Abstract
This article addresses the Canadian law governing ‘lawful access’ to potentially encrypted data-in-motion; that is, communications done through electronic means. This article begins by outlining the core agencies responsible for counterterrorism investigations in Canada, and the recent public debate and government consultation on encryption. Next, we identify how older laws designed for a different era may be leveraged to force service and platform providers to assist law enforcement and the Canadian Security Intelligence Service by decrypting communications and data. We will also touch on the legal capacity of these organizations to develop their own ‘workarounds’, including the role of Canada’s signals intelligence agency, the Communications Security Establishment. Throughout, we highlight how Canada’s long-standing ‘intelligence to evidence’ problem affects and, arguably exacerbates, the encryption-prompted ‘going dark’ phenomenon and consequently impairs Canadian counterterrorism efforts. We predict legal reform resolving the ‘going dark’ issue will be impossible without modernization of Canada’s disclosure regime.
Introduction
In 2016, the Apple vs FBI case animated the ‘going dark’ (communications encryption) debate in the United States. The Court battle between the tech giant and the most powerful law enforcement agency in the world stemmed from a mass shooting in December 2015, that left 14 people dead. Meanwhile, as American agents worked to unlock the shooter’s phone, prosecutors in Canada were seeking to convict seven men linked to the Montreal mafia for the 2011 abduction and murder of Sal ‘the Ironworker’ Montagna, a member of New York’s Bonanno crime family. 1 The evidence of the men’s conspiracy consisted almost entirely of intercepted emails, chats and encrypted BlackBerry Pin to Pin messages. 2
Six days after the shooting in California, a Québec judge released his written ruling on a defence motion to have the Crown disclose just how the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) decrypted the groups’ BlackBerry messages. Court records from R v Mirarchi reveal the RCMP had access to the global decryption key built into every personal Blackberry device on the planet. While the RCMP testified that the Canadian tech company had provided ‘assistance’ to law enforcement—including access to necessary equipment 3 —the records were heavily redacted and did not establish the extent of that assistance. There was wide speculation that the RCMP had cracked the code that once made BlackBerry the device of choice for criminal organizations the world over. 4
In contesting the defence motion, the Crown conceded that the decrypted communications were the entirety of their case. Crown counsel asserted investigatory privilege and argued that disclosure of the RCMP’s techniques, including the encryption key, would limit the state’s capacity to investigate crime, and thereby impact public safety. 5 Nevertheless, the Court found that withholding the information would prevent the defence from challenging the accuracy of the decoded messages and the identity of the communicators, putting the innocence of the accused demonstrably at stake. 6 The Court ordered the Crown to disclose Blackberry’s global key. 7
Publicly divulging the key would effectively render every BlackBerry user vulnerable to interception and endanger ongoing police investigations across the country, if not the world. Predictably, the Crown dropped the murder charges and the accused plead guilty to the significantly lesser offence of conspiracy to commit murder. 8 Over the next 2 years, the Crown would stay charges against dozens of other men rounded up in the same operation targeting Montreal organized crime; the encryption key was never disclosed. 9 In this manner, the Mirarchi case encapsulates a quintessentially Canadian element of the ‘going dark’ debate: the intelligence-to-evidence dilemma, and specifically, the risk that sensitive technical means and methods may be disclosed in open court under Canada’s broad criminal trial disclosure rules.
This article addresses the Canadian law governing ‘lawful access’ to potentially encrypted data-in-motion; that is, communications done through electronic means. We use the term lawful access to encompass various legislated standards permitting legal access to communications. Since 2011, there have been no legislative efforts to tackle the issue of encryption in Canada. As such, the balance of this article will begin by outlining the core agencies responsible for counterterrorism investigations in Canada, and the recent public debate and government consultation on encryption. Next, we will identify how older laws designed for a different era may be leveraged to force service and platform providers to assist law enforcement and the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) by decrypting communications and data. We will also touch on the legal capacity of these organizations to develop their own ‘workarounds’, including the role of Canada’s signals intelligence agency, the Communications Security Establishment (CSE). Throughout, we will highlight how Canada’s long-standing intelligence to evidence (‘I2E’) problem affects and, arguably exacerbates, the going dark phenomenon and consequently impairs Canadian counterterrorism efforts. This is not to say that solving the I2E problem is a panacea, nor the key to resolving the privacy versus security debate within Canada. Rather, we predict legal reform resolving the ‘going dark’ issue will be impossible without modernization of Canada’s disclosure regime.
