Racialized Migrant Women in Canada: Essays on Health, Violence and Equity 9781442689848

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
PART ONE. Immigrant Women and Violence
1. The Complicity of the State in the Intimate Abuse of Immigrant Women
2. Violence in Immigrant Families in Halifax
PART TWO. Immigrant Women and Health
3. Gender, Migration, and Health
4. Policy (In)Action: Policy-Making, Health, and Migrant Women
5. Review of Health and Policy Research on Older Immigrants
6. Exploring Social Capital among Women in the Context of Migration: Engendering the Public Policy Debate
PART THREE. Immigrant Women and Equity
7. Immigrant Women and Earnings Inequality in Canada
8. Migrant Muslim Women’s Interests and the Case of ‘Shari’a Tribunals’ in Ontario
9. Haitian-Canadians’ Experiences of Racism in Quebec: A Postcolonial Feminist Perspective
10. Challenging Gendered and Ethno-Racial Assumptions in Organizing for Housing Rights
Conclusion
Contributors

Citation preview

RACIALIZED MIGRANT WOMEN IN CANADA: ESSAYS ON HEALTH, VIOLENCE, AND EQUITY

Despite legislative guarantees of equality, immigrant women in Canada often experience many forms of prejudice in their everyday lives. Racialized Migrant Women in Canada delves into the public and private spheres of several distinct communities in order to expose the underlying inequalities within Canada’s economic, social, legal, and political systems that frequently result in the denial of basic rights to migrant women. Using interdisciplinary approaches drawn from the areas of sociology, law, health studies, and political science, the essays in this volume cover diverse topics such as the social construction of Muslim women, access to health care, and violence against women. The contributors base their work not only in cities with large immigrant populations but also in areas less densely populated with immigrants, revealing regional disparities in regard to economic opportunity and social services. Racialized Migrant Women in Canada draws much-needed attention to the marginalization and prejudice resulting from public policy and calls for an active, systematic approach to creating a more just and equitable society. vijay agnew is a professor in the Division of Social Science at York University, and was the director of the Centre for Feminist Research from 2001 to 2006.

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Racialized Migrant Women in Canada Essays on Health, Violence, and Equity

Edited by Vijay Agnew

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

© University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2009 Toronto Buffalo London www.utppublishing.com Printed in Canada ISNB 978-0-8020-9904-4 (cloth) ISBN 978-0-8020-9605-0 (paper)

Printed on acid-free paper

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Racialized migrant women in Canada: essays on health, violence, and equity/edited by Vijay Agnew. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-0-8020-9904-4. ISBN 978-0-8020-9605-0 1. Women immigrants – Canada – Social conditions. 2. Minority women – Canada – Social conditions. 3. Canada – Race relations. I. Agnew, Vijay, 1946– FC104.R322 2009

305.48'969120971

C2009-900941-2

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP)

For my daughter and kindred spirit, Nicole Agnew

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Contents

Acknowledgments ix Introduction 3 vijay agnew PART ONE: IMMIGRANT WOMEN AND VIOLENCE 37 1 The Complicity of the State in the Intimate Abuse of Immigrant Women 41 janet e. mosher 2 Violence in Immigrant Families in Halifax 70 barbara cottrell, evangelia tastsoglou, and carmen celina moncayo PART TWO: IMMIGRANT WOMEN AND HEALTH 95 3 Gender, Migration, and Health 98 arlene s. bierman, farah ahmad, and farah n. mawani 4 Policy (In)Action: Policy-Making, Health, and Migrant Women 137 denise l. spitzer

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5 Review of Health and Policy Research on Older Immigrants it o peng and margot lettner 6 Exploring Social Capital among Women in the Context of Migration: Engendering the Public Policy Debate 187 bi lkis vissandjée, alisha apale, and saskia wieringa PART THREE: IMMIGRANT WOMEN AND EQUITY 205 7 Immigrant Women and Earnings Inequality in Canada monica boyd and jessica yiu

208

8 Migrant Muslim Women’s Interests and the Case of ‘Shari’a’ Tribunals in Ontario 232 annie bunting and shadi mokhtari 9 Haitian-Canadians’ Experiences of Racism in Quebec: A Postcolonial Feminist Perspective 265 louise racine 10 Challenging Gendered and Ethno-Racial Assumptions in Organizing for Housing Rights 295 jill hanley Conclusion

317

Contributors

323

163

Acknowledgments

This book was carefully conceived and executed. I identified several leading scholars from various universities in Canada for contributions that were first presented at a conference I organized at York University. However, since then much time has elapsed and circumstances outside the control of the authors and myself delayed bringing this manuscript to print. I greatly appreciate the patience of the authors; none took it upon themselves to scold me or University of Toronto Press. Thank you all for entrusting your work to me and for your tact and good humour. Thanks are due to Virgil Duff, Executive Editor at the Press, for helping us get over the last hurdles and for facilitating the realization of our hope to see our writing in print. Thank you Carol Pollack and John St James for carefully copy-editing the manuscript. As always, I am indebted to my husband and daughter for their support of my work and for the constancy of their love. I have over the years become a sandwiched woman, with a little twist. When I was a teenager my father greatly worried about my love of reading, wanting instead for me to go out and party with my friends. He hid the books that I was reading in an effort to get me to socialize, have fun, dance, and make merry. Nicole, my daughter, has now adopted the role of her grandfather. She wishes for me to be more attuned to the world that we live in rather than the one so enticingly narrated in literature and documented in academic research. Can we please talk of something other than books, she complains? Unwittingly she has inherited a love of literature and increasingly spends her free time reading all the books that I send her. Keep it up, Nicole. I, too, promise to go more often to cafes and read and write there instead of at home.

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RACIALIZED MIGRANT WOMEN IN CANADA: ESSAYS ON HEALTH, VIOLENCE, AND EQUITY

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Introduction v ijay ag ne w

I emigrated from India to Canada in 1970 and immediately joined the graduate program in history at the University of Toronto, located in the city’s downtown core. I lived in the graduate residence and spent most of my time in and around the campus. I wore a sari in those days, and felt conspicuous among the jeans- and sweater-wearing students. I was immediately noticeable, and many students and professors, wanting to be friendly and hospitable, would politely enquire where I came from and what I was doing in Toronto. I thought of myself as a foreign student, and was mostly treated as such by others who wished, as Canadians, to tell me about their culture and show me their city. I knew little about Canada’s immigration history or about the indigenous populations, and at first naively thought of all white people that I met as unhyphenated Canadians. At the St George Graduate Residence I got to know students whose parents had emigrated from Italy, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and Yugoslavia. Yet, when I enquired of other students about their ethnic background, they responded by saying, ‘I am a Canadian,’ explaining that their forefathers and foremothers had come from Britain, Ireland, and Scotland. The interactions between me and the students I met were pleasant, for my perception of who I was coincided neatly with the ways in which they thought of me. There was no tension and no conflict. I was homesick, and wished to make contact with women students who came from India or more generally from South Asia. Very occasionally I came across a sari-wearing woman like myself, although there were a few more male students from South Asia at the university. Together we would sometimes walk on Bloor Street, near the university campus, and sit in cafés sipping coffee. We conversed in English, because

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we all came from different parts of South Asia and that was the only common language between us. Nevertheless, we felt noticed, for the glances of other customers lingered on our table; people (whom my memory recalls as being only white) seemed to be taking in our appearance in their midst. Sometimes, in a gesture of friendliness, the restaurant manager or the waitress would enquire, ‘Where do you all come from?’ We had been at the university long enough to know that we were not being asked about our location at the university or in the city; rather, the interest was in identifying our countries of birth or origins. We were ‘foreigners’ of a different hue from those who had come to Canada in the 1950s, such as Italian, Greek, and Portuguese immigrants, and were, I imagine, also noticeable as such. In our small South Asian group we compared notes with each other and discovered that white Canadians usually asked questions about our dress and appearance and, perhaps, about our families. We were sometimes asked about meditation techniques, yoga, and transcendentalism, and comments were made about nirvana, for these aspects of Hinduism had been popularized by the Beatles and hippies, and were being spread by the devotees of Hare Krishna on the streets of downtown Toronto. We were never questioned about our political orientation, not even by the many American draft dodgers who studied at the university and lived at the graduate residence. No one, other than the professors in the classroom, seemed to be interested in our intellectual ideas and beliefs. No one asked about our views on equality, democracy, or freedom. The focus was on the differences between us, interpreted mostly as cultural and social. Political and ideological ideas that had the potential of bridging the chasm between us remained largely ignored. We South Asians were treated as ‘different’ by the other students and citizens, and consequently we felt ‘different.’ I had little knowledge of the significance of Toronto to immigration history, but had I taken the trouble to read, I would have discovered that in the post–Second World War period, Toronto attracted most of the new immigrants to Canada. But immigrants from eastern and southern Europe had made Toronto their home even before that. There were well-established immigrant neighbourhoods, such as those in the north of Toronto, which were dominated by Italians, while others, such as the Kensington Market area downtown, attracted immigrants of various ethnic origins. I did learn from my fellow students that in the 1950s and 1960s Kensington was colloquially referred to as the Jewish market; but by the 1970s it was dominated by merchants from Portugal

Introduction

5

and southern Europe. At present the area is primarily crowded with Chinese and Caribbean businesses. Although Toronto was a cosmopolitan city, immigrants were expected to assimilate to WASP norms. I read now in history books that the babble of voices that emanated loudly from immigrant neighbourhoods in Toronto injected a discordant note into the soft, hushed noises of the other parts of the city, where citizens who thought of themselves as ‘Canadians’ lived. But as a new immigrant, or New Canadian, as immigrants were referred to by government agencies at the time, the university and its vicinity represented Canada and Canadians to me, and they were white, English-speaking, and dominated by WASP norms and values. Narratives are at the heart of feminist methodology and pedagogy (Razak 1998; Giles 2002; Ristock 1996). Biographical and personal accounts, such as those of bell hooks (1984) and Audre Lorde (1982) in the United States, were highly influential in the development of feminist theories. These accounts of the everyday lives of women, whether at home in the family or elsewhere, revealed how race, class, and gender oppression constructed their identities. Consequently, feminists value the discovery of submerged knowledge that helps to deconstruct power relations. In the 1980s racialized activists and scholars began the process of filling in the missing accounts of their lives and communities in Canadian histories (Bannerji 1987; Bristow 1994; Burnet 1986). Identity and social location of individuals and groups are important, feminists contend, for they inform the subject that is chosen for study, and reveal who says what – and why – about it. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, identity became significant in epistemology, and a site of contestation. Initially, identity was viewed as comprising criteria such as race, gender, class, and sexuality, and how these intersected in particular groups and individuals; however, later it was expanded to include other aspects, such as age, education and ability. Identity is socially constructed; however, it is not fixed but historical, and since it is constantly negotiated within societies and cultures, it is fluid and changing. Thus, for example, the meaning that was attached to my presence on the streets of Toronto in 1970 differs from the present time (2008), when South Asians (and other racialized immigrants) make the city their home in large numbers. Postmodern analyses, such as that of Judith Butler, cast doubt on the significance of physicality, or the body, particularly in discussions of gender and race. Her writings have spawned a debate seeking to

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reconcile, intellectually and theoretically, the tension between the socially constructed body (meanings imposed upon the body) and essentialism (a set of innate physical differences) (Butler 1990; Weir 2000). The conventional understanding of identity politics proposed solidarity based on commonalities (for example, gender among feminists in the 1970s and race among others), but its unintended effect was to exclude and silence different perspectives. The debate on identity has become further complicated by globalization and migration, which have disrupted the ‘relatively settled character of traditional cultures and collectivities structured around ideas of nationality, race, class and gender’ (Procter 2004, 109). Identity is constructed through participation in global economies that compel individuals to mobilize themselves in a search for economic opportunities, which may take them to different countries sequentially. Transnational migrants participate in different cultures, manifesting their ethnic or group culture in different locations; consequently, their sense of self is fluid as it emerges from such movement. Furthermore, contemporary transnational migrants are not simply acted upon by the dominant society, but participate in conscious and deliberate ways to manage perceptions of who they are, as well as the meanings attached to their race and culture (Ong 1999). In this volume, Annie Bunting and Shadi Mokhtari discuss the stigmatization of Muslim identities that limits citizenship rights in a liberal democracy such as Canada. Similarly, Louise Racine documents how racism ‘others’ Haitian immigrant women and mediates how they care for their elderly relatives, while Jill Hanley discusses how immigrant women are negatively perceived by housing activists in Montreal. If identity is not fixed or pure but is contingent, it raises the question, once again, of voice and authority. Who has the right to speak, and for whom? Thus, in the 1970s and 1980s identity politics were popular – that is, women spoke for women and blacks for blacks. However, the fact that the category ‘woman’ or ‘black’ was heterogeneous exposed the weakness of such an approach. If the physical body is not significant in and of itself, then associating voice and authority with an ‘insider’ by virtue of her skin colour or sex is an open and controversial issue. Scholars such as bell hooks and Patricia Collins have struggled theoretically to give primacy to the ‘insider’ as the knower, while at the same time disputing the significance of the physical body (Hooks 2003; Collins 2000). Stuart Hall argues that we all have multiple identities, rather than just a normative one, and suggests the need to be self-reflective and to

Introduction

7

reveal relevant aspects of our identity. He recommends a ‘politics of contingency’ that involves a sense of ‘dependency on other events and contexts and recognizes that the political positions we take up are not set in stone, that we may need to reposition ourselves over time and in different circumstances’ (Procter 2004, 119). Questions of identity and location are highly emotive, forcing feminists, in the words of Mosher, in this volume, ‘to walk on eggshells.’ Language creates social meanings, has power relations embedded in it, and defines others. Discourses reflect the power relations that exist in a given social context in which issues emerge, are articulated, and become the subject of discussion. Discourse, Stuart Hall notes, refers to ‘a whole cluster of narrative statements and/or images on a particular subject that acquires authority and becomes dominant at a particular historical moment’ (in Procter 2004, 60). Discourse governs and empowers certain interpretations while ruling out and delegitimizing others. Language articulates by drawing upon the prevailing sociocultural and economic influences, as well as upon myths and fantasies prevalent in the culture. Language is never ‘neutral,’ ‘objective,’ or ‘detached.’ The social meanings of labels are often politicized and, when they are challenged, reveal the concepts of power embedded in them that reflect the interests of the elites (Henry and Tator 2002, 25). Between 1970 and the present time, women such as myself have been given various labels – ‘Indian women,’ ‘foreign students,’ ‘IndoCanadians,’ ‘Third World women,’ ‘women of colour,’ ‘visible minority women,’ ‘racialized women,’ ‘non-white women,’ and ‘immigrant women.’1 ‘Each carries its own strings of echoes and inscriptions. Each represents an original misnaming and the simultaneous constant striving of the dispossessed to be represented’ (Parekh 1997, 172). Some of these represent the facts of my own life, such as when I was a newly arrived student at the University of Toronto and was referred to as a ‘foreign student.’ Since I thought of myself in that way as well, it created no tension in me. However, over time other labels came into popular use, such as ‘visible minority,’ and they were disputed and their hidden meanings challenged. Questions were raised about what was meant by ‘visible’ and ‘minority’ by those who were so named. The term ‘women of colour’ first became popular within a feminist context, and was meant to distinguish white women and their politics, which focused primarily on gender in the 1970s, from others. ‘Women of colour’ was a collective term used to assert the difference of black and Asian, among other women, from the

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hegemonizing tendencies of white feminism of the 1970s and 1980s. In a desire for parallel use of terminology, and therefore linguistic equality, feminists acknowledged that if black women could be referred to by their colour, so could white women. The term ‘racialized women’ has gained popularity in academic writing of late, and is used by the authors in this volume. The term racialization refers to the process, and the structures that accompany such a process, that produce and construct the meaning of race (Small 1999, 49). Racialization occurs when meaning is attributed to particular ‘objects, features and processes in such a way that the latter are given special significance and carry or are embodied with a set of additional meanings’ (Henry and Tator 2002, 11). Miles defines racialization as ‘those instances where social relations between people have been structured by the signification of human biological characteristics in such a way as to define and construct differentiated social collectivities. The concept therefore refers to a process of categorization, a representational process of defining an Other (usually, but not exclusively) somatically’ (in Torres, Miron, and Inda 1999, 7). Similarly, the ‘Report of the Commission on Systemic Racism in the Ontario Criminal Justice System’ defines racialization as ‘the process by which societies construct races as real, different and unequal in ways that matter to economic, political and social life’ (in Ontario Human Rights Commission 2005, 9). Racialization extends to people, but also to such specific traits and attributes as, for example, accent, diet, name, beliefs and practices, and places of origin. Such traits are assumed to characterize some people and lead to their evaluation as ‘abnormal and of less worth’ (ibid., 9). The use of the term racialization, as opposed to race and racism, emphasizes that the definitions of ‘white’ and ‘black’ change in different historical contexts, are inherently unstable, and are open to several meanings. Race and racialization can be used to categorize and define whites as well as others. However, although race categorizes whites, racialization is a process that occurs in the context of power relations, whether it is in discourses, systemic to structures and institutions, or merely a matter of everyday encounters. The Ontario Human Rights Commission therefore recommends that we use the term racialization to refer only to those groups that have experienced disadvantage and discrimination. The authors in this collection adopt this suggestion, using the term ‘racialized women’ to refer to subordinate and disadvantaged groups such as Haitian-Canadians, Ethiopians, and Muslims.

