In the spring of 2023, a story out of Old Montreal put a precise word to a suspicion many tenants already shared: you can be pushed out not because you did anything wrong, but because the dwelling is worth more empty and rented to tourists. According to reports by Le Devoir and Néomédia, tenants — including one named Sylvain Roy — allegedly received eviction notices invoking a “change of use” that, in fact, allegedly opened the door to tourist rentals. The political reaction was swift: Québec solidaire called for it to be made outright illegal to evict a tenant for the benefit of an Airbnb. This article breaks down what this case reveals — the applicable law, the real risks for a landlord, and why the shortcut almost always costs more than the legal path.
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The facts: Old Montreal and the Québec solidaire call
Let's put the case in context, sticking to what the reports stated. In March 2023, several Quebec media outlets looked into eviction cases in Old Montreal, an area where tourist pressure is particularly strong. Tenants there allegedly received notices asking them to leave their dwelling on the ground of a “change of use” — an eviction ground that does indeed exist in the law. The problem, according to these reports, lies in how it was allegedly used: the change of use served as a gateway to short-term tourist rentals — the well-known Airbnb model — rather than to some other residential use.
Among those affected, the reports name a tenant, Sylvain Roy, whose situation was used to illustrate the phenomenon. We speak of it conditionally: these are allegations relayed by the press, not facts decided by a court. What matters here is not to point out a culprit, but to understand the mechanism being denounced: an occupied dwelling, under lease, turned into a source of tourist income after its occupant's departure — more or less voluntary.
The political reaction: making the practice explicitly illegal
It is against this backdrop that Québec solidaire stepped into the fray. The party called for it to be made explicitly illegal to evict a tenant for the benefit of an Airbnb. The stated goal was to close a loophole: to prevent an apparently legitimate eviction ground from actually being used to pull a dwelling off the residential market and offer it to travellers. The demand targeted both the letter and the spirit of the law — because even when a practice is already challengeable, a specifically named prohibition sends a clear signal and makes remedies easier.
This stance was part of a broader debate on the housing crisis. According to the picture painted at the time, Quebec had reportedly lost some 116,000 affordable housing units, with the conversion of residential dwellings into tourist accommodation presented as one of the aggravating factors. Whatever the accounting accuracy of that figure — which describes a trend more than a count of Airbnbs alone — it reflects a political reality: every dwelling pulled off the market to become an Airbnb is now scrutinized, commented on and, increasingly, regulated.
Key takeaway
The Old Montreal case was not about tourist rentals in themselves, but about the way of getting there: using a ground for eviction — change of use — to, in effect, turn an occupied dwelling into an Airbnb. It is this misuse of the ground that caused the scandal and pushed Québec solidaire to call for an explicit prohibition.
Why it was done wrong: the law at play
To understand why this type of eviction is fragile, we have to go back to the foundations of Quebec rental law. The starting point is not the landlord's right to recover their property; it is the tenant's right to stay in their home. This principle — the right to remain in the dwelling, recognized in article 1936 of the Civil Code of Quebec (C.c.Q., Quebec's civil law code) — gives a tenant in good standing a strong personal right: to remain in the dwelling as long as they meet their obligations. Everything else is built around this protection, and the exceptions that allow departing from it are interpreted narrowly.
Change of use: a real ground, but a regulated one
“Change of use” is not an invention: it is one of the grounds for eviction provided by law, alongside subdividing and substantially enlarging the dwelling. It covers the case where the landlord intends to stop using the premises as a dwelling in order to give it another purpose. On paper, then, a landlord can invoke this ground — provided it is real and in good faith. That is where everything is decided.
The crux of the problem is this: is turning a dwelling into short-term tourist accommodation a genuine change of use, or simply a way to sidestep the right to remain in the dwelling in order to make the same space profitable by other means? The question is delicate, and it is precisely because it lends itself to interpretation that Québec solidaire was calling for an explicit rule. But one thing is constant: a ground for eviction can never be a pretext. If the change of use is only a label slapped onto an operation whose real aim is to make money off tourists, the eviction loses its legitimacy.