Anti-terrorism, ‘lawful access’ and encryption
In the past decade, Canadian anti-terrorism investigations relied heavily on the interception of communications. Indeed, when Parliament overhauled Canadian terrorism legislation after 9/11, lawmakers relaxed rules on ‘lawful access’ for police seeking to intercept private communications during anti-terrorism investigations. 10 While provincial and municipal law enforcement agencies may also apply for wiretap authorizations under the Criminal Code, the RCMP’s National Security Criminal Investigations Program is responsible for all terrorism investigations which are coordinated by several Integrated National Security Enforcement Teams (INSET) located strategically throughout the country. Canadian evidence law also permits the introduction of wiretap evidence in criminal proceedings, a practice that has become relatively common in terrorism prosecutions. 11
Despite changes to the law in 2001, the RCMP sought few wiretap authorizations in connection with terrorism offences until 2010 (see Figure 1). The number of authorizations issued peaked in 2014 after two successful terror attacks were carried out just days apart by separate men in St. Jean-sur-Richelieu, Québec and on Parliament Hill in Ottawa. Together, the attacks left three Canadian Forces members dead. While they have since declined, the number of authorizations sought remain consistently higher than the pre-2010 statistics.

RCMP Part VI wiretap authorizations for terrorism offences 2001–2017. 12 RCMP: Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
CSIS, Canada’s security intelligence service, may also obtain judicial authorizations to intercept communications and use other intrusive surveillance techniques to investigate terrorist threat actors. 13 Information collected using these measures may be shared with law enforcement and has sometimes served as the justification for police wiretap authorizations. 14 More generally, however, information collected by CSIS is used in support of the agency’s mandate to advise the government of Canada on threats to the security of Canada. 15
Another key player in the Canadian counterterrorism space is CSE, Canada’s signals intelligence agency. Although the primary mandate of CSE is to collect foreign intelligence from the ‘global information infrastructure’, the agency may also provide technical and operational assistance to the RCMP and CSIS. 16 The provision of this assistance is carried out under the requesting agency’s legal authorities. 17
In recent years, senior representatives from these agencies have identified encryption as a growing impediment to Canada’s counterterrorism efforts. The current CSIS director cautioned in 2018 that ‘[i]ntelligence and law enforcement is now often unable to access the content of some communications due to strong encryption. This greatly undermines the efforts of organizations like CSIS to investigate, disrupt, and prosecute the terrorist threat’. 18 Both the 2017 and 2018 public report on the terrorist threat to Canada echoed these sentiments; Public Safety Canada warned that encrypted messaging applications were allowing users ‘to share information and ideological content, recruit individuals, coordinate and carry out operations, or offer material support with relative anonymity and security’. 19
A briefing document prepared (presumably in 2018) for the incoming RCMP commissioner asserted ‘[a]pproximately 70 percent of all communications intercepted by CSIS and the RCMP are now encrypted…80 organized crime groups were identified as using encryption in 2016 alone’. 20 Given the numbers, it is unsurprising that the Canadian Association of Chiefs of Police adopted a resolution urging the Government to identify legislative means to use judicial authorizations ‘to compel the holder of an encryption key or password to reveal it to law enforcement’. 21
Pressure from public safety officials has not been entirely ignored.
In 2016, the Government of Canada issued a ‘Green Paper’ on Canadian national security legislation which formed the basis for 4 months of public consultations. In the document, the government emphasized that encryption helps criminals and terrorists to avoid discovery, investigation and prosecution by making their communications unreadable to investigators. The international availability of encryption tools and the complexities of encryption make law enforcement and national security investigations more difficult. They also pose challenges for law enforcement working with foreign partners in fighting serious international crimes.