Introduction

9

The term ‘immigrant women’ came into popular usage in the 1980s; it was thought of as being polite, neutral, and referring to facts, and thus less biased. But this term too was deconstructed to show that it was in fact a particular kind of reference to non-English-speaking, working-class women from southern Europe and the Third World. Women are labelled on the basis of their culture (such as dress) as being outsiders to that which is generally defined as ‘Canadian.’ A woman who is wearing a hijab or a sari while walking on the streets of Toronto in the twenty-first century may be labelled by some residents, white and otherwise, as an ‘immigrant woman.’ Perhaps labelling a woman so attired an ‘immigrant woman’ might have been justified in the 1970s, when people from Asia and Africa had only started arriving in Toronto, but is it reasonable in 2008, when the city has become largely multicultural and multiracial? A further problem arises with a use of the word ‘immigrants’ that is substantive and not legal (that is, referring to passports and citizenship): when does an ‘immigrant woman’ become a Canadian… is it after ten years? Or, perhaps, twenty years? Does she ever become a Canadian? In the case of racialized women, do their children become Canadians? Racialized scholars refer to such common-sense assumptions of who is a ‘Canadian’ and who is an ‘immigrant’ as revealing hidden biases that are an aspect of everyday racism. Essed, in her groundbreaking work on this subject, writes that ‘everyday racism is the integration of racism into everyday situations through practices (cognitive and behavioural) that activate underlying power relations’ (1991, 50). She goes on to define everyday racism as a process in which ‘(a) socialized racist notions are integrated into meanings that make practices immediately definable and manageable, (b) practices with racist implications become in themselves familiar and repetitive, and (c) underlying racial and ethnic relations are actualized and reinforced through these routine or familiar practices in everyday situations’ (52). Muslim women, Bunting and Mokhtari argue in this volume, have been stigmatized because of their religion and its symbols, such as the hijab. When they walk on the streets of Toronto or Montreal and are referred to as ‘immigrant women,’ they are excluded from that which is defined as ‘Québécois’ and ‘Canadian.’ Such exclusion is cultural racism, or culturalism. Étienne Balibar defines culturalism as ‘racism whose dominant theme is not biological heredity but the insurmountability of cultural differences, a racism which, at first sight, does not postulate the superiority of certain groups or peoples in relation to

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others but “only” the harmfulness of abolishing frontiers, the incompatibility of life-styles and traditions’ (in Torres, Miron, and Inda 1999, 9). Cultural racism assumes a situation in which the nation and the citizen are in a binary relation to the aliens, foreigners, or immigrants who are collectively defined as ‘the other.’ The other then poses a ‘threat to the nation and must therefore be relegated to the margins of society, often blamed for all the social and economic ills that befall the nation … Cultural racism does not appear to exclude and marginalize populations on the basis of their biological heritage; one cannot really discount the element of biology since those who belong to the incommensurable cultures are most often non-white’ (ibid., 9–10). Culturalism or cultural racism is the inability or unwillingness to tolerate cultural difference. It is another way of talking about the very groups previously alleged to be biologically inferior, and involves the use of rationalizations to exclude them or to maintain them in inferior positions (Blum 2004, 59). Such racism, Fleras argues, is articulated by defining the ‘mainstream’ as ‘culturally appropriate’ and normal, and racialized groups as being ‘culturally incompatible’ and ‘too different to comply or integrate.’ Such racism uses ‘coded language’ that links ‘social cohesion with national identity and preferred culture.’ Similarly, subliminal cultural racism flourishes in the gap between ‘inclusive principles and exclusionary practices.’ This manifests itself in a disavowal of racism but an appeal to high-minded principles – for example, fairness (criticism of refugees as economic migrants who are jumping the queue and taking advantage of liberal refugee policies) and concerns with national security that in essence support the status quo (Fleras 2004, 434–7). Labels are fluid and contextual; thus, the label defining a ‘Canadian’ or an ‘immigrant’ changes with the passage of time. Race privilege and the resultant social, political and economic stratification are more entrenched and less amenable to change, but they too are modified by the disputations and challenges of those who are so subordinated and excluded. Some of the authors in this volume use the term ‘immigrant women,’ or discuss subjects such as ‘immigrant women’s health’ to refer to ‘foreign-born’ women, a category from Canadian statistics and census data. Wherever possible in this volume, women are identified by their countries of origin, such as Haitian-Canadians or Ethiopian-Canadians; at other times they are referred to by their religion, such as Muslim women.

Introduction

11

In the next section I discuss the history of immigration policies to document the circumstances under which racialized people have gained entry to Canada and how their settlement experiences have been structured by the race, class, and gender biases incorporated within the country. Race, Class, and Gender Biases in Immigration Policies A well-known cliché refers to Canada as the ‘land of immigrants,’ and the politically sensitive individual may apologetically or defensively say that all Canadians, other than the indigenous populations, are immigrants. However, a close scrutiny of the history of immigration to Canada disrupts such a sanguine view of a common citizenship, for entry to the country has occurred under very different legislative rules for people from various countries and regions. Canadians have been selective about who is allowed to immigrate (through qualifying factors such as country, gender, race, skills, and education), whether they may be accompanied by their families or not, with additional assessments made as to their potential for contributing to the country’s economy, and how they complement the labour-market skills of its citizens. Humanitarianism and compassion have also motivated lawmakers to allow some refugees escaping natural disasters, political regimes, or religious, gender, and other kinds of persecution in different parts of the world to immigrate to Canada. The broad strokes of Canadian history show an ever-expanding circle of countries, from Great Britain, northern Europe, and southern Europe to Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean, from which immigrants have been drawn. In the nineteenth and first part of the twentieth century, people (that is, families) from Great Britain were considered the most desirable immigrants, and formed the core of an elite Canadian establishment and society, whether colonial or otherwise. They were followed in the early 1900s, under Minister of the Interior Clifford Sifton, by ‘stalwart peasants’ dressed in ‘sheep-skin coats’ and accompanied with a ‘stout wife,’ that is, northern European, male farmers and their families as the ‘preferred’ immigrants (Abu-Laban and Gabriel 2002, 39). In the early part of the twentieth century, men from India, China, and Japan gained entry in limited numbers, but their wives and children were not welcome, and were mostly kept out. The Chinese Immigration Act of 1885 introduced the infamous head tax, making it steadily more expensive for Chinese to immigrate over the years. In 1923 the Asian

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Exclusion Act stopped the legal immigration of Chinese, a measure that was to remain in place until after the Second World War. The continuousjourney requirement introduced in 1908 prevented Indians from immigrating to Canada, and although in 1914 Sikhs aboard the Komagata Maru attempted to challenge it, they were unsuccessful. Trade relations compelled the government to take a softer stance with the Japanese, who could continue to immigrate in limited numbers; their wives were also allowed to join them (Bolaria and Li 1988; Roy 1990). The restrictions placed on female migration from most of these communities has been interpreted by feminist scholars as limiting the ability of the community to reproduce and grow in a climate in which racists wished them to slowly fade away from the nation (Dua 2004; Thobani 2000, 287). Black Loyalists came to Canada after the American War of Independence in 1776 and later as fugitives from slavery, while others came as ‘fugitives of racism’ via the Underground Railroad in the 1860s. Canada was thought of as the Promised Land, but it is hard for historians to pinpoint the numbers of people who immigrated. In 1900 it peaked at about five hundred people. The community began to grow again in 1920, as blacks from the Caribbean – Barbadian, Bermudian, Jamaican, and Trinidadian – began to immigrate (Hoerder 1999, 115). Blacks formed small pockets of settlement in Ontario, while others formed a community in Nova Scotia that came to be known as Africville (Bristow 1994, 74). The men worked as porters, waiters, cooks, and barbers; a few were ‘prosperous Black merchants’ (Hoerder 1999, 114). Country of origin and race (or phenotypical characteristics) were among the criteria for limiting immigration; another was religion. Jews from Europe in search of a safe haven from Nazi Germany wanted to immigrate to North America, but Canada was ‘more successful than any other country at keeping them out.’ Fewer than five thousand were admitted (Beiser 1999, 39). Economic opportunity and economic opportunism, writes Beiser, changed the face of immigration, and between 1896 and 1914 more than one million immigrants came to Canada (32). They came primarily from Europe: in addition to British and Northern Europeans, there were Italians, Austrians, Hungarians, and Galicians who built the eastern link of the transcontinental railroad. Ukranians, Poles, and Russian Doukhobors opened up the midwest for family immigration. Scandinavians, Finns, and Slavs cut timber, and Italians and Slavs worked in the mines. ‘Expediency overruled nativist sentiment’ to fulfil Canada’s need for cheap labour (32). Men from India, China,

Introduction

13

and Japan worked on the railroads, in sawmills, and in construction and farm work in British Columbia during this period (Li 1990). Racism and sexism made the lives of Asian and black women bleak, and they were oppressed and exploited within the home and in paid work (Agnew 1996). Legislation barred Asian women from occupations such as waitressing, and they were not allowed to train as nurses. Consequently, most ended up working in domestic service and as agricultural labourers for little pay and in deplorable work conditions (Roy 1990). Before the 1940s, 80 per cent of black women were confined to domestic work in cities such as Montreal and Toronto. ‘Black women [as domestic servants] received wages of from fifteen to thirty dollars a month in conditions of employment that could subject them to such arbitrary demands as forgoing time off, having to work sixteen hour days, and receiving clothing in lieu of wages. Racism created an atmosphere in which Black women’s presence was on sufferance’ (Brand 1994, 180). The war made it possible for them to enter factory work in small numbers and at low pay. One observer commented, ‘Black women in search of a job would call first to enquire whether Black people would be hired. A straightforward no saved the applicant the carfare to the factory. One foreman grumbled, ‘What the hell do I care what colour they are as long as they do the work.’ Some whites hiring domestic servants wanted ‘dark-looking people only’ (Hoerder 1999, 116). Two million people immigrated to Canada between 1915 and 1945 (Li 2003, 21), leading to a further diversification of the countries from which immigrants were drawn. After the end of the Second World War, immigrants from countries in southern Europe such as Italy and Portugal lobbied on behalf of people from their countries of origin, and consequently a large number came to work, primarily in manual occupations, in Canada. In 1950 Prime Minister Mackenzie King stated blandly that the government wished to keep Canada a white country, and thus justified perpetuating the restrictions placed on immigration from the ‘Orient.’ In a polite gesture to the sensibilities of people from the Commonwealth, a quota of 150 immigrants from India, 100 from Pakistan, and 50 from Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) was established; however, it went unmet in most years (Simmons 1990). Ideas of the potential assimilability and integration of immigrants with certain characteristics and countries of origin had played a significant role in justifying legislative selectivity. Yet few immigrants, despite their diverse origins, had publicly or militantly questioned the ideology of assimilation or the norms that they were being expected to adopt

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(although this was done later in the 1960s within the context of the Royal Commission on Biculturalism and Bilingualism). Immigrants, up to the early 1960s, had not openly challenged the dominance of WASP cultural values in public institutions, although they may have subverted such goals by quietly and simply ignoring them whenever they could. Literature written by immigrant authors such as Adele Wiseman, Marlyn French, Ruby Wiebe, Wayson Choy, Dionne Brand, M. Vassanji, and many others captures the ways in which immigrants, despite public disapproval and sometimes hostility, maintained the cultural and social norms of their countries of origin. The institutionalization of WASP cultural values in social services meant that the access that some immigrants had to the public and material resources available in their local communities, such as settlement services, varied, and for some groups who were targets of racism they were non-existent. These injustices were absorbed by first-generation immigrants of various ethnicities and races as the price for realizing an economically better life for themselves and their children. Immigrant women formed their own alternative communities to help each other and catered to the needs of their families and newly arriving immigrants from their societies of origin (Epp, Iacovetta, and Swyripa 2004). Between 1946 and 1955, over 1.2 million immigrants came to Canada, about 87 per cent of them from Europe; another 1.7 million came between 1956 and 1967, and 80 per cent of these were Europeans as well (Li 2003, 22). In the 1960s, subjective factors such as preference for immigrants from some countries and not others, the racism of vocal citizens, particularly in British Columbia and Ontario, and various other kinds of rationalizations (relating to climate, food, cultural norms, ability to assimilate, and so on) for justifying the exclusion of people with specific identities and countries of origin became untenable.2 Nationalist movements in many countries in Asia and Africa, the horrors of Nazi concentration camps, and the civil rights movement in the United States made it difficult to use overt racist criteria for admission to Canada. At the same time, the demand for labour in Europe had reduced immigration flows, and the Canadian economy, which was growing rapidly, needed skilled and professional people to work in manufacturing, universities, and research. Consequently, a different set of criteria was required to determine who would be the new ‘preferred’ immigrants and have the privilege of entering Canada in the coming years. The point system introduced in 1967 introduced ‘objective’ criteria that were to be universally applied for the selection of immigrants, such

Introduction

15

as age, education, knowledge of English or French, skills, demand for the applicant’s occupation, presence of family in Canada, and so on. Three principles guided the new system: family reunification, labourmarket demand, and humanitarianism. This legislation marked a turning point in immigration history, for it facilitated the entry of immigrants from Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean; between 1968 and 1978, 1.7 million immigrants were admitted in total, and of these, 21 per cent came from Asia (Li 2003, 22). This trend continued in the years following, with an increase in the proportion of immigrants from Asia and Africa and a corresponding decrease from Europe (Boyd 1997). The point system only discarded the most blatant expressions of gender, race, and class bias, but other racist assumptions that were invisible (or thought to be normal and natural) remained, although they were challenged over time. For example, the location and size of immigration offices facilitated the quick processing of applications from some countries rather than others, and the ‘personal discretion’ allowed to officers to evaluate the ‘immigrant’s chance of becoming suitably established’ had the potential of perpetuating race biases. Simmons notes that the government shifted from a neo-colonial, racist immigration strategy to one that could be described as ‘neo-racist,’ one that ‘reveals significant racist influences and outcomes within a framework that claims to be entirely non-racist’ (1998, 91). The point system produces different outcomes for men and women, for the skills it focuses upon are tied to prevailing gender ideologies in countries of emigration and in Canada. The emphasis on marketable skills and formal education inherently favours men, for in many countries gender roles, the sexual division of the labour market, and cultural norms perpetuate the skill acquisition and greater formal education of men rather than women (Agnew 2005, 23–47). The skills that are rewarded in the point system relate to the workplace and not to the reproductive, emotional, and domestic labour of women in the home and family. The gender segregation of the labour force reinforces biases that categorize some jobs as ‘women’s work’ and devalue them as unskilled or semi-skilled. Such negative evaluations of women’s skills disadvantage them in the immigration application process (Abu-Laban and Gabriel 2002, 50; Boyd 1990; Stasiulis and Bakan 2005). Since the 1950s, domestic workers, as has been well documented, have come from the Caribbean and the Philippines under specific immigration programs that exploited them and limited their entitlement to social services and citizenship. Domestic workers’ advocacy organizations, such

16

Racialized Migrant Women in Canada

as Intercede, have lobbied the government and led to a less discriminatory Live-in Caregivers Program in 1992. This program enabled women, if they showed evidence of becoming self-sufficient, to gain landedimmigrant status after two years of ‘purgatory’ as domestic workers in private homes (Stasilius and Bakan 2005). The Immigration Act of 1971 formally incorporated the point system; however, the legislation was not a static document, and over the years it was amended more than thirty times as advocacy groups, including academics, identified its inherent biases (Abu-Laban and Gabriel 2002, 76). The act created three classes of entry: family, independent, and refugee. Family class enables Canadian citizens and permanent residents to sponsor certain relatives who wish to immigrate to Canada. Independent immigrants are chosen on the basis of the point system and can include assisted relatives, retirees, entrepreneurs, and selfemployed persons. Refugees are chosen based on the United Nations definition of having a well-founded fear of persecution in their homeland (Thobani 2000). Fifty per cent of women who have immigrated to Canada since the 1950s have come in under the family class. While women are entitled to come in under any one of the three categories, they come predominantly under the family-class criteria. When women come as economic migrants, a large proportion of them enter under the auspices of programs for domestic workers and nurses (Boyd and Pikkov 2005, 10). The sponsorship under which women immigrate and their consequent dependent status is significant, for it determines their access to social services, constructs them as dependants, and has the potential of increasing the harassment and oppression they experience within the family. (These issues are discussed in greater detail in the next section.) After the 1970s, Canadian immigration law and practices were increasingly informed by the principles of fairness and respect for the equality rights of immigrants and refugees. Furthermore, the introduction of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms in 1982 gave immigrants the ability to challenge discriminatory legislation (Aiken 2007). Since the 1980s, immigrants from ‘non-traditional’ sources have come to Canada in increasing numbers, and between 1978 and 1982 almost 40 per cent of them were from Asian countries. Such a trend continued in subsequent years, and between 1988 and 1992 fully 51.8 per cent were Asian immigrants (Li 2003, 34). By 1992 almost 81 per cent of the new immigrants were persons of colour (Citizenship and Immigration Canada 1994, 22). These immigrants

