A convoy tale

The 2022 Freedom Convoy, led by Tamara Lich and Chris Barber, left a permanent mark on Ottawa. But their long-tow through the courts is far from over.
Freedom Convoy leaders Tamara Lich and Chris Barber reveal their high-profile mischief trial has cost the two nearly $1 million in defence fees.Steven Silcox/CBC
David Fraser Falice Chin Dec. 9, 2024

Tamara Lich still remembers the day a stranger accosted her in an elevator in downtown Ottawa. 

“He said, ‘Oh, you tortured my daughter,’” the 52-year-old recalled. “He said, ‘My daughter was sick and you guys tortured her with your horns for three days.’”

Soon after, Lich said police officers showed up to check on her. She believes the man, who ended last year’s brief encounter by telling her to “f--k off,” was responsible for making the call. 

Another time, while shopping for her grandson at the Halifax airport, a woman called her “a piece of shit,” Lich said.

Strangers walk up to Lich all the time. She never knows what to expect.

But around her hometown they tend to approach the polarizing figure, who remains the face of the 2022 Freedom Convoy, with a smile and a handshake. 

A series of different photos of a woman.
Fans and critics regularly approach Tamara Lich to voice their opinions about the 2022 protests in Ottawa that became known as the Freedom Convoy. (Falice Chin/CBC)

Boxes of thank-you notes

At Trukker’s Restaurant in Medicine Hat, Alta., recently, a 74-year-old retired truck driver named Ira dropped $100 in cash on her table.

“They're fighting for our rights,” the man told CBC News.

Lich’s fans don’t just donate money. They send gifts and letters of support, too. In the basement of Lich’s five-bedroom rental home, the former oil and gas administrator keeps several boxes stuffed with thank you cards, T-shirts, flags, quilts and knick-knacks.

More than a few hand-written notes end with the phrase “God bless you” in cursive.

“Every single day, people would tell us that they were planning their suicides until the convoy started,” Lich said, referring to the effects of the COVID-19 health mandates that shut down schools, churches and businesses.

Lich shows off boxes of thank you notes and mementos from across the country at her home in Medicine Hat, Alta. (James Young/CBC)

For Lich, who spent 49 days in jail and around the same length of time alongside trucker Chris Barber in court over criminal charges related to their roles in the protest, the boxes represent the rights of ordinary Canadians — an assertion that continues to attract both praise and ire, even as their lengthy court case has come to a close.

“I do feel like I am representing a large portion of Canadians,” Lich said. “The Canadians that are in those boxes — the Canadians that I talked to on the road.”

It’s a sentiment echoed by a stranger in a Tim Hortons parking lot where Lich once staged Wexit protests in pre-convoy times. Spotting Lich being interviewed by CBC, the man approached with glee. 

A man sits in the driver seat of a vehicle speaking with someone out the window.
Semi-retired Albertan Henry Ankkowiak said he shares a common sentiment of western alienation with many truck drivers who supported the convoy movement. (Falice Chin/CBC)

“Tamara Lich stands up for us Canadians that do not agree with Liberal decisions,” said Henry Ankkowiak, who explained that his long-standing distrust of Justin Trudeau dates back to when the prime minister’s father — “Old Man Trudeau” — was in office.

“She is on the right side. She's a right winger and I love that,” Ankkowiak added. 

Legal ordeal drags on

On Sept. 13., Lich and Barber’s trial for committing mischief, obstructing police, counselling others to commit mischief and intimidation ended. It will be at least 2025 before their guilt or innocence is decided.

But the legal saga that began with their arrests more than two years ago is hardly over. It’s expected the judge will take care to make the decision “appeal proof,” but few will be surprised if the case ultimately ends up in a higher court. 

Lich has made multiple trips to Ottawa for court appearances since her arrest. (All photos by The Canadian Press)

Then there are the ongoing civil lawsuits. 

Ottawa lawyer Paul Champ is mounting a $300-million class-action case against Lich, Barber and 21 other parties for causing damage and harm to residents and businesses when thousands of protesters descended on the Canadian capital, gridlocking downtown for nearly four weeks.