22
Extensive consultations with stakeholders lead, in part, to the introduction of Bill C-59, the National Security Act 2017, in June 2017. 24 This legislation represents the largest overhaul to Canada’s national security and intelligence community in 30 years. The Act, which received Royal Assent in June 2019, includes powerful new tools for both CSE and CSIS in the fight against terrorism, and yet wholly fails to address Canada’s lawful access laws or the ‘going dark’ phenomenon.
The report issued by the government following the national security Green Paper consultations noted that a clear majority of civil liberties, legal academic and industry organizations who addressed the issue in their submissions opposed any effort to weaken encryption technology. 25 Generally, they argued that strong encryption was necessary to protect privacy and freedom of expression and that the idea of creating a ‘back door’ for law enforcement would make Canadians more vulnerable and diminish ‘trust in the system’. 26 Moreover, the Privacy Commissioner of Canada urged Parliament to ‘proceed cautiously before attempting to legislate solutions in this complex area’ and advised that it was ‘preferable to explore the realm of technical solutions which might support discrete, lawfully authorized access to specific encrypted devices, as opposed to imposing general legislative requirements’. 27 A 2017 House of Commons Standing Committee on Public Safety and National Security also recommended against changes to Canada’s lawful access regime for encrypted communications, suggesting the matter required further study. 28
To be sure, debates about lawful access reform in Canada have been consistently toxic for governments. In the last 15 years, four government bills containing nearly identical decryption obligations on service providers have been introduced in Parliament. 29 None were enacted, and each brought about fierce resistance from both industry and civil society groups. 30 In every case, the proposed law would have required service providers to have the capacity to provide intercepted communications to authorities where a lawful access rule authorized this collection. Where the requested communications were encrypted, service providers would have been obliged to remove the encryption, at least where the provider itself was its source.
The most recent attempt at such reform, introduced by the Conservative Government in 2012, was met with considerable backlash, including a petition signed by more than 100,000 people condemning the bill, and a targeted campaign by hacktivist group ‘Anonymous’ against its sponsor, Public Safety Minister Vic Toews. The personal attacks against Minister Toews escalated after he argued that Canadians either stood with the government on the issue of lawful access ‘or with the child pornographers’. 31
Given this history, the Liberal Government may have calculated that reigniting the lawful access debate as part of Bill C-59 would have jeopardized the success of the legislation, and its reform of other essential elements of Canada’s national security community. With that bill safely through Parliament however, the current government does not appear to have any concrete plans to move forward on lawful access, nor was this part of the Liberal Party’s successful 2019 Federal Election platform. 32
Intercepting private communications
Lawful access to communications
Given the challenges of reforming lawful access, Canadian security officials are left to make-do with existing legal authorities. In this section, we will identify how existing legal mechanisms may be leveraged by law enforcement and security services to force service providers to help their agencies gain access to encrypted communications. Before outlining each of the specific legislative tools, it is important to set out the underlying principles and key considerations that influence Canada’s lawful access regime.