Introduction

17

came from countries that had historically been excluded from the privilege of immigration to Canada, and had been labelled as ‘non-preferred’ immigrants or, more politely, as coming from ‘non-traditional sources.’ In explaining this trend, Aiken notes that it would be misleading to attribute the shift in immigration demographics to the influence of the Charter or even the legislative changes of 1978. In this regard, the dynamics of global capitalism have played a significant role in the changing face of Canadian immigration. For at least the past two decades, prospective immigrants from Europe have been less inclined to view Canada as a desirable destination. Relatively high levels of taxation, combined with significant barriers in terms of access to trades and professions, have fuelled the transformation of Canada’s immigration and refugee programs. As economic factors have compelled a radical reorientation in the demographics of immigrant selection, the government has sought to maintain its grip on the program by retaining control of who gets in. (2007, 66)

Any one of Canada’s provinces can work out an agreement with the federal government for joint responsibility for immigrant targets and increased provincial responsibility for settlement programs (Simmons 1999, 100). Quebec has many reasons for wanting to come to such an agreement with the federal government. With the lowest birth rate in the country, it needs to maintain the level of its population through immigration (Beiser 1999, 36). Racine, in this volume, argues that the politics of French and English relations make Quebeckers particularly anxious to maintain and even increase their French-speaking population. Consequently, Quebec reached an agreement with the federal government in 1978 that was revised in 1990 to articulate its own immigration policy. Simmons notes that since the number of Frenchspeaking people in the world is finite, Quebec compromises by favouring the immigration of skilled people that have the potential or show a willingness to acquire French language skills (100). In the 1990s Quebec attracted 15 per cent of the country’s new immigrants to the province (Beiser 1999, 36). However, by 1995 Quebec had decided to reduce its immigration targets, a move that consequently came to be criticized as being ‘ethnocentric and racist.’ Parti Québécois immigration minister Monique Gagnon-Tremblay acknowledged that the lowering of immigration targets was a response to ‘social consensus’ and the ‘rhythm of the evolution of mentalities’ (Simmons 1999,

18

Racialized Migrant Women in Canada

100). Then-premier Jacques Parizeau’s subsequent comment attributing the loss in the 1995 referendum on Quebec sovereignty to ‘money and ethnic votes’ outraged Québécois and others across the country. Racine, in this volume, documents the racism encountered by HaitianCanadians from the Québécois despite their ability to speak French. In 1994 the federal government initiated consultations on immigration that were meant to engage Canadians ‘in a discussion of shared goals and shared responsibilities’ (Abu-Laban and Gabriel 2002, 64). These resulted in a series of changes in immigration policy later that year, but it was nevertheless restated that the ideal immigrants would be those who could contribute to Canadian society and place little demand on state-financed immigration services such as language training and settlement programs. The contribution that immigrants were expected to make continued to be defined in economic terms rather than those of home and family. However, while the goal was to raise selection standards, a nod was given to ensuring that Canadians honour their responsibilities towards sponsored family members and find an appropriate balance between family and economic immigrants (ibid., 65). Additional consultations followed and led to the publishing of Not Just Numbers: A Canadian Framework for Future Immigration (1998). The report reiterated the need to give priority to those migrants who could make economic contributions, and recommended that immigrants bear the cost of their integration into Canadian society. Although government policies require reports such as Not Just Numbers to conduct a gender analysis, the committee acknowledged that ‘we were unfortunately unable systematically to check the effect of our recommendations on equality between the sexes’ (Abu-Laban and Gabriel 2002, 71). Such an omission was particularly significant, for the ability to pay costs related to application processing – visas, landing fees – and to have settlement funds varies by gender. Boyd and Pikkov argue that the ability to pay mediates how women enter the country, and reflects their stereotypical roles as wives, daughters, and caregivers. It could be argued that high fees are explicitly designed for, or at least have the unintended consequence of, dampening the ardour of persons seeking migration on the basis of family ties, especially those persons from countries with low standards of living. By extension the fees specifically deter women from initiating migration attempts. Since gender hierarchies in source countries are usually associated with low income earnings of women compared with men, women who seek to immigrate as principal

Introduction

19

applicants or as autonomous migrants bear a higher relative financial burden that their male counterparts. (Boyd and Pikkov 2005, 11)

The barriers to entry compel some women to immigrate without proper authorization or to stay on after it has expired, which has the potential of aggravating their exploitation. By 2001, 53 per cent of the immigrants to Canada were from Asia and the Pacific, and 19.2 per cent from Africa and the Middle East; in comparison, only 17.3 per cent were from Europe (Boyd and Pikkov 2005, 6). The 2001 Immigration and Refugee Protection Act continued to highlight the importance of skilled and economic immigrants; however, unlike the previous legislation, it did not specify the required skills or tie them to labour-market demand (Li 2003, 26). In 2002 the government published the new immigration regulations, which placed an emphasis on flexible skills and prioritized the immigration of workers in the knowledge economy and tradespeople with significant certification, while barring most personnel below the managerial level. ‘High income earners with the skills to contribute to Canada’s knowledge economy became ‘deracialized,’ while neo-racism remained embedded in core elements of immigration law and practice’ (Aiken 2007). The act perpetuated the bias against women in highlighting labour-market skills. In the next section I document how the intersection of gender and immigration status increases women’s dependence on their male sponsors, structures their work opportunities, and limits their access to social services. Immigration Status and Vulnerability Recently, my spouse and I were coming back from overseas and had to change airplanes in Vancouver and, therefore, clear customs. I filled out a Canada Customs declaration form, as did my spouse. When we handed this to the man at the counter he joked, ‘Which one of you is the boss here?’ He went on to explain that a family is only required to fill out one form, not two. This incident resonated in my mind, for it reminded me of the 1970s, when immigration officers assumed, while processing applications, that the male was ‘the head of the family’ and the female was the ‘sponsored spouse.’ Such an assumption was used, as an example, to demonstrate the pervasive nature of gender biases in immigration policies and the need to challenge them.

20

Racialized Migrant Women in Canada

Family reunification has been one of the guiding principles of Canadian immigration policies since the early 1950s. The Immigration Act of 1971 enabled women to come in under one of three categories (family, independent, or refugee class), yet a large percentage of them chose to immigrate under the family class. Until 1974, married women were not allowed to come in as principal applicants; rather, it was always their spouses who were deemed the principals, regardless of their occupations or educational qualifications (Boyd 1994, 164). Although such formal gender biases have been eliminated from immigration policies, women nevertheless continue to come primarily as sponsored, family-class relatives. This happens because gender roles and hierarchies in the countries of origin disadvantage women from acquiring the labour-market skills and higher education that are highlighted in immigration policies. Thus a family, to maximize their chances of being able to make it through the point system, may elect to put forward the male as the principal applicant. Between 1981 and 1991, for every 100 male spouses there were 962 female spouses of principal applicants (Boyd 1997). Women who immigrate in the family class are mostly sponsored by their male relatives. Sponsorship is a legal obligation that commits the individual to help family members in the settlement process and to assume financial responsibility for them for a specific duration. The length of the sponsorship has varied since 1971, and its duration is different for spouses and assisted relatives. At present the law enables women to sever their relationship with abusive sponsors. Feminists contend that the sponsorship under which women migrate reinforces their culturally conditioned subordination and gives it an additional punch. The flip side of this coin, however, is that it enables women to immigrate as permanent residents rather than as temporary workers. Between 1980 and 1987, 56 per cent of all females and 46 per cent of all males were admitted into Canada under the two categories of ‘family class’ (immediate family) and ‘assisted relatives class’ (Boyd 1990, 8). Female-type jobs, such as domestic work and nursing, predominate in the economic categories. The trend in family-class immigration has grown steadily since the 1990s. The percentage of total admissions of immigrants in the family and economic categories who are females is indicated in table 0.1 (Boyd and Pikkov 2005, 10). The Canadian government has historically provided a range of settlement services – orientation, language training, job training, skill upgrading, and employment counselling – that have helped to integrate newly arriving immigrants to Canada. The status of being a sponsored

Introduction

21

Table 0.1 Percentage of immigrant females admitted to Canada, 1990–2000, by category Year

Family

Economic

1990

54.9

49.2

1991

56.0

50.2

1992

57.1

50.1

1993

58.0

51.6

1994

57.5

50.7

1995

58.3

49.5

1996

58.8

48.3

1997

59.8

47.8

1998

60.9

47.5

1999

61.2

47.1

2000

61.6

46.7

immigrant determines the entitlement that will be available to women and the extent to which they may utilize them. An ongoing debate in immigration literature concerns whether government-funded settlement services are adequate in nature, who should receive them, what their content is or should be, and the extent to which they are made available. In the 1990s, government cutbacks reduced the range of settlement and social services available to immigrants and further restricted who could have access to them and for how long. For example, language training was linked to participation in the labour market, which disadvantaged women. It was restructured to remove gender biases against sponsored relatives, but in practice it reshaped old barriers and imposed new ones by reducing the funds available for advanced language training and withdrawing all job-training allowances (Boyd 1997, 157). In 1994 the federal government, in a more explicit and general announcement, noted that the cost of integration would be shifted from ‘taxpayers to those who benefit directly from these services’ (Citizenship and Immigration Canada 1994, 25, in Thobani 1998). Gender biases in the delivery of government-funded settlement services have been documented, particularly in language training (Boyd 1990; 1994; 1997). Lack of knowledge of English or French reinforces women’s culturally conditioned dependence on the males in

22

Racialized Migrant Women in Canada

their families. Boyd and Pikkov sum up the many disadvantages of not knowing English or French thus (2005, 27): Language proficiency … is an important resource in the integration process. Being able to converse and/or read in a host country language facilitates learning about the institutions and customs of a new land, not to mention learning how to navigate transportation systems, interface with bureaucracies and seek assistance when required. Language proficiency also shapes economic integration. Compared with those who are not so proficient in English or French, women who are not so proficient have reduced labour force participation, higher rates of unemployment, and greater employment in production and processing occupations, in lowskilled occupations, and in the goods-producing sector of the economy. These correlates of low language proficiency are felt more severely by foreign-born women of colour.

Racism and poverty impact immigrant women’s health and well-being. Although women immigrate as sponsored and dependent relatives, they nevertheless quickly join the labour force. In recent years the trend has been for a larger proportion of immigrants to come from Asia, Africa, the Middle East, and Latin America; not having facility in English or French, women immigrating to Canada from these areas are consequently further stratified in the lower rungs of the labour market. Immigrants face additional barriers to their labour-force participation in not having educational qualifications obtained in their countries of origin recognized in Canada. Often, work experience acquired at great cost in countries of origin is also disregarded by employers in Canada. When immigrant women work in low-paying, low-skilled, nonunionized jobs, their economic vulnerability reinforces dependence on male sponsors and impacts their health and well-being. Fear of losing a job or losing wages for a day to visit a physician leads racialized women to cover up or ignore illness until it reaches a crisis point. Denise Spitzer and Ito Peng, in this volume, document that racialized women are reluctant to use health-care services, as they are apprehensive of encountering racism – sometimes as a reaction to alienating values embedded in them and at other times as stereotypical and negative assumptions attached to their identities by practitioners and health-care providers (Anderson and Kirkham 1998; Anderson 2000a, 2000b). The vulnerability of immigrant women is not solely a matter of culture, despite racist assumptions; rather, it is an integral aspect of their class, race, immigrant status, religion, and gender.

Introduction

23

This book includes essays on the various inequalities experienced by immigrant women. In the next section I document the provisions of the Canadian Charter on equality and show why social justice requires that we, as a society, treat everyone fairly and eliminate oppressions. Equality and Justice Equality is part of justice and justice is part of equality; however, they are both contested terms. Political and legal philosophers, in the last century or two, have engaged in extensive discussions on what is meant by equality and justice and how they may be achieved in any given society. Equality is not an essentialist or static concept; rather, its meaning and implications change over time and place. In liberal feminist debates of the 1980s, the question of who women wanted to be equal to was raised, which emphasizied the comparative nature of equality. This question opened up a whole debate about differences among women and generated discussion on how to treat women equally while according dignity and respect to the many social, cultural, economic, and political aspects of their identities that separated them from each other. This debate is referred to as the politics of identity, or the politics of recognition, or the politics of difference. The inequalities experienced by immigrant women vary across many categories, including race, class, nationality, country of origin, religion, and age. However, there are enough commonalities in their experiences of inequalities to make it reasonable to discuss them not as one unified group but diverse collectivities clustered around specific situations or conditions. The 1960 Canadian Bill of Rights noted (Majury 2002, 106): ‘It is hereby recognized and declared that in Canada there have existed and shall continue to exist without discrimination by reason of race, national origin, colour, religion, or sex the following human rights and fundamental freedoms, namely … (b) the right of the individual to equality before the law and the protection of the law.’ The equality provisions included in this clause were interpreted so narrowly by Canadian courts as to show an ‘incomprehensible’ lack of understanding of race, sex, discrimination, and inequality (ibid., 109). Consequently feminists struggled to have a more expansive definition of equality incorporated in the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, 1982. Section 15 of the Charter protects the individual’s right to equality without discrimination. It states (ibid., 111): ‘Every individual is equal before and under the law and has the right to the equal protection and equal benefit of the

24

Racialized Migrant Women in Canada

law without discrimination and, in particular, without discrimination based on race, national, or ethnic origin, colour, religion, sex, age or mental or physical disability.’ The Charter provides for equality of process (‘before and under the law’) as well of substance (‘equal protection and equal benefit’) (Abella 1984, 11). The language of the Charter allows us to focus on group-based inequalities, such as those of immigrant women, and to challenge them. The Charter enables legislators to provide for special programs and policies for groups of people. It notes that the equality provisions of section 15 do not ‘preclude any law, program or activity that has as its object the amelioration of conditions of disadvantaged individuals or groups including those that are disadvantaged because of race, national, or ethnic origin, colour, religion, sex, age or mental or physical disability’ (Abella 1984, 11). Such a provision addresses the historical debate about the meaning of equality: equality does not mean treating everyone the same, but treating women equally by accepting and accommodating to their differences. Judge Rosalie Abella, in her royal commission report Equality in Employment, explains (3): We now know that to treat everyone the same may be to offend the notion of equality. Ignoring differences may mean ignoring legitimate needs. It is not fair to use the differences between people as an excuse to exclude them arbitrarily from equitable participation. Equality means nothing if it does not mean that we are of equal worth regardless of differences in gender, race, ethnicity or disability. The projected, mythical, and attributed meaning of these differences cannot be permitted to exclude full participation. Ignoring differences and refusing to accommodate them is a denial of equal access and opportunity.

This clause in the Charter is of special relevance for some immigrant women who may need programs to help them acquire language skills, or need interpreters to access health care, or need to have their immigration status modified to accommodate to the violence that they encounter from their sponsors. Sometimes immigrant women encounter discrimination and racism from social-service agencies or when they seek employment. Some ameliorative programs identify the systemic biases embedded in some public policies that result in perpetuating inequalities. Such programs do not stigmatize individuals or groups for whom they are designed if we accept the differences between ‘us’ and ‘them’ as legitimate and acknowledge the historical nature of the disadvantages experienced by them.

