A gentle giant of FOI

Darce Fardy, who died in Halifax on March 12 at age 89, is being remembered for many things, not least his cheeky Newfoundland sense of humour. I remember him as a top-notch information commissioner for Nova Scotia (1995-2006), the independent official I could appeal to when the province denied me documents under freedom of information.

Nova Scotia was the first jurisdiction in Canada to pass an FOI law, in 1977, but didn’t get around to putting a sheriff in place until the mid-1990s. (The current premier, Tim Houston, made a campaign promise last year to give the sheriff order-making power, but still has not done so.) As the province’s first “review officer,” Darce created the office on a shoe-string, designed the first procedures and protocols, and battled secrecy on many fronts.

His transparency credentials were impeccable. He was a former CBC journalist, with a sterling career that included running the Mothercorp’s current-affairs division in Toronto before he retired in 1991. He was an inspired choice as an FOI arbitrator/mediator. Most information commissioners across Canada have been lawyers, supposedly because they have to divine the abstruse language of FOI laws. As a former journalist, Darce arrived in the job with a deep belief in citizens’ right to know, and interpreted the law through that prism.

I lost more appeals with Darce than I won. Like most FOI laws, Nova Scotia’s is heavily skewed in favour of secrecy, and the limits of the legislation tied his hands. Many of the bureaucrats who administered the Act were poorly trained, misinformed, and interested only in protecting their ministers. Darce was as frustrated as I was, often unable to get his telephone calls returned. But he fought tenaciously, from an underfunded shop, armed with little more than grit.

I was especially impressed with Darce’s final written reports on my FOI complaints. They were a model of crisp, direct language and clear-headed analysis. His writing had been honed from decades in journalism, connecting with ordinary Canadians. And yet he also grappled with technicalities of the law in his decisions, without falling prey to jargon.

He promoted use of FOI among citizens, especially Nova Scotia journalists, many of whom were slow to take up the challenge. When the Nova Scotia government in 2002 increased the fee for making an FOI request, to $25 from $5, Darce was in the trenches with me and others fighting the move. Fortunately, by then he was on a five-year contract (and a per diem of $150), and couldn’t easily be fired. (Until 2000, he had been on a series of one-year contracts.)

In 2003, I moved from Halifax to a job in Ottawa. Darce sent me a typically mischievous goodbye voice-mail: “I trust you’re telling no one in government you’re leaving – they don’t need any more reasons for re-examining my piddling budget. Or maybe the fees will come down again – you were the target of them anyway.” He ended with: “Enjoy your new assignment – the Flin Flon bureau. You’ve earned it.”

After Darce left the commissioner position in 2006, he founded the Nova Scotia Right to Know Coalition in his basement, fighting for transparency and eventually getting the jacked-up application fee reduced (in 2009, back to $5). Darce’s FOI work was a small part of a stunningly successful life in public service, in journalism and in the family home. Others knew him in a broader, more rounded way. The man I knew in a narrow sphere was principled, hard-working and effective, with a roguish sense of humour and a warm smile. I am fortunate indeed to have known him.

March 17, 2022