Recently, I experienced a very unwelcome déjà vu of the spring of 2020, a time most of us have blocked out of our minds. Back then, a few weeks into lockdowns, we learned of Maritime interprovincial border closures in the name of “stopping the spread,” including barring a woman from attending her own mother’s funeral. These were measures no other province found necessary, and which posed obvious constitutional problems. Now, more than five years later, it is Nova Scotia’s stunningly broad ban on hiking, camping, fishing, picnicking, and even inviting friends to wander your own forested property, complete with a snitch line to report on your neighbours, that threatens Canadians’ individual freedoms.
The restrictions—backed by steep fines and in place until mid-October—are justified by a serious threat of extreme wildfire risk but are plainly mismatched to the nature of that threat. Even more familiar than the policy was the reaction to my organization, the Canadian Constitution Foundation, pointing out its plain unconstitutionality: a pile-on of angry emails landing in my inbox, some laced with veiled threats, accusing us of recklessness, all while not disputing our constitutional claims. The subtext was clear: in times of perceived danger, rights should yield even in the absence of justification.
That reflex has led to a widespread phenomenon of majoritarian maximalism: when governments, institutions, and public opinion embrace the most sweeping version of a popular measure, without paying any tribute to proportionality, minimal impairment, or the rights of individuals. This reflexive prioritization of safety above all other values reflects what social psychologist Jonathan Haidt and First Amendment lawyer Greg Lukianoff call “safetyism.” Safetyism is the cultural tendency to prioritize emotional or physical safety at the expense of freedom, personal development, or open debate.
The recent controversy over a judicial decision effectively creating a positive right to bike lanes in Toronto was rightly criticized. Courts shouldn’t fabricate new entitlements prescribing government actions. But this criticism ironically highlights what makes Nova Scotia’s forest ban, which restricts fundamental negative rights—such as the freedom of movement, property use, and liberty from arbitrary government interference—so indefensible. These are precisely the spheres of protection constitutional rights are designed to ensure.
Nova Scotia’s forest ban is striking not just in its breadth but in the pattern it evinces. A sweeping prohibition on all forest access, even in areas with no active fires, criminalizing harmless activities like walking on rock barrens. It’s a performative, one-size-fits-all restriction that is almost certainly unconstitutional. The speed with which Premier Tim Houston’s government proposed the ban, the excessive timeline of the ban lasting until the middle of October, and the lack of tailoring of the measures demonstrate a collective muscle memory to resort to lockdowns.