Introduction

25

Social justice or fairness requires the eradication of all inequalities. Justice, like equality, is specific to a culture and time period. Justice is about fairness, about treating people well, as worthy and deserving of respect. It can take many forms. Sometimes it is distributive and at other times retributive; sometimes it is about recognizing differences; at other times it is about process and, more particularly, about substantive outcomes; sometimes it is about autonomy and at other times about community (Jhappan 2002, 204). Iris Young, a feminist political philosopher, in her seminal Justice and the Politics of Difference (1990), argues that discussions of justice have been preoccupied with the distributive paradigm. Such a paradigm focuses on the distribution of material goods (resources, income, wealth), social positions (especially jobs), and social goods (such as rights, opportunity, power, and self-respect). Social goods are not commodities, static and unchanging; rather, they are derived from social relations and processes (1990, 16). The distributive paradigm obfuscates the social structures and institutional contexts that determine how resources and goods are allocated in situations characterized by unequal relations of power. Young’s discussion of justice emphasizes the context and various processes that give rise to relations of oppression and domination. She defines oppression as the institutional constraint on self-development, and domination as the institutional constraint on self-determination (1990, 37). Oppression comprises exploitation, marginalization, powerlessness, cultural imperialism, and violence. Young argues that these forms function as criteria for determining whether individuals or groups are oppressed. Oppression is present if any one of these criteria exists but usually it is experienced by a complex combination of various facets. Young’s theory of justice includes both claims of redistribution and the recognition of differences between people; that is, she suggests it is possible to accord equality to all citizens of a society while respecting their differences from each other. Young’s categories of oppression have been critiqued as too broad and all encompassing and the paradigm of redistribution of resources and recognition of differences as not well integrated together (Cooper 2004, 4; Fraser 1997, 190). Nancy Fraser’s highly influential discussion of the politics of recognition approaches oppression from the standpoint of ‘social collectivities’ and their relationship to particular forms of injustice. Fraser locates her social collectivities in a spectrum from injustices of distribution to those of recognition. Her goal is to show the tension

26

Racialized Migrant Women in Canada

between the politics of redistribution and those of recognition. Fraser suggests that ‘while some collectivities or “modes of social differentiation” centre both, and are thus “bivalent” … differentiated as collectivities by virtue of both the political-economic structure and the cultural-valuational structure of society, other modes of social differentiation – class and sexuality functioning as proximate ideal types – primarily raise injustices of distribution and recognition respectively’ (in Cooper 2004, 43). Young’s discussion seeks to ‘displace talk of justice that regards persons as primarily possessors and consumers of goods to a wider context that also includes action, decision about action, and provision of the means to develop and exercise capacities’ (1990, 16). A social condition is just if it enables the individual to meet her or his needs, exercise their freedom, and have their voices heard. Thus justice, in such a conception, is realized not through distribution alone but through enabling individuals and groups to develop their human capacities. The humancapabilities approach was developed by Amartya Sen in his discussion of the inequalities in countries such as India (2001). Martha Nussbaum, a feminist philosopher, concurs with this approach and enumerates some of these capabilities as: bodily health, bodily integrity (i.e., being able to be secure against violent assault, including domestic violence), being able to participate effectively in political choices that govern one’s life, and having a right to employment on an equal basis with others. She argues that when assessing the quality of life in a country and thus by implication its political arrangements, we need to ask ‘how well have the people of the country been enabled to perform the central human functions? And have they been put in a position of mere human subsistence with respect to the functions or have they been enabled to live well?’ (1999, 41–2). In the next section I document the rights and responsibilities of a citizen of a liberal democratic society such as Canada to show the gap between the theoretical promise of social, economic, and political equality and the obstacles immigrant women encounter in realizing it. Citizenship Racialized immigrants sometimes light-heartedly, but perhaps with a trace of bitterness, refer to their status in Canada as being that of ‘ten dollar citizens.’ By this they mean that although, after the required three years, they pay the fees and become legal citizens, they

Introduction

27

still remain outsiders to that which defines a Canadian. Racist discourse alleges that immigrants do not make a commitment to Canadian society and are thus, according to such a rationalization, responsible for their own outsider status. However, such prejudice belies the truth: in 2001, fully 84 per cent of immigrants who were eligible to apply for Canadian citizenship did so (Creese 2007). Citizenship is a status that indicates equality as a member of a community and confers a set of civil, political, and social rights. Historically, citizenship often assumed as its norm the masculine, white, heterosexual, and able-bodied (among other things) individual, thereby excluding and marginalizing others. For example, in the early part of the twentieth century, Chinese men and women were legally not allowed to work in certain jobs in Canada, and they did not have the right to vote. In contemporary Canadian society, such invidious distinctions have been eliminated from formal citizenship rights; constitutionally, all citizens are equal, without distinction of race, gender, or class. But there is a tension between claims to ‘universalism, and the tendency towards exclusion and inequality based on the value accorded to a certain ideal type of citizen’ (Stasilius and Bakan 2005, 13). Will Kymlicka, in his seminal work Multicultural Citizenship, notes that citizenship is ‘an inherently group-differentiated notion’ (1995, 124). Citizenship is multilayered, multifaceted and ‘inflected by identity, social positioning, cultural assumptions, institutional practices and a sense of belonging’ (Yuval-Davis and Werbner 1999, 4). Furthermore, it is fluid and dynamic, and changes with time and place. A citizen of a liberal democracy such as Canada is entitled to equal rights and responsibilities. Further, liberal democratic citizenship is also meant to symbolize respect for difference, institutionalized tolerance for disagreement, and legal protection of freedoms of expression and choice. The Charter of Rights and Freedoms gives citizens the right and the ability to challenge unequal treatment based on criteria such as race, gender, class, religion, and immigrant status. However, the legally guaranteed equality rights inherent in citizenship differ from their substantive implementation and enforcement. For example, the stigmatization of Islam and of Muslims in the public domain effectively excludes them from the polity and from the substantive exercise of their citizenship. Hanley in this volume documents that the racist construction of immigrant women’s identities in Montreal excluded them from neighbourhood advocacy organizations. Being excluded, or even feeling so, generates sentiments among immigrants of not belonging

28

Racialized Migrant Women in Canada

and of being outsiders. Social citizenship incorporates a sense of belonging and embodies a distinct set of rights as full members of society entitled to ‘equal respect’ that go beyond civil and political rights. In a welfare state, this form of citizenship means that people get entitlements to ‘social rights,’ not ‘handouts’ (Park 2005, 4). Nation-building projects, writes Creese, ‘define political, geographical, social and psychic borders that rely on “imagined communities.” Imagined communities operate through discourses of citizenship that tend to homogenize and erase differences internal to the nation, and separate citizens from (both internally and externally located) “others’’ (2007, 354).’ Canada is defined as a multicultural society, yet in many ways it remains a racialized society where people of colour are treated as ‘immigrants,’ their legal citizenship notwithstanding. Nation states have multiple bordered spaces. Borders are arbitrary constructions and metaphors for the ‘discursive materiality of power relations’ (Brah 1996, 198). The terminology of borders has become increasingly popular in reflections upon the social conditions of life, whether they are psychological, cultural, or of race, gender, and class. By questioning immigration policies, the authors in this volume document how territorial borders are maintained against individuals with particular race, class, and gender identities who seek entry to Canada. In so doing, they reveal the realities of those who are stigmatized as they negotiate their daily routines at work and at home. Immigrant women encounter ‘borders’ at the workplace, health clinics, socialservice agencies, and malls that exclude them. For them, citizenship is ‘a normative ideology that dictates how members of a given nationstate should behave depending upon particular social markers including race and gender’ (Park 2005, 5). They resist, individually and collectively, the assumptions and expectations of others to define who they are, asserting instead the right to make their own choices with honour, dignity, and self-respect. The hopes and dreams that bring immigrants to Canada are described in the next section by relying on the voice of novelists. Conclusion ‘I left them all and walked briskly towards the aeroplane, not looking back, looking only at my shadow before me, a dancing dwarf on the tarmac.’ In this memorable sentence, V.S. Naipaul captures the hope

Introduction

29

with which immigrants leave their homes in search for other, better ones (2003, 78). Immigrants, in our technological age, may no longer fantasize about ‘streets paved with gold,’ yet they expect, with hard work and determination, to make a better life for their families and themselves. Canada is a ‘land of immigrants,’ as the cliché reminds us, and migrants from all over the world have chosen to come here to make it their home. In the process of constructing brick-and-mortar as well as emotional homes, walls are built by others, as well as by immigrants, that separate, isolate, and exclude. The process is described by Salman Rushdie (2002, 336): The migrant, severed from his roots, often transplanted into a new language, always obliged to learn the ways of a new community, is forced to confront the great questions of change and adaptation; but many migrants, faced with the sheer existential difficulty of making such changes, and also, often, with the sheer alienness and defensive hostility of the peoples among whom they find themselves, retreat from such questions behind the walls of the old culture they have both brought along and left behind. The running man, rejected by those people who have built great walls to keep him out, leaps into a confining stockade of his own.

Immigrants displaced from their ‘homes,’ nevertheless, ‘forbear their despair, to work through their anxieties and alienations towards a life that is radically incomplete and yet intricately communitarian, busy with activity, noisy with stories, garrulous with grotesquerie, gossip, humor, aspirations, fantasies – these are the signs of a culture of survival’ (Bhabha 2000, 140–1). The imagined life of immigrants, with all its particularities, is less significant than the quest to realize the dream. The journey, the process, moulds and shapes who we are as individuals and as a collective and what we will become in the future. ‘The Grail is a chimera. The quest for the Grail is the Grail … The point of the Odyssey is the Odyssey’ (Rushdie 2002, 352). Immigration requires the crossing of frontiers – physical and metaphorical, visible and invisible, known and unknown – and the line that is drawn is fluid and unstable. ‘Crossing frontiers can be arduous, and there are innumerable risks, but the quest to do so transforms the individual, shapes identity, and enables them to realize their strengths. The individual changes and their presence changes the society in which they live’ (Agnew 2005, 44).

30

Racialized Migrant Women in Canada

The Book Research reported in this volume deals with a number of topics, such as immigrant women’s health, violence against women, activism at the local level, and racism in the social construction of Muslim women in Ontario and Haitian-Canadian women in Quebec. It is based in immigrant cities, such as Toronto and Montreal, and in places that are more sparsely populated by immigrants, such as Halifax. Some of the chapters are written from an interdisciplinary perspective, others from the viewpoint of sociology, law, health studies, nursing, or political science. The authors included in this volume have diverse identities: first-generation racialized immigrants; white Canadians; white American immigrants; and white Québécois. The authors are predominantly academics, but some activists and community members are included as well. The emphasis here is not on identity politics or on an abstract and theoretical discussion of the nature and form of equality. Rather the authors document economic, social, legal, and political inequalities experienced by immigrant women in specific contexts, as, for example, in accessing health care, seeking to live in violence-free homes, at work, and within communities. Feminists have argued that the public and private domains are not separate and discrete; rather, they are interconnected. The power relations embedded in class, race, and gender hierarchies and experienced in the public domain structure our private and everyday relations. Janet Mosher, in ‘The Complicity of the State in the Intimate Abuse of Immigrant Women,’ argues that dependant and sponsored spouse’s restrictive entitlement to social assistance makes it difficult for them to leave abusive partners. Sometimes a spouse may threaten to withdraw the sponsorship of his wife and her children to ensure her greater subordination and to make her acquiescent to his abuse. Abused women’s situation in smaller cities with fewer, dispersed immigrants is no different from that in Toronto with its diverse communities that are sometimes concentrated in specific neighbourhoods. Cottrell, Moncayo, and Tastsoglou document, in ‘Violence in Immigrant Families in Halifax,’ that women with limited resources who are abused are sometimes also marginalized and stigmatized by their ethnic communities and are thus reluctant to leave abusive spouses, fearing the racism of social-service providers, physicians, and the police. The assumption underlying the chapters in this volume is that migrant women, as Canadian citizens or even as landed immigrants, have the legislated right to equality. Equality is defined by the authors as

Introduction

31

equal opportunity, equality of access without arbitrary obstructions, and the right to equal treatment. They argue that inequality, whether ideological or in practice, systemic or part of our everyday experiences, needs to be identified, dismantled, and eliminated. Certain chapters document how, despite the guarantee of equality, the everyday experiences of immigrant women in specific contexts are ones of inequality. For example, Arlene Bierman, Farah Ahmad, and Farah Mawani, in ‘Gender, Migration, and Health,’ and Ito Peng and Margot Lettner, in ‘Review of Health and Policy Research on Older Immigrants,’ question whether immigrant women of diverse identities have equal access to health services as white Canadians. Do existing health policies and programs meet their specific physical and mental health needs. Denise Spitzer, in ‘Policy (In)Action: Policy-Making, Health and Migrant Women,’ argues that the lack of gender and diversity analysis in governmental policies, at the federal and provincial levels, has the unintended outcome of restricting women’s access to health care. At the same time, the inequalities experienced by migrant women within educational institutions and at work make them more prone to poor health. The resilience of immigrants and the significance of the social support that they give to each other is discussed by Vissandjée, Apale, and Wieringa in ‘Reaching Out and Scaling Up: The Dynamics and Relevance of Migrant Women’s Social Capital.’ Oppression can take many different guises, and in this book the authors deal with different aspects of it, sometimes emphasizing one over the other. An immigrant woman is exploited when the benefits of her labour go to others without appropriate reciprocity. Monica Boyd and Jessica Yiu, in ‘Immigrant Women and Earnings Inequality in Canada,’ examine Canadian statistical data to explain how and why income inequalities persist between immigrant women and Canadian-born females of similar characteristics. Many authors here note, in discussing various situations, that the devaluation of educational qualifications and work experience gained in Asia, Africa, and Latin America leads to inequalities of outcomes. Immigrant women are marginalized when excluded from participation in social activities, advocacy, and community organizing, as documented by Jill Hanley in ‘Challenging Gendered and Ethno-Racial Assumptions in Organizing for Housing Rights.’ Immigrant women are powerless when they live and work under the authority of others and have little autonomy. Muslim and Haitian immigrant women experience cultural imperialism when they are stereotyped and discriminated against as discussed by Annie Bunting and

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Racialized Migrant Women in Canada

Shadi Mokhtari in ‘Migrant Muslim Women’s Interests and the Case of “Shari’a” Tribunals in Ontario’ and Louise Racine in ‘Haitian-Canadians’ Experiences of Racism in Quebec.’ The research presented in this book draws our attention to the continuing phenomenon of discrimination based on factors such as race, gender, and country of origin. The challenge for the authors here lies in identifying the biases of social structures and public policies while recognizing the human agency of the women who are victimized but nevertheless struggle, resist, and sometimes overcome their circumstances.

NOTES 1 For a detailed discussion of this terminology, see Vijay Agnew, Resisting Discrimination: Women from Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean and the Women’s Movement in Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996). 2 There were numerous grounds by which prospective immigrants could be excluded such as ‘nationality, ethnic group, occupation, or class of the applicant,’ and ‘unsuitability with regard to climatic, economic, social, industrial, educational, labour, health, or other requirements. There were additional grounds such as ‘probable inability to become readily assimilated or to assume the duties and responsibilities of Canadian citizenship within a reasonable time after admission’ (Abu-Laban and Gabriel 2002, 40–1).

REFERENCES Abella, Rosalie. 1984. Equality in Employment: A Royal Commission Report. Ottawa: Minister of Supply and Services. Abu-Laban, Yasmeen, and Christina Gabriel. 2002. Selling Diversity: Immigration, Multiculturalism, Employment Equity, and Globalization. Peterborough, ON: Broadview. Agnew, Vijay. 2005. ‘Language Matters.’ In Diaspora, Memory, and Identity: A Search for Home, ed. Vijay Agnew, 23–47. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. – 1998. In Search of a Safe Place: Abused Women and Culturally Sensitive Services. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Introduction

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– 1996. Resisting Discrimination. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Aiken, Sharryn. 1997. ‘From Slavery to Expulsion: Racism, Canadian Immigration Law and the Unfulfilled Promise of Modern Constitutionalism.’ In Interrogating Race and Racism, ed. Vijay Agnew, 55–111. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Anderson, Joan M. 2000a. ‘Writing in Subjugated Knowledges: Towards a Transformative Agenda in Nursing Research.’ Nursing Inquiry 7(3): 145. – 2000b. ‘Gender, ‘Race,’ Poverty, Health and Discourses of Health Reform in the Context of Globalization: A Postcolonial Feminist Perspective in Policy Research.’ Nursing Inquiry 7(4): 220–9. Anderson, Joan M., and Sheryl Reimer Kirkham. 1998. ‘Constructing Nation: The Gendering and the Racializing of the Canadian Health Care System.’ In Painting the Maple: Essays on Race, Gender, and the Construction of Canada, ed. Veronica Strong-Boag et al., 242–61. Vancouver: UBC Press. Bannerji, Himani. 1987. ‘Introducing Racism: Notes towards an Anti-Racist Feminism.’ Resources for Feminist Research 16(1). Beiser, Morton. 1999. Strangers at the Gate: The ‘Boat People’s’ First Ten Years in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Bhabha, Homi. 2000. ‘The Vernacular Cosmopolitan.’ In Voices of the Crossing, ed. Ferdinand Dennis and Naseem Khan, 133–42. London: Arts Council of England. Blum, Lawrence. 2004. ‘What Do Accounts of “Racism” Do?’ In Racism in Mind, ed. Michael Levine and Tamas Pataki, 56–77. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Bolaria, Singh, and Peter Li. 1988. Racial Oppression in Canada. Toronto: Garamond. Boyd, Monica. 1997. ‘Migration Policy, Female Dependency, and Family Membership: Canada and Germany.’ In Women and the Canadian Welfare State: Challenges and Change, ed. Patricia Evans and Gerda Wekerle, 142–69. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. – 1992. ‘Gender Issues in Immigration Trends and Language Fluency: Canada and the United States.’ In Immigration Language and Ethnic Issues: Public Policy in Canada and the United States, ed. Barry R. Chiswick, 305–72. Washington: American Enterprise Institute. – 1990. ‘Immigrant Women: Language, Socio-economic Inequalities and Policy Issues.’ In Ethnic Demography: Canadian Immigrant, Racial and Cultural Variations, ed. S. Halli, F. Trovato, and L. Driedger, 275–93. Ottawa: Carleton University Press. Boyd, Monica, John DeVries, and Keith Simkins. 1994. ‘Language, Economic Status, and Immigration.’ In Immigration and Refugee Policy: Australia and

