Bayanihan and Belonging: Filipinos and Religion in Canada 9781487517519

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Illustrations
Acknowledgments
Introduction
1. Religion
2. Migration History
3. Filipinos in Winnipeg
4. Filipinos in Brandon
5. Religious Activities and Expressions outside of Church
6. Filipino Canadian Protestants and Their Churches
7. The Rise of Voluntary Associations
8. Winnipeg’s Church Staff
9. Filipinos in Manitoba beyond Winnipeg
Conclusion
Appendix
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

BAYANIHAN AND BELONGING Filipinos and Religion in Canada

Filipinos make up one of the largest immigrant groups in Canada and the majority continue to retain their Roman Catholic faith long after migrating. Drawing on archival and ethnographic research in Canada and the Philippines from 1880 to 2017, Bayanihan and Belonging examines the role of religion within Filipino Canadian communities, both past and present. With her primary focus on Winnipeg, home to Canada’s oldest and largest Filipino Canadian community, Alison R. Marshall documents the current church-based and domestic religious traditions of migrant Filipinos. Marshall explores the day-to-day celebrations of bayanihan, or communal spirit, in many places, from churches to home chapels, and in many forms, from festivals to healing rituals. In its vibrant portrait of Manitoba’s Filipino population, Bayanihan and Belonging demonstrates how religious practice can fulfil not only a need for spiritual expression but also for community and belonging. (Asian Canadian Studies) alison r. marshall is a professor in the Department of Religion at Brandon University.

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ALISON R. MARSHALL

Bayanihan and Belonging Filipinos and Religion in Canada

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

© University of Toronto Press 2018 Toronto Buffalo London www.utorontopress.com Printed in Canada ISBN 978-1-4875-0324-6 (cloth) ISBN 978-1-4875-2250-6 (paper)

Printed on acid-free, 100% post-consumer recycled paper with vegetable-based inks. Asian Canadian Studies Series Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Marshall, Alison R., author Bayanihan and belonging : Filipinos and religion in Canada / Alison R. Marshall. (Asian Canadian studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4875-0324-6 (hardcover). – ISBN 978-1-4875-2250-6 (softcover) 1. Filipino Canadians – Manitoba – Religion.  2. Filipino Canadians – Religion.  3. Filipinos – Manitoba – Religion.  4. Filipinos – Canada – Religion. 5. Filipino Canadians – Manitoba – Social life and customs.  6. Filipino Canadians – Social life and customs.  7. Filipinos – Manitoba – Social life and customs.  8. Filipinos – Canada – Social life and customs.  9. Catholics – Manitoba.  10. Catholics – Canada.  I. Title.  II. Series: Asian Canadian studies BX1422.M2M37 2018

282.089’992107127

C2017-906337-5

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council, an agency of the Government of Ontario.

an Ontario government agency un organisme du gouvernement de l’Ontario

Funded by the Financé par le Government gouvernement du Canada of Canada

Contents

List of Illustrations  vii Acknowledgments  ix Introduction 3 1 Religion  20 2  Migration History  54 3  Filipinos in Winnipeg  77 4  Filipinos in Brandon  100 5  Religious Activities and Expressions outside of Church  110 6  Filipino Canadian Protestants and Their Churches  127 7  The Rise of Voluntary Associations  139 8  Winnipeg’s Church Staff  161 9  Filipinos in Manitoba beyond Winnipeg  174 Conclusion 201 Appendix  209 Notes  211 Bibliography  255 Index  275

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Illustrations

Figures 1.1 Gregoria Parado’s Santo Niño de Cebu, Winnipeg  34 1.2 Santo Niño shrine, St Edward the Confessor Church, Winnipeg 38 1.3 Santo Niño shrine, St Mary’s Cathedral, Winnipeg  39 1.4 Aklan province procession in Filipino Manitoba Street Festival 42 1.5 Barangay fiesta of Santo Niño, Concepcion, Tarlac province, Philippines 44 1.6 Cebu Clergy Performing Artists, St Edward the Confessor Church, Winnipeg  45 1.7 Winnipeg’s Bicol Association celebrates the feast day of Our Lady of Peñafrancia, Tyndall Park Community Centre, Winnipeg 47 1.8 Hilot office, Baguio City, Philippines  49 3.1 Fe Ryder, 1956  78 3.2 Olivia Gobenciong, Jovita Subido, Lolita Descargar, and Thelma Valerio, Swan River  82 4.1 One wall of Rosita Gonzales’s home chapel, Brandon  105 5.1 Santo Niño statue, La Merage, Winnipeg  113 5.2 Santo Niño statue, La Merage, Winnipeg  114 7.1 Rizal image on the side of a Filipino Manitoba Street Festival jeepney 149 7.2 Bathala, Rizalista church, Victoria, Tarlac province, Philippines 152

viii 

Illustrations

7.3 Rizalista church service, Tarlac, Victoria province, Philippines 153 9.1 Shirley Sokolosky’s home altar  178 9.2 Noel Hizon’s home altar with Santo Niño  182 9.3 Noel Hizon’s home altar with Santo Niño  183 9.4 Duran bedroom shrine  187 Tables 0.1 Research participant data by province or city of origin in the Philippines and Canada  10 0.2 Change of religion of research participants after migration  12

Acknowledgments

Bayanihan and Belonging: Filipinos and Religion in Canada takes me full circle in my career. As a student in the East Asian Studies Department of the University of Toronto I completed a master’s degree in Chinese poetry and a doctorate in Chinese religion. In each degree I approached religious experience through histories, literary texts, and theories, always focusing on what lay hidden and just on the edge of a text. Once I had become a professor, my research shifted away from the study of ecstatic experiences towards everyday religion. I remained interested in the lived religion that was hidden and out of view, but, instead of focusing on texts, my approach was ethnographic. The two books I have written on Chinese Canadian history shed light on lived religious practices and the cult of Sun Yat-sen on the Canadian prairies. The sheer volume of interviewing, and the ethnographic and archival research collected in these projects, led me to the study of Filipino Canadians. As I interviewed Chinese Canadians, I heard periodic references to Chinese migrants who had a Filipino parent. In the archives I saw scattered references to Filipino Chinese who belonged to volunteer associations in Vancouver. I started to notice that more Filipino restaurants were opening in Toronto and that religious iconography was used to decorate restaurants in the same ways that it was used in Chinese restaurants. Although migrants from the Philippines were arriving in Canada in greater number than those from China, I observed that their histories, cultures, and religious practices remained unexamined and largely undocumented. As I researched Filipino thought and culture in the Philippines and in Canada, I came to see that religiosity was much more than Christianity.

x 

Acknowledgments

I acknowledge the support and funding of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, as principal investigator (2012–17, grant number 435-2012-002, with Pauline Greenhill, co-­ investigator), and also of the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation (with Allen Chun, collaborator). I also wish to acknowledge the help of Viola Lyons, archivist at Trinity College School; Library and Archives Canada; Manitoba Archives; Manitoba History; the Archives of the Episcopal Church, Austin, Texas; Christy Henry at S.J. McKee Archives, Brandon University; Erwin Wodarczak at University of British Columbia Archives; Sarah Ramsden at the City of Winnipeg Archives; and finally Krystal Rycroft, Sun Life Financial archivist. Several research assistants worked with me on this project to gather the history of Canada’s earliest immigrants from the Philippines. Barb Manko, Lulu Marcelino, Carmen Mediema, David McConnell, Hannah Tufts, Marcie Fehr, Morganna Malyon, and Murray Peterson conducted archival and ethnographic research in Manitoba and also in Ottawa at Library and Archives Canada. Melba Sumat was the research assistant based in Tarlac City, Victoria, Philippines, for the duration of the project; she organized field trips for me when I visited; arranged interviews with hilots, fortune-tellers, spiritists, priests, and pastors; and conducted surveys and interviews with some 250 research participants throughout the Philippines. Pat Garry provided expert transcribing, often typing interviews within a few hours and with surprising accuracy, given the number of Tagalog terms. Kerry Fast and Alison Mayes provided meticulous copy-editing. Kate Zimmerman, a food writer in Vancouver, visited and documented Filipino restaurants in that city and its surrounding areas, as well as in Alberta, Ontario, and Quebec. Fellow University of Toronto alumnus and scholar of religion Kerry Fast, along with Lulu Marcelino, toured restaurants, takeout businesses, and groceries in the Greater Toronto Area. The ethnographic material on Filipino restaurants and businesses elsewhere in Canada helped me to understand patterns in the Manitoba fieldwork. A book is not written unless editors, publishers, or reviewers believe in the project. It has been a pleasure working with University of Toronto Press and in particular with Douglas Hildebrand, who expertly supported and guided this project through the publication process. I am indebted to the anonymous readers of the manuscript who recognized the potential and shared my passion for Filipino religiosity. Their extensive feedback has greatly improved the book.

Acknowledgments

 xi

In addition, a book is not written without the support and sacrifice of family. My ethno-historical approach requires not only long hours of library-based historical research but also extensive ethnography and interviewing and the attendance at, observation of, and participation in a multitude of events. My partner, Brian, and my sons, Wells and Ben, accompanied me and assisted with ethnographic research during the years it took to write this book. Brian provided important feedback on the research and proofread the manuscript. This book is dedicated to my late mother, Heather Snowdon Osler. Last but not least, I thank all of the research participants for sharing their stories, time, and materials with me. Some material in this book was previously published in “From ‘Wild’ Igorot Filipino Boy to Christianized Doctor,” Journal of Native Studies 36.2 (2016); “From the Goddess Guanyin to Señor Santo Niño: Chinese and Filipino Restaurant Religion in Canada,” Religious Studies and Theology 35.2 (December 2016), 161–71; “Bayanihan and Belonging: Filipinos in Manitoba, Part 1,” Manitoba History (Fall 2014), 11–19; and “Stories of Bayanihan and Belonging: Filipinos in Manitoba, Part 2,” Manitoba History (Winter 2015), 13–23.

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BAYANIHAN AND BELONGING Filipinos and Religion in Canada

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Introduction

In June 2014, Orlando Marcelino, the honorary consul general of the Philippines in Winnipeg, Manitoba, cautioned in his opening remarks during the Philippine Heritage Week celebrations: “I would like people, especially our young generations, and you white people, to stop equating Philippine culture to dances and food. We’re more than the sum of these dances, and we share a rich history filled with regular people who love our country, and we’ll die defending it.”1 Bayanihan and Belonging: Filipinos and Religion in Canada seeks to explore the religious aspect of that rich history through research participant narratives, archival research, and fieldwork to arrive at an understanding of Filipino culture in rural and urban Manitoba that is more than “the sum of these dances.”2 During my research I formally interviewed fifty-three Filipinos living in Manitoba (twenty-six women and twenty-seven men).3 I also conducted research in the Philippines twice, in 2013 and 2015, to provide the context for understanding and explaining why Filipinos and their religious practices remained the same or different after migration to Canada; some 250 individuals were surveyed, and eight people were interviewed.4 In both the Philippines and Canada I visited homes, churches, restaurants, and festivals to understand the role of church-based and everyday devotional practice in migration stories. I tried to discover the ways in which Philippine colonialist and indigenous histories were articulated, translated, performed, and remade in global and religious worlds.5 Narratives, field notes, and surveys showed that many people defined themselves religiously through devotion and practices and through affiliations to certain churches, deities, saints, groups, and festivals. They also revealed what Reynaldo Ileto refers to as an “underside,” the

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Bayanihan and Belonging

beliefs and practices that were overshadowed during the Hispanization and Christianizing of Filipino peoples. For Ileto this “underside of ilustrado history … is generally hidden but is always at play with the dominant threads of Philippine history.”6 The Ilustrados were the Filipino educated elite during the Spanish colonial period and are often mentioned in connection with Dr José Rizal (1861–96), a highly educated medical doctor and an author who was executed by the Spanish regime for sedition.7 Ileto argues that although Rizal’s sojourns, education, and literary contributions are seen as part of his pursuit for Western knowledge and culture, these endeavours were in fact inspired by his quest for a kind of Filipino sacred knowledge. Ileto adds: “On [the] one hand, Rizal is definitely a product of the colonial order who, through modern education, heralded the birth of modern Southeast Asian nationalism. On the other hand, the signs he scattered about, his gestures, works, his absences even, and finally, the mode of his death, generated meanings linked to other – largely hidden – narratives of the Philippine past.”8 Michel de Certeau also focuses on the underside, which often remained out of view, screened from broader society, sometimes concealed. In his writings about seventeenth-century Catholicism in France, de Certeau suggested that when religion was politicized, it naturally became very different in official church life from the way in which it was actually lived at the local level. Drawing on de Certeau’s framework of analysis, Catholicism provides Filipinos with churches and religious functionaries and with a common language that helps to unify thought and culture in the new colonial Spanish regime. It provides the veneer and name of religiosity and the route through which Filipinos are able to be seen to conform and cooperate with Spanish colonizers. In both the Philippines and France the Catholic Church historically defined where and how people could be visibly religious. De Certeau was interested in the disconnect between the “lived meaning and the designated fact.”9 In this instance the designated fact was that indigenous religious gods, and other traditions, had been cast aside for Christian ones. The designated fact was that Christian deities, churches, friars, and practices, like the Spanish colonizers themselves, had won over the people of the Philippines. Filipinos recognized the authority of Spanish Catholicism and its infrastructure as they converted to Christianity and adapted to life under colonial command. Yet indigenous gods and practices were not forgotten. Gods took new names and new forms, and although indigenous traditions were less visible than they

Introduction

 5

had once been, immanent experiences of religion continued to be a source of spiritual power from the underside.10 Many Filipinos continue to engage with Catholicism through nonChristian beliefs and practices. As long as people acknowledge the predominance of Catholic infrastructure and authority, the fiestas, statuary, anting-anting (a term used to describe one or more charms or amulets and also the use of them to bring good fortune or to keep away bad), and traditions of healing and spirit possession may remain out of view and on the margins. Catholic structures impart patterns of religious and public engagement and also a well-spring of traditions about which I heard in the research participants’ stories. Various storytellers helped me to understand individual Filipino Manitoban experiences from the bottom up. Arthur Frank reminds us that “stories give people a sense of who they are … Affiliations, groups, and communities form because people know the same stories and make sense of these stories in the same way.”11 Spanish colonialism had enabled Filipinos to develop strategies of belonging in new worlds at church, and tactics so that they could establish connections through home-based religious customs that continued on the underside. These religious habits or, in the language of Pierre Bourdieu, the way in which Filipinos inhabited their religiosity helped them to adjust to life under Spanish, American and Japanese colonialism and as migrants in Canada.12 Revisiting their Filipino indigenous roots in Canada, some research participants reminisced about the Igorot dances they had learned as children (Igorots being a general name for the mountain peoples of the northern Philippines). Filipinos were proud to learn or relearn, perform, and re-articulate these dances in Canada, drawing on customs and cultures that had nearly been erased in the Philippines. In doing so, they acknowledged a colonial past and reclaimed pre-colonial traditions and cultures in a new homeland. They looked back so as to move forward.13 As I researched Filipino religiosity, I heard of this underside in conversations with both Catholic and Protestant research participants and witnessed it in their devotion. In some cases the underside was a special coin conferring blessings and protection – an anting-anting – buried deep in a pocket. At other times the underside was devotional practices, including songs, prayers to religious and non-religious figures such as Dr José Rizal, pilgrimages, and actual embraces of a saint’s image for intercession. I considered the factors that had obscured the underside from view. I wondered if my own perception had decentred

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the devotional customs that seemed to inhabit this underside. Often and especially when I interviewed priests, pastors, and nuns, I pondered the extent to which they and other Filipino religious functionaries endorsed or put up with the dispersed doing of religion that I saw so often outside official domains.14 Filipino priests in Manitoba said little or nothing about these practices. Only Sister Therma of St Augustine of Canterbury Church (also known as St Augustine’s) talked about her passionate involvement with the Legion of Mary devotional group. Filipino religiosity, both in the way some interviewees presented (or omitted) it and in the way non-Filipino society viewed it, seemed to be associated with historical processes of assimilation, submission, and migrant settlement.15 As Filipinos were Europeanized, Christianized, and modernized, traces of a pre-Hispanic world receded further into history and this underside. I was not prepared to resign myself to the view or designated fact that Filipino culture was simply shaped by colonialism or the Church. Research participants approached histories of oppression, including their own colonial past, with a resilient or come-what-may attitude (bahala na). Religion shaped every aspect of most research participants’ lives. I grasped at strands of the nearly forgotten and dismissed past. I looked for patterns in the transcripts and fieldwork footage, in books, articles, and newspapers. I scanned my notes for things I might have missed – beliefs and practices that did not fit with the standard narratives. Religion is woven into all the chapters of this book, as it is woven into the everyday lives of most Filipinos. Following Nancy Ammerman, Meredith McGuire, and Robert Orsi,16 this book concentrates on everyday Filipino religiosity. Everyday religion happens inside and outside churches and with and without the authority of religious functionaries. Far-flung Filipinos, regardless of class or education, improvise to recreate religious worlds in new homes, yards, cars, streets, and businesses and to refresh and maintain relationships with deities, saints, and ancestors in daily lives. Fred Cordova observes that it was Christianity, not necessarily denominational affiliation, and its beliefs and practices that cemented early Filipino American communities.17 By approaching Filipino religiosity as lived practice, and not only through a denominational Catholic or Protestant lens, I aim to look beyond Western and European colonial influences. In this book I seek to understand the everyday doing of Filipino religion from 1880 to 2016 by focusing on the diverse ways in which people report belonging in their religious and spiritual lives.18 Migrants

Introduction

 7

may choose to leave diverse regions of the Philippines for work, but being religious is usually not a choice. Almost all Filipinos profiled in this book discussed religiosity as simply something they were born into and with which their identity and daily lives were deeply intertwined. Immanent and transcendent relationships shaped and united Filipinos throughout the diaspora as they embarked on “morally disordering” migration journeys and after they had settled.19 Once settled in Canada, they attended a church service or mass, where they offered prayers to a transcendent God. Even though most churches did not provide services in Tagalog, or immigrant roles in mass,20 Filipinos returned week after week because their religiosity encompassed more than denomination, congregational membership, and a transcendent God. To the research participants, the day-to-day practice of bayanihan (communal or community spirit) guided a person’s faith regardless of whether that was made real in attending a weekly service, praying the novena on the bus, or setting up a home shrine. Letty Antonio, one of the Filipinos I interviewed, explained: “Bayanihan is in the hearts of Filipinos. It goes in different ways: like when one is moving one’s nipa hut [a straw hut with bamboo poles] to another place, we help each other [lift and carry it there]. That’s bayanihan.”21 Mike Pagtakhan added that bayanihan comes from the root words bayan (nation) and bayani (hero) in Tagalog: “Bayanihan really characterizes our culture. It helps unify us. In the rural parts and the city, too, you’ll see that with neighbours – people helping in other people’s yards. I want to remind people about this bayanihan spirit, because it really is who we are. We’re fighters. Filipinos love to fight for good … Bayanihan, I think, prevails amongst all our traits and characteristics.”22 Bahala na, a belief in leaving things up to God, also came up in many conversations, as did resilience, a characteristic that allows Filipinos to bounce back quickly from setbacks, and segurista. This last term, derived from the Spanish word seguro (safe, sure, certain), describes Filipino religious pragmatism. To ensure peace in the home or the success of a business, for instance, people display statues of Santo Niño (the infant Christ) or the Buddha as a form of segurista.23 They may also recite prayers, light candles, or make offerings to demonstrate devotion, ensure the flow of blessings, and bring saints and divinity closer in their daily lives in Canada and the Philippines. The Philippines is a chain of more than seven thousand islands in the western Pacific Ocean. The archipelago extends roughly 150 miles south from Taiwan. As it lies close to the equator, the climate is tropical.

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Bayanihan and Belonging

From June to November the rainy season dominates life, causing typhoons and monsoons that ravage the coast-line. Historically Filipinos were farmers, fishers, traders, sailors, and migrant workers. Today the Philippines is a poor nation, and jobs are scarce. Metropolitan Manila has the largest homeless population of any city in the world.24 The islands and provinces are populated by multiple indigenous peoples who speak scores of languages. They are united by the national language of the Philippines, which is Pilipino, or Tagalog, a language bearing influences from Sanskrit, Malay, Javanese, and Spanish. Filipinos also speak English, a legacy of American occupation. Many different groups initially came to the Philippines to trade. Chinese came in the tenth century, and Malaysians and Indonesians arrived in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. As a result, Charles C. Mann refers to Manila, the capital of the Philippines, as the birthplace of globalization.25 In 1521 the Spanish arrived to colonize this diverse archipelago. They converted Filipinos to Catholicism, though they had less success in Chinese and Muslim communities. Spain occupied the archipelago from 1565 until 1898, when it went to war with the United States. Spain lost the war and ceded the Southeast Asian nation to the United States, receiving $20 million in return. But the Spanish and Americans were not the islands’ only colonizers. Japan invaded and occupied the Philippines from 1942 to 1945. In 1946 the Philippines became an independent nation, and since then it has increasingly become known throughout the world as a nation of migrant workers. The Filipino diaspora is scattered across the globe, with the largest concentration in the United States where an estimated 3.4 million reside.26 In addition, there are sizeable populations of Filipinos in Europe, the Middle East, Asia, Oceania, and of course Canada, which more than seven hundred thousand Filipinos call home.27 Most of these diasporic Filipino communities ballooned after 1974 when the Philippine government began to formally encourage its residents to seek work overseas to stimulate the economy.28 Based on the 2011 Canadian national census and on provincial Filipino immigration projections, seventy-five thousand Filipinos were estimated to live in Manitoba in 2014.29 The majority of Manitoba’s Filipinos live in Winnipeg, the capital of Manitoba. Winnipeg is home to Canada’s oldest and largest per capita Filipino Canadian community. At 9 per cent it is the largest in North America.30 Manitoba’s towns and cities beyond Winnipeg also have sizeable and growing Filipino communities.31 In Winnipeg, Tagalog is the second most-common language.32

Introduction

 9

The phenomenon of Filipinos in Winnipeg is in some ways similar to that in Daly City, California, dubbed America’s Pinoy (Filipino) Capital.33 There is no single, predominant reason that Filipinos have flocked to Winnipeg and also to Manitoba’s hinterland, where they have sponsored family members to join them, reinvigorated church and congregational life, and flourished. Like Daly City, Winnipeg has a lower cost of living than large metropolitan areas such as Toronto and Vancouver, which also have large Filipino Canadian settlements. While Toronto and Vancouver have larger Filipino communities, Winnipeg’s is the oldest. Between 1962 and 1973 research participants in this study arrived in Manitoba as teachers, doctors, nurses, garment workers, students and spouses.34 Thirty-nine of this study’s fifty-three research participants migrated to Manitoba after 1974. Their first occupations were as teachers, nurses, cleaners, clerks, garment workers, domestic help, health-care aides, and meat-plant workers and also as priests and pastors. A few came as spouses or retirees. One arrived as a doctor. I did not intentionally seek stories of success or omit negative accounts of life in Canada. When one does ethnographic fieldwork and interviewing, those in socially marginal jobs or abusive marriages and with precarious immigration status are unlikely to come forward and volunteer as research participants. Their reluctance is understandable. I would never expect anyone to tell negative stories that might make their lives even more difficult. However, almost all of the stories in this book are positive accounts of bayanihan. Twenty of the fifty-three research participants in this study were born in Manila or Metropolitan Manila; otherwise no one regional group dominated the study’s findings or community life in Manitoba (see table 0.1). Most research participants lived in Winnipeg where congregations were large and defined by neighbourhoods. In smaller towns and cities congregations were far smaller and more likely to be associated with that region’s ethno-racial cultures and identity. Two research participants had been born in Winnipeg, and a further four had come to Canada as children. In this study the research participants who had migrated as adults to Canada spoke Tagalog and English, as well as the language of their home province. Six research participants, who had been born in Canada or migrated as children, spoke English, sometimes Tagalog; some spoke French, Canada’s second official language. Religion in Filipino life reflects a complicated colonial past, as this book shows. A majority of Filipinos remain Roman Catholic, but a

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Table 0.1.  Research participant data by province or city of origin in the Philippines and Canada showing religion and first occupation

Province or city

Migration year Female Male Catholic

Abra

2001

1

Baguio City 1976

1

Protestant and/or Spiritual attends but not Protestant church Atheist religious Agnostic 1

First role and/or occupation in Canada Domestic worker

1

Garment worker

Batangas

1976

1

1

Engineer

Bohol

1998

1

1

Religious worker

Bontoc

1966

1

1

Nurse

Bulacan

2005

1

1

Entrepreneur

Cebu

1995

1

Davao

2008

1

Dapitan

1972

1

1

Engineer

Iligan

1

Bride 1

Nurse

2012

1

1

Religious

Ilocos Norte

1972

1

1

Student

Iloilo City

2005

1

Domestic

Laguna

2001 2003

2

Postal worker Child

Leyte

1965 1969

2

Nurse Teacher

Metro Manila

1962 1967 1967 1968 1968 1968 1973 1976 1980

1 1 1 1 1 1

Doctor Nurse Spouse Doctor Garment worker Student Child Child Insurance sales Media Garment worker Child

1982 1982 1982

1 2 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 1

 11

Introduction

Table 0.1.  Research participant data by province or city of origin in the Philippines and Canada showing religion and first occupation (Continued)

Province or city

Migration year Female Male Catholic 1988 1994 1994 2002 2003 2006 2006 2009

Protestant and/or Spiritual attends but not Protestant church Atheist religious Agnostic 1

1 1 1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1 1

1 1 1

1

First role and/or occupation in Canada Media Child Fast food clerk Health-care aide Political aide Spouse Nurse

Misamis Oriental

1972 2008 2010

3

3

Student religious Clerk

Nueva Vizcaya

1969

1

1

Clerk

Nueva Ecija

1997

1

Pampanga

2005

1 1

1

Retiree Meat-plant worker

Pangasinan 1970 2009

1

1

1

Quezon

1988 2013

1

1

1

Spouse Health-care aide

Santiago

2004 2008 2009

3

3

Janitor Meat-plant worker Meat-plant worker

Sorsogon

1975 1976

2

2

Domestic Garment worker

Winnipeg

NA

1

1

2

Nurse Religious

26

27

39

TOTAL

1

11

Garment worker Religious

1

1

1

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Bayanihan and Belonging

Table 0.2.  Change of religion of research participants after migration Gender No. Remained Remained Changed Catholic Protestant from Catholic to Protestant

Changed from Protestant to Catholic

Female 26 22 Male 27 24

1

1 1

1

Changed from Catholic to spiritual but not religious

Changed Changed from from Catholic Catholic to to agnostic atheist

1 0

1 1

growing number are Protestant. Roughly 5 per cent are Muslim, and a small number are Buddhist or belong to other religions. All but two of this study’s research participants had been raised Catholic in the Philippines. Seven of the research participants who attended Protestant Christian churches were from Metro Manila, but only two of them had actually converted to Protestant Christianity. They had converted in the Philippines, not in Manitoba. In my analysis of the research data, there was otherwise no discernible sign that socio-economic status, education, or date of birth had anything to do with religious practice or experience in Canada. Most research participants were still Catholics after having lived many years in Canada. Only three research participants self-identified as being agnostic, atheist, or spiritual but not religious; all of them were first-generation immigrants. None of the research participants was Muslim or Buddhist.35 The data led me to conclude that in Manitoba there was little change in Filipino religious self-identification after migration (see table 0.2). Studies of Filipino Canadians have tended to shy away from religion.36 This seems odd, given that most Filipinos are intensely and openly religious and that Filipinos are among the largest populations of Asian North Americans. Scholars of religion tend to lack grounding in the fields of race and ethnicity that have dominated the telling of Asian American history. But religion is deeply embedded in the Filipino colonial past and in migration and settlement processes in Canada. Religion cannot be separated from colonialism, modernity, culture, or migration.37 Studies of Filipinos in Canada have usually been authored by insiders from social scientific, sociological, and political science p ­ erspectives.38 While avoiding religion, these works have focused on later migration trends and social histories, especially of women. However, there

Introduction

 13

remains a huge gap in the literature when it comes to Filipino migrant men. Currently women may be the most recent discernible Filipino migrants to Canada, but it was men who came to Canada first, as archival research has shown. Bayanihan and Belonging fills a gap in the current literature, which tends to focus on Filipinos in Toronto and Vancouver and not in Winnipeg and rural areas.39 Most studies have concentrated on post-1950s migration and Filipino presence in the lower or middle class as healthcare providers, garment workers, domestics, and temporary foreign workers in large urban centres of migration.40 Although some American scholarship has examined the intersecting influences of religion and migration in the Filipino context,41 I am not aware of similar studies examining a multi-sited Canadian and global context, drawing ethnographic and historical research with a focus on Manitoba. For Filipino Canadian migrants, religion entails much more than churches and denominational affiliations.42 Everyday practice triangulates home, host country, and divinity.43 It facilitates belonging, connections, and access across various realms within Filipino Canada. When I first mentioned my interest in researching Filipino religion, colleagues and friends (both Asian and non-Asian) hastened to remark that “Filipinos are just Christians. There is nothing to study.” I didn’t believe them. I knew from past research on Chinese Canadians that whenever a large number of people said there was nothing to study, there was usually a reason for such a denial.44 Religion is a vital area of study because it is fundamental to many forms of Filipino identity, to community building, and to understanding the orientalism that shapes Filipinos’ belonging even today. It is also important because racist laws, poor working environments, bigotry, and the size of community radically influence how people practise their religion and self-identify. Before I began my ethnographic research, I knew that Filipinos were typically Roman Catholic, sometimes Protestant, and o ­ ccasionally “spiritual but not religious,” Muslim, Buddhist, or atheist. Unlike the earliest Chinese Canadians, Filipinos were usually Christians who did not have to hide “heathen” beliefs and practices. As I did preliminary research, though, I came to suspect that the full scope of Filipino religiosity lay hidden from my eyes. I have mentioned that I was interested in discovering that which did not get much attention and always seemed to be lost in the shadows. Interviews with Filipinos were filled with stories about family, community, religion, culture, and heroes such as

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Bayanihan and Belonging

Dr José Rizal. Sometimes the details of these accounts were very similar to others that I had heard. I had the sense that they were too fixed to be entirely accurate. I came to see that research participants said similar things out of habit. As I interviewed and did fieldwork to understand the migration patterns of religiosity, I became aware of an entire industry of resettlement researchers doing the same. I had heard from research participants that policymakers, pollsters, professional associations, school boards, and economists surveyed and scrutinized Filipino voting, occupational, residential, and political patterns. It was a packed field in which people competed to understand Filipinos who had come to Manitoba and changed the province’s socio-cultural, political, economic, and religious landscapes.45 I also knew that other academics were collecting data. Luckily no one was studying religious patterns academically, yet. The Catholic archdiocese of Winnipeg and other Christian ministries were doing this, too. Sister Therma Ajoc, a Filipino nun at St Augustine’s in Brandon, mentioned that the archbishop of the archdiocese of Winnipeg had asked her to investigate and determine the number of Catholic Filipinos in her city.46 In this way, my role and my experiences were shaped by others who were engaged in similar types of research.47 In some ways it made my job easier. People whom I interviewed had heard about the research process from others. So I did not experience difficulty finding research participants, but on occasion I met someone who rattled off the scripted narratives they had given to others that had subsequently been published. I was unable to include much of those published narratives. In the end I included fifty-three interviews in the study with Filipinos who had migrated to Canada beginning in 1962. Religiosity stretches far beyond brick-and-mortar structures or the Christian theology that Spaniards introduced to the Philippines in the 1500s. Christianity as practised in the Philippines and throughout the Filipino diaspora has been “Filipinized” over centuries.48 In particular, sacred narratives like that of Christ’s willingness to die for humanity’s sins have shaped Filipino everyday religious habits. In Filipino religiosity, Christ was both a rebel and God incarnate. Through his personal sacrifice he inspired people to challenge systems of oppression and to actively redistribute power. Jesus and other divine figures, such as saints, ancestors, or the Buddha, are available to help and to provide segurista (assurances). Divine figures are assuring as they can intervene and help grant the wishes of devotees. Many of these saints and other immanent figures

Introduction

 15

resemble the good spirits (associated with the harvest, mountains, seasons, heavens, travel, and war) that dominated in pre-Christian Filipino religion.49 Good deities worked alongside Bathala, or God the Father, and imbued the Philippine archipelago’s diverse cultures with bayanihan. Many Catholic Filipinos converted but adapted folk practices and beliefs in their daily lives.50 The Filipino belief that some people are hilots with an inborn ability to heal through touch also predates Christianity. As new deities were blended with older ones, they facilitated divine vertical connections and strengthened horizontal connections among families; within devotional, Bible, and other religiously organized groups; and between hometown places of worship and churches. Throughout the book I present anecdotes and stories told to me by research participants, in an attempt to piece together the significance of everyday religious behaviours in the lives of Filipino migrants in Manitoba. Many of these stories tell of what happened in the past and how religion helped people to cope with migration and settlement. I additionally draw on fieldwork in the “ethnographic present” in an attempt to develop these histories to shed light on the church, devotional, and festival practices that research participants had experienced and that I also knew about through fieldwork.51 In this way each chapter unfolds through historical narratives about religious institutions, individuals, and communities, followed by my own present-day reflections. In the process I try to present a picture of past and present everyday religious beliefs and practices in urban and rural Manitoba. Method Feminist qualitative research methods guided the way data was collected during events participation, observation, and documentation, mostly in the province of Manitoba but also in the cities of Vancouver, Toronto, Calgary, Ottawa, and Montreal, Canada, as well as in Cebu City, Manila, Tarlac City, and Baguio City, Philippines, in 2013 and 2015. I attended church and temple services in Manitoba and the Philippines, at, for example, Manila’s large Roman Catholic San Augustin and Binondo churches and also Cebu’s Metropolitan Cathedral, Archdiocesan Shrine of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, and the Basilica del St Niño.52 I met with Catholic priests and visited Catholic schools and cemeteries. I spent time at Protestant churches and with pastors and ministers and with congregants who were not Catholic. I also

16 

Bayanihan and Belonging

­ articipated in and observed meetings, teas, suppers, parades, picnics, p processions, festivals, concerts, and devotional celebrations.53 In the Philippines some 250 people were surveyed, and eight people were interviewed. In Canada, between 2013 and 2016, fifty-three people were formally interviewed, and twelve Filipino churches, eating establishments, and businesses were documented in Winnipeg, Carman, Brandon, and Neepawa.54 Prior warning of the research was usually given, and visits were conducted informally. Permission was requested from owners and managers for photographs to be taken. Occasionally the owners of Filipino businesses were interviewed. While I am a non-Filipino, white-identified female, my interpretation and analysis of Filipino religiosity derive from emic (insider)55 perspectives and, most importantly, from the voices of research participants. Fiona Bowie refers to this ethnographic method as “cognitive, empathic engagement.”56 Chapter structures reflect this ethnographic approach, focusing on the voices of research participants – their stories, opinions, and interpretations shared during events and interviews.57 Field notes taken during and following ethnographic research in Canada and the Philippines helped me to explain the significance of these lived religious beliefs and practices before and after migration.58 Interviews were between 30 and 120 minutes in length, semi-­ structured, and based on questions about experiences in Canada, in transit, and in the Philippines. Transcripts were usually produced from audio-recorded interviews (with permission) and shared with research participants, in keeping with feminist oral history and interview practice.59 Research participants were encouraged to edit and delete what they wished or to provide additional information. They could use their own name or a pseudonym in the transcript. With consent, participants were also welcome to share photographs and other materials with the project for scanning or copying.60 I combined data gathered through interviewing with fieldwork.61 I knew that most Filipinos were very religious, but I assumed they would not want to discuss beliefs or practices at length with me. I was wrong. Unlike the Chinese Canadians I had interviewed, almost all Filipinos were eager to tell their religious stories. Interviewees gave similar answers during initial interviews about migration experiences, and family, hospitality, and education were the dominant themes. Several spoke of coming to Canada and working in jobs far below their education level. But I started to notice that questions about divinity and devotion elicited enthusiastic and diverse responses. Interviewees

Introduction

 17

seemed reluctant to distinguish themselves from other Filipinos, except when they talked about the roles of religion in their lives. I used ethnographic and archival research methods to collect the stories. A search for stories always leads one in unanticipated directions.62 Most of the people I interviewed in Manitoba claimed that the province’s earliest Filipino immigrants had arrived in the 1950s. Interviewees said that these people were nurses. Immigrants who arrived later became linked to early newcomers through the telling and retelling of these known narratives. These narratives helped the Filipino Canadian community in Manitoba to cultivate a sense of continuity. Life stories63 showed how Filipinos and communities resisted discrimination, established roots, and became successful. Sometimes these stories showed how they became indifferent, did not establish roots, and left. In contrast to interviewee accounts, archival research revealed that Filipinos came to Canada as early as 1880 and to Manitoba and the outskirts of Winnipeg by 1912.64 My research associates and I investigated Canadian census reports, border entry and passenger manifests, voter lists, assessment rolls, immigration statistics, directories, sessional papers, court records, and records of births, marriages, and deaths. Profiles for each research participant were assembled and developed by searching for information in local histories, digitized and microfilmed newspapers, and online records.65 The earliest migrants were male; they were manual labourers, as opposed to medical professionals. I discovered another underside that had remained hidden. To some degree, Filipinos were content to identify with the familiar stories that had helped previous generations of Filipinos in Canada to belong. They were willing to be viewed as hospitable Christians and Westerners who ate delicious adobo chicken and performed charming traditional dances. In my interviews I heard many research participants express irritation about non-Filipino Canadian politicians who characterized them this way at public events. They were proud of their heritage, and these stereotypes seemed popular, so they did not protest. Perhaps they accepted this stereotyped characterization because they wanted to fit in with the dominant society. They knew that some people still discriminated against them on the basis of their “visible minority” appearance and, as some research participants mentioned, “slightly accented English.” Possibly it was also because they did not want to jeopardize the ability of family and friends in the Philippines to migrate. It may have also been because of pakikisama, the Tagalog term that describes dealing in a friendly way with others.

18 

Bayanihan and Belonging

Non-Filipinos with whom I spoke were similarly content to accept that Filipino religion was limited to Christianity and, within that, mostly Catholicism. To them, Filipino culture consisted of the traditional dances and songs that Filipinos performed during Manitoba’s annual Folklorama festival. It was this narrow understanding of Filipino culture that Orlando Marcelino, Winnipeg’s Philippine honorary consul general, critiqued in his remarks during Philippine Heritage Week celebrations. Filipino food, if they had tried it, was delicious and not too spicy or “foreign.” Most non-Filipinos were not attracted to foods that veered further from the typical Canadian palate, like blood soup.66 It was not well known that Filipinos, including numerous research participants described in this book, are believed to possess an inborn ability to heal through touch, or that healers in the Philippines use talismans, secret prayer books, and mantras to cast out illness. Non-Filipinos also were not generally aware of the cultural legacies of colonization and resistance. For instance, research participants explained why Filipino home and restaurant tables are set with two pieces of cutlery, a fork and a spoon: Some said this was in resistance to the Spanish, who had forced them to use knives; others said it was because the Spanish forbade them to use knives because they could be wielded as weapons. Chapters in this book tell about Filipino everyday religious practices through the history and life stories of Manitoba’s migrants. Chapter 1 provides a systematic discussion of what religion looks like in the Philippines and in Manitoba. Chapter 2 offers a comprehensive account of American, Canadian, and Philippine histories and policies that shaped the experiences of this book’s research participants. Chapter 3 profiles Filipino newcomers to Winnipeg in the 1950s who found belonging in Manitoba chiefly through the Catholic Church. Chapter 4 shifts the discussion outside Winnipeg to Brandon, the second-largest city in the province, where Filipino migrants developed rich and less visible everyday religious routines in home shrines and chapels. Chapter 5 considers the religious activities and expressions outside of church that emerged as larger numbers of Filipinos called Manitoba home.67 Chapter 6 examines Filipino Canadian Protestants and their churches. By the 1990s, Filipinos throughout the diaspora had formed regional, occupational, religious, mutual aid, and business voluntary associations. Chapter 7 develops that aspect of belonging in Manitoba as well as the reverence and underside of Rizal as a cultural and religious figure. Manitoba today has hundreds of voluntary associations to which Filipinos belong. Similarly the province has a multitude of

Introduction

 19

Filipino priests and pastors, including Geoffrey Angeles, a secondgeneration Filipino who entered the vocation. Chapter 8 tells his story, along with the stories of two other Filipinos, a pastor and a priest, who migrated to Canada as religious workers. Looking beyond Winnipeg and urban churches, devotional practices, and associations, chapter 9 presents Filipino experiences of belonging in Manitoba’s hinterland. In this final chapter I examine varying experiences of the bayanihan spirit in rural life, delving into less prominent devotional lives, restaurant religion, and association and church-based involvements.

1 Religion

At the end of each year, at the stroke of midnight, many Filipino Canadians jump for joy. Described by some as a hopeful leap into the future, this annual New Year’s hop signals a Filipino Canadian belief in a transcendent power that provides blessings to family and friends and rootedness in Canada and the Philippines. Throughout the year various Filipino religious services and events are used to maintain horizontal bonds of faith and family. Religious and familial ties shape the contours of life in the Philippines and also in diaspora landscapes, providing hope, optimism, and the belief in better things to come.1 Most of this study’s fifty-three research participants self-­identified as Christian. A twenty-seven-year-old, named Christian, who had migrated to Winnipeg in 2003, expressed what I heard so often from research participants: religion had been taken for granted in the Philippines. I never thought of the Catholic Church as anything special, nor anything unusual, it was simply a fact of life. Moving to Canada, one of my mom’s biggest fears was whether there would be any churches within a reasonable commute where we could attend Mass. To her utter delight and surprise, we found out that basically all neighbourhoods of Winnipeg had a Catholic church. Since we lived on Cumberland Avenue, we attended St Edward the Confessor Church on Arlington Street and I have been a parishioner there ever since.2

Christianity was introduced to the Philippines in 1565 and thus was enmeshed with both the Philippines colonial past and its culture. In 1898 the United States defeated Spain and took possession of the

Religion

 21

Philippines. This marked an end to 333 years of Spanish Roman Catholic governance (1565–1898) and allowed Protestant churches an opening into the country. While Spanish rule had introduced Catholic beliefs and traditions, the United States introduced and promoted Protestant Christianity. Spanish friars and priests gave way to missionaries, American and Filipino clergymen, and an American policy of benevolent assimilation, which, as Dawn Bohulano Mabalon notes, “promised that the Americans came as friends and not as conquerors.”3 Within a year or two, Protestant missionaries and clergy were setting up operations. As Steffi San Buenaventura remarked, “many welcomed the religion of the American for it represented religious choice and liberation from the ever powerful control of a state religion.”4 Military chaplains and missionaries in the Philippines were fully convinced of the merits of American occupation. They saw it as God’s will. Methodists, Presbyterians, and Episcopalians (known as Anglicans in Canada) were among the initial Protestant groups to evangelize in the Philippines. Bishop Charles H. Brent (1862–1926), an Episcopalian born in Newcastle, Ontario, became the first elected bishop of the Missionary District of the Philippines in 1901. He travelled to the Philippines in 1902 and served in that position for almost sixteen years.5 Brent focused his efforts on education and on regions where people were not even nominal Christians. He considered doing work in Mindanao (the southern Philippines), where there were Muslims, and also in Cebu and Binondo (a district of Manila), where there were many Chinese. Eventually he concentrated on the northern mountainous regions, home to isolated indigenous peoples known as Igorots (people of the mountains).6 The rugged and remote areas in which Igorots lived had enabled them to stay relatively independent from the influences of Spanish colonizers. Setting his sights on Christianizing and educating Igorots, Bishop Brent initiated two missions, one in Sagada and another six miles away in Bontoc. The conversion to Christianity of Hilary Pit-a-pit Clapp, an Igorot youth, marked a turning point in Episcopalian missionary work and also in Canadian history.7 It is said that prior to Pit-a-pit’s conversion, no Igorot child had been attracted to Christianity.8 The year of Pit-a-pit’s famous conversion, 1904, was also the year of the St Louis World’s Fair, an international exposition held in Missouri. The extravagant seven-month fair celebrated modern technology and progress, in part through contrast with “primitive” cultures.9 It must be seen within the context of international expositions that, beginning

22 

Bayanihan and Belonging

in the 1850s, sought to explain and justify imperialist conquest to the world and its citizenry. Pit-a-pit was brought to Canada in 1907, a time when many North Americans had come to know the Philippines through the large numbers of Igorots and other Filipinos being paraded as head hunters and dog eaters at international fairs. Now known as Hilary Pit-a-pit Clapp, he was under the guardianship of Reverend Walter Clapp10 and was the first Filipino to attend Trinity College School in Port Hope, Ontario. Founded in 1865, the institution was an elite boarding academy patterned after American schools. Almost all the students were white Anglicans of European descent. When it was deemed that he was ready to return to the Philippines and Christianize others, Clapp returned to the archipelago in 1910. In the Philippines, Catholicism is the dominant religion, as evidenced by architecture and by shrines to saints and religious figures on city streets, in businesses, and even at City Hall, which is a very public space. Churches date to the Spanish colonial period and reflect Chinese cultural influences in the lions that guard cathedral doors and the cloud designs on depictions of saints. Chinese who came to the Philippines in the tenth century erected Buddhist and Daoist temples, and Muslims who came in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries erected mosques. Roman Catholic churches remain the centre of a Philippine community or barangay (a village, neighbourhood, or district, formerly known as a barrio). They are thus flanked by civic spaces and government buildings. Residential buildings cluster around this Catholic and government infrastructure. People are accustomed to attending mass or receiving the Eucharist every day because Catholic churches are abundant and conveniently located near most homes and workplaces. Churches were traditionally Catholic and within one’s community, and festivals honouring saints were local. Marriage celebrations and funerals took place in the barangay. During the twentieth century Protestant and other churches emerged within this structure. In the Philippines people may choose to attend a vast array of churches ranging from the Catholic Church to the Alliance churches, United churches, Philippine Church of Christ, Bethel Community Church, Broadway Disciples United Church, Christ the Rock Christian Community, Filipino Evangelical Church, Iglesia ni Cristo, and Jesus Is Lord Church.11 Churches in the Philippines meet the needs of large numbers of people, which means that there are also large numbers of devotional groups from which to choose. As a result of a shortage of Catholic priests, contact with priests in the Philippines is very limited.12

Religion

 23

Mass is offered multiple times a day with thousands attending urban services. Churches advertise daily masses on large billboards, noting which of the services have air conditioning. Large churches have shops where one can purchase religious imagery for a home, car, yard, or business. When I visited in 2015, the shop of the Basilica del St Niño was packed with customers looking to purchase devotional statues of Jesus, Mary, and saints (from six inches to three feet tall) and pictures, plaques, crosses, rosaries, holy water, oil, and prayer cards for nurses and students. Some Protestant churches attract just as many people as do Catholic ones. In the Philippines, research participants referred to these as megachurches, using the American name for a very large Protestant church. I attended one of these in San Juan City, Metro Manila, in April 2013. It was a Victory service in the Greenhills shopping mall.13 People who attended the church lived in the heavily populated region of Metro Manila, but the church was not necessarily tied to a neighbourhood or community. Instead, people were attracted to this church because of its programming and modern feel. The church offers six Sunday services.14 It has an in-house daycare, meeting rooms, security staff, a lighting system, multiple overhead projectors, and a concert-sized stage for the band of multiple drummers, guitarists, percussionists, and singers along with the pastor. The congregation is much younger and wealthier than I saw anywhere else. Youth and families to whom I spoke during my fieldwork at this church enjoyed attending church in modern, clean, bright, and safe spaces. In the Philippines it is not uncommon to be able to attend church in an air-conditioned shopping mall with armed security guards at the entrances. After church, people enjoy going to the food court and eating an inexpensive meal followed by a stroll and shopping. Church life in the Philippines is less intimate and more routine than its Canadian counterpart. For both Catholic and Protestant research participants, religiosity is passed down from generation to generation. Often belief and identity are explained simply. Carmen, a survey respondent who was fifty-six years old, went to Saint Rose of Lima Parish in Paniqui, Tarlac province: “I was born a Catholic. My parents were Catholics.” Religious habits in the Philippines tend to be exuberant and diverse. Mike Pajemolin, who migrated to Manitoba in 2006, explained that back home he used to be a lay preacher on the bus: “I think the most people that I ever preached to was about 300 or 400 people.” Mike did

24 

Bayanihan and Belonging

not preach on the bus in Manitoba, and, though his religious habits in Canada were more subdued, his email signature still read, “Mike Pajemolin, ‘Be still and know that the Lord is GOD.’”15 Timothy Smith has argued in his study of religion and ethnicity in America that migration changes religiosity, resulting in the redefinition, intensification, and revitalization of faith and practice.16 Non-Catholic smaller churches in the Philippines, such as the Assembly of God church I attended, are growing in number. This one was located in a converted garage in a large barangay home. It was a bright air-conditioned space painted entirely white. There was just enough room for Bibles, folding chairs, a set of drums, a sound system, and a few microphones. Most participants of this small congregation were between twenty-five and fifty years old. They liked that it was a new church. Lorne, who was thirty-four years old at the time I spoke to him in Victoria, Tarlac province, had joined Jesus Cares Assembly of God six years ago. He was attracted to the church music and was the drummer in the church. Barangay youth have active roles in this and other recently planted churches in the Philippines. Older barangay members remained Roman Catholic but sometimes joined the service. Religion shapes not only church life but also daily life and interactions in public spaces. Originally made from surplus American army jeeps after the Second World War, jeepneys are ubiquitous vehicles in the Philippines. They function as inexpensive public buses, with bench seating for some sixteen passengers. They also convey the idea that religion is indeed everywhere. They have become colourful cultural icons with their intricately decorated and individualized exteriors, which often include religious imagery and sayings such as “Jesus Saves” or “The Lord Is King.” Religion is also prominent throughout the year at community fiestas, or festivals. While some are civic festivals, most fiestas have a significant religious component and are dedicated to one of the area’s patron saints. In the Philippines, churches, saints, fiestas, and also the less-­discussed beliefs and practices related to respect for elders and ancestors, the carrying and displaying of amulets, and healing were part of a treasured religious present. When survey respondents in the Philippines were asked to describe their country’s culture, they expressed appreciation for Filipino respect for elders and favoured customs such as kissing the hands and using special terms such as opo for older generations. Des added: “I like the way we render respect to our parents and elders. Generally, we say opo to them, which means ‘yes.’ Other words of respect

Religion

 25

are kuya [for older males] and ate [for older females]. Respect for elders is something that has been kept since time immemorial.” Eleine had a distinctive response: “We have old customs and traditions handed down by our forefathers and ancestors. We believe in many superstitions. Yes, I appreciate our culture. I am used to it, and it will be hard for me to embrace other cultures instantaneously.” Hilots, or practitioners of traditional Philippine massage, are also very common, partly because their services are much less expensive than professional medical care. In the Philippines for about five dollars one can visit a hilot in the neighbourhood for a massage that is believed to have restorative and therapeutic benefits. The skill is passed down from generation to generation, and hilots have no formal training. They are born with the ability and use intuition to help them find the sore or tight spots in the body.17 I heard that they are very good at healing sprained ankles. They also help pregnant women before, during, and after labour. Some women visit hilots for a massage that will terminate a pregnancy. In Manitoba, religion is not as prominent in everyday life. There are fewer churches, temples, and mosques. Fewer people regularly attend a house of worship. Religious imagery does not decorate public transit, streets, and government buildings. Filipinos are not usually able to continue daily church attendance. Many Catholics and Protestants attend church once a week, but, for some, work takes priority on Sundays. They go to church when they can. They participate in fewer devotional groups in Canada (unless they are retired)18 and do not preach on the bus. Religion still continues to fill more than the edges of their weeks on Sunday mornings or Saturday evenings. Catholic homes, yards, cars, and businesses continue to be decorated with religious imagery. Protestant homes do not have this kind of religious imagery, but they continue to be filled with inspirational biblical messages and Bibles. People continue to seek out the services of hilots, who practise in Manitoba. Religious fiestas are organized throughout the year, and people continue to observe traditional customs that require respect for elders and ancestors. Jean Guiang continued to remember her parents in her daily prayers and observe Filipino custom by honouring them on their birthday: “You offer them a special meal. It’s also asking for a blessing from them and guidance. When I succeed in anything I do, I always say, ‘Dad, thank you; Mum, thank you, I know you are looking down on me.’”19

26 

Bayanihan and Belonging

In Manitoba select Catholic and Protestant churches have emerged to meet the needs of the growing Filipino community. St Edward the Confessor Church is the principal site of worship for Catholics in Manitoba. Throughout the research Filipinos repeatedly remarked that this was the place to which they returned to listen to a familiar mass and music, see familiar religious images, and be surrounded by Filipinos. On one of the days I visited this church Father Sarce, a Filipino priest, gave the homily. He was one of many who had served that parish since the 1970s. Even though St Edward’s congregation was large, and mass was attended by more than five hundred people, Manitoba’s Filipino population still enjoyed a close relationship with Father Sarce, one that was closer than they had experienced in the Philippines with their parish priest. In the early 1970s a group of Filipinos approached the archdiocese of Winnipeg and communicated the need for a priest from the Philippines. At the time, Filipino priests were in short supply, even in the Philippines. In 1975 Father Neil Parado (1934–2011), a family friend of Olivia and her sister Gregoria Gobenciong, migrated to Winnipeg and became St Edward’s first Filipino priest.20 He was responsible for transforming the church into Winnipeg’s premier Filipino Catholic house of worship where new migrants could go to experience familiar Philippine rituals and ceremonies.21 However, in 1979 Father Neil left St Edward’s and Winnipeg and moved to Fisher Branch, Manitoba, where he married Gregoria, his childhood sweetheart, and became a teacher.22 St Edward’s reminded many Filipinos of home. It was a grand church with Italian architectural flourishes. Built in 1913, at first it served British, Scottish, and Irish immigrants. Then it became favoured among Portuguese and Italian communities. As it was a fifteen-minute walk from Winnipeg’s Health Sciences Centre where several of the city’s Filipino nurses and doctors worked, it became the church of choice for many Filipinos.23 In 2005, three decades after Father Neil Parado had come to Winnipeg, there were twelve Catholic priests who ministered to some 25,500 Filipinos.24 Since that time the number of Filipinos in Manitoba has tripled, and the number of Filipino religious functionaries has definitely grown to serve Filipinos needs. From my interviews and fieldwork during the research I knew this but was unable to determine exactly how many Filipino priests, pastors, nuns, and clerics now worked in the province. Nuns and pastors arrived on a temporary basis, and Catholic priests upon retirement often returned to the Philippines, where medical benefits were offered by the diocese that had sent them.

Religion

 27

Today St Edward the Confessor Church employs a staff of fourteen, the largest number in the archdiocese of Winnipeg, which oversees some ninety parishes in and beyond Winnipeg. St Edward’s offers mass in Tagalog on Saturdays, as well as four masses in English on Sundays. As of 2016, St Edward’s Catholic Women’s League had sixty-seven members, forty-seven of whom were Filipino. The Knights of Columbus had 109 members, ninety-six of whom were Filipino. St Edward’s has many devotional groups including Our Lady of Peñafrancia group, Legion of Mary and Junior Legion of Mary, and Couples for Christ.25 Almost all the Catholic Filipinos I interviewed had initially attended St Edward’s. Some Filipinos attended churches that were closest to their homes, as church leadership encouraged them to do, said Dr Rey. At first he and his wife, Gloria, rented an apartment near the Children’s Hospital and attended St Mary’s Cathedral: “I particularly liked the architecture that lends itself to spiritual reflection and meditation. One of our four sons was baptized there.”26 In 1972 they had moved to the Winnipeg district of St Vital. Their neighbourhood had only a handful of Filipino families, most of whom were professionals like Dr Rey. Filipinos at that time tended to live closer to downtown and to hospitals and garment factories where most of them worked.27 When the family moved to St Vital, Dr Rey was chair of Christ the King’s parish council and its school board. Today he and Gloria attend Corpus Christi Church near their home. Filipinos are a small minority in its mainly Polish and Ukrainian congregation.28 Protestant Filipinos were involved in a larger number of congregations when they first arrived in Manitoba. Finding a church was central to their experiences of belonging. Flor, Diwa, Orli, and Tess attended the mostly Filipino Broadway Disciples Church in Winnipeg. Iglesia ni Cristo is a popular fundamentalist denomination and the third-largest religious group in the Philippines after Catholicism and Islam. Based in the Philippines, it has two churches in Winnipeg.29 When Filipinos came to Manitoba, they joined Catholic churches that had shorter but equally distinct histories. Catholicism was established in Manitoba in 1818 to serve French settlements.30 By the 1880s, English and Irish, as well as Polish, Ukrainian, German, Hungarian, and Italian, Catholic immigrants were coming to the province.31 Newcomers had the option of going to St Mary’s Cathedral, built in 1880 and located in downtown Winnipeg, or Immaculate Conception Church, erected two years later. Immaculate Conception Church came to serve the Ukrainian Catholic community, and St Mary’s, which offered English mass, aided

28 

Bayanihan and Belonging

the remainder of European Catholics, at least until other churches were built in Winnipeg. Over time, and as immigrant populations swelled by the 1920s, many parishes catered to the needs of select European communities. Mass was said in the language of the ethnic group, and congregations favoured priests and pastors from their own background. These pre–First World War, European immigrants put their own stamp on Catholicism in Manitoba. The names spoken at weekly baptisms and in prayers for the suffering and for the repose of the dead were almost always European. Poles, Italians, English, and Irish Manitobans were accustomed to sitting where they wanted, in pews either at the front or at the very back, and to seeing familiar children at catechism classes and in processions. Catholic Women’s Leagues and the Knights of Columbus offered social opportunities for a community’s European men and women. But over time, many second-generation immigrants in Winnipeg, and also in Manitoba’s hinterland, stopped attending mass or moved away. Churches struggled to find volunteers and choir members and to pay taxes and church staff salaries. In the 1960s the Catholic Church continued to be the largest church in Canada with the most congregants. Through the Second Vatican Council the Church modernized its teachings, policies, approaches, and made changes to mass that were intended to acknowledge human rights, religious diversity and freedom, and civic responsibility.32 In the ensuing decades weekly church attendance fell sharply among both Protestant and Catholics in Canada.33 As Filipinos arrived in greater numbers during the 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s, churches with dwindling populations were suddenly filled with a new and diverse ethnic group. Some congregants who had spent lifetimes sitting in the same spot in the same pew, or dominating Catholic Women’s League meetings, now found themselves dislocated. They came earlier and earlier to mass just to stake out their place. Others revelled in the renewed church spirit. They relished the sounds of a full choir and the hustle and bustle as people left their seats and walked with anticipation to receive the Eucharist. They enjoyed seeing the swelling membership of the Catholic Women’s League and the Knights of Columbus and the addition of Filipino groups such as Couples for Christ. They did not mind that some new immigrants were able to contribute only a small amount to the offering tray each week.34 They were happy to see their religious institution growing again. Over a two-year period I attended several St Edward’s masses and events. Each time, church pews were filled with more than five

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 29

hundred people, of whom 95 per cent were Filipinos and the remainder were European. My observations were corroborated by what others said in the field. The 10:30 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. services were filled with Filipino families, and Filipino youth came to the 7:30 p.m. service. There was no evidence that Filipinos at this church were any more or less educated, or wealthier, than other Filipinos. People contributed similar amounts of offerings at all the churches I attended. Those at the daytime services were more traditionally dressed than the majority of the hip, urban, first- and second-generation youth who came in the evenings. Each time I visited the church I arrived a little earlier in order to get a nearby parking spot. The 7:30 p.m. service was the busiest with more than seven hundred people (and more non-Filipinos). The congregation was roughly split between males and females, though this was the only instance in which I saw three “third-gendered” Filipinos. Third-gendered Filipinos were variously described as being ambiguously gendered. Neither male nor female, they inhabit neutral sexualized roles and spaces in Filipino society, with some scholars suggesting that they have greater spiritual powers than others have.35 I recognized third-gendered Filipinos from my visits to the Philippines. At St Edward’s they sat across from me in the back pews. One research participant added: “Gay people are always welcome in the church. I’ve seen this since I was little in the Philippines.”36 As 7:30 p.m. approached, people continued to cram into the few remaining seats. Many did quick genuflexions in the aisle or bowed before the dimly lit sanctuary at the front of the church before they jostled into pews, joining others already seated. People blessed themselves using the holy water fonts at the back. At several points I felt tiny drops of water spraying onto my back in the last pew. Three Euro-Canadian women sat in front of me and kept to themselves. Ten ­Filipino altar boys and girls were preparing for the processional at the back of the church, and by then the church had standing room only. Even though the church was full, all you could hear was the music – drums, a flute, a tambourine, a piano, and a saxophone, and foremost the soprano section of the twenty-five-person Filipino choir (one of five choirs at St Edward’s), which was three-quarters female. A sign at the two entrances reminded congregants not to bring food, drinks, and gum into the building. The family who shared my pew, and several others around me, opened packets of biscuits and cookies to feed restless children who danced to the music. A toddler continued to snack as she leaned on my back; her mother had removed her

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small pink laced-up shoes and stored them in the shelf alongside the hymnals. At one point a baby bottle was tossed into the aisle. People laughed, and a friendly teenage boy retrieved it for the mother. The notice at the entrance to the church tells me that people regularly consume food and drink at the service. This sign, along with the food, the drink, and the toddler and her shoes, all reinforce the idea that these Filipinos are comfortable at St Edward’s. They feel free to behave as they would at home. The music announced that the processional was about to begin, and at its head Father Sarce, the Filipino priest of St Edward’s, walked towards the sanctuary, chatting with congregants along the way. I was in awe of his commanding presence in his green silk-brocade robe (green is the customary colour for this liturgical season) and of the warmth of his gaze as he passed each pew. A Filipino woman welcomed the crowd. She announced the meetings and workshops for altar servers and lectors and the need for sponsors of advertisement spaces in the bulletin. She thanked the Reyes family for the donation of the flowers for the mass. She announced the names of people requesting healing prayers and the repose of the dead. Everyone mentioned was Filipino. As with other services I had attended at St Edward’s, few people looked at their hymn books. At the afternoon service earlier that day Father Jorge’s homily had included a story of when he was a priest in the Philippines. Father Sarce’s homily, by contrast, contained no personal anecdotes or references to the Philippines. It was even difficult to hear what he said, given the old church sound system. None of that mattered. I, along with others in nearby pews, was transfixed by his reading of the homily. I felt and sensed that others too were transported by the transcendental music, the ambience, and the prayer. I had experienced religion in everyday Filipino life, but until now and at this service I had not appreciated the deeply sacred nature of it.37 Offering trays were passed along the pews on long poles, once before the Eucharist and again after it. As Father Sarce blessed the wine and the bread, bells chimed three times, echoing softly in the church. When he passed each person who knelt to receive the Eucharist, you could hear him rhythmically chanting “the body of Christ” over and over again. I could see him almost bobbing to the music as he uttered this phrase. The scene was mesmerizing. As the last congregant stood, the piano trailed off and the music ended. The well-rehearsed and timed service reflected the fact that the choirmaster used to be an entertainer in the Philippines.

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At the end of the service the processional led Father Sarce out of the church. He was so popular that he was quickly sidetracked by dozens of congregants who were eager to speak with him. Meanwhile, Filipinos, young and old, stopped at the wooden figure of Jesus on the Cross affixed to the wall at the back of the church. One man gently touched first Jesus’s belly and then his own; he bowed and then left. Another man touched Jesus’s forearm, putting his whole hand around it; he paused, then rested his head against Jesus’s head, and kissed his cheek. A woman bowed, prayed, and then wrapped her arms around the waist of Jesus; she lingered and then gave him a big hug; after kneeling, she left. Crowds of families queued and then gathered to light candles before the altar of Joseph, Mary, and Jesus. Within a half-hour everyone had left. These customary devotional practices seemed to coincide with the end of Sunday mass. I invited research participants to explain when and why they had chosen to attend their current church. I asked them why they chose the particular service they attended and what parts of the architecture and the service they liked best. Linda, who came to Winnipeg to work as a garment worker in 1968, had been going to St Edward the Confessor Church since she had first migrated to the city.38 The church was near her residence. It reminded her of the church she attended in Metro Manila. The prayers and songs in the service were familiar to her. Linda did not need to look at the hymn book, because she already knew the songs. She liked that the building was older and very large, with brick walls and oak pews. She liked that people were friendly and that she knew everyone. She enjoyed looking at the decorative plaques showing the Stations of the Cross displayed beneath the windows on either side of the pews. Her favourite saint was the church’s patron, Saint Edward. Linda is not part of the Catholic Women’s League, but she has always been involved with youth programming at St Edward’s. She loves the musicality of the service. Her favourite hymn is “We Remember.” Aside from the music, Linda looks forward to the weekly homily. When she arrives early to church each week, she sits back and looks around at the painting of Jesus that looms high above the sanctuary, and to the altars of Mary and Saint Edward. Being in this church, she says, reminds her of home.39 Caridad Rino migrated to Brandon in 1968.40 In the Philippines she had heard from other migrants that Manitoba needed teachers. Once she had upgraded her teaching certificate, she secured a job in Dauphin, Manitoba, three-and-a-half hours’ north of Winnipeg. In 1976 she

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moved to Winnipeg to teach there. When she first arrived in Winnipeg, she attended St Edward the Confessor Church, where most Filipinos went. A decade later, in the 1980s, when Caridad bought a house in the south end of Winnipeg, she began attending St Emile’s, a church in her neighbourhood. St Emile Roman Catholic Church was built in 1960. It was small and plain compared to St Edward’s, but those things did not matter to Caridad or the three hundred Filipinos who attended St Emile’s service on the Sunday I went.41 There were other Catholic churches not far from St Emile’s, including the Parish of St Timothy, Christ the King Church, and St Vital Church, with equally large Filipino congregations. But Caridad did not choose a church where the language of the service was linked to the ethnicity of the congregation. It did not matter that the priest was of Polish descent, like many of St Emile’s long-time churchgoers, or that there were no services in Tagalog. She had lived in Canada long enough for those things not to matter. What mattered was the friendliness of the congregation and the homily: “I want to go to church to deepen my faith and to apply the teachings in my daily life. Sometimes Father Tarnopolski asks questions to the people. I find his sermons practical and clearly explained.” Indeed, on the day I attended a service at St Emile’s, I noticed that Father Tarnopolski asked a person whose cellphone went off during the service if God was calling.42 I noticed that during the two “Passings of the Peace” people stepped out of their pews to visit, chat, hug, and shake hands with people twenty feet away and even with me, whom they had never seen before. Caridad was a devoted member of this church. She was one of a few volunteers who helped the church to operate from week to week. In the sacristy Caridad would clean and polish the vessels that were used during the Eucharist, and help set up the mass. She also sang in the choir. In 1986 she had founded St Emile’s Legion of Mary group, and today there are fifteen members, mostly Filipinos, from her church alone. She spent most of her week, now that she was retired, visiting and consoling the sick. She brought a statue of the Virgin Mary with her in case people did not have one and wanted to pray to it. When Caridad wanted to reminisce and remember her past, she occasionally went to St Edward’s to hear the music and listen to a more Filipino service. Most of Manitoba’s Filipino newcomers are Catholic, and, in addition to revitalizing dying congregations, they also bring with them favoured saints, cultural images, and devotional practices. Protestants may not have statues and shrines, but the dominance of biblical

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passages, prayers and plaques in regular routines depict devotional practices, nonetheless. All of this religious activity forms much more than the fringe of Filipino religious lives beyond churches. In many places and for more than a few, everyday religion stitches the fabric of belonging in the Canadian diaspora. Santo Niño is the single most revered saint in Filipino religiosity. According to popular lore, the original statue of Santo Niño was brought to the Philippines by Portuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan in 1521, who claimed the islands on behalf of Spain. Magellan, it is said, presented the carved wooden figure to the wife of the Rajah of Cebu when she and the rajah were baptized as Catholics.43 While Santo Niño is meant to be a manifestation of Jesus as a child, in Filipino thought and culture he very much resembles pre-Hispanic spirits, as well as patron saints introduced by the Spanish. Although Santo Niño is strongly linked to the Filipino and Spanish past, he has also become popular among Chinese Filipinos, sometimes appearing as Santo Niño de Chino or Chinese Santo Niño. Edgar Wickberg adds that Santo Niño “is believed by some Chinese to have power that can be tapped through a spirit medium in Manila’s Chinatown.”44 Research participants in interviews and during fieldwork spoke about Santo Niño’s extraordinary powers to heal and also to punish. Research participant Gregoria Parado,45 mentioned hearing stories as a child that Santo Niño would bring misfortune to people who failed to honour him as he passed their homes during the fiesta procession through the barangay.46 The original Santo Niño statue brought by Magellan is called the Santo Niño de Cebu. He has a dark complexion and large eyes, and his mouth curls slightly, hinting at a smile. Wavy brown hair falls just beneath his ears. He wears an ornate, gold-brocaded, red robe and a tall, bejeweled, golden crown. His left hand holds an orb, and his right hand is slightly raised in a show of blessing. He is the epitome of royalty and youth.47 Today people from all over the world visit the shrine at the Basilica del Santo Niño in Cebu City, where the nearly five-hundred-year-old figure is displayed. Encased in bulletproof glass, it is a highly venerated religious relic, associated with miracles. Replicas are mass produced in many sizes and often sold by street vendors. Since the 1500s Santo Niño’s popularity has persisted and expanded beyond Cebu’s basilica and shrine. While the original Santo Niño has a dark complexion and wears a red robe, other statues of the figure seldom look exactly the same.

