Heteronormativity and The Gender Binary: A Coercive Creation

“With a particular focus on the period from the mid-nineteenth century onwards, analyze the creation of knowledge about gender, sexuality, and heteronormativity by dominant cultures in Canada and the United States as well as resistance by/alternative knowledge of subordinate groups”

As I have previously argued, Canadian and American settler societies have defined and enshrined models of heterosexual monogamous marriage as a way to control and subjugate Indigenous and non-Anglo Saxon immigrant peoples, intensifying the centrality of marriage as an institution during times of social and political upheaval. Pervasive binary ideas about bodies and gender identities played an essential role in enabling the ascendance of this heterosexual monogamy, so that “experts” of various stripes focused on enforcing binary gender expressions and pathologizing deviations from this ideal. The patterns in which sex and sexuality were and are discussed or silenced, in history and historiography, perpetuate the hegemony of this heterosexual monogamous social, cultural, and political order. Ultimately, I would suggest that the construction of heterosexuality and binary gender as concepts—though not, of course, individual behaviours or identities—are a violent component of a colonial project with scientific underpinnings.[1] In this paper, I will outline how medical, scientific and educational matters intersected in an unwieldy and fragmented yet coercive epistemic project.

In The Invention of Heterosexuality, Jonathan Katz argues that heterosexuality was socially constructed, not just socially enforced.[2] As a concept with, as he puts it, a genealogy, I’d like to emphasize the branches in heterosexuality’s family tree. At a well-laid table sit a colonial grandmother and nationalist uncle, bickering but sharing their concerns about each relative’s attire, behaviour, and relationships. At the head presides a father, concerned with defining expertise in science, medicine, and education. They comprise an awkward family replete with feuds and indecision, but ultimately holding significant coercive power. Katz describes heterosexuality as “invented in discourse as that which is outside discourse.”[3] I would argue that the same can be said for binary gender, and for monogamy, which Sarah Carter and Nancy Cott suggest has become naturalized and nationalized in both Canada and the United States as a dominant model for sexual relationships and as a requirement for family health and wellbeing. Together, monogamy and heterosexuality—founded on a model of binary sex and gender—are central pillars of the nuclear family, essential to the nationalist strand of an ongoing colonial project in North America. I fundamentally believe that no history can be divorced from the colonial context in which it is implicated. Knowledge production was an important element in colonial violence, as a means of controlling racialized populations. Creating ideas about whiteness is also a coercive element of colonialism. However, the colonial component of this hegemonic epistemological trajectory will be merely an undercurrent in this analysis, as colonialism forms the core of my previous paper.

Katz emphasizes that rather than being natural or universal, heterosexuality is “one particular historical arrangement of the sexes and their pleasures.”[4] It is notable that “heterosexual” was once a medical term that signified a perversion; only in response to evolving sexological discussions did it come to describe a norm cast in opposition to homosexuality.[5] In the early twentieth century, sexologists recognized that heterosexuality was not innate, but part of child development and linked with masculinity and femininity.[6] By the 1960s, the intersection of sexology and popular culture had constructed “a sexual solid citizen and a perverted unstable alien…the term heterosexual manufactured a new sex-differentiated ideal of the erotically correct, a norm that worked to affirm the superiority of men over women and heterosexuals over homosexuals.”[7] The link connecting citizenship and heterosexuality is particularly clear in contexts where citizenship was of particular concern. War, both in the military and the home front, is a useful site to analyze this link. While homosexuality, heterosexuality, masculinity, and femininity came under intense scrutiny in the military and civilian society, it appears that constructions of gender and sexuality in this context were contested rather than totalizing.

