Canada loses its foremost defender of Freedom of Speech


Over the past 35 year one man has stood up to the Almighty State in the arena of Free Speech: Douglas Hewson Christie.

On March 11, 2013 Doug Christie succumbed to cancer, leaving behind his wife and two children.  My most heartfelt condolences go out to them as they deal with the loss of father, husband and hero.

To quote Doug’s wife Keltie,

I am sorry to have to tell you that Doug passed away this afternoon at about 4 p.m. from metastatic liver cancer.

The children and I, and his sister Jane, were privileged to be present.

Two and a half weeks ago he was fighting his last case in court, determined to finish and not let down his client.

There will be a funeral in Victoria and opportunity for those who were touched by his life, to attend. This will be announced as soon as we know details.

Right now we are dealing with the great shock and sorrow.

While the Christie family mourns the loss of the head of their family, the rest of us are left mourning not only the loss of a friend, but the loss of the one man who consistently stood up to state censorship.

His legal battles are literally the history of the battle for Freedom of Speech in Canada.

I had the honour and pleasure of meeting and working with Doug over the past 7 years and, contrary to public perception, the man I knew was not only kind and honourable, he was arguably the man most committed to fighting for our God-given Rights and Freedoms.

Doug, I will miss you and your tenacity, dedication and devotion to us all.

To Keltie, Cadeyrn and Kalonica, please know that my thoughts and prayers are with you… and that if you need anything, please just ask.


Douglas H. Christie April 24, 1946 – March 11, 2013
Douglas H. Christie
April 24, 1946 – March 11, 2013

1 thought on “Canada loses its foremost defender of Freedom of Speech

  1. There are those who walk amongst us and when they leave, when they vanish, we are so much the less for their absence…..

    We are the less for the absence of Doug Christie and in his absence i am reminded of the last several paragraphs of the poem Morte D’Arthur by Alfred Lord Tennyson….

    Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:
    “Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?
    Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?
    For now I see the true old times are dead,
    When every morning brought a noble chance,
    And every chance brought out a noble knight.
    Such times have been not since the light that led
    The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.
    But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved
    Which was an image of the mighty world;
    And I, the last, go forth companionless,
    And the days darken round me, and the years,
    Among new men, strange faces, other minds.”

    And slowly answer’d Arthur from the barge:
    “The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
    And God fulfils Himself in many ways,
    Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
    Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
    I have lived my life, and that which I have done
    May He within Himself make pure! but thou,
    If thou shouldst never see my face again,
    Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
    Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
    Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
    For what are men better than sheep or goats
    That nourish a blind life within the brain,
    If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
    Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
    For so the whole round earth is every way
    Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.
    But now farewell. I am going a long way
    With these thou seëst—if indeed I go—
    (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)
    To the island-valley of Avilion;
    Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
    Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
    Deep-meadow’d, happy, fair with orchard-lawns
    And bowery hollows crown’d with summer sea,
    Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.”

    So said he, and the barge with oar and sail
    Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan
    That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
    Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
    With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
    Revolving many memories, till the hull
    Look’d one black dot against the verge of dawn,
    And on the mere the wailing died away.

    -Morte D’Arthur
    Alfred Lord Tennyson, Poet Laureate, Victorian England

    Take care of yourself Doug……

    Regards, Don Laird
    Edson, Alberta, Canada

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