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Canada Compared, ed. Howard Adelman, Allan Borowski, Meyer Burstein, and Lois Foster. Volume 1. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Boyd, Monica, and Deanna Pikkov. 2005. Gendering Migration, Livelihood and Entitlements: Migrant Women in Canada and the United States. Geneva: United Nations Research Institute For Social Development. Brah, Avtar. 1996. Cartographies of Diaspora. London: Routledge Brand, Dionne. 1994. ‘“We Weren’t Allowed to Go into Factory Work until Hitler Started the War”: The 1920s to the 1940s.’ In We’re Rooted Here and They Can’t Pull Us Up, ed. Peggy Bristow, 171–92. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Bristow, Peggy, ed., et al. 1994. We’re Rooted Here and They Can’t Pull Us Up. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Burnet, Jean, ed. 1986. Looking into My Sister’s Eyes: An Exploration in Women’s History. Toronto: Multicultural History Society of Ontario. Butler, Judith. 1990. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York: Routledge. Citizenship and Immigration Canada. 1994. Immigration Statistics, 1992. Collins, Patricia. 2000. Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and The Politics of Empowerment. New York: Routledge. Cooper, Davina. 2004. Challenging Diversity: Rethinking Equality and the Value of Difference. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Creese, Gillian. 2007. ‘From Africa to Canada: Bordered Spaces, Border Crossings, and Imagined Communities.’ In Interrogating Race and Racism, ed. Vijay Agnew. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Dua, Enakshi. 2004. ‘Racializing Imperial Canada: Indian Women and the Making of an Ethnic Community.’ In Sisters or Strangers? Immigrant, Ethnic, and Racialized Women in Canadian History, ed. Marlene Epp, Franca Iacovetta, and Frances Swyripa, 71–88. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Epp, Marlene, Franca Iacovetta, and Frances Swyripa. 2004. Sisters or Strangers? Immigrant, Ethnic, and Racialized Women in Canadian History. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Essed, Philomena. 1991. Understanding Everyday Racism: An Interdisciplinary Theory. London: Sage. Fleras, Augie. 2004. ‘Racializing Culture/Culturalising Race.’ In Racism, Eh? A Critical Interdisciplinary Anthology of Race and Racism in Canada, ed. Camille Nelson and Charmaine Nelson, 429–43. Toronto: Captus Press. Fraser, Nancy. 1997. Justice Interruptus: Critical Reflections on the ‘Postsocialist’ Condition. New York: Routledge. Giles, Judy. 2002. ‘Narratives of Gender, Class, and Modernity in Women’s Memories of Mid-Twentieth Century Britain.’ Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 28(1): 21–41.

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Henry, Frances, and Carol Tator. 2002. Discourses of Domination. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. hooks, bell. 1984. Feminist Theory from Margin to Center. Boston: South End Press. – 2003. Teaching Community: A Pedagogy of Hope. New York: Routledge. Hoerder, Dirk. 1999. Creating Societies: Immigrant Lives in Canada. Kingston: McGill-Queens University Press. Jhappan, Radha. 2002. ‘The Equality Pit or the Rehabilitation of Justice?’ In Women’s Legal Strategies in Canada, ed. Radha Jhappan, 175–236. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Kymlicka, Will. 1995. Multicultural Citizenship. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Li, Peter. 2003. Destination Canada: Immigration Debates and Issues. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Li, Peter, ed. 1990. Race and Ethnic Relations in Canada. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Lorde, Audre. 1982. Zami: A New Spelling of My Name. Trumansburg, NY: The Crossing Press. Marjury, Diana. 2002. ‘Women’s (In)Equality before and after the Charter.’ In Women’s Legal Strategies in Canada, ed. Radha Jhappan, 101–34. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Naipaul, V.S. 2003. Literary Occasions: Essays. Toronto: Alfred A. Knopf. Nussbaum, Martha. 1999. Sex and Social Justice. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ong, Aihwa. 1999. Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transnationality. Durham: Duke University Press. Ontario Human Rights Commission. 2005. Policy and Guidelines on Racism and Racial Discrimination. Toronto: Ontario Human Rights Commission. Parekh, Pushpa. 1997. ‘Naming One’s Place, Claiming One’s Space: Literature about Immigrant Women.’ In Ideas of Home: Literature of Asian Migration, ed. Geoffrey Kain, 171–82. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press. Park, Lisa Sun-Hee. 2005. Consuming Citizenship: Children of Asian Immigrant Entrepreneurs. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Procter, James. 2004. Stuart Hall. London and New York: Routledge. Razak, Shereen. 1998. Looking White People in the Eye: Gender, Race, and Culture in Courtrooms and Classrooms. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Ristock, Janice, and Joan Pennell. 1996. Community Research as Empowerment. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Roy, Patricia. 1990. A White Man’s Province: British Columbia and Chinese and Japanese Immigrants, 1858–1914. Vancouver: UBC Press. Rushdie, Salman. 2002. Step across This Line: Collected Non-fiction 1992–2002. Toronto: Alfred A. Knopf.

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Sen, Amartya. 2001. Development as Freedom. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Simmons, Alan. 1998. ‘Racism and Immigration Policy.’ In Racism and Social Inequality in Canada, ed. Vic Satzewich, 87–114. Toronto: Thompson Educational Publishing. – 1990. ‘“New Wave” Immigrants: Origins and Characteristics.’ In Ethnic Demography: Canadian Immigrant, Racial and Cultural Variations, ed. Shiva Halli, Frank Trovato, and Leo Driedger, 141–60. Ottawa: Carleton University Press. Small, Stephen. 1999. ‘The Contours of Racialization Structures: Structures, Representations, and Resistance in the United States.’ In Race, Identity and Citizenship: A Reader, ed. Rodolfo Torres, Louis Miron, and Jonathan Inda, 47–64. Maiden, MA: Blackwell. Stasiulis, Daiva, and Abigail Bakan. 2005. Negotiating Citizenship: Migrant Women in Canada and the Global System. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Thobani, Sunera. 2000. ‘Nationalizing Canadians: Bordering Immigrant Women in the Late Twentieth Century.’ Canadian Journal of Women and the Law 12(2): 279–312. – 1998. ‘Nationalizing Canadians: Bordering Immigrant Women. Globalization and the Racialization of Citizenship in the Late 20th Century.’ PhD dissertation, Simon Fraser University. Torres, Rodolfo, Louis Miron, and Jonathan Inda, eds. 1999. Race, Identity and Citizenship: A Reader. Maiden, MA: Blackwell. Weir, Allison. 2000. ‘From the Subversion of Identity to the Subversion of Solidarity? Judith Butler and the Critique of Women’s Identity.’ In Open Boundaries: A Canadian Women’s Studies Reader, ed. Barbara Crow and Lise Gotell, 43–50. Toronto: Prentice Hall. Young, Iris. 1990. Justice and the Politics of Difference. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Yuval-Davis, Nira, and Pnina Werbner, eds. 1999. Women, Citizenship and Difference. London: Zed.

PART ONE Immigrant Women and Violence

Violence against women as a subject of debate entered Canadian public discourse in the 1980s and immediately took on an intensity that gave it significance in most accounts on women. Academics, activists, and women’s groups entered this debate and sought to define what constituted violence and to substantiate its widespread prevalence in society. They went on to analyse various academic theories and popular myths about the causes of violence against women, and rethought society’s obligation to provide security and protection to the isolated and vulnerable woman in the privacy of her home. In response to the widespread concern over violence against women the federal government appointed a task force to examine the problem, and their report, Changing the Landscape: Ending Violence, Achieving Equality (Canadian Panel on Violence Against Women, 1993), provides an overall picture of the incidence of violence and recommends strategies for eliminating it from families, communities, and society. A more recent report, Family Violence in Canada (Statistics Canada, 2006), notes that 85 per cent of the victims of spousal violence were women and such violence had grave consequences for them. ‘Female victims aged 15 years and over were almost seven times more likely to be sexually assaulted than male victims (20% versus 3%), five times more likely to report being choked (20% versus 4%), more than twice as likely to report being beaten (25% versus 10%) and almost twice as likely to report being threatened with a gun or a knife or had one used against them (13% versus 7%). Female victims were also pushed, grabbed or shoved almost twice more than male victims (81% versus 43%)’ (Statistics Canada 2006). These women were victims of multiple incidents of spousal violence, and the severity of the attacks made

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them fear for their lives. There are fewer statistics on the prevalence of violence in immigrant families, although acute and chronic health outcomes of intimate partner violence against women have been documented in the literature. The definition of violence can vary. Some define it as physical and psychological harm, while others, such as Barbara Cottrell, Evangelia Tastsoglou, and Carmen Celina Moncayo in their chapter ‘Violence in Immigrant Families in Halifax,’ define it more broadly to incorporate factors such as financial and spiritual abuse. Janet Mosher, in ‘The Complicity of the State in the Intimate Abuse of Immigrant Women,’ notes that we need to ‘reconsider how we conceptualize violence against women in the home, with attention paid to the often violent ways the state enters the homes and lives of marginalized women, to the explosion of a culture of enforcement across a range of public institutions, and to the simultaneous neglect of women and children in the home.’ The structural factors examined by Mosher relate to the social assistance (‘welfare’) and immigration systems. Poverty and racism that often result from structural inequalities perpetuated by race, gender, and class oppression are also a form of violence against those who are thus subordinated. In Part One’s chapters the authors define violence from a feminist perspective, that is, as a form of control, and they specifically focus on intimate partner violence within the patriarchal family. The racial and class identity of a woman are critical for they can influence whether she discloses the abuse and to whom, how she struggles against it and survives (or not), and the choices and options available to eliminate it from her life. Silence about violence within the family and inhibitions about invading its privacy, in the past, only helped to perpetuate the horrendous abuse of some women and facilitated its denial and relegation of responsibility by all others – whether friends, family, or society in general. Violence against immigrant women raises difficult questions for the individual who wishes to report it and for the racial and ethnic community to which they belong. Disclosing or reporting violence within immigrant families runs the risk of further stigmatizing the cultures to which they belong, for it can reinforce stereotypes that some cultures are more patriarchal or inherently more violent than others (Bannerji 2002). For example, in a context where blacks are stereotyped as being prone to violence, does the reporting of intimate partner violence to the police further jeopardize the woman, the perpetrator, and also the community? Women

39

may also be censured by their ethnic and racialized communities for disclosing such abuses, and disclosure may lead to their greater alienation and isolation (Agnew 1998). An immigrant woman can confront special dilemmas, as in the case of sponsored dependant spouses and their children, as discussed by Mosher and Cottrell et al. in the following chapters. When racialized women are stereotyped as powerless victims of their patriarchal cultures, their choices are constrained. Such labelling does not fully account for the structural impediments created by immigrant status, particularly for sponsored dependant spouses who are also in need of social assistance. Mosher’s analysis gives the lie to such stereotyping of victims of violence. She explores the experiences of abused immigrant women within Ontario’s welfare system and details the intersections of the welfare system, the immigration system, and intimate violence. In their relationships with these three ‘sites’ of their lives, women are treated with suspicion; access to information is controlled by others in order to wield power over them; and women constantly live in fear of violating a ‘rule’ or ‘expectation,’ for which they will be harshly punished. Mosher goes on to explore how abused immigrant women are constructed within three different (and evolving) discourses of security: those of ‘national security,’ ‘social security,’ and domestic violence. Immigrant communities that are buffeted by racism, whether subtle or blatant, interactional or systemic, can become re-committed to the oppressive cultural (gender) norms of their communities as a means of protecting their sense of self and their dignity. Women sometimes have more to gain by assimilating to the dominant cultural norms of their local communities in Canada, such as the belief in equality of the genders, however imperfectly understood and practised (Okin 2005). Immigration detaches the individual from their social networks in their countries of origin and the protection, however nominal, of family and community disapproval of violence against spouses. In Canada, social services provide a more stable safety net, but racism and class biases become obstacles that sometimes prevent women from accessing help until it reaches a point of crisis and becomes life-threatening. Cottrell et al. explore immigrant women’s experience of violence in intimate domestic situations in Nova Scotia. Based on the qualitative analysis of three focus groups, the authors discuss the dimensions of the domestic abuse experienced by immigrant women, the gap in relationship-building between policymakers and immigrant women and

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the ways in which immigrant women challenge racist and sexist stereotypes and contribute to social change despite the intersecting cultural, race, class, and gender obstacles they face.

REFERENCES Agnew, Vijay. 1998. In Search of a Safe Place: Abused Women and Culturally Sensitive Services. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Bannerji, Himani. 2002. ‘A Question of Silence: Reflections on Violence Against Women in Communities of Colour.’ In Violence Against Women: New Canadian Perspectives, ed. Katherine McKenna and June Larkin, 353–70. Toronto: Inana Publications. Canadian Panel on Violence Against Women. 1993. Changing the Landscape: Ending Violence, Achieving Equality. Ottawa: Supply and Services Canada. Okin, Susan. 2005. ‘Multiculturalism and Feminism: No Simple Question, No Simple Answer.’ In Minorities within Minorities: Equality, Rights, and Diversity, ed. Avigail Eiserberg and Jeff Spinner-Halev, 67–89. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Statistics Canada. 2006. ‘Fact Sheet on Violence Against Women.’ Retrieved from www.swc-cfc.gc.ca/dates/dec6/facts_e.html.

1 The Complicity of the State in the Intimate Abuse of Immigrant Women ja ne t m o s he r

While without question individual men are responsible, and ought to be held accountable, for the violence they perpetrate against their intimate partners, a focus on individual men often obscures the ways in which social institutions, structures, and ideologies enable intimate violence. This critical insight of early feminist work on woman abuse is one of which we must be relentlessly mindful, for it is easily lost in the quest to find solutions to the ongoing abuse of women. In particular, the focus of much mainstream feminist activism upon the role of the criminal-justice system in punishing individual men – in which state intervention is assumed to be an ally of women that can be invoked to render women more secure – obscures the multiple ways in which the state renders many women, but especially low-income and racialized women, less safe and less secure.1 As Anannya Bhattacharjee invites us to do, we need to reconsider how we conceptualize violence against women in the home, with attention paid to the often violent ways the state enters the homes and lives of marginalized women, to the explosion of a culture of enforcement across a range of public institutions, and to the simultaneous state neglect of women and children in the home (2002). In addition, we need to attend to the state’s active participation in the construction and promulgation of current discourses of ‘safety’ and ‘security’ that underlie these practices. So, for example, the state has actively participated in a discourse that constructs ‘immigrants’ as a threat to national security, and welfare recipients as lazy, undisciplined fraudsters who threaten the economic interests of hardworking taxpayers. These constructions not only map in disturbing ways onto batterer behaviour, as I detail below, but also diminish public concern for the well-being and safety of low-income and immigrant

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women. The stereotypes underpinning these constructions also invite important questions about precisely who is being rendered ‘secure’ or ‘safe’ and whose interests are being protected.2 To explore these concerns, I focus on migrant women’s experiences of intimate abuse and, in particular, on how these experiences are constituted not only by the actions of the batterer, but by social structures – structures that on occasion may help to alleviate that violence, but which far too often reinforce the batterer’s conduct and enable his power. The two structures that I examine in detail play significant roles in women’s lives: the social assistance, or ‘welfare,’ system, and the immigration system. I draw upon an earlier research project (2001–3) in which I was involved that included interviews with sixty-four women in the province of Ontario who had experienced abuse in an intimate relationship and who had been in receipt of welfare since 1995 (a time during which major welfare reforms were introduced) (Mosher et al. 2004).3 Of these women, 60 per cent had immigrated to Canada. I draw most heavily upon interviews with twelve of the women who had immigrated to Canada within the decade prior to the interviews. Their stories help to reveal the troubling role social structures may play in the lives of abused women. The defining feature of an abusive relationship is the exercise of power and control by the abuser over his intimate partner. While much public attention has focused on physical violence within such relationships, violence is but one of the tactics of power and control wielded by abusive men (Pence and Paymar 1993). Men assert and maintain their control through a variety of other tactics, among them economic control, isolation, destruction of pets and property, and the manipulation of children. In the accounts of the women in our study, the depth of the power and control exerted by their abusive husbands was chilling. Some women were not permitted out of the home, not even for household chores such as purchasing groceries or doing laundry. One woman, who had lived in another jurisdiction with her husband for six months before immigrating to Canada, was not permitted out of the house on a single occasion, and had absolutely no idea of the country or the people where she had resided. Of those who immigrated to Canada only after marriage, most were not permitted to form friendships or indeed to have any social contacts. Even their contact with family and friends in their natal country was curtailed, monitored, or eliminated altogether. For those who had pre-existing friendships or family in Canada, these