Statutory considerations
Interception of private communications in Canada is now a tightly regulated process but, as in most constitutional democracies, this was not always the case. In the 1950s, national security domestic intercept warrants were issued by the Prime Minister as an exercise of discretionary power under a Korean War-period instrument, the Emergency Powers Act. 33 The EPA set out vague statutory standards upon which authorities could engage in surveillance 34 without any independent oversight. 35 Subsequently, in 1954, the Deputy Minister of Justice issued the so-called ‘Varcoe opinion’ in which he concluded that under the then-Official Secrets Act, officials could intercept telephone communications for security purposes with a standard search warrant issued by a justice of the peace. 36
Twenty years later, Parliament legislated the Protection of Privacy Act of 1974, now included as Part VI of the Criminal Code. 37 Part VI governs the interception of ‘private communications’—essentially, any oral communication or telecommunication made or received in Canada in which the originator has a reasonable expectation of privacy. 38 Interception almost always requires advance authorization by a judge, following a process more demanding than that associated with regular search warrants set out elsewhere in the Criminal Code. Under Part VI, the unauthorized interception of a private communication, including by government agencies, is a crime. 39
In 1984, Parliament enacted the CSIS Act establishing CSIS. Before then, the RCMP’s Security Service was responsible for both domestic security intelligence and national security policing. Following a series of scandals and failures by the Security Service in the 1970s and 1980s, the 1981 Report of the Commission of Inquiry Concerning Certain Activities of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police recommended that the responsibility for collecting intelligence be stripped from the RCMP and entrusted to a civilian intelligence agency with a clearly defined legislative mandate. 40 This recommendation culminated in the creation of CSIS in 1984. Since then, the use of intrusive investigative tools by this agency, including the interception of communications, requires judicial authorization by a specially designated judge of the Federal Court. The authorization scheme set out in the CSIS Act 30 years ago is technologically neutral—it applies in every instance where a collection measure implicates a target’s reasonable expectation of privacy. The same 1984 provisions (barring one exception expanding the jurisdictional reach of those warranted powers) continue to govern CSIS’s collection and interception effort today. 41
Constitutional considerations
The same year Parliament passed the CSIS Act, the Supreme Court of Canada decided Hunter v Southam which, to this day, remains the leading case on s 8 of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. 42 Section 8 guarantees ‘everyone has the right to be secure against unreasonable search or seizure’. Since Hunter, courts interpret s 8 as protection against unreasonable invasions of one’s reasonable expectations of privacy. This standard of reasonableness is a normative rather than a descriptive standard, meaning that the growth or introduction of new surveillance techniques should not diminish one’s expectation of privacy. 43
Hunter tell us that a lawful search generally requires ‘(1) prior authorization; (2) granted by a neutral and impartial arbiter capable of acting judicially; (3) based on reasonable and probable grounds to believe that an offence has been committed and there is evidence to be found at the place to be search’. 44 The Federal Court affirmed that the Hunter standard applies to CSIS, just as it applies to Canadian law enforcement. 45 In the Islamist Terrorism case, for instance, the Court pointed to the injuries that might befall an individual subject to an intelligence investigation and held ‘the investigation of threats to the security of Canada…and the collection of information or intelligence…[is] closer in nature to the purposes of criminal legislation than to the purposes underlying the types of public welfare, regulatory or economic legislation in respect of which low expectations of privacy have been found to exist’. 46
Given s 8 and the jurisprudence interpreting it, both the Criminal Code Part VI and the CSIS Act warrant regimes are constitutional necessities. Whether encryption itself affects constitutional expectations remains unclear. That said, in 2014, the Supreme Court recognized the right to remain anonymous as an element of privacy protected by s 8 of the Charter. In R v Spencer, the Court considered a police request for an Internet user’s subscriber information, needed to link the account holder to illegal online activity. The Court held that by linking Mr Spencer to online activities that he wished to undertake anonymously, the police violated his reasonable expectation of privacy. As such, the use of encryption to mask one’s identity could easily be understood as a means of enhancing one’s expectation of privacy. 47
Technological change
For decades, security services and the Courts have found ways to adapt both the police Part VI interception and CSIS Act interception regimes to suit the requirements of changing technology. As noted, the CSIS Act system governs all intrusive investigative techniques and thus does not ‘stale date’ with technological change.