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Figure 1.1.  Gregoria Parado’s Santo Niño de Cebu, Winnipeg. Photograph by author.

Various Santo Niño statues depict the infant Christ at different ages, in different sizes, and with different hairstyles and skin tones. People can buy beads and various items of clothing to adorn their personal Santo Niños. He sometimes appears as a Chinese-looking deity, and other times he is dressed as a police officer or a nurse. Generally speaking, Santo Niño has either white or dark skin and wears either red robes for blessings or green robes for good luck. Occasionally he wears a blue robe when he is dressed in one version of the traveller. On rare occasions he is seen in a white mantle and known as the Santo Niño de Praga (Infant Jesus of Prague), based on a sixteenth-century statue in the Czech Republic. Gregoria Parado was the only person in this study to have a white-robed Santo Niño (see fig. 1.1). According to her, Santo Niño de Praga provides everyday blessings (as opposed to blessings for special occasions). Statues with red robes are common in homes, while those with green robes are common in businesses and in mausoleums outside the home. Santo Niño de la Suerte (suerte meaning “luck” or “good fortune”) is a fair-skinned divine child in a simple woven green or red coat with a sash. This is the poor man’s version of the infant

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Christ who embodies the hopes and dreams of those who have nothing. His left hand holds a basket of fruit that has miraculously turned to coins; Santo Niño’s faith in God has made him rich. His right hand is raised in a show of blessing. Sometimes this Santo Niño wears a simple hat; at other times he dons a golden crown. Gregoria Parado, whose house was filled with more Santo Niño dolls and shrines than I saw anywhere else, explained how the first Santo Niño image came to have a dark face: During the Spanish regime a statue of Santo Niño was given to the wife of a Filipino chief in Cebu. One day the church burned. The statue burned with it. All that was left was wooden charcoal. The farmer picked it up and kept it in a drawer at home. The fire happened during rice-harvesting season. After the rice was harvested, the farmer would spread it out on a big mat to dry. The chickens would come to eat some of the rice. This became a big problem for the farmer. So one day he decided to put the wooden charcoal on the mat where the rice was spread out, and to his surprise the chickens didn’t come. Each time he dried the rice, he would put the wooden charcoal on the mat as well. One evening the farmer had a dream. The charcoal told the farmer to build a chapel and put the wooden charcoal before the altar. He did. Gradually the charcoal took the form of the black statue of Santo Niño of Cebu.

Gregoria’s story, though explaining the reason for Santo Niño’s dark complexion, also implied the saint’s connection to farming and the land. Santo Niño had been all but forgotten when the church and its altar was torched, and then a solitary piece of burnt wood sat in a drawer until a farmer used it to stop the chickens from eating his rice. St Edward’s Father Sarce told another version. Here the rice harvest is replaced with war and missionaries: The story goes back to the time the first missionaries came and the statue of the Child Jesus they call Niño. The queen of the island was gifted with a statue of the Holy Child of Jesus and then it was kept by her. Then came a war, and the whole village was destroyed and burned. Santo Niño Cebu is black because the whole village was wiped out and burned, except the Santo Niño. The Santo Niño remained standing in the ashes. The image had not burned. It was just black. People consider this to be a miraculous event, and so it developed from that. So devotion came into existence, and people since then invoke the help of the Holy Child Jesus in moments of calamity.48

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War and fire in this story destroy all but the statue of Santo Niño, which miraculously remains in the ashes, untouched by flame. This story is quite different than the version told by Gregoria. Nobody forgot Santo Niño, and he did not disappear into a drawer. The fire left his image virtually unchanged except for a dark complexion. What is strikingly similar, however, is the moment of recognition that Santo Niño has miraculous power. In each story Santo Niño stands on the ground without church or altar and from here commands the attention of those around him. The story highlights the fact that Santo Niño does not need religious structures to be miraculous. In both stories Santo Niño is associated with the earth and the land. Christian religious figures in the Philippines are usually family based – mothers, fathers, children – unlike in China, for instance, where deities are royal figures such as kings, queens, and princesses.49 Santo Niño is a child and the son of God. Shirley remarked that he was also a healer:50 I pray to Santo Niño because he is a little kid. He is in that in-between stage. For me, I have always loved being around him. I feel safe to be one of his disciples. In my church [in the Philippines] there was a big image of him in the corner, which always made me cry. I had a feeling every time I came near him that he was touching me in order to heal me. I have two Santo Niños in my bedroom. But they are small because I had to carry them in my carry-on bags to Canada. The one that I just bought last April is a little bit bigger. It’s red. This other one has a white face, but I got it in Cebu. He’s a different Santo Niño [because he doesn’t have a black face], but it’s the same image. Santo Niño with the black face is the one you bring with you to travel. He gets dirty because he travels a lot.

Only one of Shirley’s three images had a dark face, Santo Niño de Palaboy, the everyday boy who is a wanderer or traveller. The left hand of this casually attired infant Christ holds a cross-shaped pilgrim’s staff. A gourd hangs from his waist, presumably filled with water to satiate the thirst of weary travellers. His right hand is raised, also in a show of blessing. He is quite similar in appearance to Spain’s Santo Niño de Atocha, who dresses as a pilgrim and carries a basket, a staff, and a gourd. From these three narratives we see an itinerant divine figure who is impervious to fire and who is miraculous. He heals, he is the subject of apparitions, he shape shifts. He appears as charcoal and as a divine child depending on the situation. He does not need a church or an altar

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to be recognized for his divine power. As I reflected on these stories, I wondered if a pre-Christian god of the earth or of farming in the Philippines had been resurrected and remade as this body of the infant Christ or Santo Niño. Gregoria’s Santo Niño narrative reminded me that sometimes divine figures disappear from history. At other times divine figures are nearly forgotten until their religious cult is revived. I wondered what other saints had been forgotten and reborn in Christian form, and also about those who had disappeared entirely. Santo Niño presents a different way of seeing Filipino religion. During the research I saw his shrines at St Edward’s and at St Mary’s Cathedral (see figs. 1.2 and 1.3). I also saw him in restaurants, businesses, and homes throughout the diaspora, which suggested to me that he was much more than a Catholic image. He represents a deity who often shares a business or home shrine with non-Christian statues such as lucky cats, the Buddha, Guanyin, and Guangong, and sometimes the Chinese God of the Earth. He represents how Christian culture has been refashioned through indigenous, Chinese, Malay, and Indonesian influences. He embodies the religious superstructure that defines Christian piety and habits. On the one hand, he stands for Jesus, a pious son of God, and yet on the other hand he can be a simple vindictive child who punishes those who ignore him. Santo Niño is a complex character linked to the past before Christianity. As Filipinos engage with Santo Niño, they connect to him as Jesus, the son of God. They are also connecting to a childlike figure who sometimes uses his spiritual power to punish. A hybrid figure who came into being at the beginning of the Spanish colonial moment, he was maintained throughout the American one and continues to be a powerful reminder of Filipino identity and resilience when people leave the Philippines for migrant work. Santo Niño beliefs, practices, and stories unite people in the diaspora regardless of language, gender, or nation. Thus, Santo Niño enables us to think about and understand what it means to be Filipino and living a migrant life in the diaspora today. In this way the cult of Santo Niño expresses both Catholic orthodoxy and the heterodox Filipino underside that includes the use of magical amulets, healing, visions, and spirit mediumship. In considering Santo Niño, his stories, his miracles, and his origins, one thinks through “Filipinoness” from its pre-Christian multicultural beginnings to its periods of colonization, globalization, and independence. This is part of the reason that Santo Niño is such a prominent figure in Filipino Canadian restaurants, as I discuss later in chapter 5.

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Figure 1.2.  Santo Niño shrine, St Edward the Confessor Church, Winnipeg. Photograph by author.

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Figure 1.3.  Santo Niño shrine, St Mary’s Cathedral, Winnipeg. Photograph by author.

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Thomas Tweed’s analysis of the Cuban American devotion to Our Lady of Charity in Miami, Florida, is helpful in fleshing out the significance of Santo Niño devotion among Filipino Manitobans. As Cubans migrated to Miami, devotion to Our Lady of Charity deepened. In exile in Miami and displaced from Cuban homeland communities and cultures, for them Our Lady of Charity became a powerful symbol of diasporic nationalism.51 In Manitoba, Santo Niño is similarly dislocated from the land in which he first rose from the ashes. His flexible appearance and mutable history enable him to move easily across oceans and continents and provide Filipinos with a nationalist spiritual identity in Canada. Santo Niño is a powerful symbol of Filipino resilience that has persisted throughout the Spanish, American, and Japanese colonial eras into the present-day Republic of the Philippines and beyond it. The cult of Santo Niño has centred people at home and abroad, offering assurances that allow them to succeed and belong – despite oppressive legislation, governments, and oriental ideas and customs – in migrant worlds. Santo Niño is a religio-cultural creation, and for many Catholics he has become a symbol of what it means to be Filipino today. Father Sarce explains the centrality of saints to Filipino identity: Many Filipinos are devoted to different saints. When children are baptized, they carry a saint’s name who will become their model and intercede on their behalf. So, for instance, an agricultural town of farmers and labourers might take the patron saint Isidore. People are born into the religion. As they grow up, they gradually learn the customs through family interactions as [they] participate in daily prayers and join with the larger community on Sundays and at other times of the year. Religion is part of a Filipino child’s upbringing. Understanding of the religion comes slowly in the family classroom, where interactions demonstrate religious values of love and care. As a child enters the larger community, she or he takes and applies those values.52

In Manitoba, research participants’ homes contained glass cabinets filled with religious statuary of Santo Niño, Jesus, various saints, and deities, as well as Bibles, crosses, and religious sayings. I did not see evidence that devotional practice was linked to age, socio-economic status, education, or occupation, but I did observe that women were more likely to practise home-based religion. Men tended to dedicate themselves to voluntary associations and community service groups outside the home (such as Couples for Christ, Knights of Columbus,

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BIBAK,53 and Knights of Rizal) that upheld religious ethics and promoted family life; helped the poor, seniors, students, and victims of domestic violence; and promoted Filipino indigenous culture. Some research participants had multiple religious spaces in their homes. One space would be in the living room, near the dining area; another would be alongside the stairway leading downstairs; and a further shrine would be set up in the basement. Bedrooms were also commonly bedecked with dolls of Santo Niño and porcelain images of Mother Mary or Padre Pio. In domestic spaces the statues were often mounted high on the wall. Here the divine was experienced transcendentally, out of reach, and meant to evoke a feeling of respect, fear, and wonderment. On several occasions I saw him looking down on me as I entered a Filipino kitchen. Yvanne Dandan’s parents taught their children to pray to Jesus on the Cross, whose image was placed directly opposite the back-door entrance. Below the image was a shelf where the keys to the home were left. The children were told to acknowledge Jesus as they exited and entered the home each day and picked up and dropped off their keys.54 In Manitoba and the Philippines, Santo Niño and other divine figures are also recognized throughout the year at various religious and civil festivals (also known as fiestas). Pilgrimages are important Filipino activities. They bring religion and food customs into streets and neighbourhoods beyond the church, which is the space of the sacrament. They link homes and families, creating shared sanctified practices and saintly preferences. In addition, they keep everyday religion alive and flowing throughout the Philippines and into the diaspora. Non-church-based religion in the Philippines is well organized, with distinct histories, and often centred around patron saints. This kind of everyday religion often takes place in public spaces. In Cebu City the annual festival for Santo Niño, Sinulog, is held in January and marks the Holy Child’s arrival in the Philippines hundreds of years ago, with parades, processions, prayers, dancing, singing, and eating. Each year on 25 January, Winnipeg Filipinos also honour Santo Niño in an AtiAtihan celebration,55 but without parades and processions because the daily winter temperatures in Winnipeg can reach minus 40 degrees Celsius. Instead, these take place in the summer during the annual Manitoba Filipino Street Festival in which statues of Santo Niño bedeck Aklan province’s large Ati-Atihan association float (fig. 1.4). The float moves throughout some of Winnipeg’s most well-travelled streets, as if announcing that Filipinos and their religion are in Manitoba to stay.56

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Figure 1.4.  Aklan province procession in Filipino Manitoba Street Festival, 20 August 2016. Photograph by Phil Hossack.

In the Philippines, Ati-Atihan has come to represent both Filipino history and religion. On another level, its roots pre-date Christianity and European culture, and it is said to be based on the older Ati-Atihan Festival, a celebration in Aklan province that has clear indigenous origins. It marks a historical encounter between Muslims from Malaysia and indigenous people from the archipelago. William Peterson explains: The mother of all festivals in the Philippines is believed by its organizers and many locals to date back to 1212, when ten datus (nobles) and their families fleeing the tyranny of Sultan Makatunaw … arrived on the island of Panay, located centrally in the Philippines archipelago. Those upholding this tradition believe that the initial celebration took place following what is known as the Barter of Panay, when in exchange for a piece of gold headgear, a necklace of the wife of one of the datus, and a promise of a share of the harvest of the sea, the indigenous Ati agreed to permanently

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vacate their traditional homelands in the low-lying areas for the highlands, leaving them behind for occupation by their lighter-skinned cousins. The ensuing celebration reportedly involved the lighter-skin Malays darkening their skin with soot so that they resembled the darker Ati peoples. The two groups danced and sang in celebration of the union of their cultures.57

Ati-Atihan in the Philippines includes a traditional blackface performance in which light-skinned Filipinos blacken their faces to play the darker-skinned peoples who historically inhabited the Moro regions of the Philippines. Blackface portrayal is not unique to the Philippines, but it is a performance in which dominant societies and peoples reenact, and some might say consciously or unconsciously celebrate or question, systems of dominance and oppression at parades, parties, and festivals throughout the world.58 Barangays in the Philippines often organize fiestas honouring Santo Niño, using the community’s halls and public spaces, including streets. In late February 2015 I attended the barangay fiesta of Santo Niño in Concepcion, Tarlac province.59 Large stalls with clothing, giftware, baggies filled with goldfish in water, cotton candy, balloons, and food had been set up beneath thousands of fluttering streamers and large banners wishing everyone a happy fiesta from the community’s leadership (see fig. 1.5). While Santo Niño was the community’s patron saint, not all the residents were Catholic. Several within the community belonged to Methodist, Iglesio ni Christo, and Assembly of God churches. That did not stop them from participating in this religious festival and gathering with friends and family to eat and celebrate the saint and its community. I had been told during fieldwork that they too feared retribution by the saint if they did not observe or participate. The fiesta opened on a Tuesday evening. Thousands of people gathered to meet the barangay leadership and other politicians who opened the event and to listen to music, to eat, and to dance with family, friends, and other guests who had come to the party in the large outdoor barangay hall. The following day at 5:30 p.m. the Santo Niño procession began. A small red-robed Santo Niño sat high atop a pedestal on an altar covered in lace, surrounded by fresh white chrysanthemums, lilies, orchids, and ferns, and lights shaped like candles. All of this had been mounted on an old metal cart. A police car, followed by a trio of young female baton twirlers, lead the group, while a marching band of boys had assembled at the rear. Other community members in front and behind Santo Niño held unlit candles, waiting for their cue to begin walking.

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Figure 1.5.  Barangay fiesta of Santo Niño, Concepcion, Tarlac province Philippines, 25 February 2015. Photograph by author.

The event organizers, two men and four women, wore Santo Niño T-shirts. A woman stood behind the girls with batons, raising a second, larger, red-robed Santo Niño statue in front of the mounted one. Both statues had been blessed by priests before the procession. There was much excitement as the generator beneath the pedestal whirred and the lights came on. Firecrackers in tin cans were set off in front of the church, and, accompanied by loud bangs and whistling, the two men began to pull the cart holding the Santo Niño shrine. Two women walked behind the cart, taking turns praying the Santo Niño novena and turning the rosary beads. The crowd’s candles were lit. As the procession moved through the community, people joined in. After about an hour more than a hundred people had joined the procession, which wound through the entire community. For more than two hours Santo Niño surveyed and blessed the people and their homes. People set up lawn chairs near the road, snacking, drinking, and chatting while they watched the parade. In Manitoba, Santo Niño continues to be celebrated in churches, homes, and public spaces and at religious and civil festivals. In August

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Figure 1.6.  Cebu Clergy Performing Artists, St Edward the Confessor Church, Winnipeg, 21 August 2014. Photograph by author.

2014 I attended a performance of the Cebu Clergy Performing Artists at St Edward the Confessor Church (see fig. 1.6). The show was held on a Friday evening and was attended by a crowd of some two hundred Filipinos. The church lights were turned down, and coloured strobe lights pulsated throughout the enormous church space. The loud beat of the song “Celebrate Good Times” announced that the show was about to begin. I was startled to see, gamboling up the aisle to the sanctuary, four Filipino priests clad in black, wearing gold paper crowns, and holding green shields emblazoned with crosses. They were led by a dancing white-robed priest who was holding the infant Jesus statue. The all-Filipino crowd swayed, sang, and clapped to the music. They loved the performers who were from Cebu, their home province, I was told, but the real star was Santo Niño. People reached out to touch the saint as he passed, children kissed him, and women took photographs. In this Christian concert, Santo Niño was a pop star. He transcended boundaries; in some ways he was both a Western and a European idol.60 In other ways he was a local deity entangled and remade by Cebu’s encounter with Christianity. He seemed to mediate different standings

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among nations and cultures and now here between orthodox Catholic custom and the Filipino religious underside. Since Santo Niño was such a celebrity, his statue was available for more photographs, kissing, touching, and hugging after the show. The performing priests, in a post-performance discussion with me, were emphatic that he was a beloved image to people only from Cebu. However, throughout my research in Manitoba (and other Canadian provinces) and also in the Philippines, I saw Santo Niño everywhere. Fieldwork footage and notes suggest that Santo Niño statues and shrines were more prevalent than other divine images and shrine saints. I wondered if Santo Niño had always been this popular in Philippine culture or if something had changed to privilege his saintly image over others at some point in history. Santo Niño in his many forms, from imperial holy son to poor wandering boy with a magic bag of coins, is very much a body that has become a religious metaphor for the Philippine nation. He seems to sum up the resilience of many Filipinos whose migrant work, in the words of Thomas Tweed, requires them to “cross and dwell.”61 Santo Niño enables Filipinos to remember, to relate, and to cross complex temporal and spatial terrains inside and outside the Philippines. Beyond everyday practices related to Santo Niño inside and outside of churches, people tend to devote themselves to one or two patron saints who have special significance to them. Sometimes these are the saints that were popular in their family households as they were growing up. Sometimes people turn to other saints because of illness, life circumstances, and migration experiences. Devotional groups may be connected to a certain parish, but they do not usually meet at the parish church. A number of devotional groups, in addition to Our Lady of Peñafrancia, are loosely linked to churches and meet regularly. During the devotional month for a select saint the saint’s statue moves weekly from house to house. Multiple research participants referred to this circulation of the devotional image from house to house as “pilgrimage statue” events. Father Sarce added that these gatherings helped people to cope with “daily troubles in life.”62 Devotional groups of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, Sacred Heart, Santo Niño, Our Lady of Fatima, Our Lady of Piat, and Lord of Pardon, and Cenacle Prayer Group all host religious festivals in which the saint is passed from house to house. Devotees of the Blessed Mother Mary pray to the black rosary. Every week during that saint’s festival month people travel through neighbourhoods and pray. Jean was part of her church’s Cenacle Prayer

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Figure 1.7.  Winnipeg’s Bicol Association celebrates the feast day of Our Lady of Peñafrancia, Tyndall Park Community Centre, 20 September 2015. Photograph by author.

Group that prayed for and visited the sick in their homes. She had a cluster of devotional statues inside a glass cabinet, including Santo Niño, Lady of the Miraculous Medal, and Jesus of the Divine Mercy. The Bicol Association organizes and hosts an annual Our Lady of Peñafrancia festival each September. It includes a fluvial parade in which the blessed statue of the saint goes on a pilgrimage down ­Winnipeg’s Red River. After the parade the statue continues its journey by car to Tyndall Park Community Centre in Winnipeg’s northwest, where it is placed on an altar at the front of the room. Gemma was part of a group of some four hundred people who prayed the novena, said mass, and then joined the procession with the statue around the field behind the community centre (see fig. 1.7). All Filipino festivals in Manitoba and in the Philippines conclude with a feast. This one was no different. As the procession ended, the event organizers announced to the hungry crowd that a feast of roast pig and other Filipino favourites was being served. Following the meal the statue began her rounds. Our Lady of Peñafrancia was put in a car and driven to the house of one member of the Bicol Association, and then for the remainder of September she

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travelled from house to house, reminding everyone that she was never far away and was always available for intercession. While church and devotional-group religiosity were practised in public space, other Filipino religious practices were more private and linked to the underside. Catholic and Protestant Filipinos come from a nation in which folk and spiritual healers draw on the power of God, Jesus, spirits, and mantras to cure, exorcise, and bless. Many healers and mediums are women, as Deirdre de la Cruz has written: “From mid-wives to shamans (babaylan or catalonan), women negotiated and/or fulfilled both the temporal life cycle and the spiritual needs of the community.”63 Sarah (born in 1976) became a spiritist at the age of thirty-one. Her sister had also been chosen by the Holy Spirit or God to be a spiritist. Sarah considered herself to be a vessel of God. Prior to a healing she fasted for two hours and then entered a trance with the help of meditation. As she waved her flag around, she purified a pathway through which she and her patient could enter the spirit world. St Paul joined her in this work as her spirit protector and guide, but God did the healing. Sometimes people asked her to heal a sore stomach or another ailment. Sarah was part of a tradition of healers and spirit mediums in the Philippines, most often explained to me through the example of the hilot, or a type of indigenous massage therapist.64 It was important for me to engage with the people and the traditions I was writing about in this book, and so, in addition to interviewing healers, I was also interested in experiencing their practices viscerally. During my spring 2015 visit Melba Sumat, my research assistant in the Philippines, arranged for me to visit a hilot who lived in her barangay. The hilot was about sixty years old and had two vocations: she was a hilot by day and a professional gambler by night. The massage I received was good, though I was unable to relax, probably because for the entire hour the hilot’s three-year-old granddaughter, whom she had brought with her, leaned on my bare back and legs, talking to her grandmother. In Baguio City I visited Brother Sonny Boy, who advertised himself as an albularyo (folk healer) and a hilot. He worked out of a tiny one-room office, also his home, at a busy intersection. The room was painted a lurid green and lit by fluorescent lights. Sonny could treat a range of health issues from malaria to cancer to anaemia to kidney stones to allergies. Patients were healed in front of an altar adorned with what appeared to be four very old and unusual statues. The largest, in the centre of the arrangement, was Mother Mary and the Christ Child. To her right was

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Figure 1.8.  Hilot office, Baguio City, Philippines, March 2015. Photograph by author.

a small Santo Niño in a red robe. To her left were two Santo Niño de Palaboys, one dressed in a green robe, the other in red. The altar table held candles, holy water, pens, a small metal teapot, a cup, cue cards, envelopes, and a pair of reading glasses. On the wall were posters of Jesus. There was also a picture of Mother Mary. (See fig. 1.8.) On the wall above the altar was a picture on which was printed a mantra that Sonny said he used for healing. He had learned this mantra when he was twenty years old and had used it ever since. The office was further decorated with anting-anting, or religious amulets, so that, while Sonny was chanting the mantra, bad spirits would not come into his space to possess him. He emphasized that it was God who did the healing. I paid him two hundred pesos, or just over five dollars, for a half-hour consultation. Baguio City’s Burnham Park was another popular place to go for a healing massage. In less than an hour I was approached by more than a

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dozen hilots and fortune-tellers. Along the hill facing a lake were many Filipinos receiving head, back, neck, arm, and leg massages by enthusiastic hilots. In Canada, migrants continue to practise as hilots, charging about twenty dollars for a massage. Nearly everyone to whom I spoke during fieldwork in the Philippines and Canada had known a hilot or was such a healer themselves. Tess Newton’s great-great-uncle and great-grandfather were hilots, and so were her brother and sister. Her brother sometimes offered healing via Internet video chat to family members in Canada. Tess’s daughter had become a massage therapist in Winnipeg. Tess thought “she had a calling for it.”65 Some referred to hilots as massage therapists, and others said they resembled shamans. While hilots were familiar to first-generation migrants in Canada, they were less known by the second generation. I did not hear about hilots in preliminary conversations with research participants. Usually a reference to healing and the hilot came in second interviews, in email correspondence, or on the telephone. Often the hilot was mentioned alongside practices involving amulets, or anting-anting. In this way, both practices were more hidden from my view as a researcher. Anting-anting, a Tagalog term describing both the use of religious objects, and the objects themselves, was explained matter-of-factly by the users and as contradictions of orthodox religious culture, and by others as lingering vestiges of heterodoxy. Born-again Christians were the most vocal opponents of the practice; they encouraged me to study other more legitimate aspects of Filipino religion, explaining that anting-anting were outdated. The very denial of the validity of antinganting during fieldwork and interviews convinced me that I needed to write about anting-anting. When I tried to research anting-anting practices, I found little scholarly work on the subject. The majority of sources were very old and tinged with colonialist understandings of Philippine culture. For instance, during the Philippine-American War in 1901 a mysterious author named Sargent Kayme (possibly a pseudonym) produced a trove of eleven bewitching anting-anting tales entitled Anting-Anting Stories and Other Strange Stories of the Filipinos. In this book American officers, a collector for a European museum, and other white men, along with Filipino natives, apes, and half-savage men and women, encountered horrors like a twenty-five-foot python that devoured dogs and children.66 Kayme’s accounts relegated anting-anting to a time and place of mythical beasts and magic.

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Francis St Clair, writing in 1902, titled his demeaning and racist contribution Katipunan after an anti-Spanish revolutionary Filipino group. The book was effusive about the positive Christianizing of “old time Filipino Indians.” However, despite the negative tone, St Clair’s work recognized anting-anting as a kind of religious practice: “Anting-­antings constitute the remnants of what was once … the religion of the peoples of the Philippines.”67 During the course of my conversations with scores of Filipinos in Canada and the Philippines it seemed that some wanted to discard anting-anting and other practices of their parents’ generations and of those who lived in what interviewees often referred to as the “provinces” or “small villages.” During interviews and fieldwork and in the project surveys I asked people about anting-anting. Tess showed me the prayer booklet she kept in her purse. Mary showed me a coin she carried around in her pocket. To certain people it was a facet of religion, and to others it was an aspect of culture. Others, as mentioned, reacted strongly to it as iconoclastic or idolatrous.68 To some it seemed to be old-fashioned folklore or superstition; for them it certainly had no place in religion. Imelda, a Roman Catholic, said, “No, dear, we don’t do that; we just have faith in God.”69 Flor, who was raised as a Protestant Christian, did not believe in anting-anting: “In the past I carried a small New Testament Bible in my purse, but with so many gadgets, keys, etc., I ran out of space. The anting-anting practice is more the carry-over of superstitious belief prevalent in the olden times when scientific discoveries or even science and health-related information was not easily accessible. Besides, my religious tradition is firmly rooted in God the Creator or Divine Being and the Trinity – not in superstitious beliefs.”70 To others, anting-anting were cherished religious objects. Dennis elaborated: “Being baptized as Roman Catholic, I carry with me every day a simple rosary blessed by the pope, believing it will keep me safe, guided, and blessed!”71 Some did not care that various people did not believe, or they seemed irritated that others dismissed the power of anting-anting. Some were curious, expressing unfamiliarity with ­anting-anting. Dr Rey, who had left the Philippines in 1963 and had been a long-time politician in Canada, acknowledged the custom, but he was not a believer: I must have first heard of anting-anting as a young teenager among peers and in the context of it as a source of special power or invincibility against danger. “Really?” would be our reaction whenever we heard stories about

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people possessing such extraordinary gift. And I would always sense from narrators of this folklore their real belief in its authenticity. I did not engage in debate about it. A subset of this is a card, piece of paper, or object that relates more to a special spiritual gift. While I do not subscribe to the special power it carries, holders of such “religious amulet” are true believers. My only encounter with the latter practice was with one of my adult nephews in the Philippines during my visit a few years ago; he is a devotee to the church; he showed me the piece of paper with inscriptions presumably in Latin (my one-year study of Latin cannot confirm it), obviously showing the signs of being in his wallet for quite a number of years. “Really!” was the best reaction I could give when he told me of the protection from danger it had granted him on a few occasions.

Others whom I asked about anting-anting laughed and said nothing at all. I became comfortable with the silence and polite smile that followed when I mentioned anting-anting. Sometimes, when the silence had passed, people shared their thoughts on anting-anting in a quiet voice. Now and then they waited until the next time they saw me. I was never entirely sure what they would say about anting-anting.72 I came to recognize in these responses suggestions of a secret part of Filipino religion that was highly divisive. Strongly Protestant Filipinos who were caring for parents in the family home might have shared with me their views that religious objects were abominations, but they begrudgingly left festooned anting-anting and religious statues in place around the domestic space. They knew that these charms and amulets were important to their Catholic parents, who wanted them to bring blessings and segurista. On the one hand, the grown children told me in private how they reviled these outdated customs that made Filipinos seem backward, uncivilized, and indeed “oriental” to the West. On the other hand, they respected their parents’ beliefs and the home-country traditions to which these had once belonged. These religious objects were by no means dormant in the places I saw them. They were not pushed into closets out of view or laden with dust at the back of shelves. They were being used. It seemed as if the children had not entirely lost belief in anting-anting. On the contrary, several research participants admitted to experiencing fear in the presence of these amulets. They believed that the objects still held power over them and could potentially cause people to fall ill or have bad luck. Anting-anting represents an aspect of unsanctioned Filipino history and culture. Under Spanish and later American occupation many

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old customs that had once empowered local peoples were discarded. In Canada further vestiges of pre-colonial life were sometimes abandoned. People yearned to assimilate and become modern. They wanted to belong within their Protestant church or Catholic parish and interact with friends and family who lived in the West. Dominant European society judged the propriety of newcomers based on their religion, which was measured against Canadian values and culture. A very specific kind of Christianity, and usually not Catholicism, was the modern Western standard for civilization and sophistication. Colonialism had trained Filipinos who moved to Canada to be good at belonging. This was not because they passively accepted dominance or were indifferent to it. Many Filipinos were good at belonging because they were anchored to something larger than themselves that enabled them to be resilient and feel connected to the Philippines and to their ancestors. Research participants acknowledged that religious habits were influenced by American, Spanish, indigenous, and Chinese histories and experiences of colonialism. Spiritual power and religiosity emerged from this contradictory past. Church and home-based devotional cult practices, indeed faith in deities, were also performances of resistance and resilience.

2 Migration History

Throughout the European colonial period, trans-Pacific trade routes brought Filipinos to North America. From the late 1500s to the early 1800s Spanish galleon ships and seamen sailed between the Philippines and Mexico, facilitating the trade of pearls, silver, silk, and sapphires.1 Filipinos began to migrate to the American south in the early 1700s.2 Changing migration and immigration policies in the United States, Canada, and the Philippines determined the experiences of North America’s earliest Filipinos. Between 1565 and 1898 Spain occupied the Philippines. In 1898 Spain was defeated in the Spanish American War and ceded the Philippines to the United States under the Treaty of Paris, signed on 10 December. The American conquest of the Philippines meant that Filipinos could now migrate to the United States as colonial subjects. Once they arrived in the United States, Filipinos found themselves lumped together with other Asians. They might have been colonial subjects but they were treated as little different from Chinese, Japanese, and even Syrian and Lebanese cheap immigrant laborers. Filling labour shortages, Asians were needed to do the work that European immigrants did not want, mostly in agricultural settings but also in canneries throughout the Pacific Northwest. They worked primarily in urban locales as servants, gardeners, factory workers and as busboys, cooks, and dishwashers in restaurants in Chinatowns and beyond.3 Most of the Filipinos and other Asians who migrated were male. The dearth of Asian women caused the broader society to view Asian men as that much more strange, uncivilized, and exotic. These same values reinforced global impressions that Filipino women at home were servile and less modern, remaining in the shadows. Being among the last Asian group to

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migrate to the United States, Filipinos had to compete for jobs in cafés and on farms with other Asians, European women, indigenous peoples, and Mexicans.4 Invisibility came to define the history of Filipinos in early North America, partly because their identities were subsumed under the term Asian. It was true that Filipinos were born in Southeast Asia and that many had Asian racial heritage, but in other ways the term Asian was inappropriate for Filipinos and reflected “orientalist” thinking. Specifically, as Asians, Filipinos were seen to be less sophisticated and less educated than Westerners, though the Philippines had its own university. Asian implied non-Christian, yet Filipinos had been predominantly Christian since the 1500s, and most self-identified as Roman Catholic.5 Asian brought to mind individuals who did not speak European languages, yet many Filipinos spoke both English and Spanish. Asian was, in short, a term that encompassed those deemed to be labourers and less desirable oriental migrants entering North America. Orientalism refers to characterizations of, and attitudes towards, Asians as passive, exotic, uncivilized, fatalistic, and unable to become modern without the assistance of European-born individuals. As Edward Said observes, “the Orient is not only adjacent to Europe; it is also the place of Europe’s greatest and richest and oldest colonies, the source of its civilizations and languages, its cultural contestant, and one of its deepest and most recurring images of the Other.”6 Although Filipinos had been American colonial subjects since 1898, during the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries North Americans did not bother to notice their distinct cultural identities. Their specific identity did not really seem to matter. As John D. Blanco observes, the moment that Filipino national cultural identity became something that mattered is difficult to pin down,7 and over the years immigrants from the Philippines were variously designated. Sometimes they were recorded in official records as coming from the Philippine Islands, the East Indies, or Cebu, a province in the Philippines. At other times they were described vaguely under the category “Various.” Internationally, people from the Philippine islands were sometimes referred to as ­Mongolian or Malay. These terms had evolved from early anthropological studies that compared physical traits, including skulls, faces, and skin colour, with those of Caucasian Europeans. Yellow Mongolians were stereotyped as barbarians and invaders who, like Genghis Khan, could not be trusted. Mongolian also came to be associated with an earlier stage of human development; thus the term mongoloid for children

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born with Down syndrome. Immigration documents archived from ports and entry points identified Filipinos inconsistently. Malay suggested darker-coloured “brown” skin, origins in the Southeast Asian archipelago, and a different linguistic category. Mongolian and Malay were thus disparate terms, yet they were used indiscriminately to label people from the Philippines who were often presumed to be inassimilable “dirty aliens.” The classifying of individuals by race and/or place of origin was necessary in order to exclude Filipinos and other Asians from the United States and at the same time to inculcate admiration for American culture and values among Filipinos who were now colonial subjects.8 In some American jurisdictions racial classification was needed to prevent intermarriage and “racial contamination.”9 In the United States the fact that Filipinos were familiar with American culture, spoke English and Spanish, and were usually Christian afforded them a social proximity to European Americans that many of the latter found threatening. Migration policies seemed to encourage Filipino migration to the United States for a few decades. Within five years of the American conquest, the Pensionado Act of 1903 was enacted to attract male children of eminent Filipino families as students or pensionados for education and assimilation. Assimilation would make Filipinos less troubling while they resided in the United States. It might also make them less disruptive to the American colonial project when they returned to the Philippines and assumed positions of power. The Pensionado program became enormously popular, creating major new Filipino settlements beyond California and New York, including Chicago.10 Additionally it helped to shape Filipino North American veneration of Dr José Rizal. This aspect of Filipino culture persists today, as I discuss later in this book. Chicago’s Filipino students were among the first U.S. Order of the Knights of Rizal in 1906.11 Filipinos had benefited from legislation designed to bring them to the United States, but they also benefited from legislation that sought to keep out other Asians. After the passing of the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act, Filipino migrants to the United States, via Hawaii, were the preferred Asian migrants over the Chinese. When the Japanese government agreed to curb Japanese immigration to the United States in 1907 under a gentlemen’s agreement, this policy similarly facilitated the migration of Filipino migrants. Another major change in immigration legislation took place when the United States enacted the Immigration Act (1917). The act targeted Asian migrants seeking entry to the United

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States from the area known as the “Asiatic Barred Zone,” which was delineated by latitude and longitude that included China, Japan, Korea, and the Philippines. However, Filipino status as American nationals provided an exemption.12 In 1920 only 5,603 Filipinos resided in the United States. The Immigration Act was revised in 1924 to clarify the status of Filipino migrants: they were not citizens, but they were exceptionalized nationals.13 This legislation again gave Filipinos an advantage over other Asians seeking entry into the United States to work. Four years later, immigration and citizenship laws targeting Japanese made lowpriced Asian workers scarce.14 Filipinos heard about the labour shortage, and migration intensified to the point that by 1930 there were some 45,208 in the United States. The 1930s represented another turning point. When broader-society members found themselves without work during the Great Depression, Americans of European heritage turned to low-skilled agricultural jobs that had been filled by Asians. Cheap Asian labour was no longer needed. In 1934 the Philippine Independence Act (Tydings-McDuffie Act) made the Philippines a commonwealth nation. It transformed Filipinos in the United States into aliens, curbing their migration to the United States.15 Filipinos were born in the Philippines, which was American territory, but they were not American citizens and thus could be denied entry. Most significantly, the act capped Filipino migration to the United States at fifty people per year. Many Filipinos who remained in the United States were now classified as aliens rather than foreign nationals. Without work or access to citizenship, Filipinos returned home or tried to enter Canada in search of opportunities. Prior to 1930 women had made up less than 10 per cent of Filipino migrants in the continental United States, and most Filipino migrants were bachelors under the age of thirty.16 By 1930 large American settlements of Filipinos were developing throughout the United States.17 Filipinos were also found in small pockets throughout every state and in Hawaii. However, their ranks continued to be dwarfed by the Chinese, who numbered some one hundred and two thousand at the time.18 Another change to the migration status of Filipinos was set in motion on the morning of 8 December 1941. On this day Japanese fighter planes bombed a U.S. naval station in Metro Manila, the day after other Japanese pilots had levelled the attack against Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.19 Japanese forces occupied the Philippines from 1942 to 1945, uniting Filipino and American armed forces against a common enemy. As of

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1946 the Philippines was an independent nation. Following the Second World War and the lifting of the ban on Filipino immigration in July 1946, Filipinos enjoyed a new era of migration to the United States. It was at this time that the United States began to recruit Filipino healthcare professionals, offering them temporary worker visas in exchange programs, of which many Filipinos took advantage. By the 1950s Filipino nurses were becoming more common in large centres in the American northwest like Minneapolis–St Paul and in smaller ones such as Rochester, both in Minnesota.20 Sarah Mason, a research assistant of the Minnesota Historical Society, reported that “St. Mary’s Hospital in Rochester, which provides bed care for patients at the Mayo Clinic, recruited 75 to 100 nurses per year from the Philippines and other Asian countries between 1957 and 1974. These nurses, the largest number of whom were Filipino, arrived in Rochester under the St. Mary’s Exchange Program.”21 The 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act (the Hart-Celler Act) ended the long-time American practice of awarding immigrant visas on the basis of race, gender, place of birth, and other discriminatory categories.22 American immigration law was radically reformed that year, and legislative changes allowed many more nurses to come to the United States. Consider that in 1965 just over six thousand Filipinos immigrated to the United States. By 1979 the number of immigrants coming from the Philippines was nearly seven times that number.23 Meanwhile, outside the United States and in the Philippines sweeping changes to migration policy had arrived in the 1970s. President Ferdinand Marcos famously announced at the 1973 convention of the Philippine Nurses Association: “We encourage this migration, I repeat, we will now encourage the training of all nurses because as I repeat this is a market that we should take advantage of. Instead of stopping them from going abroad, why don’t we produce more nurses?”24 Marcos made this speech after he had imposed martial law and was ruling as a dictator, grossly enriching himself while poverty in the Philippines was rampant. At the time, thousands of nurses were taking up work in foreign destinations. Within a year the Philippine government had instituted the 1974 Labor Code, which enshrined a policy of labour brokerage. The employment of Filipinos overseas – mostly in the United States but also in the rest of the Western world including Canada – has since generated significant revenue for the island nation. Canada was a popular springboard for immigrants whose ultimate destination was the United States. For this reason Filipinos often

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entered Canada through coastal British Columbia in a pattern of “trampoline migration”25 to the U.S. west coast.26 In Canadian immigration guidelines Filipinos were not grouped with other ethnicities belonging to the “yellow” races, such as Mongolians, Japanese, or Chinese.27 But neither were they “white.” By focusing on this history of migration, we discover the earliest Filipinos who somehow found themselves in Canada. Immigration records show evidence of scant Filipino settlement in Canada up to 1956. Most Filipinos were simply passing through and, with the exception of those who came to play the roles of indigenous Filipinos in American fairs and exhibitions, usually entered Canada without families. Canada’s earliest documented Filipinos coincided with North America’s first wave of Asian immigration in the 1880s.28 Indeed, our understanding of Filipino migration history is ever evolving as we uncover new sources on Canada’s first Filipino migrants. The early history begins when eight male sailors between the ages of twenty-four and forty-two appeared on the 1881 census as living on a vessel in New Westminster, British Columbia. They were born in Manila and recorded ethno-racially as “Malay.”29 The term Malay applied to those who were of the “brown” race, according to a five-raced system that also included “white,” “black,” “yellow,” and “red.” All eight sailors were listed as “Mahomitan” (one of the era’s terms for “Muslims”). All other census columns, including marital status, were left blank, hinting at how little people knew about Filipinos or cared to know. Canadian census takers described Filipinos’ native language as Spanish, written using the Roman alphabet, in contrast to the Chinese characters and the kanji of other Asian languages.30 Canada’s earliest Filipinos most often shared neighbourhoods with Christian and English-speaking European co-workers near harbours, mines, ranches, and farms.31 Occasionally Filipinos lived down the street from Asian labourers, who were usually Confucian or Buddhist. John Albes was a single, Roman Catholic, twenty-one-year-old mine labourer and a Filipino Canadian citizen; he had migrated to Canada in 1899. His Nanaimo (British Columbia) neighbourhood included Christian farmers, miners, domestics, and gardeners of mostly Irish, English, and Scottish descent. Another neighbour was Sarah Dolholt, age fiftyseven, the First Nations wife of John, a Norwegian farmer who was twenty-five years older than she.32 Five Filipino male Roman Catholics between the ages of twenty-nine and sixty lived in Howe Sound, British Columbia. The group was distinct because all its members were

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naturalized Canadians who had immigrated between 1880 and 1892. It was also unusual because it included a married couple, Mary and Fernando Torcunga. All but one of the men were fishermen; sixty-year-old Antoine Bentorre, the eldest of the group, was a rancher.33 Notably, the names of the earliest Filipinos usually do not reappear in subsequent census data, implying that they lived in Canada only for a short time. The likely reason was that they had already been in the United States. Their goal was to settle south of the border, and they were putting in time in Canada in order to renew their visas and return to the United States. Canadians usually knew about Filipinos through newspaper accounts of them in North American world fairs beginning in the 1900s. They knew about Philippine entertainers who came to Canada after performing as singers and dancers in the United States.34 They also knew about Filipinos through their notorious love of cock-fighting and boxing.35 The Philippines were known as an exotic locale where Freemason international meetings were held36 and Canadian grain companies and executives conducted business.37 Some Canadians knew of Filipinos as colonialized inhabitants of islands, discovered by Magellan in 1521, who were now under American occupation. Ship manifests do not exist for the years prior to 1905, so we have no idea whether any Filipinos travelled through British Columbia to take part in the St Louis World’s Fair in 1904. We do know that some twentytwo families of Filipinos stopped in Vancouver in the spring of 1905. The ship manifest entry shows that they were heading for the Lewis and Clark Exposition in Portland, Oregon, which was taking place from 1 June to 15 October that year. In June and September more Filipinos arrived in Vancouver on their way to the Portland exposition.38 Filipinos wore Western clothes while travelling on ocean liners, standing in immigration lines, or in transit between fairs. At these times they lived and were treated like other Asians who lived in the West. Outside of fairs, exhibitions, and amusement parks North Americans did not consider the Filipinos on display to be wild savages, because they appeared as most other Asians in North America did. Igorots were one of the groups of indigenous peoples brought to North America to perform their race. While some had received an education at Anglican missionary schools and knew English, most others did not, and so they travelled with interpreters. Once the Igorots reached the site of a fair, they disrobed and performed with spears and shields. When they were not performing, Filipinos were expected to replicate their daily lives

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in the Philippines through activities such as cooking, basket weaving, and beading. They thus performed exotic identities in artificial settings, much like the indigenous peoples of North America who were hired to act out “savage” identities in carnivals and Wild West shows. Passenger lists of ships arriving in Vancouver in the following years showed further evidence of Filipinos entering Canada. Different regions of Canada showed different kinds of newcomers in transit. Those who entered eastern Canada were typically European, while those entering western Canada were more likely to be Asian.39 Filipinos tended to enter or be rejected at ports and border crossings in the West. Some Filipinos, including Tomas Locas who wished to travel from Bellingham, Washington, to Vancouver in 1908, sought entry into Canada. Locas was rejected because he was deemed to have too little money to enter the country.40 Filipino students, labourers, and notably a few young women also began to arrive in Canada in this period. Miss Odogoola was an ­eighteen-year-old nurse accompanying two Canadians on their return trip from Hong Kong to Saint John, New Brunswick, in March, 1908.41 A few months later Christina Gonzalez, a twenty-three-year-old student, passed through Vancouver on her way to Philadelphia.42 As of 1910, Filipinos en route to American fairs no longer travelled on ships that stopped at British Columbia ports. An Order in Council passed in May 1910 specified that Asians travelling through Canada had to have two hundred dollars in their possession.43 (Non-Asian immigrants were only required to have twenty-five or fifty dollars.) Thereafter, Filipinos, who were classified as Asians, had to be upper class in order to disembark in Canada. If Filipinos’ migration pathways and experiences were shaped by U.S. migration policies and history, they were also shaped by encounters with other Asians while travelling in steerage class or waiting to be questioned or detained in immigration halls or sheds. Once Filipinos had arrived at their North American destinations, many continued to interact with other Asians, seeking Chinatowns’ temporary lodging or entertainment in gambling dens. Beyond Chinatowns, Filipinos in the United States and Canada encountered and competed with other Asians for work on various kinds of farms.44 By 1911 more Filipinos had settled in Canada. For example, thirtyfive-year-old Mr Brellante, a Filipino American who worked as a print setter, his French wife, Mary, aged twenty-nine, and their one-year-old daughter, Berta, were Roman Catholics residing in Vancouver. Nearby

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lived thirty-two-year-old Corkos Caspio, a Roman Catholic born in the Philippines who was now an American citizen. In Ottawa, Blar Reyes was working as a domestic; he too was Roman Catholic, and Ottawa’s census taker described him as Malay. He was a naturalized Canadian who had immigrated a year earlier.45 A. Panolis was a twenty-five-yearold Roman Catholic male working as a servant in 1912 in rural Selkirk, thirty-five kilometres north of Winnipeg. Antonio Penello and Marcus Porio came to Manitoba a year after Panolis in 1913. Penello, Porio, and Panolis had arrived from the United States, having been born in the Philippines. They were all Catholics and American citizens and had come to Manitoba to work as servants in the 1910s.46 However, Panolis and many other early Filipino migrants to Canada became lost to history. They did not reside long enough in their communities to be recorded in local history books or newspapers. They were labourers who lived in the shadows of the broader community, unseen and unheard. In 1914 the U.S. government in the Philippines no longer allowed Filipinos to take part in international fairs, and so that migration route closed.47 For a decade orientalism had motivated the production of such exhibitions and cemented stereotypes in the Western popular consciousness. Fairs and exhibitions had helped to shape a future image of Filipinos culturally, socially, and religiously. Filipinos escaped the notice of early Dominion of Canada legislators who passed laws that institutionalized racism against other Asians.48 For instance, unlike Chinese immigrants, Filipinos wishing to enter Canada did not have to pay a head tax, though they had to show evidence of funds to remain in the country. By 1919, however, the 1910 Immigration Act had been revised, and Filipino immigrants wishing to enter Canada had to pass a literacy test.49 Canada’s anti-Asian immigration policy escalated when Order in Council P.C. 183 was issued on 31 January 1923, banning “any immigrant of any Asiatic race.” U.S. citizens and British subjects who were racially Asian were exempted. In keeping with the 1910 Immigration Act, exceptions were also made for agricultural workers and domestic servants with employment contracts. (Asian agricultural and domestic workers could be paid far less than Europeans, thus making them desirable employees.) The order was amended in 1926 and again in 1930. The 1930 amendment revised the definition of the term Asian to include all non-whites originating east of Greece, namely those from China, Japan, and the Philippines and as far west as Syria and Turkey.50

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It further specified that only wives and unmarried children under the age of eighteen of Asians already settled in Canada were exempted from the order. After 1930 even fewer Filipinos entered or lived in Canada.51 The discriminatory legislation would not be repealed until 1956. Racism towards Asians was pervasive in Canada. It not only ensured that mostly male Asians migrated, but it also kept the number of migrants low. Still, some employers, such as Charles Hope of New Westminster, British Columbia, could not resist hiring Filipinos as cheap, willing farm and other labourers. Japanese, Chinese, and Mexicans had provided much of this labour in the past.52 He sent a letter in 1930 to William McQuarrie, his Member of Parliament, complaining: “In another twenty years we will have an enormous Oriental population of three to four mixed nationalities and if you add the Mexicans to that … you are going to have a situation not very dissimilar to what you have on the Asiatic coast, Hong Kong, etc., a polygon, mixed population constantly increasing, which in time might become almost uncontrollable.”53 Hope was concerned about the applications he had been receiving from Filipinos wishing to work on his farm. He was aware that legislation was in place to exclude them, but he feared racial contagion.54 The history of policy governing Filipino migration to North America had created a bachelor society in which Filipinos were seen as good servants. Traditional and religious values, and also economic need, required women and girls to remain with families in the Philippines. Many of North America’s earliest migrants from the Philippines were young men who obtained work as domestic servants, labourers, and farm workers. To their employers, who were British and early settlers of the Dominion of Canada, Filipinos epitomized the “good servant” as described by Vicente Rafael: “Good servants make possible the emergence of the ideal domestic sphere, here understood as the unobstructed recognition of authority and flawless enactment of social hierarchy. Unobtrusive and barely palpable, the ideal boy is one who labors at serving and rendering the labor process itself inaudible and invisible. The temporal and spatial ordering of the home simply appears, as if by magic. And the servant’s body is itself rendered continuous with this order, ‘crisp’ and clean, dressed in white and standing erect.”55 These good servants may have been seen as low-waged workers abroad, but to their families they were highly valued and respected men who sent remittances (regular payments) home.56 Mostly Filipino men continued to trickle into Canada under the few classifications that permitted them. They hoped for more lucrative

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work and better education than they could obtain in the Philippines and in many cases sought to renew their U.S. visas or gain permanent residency in the United States.57 In Canada Filipinos remained an obscure Asian minority. Groups of Filipinos shared homes outside of cities; they did not live alone. Rarely, as in the case of Hilary Clapp, Filipinos were students in Canada. Those who came to Canada found themselves isolated, without the bayanihan on which they had been able to draw in large U.S. Filipino communities. The scarcity of fellow Filipinos with whom to form communities in Canada meant that they could not belong, and so most left. The perception that Filipinos were ideally suited for service roles in Euro-Canadian private homes endured for more than a century, up to the present day. Leanne Billy, who hired Filipinos to work at Manitoba’s Russell Inn in the late 2000s, had tried to fill its staffing needs with temporary foreign workers from European nations. Germans were too highly skilled, and, as Leanne added, “they didn’t have the [Filipino] ‘how can I help you?’ ethic.” The stereotype of Filipinos as good servants was widespread and well known by the dozens of Filipinos and non-Filipinos whom I interviewed during the course of research. Filipino migration continues to be shaped by the stereotype of the “good servant.” Since the late 1950s the Filipino good servant has been female and not male. The stereotype carries racist and orientalist assumptions that Filipinos are happy to be passive and subservient, are cut out for low-paid, menial positions, and feel “lucky” or “blessed” to have such jobs. Shirley had come to Canada with a commerce degree, and Manuelita and Gloria had teaching degrees. These and many other research participants took advantage of such stereotypes, easily obtaining work as health-care aides, a common Filipino area of employment with deep historical roots. Filipino women became known as good servants in part through missionary work in the Philippines that aimed to domesticate and civilize so-called orientals and train Filipino girls as nurses. The Philippines had experienced the professionalization of health services under Spanish, and later American, occupation. Scientific medicine has historically been used as one way to justify colonization. Science, not folk remedies, improved health, and new vaccinations helped control the spread of smallpox, influenza, and diphtheria. Scientific discoveries had shown that some outbreaks did not have to happen and that the miracles of Western medicine could help to “civilize” countries like the Philippines. Health-care professionals knew science.

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The civilizing project was especially active in the 1910s and 1920s, Americans during the occupation of the archipelago sought to discipline, cleanse, and sanitize the minds and bodies of their colonial subjects, recovering them from the wild, savage, and dirty frontier in which they had been found.58 This was the work of medical professionals, clergymen, and the American military. Filipinos were civilized and made American through sports, prayer, and reading the Bible and through Western medicine, science, and education. Some Filipino men and women were encouraged and sponsored by Americans to become doctors and nurses and lead their communities into this new Americanized civilization. Through study abroad and exchange programs, sons and daughters of elite Filipino families received valuable medical educations. At first, European-trained physicians provided care in the nation’s hospitals. They had rarified knowledge and a facility in European languages, in addition to Latin, although the Latin needed for medical purposes had been different than that used in Catholic mass. They were esteemed experts, representing a Westernized alternative to folk medicine and to inexpensive, untrained, and unprofessional healers. Western medicine and science helped to push folk-healing customs into the underside. Such thinking was still pervasive in the mid-twentieth century when North American governments began to recruit Filipino nurses.59 Nurses were perceived as converts to cleanliness who had successfully learned colonial medical narratives. They were good servants who met with the approval of North Americans by appearing demure, eager to please, devoutly Christian, and devoted to medical service. Filipino nursing, along with other forms of Filipino foreign labour, was also cheaper than domestic labour in the receiving countries. And Canada as a receiving country had much to gain from the economic migration of Filipino nurses.60 By filling the iconic role of nurse, Filipino girls were transformed into a modern elite, removed from the savage society of the Philippines. Orientalist understandings of women shaped them as easier to assimilate than men. They were accordingly re-costumed in fitted white nursing dresses, caps, and shoes. Denise Cruz refers to the iconic nurse as one of many “transpacific Filipinas.” She adds: “Transpacific Filipina elites found themselves caught between two popular models of Filipina femininity as produced by the United States: the indigenous Filipina, inscrutable and potentially frightening yet ultimately disciplined and controlled; and an elite Filipina who might achieve her true potential through benevolent influence.”61

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For decades the Philippine government has played a role in brokering deals for Filipino medical professionals to gain entry into Canada. In 1954 several Filipinos who were working in the United States attempted to visit Canada. Clerks at Canada’s Immigration Branch in Ottawa refused them entry. The Filipinos complained to Frederick Palmer, consul general and trade commissioner at the Canadian consulate in Manila. Palmer wrote to the Department of Citizenship and Immigration and asked for clarification of Canada’s stance on Filipino immigration (it is worth remembering that until 1956 Orders in Council banning Asian and Filipino migration to Canada remained in place): “It is with regret that the attention of the Department must be drawn to complaints received from several Filipinos who, while in the United States, have wished to visit Canada but have been refused admission as non-immigrants. In view of the extensive now world wide publicity, which Canada finances, designed to attract visitors to Canada, it is difficult for me to explain to the Filipinos why they were not admitted, either to take advantage of our holiday facilities, or to study Canadian conditions.”62 Palmer’s letter began a flurry of correspondence over the next eight years in which Canada attempted to clarify the situations in which Filipino students, nurses, interns, and doctors might be permitted entry. By June 1958 between twenty and thirty Filipino medical interns had been admitted to Canada as non-immigrants.63 Thirty more applied to come, a year later. The director in chief of the Admission Division in Ottawa wrote on 2 July 1959: “There has been an increasing number of these applications from Philippine citizens (nurses and doctors) who are in the United States under temporary status as exchange students. When sending application forms to these people, one of our normal questions is whether they have applied for permanent admission to the United States, and the answer in 90% of the cases is ‘NO.’ They usually state that they merely wish to come to Canada for approximately two years to gain further experience in their field. A large number of these applications are received from the Chicago area, and it is believed that these people have been coached as to what to say in their letters, and that they are actually visa seekers.”64 Medical professionals seeking entry to Canada had to secure offers of employment, undergo medical screening, and also be interviewed to ensure that they were not “undesirable” immigrants under section 5 of the Immigration Regulations. Nurses entering Canada also had to be accepted by one of the country’s nursing associations.65

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Meanwhile, in 1956, the repeal of Order in Council P.C. 2115 had created a second wave of Filipino migration to Canada. From 1956 to the 1970s female nurses, teachers, librarians, and garment workers became the predominant Filipino migrants to Manitoba, replacing the earlier pattern of bachelors. This resulted in an excess of Filipino women and a shortage of men to date and marry. Some newly migrated nurses, including one “Filipino gal, registered nurse” who enjoyed dancing and waterskiing, turned to Lola’s Dating Club, which advertised in the Winnipeg Free Press.66 Even after 1956, Filipinos working in the United States on temporary contracts were still experiencing difficulty getting into Canada, and they again complained. The government of the Philippines in 1958 “temporarily closed down entry to Canadians seeking admission to the Philippines for pre-arranged employment.”67 Employees with well-known companies such as Procter and Gamble, Colgate-Palmolive, Ford, Singer, and Benguet Mines, in addition to missionaries and members of the clergy, were all at risk of being denied entry to the Philippines. The government of Canada bowed to the pressure and changed its policy to admit Filipinos with pre-arranged employment to Canada. E.A. Butler, chief of the Department of Citizenship and Immigration, decided that “in view of the difficulties … experienced with the Philippine Government … we are to grant temporary entry provided they meet the usual non-immigrant requirement and are proceeding to prearranged employment in a hospital as nurses.”68 This decision ushered in a new era of “strict reciprocity” and arrangements being made for the immigration and employment of workers from the Philippines.69 As long as workers from the islands were permitted into Canada, Canadian workers in the Philippines were allowed entry there. The Canadian government wanted to ensure that its citizens continued to have unrestricted access to the Philippines, an emerging economic market. Nevertheless, the new era continued to be marked by racist attitudes towards Filipinos and other Asians wishing to enter Canada. T.G. Major, consul general of Canada in the Philippines, wrote to W.R. Baskerville, director of immigration, Department of Citizenship and Immigration Canada, in 1962: “May I emphasize the importance of personal interviews … This is the only way of ascertaining, for instance, whether the applicants speak and understand adequate English … Another pertinent factor is the high proportion of Filipinos who are partially or wholly of Chinese origin. The difficulties involved in processing applications from persons of Chinese origin … are well known

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to you. Although our new Regulations do not discriminate between races, I think you will agree that there are social factors involved which influence heavily the successful integration of immigrants.”70 Major denied that Canadian regulations were still determined by race-based thinking. Yet in his very denial and the explanation of his position he suggested that immigration officials continue to discriminate against Chinese, Filipinos, and other Asians who were deemed less capable of integrating into Canadian society.71 I have discussed the prevalence of United States–Canada crossborder Asian migration in two previous books on Chinese Canadian history, and I was not surprised to see that Filipinos followed these familiar migrant pathways.72 It was common for Chinese, Syrians, and even Filipinos to hear stories about labour opportunities and shortages north of the American border from others who shared their neighbourhoods, church pews, and professions in the United States. Manitoba’s large-scale Filipino migration history begins in 1959 and 1960, when Fe Ryder and other nurses on exchange programs in U.S. cities – Rochester, Chicago, Philadelphia, among others – came to Winnipeg. The Winnipeg Free Press reported that the nurses were at the Misericordia General Hospital to “observe nursing trends and gain clinical experience.”73 That may have been one of the reasons that the nurses had crossed the international boundary. But they had also come because their U.S. visas had expired, and they were required to spend two years outside the country before they could re-enter. Some of these nurses remained in Winnipeg. By the 1960s Manitoba and other governments in Canada were recruiting hundreds of Filipino nurses, doctors, teachers, librarians, and office workers.74 Roland Guzman, Irene Guzman, and Rey Pagtakhan, all physicians, arrived during the 1960s. Although most nurses were female, small numbers of male nurses, including Milton Mestito, were recruited. Interviews with research participants suggest that the majority of Filipino nurses are female and thus have been the common migrant up to the present day. Catherine Chen has cautioned that Filipino dominance of the nursing profession had to do primarily with politics and economics. She gives it a distinctly colonial genealogy: “the origins of Filipino nurse migration … lie in early twentieth-century U.S. colonialism in the Philippines.”75 The stereotype that linked Filipinos racially with a culture of care and with tending to the sick, elderly, and young had been the product of the American colonial period. Americans had aimed to civilize Filipinos

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through Western medicine and thereby push traditional healing techniques into the underside of Filipino culture. Nations throughout the world filled labour shortages with Filipino nurses who had been “civilized” and could easily integrate into new communities. Filipinos in this way were different than other migrant groups in Canada, and especially Asians. Asians have not been associated with particular professions in the way that Filipinos have been stereotyped as nurses. Southern Chinese labourers were recruited to build Canada’s national railway, and Japanese were needed to work on sugar beet farms, but this labour did not continue to define their groups. The migration policies to encourage the entry of Asians so that Canada’s railway could be finished or so that farmers could obtain cheap labour were short term. Chinese and Japanese, after the Second World War and the 1947 repeal of racist immigration laws, were able to move into many other types of work. By contrast, large numbers of Filipinos coming to Canada continue to be nurses who come under special arrangements, distinct from migration policies such as the Temporary Foreign Worker and Provincial Nominee programs. Nursing as a career came to be known in the Philippines as a readymade opportunity to migrate through special channels in order to send regular payments home to support families. As wave after wave of Filipino nurses proved themselves to be competent, hard working, and willing to serve in isolated rural postings in Canada and other host nations, they became increasingly sought after as workers. This demand created a never-ending supply of Filipino nurses and reinforced the stereotype that Filipinos were racially or culturally suited for the job, when in fact colonialist and economic factors overwhelmingly explained their prevalence in it. Although many nurses graduate from university and college programs each year in the Philippines, jobs there are scarce. Volunteering in health-care facilities can help new graduates to gain needed experience and win a job eventually. However, with the exception of nurses working in cities or in specialized fields, a nurse’s salary is very low, equivalent to about two hundred and seventy Canadian dollars per month for working six days a week, according to research participant and registered nurse Anne Duran.76 Overseas hospitals and governments eager to fill labour shortages advertise widely in the islands through embassies and at job fairs, with the help of the Philippine Department of Labor and Employment and other departments, agencies, and people.77 Parties involved in recruiting

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nurses to come to Canada range from private individuals and companies (including Canadian airlines and Philippine travel agencies)78 to hospital boards and the Philippine and Canadian governments. Given the ad hoc nature of policy-making when it comes to recruiting, financing, and making a profit from the migration of medical professionals, many players manage to become involved and join junkets that tour health-care facilities in the Philippines for the purposes of recruitment.79 A sudden influx of predominantly unmarried women occurred at the end of the 1960s and the beginning of the 1970s, when several Manitoba garment companies, with support from the federal and provincial governments, actively recruited skilled workers from the Philippines.80 Research participants Linda, Perla, Gemma, and Flor took advantage of migration policies that allowed garment workers entry into Canada and/or enabled them to find work easily in Winnipeg. Perla was an especially attractive candidate for work here because she had overseas European experience. This was yet another instance in which orientalist values continued to shape Filipino migration. Canada’s new immigration laws81 in place by 1967 enabled Filipinos to come to Canada under a system that awarded points based on economics, education, and skills, not race or ethnicity.82 The Winnipeg Free Press reported in 1968 that six thousand to eight thousand Filipinos now lived in Canada.83 While Canadian permanent immigration guidelines were no longer shaped by ethnic selection, new temporary foreign worker programs beginning in 1973 became popular ways for Canadian companies to recruit low-skilled, low-waged seasonal farm and live-in care workers from select and often non-white racialized backgrounds.84 This was the same year in which the Philippine government began to muse about the socio-economic benefits of exporting Filipino workers to fill the international employment shortage.85 Filipinos continued to be recruited to fill short-term employment needs, and the 1970s saw an influx of domestic, health-care, and garment workers to Manitoba. More seniors and children came as well because of legislation that sought to reunite families. By 1973 some 309 female and male Filipino nurses had arrived in Manitoba.86 With such a large number, the shortage of nurses had been addressed, and the provincial professional bodies that governed nursing in Canada attempted to stem the tide of nurses who were arriving outside of provincial and federal migration policies. The Manitoba Registered Nurses Association now wanted to promote the employment of Canadians, not foreign labour.87 Nurses migrating to work in Canada in

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the 1980s needed to pass an English language test before they could be assessed by a nursing association in Canada. In the ensuing decades the rules changed yet again.88 Joan Duhaylungsod and Anne Duran arrived in a predominantly female nursing wave in 2009 that was designed to fill continuing nursing shortages in rural Manitoba. When Joan came, she took the language test, had her credentials evaluated, and then got to work. Thereafter, the rules changed, and it cost as much as five hundred Canadian dollars just to open a file to apply to work in Canada. A language test and a competency assessment also had to be passed. Joan added: “As of 2013 it might take three or four years for a nurse who took the same courses in the Philippines, or who worked for a decade in Dubai, the United Kingdom, or Israel, to be able to begin work in Manitoba. This means that a language test might no longer be valid and have to be paid for again, or a nurse who is waiting to work in her chosen profession can’t afford to wait any more and has to take a job as a health-care aide.”89 Filipino nurses have migrated under terms that were negotiated by different immigrant agencies and parties who helped to broker labour migration deals beginning in the 1960s. Joan explained that internationally educated nurses are still struggling because of the new procedures set by the College of Registered Nurses of Manitoba. In addition to nurses, Filipinos came as independent migrants and through chain migration. Flor Marcelino and her family migrated to Canada, sponsored by her husband’s brother Ted, who had arrived earlier. As the community grew and matured in the 1980s and 1990s, Filipino Manitobans became social workers who spoke Tagalog and could deal with racism and cultural issues in areas of high-density Filipino population.90 Journalists like Emmie Joaquin who gave voice to their concerns and culture on radio also came during this period.91 Through the Foreign Domestic Movement Program (1981), superseded by the Live-In Caregiver Program (1991), research participant Eliza and other Filipinos have been able to come to Canada to work as nannies and housekeepers.92 They provide care for children and for elderly and disabled clients.93 Usually, as research participant Shirley explained, the programs’ migrants arrive after years of work in other countries: I immigrated to Manitoba on June 21, 2005, with a working permit under the Live-In Caregiver program. I had a two-year contract. I was in Hong Kong working as a nanny when I decided to apply to come to Canada … Prior to that, I was working in Brunei for two years as a nanny. I had been

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in Brunei … with a working visa, and after that expired, I decided to return to the Philippines to be with my children. I was starting to think about how expensive it would be to support them through university. That’s when I applied to work in Hong Kong as a nanny. But after a year of working in Hong Kong, I looked for a reliable agency through which I could apply to work in Canada. At that time live-in caregivers were in high demand, and there was stiff competition from other Filipinos applying to do the same thing. It took determination and hard work. I had to save money to pay for the application fees.94

Unlike Canada’s first Filipino domestic workers, those arriving through this program are university educated, usually female, and in their thirties and forties.95 They give up careers as nurses and teachers to take on domestic work globally for the sake of their families. To their advantage, in Canada and the United States their work days are shorter than if they worked in Asia or the Middle East.96 Filipinos paid thousands of dollars to agencies in the Philippines to be connected with employers who were looking for temporary workers in Canada and elsewhere. Eliza came to Brandon in the fall of 1991 through the Live-In Caregiver Program. The process to obtain a work visa to come to Canada took a year. Her children were aged twelve and ten at the time: “I promised them in the future we will be reunited, not in a very long time.” Before her departure for Canada she attended an orientation session about what to expect. The woman giving the presentation advised that it was very cold in Canada: “‘You know how cold it is in Canada? You can back out now. You are not there yet. If you want to know how cold it is, you stick your head inside a freezer for five minutes. That’s how cold it is.’ That’s what they said.” Eliza practised sticking her head in the freezer. She was determined to come to Canada. She was thirty years old. She assumed there would be other Filipinos on the plane who were also coming to Canada, but she was alone. Once she arrived, it was a bittersweet struggle to live in Brandon separated from her children. After a few years she was able to bring her husband and children to join her: “It was the most glorious day of my life.”97 By law, Filipino women were consigned to precarious work and living conditions. They arrived in Canada with permits that enabled them to work for only one employer and to live only in homes of the families who employed them. Eliza got along well with the family for which she worked as a nanny. She was fortunate.

