleagues.

Eby and his reconciliation advisors are fiercely committed to an atonement project of massive proportions for an “original sin” they believe mars the very conception of this country. Expiation will require turbulent and painful change that renders obsolete our “cherished habits.” And they will undertake “persistent and audacious” efforts aimed at a drastic reorganization of human affairs to achieve it.

Only when we understand the ideology underlying the B.C. government’s radical reconciliation agenda can we comprehend where things are going. And right now, we’re being zealously led towards an ungovernable province in pursuit of absolution.

Caroline Elliott is a senior fellow with the Aristotle Foundation for Public Policy. Photo: Legislative Assembly of British Columbia Reconciliation Action Plan 2024-2028.