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relationships were either precluded, monitored or controlled in some manner. Most of the women were not permitted to work, study, or take training courses. As Geeta (a pseudonym for one of the women interviewed) so aptly observed, ‘He never permits me to master any skills. I guess he might be thinking that if I lived a life of a simpleton, it would be easier for him to dominate me and put me down.’ The enforced isolation maintained by their batterers colluded with the profound isolation that so commonly accompanies migration and with the isolation that discriminatory practices reproduce.4 Women’s physical appearance was often totally controlled by their abusive husbands: what they could wear; how they could do their hair; and whether they could wear make-up were all matters dictated by their husbands. Their abusive husbands were intensely jealous and suspicious, and merely the brushing or braiding of one’s hair could lead to an accusation of an illicit affair or of prostitution. The depth and sweep of men’s surveillance of women’s activities were extensive: women’s phone use was monitored; they were often surreptitiously spied upon, their comings-and-goings watched; and they were required to account for the most minute details of their everyday lives. The unequivocal message to these women was that they were not to be trusted, and strictly curtailed activity and intense monitoring were justified to ensure the proper wifely conduct that is a husband’s due (DeVault 1991; Dasgupta 2000). As revealed by the quotes below, women commonly equated the control and surveillance in their abusive relationships with that of penal servitude. g eeta : He hates me combing my hair well or making my hair into beautiful braids. He does not like me dressing up nicely and even wearing [customary dress]. Whenever I put some powder on my face, he becomes suspicious and asks me whom am I looking forward to meeting. He is always very suspicious. I like to put on lipstick. When I was young, I was very beautiful. At that time, I used to put lipstick on. At that time, he used to accuse me that I am trying to seduce men … since my marriage, I am living like a prisoner … My husband does not like me talking to anybody. I am not aware of anything; I do not know what is happening in the world. I cannot listen to news or to songs. mar i a : My ex-husband controlled me in any way he could … he never allowed me to choose any of my dresses … He never permitted me to go

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Janet E. Mosher anywhere. He hit me several times for visiting some of my friends without asking him. He did not even allow me to visit my brother … After my marriage took place, I was not allowed to work. shah i da : He always put me down when I lived with him. I am a welleducated person. Nevertheless, after the marriage he did not allow me to go to work. Due to this, I lost my connection to the world or to the current news … He wanted me to depend on him … He used my dependency and treated me as he wished. He even did not allow me to sleep peacefully. It was a prisoner’s life. He always told me that I had no brain. No brain. He always found fault with me.

Punam Khosla’s moving and disturbing description of the familial sphere for low-income and racialized women as ‘a place of little solace, much work and staggering loneliness,’ marked by ‘lack of personal supports, sexist role expectations, abuse and mistreatment,’ and made harsher by the stark reality of there being really ‘nowhere for them to go,’ describes well the lives of the women we interviewed (2003, 51). For many of the women in our study, the power and control of the abusive men in their lives was enlarged and solidified by both state action and inaction. On occasion, abusive men manipulated state systems to further their control, but in other instances, without any manipulation on the batterer’s part, the simple yet distressing reality is that social structures reinforced male power. To explicate this claim, let me begin with an overview of some of the key features of the welfare system in Ontario, and of the federal immigration system, and then turn to the stories of the women themselves. Eligibility for welfare (‘Ontario Works’) benefits in Ontario is needsbased, and the total income and assets of a ‘benefit unit’ is assessed in determining eligibility.5 This means that if one is living with one’s spouse (which itself has a particular definition for welfare purposes), the income and assets of both spouses are assessed. For many women in abusive relationships, this means that they will not be eligible for benefits in their own right unless they are no longer ‘living with’ their abuser. If they apply as a couple, as did some of the women in our study, the common practice is for the cheque to go to the husband, as the assumed ‘head’ of the household. When applying for benefits in Ontario, one is required to provide information to verify one’s status in Canada, and Citizenship and Immigration Canada (CIC) is contacted.6 Indeed, pursuant to the

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Ontario Works Act, the Ministry of Community and Social Services has negotiated an information-sharing agreement with CIC.7 Visitors, tourists, and persons without current legal status (unless an application for refugee status or for humanitarian and compassionate landing has been filed) are ineligible for benefits. Persons are also ineligible if a deportation order has been issued, unless they are able to satisfy the administrator that the inability to leave the country is for reasons wholly beyond their personal control.8 In Ontario, for those under an immigration sponsorship (discussed more fully below), there is an obligation to make ‘reasonable efforts’ to obtain the compensation due under the sponsorship agreement. The policy directive that addresses matters related to immigration sponsorship provides that ‘it is expected that there will not be a need to apply for social assistance or any other government benefits during the sponsorship period.’ The directive goes on to note, however, that the sponsored person may be eligible ‘if the sponsor is not meeting their support obligations.’9 Until recently (December 2004), if a person under an immigration sponsorship was otherwise eligible for benefits, his/her total benefits were automatically reduced by $100 per month; without any material foundation, it was simply inferred that those under sponsorship were receiving $100 each month from their sponsor.10 Amounts in addition to $100 could be deducted if the administrator determined that more was ‘available’ to the welfare recipient from the defaulting sponsor, based on an assessment of the sponsor’s financial capabilities. Note that it was the financial capability of the sponsor that was considered, and not whether monies were in fact being transferred to the sponsored person. Given benefit levels that are horrendously low – $536 per month for a single person, the equivalent of only 35 per cent of the poverty line in 2004 – a further arbitrary deduction of $100 makes surviving practically impossible. It is important to observe as well that this rule applied irrespective of the status of the person under sponsorship, including persons who were Canadian citizens yet still under sponsorship. Significantly, there were (and continue to be) exemptions in Ontario for victims of domestic violence. Under the prior regime, the $100 deduction could be avoided if one could satisfy the administrator that the breakdown in the undertaking was by reason of family violence.11 The policy directive now provides that the obligation to make reasonable efforts to pursue compensation available under the sponsorship agreement may be temporarily waived if there is ‘a breakdown in the

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sponsorship relationship because of abuse and/or family violence.’ The directive goes on to note that ‘[i]f at application, there is no clear evidence to establish abuse, the person is expected to make reasonable efforts to verify the claim of abuse to the satisfaction of the Administrator (e.g., reasonable third party verification from the police, a lawyer, or a community or health care professional.’) A permanent waiver may be granted where ‘there is evidence of abuse or family violence over a prolonged period of time and the Administrator is satisfied it is not in the best interest of the sponsored immigrant to pursue support.’ The final observation to make at this juncture about the welfare system is that Ontario Works will notify CIC of any default of the sponsorship. Tellingly, CIC defines default as the receipt of social assistance by the sponsored person.12 A sponsor is not in default if he fails to meet the essential needs of the sponsored person; thus, as Côté et al. suggest, the state is more interested in women’s not becoming public charges than in women’s well-being (Côté et al. 2001, 32). The sponsor will receive notification from both OW and CIC of the default, and will be asked to attend a meeting with OW to determine his ability to honour the sponsorship undertaking and agreement. A recent amendment in July 2008 provides that if the sponsored person is at risk of domestic violence as a result of the notice to CIC, this must (emphasis in original) be noted on the referral and no letter is to be sent by CIC (emphasis in original).13 Importantly, this approach recognizes that pursuit of a batterer for economic support by his ex-partner, whether directly or indirectly through an arm of the state, may trigger further and potentially more dangerous forms of violence. Both OW and CIC remind the sponsor that until his debt (all monies paid to support the sponsored person) is repaid to the social-assistance system, he is precluded from sponsoring any other person. This bar on sponsorship serves to lock some women into abusive relationships, particularly if they depend upon their husbands to sponsor or cosponsor other members of their family, for if they leave the relationship and receive social assistance, he will automatically incur a debt that will preclude further sponsorships.14 Like the welfare system, the immigration system is hugely complex, and for those entangled in either system, it is exceptionally difficult to access timely, reliable information about system rules and requirements, a point to which I will return. The immigration system, governed by the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (IRPA), carves out three basic methods of entry to Canada: independent class (chosen based upon a points system); family class; and the protected person

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class.15 While eligibility for permanent resident status is most often determined before one enters Canada, in exceptional circumstances persons can apply from within Canada, in some cases through a ‘humanitarian and compassionate’ application and, in others, through the ‘spouse and common-law partner in Canada class.’ Many women enter Canada under the family class, a feature of which is a required ‘sponsorship’ and ‘undertaking.’ The undertaking is a binding contract between the CIC minister and the sponsor, in which the sponsor undertakes to provide for the sponsored person’s basic requirements and accepts an obligation to repay the government if the sponsored person should receive social-assistance benefits.16 While previously the length of undertaking was up to ten years for spouses, a significant and positive development for women is that the period has now been reduced to three years. The sponsorship agreement is one between the sponsor and the sponsored person wherein the sponsor commits to meeting the basic requirements of the sponsored person, and the sponsored person undertakes to make reasonable efforts to provide for her basic requirements and those of their family members. As noted above, many women will enter Canada as members of the ‘family class,’ sponsored by their husbands. If the application and processing have occurred while the women were abroad, they will enter with permanent residence status (indeed, a cornerstone of IRPA is that prior to their arrival in Canada, persons who wish to live permanently in Canada must submit their application outside Canada then qualify for, and obtain, a permanent resident visa).17 A less common, and more vulnerable situation, is where the application for permanent residence and sponsorship under the family class is initiated from within Canada. Previously, this would entail a humanitarian and compassionate application seeking exemption from the usual requirement that application for permanent residence be made from outside Canada. However, the ‘spouse and common-law partner in Canada class,’ formerly available only in situations where the person to be sponsored had temporary legal status in Canada, was extended in February 2005 to all spouses and common-law partners of one-year duration, irrespective of whether that spouse/partner has temporary legal status.18 The situation for women where the application is initiated from within Canada is more vulnerable, because women in these situations may be without status for a significant period of time, and many will be without work or study permits until ‘approved in principle’ (a six-toseven-month wait, according to CIC, but closer to one to two years in Toronto according to Toronto-area counsel). Moreover, a sponsor may

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withdraw his sponsorship any time prior to the granting of permanent resident status. If he withdraws his sponsorship, the woman sponsored must initiate an application on humanitarian and compassionate (H & C) grounds, or be subject to removal.19 The H & C application process poses several challenges for women, especially for those surviving woman abuse. The process involves two steps: (1) a determination as to whether the hardship of having to obtain a permanent resident visa from outside Canada would be unusual (not contemplated by the Act), undeserved, or disproportionate; (2) it is determined whether the applicant meets the requirements for permanent resident status.20 Several elements for consideration under the H & C process are especially pertinent in cases of sponsorship breakdown where there has been abuse. Guideline 13.10 specifically addresses situations of domestic violence, noting that family members in abusive relationships may feel compelled to stay in the abusive relationship in order to remain in Canada, and directing decisionmakers to be ‘sensitive’ to situations where a woman has left an abusive situation and, as a result, does not have an approved sponsorship (sponsorship being a positive factor in the overall assessment). Decision-makers are to consider, among other things: information indicating that there was abuse, such as police incident reports, charges or convictions, reports from shelters for abused women, and medical reports; whether there is a significant degree of establishment in Canada; the hardship that would result if the applicant had to leave Canada; support of relatives and friends in the applicant’s home country; the length of time in Canada; and whether the marriage or relationship was genuine.21 Significantly, elsewhere the guidelines indicate that the ‘degree of establishment’ may be particularly relevant in some case types, and includes cases of family violence among those identified, suggesting that the degree of establishment will be a very significant factor in assessing the applications of abused women.22 Considerations relevant to degree of establishment include: a history of stable employment; a pattern of sound financial management; integration into the community through involvement in community organizations, voluntary services, or other activities; the undertaking of professional, linguistic, or other study that shows integration; and a good civil record (for example, no interventions by police or other authorities for child or spouse abuse, or criminal charges).23 As Geraldine Sadoway notes, the test of ‘significant degree of establishment’ is more stringent than the test prior to IRPA of ‘establishment potential’ (Sadoway 2004). As I detail below, given the realities of abused women’s lives, the raising of this threshold is a cause for grave concern, for more women will face the risk of deportation.

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If an applicant is successful at step 1, and approved ‘in principle,’ the door is opened to apply for a work permit or a study permit (which will cost $150 and $125, respectively). But there is a significant hurdle remaining: receipt of social assistance is a bar to permanent resident status. While the guidelines indicate that the final determination should be made at the end of the application process, and specifically note that reliance on social assistance may be a temporary situation or a result of the applicant not having been authorized to work in Canada, when all is said and done, if the applicant is still in receipt of social assistance after all other processing has been completed, the application for permanent residence must be refused.24 How, then, do these complex rules pertaining to welfare and immigration play out in the lives of abused women, and how do they shore up the power of abusive men? The stories of women provide a window for us, enabling us to see the disturbing realities of men’s abuse emboldened by state in/action. Consider, for example, Marguerite’s story. Marguerite fled intimate violence in her country of origin and came to Canada as a refugee claimant. Unfortunately, her claim was unsuccessful. At the urging of her friends, she married a Canadian citizen. Although she was reluctant to do so because of her past experience, the combination of her friends’ urgings and the promise from her husbandto-be that he would sponsor her, as well as her young son, whom she had been compelled to leave when fleeing to Canada, swayed her. Shortly after the marriage he became very abusive, and violent episodes were common. After a severe assault, Marguerite fled to a woman’s shelter. A shelter worker arranged a meeting for her with an Ontario Works (welfare) worker. The OW worker did not know whether Marguerite was eligible for benefits because of her immigration status (and in Marguerite’s telling of the story it is unclear whether by this time her husband had initiated the sponsorship, so the precise nature of her status is unclear, but it would seem that it had not been initiated). Four weeks later the answer came back that she was ineligible. Without access to welfare benefits, without a work permit, and pregnant, she had no choice but to return to the relationship. He beat her again, in her words, ‘over and over.’ She adds, ‘My pregnancy ended because I did not have money. I got an abortion because the man did not want the baby and I wasn’t eligible for social assistance, so I could not keep this baby.’ She was completely and utterly dependent upon him, not only for her basic sustenance, but also to enable her reunification with her son, to facilitate her acquisition of permanent resident status, and for her reputation in the community (which he constantly smeared). After

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more violence, she left again for a shelter, where she tried to commit suicide. The shelter called the police, who apprehended her and took her to the hospital. She refused to speak, fearing deportation. I was very depressed thinking they were going to send me back to my country and I did not want that. I did not want to say anything because I did not know what they would say to the police and the police would send me back to my country. [She returned to the shelter for a few days after being discharged from the hospital, and then went back to her husband.] I thought it would be better to go back to my husband because I was so scared because at the shelter they called the police for me too. I went back to him because I did not know what to do and I did not have any friends, income or papers. I was not eligible for welfare or anything … because without him I couldn’t survive in Canada: he’s the one feeding me, he’s the one who was going to process my papers and I know that here I don’t have a work permit … and the baby, I couldn’t feed the baby … I came to this country to save my life and look what this country offered me.

For Marguerite, crucially important to the maintenance of her husband’s continued power over her was her extreme vulnerability – vulnerability that was in large part created by her ineligibility for welfare and her lack of immigration status. Her husband knew this, and he used it. He controlled whether or not her papers would be filed with immigration (the initiation of a sponsorship and application for permanent residence), and whether a sponsorship of her son would be initiated.25 He continually promised that he would sponsor both her and her child, and her future and that of her son was totally within his control, dependent upon whether and when he chose to dispense his mercy and initiate the applications. Her ineligibility for welfare and her lack of a work permit meant that she really no had alternative but to return to the abusive relationship. Of course, these situations compel some to work illegally, but that can hardly be considered a choice, exposing workers, as it does, to demeaning and exploitative work relationships. As noted earlier, in Ontario, those without status in Canada, who have not initiated an application on humanitarian and compassionate grounds, nor made a refugee claim, are ineligible for assistance. The categories of exclusion are even broader in other provinces.26 For women in these categories, the unavailability of state assistance leaves them incredibly vulnerable to abuse and exploitation within their abusive relationships.