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While Eliza came to Canada under the Live-In Caregiver Program, many others arrived as temporary foreign workers, of which Filipinos made up the largest number in Canada.98 Pastor Ed arrived as a temporary foreign religious worker in Winnipeg in 2006.99 Eme Pong-Elarte was one of many Filipinos hired to work at the Russell Inn in Russell, Manitoba, in 2009.100 When Leanne Billy was hired as human resources manager in 2007, the Russell Inn was experiencing a labour shortage: “People were overworked and short staffed. The managers wanted to pack it in because they couldn’t stand never having any staff.” The hotel’s general manager had heard about the Temporary Foreign Worker Program and asked Leanne to research it: “We found out that a lot of [Philippine] industry is in service and that their first language is English, so we went down that road. That’s how I first heard about the Philippines and recruiting temporary foreign workers. We thought they would make the transition easiest into Canadian culture.”101 Leanne and the Russell Inn worked with an immigrant services agency in Winnipeg to recruit workers in the Philippines. Nine Filipinos, including Eme, arrived in 2009. When I interviewed Leanne in August 2014, sixty Filipinos had already been brought to Russell through the program. She predicted that those sixty Filipinos would turn into hundreds through chain migration in the coming years. As newcomers became established, they paved the way for others in their network back home to follow them to Canada, a process known as chain migration. Many family members – spouses, children, parents, and siblings – came to join the original Filipino Manitoban migrants. Russell Inn paid the Filipinos well. Leanne added: “The stereotype is that the reason we hire foreign workers is to pay them less. Actually, our wages have never been higher … Temporary foreign workers have driven the wages up.”102 Russell Inn is required to pay unemployment insurance premiums and contribute to the Canada Pension Plan on behalf of its employees. However, as so many research participants told me, temporary employees come on two-year-term contracts and are not permanent residents. Most do not have a right to citizenship, and most are ineligible to collect pension or assistance in the event that they lose their jobs. They also seldom earn enough to be able to sponsor their families or visit them in the Philippines.103 In addition to Filipinos who arrive in Manitoba through the ever-­ changing Temporary Foreign Worker Program,104 select skilled Filipinos are recruited to come to Canada as permanent residents through the Provincial Nominee Program. Leanne said that she was also trying to get

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Filipinos to come through the Provincial Nominee Program. As of 2014, Filipinos principally came to Manitoba as provincial nominees, filling jobs as nurses and butchers.105 In the program the provincial government works with Citizenship and Immigration Canada, as well as employers and communities, to determine the skills, education, and work experience needed to fill employment needs. The province chooses or nominates skilled workers as well as entrepreneurial business immigrants. Those chosen for the program are nominated for permanent resident status in Canada. Manitoba was the first province to implement the program, and in 2013 about 68 per cent of Manitoba’s immigrants came to the province through that program.106 Emerson Ballard, who worked at HyLife Foods, a meatprocessing plant in Neepawa, was one such Filipino provincial nominee. Based on the 2011 census and provincial Filipino immigration projections, seventy-five thousand Filipinos were estimated to live in Manitoba in 2014.107 Moreover, ethno-historical research reveals sizeable and growing Filipino populations in the towns and cities of Neepawa (1,600), Steinbach (1,000), Portage la Prairie (500), Brandon (500), Dauphin (125), and Russell (60),108 and a handful of Filipinos in many small towns beyond these centres.109 By the 2000s the Filipino community had matured to the point that it could look back with a great sense of pride and achievement. Filipinos celebrated Manitoba “firsts” in opening remarks at annual events such as the Philippine Heritage Week in June. They told of Filipino professors, surgeons, vice-principals, and those with key roles in the performing arts. There were Governor General’s academic medal winners and owners of supermarkets, restaurants, travel agencies, and architectural firms. There were scientists, publishers of community newspapers, and entrepreneurs. Rey Pagtakhan had been elected a Member of Parliament, and Conrad Santos a member of the Legislative Assembly of Manitoba. Tess Newton was the first Filipino woman insurance agent. Dr Paulino and Clara Orallo reputedly had the province’s first Filipino child. Rene Calanza was the first Filipino officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.110 The reasons for Filipino migration to Canada have been many and varied. As I have described, second-wave migrants of the 1950s and 1960s,111 who were predominantly female and from south of the border, arrived to resolve expiring visas in the United States, to pursue graduate medical training, or to seek employment while waiting to determine final career paths. Those who came directly from the Philippines, like most Asian migrants, were attracted by the possibility of better working conditions and well-paid employment.112

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Filipinos in Manitoba have been discriminated against differently, depending on the era and place of settlement and the degree to which they have been seen to take away dominant-society jobs. Many have often been mistaken for Chinese.113 While several Filipinos come from mixed-race backgrounds and share Chinese ancestry, in the Philippines Chinese are generally seen as distinct from Filipinos, belonging to an ethnic group known as “Chinoy” or “mestizos.” Chinese traded with the Philippines as early as the Song dynasty (960–1127) and had started to migrate by the mid-sixteenth century. By 1850 a growing number of Chinese migrants had intermarried, become mestizos, and risen “to a position of economic and social prominence.”114 Mike Pagtakhan, who migrated as a child to Winnipeg with his family in 1973, remembers non-Asian children picking fights with him by calling him Chinese. He tried to tell them that the Philippines was its own country. “No, you’re from China,” they insisted. “We know you’re from China … Let’s see if you know kung-fu!”115 Manitoba’s thousands of male and female Filipino workers continue to be well-educated, under-employed, and vulnerable migrants who must wait two years before they can apply to be permanent citizens.116 They are employed in meat-processing plants (HyLife Foods, Maple Leaf Foods, and Granny’s Poultry), franchise restaurants, resorts, inns, and gas stations. They are construction, health-care, and domestic workers in every corner of the province. Many of them are unionized and have benefited from programming and assistance provided by unions such as the United Food and Commercial Workers.117 Manitoba’s branch of Migrante Canada offers counselling to migrants who are sometimes unaware of their rights to vacation pay, overtime pay, or breaks or who may be too fearful to complain about abuse or harassment. It defends the rights and welfare of overseas Filipino migrants. Migrante International was founded in 1996 in response to the execution of a Filipina domestic worker in Singapore. In 2010 the Migrante Canada chapter was formed, with seventeen affiliated organizations, including Manitoba’s.118 The United Food and Commercial Workers’ union has a partnership with Migrante Manitoba, providing office space. According to the Migrante Canada website, “most importantly we recognize the root causes of our migration. The socioeconomic condition of the Philippines pushes over 4,000 Filipinos daily to over 192 countries worldwide. We believe that only through understanding these root causes can we address the issues affecting our kababayans [compatriots]. And only through fighting for a homeland with a

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just and humane society can we stop forced migration and live in that society where we do not have to leave in order to survive.”119 Today Migrante Manitoba has a crew of about twenty volunteers. It funds its operating costs through a nominal membership fee of ten dollars per month and through fund-raising activities that include educational film nights. Volunteer social workers reach out to Manitoba’s most vulnerable newcomers, supported by the bayanihan spirit of Filipinos, who give generously to the organization. Diwa Marcelino elaborated: While we do encounter migrant workers experiencing severe issues with employers (death threats, injury, wrongful dismissal, fraud, etc.), many of the problems migrant workers face are associated with the systemic issues with the Temporary Foreign Worker Program, such as difficulties accessing pathways to permanent residence … Migrant workers themselves feel that they can’t speak to their employers or even speak to politicians … Their status is sort of precarious and … they fear reprisal … If the desperation level wasn’t as high, then they would probably assert their rights or they would feel fine not sending remittances to their family for a month or two while they looked for another job, but the situation is terrible in the Philippines. They can’t afford to miss a pay cheque.120

None of the individuals profiled in this book has been untouched by the Temporary Foreign Worker Program. Guided by a bayanihan spirit and Christian faith, many have used their organizations or volunteer involvements to help the Filipino community’s most vulnerable members. The Filipino response to migration in Manitoba has been to fill everyday lives with religious moments, from email signatures and telephone greetings to religious statuary and jewellery that decorate homes and bodies, respectively. Religiosity throughout the Filipino cultural sphere cannot be separated from colonial, orientalist, and racist histories and experiences. Religiosity also cannot be separated from belonging, flexibility, strength, and assurances. I highlight the religious moments and stories that have inspired Filipinos to resist oppression and transcend colonialism to build a welcoming canopy of family, faith, and community in Canada.

3 Filipinos in Winnipeg

Three years after the repeal of the Order in Council barring Asians from entering Canada, Fe Ryder, Melba Rous, Purification (aka Purita) de la Cruz, and Cora Liago arrived by train in Winnipeg. It was November 1959. The group had spent the day travelling from Rochester, Minnesota, almost nine hundred kilometres away to the southeast. A Catholic nun had reported to them that Winnipeg’s Misericordia Hospital needed nurses. The young women, who had been nursing in Rochester, needed to renew expiring two-year exchange visitor visas. They had applied and received temporary visas for Canada and also employment offers from the Winnipeg hospital. The group intended to apply to re-enter the United States from Canada after two years. Fe and Melba stayed. Purita married and moved to Montreal, and Cora presumably returned to the United States.1 The arrival of these four women has been hailed as the landmark first Filipino immigration to Manitoba in several publications and in nearly every one of my interviews in ­Manitoba.2 Fe Ryder smiles hesitantly in the photograph (fig. 3.1), the lone subject in the centre of the frame. She wears a simple white, short-sleeved nurse’s uniform with white stockings and shoes, but no nurse’s cap. She stands on the pavement at the edge of steps leading to a building. A stray leaf is visible on the ground, but otherwise there is no trace of dirt. Her feet are delicately placed in a pose that seems almost balletic. She leans back confidently, her left hand resting on a planter, as she gazes into the camera lens. The bushes in the planter are thick with foliage. It is spring or summer. Written in faint ink in the upper left-hand corner of the photograph are what appear to be the erased words “To My.” In the lower right-hand corner is her name, “Fe,” and more words that

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Figure 3.1.  Fe Ryder, 1956. Photo Peren, Fe Ryder / Pilipino Express.

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have been rubbed out. Beneath that is the stamp of the photography studio Photo Peren. It is not known where this photograph was taken, and Fe herself does not seem sure. This lack of certainty is something I have often encountered in narratives of Filipino migration. I sense that the power of story is more significant to them than precise details of where and when something took place. Migrants were too busy working and supporting families here and in the Philippines, and many of these details have been forgotten. Exchange programs to the United States lasted two years for nurses and five years for “internships, residencies, and doctors.”3 Fe had gone to the United States in 1957 on a temporary exchange visa and left in 1959 to come to Winnipeg. Studio photographs were expensive and something that people did to celebrate special occasions, like graduation. Lone migrants living in the United States, like Fe, would not have wanted to spend the funds to pay for them. That money was needed to send home to the Philippines and to pay for lodging and food for oneself. It is likely that this photograph was taken upon graduation in the Philippines and sent to relatives as a keepsake to mark this proud moment. A small “56” written on the photograph may indicate the year it was taken. This and other photographs herein help to tell the stories of Filipinos from the bottom up. A person’s stance, gestures, or smile is an important sign of everyday life.4 In 2009 Winnipeg’s Filipino community celebrated its fifty-year anniversary, harking back to the 1959 arrival of the four pioneering nurses. Through events to commemorate the arrival of Manitoba’s first nurses and the retelling of Fe Ryder’s story, Winnipeg Filipinos have established their place in the city’s history of migration. When I told non-Filipino colleagues that I was writing a book about Filipino history in Canada, a number of them remarked that they had always wondered why people from the Philippines made such good health-care workers. I explained that Filipinos in Canada were involved in many more fields than health care, and most agreed, adding that they were also good nannies. I came to learn, through fieldwork and interviewing research participants in Canada as well as in the Philippines, that the stereotype of Filipinos as caregivers and good servants was pervasive. It was especially strong in the United States where “at least twenty-five thousand Filipino nurses migrated to the United States between 1966 and 1985.”5 In fact, it seemed that the tendency to correlate Filipino nationality with the role of nurse or caregiver was a global one.

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Newspaper accounts of Manitoba’s earliest nurses continued to portray nurses stereotypically. In 1965 the Brandon Sun published a story about two Filipino nurses in Elkhorn (population 640). They were among hundreds of Filipino professionals scattered across rural Manitoba.6 Zenaida Guila, age twenty-three, and Magdalena Sagisi, age twenty-four, lived in the nurses’ residence of the local hospital. They had come to the province with other nurses in two separate groups of twenty and twenty-four in May and June of 1965. Canadian Pacific, the same company that had built the transcontinental railway using cheap Chinese labour, was now recruiting cheap foreign nurses in the Philippines. The airline had brokered the deal between nurses and Canadian hospitals. Reporter Murray Ball glowingly described the nurses’ appearance as “crisp and immaculate in their starched white uniforms, their dark hair held neatly in place by nurses’ caps.” Locals who were interviewed for the article spoke effusively about the women: they were nice, polite, and friendly. Zenaida and Magdalena expressed that there was not much to do in the small Manitoba prairie town of Elkhorn except go to the movies. They mused about going to dances but conceded that “there are no boys here … They are all married.” A large photograph below the article displayed the women smiling in their uniforms. The obvious news value to readers was that they were a cute and exotic novelty in the town.7 Other aspects of the Filipino nursing experience, including everyday religious practices and experiences of discrimination, would remain hidden from view and invisible until more people arrived from the Philippines.8 Filipino nurses (both female and male) were perpetually recruited in each of the ensuing decades and under different private and governmental arrangements that were determined in large part by the urgency of the need for nurses in a particular location.9 However, nurses from the Philippines, assisted by different agencies and associations and with different guidelines, continued to arrive to fill staffing shortages throughout the province.10 Although some of the province’s earliest medical professionals eventually left Manitoba and settled in the United States and other parts of Canada, many of them remained, including Olivia and Milton Mestito, who had arrived in early waves of nursing migration and settled in Winnipeg. Individualized narratives help us to understand Filipino migration experiences from the Filipino perspective. From my research I have chosen research participants’ stories that advance the broader narrative in this book about lived Filipino religion and belonging. Nancy

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Ammerman advocates that scholars investigate everyday religion by having an informant to take them on a walk-around of the church, recounting the significance of the space to them.11 Individual narratives in this way are therefore intended to provide a springboard to research participants’ accounts of churches and devotional practices, as well as Filipino associations such as BIBAK and the Knights of Rizal. There will also be specific discussions of some of the everyday beliefs and practices such as healing and Rizal veneration that, in the words of Robert Orsi, were “destined to disappear” but did not.12 Olivia Gobenciong On 23 August 1965 twenty-six Filipino nurses landed at Winnipeg International Airport. They had journeyed more than seven thousand miles to take jobs at hospitals in Manitoba, a vast place of hoped-for prosperity and unknown culture. Olivia Gobenciong (born in 1942; fig.  3.2), like many nurses who followed, received a substantial discount on her airfare. Acknowledging the high cost of flying to Canada from the Philippines, the Canadian government subsidized the cost of airfare and also offered Filipino nurses two-year interest-free loans to cover the cost of the ticket. Canadian Pacific Airlines and its new transPacific routes benefited from this deal. After landing in Winnipeg, Olivia and three other nurses travelled northwest for nine hours by train and car, finally arriving in the town of Swan River at midnight. Just four months earlier Olivia, then twentythree years old, had applied and been selected to become a Canadian landed immigrant.13 She wanted to earn enough money to support her parents: “I thought it was the only way I could help. I was fifth oldest. A nurse’s salary in the Philippines was very low. I was the first one of my family to migrate.” She had decided on Canada after learning about the lengthy wait to work in the United States. The newcomers had heard, of course, that Manitoba’s climate was harsh. When a freak blizzard arrived one day in September, however, it shocked even the locals. Olivia’s supervisor insisted on driving the Filipino nurses home from the hospital, fearing they would ruin their shoes. After he had dropped them off, they ran back outside – two of them with no coats over their nursing uniforms – scooped up handfuls of snow, and posed for photographs to mark the event. In a snapshot from that day (fig. 3.2), four slender young women stand in a tight cluster against trees that are heavily laden with wet snow. Behind them is a dull landscape of

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Figure 3.2.  Left to right: Olivia Gobenciong, Jovita Subido, Lolita Descargar, and Thelma Valerio, Swan River, September 1965. Photograph courtesy of Olivia Gobenciong.

back-yard sheds and a grey sky. The nurses’ smiles are shy and restrained. Even in this moment of fun they convey a sense of duty and decorum. Nurses were in high demand in Swan River, where a hospital had been built but had seen partial closure due to staff shortages.14 In the 1960s and 1970s Canadian girls entered nursing programs in large numbers, and there should have been enough nurses to staff the many hospitals that had been built after the Second World War. However, many nurses, my own mother included, married soon after completing their degrees, started families, and never practised. This left a shortage that Filipino nurses helped to fill.

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There was a Roman Catholic church down the street from the nurses’ residence, which the four women attended from their first Sunday. A Chinese restaurant around the corner served familiar Asian food. On days off they went raspberry and strawberry picking or tobogganing and snowmobiling. They were invited out for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and other holiday meals. Swan River proved a convivial community, but there were no other Filipinos, and it was a long way from Winnipeg. Some of the women wanted to leave after six months. Olivia was determined to stay for a year: “We were the only Filipinos there. We heard there were other Filipinos nearby, but we didn’t know anybody. During the whole year we met nobody else who was Filipino.” Towards the end of her year in Swan River Olivia took a helicopter trip to Sioux Valley First Nation. During the flight she was struck by the remoteness of the place in which she lived, and after the year she chose to move to Winnipeg. Here Olivia landed a job at St Boniface Hospital. Besides two of her Filipino roommates in Swan River who also had moved to Winnipeg, she did not know anyone. She sought belonging through her faith, and on her first weekend in Winnipeg Olivia attended St Edward the Confessor Church. At that time the church did not have a Filipino priest, but, nevertheless, many Filipinos attended there. Milton (Padlon Ben) Mestito When Olivia moved to Winnipeg, she not only discovered large Catholic churches with Filipino congregants, she also met Milton Mestito. Milton was one of four newly arrived Filipino male nurses who had come in the September 1966 wave of migration. The youngest of six children, Milton (Padlon Ben) was born in 1942 in Besao, Mountain province: “My father was working on an American base, and the name of the general was Padlon Quickly. So [my father] said, ‘If I have a child, I will name him after you.’ My brother is Quickly.”15 Padlon was born in the year that the Japanese invaded the Philippines. He describes himself as Bontoc, one of the indigenous peoples of the Philippines and also the name of the region’s capital. Padlon belonged to the same tribe (Igorot) as Hilary Clapp who studied at Trinity College School in Port Hope for three years in the 1900s. Igorot was a general term that, often used pejoratively today, described the region’s five major tribes. When Padlon was eight, his family moved from Besao to the mining town of Mankayan, Benguet, the location of the Lepanto mines.

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The only church and school in the area were Anglican, established by American missionaries in 1912. On the first day of school the children had to line up to enter the classroom. The boy in front of him gave his name as Ben, so Padlon used that name too: “If I got punished [and had to write lines], it was a short name, and I would have to write less. My father was the chief cook in the hospital, and the teacher found him and told my father that his son, Padlon, had not been coming to school.” Unlike children in other parts of the Philippines, Padlon was educated by Anglicans in English, and not in Spanish as was still customary in many Catholic schools. He was given an English name. In grade four he was baptized and confirmed. When he was asked his name for the baptismal certificate, he used “Milton,” the name of one of his American playmates. Indeed, Padlon and his parents had accepted the reality of life under American occupation, surrounded by American missionaries who continued to run the area’s schools. They agreed that an American-sounding name would help Padlon to belong. After high school Milton trained in nursing at Baguio Technical and Commercial Institute (now the University of Baguio). Hospital jobs were scarce, but industrial nurses were in short supply: “Everywhere I went they liked me, because unlike the female nurses I could go into the mines. I chose Mindanao. I worked there for six months, and then I decided to apply for Vietnam. In one week I was asked and going to Vietnam. The Red Cross wanted me to go there. But when I went to ask my mother, my mother said, ‘You will be going to the war,’ and she said no. So I went back to Manila and applied for Canada.” This was in the summer of 1966. Milton’s application for Canada took roughly a month to process. Male nurses were needed, and ­Winnipeg Municipal Hospital (now Riverview Health Centre) sponsored Milton. It paid for his transportation to Canada, which he repaid over time: I arrived in Winnipeg on September 14, 1966, with fourteen dollars in my pocket. I asked the hospital if there was a male nurse dorm, but they only had a residence for ladies. There were two of us who were Filipinos. The first night we stayed at Grace Hospital with a Filipino doctor. Then I asked if anybody could help us. There was a Mrs Janzen, a supervisor at the hospital, who offered her basement, which was fully furnished. I had no idea about basements. We were eight feet underground. When I wrote my mother to tell her I was living eight feet underground, she was so worried because in the Philippines if they put you eight feet underground, you are dead.

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Milton lived in Mrs Janzen’s basement suite for two months. On the first day of work, unaccustomed to traffic rules in Canada, he tried to flag down a bus travelling past him. (In the Philippines jeepneys can be flagged down.) A police car stopped. “The officer said, ‘What are you doing?’ I said, ‘I am late for work.’ He took me to the hospital. That day that I first arrived, I had to apply for a social insurance number. They came over to us to give us a number. The clerk explained that this number is more important than your name, and without it you won’t be paid. I had this terrible feeling because I already had three names – ­Padlon, Ben, and Milton – and now you are giving me a fourth one, which is a number!” Having been born in an era of American occupation and schooled by American missionaries, Milton reflected on the necessity of changing one’s identity to belong in a new world. He had been raised Anglican, but here in Canada he became a Catholic. This was the church that Winnipeg’s Filipino community attended. Milton’s easy-going, friendly nature was a great asset. On his second day of work he again tried to take the bus. He was looking for a bus stop when a police car stopped again. By this time Milton was going to be late for work, and so the police officer drove him. When he got to the hospital, he was summoned to the office. His superiors asked him if he had been in jail. “I said, ‘You know, in Canada the police are very nice. They drive you to work!’” Throughout our conversation Milton displayed a light-hearted attitude to situations that for others might have been negative or a reminder of difficulties or embarrassment. Milton seemed to accept it all in a come-what-may attitude of bahala na. He met Olivia in November 1966 at St Boniface Hospital, soon after she had moved from Swan River to Winnipeg. Olivia recalls: The Filipino nurses and I had heard that there were Filipino nurses who had just arrived – four Filipino men. There were 120 Filipino female nurses and just four men in Winnipeg. Milton was in the elevator, and I walked in. I think I had my back turned. We didn’t talk to each other. He was so friendly with the other Filipino nurses, and I was shy. If I gave him a smile, that was it – I wouldn’t talk. The next thing I know, the nurses that he worked with were asking him if I was his girlfriend. They said to him, “How come you are so quiet with her, and you are not with the other nurses?” I was on a different floor – I went for coffee with other nurses. He started following me. Milton would walk me home.

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Milton walked Olivia home three times, and after that the two were an item.16 They were engaged to be married in 1968 when Milton was transferred to Fisher Branch, Manitoba (population 460 as of the 2011 census), a one-and-a-half-hour drive north of Winnipeg. Olivia decided to join him. Milton and Olivia were part of a group of five nurses who took jobs in the community of Fisher Branch from 1968 to 1973, where there was a shortage of health-care professionals. In October 1969 Milton and Olivia returned to Winnipeg to be married at Our Lady of Victory Church, near where they had lived when they left. Gregoria, Olivia’s sister, came from the Philippines to attend the wedding and then applied to immigrate. She eventually found a job as a music teacher in Fisher Branch, married, and remained there until her retirement. Milton and Olivia had two children, both of whom became medical professionals like their parents. In 1968 Milton joined BIBAK, a group that performed Ifugao and Bontoc festival dances at Filipino events in Winnipeg.17 It was not affiliated with any particular religious group. Other social groups included Winnipeg’s pioneer Filipino-Canadian Association (Fil-Can), founded in 1961 and led by Dr Roland Guzman and his wife, Dr Irene Guzman.18 The group socialized at potlucks, multicultural events, and Filipino or church socials and festivals. By 1967 another social club for younger, newer Filipinos, called the Kayumanggi (Brown) Club, had formed. The Kayumanggi Club organized New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s Day celebrations. The Fil-Can group handled Philippine Independence Day celebrations.19 Fil-Can Winnipeg parties included dances by Milton’s group and other performances from the Philippines at its annual winter celebration. The celebration is a commemoration of the execution of José Rizal on 30 December 1896 and of the growing Winnipeg Filipino community. June celebrations commemorate the independence of the Philippines.20 In 1967, 150 people attended the winter event. Consul-General Fransisco Oira spoke at the dinner, and the organization’s adviser, Dr Jerry Bigornia, was the master of ceremonies. The gathering was held at the Dakota Motor Hotel, which was newly built at the time.21 The St Vital hotel was becoming a familiar spot for Filipino events. Milton described how his indigenous group had been asked to perform for non-indigenous Filipinos decades ago: “There were four members of BIBAK when we performed for the first time on December 29, 1968. It was the first BIBAK dance in Canada, and we were the first organized BIBAK in Canada … The Fil-Can Association wanted us to dance

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the Igorot dance. We knew how to do that dance – dancing with the G string. We performed the first Folklorama dance [at Winnipeg’s multicultural festival, founded in 1970] … [and we travelled] all the way to Thunder Bay [Ontario] to dance.” I had the uncomfortable feeling that this was yet another attempt to put Igorots on display. Christopher Vaughan, referring in part to the exhibiting of “savages” overseas as human curiosities, writes: “The Igorots played an important political role in the debate over the United States’ embrace of missionary imperialism. As objects of cultural otherness, they exemplified the fluid symbiosis between the cultural project of anthropology and the freakmaking machinery of exhibitionary commerce.”22 I asked Milton if he had minded being asked to entertain a group that consisted of many other medical professionals who would be fully dressed, while he and the rest of the dancers wore G strings. Milton was unequivocal in his response. He was not surprised that people wanted to see the Igorot dances, and he did not seem to mind that these performances had made Filipino dancers into spectacles. He was proud of his heritage and happy to share it with the broader Filipino community in Canada. Growing up, Milton had learned the traditional dances that were performed at festivals and rice harvests and throughout the planting season, as well as at parties and weddings. He knew them, he said, by instinct: “I want to keep that heritage going. During the dances we wear our costumes – like the Dutch wearing the wooden shoes and the Scots wearing the kilts. The music is handed down from generation to generation. It’s been the same music for 4,000 years … I heard it and remember it.” I heard repeatedly from other research participants that when they had been asked, by Filipino leaders like Dr Guzman or Europeans like Mrs Sonja Roeder,23 to perform in traditional costumes, they were honoured.24 Many Filipinos drew on home customs that they had taken for granted in the Philippines to form connections here in Canada. In this way everyday religion and cultures, in the words of Robert Orsi, helped them to form “webs of relationships between heaven and earth, living and dead.”25 These webs of relationships grounded them and helped them to belong. Filipinos knew that their costumes and graceful routines would garner interest in their group. They knew that non-Filipinos were curious about their food, dances, and customs. On some level they knew that these were stereotypes, but they also knew that the attention would probably help younger generations become interested in Filipino traditions. It would bring money to their group, which in turn would fund

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programming to help less-privileged domestic and garment workers. This type of entertainment was also enjoyable. By 1994 Winnipeg had a large enough population to form an official chapter of BIBAK. BIBAK had started in Baguio City (the largest city in the mountainous region) of the Philippines in the 1950s.26 The acronym BIBAK is a legacy of the American colonial period. Americans introduced the term to define the five major tribes from the Cordilleras, a mountain range in the northern Philippines: Benguet, Ifugao, Bontoc, Apayao, and Kalinga.27 There are now BIBAK groups in Toronto, Vancouver, Montreal, Calgary, Edmonton, and throughout the world. One is being formed in Regina. Each year the BIBAK Association of Manitoba hosts a Cañao (an Igorot festival), at which tribal cultures are celebrated. In the nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries the Cañao provided the inspiration for popular and exploited performances by Igorots at American exhibitions and fairs, as I discussed earlier in the book. Cañaos today are commonly held in Baguio City to celebrate the culture of the region, and throughout the diaspora.28 Each year the Manitoba BIBAK’s Cañao showcases one of the five tribal groups. In 2016 it was the Ifugao. The event aimed to raise awareness about that region and to raise funds to help “victims of calamities.”29 Tickets were bright green with the image of a bare-chested dancing man dressed in Ifugao costume, consisting of a red woven headdress, sash, G string, and shell necklace. BIBAK’s indigenous members draw on their heritage and colonial past. They are not re-enacting the dances as colonial subjects or as victims of Canadian multicultural policy that promotes ethnic folk dancing. Rather, the staging of Igorot and other folk dances unfixes impressions and reclaims indigenous heritage and cultures for themselves and for future generations.30 Milton explained matter of factly and without judgment that before the Americans and Anglicanism had arrived in the Mountain province, the Igorot people were pagans: Lumawig was the name of God … The Americans changed the name of our god. Before the Americans came, we had a prayer about Lumawig on a boat – that’s almost the same as the story of Noah. I still recognize the heritage of Bontoc, but I’m an Anglican. To give you an example, at the funeral, you have to butcher ten pigs [throughout] the whole year, for the religion. But my uncle was an Anglican priest and would not allow that, so as a

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c­ ompromise we would butcher one or two. The ritual required that three are butchered on the first day of death, two on day two. This ritual is to ensure the person goes to heaven. After six months three more pigs are butchered, and at the end of the year two pigs are butchered. Members of the family do not eat the pig that is sacrificed – people who come to the ceremony eat it. We mourn the dead for a year. We wear black for the year. We have a normal working schedule during that time. At the end of the year we take off the black. In Bontoc we have some different customs from other Filipinos. For instance, there is no kissing of elder heads by young children. We respect the elders the way they are. We have healers like other Filipinos. Every area has hilots. They can feel your nerves.

Milton’s comments suggested Filipino resilience and an ambivalent attitude towards their colonial past and religion. Today it is understood that Canada’s indigenous peoples – First Nations, Metis, and Inuit – have distinct histories, languages, cultures, and traditions. However, not long ago they too were seen to be one people. Indeed, indigenous peoples throughout the world have been made indistinct, and entire cultures have been wiped out through settler colonialism. Milton had been re-educated at an Anglican school and given a Western name. Like Hilary Clapp and other Igorots, he remained proud of his heritage and strong in his Anglican faith, but he easily converted to Catholicism once he moved to Canada. When Olivia and Milton returned to Winnipeg in 1976, they joined Christ the King Roman Catholic Parish, near their home. It was a newer church, built in 1965, and served a largely European community. The couple believed that it was important to raise their children in one faith, and so Milton has remained a Catholic. Their children were baptized within the Catholic Church but they were not sent to the Catholic school adjoining the church. Milton and Olivia preferred the school that was within walking distance from their home. Later, when Olivia and Milton moved within Winnipeg, they joined St John Brebeuf Parish. Neither Christ the King nor St John’s have large Filipino congregations or Filipino images, devotional shrines, or priests. A Catholic church in Canada did not need to have these things, they said; their spiritual life outside the church kept them linked to Filipino traditions. Milton connected to his Filipino heritage through BIBAK, and Olivia had a home shrine. On a return visit to the Philippines, eight years after she had left, Olivia purchased a small Santo Niño statue, which still sits in her Winnipeg bedroom today.

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Olivia and Milton still attend St Edward’s several times a year on special occasions, such as the death anniversary of Father Neil Parado (1934–2011), the priest who had married Olivia’s sister. Sometimes Olivia and Milton receive invitations to Filipino weddings that are held there, but they strongly believe in supporting their local church. Olivia and Milton have always sat in the back pew of the church. At first they did this out of fear that their children might make noise and they might have to leave the service quickly. Now that their children are grown they continue to do it out of habit. On the death anniversary of their parents they ask the priest to include their parents’ names in the mass for the dead. For Olivia, Milton, and other early nurses from the Philippines, the Catholic Church, especially St Edward’s, has always been central to their belonging in Canada. Olivia and Milton have active devotional lives. Milton is a member of the Knights of Columbus. Olivia is not part of the Catholic Women’s League, but she leads prayers when people in the Filipino community die. In the Philippines, when someone died, there was a week-long wake, and the body remained in the home. Large quantities of lechon and noodles were needed to feed the people who came to pay their respects. A Catholic priest would pray for the soul of the departed and perform various blessings. In Canada, however, such rituals had to change. A wake, or lamay (in Tagalog), usually lasted from six o’clock in the evening to midnight at a Winnipeg funeral parlour, whereas in the Philippines it continued through the night, at home beside the corpse before burial.31 Many Filipinos went to the funeral parlour for just one evening, paid their respects, had a little food, and went home. Even though Olivia now lives in Canada, she continues to feel morally responsible and duty bound to keep home traditions alive and respect the last wishes of deceased Filipinos who need Catholic religious rituals to be performed at death. Olivia continues the homebased tradition of leading prayers for the dead in people’s homes. For nine days, representing the time that the soul lingers following death, she organizes a group of Filipinos to bring food and say mass at the house of the deceased. She does this once the family has arrived home from work, after five o’clock in the evening. Olivia brings her crucifix and sometimes a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary. She arranges the crucifix and the statue at the front of the room, alongside candles, flowers, and a photograph of the person who has died. She makes sure that the table on which she places the items for the altar is accessible and can be seen during the prayers. In the Philippines it was the priest who

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organized the mass for the dead, but here in Canada people like Olivia do it for friends and family. After the mass she and a few other women in her parish prepare the food that they have brought, and everyone eats together. Both Olivia and Milton had migrated as nurses through the legacy of colonialism. They had arrived in the early waves of Filipino nursing migration to Manitoba, taken jobs outside Winnipeg, and then had found belonging in Winnipeg, anchored by their Catholic faith and church. While Olivia also connected to Filipino culture through devotional practices, for Milton and the many other men who migrated after him the bayanihan spirit was cultivated through Bontoc dances and songs and the largely hidden narratives that in the Philippines had inhabited the underside. Through Winnipeg’s BIBAK, Milton and other Bontocs had been able to recover, reclaim, and reinvigorate their cultural and religious past as migrants in Manitoba. In 1969 there had been just over one thousand Filipinos in Manitoba. A decade later, in 1979, almost ten thousand Filipinos lived in ­Manitoba.32 What made Filipinos of the 1970s different than earlier nurses and teachers? Newcomers arrived now in much larger number, and they came under a variety of classifications and migration policies. Sometimes they still had to work outside of Winnipeg. Many of them arrived in waves of garment workers, temporary foreign workers, temporary residents, international students, and religious workers. Their migration pathways were still defined by histories of colonialism, and migrants were still very religious. Manuelita Mejos Manuelita Mejos, who came to Canada in 1972, first lived with her sister. She and her sister went to Holy Rosary in a Catholic parish that had relocated to the Osborne Village neighbourhood in 1967.33 Newly built and modern, the church served an Italian congregation and offered services in English and Italian. Manuelita had been a teacher in the Philippines and worked as a health-care aide in Winnipeg until she had completed the required additional education courses. From 1983 to 1996 she worked as a teacher in Pelican Rapids (a seven-hour drive northwest of Winnipeg) and also at Norway House (eight-and-a-half hours north of Winnipeg). Living in a remote community was difficult, and Manuelita requested early retirement and returned to Winnipeg at the age of fifty-five. She took a job at

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St Edward’s, co-ordinating children’s catechism classes, something she had done in the Philippines since high school. Mike Pagtakhan Mike Pagtakhan (born in 1970) began his life in Bacoor, Cavite province. His father, Rafael, had worked after university for a short time as an accountant when, in 1972, President Marcos instituted martial law. Rafael’s brother Rey Pagtakhan sponsored the family to come to Canada in 1973: “My parents decided to move because they didn’t want us to experience martial law. They wanted us to live a free life and have maximum opportunity. My uncle Rey was here [in Winnipeg]. He was telling us about how great it was … He said, ‘Now is the time because Canada is accepting immigrants.’ So my parents saved money and borrowed some from another uncle, and they came here to Canada.”34 In Winnipeg Rafael worked as a comptroller at a bank, and Mike’s mother, Alice, initially stayed at home with the children. Eventually she became a hospital dietary aide. For the first three months the family lived in the house of Mike’s uncle Rey in St Vital and then purchased a home in the same area.35 In the early years the extended family shared bus rides throughout the city, learning where to shop, what clothing to buy for the winter, and about Canadian culture. They became involved in the neighbourhood church, Christ the King, where they interacted with other Filipinos. But there were no Filipinos in Mike’s school classes: We grew up in St Vital, and the Filipinos who came during that time moved into the West End or into the Maples and Tyndall Park area. When I was seven, eight, and nine years old, kids would remind me of that: “Hey, you look different, you’re from China,” or “You’re from Japan.” And I would say, “I’m from the Philippines.” They said, “Where is that?” I said, “Well, it’s its own country, the Philippines.” They said, “No, you’re from China, we know you’re from China.” My brother and I were starting to doubt it, so we asked our parents, “Where is the Philippines? In China?” And they said, “No, it’s its own country.”

Mike graduated from Dakota Collegiate. When he was about nineteen, he decided to take training in Sikaran, a Filipino martial art, and become more involved in Winnipeg’s Filipino community. He went on to complete a degree in anthropology and native studies at the University of Manitoba. In 1988, representing Winnipeg North, his uncle Rey

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became the first Filipino-born Canadian to be elected to the House of Commons.36 Helping on Uncle Rey’s campaigns led Mike to consider politics as something he too might do to serve his community. Upon graduation, he worked at Manitoba Hydro until 2002, when he was elected the Winnipeg city councillor for the ward of Point Douglas. By 2002 Mike was married to Mina and had two children: “I met Mina at Folklorama. She had just come from the Philippines. It was my second year dancing with the Folklorama [troupe]. I wanted to practise Tagalog, so I actually said, ‘Just speak to me in Tagalog, and I’m pretty sure I can understand you.’ So we just sort of hit it off that way.” Mike’s father was especially religious, and he passed that down to Mike when he was growing up. Mike and his family always go to church if they have time, and although he was raised a Catholic, he now attends a Protestant church. The fact that he goes to a Protestant church and not a Catholic one did not occupy much time in the interview. Mike stated this matter of factly and then went on to discuss the centrality of religion in his life. Mike and Mina’s children attend a faith-based school. Religion is not limited to church life: “I learned that at an early age, and, if you pray together, you stay together and, you know, we fundamentally believe – at least, my family believes – in a higher power. So it’s an important part of our life. And, yes, it is important for all Filipinos, I think – for a lot, for a good number, a good number, whether it’s Roman Catholicism, or whether it’s Iglesia ni Cristo, or whether it’s Jehovah’s Witness, or whatever, you know, there’s a lot of Filipinos that are very religious.” In 2005 Mike travelled to the Philippines with then-mayor Sam Katz and key leaders in Winnipeg’s Filipino community. It was the first time he had returned since his emigration as a young child more than thirty years earlier. Mike organized the trip to mark the twenty-fifth anniversary of Winnipeg’s twinning with Manila. One goal of the trip was to deliver a thousand books that students at Winnipeg’s Tyndall Park Community School had collected for Manila’s Fernando Maria Guerrero Elementary School. Mike recalls: I stepped off the airplane. The first thing I experienced was the smell of diesel fuel, and the first thing I felt was the incredible humidity. And I thought, “Wow, this is my home country?” [laughs] Then, it was interesting … when you see Filipinos everywhere – on the bus and in a taxi or in a grocery store – this is a neat feeling … I had always identified myself as

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a Canadian, and my lens was people from all over the world, all different nationalities, and I wasn’t used to seeing everyone who looked like me.

One of Mike’s many community involvements has been with the Filipino Youth Initiative, and another had been as president of the Bacoor Association of Manitoba, a group of people with roots in his home city of Bacoor. Throughout his discussion of this involvement and other community projects, Mike repeatedly referred to the Filipino spirit of bayanihan that kept communities and families strong and well connected: Halo-halo literally means “mix-mix.” It’s a fruit parfait with ice in it and [evaporated] milk. And it can have some sweet red beans. It will have some jackfruit and palm nuts and corn in it. It will have what’s called ube [purple yam] in it, and some shaved ice. Then you put milk on it, and a little bit of sugar and maybe some ice cream, and it’s really, really good. Halo-halo for me symbolizes the entirety of the Philippines. It’s really a mix of languages, a mix of cultures, a mix of foods … It reflects the cosmopolitan nature of Filipino culture.

Tess Newton Tess Newton was born in 1950 in Magallanes, Sorsogon province.37 She is the third of ten children. Her father was a businessman who sold dried fish throughout the region, and her mother ran the family fish store. When Tess finished high school, she enrolled in teachers’ college at Albay Normal School, now Bicol University. Upon graduation she taught elementary school in Bicol for a year and then moved to Manila. Tess’s sister Lolina came to Canada in 1973 to work as a nanny. She had paid five hundred dollars to a travel agency that promised to get her an American visa. When that did not happen, she asked a family friend, Robert Blaine, who was the principal of the American school in the Philippines, for help. He said: “You guys, stop wasting your money. When I go back to the United States, I’ll find a job for you, as long as you don’t choose the United States. ’Cause there’s no way you can go there. You can go to Canada. It’s very open to immigration.” Lolina applied for a job that Robert read about in the Winnipeg Free Press. He called the couple who had placed the advertisement, and made arrangements, and Dr and Mrs Cogan sponsored Lolina to come to Canada as a live-in caregiver on a two-year contract. When her contract was up, the Cogans arranged for Tess to come in 1976 to work for

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them. Tess was a teacher, but it was easier for her to come to Canada as a nanny. Life was good with the Cogans, who to this day treat Tess and her family as part of their own. While Tess was working for the Cogans, she took courses at Winnipeg’s Red River Community College. Here she met Doug, who was an instructor at the college: “I’m looking for my room, I cannot find it, and pick out this guy in the crowd, and I ask him. I thought he was a student, I didn’t know he was teaching there, and just asked, ‘Excuse me, I’m lost.’” Tess was the only Asian student at Red River Community College in 1977. The two quickly became a pair. Tess and her sister have always been close. When Lolina moved to Manila, Tess followed. When Lolina moved to Winnipeg, she followed again. And when her sister said she was moving to Edmonton, Tess moved too. After a year in Edmonton, though, Tess realized she wanted to marry her boyfriend: “So I moved [back] to Winnipeg. And then we had our daughter, Jennifer, in 1980. In 1981 he gets sick, cancer, and he died in 1982. So I raised Jennifer by myself.” Tess had the image of Jesus, the Virgin Mary, and Santo Niño in a shrine in her home, and she had prayed to saints to intercede on her behalf and heal her husband. When her husband died, she let him touch the rosary with his last breath. She believed strongly that he could be saved and enter heaven through doing this. Tess, who was living alone with her daughter in Stonewall, coped “through prayers and religion. I was so involved in the Catholic church.” Tess’s husband had had life insurance, and because of that she was able to stay home for the first seven years of her daughter’s life. She sponsored her mother to immigrate in 1987. When Tess went back to work, she was a supervisor in Winnipeg’s downtown Holiday Inn restaurant. She enjoyed her job, but she was turning forty and looking for ways to spend more time at home with her daughter. A co-worker suggested she sell life insurance. She got her licence and in the fall of 1989 became the first woman in her life insurance branch. Since at least the 1930s Sun Life has recruited Asians to sell insurance to co-ethnics38 by travelling throughout the province, sharing conversation, coffee, and meals with co-ethnics who have bought or may buy life insurance from them.39 When she started the job, Tess was one of the few Filipinos selling insurance in the province. People told her that she would not last, but Tess has “been successful from day one.” She adds: Filipinos, our culture is to help our extended family. The new immigrants here want to help their families. So, number one in the Philippine

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c­ ommunity is buying life insurance, because they hear lots of stories. There was a story on Good Morning Canada about someone who had a working visa in Canada. He just passed away, so the problem is how you are going to send the body home because he doesn’t have any life insurance. In the Philippines only the well-off can buy life insurance because of the cost; it’s so expensive. But in Canada it’s not.

Today Tess has some two thousand clients. She lives with Lolina, who helps to care for their ninety-year-old mother. Tess visits clients often, attends parties, and organizes community events where clients socialize. A few years ago she held a “breakfast with Santa Claus,” and each summer she holds a “fun day” at Thunder Rapids, an amusement park: “I bring some food, barbeque, and different businesses I’m dealing with donate door prizes. The parents eat, and the kids, I give them tickets, free tickets for the amusement. There’s golf there and so many activities, and they love it.” Tess has clients throughout Manitoba, including Indigenous reservations. She provides group insurance in Sandy Bay, Saskatchewan, through a contact and also has clients in Vancouver. In saying this, Tess wanted me to know that she did not sell life insurance just to Filipinos. As a Filipino Canadian businesswoman she had won sales awards and been successful in her company. She is now a mentor and a leader in the community. She has integrated and left Canada’s multicultural margins where she initially belonged as a nanny. I asked Tess how she had managed so well as a single mother with a career: “I pray a lot, asking how to do it. I can understand what people are going through, and it brings me to tears. Without my faith I would not have been able to do anything.” Although Tess continues her Catholic devotional practices, she now goes to Protestant, not Catholic, church. I have appreciated my conversations with Tess over the years, during a meal at a Filipino restaurant, at church, and by email. Tess carefully explained Filipino anting-anting, hilots, and her daily use of different religious objects. When I discussed these customs with others during fieldwork in Manitoba and in the Philippines, some people were quick to dismiss them as a kind of irrelevant backward rural religiosity. They encouraged me to focus on more “legitimate” forms of Filipino religion guided by the Bible, priests, and pastors. Tess was the first one who also explained to me the role of hilots in Filipino society. She pointed me in the direction of the underside.

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Gemma Dalayoan Gemma Dalayoan (born in 1941) comes from Casiguran, Sorsogon province.40 Tess and Gemma were the only Filipinos in the study who came from this province. Born roughly a decade apart, both attended Protestant churches, but both had also been raised Catholic and continued to pray the rosary and say devotional prayers to various saints. Gemma explained that she was “the illegitimate daughter of a Catholic priest.” She was the fourth of eight children fathered by Reverend Father José Ofrasio, who was also a well-known writer in the Philippines. Growing up, Gemma and her siblings were kept out of the public eye. They were told to keep the identity of their father secret. Gemma did well in school: “My father inculcated in me a desire to strive for excellence.” Gemma studied history and English at the University of the East in Manila and graduated in 1962. Then she got married and taught for seven years. After President Marcos declared martial law in 1972, her husband, Antonio, migrated to Brazil to find better-paying work to support his family. After a few years he returned, and he and Gemma applied to come to Canada. They were accepted as independent immigrants. Antonio had first cousins in Winnipeg who worked in the garment industry, and those connections helped them to settle into the community. When Gemma arrived in 1976, she heard the same thing that Jean and Carmen had been told seven years earlier: teachers were often sent up north. She had young children, so, instead of teaching, she too opted for a job in the garment factory in downtown Winnipeg. She lasted six months. After quitting the factory job, Gemma became a stay-at-home mother. She was determined, though, to become active in the community. She took classes at the University of Manitoba and volunteered: “From the moment I arrived, I was always there, always at all the functions in the community.” Meanwhile, Gemma’s husband, who was an engineer by profession, worked at a tannery. Discouraged by the job, he left and took a job in Greenland. After a few years he returned to Winnipeg, where he landed a job as a machinist with Canadian National Railway. He retired in 1995. Gemma’s determination and grit paid off. She became a teacher, a vice-principal, an activist, an author, and a researcher, having obtained her bachelor of education degree in 1983 and her masters of English as a second language in 1990. Notably, she was first author of the selfpublished First Filipino Immigrants in Manitoba, 1959–1975.

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Roughly half of our conversation focused on her impressive array of community involvements during the four decades she had lived in Winnipeg. Gemma was used to being interviewed and being a research participant. I encountered this a few times during fieldwork because the research field was full of others documenting that community’s life and customs for government, marketing, and religious agencies. At the time, Gemma was writing her biography, which documented her life as the illegitimate daughter of a Catholic priest. Much of my interview with her focused on personal religious reflections and the role of spirituality in her life. This had sustained her during the difficult years in which she raised her six children while her husband was away in Brazil and Greenland. As with many Filipinos with whom I spoke, Gemma accepted that she had to make sacrifices for her family. Gemma’s social network was church-based for much of her life in Canada. It was also determined by devotional groups that provided the bonding capital, or social glue, that kept together people who came from different provinces but favoured the same saints. It also provided the bridging capital that linked people from different Filipino regions to the broader civic society.41 As Filipinos helped each other, debts of gratitude (utang na loob) bound them together. Gemma did not feel confined to the Catholic Church, orthodoxy, or involvement in the Cenacle Prayer Group and traditional devotional groups. When she was lonely or depressed or had panic attacks, she would go to church by herself and pray. She credits the persistence of her faith for her success: “I think all throughout my life, what helped me was my faith and tenacity and willpower to live for the sake of our children.” Although she was raised a Catholic, Gemma was open to other Christian groups. After the birth of her second-youngest child, she suffered from vertigo and sought traditional Filipino healers. She did not go to a hilot. Her mother-in-law suggested she go to a healer at Winnipeg’s Iglesia ni Cristo Church, so she did: “I saw a laser-like light fall on my knee. I was taken there for the vertigo, but it was the pain I was feeling in my knee and my legs that caused it, and it was very painful. Because of the [religious functionary’s] prayers, I am now healed.” Gemma spoke at length about an accident she had had in June 2013 and how she had been saved by Jesus. She had been returning late at night from a Philippine heritage party. She was wearing an expensive gown specially made in the Philippines, and the event had been a good

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one. She was dropping two friends off on the way home, and so the route she took was unfamiliar: There was a hazard sign on Elgin, which I did not see because it was too dark. I hit a curb, and then – this is something that’s very eerie and very surreal for me … If you are driving, you have the rear[view] mirror to your left side, right? So obviously you will be seeing the cars coming from behind your car. What I saw was not from behind, but [the] front corner of my car that hit the block, or the curb. I saw this sparkle, it was gold … and then my car went up on the grass, and I was floating. I saw myself floating inside a tunnel of gold.

Gemma was not aware of the loud bang in the car. That was the sound of the airbag inflating and a sign of the seriousness of the crash. She and her passenger, Clarita, were able to climb out. The car was on its side, and the ambulance had already arrived. Gemma had multiple broken bones. She was taken to the hospital and spent three days in critical condition. Yet she healed quickly. Gemma had been questioning her faith in God at this time, but after the accident she described the sparkle of gold that she had seen after the crash as an apparition of Jesus and a message from God that she had been saved. Winnipeg’s Filipino migrants mostly attended the city’s Catholic churches, were involved in local voluntary associations, and had cherished home-based devotional practices. Tess, Gemma, and Mike talked about how they now attended Protestant, not Catholic, churches. The Filipino migrants did not just have St Edward’s where they could find belonging and celebrate their customs. They freely explored a full range of Filipino religiosity – hilots, visions, food practices, family values – which all became meaningful beyond the Catholic Church and linked to belonging in Winnipeg.

4 Filipinos in Brandon

Filipinos immigrated to the hinterlands of Manitoba from the beginning. Some of them settled there, but most gravitated to Winnipeg. F ­ ilipinos who lived outside Winnipeg visited the city often. They attended Saturday or Sunday mass at St Edward’s and for an hour experienced the feeling of being at home again. Belonging in Canada, for almost all Filipinos in this study, was primarily experienced by joining a community of believers. Churches provided a single venue where religious life was organized by a familiar liturgical calendar. They also connected new migrants to priests and pastors who had the power to inspire and guide faithful followers. Weekly sermons given by clerical staff varied depending on the liturgical week, which was either ordinary time or part of the special sacred seasons of Advent, Christmas, Lent, and Easter. Anchored by the homilies and the Eucharist throughout the year, people felt secure in their faith. Over time they branched out and settled in other Winnipeg neighbourhoods. Chain migration brought families to Manitoba in greater number, spurring the development of Filipino communities beyond Winnipeg. Brandon The migration narrative told to me by Brandon’s Filipino community began with the migration of Dr Arthur Conde, a cardiologist, who had urged friends to migrate to Canada beginning in the 1960s. Conde had trained with specialists in New York, applied for landed immigrant status in Canada, and started working in Hamilton, Ontario, in 1960 as a resident physician. However, a year later the Ontario College of

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­ hysicians and Surgeons decided that his medical degree from the UniP versity of the Philippines was insufficient preparation. Facing another year of interning, Conde left Ontario and wrote his medical exams in Vancouver, where his credentials were accepted. By 1964 Conde had joined friends who had already migrated to Brandon. He worked for the Brandon Hospital for Mental Diseases, and after a few years he returned to the United States to work.1 Brandon is Manitoba’s second-largest city, located about 214 kilometres west of Winnipeg, but with a significantly smaller population. As of 2011 Brandon’s metropolitan-area population was about 53,000, compared with Winnipeg’s 730,000, and Filipinos in Brandon numbered some 550 persons. Brandon’s earliest five Filipino families were all Catholic. They attended St Augustine of Canterbury Church (also known as St Augustine’s), built in 1902. Initially the church served Brandon’s Belgian community and later the broader European community. The city’s second church was St Mary’s, built in 1904, which served Ukrainians (with English and Ukrainian mass on Sundays). A third parish, St Hedwig’s Roman Catholic Church, opened in 1920 to serve the city’s Polish community. Today St Hedwig’s offers mass only in Spanish. In Brandon the Catholic churches linked the language of service with the ethnicity of the churchgoer. Since St Augustine’s offered daily mass (except Mondays) and Saturday and Sunday services in English, it was the Catholic church of choice for the Filipino community.2 All the original Filipino families in Brandon sent their children to St Augustine’s Catholic school. Besides attending the school and weekly mass, they socialized with other Filipinos at potlucks and summer picnics and on special occasions. The families intertwined as they became godparents to the each other’s children. The children served as altar boys and girls and were members of the youth groups and the choir. Brandon’s Filipino community was strongly defined by the Catholic Church, family, and home devotional customs. Lone Filipino migrants who came to Brandon experienced less belonging, especially if they did not attend St Augustine’s. Milagros Ranoa, who came to Brandon University to work as a professor in the sociology department in 1977, was not a churchgoer.3 For three decades she lived alone in an apartment. She was isolated from the rest of the Brandon Filipino community and had few to no community ties or interactions, even religious ones that defined other Catholic Filipinos in Brandon. When she retired from the university in 2005, she did not leave a forwarding address for friends and colleagues.4

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Eliza (born in 1961) came to Brandon to work as a nanny in 1991. When she first arrived, she attended St Augustine’s: “There was nothing really [going on]. There were no programs. Aside from [mass] every Sunday, I didn’t really get involved with any kind of church activities.”5 She eventually joined Protestant churches where she knew a few Filipinos. Many Filipinos in Manitoba explained that they chose churches that would pick them up for the Sunday service: “I went to Bethel [Christian Assembly] Church, and I stayed there for quite a while, and then I tried Grand Valley [Community] Church. I met a lot of nice people at Bethel Church. That’s where I usually go. I believe in God, but I am not a fanatic. I’m not a fanatic churchgoer.”6 In Brandon, where buses ran only intermittently on Sundays and churches were dispersed, Bethel’s pick-up service was convenient for people who worked at a part-time job in addition to a full-time one. As with many research participants, Eliza was supporting family back home, saving for a future in Canada, and taking classes so that she could advance to better-paying jobs. Cesar and Rosita Gonzales Brandon needed nurses and also librarians, as Dr Conde had said. Cesar Gonzales (1934–2015) was born in San Miguel, Manila.7 The eldest child in the family, he was in his late twenties when his parents, Simeon and Teofila Gonzales, migrated to Brandon in 1963.8 Cesar’s mother, Teofila, came to work at the library at Brandon College (now Brandon University). His father, Simeon, took up nursing in the city. Gliceria Dimaculangan, Teofila’s sister, became the head librarian at Brandon Public Library. Cesar, his wife Rosita, and their five children migrated four years after Simeon and Teofila did, in 1967. The entire family had come in search of better lives and because a family friend, Dr Arthur Conde, urged them to come. The migration pathway of Cesar Gonzales, a Filipino teacher, had also been shaped by the colonial past and the belief that a Western education was superior and helped to civilize Filipinos. Filipino teachers were mostly women who encountered few difficulties migrating to Canada to fill an economic need and a shortage of teachers. Unlike the earliest nurses, most Filipino teachers had to take additional education degree courses before they qualified for teaching positions in Manitoba. They were similar to nurses in that they were almost always offered a job outside of Winnipeg, often in unpopular communities. Here

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they found belonging through churches but also through devotional practice. Cesar had been a teacher in the Philippines, and when he arrived, he was offered teaching positions in northern Manitoba, Alberta, and Ontario. For twenty years he taught in northern towns, and for the other half of his career he taught special education classes at Brandon’s New Era School. He was also a member of St Augustine’s Knights of Columbus. Rosita worked part-time at the library. Their children did not grow up speaking Tagalog, but they were raised Catholic. Nellie Raval Salaysay had also heard that Brandon needed teachers. She was a Brandon College education student from Manila. She told a Brandon Sun reporter that she had been struck by the large size of Manitoba and the “efficiency and dispatch with which Canadians do things in contrast with the more leisurely way the Filipinos carry out their duties.” Nellie studied with Cleotilde Cabral Andulan, another education student from the Philippines, at Brandon College in 1966.9 The young teachers were known to attend St Augustine’s church and take part in community events. They graduated in 1967 with certificates of education.10 Rosalita and Cesar (the study’s only male teacher) came to Brandon primarily because of family ties. Once Cesar’s parents had died and been buried in Brandon, they remained there, close to their familial gravesites. Brandon had become their local religious realm in which the living and the dead remained intimate and connected through devotional practice. As their children grew up and moved away, the church became less significant while their home-based devotional practices increased. When Cesar first laid eyes on Brandon, he wondered, “Why is this a dead city?” “Nobody was walking on Rosser Avenue, the city’s main street. No barber shops seemed to be open. Everything was closed. I said, ‘Oh my goodness, where have the people gone?’” Cesar and Rosita stayed in Brandon because his parents were there. He had a two-year contract with the Brandon school division, which eventually became permanent. It was a good job. Brandon was quiet but friendly. I interviewed Cesar in the summer of 2015. He had been sick since January and had recently been discharged from the hospital, and he still depended on an oxygen tank. Cesar and Rosita said that his parents had been buried in a Brandon cemetery, along with his youngest brother. It was their plan to be buried there as well. They had enjoyed their life in Brandon. The church was not in their city neighbourhood,

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and they no longer regularly attended St Augustine’s. Once their children had moved away, there was less incentive to go, and they did not know the congregation as well any more. They felt like they had made a new home in Brandon, but they were still being mistaken for Chinese or Korean. Rosita missed the Philippines, but when she returned there in 2000, she found little to cherish: “It stinks. All smoke and dust.” Her sister had resided in the mother (family) home in the barangay back in the Philippines, but it had been flooded and was now gone. Rosita had no home to which she might return. Religion had been the couple’s lifelong anchor. Although they had been active churchgoers for years, the home devotional practices were becoming more important. They had had a priest bless their house and garden with holy water and candles, for about twenty dollars. As for their car, they had it blessed in Vancouver by a Chinese priest. They kept a rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, and a picture of an angel on the dashboard. These items kept them safe while they were driving. Rosita performed the Pabasa (ritual singing of the Pasyon during Holy Week) at her home each year, and Cesar took part. Cesar was not sure about anting-anting. He had had a medallion that he used to carry to bring blessings, but he had forgotten about it in recent years. Disillusioned, he wondered, “Where were [the blessings] when the Japanese were in the Philippines?” Rosita had converted a walk-in coat closet just inside their home’s entrance into a small chapel. The floor was packed with statuary, and every inch of the walls was festooned with religious objects.11 The objects for the most part reflected the Filipino pattern of devotion to deities in familial terms, mostly as mothers and sons: Mother Mary; Jesus, the Son of God; and Santo Niño, the infant Christ.12 There were different crosses, including a dark wooden one that was believed to be so sacred that a priest who had visited Rosita’s home had wanted it. There was a main altar with a large framed image of Mary holding Santo Niño. Below were various smaller images of Mary and the Christ Child, along with angels. On the table was a small statue of Jesus nailed to the Cross, candles, incense, and small vases of fresh flowers. When I said that I wanted to take a photograph of the room, Rosita said that the picture would be better if she turned on the string of Christmas lights for me (fig. 4.1). On the right side of the room, high on the wall, was a large statue of Jesus with outstretched hands, surrounded by a string of white lights.

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Figure 4.1.  One wall of Rosita Gonzales’s home chapel, Brandon, August 2015. Photograph by author.

Below him was an image depicting the Last Supper, and beneath it a pot filled with sand and dozens of burned incense sticks. Next to it but elevated were a red-robed Santo Niño, Mother Mary, Jesus, angels, and an image of Santa Claus. Beneath this display were more candles, incense, vases of fresh flowers, a copy of the Pasyong Mahal for the Pabasa, Bibles, and other items. The room was apparently well used, having become even more essential in their lives now that Cesar was ill: “Two angels and Jesus visited me in the chapel and stood before me early one morning while I prayed. I was surprised. This was before my husband got sick.”13 I had glanced into the room on my way into the house. Midway through our interview I asked Rosita about it. She explained that she needed to tell me about it. Praying gave her energy. She continued: “I feel this burning in my heart [when I pray]. It’s a warm feeling. It is the time to have this prayer room documented.” Rosita often burns

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incense, lights candles, and prays in the early morning when she cannot sleep. She has had friends come and use the prayer room. Rosita also keeps a Santo Niño in the kitchen, which is different from the others. Here the infant Christ is dressed in a simple green tunic and pants. He is Santo Niño de Palaboy and is perched on the cupboards, facing people as they enter and keeping watch over everyone. When Cesar was being operated on at the hospital, he saw the Angel of Death visit him and was very frightened. Sadly, Cesar died in the autumn of 2015. Research participants who were Catholic and resided in Manitoba beyond Winnipeg, more than those from Winnipeg, told narratives in which religious objects figured prominently. Santo Niño and other saints gave newcomers agency and assurances in foreign lands where churches were unlike those at home. Everyday religion helped people to adjust and cope with dislocation, connecting Filipinos to their national heritage and a colonial past. They made God present in their homes.14 Rosita’s home chapel brought to mind other participants, usually in rural locales, who had made elaborate shrines. I wondered how long it had taken them to choose and place the items that decorated closets, bedrooms, and cars. How had people come to have the crosses and golden angels that hung around their necks? Had these religious items come from sacred tombs and shrines in the Philippines or elsewhere? Religious objects helped me to understand individual relationships with deities, saints, angels, and family. Research participants used these objects to establish religious intimacy with these entities and ancestors through prayer, song, and devotion. As these objects helped Filipinos to connect with the divine, so they also helped Filipinos to connect with other migrants who shared patron saints and related beliefs and customs. People from the same province shared similar Santo Niño images and used them in the way they did in the province of Cebu or the region of Bicol. In this way religious objects helped people to cultivate religious capital outside of churches. Beyond Winnipeg, people were not able to join large, vibrant Filipino congregations like St Edward’s that provided regional bonds and belonging. Devotional religious objects helped me to think about what had happened in the past. Cesar did not bring his anting-anting around with him any more. In his inner library of stories he had reflected on the bad things that had happened in the Philippines, and he had wondered why this small amulet had not helped. As Ludmilla Jordanova adds, these things “[have] a history, and … objects necessarily played a

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central role within it.”15 Religious objects reminded people of the past and connected them to narratives that had remained in the background because of colonialization and migration. Migrants were sentimental about statues, rosaries, and framed pictures. These treasured items mediated memories of childhood, family members, and friends who had passed away, of visits and travel, and of home in the Philippines. I did not have the opportunity to visit the homes of all research participants in Manitoba. The majority of Catholic homes that I did see either in person or in photographs in Brandon, Winnipeg, Morden, Portage la Prairie, and Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes were festooned with religious objects. Most people did not have these devotional items in their suitcases when they arrived; they were acquired later. When migrants came to Manitoba, they brought a rosary or wore a cross – that was all. Cherished objects remained in their mother (family) home in the Philippines. Some talked about visits back to the islands and about the various small statues, prayer booklets, crosses, plaques, holy water, Bibles, and other items that they had purchased, which then held places in their Canadian homes. Erving Goffman referred to suitcases as “identity kits.” Migrants travel with bare necessities and only those things that will define them in socially appropriate ways. Once they have settled and put down roots, they are able to bring cherished religious objects from home.16 Religious objects were part of the underside that mediated the migrant experience.17 Some were meant to provide blessings to a particular space. These remained in back-yard grottos (if people had back yards) and in bathrooms, bedrooms, kitchens, living rooms, and home shrines and chapels. Other religious objects were very much designed to accompany the migrant and provide blessings throughout the day and during travel. Rosaries were suspended from rearview mirrors, and novenas and other prayer booklets were kept in wallets, in glove compartments, or on dashboards. Necklaces and charm bracelets were worn; medallions were carried in pockets. In my discussions and fieldwork Santo Niño seemed to be the most common recipient of devotion. He did not seem to be linked to any one region in the Philippines, to any gender or group; he did however seem to be the devotional saint of choice for Filipinos who were more than fifty years old. Today Sister Therma Ajoc is the only Catholic Filipino religious functionary in Brandon, Manitoba. She came to the city via Australia in 2008, having been sent by the archdiocese to work as a teacher at St Augustine’s school. She was born on 11 October 1966 in Cagayan

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City, in the province of Misamis Oriental. Sister Therma felt called to religious work in grade two and during her first communion: “I loved to see the priest and the nuns at church. I felt different when I passed by the convent. It was unexplainable. I felt that I had the call.”18 When she arrived at St Augustine’s, it was in disarray. That might have been a reason that Cesar and Rosita had not continued to attend the church, or it might have been that they just did not know many of the newer generation of Filipino migrants in the city. Two Filipino nuns had had to leave Canada because of visa problems, and the parish was short staffed. So Sister Therma came to work in the parish and not the school. Since her arrival in 2008 eight different priests have been assigned by the archbishop of the Diocese of Winnipeg to work at St Augustine’s.19 Sister Therma estimates that nearly a hundred families are served by the parish. She was not entirely sure of the number of Filipinos in Brandon, and the 2011 census suggested that only 205 Brandonites spoke Tagalog. She estimated that there were perhaps 550 Filipinos in the city but that several Filipinos had intermarried, which complicated the data. The Filipino population in the city of Brandon was one of the things that the archbishop had wanted her to investigate while she was there. St Augustine’s offers a service at 4:00 p.m. on Saturday and at 9:00 a.m., 11:00 a.m., and 7:00 p.m. on Sunday. At the Saturday afternoon service half of the six-person choir are Filipino, one third of the altar boys are Filipino, and 60 per cent of the roughly 150 people who attend the service are Filipino. Filipinos make up about half of the congregants at each service. The service on Sunday evening is the largest because this is the time that most of the city’s Filipino nurses, hog-barn workers, and their families can attend church. St Augustine’s has a Catholic Women’s League and a Knights of Columbus chapter, both of which are roughly 10 per cent Filipino. Couples for Christ, by contrast, is almost entirely Filipino. Brandon also has an active Black Rosary Group, which is 80 per cent Filipino and a mix of Latin Americans from Honduras, Mexico, and El Salvador.20 The group prays together weekly on Saturday and Sunday. The statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary circulates among group member houses, staying for one, two, or three weeks. People request the statue at different times of the year, often in May and October and also for birthdays and anniversaries when they want to have the statue nearby for prayers, parties, and feasts in their home. As the Blessed Virgin Mary statue mingles, receives offerings, and grants prayers, Brandon’s Catholic community

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experiences divinity actively present in their lives. They are empowered and energized. Nurses, doctors, teachers, and garment workers were common Filipino migrants of the 1960s. In my research, they were always Catholic, and they were assigned to jobs outside of Winnipeg, at least initially. All of the research participants from this group spoke about the first church they attended and their religious involvement there. Everyone knew about St Edward’s and had attended it at some point. The history of migration beyond Winnipeg and settlement in Manitoba’s second-largest city, Brandon, during the 1960s shows that Catholic families were able to settle and find belonging in Brandon, while lone migrants had less success. Home-based everyday practices played a remarkable role in the lives of rural Canadian Filipinos to help them connect to home cultures in the ways that St Edward’s did for people in Winnipeg. In my research it was normally the women who chose and purchased devotional statues, assembled home shrines, participated in festivals, and prayed the rosary. Men were less involved in religious devotional practice. Instead, their devotional activities were directed to everyday concerns of Filipinos in Manitoba and to work in various voluntary associations such as the Knights of Rizal and the Philippine Canadian Guardians Brotherhood, which I discuss in chapter 7.

