Toronto police chief Myron Demkiw, left, is joined by York regional police chief Jim MacSween, centre, and YRP deputy chief Ryan Hogan at a press conference on Feb. 5.Jon Blacker/The Canadian Press
Antonio Nicaso is an award-winning, bestselling author and an internationally recognized expert on organized crime. He teaches Social History of Organized Crime and Mafia Culture and the Power of Symbols, Rituals and Myth at Queen’s University.
The recent arrests of members of the Toronto Police Service on allegations of collusion with organized crime have sent shockwaves well beyond the city. They raise uncomfortable questions not only about individual misconduct, but about how Canada understands organized crime, and its willingness to expose and challenge the political, economic and institutional relationships that allow criminal organizations to endure.
One of the defining characteristics of organized crime, alongside violence, secrecy, and money, is relational capacity: the ability to build, maintain, and exploit networks of people. Criminal organizations survive not simply through intimidation or profit, but by cultivating durable ties with corrupt officials, compromised professionals, political intermediaries, financial actors and, at times, members of law enforcement. Without these connections, organized crime is reduced to common criminality.
For decades, Canada has treated organized crime as an ethnic phenomenon: a criminal underworld operating on the margins of society, largely disconnected from institutions and from political, economic and administrative environments. Investigations and prosecutions have often focused on criminal groups as closed entities – gangs, families, networks – rather than on the ecosystems that sustain them. The Toronto case disrupts this comfort zone. Allegations that police officers may have abused their positions to assist criminal actors force a more difficult recognition: Organized crime does not function in isolation. It feeds on proximity to power, access to information, and institutional legitimacy. When those resources come from within public institutions, the damage extends far beyond any single investigation.
Historically, Canada has responded to such situations with a protective reflex. Within some police organizations, an unwritten rule prevailed: When an officer was implicated in serious wrongdoing, resignation was encouraged to limit institutional damage. The aim was to contain scandal, preserve authority, and draw a discreet line between the individual and the badge.
This instinct has deep roots. As early as 1894, an inquiry chaired by Henri-Benjamin Rainville in Montreal attempted, unsuccessfully, to investigate police corruption. Further inquiries in 1909 examined tolerance toward gambling and prostitution. The issue sharpened with the Coderre Commission in 1924, after which Montreal was portrayed by the anglophone press as a city shaped by corruption and alcohol smuggling. Proximity to the U.S. border and the rise of the automobile made contraband lucrative and difficult to police. Yet scrutiny was uneven, and many parts of Canada looked away.
The pattern resurfaced in 1961 with the Roach Report, which found no evidence of government corruption and little organized crime beyond gambling, echoing claims that Canada was largely free of gangsterism. Yet the report still recommended the removal of a deputy commissioner and another senior officer in the OPP over allegations of improper conduct linked to a gambling gang. Once again, resignations were encouraged to contain the fallout, reflecting a belief that public exposure weakened institutional authority.
But in recent years, Canada has begun moving toward an approach long adopted elsewhere: zero tolerance, transparency, and public accountability. Countries that have seriously confronted entrenched organized crime have learned a hard lesson: Secrecy shields criminal networks far more than it protects institutions. Openly confronting wrongdoing does not rot the barrel; it preserves and even strengthens it. Here, efforts to disrupt the external ties of criminal organizations remain limited, but change is under way.
This shift requires balance. The presumption of innocence remains fundamental, and due process cannot be sacrificed to public outrage. Allegations are not convictions. But once responsibility is established, hesitation becomes complicity. Firmness is not optional; it is the only credible strategy.
These scandals are not anomalies. They have happened before and will happen again, particularly in organizations where camaraderie hardens into corporatism and loyalty to colleagues outweighs loyalty to the law. The culture of silence – the belief that exposure is betrayal – is one of organized crime’s most reliable allies.
Canada’s institutions are not fragile. They do not need protection from accountability; they need protection from denial. The Toronto arrests should not be treated as an embarrassment to be managed, but as an opportunity to reaffirm a principle too often softened by caution: No relationship, no rank and no uniform places anyone above the law. By confronting collusion openly and decisively, Canada does not weaken its institutions; it proves they are worth defending. The next step should be to seek out corruption and sever any remaining ties.
In 1963, journalist Alan Phillips wrote in Maclean’s magazine that organized crime was infiltrating legitimate business and politics, though “some politicians and policemen like to deny it.” His warning, however, was met with considerable irritation. That’s no longer an acceptable response.