Apo-TriAvir, the generic HIV/AIDS drug. A Canadian law making its export easier is likely finished in parliament. Image courtesy Apotex.

In March, Canada came improbably close to establishing a system to deliver drugs cheaply and quickly to poorer countries. In a vote of 172 to 111, the House of Commons passed Bill C-393, which would have streamlined Canada’s Access to Medicine Regime, a program to provide low-cost generic drugs to the global south. It wasn’t to be: the senate stalled, waiting for the vote of non-confidence that precipitated a spring election. That vote came four days later, effectively trashing the bill.

CAMR allows generic drugmakers to export cheaper versions of brand-name drugs to developing countries, without needing the permission of the patent-holders. “We have tremendous capacity to help address a particular need,” says Richard Elliott, executive director at the Canadian HIV/AIDS Legal Network. But CAMR’s cumbersome red tape kept manufacturers away. Says Elliott: “To leave in place a regime that is not working would be harming millions of people who need access to medicines.”

The program had only been used once since it was introduced in 2005. In 2007, Apotex, the largest Canadian-owned generic drug company, shipped enough HIV medication, Apo-TriAvir, to treat 21,000 patients in Rwanda [PDF]. Apotex says the final shipment went out in 2008. “We’re not likely to repeat the process under the current regime,” says Bruce Clark, Apotex’s senior vice-president of scientific and regulatory affairs. “It’s not just our decision, it’s a practical reality that no second country has made a request under the regime because it’s so complicated.” Bill C-393 would have simplified that process, but its future looks doubtful.

When C-393 passed in the House of Commons, it was supported by 26 Conservative MPs; 25 of those were re-elected, but the bill’s prospects in the new Conservative-dominated parliament look dim. “We saw what Harper did in the senate with the bill,” Elliott says.

On May 5, Elliott discussed CAMR’s future with other major advocacy groups. They’ve decided it’s not time to give up, but it will take time to re-assess the political climate before drafting some next steps. “The legal landscape is more challenging now than before,” he says. “But it’s worth trying to gather some intelligence and make a more informed assessment as to what the prospects might be before moving forward.”

Even with such slight optimism, Elliott expects the earliest the bill could be re-introduced—if at all—would be this fall.

Illustration by Matt Daley.

In the aftermath of the Rwandan genocide, the Canadian government commissioned the departments of Foreign Affairs and National Defence to investigate the feasibility of a United Nations rapid-response service. The research was co-directed by Peter Langille, an academic and defence analyst known as a critic of NATO’s military doctrine, a key figure in the development of the Pearson Peacekeeping Centre, and a national expert on UN peace operations. Langille and his team realized early on that such a service was both possible and necessary, as events in Rwanda and Srebrenica had already grimly proved, but would require three things: a compelling concept; a broad base of national and global support; and the strength to withstand the inevitable opposition.

The United Nations Emergency Peace Service, as the initiative came to be called, is imagined as the UN’s answer to 911: a permanent first responder, capable of deployment within 24 hours of authorization from the UN Security Council. Langille, whose slow, deliberate speech suggests years of explaining concepts that people don’t or won’t understand, stressed that UNEPS would be a service, not an armed force, meant to complement existing national and UN arrangements. “It would draw on the best and brightest of individuals who volunteer for a dedicated UN service—military, police, and civilians who are well-prepared, highly trained, and likely more sophisticated [than national armed forces] in addressing a wide array of emergencies,” he says.

It’s designed for five key functions: to stop genocide, prevent armed conflict, protect civilians, address human needs, and launch—quickly—the complex and long-term peacekeeping operations of the UN. The Canadian study, which concluded in 1995, “did attract 26 member states into a group known as the Friends of Rapid Deployment,” Langille says, “but it became clear that it was running into a lot of powerful political opposition.”