5 Religious Activities and Expressions outside of Church

Religious activities and expressions were as important and sometimes more important than church attendance in the daily lives of Filipino migrants. I first noticed that Filipinos were behaving religiously in their own shops when I began to do fieldwork in Canada’s Manila towns (also known as Little Manilas). Religious statues and objects were most common in Filipino eating establishments. By the 1970s Filipino Manitobans needed grocers that would stock calamansi juice and pandan leaves; butcher shops that would sell lechon (roasted suckling pig) for birthdays, weddings, and anniversaries; and affordable turo-turo (literally, “point-point”) cafeterias. They needed formal restaurants too, with lumpiang (spring rolls) and crispy pata (deep-fried pork knuckles), and halo-halo (a dessert containing shaved ice) in the summer. In the United States Filipinos opened restaurants a few decades after they arrived, as Alice McLean notes: “Filipino restaurants date back to the 1920s in California when they began to spring up in urban areas … Filipinos congregated in and around established Chinatowns and … Little Manilas took form in such cities as Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Stockton.”1 In Canada it was nearly a hundred years after Filipinos first came that the Filipino restaurant emerged in these so-called Little Manilas. The first Filipino food counters appear to have opened in Canada in the early 1970s. Amy Pataki wrote in the Toronto Star in 2012: “For years, Filipinos made do with takeout food from mom-and-pop stores. As they prospered, they began to support cheap-and-cheerful restaurants.”2 At first there were only turo-turo counter-service places. Consequently, some food journalists have noted that Filipino food in Canada has long had a reputation for lacking freshness, due to sitting in steam

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trays or under heat lamps.3 Mila Nabor Cuachon, owner of Toronto’s Casa Manila, came to Canada when she was six years old and recalled that “growing up in the sixties and seventies, if a friend wanted Filipino food, they would take you to some place with hot containers, and everything was brown and everything was overcooked. Filipinos felt ashamed of their food. Spanish rule and colonial influences were always telling us that we were never good enough. We were barbaric, second class … so we were never proud of our food.”4 Newcomer restaurants mean different things to different people. They have the potential to be a new site of economic, social, cultural, and also religious power.5 For Filipinos they are primarily economic ventures, providing income and employment usually for multiple family members. In times of scarcity, restaurant leftovers feed the family. Restaurants provided sites for owners to reach out to co-ethnics and offer items that were in demand, such as packaged food from the Philippines; or services for an immigrant community, such as sending remittances and parcels to the Philippines; and also spaces for performances. Having researched Chinese cafés on the Prairies for several years before I came to study Filipino eating places, I was struck by the similarities between the two types of so-called ethnic restaurants. Both offered entrepreneurial opportunities for newcomers. Both sold inexpensive food, including old-country favourites and more mainstream Canadian dishes. Often the restaurants distinctively featured religious decorations and different menus for Filipino and non-Filipino customers.6 Filipino and Chinese restaurants served different people because of their different migration histories. In the case of the Chinese community, most patrons were Euro-Canadians. Most Chinese families were not able to migrate and patronize the restaurant until the repeal of the Chinese Immigration Act in 1947. Most Filipino restaurants, by contrast, from the beginning served the growing Filipino communities. When Filipinos cooked food in the restaurant, they made the same dishes they cooked for their families. Restaurant food was made for the family table. Restaurants provided venues for devotional practices in public settings. In the Philippines and China it is not unusual to see religious objects in a restaurant, business, or university cafeteria. Religion in its myriad forms is an aspect of everyday life. Throughout the Filipino and Chinese cultural sphere, people adorn themselves with rosaries and religious pendants. As they go through their daily activities in their workplace, they may chant a prayer or turn the rosary beads. They choose to erect a special shelf near the cash register, doorway, or

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buffet at work to provide a dedicated, sacred space for respected divine figures. By creating an altar in the restaurant, the migrant is extending the traditional space of the household unit, where rituals were historically performed in agrarian life. Restaurants provide additional spaces in which family members can display statues of their patron saint and make offerings and prayers.7 Divine representations are important reminders of the daily need for prayer and petitions. Filipino restaurants are sites where Catholic proprietors place religious objects to show their devotion in a display of segurista. Filipino restaurants often have a bas-relief, a tapestry, or a print of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper, which is similar to the one that owners have in their home dining room. Emerson Ballard had one of this famous religious banquet in his Neepawa home. Food ideas and practices are intertwined with religious ones. Michel and Ellen DeJardins observe: Christian Sunday worship gatherings since the earliest days of Christianity have focused on a food ritual. Called by various names – Eucharist, the Lord’s Supper, Communion – this ritual symbolizes a wide range of possibilities, including thanksgiving, the invocation of the Spirit, the memory of Jesus’s sacrifice, the memory of the Last Supper, hope of the upcoming Kingdom that Christians believe awaits them when Jesus returns. For the majority of Christians over the centuries, the Eucharist has not only been symbolic, but substantive: the bread and wine (or their substitutes) were thought to be changed … into the actual body and blood of Jesus, giving believers direct corporal access to God through food.8

To Emerson and scores of other Filipino Catholics whose stories helped me to write this book, the Eucharist was the foremost reason they attended church. Consuming the communion wafer and the wine during mass was important. Through this weekly feast they reconnected to Philippine family customs and heritage. The wafer was Jesus’s flesh, the wine was his blood, and consumption of them united Filipinos in a common faith and also in the body of Christ. They had been born into the religion, and this weekly ritual maintained the lineage of that faith. Most significantly it reaffirmed their connection to a global religious citizenry. The image of Jesus on the evening before his crucifixion, feasting with a community of believers, was a reminder of that larger religious reality. Filipinos could endure the difficulties and drudgery of migrant life as long as they received this kind of spiritual sustenance; they were not alone.

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Figure 5.1.  Santo Niño statue, La Merage, Winnipeg. Photograph by Wells Mayes.

La Merage was the most traditionally decorated Filipino café in the entire study.9 There were two Santo Niños near the entrance. One was a tall, commanding statue with long, wavy hair. He was majestically attired in a green robe with gold accents and a fur-trimmed green cloak. Based on the style of his hair and crown, this appeared to be a version of the Santo Niño de Praga (Infant Jesus of Prague). The figure was festooned with a pink plastic lei and numerous other necklaces that spilled onto its pedestal. A great deal of care and thought had gone into arranging these elaborate vestments. However, the Child’s tall golden crown, like others I saw at different restaurants, was askew. Beside him was a smaller statue of the Child, gazing slightly upward, with raised, outstretched arms. This was the welcoming Divino Niño, a twentieth-century image originating in Colombia. He wore a plain burgundy robe and a simpler crown. Together the two figures represented the layers of Filipino religiosity: the otherworldly transcendence and the this-worldly immanence (figs. 5.1 and 5.2). Farther along on the cafeteria case were other religious objects: a purple plastic statue of the Buddha with a staff; a frog; and a small angel collection. Statues of Buddha were fairly common in restaurant

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Figure 5.2.  Santo Niño statue, La Merage, Winnipeg. Photograph by Wells Mayes.

religion. Catholic Filipinos routinely displayed statues of Santo Niño, Mother Mary, and the Buddha. This did not mean, however, that Filipinos were practising Buddhists. Buddhism was associated with segurista and nothing more. I did not hear about or encounter a single Buddhist Filipino during my research in Canada. Beside the cash register was a larger, green-robed Santo Niño of a type commonly called Santo Niño de la Suerte. This time the figure’s garments were painted on. Nobody had gone out and purchased clothes to adorn him. He was draped in silk flowers, and strings of conch shells hung from his outstretched right hand. A bag of gold coins peeked out from the flowers. An elaborate green cross was affixed to the back of his head. One of the staff identified this as Santo Niño the traveller. Santo Niño de la Suerte is a variation of the Palaboy, traveller, wanderer, or Santo Niño de Atocha, and is believed to bring wealth. A part of me wondered if this was the reason Santo Niño was sometimes placed beside the Chinese God of the Earth, who was also believed to bring financial good luck. Here, as Julius Bautista remarks, Santo Niño was “both an object of worship and a comrade in life’s struggle.”10 I noticed

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Mother Mary behind the counter, in the corner of the food-preparation area. Behind the cash register and facing the paying customer was a feng-shui mirror as well as a Chinese good-luck amulet, which hung from a calendar in a display of segurista. Eighty per cent of the restaurants in Manitoba that I visited had some kind of religious décor (see the appendix). Restaurants normally had religious objects lined up alongside each other on a counter facing the door or beside the cash register. Sometimes they were set out on a table or in an open box serving as an altar, which was filled with candles, flowers, and incense in front of the statues. The décor told customers a little about the provinces, churches, and cultures that the restaurant’s owners, servers, and cooks had left to come to Canada. Filipino restaurants are public spaces that reproduce the intimacy of a private family dining experience in the Philippines.11 The familiar tastes, smells, and sights in a Filipino restaurant keep alive the memories of native customs and ancestors, as Parin Dossa reminds us: “food is more than nutrition, and more than a substance that satisfies hunger. It encompasses realms that are social, political, cultural, and spiritual. As an everyday activity, culinary practice has meaning for us; it lends itself to creativity and imagination. The provision, preparation, and consumption of food constitute part of our way of life, defining who we are as culture bearing beings.”12 Delicious food was the stuff that made businesses succeed, and other Filipino businesses opened around them over time, creating Manila towns (Little Manilas) and places for Filipinos to shop, send remittances, and connect with friends from the Philippines. Restaurants were located near migrant churches. Sharing food with family and friends is a vital aspect of Filipino sociality, from feasting on special religious occasions to everyday dining and snacking. Many Filipinos eat five times a day: three full meals, plus a light meal (merienda) in both the mid-morning and the afternoon. “Have you eaten yet?” is a common conversation starter. Hospitality at home requires that visitors are always offered food and drink, no matter what the time of day. Guests are often sent home with leftovers. At potlucks organized by families every Friday night in Manitoba, and at picnics in parks throughout the Canadian diaspora, food is the main ingredient in Filipino culture. Food represents shared tastes, histories, and identities, and the social ties and human migration that shaped the island nation. Emiko Ohnuki-Tierney reminds us that “food tells us not only how people live but also how they think of themselves

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in relation to others. A people’s food often marks the boundary between the collective self and the other.”13 In the Philippines most people have lived in barangays where the day’s catch or the meat from a locally butchered animal was shared. When Filipinos leave their home country, food ideas and customs are adjusted to make home in new landscapes and cultures, and the communal spirit lives on. Food feeds the bayanihan spirit that binds the community. It has everyday meanings and familiar flavours as sustenance on family tables. Food, in addition to the décor and the location of a restaurant, has religious significance. Sunday lunches and dinners after church are meaningful times when the grown family returns home to share a special weekly meal. Filipino families mark the anniversary date of ancestors with a special meal eaten at home or offered at the graveside. Food ideas and customs stretch back into the pre-Hispanic period in which feasting was vitally important. Priests, who were often female, performed the rites and sacrificial killing and the offering of surplus raw and cooked animal flesh. Feasting took place at special times of the year and to mark life crises and stages. Some feasts were intended to keep at bay the malevolent spirits (who were sometimes ancestors), while others were held to please the spirits and to ensure success in marriage or battle. Pigs were valuable sacrificial victims whose flesh was believed to confer spiritual protection on those who ate it.14 Alcohol was prominent in historical Filipino feasting customs and also in Philippine customs associated with sari-sari, or convenience stores, where wooden benches were set outside for friends to drink and unwind after work.15 However, alcohol did not seem to be very prominent in Filipino restaurants – sometimes because restaurant owners were devout Muslims or Christians, but mostly because people followed Filipino everyday meal customs and had water with meals. I seldom saw customers drinking and did not see wine, beer, or spirits on many menus, though some restaurants kept a few beers in the fridge for select customers. Most restaurants seemed to have liquor licences, but people did not partake of alcohol. Carmen Bueno Today Carmen Bueno operates Manitoba’s longest-standing eatery, CB’s Restaurant. She came to the Winnipeg in 1970 from the province of Pangasinan on a tourist visa to visit her uncle and decided to stay. Carmen had an education degree from the Philippines and could have

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worked as a teacher, but a teaching job was hard to obtain, and she probably would have had to work in the north. Like Jean Guiang who arrived in Manitoba with a teaching degree, Carmen looked for other work. It was much easier to find employment as a garment worker, and in that way she could have remained in Winnipeg.16 Within two years of coming to Canada, Carmen had become a citizen. She met Eliseo Bueno, who was working in a photography shop, and the two married in 1975. Eliseo came from an entrepreneurial family that owned grocery stores, bakeries, and restaurants in the Philippines, and he wanted to do the same in Winnipeg. He was attracted to Carmen because she seemed hard-working and someone who could help him achieve his goal. In 1977 they opened E.D. Bueno, a shop providing imported goods to Winnipeg’s Filipino migrants.17 It was on Osborne Street and in a neighbourhood with many Filipinos who went to Holy Rosary Parish. When Roman Catholic Filipinos open businesses, they typically have the premises blessed by a priest, who can be hired for a small donation. New cars, new homes, back yards, grottos, altars, and new businesses – from restaurants to groceries to offices – are blessed. The blessing purifies the space and is a form of segurista. Blessings typically involve a priest who reads a biblical passage and performs a short service before entering the business and sprinkling holy water on all the furniture and objects in the space, as well as the people. At the blessings in which I participated, people entered the store behind the priest, carrying lit candles. Once everyone was in the store, the priest recited the Lord’s Prayer and read a passage from the Bible. The short service performed by the priest was often followed by the Philippine and Canadian anthems, religious and pop songs, and then a feast provided for customers.18 By 1985 Carmen and Eliseo had sold the shop and opened a restaurant, Casa Bueno, on Sargent Avenue near the Health Sciences Centre where many Filipinos worked and also near St Edward’s where many went to church.19 Initially the Buenos employed a cook from the Philippines. Two years later they started another business, Bueno Brothers Supermarket, on Isabel Street.20 Eliseo died in 1994. Eventually Carmen changed the name of Casa Bueno to CB’s Restaurant and relocated it next door to her supermarket.21 Over the years other Filipino businesses have opened in the vicinity, including Jimel’s Bakery, Jejomar Bakeshop, and La Merage.22 CB’s Restaurant had half a dozen Filipino customers on the day I visited at the end of the lunch-time rush. The interior had recently been

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redecorated. It was bright and inviting, with white and fuchsia walls and gleaming stainless-steel steam trays for the hot dishes. CB’s had few decorations, aside from three vases filled with yellow, white, and pink silk flowers that had been haphazardly placed to the left of the cash register. A large, wall-mounted flat-screen television was set to a Filipino channel and displaying a soap opera. Yellow, pink, and black square signs announced the daily specials and combinations, including pancit, fried chicken, and lumpia shanghai (spring rolls). Lumpia shanghai sounded like a Chinese dish to me. I knew that a number of Chinese food ideas and customs had made their way into Filipino society over the centuries, especially New Year’s and birthday celebrations and restaurant cultures. Chinese intermarried with Filipinos and over time became the Philippines’ restaurant and bakery proprietors.23 Filipino restaurants typically served pancit, a Chinese dish with fried noodles that was made with ingredients found locally; however, the name also referred to an everyday food that could be fried or boiled and was not necessarily just noodles.24 Chinese foods, cooking utensils like woks, and seasonings such as soy and peppercorns, were introduced by Chinese traders. Most Filipino restaurants in Canada served a variety of Chinese foods. Some took a pan-Asian or Asian-fusion approach. Others, including Carmen Bueno, downplayed the role of Chinese food on their Filipino menus: “We don’t have a buffet or serve Chinese food. We sell combos. Buffets involve a lot of wasted food. It was too expensive to offer this food. Customers pointed to what they wanted and ate only that.” However, having researched Chinese restaurants in Manitoba extensively, I tended to see signs of Chinese influence in Filipino restaurants, including the food, the daily specials, the buffet tables, and the decor. I wondered about Carmen’s resistance to being labelled Chinese. I wondered if her desire to distinguish herself as Filipino and not Chinese had something to do with her migration experience in Canada. In the past, racist legislation from 1930 to 1956 had lumped Filipinos together with other Asians. Even today Filipinos are occasionally mistaken as Chinese by broader society. Her resistance to Chinese labelling might also have been because Chinese until recently made up the dominant Asian group in Manitoba. Chinese Canadians opened the earliest and most popular ethnic restaurants across Canada and built Chinatowns. Chinese Canadians are also a powerful ethnic lobby group. She might have also disliked the label because Chinese were often looked down upon in the Philippines.25 Carmen wanted her Filipino food to be

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recognized as belonging to Filipino culture. Filipinos and not Chinese are now the dominant group in Manitoba. For more than thirty years Carmen and Eliseo’s restaurant has offered a range of Filipino foods, including combinations, and breakfasts with garlic fried rice, fried tilapia, longganisa (sausage), and eggs.26 Most Filipino restaurants have at least two menus: one for regular Filipino customers and another in English for everyone else. Several Filipino research participants offered to take me there to sample the delicious breakfasts when I first asked about Filipino restaurants in the city. Carmen was Catholic, but she had chosen to make her café religiously neutral, unlike the majority of restaurants in the study. The adjoining Bueno Brothers Supermarket did, however, display religious iconography near the front door, as is typical. Carmen referred to this area, which had a counter and a chair, as her personal office. A shelf above the counter held a statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe, a common saint in Carmen’s home province of Pangasinan. To her right was the Virgin Mary, and to her right was Santo Niño. This was the Holy Child in his traveller or wanderer form. He was depicted, as is traditional, as a boy pilgrim with long hair, wearing a hat and holding a staff and a basket of flowers. He was different in one respect. Unlike all the other Santo Niños de Palaboy, the traveller or wanderer, that I had seen in Manitoba, this one wore a blue robe, which I was told was the colour of heaven. The shelf appeared to have been mounted for the sole purpose of holding religious statuary. Hanging to the far left of the statues was a capiz-shell parol, the traditional Christmas lantern. Adjacent to the parol was a Chinese calendar, the kind that Chinese food distributors provide to Asian restaurants; it showed the days of the month in Chinese characters and according to the traditional lunar calendar. Carmen’s religious business shrine was located where she spent almost all her day – in the store and not in the restaurant – and she wanted it nearby. Her office represented the underside of her life, where she could make prayers and petitions throughout the day to Santo Niño and the Virgin Mary and perhaps even to her husband who was now deceased. Perched high on a wall, overlooking the aisles, was a black-andwhite, professional-looking photograph of a smiling Eliseo D. Bueno, the founder of the business. He was dressed in formal wear, with a white shirt and a suit jacket, and was smiling down at the photographer. I sensed that he was an important figure, based on his gaze and the way that the photograph had been placed in an elevated spot, one that seemed to me to be a position of great consequence. I sensed that

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the man in the photograph was an ancestor. I asked Carmen about it, and she smiled. She said that it was very special; the photograph had been taken when her husband had been profiled by an international magazine in the mid-1980s as a Filipino entrepreneur. Carmen’s longstanding family business had benefited from the increased number of Filipinos in the city who wanted imported food and products. She had considered getting out of the business when Eliseo died in 1994, but had pressed on, and decades later she reflected: “I wanted to help the Filipino community.”27 The migration policies that led to large numbers of Filipinos coming to Canada as lone contract labourers and then opening restaurants also led to the adaptation of religious customs. Lone migrants often ate meals alone and observed religious customs in solitude and apart from family. Restaurants catered to families of Filipinos who began to arrive during the 1970s. They secured a migrant’s position both socioculturally and religiously. Most were located within walking distance of churches with large Filipino congregations and thereby emphasized the role of the Eucharist or communion at church by facilitating a meal afterwards that was shared by children, parents, and grandparents. The rhythm of restaurants followed that of the Catholic liturgical seasons. Crowds were large at Christmas and Easter and much smaller during the Lenten season, when people were repenting their sins, observing food taboos, and fasting. Restaurants showed that religious lives extended beyond the Catholic Church and the Philippines. They represented an outlet for spirituality, but in part they were also shaped by immigrant experiences. Some research participants who owned restaurants explained that they did not think it was appropriate to have religious objects on display in a restaurant in Canada.28 Meija, a Filipino who lived in an apartment above his restaurant, said that he had a cross and a picture of Santo Niño at home. This topic came up when he was asked about religion and whether he had a Santo Niño on the premises of his Filipino restaurant: “The newer generation is not as religious as our parents were, but I do have faith.”29 The practice of restaurant religion suggested first-generation, but not second-generation, worship that was semi-privatized and very much framed by immigrant experiences. As I interviewed research participants who arrived in the 1970s, I heard how CB’s Restaurant and Filipino food had been formative in their experience of belonging in Manitoba. Filipinos continued to migrate to Manitoba in the 1980s and 1990s, joining a well-established, multigenerational Filipino community – the

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oldest such community in Canada. A Philippine consulate opened in 1981, and by 1990 there were over twenty thousand Filipinos in Manitoba.30 Almost every Filipino I interviewed who had migrated to Manitoba in the 1980s and 1990s was deeply religious. There were exceptions, including Emmie Joaquin who self-identified as agnostic and came to Winnipeg in 1988 from Metro Manila as an independent immigrant.31 In my discussions with them, most Filipinos said that religious expressions and activities outside of church had helped them to settle and belong in Manitoba. Yvanne Dandan Yvanne Dandan (born in 1992) came from Parañaque, Metro Manila, immigrating to Canada as a toddler in 1994.32 Three of this study’s research participants were from Parañaque, and all of them belonged to St Edward’s. At the time of the interview Yvanne was part of St Edward’s staff and led the youth ministry at the church on a volunteer basis:33 When we started here, one of the first things we did was try to find a home church, because my parents back in the Philippines, they had a home church. So when we got here, we were trying to look for a parish community where we felt we were welcomed. It was a big deal for the family that we didn’t just go to church to sit for an hour during mass, but actually [felt like] part of the parish community. So, being part of a parish community was a huge contributor in feeling like … this new place is home. Our home parish here in Winnipeg is St Edward’s.

St Edward’s Parish, under Father Neil Parado’s leadership, was the initial church in the province to cater services to, and host festivals for, Filipinos.34 Yvanne and her family observed many religious holidays throughout the year as well as the May anniversary of their migration: “We have a nice dinner at the motherhouse, my parents’ home … It’s nice to look around and to see that we’re all having dinner under one roof.” Another annual Dandan tradition is hosting the Pabasa ng Pasyon (singing of the Passion during Holy Week), or simply “the Pabasa.” While many Filipinos participate in the annual Pabasa held at the Philippine Canadian Centre of Manitoba, which opened in 2004, the Dandans prefer their home celebration. This uniquely Philippine Catholic

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ritual requires the uninterrupted collective chanting or singing of the Pasyon, a centuries-old epic poem written by Don Gaspar Aquino de Belen, an Indio layman. Vicente Rafael gives details: “A native of Rosario, Batangas, a province south of Manila, Aquino worked as a printer in the Jesuit press from 1703 to 1716 … He is best remembered as the author of the first Tagalog pasyon, a long narrative poem recounting the suffering, death, and resurrection of Christ, published in 1703 … The poem served as the basis for subsequent Tagalog pasyones, which were to be enormously vital in shaping popular perceptions in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.”35 The lengthy, rhythmic Tagalog text recounts the life and Passion of Christ and blends Filipino and Spanish religio-cultures and understandings of divinity. Reynaldo Ileto adds: “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph talked and behaved so much like indios [in the poem] that their foreign origins were ignored or forgotten … The meanings of the text derived not so much from some authoritative [Spanish Catholic] voice within it but from the social field in which it moved.”36 Over the years there have been numerous editions of the Pasyon, inspired by local custom. People memorized the poem’s nearly one thousand stanzas and chanted them, carrying on a pre-Hispanic tradition of chanting indigenous narratives. What began as an authoritative ritual linked to Spanish dominance and Filipino submission evolved over time. Gradually the ritual and its narratives moved out of the churches. As they spread to households in the Philippines and throughout the diaspora, the Pasyon came to symbolize Filipino agency and belonging in new hybrid worlds.37 People generally chant or sing in shifts for many hours until the entire poem has been recited. Today families in the Philippines and throughout the diaspora read the text from the Pasyong Mahal. In the Philippines the Pabasa usually starts on Holy Thursday and ends on Good Friday. In Canada, the Dandans explained, the Pabasa is held on Good Friday. They hosted it the first year they arrived in Canada. Gloria’s parish priest in the Philippines had told her that of all the traditions this one should never be stopped. Since they lived in an apartment at first, they were concerned about the noise and had limited parking for guests. They decided to keep the numbers small, inviting only family. The Pabasa story, as my interviews with Gloria, her daughter Yvanne, Rosita, and Cesar indicate, is a powerful reminder of the value of everyday religion and music to Filipinos. Each year on Good Friday, Gloria and her husband get up at 4:30 a.m. and say the rosary. Guests start to

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arrive at 5:00 a.m. and keep arriving until 11:00 a.m. Yvanne said that everyone was welcome to take part in the ritual. I was very interested in participating, but Yvanne and her mother very gently and kindly told me that only those who speak Tagalog could take part. Everyone sings along to a recorded version of the Pabasa that Gloria provides. Gloria added: “We have the same people [every year] and add some more … I told them, ‘It’s not really like a party where we have to invite you … You know that our house is open from morning ’til night … If something will change, then I will phone you, but without any call it means it’s continuous every Good Friday from morning.’” Gloria learned to sing the Pasyon from her mother-in-law in the Philippines. During her first year of marriage she joined her husband’s family, and since she had not grown up with the tradition, she just listened. Eventually she joined in. When Gloria knew she was coming to Canada, she taped her husband’s family singing the Pasyon. It took sixteen cassette tapes to record, and her family used these tapes for years in Manitoba. They became accustomed to hearing the old neighbourhood sounds of people selling food in the market and of dogs barking. But over time Gloria yearned to record a version of her own. Every Tuesday after she had finished her shift as a home-care worker and made the family dinner, she went to her bedroom. She listened to each section of the tape and sang the words in the way the elderly ladies had sung them. Week by week she recreated her Pabasa tape collection. The text of the Pasyon, which is some 230 pages, is sung to a variety of folk songs. Happier songs are used to sing about creation stories. At times, Gloria said, the Pabasa resembles the Senakulo, the Philippine Passion play, and calls for people to sing different roles, such as Jesus, Mother Mary, or Judas Iscariot. People do not dress up to perform the roles; they just sing them with the passion required. The guests bring food, and everyone listens and sings along, eating throughout the day. For the Pabasa, statues (Our Lady of Fatima among others) are placed on a makeshift home altar that includes a large cross. Flowers are placed on a table draped with white sheets – yellow roses or any fresh flowers will do. The family also displays a painting of Christ made by Gloria’s husband. With the curtains closed, the altar sits in front of the window, and everyone faces it. At the conclusion of the Pabasa the statues are moved to the back yard, where they are placed in a grotto and remain for the summer. Gloria’s son-in-law transferred the tapes to compact discs a few years ago. Everyone wanted a copy for their own use. Yvanne’s and Gloria’s

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Pabasa narratives helped them to connect their past in the Philippines to their present life in Winnipeg. Yvanne explained that when her parents first arrived in Canada, her father took a job as a janitor, and her mother, who had been a music teacher in the Philippines, found work in fast-food restaurants: Subway and then Manchu Wok. Her father moved out of janitorial work and into office work at the Radisson Hotel: “He stayed there for a bit, but didn’t enjoy it much, and then blessings continued pouring in, and he became an accountant … and he loved it, he loved it there.” In 2013 he retired. Meanwhile, Gloria had trained as a health-care aide and become a full-time home-care attendant, a job that she loved. Aside from work, the family was actively involved in their church. In 1999 Yvanne’s family returned to the Philippines for the wedding of Gloria’s sister. They returned the following year as well when Yvanne’s grandmother died. They remember her with prayers on the anniversary of her death each year at home. At church they add her name to others when the mass is offered for the souls of the dead. Yvanne had always had a passion for singing and performing, and when she was twelve years old, she joined Kayumanggi Philippine Performing Arts: “It was actually one of my sisters that encouraged me to join. She thought it would be a great opportunity for me to explore my budding passion for dance and also learn more about my roots as a Filipino.” Yvanne was active in the troupe for five years. She has been a regular performer at the Manitoba Filipino Street Festival and has been the opening act for performers who have come from the Philippines to give concerts in Winnipeg. Yvanne also writes songs and wrote her first one when she was in grade ten: “It’s called ‘My Life Is Yours,’ and it is a Christian worship song. At the time, I was also getting very involved in the church and especially the youth ministry. The youth ministry actually really, really made a huge difference for me, you know, as a youth growing up. I felt very blessed to be involved in the church and be surrounded by good mentors. My first song, when I look back, would not have been possible if I wasn’t in touch with my faith. It was a prayer for me.” According to tradition a Filipino girl has a cotillion when she is seven years old and a debut – a formal coming-of-age party – when she turns eighteen. The custom, which has increased in popularity here as more Filipinos have migrated to Canada, is a remnant of the Spanish colonial culture, but has been Filipinized. People plan and save for months, sometimes years, for these celebrations. Costing thousands of dollars, a

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party can be a financial hardship for many new immigrants.38 Friends and relatives are invited, there is a dinner and dancing, and girls wear formal dresses. When Yvanne turned eighteen, her very traditional parents hosted her debut at Winnipeg’s Delta Hotel. Most debuts have a religious and a social component. There is a Catholic mass that marks the débutante’s transition into womanhood, followed by a grand party to which family and friends are invited. Yvanne recalls: “We had a dinner and an incredible live band, and we had a concert. It was basically a celebration of a girl’s journey into adulthood.” Custom dictates that the débutante wear three dresses: one for the entrance, one for the dinner, and one for the dance of the eighteen candles. Yvanne described how the dance is performed by the débutante with her “court” of chosen friends and relatives: There are eighteen boys, called roses, and eighteen girls, called candles. The candles symbolize the wishes of each girl. Each dance sends wishes. Boys enter with a rose; girls enter with a candle. They pose for a photograph together with the debutante. After each boy dances with the debutante, he gives her a rose, until there are no more left. At the end the girl goes around and blows out all the other girls’ candles. There are no presents. There are just envelope presentations [gifts of money]. The money is used for a girl’s future wishes: school, investment.

From a feminist perspective this elaborate coming-of-age ritual might be seen as reinforcing colonialist and sexist stereotypes, as well as moulding young women into slavish consumers and brides-in-training. Yvanne was ambivalent about it. She described it as part of her traditional upbringing, and she accepted that it was an important life-stage ritual in her Canadian Filipino community. In the Philippines débuts were often reserved for those in the upper tiers of society. Yvanne’s comments suggested that she had also enjoyed it. It built relationships and belonging; it had the potential to bring young girls together with future Filipino husbands. Through this ceremony Yvanne was leaving childhood and entering the Canadian community as an adult woman, firmly rooted in her Filipino heritage. The ritual had taught her some of what to expect and how to behave with poise – a new mature habitus – now that she was eighteen years old.39 Indeed, such coming-of-age rituals manifest segurista; they provide assurances and a welcoming net of connections in the community.

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After high school Yvanne attended the University of Winnipeg, from which she graduated with a bachelor of business administration. When I interviewed her in 2014, she was working for the Heart and Stroke Foundation as a program co-ordinator and volunteering as director of the youth ministry at St Edward’s, but she continued to find the most meaning through songwriting and religion. “More than anything, I try to look for inspiration from God and within myself, during meditation and prayer. You know how sometimes we can’t find the right words to say? For some reason, I find those words while I write songs. It’s my favouite choice of communication.” In this study Yvanne was one of several research participants under the age of forty who was deeply religious. She was heavily involved in St Edwards, she talked enthusiastically about her home religious traditions, and she effused about the role of music in her life. Religion was not just something she was born into; it had been ever present throughout her life as she became an adult, went to university, and got a job. Religion to Yvanne, and many others, was not an oppressive monolithic structure; religious activities and expressions were the source of her creativity. They enabled her to be resilient: “You leave it up to God … The way that I was raised was do your best, God will do the rest.”

6 Filipino Canadian Protestants and Their Churches

As Filipino migrants travelled, Christianity almost always centred them, providing a locus of meaning and an inner library of reassuring stories as they coped with change,1 such as the well-known story of Jesus’s Last Supper in which Jesus dined with men who shared his appetite for bread and wine and also his faith. This religious narrative was especially important to Roman Catholics who felt linked to Jesus each time they partook of communion. But what about Protestant churches and their Filipino congregants who are the subject of this chapter? Each time migrants prepared to relocate, they set their sights further afield, armed with sacred and other narratives and confident that God had a plan for them. When they moved again, they looked for a place in which they could belong and settle down. If this place could not be found, they moved on. Sometimes they returned to the Philippines. Christianity has historically been the way that Filipinos find belonging in Canada, through churches and clerics, through religious devotional practice, through shared beliefs and customs, and through Christian-based associations. However, Christianity was also the vehicle through which orientalist cultures and civilization travelled to the Philippines. Colonialism and Christianity provided the infrastructure that redirected and united people to believe in a common god. In Filipino culture, religion fused various cultures through a transcendent belief in deities and through immanent experiences of the divine in devotions.2 Christianity united people, confining and confirming them in a common church. It provided priests, friars, and pastors, displacing pre-Christian religious functionaries and oral traditions. Christianity introduced the Bible, the liturgical calendar, and the language of

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prayer and services – first Spanish and then English. Then, during the Spanish-American War, the “tribally fragmented” people of the Philippines were transformed and solidified in narratives that recast them as American colonial subjects and predominately Protestant Christian.3 Flor and her son Diwa Marcelino were the only Filipinos in this study who had been born as Protestant Christians. Florfina Marcelino Florfina (Flor) Marcelino (born in 1951) grew up in Metro Manila, the eldest of six children.4 According to Filipino custom, being the eldest meant that according to tradition she would be the first to migrate to Canada in order to sponsor family members. However, in my research, first-born children were not always the first to migrate. In fact, they often remained at home to care for parents after other, younger siblings had taken advantage of opportunities to migrate overseas. Migration had changed traditions in the Philippines. Flor’s father was an ordained Christian minister and a formative figure in her life.5 He died suddenly when she was ten years old. Flor’s mother was too poor to care for Flor’s five siblings. While Flor remained with her mother, the other children were sent to orphanages. Flor graduated from university, married Orlando (Orli) Marcelino, and then reclaimed her siblings from the orphanages.6 In 1980 Orli’s brother Ted Marcelino (who today is a member of the Legislative Assembly of Manitoba) migrated to Canada.7 Ted sponsored Flor, Orli, and their two children, who arrived in the summer of 1982. (They later had another three children in Winnipeg.) She immediately found a job as a secretary at a garment factory. Flor did not go to hilots or carry anting-anting. Several Protestant research participants, including Flor, mentioned the Bible when they spoke of their faith. During the Spanish regime the Bible had been forbidden and in the shadows. As Protestant Christians they spoke passionately about their free access now to it and to God. Letty Antonio commented: “I can talk to God every day. I am reading the Bible every morning, meditating on it, and praying every morning for everything and everybody and every problem.”8 Flor did not go to St Edward’s, where hundreds of Filipinos gathered each week. Nevertheless, her networks were strong, and she was able to suggest several research participants whom I later interviewed. Over the years Flor had met people through the Protestant church and also in

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her work as an unofficial resource person for new immigrants trying to access government services. She had noticed that most Filipinos arriving in Manitoba were highly qualified workers who were often underemployed. While some Filipinos managed to juggle school and work, many settled for entry-level jobs that fell short of their aspirations. Engineers or lawyers, for instance, could not work in Canada in their professions until they had received accreditation. For newly migrated Filipinos who needed to support family in Canada and in the Philippines, accreditation and bridge courses were expensive and time consuming. Flor helped newcomers to find housing and jobs and to apply for health care: “Within Filipino society, people are considered to be friends and relatives, as uncle, auntie, brother, sister, father, mother, older brother, older sister, which helps in creating big networks. When newcomers arrive, we introduce them to our network.” Flor explained that a deep sense of bayanihan had led her to consider a career in politics. The provincial election campaign was already in its second week in 2007 when New Democratic Party (NDP) officials approached Flor to be the last-minute replacement for a candidate who had dropped out. Many people in the Filipino community had run for political office and failed. Flor knew she would need a strong base of support and volunteers in order to be elected. She asked her pastor, Ray Cuthbert, for advice, and he encouraged her to run.9 Flor won the seat, becoming the first woman of colour to be elected as a member of the Legislative Assembly of Manitoba. She was re-elected in 2011 and 2016, representing the riding of Logan in Winnipeg. Between 2009 and 2016 she served as minister for culture, heritage, and tourism and as minister for multiculturalism and literacy. In May 2016 Flor was named interim leader of the Manitoba NDP and leader of the opposition. Over the course of her political life, her home parish, Broadway Disciples United Church, had emerged as one of the province’s largest Filipino parishes. It was Protestant Christian, not Catholic. Broadway Disciples United Church In 2007 Winnipeg’s strongly Filipino, Broadway Disciples United Church celebrated its tenth anniversary. Although that sounds like a very short institutional life, the church at the corner of Broadway Avenue and Kennedy Street, across from the Manitoba legislative building where Flor works, has a long history. In many ways it is emblematic of how inner-city Canadian churches have evolved. Broadway M ­ ethodist

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Church, later called Broadway United Church, was a stately Gothic structure erected on this corner in 1906. In this church Lester B. Pearson, future prime minister of Canada, was married in 1925. In 1927 the congregation merged with another to form St Stephen’s–Broadway United, staying in the building.10 St Stephen’s–Broadway, still vibrant and Anglo-Saxon dominated, was where my parents-in-law met as members of the choir in 1954, held their wedding in 1956, and took their children to Sunday school in the early 1960s. The building was destroyed by fire in 1968, and by the time it had been replaced with the current one in 1970, my in-laws had decided to attend church in the suburbs, where they lived. Within a few years, like countless other Canadian families, they petered out as churchgoers altogether.11 Affected by just such religio-cultural patterns, downtown congregations continued to struggle and shrink. The building was up for sale when, in 1997, Home Street Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), John Wesley United Church, and St Stephen’s–Broadway amalgamated to form Broadway Disciples United in the same building.12 At the time they amalgamated, all three congregations were already more than 90 per cent Filipino. Marking its anniversary ten years later, the congregation produced a colour commemorative booklet that included a message from the premier. Fifteen double-sided pages in all, it recounted the history of the building, traced the church’s origins to 1868 as Grace Methodist Church, and celebrated the strongly Filipino congregation. There were photographs of a Mother’s Day celebration, Filipino youth at the annual church picnic, a family camp, Christmas pageant, potlucks, and dancing. Typical of other community booklets, Broadway Disciples’ included a sponsors’ page. Tess Newton and Sun Life Financial were there, and so was Emerald Palace, a Chinese restaurant frequented by many in the Filipino community. MLA Flor Marcelino, who was also one of the directors of the church board, bought advertising on the back cover. The booklet had been financed, produced, and published by the Filipino community. It was a strong statement of how the congregation had been transformed and how the current Filipino worshippers saw the church, not as an ethnic enclave but as woven into Winnipeg history and society. In 2014 Ray Cuthbert, the pastor of the church since its inception, described the congregation as 95 per cent Filipino. I attended Broadway Disciples United Church twice in November 2014. Both times I arrived a half hour early and chose to sit in the back

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row of pews, closest to the door. The first time I attended was the first Sunday of Advent and the seventeenth anniversary of the merged church. By the time the 10:30 a.m. service began, 250 people had filled the pews. The modern, well-lit church was sparsely decorated, in contrast to the Catholic churches I had visited. There were brightly coloured stained-glass windows on either side of the organ pipes at the front of the large room near where the choir sat, and two banks of wooden pews, one to the right of the wooden altar and another facing it. Broadway Disciples’ pastor, Ray Cuthbert, had just returned from a threeweek hiatus and a study break. The heating system’s fan had broken, and the room was very cold. Church announcements were projected on a screen, and there was an open-microphone segment in which church members were invited to come forward and report their news. The service began with music. The choir was led by five women in the front row (half of whom were Filipino) in front of the altar. They sang along, and as the song progressed, the two women on the far left each began to raise one arm each time they said the word Jesus. I had seen this gesture in Protestant services in the Philippines. People throughout the audience were clearly pulled into this wave of religious affect as they danced and swayed to the music. Even in the cold church room the warmth was strong. Even the eldest in attendance stood each time the crowd was asked to rise for songs and prayer. As the service continued, the smells of warm bread, rice, garlic chicken, and pork dishes wafted up from the well-used kitchen in the basement that served food and fellowship each week to congregants. Every five minutes or so another smell mingled and swelled with the others. Then my seat-mate leaned over and told me that there would be a potluck meal after the service. Everyone had brought their favourite home-cooked dishes. I should come, she said with a big smile. She continued talking to me every minute or so, asking me my name, telling me about the church and that it was where immigrants came, that the NDP had had meetings at the church in the last two nights. Food had stimulated our conversation. She told me that I had to come to the potluck, celebrating the church anniversary and also the baptism of Flor’s grandchild, Diwa Marcelino’s son. She told me that she would be leaving soon to help make the meal and that she would look for me. Then she saw Tess Newton who had sat down beside her. She was relieved to leave me with another Filipino. She introduced Tess to me, not realizing we knew each other. I had attended more than a dozen church services during the course of

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the research, and this was the only time that a seat-mate initiated conversation before I did. Tess Newton had started going to Broadway Disciples United Church seven years before. The members of the church were friendly and treated each other as family. She felt that some Catholic churches had lost the spirit of camaraderie. They feared exchanging handshakes and greeting those seated in front and behind them. It started when a priest in a Catholic church during the SARS epidemic in 2003 asked congregants to avoid shaking hands. Tess expressed the wish that “the old tradition of shaking hands to exchange peace with your neighbour will be reintroduced in the church.”13 Tess liked interacting with other congregants best. She also loved the antique organ, the choir, and the stained-glass window of Jesus Christ. She enjoyed seeing the biblical verses projected on the screen during the service so that she could read along. And she enjoyed the fellowship after the service, when she could eat and drink with friends. When Tess was unable to attend Broadway Disciples United Church, her second choice was St Ignatius Catholic Church, which had a Jesuit priest. She enjoyed the mass and especially the excellent music. Although he was not Filipino, Pastor Ray spoke Tagalog throughout the service when he was requesting people to take communion, making the announcements, or welcoming people to the potluck after the service. Aside from Pastor Ray, all the speakers were Filipino. Pastor Ray sang in the choir. There appeared to be palm or Asian-style trees with lights and a Jesse (Christmas) tree that the children decorated with ornaments handed to them by Pastor Ray during the Flying Carpet segment. Here children were invited to join him on the carpet in front of the altar and beside the tree. Each decoration taught the children about different aspects of Christianity, such as the apple and the snake from Genesis, and the ladder of Jacob’s ladder. People did not leave their seats to take part in the Eucharist; the communion bread and wine were served to them in small paper cups. A postlude and greetings ended the service,. and people shook hands and hugged each other. As Tess had mentioned, people were extremely friendly. It was a very tight-knit group. Winnipeg Filipinos were very familiar with the hospitality of Broadway Disciples United Church even before its founding in 1997. Pastor Ray Cuthbert added: In the next dozen years, the word of the warm welcome spread among a portion of the Filipino community in Winnipeg. This community became

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more varied in background as families sponsored relatives for immigration, and other Christians came from the Philippines on their own. Gradually, Filipinos became members of the church board, worship leaders, deacons, and elders. The Tagalog language became used to some extent during worship and in one adult Sunday school class (which is consistently the largest class in the Sunday school).14

Flor Marcelino and other congregants helped Ray by translating the week’s sermon for the Tagalog service. As was customary in a Disciples church, members of the congregation were expected to be actively involved in the production of the weekly service. Hospitality is important in Filipino culture, and accordingly Filipinos are strongly drawn to churches that welcome them. Filipinos have an economic urgency to refine their English language skills when they arrive. After that, religion is key. It is more important than finding good schools or finding a bank to provide a mortgage and facilitate sending remittances to the Philippines.15 Priests and pastors, and even lay people and active volunteers, as extensions of God, are a migrant’s heroes with the ability to save, heal, and solve problems. However, in both Canada and the Philippines religion can also be strongly connected to racism and the orientalism that leads to it. Broadway Disciples United Church had deliberately set out to provide an alternative: a more democratic, inclusive space for newcomers. Most Filipinos in the Disciples congregation had been raised ­Catholic.16 Pastor Ray Cuthbert pointed out that Toronto also had a Disciples congregation, Hillcrest Christian Church, that was predominantly Filipino.17 He explained that the Disciples approach was ecumenical or inclusive: “It embraces all denominations (even Catholics, which many tend to omit) in its definition of Christianity. It is not paternalistic. Broadway Disciples from its inception has been fiercely interested in diversity, anti-racism, and intercultural discourse.” There are also historical reasons for some Filipinos’ comfort with the Disciples. When Protestant missionaries first arrived in the Philippines, each denomination claimed a territory for its work. The Disciples of Church established mission work in the Ilocos region in northwestern Philippines, as Anglicans had done in the Mountain province. The religious divisions that had been introduced in the American colonial period sometimes continued in Canada. Attending a Catholic church was often equated with connecting to Filipino culture. Milton had been Anglican in the Philippines, but he was Catholic in Canada. Many research participants

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explained that on occasion people frequented a church that had provided their family with support when they first arrived. They went to that church for a time out of a debt of gratitude and then returned to the Catholic Church. Some newcomers who wanted to join Canadian churches sought out those that had been active in their regions back home, or they left them to explore new churches that met their spiritual needs, including the Church of El Shaddai, Corpus Christi, Iglesia Ni Cristo, Ang Dating Daan (a breakaway group of Iglesia Ni Cristo that is very big in the United States), the Kingdom of Jesus Christ, and the Jehovah Witnesses. Indeed, Filipinos can choose from a number of large churches including the Church of the Living Hope (formerly known as the Filipino Alliance Church) in Winnipeg. Multiple weekly services are held at this predominantly Filipino church, followed by meals served in the basement. Catholic and Protestant church workers and congregants all spoke about the need for youth ministry, and this was certainly a strong theme at the Church of the Living Hope. In the past the youth at the church had held popular kamayan-style dinners (Budol Fight meals). In the Philippines this meal is a way of breaking down social hierarchies. Military cadets, staff, and families attend, and each brings a dish. The dishes are emptied onto rice that is spread out on a large banana leaf, so that no one knows what or how much anyone else has brought. Then everyone eats with their hands, crammed in side by side on benches. The Church of the Living Hope also has study and lounging areas, as well as a gym in which exercise classes are held. As with many Filipino groups in the province, the group hosts summer picnics and outings.18 While some Filipinos seek out churches with big congregations, pastors and lay ministers are in favour of smaller groups or, as Sam Reimer and Michael Wilkinson call them, “cell groups – a model of small groups that also focuses on evangelism, growth and multiplying.”19 These cell groups are tailored to the needs of congregants who are new immigrants, divorcees, or recovering addicts, or who want Bible study and fellowship. Mike Pajemolin and his family attend the Winnipeg Church of Christ, which is affiliated with the Vancouver branch of the church. It is a small congregation of seventy people and one Chinese evangelist. The congregants shoulder the expenses of maintaining the church and supporting the evangelist. Among the congregants are professors, doctors, nurses, students, businessmen, and housewives. Mike referred to the church as “multicultural,” meaning that although many were Filipino, several members had other backgrounds including European.

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Pastor Ed Ramos (who is profiled in the chapter on church staff) led Christ the Rock Christian Community, another similarly small congregation of sixty people. As with many smaller church communities, Christ the Rock Christian Community did not own a building; it rented space. When I spoke with Pastor Ramos, it was in the New Hope Community Church of the Nazarene, where he and his congregants met weekly. Summer picnics were held in his back yard. An Internet search for the address of Christ the Rock Christian Community Church showed a residential home with the church sign out front. All but three congregants of Christ the Rock Christian Community Church were Filipino. The church offers weekly services, Bible studies, and prayer groups. Pastor Ed meets with congregants when they need him, and organizes a summer camp in St Malo, Manitoba. He reaches out to newly arrived Filipinos, sending them some money and rice, and he invites community youth to his services. During my research I interviewed and spoke with Protestant ministers and Catholic priests (three of these interviews appear in chapter 8). I had assumed that both were actively involved in providing food and other services to newcomers. Unlike the Filipino Protestant churches, the Catholic parishes did not normally help newcomers with food and needed resources. This was an idea and a custom that had continued from the Philippines.20 Throughout the ethnographic research, and while interviewing, observing, and participating in religious events in Canada and the Philippines, I often heard Protestant Christians give disparaging assessments of Catholic traditions and churches. Protestant Christians were critical of Catholicism because it was too authoritative and patriarchal, it did not provide them direct access to the Bible, it did not help the poor or the migrant newcomers, and it promoted idolatry and superstition. Ethnographic research additionally showed that Manitoba’s Filipino Protestant Christians left Catholicism because they sought a more personal relationship with God and Jesus Christ. They also sought involvement in worship teams and missionary work. Some expressed that they wanted to participate in a modern church with a band, electronic on-screen presentations, and more exciting services. Catholics similarly disparaged Protestant Christians who seemed to be always trying to convert them and who looked down on and rejected long-standing Filipino family traditions including the veneration of saints and ancestors. In the diaspora many migrants who found themselves away from family, friends, and Filipino tradition were no

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longer passive consumers, so to speak, of religion. Some became activists like Mike Pajemolin, who converted to Protestantism while in the Philippines: “Going to Catholic services bored me a lot … I listened to the same thing over and over again. When I was fifteen years old, I had friends who went to Bible study. They had fun, it was at school, so I got associated with that.” Mike became a born-again Christian at sixteen years of age and committed himself to volunteer work with global religious groups. He wanted a religion that was hopeful, through which he could imagine a better future. This marked a break with the past: “My generation looks at our parents, grandparents, and just lets them go with their beliefs … Because they’re elders, [let’s] just respect them, let’s not force another different, you know, mentality or different belief on them, because they grew up like this.”21 Filipinos like Mike saw Protestant Christianity as a modern religion in which congregants were encouraged to read the Bible and pray to God and Jesus without the help of saints or priests. I had spoken to large numbers of Filipinos in the Philippines who had converted to Protestant Christianity, and I had expected to find many Filipinos during my ethnographic research in Canada who had become Protestant Christians. Although I interviewed some Filipinos who had been raised Catholic and now attended Protestant churches, only Jorie Sawatsky had actually converted in Manitoba. Jorie Sawatsky Jorie Sawatsky was a Protestant Christian and the only Filipino Manitoban in this study who had converted from Catholicism after she moved to Manitoba. Today she is very involved with the immigration ministry of her church. The eighth of nine children, Jorie Sawatsky (born in 1969) grew up in the Philippines’ second-largest city, Cebu.22 She graduated from the University of Cebu with a degree in secretarial administration and then worked in sales. Her best friend’s sister had married a Canadian, and in this way Jorie came to know about Canada. In 1995 she arrived as a pen-pal (i.e., mail-order) bride.23 She married in Manitoba, but her family did not attend the wedding. By 2001 Jorie and her husband had separated, leaving her as a single immigrant mother without a job and virtually alone. Everything she had hoped and planned for had not happened. Jorie enrolled at Red River College and found a job at a pharmaceutical company. It was strenuous work, and after two years she quit. Not knowing where to turn, Jorie called a couple she had met who lived in

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Steinbach, Manitoba’s third-largest city, which has a strong Mennonite heritage and just over 13,500 people.24 It is sixty-five kilometres southeast of Winnipeg, and Low German can be heard on the street. The couple invited her to come and stay with them. “They helped me find an apartment, and because I didn’t have a job, they helped me find my way with social assistance and other things until I figured out what I was going to do with my life.” Jorie became friends with two other Filipinos in Steinbach. One worked at the local newspaper, and the other at a pharmaceutical company. Life was much easier in Steinbach for her: “Even though I didn’t know anybody, even though I was an immigrant with different colour skin, I found work, made friends easily, and found good child care for my son.” Then, in 2005, Jorie was offered a job with Sun Life Financial. Today, like Tess Newton, she is an insurance adviser. Her clientele is mostly Filipino, living not only in Steinbach but also in Killarney, Brandon, Winnipeg, and towns in between. Jorie travels to meet with clients and their friends, mostly in the summer months, when the driving conditions improve: “They phone me, ‘Can you come over? I have friends who need insurance,’ and they give me a bedroom. They give me a nice bed to sleep. They cook food for me while I’m doing my sales. The next day I’ll go home, and I don’t even stay in a motel.” Unlike other Filipinos in Steinbach who might work at two or three jobs, Jorie has a contract stipulating that she can only work for Sun Life. She fills the rest of her time with volunteer work. Jorie has volunteered with the South EastMan Filipino Association since its founding in 2001. The association plans events for newcomers in the region, such as summer picnics and a Christmas party. It is unusual for Steinbach to have such an association, given its relative size. Members of South EastMan Filipino Association pay a five-­dollar annual fee. The group has seven board members and works with local immigrant services groups to connect Filipinos to appropriate resources.25 Jorie’s second husband, whom she married in 2009, was a member of Southland Church. Even though Jorie had been raised Catholic, and Steinbach’s Filipinos mostly went to Christ Our Saviour Parish, she wanted to attend her husband’s evangelical church. It is very large, with some four thousand members. The church leadership is of European descent, and the website offers church messages in Low German, High German, Spanish, and Russian.26 When Jorie first started to go to that church, she was the only Filipino. Today there are many Filipinos.

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When I asked Jorie what she thought was most important about Filipinos, she replied: “If you want to know why they stick around in one area, it is because Filipinos are really big on relationships. I would say that is the key. If they move to a place where they don’t have friends or connection with the same Filipino people, it will be tough for them. They feel so alone. And that’s why welcoming newcomers, introducing yourself as a Filipino … is a big thing. When you ask Filipinos around, it’s mostly because of friends and family that they stay around.” Jorie went on to describe the importance of welcoming strangers and of hospitality in Filipino culture. “The heart that I have now is to really help people. I don’t know why, but that brings me joy, to be able to do that. That’s my target.” Her church has a warehouse for newcomers who need clothing or furniture. Jorie’s description of a strong ethos of hospitality was something that I heard almost verbatim in interviews and surveys in Canada and in different regions of the Philippines:27 “As we grew up, we were taught … you treat the visitor well … You will give the best to them – your best bed, your best blanket, your best everything. That’s [part] of the Filipino culture. You visit one family; even though they have nothing, they will try their best to give you the best that they have … The concept is … to really treat others … sometimes [better] than you treat yourself.” I asked Jorie if Filipino culture in Steinbach was different than in Winnipeg. She said it was totally different. Filipinos in Winnipeg were accustomed to being surrounded by many people who were also from the Philippines. Winnipeg’s community had grown so large that it had broken into regional groups where people spoke different dialects and had different customs: “There’s too many of them; they don’t even say hi or look at each other’s eyes any more.” In Steinbach, however, the community was smaller. People smiled and greeted each other when they bumped into one another in stores. “Sometimes they might be shy with each other, but at least there’s still that look: ‘Hey, we’re the same, you know.’” Jorie said she enjoyed going to smaller towns where Filipinos lived because of the community spirit and hospitality she encountered there at church and in public spaces.

7 The Rise of Voluntary Associations

By the end of the 1990s Manitoba’s Filipino community had reached well over thirty-one thousand.1 The Filipinos continued to be predominately Catholic, with rich devotional lives fostered in church; at festivals; on public transportation; at homes in front of shrines, statues, and chapel altars; and occasionally in restaurants. Just eleven research participants in this study attended Protestant churches. While not everyone in the study attended the same churches or had the same religious practices, nearly every person had at one time or another joined at least one of the hundreds of voluntary associations in Manitoba. It is only within the last three decades that the number of Filipinos living in Manitoba’s hinterland has been large enough for them to form their own local voluntary associations. Ethnographic research strongly suggests that many first- and secondgeneration Filipinos living in Winnipeg belong to multiple regional, occupational, religious, mutual aid, and business voluntary organizations. Voluntary associations provide important venues for migrants to network and to establish social bonds.2 The longer migrants live in Manitoba, the less frequently they participate in voluntary-association events. That being said, many of the people with whom I spoke during the course of the research were of two minds about them. On the one hand, group involvement helped newcomers to connect, make friends, and settle in Manitoba. On the other hand, the large number of voluntary associations in Manitoba’s Filipino community had started to weaken the social fabric. For newcomers who worked at multiple jobs, the demands of voluntary-association event hosting, organization, and participation added more stress. Winnipeg’s earliest groups included Filipino-Canadian Association (Fil-Can), which organized in 1961, and Canada’s first BIBAK group,

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which was founded in Winnipeg in 1968. Filipinos typically belong to a group related to their business or occupation, a religious group, and one or more regional groups representing their own and their spouse’s home province in the Philippines. The Pangasinan Group of Manitoba organized in 1986 to provide relief and aid to newcomers who had migrated from Pangasinan. Like many regional groups, the Pangasinan has a constitution and by-laws. New officers of the board take an oath sworn before God. The group raises funds for disaster relief in the Philippines and takes part in Winnipeg’s festivals and parades.3 The Filipino Domestic Workers Association of Manitoba (FIDWAM) was created two years later, in 1988, to serve and support Filipino migrants who had been exploited as live-in caregivers.4 In chapters 1 and 2, I discussed numerous religious devotional groups and the work of Manitoba’s Migrante International branch founded in 2010. Voluntary associations help people to belong in communities and thus often have political, religious, and economic dimensions and are organized along family or regional groupings. In 2013 Dennis Castañeda formed an all-male voluntary association in Winnipeg that was new to Canada, the Philippine Canadian Guardians Brotherhood Inc. (PCGBI). PCGBI has 150 core members, many of whom reside in rural and urban Filipino communities outside of Winnipeg: Neepawa, Steinbach, and Oakbank, as well as Toronto (Ontario) and Fort McMurray (Alberta). Dennis had become active in Philippine Guardians Brotherhood Inc. (PGBI) in 2000, while he was still in the Philippines. The original Guardian organization to which PGBI is linked was founded by Gregorio Honasan in 1986.5 Both the Philippine branch (PGBI) and the Canadian one (PCGBI) remain symbolically Guardian organizations, although there are also members from outside the military.6 Like the more established voluntary associations in the province, Dennis’s PCGBI is active in the annual Philippine Heritage Week celebrations and the Manitoba Filipino Street Festival. Members of the group tend to be young new migrants. They have fund-raised for typhoon victims in the Philippines and sandbagged to help flood victims in Manitoba. When members die, their families receive financial assistance for the funeral from the association. Religion is a strong undercurrent in PCGBI beliefs and practices. Although the opening prayer used at meetings that Dennis shared with me is dedicated to the Christian God, Dennis explained that Filipino chapters could choose to alter the prayer to suit their religious tastes.

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When I mentioned the group to research participants outside of Neepawa, they had not heard of it. They wanted to know what the group stood for and whom they represented, as there were hundreds of associations in the province. PCGBI was still relatively small and new, but it was growing.7 Although PCGBI and many other associations and groups provided meaning and aid for Filipinos in Manitoba, I was the most moved by the accounts of Dr José Rizal and involvements in the voluntary association known as the Order of the Knights of Rizal. Not only is this group active today, but it has deep historical and religious roots in the Philippines and North America. Dr José Rizal symbolizes the public face of diasporic Filipino thought and culture and also its underside. Throughout the research the Knights of Rizal was the most common voluntary association that I heard about from the migrants who had come to Manitoba in the 1960s and 1970s. The Winnipeg chapter was founded in 1991, decades after its members had arrived in the province. Members of the Knights of Rizal had a range of religious affiliations: some were Roman Catholics, others were Protestants, and one, I was told, was a Muslim. While the group did not have a specific religious connection, I nevertheless found it to represent another layer of religiosity and belonging in Manitoba outside churches. Distinctively, several research participants mentioned that the group flourished under the leadership of Father Neil Parado, St Edward’s first Filipino priest. From that small piece of information I deduced that the earliest Knights of Rizal were likely Catholics. The Knights of Rizal was a consequence of the colonial past, but, as I discuss, it was tightly connected to veiled beliefs and practices, and hidden narratives about Dr José Rizal. The founding members of the Knights of Rizal in the Philippines had been doctors, and the members in later years were defined by their dedication to Dr José Rizal (1861–96), a medical doctor who placed a high value on education, knew multiple languages, had studied outside the Philippines, and had spent time in North America. A Western-educated man whose leadership qualities were taken seriously by the nation’s oppressors, Rizal inspired messianic movements and brotherhoods. On 30 December 1896 in Manila a firing squad ended the life of the thirty-five-year-old Filipino novelist and doctor. Dr José Rizal had been found guilty of sedition. In his writings he had boldly critiqued the Spanish colonial regime and the Catholic Church for oppressing his people. He had defended Filipinos’ human rights and called for peaceful political reforms to give them a voice in government. Although

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Rizal did not advocate armed rebellion, his ideas fuelled the Philippine revolution that started in the months before his execution. Far from being silenced by a hail of bullets, he attained iconic stature as a martyr. In death he continued to influence profoundly the rise of Philippine nationalism and the drive for independence. Today Rizal is revered by many as the national hero of the Philippines, and his execution date is a national holiday, Rizal Day. In my research in both Canada and the Philippines the story of José Rizal was a dominant narrative. Everyone had an answer when I asked them to name their foremost hero. Usually the response was Rizal. Sometimes it was Apolinario Mabini, a revolutionary leader who, while disabled by polio, had served as prime minister of the shortlived First Philippine Republic in 1899. Occasionally people named Jesus as their greatest hero. As discussed earlier, the introduction of Christianity to the archipelago had inculcated a religious culture that valorized sacrifice, submission, and martyrdom. These religio-cultural values became important tools that were used to create obedient Spanish, and later American, colonial subjects. Religious roots ran deep, and even after the colonial period had ended on 4 July 1946, the Filipino state and its citizenry continued to extol the virtues of altruism and personal sacrifice for the greater good. As Anna Romina Guevarra explains, “the state’s construction of Filipino workers as God-fearing, self-sacrificing, highly productive workers and citizens echoes … ­[religious] ideals and is represented by the iconic figure of the bagong bayani (modern-day hero).”8 Archival research, secondary sources, fieldwork, and interviews in Canada and the Philippines helped me to understand the significance of Rizal as hero and religio-cultural icon; Rizal veneration; and the beliefs and practices of the Knights of Rizal, a voluntary organization that promotes the hero’s ideals. One anonymous research participant pointed out its similarities to the Knights of Columbus, a Catholic voluntary association. As a novelist, journalist, essayist, playwright, and poet, Rizal was a storyteller. His two novels, penned in Europe, were banned in the Philippines, but people managed to read smuggled copies. After his execution by the Spanish he became the subject of endlessly retold anecdotes, stories, and myths. It is useful to think about stories as a framework for understanding how Rizal’s memory has been kept alive and venerated in every corner of the world to which Filipinos have ventured in search of better lives.

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The New Testament story of Christ’s suffering and willingness to martyr himself for God’s people has strongly influenced and helped to shape Catholicism in the Philippines, and it continues to resonate in migrant lives. Vicente Rafael describes the appeal of Rizal as Jesuslike: “Rizal was admired for his sacrifice, suffering, and passion for the people and his ability to evoke populist visions of utopic communities held together by an ethos of caring, the sharing of obligations … and the exchange of pity.”9 Christianity was introduced by the Spanish whose race-based value system structured and ordered Filipino society. As Paul Kramer states, “the promotion of Philippine civilization had involved differentiating, minoritizing and exceptionalizing Muslims and animist groups that did not meet Spanish or broader European social-evolutionary standards.”10 Christianity, while ostracizing nonbelievers, helped to integrate disparate non-European communities, and Jesus became a widespread leitmotif in Filipino culture. Canonical narratives inspired revolutionaries, martyrs, and migrants. Metanarratives about divine agents, from Christ to saints to Rizal, and everyday stories defined religiosity, culture, and family life. They helped to create the bayanihan communal spirit that I heard about so often in the research participant stories that fill the pages of this book. As Nancy Ammerman observes, “if stories, large and small, are mechanisms through which the world is socially constructed, we can learn a great deal about the social shape of religion by listening for how everyday stories are told.”11 Stories can be particularly valuable in nations where multiple indigenous, racial, religious, and cultural groups have endured centuries of turbulent colonialism and conflict. In the Filipino diaspora, including Canada, storytelling became one of the tools that migrants employed in order to settle and form connections. Newcomers arrived carrying multiple narrative streams that mixed with the narratives told by the migrants who had preceded them. Stories narrating the success, contributions, and martyrdom of heroes like Rizal served to inspire and connect generations of Filipinos at home and throughout the diaspora. Stories were valuable in the marginal stage as people left nations and families, crossed international borders, and settled. Stories were coloured by immigration laws that shaped arrival, experiences of racism, and stereotypes.12 Thus, stories expressed, transmitted, and reinforced culture, belief, and identity. Stories told to me by research participants and about which I learned in fieldwork helped me to understand Filipino Canadian cultures of

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belonging. Stories almost always included narratives about church and devotional life and also revered cultural heroes such as Rizal. Rizal became an alternative role model once legislation in the Philippines in the 1950s had installed him as the nation’s hero. From a young age children learned about him at school. When large numbers of Filipinos began to migrate to Canada in the late 1950s, they drew on these stories. By the 1990s, when many Filipinos had arrived and networks of Filipinos had developed, Knights of Rizal groups emerged throughout Canada. Tales of Rizal’s talents put him in the category of superhuman. He was said to be so handsome and charming that women found him irresistible. He somehow found time to be an expert swordsman and a good shot. Claims about his accomplishments in a mere thirty-five years of life often read like this one from a website maintained by the José Rizal University: “He was an architect, artist, businessman, cartoonist, educator, economist, ethnologist, scientific farmer, historian, inventor, journalist, linguist, musician, mythologist, nationalist, naturalist, novelist, ophthalmic surgeon, poet, propagandist, psychologist, scientist, sculptor, sociologist, and theologian.”13 Rizal, through these mythical narratives, became linked with acceptable forms of public engagement and Catholic infrastructure. But he also became a symbol of Filipino people and traditions that had been nearly destroyed by colonialism and which could be summoned for help like a secreted superhero in times of need. José Rizal, as person and persona, unites Filipino communities around the globe. He was born in 1861 into a large Catholic family in Calamba, Laguna province. His father, a wealthy farmer, was a mestizo (of mixed race, having part-Chinese ancestry). His mother, an Indio (the racial term used by the Spanish for native Filipinos), had received a college education. Rizal was a brilliant, artistically gifted student from a young age. He studied medicine at Santo Tomas University in the Philippines and then spent a decade (1882–92) in Europe, completing his medical degree at the University of Madrid and a doctorate at the University of Heidelberg. While in Europe Rizal became a leading member of the Propaganda Movement, a Filipino expatriate group whose writings pushed for reforms in their home country. In 1887 he published his politically explosive first novel, Noli me tangere (Touch Me Not). Written in Spanish and published in Berlin, this seminal work, often called the Noli by Filipinos, endures today as the foremost classic of Philippine literature.