Kinsman and Gentile argue that a “war on queers” was a central element of the Cold War in Canada.[8] While there are methodological concerns with their study and historians of international relations would likely take issue with this argument, Kinsman and Gentile clearly show the extent to which the Cold War placed queer people under a degree of surveillance and regulation beyond that of their heterosexual peers, yet also how queers resisted the impositions of national security measures. Methodologically, Kinsman and Gentile extend a particular idea of queerness that is unsettling from an intersectional perspective. They assert that they aim to centre queer experiences and resistance in order to resist heterosexual hegemony and to give queer theory a social, historical, and materialist grounding that is relevant to further research and present activism.[9] However, voices of queer people of colour are either absent or invisible in this study, so that it is difficult to see how, or even if, this national security program was racialized. Since Kinsman and Gentile argue that the Cold War was a war for neocolonialism, it is troublesome that these voices are not apparent, re-formatting rather than disrupting the monologic discourse that Kinsman and Gentile criticize. To use their own words to criticize their methodology, a choice of largely if not exclusively white interview subjects has the result of “denying the diversity of the social dialogues that surround and challenge” the discourse around national security.[10]

In Lewis’s analysis of heterosexuality in the Cold War, it is apparent that intense regulation was a common component of the lives of citizens of all sexualities. Lewis contends that medical concern about moral decay, linked to citizenship, situated physicians as self-appointed guardians of sexual wellbeing.[11] This concern institutionalized heteronormativity as a medical component of national identity, entrenching sexuality more broadly as a medical issue.[12] Self-identified sexuality thereby became insufficient; performances of heterosexuality, most evocatively in the form of the vaginal orgasm, were important to doctors’ judgments of sexuality.[13] Situating impotence as a reaction to pressures on white, middle-class men, men’s penile penetration of women became a matter of national importance.[14] This focus on particular modes of sexuality enabled social and medical commentators to ignore systemic racial and class issues that were also implicated in the Cold War.[15] Notably, an emerging feminist movement instituted several challenges to this overwhelmingly male medical authority, such as in the grassroots effort to publish Our Bodies, Ourselves.[16]

Karen Dubinsky identifies heterosexuality as a site for exercising and also resisting power.[17] While the regulation of sexuality was intense in military contexts, it was not totalizing. Jackson illustrates how, in the Second World War, there was a disjuncture between official ideology and individual actions and opinions concerning male homosexuality among servicemen.[18] While psychiatrists claimed the authority to define “normal” and “homosexual” men, the military implemented a punitive medical model of sexuality infrequently and unevenly, because targeting “good” men as potential homosexuals could undermine unit cohesion and, by extension, the war effort.[19] This resulted in a “tacit acceptance” of homosexual men due to their value in combat.[20] Heteronormativity was —and remains—a coerced and coercive framework for organizing knowledge about gender and sexuality. It was, however, contested; heteronormativity, while pervasive, was not necessarily ‘normative’ or universal.

To consider the medicalization of knowledge about sex and gender, Jiwani’s discussion of violence in the health care system is particularly relevant. As Jiwani asserts, "the health care as a hierarchical structure not only mirrors the dominant structures of violence inherent in the wider society but also perpetuates them.”[21] Medical discourse policed bodies and identities—whether male, female, or transcending this dichotomy—into particular models that coincided with white, middle-class ideals. Such ideals were generally implicit in medicalized discourse, and made invisible yet simultaneously socially disseminated through the construction of medical discourses as “expert knowledge.”

Mona Gleason considers how psychological discourses of “normalcy” entrenched middle-class values in constructing a particular vision of the post-war family.[22] She outlines several strategies in psychology and psychiatry that have been used in such constructions: these methods of construction—comparing, differentiating, hierarchizing, homogenizing, and excluding people—are apparent elsewhere in historiography that discusses the formation of norms.[23] In a postwar “atmosphere of change and dislocation,” a rhetoric of crisis positioned ideals as norms, focusing on marriage in a way that “reflected hegemonic social values rather than scientific certainty.”[24] As Jiwani argues, the very use of an ideal in place of a norm is a form of violence. Indeed, the use of norms was part of a broad but diffuse coercive social and cultural project.

As Deborah Findlay argues, in the 1950s, medical discourse claimed to have discovered biological sex.[25] This was part of a cultural project of defining and categorizing human bodies.[26] By assuming a link between biological and social sex, “biomedicine…anchored a strident conservative socio-medical politics in Canada.”[27] This was not a medical conspiracy, but a reflection of wider social assumptions.[28] This can be seen in the medical interventions doctors performed on intersex adults. Doctors interpreted and “fixed” ambiguous genitalia in a way that would make their patients heterosexual. This was, Findlay argues, a political rather than a neutral act, articulating that, “there was a pronounced link between the more general moral anxiety and desire for social stability and the dichotomous construction of the sexes and the genders.”[29] This can also be seen in medical and media representations of transsexuality.