For its part, Part VI of the Criminal Code specifically applies to the interception of ‘private communications’. Private communication includes ‘telecommunication’, a term defined as ‘the emission, transmission or reception of signs, signals, writing, images, sounds or intelligence of any nature by any wire, cable, radio, optical or other electromagnetic system, or by any similar technical system’. 48 In Lyons v The Queen, the Supreme Court made clear that Part VI was not ‘“wiretapping” legislation, nor eavesdropping legislation, nor radio regulation. It is the regulation of all these things and “any other device” that may be used to intercept intelligence reasonably expected by the originator not to be intercepted by anyone other than the intended recipient’. 49
Later, in R v Telus Communications, 50 a plurality of the Supreme Court concluded that “text messages”—a written form of electronic communication—were “telecommunications” for the purposes of Part VI of the Criminal Code. 51 As such, Part VI’s rules regarding the interception of private communication govern the ‘state acquisition of informational content—the substance, meaning, or purport—of the private communication. It is not just the communication itself that is protected, but any derivative of that communication that would convey its substance or meaning’. 52 Part VI likely reaches, therefore, all sorts of transiting, written and electronic communications. 53 Stored communications are governed by other standards—namely, the ‘production orders’ discussed below.
Encryption and lawful access
Solicitor general’s enforcement standards
An intercept authorization under Part VI or the CSIS Act permits the state to intercept a private communication lawfully. It does not, however, guarantee that the interceptions will be intelligible.
As noted above, Canada does not have any encryption-specific law. In the absence of formal statutory decryption obligations, authorities rely instead on a more antiquated, narrower and less transparent administrative instrument: the Solicitor General’s Enforcement Standards for Lawful Interception of Telecommunications (SGES). Compliance with the SGES is a condition for obtaining and maintaining wireless telecommunications licences in Canada, and yet the terms of the SGES are not public. 54 It is our understanding that the most recent version was updated in 2015. 55 However, the only published version of the SGES—of which we are aware—dates to 2008 and was obtained by a Canadian newspaper through a freedom of information request. 56
To be sure, authorities must present service providers with a lawful authorization to intercept communications—the SGES does not replace the need for a judicial authorization. But where they do have lawful access to communications, Standard 12 in the 2008 iteration of the SGES requires that ‘[i]f network operators/service providers initiate encoding, compression or encryption of telecommunications traffic, law enforcement agencies require the network operators/service providers to provide intercepted communications en clair’. The commentary on Standard 12 notes: Law enforcement requires that any type of encryption algorithm that is initiated by the service provider must be provided to the law enforcement agency unencrypted. This would include proprietary compression algorithms that are employed in the network. This does not include end to end encryption that can be employed without the service provider’s knowledge.
57
Production of stored records or data
Where the information sought by police is records or data either stored or accessible by a third party, including text messages, SMS messages or emails, police may obtain a production order under s 487.014 of the Criminal Code. Similar to a wiretap authorization, s 487.014 demands that police have reasonable grounds to believe that a crime has been or will be committed, that a document or data is in the identified third party’s possession or control, and that the requested information will afford evidence concerning the commission of that offence. In the case of CSIS, the intelligence officials must present the service provider with a copy of a s 21 CSIS Act warrant specifying the type of communications they are authorized to intercept or obtain.
There is nothing in either provision that stipulates the information produced must be intelligible or ‘en clair’. Some suggest that a s 487.014 order could be issued to compel the production of an encryption key. 62 We contend that a strict reading of the Criminal Code would not support such a request as the document or data sought must itself afford evidence of a criminal offence. To argue otherwise would suggest that a production order could be used to compel the production of the passcode to a safe if the safe was believed to contain evidence of an offence. A separate provision of the Criminal Code governs this form of assistance, which we address next.
Assistance orders
Both the Criminal Code and the CSIS Act set out procedures for compelling third parties to assist authorities in carrying out their judicially authorized collection efforts.
Section 487.02 of the Criminal Code specifies that a judge or justice who issues a Part VI authorization may order a person to aid law enforcement if their ‘assistance may reasonably be considered to be required to give effect to the authorization’. Identical language is used in s 22.3 of the CSIS Act to compel any person to assist CSIS in the execution of a s 21 warrant. Under Canadian law ‘persons’ includes a corporation. 63
As noted in the introduction, we know BlackBerry aided the RCMP in their investigation of Montreal organized crime and the murder of Sal Montagne, yet the exact nature of that assistance is unknown. In part, this is a result of the fact that a s 487.02 order need not specify precisely how the named party should exercise their assistance. What is more, courts have provided little guidance on how officials and those presented with an assistance order should understand the scope of what is required to ‘give effect’ to an authorization.