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It is required reading for high school students in the Philippines. The Penguin Classics edition describes it as “the first major artistic manifestation of Asian resistance to European colonialism.”14 Noli me tangere satirizes Spanish colonial rule and scathingly depicts Catholic authorities in the Philippines as hypocritical, corrupt, and abusive. The novel describes the return of the Rizal-like main character, Juan Crisostomo Ibarra, to the Philippines after having been educated in Madrid. Ibarra wants to build a school, believing that education is the key to progress for his people. Catholic friars cause his father’s death and destroy Ibarra’s engagement to his fiancée, Maria Clara. Eventually Ibarra is falsely implicated in a revolt and forced into exile. In 1891 Rizal published a darker sequel, El Filibusterismo (The Filibustering), also known as The Reign of Greed. In it Ibarra returns to the Philippines disguised as a wealthy jeweller and plots revolution by manipulating those in power. The novel opens by depicting the decline of Philippine society under Spanish occupation through the metaphor of a ship. The vessel represents the tiers of racialized society: Indio (Malay), mestizo (mixed race), and Chinese are steerage passengers on the lower deck; Spanish clergy and other European, dominant society members loom high above, comfortably lounging on the upper deck, enjoying the outdoors while shaded from the sun. Universities and government agencies condemned Rizal for tearing apart the socio-religious fabric of the Philippines.15 His novels were deemed subversive. He was labelled an enemy of the state and exiled to a Philippine island from 1892 to 1896. Eventually, like his character Ibarra, he was charged with leading insurrection, though he denied any participation in unlawful revolt. Rizal was convicted of rebellion, sedition, and conspiracy and sentenced to death. Spurred on by his sacrifice, the revolution gained momentum. In 1898, two years after his execution, the Philippines became – however briefly – the first independent Asian republic.16 Stories about Rizal’s ideas and writings connected him to fashionable and respectable European and Western society. He came from mestizo and Indio heritage, but he spoke Spanish and wrote books for dominant Spanish society readers. Despite his banishment and execution, the stories and the man prevailed. First, Rizal’s works were read in their original Spanish, and, later, the 1956 Republic Act No. 1425, or the Rizal Law, ensured that public and private schools, including colleges and universities throughout the Philippines, would offer courses and

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continue to circulate Rizal narratives in English. Rizal is not usually read in Tagalog. Rizal’s appeal was global. In the influential 1983 book Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, Irish political scientist Benedict Anderson chose Rizal’s Noli me tangere and its opening scene to describe his idea of an imagined community. Rizal famously visited the United States in 1888,17 travelling from San Francisco to New York City and stopping in Chicago.18 He wrote on a postcard, “I visited some memorials to Washington, the great man who, I think, has no equal in this century.”19 Although small numbers of Filipinos lived in the United States at this time, large numbers lived there eight years later, when Rizal was put to death. Migrant labourers and students were inspired by his self-sacrifice. Like them, he had left the Philippines and experienced life in the West. He had not succumbed to gambling or the other vices that stereotyped the young Asian men who were living apart from family and friends. He was an aristocrat, his social position and financial means enabling him to travel unimpeded by racial and cultural barriers. He looked and behaved like a modern Western gentleman, dressing in a suit and tie, with short hair. Rizal did not try to distance himself from his nation or his heritage; he loved the Philippines and its people. However, living overseas changed him. There he was stirred to imagine and confront a Philippines in which Spanish colonialism and Catholicism had robbed the people of dignity and fundamental rights. In El Filibusterismo Rizal created Simoun, the disguised version of Juan Crisostomo Ibarra from his first novel. Simoun was also a disguised version of Rizal himself. He is dressed in Western attire, but he is not what he appears to be. On the surface he is a wealthy jeweller, but he wears tinted glasses and a beard that obscure his features. His appearance is racially ambiguous, described sometimes as brown, black, part Chinese, or “Anglo-Indian.”20 He speaks English and Tagalog. Simoun is exotic and disruptive, civilized and confident, Europeanized and yet indigenous. He troubles racial and Filipino stereotypes. Developing Noli me tangere’s themes of religious dominance, colonialism, and corruption, El Filibusterismo targeted orientalism and its pernicious influence on the Philippines. Through it, Rizal attempted to reveal the underside of Philippine life. He showed that people in disguise behaved according to the rules of the dominant society, while in their private lives they did something quite different. The masquerade helped them to succeed, earn money, do well in school, and be

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recognized. On the one hand, they strove to learn and master European languages and cultures and even came to admire them. But on the other hand, they reviled the colonizers who had made them outsiders in their own nation. Heroes have galvanized populations of displaced peoples throughout history. Sun Yat-sen (1866–1925), the father of modern China, became a revered role model to many Chinese living in North America, particularly men forced to live as so-called bachelors because their wives and children could not emigrate. As I have written elsewhere about Sun, “he had lived the same life as had the bachelors … he had been exposed to Western life and its religions.”21 Once diasporic settlements were large enough, voluntary associations dedicated to Dr Sun Yat-sen and his democratic nationalist cause started to form throughout overseas Chinese communities. The same happened with Dr José Rizal, though groups formed in Canada a century after the first Filipinos arrived. Rizal, like Sun, was a father figure. He was the first to help the nation to develop a unified identity and imagine itself within a global context. This was no easy task, as the Philippine archipelago comprises more than seven thousand islands and manifold indigenous peoples, languages, cultures, and religions. Even during Rizal’s lifetime people from the Philippines had travelled beyond the islands, seeking work and better lives in Asia, Europe, and North America. At this juncture in history Rizal, the artist and scientist who would give voice to the people, could not just be a mestizo, an Indio, or a Filipino; he had to be a man of the world, positioned outside of race, place, and time.22 He represented the layers of Filipino society and the need for bayanihan spirit to stitch the diverse communities together from the inside out. Research participants noted that Rizal was a cosmopolitan role model who was accessible and understandable to non-Filipinos. He linked the Filipino diasporic community – doctors, nurses, teachers, politicians, musicians, priests, and domestic workers – to non-Filipino communities. According to the Knights of Rizal, he espoused “the worth and dignity of the individual, the inviolability of human rights, the innate equality of all men and races, the necessity for constitutional government and due process of law, popular sovereignty as the basis of all political authority, faith in human reason and enlightenment, the right of the masses to public education, and belief in social progress through freedom.”23 Rizal represented a starting point in conversations with research participants. As I asked questions, people revealed layers beneath the

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standard answer that Dr José Rizal was the national hero of the Philippines. To Filipinos who had migrated as children and as adults he embodied, to use a term from Erving Goffman, the “front stage” persona of a Filipino. Rizal was polite, well dressed, and articulate, blended in well with Europeans, and presented himself as a reformer, rather than a revolutionary. But I detected some ambivalence towards Rizal. If I went to enough Filipino events, asked enough people, or lingered long enough with research participants, they told me about other layers to the Rizal-as-icon story and about other heroes who had made a difference. Some research participants included Rizal in their list of heroes, but their comments contained a mix of praise and comments that cast him as an elite and colonial puppet. Official narratives had elevated Rizal while others who had done the real revolutionary work had remained in the shadows. Yes, Rizal had been a trail-blazer and had played a role, but, as research participant Raoul explained, he “was not created by the Filipinos as a national hero. It was the Americans who did that.”24 Alfie, a research participant and the only atheist in this study, revered Rizal. He talked about his esteem for him not as a martyr but for his open mind: “I like José Rizal, primarily because he was also an eclectic academician, a multitasker, a free thinker. He was a doctor, a writer, and a multilinguist. I could imagine his being a very broad-minded person, having travelled a lot and having interacted with many people of different nationalities. I admire people who could do so many things.”25 Research participant Levy Abad asserted that while Rizal was a hero to many Filipinos who had left their homeland, those associated with today’s liberation movement in the Philippines had different heroes.26 Rizal’s reformism was tainted with colonialism: Historically, we fought and gained independence from colonial rule of the Spaniards and had independence declared on June 12, 1898. But this was not acceptable for the U.S. and Spain. The U.S. granted us independence from U.S. colonial rule on July 4, 1946 through the Treaty of Manila. But the granting of independence was just the beginning of the struggle against U.S. neocolonial rule. It is pervasive to this day and is still raging. Almost everybody is silent about this. You will note that this struggle will not be seen in the mainstream Canadian cultural presentation. Hence, what the diaspora is getting is just a partial story of the struggle narrative.27

Levy emphasized that most left-wing liberation movement supporters had not migrated and thus their views, heroes, and interests were not

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Figure 7.1.  Rizal image on the side of a Filipino Manitoba Street Festival jeepney, 20 August 2016. Photograph by Phil Hossack.

represented in Manitoba’s cultural fabric or in activities that took place during the annual Philippines Heritage Week celebrations (fig. 7.1). Perla Javarte was the president of the Philippine Heritage Council of Manitoba and also a research participant. Its program in 2014, one of the two years I attended, began with an outdoor flag-raising ceremony attended by politicians and Filipino elite. This was followed by the procession of the Knights of Rizal into the auditorium of the Philippine Canadian Centre of Manitoba, an opening song performed by St Edward’s Filipino mass choir, and remarks by distinguished guests. There was standing room only in the auditorium that was packed with hundreds of Filipinos. On each of the next five days there were events for new immigrants, a celebration of faith hosted by Winnipeg’s Couples for Christ group, a cultural evening organized by the Manitoba Association of Filipino teachers, a BIBAK cultural exchange evening with Canadian Indigenous leaders and communities, and an evening

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with the Filipino community’s oldest members. The Philippine Independence Ball was the premier event on the Friday evening of that week. In 2014 the community was celebrating the 116th anniversary of Philippine independence, and the gala dinner was held at downtown Winnipeg’s Marlborough Hotel. Tickets were forty dollars. The sponsors for the week’s events included local Filipino newspapers, the Royal Bank of Canada, and the Knights of Rizal. Orlando (Orli) Marcelino, the Philippines’ honorary consul general for the province from 2013 to 2016, offered the keynote address that evening. He peppered his opening remarks for Philippine Heritage Week with references to the man, though he did not offer the usual speech that simply praised Rizal: José Rizal is our national hero. It was his death that sparked the revolution against the Spaniards in 1896. Dr Rizal once said, “He who does not know how to look back at where he came from will never get to his destination.” I believe that Dr Rizal was telling us to study and to learn from our history so that these things in the past will not be committed again and that instead we will learn how to move forward. Indeed, Rizal had died before the revolution, leaving the work for others to do: Andrés Bonifacio did what was needed to spur on the revolution of 1896. Apolinario Mabini provided leadership as the prime minister of the first Philippine Republic … Apolinario Mabini is truly an exemplary hero.28

Marcelino’s remarks received a standing ovation and cheers from the mostly Filipino crowd. Philippine Heritage Week continued on the Saturday morning with more than an hour of speeches and songs, the unveiling of Winnipeg’s Rizal Memorial in Dr José Rizal Park, and a barbeque. On Sunday a week later the festivities concluded with a picnic in Kildonan Park. The first Rizal Day was celebrated a year after Dr Rizal’s death with simple rituals in Hong Kong, and two years later in the Philippines.29 By 1905 in Chicago the Filipino diaspora was also observing the day.30 After that, according to Filipino community newspapers, Rizal Day continued to be celebrated by thousands of Filipinos on student campuses and at hotels in large cities in the 1910s and 1920s in the United States.31 In 1925 a fraternal order called the Filipino Federation of America was founded by Hilario Camino Moncado, a mystic and writer, in Los Angeles. The federation drew inspiration from the social contributions of Rizal, drumming up new members on Rizal Day and marking his

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execution with patriotic events. Los Angeles streets were festooned with American and Filipino flags.32 The number twelve, which had mystical significance, figured prominently in the organization: its aims numbered twelve; it had twelve chapters, and twelve lodges in each chapter. The group subscribed to a popular belief that had circulated since Rizal had been executed: that Rizal had been the returning Christ. Steffi San Buenaventura elaborates: “the Federation circulated a specially constructed photograph of Rizal showing him with 12 … ilustrados [intellectuals] comprised of some of Rizal’s colleagues in the ilustrado nationalist movement but also of Filipino heroes whom Rizal had never met, like Andres Bonifacio.”33 By 1934, back in the Philippines, Rizal had inspired a religion based on the popular belief that he was the returning Christ. The Rizalistas were founded by Angel Lorenzo, who had a vision of José Rizal and Bathala, God the Father, while visiting Mount Banahaw, an active volcano.34 Here God is known by the Tagalog name, Bathala. By using the Tagalog name, the group evokes a native Filipino understanding of the divine, as opposed to a colonial Spanish one. Latin and Spanish were the languages of Catholicism, and the use of untranslated terms such as Bathala is an effort to resist or interrupt colonialism. In the vision Rizal told Lorenzo to erect a temple named KALK (Kapatiran ang Litaw na Katalinuhan, the Brilliant Knowledge of Brotherhood). Rizal instructed Lorenzo that temples should be built in areas that would be safe from flooding. To date, some fifty temples have been built, mostly atop mountains. While many Rizalista congregants now live outside the Philippines, research participants at a Rizalista church in Tarlac City, Victoria province, said that they did not think any temples had been built in overseas communities. Rizalista congregants expect the imminent return of Rizal, “son of God and son of Mary.”35 According to Tomas Supang, a Rizalista church member in Tarlac City, “people believe Lorenzo and Rizal are one and the same person because both died from a bullet that went through their nape. The hole on the nape of Lorenzo was proof of this.” Rizalistas revere their Filipino saviour for doing good deeds; he is their “Cristo ng Pilipinas, the Indigenous Christ of the Philippines. They don’t recognize Jesus Christ as Lord. They don’t read the Bible.”36 Tarlac City’s Rizalista church holds a one-hour service in Tagalog on the first Sunday of every month. Monthly services are attended by some twenty people, most of whom are elderly. Rizalista altar paintings depict Bathala with an all-seeing eye and outstretched hands (fig. 7.2).

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Figure 7.2.  Bathala, Rizalista church, Victoria, Tarlac province, Philippines, 1 May 2015. Photograph by Melba Sumat.

According to Tomas, each of the altar paintings in the fifty temples is the same. They are based upon Lorenzo’s vision of God that he saw at Mount Banahaw. Rizalista altars and services are also uniform throughout the country. On the altar are flowers, candles, a small statue of José Rizal, the Philippine flag, and photographs of revolutionary heroes Apolinario Mabini and Melchora Aquino, as well as Angel Lorenzo, the founder. The Book of Knowledge (Aklat ng Kaalaman), the group’s prayer book, is also placed on the altar and provides the text for prayers at dawn, evening, birthdays (including the birthday of Rizal), death, and for the soul. The service is officiated by three obispas (bishops), women in their late twenties or early thirties. They wear long white veils and long whiteand-light-blue dresses. There is no pastor, priest, or minister, though a male officiant called the National Investigator and General concludes the service with a message. At the beginning of the service one obispa rings a bell. Prayers from the Book of Knowledge are directed to Bathala for goodness, caring, and faithfulness and to leaders for happiness and justice. Aside from the small statue of Rizal on the altar and a large one of him in front of the church, Rizal’s presence is subdued throughout

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Figure 7.3.  Rizalista church service, Tarlac, Victoria province, Philippines, 1 May 2015. Photograph by Melba Sumat.

the service. He is mentioned only once during the closing message, with a few words of thanksgiving. (See fig. 7.3.) Meanwhile, in overseas communities Rizal is venerated in different ways. The two earliest-documented chapters of the Order of the Knights of Rizal were founded by Filipino migrants and students in 1906 Chicago.37 Other sources show that the fraternal organization originated in Manila in 1909. In that year the group known as Orden Caballeros de Rizal numbered some seventeen members.38 Still other sources date the establishment of the group to two years later, 1911, with nine founding members chosen from all walks of life.39 Despite the somewhat shadowy origins of the Knights of Rizal, one thing remains clear: from the beginning the group represented individuals who were passionate about the man and the Philippines.40

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Even though the Knights of Rizal formed in the early 1900s, I did not see or hear much evidence of a presence in the diaspora until the late 1980s, after the 1986 People Power Revolution that succeeded in removing Ferdinand Marcos as president. By this point, North American Filipino communities had grown large enough to support Philippine Independence Day celebrations in which José Rizal figured prominently.41 But the emergence of the group in the global diaspora at this time may also have coincided with preparations for the hundredthanniversary celebrations commemorating Rizal’s death in 1896.42 These events overlapped with a growing Filipino patriotism, nostalgia for better leadership, and dreams of a stronger Filipino nation following the end of the Marcos regime. When asked about their understanding of Rizal, most research participants who belonged to the order spoke with affection about the man. Some shared albums of photographs of themselves and their classmates acting out Rizal’s life. Gem recalled a poem that he had written about Rizal for a high-school poetry contest, which was awarded first prize. Les volunteered that his surname, Crisostomo, was part of the main character’s name in Rizal’s Noli me tangere. Women reminisced about how they had vied for lead roles as Juan Crisostomo Ibarra’s lover, Maria Clara, in school plays, and as Rizal Day queen in the Philippines. However, interviews and follow-up questions produced little information about the history of the Knights of Rizal in Canada and North America. Dr Roland Guzman, a physician who had arrived in Ottawa in 1956 and moved to Winnipeg in 1961, organized the first Winnipeg chapter in 1991.43 It is customary for Knights of Rizal chapters to begin with a core group of nine. Winnipeg’s nine members of the chapter council include the chapter commander, the deputy chapter commander, the chancellor, the pursuivant, the archivist, the exchequer, the auditor, and two trustees. The original nine members worked in the health-care field. Guzman arranged for a member to come from Toronto, where the first chapter in Canada had recently formed, to help start Winnipeg’s chapter. Guzman added that people were motivated to join “because of the love of country, love of God, you know, serve the community.” Guzman’s comments were echoed by many Knights whom I interviewed, who similarly mentioned joining out of “love of country and love of God.” Guzman was one of the first Filipinos to settle in Winnipeg and had taken on a community leadership role.44 Several Filipinos took on important roles in early Canadian Filipino society, brokering

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relations between it and non-Filipinos , especially as the roles pertained to government and social agencies. In 1961 Dr Guzman and his wife, Irene, were the first presidents of the Filipino-Canadian Association of ­Manitoba.45 His leadership was not without controversy. In 1986, when he was named the first Philippine honorary consul general for Manitoba, the Brandon Sun reported: “Ted Alcuitas, leader of the group of nine protesting, explained that ‘they were criticizing Dr. Roland Guzman for accepting the appointment of honorary consul because the appointment was made by the discredited government of President Ferdinand Marcos.’”46 From the beginning the Knights of Rizal did not have a clubhouse. The first meeting was held at Dr Guzman’s home. No children or women were involved, as was customary. Guzman and other members wrote the chapter’s constitution. Members of the new brotherhood recalled fathers and grandfathers who had spoken with admiration about Rizal. Thus, he mediated home memories and passion for the Philippines. The organization’s letterhead and documents prominently display the image of Dr José Rizal on the upper right side. On the upper left is the crest of the Order of the Knights of Rizal, featuring a green laurel wreath encircling a white triangle that carries a central portrait of Rizal, and a star at each point. Behind that are eight sun rays, topped by what appears to be a knight’s helmet. Today there are roughly seventy active members in the Winnipeg chapter of the Knights of Rizal. A research participant added that “in total there are probably double that number of people, but they are taking a break from the group or have retired from it. They occasionally take part in events.” Some research participants expressed that they had been members years ago when they had first arrived in Winnipeg but were no longer active. Others dismissed the group as elitist. Winnipeg’s Knights of Rizal are currently organizing to open chapters in Portage la Prairie and South Winnipeg. As a Filipino of mixed mestizo and Indio background, Rizal should have remained on the margins of society. He was not Spanish born, and his heritage should have limited his social position. But he came from a wealthy family; he was also highly intelligent, and, with an overseas education and medical degrees, he could have done anything he wanted. Instead, he chose to risk it all for the love of his nation. He wrote two novels that would unleash a revolution and lead to his execution. Rizal the man might have died, but his deeds and writings live on. They spawned a cult-like religion and inspired generations

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of Filipinos worldwide, including many in Winnipeg. The Knights of Rizal emerged in the 1990s as a voluntary association. Professionals joined the group and through it organized events to promote education and help Filipino youth and seniors. Such organizations have helped Filipinos unite, network, and belong. Mutual aid, occupational, and business voluntary associations like the Knights of Rizal have been predominantly male. In the last fifty years women’s auxiliaries have been popular ways to formally acknowledge the involvement of members’ wives and widows. The Knights of Rizal auxiliary group is called the Ladies of Rizal, and in Winnipeg it has existed formally since 2010. Leah Magsino added: “Dr José Rizal had the belief that women could contribute to the development of society in and out of their homes. We, the Ladies of Rizal, support the propagation of the ideals, teachings, and writings of Dr José Rizal.”47 The women’s investiture for new members is different from the men’s. It includes a ritual in which the commander places a scarf around the neck of the initiate, who says, “I pledge to support the Order of the Knights of Rizal in the performance of their duties, responsibilities, and activities.” Women attend neither the meetings of the Knights of Rizal nor their membership ceremonies, but they are welcome to attend parties and other celebrations. Their only mandate is assisting or supporting the activities of the Knights. Leah continued: “Rest assured, the Ladies of Rizal has a wide variety of ideas that will help you make every day a little easier. We just come for the parties, to eat, socialize, and talk about the life and teachings of Dr José Rizal. Children are not allowed to take part.” Some Filipinos derided the group as elitist, some saw it as old fashioned and irrelevant, and some were ambivalent, but several research participants, many of them former members, spoke with affection about the group. Since 1997 they had raised funds to provide annual university scholarships to promising grade-twelve students who had at least one Filipino parent. Donations were solicited from local businesses and members of the group. Tom Colina added: “We provide an evening of celebration for [scholarship recipients] on December 30, the anniversary of Rizal’s execution. We hand them a prize. It also reminds them of José Rizal’s high regard for education.”48 As Winnipeg’s Filipino community ages, the Knights are also turning their attention to seniors who need help. In 2009 the Knights organized a steering committee for innovative cultural approaches to the prevention of elder abuse (ICAPEA).

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Invitations to join the Knights of Rizal are normally extended to active members of the Filipino community, though being Filipino is not a requirement. The group was originally Christian, but today it is non-sectarian. New members are nominated by current knights. Felino de Jesus, the current chapter leader, added: “Then that person will go through certain checks of being a law-abiding citizen, a good person, and all that stuff.”49 Prospective members provide the names of referees who can vouch for them. Among those active in the organization are doctors, dentists, lawyers, engineers, and politicians. During the solemn induction ceremony for new members a bust of Rizal sits at the front of the room. A non-denominational prayer precedes the ceremony. The new members file into a dark room, past a line of senior members, usually numbering nine. They are blindfolded, though they are able to navigate their way into the room by following a line of candles. Why are they blindfolded? A research participant explained: “The reason being is that the Philippines went through a very dark time, and that time that they are blindfolded signifies the darkness that the Philippines went through under colonization by the Spaniards.” The commander performs the induction and the swearing in and outlines the expectations and duties of a knight of Rizal. The new member recites an oath, and then the commander uses a sword to dub the new member a knight of Rizal, pronouncing him “sir” or “ginoo,” the Tagalog term. Then he asks the new member to rise up. The member receives a medal that is pinned to his lapel, as well as a sash that he will start to wear after belonging to the organization for a certain length of time. The ceremony also includes the singing of songs about Rizal. Each chapter member pays dues of roughly fifteen dollars per year, which is a similar amount to that paid by members of other voluntary associations to belong to their groups. The group holds two events annually, commemorating Rizal’s birthday on 19 June and his execution on 30 December. In June 2015 the Knights and Ladies of Rizal congregated at Winnipeg’s new Dr José Rizal Park and laid a wreath in his honour. As with many Rizal events, there were speeches, food, and music. Knights of Rizal members attend many Filipino community events, including the Philippine Heritage Week flag-raising ceremony and ball. Knights and ladies wear a formal costume when attending Filipino events. For men this consists of a barong with gold embroidery on the chest, worn with black pants and shoes. Ranks within the organization,

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of which there are five, are marked with bejewelled pins. The ladies wear light-coloured traditional Filipino gowns. Some in the organization had been motivated to join because of a lifelong love of Rizal. There was no ambivalence in an account by Les. Rizal was a mystical saint and hero present in his everyday life: I believe that I am the most faithful and sincere to our national hero. There is a picture of our national hero in my house, and below it is a calendar. Every day before I go out, I take note of the day on the calendar and also the picture. I mark a note on the calendar with any events, any occasion that I will be at, et cetera. So, I am proud to say that if there is anybody who always sees Dr José Rizal every day, every day, it is me. I got that picture of Dr José Rizal when we had an international conference in Las Vegas. I was in a store, looking at our national hero. I was touched when I saw him. I was staring like this, and the one who owns the store said to me, “Why is everyone always staring at this picture?” I said, “Because it is very important to us. He’s our national hero, and I would like to have it, if you can sell it to me.” And he said to me, “You’re sincere about it; you’re in so much love with your national hero.” I said, “Yes, that’s why we are here, to attend the international conference of Dr José Rizal.” So he gave it to me, you know: “Oh, take it. Yes.” Because I would like to always see him when it will be at home.50

Every January, Les’s wife cuts the image off the old calendar and pastes it onto a new one. In this way Les can gaze at the image of Rizal and remember the saint-like hero as he goes about his daily activities. In the calendar’s portrait Rizal is dressed simply in a white collar and a plain black jacket. A coat is visible over the jacket. He smiles slightly as he stares at the viewer. Below the image is printed “José Rizal, National Hero of the Philippines.” It appears to have been produced to mark the centenary of Rizal’s execution in 1996, meaning that Les has kept it for twenty years. The calendar image serves as a memorial, not unlike others that have been erected throughout the world. It marks Les’s place in Winnipeg and his devotion to a man who ascended as a hero during a period of American colonialism. Rizal was already dead and did not pose a threat to Americans who governed the island nation, and he seemed like a benign figure who had managed to transcend his mestizo and Indio origins. While Rizal remained a man of contradictions to some, many, including Les, saw the future of the Philippines reflected in him.

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Again, most North American memorials to Rizal were built and dedicated beginning in the 1990s, when Rizal veneration in North America appeared to experience a revival. Felino de Jesus, head of Winnipeg’s Knights of Rizal in 2015, spoke affectionately about the man to whom he referred as a superhero. Some of the knights attend annual conferences and gatherings elsewhere in Canada, Germany, and the United States. Felino mentioned visiting two memorials in Heidelberg, Germany, including one in an apartment where Dr José Rizal had lived and another at the university where he had studied. He added: The reason for the existence of the Knights of Rizal around the world is to memorialize him and to let people know of Rizal’s values, works, hopes, and dreams; that freedom can be had through peaceful means; [that] education is the means for people to be free from oppression [and] ­colonization … Dr Rizal stood for love of country, love of people, love of education, love of God. He wanted to gain the independence of the Filipino people without bloodshed, using the might of the pen and words. That is part of the culture of the Filipino people: it does not matter how poor they are, they want their children to be educated.51

Streets and parks from Heidelberg to Chicago to Winnipeg have been named after Dr José Rizal. They mark his contribution to the Filipino diaspora. They also mark the prominence of Filipino groups in these locations, in addition to Filipinos’ ability to lobby politicians successfully. There are several memorials to Dr Rizal in Winnipeg, including those at Glen Eden Cemetery and Chapel Lawn Memorial Gardens, each consisting of a plaque bearing his picture, his birthplace, his birthdate, and the date of his martyrdom. In addition, there is a cairn dedicated to him in a park named after him. Similar to other cities with large Filipino populations, Winnipeg has a street dedicated to the icon, Dr José Rizal Way.52 Research participants mentioned repeatedly that younger people were not interested in joining the association. In today’s world the Order of the Knights of Rizal would probably not have been founded. What has changed since 1991? In the early 1990s Manitoba’s Filipino community was large enough to sustain the group, but not too large. Many of the initial members were physicians who had connections to knights in Toronto and elsewhere. Today’s community is diverse and much bigger. Filipino Manitobans are just as well educated as they once

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were, and while Filipinos still regard the group as one conferring high status, they do not need it in order to belong or to network. There are hundreds of associations that Filipino Manitobans can join. They can go to Filipino churches and restaurants, see local performers or live acts from the Philippines, or attend several different festivals to connect to their heritage. It may also be that younger Filipino Canadians view networking with co-ethnics as restrictive and unnecessary. They may take a cynical view of elevating Rizal, a human being, to the status of near-saint. Nevertheless, to Felino, Les, and millions of other Filipinos throughout the world Rizal is a potent galvanizing figure. Indeed, the way in which many research participants spoke about the man suggested that he had taken on the status of a secular saint. He and many other heroes have continued to be defined by their martyrdom. The example set by the educated, patriotic, self-sacrificing Rizal was an aspirational one. Through people’s sharing of stories, poems, songs, plays, memorials, awards, rituals, and religion, José Rizal has helped people to belong and to connect to a past in which a colonized people struggled for freedom and nationhood. Associations such as BIBAK, Migrante International, Dennis Castañeda’s PCGBI, and the Knights of Rizal became significant ­devotional and social outlets for men. I could not overlook the significant work of these groups and the support they marshalled on behalf of vulnerable youths, seniors, and temporary foreign workers in urban and rural Manitoba.

8 Winnipeg’s Church Staff

More than twenty-two thousand Filipinos immigrated to Manitoba between 2006 and 2011, bringing the total of Filipinos at the time of writing to seventy-five thousand or more.1 The surge in migration had an enormous impact on Filipino religion and culture in Manitoba. In this chapter I chronicle the intersection of everyday religion and migration in the stories of one Protestant pastor and two Catholic priests, including Father Geoffrey, a second-generation Filipino who had entered the vocation. In this new century Filipinos belong in multiple religious places. If they are Catholic, they can go to mass at St Edward’s or St Peter’s, and if not, they can attend Jesus Christ Is Lord, Broadway Disciples United Church, or scores of other houses of worship. Filipino religions and culture also characterize some of Manitoba’s public spaces now. Sargent Avenue has become a Little Manila or Manila town – a neighbourhood with churches, groceries, restaurants, shipping companies, and other businesses that cater to Filipino Manitobans. For decades the Marlborough Hotel has been the site of frequent Filipino parties, while Kildonan Park is the place for picnics.2 As greater numbers of Filipinos arrived, Filipino Manitobans were increasingly diverse. Joan Duhaylungsod, who arrived in 2009 as a provincial nominee and nurse, self-identified as spiritual but not religious.3 Alfie Vera Mella, who came in 2003 as a health-care aide, considered himself to be an atheist, saying that his grandfather had also been one. Alfie and his wife, who was a Mormon, had one son. For Alfie, being a non-believer made finding acceptance in the Filipino community challenging: “As an atheist it was really difficult because this gave other people a wrong impression about me … Many people automatically

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labelled me as evil just because I did not believe in the existence of a god.”4 In the Filipino community, religious and social lives were deeply intertwined, and so I was surprised by what Alfie said. I was not surprised that there would be Filipino atheists, given the size of Manitoba’s Filipino community; rather, I was surprised by Alfie’s candid explanation of his lack of faith. To declare one’s non-affiliation to religion was to risk a loss of respectability within the deeply Christian Filipino community. However, I saw no evidence that Alfie was held in low esteem by his compatriots. Beyond his career and family life he was an accomplished singer-songwriter and had a broad circle of friends. As most but not all Filipino migrants crossed multiple borders on their way from the Philippines to Canada, they oriented themselves with familiar signposts: praying in the chapel near the security gate, feeling comforted should they be seated on the plane beside a clergyman, or attending a Sunday service upon arrival in a new city. Their prayers revealed evolving narratives that charted their journeys from home to host country. Religion provided the guidelines for the ways in which Filipinos defined themselves. It defined how people accumulated experiences with others in various social, economic, political, and legal situations. In this way religious self-identification divided the small number of Protestant Christians from the massive number of Catholic Filipinos in Manitoba. Religiosity shaped behaviours, attitudes, and identities within larger groups.5 Pierrre Bourdieu calls this process “the habitus.” Filipino belonging was very much determined by the ways in which Filipino cultures and everyday religious practices were able to adapt to and inhabit Manitoba’s religious and public spaces.6 Belongingness also came through developing a connection to a religious functionary, and, as this chapter shows, these connections became much more numerous in the 2000s. Joaquin Jay Gonzalez explains that pastors and priests were believed to be invested with sacred power: “Catholic priests and Christian pastors in the Philippines rank high socially, alongside town mayors and rich businesspersons. Priests, pastors, nuns, brothers, missionaries, and other religious persons are accorded a high degree of respect. They are treated as ‘holy persons’ and never called simply by their first name. Instead, a title such as ‘Father,’ ‘Sister,’ ‘Brother’ … is usually placed in front of the name as a sign of respect.”7 In the Philippines and in Canada religious functionaries do not earn much money, but they are influential. In the Philippines they have

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social “pull” and can draw on their connections to help congregants gain access to limited medical or other resources in times of emergency. I experienced this myself in February 2015. I had travelled to the mountainous region of Baguio with a group of missionaries and pastors to do fieldwork and interviews. When I awoke very ill one Sunday morning, I needed to see a doctor and get a prescription for antibiotics. I faced a several-hour wait at the hospital. Instead the pastor in our group phoned a congregant who was a doctor. The doctor diagnosed my illness over the phone and then spoke to the pharmacist, who gave me the medicine I needed within a matter of minutes. I left the Philippines grateful to have been connected to a pastor during my travels. As I reflected on this pastor’s esteemed status in Filipino Protestant society, I saw little difference between the reverence shown to him and that shown to Catholic priests. In Canada new immigrants often looked to clergy for help that went beyond matters of faith. After decades in Manitoba many Filipinos continued to feel more comfortable discussing their financial or emotional problems with their priest or pastor than with social workers and other outsiders. Newly migrated and long-time Filipino migrants, both young and old, continued to express religious identities collectively in church, at festivals, and in devotional groups. They likewise persisted with individual prayers and petitions in their daily lives. For some research participants, including Father Geoffrey and Pastor Ed, a spiritual quest and a religious calling had shaped their lives and destinies. Others such as Raoul were less certain and still seemed to be searching. Father Geoffrey Angeles Father Geoffrey Angeles was born in 1977 in Winnipeg. His mother, who was originally from the Philippines, came to the city in 1971 via the Netherlands to work in a garment factory. Geoffrey’s father was sponsored by his sister in 1974 to come to Winnipeg from the Philippine province of Batanga. Both parents came from poor farming backgrounds. They were married at St Mary’s Cathedral, a parish they chose because it was close to where they lived. Geoffrey grew up in Winnipeg’s Maples neighbourhood, which was predominantly Filipino. His parents were nominal Catholics: “When they got married, they moved to the North End, and, I’ll be very honest, they didn’t really go to church … With work schedules and work being

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very much another priority that that became the focus. So, as I was growing up, I don’t ever remember really going to church that much.”8 The family attended mass at Christmas and Easter and occasionally throughout the year. During Geoffrey’s childhood there were religious objects in the home, including a Jesus on the Cross near the front door. As the children entered the house each day, they were expected to acknowledge Jesus’s presence in their individual and family lives. Geoffrey’s mother prayed the rosary and had a little altar in the home with statues of Mother Mary and Santo Niño. Despite the home-based practices and devotions, Geoffrey described religion as being in the background throughout his early life. It was simply something that he was born into, until one of his aunts got married and he was asked to be a ring-bearer. He remembers that he was seven years old and at that moment he became aware of his faith: “There was something beyond me that was calling me … My mother still prayed and taught me my prayers. But we were not that churchgoing of a family.” Geoffrey discovered his religious calling through music. At the age of eight he took piano lessons with a Filipino teacher. He enjoyed them and did well. He accompanied school choirs and performed at events, and when he was in grade eight, he started to play at the masses of St Peter’s parish: “The church had called me back in some weird way through music, and I think my faith began to show itself in terms of a desire to be in a relationship with this mystical thing that we call church.” He recognized the importance of the physical structure of the church building that had become a space in which people from all backgrounds and with different degrees of faith could gather and find belonging. It was this sense of belonging that nurtured his faith. But his faith blossomed through musical appreciation at a turning point in his life in grade nine. He was playing the organ during the Eucharist at St Peter’s Church: “I felt God’s call, and I was so distracted that I missed my cue to get back onto the organ so that the people could sing. I was completely drawn to something other than myself. I had experienced a profound sense of love and belonging.” I suggested to Geoffrey that what he was describing sounded like an ecstatic experience. He agreed. Geoffrey’s description of his experience of God’s call was very much tied to the music. God had always been calling him through music, he realized. In that same year he was approached by another church that needed an organist and a choral director. This time the position was in a United

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church. It seemed like a good paying job, and so for the next four years and until he went to university he played music at St Peter’s 8:30 a.m. service, and also at the United church’s 11:00 a.m. service: “I had the best of both worlds – a wider perspective of two very distinctly different congregations and yet [having] the same goal.” Geoffrey enjoyed playing music in these religious venues, but when a higher paying job was offered to him at a third church, St Stephen’s Anglican Church, he took it. Geoffrey was not a passive recipient of his religious upbringing. Guided by faith, he was actively searching for his place in life through the medium of music. He remained at St Stephen’s Anglican Church for the rest of high school: “Again it was a very different congregation. Again, people were gathering with a certain goal. There were different struggles, different gifts, but I was beginning to see all of the common elements.” His parents had envisioned a science education for him, and as the eldest son he felt duty-bound to obey their wishes. He did not want to disappoint his parents, but his religious calling and the draw of music were more powerful. He made the difficult decision to pursue his love of music at Concord College in Winnipeg, now part of Canadian Mennonite University. Studying at a strongly evangelical Mennonite college offered him another religious perspective. It expanded his horizons beyond his Catholic upbringing and his many years of playing music in United and Anglican churches. These hybrid experiences caused him to reflect on what it meant to be Catholic. He seemed to be searching for a religion that he could call his own, led by his immanent experience of the transcendent through music. When a position was available at St Mary’s Cathedral, he came to see the centrality of liturgy in Catholic worship, and his spiritual hunger intensified: “Music ministry made everything that I was learning at school futile because there’s a certain purpose for our use of music. It was inspiring, it was moving, and it was also didactic. It taught people who God is, and to be able to sing it or to chant it. It became part of someone’s person. When someone continues to sing the comforting words of scripture or of our tradition as they go home from that experience of liturgy, they find themselves again in this crazy world that we live in.” Here Father Geoffrey was explaining that music was one of the five transcendentals of St Thomas Aquinas.9 Through the beauty of music people discovered a connection to the divine. Geoffrey’s connection to the divine had been confirmed through music. I learned that Linda, Milton, Gregoria, Tess, Yvanne, and Flor had also found their faith daily

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cemented through music. I was not religious, but I too experienced a sense of belonging and divinity at St Edward’s Church that had been very much facilitated by aesthetics and music. After college Geoffrey went to St Joseph’s seminary in Edmonton for six years. Prior to this time and for his entire life in Winnipeg he had always felt like a Canadian, but here at the seminary he experienced something unusual: “Seminaries were now very culturally diverse. There were other Filipino seminarians there, but they were all sponsored from the Philippines to study in these dioceses. I will be brutally honest. I felt very offended when I was lumped into that category. I am of Filipino heritage, but, because of my musical abilities, whenever they had foundation concerts and other events like that, I would perform classical piano pieces or play for mass and stuff. And it would always be the same question, ‘Oh, so when did you come to Canada?’” Growing up, Geoffrey had not learned much Tagalog. English was his first language, and French was his second language, having been through a French immersion program. He tried to fit in with the other Filipino seminarians with whom he shared racial characteristics, but he was always regarded as different. He was of Philippines heritage like the other recent migrants, but it was his diasporic cultural heritage that defined him and made interaction with these newcomers so difficult. Father Geoffrey was ordained in 2008, and his first assignment was at St John Cantius Church. This North Winnipeg community parish had been built by the Polish community in 1925 and erected as an alternative parish to Holy Ghost Parish, the main Polish church in Winnipeg. Although the church had been rebuilt in 1971, by the time Father Geoffrey arrived in 2008 it was virtually empty. By contrast, St Peter’s Church, which served the Filipino community several blocks away, was, in Father Geoffrey’s words, “ripping at the seams.” St Peter’s could not accommodate all the people who wanted to attend services there, so the archbishop had the idea to put the new Filipino priest at the nearby St John Cantius Church: “It was still very much a Polish parish and they had their own Polish mass. I remember in the first year we went from maybe 100 to 500 families. It met the needs of the community and the demographics. And I thought that was a very smart move. It didn’t come without the tensions. With any cultural group it can be difficult to accept that the times have changed. Something that is cultural can become reduced to something that is racial.” Father Geoffrey remained at St John Cantius for two years as an assistant and then was transferred to the rural town of Virden, a three-hour drive west

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of Winnipeg. Father Yolando Gamallo continues the trend for Filipino priests to be assigned to the parish of St John Cantius. The 2011 census listed Virden’s population as 3,100, and so Father Geoffrey’s congregation was smaller than those in Winnipeg, with some one hundred registered families in the congregation. Father Geoffrey arrived to find yet another parish with a distinct culture and history. Virden was a predominantly European settler society, and the church served families who had lived there for generations. Relatively few Asians or Filipinos lived in Virden and the surrounding areas at the time.10 Father Geoffrey was Virden’s priest for three years. Here he started to reflect on the importance of rural churches in small towns. People gathered at different churches of different denominations, and sometimes again after church for brunch, but ultimately they identified with the town and not with their church. He came to see that ministers were similarly unified by the town and not by the physical structure of the church. Devotional lives, faith, and belonging extended beyond the church in rural areas by necessity. Father Geoffrey perceived that a minister’s role in a rural church was to facilitate this experience of belonging in the church and also, beyond it, to the town. In 2013 Father Geoffrey was made the rector of St Mary’s Cathedral in Winnipeg. He was the cathedral’s first Filipino Canadian-born rector. The arc of his religious account had been very much fashioned by musical passion that had been taken to another level through an ecstatic experience of the divine. I first met Father Geoffrey a year after his appointment to the cathedral. I had been invited to Dr Rey Pagtakhan’s sixtieth-wedding-anniversary party at his large riverside home on the outskirts Winnipeg. Dr Rey had asked Father Geoffrey to preside over the ceremony. For years Dr Rey, who had become a beloved elder in the Filipino community, had encouraged me repeatedly to include Father Geoffrey in my research. He added: My formal introduction to Father Geoffrey happened sometime in 1989– 1990, long before he became a priest. He agreed to do a musical performance during one of my political fund-raising events; he composed the musical piece himself. When we have out-of-town guests, I bring them to hear mass celebrated by Father Geoffrey. Gloria and I are proud that he is the only Filipino priest who did his studies at St Joseph’s seminary in Edmonton, Alberta. And it is always a delight listening to his homily. He

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relates the liturgy of the mass to present-day circumstances. He leaves one with fresh spiritual food for thought.11

Dr Rey had expressed his faith, Catholic devotion, and admiration for Father Geoffrey through a love of music. My interview with Father Geoffrey was very much framed by my interactions with Dr Rey throughout the years. Dr Rey had suggested research participants, areas to investigate in Manitoba’s Filipino history, and then a window into Filipino Canadian ministry. The interview with Father Geoffrey was, additionally, one of the longest in the study. We met in his expansive and striking boardroom with cathedral ceilings on the second floor of the parish hall. He offered me the option of sitting in the raised sitting area, complete with couches and coffee tables, or on the lower platform, where there was a kitchenette and a round table. I chose to sit at the table. As the interview neared one and a half hours in length, I leaned back in my chair, thinking about what Filipino life might look like in the next five or ten years. Father Geoffrey had found a space in which he and his devout faith and music ministry could belong and serve a purpose. But what about the other Filipinos? Father Geoffrey expressed his fear about the future of the Filipino community: In the process of trying to integrate or work hard for certain goals, the focus of those goals will become lost by just finding themselves in the chaos of everything. As a consequence, [the people will lose the] time for personal reflection and community. We’re just doing, doing, doing, busy, busy, busy. I don’t know how well Filipino identity will be preserved other than the physical attributes. I give the church seven years. If we don’t work hard at raising awareness, and keeping the values as the core, these churches will not be full of Filipinos any more. I really believe that it’ll take only one generation.

Having visited more than a dozen churches in which hundreds and sometimes thousands of people gathered each week, I was moved by his cautionary words. While I had experienced viscerally the power of music and prayer in churches, I could not quite fathom a Filipino community without a church venue. I also knew from what many others had said to me that living a religious life at church in Manitoba was a challenge. The constant influx of new migrants helped keep congregations vibrant, but when or if the Philippine exodus ended, and religiously devout Filipinos stopped invigorating churches, things might

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change. Pastor Ed helped me to see the problem from a different, Protestant perspective. Like Father Geoffrey, he had been drawn to ministry work by a profound religious experience. Pastor Ed Ramos Herminio Ramos (Pastor Ed; born in 1953) grew up in the city of San Carlos, Pangasinan province.12 He was the youngest of eleven children in a family that farmed rice and corn and raised livestock. His father died when Herminio was five years old, and then life became very difficult because the family was poor. His older brothers and sisters worked in Manila at the time to help support his mother and the rest of the children. Herminio was raised in the Aglipayan or Philippine Independent Church, which was independent from the Roman Catholic Church and the pope and was co-founded by Gregorio Aglipay. When Herminio had completed his elementary education, his mother sent him to Manila to live with his siblings and attend high school. His siblings had started to work right after high school. The family did not have the funds to pay for higher education, but, flouting tradition, his mother encouraged him to go to college. Laughing at this in our interview, Pastor Ed said, “It was only with me that she was insistent.” His mother asked his eldest brother to fund his college education, but his brother did not have enough money. So after high school Herminio worked at an appliance company for a few years and eventually took evening classes. He married in 1980, obtained an engineering degree in 1982, and had four daughters. He was promoted to supervisor and continued to work at the appliance company for sixteen years, all the while teaching Sunday school and taking part in church leadership. At one point Herminio felt a calling to be a pastor. He felt conflicted because his family would have to live very differently: “When God called me, I consulted them, my family … I told them that ‘God is calling me. The family is being called by God to serve Him, with me as a pastor.’ So the first question is: ‘How are we going to stay in our home?’ … I told them no, we would leave everything here. I gave up my job and waited for two years. My family waited and waited until they found out the Lord was really calling me. It was not easy for them to accept it.” His elder brother, Reverend Cipriano, was a pastor working overseas doing missionary work. He and Pastor Ed had been the only ones

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in their family to put themselves through school and receive a postsecondary education. As I listened to Pastor Ed’s story, I thought I was hearing a story of bahala na or a come-what-may attitude. But he corrected me: “No, it’s not bahala na. Maybe Bathala, because Bathala … is the lawful name of God. Bathala … will really take care of our needs. He touched the hearts of our friends, even some people we don’t know. For instance, a Korean missionary was touched by God, and he supported me with 2,500 pesos a month.” Others sent food, clothing, and other necessities for his family each month. His first assignment was as a mission pastor on the remote Talim Island. His friends got together and raised five thousand pesos to support the family. This was enough to rent a house in the countryside, and they stayed there for two years. Pastor Ed then decided to earn a master of divinity studies at Wesley Divinity School, which he completed in 1999. As an ordained minister, he easily found work as a pastor for the United Methodist Church in the Philippines. Soon afterwards Christ the Rock Christian Community in Winnipeg invited him to be its pastor. His sister, Felicitas Parayaoan, lived in Winnipeg. She had come as a garment worker in 1971 in the same migrant wave as had Father Geoffrey’s mother, and, like Gemma and other research participants in this book, she left the factory work. She became a health-care aide. The church advised Pastor Ed to apply to come to Manitoba under the Provincial Nominee Program, but he opted for the Temporary Foreign Worker Program. It was an odd decision for a migrant to choose to be a temporary foreign worker. Temporary foreign workers have precarious status in Canada. He was seeking segurista, or assurances from God: “I want really to know if really God wants me to stay in Canada, so I left my family in the Philippines.” The church paid for his fees, medical exams, passport, and other expenses. In all, it cost about six thousand dollars for him to come to Canada. If he had come as a provincial nominee, it would have cost ten thousand dollars for the principal applicant and another two thousand dollars for each dependent. This was an enormous amount of money to Pastor Ed. He left his family in the Philippines and came to Manitoba in March 2006: My first night was a night of crying, a night of tears. I immediately missed my family. I cried to God. I cried to Him. I just told Him what’s in my heart. I wanted to serve here in Winnipeg, but I asked Him to show me if we were going to stay here. I didn’t apply for permanent resident status for three years. When I saw that God wanted me to stay to let the church

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grow, to let the church flourish, to help the new immigrants with their life here, okay, that’s where we decided, again with consultation with my family. I told them about the climate, of course. I told them about the purchasing power of the dollar. I told them about everything, and I believed that God was rewarding us to stay because our first assignment had been on Talim Island.

Pastor Ed applied to bring the family under the Provincial Nominee Program in 2008 and was approved: “Manitoba made it easy for the Manitoba Provincial Nominee Program applicants. In other provinces it is difficult to apply for the program. Here it will take only minutes to send your application because it’s done online.” Pastor Ed has remained at the same church since 2006. He was discouraged by ministry work in Winnipeg. One of the biggest obstacles in his work was getting people to come to church: “I always remind [them], ‘You can just tell your boss, “I can’t work on Sundays, I’ll be in the church to renew my spirit.”’” He reminds new immigrants who are alone and disconnected of the strong faith they had in the Philippines: “I want that person really to bring his attention or her attention [to the fact that] his faith in the Philippines and his faith in Canada is the same, okay, because the God in the Philippines and the God in Canada is the same. I mean as a newcomer, life really is tough and hard in Canada for new immigrants, especially if you don’t know someone. So I always pointed out their faith.” When I interviewed him in 2014, Pastor Ed was still unsure about life in Winnipeg. He found the climate cold, sometimes even in the summer. It was a comfortable life but not a stress-free one: “They renewed my [contract]; actually they wanted me to sign for life. No, I don’t [want that].” He expressed that he would definitely return to the Philippines when he retired. He reassessed his time to retire every five months: “I still want to continue my calling in the Philippines as a pastor … It’s really hard practising religion in Canada with the different immigrants. You really have to think twice because you don’t know if … you are talking to someone who doesn’t like to speak about religion, about Bibles.” Raoul Scarpe Raoul Scarpe (born in 1962) was a Filipino priest whom I met while visiting Filipino restaurants and takeouts on Winnipeg’s Sargent Avenue.13

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He no longer was a full-time father in a Catholic church. At the time, he was managing Maxie’s Pastries and Take Out Foods. The shop was in Winnipeg’s Manila town and featured one of the most impressive religious shrines that I saw in three years of visiting Filipino businesses. When I asked Raoul about the shrine, he laughed and said it had been put there by someone else. Raoul came from Iligan City, Mindanao province. Like others, he moved to Manila for university. He had a penchant for learning and he must have had the funds. He earned a bachelor of science as well as degrees in forestry management, law, and religious studies. Through the latter he discovered his passion for theology and eventually became an ordained priest. He came to Canada in 2004. He was eager to travel and see the world. After all that education he wanted to experience life in a first-world country. A friend who lived in Prince George, British Columbia, had suggested he migrate there. Raoul came to Canada as a religious worker, but he could not handle the social isolation in Prince George: “You could not see people there unless you were going to the mall. I stayed there for eleven days.” Raoul also had a friend who was a priest in Thunder Bay, Ontario. Someone had left the priesthood there, and the church needed a replacement. His friend asked him to come and arranged an invitation from the bishop: “He said, ‘I’ll give you a job; I need you here.’” Thunder Bay was no better. Raoul ministered to a church that was dying. There were no jobs in the community, and young people were leaving: “I tried to revive it by bringing back the youth first.” After serving there for about eight years, he went to Winnipeg in 2012. In Raoul’s comments I heard echoes of the cynicism that I had recognized in Pastor Ed’s and Father Geoffrey’s narratives. Raoul’s parents came from Cebu, the historical home of Santo Niño. His mother had introduced Santo Niño devotional practices to Raoul when he was a child. Santo Niño was Jesus Christ, and he was pure and lovable. Raoul added: “If you quarrel with him, he won’t fight back. He [is] just a kid. He’s forgiving, and easily cares for others.” Today Raoul offers devotional prayers to the Mother of Perpetual Help. He explained that moving to Canada had not greatly influenced his religion: “I have still my faith. It’s still there; it doesn’t change. In this first-world country maybe sometimes you think you have to work hard because you have to survive.” What Raoul meant was that in the Philippines faith and church life had been integrated into everyday lives. But

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in Canada you could not leave your job and go back a little late if you wanted to go to mass. Raoul mentioned that he had been a communist while in the Philippines, and he was not sure that he agreed with the Canadian lifestyle: “In order to have a good life it’s the survival of the fittest. If you want a good lifestyle, you have to work for it.” I asked Raoul about bayanihan and the belonging among Filipinos that helped them to obtain a good life. He explained that in migrant worlds paluwagan (a Filipino rotating-credit association) was more important. Rotating-credit associations can be organized by a formal or an informal group. For instance, in the Philippines the research participants talked about loans that they had received from the teachers association. Borrowers’ loan payments are automatically deducted from their pay cheques. Members of a group regularly contribute to a pot of money and take turns receiving the whole pot. Raoul explained: “There are groups of maybe more than thirty, or more than twelve families. They will distribute a hundred dollars a month. It’s not really a loan, because you have your turns. Lots of people do it, just to ease your financial problem. There is no interest.” Within this traditional lending system everybody knew each other, so nobody could shirk the debt. In closing, Raoul, like Father Geoffrey, lamented migrants’ changing religious practices in Canada. He had witnessed this in British Columbia, Ontario, and now in Manitoba: Prayer life here in Canada is not really now being practised by some Filipinos, because people have to work hard. These technologies don’t help. Instead of praying first in the morning, thanking God for the blessing, for the gift of life, when you wake up in the morning you have to open your iPhone for your messages here. Most Filipinos here in Canada have to secure work first in order to put something on the table at night. Only on Sundays do you give thanks to God. Prayer life is going to fade. It’s fading away, with the technology. No, it’s not God first any more.

A priest by training, Raoul now only periodically served at church. His story portrayed Filipino religiosity and settlement experiences in less than glowing terms. Ties were thin. Like text messages, they were intermittent and fleeting. Assurances, security, and community were much harder to come by in Canada, even if one was religious.

9 Filipinos in Manitoba beyond Winnipeg

The sheer number of Filipinos who have migrated to the province of Manitoba means that most villages, towns, and cities are now inhabited by newcomers from the Philippines. At the time of writing this book in 2016, Winnipeg’s Filipino population was estimated to be well over seventy-five thousand. I was constantly reminded of the difference between bayanihan in large urban Winnipeg venues such as St Edward’s, Broadway Disciples, Manila town, and festival gatherings and bayanihan in smaller, rural churches, in Filipino restaurants, and in less diverse communities. In 1965, when Olivia arrived to work as a nurse in Swan River, it was difficult to put down roots because there were so few Filipinos. Cesar and Rosita settled in Brandon in 1963 but benefited from the chain migration of Catholic family and friends and from home-based devotional practices. Surrounded by others from the Philippines, they enjoyed a life filled with conviviality and belonging. Carmen, Gemma, and Jean arrived in Winnipeg as teachers in the 1960s and 1970s, and when faced with the prospect of leaving the city’s larger Filipino community, they chose work in a garment factory or as a clerk. Today’s Filipino migrants fare better in the hinterland than did those of the past. Shirley Sokolosky, who remarried in Canada, was similar to Jorie Sawatsky in that she continued to be deeply religious and to experience a strong sense of community in a bucolic setting. Noel Hizon worked and lived in a village, not a small city, and despite the remoteness and tiny size, he and his family experienced the bayanihan spirit. It was only in Neepawa that I heard from those who seemed to be trapped in a place that was not welcoming and did not provide any

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chance for social mobility, and in which the church and sometimes its priest did not give people a sense of belonging. Shirley D. Sokolosky Shirley D. Sokolosky (born in 1966) came from a devout Catholic farming family in Oton, Iloilo province. The fourth of six children, she majored in accounting and graduated with a science and commerce degree from the University of Iloilo in 1993.1 By that time, she was married and had a young daughter and a son. The marriage failed, and Shirley, wanting a better life for her children, sought migrant work: “When I was still in the Philippines, from Monday to Friday, and once I had dropped my kids off at school, I would go to church. I would pray to the Mother of Perpetual Help … As a Filipino, we are always looking for a good future. To have a good future and help our family in the Philippines, we have to go abroad. It’s a dream.” The minimum wage in the Philippines was around three hundred pesos, or ten dollars a day – not enough for a family to survive. Even nurses worked at two jobs just to support their families. Going abroad to make more money was an ever-present thought. Shirley applied to be a nanny, working first in Brunei for two years and then in Hong Kong for a year. Her own children were cared for by a nanny whom she hired: “Those years that I was away from them, I was very scared. What was going to happen to them? I never experienced looking after my kids, because I’ve been away from them since they were young. I was absent, and though my mother sometimes helped out, she lived far away from them in another province. It was very tough working an ocean away for almost a decade in Brunei, Hong Kong, and Canada.” Several migrants had lived elsewhere before they arrived in Manitoba. After high school they had left their provinces in the Philippines, travelled to Manila for university, and in some cases had gone to Europe, Hong Kong, Dubai, or the United States before coming to Canada. For most, Christianity and its churches, beliefs, and practices had defined their global routes. But migration had also altered religiosity. As a nanny, Shirley was not able to attend church as often as she wanted, and so she prayed the novena to Santo Niño on Fridays and to the Mother of Perpetual Help on Wednesdays. She kept the novena booklets in her pocket at home and in her purse when she was out of her house.

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In 2005 Shirley came to Canada through the live-in caregiver program. While she had been working in Hong Kong, she had had an additional job cleaning houses on her day off. The additional job had helped her to pay the nanny who looked after her own children in the Philippines and to cover the live-in caregiver application fees. She was hired by a family in the small town of Gladstone, Manitoba. On the drive from Winnipeg to Gladstone she saw farm after farm. In three months she did not meet anybody; she was stuck in the house. It took a few months to adjust. Eventually she met a Filipino couple who lived in the town. They introduced her to others in Portage la Prairie, a city nearly an hour’s drive away. Shirley did not go to church in Gladstone, because she was too busy. Home-based devotional practices became important in the hinterland. She remembered that when she was growing up, her grandparents had reminded her of the importance of prayer, of saying novenas, and of being thankful for any blessings in her life: “With any trials in life, I have always believed that God is my saviour.” When her two-year contract expired in Gladstone, she arranged for her sister to take her place. This seemed to be a common pattern among Filipinos. Tess Newton had also come to Canada as a live-in caregiver when her sister’s contract was over. In the meantime, Shirley had met a man in Portage la Prairie, married, sponsored her children, and started another chapter of her life. When her children arrived in 2009, her daughter was twenty-one years old and her son was nineteen: “It was a dream to finally be with my children. I thank God that everything is now okay.” Portage la Prairie, according to the 2011 household survey, had nearly thirteen thousand residents. It was growing more slowly than were other parts of Manitoba, particularly Steinbach, which has consistently been the third most popular site for immigrants to settle.2 Filipinos in Portage la Prairie numbered only ninety-five, according to 2011 census data. Shirley estimated the population to be much higher, and more than five times that amount, at five hundred.3 Other research participants agreed. The town had a Filipino senior citizens’ hall, Carmela Co advertised as a Sun Life agent who spoke Tagalog, and at one time Lita’s Station, a local restaurant, offered Filipino breakfasts with tapa (cured beef) and sinagang (fried rice); the owner’s wife is Filipino, and now she only serves the breakfast to friends. Shirley commented on the sizeable Filipino population in Portage la Prairie: “They are working at Hi-Tec Industries [a steel manufacturer],

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and their families have now arrived. As well, Filipinos work as welders, in painting, and in health care. About half are nurses, and most have, or plan to have, family join them here. While most Filipinos here are Catholic, a few go to the Alliance Church.” In Portage la Prairie, Shirley returned to school and retrained as a health-care aide. Like Jorie and others who relished life in smaller locales, she was most passionate about her religious life. She was an active member of the parish council of Portage’s Good Shepherd Roman Catholic Church: “When there was Typhoon Yolanda, I organized the fund-raising to help our families in the Philippines who were affected. I did this through the church … I had lots of Filipinos come and support and help us.” When I met Shirley, she had been in Manitoba for a decade, during which she had worked as a nanny, relocated to Portage la Prairie, retrained as a health-care aide, sponsored her children, remarried, started another job, and become an active member of her Catholic parish. Shirley’s identity had not wavered as migration, work, and family changed the religious terrain. She had been able to withstand ambiguous legal identities and estrangement from her family. Yet, over the many years she retained a strong sense of the woman she had been when she arrived in Canada. Being a live-in nanny meant that she lacked the private space to display devotional objects. Working long hours in a remote location meant that she was unable to cultivate a collective spiritual life by joining a church. She was aware that the situation was short term, and with a come-what-may (bahala na) attitude she maintained her faith through discreet home-based individual prayers and petitions. Familial and social bonds were maintained through remittances and social media. In the words of Anthony Giddens, “a person’s identity is not to be found in behavior, nor – important though this is – in the reactions of others, but in the capacity to keep a particular narrative going.”4 Shirley was particularly devout. She had images of Jesus on the Cross at the entrance of her home and a home altar to Santo Niño in her living room (fig. 9.1). It seemed that every story Shirley told me was about religion. She had prayed to God when she needed strength to migrate, to leave her children behind, and to earn enough money to bring them to Canada. Shirley’s everyday stories also touched on religious healing. When she was growing up, her grandmother and parents had believed in spiritual healing. Once, when she had a stomach ache and was vomiting, her

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Figure 9.1.  Shirley Sokolosky’s home altar. Photograph by author.

father suggested that she had something in her body that had somehow been transferred to her. Her father spit into his hands, rubbed them together, and then used them to mark a cross on her chest: “My dad explained, ‘[You feel better] because I transferred my anting-anting to you.’” At other times when Shirley was sick, her father took her to a woman who was a faith healer. “Once I had a very severe headache. She smashed some ginger, mixed it in oil, and then used it to wipe my skin.” And as she did that, Shirley saw stones drop to the floor from her body. The healers would give Shirley a small packet that she was to pin to the inside of her clothing and wear all the time. This anting-anting protected her so that nobody would hate or become mad at her. Sometimes when Shirley went to these healers, she sat in front of them while

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they prayed over a big bowl of smoke and pushed the smoke towards her. The smoke was said to cast out the bad spirits that were causing her to become sick or have bad luck. Special rituals were additionally performed to keep everyone safe from bad spirits when they attended funerals. These and other customary healing techniques sounded a lot like those I had heard about and seen performed in small rural Chinese and Taiwanese communities. Shirley explained: “Chamomile leaves would be boiled in a big basin. When you got back to the house after the funeral, you washed your hands, arms, and face in it and put it on your legs before you went inside.” Shirley was the sole research participant from Iloilo province, and these healing rituals were unique to that region. The longer I researched Filipino religion during fieldwork, interviewing and surveys, and spoke to Filipino scholars at conferences, the more I came to see that colonialism had nearly erased many such practices. Shirley’s healing rituals, and other pre-Christian customs, were being revived in both the Philippines and the migrant communities as people connected to their religious heritage.5 Noel Hizon Noel Hizon’s experience in a village that spoke French and not English reinforced my understanding of the absolute necessity of faith, fellowship, and family in Filipino migrant lives. Noel was born in Angeles City in the province of Pampanga in 1967.6 He arrived in Notre-Dame-deLourdes, about a hundred kilometres southwest of Winnipeg, in 2006. Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes is a small, bilingual Manitoba agricultural community in which French is the predominant language in schools, churches, and stores. The village emblem includes a cross with a fleurde-lis in the centre, and two stalks of wheat. According to the 2011 census, the town had fewer than seven hundred residents.7 Its youth were leaving because of the lack of jobs in their chosen professions and the high cost of housing.8 Filipino migration has reinvigorated the town, which grew by 16 per cent between 2006 and 2011. Thirty people in 2011 listed Tagalog as their mother tongue. Noel and his family were the first Filipinos to live in Notre-Damede-Lourdes. He had come to Canada as an independent migrant and was living in Winnipeg when his wife saw an advertisement for a job in a hog barn. In the Philippines Noel had been a licensed veterinarian and a nursery barn manager for pigs. He applied for the job and got it: “We do the feeding, giving them medications, take care of the general

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health, and then after seven weeks the hogs are transferred to another barn, which is the finisher barn.” Noel was not the first in his family to migrate. His sister had migrated some twenty-five years ago to Los Angeles. His younger brother had moved to San Diego, California. His wife’s father was in the U.S. Air Force, so she was an American citizen. His wife’s eldest brother, Manny, and his family were already in Manitoba, and another brother, Jojie, had recently arrived with a work permit. Noel’s boss had driven him and his family out to Notre-Dame-deLourdes before they moved from Winnipeg. It was the dead of winter, and everything was white: “But what relaxed me a bit was when I learned that my boss was also a Roman Catholic. Once, when we were going to Paroisse Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes, I saw him. He was carrying the offering plate, and his wife taught Sunday school. That’s when I realized what was happening. It was okay. There was nothing to fear.” After they moved, people were very friendly. They would stroll by and talk to his family if they were out in the yard. Noel and his family felt welcome. They did not need to share the French language with the town residents. Noel and his family were connected to the town through their strong Catholic faith. When I interviewed Noel in 2015, there were already a hundred Filipinos working and/or living in Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes. Three Filipinos worked in his nursery barn. Ten of the hog operation’s twenty-five employees were Filipino: “Most of them had friends who started here, and then some of them in Winnipeg who didn’t have jobs, or weren’t able to get a regular job, were invited by friends to come here. Some, like my cousin, came to Canada under the Provincial Nominee Program to work in the barn.” Filipinos also worked in other hog barns and in nearby towns as welders, heath-care aides, and dietary assistants. I asked Noel what made Filipinos different from other people. He asserted that it was their resilience: “Filipinos are like bamboo. Whatever way the wind blows, you just sway to it. I’ve noticed that every time they’re working abroad or outside of the Philippines, they can easily get along. And it’s not too hard for them to try to cope or to get along with others.” Noel and his wife have ensured that their children have learned Tagalog, along with English and French. They have also tried to maintain some Filipino customs and beliefs. For instance, they pray the rosary for the Virgin Mary in October, the month of the rosary.

