On September 19-20, 2025, IP Osgoode co-hosted an important international conference on The Legacy of CCH Canadian Ltd. v. LSUC and the Future of Copyright Law. In this post, Shadi Nasseri (Osgoode PhD student, IP Osgoode Research Fellow, and Connected Minds Trainee), reflects on the conference and the lasting legacy of the CCH case that it explored.
The development of copyright law in Canada has never been quick to move but rather advances like a river carving its course, slow, persistent, and shaped by centuries of cultural and legal history. From the imperial statutes imported in the nineteenth century to the quiet but profound pronouncements of today’s Supreme Court, its progress has been less a leap than a measured accumulation of meaning across generations. Each judgment is a stone laid carefully in the stream, sometimes uneven, sometimes contested, yet together forming a path that reflects Canada’s patient effort to balance the rights of creators with the needs of users, tradition with innovation, and private reward with the public’s access to knowledge.
In March 2004, the Supreme Court of Canada released CCH Canadian Ltd. v. Law Society of Upper Canada, 2004 SCC 13 (“CCH”), a case that began as a dispute over library photocopying but grew into one of the most influential copyright rulings in Canadian history. In a single unanimous judgment, the Court redefined the purpose of copyright, reshaped its doctrinal foundations, and projected Canada’s legal voice onto the international stage. Twenty-one years later, on a bright, sunny weekend in Toronto, scholars, practitioners, professionals, and observers gathered at the Osgoode Professional Development Centre to reflect on the enduring legacy of CCH at home and abroad, asking: what did this ruling truly accomplish, and what did it set in motion?
The CCH ruling addressed four critical questions. First, the Court adopted the “skill and judgment” test for originality, rejecting the idea that mere industrious effort, what had been called the “sweat of the brow”, was enough to qualify for copyright protection. Originality required more: an intellectual contribution that reflected thought and decision.
Second, the Court narrowed intermediary liability. Simply providing the means for infringement, such as photocopiers in a library, would not make an institution liable unless it actively sanctioned the infringing use.
Third, it clarified “communication to the public by telecommunication,” a concept increasingly relevant in the digital age, limiting how far publishers could stretch their rights against libraries sharing works with their patrons.
And fourth, and most famously, the Court recognized fair dealing and other exceptions as “user rights.” With this declaration, the Court placed access and fairness at the heart of copyright law, ensuring that copyright was not simply a monopoly for rightsholders but a balanced framework serving creators, users, and the public interest.
As with any turning point in law, CCH’s legacy is complex. Supporters celebrate it as the moment Canada broke from overly restrictive copyright models and embraced a fairer balance between access and control. Critics, however, argue that the decision distorted the legislation and accelerated the decline of Canadian educational publishing. While Quebec largely charted its own cultural path, much of English Canada embraced the Court’s expansive vision of user rights, leaving local publishers crying foul as they struggled to adapt and compete in the digital era.
Even within institutions, the embrace of user rights has been uneven. While fair dealing has flourished through subsequent cases in the Supreme Court’s “copyright pentalogy” and amendments to section 29 of the Copyright Act, other exceptions, such as disability rights under section 32, remain under-utilized. Libraries and universities, wary of litigation, often adopt risk-averse policies that fail to reflect the spirit of CCH. It is a reminder that judicial doctrine alone cannot change practice; institutions (and the people who work for them) must also find the courage to carry the torch.
Though born of a Canadian library, the CCH decision quickly echoed abroad. In India, the Supreme Court adopted Canada’s “skill and judgment” test in Eastern Book Company v. D.B. Modak (2008), and today Indian courts continue to revisit CCH as they grapple with generative AI disputes and the role of user rights in text and data mining. In South Africa, reform efforts to decolonize and modernize copyright law have built upon CCH, with the proposed Copyright Amendment Bill seeking to expand exceptions and incorporate fair use principles that mirror Canada’s emphasis on balance. Across Africa’s music economy, the narrowing of intermediary liability established in CCH resonates strongly: while limiting liability can promote innovation, in regions with weak enforcement institutions, it risks enabling exploitation—highlighting the danger of transplanting doctrines from well-resourced systems into fragile infrastructures. Meanwhile, in Europe and Latin America, Canada’s approach has sparked reflection of another kind. European scholars contrast Canada’s robust recognition of user rights with the EU’s narrower framework, while in Brazil, cultural policy debates under Gilberto Gil in the early 2000s similarly sought to reframe copyright as more than just a market commodity. In each of these contexts, CCH has functioned as both compass and caution—proof that a single Canadian decision can shape global debates, but also a reminder that law must always be adapted to the realities of place and culture.
CCH Canadian Ltd. v. Law Society of Upper Canada stands as a milestone not just in Canadian copyright, but in the global story of how law adapts to new technologies and shifting cultural priorities. Its vision of user rights has shaped debates from Ottawa to Delhi, Cape Town to São Paulo.
Looking back, CCH reminds us of the slow dance of law in Canada. It did not arrive with fanfare but unfolded through a quiet dispute about photocopiers and fax machines, carried by careful words and judicial reflection. Yet over time, its influence spread like ripples on water—shaping institutions, and practices, inspiring courts and policymakers abroad, and offering copyright law a compass for navigating entirely new technological challenges.
Law evolves slowly, but its slowness is part of its strength. In a world of disruption, it anchors us to principles that endure: fairness, balance, and the recognition that the rights of users and the public are not afterthoughts but part of the very purpose of copyright. As Canada reflects on the case twenty-one years later, it is worth remembering the lesson woven through its legacy: law does not race to keep up with every innovation, but moves like water in a stream, guided by the memory of where we have been and the hope of where we might yet go.
Links to the recorded panel presentations, speakers' bios and paper abstracts are now available here.
A lawyer and graduate of the Osgoode Professional LLM in Intellectual Property Law, Shadi Nasseri's doctoral research addresses the profound legal and ethical concerns arising from neurotechnologies, including issues related to mental integrity, human dignity, personal identification, freedom of thought, accessibility, autonomy, and privacy.