Bad faith, the real Achilles' heel
Good faith is the linchpin of any repossession or eviction. It means that the stated ground is the true ground. Conversely, bad faith is the gap between what you announce and what you do: invoking a change of use while, behind the scenes, preparing an Airbnb operation. The law often presumes good faith at the outset, but as soon as a serious doubt arises — and a dwelling reappearing on a tourist platform creates a powerful one — it is up to the landlord to demonstrate the sincerity of their process. This reversal of the burden is decisive: it rarely suffices to assert good faith, you have to be able to prove it.
The Civil Code, moreover, does not leave the evicted tenant without recourse. Article 1968 provides that a tenant who left their dwelling following a repossession or eviction obtained in bad faith can claim damages, including punitive damages. In other words, the law expressly anticipated the sham-ground scenario: it gives the tenant the tools to fight back, even after leaving. A landlord who evicted for an Airbnb under the pretext of a change of use would be exposed to exactly this recourse.
When pressure becomes harassment
There is another angle, often underestimated. To “convince” a tenant to leave, some landlords pile on the pressure: untimely visits, false information about the tenant's rights, repeated notices, insistence on getting a lease cancellation signed. Yet article 1902 of the Civil Code prohibits harassing a tenant in a way that restricts their right to peaceful enjoyment of the premises or seeks to make them leave the dwelling. What the law targets is not a conversation or an offer: it is the act of wearing someone down through an accumulation of pressures.
That is what makes these files particularly risky. An eviction motivated by an Airbnb project that, on top of it, comes with pressure tactics, adds two grievances: the illegitimacy of the ground and the harassment. Each opens the door to damages; together, they turn a failed real-estate operation into a heavy file. We detail this mechanism in our analysis of bad-faith repossession and in our guide on harassing a tenant.
The consequences for a landlord
On a strictly financial level, the math that pushes a landlord to evict for an Airbnb looks appealing: a dwelling rented on the tourist market can bring in, over a year, far more than a residential lease frozen below market. But this math ignores the liabilities. When you weigh the hoped-for gain against the risks incurred, the shortcut often turns out to be a very bad deal.
Damages that add up
The first line item is damages. A tenant evicted in bad faith can claim compensation for the harm suffered: the stress and inconvenience of moving, but above all the rent gap they now bear elsewhere, often for a comparable dwelling that has become far more expensive. On top of that come punitive damages, which are not meant to repair harm but to punish and deter. Courts reserve them for conduct they consider unacceptable — and a sham eviction disguised as a change of use falls squarely into that category. Our analyses of recent decisions, such as the one on rising punitive damages, show that these amounts are no longer symbolic.
Time, costs and the risk of starting over
Beyond the sums paid out, there is the cost of the process itself. Contesting an eviction, defending yourself before the Administrative Housing Tribunal (TAL), producing proof of good faith that, by hypothesis, does not exist: all of this eats up time, energy and, very often, fees. And the outcome remains uncertain. If the tribunal finds bad faith, not only does the landlord pay, but they can end up back at square one — with a dwelling they still have not cleanly recovered and a poisoned relationship. The shortcut meant to save months ends up losing them.
Reputation: the cost people forget to quantify
This is the most underestimated line item, and perhaps the heaviest. The Old Montreal case shows it well: these stories end up in the media, become symbols, feed political debates. A landlord whose name is publicly tied to an Airbnb eviction does not just lose a lawsuit; they lose a reputation that will take years to rebuild — with future tenants, business partners, sometimes their own community. In a climate where tourist conversion has become a politically explosive subject, exposing yourself this way is anything but trivial.
A landlord who evicts to convert to an Airbnb is betting on higher rental income. But against it they set: damages for the tenant's harm, punitive damages for bad faith, the costs and time of proceedings, the risk of having to start all over, and reputational damage that cannot be bought back. The gain is capped; the liabilities are not. It is an asymmetrical bet — and on the wrong side.