The one reported case that dealt squarely with this issue arose in 2015 when Telus, a Canadian telephone service provider, challenged the legality of an assistance order. The order required Telus to provide all subscriber information associated with call records that the Toronto Police Service were authorized to collect under a Transmission Data Recorder Warrant.
64
An Ontario Superior Court judge upheld the order, dismissing Telus’s argument that assistance orders was merely a means of ensuring that the technical aspects of a warrant were carried out. The Court held the wording of s 487.02 ‘is not that narrow’: The section refers expressly to the fact that the granting of an assistance order is for the purpose of giving ‘effect to’ an authorization. It does not say, for example, that its purpose is to ‘implement’ or ‘execute’ an authorization. In my view, to give effect to an authorization is not to be read as simply requiring the application of technical know-how, such as connecting wires, or flicking switches, or permitting the police to ‘plug into’ a system.
65
are designed to assist the police in their investigations of criminal activity. They ought to be interpreted in a manner that facilitates such investigations balanced against the recognized requirement that the police demonstrate good reason for the infringement of any person’s privacy. That balance is protected by the requirement that the police obtain judicial authorization for any route that they take. These sections ought not to be interpreted in a manner that simply creates a technical maze, through which the police are to be put, with no certainty whether the path that the police ultimately take will have them arrive at the desired endpoint, especially when, had the correct path been taken, the desired information would nonetheless have been obtained.
66
Of course, we suspect that any company faced with an order that required them to weaken their product or create a technical solution that they do not already possess would challenge the lawfulness of that demand. The Supreme Court considered the question of undue burden on a third-party subject to a production order in another Telus case. In Tele Mobile Company v Ontario, Telus applied for an exemption from two orders requiring them to provide call records in two separate criminal investigations.
67
The Court noted Society as a whole bears responsibility for the maintenance of law and order; co-operation between the public and the police is essential to the effective fulfilment of the already difficult tasks performed by the police.
68
A second impediment to using assistance orders to compel third parties to assist police and intelligence officers in overcoming encryption is the effective reach of Canadian courts. Many platform and service providers do not operate ‘brick and mortar’ offices in Canada, putting the effectiveness of any court order in doubt. Once again, this issue arose in the context of a production order—rather than an assistance order—this time in British Columbia.
In 2018, the BC Court of Appeal found in R v Brecknell that the Provincial Court had jurisdiction to issue production orders to a company with only a virtual presence in Canada, and ordered Craigslist to provide account records connected to an offence committed in British Columbia. 72 Craigslist is an American company that does not have a physical presence within Canada, and they stored the requested information abroad. The Court of Appeal held that a production order could only be issued against a person in Canada, but found that Craigslist was such a person by virtue of the way it conducted business in this country: ‘in the Internet era it is formalistic and artificial to draw a distinction between physical and virtual presence [in Canada]’. 73 Moreover, the Court cautioned that denying production orders on the basis of such a distinction would encourage criminals to store their information outside of Canada. 74
In this case, the issue of the enforceability of the order was not in question. Craigslist agreed to produce the documents if ordered and had a history of complying with Canadian law enforcement. 75 In comparison, a provincial court in Newfoundland explicitly refused to follow the precedent set in Brecknell and declined to issue a production order against Facebook because there was no mechanism to enforce it in California. 76 There was nothing in the facts in the Newfoundland decision to suggest the US company would ignore a Canadian order, but that exact situation recently arose in Ontario when Facebook refused to produce documents related to a murder investigation. Facebook told Canadian authorities that as an American company who stores its data in the United States, they are under no obligation to comply with a Canadian order. 77 We imagine foreign companies would adopt a similar stance if ordered to provide assistance in the form of decryption.