“For a city that sure doesn't want me to be here — would like to get rid of me forever —  they can't seem to let me go,” Lich joked. “Like, they won't let me leave.” 

Champ previously told CBC that a group of agitators can’t just shut down a community, make life miserable for residents, then go home without facing any consequences or showing any contrition.

“These cases will wrestle with those issues, and will wrestle with the boundaries of protests,” he said. 

In recent months, Champ has retreated from commenting further — in part, to avoid attracting harassment. Seen by many as a vocal critic of the convoy, he’s received a barrage of hate mail and threats over the years. Champ said he’s removed his name from the lobby of his office building.

But the civil suit remains, and even Lich’s criminal defence lawyer Lawrence Greenspon agrees that’s where residents should look for accountability.

“That's the place for those individuals to be made whole,” Greenspon said, noting that during Lich and Barber’s criminal trial, the two admitted the 2022 protests did at times interfere with the daily lives of people in the downtown core. 

“We don't seek to minimize it,” Greenspon said. 

The Freedom Convoy brought thousands to the nation's capital. (The Canadian Press)

Ottawa residents seek accountability

Efforts to hold convoy protesters accountable have the backing of a group of local counter-activists who continue to convene regularly online and in person, sometimes outside the Ottawa Courthouse on Elgin Street where Lich and Barber were tried.

51-year-old Ottawa resident Joe Morin, one of Lich and Barber’s loudest detractors, concedes “there is humanity” in both of them, but maintains “there are some lines that they crossed that I have a problem with.”

“There has to be a way for them to have a path of reconciliation, because if there's no path … then there's no incentive for them to get better,” he said. 

Another lifelong activist, Deana Sherif, 47, co-hosts a podcast with Morin that regularly denounces the so-called freedom movement.

Like many residents, including those who testified before a 2023 citizen-run review of the convoy protests, Sherif saw the movement as hurtful, divisive and violent.

“I won't allow it to go unanswered, especially in my own city or in my own province,” she said about the need for accountability. 

The outspoken critic, who herself has been in and out of jail over clashes with pro-Israel protesters, has become a constant nuisance to a lingering group of convoy supporters known around Ottawa as the “Wellington Street regulars.” 

The two sides often square off from opposite sides of the street in front of Parliament Hill, exchanging insults over loudspeakers on issues ranging from gender identity to the carbon tax. 

Deana Sherif interrupts an anti-carbon tax protest outside Parliament where many Freedom Convoy participants convened in April (left). A counter protester holds a sign (right). Joe Morin stands on a downtown Ottawa street in April (bottom). (CBC)

On days when Barber and Lich were on trial, both groups stood outside the courthouse with signs and taunted each other.

“I don't believe their minds can be changed,” Sherif concluded.

Meanwhile in civil court, the two convoy leaders appear to be doubling down.

In their own civil suit, Barber and Lich are suing the federal government for using the Emergencies Act to freeze their bank accounts, arguing they were the ones whose rights were trampled during the convoy.

In a separate suit against the Ontario government, Barber is seeking $300,000 in general damages. He alleges the thousands of pages of information taken from his cell phone — information that was made public as part of his bail proceedings, and again as evidence during his joint criminal trial with Lich — violated his rights. 

“Somebody needs to be held accountable,” Barber said. “I want recognition. I want them to acknowledge that wrongdoing was done.” 

Both expect they’ll be returning to Ottawa regularly in the months — and likely years — to come.

Defence costs approaching $1M

Speaking to CBC ahead of their trial’s conclusion, Lich and Barber pegged their combined defence costs at close to $1 million.

Neither Lich’s high-profile lawyer Greenspon nor Barber’s chief counsel Diane Magas have publicly disclosed their earnings from the criminal case, attracting considerable suspicion and a few conspiracy theories.

“I've heard that I've bought property in Mexico,” Lich said. “I've heard that I have a Swiss bank account or offshore accounts. I've heard that I've had breast augmentation surgery… I've heard it all, basically. But you know that none of that has actually happened.”