What should have been done: the voluntary agreement
Here is the most important point, the one that changes everything. The desire to make a dwelling more profitable is entirely legitimate. What poses a problem is not the objective: it is the method. Evicting under a false ground is risky and often a losing move. Yet there is a clean, proven, proceedings-free path to free up a dwelling: the voluntary departure agreement.
Cash for keys: the tool designed for this
The principle is simple. Rather than invoking a ground for eviction that does not really exist — with all the risks that entails — you offer the tenant an agreement: they agree to end the lease and leave on an agreed date, in exchange for compensation. This is what's called cash for keys. The tenant is never forced; they accept because it is in their interest. And because both parties sign a clear agreement, there is no ground to prove, no burden of good faith, no challenge to fear: the free consent of the parties replaces the proceedings.
The difference from an eviction is fundamental. In an eviction for change of use, the tenant is on the receiving end; they can refuse, contest, claim damages. In a voluntary agreement, they decide, with full knowledge of the facts, because the offer is advantageous to them. You move from a balance of power — where the landlord bears the burden and the risk — to a win-win agreement. It is exactly the opposite of what the 2023 reports denounced. To understand in detail how it works, our guides on cash for keys in Quebec and on the legality of paying a tenant to leave get to the bottom of it.
Beware the real trap: an agreement does not excuse pressure
A crucial nuance: an agreement is only valid if the consent is free and informed. Getting a tenant to sign a paper under threat, through fear or by means of false information is nothing like a voluntary agreement: it is a disguised eviction, with the same risks of challenge, damages and an allegation of harassment. The line between a legitimate offer and illegal pressure is thin, and a landlord in a hurry sometimes crosses it without even realizing. The form, the wording, the pace of the exchanges: it all matters so that an agreement stays an agreement. This is also what distinguishes a solid process from an illegal renoviction or a manoeuvre liable to a renoviction fine.
Why go through professionals
You might think a voluntary agreement is simple: you talk to the tenant, you agree, you sign. In theory, yes. In practice, that is where most landlords stumble — not out of ill intent, but for lack of method. They get the amount wrong, phrase the offer clumsily, insist one time too many, draft a shaky agreement, or let slip a pressure that undermines everything. And the Old Montreal case is a reminder: between a legitimate negotiation and a challengeable manoeuvre, there is sometimes only one sentence too many.
The role of a specialized firm
A firm like Opti Loyer structures the process so that it stays, from start to finish, voluntary, documented and compliant with the rules of the Administrative Housing Tribunal (TAL). That means the right approach, the right wording, a solid written agreement, and above all no trace of coercion — nothing that could later be turned against the landlord. It also means calibrating the offer so that it is attractive to the tenant while remaining highly profitable relative to the value recovered on the building. It is a craft, and it is precisely because it is one that improvising costs dearly. We explain this in our article why go through a pro to recover a dwelling.
Pay only for results: the risk is on our side
At Opti Loyer, the model is pay only for results. The initial audit is free: we look together at what dormant value your building holds, with no commitment. And you pay only if the agreement is reached and you get the result. The financial risk of the process therefore does not rest on you. It is the exact opposite of the asymmetrical bet of a reckless eviction: instead of wagering big against unlimited liabilities, you leave the risk with those whose trade it is.
At its core, the Old Montreal case teaches something every landlord should keep in mind: you only have one name in life. A better-monetized dwelling is not worth gambling on a shortcut that can end in tens of thousands of dollars in damages and a damaged reputation. The value can be captured — cleanly, legally, with no proceedings — through a voluntary agreement. It is slower than a hastily issued eviction notice, but it is the only path that lets you sleep soundly. Whether your goal is to recover a dwelling or to optimize a below-market rent, there is a way to do it without ever crossing the red line.
This content is provided for informational purposes and does not constitute legal advice. The TAL's rules and timelines, as well as the regulation of tourist rentals, evolve — verify the applicable terms or consult a legal advisor before acting.
