The headlines are predictable. They scream about "justice delayed" and "broken systems." They point to 35 court appearances for a double homicide in British Columbia and call it a failure. The families are, understandably, devastated. But if you think the number 35 is an indictment of a malfunctioning machine, you’re missing the point.
The Canadian judicial system isn't broken. It's doing exactly what it was built to do: protect the accused from the absolute power of the state.
We live in an era of instant gratification where we expect a verdict in the time it takes to stream a true-crime documentary. Real life doesn't have a fast-forward button. When the public demands "efficiency" in the courts, what they are actually asking for is a shortcut to a conviction. In a liberal democracy, efficiency is the enemy of liberty.
The Myth of the Stalling Defense
The common narrative suggests that defense lawyers are magicians pulling "delay" rabbits out of their hats to frustrate the process. This is a fundamental misunderstanding of criminal procedure.
Most of those 35 dates aren't dramatic arguments over evidence. They are administrative check-ins. They are about disclosure. In a modern double homicide case, the sheer volume of digital evidence—cell tower pings, encrypted messages, DNA sequencing, and thousands of hours of CCTV—is staggering.
If a prosecutor misses one USB stick of data, the entire case can collapse under the weight of a Charter violation. I’ve seen cases where a single missing email resulted in a stayed charge three years into the process. Those 35 dates are the necessary friction that prevents the state from steamrolling a citizen.
We should be more worried about a trial that starts in six months than one that starts in three years. Rapid justice is usually sloppy justice.
The Jordan Ceiling is a Floor, Not a Goal
In 2016, the Supreme Court of Canada handed down R. v. Jordan. It set a presumptive ceiling of 30 months for cases in superior court. The public saw this as a deadline. The legal reality is that it became a baseline.
The $30-month$ limit ($18$ months for provincial courts) was intended to stop the "culture of complacency." Instead, it created a high-stakes game of chicken.
Defense counsel isn't "delaying" for the sake of it; they are ensuring that every stone is overturned. If the Crown can't get its act together within $2.5$ years, the case goes away. That isn't a loophole. It’s a constitutional safeguard. If you want faster trials, stop blaming the lawyers and start looking at the lack of judicial resources. You cannot run a first-world legal system on a third-world budget and expect Swiss-watch precision.
The High Cost of the "Victim First" Narrative
It is heresy to say this, but the criminal justice system is not about the victims.
It sounds cold. It feels wrong. But the moment we pivot the court’s primary function to "closure" for the families, we abandon the presumption of innocence. The court is a theater where the state must prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that it has the right to strip a human being of their freedom.
The victim’s family deserves support, empathy, and social services. They do not deserve a say in the pace of the legal proceedings. When we allow "victim frustration" to dictate judicial reform, we move closer to a system of retributive vengeance rather than objective law.
Why More Judges Won't Fix the 35 Dates
The "lazy consensus" says we just need more judges and more courtrooms. That’s a band-aid on a gunshot wound.
The complexity of modern litigation is the real culprit. In the 1980s, a murder trial might involve three witnesses and a bloody shirt. Today, it involves:
- Complex forensic accounting.
- Cross-border data requests from tech giants.
- Expert testimony on ballistics that requires months of peer-reviewed vetting.
- Pre-trial motions regarding the admissibility of private communications.
Each of these steps requires a "date." Each date is a record of the system’s obsession with getting it right. If you want 5 court dates instead of 35, you have to be willing to accept a higher margin of error. You have to be okay with the possibility that an innocent person goes to prison because their lawyer didn't have time to review $500$ gigabytes of data.
Are you? Most people who scream about "delays" aren't. They just want the other guy's trial to be fast.
The Real Crisis: Disclosure Overload
The burden of disclosure has grown exponentially while the human capacity to process it has stayed the same. The police are now digital archivists. A single homicide generates more paperwork than a 19th-century war.
The "35 dates" are often just the logistical reality of two sides trying to organize a mountain of information. If we "streamlined" this, we would likely see an explosion of wrongful convictions. The slow pace is a feature, not a bug. It is the sound of the brakes being applied to a state power that would otherwise be absolute.
Stop Asking "When?" and Start Asking "How?"
The media focuses on the clock because the clock is easy to read. Understanding the nuances of voir dire or the intricacies of the Stinchcombe disclosure requirements is hard.
We are asking the wrong questions. Instead of asking "Why is this taking so long?" we should be asking:
- Is the evidence being handled with absolute integrity?
- Does the accused have the resources to actually challenge the state’s narrative?
- Is the prosecution being held to the highest possible standard?
If the answer to those is yes, then 35 dates is a small price to pay.
The "frustration" of the families is a tragedy, but it shouldn't be a catalyst for policy. A system that moves at the speed of grief is a system that eventually hangs the wrong man.
We need to stop apologizing for the deliberate, agonizingly slow pace of our courts. The day our trials become "efficient" is the day we should all start looking for the exit.
Justice isn't a sprint. It’s a grueling, bureaucratic, and often boring marathon. And that’s exactly why it works.
Go ahead and complain about the calendar. Just remember that the same delays you hate today are the only thing standing between you and a cell if the state ever decides you're the one in the crosshairs.
