In 2017, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau proudly proclaimed, “to those fleeing persecution, terror, war, Canadians will welcome you, regardless of your faith. Diversity is our strength.” For many Canadians, this sentiment echoed the nation’s humanitarian ideals. However, seven years later, thousands of asylum seekers and migrants find themselves ensnared in Canada’s immigration detention system. For decades, these individuals fleeing war, persecution, and violence have been held in detention centers as their immigration cases unfold, many without any criminal offence. Yet, they remain confined in provincial jails, enduring harsh and dehumanizing conditions while their legal status remains uncertain.
As both lawyers Louis Century and Kent Roach highlight, Canada’s immigration detention system is a “miscarriage of justice,” paralleling the failures that lead to wrongful convictions. Ricardo Scotland, a citizen of Barbados who applied for refugee protection, was detained based on technical breaches fabricated by the Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA). Including one that claimed he was “in the presence of a prohibited person,” an error the police acknowledged and withdrew. Nevertheless, the CBSA still used this false statement to justify his detention. Justice Morgan noted that Scotland was trapped in an “endless circuit of mistakes” created by the CBSA. The irony is sharp: a country that prides itself on being a beacon of hope for refugees is incarcerating them instead.
Federal prisons, meant to house convicted criminals, are wholly inappropriate for asylum seekers and migrants who have not been charged with any crime. These individuals, most fleeing unimaginable circumstances, find themselves confined behind bars with no clear path to freedom. As Julia Sande, a lawyer for Amnesty International Canada, states, “Federal prisons have a sentence, so [inmates] have a date of release to count down to.” However, unlike convicted criminals, immigrant detainees face indefinite detention without any certainty of a release date. They are thus trapped in a purgatory that exacerbates their suffering.
Canada’s detention system thrives on agreements between federal and provincial governments, allowing the CBSA to house detainees in provincial jails. These environments, designed for convicted criminals, have been widely criticized by human rights groups such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International for subjecting vulnerable migrants to harsh conditions. For example, individuals in immigration detention are handcuffed, shackled, confined to small spaces with strict routines, and kept under constant surveillance.
In response to mounting pressure from these human rights groups, all ten provinces severed their ties with the federal government, refusing their jails to be used for immigration detention. While this shift was celebrated as a human rights victory, it has left the Federal government scrambling for alternatives, including the grim possibility of housing detainees in federal prisons. An option that is arguably worse.
The CBSA defends its actions by claiming that a small percentage of detainees pose public safety risks. However, data from 2012 to 2023 tells a different story. Out of the 71,988 individuals detained during this period, most were held not because they posed an immediate threat but because they were considered “flight risks,” defined as individuals who might not appear for their hearings. This raises a critical question: Why is Canada treating asylum seekers as criminals? The answer lies in the vast powers granted to the CBSA under the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act, allowing them to arrest, detain, and decide where detainees are held. Whether that be in immigration holding centers, provincial jails, or federal prisons.
These unchecked powers are deeply troubling. As the United Nations Working Group on Arbitrary Detention highlighted, the “mixing of migrants and other detainees who are held under the remit of the criminal justice system” is fundamentally misguided and inhumane. The stories of those trapped in this system highlight the cost of these policies. Tyron Richard, a man from Grenada, was detained for 18 months in three different maximum-security jails in Ontario despite posing no danger. Classified as a “flight risk,” Richard endured isolation and humiliating strip searches by guards inspecting him with flashlights. His dignity was stripped away as he was separated from his loved ones.“My life in prison was a living hell,” he recalled. His experience, while harrowing, is far from unique in Canada’s flawed detention system.
In recent years, the government has sought to replace traditional detention methods with “techno-carceral” alternatives like electronic monitoring (EM) and virtual reporting (VR). While these approaches promise more physical mobility, they often fail to offer genuine autonomy and freedom. As Nick Gill explains, “EM can be seen as a natural extension of mainstream carceral environments,” confining individuals not within prison walls but within the boundaries of their homes. The result is a form of digital incarceration, where detainees are “chained” to their devices, forced to keep them charged and functioning under constant surveillance. The freedom promised by these technologies is, at best, a mirage.
Virtual reporting, where detainees report via voice recognition, also adds layers of surveillance and control. Using mobile phones for location tracking, these systems extend the reach of carceral oversight into the very homes of migrants, eroding their autonomy. Though these technologies may seem less invasive than physical imprisonment, they bring with them a new kind of psychological burden, aggravating the trauma of indefinite detention. These so-called “alternatives” do not resolve the core issue; they merely shift the location of imprisonment.
Although Canada’s immigration detention system may be evolving, the question remains: Are we building a future of freedom or simply transferring the bars of the cage? As long as we rely on systems that conflate immigration with criminality, that question will continue to haunt our nation. The path forward requires more than just reform; it requires a reckoning with the values Canada claims to uphold. Only by dismantling the architectures of both physical and techno-carceral confinement can Canada live up to its promise: to welcome those fleeing persecution with dignity and compassion.
Edited by Alexandra MacNaughton
Victoria Forte is in her third and final year at McGill University, where she is completing her B.A. in Political Science and Gender, Sexuality, Feminist, and Social Justice Studies. As she navigates her final year, Victoria brings a fresh perspective as a new staff writer for Catalyst. Her academic and journalistic pursuits are driven by a deep interest in exploring the intersections of power, identity, and social justice.