Joanne Meyerowitz argues that issues surrounding transsexuality reflected broader debates and twentieth-century trends.[30] Even in the early twentieth century, there was an emerging, though not widespread, understanding that sex and gender were performed and constructed, rather than strictly biological.[31] Prior to 1950, narratives of transsexuality filtered this awareness, allowing doctors to refine their ideas about gender and to gain authority over gendered bodies.[32] Christine Jorgensen’s life was one such “narrative of boundary transgression” as she became the first publicly visible trans woman to have sex reassignment surgery.[33] Following the Second World War, increasing awareness of and access to sex reassignment surgery coincided with an evolving public perception of gender roles.[34] Trans people propelled questioning, albeit somewhat limited, over definitions of sex and gender, breaking down a sense of biological immutability.[35] Notably, a taxonomy and hierarchy that insisted upon a binary of “male” and “female” bodies and roles persisted.[36] Surgeons did not enable people to straddle the space between “male” and “female” but only to move between the two. Attempts to define binary sex and gender interwove medical and legal impetuses. In 1968, a court case surrounding a person seeking a name change made the determination of sex on the basis of identity rather than genitals and chromosomes in to a legal rather than merely medical concern.[37] In 1980, however, the entry of “gender identity disorder” into the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, a core resource for psychiatry and psychology, cemented a medical model for interpreting transsexuality and, by extension, sex and gender more broadly.[38]

A language of crisis, particularly concerning masculinity, enabled medical practitioners to disseminate ideals and extend their professional gaze.[39] In capital murder court cases, psychiatric experts served as expert witnesses, describing and classifying the accused in an attempt to explain the cause of the crime.[40] Psychiatrists were concerned when the ideals of manly modernity were absent, probing how this absence led to violence.[41] In some cases, a meaningless employment history in which a man could not become a breadwinner became a pathologized element in a murderer’s past.[42] This perception of violence was also racialized, but in conflicting ways; to the justice system, committing violence could reflect how a man of colour was “unmanly” or over-masculine.[43] Pathologization considered not just ideals of masculinity, but also respectability. Following the First World War, treatment for war-related trauma constructed men as respectable or deviant based on a complex interplay of supposed attributes of masculinity. Physicians claimed the authority to evaluate claims for compensation based on their assessments of a soldier’s mind and body, such that signs of femininity made a soldier’s claim illegitimate. Many such signs appear arbitrary; for example, doctors rejected one young man’s pension claim on the basis of his “feminine distribution of public hair.”[44] Even the act of seeking a pension on the basis of trauma could be interpreted as a sign of masculine failure.[45] This gendering of shellshock buttressed an image of male physical and psychological superiority as well as giving doctors the authority to “restrict and codify acceptable masculine responses to conflict.”[46]

Medicalized ideas about sex, gender, and the family were pervasive, taking a prominent place other contexts. Through the pathologization of male menopause during the 1980s and 1990s, physiological changes that were previously conceptualized as a normal part of aging became a medical condition, as scientific and commercial interests converged to enable sales of Viagra.[47] Medicalized ideas about sex and gender could also influence commerce and consumption more broadly. Donica Belisle shows how the image of an irrational female shopper used medicalized language—such as referring to women’s behaviour in department stores as “delirium”—to reinforce men’s authority over the commercial sphere.[48] Women, in turn, deployed a counter-discourse that presented shopping as a skill and a sign of their refinement.[49] The fashion industry likewise entrenched a heterosexualized binary division of male and female gender through a shifting consensus in gendered children’s clothing.[50] The transition from a sexless wardrobe for babies to one that positioned them as “nascent men and women” was connected to psychological, sexological, and sociological theories of children’s development.[51] By the mid twentieth century, gendering babies was an element of “modern” parenting, bolstered by marketing from the fashion industry.[52]