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One of the attractions of the town was the option to have children participate in the Lord’s Prayer in schools, for which Noel and other parents signed a yearly petition. Many Filipino parents were in favour of religious exercises in schools. In many Manitoba public schools the Lord’s Prayer had not been recited since compulsory school prayer had been outlawed in 1992. Filipinos were drawn to Manitoba public schools that allowed the Lord’s Prayer on an optional participation basis, provided that enough parents petitioned for it. They heard about these schools through word of mouth.9 The local priest was also very accommodating, creating a special service for Noel’s and other families: “Church is usually Saturdays, it’s French, and Sunday mornings it’s French. But the priest created an English mass on Sundays.” Sometimes if Noel and his family are in Winnipeg picking up groceries at Young’s Market (an Asian grocery), getting together with family and friends, or visiting his son at the University of Winnipeg, they will go to St Peter’s Roman Catholic Church, which is near the Philippine Canadian Centre of Manitoba on Keewatin Street. It was here that Father Geoffrey first played the organ and became enthralled by church music. I mentioned to Noel that I had heard that many Filipinos had switched from Catholicism when they settled in Canada, and he replied: The way I see it, with Catholicism you have choices. You are not required to attend mass; it’s not an obligation. There are certain things that I learned from our religion, like you don’t have to be physically present in a church to worship your God. You could be in your house with some friends, or by yourself doing some prayers directly to Him. That’s the way we were taught … We were born into it. If I compare it to the other religions, [with them] there is more blind obedience: Do this or do that, and if you don’t do this, you won’t be saved or something. [With Catholicism] there’s f­lexibility.

The Hizon family’s home devotion and religiosity were striking. In their living room alone they had three separate clusters of statues, pictures, candles, wooden rosaries, jade rosaries, and holy liquids (figs. 9.2 and 9.3). Each of these items had a story and a reason for its place in the household. Several people had shown me holy water and other liquids that were sold in the Philippines and meant to be sprinkled or consumed. I saw holy water used to bless businesses, but I never saw an open bottle in a home. The bottles were reminders of places in the

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Figure 9.2.  Noel Hizon’s home altar with Santo Niño, August 2015. Photograph by author.

Philippines and were efforts at place-making here in Canada. They helped Catholic migrants to imprint diasporic landscapes with their own religious cultures, identities, and narratives. If a residence’s bottles were opened and used up, then the spiritual power would be gone. The small bottles thus remained fastened tight, as both an idea and an image that signified the possibility of healing and blessings. They connected people to memories of sacred places that they had visited and to venerated saints. Holy water, along with Noel’s special bottle of Queen of the Most Holy Rosary of Manaoag Pure Coconut Oil, enabled belonging. The bottle had been brought back from the Philippines, and its seal was unbroken.

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Figure 9.3.  Noel Hizon’s home altar with Santo Niño, August 2015. Photograph by author.

Beside these small bottles of liquid were statues of the Virgin Mary and of Santo Niño de Cebu wearing green clothes and two different statues of the red-robed Santo Niño, each with its own tale that sacralized and Filipinized the family home. There was the Chinese god of prosperity, dressed in a scholar’s robe and holding a scroll; a large and a small lucky cat; and golden or jade Buddhas. The family also displayed objects that showed Noel’s Chinese heritage: “The Chinese say that the Buddha brings good luck to the family or to the house.” Noel’s car was outfitted with an image of the Virgin Mary, rosaries suspended from the mirror, and a driver’s prayer. Other objects, I was told, were too private to be photographed or documented in this book. Religious objects revealed sad stories of loss and longing as well. Kris and Anne Duran From the French Canadian enclave of Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes I travelled to the strongly Mennonite and very religious town of Carman, where many people spoke Low German. I had heard about the newly opened D23 Dim Sum and Cocktails when I had had lunch in Carman after giving a book talk there in the fall of 2014. Owners Anne and Kris Duran had their first child in September 2014 and opened their restaurant in the following month. The emergence of a Filipino eating

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e­ stablishment showed that the appetite for food from the Philippines was still growing nearly thirty years after Carmen Bueno and her husband had opened Casa Bueno in Winnipeg. Anne (born in 1984), a registered nurse, came from Marikina City in Metro Manila. She migrated in 2009, in the same year that Joan Duhaylungsod, another research participant and in a different group of nurses, was recruited by the Government of Manitoba to take up nursing work in small-town Manitoba.10 Anne was assigned to work in tiny St Claude, one hundred kilometres southwest of Winnipeg. She came to Canada for a better life: “It’s very hard to find a job for nurses [in the Philippines]. It’s very competitive, challenging. You have to work six days a week for twelve hours – well, sometimes eight hours.” It would be another four years before Anne’s husband, Kris, arrived in 2013. He had also been a registered nurse in the Philippines, but he had taken up culinary arts, worked on a cruise line in Malaysia, lived in Hong Kong, and learned to cook different types of cuisine. When Kris first came to Manitoba, he worked as a health-care aide, a common position for new Filipino migrants. Kris was a health-care aide for a year, and then in the summer of 2014 he operated a food truck in the city of Morden (126 kilometres southwest of Winnipeg). As he told the Carman Valley Leader, the truck served “spring rolls, adobo pulled-pork sandwiches, shark’s fin dumplings, and banana fritters with ice cream and caramel sauce.”11 Determined to build on the truck’s success, he chose to open D23 Dim Sum and Cocktails on Carman’s main street. Kris described his cooking style as “focused on French, and I twist it with Asian-inspired things, so it makes Filipino-French modern cuisine.”12 Anne and Kris Duran combined the first letter of their surname and their wedding anniversary date, 23 October, to arrive at the name D23 Dim Sum and Cocktails. A restaurant identifies itself to the public primarily through its name. In this study the majority of restaurants chose names with one or two Tagalog words. Surnames and given names were common in restaurant titles, as were provinces or cities such as Pampanga or Manila or recognizable cultural references such as fiesta, jeepney, pasalubong (a gift or souvenir brought by a traveller), bisita (a guest or visitor), or sampaguita (a fragrant jasmine that is the national flower of the Philippines). Interviews with research participants and fieldwork in Filipino restaurants suggested that the businesses were often not the main source of income for families. As in Kris Duran’s case, they were usually run

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by the spouses of those who had been recruited to fill labour shortages in Canada. Anne Duran had come as a nurse. Restaurant owners sometimes rented upstairs apartments to other Filipino residents or businesses, thus adding to the cultural richness of Filipino neighbourhoods. The owner was usually the restaurant’s primary chef. Men typically handled the cooking and preparation of food for large meals in the Philippines. Usually, only they were strong enough to lift the pots and manoeuvre large carcasses of pigs and other animals. Kris and Anne were living in Morden, with plans to move to Carman. Anne had sponsored her parents and sister through the Provincial Nominee Program. In Morden her father had found a job as a settlement worker, her mother as a factory worker, and her sister as an educational assistant. Anne and her family went to Morden’s St John Evangelist Church, which had Saturday mass at 5:00 p.m. and a Sunday morning service at 11:00 a.m.. St John Evangelist Church dated to 1899, but its current location and building were relatively new, dating to 2011. Morden had been a strongly Mennonite town, but the influx of many Filipino migrants changed this. Anne explained that there were now scores of families in the region due to the Provincial Nominee Program and lone migrants who were applying to have families join them in Manitoba. In the Morden and Winkler areas the community had formed a group called the Pembina Valley Filipino Community, which organized summer picnics and barbecues as well as winter events. There was also a large and growing group of Filipinos who belonged to Iglesio Ni Cristo, a Christian Filipino association that had plans to build a church in the region. Before they opened the restaurant, Kris and Anne had it blessed. A local Catholic priest performed the ritual, which was attended by Anne’s family and friends from Carman. They had candles, holy water, prayers, and a feast. They had not blessed their home yet because they still rented a place in Morden. Anne explained that she had owned a house in St Claude and had had that blessed before she moved in. My son Wells accompanied me to Carman, an hour’s drive from Winnipeg, on a Saturday afternoon in May 2015.13 Walking into the bright, clean restaurant, we immediately saw a statue of a bearded saint, Padre Pio, dressed in a simple brown robe with a rope belt. He was positioned on the counter and wore brown fingerless gloves (to cover the stigmata that reportedly caused his palms to bleed) and had both hands raised. In front of the statue were four cups, each holding an offering to the saint. From left to right these were rice, sugar, salt, and water. Wells and I had

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visited a dozen Filipino restaurants in Manitoba, and this was the only time we saw Padre Pio or such extensive food offerings on display. The statue of the saint faced customers as they entered the restaurant. The displays demonstrated devotion and thanksgiving in return for the blessings that Kris and Anne had received in Canada. Beside the offerings was a vase of artificial flowers. There was also a small stone cross on which was inscribed: “The Lord is my rock and my salvation. II Samuel 22.” Padre Pio (1887–1968) was a Catholic friar and priest known for his miraculous ability to bilocate, or appear in two places at the same time. Canonized in 2002 by Pope John Paul II, this recent Italian saint had come to be Kris’s patron. Anne explained: “Padre Pio has a church in Quezon City [Philippines], and Kris goes there.” Kris recited the Padre Pio novena every night before he went to bed. He had memorized the prayer. In his kitchen, written on a whiteboard, was a saying from Padre Pio: “Whenever we feel low or hopeless we are always reminded: ‘pray, hope and don’t worry.’” Kris reminded himself of this every day. Padre Pio was made present in his daily routine.14 By putting religious shrines in their businesses Kris and other migrants who ran Filipino restaurants were recreating intimate dining spaces for clients and offering familiar tastes and religious cultures.15 However, unlike the many restaurants Wells and I visited in Winnipeg, his clientele was not primarily Filipino, because the Filipino community in Carman was small. The restaurant served Asian food, but it also served pizza and sandwiches. Although the shrine was outside his home, it was by no means a displaced and less valuable sacred site than the shrines that other Filipinos had in their domestic spaces. As I came to see in our conversation and subsequent emails, the restaurant was Kris’s sacred space. Thus it featured only his patron saint, Padre Pio. Kris’s religious habits had been a constant in his life: The Padre Pio devotional objects are not from Italy; they are made in the Philippines, but they are also blessed by a Catholic priest. We have been using them as our sign of protection and devotions. We feel more secure to have those in our purses and pockets, and we carry them every day. In our bedroom we also have an altar where we put a statue of Padre Pio, along with Saint Jude and others [fig. 9.4]. The other saints were gifts from relatives who went to the Vatican or Rome. Every morning we say our prayer and touch Padre Pio and other saints to ask for guidance. Then we do our sign of a cross before we head out to work.16

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Figure 9.4.  Duran bedroom shrine, Morden, 16 October 2016. Photograph by Anne Duran.

Canadians, in the main, do not expect to encounter the images of deities in places where they conduct business. More commonly, they expect to see sacred objects in religious settings like churches, synagogues, or temples and perhaps dangling from a car’s rearview mirror in the church parking lot. The presence of sacred images in the public sphere might have been jarring to some, though in the strongly Mennonite town of Carman it seemed perfectly acceptable. When Anne was not working, the family ate meals in the restaurant, reinforcing the idea that religion and family are deeply interconnected throughout the Filipino cultural sphere. It was just after five o’clock when Wells and I arrived at the restaurant in Carman. There were two other tables of diners at that time, a Filipino couple and a non-Filipino couple. The restaurant had some

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non-religious decorations, including a pair of foot-tall roosters with orange heads and feathers mounted on the wall, a red toy jeepney on a shelf, and a collage of framed postcards, including one with a map of the Philippines and Manila. I asked Anne and Kris if they thought they would be here in five years’ time. Anne responded: “It all depends on God’s plan for us. He has the master plan, and we are here to fulfil His plan. We have our own plan, and that is to continue our business and be successful in it, and also have our family continue to grow as well. We are planning to get other family members here in Canada too.” As with many Filipinos I interviewed, family and God came first. The business and the other details were simply part of the complex religious helix that defined their lives, connecting them to divinity, family (both living and dead), and friends. They were not resigned to their fate; they prayed, made offerings, and looked for guidance and direction to determine what would come next in their lives. Unfortunately what came next in their lives was the closure of the restaurant in December 2015: “It was hard for us to travel back and forth to Carman from Morden every day. Our son is growing up so fast, and he needs more time from us. We are still continuing our food truck business during the summer, and our future plan is to open up an Asian store in Morden to help our growing Filipino community here.”17 Interviews revealed that people continued to feel blessed to live in Canada. Jorie, Shirley, Noel, Kris, and Anne all spoke of the benefits of living in small towns with affordable housing and friendly communities. Eliza described the relative ease with which she had been able to buy a home in Brandon (as opposed to larger areas of Filipino settlement in Canada), sponsor relatives, and help them settle nearby. However, it was sometimes difficult for family members to find jobs beyond the low-paying ones that brought them to rural Manitoba. This was especially true in Neepawa. Here Filipinos came in waves to work and replace others who had come to labour in the local meat-processing plant. Bayanihan was problematic in Neepawa. Given the large volume of Filipinos who had already migrated to Neepawa, one would have expected that a few migrants would have opened restaurants, groceries, or other businesses. However, in September 2016 there was still no evidence of any Filipino businesses. In terms of religious belonging, small numbers of Filipino congregants in a town or a small city meant that churches were often not as willing or able to offer Tagalog services, to form devotional

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groups, or to add statues and religious objects to parish furnishings, as in larger cities. There were exceptions. Hartney’s “wooden rosary that hangs behind the main altar is from the Philippines – a gift from a nurse who worked in Hartney Hospital in 1975.”18 As I had noticed in Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes and also with Kris Duran’s restaurant shrine to his patron saint, Padre Pio, private and personal religious practices seemed to play a much larger role in the lives of Filipino migrants in the smaller, rural communities than they did in Winnipeg. Neepawa In the town of Neepawa, I found that, although Filipino migrants were putting rice on the table with the aid of a steady pay cheque, most did not want to settle down in a place where they were hungry for a sense of belonging and being valued. The stereotypical good servant is an employee who obediently carries out the work with complete selflessness, as silently and invisibly as possible, grateful for the opportunity to serve. The good-servant stereotype seemed to have receded into the background of life for all but Neepawa’s Filipinos. Most of the people with whom I spoke did not feel trapped in the job that was outside their chosen profession and had brought them to Canada. They had other options, and, like Kris Duran or Paulo Ercia, who settled in Dauphin, Manitoba, they could open shops, restaurants, or food trucks.19 Neepawa, located 187 kilometres northwest of Winnipeg, is known to many Canadians as the hometown of famed novelist Margaret Laurence, whose childhood house is now a museum. In the 1960s and 1970s Laurence fictionalized Neepawa as Manawaka, Manitoba – a prairie town of rigid social divisions and repressive Scots-Presbyterian values. Today the presence of the HyLife Foods plant is transforming the town. Since 2008, when HyLife bought the plant and started to expand rapidly its output to 1.5 million hogs a year, a hiring boom has caused Neepawa’s population to mushroom. It had reached four thousand people by 2011, a 25 per cent increase since Filipinos had arrived in 2008.20 At this point the majority of the eight hundred newcomers to Neepawa came from the Philippines. A year later, in 2012, Neepawa had an estimated twelve hundred Filipinos.21 Although large numbers of Filipinos were coming to Neepawa, documented new permanent residents there were quite low by comparison. HyLife and workers interviewed for this project spoke about the growing Neepawa population, but data

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showed that permanent resident applications had become stagnant and by 2013 were on the decline.22 Why was that? Bill Ashton, director of the Brandon University Rural Development Institute, wrote to Christine Melnick, Manitoba’s minister of multiculturalism and immigration, in 2013. He identified twelve priorities for improving services for the HyLife employees who were responsible for the population boom in Neepawa. He and his research team based these recommendations on interviews and a local stakeholder workshop. Often, when HyLife employees finished a shift, stores were not open or they were too far away to access. Even the Filipino restaurant had disappeared in 2012. Employees who could not find housing in Neepawa did not have access to transportation so that they could live in neighbouring towns where housing was available. Translators were vital yet absent, especially in the hospital. Much-needed classes in English as an additional language (EAL) were in short supply. Spouses could not find jobs, and their credentials were not recognized. Sidewalk, road, water, sewage, high-speed Internet, and other improvements to the area’s infrastructure had to be made to support the region’s growing population.23 Little had changed in an updated 2015 report. Services were still missing, and infrastructure had not been updated.24 On 10 October 2015, Nick Martin, reporting for the Winnipeg Free Press, noted that “Neepawa’s schools are so crowded … And another 200 children will arrive within the next two years, phenomenal growth within a province where public school enrolment has been inexorably dwindling for decades. It’s because of the HyLife pork operation, which has brought in hundreds of workers from the Philippines whose families are joining them in Canada.”25 It is notable that, as of this writing in 2016, the Wikipedia page for Neepawa, though updated recently, made no mention of the population influx, pork processing, or the rapidly increasing diversity of the community. HyLife was very helpful when I contacted the business in 2014. As I completed revisions to this manuscript in 2016 and asked HyLife representatives if they wanted to respond to the negative things I had been hearing about Filipino work life in Neepawa, they were silent. I knew that HyLife was not necessarily interested in a specific race to do inexpensive meat-plant processing work, but I also knew, from speaking with Leanne Billy of Russell Inn and others in human resources departments throughout the province, that employers preferred Filipinos because they were seen to be eager to please employers. Immigrants

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from European countries wanted higher wages and were not as interested in moving to small rural communities. Emerson Ballard Emerson Ballard, a research participant in this study, came from Isabela City and was a devout Roman Catholic.26 He graduated from Isabela State University with a bachelor of science degree and worked as an assistant trainer in a slaughterhouse. He was musing about migrating when he attended a job fair advertising jobs in Canada. He applied to migrate as a butcher, and after a month he heard that his application had been accepted. In 2008 he and other employees at HyLife came to Canada under an express version of the Provincial Nominee Program.27 More than three-quarters of Manitoba’s new immigrants came to the province through the Provincial Nominee Program.28 Filipinos told me that they had come to HyLife as provincial nominees or temporary foreign workers.29 All arrived under two-year contracts, and, though they came through different programs, the needed Filipino workers were treated by HyLife and the town government as if they were temporary.30 In addition to a picture of the Last Supper, which Emerson had in his Neepawa dining room, his wife had statues of the Mother of Perpetual Help and Mother Mary that she had brought with her to Canada when she joined her husband. Emerson and his family attended St Dominic’s Catholic Church in Neepawa, usually the 7:00 p.m. Saturday mass for the Filipino community. They had prayed, before Emerson and the family came to Canada, hoping for a better life and opportunities. When I interviewed Emerson, I heard that the better life and opportunities he had dreamed of had not materialized. I had the distinct impression that he had not found belonging, even at church. I asked similar questions in every single interview I conducted. Usually, when I asked the interview questions about religion, people opened up, and they seemed to be relieved to talk about devotional or church-based habits. But this was not the case in Neepawa. Neither Emerson nor his friend Bradley, nor the scores of other Filipino males who spoke to me during fieldwork in Neepawa, was interested in lingering on religious details. Yes, they went to church; yes, they had a medallion that was suspended from their rearview mirror – but that was it. The parish priest who, for Shirley and Noel, was so central to their church narratives was absent from the stories I heard in Neepawa. In Filipino American culture, Stephen Cherry notes, “Father … is not just a gesture of

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respect; [he is] … a direct intercessory with the Holy Family connecting an earthly family to the divine.”31 Emerson and Bradley said nothing about the parish priest. Instead they wanted to tell me that, although Filipinos might continue to come to Neepawa, the small city’s population would not grow. The lack of religious details revealed in the formal and informal research-participant interviews in Neepawa suggested to me that Filipinos here experienced a kind of orientalist prejudice that had mostly faded in other parts of the province. Many Filipinos have faced orientalist prejudice from European Canadians who never expected to be sharing their pews and Sunday schools with Southeast Asians. Some non-Filipino Catholics regard the Filipino newcomers who have revived their parishes with a mix of wonder and worry. Congregations in Canada and elsewhere in the West had been dwindling in size for decades. Now, at Winnipeg’s St Edward’s and Broadway Disciples, Filipinos fill the pews and the offering trays each week. They have kept some churches from closing and greatly reinvigorated others. Priests and pastors often depend on Filipino attendance. One would naturally assume that churches would have reached out to welcome these devout newcomers, but that did not always happen, especially in rural communities. Filipino involvement in the service, choir, committees, and sermons at a particular church depended on both the Filipino community’s strength and the hospitality of that church. I started to investigate other ways in which Neepawa’s Filipino community might be developing a bayanihan spirit. This led me to Dennis Castañeda, a Roman Catholic Filipino Chinese and research participant whom I met in Oakbank, Manitoba. He started the voluntary association PCGBI discussed in chapter 7. In July 2015 Dennis was hosting an event for Filipino employees of HyLife Foods, the pork-processing plant for which Emerson and Bradley had worked in Neepawa. I had told Dennis that I was having difficulty locating research participants in Neepawa for the book. At the picnic I met, interviewed, and spoke informally with Filipino men employed at the plant. As is customary, Dennis organizes and hosts a large party each year to celebrate his birthday. As leader of the growing PCGBI group, he uses the occasion to mingle with members, friends, and family. This year the event was held at a campground in the rural town of Minnedosa. There were games, swimming, speeches, and a long buffet table filled with pancit noodles, saffron rice, pork adobo, fried chicken, and other foods, as well as watermelon and a large birthday cake.

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Hundreds of Filipinos drove up to three hours to attend the event, at which Dennis chose to honour the group’s newest thirty-five Filipino brothers who were working in nearby Neepawa. Dennis said that for the last year he had unsuccessfully tried to lobby the provincial and federal governments to help Filipino workers who were stuck in lowpaying, dead-end jobs at meat-processing plants in rural Manitoba. Filipino politicians from Manitoba’s provincial parties had attended the event, and Dennis had organized meetings among the politicians and the Neepawa employees to help them voice their concerns. Thus far, Dennis reported that his group had not been able to convince politicians, bureaucrats, and meat-processing businesses in Manitoba to change their practices. I wondered about the other events at which Filipino community members might congregate and establish belonging in Neepawa’s public spaces. Neepawa’s Filipino community had been invited to take part in the town’s Lily Festival, during which they displayed their culture, dances, and food for festival goers. The Filipino community established a limited kind of belonging here at the festival, and, as Orlando Marcelino had remarked at the Philippine Heritage Ball in 2014, they did not become known for more than the “sum of their dances.” Filipinos did not have a clubhouse in Neepawa, but they did have the cafeteria at the hog plant. It served select Filipino favourites like pork and chicken adobo for HyLife’s workforce, which was 90 per cent Filipino. The oldest person in the workforce, according to Emerson, was fifty-five years old. Both Emerson and Bradley thought that they would remain in Canada but seemed very doubtful that they would remain in Neepawa. In the meantime, and when they were not working, they played on one of Neepawa’s more than sixteen all-male Filipino basketball teams.32 Although some fifteen hundred Filipinos lived in the town, it remained a very unwelcoming environment for them. Neepawa’s Filipino community was predominantly male. Limited affordable housing meant that the men bunked together. Some townspeople complained that these men did not bother to learn English and that they urinated and fornicated in back yards.33 The men did not have much to do when they were not working. Sometimes they lingered on the street outside the church for hours after the service, passing the time with friends. Non-Filipinos gossiped and speculated about what they did behind closed doors. How could they adjust to Canada’s customs or, worse, its climate? Longstanding members of the congregation hoped that faith would help to control these

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Asians’ wild tendencies and their suspected “tribal inclination towards laziness.” Filipino newcomers wanted to define their lives in local Christian communities and cultures of faith.34 Here, however, Christianity did not link them to broader society. Instead, as Paul Bramadat writes, it reinforced fortresses and kept non-Filipinos and those who racialized and judged them at bay.35 Emerson and his friend Bradley confirmed what I had suspected about Neepawa.36 Unlike other provinces, Manitoba has relatively few temporary foreign workers. Filipinos in this category, along with the provincial nominees, come on two-year contracts as United Food and Commercial Workers union employees. In order to stay on, they have to apply for permanent residency and take an English exam. I was told that many workers in Neepawa failed the exam. But there was a steady stream of would-be pork-plant workers in the Philippines. They were ready to take the places of those who failed to become permanent Canadians and were forced to go back. In Neepawa, Filipino men were very guarded when they talked to me, both during interviews and informally when I attended the mass and picnic. When I asked about religion, they said little. The way in which Filipinos inhabited their religiosity in Neepawa helped them to adjust to life as poorly paid and unwelcome migrants. Everyday religion might have been kept private, but Neepawa’s Filipinos wanted Manitobans to know and to understand their labour situation. I asked if Neepawa was a racist place, and slowly people starting telling me about their bad experiences. They were rebuked for riding their bicycles and for lingering in large groups on the public sidewalks. They did not want their names recorded, but they wanted their disappointment documented. They were frustrated by the lack of job mobility or of the possibility of improved pay after two years. They were annoyed by the high cost of living and the fact that their wives could not find work in the town. Fieldwork at Neepawa community events confirmed that most newcomers from the Philippines had not been there long. Without seasoned mentors and people to connect them to the broader community, it was difficult for Filipinos to integrate or experience belonging in public or private spaces. There had been no previous waves of Filipinos to lay community groundwork. The town lacked the Filipino amenities that were in larger centres. Filipino newcomers were part of a diverse Manitoba community, but they did not feel welcome in it. They were irritated by the Manitoba

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government’s praise of HyLife Foods. Reports by Brandon University’s Rural Development Institute have confirmed what research participants said about the lack of affordable housing, the insufficient services, and the absence of opportunities for advancement in careers outside the hog plant or service industry. Bradley had come to Neepawa in 2009 and, unlike other meat plant workers, was able to find a different job in Neepawa as a janitor.37 Aside from Bradley, who was pleased to have found a job outside the plant, most research participants were discouraged. For industry and government, it appeared that capitalizing on Filipino labour had outweighed all other considerations, such as accommodating the new arrivals’ cultural and religious needs and welcoming them holistically, not merely as good servants. HyLife representatives spoke glowingly about the Filipino community in Neepawa.38 Erna Braun, Manitoba’s minister of labour, spoke of Neepawa’s many Filipinos who were staying in Manitoba in 2015.39 However, Emerson, Bradley, and many others who did not want their names used, said that was untrue.40 Most Filipinos left Neepawa after two years; they went to Alberta or Toronto in search of better jobs. I was struck by the differences in the accounts of life in Neepawa made by HyLife, the government, and Filipinos. It was clear that the Filipinos with whom I spoke had not found the right combination of bayanihan and belonging in the town. I was curious to see what church life was like for migrants, having experienced church services in other Filipino settlements in Manitoba and investigated picnics and festivals in Neepawa. First, I attended St Dominic’s Church at the 11:00 a.m. Sunday service in July 2014. I had heard that this was the larger of the two Sunday services. As I drove into the city, I noticed on my left, and facing the city’s only McDonald’s franchise, the sign for the junior hockey team, the Neepawa Natives, with the image of a yellow-skinned Indigenous person in profile wearing red, yellow, and green feathers on his head. Neither Neepawa nor its team is known for having Indigenous people, so I thought this was strange.41 A little further up the road I passed a metal orange sculpture of lilies, a sign of Neepawa’s Lily Festival held each summer. Over three hundred people attended the service on the July morning I went. I counted fewer than fifty non-Filipinos in the crowd. The Filipinos I observed were predominantly young families and single males under the age of forty. They were casually dressed in clean T-shirts with pants or jeans. Most did not sing the hymns. I had seen this elsewhere and was not surprised. Filipinos recited prayers and stood and knelt

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when requested. All of them went up for communion, and most gave a couple of dollars to the offering tray when it came their way. Unlike every other service I attended in Manitoba, there was no Filipino involvement in the service itself. There were no Filipino cultural elements in the mass or the parish furnishings. There was no mention of Tagalog or the Filipino community, as there had been at St Edward’s. I did not really expect to see a shrine for Santo Niño, as I had seen this only twice in my church fieldwork, at Winnipeg’s St Mary’s Cathedral and St Edward’s. Facing the congregation in St Dominic’s sanctuary was a statue of the crucified Jesus, and to his left was a statue of the Virgin Mary. The remainder of the parish décor was quite subdued. Non-Filipinos in attendance were clearly a small minority. Filipinos near me sat silently or sometimes talked to each other in Tagalog. They greeted each other warmly, but I did not see them mingle with or even look at those who were not Filipino. They also did not seem to want to look at or interact with me. All of them exited immediately after the service ended. No Filipinos lingered to talk with the priest after mass, though at the time I visited the church, he had been there less than six months. The Filipinos hurried out and stood on the sidewalk in clusters, talking with each other. After the service I went to the parish office to see if I could speak with Father Filips. I had emailed and telephoned him to tell him that I was coming and wanted to ask him a few questions.42 Father Filips explained that Filipinos tended to go to the Saturday evening service where there was a Filipino choir, as opposed to the Sunday service that I attended. Father Filips confirmed that in his estimation there were about fifteen hundred Filipinos in Neepawa but that they left after two years, once their HyLife contracts had expired. They usually went to Alberta if they remained in Canada. He said the community was young, and he did not know of a community leader. He was not aware of their personal devotional habits.43 In Neepawa I was particularly attentive to the ways in which everyday stories were told in Filipino neighbourhoods, and I followed Nancy Ammerman’s advice: “Here we will listen to their stories about everyday routines but also their reflections on what the world ought to look like. How do they name the world’s ills, where do they draw the boundaries of concern?”44 Two years later I returned to St Dominic’s one cool summer evening. I wanted to look into what Father Filips had said about the Saturday Filipino mass at 7:00 p.m. I also wanted to see whether he had

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established a rapport with the community since my last visit. I knew from interviews and fieldwork that priestly fathers were essential figures in Filipino church life. As I pulled my car into a parking spot in front of the church, I noticed two Filipino men and a Filipino woman standing on the sidewalk talking. As I entered the church, two European Canadian women sitting at a table greeted me warmly. I asked for a parish bulletin, which was quickly produced by a woman standing off to the side. They were selling tickets to the Filipino Cultural Festival on Saturday, 27 August, for ten dollars apiece. All proceeds were going to the St Dominic’s Raise the Roof project. There would be two cultural shows, food samplings, and a cash bar. More than two hundred tickets had already been sold. The women selling tickets said that they did not recognize me and asked if I was visiting from somewhere. In the church I heard the small Filipino choir practising with Father Filips, who was playing the piano, accompanied by a Filipino guitarist. They were rehearsing the evening’s hymns. Twenty-five other Filipinos were singing along in the pews. They sat behind a dozen grey-haired European Canadians even though there were many empty seats in the pews in front of them. The non-Filipinos appeared to be between sixty-five and seventy-five years old, and decades older than all the other Filipinos. Soon more Filipinos streamed into the church and filled the pews behind the Euro-Canadians. I assumed that Filipinos would have already claimed spots nearer to the sanctuary, but apparently Euro-Canadians continued to dominate that space. I thought this was remarkable given that I had been told that this Saturday service was the main Filipino one. As I waited for the mass to begin, I glanced down at the parish bulletin. Six Filipino children had been baptized in July. Filipinos may not have dominated the front pews, but they were dominating baptismal life, which to me was very significant. Baptisms were a key part of Filipino narratives throughout Manitoba. These rituals connected children to the traditions and faith of their mothers and fathers and their ancestors at home in the Philippines. Baptisms also elevated a person’s social and religious status by joining the child and the parents to a community of believers and to God. Baptisms protected and perpetuated family and faith in Canada. By 6:50 p.m. scores of Filipino families, couples, and single adult men and women had filled the pews. Long rows of families sat together. I spotted one Filipino woman in the crowd who appeared to be in her fifties, but she was clearly the oldest. Boys and girls giggled and waved at each other. The family who had settled beside me was busy with a

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newborn, held by a very tired-looking father of the family of six. People were casually dressed, in T-shirts, shorts, and jeans. As people sat down, smells of perfume, tobacco, and dust mingled. Children seemed almost giddy, catching up with friends, making funny faces, dancing, and hugging their parents as the mass was about to begin. They might have felt at home in the church, but I sensed their quiet and stern parents felt less at ease. By the start of the service more than 175 Filipinos had filled the pews behind the twenty-five EuroCanadians. After the service had started, more Filipinos and a few Euro-Canadians continued to arrive and find a place to sit. By the end of the service only a few other Euro-Canadians sat among the Filipino congregants further back. I was surprised to see that fewer Filipinos attended this service than the Sunday one. The service was entirely in English. Father Filips welcomed everyone and mentioned the day’s earlier Filipino baptism. He encouraged everyone to buy tickets to the Filipino cultural show. With great enthusiasm he explained that the event was being held to help fund the church’s much-needed new roof. He spoke at length about preparations for the new roof in the fall and the shifting of services downstairs. He also mentioned other church events that were to take place that month in which he and the Filipino choir would be taking part. Two years ago when I had attended St Dominic’s, the church had been bursting at the seams with Filipinos, but they were not even acknowledged in the service. Now, fewer Filipinos were present at what I had heard was the more robust Filipino service. Clearly St Dominic’s had started to foreground Filipino culture and race in its services. Father Filips appeared to be trying to provide a spiritual home for Filipino labourers who had not received the warmest welcome in the small city of Neepawa. Two Filipino women offered readings from the Old Testament and the Book of Psalms. Throughout the liturgy and Eucharist a small percentage of adult Filipino women sang along with the hymns. Their faint voices joined the louder choir and the much louder voices of the older European congregants. Filipino males, possibly because they were exhausted from long workweeks or because they were not particularly happy to be at this church, involved themselves very little. None of the Filipinos seemed to pick up a hymn book or a prayer book, except when everyone was commanded to read the Synod Prayer, which was read at all Archdiocese of Winnipeg parishes, including St Dominic’s. I had noticed that when the Synod Prayer was read at other

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parishes, nobody knew it. Aside from the Euro-Canadians, only a few Filipino women participated in the service other than saying the Lord’s Prayer and the Creed. Parents encouraged their children to give part of the family’s offering, and they did so excitedly, contributing a few quarters, dimes, and nickels. The change seemed to sing as it entered the trays that were passed around by Filipino and Euro-Canadian laymen and laywomen. At the beginning of the liturgy and at the end of the Eucharist service, we were encouraged to acknowledge and welcome our neighbours. Filipino males to my left and right, in front of me and behind me, seemed to come to life and leaned over, shook my hand, and smiled broadly. I was struck by the friendliness of Filipinos on my return visit to St Dominic’s and also by the dryness of their hands, especially given the fact that they were decades younger than I was. Two years ago, no Filipino had come forward to greet me or to return my glance and greeting of peace and welcome. A man a few rows behind me leaned in to kiss his wife on the cheek, and the two embraced for a while. Two Filipino altar boys took part in the processional that brought Father Filips up to the altar and later out of the church. After the service had ended, Father Filips stood near the church exit, greeting people as they left. As I exited the pew, a woman excitedly walked towards me and gave me a piece of paper announcing the Filipino cultural event. She beamed and encouraged me to buy a ticket. I politely told her that I had already bought a ticket. She seemed disappointed. As Filipinos exited, some raised the Father’s hand towards their head, allowing the fingers to touch their forehead in a traditional show of respect to the priest. Others bypassed him, quickly heading to the parking lot. EuroCanadians by contrast received only a handshake. Evidently Father Filips had bonded with some Filipino churchgoers. I was the last to leave. Pulling out of my parking spot, I noticed several Filipino families leaving in Chrysler and Ford sport utility vehicles, and single Filipinos riding bicycles and walking along the sidewalks away from the church. In migrant communities, church involvement and religious ties help to break down the linguistic, social, and cultural barriers that exist in their diverse homelands. As Carolyn Chen has observed, “religion, because of its sacred power, makes ethical demands that other organizations cannot … Most secular institutions lack the legitimate authority to make the demands that religions do … It is the sacred that makes people sacrifice their personal interests and utterly reorganize their

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lives for something outside of themselves.”45 Christianity helped to define Filipinos as good neighbours, but it did not do much to change the stereotype in Neepawa that they were good servants. Still, I had seen progress in my return visit to Neepawa. The congregation was smaller than I had expected, and, though some of the Filipino parishioners seemed to have experienced a sense of religious welcome in this church, the welcoming spirit was less prevalent than I had observed elsewhere. For days I kept thinking about the dry hands that I had shaken in that service. There was not just one pair of dry hands; I had shaken several in a row. That impression stuck with me. Dry hands seemed to sum up St Dominic’s church in the way that the small pink toddler shoes beside the hymnal at St Edward’s had summed up that church. Throughout my research on Filipinos in Canada and the Philippines I had shaken hundreds of hands, but I had never noticed rough palms among Filipinos before. So I knew that these hands were not just Filipino hands; they were overworked hands. It was discouraging to arrive at this conclusion after seeing, hearing, and experiencing so many positive narratives of Filipino belonging in Canada. As with all the facts that I found throughout the research, I presented my experience of overworked hands as I sensed and perceived them in succession. I was heartened that so many Filipinos had reached out to me and shaken my hand. From what I could see at this and the previous mass I had attended, very few non-Filipinos sat among Filipinos. This meant that very few non-Filipinos shook the hands of Filipinos each week. Perhaps Neepawa’s non-Filipinos had a chance to greet and interact with the more than a thousand Filipinos on other occasions, but it seemed odd, at least to me, that broader society was not taking advantage of this gathering spot to intermingle and welcome their overworked brothers and sisters. I was glad to see St Dominic’s Filipino children had found a place to gather and meet with friends and family, but I also suspected that fewer Filipinos would keep coming to Neepawa and that almost all of these children and their families would be gone in two years when contracts at the plant were over. In July 2017, Neepawa’s sign that welcomed people to the small city was vandalized with racist graffiti aimed at Asian and Filipino migrants.46

Conclusion

In undertaking this book, I set out to understand Filipino religion in Canada. Finding very little documentation of the subject, I relied on ethnographic research and focused on the stories people told and on my own experiences in homes and churches, at events, and in businesses and restaurants in North America and also in the Philippines. Often stories of the earliest Filipino settlers began with the arrival in 1959 of Fe Ryder and her fellow nurses, who came to renew expiring U.S. visas and ended up continuing their careers at Winnipeg’s Misericordia Hospital. In reality Filipinos had come to Canada some eighty years before that. Filipinos in Manitoba talked about early community leaders, physicians, and politicians, usually mentioning first Dr Roland Guzman or Dr Rey Pagtakhan, who was both a doctor and a Member of Parliament. Everyday religious practices at church and beyond helped me to understand how many, but not all, Filipinos had managed to belong and settle in Canada over the course of the fifty years examined by this book. Through fieldwork and attendance at church, mass, meetings, festivals and fiestas, suppers, socials, teas, picnics, and performances I experienced the context for the stories I heard in both Canada and the Philippines. Large Catholic and usually much smaller Protestant churches were points of departure in the Philippines and the first points of contact for immigrants arriving in Canada. Beyond these public expressions of religiosity, research participants pointed me towards the religious underside of everyday Filipino life. People recounted rich healing and devotional customs and encouraged me to photograph, document, and experience the significance of their deities, saints, home altars, and chapels. Home devotional practice had moored Rosita

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Gonzales in Brandon and Noel Hizon and his family in Notre-Damede-Lourdes. Religious objects helped me to understand Filipino systems of anchoring to homeland traditions. They also showed me how migrants created places for themselves in the diaspora when churches fell short of expectations or the needs of newly arrived migrants were not adequately met. Some research participants expressed frustration that the credentials that had enabled earlier migrants to gain entry to Canada as librarians, physicians, nurses, and teachers were no longer recognized today. They were especially annoyed because they had migrated as provincial nominees and independent immigrants, only to learn that their credentials were not enough to earn them jobs in their fields and that they would have to spend additional years and money retraining in Canada or choose another area of work. Neepawa presented an extreme case of Filipino employees being treated by public and private groups as a temporary, renewable workforce. It seemed that Neepawa residents had never intended to enable Filipinos to belong in that rural community. Neepawa’s Father Filips had clearly established rapport with some Filipinos and had been able to make children feel welcome at St Dominic’s weekly mass. However, in this town I was reminded of Orlando Marcelino’s cautionary remarks at the 2014 Philippine Heritage Week Ball: “I would like people, especially our young generations, and you white people, to stop equating Philippine culture to [dances and food]. We’re more than the sum of these dances.” The Santo Niño that I commonly saw in Filipino homes and businesses was a strong indication that Filipinos were more than the sum of the dances they performed at multicultural festivals in Canada. Santo Niño, the infant Jesus, appeared in a dizzying array of representations, as the photograph on the cover of this book shows. Sometimes he was very young with short hair and a regal red robe and white gown. At other times he appeared as a peasant with longer hair, wearing a modest sackcloth tunic and cape. In churches he appeared alongside his mother and father. Twice I saw him in small shrines at Winnipeg’s predominantly Filipino Catholic churches. In Manitoba I recognized in Santo Niño the resilience needed for Filipinos to blend in with dominant society. Like Santo Niño, they remained pious but changed identities as teacher, nurse, or accountant to become a health-care aide or a janitor. Occasionally Filipinos changed religious denominations when they migrated, converting from Anglicanism to Catholicism, as in the case of Milton, or from Catholicism to Protestantism, as in the case of

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Jorie. Santo Niño devotion at church and beyond it, along with Catholicism, provided Filipinos with a nationalist spiritual identity that enabled them to live apart from kin. It allowed them to relate and connect in Canada without needing ethnic parishes, such as those of Chinese migrants in Canada, for instance. Only eleven out of the fifty-three research participants in this book, or just over 20 per cent, were Protestant Christians. Many of the latter continued to participate in Filipino voluntary association events and community festivals, but they lacked the easy connection to homeland traditions through the Catholic Church and devotional customs. My research project began in Winnipeg in 2012 and expanded in the ensuing years, stretching to include rural areas beyond the city. In Manitoba, immigrants had found success and belonging in a number of small and larger residential areas. While the research project that produced this book focused on religion and history, it was also necessarily concerned with racism and the orientalist ideas and customs that shaped Asian migration to North America. A narrative approach allowed me to piece together a library of stories from Canada and the Philippines. This library was large enough to discern the roles of decolonialization, globalization, and Indigenous becoming in defining Filipino engagement with Canada. Filipino religiosity was necessarily linked to a racist colonial past, but it had evolved in ways that were meaningful in the complex present. Research participants looked back to and beyond colonial pasts and brought the underside into prominent view. They were not fixed on the negative experiences that had sometimes shaped their journeys to Canada. Instead, they drew on histories both good and bad, reaping the benefits of a life spent in devotion to divinity and family and in being forward-looking. Histories are messy, chaotic, often sad and unfair. Filipino storytellers, far from dwelling on these aspects of history, crossed through them. They showed a mindset that was nimble and dynamic and told of systems remade through strength and suppleness, and also segurista. Filipinos had been made and remade as colonial subjects. This explained in part why they were so good at belonging and networking. My attention was repeatedly drawn to the omitted parts of narratives over which people hurried or that they only discussed when I spoke to them in subsequent interviews. I looked to the margins of the mostly Catholic church life of research participants where people came alive, singing, praying, and touching statues and sacred objects. When I caught sight of these things, some research participants noticed and

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were eager to turn my gaze away from this aspect of Filipino culture. The underside provided me a window through which I could understand the efficacy of sacred objects, shrines, church, Rizal veneration, and work routines. It also helped me to piece together a larger story of resilience that allowed Filipinos to bounce back when they were victims of unjust systems and societies. When they experienced calamity, they worked collaboratively to accept, articulate, translate, and Filipinize their world. In this book I have tried to show how this flexible attitude, for many, came from a spiritual power and a tethering to faith, traditions, and religious figures, some of which were connected to a pre-Christian past. Today it is more difficult for Filipinos to migrate to the United States than to Canada, but for a decade, between 1946 and 1956, when the American ban on Filipino migration had been lifted and Canada’s was still in place, it was easier to gain entry to the United States. The fact that Filipino nurses and interns with U.S. visas started going to Canada when those visas expired set in motion a wave of Filipino migration to Manitoba. Fe Ryder has come to define the history of the Filipino migration to the province, perhaps because we all love a story in which someone who could have settled in the United States chose Canada instead. We now know, however, that Manitoba’s first Filipinos arrived much earlier, more than a hundred years ago, and as servants, not medical professionals. Research participants glossed over the orientalist stereotypes they encountered. They faced them in daily life but did not focus on them, at least not in public. They realized that it was advantageous to be considered dependable, devoted, and diligent. They turned the other cheek and behaved as good Christians. This was not done dishonestly. The Provincial Nominee Program and government initiatives to bring much-needed nurses to Manitoba enabled those with education to do skilled work. With regard to the temporary foreign workers recruited to do unskilled labour, while Filipinos expressed repeatedly that they felt blessed to have jobs upon arrival, it was clear that the preferred careers of university-educated migrants were not to be janitors and other low-paid menial workers. They worked with, and through, blanket assumptions that they were selfless neighbours and cheerful servants. Some found belonging and assistance through fraternal organizations, which were infused with religion. Levy Abad, who had migrated to Ontario in 2006, was drawn to Winnipeg in 2010 by a job as a multicultural outreach co-ordinator for the office of the minister of

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multiculturalism and literacy. Like those who originally tried living in other Canadian towns and cities, Levy made his way to Winnipeg after hearing about its vibrant Filipino community spirit.1 In this book I have sought to unravel the story as I heard and experienced it through interviews, fieldwork, archival research, and reflection. Chapter 1 explored religion as experienced in churches in the Philippines and in Manitoba. It presented church histories and contexts and the fabric of devotional life that cosseted Catholic and Protestant migrants as they crossed borders and left the barangay. From hometown fiestas to suburban shrines to rural religiosity and ecstatic experience through music, the book attempted to showcase the domestic devotional lives that directed and then rooted migrants in Manitoba. Chapters also showcased the history of migration to Winnipeg and Brandon by Filipinos, mainly as nurses and doctors at first but also as teachers and librarians. Santo Niño emerged as a defining cultural icon that was part of most households, workplace shrines, and weekly prayers. The venerated child figure became especially prominent in the lives of migrants who had settled beyond Winnipeg in small towns. All the while the book and its narratives attempted to foreground the reality that, for many, belonging came through the trinity of family, faith, and fellowship. Family, faith, and fellowship enabled Filipino mothers to leave children behind in the Philippines while they established necessary strong bonds in Canada. Dreams came true when children, often fully grown, and husbands were reunited with mothers and wives. It was not until the 1970s that Filipinos began to feel proud enough of their homeland traditions and food to be able to display them in Canada. Many research participants expressed that they had not felt there was a place for them to share these things in public until that time. They sought blessings through prayers to Jesus, Santo Niño, Padre Pio, and other saints, statuary, and devotional objects to help them and their businesses to succeed in Canada. Religious activities and expressions outside of church were developed by the narratives in chapter 5, where Filipinos erected shrines at home and in their businesses. Restaurant religion offered Filipinos another way to domesticate the diaspora. Yvanne and Gloria Dandan’s annual Pabasa ritual in this chapter revealed the ways in which homeland traditions travelled and became religio-cultural anchors in Canada. People relied on religion as the central pillar of their migration experience, joining churches with large Filipino congregations and abandoning communities outside Winnipeg where they could not develop strong religious ties.

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Ethnographic research showed that the overwhelming majority of Filipinos remained Catholic after migration. When Filipino migrants were homesick in Winnipeg, they went to mass at St Edward’s. In many ways, Catholicism and Santo Niño defined Filipino national identity in Canada. For this reason Filipinos felt so comfortable at predominantly Polish or Italian churches. But not every Filipino was Catholic, and so Filipino identity was more than the sum of Catholicism. Christianity still rooted Protestant Filipinos, but for them belonging also came through voluntary associations that met their social, economic, and spiritual needs. As I collected a library of religious stories in Canada, I saw the power of Santo Niño to heal, save, and unify thought and cultures throughout the Filipino cultural sphere. Narratives of Jesus’s salvific power did the same for those Filipinos who believed that fate and the future had brought them to Canada. The stories of religious functionaries in chapter 8 suggested a bleak tomorrow for churches and religious life. Smartphones and tablets, said Raoul, have displaced morning prayer routines. Pastor Ed observed that overworked Filipinos sometimes could not attend weekend services. Father Geoffrey cautioned that, although migrants kept sacred gathering spaces in Manitoba vibrant and healthy, looming on the horizon were problems caused by diminishing devotion and desire to meet face to face at mass. Migrating to the hinterlands has become more workable over the half century covered by this book, but such efforts to put down roots are not always successful. The Neepawa narrative in chapter 9 makes the important point that a welcoming church alone cannot make a town feel like home. As I was writing about the results of my research in the late summer of 2015, I learned that my mother, Heather Osler, had very little time to live. Her illness and death was, and remains, the most difficult and painful thing I have ever experienced in my life. But my mother had faith and hope, and she counted her blessings. Unlike me, she was a devout Anglican. I contacted Melba Sumat, my research assistant in the Philippines, and asked if she could locate and send me two Santo Niño statues. I wanted to put one in my mother’s home in Oakville, Ontario, where she was dying, and another in my own home in Manitoba. I was surprised by how much my mother enjoyed her Santo Niño. She placed it in her living room, beside her statues of Buddha and a Greek god. She was proud to show it to her Anglican minister when he visited. She also told me that it was a good conversation-starter with her grandson’s Filipino partner, with the health-care aides who visited

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her at home, and with the nurses at the hospital, many of whom were Filipino. I visited my mother several times over the eight weeks from her diagnosis to death, and each time I left, I prayed to Santo Niño and asked him to intercede to keep my mother safe. I took a photo of Santo Niño and kept the image as my wallpaper on my smartphone and desktop computer. When I looked at the image throughout the day, somehow I felt safe and joined to my mother. She had discovered such belonging in religion, and I wanted to use this experience to understand her faith and piety. In this book I have told stories of connectedness and conviction in the lonely diasporic world. My own story of loss and devotion gave me a glimpse of the intricate ways in which religion enables belonging. In writing this book, I have tried to present facts as I found them. I have tried to capture and articulate the diverse voices of interviewees through the individual narratives that fill the pages. I have tried to communicate the things I saw, heard, and felt during the years of fieldwork and time spent talking, listening, participating, and observing Filipino life and rituals in Manitoba and beyond. It was a research project that returned me to my early childhood obsession with prayer and piety and to the reason I became a professor of religion. I have always been fascinated with the human search for meaning in the world, and the strength and comfort that people find in their religious lives. I have always been spellbound by the reasons that people go to church and pray. More than twenty years ago I chose to study Asian religious experience for my doctoral dissertation under the tutelage of a former ­Catholic nun. Julia Ching was an excellent teacher who imparted in me what seemed like an intuitive knowledge of ­Chinese religion, and I will be forever grateful to her. As the research for this book drew to a close, however, I came to see that she had taught me much more. Up to that point, people had shared with me a vast array of religious experiences and observations. But in my interview with Father ­Geoffrey, the rector of St Mary’s Cathedral, I learned something that to me was entirely new. I came to see that the immanence in transcendence that was so clearly a part of ­Chinese religion was also an essential component of Filipino religiosity. It did not matter that Filipino religiosity was mostly Christian and not principally defined by ancestral worship, ­ Confucianism, ­ Buddhism, Daoism, and local cults as in the Chinese sense. What mattered was that Filipinos found belonging immanently in everyday

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lives as well as transcendentally at church and in more formal settings and with clerical involvement. I remain fascinated by the customs and cultures I learned about in the Philippines and Manitoba, but most of all I am grateful to all the research participants who trusted me enough to write this story, and also to those who shook my hand.

Appendix: List of Filipino Restaurants, Takeouts, and Groceries Visited in Winnipeg and Environs

Bueno Bros. Supermarket CB’s Restaurant Chef’s Corner Palace (Brandon, Manitoba) D23 Dim Sum and Cocktails (Carman, Manitoba) Jeepney Restaurant Jimel’s Bakery Jimel’s International Cuisine La Merage Mangkok International Cuisine Maxie’s Pastries and Take Out Foods Myrna’s Café and Catering Salakot Restaurant

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Notes

Introduction 1 Orlando Marcelino, Honorary Consul General, “Opening Remarks,” Annual Philippine Independence Ball, Winnipeg, 13 June 2014. 2 The term Filipino dates to 1521 and derives from the name Don Felipe II, as Vicente Rafael explains: “The very term Filipino emerges in the first place as a way of accounting for the existence of those who, looking like Spaniards, were in actuality born outside of Spain . . . [They were] a liminal group . . . who were native neither to the place of their parents nor that of their birth.” Vicente L. Rafael, White Love and Other Events in Filipino History (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000), 6–7. Glenda Bonifacio chooses the term Pinay for Filipino women to circumvent colonial interpretations of the term Filipino, and thereby “gives voice to an empowered, embodied postcolonial subject long perceived as a victim of contemporary globalization.” Bonifacio’s weighty study aims to transcend stereotypes of Filipinos as victims. It sheds light on the myriad ways in which women negotiated Pinay identity (as opposed to male Pinoy identity) and community involvement beyond Toronto and Vancouver. Glenda Tibe Bonifacio, Pinay on the Prairies: Filipino Women and Transnational Identities (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2013), 11. Allyson Tintiangco-Cubales, a Filipino scholar, has also expounded on the merits of the term Pinay and the field of Pinayism to help understand the intersection of gender, race, religion, education, and birthplace in defining identity and belonging within the Filipino diaspora. See Allyson TintiangcoCubales, Pin@y Educational Partnerships: A Sourcebook of Filipina/o American Studies, vol. 2 (Santa Clara, CA: Phoenix, 2007). Research participants in this study referred to themselves as Filipinos and not as gendered Filipinas and Filipinos. The book therefore adopts this naming convention.

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3 Four non-Filipinos were formally interviewed in Manitoba and are not included in this number: a non-Filipino pastor, a human resources manager, a non-Filipino temporary foreign worker, and a non-Filipino member of the Knights of Rizal. Additionally, twenty-seven Filipinos were interviewed in British Columbia, Alberta (Calgary), Ontario, and Quebec, and a further eight people were interviewed in the Philippines. I did not include these individuals in the tally of fifty-three research participants. I used snowball sampling to locate and conduct formal interviews with them, asking standard questions and using university- and government-approved ethics forms. Dozens of informal interviews were also conducted over four years in Canada and the Philippines during fieldwork in churches, homes, and restaurants and at banquets, festivals, concerts, parties, and other events, as well as via email or the telephone. These individuals willingly shared information about the Filipino community in my preliminary discussions with them. They volunteered preliminary observations, estimates of the number of Filipinos in their community, and patterns of Filipino behaviour. I offered all informally interviewed people the opportunity to become formal research participants and provided them with university- and government-approved ethics forms. None of these informal interviewees followed up or expressed interest in taking a more formal role in the project. In every case I corroborated their informal research contributions with formal interviewee accounts or secondary library-based research. 4 Surveys were conducted by Melba Sumat who used snowball sampling to interview male and female research participants over the age of eighteen in barrio halls, schools, offices, businesses, and homes. Melba and I conducted interviews in Tarlac, Victoria province, where she lived, as well as in Baguio City, Cebu City, and Manila. Surveys collected data related to age, education, religion, vocation, heroes, migration experiences, hilots, antinganting, bayanihan, and hospitality. 5 Nancy Tatom Ammerman, Sacred Stories, Spiritual Tribes (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 9. 6 Reynaldo G. Ileto, “Rizal and the Underside of Philippine History,” in Moral Order and Change: Essays in Southeast Asian Thought, ed. D. Wyatt and A. Woodside (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1982), 46. 7 In this book I try to refer to revered figures as research participants do, using their titles as doctors. 8 Ileto, “Rizal,” 78. 9 Michel de Certeau, “The Inversion of What Can Be Thought: Religious History in the Seventeenth Century,” in The Writing of History, trans. T. Conley (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 140.



Notes to pages 5−7   213

1 0 Ibid., 127. 11 Arthur W. Frank, Letting Stories Breathe: A Socio-narratology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010), 159. 12 Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans. Richard Nice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 2. 13 James Clifford, Returns: Becoming Indigenous in the Twenty-First Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013), 25–8. 14 See for instance, O. Harris, “The Eternal Return of Conversion: Christianity as Contested Domain in Highland Bolivia,” in The Anthropology of Christianity, ed. F. Cannell (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), 51–76. 15 See Reynaldo Ileto, Pasyon and Revolution: Popular Movements in the Philippines, 1840–1910 (Quezon City, Philippines: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1979); Vicente L. Rafael, Contracting Colonialism: Translation and Christian Conversion in Tagalog Society under Spanish Rule (Quezon City, Philippines: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1988). 16 See Nancy Tatom Ammerman, ed. Everyday Religion: Observing Modern Religious Lives. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007); Meredith B. McGuire, Lived Religion: Faith and Practice in Everyday Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008); Robert A. Orsi, Between Heaven and Earth: The Religious Worlds People Make and the Scholars Who Study Them (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006). 17 Fred Cordova, Filipinos: Forgotten Asian Americans: A Pictorial Essay, 1763– Circa 1963 (Dubuque, IA: Kendall Hunt, 1983). 18 Nancy Ammerman discusses the merits of understanding everyday religiosity by focusing on research participants’ religious and spiritual narratives. Ammerman, Sacred Stories, introduction; Nancy Tatom Ammerman and Roman R. Williams, “Speaking of Methods: Eliciting Religious Narratives through Interviews, Photos, and Oral Diaries,” in Annual Review of the Sociology of Religion, vol. 3, New Methods in the Sociology of Religion (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 129–46. 19 Carolyn Chen, Getting Saved in America: Taiwanese Immigration and Religious Experience (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009), 15. 20 See Mark Chaves and Philip S. Gorski, “Religious Pluralism and Religious Participation,” Annual Review of Sociology 27 (2001): 261–81. 21 Letty Antonio, interview, Winnipeg, 10 April 2015. 22 Mike Pagtakhan, interview, Winnipeg, 26 March 2014. 23 Filipinos display images of saints and other religious objects in different spaces: cars, homes, back yards, and businesses. These objects are the focal points of a family’s daily religious life. People are especially drawn

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to them during periods of crisis – conflict, illness, death. When possible, Filipinos will have these spaces, statues, dolls, and other religious objects blessed by a priest or pastor. Religious objects tell about favoured saints and embodied practices and about a person’s world-view. 24 Homeless World Cup Organisation, “Global Homeless Statistics,” 2016, https://www.homelessworldcup.org/homelessness-statistics/#asia. 25 Since the 1560s Manila’s harbour has provided European access to highly sought-after silver and other trade goods from China. Over time, Europeans have also introduced manifold merchandise and species to the islands. See Charles C. Mann, 1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus Created (New York: Vintage, 2012), 32. 26 United States Census, 2010. 27 More than 700,000 Canadians self-identify as having Philippine heritage. See Government of Canada, “Philippines: Top Source Country for Permanent Residents to Canada in 2014” (Ottawa: Government of Canada, 2015), http://news.gc.ca/web/article-en.do?nid-972769. 28 See also Robyn Magalit Rodriguez, “Toward a Critical Filipino Studies Approach to Philippine Migration,” in Filipino Studies: Palimpsests of Nation and Diaspora, ed. Martin F. Manalansan IV and Augusto F. Espiritu (New York: New York University Press, 2016), 33–55. 29 Wilf Falk, chief statistician of Manitoba, reports that according to the 2011 Census National Household Survey the province has 61,270 people of Filipino origin and that each year a quarter of Manitoba’s 13,000 newcomers are Filipino. This makes the total population roughly 75,000 by 2014 (if one includes 2011 migration numbers). Telephone conversation, 24 March 2014. 30 See Citizenship and Immigration Canada. “The Story of Filipino Immigration to Canada, 2014, http://www.cicnews.com/2014/01/storyfilipino-immigration-canada-013193.html. 31 Based on the 2011 Canadian national census and provincial Filipino immigration projections, the majority of Filipinos living in Manitoba were estimated in 2014 to be residing in Winnipeg, which has a population of 690,000. Wilf Falk, telephone conversation, 24 March 2014. 32 Citizenship and Immigration Canada, “The Story of Filipino Immigration.” See also Kim Mackrael, “Tagalog Fastest-Growing Language in Canada, Data Show,” Globe and Mail, 24 October 2012, http:// www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/tagalog-fastest-growinglanguage-in-canada-data-show/article4650109/. 33 The term Pinoy originates in 1920s Philippine culture and has spread to define Filipinos in the diaspora as well. There is no consensus on the etymology of the term, though it is agreed that the suffix -oy is commonly



Notes to pages 9−13   215

added to a shortened name to form a nickname. See Benito M. Vergara Jr., Pinoy Capital: The Filipino Nation in Daly City (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2009), 15–16n14. 34 Dr Jose Belmonte, who came to Manitoba in 1962, recalled that only three of the original doctors who came to Manitoba actually remained in the province. Darlyne Bautista, Winnipeg’s Filipino Health Professionals (c. 1950–1970) (Winnipeg: ANAK, 2012), 18. 35 I heard about one Muslim Filipino in Manitoba when I was interviewing the Knights of Rizal about non-Christian members of their group. I never heard about or encountered Filipino Buddhists in the province, though I did meet several Buddhists (and also Daoists) when I did fieldwork in Philippine temples in 2013 and 2015. 36 Bonifacio, Pinay on the Prairies. This book is similar to mine in its Canadian prairie focus; however, it is very different in its nearly exclusive focus on Pinay women, and it says very little on the role of religion. My work aims to tell the stories of both Filipino women and Filipino men and to foreground the role of religion. Filipinos in Canada: Disturbing Invisibility, edited by Roland Sintos Coloma, Bonnie McElhimmy, Ethel Tungohan, John Paul Catungal, and Lisa M. Davdison (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012), like Bonifacio’s work, focuses on social science – as opposed to humanities, religion, or history – and emphasizes newcomer perspectives, institutionalized racism, and migration. See also Eleanor Laquian, A Study of Filipino Immigration to Canada, 1962–1972 (Ottawa: United Council of Filipino Associations in Canada, 1973); Eleanor Laquian and Aprodicio Laquian, Seeking a Better Life Abroad: A Study of Filipinos in Canada, 1957–2007 (Manila: Anvil, 2008); Ruben Cusipag and Maria Corazon Buenafe, Portrait of Filipino Canadians in Ontario (1960–1990) (Toronto: Kalayaan Media, 1993). 37 For a discussion of colonialism and religion see John D. Blanco, Frontier Constitutions: Christianity and Colonial Empire in the Nineteenth-Century Philippines (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), 66–8. 38 See Marcial Q. Aranas, The Dynamics of Filipino Immigrants in Canada (Edmonton: Coles Print, 1983); Bonifacio, Pinay on the Prairies; Anita Beltran Chen, From Sunbelt to Snowbelt: Filipinos in Canada (Calgary: Canadian Ethnic Studies Association, 1998); Coloma et al., Filipinos in Canada; Jim Corrigan, Filipino Immigration (Broomall, PA: Mason Crest, 2004); Isabella T. Crisostomo, Filipino Achievers in the USA and Canada: Profiles in Excellence (Farmington Hills, MI: Bookhaus, 1996). 39 This gap in studies about the Filipino diaspora is pointed out in Tom Lusis, “Filipino Immigrants in Canada: A Literature Review and Directions

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for Further Research on Second-Tier Cities and Rural Areas,” n.d., http://www.geography.ryerson.ca/hbauder/Immigrant%20Labour/ filipinoSettlement.pdf. 40 Lynn L. Farrales and Gwen E. Chapman, “Filipino Women Living in Canada: Constructing Meanings of Body, Food, and Health,” Health Care for Women International 20, no. 2 (2010): 179–94; Daiva Stasiulis and Abigail B. Bakan, “Negotiating Citizenship: The Case of Foreign Domestic Workers in Canada,” Feminist Review 57 (1997): 112–39; Nona Grandea, Uneven Gains: Filipina Domestic Workers in Canada (Ottawa: Philippines-Canada Human Resource Development Program, 1996). 41 See Stephen M. Cherry, Faith, Family, and Filipino American Life (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2014); Joaquin Jay Gonzalez III, Filipino American Faith in Action: Immigration, Religion, and Civic Engagement (New York: New York University Press, 2009). 42 Although church life dominated narratives of belonging and faith in Canada, research participants told us that certain congregations and even churches, for instance St Dominic’s in Neepawa, have sometimes been indifferent to or have openly discouraged Filipino participation in their services. See also Dawn Bohulano Mabalon, Little Manila Is in the Heart: The Making of the Filipina/o American Community in Stockton, California (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2013), 204–5. 43 Robert Orsi, The Madonna of 115th Street: Faith and Community in Italian Harlem, 1880–1950 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1985), xvii. 44 Research participants who had denied the relevance of studying Chinese religion on the prairies were correct that a traditional approach to the study of religion would not work in this region where there were no temples. Chinese temples had not been built owing to the dearth of Chinese migrants and Chinese religious workers on the prairies. More than sixty-two years of institutionalized racism had curbed their migration and had also prevented the migration of women who would have organized church and temple building projects in immigrant communities. Chinese historically downplayed their religiosity and practised in secret because of systemic racism and the absence of religious freedoms, especially from 1885 to 1947, when the Chinese Immigration Act was in place. Chinese and non-Chinese said there was nothing to research, and yet years of ethno-historical research have revealed that most Chinese were Christians only in public. They were nominal Christians who privately venerated Sun Yat-sen, the father of modern China, and had a trove of other secret customs. They were Confucians or Buddhists who chanted and prayed. Sometimes they were Daoist spirit mediums with



Notes to pages 14−15   217

altars, magic swords, and coins in their closets. See R. Stephen Warner and Judith G. Wittner, Gatherings in Diaspora: Religious Communities and the New Immigration (Philadelphia: Temple University Press: 1998). 45 Pierre Bourdieu, “The Intellectual Field: A World Apart,” in In Other Words: Essays towards a Reflexive Sociology (Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press, 1990), 146. 46 Sister Therma Ajoc, interview, Brandon, Manitoba, 21 September 2016. 47 I draw on Pierre Bourdieu’s notion that we inhabit different cultural fields that shape human behaviour and interactions. See Pierre Bourdieu, The Field of Cultural Production (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993). 48 See José M. de Mesa, “Primal Religion and Popular Religiosity,” East Asian Pastoral Review 31, no. 1 (2000), http://www.eapi.org.ph/resources/ eapr/east-asian-pastoral-review-2000/volume-37-2000-number-1/primalreligions-and-popular-religiosity/. 49 Religious customs predating the Spanish colonial period have mostly disappeared or are in danger of disappearing, such as this custom in villages in Luzon province: “Village priests and landowners perform ceremonies, fueled by rice wine and often involving the sacrifice of chickens, pigs, or water buffalo, to seek the spiritual guidance of the area’s hundreds of local deities. Many of the farmers are Christians, but they perform the ceremonies anyway.” Mann, 1493, 496. 50 See Antoine Vergote, “Folk Catholicism: Its Significance, Value, and Ambiguities,” Philippine Studies 30, no. 1 (1982): 5–26. 51 See Kirsten Hastrup, A Passage to Anthropology: Between Experience and Theory (New York: Routledge, 1995), 9–25. 52 I interviewed and spoke with Daoist and Buddhist priests, nuns, spirit mediums, and laypersons and devotees of Filipino non-Christian faiths during the spring of 2013. I visited Philippine Hsien Tiak Temple in Manila and Cebu Taoist Temple in Cebu City. Daoist temples included altars to Guandi, Tudi gong, the Jade Emperor, Mazu, Guanyin, and Jigong. Several Daoist temples had restricted public access or seemed to be permanently closed, except for the Cebu Taoist Temple which was full of congregants and religious tourists on the day I visited. Most Daoist temples had been built in the 1960s and 1970s and seemed to be showing their age, while many Buddhist temples were relatively new, air conditioned, and open to the public. Among the many Buddhist institutions I visited were Fo Guang Shan’s temples in Manila and Cebu, as well as the Philippines Chinese Buddhist Temple dedicated to Guangong, and the Guanyin Monastery, both in Manila’s Chinatown. I also visited the Ecumenical church, which was started in 1967 by Jimmy So, a medium who was guided by the

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spirit of Saint Sing Kong from the planet Saturn. The Ecumenical church includes statues of Buddhist, Daoist, and Christian deities. Today it is surrounded by a very poor neighbourhood, and Jimmy’s son continues his father’s work of healing, exorcism, soul summoning, spirit writing, and feng-shui. He goes into trance and offers consultations on every Wednesday. See also Paulynn P. Sicam, The Wisdom of Father So Chaw Yee Feng Shui Master (Manila: Santo Singkong Ecumenical Church and Aida Publishing, 2008). 53 I not only consulted archival materials in order to write this book. Guided by feminist research mixed methods and approaches, I focused on everyday practices and listened to how people explained and understood their religiosity. See Mary Margaret Fonow and Judith A. Cook, eds., Beyond Methodology: Feminist Scholarship as Lived Research (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991); Shulamit Reinharz, Feminist Methods in Social Research (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992); Sandra Burt and Lorraine Code, eds. Changing Methods: Feminists Transforming Practice (Peterborough, ON: Broadview, 1995); Jill Vickers, “Methodologies for Scholarship about Women,” in Gender, Race, and Nation: A Global Perspective, ed. Vanaja Dhruvarajan and Jill Vickers (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002), 64–92; Gayle Letherby, Feminist Research in Theory and Practice (Buckingham, UK: Open University Press, 2003). Pertti Alasuutari, Researching Culture: Qualitative Method and Cultural Studies (London: Sage, 1995); James Clifford and George E. Marcus, Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography (Berkeley: University California Press, 1986); John Van Maanen, Tales of the Field: On Writing Ethnography (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988). 54 Research, including dozens of interviews and fieldwork, was also conducted in more than sixty restaurants, takeouts, and shops in British Columbia, Alberta, Ontario, and Quebec to understand the national Filipino context. I draw on some of these research findings throughout this book. 55 Kenneth Pike, Language in Relation to a Unified Theory of the Structure of Human Behavior, vol 1 (Glendale, CA: Summer Institute of Linguistics, 1954), chap. 2. See also Marvin Harris, “History and Significance of the Emic/Etic Distinction,” Annual Review of Anthropology 5 (1976): 329–50. 56 Fiona Bowie, “Building Bridges, Dissolving Boundaries: Towards a Methodology for the Ethnographic Study of the Afterlife, Medium-Ship, and Spiritual Beings,” Journal of the American Academy of Religion 81 (2013): 702–3. 57 Mary Field Belenky, Blythe McVicker Clinchy, Nancy Rule Goldberger, and Jill Mattuck Tarule, Women’s Ways of Knowing: The Development of Self, Voice, and Mind (New York: Basic Books, 1997); Janice Ristock and Joan



Notes to pages 16−17   219

Pennell, Community Research as Empowerment: Feminist Links, Postmodern Interruptions (Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1996). 58 Liz Stanley, ed. Feminist Praxis (London: Routledge, 1990); Linda Cullum and Diane Tye, eds., “Feminist Qualitative Research,” special issue, Resources for Feminist Research 28, nos. 1 and 2 (2000). 59 Julie Cruikshank, Life Lived Like a Story: Life Stories of Three Yukon Native Elders (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, and Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1990); Julie Cruikshank, Reading Voices: Dan Dha Ts’edenintth’e (Vancouver: Douglas & McIntyre, 1991); Julie Cruikshank, The Social Life of Stories: Narrative and Knowledge in the Yukon Territory (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1998); Sherna Gluck and Daphne Patai, Women’s Words: The Feminist Practice of Oral History (New York: Routledge, 1991); Shaun Moores, Interpreting Audiences: The Ethnography of Media Consumption (London: Sage, 1995); Patricia E. Sawin, Listening for a Life: Bessie Eldreth, a Dialogic Ethnography (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2002). 60 Steven Feld and Keith H. Basso, Senses of Place (Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research, 1996); John Collier Jr, Visual Anthropology: Photography as a Research Method (New York: Holt, Rinehart, & Winston, 1967); Patricia van der Does, Sonja Edelaara, Imke Gooskensa, Margreet Lieftinga, and Marije van Mierlo, “Reading Images: A Study of a Dutch Neighborhood,” Visual Sociology 7, no. 1 (1992): 4–68; Gerald L. Pocius, ed., Living in a Material World: Canadian and American Approaches to Material Culture (St John’s, NL: ISER, 1991). 61 Research profiles were created for each research participant (interviewees and survey respondents) with data pertaining to education, occupation in Canada and in the Philippines, previous migrations, marriage details, date of arrival in Canada, legal status in Canada, current religious identification, Filipino Canadian associational involvements, and devotional and church-based activities. Less complete profiles were also created for historical figures drawing on census, port of entry, and other archival data. I analysed this data in charts and tables to discern social, cultural, religious, gendered, political, and economic patterns. 62 Robert Coles, The Call of Stories (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1989); Charlotte Linde, Life Stories: The Creation of Coherence (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993); George C. Rosenwald and Richard Ochberg, Storied Lives: The Cultural Politics of Self-Understanding (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1992). 63 Daniel P. McAdams, The Stories We Live By: Personal Myths and the Making of the Self (New York: William C. Morrow, 1993). 64 Peter Mohanjambo and eight other twenty- to thirty-year-old male Filipino sailors were noted as “Mehomitan,” which was another way of writing

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“Muslim” on the 1881 census. Census of Canada, 1881, Province of British Columbia, District No. 184, New Westminster, 99 (Selkirk, Manitoba), p. 4. Sixth Census of Canada, 1921 (Ottawa, Ontario), LAC, series RG31, folder 26, Statistics Canada Fonds. Census of Prairie Provinces, 1916 (Ottawa: J. de Labroquerie Taché, 1918), Manitoba, District No. 10, Subdistrict 3, Enumeration district 1, p. 10. George M. Newton was a manager of Greenshields Ltd., a wholesale dry goods firm (1920) and the president of the Winnipeg Fur Auction Sales Company (1925); both years have him living in “Old England” in Selkirk, MB; and he disappears from Henderson’s Directory after 1925. 65 Having extensively researched the history of Asian migration to western Canada for two previous books that were published in 2011 and 2014, I was also able to draw on materials collected during those research programs. In particular, I searched my database of Asian immigrants who had arrived and been documented in more than five hundred local histories, interviews, and fieldwork notes describing the earliest migrants to Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta. 66 Geraldine Pratt described how Filipino nannies who were employed in Canadian households were the victims of racial stereotypes, which were often articulated through distaste for the smell, taste, and appearance of their native dishes. Geraldine Pratt, “Inscribing Domestic Work on Filipina Bodies,” in Places through the Body, ed. H.J. Nast and S. Pile (London: Routledge, 1998), 219. 67 Mihaly Cziksentmihalyi and Eugene Rochberg-Halton, The Meaning of Things: Domestic Symbols and the Self (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 1981). See also Mary Ellen Konieczny, “Sacred Places, Domestic Spaces: Material Culture, Church, and Home at Our Lady of the Assumption and St. Brigitta,” Journal for the Social Scientific Study of Religion 48, no. 3 (2009): 419–32. 1. Religion 1 Timothy Dejong, “Affect and Diaspora: Unfashionable Hope in Melvin B. Tolson’s Libretto for the Republic of Liberia,” Research in African Literatures 45, no. 3 (2014): 110–29. 2 Christian Martinez, email dated 16 September 2016. 3 Mabalon, Little Manila Is in the Heart, 29. 4 Steffi San Buenaventura, “Filipino Religion at Home and Abroad: Historical Roots and Immigrant Transformations,” in Religions in Asian America: Building Faith Communities, ed. Pyong Gap Min and Jung Ha Kim (Lanham, MD: Altamira Press, 2001), 155.