If this holds true, two options remain for Canadian authorities. The first is to seek foreign assistance through the cumbersome Mutual Legal Assistance Treaty (MLAT) process. Parliament enacted the Mutual Legal Assistance in Criminal Matters Act 78 in 1988, giving the Minister of Justice the authority to request evidence or assistance in criminal investigations from one of the approximately 40 countries that have an MLAT with Canada. 79 Despite the long history of this process, in many contexts the practicality of MLATs is questionable; they are ‘a slow and uncertain mechanism of investigation in an era when information moves instantaneously and may be stored only for a short time’. 80 Moreover, for decryption, use of the MLAT process would only be effective if the corresponding nation has laws to compel third parties to decrypt communications or data.
The second option is for authorities to crack the code or find a way to circumvent encryption themselves.
Internal workarounds
The most obvious workaround to encryption is cracking the code or exploiting a flaw in the code when security officials have judicial authorization to collect the underlying information—what we call lawful hacking. 81 This may have been the RCMP’s solution to accessing BlackBerry Pin to Pin messaging. Law enforcement agencies may also purchase vulnerabilities from an external party with the technological skills to discover and exploit a flaw in the relevant software. 82
Alternatively, authorities can access the plain text messages or voice communications from a device while it is in use. In this way, authorities see and hear the same thing as its user by exploiting a flaw in the phone or computer rather than the encrypted software.
83
It was recently revealed that s 21 warrants may be used to authorize CSIS to do just that. Section 21(3) gives the Court jurisdiction to authorize CSIS to:
to enter any place or open or obtain access to any thing; to search for, remove or return, or examine, take extracts from or make copies of or record in any other manner the information, record, document or thing; or to install, maintain or remove any thing.
In October 2018, a Federal Court judge issued a series of warrants related to an investigation of ISIS that authorized CSIS to remotely install ‘implants’ on a named target’s wireless device. According to the Court’s reasons, the implant allows CSIS to covertly receive copies of what a subject of investigation sees on their computer or wireless device and enables remote searching of the device to obtain images, documents, and emails on an ongoing basis without the user’s knowledge. 84 To use this power, CSIS must also have a warrant to access the individual’s communications. 85
While we are unaware of any circumstances where law enforcement has undertaken similar measures, we suggest that the use of an implant could be authorized under a ‘general warrant’. 86 Under s 487.01, a judge may authorize police to ‘use any device or investigative technique or procedure or do any thing described in the warrant’ if there is no other provision under the Criminal Code or ‘any other Act of Parliament that would provide for a warrant, authorization or order permitting the technique, procedure or device to be used or the thing to be done’.
Section 487.01 was introducing in 1993 to give law enforcement the option of using new techniques and technologies that were not provided for in the Criminal Code, a fact the applicant must establish when seeking the warrant. Authorities must also satisfy the Court that issuance is ‘in the best interests of the administration of justice’. 87 A general warrant alone, however, would not be sufficient. Law enforcement would also need to obtain a Part IV authorization to use an implant to circumvent encryption and intercept ongoing ‘private communications’ from the target’s device.
The challenge with using internal workarounds to collect evidence is the same problem that plagued the RCMP’s investigation into the Montreal mafia. In Canada, the accused has a right to the disclosure of all relevant information in the possession of the Crown. 88 This obligation is not limited to material that will be introduced as evidence, and there is no distinction between inculpatory and exculpatory information. The constitutional premise for the ‘Stinchcombe rule’ is that failure to disclose information in the Crown’s possession impedes an accused’s ability to make full answer and defence which is a fundamental principle of justice protected by s 7 of the Charter. 89 Therefore, ‘[u]nless the information is clearly irrelevant, privileged, or its disclosure is otherwise governed by law, the Crown must disclose to the accused all material in its possession’. 90
Both the common law and s 37 of the Canada Evidence Act recognize a public interest privilege. 91 This privilege may be invoked on a case-by-case basis to withhold information related to police investigative techniques where its release could undermine current and future investigations or put officers and civilians at risk. 92 Under both the common law and statutory scheme, to order the non-disclosure of relevant information, the trial judge must be satisfied that on balance, the public interest in protecting the material outweighs the public interest in its release. However, where the information at issue is tied directly to the innocence of the accused, as was purportedly the case in Mirarchi, the balance will favour its disclosure.