Determining how sex and sexuality are discussed or silenced in classrooms and clinical settings was, and continues to be, an important element of knowledge production. While this discussion furthered particular ideologies, it also presented opportunities for marginalized groups to shape the formation of knowledge. Sex education for youth and adults presented sexuality as an individual rather than a social matter. Classroom lessons and films regarding menstrual hygiene positioned the use of products such as pads and tampons as an individual skill for girls to learn, and an empowering element of their femininity and potential motherhood.[53] Campaigns for cervical cancer screening and vaccination have similarly drawn from a language of empowerment to encourage women to improve their individual health.[54] Sexual health information in print media and film enabled women to seek knowledge about preventing cervical cancer.[55] In the absence of well-funded public health initiatives, Canadian women often drew from popular media, particularly Chatelaine magazine, for their health information, rather than relying on doctors.[56]

In classrooms, sex education for girls was part of the formation of a “heterosexual consciousness.”[57] While sex education prior to the 1960s was not a venue in which girls could rebel against the norms of their parents’ generation, students actively sought knowledge about sexuality.[58] Sex education was thus not strictly a matter of social control, but an opportunity for girls to express consent and dissent to knowledge about sexuality.[59] Nonetheless, ambiguities and social limitations surrounding sex persisted: heterosexuality and normative gender roles were central to the curriculum followed in most classrooms, although girls became more conscious that gender roles and inequality were not natural.[60]

The pathologization of gender and sexuality was both gendered and racialized. As Joan Sangster indicates, 1950s studies of delinquency positioned crime among youth as a scientific concern. In these studies, girls were more likely than boys to be portrayed in psychiatric terms.[61] This trend was particularly significant for working-class girls. Values for girls’ behaviour was also racially specific: while quiet, demure behaviour was valued for white girls, Euro-Canadian medical and legal authorities saw the same traits among Aboriginal girls as a signifier of cultural inferiority and potentially mental retardation.[62]

This gendered, racialized pathologization was violent in its obscuring of broader issues of power. As Elise Chenier argues, “experts” involved in constructing the category of “sex offender” were constrained by ideology: “Patriarchal and heterosexist assumptions about masculinity and sexuality left modern forensic sexologists incapable of addressing the role that gender, sexual violence, and coercion played in shaping sexual relations.”[63] Lesley Erickson echoes this sentiment, noting that ideas about female criminality that were based in physiology meant that public and juries could ignore social, economic, and cultural motivations behind women’s violence.[64] Medical knowledge bred skepticism about women’s testimonies in rape cases, on the premise that women, particularly working-class women, could not be raped if they were in good health, as they would have the strength to resist.[65] This had the practical result of keeping alleged rapists out of jail, potentially risking further violence.[66] In such court cases, medical knowledge could be disseminated, becoming both legal and vernacular knowledge. Several historians have argued that courtrooms served as “theatres,” moving private crime into the public gaze and serving as a venue for public education about morality.[67]

In this analysis, I am not arguing for a conspiracy theory of heterosexual monogamy as intentionally coercive; intent is beyond the scope of this paper. Additionally, while I view binary gender as a violent underpinning of heterosexuality, I do not advocate the abolition of gender in the radical feminist sense of it, which seeks to discredit individual expressions of gender—most notably through fringe groups that express vehement hatred of trans women—rather than focusing on the broader system that grants power on the basis of particular gender expressions. Nonetheless, considering violence as a spectrum encompassing a range of coercive practices, it is apparent that the entrenchment of heterosexuality and a binary gender system was one element of an epistemic project that privileged white, middle-class, and patriarchal values.

Works Cited

Backhouse, Constance. Carnal Crimes: Sexual Assault Law in Canada, 1900-1975. Toronto: The Osgoode Society for Canadian Legal History, 2008.

Belisle, Donica. “Crazy for Bargains: Inventing the Irrational Female Shoper in Modernizing English Canada.” Canadian Historical Review 92, no. 4 (December 2011): 581–606.

Chenier, Elise Rose. Strangers in Our Midst: Sexual Deviancy in Postwar Ontario. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008.

Dubinsky, Karen. Improper Advances: Rape and Heterosexual Conflict in Ontario, 1880-1929. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993.