Notes to pages 21−2   221

5 See National Council of the Protestant Episcopal Church Department of Missions, Handbooks on the Missions of the Episcopal Church, no. 3, Philippine Islands, Project Canterbury (New York: National Council of Protestant Episcopal Church Department of Missions, 1923), http://anglicanhistory. org/asia/ph/missions1923/. 6 Ibid. 7 The Trinity College School archive in Port Hope, Ontario, includes a limited Hilary Clapp collection, comprising a September 1948 issue of a church magazine commemorating Hilary’s life, two volumes of the school bulletin, entries in the school registry, six letters collected from former classmates following his death, and two photographs. See also Alison R. Marshall, “From ‘Wild’ Igorot Filipino Boy to Christianized Doctor,” Journal of Native Studies 36.2 (2016). 8 Charles Briggs argues that it is important for folklorists “to document [the] elite actors and dominant social sectors and institutions as well as those that these subjects relegate to subordinate spheres.” Charles L. Briggs, “Toward a New Folkloristics of Health,” Journal of Folklore Research 49, no. 3 (2012): 332. Briggs’s comments are especially important today as global indigenous peoples struggle to reclaim their histories and have their voices heard. 9 See Jose D. Fermin, 1904 World’s Fair: The Filipino Experience (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2005). 10 Trinity College School Record 52, no. 1 (October 1949), Port Hope, ON: Trinity College School, 1949. 11 Roughly half of the Philippines’ 250 survey respondents had left the Catholic Church, representing a much larger number than the migrants who lived in Manitoba. The disproportionately large number of Protestant Christians among survey respondents was due to the fact that Melba Sumat, my research assistant in the Philippines, was a Protestant Christian herself and thus drew on her own networks for potential research participants. Most Philippine non-Catholic congregations were small. Only ten congregations had a hundred or more people. Congregational affiliation among survey respondents included Baptist, Methodist, Church of Christ, Back to Christ, Victory Christian Fellowship, San Francisco Full Gospel, Bethel Christian, Greenhills Christian Fellowship, Global Commission Fellowship North, Faith Assembly of God, Bread of Life, Labny Christian, Jesus Victorious Kingdom, Joshua, Full Gospel, Angeles Mission Center, Glad Tidings Temple, Jesus, The Living Gospel, Jesus Our Savior and Healer Universal Assembly, His Presence, and Jesus Is Lord churches. A handful of research participants in the Philippines also

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Notes to pages 22−6

belonged to the Philippine Independent Church or Aglipayan religion, an independent church founded by Gregorio Aglipay in 1902. 12 See Jocelyn R. Uy, “PH Catholic Church Badly Needs Priests for Growing Flock,” Inquirer.net, 12 August 2013, http://newsinfo.inquirer.net/464305/ ph-catholic-church-badly-needs-priests-for-growing-flock. 13 Victory was started by Steven Murrell and his wife, who, along with a group of students, travelled from the United States to Manila in 1984. Steve Murrell, “Steve Murrell: Accidental Missionary, Reluctant Leader,” 2016, http://stevemurrell.com/about/. 14 Victory Greenhills, “Service Schedules,” 2016, https://www. victorygreenhills.org/about/service-schedules. 15 Mike Pajemolin, email, 23 September 2016. 16 Timothy Smith, “Religion and Ethnicity in America,” American Historical Review 83 (1978): 1161. Stephen Warner has argued that religiosity is complex and influenced by local and global factors. For instance, immigrants coming to the United States become more religious or take up a new religion once they settle. But the degree to which immigrant religion comes to define their identities is strongly determined by the place and the time in which they settle. See R. Stephen Warner, “The World Is Not Flat: Theorizing Religion in Comparative and Historical Context,” ARDA Guiding Paper Series 2011, http://www.thearda.com/rrh/papers/ guidingpapers.asp. 17 Hilot practices are common throughout the archipelago, as noted in Mark V. Wiley, Filipino Martial Culture (Singapore: Tuttle, 1996), 181–5. 18 Jean Guiang retired in 1999 and had more time to be actively involved in the religious life that had always guided her community leadership and values. Jean Guiang, interview, Winnipeg, 20 March 2014. See also Bonifacio, Pinay on the Prairies, 167; Gemma Dalayoan, Leah EnvergaMagsino, and Leonnie Bailon, The First Filipino Immigrants in Manitoba (1959–1975) (Winnipeg: Artbookbindery, 2008), 75. 19 Jean Guiang, interview, Winnipeg, 20 March 2014. 20 Gregoria Parado, interview, Winnipeg, 15 July 2015. 21 Ibid. 22 Obituary, Winnipeg Free Press, 8 February 2011. 23 Many Filipinos also attended the nearby Sacred Heart of Jesus parish, at least at first. Historical Buildings Committee, “836 Arlington Street, St. Edward’s Roman Catholic Church,” 5 February 1987, http://winnipeg.ca/ PPD/historic/pdf-consv/Arlington836-long.pdf. 24 Terence J. Fay, “From the Tropics to the Freezer: Filipino Catholics Acclimatize to Canada, 1972–2002,” CCHA Historical Studies 71 (2005): 31.



Notes to pages 27−32   223

25 Verna Bashuski, Catholic Women’s League, St Edward’s, email correspondence, 18 September 2016. Couples for Christ was founded in 1981 in the Philippines. 26 Dr Rey Pagtakhan, interview, Winnipeg, 10 March 2014. 27 While most Filipinos lived in or near the downtown core, others lived all over the city: the West End, northwest, Transcona, East Kildonan, North Kildonan, and a few in St Vital. 28 See Marc Vachon and Wes Toews, “A Geography of the Filipino Migration to Winnipeg,” Canadian Journal of Urban Research 17, no. 1 (2008): 107–29. 29 Multiple attempts were made to interview members of Iglesia ni Cristo churches in Manitoba and also to observe church services. Emails and telephone calls remain unreturned. 30 Saint-Boniface Cathedral, “Catholic Mission of Saint-Boniface,” 2016, http://www.cathedralestboniface.ca/main.php?p=65. 31 See Edward M. Hubicz, Polish Churches in Manitoba: A Collection of Historical Sketches (London: Veritas Foundation, 1961). 32 See Joseph Ratzinger, Theological Highlights of Vatican II (New York: Paulist Press, 1966). 33 Janet Epp Buckingham, Fighting over God: A Legal and Political History of Religious Freedom in Canada (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2014), 19. 34 Terence J. Fay explains that lower- and middle-income Filipinos are customarily expected to offer less support to the church than others, in New Faces of Canadian Catholics (Toronto: Novalis, 2009), 138. 35 See Carolyn Brewer, “Baylan, Asog, Transvestism, and Sodomy: Gender, Sexuality and the Sacred in Early Colonial Philippines,” Intersections: Gender, History and Culture in the Asian Context 2 (May 1999), http:// intersections.anu.edu.au/issue2/carolyn2.html. 36 Anonymous research participant, email correspondence, 4 October 2016. 37 Here I draw on Émile Durkheim’s functionalist approach to sacred religious lives that interrupt the mundane and secular. Émile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, trans. Karen Fields (New York: Free Press, 1995). 38 See Ammerman and Williams, “Speaking of Methods,” 129–46. 39 Linda, interview, St Edward the Confessor Church, Winnipeg, 28 August 2016. 40 Caridad Rino, telephone interview, 6 September 2016. 41 Field notes, St Emile’s Catholic Church, 4 September 2016. I am grateful to St Emile’s Father Carl Tarnopolski for his assistance with the research and his willingness to answer follow-up questions by email.

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Notes to pages 32−45

4 2 Ibid. 43 Julius J. Bautista, Figuring Catholicism: An Ethnohistory of the Santo Niño de Cebu (Manila: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 2010). 44 Edgar Wickberg, “The Philippines,” in Lynn Pan, The Encyclopedia of the Chinese Overseas, 2nd. ed. (Singapore: Chinese Heritage Centre, 1998), 197. 45 Gregoria Parado, interview, Winnipeg, 15 July 2015. 46 Santo Niño has been known to be a mischievous boy, playing tricks on people at night. See Patrick Alcedo, “Sacred Camp: Transgendering Faith in a Philippine Festival,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 38, no. 1 (2007): 110–11. 47 See Milagros Pena and Lisa M. Frehill, “Latina Religious Practice: Analyzing Cultural Dimensions in Measures of Religiosity,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 37, no. 4 (1998): 610–35. 48 Father Sarce, interview, Winnipeg, 9 August 2015. 49 See Teresita Obusan, “The Mt. Banahaw Prayer: Amang Makapangyarihan,” Philippine Studies 37, no. 1 (1989): 71–80. 50 Shirley D. Sokolosky, interview, Portage La Prairie, 14 July 2015. 51 Thomas Tweed, Our Lady of the Exile: Diasporic Religion at a Cuban Catholic Shrine in Miami (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 12. 52 Father Sarce, interview, Winnipeg, 9 August 2015. 53 The acronym BIBAK is a legacy of the American colonial period. Americans introduced the term to define the five major tribes from the Cordilleras, a mountain range in the northern Philippines: Benguet, Ifugao, Bontoc, Apayao, and Kalinga. 54 Yvanne Dandan, interview, Winnipeg, 11 January 2015. 55 Jun Aguirre, “Aklanons in Canada to Hold Ati-Atihan,” Aklan News Update, 9 January 2014, http://aklannewsupdate.blogspot.ca/2014/01/ aklanons-in-canada-to-hold-ati-atihan.html. 56 I attended Winnipeg’s Filipino Street Festival in August 2014 and 2015 when the float passed through North Winnipeg, and also in 2016 when it moved into Winnipeg’s mid-town and passed by the provincial legislature district. 57 William Peterson, “The Ati-Atihan Festival: Dancing with the Santo Niño at the ‘Filipino Mardi Gras,’” Asian Theatre Journal 28, no. 2 (Fall 2011): 506–7. 58 See Pauline Greenhill, “On the Whiteness of Morris: An Illumination of Canadian Folklore,” Canadian Folk Music Bulletin 28, no. 3 (1994): 16–19. 59 Field notes, Tarlac, Victoria province, Philippines, 28 February to 15 March 2015. 60 See Bautista, Figuring Catholicism, 192.



Notes to pages 46−54   225

61 Thomas Tweed, Crossing and Dwelling: A Theory of Religion (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006), 98. 62 Father Sarce, interview, Winnipeg, 9 August 2015. 63 Deirdre de la Cruz, Mother Figured: Marian Apparitions and the Making of a Filipino Universal (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015), 11. 64 Sarah, spiritist, interview, Tarlac, Victoria province, Philippines, 28 February 2015. 65 Tess Newton, interview, Winnipeg, 11 December 2014. 66 Sargent Kayme, Anting-Anting Stories and Other Strange Stories of the Filipinos (1901; repr., London: Abela, 2013). 67 Quoted in Wiley, Filipino Martial Culture, 25. Francis St Clair, The Katipunan (1902; repr., Manila: Solar Books, 1991), 192. 68 David Morgan classes idolatry and iconoclasm as forms of cultural rivalism. See David Morgan, The Sacred Gaze: Religious Visual Culture in Theory and Practice (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 115. 69 Imelda Elvambuena Adao, interview, Winnipeg, 30 April 2015. 70 Flor Marcelino, email, 7 January 2015. 71 Dennis Castañeda, interview, Winnipeg, 18 August 2014. 72 In these and other explorations of Filipino religiosity in the research field I became quite familiar with Filipino “role distancing,” to use Erving Goffman’s term. Filipinos negotiated roles with others based on their age and familial connection. By tradition, they behaved respectfully towards parents and religious functionaries and even devotional objects that might still possess power. In everyday conversations with virtual strangers, including me, many remained circumspect and friendly, as dictated by Filipino cultural norms of pakikisama. Regardless of whether they were first- or second-generation Filipino, those who were younger than I tended to be more direct in their interactions and responses to questions. See Erving Goffman, Encounters: Two Studies in the Sociology of Interaction (Indianapolis, IN: Bobbs-Merrill, 1961). 2.  Migration History 1 Evelyn Hu DeHart, “The Fujianese Community of Spanish Manila,” paper presented at the annual conference for the International Society for the Study of Chinese Overseas, June 2011, Hong Kong, and shared with author. See also Rudy P. Guevarra, “Filipinos in Nueva Espana: Filipino-Mexican Relations, Mestizaje, and Identity in Colonial and Contemporary Mexico,” Journal of Asian American Studies 14, no. 3 (2011): 389–416.

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Notes to pages 54−7

2 See R. Takaki, Strangers from a Different Shore: A History of Asian Americans (New York: Penguin Group, 1990). 3 R. Takaki, Pau Hana: Plantation Life and Labor in Hawaii, 1835–1920 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1983), 320. 4 H. Brett Melendy, Asians in America: Filipinos, Koreans, and East Indians (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1974), 521–9. 5 For example, Peter Mohanjambo and eight other twenty- to thirty-year-old male Filipino sailors were noted as “Mehomitan” or “Muslim” in the 1881 census. Census of Canada, 1881, Province of British Columbia, District No. 184, New Westminster, p. 99. 6 Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Pantheon, 1978). Reina Lewis, Gendering Orientalism: Race, Femininity, and Representation (London, 1996). See also Meyda Yegenoglu, Colonial Fantasies: Towards a Feminist Reading of Orientalism (London: Cambridge University Press, 1998); A. Abdel-Malek, “Orientalism in Crisis,” Diogenes 11, no. 44 (1963): 103–40; Harold Isaacs, Scratches on Our Minds: American Images of China and India (New York: John Day, 1958). 7 See Blanco, Frontier Constitutions, 146–7. 8 For a discussion of the American policy of benevolent assimilation as it related to the pensionado program, see Robyn Magalit Rodriguez, Migrants for Export: How the Philippine State Brokers Labor to the World (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2010), 5. 9 Mae N. Ngai, Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern America (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), 115. 10 Estrella Ravelo Alamar and Willi Red Buhay, Images of America: Filipinos in Chicago (Charleston, SC: Arcadia, 2001). 11 Barbara Mercedes Posadas, The Filipino Americans (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1999), 63. 12 See David Scott FitzGerald and David Cook-Martin, Culling the Masses: The Democratic Origins of Racist Immigration Policy in the Americas (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014), 98. 13 H. Brett Melendy, “Filipinos in the United States,” Pacific Historical Review 43, no. 4 (November 1974): 543. 14 The Immigration Act (Johnson-Reed Act) set immigration quotas and limited the number of people who could enter the country. It additionally excluded those Japanese and Chinese from the Asiatic Barred Zone. 15 M.J. White, A.E. Biddlecom, and S. Guo, “Immigration, Naturalization, and Residential Assimilation among Asian Americans in 1980,” Social Forces 72, no. 1 (1993): 97–8. 16 R. Takaki, Strangers from a Different Shore, 58.



Notes to pages 57−9   227

17 Carlos Bulosan provides a gripping account of Filipinos’ experiences of discrimination in the 1940s and later in California. See America Is in the Heart: A Personal History (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2000). H. Brett Melendy, History of the Filipino People (Quezon City, Philippines: Malaya Books, 1967), 4. See also Melendy, “Filipinos in the United States,” 524; H. Brett Melendy, “California’s Discrimination against Filipinos, 1927–1935,” in The Filipino Exclusion Movement, 1927–1935, ed. Josefa Saniel (Quezon City: Institute of Asian Studies, University of the Philippines, 1967); Rick Baldoz, The Third Asiatic Invasion: Empire and Migration in America, 1898–1946 (New York: New York University Press, 2011). 18 Quoted in Lynn Pan, The Encyclopedia of the Chinese Overseas, 262. See also Immigration Naturalization Service, Historical Statistics of the United States: Colonial Times to 1970, Statistical Yearbook of the Immigration Naturalization Service (Washington, DC: 1999). 19 Stanley Karnow, In Our Image: America’s Empire in the Philippines (New York: Ballantine, 1989), 288–9. 20 Amanda Rees adds that Filipinos also settled in the late 1960s in the nearby state of North Dakota (and other states of the Great Plains region) in greater numbers as a result of the 1965 Immigration Act, which allowed Filipinos who joined the military to come to the United States. Amanda Rees, The Great Plains Region: The Greenwood Encyclopedia of American Regional Cultures (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2004), 123. 21 Sarah Mason, “The Filipinos,” in They Chose Minnesota: A Survey of the State’s Ethnic Groups, ed. June Drenning Holmquist (1981; St Paul: Minnesota Historical Association, 2004), 552. 22 See John D. Skrentny, The Minority Rights Revolution (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002). 23 Immigrants from the Philippines to the United States numbered 6,093 in 1965 and 41,300 in 1979. David M. Reimers, “An Unintended Reform: The 1965 Immigration Act and Third World Immigration to the United States,” Journal of American Ethnic History 3, no.1 (Fall, 1983): 10. 24 Quoted in Shirley Hune and Gail M. Nomura, Asian/Pacific Islander American Women: A Historical Anthology (New York: New York University Press), 337. 25 FitzGerald and Cook-Martin, Culling the Masses, 146. 26 Michael Keevak, Becoming Yellow: A Short History of Racial Thinking (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011), 4–7. 27 The 1901, 1911, and 1921 census guides for enumerators explained “race, language and religion.” In 1931 the term Malayan was introduced, which census takers sometimes used to categorize Filipinos. See “Appendix A,”

228 

Notes to pages 59−60

in Shiva S. Halli, Frank Trovato, and Leo Driedger, eds, Ethnic Demography: Canadian Immigrant, Racial and Cultural Variations (Montreal: McGill Queens University Press, 1990). 28 I have previously written that Canada’s earliest pair of Filipinos arrived in 1921, based on aggregate racial origin by provincial 1921 census data. See Alison R. Marshall, “Bayanihan and Belonging: Filipinos in Manitoba, Part 1,” Manitoba History (Fall 2014). I have since searched for individual Filipinos by common surname in the 1901, 1911, 1916, and 1921 censuses. See “Table 24, Population Classified according to Racial Origin by Provinces,” in Census of Canada, 1921, vol. 1 (Ottawa: F.A. Acland, 1925), 356–7. 29 There is evidence of another person described as Malay on line 4 of the 1871 census. Gabriello Mariana was a fifty-year-old male prisoner. It is not known whether he was a Filipino, because his birthplace was listed as East Indies. Census of Canada, 1871 (Ottawa: I.B. Taylor, 1873), Nova Scotia, District No. 196, p. 78, line 4. 30 See for instance, entries for Antoine Bentorre and others who spoke Spanish (not Tagalog) in lines 40 and 46–50 of Census of Canada, 1901 (Ottawa: S.E. Dawson, 1902), British Columbia, Burrard, Coast District, p. 7. 31 Census of Canada, 1901, District No. 1, Burrard, S. District No. D, Howe Sound, Coast District, p. 7. 32 Census of Canada, 1901, British Columbia, District 3, Vancouver South, Nanaimo, p. 10. 33 Living in the vicinity were Portuguese, Scandinavian, Irish, Welsh, and English Canadians and a pair of Chinese Confucian males. Census of Canada, 1901, District No. 1, Burrard, S. District No. D, Howe Sound, Coast District, p. 7. 34 “Filipino Sextette,” The Voice, 5 April 1918. 35 “Champagne Orgy at Jamestown,” Brandon Daily Sun, 25 September 1907. Canadians followed Filipino boxing matches in the 1930s. The Globe, 24 January 1933, 13. 36 Peel 10569.15: Proceedings of the M.W. Grand Lodge of Alberta, A.F. and A.M. Freemasons, 1920, 155. 37 Peel 7378: Facts about the New International Wheat Agreement, 1949–50 to 1952–53 (Saskatoon: Modern Press, 1949), 49–50. 38 Immigration Branch, Passenger Lists 1865–1922, Library and Archives Canada (hereafter referred to as LAC), RG76: item 15351, Empress of China, arrived 18 April 1905, p. 9, duplicate p. 17, list of 22 males, 22 females, 6 children and teenagers, in transit to Seattle; item 15374, Ramona, arrived 14 June 1905, second-to-last entry, 10 male Filipino labourers going to Vancouver from Seattle; item 15469, Athenian, arrived 3 September 1905,



Notes to pages 61−2   229

p. 5, list of names, 18 males, 7 females, not identified by nationality, but note for “Portland Exhibition” in Portland, Oregon, that is the Lewis and Clark Exposition where there was a Philippines Village display. http:// www.bac-lac.gc.ca/eng/discover/immigration/immigration-records/ passenger-lists/passenger-lists-1865-1922/Pages/introduction.aspx. 39 See Lisa Chilton and Yukari Takai, “East Coast, West Coast: Using Government Files to Study Immigration History,” Histoire Sociale / Social History 48, no. 96 (May 2015): 7–23. 40 The report used the code “O-in-C 28/03/08 or PC 1908–1982 M” to indicate that he did not have twenty-five dollars. Records of the Immigration Branch, Sessional Papers: Report of Immigration Inspector, 8 August 1908, Douglas, BC, LAC, RG76. 41 The first name of Miss Odogoola was illegible. Records of the Immigration Branch, Passenger Lists 1865–1922, Vancouver Passenger List 1908, LAC, RG76, online: Empress of Japan, arrived 2 March 1908, line 5. 42 Records of the Immigration Branch, Passenger Lists 1865–1922, Vancouver Passenger List 1908, LAC, RG76, online: Monteagle, arrived 4 August 1908, p. 8. 43 Order in Council P.C. 1910–1924. 44 Canadian companies also relied on cheap labourers for farm work but, with the exception of the railroad, tended to favour Eastern Europeans. FitzGerald and Cook-Martin, Culling the Masses, 144. 45 Census of Canada, 1911 (Ottawa: C.H. Parmalee, 1913), Subdistrict 11, Blar Reyes, p. 10. 46 George Newton, a manager of a large Winnipeg insurance firm, was often in the city working or playing golf. It seems reasonable that Panolis would have accompanied George to the city from time to time. Gordon Goldsborough, “Memorable Manitobans: George Mole Newton (1877–?),” Manitoba Historical Society, http://www.mhs.mb.ca/docs/people/ newton_gm.shtml. 47 Patricia O. Afable, “Journeys from Bontoc to the Western Fairs, 1904–1915: The ‘Nikimalika’ and Their Interpreters,” Philippine Studies 52, 4 (2004): 467. 48 From 1885 to 1923 the Chinese Immigration Act imposed an increased head tax and extraordinary financial hardship on families in Canada and China. Between 1923 and 1947 it excluded virtually all people of Chinese descent from entering Canada. Sixty-two years of institutionalized racism created bachelor societies, divided families, and orphaned children; prevented reunions; and contributed to polygamy. It meant that Chinese had restricted access to citizenship, voting, and licensed professions in British Columbia and Saskatchewan. Overall, it forced Chinese to live

230 

Notes to pages 62−6

under the oppressive shadow of discrimination until 1947, when the Chinese Immigration Act was repealed. 49 This restriction was lifted, though, if the prospective immigrant was sponsored or was a domestic servant, farmer, or related labourer. 50 Order in Council P.C. 1923-183, http://www.pier21.ca/image-gallery/ order-in-council-pc-1923-183. 51 Order in Council P.C. 2115 was amended in 1950, which changed the dependent age to twenty years from eighteen. Order in Council P.C. 6229 of 28 December 1950. 52 R. Rodriguez, Migrants for Export, 3–4. 53 Letter from Chas. Hope to W.G. MacQuarrie, 9 May 1930, LAC, RG 76, vol. 826, file 552-1-611, part 1, 1929–1962. 54 In 1929 a Filipino in California was blamed for causing a meningitis outbreak. See Michael C. LeMay, Guarding the Gates: Immigration and National Security (Westport, CT: Praeger Security International, 2006), 136. 55 Rafael, White Love, 73. 56 See Mabalon, Little Manila Is in the Heart, 151. See also Dorothy Cordova, “Voices from the Past: Why They Came,” in Making Waves: An Anthology of Writings by and about Asian American Women, ed. Asian Women United of California (Boston: Beacon Press, 1989), 42–9. 57 Immigrants wishing to become permanent U.S. residents or to extend visas came to Canada regularly. Mae Ngai writes that in 1935 “a formal agreement between the U.S. Department of State and Immigration Service and their Canadian counterparts detailed procedures whereby an immigrant in the United States without a visa could be ‘pre-examined’ for legal admission, leave the country as a ‘voluntary departure,’ proceed to the nearest American consul in Canada, obtain a visa for permanent residence, and reenter the United States formally as a legal admission.” Ngai, Impossible Subjects, 85. The agreement was in place until 1958. 58 See Warwick Anderson, Colonial Pathologies: American Tropical Medicine, Race, and Hygiene in the Philippines (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), 13–44. 59 Catherine Ceniza Choy, Empire of Care: Nursing and Migration in Filipino American History (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), 27. 60 Robyn Magalit Rodriguez, “The Labor Brokerage State and the Globalization of Filipina Care Workers,” Signs 33, no. 4 (Summer 2008): 795. 61 Denise Cruz, Transpacific Femininities: The Making of the Modern Filipina (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2012), 43. 62 Letter from Frederick Palmer, Consul General and Trade Commissioner to Canadian Consulate General Office, Manila, dated 14 May 1954,



Notes to pages 66−8   231

Records of the Immigration Branch, LAC, RG76, vol. 826, file 552-1-611, Immigration from the Philippine Islands, part 1, 1929–1962. 63 There are no records indicating that any medical physicians or interns came to Manitoba in 1959. Records of the Immigration Branch, LAC, RG76, vol. 826, file 552-1-611, Immigration from the Philippine Islands, part 1, 1929–1962. Department of External Affairs, Canada, memo dated 23 June, 1958 to the Under-Secretary of State for External Affairs, Ottawa Canada, from Consul General of Canada, Manila, Philippines. Re Philippine Immigration Entry to Canada for Temporary Employment and Canadian Entry to Philippines, post file no. 104-E. 64 Letter from the Director in Chief, Admissions Division, re Philippine Nurses and Doctors requesting temporary entry from the United States, dated 2 July 1959, Records of the Immigration Branch, LAC, RG76, vol. 826, file 552-1-611, Immigration from the Philippine Islands, part 1, 1929–1962. See also memo for file from E.A. Butler, A/Chief, Admission Division, Department of Citizenship and Immigration, dated 22 January 1959, re Philippine Nurses Requesting Temporary Entry from the United States, Records of the Immigration Branch, LAC, RG76, vol. 826, file 552–1-611, Immigration from the Philippine Islands, part 1, 1929–1962. 65 Records of the Immigration Branch, LAC, RG76, vol. 826, file 552-1-611, Immigration from the Philippine Islands, part 1, 1929–1962. Letter from E.P. Beasley (no letterhead), Ottawa, to Consul General for Canada, Manila, Philippines, dated 20 September 1961. 66 “Lola’s Dating Club,” Winnipeg Free Press, 23 August 1969, Classifieds, 38. 67 Memorandum no. 55 to Under-Secretary of State for External Affairs, Ottawa, Canada, from Consul General of Canada, Manila, Philippines, dated 23 June 1958, file no. 104-E, Records of the Immigration Branch, LAC, RG76, vol. 826, file 552-1-611, Immigration from the Philippine Islands, part 1, 1929–1962. 68 Memo for File from E.A. Butler, dated 22 January 1959, Subject: Philippine Nurses Requesting Temporary Entry from the United States, Records of the Immigration Branch, LAC, RG76, vol. 826, file 552-1-611, Immigration from the Philippine Islands, part 1, 1929–1962. 69 Canadian Consulate General, Manila, regarding the Philippine Immigration Policy and Pre-Arranged Employment, dated 29 January 1961, Records of the Immigration Branch, LAC, RG76, vol. 826, file 552–1611, Immigration from the Philippine Islands, part 1, 1929–1962. 70 Letter, marked “Restricted,” from T.G. Major, Consul General of Canada, to W.R. Baskerville, dated 21 September 1962, no. 551–2, Records of the

232 

Notes to pages 68−70

Immigration Branch, LAC, RG76, vol. 826, file 552-1-611, Immigration from the Philippine Islands, part 1, 1929–1962. 71 Such denial of racism and bias continues to shape attitudes towards migration and cultural diversity within government and even academic circles. See Pauline Greenhill and Alison Marshall, “Racism and Denial of Racism: Dealing with the Academy and the Field,” Journal of American Folklore 2 (Spring 2016): 203–24. 72 See Alison R Marshall, The Way of the Bachelor: Early Chinese Settlement in Manitoba (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2011); and Alison R. Marshall, Cultivating Connections: The Making of Chinese Prairie Canada (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2014). 73 Winnipeg Free Press, 13 February 1960, 12. 74 Aranas, The Dynamics of Filipino Immigrants. 75 Catherine Ceniza Choy, Empire of Care: Nursing and Migration in Filipino American History (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), 6–7. 76 Anne Duran, interview, Carman, Manitoba, 24 May 2015. 77 Anna Romina Guevarra, Marketing Dreams, Manufacturing Heroes: The Transnational Labor Brokering of Filipino Workers (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2009), 39. 78 James Bejar, “Transnational Communities: Filipina Nurses in Rural Manitoba, 1965–1970” (master’s thesis, Ryerson University, 2006), 30. Bejar indicates that hospitals and nurses enlisted the help of travel agents to make travel arrangements quickly. See also Choy, Empire of Care, 76. 79 See also Donald Avery, Reluctant Host: Canada’s Response to Immigrant Workers, 1896–1994 (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1995). 80 Cleto M. Buduhan, “An Urban Village: The Effect of Migration on the Filipino Garment Workers in a Canadian City” (master’s thesis, University of Manitoba, 1972). 81 Immigration Act, 1967. 82 See Ninette Kelley and Michael Trebilcock, The Making of the Mosaic: A History of Canadian Immigration Policy (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998). 83 Winnipeg Free Press, 7 December 1968, 1. By 1971 Vancouver had a Philippine Chinese association with roughly one hundred members. Chinese Associations, Vancouver, UBC Chinese Canadian Research Collection, UBC Archives, box 2, file 5. Windsor, Ontario, also had a growing Filipino community by the 1970s. Chinese Associations, Vancouver, UBC Chinese Canadian Research Collection, UBC Archives, box 10, file 65.



Notes to pages 70−2   233

84 Nandita Sharma, Home Economics: Nationalism and the Making of “Migrant Workers” in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006). 85 Quoted in Hune and Nomura, Asian/Pacific Islander American Women, 337. See also Sandra Burton, Impossible Dreams: The Marcoses, the Aquinos, and the Unfinished Revolution (New York: Warner, 1989). 86 See Dalayoan, Enverga-Magsino, and Bailon, The First Filipino Immigrants in Manitoba, 26; Buduhan, “An Urban Village.” 87 Winnipeg Tribune, 7 June 1968, front section, 14. 88 Abigail Bess Bakan and Daiva K. Stasiulis, Negotiating Citizenship: Migrant Women in Canada and the Global System (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005), 117–21. 89 Joan Duhaylungsod, interview, Winnipeg, 14 March 2014. 90 Filipinos experienced racism in the workplace and in the secondary school system. See “Filipinos Charge Racism Hurts Jobs,” Winnipeg Free Press, 9 October 1988, 3; “Penner Acts on School Racism,” Winnipeg Free Press, 27 January 1982, 1. 91 Emmie Joaquin, interview, Winnipeg, 5 April 2014. 92 Throughout the years some Filipino migrants have come as fiancées or pen-pal brides or to seek status or adventure. But commonly they leave the Philippines because of poverty and lack of job opportunities. Political turmoil, human rights abuses, and corruption in their home country have also been motivators for finding a better life. The period of martial law under Ferdinand Marcos (1972–81) traumatized the nation but ultimately unified the people in an incredible demonstration of resistance and will. Emmie remembers: “It was in late February of 1986 when the uprising against the dictatorship of the Marcos regime happened. It was a momentous time for all of us who were there. Everyone stood together against the military power. For the first time the rich and the poor, the nuns, priests, pastors, atheists, street vendors, young, and old were on the street, united against the tanks and the soldiers, unafraid, with only one goal: to bring down the dictatorship of then-president Ferdinand Marcos.” Emmie Joaquin, interview, Winnipeg, 5 April 2014. 93 See Deirdre McKay, “Filipinas in Canada: De-skilling as a Push toward Marriage,” in Wife or Worker: Asian Women and Migration, ed. Nicola Piper and Mina Roces (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003), 27–8. 94 Shirley D. Sokolosky, interview, Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, 14 July 2015. 95 Geraldine Pratt, “Stereotypes and Ambivalence: The Construction of Domestic Workers in Vancouver, B.C.,” Gender, Place and Culture 4, no. 2 (1997): 159–77.

234 

Notes to pages 72−3

96 Nana Oishi, Women in Motion: Globalization, State Policies, and Labor Migration in Asia (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2005), 203n25. See, for instance, accounts of Filipinas in Hong Kong: Nicole Constable, Maid to Order in Hong Kong: Stories of Filipino Workers (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997). 97 Eliza, interview, Brandon, Manitoba, 29 January 2015. 98 Citizenship and Immigration Canada, Facts and Figures, 2013: Immigration Overview; Permanent and Temporary Residents. (Ottawa: Citizenship and Immigration Canada, 2014). 99 Herminio Ramos, interview, Winnipeg, 8 September 2014. 100 Eme Pong-Olarte, follow-up interview by telephone, 15 July 2014. 101 Leanne Billy, telephone interview, 8 August 2014. 102 Ibid. 103 It was difficult for Eme and others employed in service jobs in the town of Russell to save enough to bring over their families. Leanne noted that the non-Filipino community had been very supportive: “We have a group of kids here who started a charitable organization where they raise money to pay for airfares of the [Filipino] children that are coming [to join] families.” Two elementary school children, Ayla and Van Gray, had heard about Russell’s Filipino workers who were estranged from families, and they wanted to help. They told other children, and together the community’s youth fund-raised through having lemonade stands and garage sales, soliciting donations, and contributing their own money. In April 2012 the group had raised $13,000 – enough to bring over nine children of Filipino migrants, including Eme’s son and daughter, Jeffrey and Pauline. A teary-eyed Eme was overwhelmed by the children’s generosity and spirit of bayanihan: “We’ve never felt anything like this before.” Bill Redekop, “Building a Bridge to Kids Overseas: Russell Children Help Reunite Filipino Families,” Winnipeg Free Press, 14 April 2012, http://www.winnipegfreepress.com/local/building-a-bridge-tokids-overseas-147422835.html. 104 As of 2016, 10 per cent of a company’s employees may be hired as temporary foreign workers. Temporary foreign workers are permitted to reside in Canada under that designation for a total of four years. Once employees have completed four years as TFWs, they are no longer eligible for the program. An employer needs to prove, through a labour market assessment, that qualified Canadian and permanent residents cannot be found to fill the position. Should the government discover that temporary workers are taking jobs from other Canadians, applications for temporary foreign workers are denied, and in some cases current



Notes to pages 74−5   235

temporary foreign workers are sent home. See Government of Canada, “Temporary Workers,” last updated 8 November 2016, http://www.cic. gc.ca/english/resources/tools/temp/work/index.asp; Reis Pagtakahn, “Temporary Foreign Worker Program: Four Changes Needed, Reis Pagtakhan Says,” CBC News, Manitoba, 20 June 2016, http://www. cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/temporary-foreign-worker-programcommentary-pagtakhan-1.3639611. 105 Many of Manitoba’s Filipino newcomers are employed under unionized contracts at HyLife Foods (a pork producer), Maple Leaf Foods (a packagedmeats producer), Granny’s Poultry (a chicken and turkey producer), and Biovail (a pharmaceutical company). Once their two-year contract has expired, workers can apply for permanent residency and take an English exam. Manitoba Labour and Immigration. 2014 Statistical Report, 19. http:// www.gov.mb.ca/labour/immigration/pdf/mb_imm_facts_rep_2014.pdf. 106 Wilf Falk, chief statistician of Manitoba, Province of Manitoba Immigration Report, presented to the Manitoba Filipino Business Council on 22 May 2013, shared with me by the author. 107 Wilf Falk, chief statistician of Manitoba, reports that according to the 2011 Census National Household Survey the province had 61,270 people of Filipino origin and that each year a quarter of Manitoba’s 13,000 newcomers are Filipino. This would make the total population roughly 75,000 by 2014 (if one includes 2011 migration numbers). Telephone conversation, 24 March 2014. 108 Ema Olarte notes that of the sixty Filipinos who currently reside in Russell, Manitoba, a handful of them live with families. 109 Neepawa’s Filipino population was estimated to be 1,200 as of April 2014. Jeremy Janzen, Human Resources, HyLife, Neepawa; Settlement Office, Filipino Association; and Town of Neepawa. See also Filipino Journal, 22 April 2013, http://filipinojournal.com/feature-stories/community/ senator-enverga-holds-dialogue-with-filipinos-in-neepawa-manitoba; and mywestman.ca. 110 Winnipeg Free Press, 30 November 1997, A5. 111 In this book I consider well-known late-1950s migrants to Manitoba and other parts of Canada to be part of the second, and not the first, wave of Filipino migration. Filipinos first came to Canada as part of the large Asian wave of migration in the 1880s. 112 For a thorough discussion of 1970s wages and cost of living in the Philippines see Buduhan, “An Urban Village,” 38–48. 113 See Edgar Wickberg, The Chinese in Philippine Life: 1850–1898 (Manila: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 2000), 25.

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Notes to pages 75−9

114 Ibid. 115 Mike Pagtakhan, interview, Winnipeg, 26 March 2014. 116 Diwa Marcelino, “Migrant Workers and Human Rights,” paper, Winnipeg Multicultural Human Rights Forum, 26 June 2014. 117 Ray Berthelette, email correspondence, 27 June 2014. 118 See Abigail Bess Bakan and Daiva K. Stasiulis, eds., Not One of the Family: Foreign Domestic Workers in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997). See also Anna Romina Guevarra, “Managing ‘Vulnerabilities’ and ‘Empowering’ Migrant Filipina Workers: The Philippines’ Overseas Employment Program,” in “Emergent Subjects of Neoliberal Global Capitalism,” special issue, Social Identities: Journal for the Study of Race, Nation and Culture 12, no. 5 (2006): 523–41. 119 Migrante Canada, “Who We Are,” http://www.migrante.ca/. 120 Diwa Marcelino, interview by telephone, Winnipeg, 3 July 2014.

3.  Filipinos in Winnipeg 1 Dan Lett, “Philippines: Filipinos Transform Manitoba. Province’s Community Reaches 60,000 due to Immigration Boom over Last Five Years,” Winnipeg Free Press, 3 March 2012, http://www.winnipegfreepress. com/special/ourcityourworld/philippines/filipinos-transformmanitoba-141282363.html; Rod Cantiveros, “PINAYS MB Inc. Recognizes Carolina Custodio and Fe Ryder as Outstanding Filipino Women in 2016,” Filipino Journal 30, no. 6 (March 2016): 2. 2 See Gemma Dalayoan, Leah Enverga-Magsino, and Leonila Bailon, The First Filipino Immigrants in Manitoba; Aranas, The Dynamics of Filipino Immigrants, 24; Bautista, Winnipeg’s Filipino Health Professionals; Bonifacio, Pinay on the Prairies; Chen, From Sunbelt to Snowbelt; Coloma et al., Filipinos in Canada; Corrigan, Filipino Immigration; Crisostomo, Filipino Achievers; Pauline Gardiner Barber, “The Ideal Immigrant? Gendered Class Subjects in Philippine-Canada Migration,” Third World Quarterly 29, no. 7 (2008): 1265–85. 3 Letter from the Director in Chief, Admissions Division, Re Philippine Nurses and Doctors requesting temporary entry from the United States, dated 2 July 1959, page 2, Records of the Immigration Branch, LAC, RG76, vol. 826, file 552-1-611, Immigration from the Philippine Islands, part 1, 1929–1962. 4 Stuart Hall, “Reconstruction Work: Images of Post War Black Settlement,” Ten-8 Photographic Magazine 16 (1984): 2.



Notes to pages 79−87   237

5 Choy, Empire of Care, 1. See also Paul Ong and Tania Azores, “The Migration and Incorporation of Filipino Nurses,” in The New Asian Immigration in Los Angeles and Global Restructuring, ed. Paul Ong, Edna Bonacich, and Lucie Cheng (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1994), 164. 6 Winnipeg Tribune, 18 June 1959, sec. 7, p. 23; Winnipeg Tribune, 2 April 1965, sec. 5; Winnipeg Tribune, 20 March 1965, sec. 5. See also Bejar, “Transnational Communities.” 7 Brandon Sun, 13 August 1965, 12. 8 Filipinos have been invisible to broader society for much of the time that they have been in North America. See Vergara, Pinoy Capital, 41–2. 9 See Valerie G. Damasco, “The Recruitment of Filipino Health-Care Professionals to Canada in the 1960s,” in Filipinos in Canada: Disturbing Invisibility, ed. Roland Sintos et al. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012). 10 Nurses recruited to work in Sainte Rose du Lac, Manitoba, had to practise for one year in Manila prior to migrating to Manitoba, and then, before their credentials would be recognized here, they had to practise for a few more months in Manitoba. Dauphin Herald, 4 December 1968, p. 1. 11 Ammerman and Williams, “Speaking of Methods,” 10. 12 Robert A. Orsi, “Everyday Religion and the Contemporary World: The Un-modern, or What Was Supposed to Have Disappeared but Did Not,” in Ordinary Lives and Grand Schemes: An Anthropology of Everyday Religion, ed. Samuli Schielke and Liza Debevec (Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2012), 154. 13 Olivia Gobenciong, interview, Winnipeg, 17 July 2015. 14 Bejar, “Transnational Communities.” 15 Milton (Padlon Ben) Mestito, interview, Winnipeg, 17 July 2015. 16 Lake Centre News and Manitouwapa Times, 4 October 1968, 5. 17 See “Popularity of Folk Dance Groups Growing across Canada,” Lethbridge Herald, 17 January 1979, 48. 18 Roland Guzman, interview, Winnipeg, 11 April 2015. See also “President Will Feel at Home: Thriving, Growing Filipino Community One Reason for Head of State’s Stop Here,” Winnipeg Free Press, 30 November 1997, A5. 19 In 1970 the two clubs merged into the Philippine Association of Manitoba (PAM). 20 “Social and Personal,” Winnipeg Free Press, 21 December 1963, 12. 21 Winnipeg Free Press, 10 June 1967, 26. 22 Christopher A. Vaughan, “Ogling Igorots: The Politics and Commerce of Exhibiting Cultural Otherness, 1898–1913,” in Freakery: Cultural Spectacles of the Extraordinary Body, ed. Rosemarie Garland Thomson (New York: New York University Press, 1996), 219.

238 

Notes to pages 87−8

23 Sonja Roeder, a German, was president of Winnipeg’s International Centre. Jean Guiang had met her in 1969 when she became part of the Cosmopolitan Group of Winnipeg that included newly arrived immigrants from all over the world, including Czechoslovakia, Germany, Portugal, Estonia, the Philippines, China, and Japan. Jean explains: “Mrs Roeder invited ethnocultural performers. That’s when she encouraged me to organize a dance troupe. I started to learn a folk dance from our Philippine Folk Dance book and learned the Pandanggo sa Ilaw, or the candlelight dance [in which female dancers balance glasses containing lighted candles on their heads]. She invited me and my group to perform the Pandanggo sa Ilaw, and it went very well. That dance became a symbol of light for the new immigrants.” Jean and others overwhelmingly expressed how much they appreciated the attention. They were participating in Canada’s budding multicultural movement, and they were proud to belong to a diverse cultural mosaic. It is notable, though, that not every group was included. For instance, Indigenous peoples of Canada and ethnic groups from countries in which Islam predominated were left out of Canadian multiculturalism projects for years. Jean Guiang, interview, Winnipeg, 20 March 2014. 24 European dances and songs were not exotic enough to be entertaining. Jean explains: “In order to give more colour to their annual dinner Mrs Roeder invited ethnocultural performers. Jean Guiang, interview, Winnipeg, 20 March 2014. Westerners have often romanticized the South Sea origins and identities of Filipinos. For instance, in 1911 a group of Filipino entertainers who were booked to perform at New York’s Dreamland amusement park were “forced to wear native Igorot costumes, even though many were not from that region and few Filipino people dressed this way at the time. Similar to the Filipinos who entertained tourists at the St. Louis World’s Fair in 1904 as uncivilized savages, these Filipinos lived in a fake village at the amusement park while visitors viewed what they believed life was like for the typical Filipino savage.” Kevin L. Nadal and the Filipino American National Historical Society, Metropolitan New York Chapter, Images of America: Filipinos in New York City (Charleston, SC: Arcadia: 2015), 11. 25 Robert Orsi, “Everyday Religion and the Contemporary World,” 151. 26 John Gano, “What Is the BIBAK Association,” flyer, n.d. Shared with the author by Virginia Gayot, 23 January 2016. 27 The grouping of these five tribes, which have distinct cultures, languages, and traditions, happened through American influence and anthropological



Notes to pages 88−98   239

studies of the mountainous region. Gerald Finin, The Making of the Igorot: Contours of Cordillera Consciousness (Manila: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 2006). 28 Susan D. Russell, “The Grand Cañao: Ethnic and Ritual Dilemmas in an Upland Philippine Tourist Festival,” Asian Folklore Studies 48 (1989): 247–63. 29 Letter from Virginia Gayot, BIBAK president, 23 January 2016. 30 Here I draw on James Clifford’s theory of indigenous articulation, performance, and translation in globalized worlds. See Clifford, Returns, 50–63. 31 Dr Rey Pagtakhan, email correspondence, 14 October 2016. 32 Filipinos who had migrated to Manitoba numbered 1,025 by 1969, and a total of 9,708 lived there a decade later, according to Dan Lett, “Philippines Transform Manitoba,” Winnipeg Free Press, 3 March 2012, http://www.winnipegfreepress.com/special/ourcityourworld/ philippines/filipinos-transform-manitoba-141282363.html, accessed 3 December 2016. 33 “Holy Rosary Rebuilt on River Avenue,” Winnipeg Free Press, 30 September 1967, 4. 34 Mike Pagtakhan, interview, Winnipeg, 26 March 2014. 35 See Vachon and Toews. “A Geography of the Filipino Migration,” 107–29. 36 I interviewed Dr Rey Pagtakhan on 10 March 2014 and subsequently by email multiple times in 2014, 2015, and 2016. In this section I draw upon interview materials as well as documents shared with me from Rey’s personal archive, and upon my interactions and observations as a director of the Winnipeg Chinese Cultural and Community Centre. See also Rey Pagtakhan’s profile in Lesley Hughes, We Chose Canada: Eleven Profiles from Manitoba’s Mosaic (Teulon, MB: Aivilo Press, 2005), 76–87. 37 Tess Newton, interview, Winnipeg, 11 December 2014. 38 1930s Sun Life agent Frank Chan is discussed in Marshall, Cultivating Connections, chap. 3. 39 Sun Life Financial, “Welcome to the Manitoba West Financial Centre,” http://www.sunlife.ca/E/search/branch/default.aspx?BID=B015; Krystal Rycroft, Sun Life archivist, telephone conversation, 11 April 2014. 40 Gemma Dalayoan, interview, Winnipeg, 12 January 2015. 41 For a discussion of bridging and bonding capital see Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000). See also Putnam’s development of the idea in Robert D. Putnam and D.E. Campbell, American Grace: How Religion Divides and Unites Us (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2010).

240 

Notes to pages 101−6 4.  Filipinos in Brandon

1 Brandon Sun, 12 February 1966, 3. 2 St Augustine’s had one Filipino nun on staff, Sister Therma Ajoc, who ran the parish’s catechism classes, according to information about the classes in the church bulletins. 3 Interviews with multiple research participants revealed nothing concrete about Milagros, although some people explained that she was not involved in the religious networks that had led to the belonging of other Filipinos in the community. Articles about her in the Brandon Sun disclosed no personal details. She received a master’s degree from the University of the Philippines in 1968 and a doctorate in sociology from the University of Chicago in 1972. Upon graduation, she taught at universities in the Philippines and at Shiraz University in Iran. Brandon Sun, 31 May 2003, A4. 4 Brandon University’s newspaper, The Quill, contained many articles about faculty and students from Asia but only one brief article about Milagros in 2005, shortly before she left the university. The Quill, 13 October 2005, 15. 5 Eliza, interview, Brandon, Manitoba, 29 January 2015. 6 Ibid. 7 Cesar Gonzales, interview, Brandon, Manitoba, 14 August 2015. 8 “New Head Librarian Joins Exodus from the Philippines,” Brandon Sun, 15 October 1966, 9. 9 “International Students Describe How Canada Looks to the Visitor,” Brandon Sun, 21 April 1967, 41. Nellie and Cleotilde attended the university for one year. See Brandon Sun, 31 December 1966, 8. See also Sickle 1967, Brandon University Archives, RP80–32, Brandon College. Cleotilde eventually married Angelito Aytona. Initially the couple took up residence on Brandon’s Twelfth Street, which at the time was the small city’s old Chinatown. Brandon Sun, 25 October 1972, 2. Cleotilde and her husband remained in the city, and she became a lifelong supporter of the university and education in the city. 10 “Biggest Graduating Class in College History to Be Honoured,” Brandon Sun, 20 May 1967, 2. 11 I approach religious objects through ethno-historical methods and related theories. 12 See Obusan, “The Mt. Banahaw Prayer,” 77. 13 Rosita Gonzales, interview, Brandon, Manitoba, 14 August 2015. 14 See J. Bautista, Figuring Catholicism, 28–41.



Notes to pages 107−12   241

15 Ludmilla Jordanova, The Look of the Past: Visual and Material Evidence in Historical Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2012), 3. 16 Erving Goffman, Asylums: Essays on the Social Situation of Mental Patients and Other Inmates (New York: Anchor, 1961). 17 See Raj Mehta and Russell W. Belk, “Artifacts, Identity, and Transition: Favorite Possessions of Indians and Indian Immigrants to the United States,” Journal of Consumer Research 17, no. 4 (March 1991): 398–411. 18 Sister Therma Ajoc, telephone interview, 21 September 2016. 19 In 2013 Father Jorge Mante, a Filipino, was there briefly. He then requested reassignment to Winnipeg’s St Edward’s, where he is currently associate pastor. 20 Throughout the research for this book I was reminded periodically of the shared migration histories, experiences, and everyday religious practices of Filipinos and Latin Americans in Manitoba. Both Filipinos and Latin Americans were recruited for work in meat-processing plants in Manitoba. Both groups remained after their two-year contracts had ended, and transitioned into other jobs, with some opening restaurants near Catholic churches and displaying their religious cultures and devotional objects in that public space. 5.  Religious Activities and Expressions outside of Church 1 Alice L. McLean, Asian American Food Culture (Santa Barbara, CA: ABCCLIO, 2015), 127. 2 “Lamesa Goes beyond Classic Filipino Adobo,” Toronto Star, 25 August 2012, Life Section, 9. 3 Leora Ipsom, “The Best Filipino Restaurants in Toronto,” BlogTO, http:// www.blogto.com/toronto/the_best_filipino_restaurants_in_toronto/. 4 Mila Cuachon, interview with Kerry Fast, Toronto, 5 June 2015. 5 See Alison R. Marshall, “From the Goddess Guanyin to Señor Santo Niño: Chinese and Filipino Restaurant Religion in Canada,” Religious Studies and Theology 35.2 (December 2016): 161–71. 6 Ibid. 7 Adam Yuet Chau, “Household Sovereignty and Religious Subjectification: China and the Christian West Compared,” Studies in Church History 50 (2014): 495. 8 Michel DeJardins and Ellen DeJardins, “The Role of Food in Canadian Expressions of Christianity,” in Edible Histories, Cultural Politics: Towards a Canadian Food History, ed. Franca Iacovetta, Valerie J. Korinek, and Marlene Epp (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012), 71.

242 

Notes to pages 113−17

9 During the course of the research for this book, scores of Filipino restaurants were visited and documented in the Toronto, Vancouver, Winnipeg, and surrounding areas, as well as those in and around Calgary, Ottawa, and Montreal. 10 J. Bautista, Figuring Catholicism, 45. 11 Karla Erickson, The Hungry Cowboy: Service and Community in a Neighborhood Restaurant (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2009). 12 Parin Dossa, Afghanistan Remembers: Gendered Narrations of Violence and Culinary Practice (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014), 17. 13 Emiko Ohnuki-Tierney, Rice as Self: Japanese Identities through Time (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993), 3. 14 See Laura Lee Junker, Raiding, Trading, and Feasting: The Political Economy of Philippine Chiefdoms (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1999), 315–17. 15 See Esther Manuel Cabotaje, Food and Philippine Culture: A Study in Culture and Education (Manila: Centro Escolar University, 1976), 109. 16 Winnipeg Free Press, 10 November 1997, A5. 17 Eliseo D. and Carmen O. Bueno, owners, 564 Osborne Street, Winnipeg Tax Assessment Roll Number 218731, City of Winnipeg Archives. The property was sold in October 1983. 18 Field notes (“Wow! Mabuhay Store Blessing”), Winnipeg, Saturday, 15 November 2014. 19 Eliseo D. and Carmen O Bueno, owners, 564 Osborne Street, Winnipeg Tax Assessment Roll Number 122420, City of Winnipeg Archives. This property was sold in December 1993. 20 Eliseo D. and Carmen O. Bueno, owners, 84 Isabel Street, Winnipeg Tax Assessment Roll Number 613055, City of Winnipeg Archives. 21 See also Murray McNeill, “All This, and Fantastic Fritters, Too,” Winnipeg Free Press, 3 March 2012, J5. 22 Most restaurants in the study had been in business for less than ten years. Those in Winnipeg and the surrounding area, though fewer in number than those in larger centres like Vancouver and Toronto, were generally older, more established, and more modest. Filipino restaurants tended to be located in areas known as Little Manila, near churches, in strip malls, in areas of high-density Filipino population, and near where Filipinos worked in hospitals, factories, and as nannies. Little Manila in Winnipeg emerged along Sargent Avenue, close to Filipinos residing in the West End and to the Health Sciences Centre, the largest hospital in the province. Here one could find Jeepney Restaurant, Myrna’s Café and Catering, Maxie’s Pastries and Take Out Foods, and other Filipino shops. Mangkok International Cuisine was also in this area, on Notre Dame Avenue. More



Notes to pages 118−27   243

Filipino restaurants, groceries, bakeries, and other businesses were located on nearby Isabel Street. There was also a cluster of businesses in the city’s northwest, in neighbourhoods such as the Maples and Garden City. 23 See Amy Besa and Romy Dorotan, Memories of Philippine Kitchens (New York: Stewart, Tabori, & Chang, 2014). 24 See Gloria Chan-Yap, “Hokkien Chinese Influence on Tagalog Cookery,” Philippine Studies 24 (1976): 288–302. 25 See Wickberg, The Chinese in Philippine Life. 26 See CB’s Filipino Restaurant, “Our Menu,” http://cbrestaurant.ca/ menus/dine/. 27 McNeill, “All This and Fantastic Fritters, Too,” Winnipeg Free Press, 3 March 2012, J5. 28 Kate Zimmerman, field notes, Calgary’s Pacific Hut Restaurant, 6 June 2016. 29 Dre Mejia, in an interview with Kate Zimmerman, Montreal, Quebec, 28 July 2016. 30 According to Dan Lett, 20,288 Filipinos had migrated to Manitoba by 1990. “Philippines: Filipinos Transform Manitoba,” Winnipeg Free Press, 3 March 2012. http://www.winnipegfreepress.com/special/ourcityourworld/ philippines/filipinos-transform-manitoba-141282363.html, accessed 3 December 2016. 31 Emmie Joaquin, interview, Winnipeg, 5 April 2014. 32 Yvanne Dandan, interview, Winnipeg, 11 January 2015. 33 Archdiocese of Winnipeg, Parishes and Missions, http://www. archwinnipeg.ca/wcm-docs/directory/directory-1479156268.pdf. 34 St Edward’s Parish, fieldwork, Winnipeg, 22 June 2015. 35 Vicente L. Rafael, Contracting Colonialism: Translation and Christian Conversion in Tagalog Society under Early Spanish Rule (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1993), 194. 36 Ileto, Rizal and the Underside, 48. 37 San Buenaventura, “Filipino Religion at Home and Abroad.” 38 Mabalon, Little Manila Is in the Heart, 19. 39 See Evelyn Ibatan Rodriguez, Celebrating Debutantes and Quinceañeras: Coming of Age in American Ethnic Communities (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2013), chap. 1. 6.  Filipino Canadian Protestants and Their Churches 1 Migrants draw on a repertoire of stories they know and like to tell. These stories help them settle in new worlds and connect to others who tell the

244 

Notes to pages 127−30

same stories. Periodically they weed the inner library, discarding and adding new stories that suit their collection, current lives, and network of friends and families. See Frank, Letting Stories Breathe, 56. 2 Scholars have argued that because Christianity posits a transcendent divinity, it is incompatible with Confucian and other Asian world-views that regard divinity as experienced immanently in everyday life. Julia Ching, a Confucian Catholic and also my dissertation supervisor, reflected on and wrote about the Asian experience of immanence in transcendence throughout her career. Although she is most known for comparing Confucian and Catholic religious experiences, she was also intensely interested in expanding academic discourse to examine immanence and transcendence in Confucianism, ancestral worship, Daoism, mediumship, and Buddhism. See for instance the discussion in Hans Kung and Julia Ching, Christianity and Chinese Religions, trans. Peter Beyer (New York: Doubleday, 1989). 3 See Paul A. Kramer, The Blood of Government: Race, Empire, the United States, and the Philippines (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006), 211–14. 4 Material in this section has been gathered from multiple interviews with Flor Marcelino, beginning on 1 April 2014 in Winnipeg, Manitoba. 5 Carol Sanders, “A Mother’s Day Q and A with Flor Marcelino,” Winnipeg Free Press, 13 May 2012, http://www.winnipegfreepress.com/local/amothers-day-q–a-with-flor-marcelino. 6 Flor Marcelino, Provincial Council Speech, Winnipeg, Manitoba, 7 May 2016, shared with author. See also Winnipeg Free Press, 7 May 2016. 7 Ted Marcelino, interview by email, 12 March 2014. 8 Letty Antonio, interview, Winnipeg, 10 April 2015. 9 Sanders, “A Mother’s Day Q and A.” 10 See Manitoba Historical Society, “Historic Sites of Manitoba: Broadway Methodist Church / St. Stephen’s–Broadway United Church (396 Broadway, Winnipeg),” 2016, http://www.mhs.mb.ca/docs/sites/ broadwaymethodist.shtml. 11 Phyllis D. Airhart tells the story of the United Church of Canada from its rise in 1925 to its plummeting attendance beginning in the 1960s. See Phyllis D. Airhart, A Church with the Soul of a Nation: Making and Remaking the United Church of Canada (Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press, 2014). 12 See Disciples News Service, http://disciples.org/congregations/ broadway-disciples-united-church-in-canada-fulfills-its-mission-by-beingopen-to-all/.



