The Premier of Ontario opened the door to a public inquiry into the wrongful conviction of Robert Baltovich yesterday. Given the alarming frequency of wrongful convictions -- the Goudge Inquiry into several such cases involving disgraced pathologist Charles Smith wrapped up last month -- perhaps there should be a standing office charged with exonerating the wrongfully convicted on a permanent basis.

It has now become clear that in Canada it is not rare for police, prosecutors and, in the Baltovich case at least, the trial judge, to rush to injustice, honouring in no real sense the presumption of innocence. Along with a seemingly endless parade of wrongful convictions, the Baltovich case -- which meandered through the courts for 18 years with nothing other than circumstantial evidence to back it up -- puts us dangerously close to a damaging erosion of public confidence. As the malfeasance of our police and prosecutors becomes more widely-known, reasonable citizens will begin to doubt whether they can trust any convictions procured by a system that apparently cares for successful prosecutions more than truth or justice.

Today the Supreme Court of Canada is hearing arguments in the Grant case -- the case began when a young black man was stopped by Toronto police some years ago because he appeared "fidgety" and was found to be carrying a loaded handgun. Many experts expect the outcome will loosen the prohibitions on improperly gathered evidence being admitted at trial. Leaving aside the merits of the Grant case, it is not a propitious time to entrust Canada's police or prosecutors with greater latitude. As inquiries are springing up into miscarriages of justice, it would seem better to hold the criminal justice system to a higher standard. It is the accused who in a just system are entitled to the benefit of the doubt, not the state.

I have returned to this theme several times in the past year, which would be a bore except that our courts are freeing the wrongfully convicted even more often than I write about abuse of prosecutorial power. Yet my thinking on this was sharpened last week in the most unusual of circumstances -- covering the papal visit in Washington and New York.

Not that any of us were arrested, but living a week under the security protocols of the United States Secret Service gives one a taste of what the safety and security state does with unchecked power. Not surprisingly, it abuses it.

The Secret Service stands out because, with unlimited budgets in its favour and a peculiar American enthusiasm for ostentatious displays of security cheering it on, no incursion into our liberties was thought too much. If the Secret Service had its way -- which it did last week -- we would all be in a never-ending airport security lineup: much inconvenience, ever greater invasions of privacy and very little actual security.

We were told repeatedly that the papal visit was conducted at the highest level of security the Secret Service provides, save for a presidential inauguration. Many people seemed perversely proud of this -- that the visit of the Pope provoked a curtailing of liberties second only to those used to mark great patriotic festivals.

Despite all journalists being screened by the Secret Service weeks ago, for every event we were required to show up four to eight hours in advance, be made to wait in various places while the whole dog-sniffing, metal-detecting routine ensued. Then it was on to a special bus and into a holding pen on the other end to pass a few more hours, sometimes being forbidden to look out the windows, or interview members of the general public a few feet away. Much like their colleagues in airport security, the Secret Service were not particularly competent, as even after hours of sequestering we were frequently taken into non-secure areas to mingle with the general public, rendering the whole operation useless.

As far as it went, it was a perfect image of the security state: Plenty of power to invade and curtail the liberties of free citizens, ostentatious displays of force, a widespread suspicion that we were up to no good and, in the end, shockingly poor competence in discharging the duties for which it is given extraordinary powers in the first place.

A week under the thumb of the Secret Service is instructive, and really only inconvenient. The criminal justice system, as it is pleased to call itself, offers far more than inconvenience. And 18 years is altogether different from one week.