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Big grocers rigged bread prices and most walked away free

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This article supplied by Troy Media.

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Canada’s bread price-fixing scandal is one of the most damaging breaches of corporate trust in the history of Canadian food retail. The recent approval
of a $500-million class-action settlement by an Ontario court is a significant—though partial—step toward accountability. But the story isn’t over.

For over a decade, grocery giants secretly rigged the price of the country’s most basic food item, and most Canadians had no idea.

From 2001 to 2015, retailers and suppliers deliberately coordinated to raise the price of packaged bread, a basic household staple. This kind of illegal arrangement, known as price-fixing, occurs when supposed competitors agree to set prices rather than compete, driving up costs for consumers. Companies named in the lawsuit include Loblaw, its parent company George Weston Ltd., Metro, Sobeys, Walmart and Giant Tiger.

The impact on consumers was steep. Estimates suggest Canadians were overcharged by more than $5 billion over 14 years. The added cost was hidden in weekly grocery bills, largely unnoticed, but cumulatively devastating, especially for lower-income households that spend a greater share of their income on food.

The Competition Bureau, Canada’s competition watchdog, launched its investigation in 2015 after Loblaw came forward as a whistleblower under its Immunity and Leniency Program. In exchange for cooperating, Loblaw and George Weston were granted immunity from criminal prosecution. Their disclosure triggered years of scrutiny. In 2017, the companies attempted to contain the public backlash by offering $25 gift cards to 3.8 million Canadians, a gesture that cost $96 million and was widely seen as inadequate.

More recently, in 2023, Canada Bread pleaded guilty and paid a record $50-million fine for its role in the scheme. Although the violations occurred while it was owned by Maple Leaf Foods, it was Grupo Bimbo—which acquired Canada Bread in 2014—that took responsibility and cooperated with regulators. It was a rare show of accountability in a case otherwise marked by corporate silence.

Despite multiple companies being implicated, only Loblaw, George Weston and Canada Bread have admitted wrongdoing. No fines or sanctions have been imposed on the others. Walmart, Metro, Sobeys and Giant Tiger—all named by Loblaw—deny the allegations. Yet the investigation drags on nearly a decade later.

This imbalance in accountability has deepened public frustration. Many Canadians believe only those who stepped forward have faced consequences,
while others remain untouched. Or perhaps Loblaw threw its competitors under the bus in a calculated effort to save its own reputation?

The $500-million settlement—$404 million of it from Loblaw and George Weston —was approved by an Ontario judge earlier this month as “fair, reasonable, and in the best interests of class members.” The other $96 million reflects the earlier gift card program. What’s left to be paid amounts to about $13 per Canadian adult. After legal fees and administrative costs, 78 per cent of that will go to eligible Canadians outside Quebec, with the remaining 22 per cent reserved for Quebecers, pending a June 16 court hearing.

But for many, the money and the apologies do little to restore trust. If companies can quietly collude on something as essential as bread, it raises questions about what else might be going unnoticed in our grocery bills. The scandal exposed major weaknesses in Canada’s food retail system: toothless competition laws, limited pricing transparency and weak deterrents against collusion. These investigations take too long, and the damage to public confidence lingers long after the cheques are cashed.

Bread is not just a commodity. It symbolizes nourishment, affordability and stability. Manipulating its price isn’t just a legal violation; it’s a betrayal of public trust.

If this case is to be a turning point, it must lead to more than payouts. Canada needs stronger enforcement, faster investigations and real transparency in pricing. Without systemic reform, Canadians will remain vulnerable to the next coordinated “market adjustment,” hiding in plain sight on store shelves.

Dr. Sylvain Charlebois is a Canadian professor and researcher in food distribution and policy. He is senior director of the Agri-Food Analytics Lab at Dalhousie University and co-host of The Food Professor Podcast. He is frequently cited in the media for his insights on food prices, agricultural trends, and the global food supply chain.

Troy Media empowers Canadian community news outlets by providing independent, insightful analysis and commentary. Our mission is to support local media in helping Canadians stay informed and engaged by delivering reliable content that strengthens community connections and deepens understanding across the country

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The EU Insists Its X Fine Isn’t About Censorship. Here’s Why It Is.

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Europe calls it transparency, but it looks a lot like teaching the internet who’s allowed to speak.