Notes to pages 132−7   245

1 3 Tess Newton, email correspondence, 3 September 2016. 14 Ray Cuthbert, The Disciple, October 1990, 25. Scrapbook. 15 Gonzalez, Filipino American Faith in Action, 19. 16 As Henry Yu has observed, the assimilation of Filipinos into new worlds “entailed denominational conversion.” Henry Yu, Thinking Orientals: Migration, Contact, and Exoticism in Modern America (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 25. 17 Ray Cuthbert, interview, Winnipeg, 5 July 2014. 18 Church of the Living Hope, gallery, http://www.churchofthelivinghope. mb.ca/gallery. See also Jeff Dewsbury, “Roots and Wings: The Filipino Evangelical Church Is Strong, Warm, and Solidly Rooted Back Home and in Canada; Canada Is the Richer for It,” Faith Today, January/February 2010: 19–21. http://digital.faithtoday.ca/ faithtoday/20100102?pg=18#pg18 19 Sam Reimer and Michael Wilkinson, A Culture of Faith: Evangelical Congregations in Canada (Montreal and Kingston: McGill University Press, 2013), 115. 20 As Reynaldo Ileto has pointed out, Catholic and colonial patterns of authority, dominance, and obedience continue to shape attitudes and behaviours in the Philippines. Ileto, Pasyon and Revolution. 21 Mike Pajemolin, interview, Winnipeg, 13 May 2015. 22 Jorie Sawatsky, interview, Steinbach, Manitoba, 17 March 2014. 23 In 2000 the results of a study of some forty pen-pal brides in five Canadian provinces were released. Fifty-four per cent of the women came under the sponsorship of spouses in Canada, 20 per cent came as domestic workers, 18 per cent arrived through arrangements made by consultants, and the remainder came as independent immigrants or through the sponsorship of relatives in Canada. Most of the women were highly educated and came to Canada seeking economic opportunities for themselves and their families. See Philippine Women Centre of B.C., “Canada: The New Frontier for Filipino Mail-Order Brides,” Research Directorate, Status of Women Canada, 2000, http://publications.gc.ca/collections/Collection/SW21-622000E.pdf. 24 Census agglomeration of Steinbach, Manitoba, table 13, “Steinbach – The Most Common Non-official-language Mother Tongues,” 2011 Census, https://www12.statcan.gc.ca/census-recensement/2011/as-sa/fogs-spg/ Facts-cma-eng.cfm?LANG=Eng&GK=CMA&GC=605. 25 Jill Bucklaschuk, “Ethnocultural Communities and Organizations in Steinbach, Manitoba: Final Report,” Rural Development Institute, Brandon University, March 2009, https://www.brandonu.ca/rdi/files/2011/08/

246 

Notes to pages 137−40

EthnoculturalCommunitiesSteinbachFinalRpt-MAR2009electronic.pdf. See also Kenton Dyck, “The Filipino Population in Steinbach Is Thriving,” Steinbachonline.com, 2 December 2015, http://steinbachonline.com/local/ the-filipino-population-in-steinbach-is-thriving. 26 Southland Church, “Weekend Messages,” http://mysouthland.com/ weekend-messages. 27 In a survey of 250 Filipinos living in the Philippines, and among interview respondents, hospitality was universally seen to be a strong aspect of Filipino culture and the one of which people were most proud. Justino (born in 1979), a survey respondent, remarked: “When visitors come to our homes, we go out of our way to make them feel comfortable. We go out of our way to please them and give them hospitable treatment. This is the Filipino trademark.” 7. The Rise of Voluntary Associations 1 The Filipino population in Canada, by province and territory, 2001. Statistics Canada, http://www.statcan.gc.ca/pub/89-621-x/2007005/t/4123204-eng. htm. 2 See Eric Fong and Jing Shen, “Participation in Voluntary Associations and Social Contact of Immigrants in Canada,” American Behavioural Scientist 60, no. 5–6 (2016): 617–36. 3 Pangasinan Group of Manitoba: Celebrating 27 years, 1986–2013, souvenir program, Winnipeg, 2013. 4 FIDWAM: Filipino Domestic Workers Association of Manitoba, 25th Anniversary, 1988–2013, souvenir program, Winnipeg, 2013. 5 “The Guardians Brotherhood, a broad-based fraternal organization, exemplifies a group whose principal aim is to enhance the interests of its members in social, military, political, economic, and practical terms. All things being equal, a Guardian tends to have easier access to dental or medical care (especially if the doctor or dentist involved happens to belong to the fraternity), in contrast to other military personnel who do not belong to the organization.” Benjamin N. Muego, “Fraternal Organizations and Factionalism within the Armed Forces of the Philippines,” Asian Affairs 14, no. 3 (Fall 1987):152. See also Philippine Daily Observer, 4 August 2003, A21. 6 Members are identifiable by a triangular tattoo on the right shoulder. The tattoo lists the member’s province in the Philippines or here in Canada (for instance, GMB or Guardian, Manitoba); indicates whether they belong to the military or professional side of the brotherhood; and shows their pseudonym in the group. Dennis goes by his Chinese name, Kalo.



Notes to pages 141−6   247

The tattoo helps members to identify each other when they travel to different places. Each letter of the word Guardian represents a characteristic of a member, as shown in bold: They are gentlemen, united, who associate with others of their own race; they are dauntless, ingenious advocators for the nation. Members are required to undergo a security check before joining, must present a certificate of employment, and must pay an annual membership fee of twenty dollars. Filipino provincial nominees, as long as they have applied to be permanent residents, are welcome to join. The group also has a sisterhood. Dennis is considering adding a youth wing in the future. Meetings begin with a Tagalog song written in the Philippines. Different people are assigned to lead the prayer, and the presiding officer can choose to say a prayer in his own dialect or religion. 7 Dennis Castañeda, interview, Winnipeg, 18 August 2014. Dennis Castañeda was the only Filipino who self-identified as Chinese in this study. Noel Hizon indicated that some of the religious figures in his home shrine were Chinese deities and represented part of his Chinese heritage, but otherwise fieldwork undertaken in Manitoba and elsewhere in Canada revealed no Filipinos who referred to Chinese ancestors. 8 Guevarra, Marketing Dreams, 25. 9 Rafael, White Love, 221. 10 Kramer, The Blood of Government, 85. 11 Ammerman, Sacred Stories, 9. 12 See Yasmeen Abu-Laban, “Keeping ’em Out: Gender, Race, and Class Biases in Canadian Immigration Policy,” in Painting the Maple: Essays on Race, Gender, and the Contruction of Canada, ed. Veronica Strong-Boag, Joan Anderson, Sherrill Grace, and Avigail Eisenberg (Vancouver: UBC Press, 1998), 69–83; Constance Backhouse, Colour-Coded: A Legal History of Racism in Canada, 1900–1950 (Toronto: Osgoode Society, 1999). 13 Teofilo H. Montemayor, “Jose Rizal: A Biographical Sketch,” http://www. joserizal.ph/bg01.html. 14 See José Rizal, Noli me tangere (Berlin, 1887); translated by Harold Augenbraum as Touch Me Not (New York: Penguin Classics, 2006). 15 See Estaban A. de Ocampo, “Dr. José Rizal, Father of Filipino Nationalism,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 3, no. 1 (March 1962): 52. 16 See Karnow, In Our Image, 67–77. 17 Gonzalez, Filipino American Faith in Action, 21. 18 The Filipino community plaque in Chicago dedicated to Rizal notes that he visited places of interest in Chicago in 1888 during this trip. Fieldwork, Jose Rizal Center, 1332 West Irving Park Road, Chicago, 30 November– 1 December 2016.

248 

Notes to pages 146−51

1 9 Nadal et al., Images of America, 10. 20 See Vicente L. Rafael, “Foreignness and Vengeance: On Rizal’s ‘El Filibusterismo,’” in Southeast Asia over Three Generations: Essays Presented to Benedict R. O’G. Anderson, ed. James T. Siegel and Audrey Kahin (Ithaca NY: Cornell Southeast Asia Program Publications, 2003), 165–88; and José Rizal, El Filibusterismo (Ghent, 1891; Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006). 21 Marshall, The Way of the Bachelor, 2. 22 Vicente L. Rafael, The Promise of the Foreign: Nationalism and the Technics of Translation in the Spanish Philippines (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005), 54. 23 Quoted from the souvenir program of the 10th Annual International Assembly of the Order of the Knights of Rizal, on the webpage “Dr. Jose Rizal (1861–1896),” Order of the Knights of Rizal, Winnipeg Chapter, 2014, http://knightsofrizal.squarespace.com/history/. 24 Raoul Scarpe, interview, Winnipeg, 16 June 2015. 25 Alfie Vera Mella, interview, Winnipeg, 21 December 2014. 26 Research participants emphasized that most supporters of the left-wing liberation movement had not migrated, and thus their views, heroes, and interests were not represented in Manitoba’s cultural fabric or in activities that took place during the annual Philippines Heritage Week celebrations. 27 Levy Abad, email correspondence, 11 June 2014. 28 Orlando Marcelino, consul general of the Philippines, annual Philippine Independence Ball, Winnipeg, 13 June 2014. 29 John Nery, Revolutionary Spirit: José Rizal in Southeast Asia (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2011), 38. 30 Roland L. Guyotte and Barbara M. Posadas, “José Rizal and the Changing Nature of Filipino Identity in an American Setting: Filipinos in TwentiethCentury Chicago,” Revue française d’études américaines 51 (February 1992): 47. 31 Ibid., 48. 32 Tim J. Watts, “Filipino Federation of America,” in Asian American History and Culture: An Encyclopedia, ed. Huping Ling and Allan W. Austin (New York: Routledge, 2015), 277–8. 33 Steffi San Buenaventura, “The Master and the Federation: A FilipinoAmerican Social Movement in California and Hawaii,” Social Process in Hawaii 33 (1991): 189. See also Steffi San Buenaventura, “Filipino Folk Spirituality and Immigration: From Mutual Aid to Religion,” Amerasia Journal 22, no. 1 (1996): 1–30. 34 See Rafael, Contracting Colonialism, 29. See also Walter Benjamin, “Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” in Illuminations, ed. Hannah Arendt, trans. Harry Zohn (New York: Schocken, 1969).



Notes to pages 151−9   249

35 Gottfried Oosterwal, “Messianic Movements,” Philippine Sociological Review 16, nos. 1/2 (January–April 1968), 45. 36 Tomas Supang, Tarlac City, Victoria province, Philippines, fieldwork conversation, 5 April 2015. 37 Quoted in Veltisezar B. Bautista, The Filipino Americans (1763–Present): Their History, Culture, and Traditions (Farmington Hills, MI: Bookhaus, 1998), 65. See “Chicago Boys Active,” The Filipino Students Magazine, December 1906, 21. 38 Ruth Ailene Roland, “The ‘Rizalista Cult’ in Philippine Nationalism: A Case History of the ‘Uses’ of a National Hero” (PhD diss., New York University, 1969), 12. Rizal Day was marked by mid-western Filipino communities with parties, songs, and speeches as early as 1905. See Guyotte and Posadas, “José Rizal,” 52. 39 The Knights of Rizal website indicates that the group was founded in 1911. See Order of the Knights of Rizal, “Dr. Jose Rizal,” http://knightsofrizal. squarespace.com/history/. 40 Rafael, White Love, 211. 41 The Philippine consulate general in New York arranged the city’s first Philippine Independence parade in 1990, which has since become an annual event. See Nadal and the Filipino American National Historical Society, Images of America, 59. 42 For instance, the Jose Rizal Center in Chicago was built in 1977. That city’s Knights of Rizal chapter did not form until 1998. Fieldwork, Jose Rizal Center, 1332 West Irving Park Road, Chicago, 30 November–1 December 2016. 43 See Dalayoan, Enverga-Magsino, and Bailon, The First Filipino Immigrants in Manitoba, 25. 44 This is a common pattern in migrant communities, as I have discussed in Marshall, Cultivating Connections. 45 Roland Guzman, interview, Winnipeg, 11 April 2015. 46 Brandon Sun, 25 February 1986, 10. 47 Leah Magsino, interview, Winnipeg, 22 June 2015. 48 Tom Colina, interview, Winnipeg, 14 April 2014. 49 Felino de Jesus, interview, Winnipeg, 11 April 2014. 50 Les Crisostomo, interview, Winnipeg, 11 April 2014. 51 Felino de Jesus, interview, Winnipeg, 11 April 2014. 52 “Memorializing a Hero: Local Group Working toward Establishing Dr. José Rizal Park,” Winnipeg Free Press, 11 November 2013, http://www. winnipegfreepress.com/our-communities/times/Memorializing-ahero-233055431.html.

250 

Notes to pages 161−76 8.  Winnipeg’s Church Staff

1 Wilf Falk, Chief Statistician of Manitoba, Province of Manitoba Immigration Report, presented to the Manitoba Filipino Business Council on 22 May 2013, and shared with me by the author. 2 Winnipeg Free Press, 22 December 1964, and Winnipeg Free Press, 1 September 1967, 17. 3 Joan Duhaylungsod, interview, Winnipeg, 14 March 2014. 4 Alfie Vera Mella, interview, Winnipeg, 21 December 2014. 5 See Marcel Mauss, The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies (Cohel & West, 1954; London: Routledge, 1990). See also Peter Beyer, Religion and Globalization (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2000). 6 Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, 85. 7 Gonzalez, Filipino American Faith in Action, 18. 8 Father Geoffrey Angeles, interview, Winnipeg, 13 September 2016. 9 Thomas Aquinas. Summa Theologiae, translated by Fathers of the English Dominican Province (Westminster, MD: Christian Classics, 1981). 10 According to the 2011 National Household Census Profile for Virden, Manitoba, 65 Filipinos out of a total of 3,000 people lived in Virden. Statistics Canada, NHS Profile, Virden, T, Manitoba, 2011 (Ottawa: Statistics Canada, 2011), https://www12.statcan.gc.ca/nhs-enm/2011/dp-pd/ prof/details/page.cfm?Lang=E&Geo1=CSD&Code1=4606034&Data= Count&SearchText=Virden&SearchType=Begins&SearchPR=01&A1=All& B1=All&GeoLevel=PR&GeoCode=4606034&TABID=1. 11 Dr Rey Pagtakhan, email correspondence, 14 October 2016. 12 Herminio Ramos, interview, Winnipeg, 8 September 2014. 13 Raoul Scarpe, interview, Winnipeg, 16 June 2015. 9.  Filipinos in Manitoba beyond Winnipeg 1 Shirley D. Sokolosky, interview, Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, 14 July 2015. 2 Robert C. Annis, “Rural Immigration: A Prairie Canadian Perspective” (paper presented at “Immigration, Migration, and Population Retention in Rural Areas of Atlantic Canada: A Research and Policy Symposium,” Brandon, Manitoba, 6 February 2009). https://www.brandonu.ca/rdi/ files/2011/08/UNB_RuralImmigrationPrairieCdnPerspective.pdf 3 Statistics Canada, Census Agglomeration of Portage la Prairie, Manitoba (Ottawa: Statistics Canada), http://www12.statcan. gc.ca/census-recensement/2011/as-sa/fogs-spg/Facts-cma-eng. cfm?LANG=Eng&GK=CMA&GC=607.



Notes to pages 177−89   251

4 Anthony Giddens, Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1991), 54. 5 At the annual general meeting of the American Academy of Religion, Lily Mendoza discussed similar healing and possession rituals that were being revived by Babaylans in the United States and the Philippines. “Babaylan Healing and Globalizing Religion at the Postcolonial Crossroads: Learning from the Indigenous as the Planet Grows Apocalyptic,” San Antonio, Texas, 21 November 2016. 6 Noel Hizon, interview, Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes, Manitoba, 12 August 2015. 7 The Manitoba Bureau of Statistics, 2006 Census Profile, Notre Dame de Lourdes, https://www.gov.mb.ca/asset_library/en/statistics/ demographics/communities/notre_dame_de_lourdes_vl.pdf, accessed 2 June 2016. 8 Alison Moss, “Exploring Youth Migration in Francophone Manitoba: Phase 1 Project Report,” Rural Development Institute, Brandon University, April 2008, https://www.brandonu.ca/rdi/files/2015/08/EXPLORING_ YOUTH_MIGRATION_IN_FRANCOPHONE_MANITOBA.pdf. 9 See Manitoba Schools Act, 2015, C.C.S.M. c. P250, article 80, Instruction in Religion. 10 Joan Duhaylungsod, interview, Winnipeg, 14 March 2014. 11 Emily Distefano, “New Restaurant Brings Filipino Flavours to Carman,” Carman Valley Leader, 21 October 2014, http://www.pembinatoday. ca/2014/10/21/new-restaurant-brings-filipino-flavours-to-carman. 12 Ibid. 13 Wells accompanied me and helped me to sample Filipino food in the twelve Manitoba restaurants profiled in this book. 14 See Evgenia Mesaritou, “Say a Little Hallo to Padre Pio: Production and Consumption of Space in the Construction of the Sacred at the Shrine of Santa Maria delle Grazie,” in Ordinary Lives and Grand Schemes: An Anthropology of Everyday Religion, ed. Samuli Schielke and Liza Debevec (Oxford: Berghahan Books, 2012), 98–112. 15 See Marshall, “From the Goddess Guanyin to Señor Santo Niño.” 16 Anne and Kris Duran, email correspondence, 17 October 2016. 17 Ibid. 18 Grande Clairiere Historical Committee, Settlers, Sand, and Steeple: Grande Clairiere and District, 1888–1988 (Souris, MB: Sanderson Printing, 1988), 12. 19 Paulo Ercia (born in 1974) was a first-generation Filipino migrant and the co-owner of Wow! Mabuhay gift stores in two popular Manitoba tourist destinations: the resort town of Wasagaming in Riding Mountain

252 

Notes to pages 189−91

National Park, and the Johnston Terminal at The Forks in Winnipeg. These stores, which sell global giftware, grew out of an original store that continues to operate in Dauphin. Mabuhay is a Filipino exclamation meaning “welcome,” “long life,” or “cheers.” The stores in Dauphin and Wasagaming reflect the ascending status of Manitoba’s Filipino community beyond Winnipeg’s perimeter. Paulo Ercia, telephone interview, 30 March 2014. 20 “Neepawa Enjoys the HyLife: Company’s Arrival in ’08 Sparks Town’s Growth Spurt,” Winnipg Free Press, 13 April 2011, http://www. winnipegfreepress.com/business/neepawa-enjoys-the-hylife-120533569. html. 21 Jeremy Janzen, Human Resources, HyLife, Neepawa; Settlement Office, Filipino Association; and Town of Neepawa. Email correspondence, 4 April 2014. See also Filipino Journal, 22 April 2013, n.p.; Lanny Stewart, “Neepawa Filipino Basketball League Gaining Momentum,” My Westman, 19 November 2013, http://www.mywestman.ca/sports/1793-neepawafilipino-basketball-league-gaining-momentum.html. 22 Permanent Resident Landings, Neepawa, 2008–2013: 2008 (13), 2009 (28), 2010 (171), 2011 (206), 2012 (229), 2013 (223). Bill Ashton, “Immigrant Settlement Services and Gaps in Neepawa, Manitoba,” Rural Development Institute, Brandon University, https://www.brandonu.ca/rdi/ files/2015/09/Neepawa-MB-Community-report.pdf. 23 Wayne Kelly, Bill Ashton, Matthew Grills, and Anisa Zehtab-Martin, “Discerning Growth Strategies: Neepawa and Area Report,” research report presented at the Rural Development Institute, Brandon University, February 2013, https://www.brandonu.ca/rdi/files/2015/09/Discerning_ Growth_Strategies_NeepawaArea_Research-Report.pdf. 24 Ashton, “Immigrant Settlement Services.” 25 “Busy HyLife Pork Plant Has Schools Bursting at Seams in Neepawa,” Winnipeg Free Press, 24 October 2015, http://www.winnipegfreepress. com/local/busy-hylife-pork-plant-has-schools-bursting-at-seams-inneepawa-336545871.html. 26 Emerson Ballard, interview, Minnedosa, Manitoba, 19 July 2015. 27 Erna Braun, minister of labour, meeting, Winnipeg, 16 July 2015. 28 Jill Bucklaschuk, “Temporary Migration and Transitions to Permanency: Foreign Workers in Manitoba,” paper presented at the Thirteenth National Metropolis Conference, Brandon University, 25 March 2011, https://www. brandonu.ca/rdi/files/2015/09/Temporary_MigrationTransitions_to_ Permanency.pdf (accessed 28 May 2016). 29 Fieldwork, Minnedosa, Manitoba, 19 July 2015.



Notes to pages 191−200   253

30 Jill Bucklaschuk, “In Pursuit of Permanence: Examining Lower Skilled Temporary Migrants’ Experiences with Two-Step Migration in Manitoba” (PhD diss., University of Manitoba, 2015), 120–2. 31 Cherry, Faith, Family, and Filipino American Life, 5. 32 Stewart, “Neepawa Filipino Basketball League.” 33 Bucklaschuk, “In Pursuit of Permanence,” 193. 34 Here I am thinking about Filipino migrant culture as shaped by travel and Christianity. See James Clifford, Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997). 35 Paul Bramadat presents a more nuanced view of bonding capital, referring to it as something that may also lead to a defensive “fortress strategy” that keeps outsiders at bay. See Paul Bramadat, The Church on the World’s Turf: An Evangelical Christian Group at a Secular University (Toronto: Oxford University Press, 2000). 36 Bradley L., interview, Minnedosa, Manitoba, 19 July 2015. 37 Ibid. 38 Jeremy Janzen, Human Resources, HyLife, Neepawa; Settlement Office, Filipino Association; and Town of Neepawa, email correspondence, 4 April 2014. 39 Erna Braun, minister of labour, Provincial Government of Manitoba, meeting, Winnipeg, 16 July 2015. 40 On 19 July 2015 I conducted interviews with current and former HyLife employees at a picnic in Minnedosa. Only Emerson Ballard and Bradley L. agreed to have their names used. 41 Neepawa’s junior hockey team had been called the Neepawa Natives since the 1960s. Jessica Botelho-Urbanski, “Insensitivity vs. Tradition: Cleveland Indians Name and Logo Controversy Highlights Debate on Manitoba’s Sports Teams,” Winnipeg Metro, 8 October 2016, front page. 42 I customarily send informed consent and project information to potential research participants, which I did before travelling to Neepawa on 5 July 2015. Father Filips expressed no interest in becoming a formal research participant in this project. 43 Father Mark Filips, conversation, Neepawa, 5 July 2015. Father Filips had been at St Dominic’s Catholic Church for just over six months when I spoke with him. 44 Ammerman, Sacred Stories, 212. 45 Chen, Getting Saved in America, 8. 46 The vandalism was well documented in local media: http://www.cbc.ca/ news/canada/manitoba/catholic-church-immigration-boost-1.3926829. La Liberté, a French-language paper located in Winnipeg, reported on

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Notes to page 205

the story too, providing a more favourable account of Filipino life in Neepawa and work at Hylife, according to Claude Vielfaure, executive vice-president of Hylife. The inclusion of the story in a French newspaper, which very few Filipinos would read given their lack of French proficiency, was odd. In this way, Hylife was reaching out to the owners and operators of slaughterhouses employing Filipino migrants in Manitoba’s rural French community. Gavin Boutroy, “Le village répond à des graffitis racists: Les Philippins sons les bienvenus à Neepawa,” La Liberté, 12–17 July 2017, 3. Conclusion 1 Levy Abad, interview, Winnipeg, 2 January 2015.

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Index

Aglipayan Church, 169, 222n11 agricultural workers: earliest migrants, 59, 61, 229n44; and immigration policies, 62, 230n49; and racism, 63, 69; and religious figures, 35, 37, 40; religious practices, 217n49; seasonal, 70 Ajoc, Sister Therma (nun), 6, 14, 107–8, 240n2 albularyo (folk healer), 48 alcohol, in Filipino culture, 116 Ammerman, Nancy, 6, 81, 143, 196, 213n18 amulets, 24, 25. See also antinganting Anderson, Benedict, 146 Angeles, Father Geoffrey, 163–8, 206, 207 Anglicans, 21–2 anting-anting, 50–3; amulets, 24, 25; defined, 50; disillusionment with, 104, 106; in healing rituals, 49, 178–9; and views of younger generations, 51, 52, 96 Anting-Anting Stories and Other Strange Stories of the Filipinos (Kayme), 50

Aquino de Belen, Gaspar, 122 Archdiocese of Winnipeg, 14, 26, 27, 198 Asians: early migrants, 54–5, 60, 61, 235n111; immigration policies, 56–7, 61, 62–3, 66; labourers in Canada, 69; racial classification, 54, 55, 56, 59; racism, 63, 67–8, 200; stereotypes, 146; and studies, 12, 220n65, 244n2. See also Chinese Asiatic Barred Zone, 57, 226n14 Assembly of God churches, 24 atheists, 10–11t, 12t, 148, 161–2 Ati-Atihan festivals, 41–3, 42f automobiles, and devotional practices, 104 bachelor societies: of early immigrants, 13, 17, 63–4, 229n48; in Neepawa, 193–4; role models, 147 bagong bayani. See heroes bahala na (come-what-may attitude), 6, 7, 85, 170 Ballard, Emerson, 74, 112, 191–2 baptisms, 28, 40, 84, 197 barangays, 22, 24, 43, 116

276 

Index

Basilica del Santo Niño (Philippines), 23, 33 Bathala (God), 15, 151, 152, 152f, 170 Bautista, Julius, 114 bayanihan (community spirit): about, 7, 94; in churches, 32, 132, 199, 200; cultivated by men, 91; family networks, 129; and food in Philippines, 116; fund-raising for family visits, 73, 234n103; and José Rizal, 147; in large vs. small communities, 138, 174–5, 188; narratives, 175–89; rotating-credit associations, 173; social events, 96; and storytelling, 143. See also Neepawa (Manitoba); voluntary associations Bejar, James, 232n78 belonging: and colonialism, 53, 203; lone migrants, 64, 109; and religion, 32–3, 53, 76, 121, 127, 205, 207; and religious self-identification, 162; in remote communities, 91, 167, 177, 188–9, 194–5; and return visits to Philippines, 104; social media, 177; and storytelling, 143–4, 243–4n1; strategies in new worlds, 5; through churches and clerics, 128–9, 168–9; through devotional practices, 128, 182, 203, 205; through family, 103, 177, 205; through shared beliefs and customs, 100, 106, 128, 180; and traditional dances, 87, 88, 238n23, 239n30; and voluntary associations, 160. See also camaraderie; hospitality; religious functionaries; restaurants

Bethel Christian Assembly Church (Brandon), 102 BIBAK: about, 86, 88, 140, 224n53, 238–9n27; Heritage Week, 149; and indigenous performances, 86–8 Bible study, 25, 128 Bicol Association, 47–8, 47f Biovail, 235n105 blackface portrayal, 43 Blanco, John D., 55 Bonifacio, Andrés, 150, 151 Bonifacio, Glenda Tibe, 211n2, 215n36 Bontoc peoples, 83 Bourdieu, Pierre, 5, 162, 217n47 Bowie, Fiona, 16 Boy, Brother Sonny (hilot), 48–9, 49f Bramadat, Paul, 194, 253n35 Brandon (Manitoba): and belonging, 109, 174, 188, 202; churches, 101, 102, 240n2; Filipino life, 100–6, 108–9; lone migrants, 101, 109, 240nn2–3; population, 14, 74, 101, 108; religious functionaries, 107–8; schools, 101 Brandon Sun, 80, 155 Brandon University, Rural Development Institute, 190, 195 Brent, Charles H. (bishop), 21 Briggs, Charles, 221n8 Broadway Disciples Church, 22, 27, 129–34, 192 Buddha: providing assurance, 14; statues, 7, 37, 113–14, 183, 183f, 206 Buddhists: Chinese, 216n44; Filipino, 12, 114, 215n35; and temples in Philippines, 22, 217n52 Budol Fight meals, 134 Bueno, Carmen, 116–17, 118–20, 174 Bueno, Eliseo, 117, 119–20

Index E.D. Bueno (shop), 117 Burnham Park (Baguio City), 49–50 butchers, 74, 110. See also HyLife Foods camaraderie: and belonging, 205; in church services, 29–30, 32. See also voluntary associations Canada: Filipino population, 8, 70, 232n83; immigration legislation, 62, 111, 216n44, 229–30n48, 230n49; lifestyle, 173; Orders in Council, 62–3, 230n51 Canadian immigration policies: and Filipino ethnicity, 59; Filipino views of, 94; financial requirements, 61, 229n40; and medical professionals, 66, 67, 71, 231n63; points system, 70; racism against Asians, 62–3, 67–8, 229–30n48, 230n49, 232n71; reciprocity with Philippines, 67; subsidies to Filipino nurses, 81; and trampoline migration, 60, 64, 66, 68, 77, 201, 204, 230n57 Canadian immigration programs: Foreign Domestic Movement Program, 71; Live-In Caregiver Program, 71–2, 94, 176; Provincial Nominee Program, 73–4, 170, 171, 191, 204; Temporary Foreign Worker Program, 70, 73–4, 170, 234–5n104 Canadian Pacific Airlines, 80, 81 Cañao festivals, 88 candlelight dance (Pandanggo sa Ilaw), 238n23 Carman (Manitoba), 183–4, 185–8 Carman Valley Leader, 184

 277

cars, and devotional practices, 104 Castañeda, Dennis, 51, 140, 192–3, 246n6, 247n7. See also Philippine Canadian Guardians Brotherhood Inc. (PCGBI) Catholic churches: overview, 26–8, 161, 222n23; attendance, 28, 29, 133–4, 163–4, 192, 206; and camaraderie, 132. See also church services; St Edward the Confessor Church (Winnipeg); St Mary’s Cathedral (Winnipeg) Catholicism: churches as centre of life, 22, 90; engaged through nonChristian beliefs and practices, 5; flexibility vs. other religions, 181; history in Manitoba, 27, 28; and Jesus’s sacrifice, 143; and music, 165–6; passed down from generation to generation, 23; in the Philippines, 4–5, 20–1, 22–3; Protestants’ views on, 135–6; wakes, 90–1 Catholics, vs. Protestants, 135–6 Catholic Women’s Leagues, 27, 28 CB’s Restaurant (Winnipeg), 116, 117–18 Cebu Clergy Performing Artists, 45–6, 45f Cenacle Prayer Groups, 46–7 Certeau, Michel de, 4 chain migration: defined, 73; examples, 71, 180, 185; and family tradition, 128, 205; and Manitoba, 100; pen-pal brides, 136, 233n92, 245n23; and Provincial Nominee Program, 171 Chen, Carolyn, 199 Chen, Catherine, 68

278 

Index

Cherry, Stephen, 191 children: at church services, 28, 29–30, 90, 101, 132, 197–8, 199, 200; education, 93, 181; names, 84, 89; second generations, 120, 136, 160 Chinese: affected by Canadian immigration policies, 62, 67–8, 216n44, 229–30n48; as distinct from Filipinos, 75, 118; foods, 118; in Philippines, 21, 22; presence in Canada, 118–19; and religious figures, 33, 34, 183, 247n7; and religious practices, 216–17n44 Chinese Exclusion Act (1882, United States), 56 Chinese Immigration Act (1923, Canada), 111, 216n44, 229–30n48 Chinese restaurants, compared with Filipino restaurants, 111–12 Chinese Santo Niño, 33 Ching, Julia, 207, 244n2 Christianity: and belonging, 6, 127–8, 194, 253n35; culture of sacrifice, submission, and martyrdom, 142; “Filipinized” version, 14; in Philippines, 127–8; transcendence, 127, 207, 244n2. See also Catholicism; Protestantism Christ the King Church (Winnipeg), 32, 89 Christ the Rock Christian Community (Winnipeg), 22, 135, 170 Church of Christ (Winnipeg), 134 Church of the Living Hope (Winnipeg), 134 church services: and children, 28, 29–30, 90, 101, 132, 197–8, 199, 200; Communion, 132; congregant demographics, 29; decline in

attendance, 168–9, 171, 172, 206; and Euro-Canadians, 29, 197–9; Filipino roles, 7, 30, 32, 133, 216n42; homilies, 30, 100; languages of, 7, 27, 28, 32, 101, 132, 133, 181, 188; Mass, 28–31, 112; music, 164, 165; offerings, 26, 29, 30, 199, 223n34; in Philippines, 22–3; reasons for attending, 31–2, 90, 102, 112. See also under specific churches Clapp, Hilary Pit-a-pit, 21–2, 221n7 Clifford, James, 239n30 College of Registered Nurses of Manitoba, 71 Coloma, Roland Sintos, 215n36 colonialism: and belonging, 53, 203; and Filipino nurse migration, 68–9, 91; and international expositions, 21–2; and religion, 12, 127, 179; resistance to, 151; and scientific medicine, 64–5, 68–9. See also Philippines; Rizal, José coming-of-age rituals, 124–5 Communion, 132 community leaders, 74; business, 96, 119–20; education, 97; medicine, 167, 201; politics, 155, 201; voluntary associations, 154, 249n44 community spirit. See bayanihan (community spirit) Conde, Arthur, 100–1 Confucians, 216n44 Cordova, Fred, 6 Cosmopolitan Group of Winnipeg, 238n23 Couples for Christ, 27, 28, 40, 149, 223n25 Cruz, Deirdre de la, 48

Index Cruz, Denise, 65 Cuthbert, Pastor Ray, 130, 131, 132–3 D23 Dim Sum and Cocktails (Carman), 183–6, 187–8 Dalayoan, Gemma, 47, 70, 97–9, 174 Daly City (California), 9 Dandan, Yvanne, 121, 122, 123, 125–6, 165, 205 Daoists, 22, 216–17n44, 217n52 Dauphin (Manitoba), 31, 74, 189, 252n19 DeJardins, Ellen, 112 DeJardins, Michel, 112 denominations: conversions, 133, 134, 136, 202–3, 245n16; in Philippines, 22 devotional groups: and belonging, 98; in Brandon, 6, 103, 108–9; Legion of Mary, 6, 27, 32; narratives, 90–1; and religious figures, 46–8; in Winnipeg, 27 devotional practices: overview, 13, 109, 139, 201–2, 203–4, 205; blessings by priests, 104, 117, 185; and bottles of holy water, 181–2; in church, 31; during colonization and migration, 5; connecting to homeland customs, 89, 203, 205; division by gender, 40–1; home-based, 103, 104–6, 105f, 109; in remote communities, 106, 176, 177, 180–1, 182f, 188–9; and research methods, 201; and serial migration, 175; singing Pasyon during Holy Week, 104. See also praying; pre-colonial practices; religious figures; religious objects; segurista Divino Niño, 113

 279

doctors: and immigration policies, 66, 79; migration, 9, 100–1, 215n34; recruitment, 68; training, 65, 101; in Winnipeg, 26 domestic servants, 62, 63, 64 Dossa, Parin, 115 Duran, Anne, 69, 71, 183–8, 187f, 188 Duran, Kris, 183–8, 187f, 188 Durkheim, Émile, 223n37 education: belief in superior Western education, 102; of children, 93, 181; in Philippines, 84, 145–6, 156, 159 employment: accreditation, 129, 202; and career expectations, 16, 124, 188, 190, 194, 204; competition among ethnicities, 61, 229n44; employees’ rights, 75, 140; goodservant stereotype, 189, 190; niches by nationality, 69; in remote communities, 91, 172, 179–80, 188; teachers, 31–2; types, 75. See also butchers; medical professionals; nannies; Neepawa (Manitoba); teachers Episcopalians, 21–2 Ercia, Paulo, 189, 251–2n19 Eucharist, 112 Falk, Wilf, 235n107 families: and belonging, 103, 177, 205; and community spirit, 73, 129, 234n103; hospitality, 170; narratives, 92–4; and religious holidays, 121–4 Fay, Terence J., 223n34 Filibusterismo, El (Rizal), 145, 146–7 Filipino-Canadian Association (FilCan), 86–7, 139, 155, 237n19

280 

Index

Filipino Domestic Workers Association of Manitoba, 140 Filipino Federation of America, 150–1 Filipinos: about the terms Filipino and Pinay, 211n2; children’s names, 84, 89; classified as Asian, 62; classified as Malay or Mongolian, 55–6, 227n27, 228n29; defined by religion, 162; discriminated against, 17; as distinct from Chinese, 75, 118–19; early Canadian knowledge of, 60, 228n35; leaders in Manitoba, 74; pen-pal brides, 136, 233n92, 245n23; populations in Canada, 8, 70, 232n83; respect for elders, 24–5, 225n72; third-gendered, 29; as U.S. colonial subjects, 54, 55, 56. See also hospitality; identity; Philippines; stereotyping Filipinos in Canada (Coloma et al.), 215n36 Filips, Father Mark, 196, 199, 202, 253nn42–3 First Filipino Immigrants in Manitoba, 1959–1975 (Dalayoan), 97 Fisher Branch (Manitoba), 86 Folklorama dances, 87, 93 foods: Chinese, 118; and community spirit, 115–16; eating in church, 29–30; and the Eucharist, 112; at festivals, 47; in food trucks, 184; halo-halo, 94; and identity, 115–16; and religious customs, 112, 116, 120; in shops, 110; viewed by non-Filipinos, 18, 220n66. See also restaurants Foreign Domestic Movement Program (1981), 71

Frank, Arthur, 5 fund-raising for disaster relief, 140, 177 garment workers, recruitment, 70 gay congregants. See third-gendered Filipinos Giddens, Anthony, 177 Gladstone (Manitoba), and belonging, 176 Gobenciong, Gregoria, 26, 165 Goffman, Erving, 107, 148, 225n72 Gonzales, Cesar, 102–4, 174 Gonzales, Rosita, 102, 105f, 106, 174, 201–2 good-servant stereotype, 63, 64, 79, 189, 190, 204 Granny’s Poultry, 75, 235n105 Guevarra, Anna Romina, 142 Guzman, Roland, 68, 86, 87, 154–5, 201 halo-halo, 94 Hart-Celler Act, 58, 227n20 healing and healers: ability of Filipinos, 18, 24, 50; after funerals, 179; and apparition of Jesus, 98–9; and colonialism, 5, 68–9; rituals, 48–9, 178–9, 251n5. See also hilots; pre-colonial practices health-care aides: in remote communities, 177, 184; stereotyped, 64–5, 79. See also Canadian immigration policies; doctors; nurses Health Sciences Centre (Winnipeg), 26 heroes: in Philippines, 142, 150, 152, 248n26; Sun Yat-sen, 147. See also Rizal, José

Index Hillcrest Christian Church (Toronto), 133 hilots: about, 15, 25; in Manitoba, 50; in Philippines, 48–50, 49f, 89, 222n17 Hizon, Noel, 174, 179–83, 182f, 183f, 188, 202, 247n7 Holy Rosary Church (Winnipeg), 91 hospitality: foods, 115; importance to Filipinos, 138, 246n27; and life insurance agents, 95–6, 137; Mabuhay, 252n19; in Protestant churches, 131–3; supporting families, 170; vs. prejudice, 192, 194, 200 HyLife Foods: employment of Filipinos, 75, 193, 194, 253n40, 254n46; expansion, 189, 190; and Filipino provincial nominees, 235n105; social activities, 192, 193 identity: and bayanihan, 7; changed by migration, 85; colonial interpretations, 211n2; defined by religion, 3, 7, 13, 162, 168, 206, 222n16; as portrayed by José Rizal, 148; retained in spite of life changes, 177, 202; and return visits to Philippines, 93–4; and Santo Niño beliefs, 37, 206; and second generations, 166 Iglesia ni Cristo, 22, 27, 98, 134, 185, 223n29 Igorots: Christianizing of, 21–2; customs, 88–9; dances, 5, 87; performing in North America, 60–1, 87, 88, 238n24; use of the term, 83 Ileto, Reynaldo, 3–4, 122, 245n20

 281

Ilustrados, 4. See also Rizal, José Imagined Communities (Anderson), 146 Immaculate Conception Church (Winnipeg), 27 Immigration Act (1910, Canada), 62 Immigration Act (1917, United States), 56–7 Immigration Act (1919, Canada), 62, 230n49 Immigration Act (1924, United States), 57, 226n14 Immigration Act (1965, United States), 58, 227n20 indigenous peoples: reclaiming their histories, 221n8; worldwide treatment of, 89. See also Igorots; pre-colonial practices insurance agents, 95–6, 137 international expositions, and “primitive” cultures, 21–2, 60–1, 62, 87, 88, 238n24 jeepneys, 24, 85, 149f, 184, 188 Jesus: adoration of, 31, 41, 142; apparition of, 98–9; and the Eucharist, 112; in home chapel, 104–5; Last Supper, 105, 112, 127, 191; in Pasyon poem, 122–3; as rebel and God incarnate, 14; sacrifice, 14, 112, 122, 143; as saviour, 206; statuary in domestic spaces, 23, 40, 41, 47, 49, 49f, 164; unifying Filipinos, 206. See also Santo Niño Jesus Cares Assembly of God, 24 Jesus Is Lord Church, 22, 221n11 Johnson-Reed Act, 57, 226n14 Jordanova, Ludmilla, 106 José Rizal University, 144

282 

Index

kamayan-style dinners, 134 Katipunan (St Clair), 51 Kayme, Sargent, 50 Kayumanggi Club (Winnipeg), 86, 237n19 Kayumanggi Philippine Performing Arts, 124 Knights of Columbus, 27, 28, 40, 108, 142 Knights of Rizal: overview, 141, 142; activities, 156, 157; and belonging, 156; and Filipino students in United States, 56; Heritage Week celebrations, 149, 157–8; history, 153–4, 155, 159, 249n39, 249n42; Ladies of Rizal, 156, 157; membership, 154–5, 157, 159, 215n35; religion, 141, 157; as site of men’s religious practices, 41. See also Rizal, José Kramer, Paul, 143 Labor Code (1974, Philippines), 58 Ladies of Rizal, 156, 157 La Liberté, 253–4n46 La Merage café (Winnipeg), 113–15, 113f, 114f languages: of church services, 7, 27, 28, 32, 101, 132, 133, 181, 188; of early Filipinos, 59, 228n30; and immigration requirements, 67, 71; to resist colonialism, 151; of second generation, 103, 166, 180; in Winnipeg, 8 Last Supper: depictions, 105, 112, 191; significance to Catholics, 127 Latin Americans, similarities with Filipinos, 241n20 Legion of Mary devotional groups, 6, 27, 32

Lett, Dan, 243n30 Little Manilas, 110, 115, 161, 242– 3n22 Live-In Caregiver Program (1991), 71–2, 94, 176 lone migrants, 64, 101, 109, 120, 204nn2–3 Lord’s Prayer, 181, 199 Lorenzo, Angel, 151, 152 Mabalon, Dawn Bohulano, 21 Mabini, Apolinario, 142, 150, 152 mail-order brides, 136, 233n92, 245n23 Major, T.G., 67–8 Manawaka. See Neepawa (Manitoba) Manila (Philippines), 8, 23, 57, 93, 214n25, 217–18n52. Manila towns, 110, 115, 161, 242–3n22 Manitoba: diversity of Filipinos in, 161–2; earliest Filipino migrants, 17, 77, 220n64; Filipino population, 8, 120–1, 139, 214n29, 239n32, 243n30; Provincial Nominee Program, 74, 171, 191, 194, 204, 235n105; religious life, 25–33. See also specific towns Manitoba Registered Nurses Association, 70–1 Manitoba Street Festival, 41, 42f, 124, 140, 149f Mann, Charles C., 8 Maple Leaf Foods, 75, 235n105 Marcelino, Florfina, 51, 70, 71, 128–9, 165 Marcelino, Orlando, 3, 18, 150 Marcelino, Ted, 128 Martin, Nick, 190 Mass, 28–31, 112 massage therapists. See hilots

Index McGuire, Meredith, 6 McLean, Alice, 110 meat-processing plants: employment in, 75, 188, 193, 194, 241n20. See also HyLife Foods medical professionals: Canadian admission requirements, 66, 67, 70–1; and good-servant stereotype, 64, 65, 68; male vs. female, 68; recruitment, 65–7, 68, 69–71, 232n78; U.S. education, 65; U.S. exchange programs, 79. See also doctors; health-care aides; nurses megachurches, 23 Mejos, Manuelita, 64, 91–2 Mendoza, Lily, 251n5 Mestito, Milton, 83–91; and belonging, 85; childhood, 83–4; church attendance, 89–90; community spirit, 91; devotional groups, 90–1; employment, 68, 84–5; marriage, 85–6; and music, 165–6; religious denomination, 89, 202; social activities, 86–7; on traditional customs, 87, 88–9 Mestito, Olivia Gobenciong, 82f; and belonging, 83, 91, 174; church attendance, 83, 89–90; devotional groups, 90–1; employment, 81, 82, 91; marriage, 85–6; migration, 81, 91 Methodists, 21 Migrante Canada, 75–6 migration: and changes to religiosity, 24, 222n16; effect of immigrants on churches, 28; nationalities coming to Manitoba, 27; priorities upon arrival, 27; and religious conversions, 12, 12t

 283

migration of Filipinos: overview, 54–5, 74–6, 161–2, 235n111; early migrants to Canada, 17, 59–62, 201, 219–20n64, 228n28, 228n33, 229n44, 229n46, 235n111; second wave (1956–1970s), 67–8, 94, 109, 201; in 1970s, 91, 239n32; recent wave (2006–2011), 161–2; bringing religious objects, 107; chain migration, 71, 73, 95; changes to religiosity, 133, 172–3, 175; denominational conversions, 202–3, 206, 245n16; effect of immigrants on churches, 168; interactions with Asians, 61; and Philippine emigration policies, 58, 66, 68, 69; priorities upon arrival, 20, 27, 121, 133, 134, 201; racial classification, 55–6, 67–8, 226n5; racism in Canada, 63, 67–8, 75, 233n90; reasons for migrating, 102, 175, 191; recruitment of medical professionals, 65–6, 68, 69–71; religious workers, 172; and stereotyping, 63–5, 68–9; students, 56, 61, 64, 65, 66, 103, 240n9; tradition of first family member to migrate, 128; U.S. immigration policies, 56–8, 227n20, 230n57; worldwide, 8. See also Canadian immigration policies; Canadian immigration programs Misericordia Hospital (Winnipeg), 68, 77, 201 Morden (Manitoba), 184, 185, 188 Morgan, David, 225n68 Mother Mary: as familial deity, 104; in the Pasyon, 122, 123; in restaurants, 114, 115

284 

Index

Mother Mary statues: on church altar, 31; in domestic spaces, 41, 105, 164, 191; on hilot altar, 48–9, 49f Mother of Perpetual Help, 172, 191 music: in churches, 24, 29, 30, 31, 131, 195, 197, 198; and religious faith, 164, 165–6, 168; and religious functionaries, 164–6; singing the Pasyon, 122–4; songwriting, 126 Muslims: early Filipino migrants, 59, 219–20n64, 226n5; Filipino, 12, 215n35; in Philippines, 21, 22 nannies: church attendance, 102, 177; living conditions, 72, 177; migration, 71–2; narratives, 95, 175; stereotyped, 79, 220n66 Neepawa (Manitoba), 189–200; and belonging, 174–5, 193–4, 195, 202; church services, 195–9; community spirit, 192–3, 196, 197, 200; devotional practices in, 191; employment, 188, 189, 194, 200, 202; Filipino population, 74, 188, 189–90, 193–4, 196, 235n109; and good-servant stereotype, 189, 200; history, 189; hockey team’s name, 195, 253n41; municipal services, 190, 195; narrative, 191–2; and orientalism, 192; provincial government’s views, 195; racism, 200, 253–4n46; religious functionary, 196, 199, 202, 253nn42–3; schools, 190 Newton, George, 62, 229n46 Newton, Tess, 50, 51, 74, 94–6, 130, 132, 165 New Year’s hop, 20 Ngai, Mae, 230n57

Noli me tangere (Touch Me Not) (Rizal), 144–5, 146, 154 Notre-Dame-de-Lourdes (Manitoba), 179–81, 202 nurses: church attendance, 26; early migration, 58, 61, 77–80, 78f, 201, 237n10; employment, 69, 82, 84–5, 175, 204; housing, 84; narratives, 81–7, 82f, 88–91, 184, 238nn23–4; population in Manitoba, 70; recruitment, 68, 69–70, 80, 232n78; and second migration wave, 67, 174; stereotyped, 65, 68–9, 79–80; training in Philippines, 58, 64, 65; trampoline migration, 66, 68, 77, 201, 204, 230n57. See also Canadian immigration policies nursing associations, entry requirements, 66, 70–1 Ohnuki-Tierney, Emiko, 115 Order in Council P.C. 2215 (Canada), 62, 67, 230n51 Order in Council P.C. 6229 (Canada), 62–3, 230n51 Order in Council P.C.183 (Canada), 62 Order of the Knights of Rizal. See Knights of Rizal orientalism: and belonging, 13; and Christianity, 127, 133; Filipinos as Asian, 55; and international expositions, 62, 238n24; in rural communities, 192. See also Filibusterismo, El; racism; stereotyping Orsi, Robert, 6, 87 Our Lady of Charity, as symbol of diasporic nationalism, 40 Our Lady of Peñafrancia, 46–8, 47f

Index Pabasa, 104, 121–4, 205 Padre Pio (saint), 41, 185–6, 187f, 205 Pagtakhan, Mike, 7, 75, 92–4 Pagtakhan, Rey, 27, 51–2, 68, 74, 92–3, 167–8, 201, 239n36 pakikisama, 17, 225n72 Palmer, Frederick, 66 paluwagan (rotating-credit associations), 173 Pandanggo sa Ilaw (candlelight dance), 238n23 Pangasinan Group of Manitoba, 140 Parado, Father Neil (priest), 26, 90, 141 pastors. See religious functionaries Pasyon (epic poem), 122–3 Pataki, Amy, 110 patron saints, 31, 40, 46–7, 112 PCGBI, 140–1, 246nn5–6 Pembina Valley Filipino Community, 185 pen-pal brides, 136, 233n92, 245n23 Pensionado Act (1903, United States), 56 Peterson, William, 42–3 Philippine Canadian Centre, 121 Philippine Canadian Guardians Brotherhood Inc. (PCGBI), 140–1, 246–7n6, 246n5 Philippine Independence Act (1934, United States), 57 Philippine Independence Day celebrations, 86, 150, 154, 249n41 Philippine Independent Church, 169, 222n11 Philippines: Christianizing of, 8, 20–1, 65, 127–8, 133, 142, 143, 245n20; civilizing of colonial subjects, 65, 67–8, 102, 127;

 285

culture, 3; denominations in, 22, 221–2n11; education, 84, 169; emigration policies, 58, 66, 68, 69; employment opportunities, 81, 184; geography and history, 7–8, 147, 214n25; heroes, 142; immigration policies, 67; as independent nation, 58; Japanese occupation, 8, 57; Labor Code (1974), 58; languages, 8; minimum wage, 175; political turmoil, 92, 233n92; population, 8; religious life in, 22–5, 127, 222n13, 222n17; Republic Act No. 1425 (1956), 145; revenue from emigrants, 8, 58, 63, 69, 70, 111; Spanish occupation, 4, 8, 54, 143, 145; traditional dances, 238n23; training of nurses, 58, 64, 69; U.S. occupation, 8, 54, 57, 65, 148. See also under Catholicism; Igorots; Protestantism; Rizal, José Philippines Heritage Week celebrations, 74, 149–50, 157–8 photographs: costs, 79; as narratives, 77–9; in places of business, 119–20 physicians. See doctors pilgrimages, 41 pilgrimage statue events, 46, 108–9 Pinay and Pinayism, 211n2 Pinay on the Prairies (Bonifacio), 215n36 Pinoy, defined, 214–15n33 politicians, 93, 128, 129 Portage la Prairie (Manitoba), 74, 176–7 potluck dinners, 86, 115–16, 131, 132, 134 Pratt, Geraldine, 220n66

286 

Index

praying: benefits of, 96, 98, 105–6; for the dead, 28, 30, 90, 124; decline in, 173, 206; for healing, 30, 47, 95, 98; Lord’s Prayer, 181, 199; during migration, 162, 177; Padre Pio novena, 186; as part of upbringing, 40, 41, 93; precolonialism, 88; for relatives, 25; to Santo Niño, 36, 205; for success, 205; Synod Prayer, 198–9. See also religious figures pre-colonial practices: Ati-Atihan festivals, 42–3, 42f; during colonization, 4–5, 6, 15; considered backward, 96; healing rituals, 49, 178–9, 251n5; reclaiming of, 5; and religion in Filipinos’ lives, 50–3, 225n68; and religious figures, 15, 217n49. See also anting-anting Presbyterians, 21 priests. See religious functionaries Propaganda Movement, 144 Protestant churches, 27, 28, 129–35, 137, 138, 192 Protestantism: Bible study, 128, 136; introduced to Philippines, 21–2, 128, 133; megachurches, 23; as modern religion, 136; and religious objects, 52 Protestants, 128–38; and belonging, 206; and Broadway Disciples United Church, 22, 27, 129–34, 192; narratives, 128–9, 136–8; other churches in Winnipeg, 134–5; as viewed by Catholics, 135; views on Catholicism, 135–6 Provincial Nominee Program, 73–4, 170, 171, 191, 204 public spaces, and religion, 24, 25, 41–4, 42f, 44f

racial classification, 55–6, 67–8, 226n5 racism: classification by race and place of origin, 55–6; denial of, 232n71; and religion, 13, 133; in remote communities, 194, 200, 253–4n46; and term Asian, 55, 62; towards Asians in Canada, 63, 67–8, 75; in workplace and school system, 233n90. See also Canadian immigration policies; stereotyping Rafael, Vicente, 63, 122, 143, 211n2 Ramos, Pastor (Ed) Herminio, 73, 135, 169–71, 206 Ranoa, Milagros, 101, 240nn2–3 recruitment of Filipinos: agencies, 69–70, 73, 80; by garment companies, 70; of low-skilled labour, 70, 241n20; medical professionals, 58, 65, 68, 69–70; nurses, 68, 69–70, 80, 232n78; as permanent residents, 73–4; for short-term employment, 70, 73 Rees, Amanda, 227n20 Reign of Greed, The (Rizal), 145 Reimer, Sam, 134 religion, 20–53; overview, 20, 53; and belonging, 32–3, 53, 76, 121, 127, 205, 207; during childhood, 40, 93, 124, 164, 176; connected to racism and orientalism, 13, 133; and coping with migration, 106; as defining one’s identity, 3, 7, 12, 13, 162, 168, 206, 222n16; in domestic spaces, 40–1, 89; everyday forms of, 6; gender differences in practices, 40–1; lived officially vs. locally, 4; in Manitoba, 25–33, 222n23; in the Philippines, 20–5,

Index 172, 221–2n11, 222n13, 222n17; in public spaces, 24, 25, 41–4, 42f, 44f; and recent migration wave, 161–2; sacred nature of, 30, 199–200, 223n37. See also Catholicism; church services; devotional practices; music; pre-colonial practices; Protestantism; religious figures; religious objects religious festivals, 24, 41, 46–8 religious figures: bonding Filipinos from different provinces, 15, 98, 106; in business spaces, 48–9, 49f, 185–6; as central to Filipino identity, 40; in domestic spaces, 41, 46, 52, 104–5, 105f, 123, 183; family figures vs. royal figures, 36; in festivals, 41–4, 46–8; in history, 37; Mother of Perpetual Help, 172, 191; Our Lady of Peñafrancia, 46–8, 47f; Padre Pio, 41, 185–6, 187f, 205; patron saints, 31, 40, 46–7, 112; “pilgrimage statue” events, 46–7, 108–9; providing assurance, 14–15; and resilience, 204. See also devotional practices; Jesus; Mother Mary statues; Santo Niño; Virgin Mary statues religious functionaries: and belonging, 162, 167; blessings by, 104, 117, 214n23; contact with congregants, 22, 26, 97; influence, 162–3; migration, 26, 172–3; and music, 164–6; narratives, 23–4, 163–8, 169–73; and new migrants, 100, 133, 163, 171; respect for, 162, 191–2, 199, 225n72; vestments, 30. See also under specific churches religious objects: overview, 213–14n23; bottles of holy water,

 287

181–2; in businesses, 25, 187, 205; and cars, 25, 107, 183; as common bond, 106; in domestic spaces, 25, 107, 164; giving assurance in foreign lands, 106–7, 186, 202; and iconoclasm, 51, 225n68; migrating with, 107, 123, 191; personal adornment, 107, 111, 186; in Philippines, 23; and research approach, 214n23, 240n11; in restaurants, 110, 111–12, 113–15, 120, 185–7, 205. See also antinganting; devotional practices; religious figures remote communities: belonging, 91, 167, 206; community spirit, 174–5, 185; devotional practices, 106, 176, 177, 180–1, 182f, 188–9; employment, 91, 172; narratives, 175–89; stores, 251–2n19. See also Neepawa (Manitoba) research methodology: businesses visited, 209; consent, 16, 253n42; data, 9, 10–11t, 12, 15, 219n61; and Filipinos’ “role distancing,” 225n72; individual narratives, 13–14, 18, 80–1, 196, 201, 203, 207, 213n18, 217n47; interviews, 16–17, 219n61; naming conventions, 211n2; and religious objects, 240n11; research methods, 15, 17, 218n53; and restaurants, 242–3n22, 242n9; scope of study, 3, 6, 9, 15–17, 203, 212nn3–4, 215n36, 217–18n52, 218nn53–4, 220n65; snowball sampling, 212nn3–4; and the underside, 13–14. See also studies of Filipino Canadians research participants: change in religion after migration, 12, 12t;

288 

Index

as Chinese, 247n7; as Christian, 20; denominations, 9, 10–11t, 12, 203, 221–2n11; interviewees, 3, 9, 212nn3–4; migration, 9, 215n34; profiles, 219n61; Levy Abad, 148, 204–5; Imelda Elvambuena Adao, 51; Sister Therma Ajoc, 6, 14, 107– 8, 240n2; Father Geoffrey Angeles, 163–8, 206, 207; Letty Antonio, 7; Emerson Ballard, 74, 112, 191–2; Leanne Billy, 73; Bradley, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195; Carmen Bueno, 116–17, 118–20, 174; Carmen, 23; Dennis Castañeda, 51, 140, 192–3, 246n6, 247n7; Tom Colina, 156; Les Crisostomo, 154, 158; Pastor Ray Cuthbert, 130, 131, 132–3; Gemma Dalayoan, 47, 70, 97–9, 174; Yvanne Dandan, 121, 122, 123, 125–6, 165, 205; Joan Duhaylungsod, 71, 161, 184; Anne Duran, 69, 71, 183–8, 187f, 188; Kris Duran, 183–8, 187f, 188; Eliza, 71, 72, 188; Paulo Ercia, 189, 251–2n19; Gem, 154; Gloria, 64; Cesar Gonzales, 102–4, 174; Rosita Gonzales, 102, 105f, 106, 174, 201–2; Jean Guiang, 25, 46, 174, 222n18, 238nn23–4; Roland Guzman, 68, 86, 87, 154–5, 201; Noel Hizon, 174, 179–83, 182f, 183f, 188, 202, 247n7; Perla Javarte, 149; Felino de Jesus, 157, 158; Linda, 31, 70, 165; Leah Magsino, 156; Diwa Marcelino, 76; Florfina Marcelino, 51, 70, 71, 128–9, 165; Orlando Marcelino, 3, 18, 150; Ted Marcelino, 128; Christian Martinez, 20; Mary, 51; Meija, 120; Manuelita Mejos, 64, 91–2; Alfie Vera Mella, 148, 161;

Milton Mestito, 68, 83–91, 165–6, 202; Olivia Gobenciong Mestito, 81–3, 82f, 85–6, 89–91, 174; Tess Newton, 50, 51, 74, 94–6, 130, 132, 165; Ema Olarte, 235n108; Mike Pagtakhan, 7, 75, 92–4; Rey Pagtakhan, 27, 51–2, 68, 74, 92–3, 167–8, 201, 239n36; Mike Pajemolin (Manitoba), 23–4, 134, 136; Gregoria Parado, 33, 34f, 35; Perla, 70; Eme Pong-Elarte, 73, 234n103; Pastor (Ed) Herminio Ramos, 73, 135, 169–71, 206; Caridad Rino, 31–2; Father Sarce, 26, 30, 31, 35–6, 46; Jorie Sawatsky, 136–8, 174, 188, 203; Raoul Scarpe, 171–3, 206; Shirley D. Sokolosky, 36, 64, 71, 174, 175–9, 178f, 188; Tomas Supang, 151 resilience, 7; and belonging, 17; and colonialism, 6, 203, 204; and community spirit, 180; and religion, 53, 204; symbolized by Santo Niño figure, 37, 40, 46, 202 restaurants: alcohol, 116; blessed by priest, 185; and Catholic calendar, 120; CB’s Restaurant, 116, 117–18; division of labour, 185; as economic ventures, 111; Filipino compared with Chinese, 111–12; foods, 110–11, 118, 119, 186, 205; history, 120; La Merage café, 113–15, 113f, 114f; locations in Winnipeg, 117, 242–3n22; names of, 184; patrons, 120; religious objects in, 110, 111–12, 113–15, 120, 185–7, 205; services for co-ethnics, 111; as sites of Filipino culture, 111, 115, 120, 186; and the study, 208, 242–3n22, 242n9

Index restaurateurs: additional income, 184–5; narratives, 116–17, 118, 184–8 Rizal, José: appearance, 146, 149f, 158; commemorations of his execution, 86, 142, 150–1, 154, 159, 249n38; death, 141, 145; in diasporic communities, 143, 146, 147, 154; as hero, 142, 143, 144, 146, 147–8, 150, 158, 160; memorials, 150, 157, 158, 159, 247n18; organizations inspired by, 141, 150–3; personal life, 141, 144, 145, 146, 155, 247n18; politics, 141–2, 145, 146; quest for Filipino underside, 4; as representing Filipino persona, 148; as returning Christ, 151; writings, 141–2, 144–7, 154. See also Knights of Rizal Rizal Day, 142, 150–1, 159, 249n38 Rizalistas, 151–3, 152f, 153f Rizal Law (Philippines), 145 Roeder, Sonja, 87, 238nn23–4 Roman Catholics, 135–6. See also Catholicism rotating-credit associations, 173 Russell (Manitoba), and Filipino population, 74, 235n108 Russell Inn (Manitoba), 64, 73 Said, Edward, 55 San Buenaventura, Steffi, 21, 151 Santo Niño: in businesses, 37, 49, 49f, 205; church shrines, 37, 38f, 39f, 202; complex character and symbolism, 37, 114; in domestic spaces, 36, 37, 182f, 183, 183f, 205, 206–7; favourite devotional saint, 107; in festivals, 41, 43–4, 44f; history, 33, 35–6; as Infant Jesus, 37, 172; as itinerant divine figure, 36–7, 106, 114, 119; as mischievous

 289

boy, 37, 224n46; in performances, 45–6; powers, 33, 36, 43, 206, 207; replicas, 33–4; in restaurants, 37, 113–14, 113f, 114f; as symbol of Filipino resilience, 37, 40; unifying Filipinos, 206; variations, 33, 34, 202 Santo Niño de Atocha, 36 Santo Niño de Cebu, 33, 34f, 35–6, 183, 183f Santo Niño de Chino, 33 Santo Niño de la Suerte, 34–5, 114 Santo Niño de Palaboy, 36, 106, 114, 119 Santo Niño de Praga, 34, 113 Santo Singkong Ecumenical Church (Manila), 217–18n52 Sarce, Father (priest), 26, 30, 31, 35–6, 46 Sawatsky, Jorie, 136–8, 174, 188, 203 Scarpe, Raoul, 171–3, 206 schools: and Filipino children’s names, 84, 89; and Filipino identity, 92; in Neepawa, 190; and religious denominations, 22, 60, 84, 89 second generations: and religiosity, 120, 136; and voluntary associations, 160 segurista: and blessing premises, 117; in coming-of-age rituals, 125; defined, 7; displays of, 7, 112, 114, 115, 213–14n23; from God, 170–1; and religious figures, 14–15; and resilience, 203 seminaries, 166, 167 serial migration, 175 shamans. See hilots shopping malls, churches in, 23 shops: blessing of, 117; photographs of ancestors, 119–20; religious objects in, 119–20, 172 Sinulog festival, 41

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Index

Smith, Timothy, 24 So, Jimmy, 217–18n52 social media, and church attendance, 206 Sokolosky, Shirley D., 36, 64, 71, 174, 175–9, 178f, 188 South EastMan Filipino Association, 137 Southland Church (Steinbach), 137 Spain: colonization of Philippines, 4, 8, 20–1, 54, 145; racism in Philippines, 143 St Augustine of Canterbury Church (Brandon): about, 101, 102; attendance, 103; devotional groups, 6, 103, 108–9; religious functionaries, 6, 107–8, 241n19; services, 101, 108 St Clair, Francis, 51 St Dominic Catholic Church (Neepawa), 191, 195–9, 200, 202, 216n42, 253nn42–3 St Edward the Confessor Church (Winnipeg): attendance, 20, 192; Catholic Women’s League, 27; devotional groups, 27; Knights of Columbus, 27; performances, 45–6, 45f; principal site of worship for Catholic Filipinos, 26; services, 27, 28–31, 121, 166; shrines, 37, 38f; staff, 26, 27, 92, 121; youth programming, 31 Steinbach (Manitoba), 74, 137, 138, 176 St Emile Roman Catholic Church (Winnipeg), 32 stereotyping: Asians, 146; Filipino culture, 18; and Filipino migration, 63–5, 68–9; Filipinos generally, 17; as good servant, 63, 64, 79, 189, 190, 204; health-care aides, 64–5, 79; nannies, 79, 220n66; nurses, 65,

68–9, 79–80; as primitive peoples, 86–7, 194, 202, 238n24 St Hedwig’s Roman Catholic Church (Brandon), 101 St Ignatius Catholic Church (Winnipeg), 132 St John Brebeuf Parish (Winnipeg), 89 St John Cantius Church (Winnipeg), 166, 167 St John Evangelist Church (Morden), 185 St Louis World’s Fair, 21, 238n24 St Mary’s Cathedral (Winnipeg), 27–8, 37, 39f, 165, 167 St Mary’s Church (Brandon), 101 stores, 117, 119–20, 172 storytelling, 5, 143–4, 243–4n1 St Peter’s Church (Winnipeg), 164, 166 St Stephen’s Anglican Church (Winnipeg), 165 St Timothy Parish (Winnipeg), 32 studies of Filipino Canadians, 12–13, 14, 215n36 St Vital Church (Winnipeg), 32 St Vital district (Winnipeg), 27, 92–3 Sun Life Financial, 95, 130, 137, 176 Sun Yat-sen, 147, 216n44 Swan River (Manitoba), 81, 82–3, 174 Synod Prayer, 198–9 Tagalog. See languages Tarnopolski, Father (priest), 32 teachers: and belonging, 103, 174; early migration, 67; employment, 102, 103, 116–17; lone migrants, 101, 240nn2–3; narratives, 91–2, 94–6, 97–9, 102–3; recruitment, 31–2, 68; training, 102, 103 temporary foreign workers, 73, 76, 170, 194, 234n104 third-gendered Filipinos, 29

Index Tintiangco-Cubales, Allyson, 211n2 Toronto (Ontario), and Filipino communities, 9, 195, 242n9, 242n22 trampoline migration: early migrants, 60, 64; medical professionals, 66, 68, 77, 201, 204, 230n57 Trinity College School (Ontario), 22 Tweed, Thomas, 40, 46 Tydings-McDuffie Act, 57 underside, of Filipino religious practices, 3–5. See also pre-colonial practices United Food and Commercial Workers’ Union, 75, 194 United States: civilizing project in the Philippines, 65; colonization of Philippines, 8, 20–1, 54, 68–9, 148; employment of Filipinos, 54–5; Filipino population, 8, 57, 58, 79, 227n20, 227n23; immigration policies, 56–8, 79, 204, 227n20, 230n57; legislation, 56–7, 58, 226n14, 227n20; recruitment of medical professionals, 58; treatment of Filipino immigrants, 54, 230n54; view of Filipino men and women, 54 utang na loob (debts of gratitude), 98 Vancouver (British Columbia): early migrants, 60, 61–2, 228n33; Filipino communities, 9, 232n83; restaurants, 242n22; studies, 13, 15 Vaughan, Christopher, 87 Victory Church, 23, 222n13 Virden (Manitoba), 166–7, 250n10 Virgin Mary statues: in churches, 196; circulation of, 108–9; in home

 291

shrines and cars, 183; and praying the rosary, 180; for the sick or deceased, 32, 90, 95; in stores, 119 voluntary associations: overview, 139–40; and belonging, 140, 159– 60, 204; Chinese, 147; hospitality, 137; for men, 40, 94, 140–1, 160, 246nn5–6; occupational, 140; and religion, 140; South EastMan Filipino Association, 137; tied to a Philippines region, 140; for women, 156. See also BIBAK; Knights of Rizal wakes, 90–1 Warner, Stephen, 222n16 Wickberg, Edgar, 33 Wilkinson, Michael, 134 Windsor (Ontario), and Filipino population, 232n83 Winnipeg: Catholic churches, 20; community spirit, 138, 205; early migrants, 17, 220n64; Filipino neighbourhoods, 27, 223n27; Filipino population, 8–9, 174, 214n31; Filipino religious practices, 99; locations of Filipino businesses, 117, 242–3n22; St Vital district, 27, 92–3. See also St Edward the Confessor Church (Winnipeg); St Mary’s Cathedral (Winnipeg) Winnipeg Free Press, 68, 70, 190 women: and devotional practices, 109; as healers and mediums, 48; and the term Pinay, 211n2 Wow! Mabuhay gift stores, 251–2n19 youth ministries, 124, 134 Yu, Henry, 245n16