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And abusive men can and do use this fact to further entrap their abusive partners. By closing down an avenue of escape, we leave women entrapped. The state, in this manner, neglects the well-being of women and children and ignores their safety, and, in the process, gives more power to abusive men. In addition to the problems caused by categorical ineligibility, lack of knowledge of the availability of social assistance or of other routes to immigration status is a problem in many cases. As noted earlier, both the welfare and immigration systems are notoriously complex, and it is extremely difficult for even a well-resourced English-speaker to access timely and accurate information. Given abused immigrant women’s profound social isolation, given language barriers, given the opaqueness of the systems, and given abusive men’s control and blatant manipulation of information, it is not at all surprising that few women have even basic information about their rights and avenues of recourse (Khosla 2003). Significantly, Côté et al. found in their study of women under sponsorship that ‘ignorance regarding social assistance, even a restricted form of assistance, particularly for women who are victims of violence, is the main reason for preventing women from leaving’ (2001, 88). Moreover, the National Association of Women and the Law et al. note in their brief on Bill C-11 (IRPA) that the information provided by federal authorities regarding the sponsorship undertaking leave many sponsored women with the belief that they are not entitled to benefits at all (National Association on Women and the Law 2001, 14). Similarly, Smith found that most women do not know about changes in the immigration regime that might benefit them (Smith 2004, 23). Let me return to Marguerite’s story to consider the challenges she, and other women, may face when leaving an abusive husband and filing a humanitarian and compassionate claim. First, recall the various factors noted earlier that are relevant to the consideration of whether there is a significant degree of establishment: a history of stable employment; a pattern of sound financial management; integration into the community through involvement in community organizations, voluntary services, or other activities; the undertaking of professional, linguistic, or other study that shows integration; and a good civil record. Marguerite did not have a work permit and was not employed, but for many of the women in our study who could legally work – and most of whom were well-educated, often having had work careers before marriage – their abusive partners absolutely forbade them working. Indeed, total economic domination is a centrally important rope in the web of

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power and control exercised by batterers (Orloff 2001). Not only does employment give women potential access to financial independence, but it enables their social interaction. Both of these factors threaten men’s control, and the latter, particularly if the interactions are with men, may incite his jealously. Thus, few women will be able to show a ‘history of stable employment’ or a ‘pattern of sound financial management.’ Moreover, abused women will often not be able to point to the kind of indicia of ‘social integration’ that CIC is looking for, in large measure because abusive men actively prevent the social integration of their partners, but also because social integration is made difficult by racism, sexism, and the perpetuation of negative attitudes towards immigrants (Côté et al. 2001). Demonstrating a good civil record, with ‘no interventions by police or other authorities with respect to child or spouse abuse’ and no criminal charges, will also create difficulties for some abused women. While women, especially racialized women, rarely invoke police assistance, we do know that when it is invoked the response can be deeply problematic (Battacharjee 2002; Martin and Mosher 1995). While without a doubt some women are assisted by police intervention, for others the results of the intervention are decidedly harmful. Marguerite was deeply afraid of police involvement; like so many women who do not have status, she was gravely concerned that police involvement would lead to a report to CIC and, ultimately, to her deportation.27 Police intervention places women without status in a position of incredible jeopardy. Another negative consequence of police intervention is the potential that she will be charged, rather than, or in addition to, her abuser. In the wake of the introduction of mandatory charging policies in cases of woman abuse, a disturbing trend that began to emerge was the dual charging of both husband and wife. Distressingly, many women’s advocates note that more recently they are seeing a rise in the number of cases where only women are being charged (Pollack et al. 2005). The recent study by Pollack et al. reveals that both police and Crown attorneys may be inattentive to the context of particular acts of criminal misconduct, missing the crucial distinction between aggressive and defensive acts. The partners of the women in the study were able to successfully manipulate the criminal justice system to avoid charges themselves and to shift the blame to their female partners, often employing the knowledge they had acquired from having been previously charged and convicted. This is all the more likely to happen when one spouse – and it will often be the abusive husband – has better command

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of English than the other. Indeed, a few of the women in our study provided shocking accounts of how their abusers were able to manipulate the police response by their greater command of English. In one case, after severely beating his wife in a public parking lot, an abusive man called the police to report that he had been assaulted. When the police arrived later at their home, her husband did all of the talking and she was unable to communicate with the officers in English. She was apprehended and arrested, but with the subsequent intervention and assistance of a woman who had come to her aid while she was being attacked, her release was secured. The women whom Pollack et al. interviewed were less fortunate; none of the nineteeen were given an opportunity to provide a context for their own actions, including the ten women regarding whom there was a documented history of their partners’ violence. Demonstrating no intervention by police and no criminal charges may prove troublesomely problematic. A further hurdle is created by the reference to the sorts of information that decision-makers are to consider in determining whether there was abuse: police incident reports, charges or convictions; reports from shelters; and medical reports. As noted above, most women do not report the abuse to police, nor do they disclose it to doctors, welfare workers, or local community leaders. The women in our study almost invariably said that disclosure of the abuse would only create more problems in their lives. For good reason, they worried about the loss of control that would come with disclosure; they had no idea what would be done with the information once disclosed and no reason to trust that it would not be used to harm them. Many feared that if their batterers learned of a disclosure, they would be seriously harmed, if not killed. They went to doctors with broken arms and other injuries (and almost always with their husbands) and attributed the injuries to mishaps. They refused to call the police, and went to great lengths to prevent their children from witnessing the violence or seeing the aftermath of the abuse. dan i ka : I wanted to discuss my life with somebody. Nevertheless, at the time I did not have anybody reliable to whom to disclose these issues. At the same time, I did not want to contact any of the [community] counsellors because I thought it was very unsafe to talk with them, the reason being my suspicion is that my husband could find this out someday. [She later told her parents, who compelled her to stay.] I had nobody to rely on. I stiffened like a rock. I thought this is my fate and I decided to stay with him. During those days, I buried myself in a nutshell … I did not want to

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The lack of an evidentiary record of the abuse will then work against the interests of women, not only in relation to immigration, but also in seeking welfare assistance, for recall that exemption from the obligation to pursue financial compensation under the sponsorship agreement turns upon third-party verification. Here, we can learn from the American experience. A provision in the American immigration legislation requiring verification of abuse by defined professionals proved to be a significant impediment to women’s access to the protective provisions of the legislation. Indeed, the evidentiary requirements undermined the very purpose of the protective provisions as so few abused women were able to satisfy them. In light of this experience, the legislation was revised to authorize the attorney general to consider ‘any credible evidence’ of abuse (Franco 1996). Yet we need only consider experiences with police officers’ assessments of credible evidence relating to intimate violence from the Pollack et al. study to see that even this broad and general standard may be inadequate. In sum, the overall effect of the establishment criteria is to pose a tremendous challenge for abused women. In many respects the criteria are not merely insensitive to the situation of abused women, but are, rather, the very antithesis of what one would expect in a policy attentive to the dynamics of abuse. Moreover, if assessed and applied by persons without an in-depth understanding not only of the dynamics of abusive relationships, but of the various and sometimes problematic ways in which the state intervenes, abused women will fare poorly. Let us assume for a moment that a woman successfully navigates her way through step one of the humanitarian and compassionate application process. To get through step two, she must not be ‘inadmissible,’

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and while there are various categories of inadmissibility, probably the most salient for abused women are those of criminality and receipt of social assistance. Deeply troubling in the Pollack et al. study is not only the finding of women being charged with assault, but that many women (six of nineteen in the study) were charged with ‘assault with a weapon.’ The weapons used by the women to defend themselves were items readily at hand, including an empty plastic bottle, an empty tape dispenser, and a telephone. Assault with a weapon is a hybrid offence, and so may be prosecuted at the election of the Crown either by indictment (carrying a penalty of up to ten years) or by way of summary conviction (a penalty of up to eighteen months).28 Problematically, the new ‘serious criminality’ provisions of IRPA deem hybrid offences to be indictable, irrespective of how the Crown elects to proceed in any given case.29 Moreover, any foreign national or permanent resident convicted of an offence where the maximum penalty under the Criminal Code is ten years, or where the actual sentence imposed is six months or more, is inadmissible. Hence, the charge of assault with a weapon would result in a finding of inadmissibility for both foreign nationals and permanent residents. In addition, a foreign national is inadmissible if convicted of any offence punishable by indictment, or of two offences not arising from a single act, irrespective of the length of the possible or actual sentence(s). Given Pollack et al.’s additional finding that women felt tremendous pressure to plead guilty, often because they lacked financial resources, there is a grave concern that abused immigrant women who have acted to defend themselves will be charged, convicted, and, as such, rendered inadmissible, at step two of the H & C application. Importantly, the United States Congress, in the Violence Against Women Act 2000, went some distance to address concerns of this sort, authorizing the attorney general to consider a battered woman to have shown ‘good moral character’ (part of the test for her independent application for permanent residency) despite having been convicted of crimes that would otherwise preclude status, and to waive certain bars to admissibility or grounds of deportation if she can show that she was not the primary perpetrator of violence in the relationship, that the crime did not result in serious bodily injury, and that there was a connection between the crime and the abuse suffered.30 No similar provisions exist in Canada. The second ground of inadmissibility that holds particular relevance for abused women is that of receipt of social assistance. It is only upon approval at step one that a woman becomes eligible for a work permit.

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As noted, this will cost her $150, and this is on top of the $550 per adult (and $150 per child) processing fee she would have to have paid to apply. Where will she get this money? Again, the absolute economic dependence so characteristic of abusive relationships will mean that very few women have had, or have now, access to either their own, or joint marital, savings or other economic resources. Note as well that even if she is able to find someone to lend her the money, this will not put her ahead at all if she is in receipt of social assistance, because in Ontario, loans are deemed to be ‘income,’ and the amount of the loan is deducted, dollar for dollar, in the calculation of the monthly welfare cheque. Moreover, labour-market entry will not be easy for many women. While the guidelines do note that because it is only after step one that an applicant is eligible for a work permit, and some time may be needed to find employment and become self-sufficient, this acknowledgment does not go far enough. Because of the batterer’s control, a woman may have been out of the labour market for a considerable period of time, and she may find that her lack of recent work experience, her lack of ‘Canadian experience,’ a race- and gender-segregated labour market, the decline in the availability of full-time, permanent employment, and the lack of childcare all make it exceedingly difficult for her to find work at all, let alone decent work (Khosla 2003; Orloff 2001, 619). Moreover, the harms of past abuse may make waged work unattainable; many women require a period of healing before being able to sustain employment. And the workplace is a very unsafe place for women who are being stalked by enraged batterers. Thus, precluding permanentresident status based on receipt of social assistance serves, again, to render women more vulnerable. Acknowledging this reality, the U.S. Congress amended its immigration legislation so that receipt of public benefits by battered immigrants would not be considered in making ‘public charge’ determinations that would preclude permanent residence status. This measure is much more meaningful than Canada’s simple acknowledgment that some time might be needed. The establishment criterion and the bar to permanent residence created by the receipt of social assistance often conflict with the social, legal and moral expectations placed upon women (but not men) to care for their children. Consider the story of Ana, who came to Canada as a refugee claimant with her husband. He was eventually charged, convicted and then deported because of the violence he inflicted upon her. As she described him, he was a man with tremendous political power in their country of origin, and she had no doubt that if she was

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deported to their country of origin, he would kill her. She applied for landing in Canada on humanitarian and compassionate grounds, and was understandably desperate to show that she could establish herself and be self-supporting. I had to leave welfare because of my immigration status. I had to show them that I was working and not taking government money. So I started looking for a job. I had nobody to look after my son at that time. But I had to work and leave welfare to earn the right to stay in this country. My husband was an asylum seeker, and due to his behaviour he was to be deported. I had to look for employment in this country. I couldn’t go back to [my country of origin]. My ex would kill me … I had to get immigration in this country and apply separately. My lawyer told me that my application would be successful if I had a job and [was] not taking welfare money. I had to show the government that I was strong enough to stand on my feet. [In other words, she had to demonstrate establishment potential, including a history of stable employment.] It was very difficult. Because I was a single mum, there was nobody to look after my son, and I couldn’t afford childcare … My first job was [in a nearby factory]. I worked in the night shift and my landlady was kind enough to monitor my son while he slept.

Ana is left in a horrible moral double bind; as she correctly understands from the advice of her lawyer, her ability to stay in Canada very much turns on her getting and keeping work. And staying in Canada is her best – perhaps her only – way to preserve her own life and that of her son. Yet, without money, without any family or social supports in Canada, and without childcare, she has to leave her son at night, with her landlady to monitor him. And she has to accept marginal, povertywage work for which she is dramatically over-qualified. Thus, some women who may be technically eligible for social assistance simply cannot risk the receipt of public benefits because it will jeopardize their immigration status. But it is also the case that receipt of public benefits may risk more than immigration status; for some, the inadequacy of public benefits risks the health and well-being of themselves and their children, and keeps them in, or leads them back into, abusive relationships. Just as ineligibility can entrap women in abusive relationships, so too can inadequate benefit rates (Orloff 2001; Mosher et al. 2004). This is true not only for abused immigrant and refugee women, but for all women leaving abusive relationships; women stay in or return to abusive relationships because of the inadequacy of welfare benefits

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(Mosher at al. 2004). But life on welfare can be harder for immigrant women: many have no family or friends in Canada whom they can draw upon to help them get by; many face additional costs (work permits, study permits, landing fees, winter clothing); and many have little or no knowledge of other social services/supports, or how they can be accessed (Smith 2004). Shulma, after offering the many reasons why she could not leave the abusive relationship – the importance of a father for her children, the fear of living alone in this world as a woman, the disgrace and shame she would experience – and commenting that she is without hope, tolerating everything for the sake of the family, permitted herself a brief moment of faint hope during the interview. I do not know for sure, but I think that if I got sufficient money from welfare or from other resources, I would try to change my life pattern. Maybe I would start to live a new life where my husband cannot interfere, where there is no hitting … no bleeding, no broken heart … Maybe if I could support my children by myself, I would lead a happy and quiet life [although her family is currently on welfare and she knows how hard it is] … The money never meets our basic needs. It makes the people poorer and puts them into unhappy and unhealthy situations. The insufficient money discourages the women to leave their husbands, because if they could not support their children with the welfare money, they would automatically return to their husbands for the sake of their children.

Inadequate benefit rates diminish, and even extinguish, hope. Again, the state fails to protect the interests of women and children in the home. But in these very circumstances the state will sometimes go beyond this abysmal failure to assist, and then will lay blame at the feet of mothers for ‘failing’ to protect their children from the abuse of their fathers, or from witnessing their father’s violence inflicted upon the bodies of their mothers. And, in some instances, the state will remove their children from their care – children who, as the women express over and over, mean everything to them – for ‘failing’ to provide adequate shelter or food. Yet it is we, collectively, who have failed them. The additional costs faced by some immigrant women not only make it more difficult to get by, but raise suspicion in the minds of welfare workers of possible fraud, as two of the women we interviewed observed. g eeta : We suffer a lot to pay money for lawyers who work on our case. Welfare officers ask me, ‘How could I manage to pay that money?’ I allot

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the GST money we get each year for the lawyers. In addition, sometimes we skip meals and save money. My children do not get enough food and their sleeping time is reduced [there are five in a one-bedroom apartment] … Due to the lack of food, children become weaker and weaker. Their hands and legs become pale in colour. The doctor gives me shots to compensate for the lack of nutrition. The reason for all of this is the insufficiency of money we get from welfare. We do not have enough money to buy food … My children cannot concentrate in classes due to lack of food. They easily get tired. They do not eat properly in the morning, as well as at night. Only in the afternoon they eat properly … We face difficulty when finding an interpreter. The welfare officers always asks us to bring an interpreter, [but] when we ask a person for interpretation they demand us to pay at least $5 for an hour. We have to save the money. Sometimes we allot money for this by skipping our meals … We have to renew our health paper [most likely the Interim Federal Health Program available to refugee claimants] every three months. We have to apply for the renewal one month before expiry. We have a lot of problems to deal with. If we forget to review it, that causes problems. To get student authorization and work permits we have to pay $675. s h a h i da : The money never met our basic needs … My welfare worker wanted to clarify in what way I got money for my humanitarian appeal, necessary for getting the landed paper. I spent both my tax money and the GST money to do my appeal. I got hurt when she asked every single detail and wrote down everything … The welfare money is insufficient. The money did not meet even our basic needs. People who have not received their landed paper or landed immigrant status have to face more difficulties. I have to pay $150 for getting a work permit. I have to spend $125 on student authorizations for my children. Altogether, I need $550 yearly for these purposes. We did not get the child benefit [the Canada Child Tax Benefit, a monthly tax-free benefit payable only to citizens, permanent residents, and protected persons]. If we did not eat, nobody would ask me about it. However, if we cannot pay our rent or our bills … we cannot live.31

Suspicion of fraud is not isolated to concerns about how families are managing to pay the additional costs associated with immigration, but is an endemic feature of Ontario’s present welfare regime (Mosher and Hermer 2005). The government has been instrumental in instilling in the public’s mind an understanding of welfare fraud as rampant and, thus, of recipients as actual or potential criminals, notwithstanding that

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rates of conviction for fraud are extremely low (one tenth of 1 per cent of the caseload). And while there is suspicion cast on all welfare recipients, that suspicion, and the stereotyping that breeds it, are often overlaid with particular stereotyping of ‘immigrants’ – especially those who are racialized – as criminals and as drains on public resources (Khosla 2003; Henry and Tator 2002).32 As Khosla observes, many immigrant women face growing social stigma as ‘lazy cheats’ who are perceived as over-using, if not defrauding, the welfare system (Khosla 2003). To clamp down on the ostensibly widespread defrauding of the socialassistance system, extensive surveillance measures were introduced in Ontario: welfare-fraud snitch lines; increased powers to investigators; and verification procedures that operate as red flags for fraud and require recipients to regularly account for minute details of their lives. And more severe punishments were introduced, including a lifetime ban on eligibility for benefits if convicted of fraud that was later revoked by a new government, although its reinstatement has been promised by the originating party should it be re-elected.33 Two important points need to be made about this focus upon welfare fraud. The first is to observe – as did many women in our study – the parallels between life in an abusive relationship and life on welfare. As with their abusive relationships, women described being mistrusted, constantly under surveillance, and treated as ‘criminals’ or ‘prisoners.’ shul m a : Even people who are in prison live a better life than people who live on welfare do … I always feel like a beggar … It gives me a feeling that I am obliged to these workers. elsb e t h : The way welfare workers treat us is like we are bonded slaves to them, and we ought to listen to whatever they say. tenz e n : Welfare … made me morally weak, made me feel guilty of taking money from the government without any reason. Because the way welfare workers remind me of certain programs makes me feel that I am taking the money for no reason. Besides, I get $533 dollars a month, which is not enough to survive with two kids … My overall dealing [with welfare] is bad, especially the way they treat clients as if we are stealing money … Their home visits are also troublesome, always sneaking [up] on me, treating me like a criminal … Believe me, it’s like another torturous relationship like I had with my ex-husband.