CSE and vulnerabilities
A final option available to law enforcement and CSIS is to request assistance from Canada’s signals intelligence agency, CSE. When the RCMP or CSIS obtain an authorization to intercept communications that same authorization gives CSE the legal authority to assist the requesting agency in executing the warrant. Whatever terms or conditions imposed on the RCMP or CSIS apply equally to CSE, but the blanket restriction otherwise preventing CSE from directing its collection efforts at Canadians is lifted.
In 2019, CSE released its Equities Management Framework and publicly acknowledged that its analysts seek to ‘identify vulnerabilities in information systems and technologies’ and use them to leverage ‘unique insights for intelligence gathering’. 93 The Establishment made clear that the decision to retain or release identified vulnerabilities is evaluated at least once every 12 months; that decision is based on a series of factors and guided by defined principles. 94 Some of the factors include an assessment of the expected intelligence value; the level of technical expertise required to exploit the vulnerability; who else has the capacity to use it against Canadians; whether an ally shared the vulnerability; and the severity of damage that could be caused if a threat actor successfully exploits the vulnerability. 95
Still, if CSE used a discovered vulnerability to decrypt communications, that fact, and potentially the vulnerability itself, would be subject to Stinchcombe disclosure in a criminal proceeding unless the Attorney-General could justify withholding it based on (most commonly) another Canada Evidence Act privilege: national security privilege. Section 38 of the Canada Evidence Act sets out a regime for preventing the release of sensitive information that if disclosed, could injure international relations, national defence or national security. Unlike s 37 public interest privilege, which is considered by the trial judge, s 38 claims are adjudicated by a designated judge of the Federal Court in entirely separate proceedings, often assisted by amicus curiae. That judge is then asked to balance the relevant public interests without the full knowledge of the criminal proceedings. Given the risk that non-disclosure may prompt the criminal trial judge to stay the criminal charges, this Federal Court balancing process may result in the sensitive technique being released where, as in Mirarchi, understanding that technique is required to test the accuracy of the communication at issue in the trial.
Lawful hacking may, therefore, be a one-time only solution—once deployed in a criminal investigation, the technique may well end up revealed in open court. In these circumstances, intelligence services may be reluctant to assist law enforcement in decryption efforts for fear that their own intelligence gathering activities, dependent on vulnerabilities, will be degraded by disclosure.
Conclusion
A 2016 briefing by Canada’s National Security Advisor to the Prime Minister suggested Canada was lagging behind its Five Eye allies in addressing ‘digital policing’. 96 Three years later, the government has announced no specific plans to address these concerns and Canada has fallen even further behind its closest allies. Canada’s inaction persists despite the Trudeau government’s commitment to the Statement of Principles on Access to Evidence and Encryption released at the Five Country Ministerial in 2018 ‘to pursue technological, enforcement, legislative or other measures to achieve lawful access solutions’. 97
Until the government takes legislative steps, the RCMP and CSIS must rely on legal authorities—most decades old—to find internal solutions to the ‘going dark’ phenomenon and to compel the assistance of third parties. Both avenues are fraught with challenges. Any effort to force third parties to weaken their own systems or create expensive technical solutions will certainly result in costly and prolonged litigation. Alternatively, the use of lawful hacking and internal capabilities or reliance on assistance from CSE will trigger battles over disclosure that favour the accused in criminal proceedings. As has been common in other ‘intelligence-to-evidence’ situations, this may deter intelligence services from close cooperation with police investigating matters that may end up in court.
In sum, Canada confronts the same technical dilemmas as its allies in addressing the ‘going dark’ issue. However, its ability to exploit solutions—including lawful hacking—may be especially encumbered by its sweeping approach to open court disclosure in criminal proceedings. It follows that untying one Gordian knot—’going dark’—may require progress in addressing another—intelligence-to-evidence.
Footnotes
Conflict of interest
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