Some of the more personal accusations include a rumour that Lich used donated funds to “reinvent” her image with breast implants. 

“I did have augmentation surgery done in 2010 — after I'd had three children,” Lich told CBC. “I get a big kick out of seeing on social media that I've got $8-million boobs, like Bionic Woman breasts, essentially.”

Speaking from his rural home near Swift Current, Sask., Barber called his legal costs “extraordinary” in terms of both dollars and time spent. For him, it’s been an eye-opening experience.

“I've never been in custody, never had handcuffs on in my life until 2022,” said the 48-year-old. “So to watch just how slow the wheels of justice are…. It’s cost a ton of money.”

A man stands in front of a truck wearing a baseball cap with his arms folded.
Chris Barber stands in front of the truck that he drove to Ottawa in the winter of 2022. (James Young/CBC)

Where’s the money coming from?

Barber, who owns a trucking business with eight employees on payroll, said he’s been relying on his 20-year-old son to run their seven-vehicle fleet. The constant disruptions from his legal obligations in Ottawa have forced the longtime trucker to step away from driving for the first time since he was 18.  

Fundraising has become a fact of life for both Lich and Barber. Besides holding events and selling convoy-related merchandise to collect money for their own defence, the two have also helped fellow convoy organizers including Pat King with their legal bills. 

Last year, Lich wrote a memoir called Hold the Line, detailing her experience from “the heart” of the convoy, with support from Rebel News. So far, she said she’s received more than $64,000 in royalties. 

Her connection to the far-right media company comes with some obligations and commitments. 

Last year, Greenspon kiboshed plans for Lich to participate in a “Rebel Cruise” as a featured guest alongside infamous provocateur Ezra Levant and other right-wing personalities, predicting the optics of her soaking up the sun abroad during a break in the trial could be detrimental.

Levant, who owns Rebel News, sporadically appeared at the trial, sitting in the front row among journalists and filming hot-take videos outside for his legion of paid subscribers.

A man holding a dog and leaning up against a big-rig truck
Various convoy signs still adorn Barber’s garage at his farm near Swift Current, Sask., but he’s taken down the Confederate flags from the wall and the giant “F--k Trudeau” sign that once hung behind his truck. (Falice Chin/CBC)


The rest of Lich and Barber’s legal funding, which has amounted to hundreds of thousands of dollars, appears to come from two main sources: the Justice Centre for Constitutional Freedoms (JCCF) and the Democracy Fund (TDF).

Both registered charities espouse values rooted in protecting civil liberties and constitutional rights. Over the years, they have amassed support from prominent libertarians and some evangelical churches.

More recently, the two entities helped fund lawyers defending participants of the Freedom Convoy and its adjacent movements in various judicial settings.

The Calgary-based JCCF, which reported receiving more than $7 million in donations in its 2022 tax filings, has a history of wading into controversial debates.

Since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, the JCCF has challenged numerous government measures including vaccine mandates and social distancing rules. Barber said this group has largely footed his bill.

In a statement, the organization revealed it has spent more than $200,000 defending Barber and $120,000 defending Lich before the other group, TDF, took over her case. 

The Toronto-based TDF, which reported around $2.4 million in gifts in 2022, is still fighting the legality of pandemic-era lockdown measures in various courts and has the backing of former media baron Conrad Black as its historian in residence.

In a statement TDF confirmed its support for Lich but said the amount it has spent on her defence is “privileged and confidential.”

“The total amount spent defending the accused was a small fraction of the resources spent by the police, prosecutors and courts on what has turned into the longest mischief trial in Canadian history,” the statement read.

Paintings hung up leading into a basement.

A guitar hangs on the wall with signatures covering it.

 
A pick up truck with a bumper sticker.
images expandReminders of the Freedom Convoy can be found hanging from the walls of the homes of both Chris Barber and Tamara Lich.

‘Get back to a normal life’

Both Lich and Barber expressed a desire to return to the life they knew before the convoy and its fallout.

“I would like to get back to a normal life,” said Lich, who has plans to spend more time with her band and train for a powerlifting competition.