Dummitt, Christopher. The Manly Modern: Masculinity in Postwar Canada. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press, 2007.

Erickson, Lesley. Westward Bound Sex, Violence, the Law, and the Making of a Settler Society. Vancouver: UBC Press, 2012.

Findlay, Deborah. “Discovering Sex: Medical Science, Feminism, and Intersexuality.” Canadian Review of Sociology 32, no. 1 (February 1995): 25–52.

Freeman, Susan K. Sex Goes to School: Girls and Sex Education before the 1960s. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2008.

Gardner, Kirsten E. “Controlling Cervical Cancer from Screening to Vaccinations: An American Perspective.” In Gender, Health, and Popular Culture in Historical Perspective, edited by Cheryl Krasnick Warsh, 109–25. Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2010.

Gleason, Mona. “Psychology and the Construction of the ‘Normal’ Family in Postwar Canada, 1945-60.” Canadian Historical Review 78, no. 3 (September 1997): 442–77.

Hadenko, Mandy. “The Challenge of Developing and Publicizing Cervical Cancer Screening Programs: A Canadian Perspective.” In Gender, Health, and Popular Culture in Historical Perspective, edited by Cheryl Krasnick Warsh, 127–49. Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2010.

Humphries, Mark. “War’s Long Shadow: Masculinity, Medicine, and the Gendered Politics of Trauma, 1914-1939.” The Canadian Historical Review 91, no. 3 (September 2010): 503–31.

Jackson, Paul. One of the Boys: Homosexuality in the Military during World War II. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2004.

Jiwani, Yasmin. Discourses of Denial: Mediations of Race, Gender, and Violence. Vancouver: UBC Press, 2006.

Katz, Jonathan. The Invention of Heterosexuality. New York: Plume, 1995.

Kinsman, Gary William, and Patrizia Gentile. The Canadian War on Queers: National Security as Sexual Regulation. Vancouver, B.C.: UBC Press, 2010.

Lewis, Carolyn Herbst. Prescription for Heterosexuality: Sexual Citizenship in the Cold War Era. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2010.

Marshall, Barbara. “Climacteric Redux?: (Re)medicalizing the Male Menopause.” Men and Masculinities 9 (April 2007): 509–29.

Meyerowitz, Joanne J. How Sex Changed a History of Transsexuality in the United States. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2002.

Paoletti, Jo. Pink and Blue: Telling the Boys from the Girls in America. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2012.

Sangster, Joan. Regulating Girls and Women: Sexuality, Family, and the Law in Ontario, 1920-1960. Toronto: Oxford University Press, 2001.

Vostral, Sharra L. “Advice to Adolescents: Menstrual Health and Menstrual Education Films, 1946-1982.” In Gender, Health, and Popular Culture in Historical Perspective, edited by Cheryl Krasnick Warsh, 47–64. Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2010.

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[1] Feminist historians such as Linda Gordon have asserted that rape was situated within the norms of heterosexuality; this is not, however, what I am talking about. See Karen Dubinsky, Improper Advances: Rape and Heterosexual Conflict in Ontario, 1880-1929 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), 13.

[2] Jonathan Katz, The Invention of Heterosexuality (New York: Plume, 1995), 11.

[3] Katz, 182.

[4] Katz, 14.

[5] Katz, 66.

[6] Katz, 81, 111.

[7] Katz, 112.

[8] Gary William Kinsman and Patrizia Gentile, The Canadian War on Queers: National Security as Sexual Regulation (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2010), 23-24.

[9] Kinsman and Gentile, 5, 30.

[10] Kinsman and Gentile, 6-7, 9.

[11] Carolyn Herbst Lewis, Prescription for Heterosexuality: Sexual Citizenship in the Cold War Era (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2010), 2.

[12] Lewis, 5, 34-5.

[13] Lewis, 5, 38, 40.

[14] Lewis, 80, 142.

[15] Lewis, 141.

[16] Lewis, 149.

[17] Dubinsky, 5.

[18] Paul Jackson, One of the Boys: Homosexuality in the Military during World War II (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2004), 7.

[19] Jackson, 76, 109.

[20] Jackson, 268.

[21] Yasmin Jiwani, Discourses of Denial: Mediations of Race, Gender, and Violence (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2006), 146.