Despite strong endorsements from a number of high-ranking UN officials, politicians, and prominent peace researchers, UNEPS has yet to get off the ground. “We haven’t attracted the broader organizational support required, the funding necessary, the backing of key member states,” explains Langille. Apparently, there are threats implied in anti-militarist global cooperation. “Some see this as a harbinger of world governments, or a stronger UN that might actually work. Some don’t favour that system.” This is unfortunate, because UNEPS proponents see it as the best means of preventing another Rwanda. Off the top of his head, Langille lists other recent crises where UNEPS could have helped: East Timor, Sierra Leone, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Darfur, Ivory Coast, Haiti. “It’s not hard to go on,” he says.

When Langille visited the UN in December, it was clear to him that interest in UNEPS was up. There’s a new emphasis in global politics on protecting civilians from war, he says, and more and more groups are calling for the creation of a UN standing force to deal with humanitarian crises. Still, the need for advocacy remains; the general public must be made to understand that an alternative to current defence arrangements exists, that it’s been derived from the experience of UN officials and various defence establishments, and that it addresses, sustainably, the urgent requirements of collective global security.

The Canadian chapter of World Federalist Movement is at the forefront of national efforts to promote UNEPS, actively advocating for its creation in an effort to swing public policy. I ask Langille if there’s something we can do to help them. “Yeah,” he says, without hesitation. “Send money.”

It was comforting, at the end of our conversation, to know that some answers remain so simple.

— Katie Addleman

Desiré Munyaneza

Quebec Superior Court judge André Denis made history on May 22, 2009, when he convicted Desiré Munyaneza of seven counts of war crimes and crimes against humanity. Munyaneza, he said, had “intentionally killed dozens” during the Rwandan genocide of 1994 and “raped several women and pillaged homes and businesses.” For the first time ever, a Canadian court tried and found guilty a citizen of another country for crimes committed outside of Canada. It was an important test of Canada’s Crimes Against Humanity and War Crimes Act of 2000, which grants Canadian courts greater authority to try and punish war criminals residing in Canada, regardless of their nationality. The law itself and Justice Denis’s judgment sends a powerful message: if you commit monstrous crimes anywhere in the world, you will not be able to evade justice in the nooks and crannies of technicality and jurisdiction. Canadian justice is coming for you.

Just a day earlier, another Canadian court sent out a much different message. On May 21, 2009, the Supreme Court of Canada declined to consider whether or not suspected Taliban fighters in the custody of the Canadian Forces in Afghanistan are entitled to the rights and protections of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Amnesty International and the British Columbia Civil Liberties Association had asked the Supreme Court to judge whether the Canadian military had the right to hand Afghan terror suspects over to the indigenous government, where reliable reports were saying they were suffering torture and abuse. Amnesty and the BCCLA posed two questions to the court: “Does the charter apply … to the detention of non-Canadians by the Canadian forces…?” and, if not, would it apply if “the transfer of the detainees in question would expose them to a substantial risk of torture?” To which the Supremes said, merely: “Questions answered in the negative.”

So: which is it?

Is Canadian law so universal—so undeniably and cosmically just—that it applies to everyone, no matter their location or nationality, as in Munyaneza’s case? Or do our laws stop sharply at our borders, with no obligation to extend our protections to non-citizens in the custody of our government, as in the case of the Afghan prisoners? It’s one or the other—it can’t be both.

Canada’s lawmakers apparently want to keep the credit and deflect the blame. Canada is trying to make up for lost time on the war-crimes front—having earned a deserved reputation as a safe haven for Nazi war criminals in the late 20th century—and wants to strut its new tough-on-crime credentials to the international community. This is why Munyaneza was not deported back to Rwanda or the International Criminal Court, both of which have their own systems for prosecuting exactly these cases. We’re quite happy to take the convenient and comfortable position of condemning a well-known genocidaire and throwing him in our prison, a trophy we’ve awarded ourselves. But when it comes to the politically awkward prospect of extending our justice to alleged terrorists and insurgents in Afghanistan, well, suddenly it’s complicated. Not good enough. Human rights are human rights—no exceptions. If our prosecutions are global, then so are our protections, and the Afghan detainees must receive those benefits. Will Canadian justice come for them, too?