When the European Commission fined X €120 million on December 5, officials could not have been clearer. This, they said, was not about censorship. It was just about “transparency.”
They repeat it so often you start to wonder why.
The fine marks the first major enforcement of the Digital Services Act, Europe’s new censorship-driven internet rulebook.
It was sold as a consumer protection measure, designed to make online platforms safer and more accountable, and included a whole list of censorship requirements, fining platforms that don’t comply.
The Commission charged X with three violations: the paid blue checkmark system, the lack of advertising data, and restricted data access for researchers.
None of these touches direct content censorship. But all of them shape visibility, credibility, and surveillance, just in more polite language.
Musk’s decision to turn blue checks into a subscription feature ended the old system where establishment figures, journalists, politicians, and legacy celebrities got verification.
The EU called Musk’s decision “deceptive design.” The old version, apparently, was honesty itself. Before, a blue badge meant you were important. After, it meant you paid. Brussels prefers the former, where approved institutions get algorithmic priority, and the rest of the population stays in the queue.
The new system threatened that hierarchy. Now, anyone could buy verification, diluting the aura of authority once reserved for anointed voices.
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However, that’s not the full story. Under the old Twitter system, verification was sold as a public service, but in reality it worked more like a back-room favor and a status purchase.
The main application process was shut down in 2010, so unless you were already famous, the only way to get a blue check was to spend enough money on advertising or to be important enough to trigger impersonation problems.
Ad Age reported that advertisers who spent at least fifteen thousand dollars over three months could get verified, and Twitter sales reps told clients the same thing. That meant verification was effectively a perk reserved for major media brands, public figures, and anyone willing to pay. It was a symbol of influence rationed through informal criteria and private deals, creating a hierarchy shaped by cronyism rather than transparency.
Under the new X rules, everyone is on a level playing field.
Government officials and agencies now sport gray badges, symbols of credibility that can’t be purchased. These are the state’s chosen voices, publicly marked as incorruptible. To the EU, that should be a safeguard.
The second and third violations show how “transparency” doubles as a surveillance mechanism. X was fined for limiting access to advertising data and for restricting researchers from scraping platform content. Regulators called that obstruction. Musk called it refusing to feed the censorship machine.
The EU’s preferred researchers aren’t neutral archivists. Many have been documented coordinating with governments, NGOs, and “fact-checking” networks that flagged political content for takedown during previous election cycles.
They call it “fighting disinformation.” Critics call it outsourcing censorship pressure to academics.
Under the DSA, these same groups now have the legal right to demand data from platforms like X to study “systemic risks,” a phrase broad enough to include whatever speech bureaucrats find undesirable this month.
The result is a permanent state of observation where every algorithmic change, viral post, or trending topic becomes a potential regulatory case.
The advertising issue completes the loop. Brussels says it wants ad libraries to be fully searchable so users can see who’s paying for what. It gives regulators and activists a live feed of messaging, ready for pressure campaigns.
The DSA doesn’t delete ads; it just makes it easier for someone else to demand they be deleted.
That’s how this form of censorship works: not through bans, but through endless exposure to scrutiny until platforms remove the risk voluntarily.
The Commission insists, again and again, that the fine has “nothing to do with content.”
That may be true on a direct level, but the rules shape content all the same. When governments decide who counts as authentic, who qualifies as a researcher, and how visibility gets distributed, speech control doesn’t need to be explicit. It’s baked into the system.
Brussels calls it user protection. Musk calls it punishment for disobedience. This particular DSA fine isn’t about what you can say, it’s about who’s allowed to be heard saying it.
TikTok escaped similar scrutiny by promising to comply. X didn’t, and that’s the difference. The EU prefers companies that surrender before the hearing. When they don’t, “transparency” becomes the pretext for a financial hammer.
The €120 million fine is small by tech standards, but symbolically it’s huge.
It tells every platform that “noncompliance” means questioning the structure of speech the EU has already defined as safe.
In the official language of Brussels, this is a regulation. But it’s managed discourse, control through design, moderation through paperwork, censorship through transparency.
And the louder they insist it isn’t, the clearer it becomes that it is.
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Loblaws Owes Canadians Up to $500 Million in “Secret” Bread Cash

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