[22] Mona Gleason, “Psychology and the Construction of the ‘Normal’ Family in Postwar Canada, 1945-60,” Canadian Historical Review 78, no. 3 (September 1997): 443.

[23] Gleason, 446.

[24] Gleason, 449, 451, 477, 460.

[25] Deborah Findlay, “Discovering Sex: Medical Science, Feminism, and Intersexuality,” Canadian Review of Sociology 32, no. 1 (February 1995): 35.

[26] Findlay, 36.

[27] Findlay, 39, 41.

[28] Findlay, 43.

[29] Findlay, 41-42.

[30] Joanne J Meyerowitz, How Sex Changed a History of Transsexuality in the United States (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2002), 9.

[31] Meyerowitz, 3.

[32] Meyerowitz, 6.

[33] Meyerowitz, 2.

[34] Meyerowitz, 41.

[35] Meyerowitz, 305.

[36] Meyerowitz, 273.

[37] Meyerowitz, 229.

[38] Meyerowitz, 275.

[39] Gleason, 462; Barbara Marshall, “Climacteric Redux?: (Re)medicalizing the Male Menopause,” Men and Masculinities 9 (April 2007): 515, Christopher Dummitt, The Manly Modern: Masculinity in Postwar Canada (Vancouver, BC: UBC Press, 2007), 102.

[40] Dummitt, 106, 107.

[41] Dummitt, 108.

[42] Dummitt, 112, 113.

[43] Dummitt, 118, 119.

[44] Mark Humphries, “War’s Long Shadow: Masculinity, Medicine, and the Gendered Politics of Trauma, 1914-1939,” The Canadian Historical Review 91, no. 3 (September 2010): 505.

[45] Humphries, 530.

[46] Humphries, 506, 516.

[47]  Marshall, 522-523, 516.

[48] Donica Belisle, “Crazy for Bargains: Inventing the Irrational Female Shoper in Modernizing English Canada,” Canadian Historical Review 92, no. 4 (December 2011): 597, 605, 585.

[49] Belisle, 601.

[50] Jo Paoletti, Pink and Blue: Telling the Boys from the Girls in America (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2012), xviii.

[51] Paoletti, xvii, 8.

[52] Paoletti, 77.

[53] Sharra L Vostral, “Advice to Adolescents: Menstrual Health and Menstrual Education Films, 1946-1982,” in Gender, Health, and Popular Culture in Historical Perspective, ed. Cheryl Krasnick Warsh (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2010), 50.

[54] Kirsten E Gardner, “Controlling Cervical Cancer from Screening to Vaccinations: An American Perspective,” in Gender, Health, and Popular Culture in Historical Perspective, ed. Cheryl Krasnick Warsh (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2010), 111.

[55] Mandy Hadenko, “The Challenge of Developing and Publicizing Cervical Cancer Screening Programs: A Canadian Perspective,” in Gender, Health, and Popular Culture in Historical Perspective, ed. Cheryl Krasnick Warsh (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2010), 127).

[56] Hadenko, 129.

[57] Susan K Freeman, Sex Goes to School: Girls and Sex Education before the 1960s (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2008), ix.

[58] Freeman, xvii, 143.

[59] Freeman, xi.

[60] Freeman, 144, 149.

[61] Joan Sangster, Regulating Girls and Women: Sexuality, Family, and the Law in Ontario, 1920-1960 (Toronto: Oxford University Press, 2001), 135-137.

[62] Sangster, 188.

[63] Elise Rose Chenier, Strangers in Our Midst: Sexual Deviancy in Postwar Ontario, Studies in Gender and History (Toronto ; Buffalo: University of Toronto Press, 2008),113, 166.

[64] Lesley Erickson, Westward Bound Sex, Violence, the Law, and the Making of a Settler Society (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2012), 213.

[65] Erickson, 170; Constance Backhouse, Carnal Crimes: Sexual Assault Law in Canada, 1900-1975 (Toronto: The Osgoode Society for Canadian Legal History, 2008), 40.

[66] Dubinsky, 47.

[67] Erickson, 11; Dubinsky, 90-91, 94.