“I think those are the only two things that I still have that feel completely normal,” she said about music and fitness.

For Barber, the Freedom Convoy has always been about ending cross-border travel restrictions for unvaccinated truck drivers, even though he himself is double-vaccinated. 

He said he’s not interested in getting too involved in culture wars and other issues that have followed fellow convoy organizers.

In some ways, the once self-proclaimed “online troll” has mellowed out. For example, in response to criticism on social media, Barber took down Confederate flags that once adorned his garage.

“Those came down when I realized just how offended some people can be by it,” he said about the flags, which were flown historically by the Confederate Army and remain widely associated with white supremacy. 

“I was raised in the '80s, when we used to watch Dukes of Hazzard, in high school back in the day when people had your Confederate stickers on your back window of your pickups or your licence plates,” he explained. “So now the sentiments have changed towards the symbol … I respectfully took the flags down a number of years ago.”

Also gone from the garage is the once-ubiquitous “F--k Trudeau” sign that accompanied him with his truck “Big Red” to Ottawa in 2022.

“I just don't even want to acknowledge his name anymore,” Barber said of the prime minister.

In its place on the giant red truck is a new sign that declares: “Proud member of a small, fringe minority.”

Despite his desire to distance from politics, Barber revealed he’s been courted to get involved in some capacity in a provincial conservative party in Saskatchewan, but has so far declined. 

“I don’t want to be a politician,” he said, not wanting to reveal which party.

He is, however, still seeking justice — and not just from the federal government.

Barber, a trucker by trade, got his convoy journey etched into his arm in an elaborate tattoo. (Falice Chin/CBC)

“Regardless of whether we win or lose, we're winning anyway,” he said of the various legal sagas. “I know I didn't do anything wrong.”

Now, Barber longs for quieter days on his farm fixing antique tractors and tending to his hobby farm with family. 

Sorry, not sorry

Neither of the two convoy leaders intends to let their star fade.

Lich ultimately sees their actions as unifying, despite what the critics say.

“I don’t mean I’m not sorry,” she said in response to the lingering resentment among many Ottawa residents.

“I'm sorry that they felt that way and I'm sorry that they have so much negative energy in their hearts about it.”

Calling the protests a “beautiful experience,” Lich said she’d welcome sitting down with any of her detractors.

“I can just try and be a good person,” she said. “Hopefully over time, people will come to see that and come to know some things about me and realize that I am just a human being. And hopefully they will be able to find some forgiveness in their hearts.”

For his part, Barber said while he didn’t witness any incidents of hate or harassment perpetrated by protesters during the convoy, he is sorry for any that may have occurred.

“There were bad actors — meatheads, as we called them — involved with everything,” he said. “I didn’t stand with those people.”

For Barber, it's all a symptom of our growing polarization as a society.

“We’re almost desensitized to everyone else’s feelings out there,” he said. “Everybody’s about making the next person angry or humiliated.”

Nevertheless, both Lich and Barber continue to make activism a part of their lives.

Both have travelled to Europe and elsewhere to meet with like-minded activists. They’ve launched a new organization together to raise awareness about vaccine injuries, and they continue to participate in speaking circuits and right-wing media circles.

Like Lich, Barber knows he’s forever linked to a political movement that has inspired multiple narratives about who’s right, who’s wrong, and who should be held accountable for what happened in 2022. His own version of the story is now mapped out in a sleeve tattoo, an indelible reminder of his life-changing journey, even if the final destination remains far down the road.

About the Authors
David Fraser
David Fraser

David Fraser is an Ottawa-based journalist for CBC News who previously reported in Alberta and Saskatchewan.
Falice Chin
Falice Chin

Falice Chin produces West of Centre, CBC’s political podcast with a Western Canadian focus. Before returning to Calgary, she led CBC Ottawa’s newsroom for nearly four years as the region's executive producer of news. She was the founding senior producer of CBC Radio’s Cost of Living, and her work has appeared in Mergermarket, the National Post, the Calgary Herald and elsewhere. falice.chin@cbc.ca

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