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As with their husbands who did not trust them and constantly monitored them to ensure marital compliance, women in receipt of welfare assistance are not trusted by the deliverers of the program and are constantly monitored to ensure compliance. And as in their abusive relationships, the welfare system exercises a form of power through its control over access to information. As noted, the system is notoriously complex and opaque, and not knowing the rules means that women often do not know of entitlements or obligations, and constantly fear that they will be accused of breaking some rule that they did not know existed. Moreover, as in their abusive relationships, they have little or no control; subjected to the will of welfare authorities, they experience heteronomy rather than autonomy. In this exercise of coercive power by the state, the hierarchical relationship of oppression experienced within the marriage is replicated. The second point to be made about the welfare-fraud regime is how it is used by abusive men to further their power and control. Abusive men – both current and past partners – threaten to call, or actually do call, welfare snitch lines or make reports directly to welfare offices to further their power and control, much as they manipulate the criminaljustice system to have their wives charged. In threatening to report his wife to welfare, an abusive husband increases his power and control over her; if he calls (often groundlessly, but he can call anonymously without any repercussions for having made a false report) and causes even the temporary termination of her benefits during an investigation, he makes her all the more dependent upon him. Kate, one of the Canadian-born women in our study, described the welfare-fraud regime as giving to men all the power in the world, observing, ‘They just gained the biggest stronghold they could ever gain.’ In her case, she had formed an intimate relationship with a man, but he refused to move in with her, marry her, or take any joint financial responsibility; rather, she said, he ‘sponged off’ her. When she tried to end the relationship, he threatened to call welfare to say that he was living with her as a spouse. Problematically, because he spent so much time with her, there was a very good possibility that he would be deemed a ‘spouse’ for welfare purposes. If he were, she would be cut off, assessed with an over-payment (as she would have been ineligible as a single person) and potentially charged with fraud for ‘failing’ to have disclosed that she was living with a spouse. Kate described herself as literally trapped in an abusive relationship from which there was no escape.

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The manner in which men are able to manipulate the welfare-fraud regime to further their power and control is disturbingly similar to their use of the sponsorship program to shore up their power. In their interviews with women sponsored by their husbands, Côté et al. found the defining feature of the dynamic between sponsored women and their husbands to be the ‘psychological burden of feeling indebted to their husbands for their lives in Canada’ (Côté et al. 2001, 54). This sponsorship debt was used as a tool to manipulate women; the sponsor would threaten withdrawal of the sponsorship and the deportation that would thereby follow if she resisted his authority (ibid., 55). 34 As they note: ‘By assigning the role of guarantor to the husband, the state gives the spouse the opportunity to impose his authority on a ‘silver platter’’ (ibid., 62). The structure of immigration law thus creates an enormous barrier to seeking help; as in the case of Marguerite, women’s fear of deportation is materially grounded.35 As Orloff concludes: ‘An abuser’s control over a battered immigrant’s immigration status and threats of deportation are powerful tools that lock battered immigrants in abusive relationships, cut them off from help and enhance the lethalness of the violence they experience’ (2001).36 Similarly to what the women in our study said about the mechanisms to detect welfare fraud giving abusive men too much power, one of the women in the study astutely observed: ‘This sponsorship business should be banned, because it gives power to people who are already macho to begin with; you know, it’s really giving men power … They’re macho and you give them even more power, it’s like giving them a weapon to hurt you’ (Orloff 2001, 62). The sponsorship and welfare-fraud regimes both give to abusive men powerful tools that they employ to further their abuse of their intimate partners. While clearly the state did not design these regimes with this in mind, it is nevertheless complicit in the violence they enable. State actors at all levels know that men use the threat of both sponsorship withdrawal and fraud reports to control and entrap women, yet have failed to take adequate steps to respond. The reduction of the period of spousal sponsorship to three years, after much feminist activism, is clearly a positive step, but is insufficient. In the welfare context, despite knowledge of the problem, there has been no state response, leaving men free to continue to use allegations of fraud to entrap women. There is yet a further way in which the state is complicit in the abuse and dehumanization of low-income and immigrant women. The state has been an active participant in discourses about ‘immigrants’ and

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about ‘welfare recipients’ – both treated as homogeneous categories – that not only map in troubling ways onto the messaging of batterers, but which render all immigrants and all welfare recipients and, most profoundly, those who are both (a group in which women are overrepresented), less safe and less secure. The state has explicitly constructed welfare recipients as lazy, parasitic, immoral and criminal – as undeserving of state benefits. Welfare recipients have been portrayed as a threat to the security and well-being of the taxpayer, and not as persons whose security is fundamentally threatened and to whom we collectively owe an obligation to provide security. As noted above, the hostility towards welfare recipients is often overlaid with a hostility towards ‘immigrants,’ who are assumed to have a greater reliance on welfare than others and to be more prone to criminality (both factually inaccurate assumptions).37 Those who are in receipt of welfare feel this hostility acutely; they are constantly dehumanized, demeaned, and disrespected in their interactions, not only with front-line welfare workers, but in their everyday encounters with other members of the public (a public from which they are in many respects excluded). The messages shouted at them by their abusers – that they are stupid, incompetent, not fully human, unworthy – are repeated over and over in these various social interactions, often not shouted, but loud and persistent in a similarly destructive way (Swanson 2001). Women in Khosla’s study described a ‘daily experience of being treated as a second-class citizen,’ and having their confidence shattered ‘as a result of being dehumanized in their encounters with mainstream society’ (2003, 10 and 12–13). So too, the state has actively constructed a discourse of ‘national security’ in which ‘we’ (non-racialized Canadians) are to be made secure against the treats of terrorism and the criminality of ‘other’ people from ‘other’ places by tightening our borders. As Lowry observes, recent attention to ‘national security’ has had negative implications for the human security of asylum-seekers in Canada (Lowry 2002). And its implications have reached beyond asylum-seekers to include not only racialized immigrants, but virtually all racialized persons.38 And the threat is perceived to be one not only of terrorism, but of taking jobs from ‘Canadians,’ of exhausting Canada’s social benefits so that none will remain for ‘real’ Canadians, and of gangs and guns. Lowry’s observation that the refugee-crisis discourse has shifted from the need to protect refugees to the need to protect ‘ourselves’/‘Canadians’ from false claimants and those who ‘abuse’ the system finds a close parallel

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in the welfare-fraud discourse, wherein the deserving taxpaying is portrayed as needing protection from the false claims of those who defraud the system and wherein the needs of the destitute are rendered irrelevant, if not invisible. Rather than broad public or state concern being expressed that lowincome and migrant women’s security is jeopardized by intimate violence, by a race- and gender-segregated labour market, by current welfare and immigration structures, and by racism and discrimination, we see instead low-income, racialized women positioned as the object of public disdain. Regarded as ‘other’ people from ‘other’ places, wherein perceived ‘difference’ is equated with deviance and instils fear in those who place themselves in the normative centre, abused immigrant women experience tremendous insecurity. The state’s interventions in the lives of abused immigrant women – be it through the criminal justice system, the welfare system, or the immigration system – frequently undermine, rather than enhance, abused immigrant women’s safety and security. The intimate abuse they experience in the private realm of the family is, in myriad ways, enabled and emboldened by the public state. Simon Dalby observes that conventional security discourse has presupposed a political community constituted by a population with common attributes. This community of pre-supposed commonality is threatened by ‘external Others [who] imperil [it] in ways that require violence or the threat thereof to dissuade. Difference is posited as threatening when identity is premised on a supposedly vulnerable sameness’ (Dalby 1997). While that community has often been associated with the territorial community of the nation state, one can also see a similar phenomenon within the borders of the Canadian state, wherein those deemed to be ‘others’ are perceived as threatening. Low-income and immigrant women (particularly those who are racialized) are ascribed ‘otherness,’ assumed to be threatening and requiring control and containment. Given this broad context, which the state, among other players, constructs and shapes, it is clear that the state is not an ally of abused immigrant women in their quest for safety and security. While we can, and should, continue our efforts to change welfare rules and structures, immigration policies and practices, and the manner of criminal-justice interventions, the larger and harder piece of work to be done is the dismantling of the association between perceived difference and threat.

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NOTES 1 I use the term ‘racialized’ to denote the widespread practice in which a socially constructed ‘race’ is ascribed to those who are identified as ‘non-white’ and in which those who are ‘white’ are assumed not to have a ‘race,’ or whose ‘race’ is assumed to be the norm or the referent point against which all others are ascribed deviant status. While those who are racialized differ from each other in many respects, all who are racialized experience racism; see Canadian Research Institute for the Advancement of Women, at www.criaw-icref.ca/indesframe_e.htm. 2 Feminist critiques of state-security literature and practices posit these sorts of questions. See, for example, Lee-Anne Broadhead, ‘Re-packaging Notions of Security: A Skeptical Feminist Response to Recent Efforts’ in Susie Jacobs et al., eds, States of Conflict: Gender, Violence and Resistance (London: Zed Books, 2000), chap. 2; and Caroline Thomas, ‘Introduction,’ in Caroline Thomas and Peter Wilkin, eds, Globalization, Human Security and the African Experience (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1999), 1–22. 3 The interviews were conducted between November 2001 and March 2003. 4 For a discussion of the multiple factors that create and maintain women’s isolation, see Ekuwa Smith, Nowhere to Turn? Responding to Partner Violence Against Immigrant and Visible Minority Women (Ottawa: Canadian Council of Social Development, 2004), 9; Meeta Mehrotra, ‘The Social Construction of Wife Abuse: Experiences of Asian Indian Women in the United States,’ Violence Against Women 5(6) (1999): 619–40; and Margaret Abraham, ‘Isolation as a Form of Marital Violence: The South Asian Immigrant Experience,’ Journal of Social Distress and the Homeless 9(3) (2000): 221–36. 5 Ontario Works Act 1997, S.O. 1997, c. 25, sched. A. 6 Ibid., O. Reg. 134/98, subs. 17(2). 7 Ibid., S.O. 1997, c. 25, sched. A, subs. 71(1). Information-sharing agreements of this sort are probably common across provinces/territories. For example, British Columbia’s legislation provides for information-sharing agreements for the purposes of the administration or enforcement of the Immigration Act (now the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act); see subs. 30(3) of Employment and Assistance Act, S.B.C. 2002. 8 Ontario Works Act, O. Reg. 134/98, subs. 6(1). Categories of eligibility and ineligibility vary from province to province. For example, in British Columbia, Temporary Resident Permit/Minister’s Permit holders, those awaiting refugee-status determination, or those under a deportation order that CIC cannot or is not executing are not eligible for income assistance or

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9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17 18 19

20 21 22 23 24

Janet E. Mosher disability assistance, but are eligible for ‘hardship’ assistance, which must be applied for on a monthly basis. The entire family unit is ineligible for assistance of any kind where all adults in the family unit are visitors, foreign students, temporary workers without a Temporary Resident Permit, persons in Canada illegally, or those whose immigration status has not been confirmed by CIC. A child-care subsidy under the legislation is available only for citizens, permanent residents, and those found to be convention refugees. In Alberta, tourists, students, temporary workers, persons illegally in Canada, persons on a Minister’s Permit/Temporary Resident Permit, or those denied refugee status are all ineligible for income support. Eligibility for ‘health’ and ‘disability’ benefits is more restrictive; only citizens and permanent residents are eligible. In Nova Scotia, only citizens, permanent residents, and convention refugees are eligible for assistance. Ministry of Community and Social Services, Policy Directive 3.11, Sponsored Immigrants, July 2008. O. Reg. 395/04 revokes the automatic $100 deduction. O. Reg. 134/98, s. 51. CIC, IP 2, Processing Applications to Sponsor Members of the Family Class, s. 5.23. Policy Directive 3.11; see n. 9 above. This will also be true for other family members under sponsorship (parents, grandparents) who experience abuse at the hands of their sponsors yet who are also dependent upon them not only for material support, but for the sponsorship of additional family members. Immigration and Refugee Protection Act [IRPA], S.C. 2001, c. 27, effective June 2002. CIC, IP 2, s. 5.18. CIC, IP 5, Immigrant Applications in Canada Made on Humanitarian and Compassionate Grounds, s. 5.2. For information on the extension of the spouse in Canada application process, see the CIC website, www.cic.gc.ca. See IRPA (see n. 15), s. 25, which enables a person to apply from within or outside of Canada for permanent residence status on a humanitarian and compassionate basis. Immigration and Refugee Protection Regulations, ss. 64–9, 72. CIC, IP 5 (see n. 17), s. 13.10 Ibid., s. 11.2 Ibid., s. 11.2 Ibid., s. 16.14.

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25 Even for a well-intentioned spouse, the initiation of the sponsorship application may be materially delayed because of its cost: $550 processing fee and $490 (reduced from $975 in May 2006) right of landing fee. 26 See supra note 8. 27 This concern has given rise to ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’ campaigns in a variety of jurisdictions in North America that seek to ensure that all persons have access to social and other services irrespective of their immigration status. 28 Criminal Code of Canada, R.S.C. 1985, c. C-46, s. 267. 29 IRPA, s. 25, subs. 36(3)(a); CIC ENF 1 Inadmissibility, A36 (1)(a) (2005-08-26). 30 Violence Against Women Act of 2000, s. 1505; Bill summary at www.acadv. org/VAWAbillsummary.html. 31 Note that with the passage of IRPA, subs. 30(2), student permits are no longer required for minor children, other than children of temporary residents who are not authorized to work or study. 32 Anti-immigrant sentiment has resulted in draconian reforms to the American public safety net, dramatically reducing the benefits for which various categories of non-citizens are eligible. See Orloff 2001; Emilie Cooper, ‘Embedded Immigrant Exceptionalism: An Examination of California’s Proposition 187, the 1996 Welfare Reforms and the Anti-Immigrant Sentiment Expressed Therein,’ Georgetown Immigration Law Journal 18 (2004): 345; and George J. Borjas, ‘Welfare Reform and Immigrant Participation in Welfare Programs,’ International Migration Review 36(4) (2002): 1093. 33 The lifetime ban was revoked by O. Reg. 456/03. John Tory, leader of the Progressive Conservative Party in Ontario, has promised to reintroduce the ban if his party is re-elected. 34 This same kind of manipulation also may occur in the context of the sponsorship of parents, grandparents, or children; in these instances, the period of sponsorship is ten years (or until the age of 25). 35 There is an abundance of research confirming that the possibility of deportation plays a major role in women not reporting violence. See Sarah M. Wood, ‘VAWA’s Unfinished Business: The Immigrant Women who Fall Through the Cracks,’ Duke Journal of Gender Law and Policy 11 (2004): 141; Orloff 2001; and Maurice Goldman, ‘The Violence Against Women Act: Meeting Its Goals in Protecting Battered Immigrant Women?’ Family Court Review 37(3) (1999): 375. 36 Orloff notes one study of undocumented Latinas married to U.S. citizens or lawful permanent residents, which found a battering rate of 67 per cent. Of the women, 50.8 per cent were married to a citizen or lawful permanent resident who could file immigration papers for them, 72.3 per cent never

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filed and 27.7 per cent who did file held their spouses in the marriage for almost four years before filing. 37 The hostility can be seen in, for example, the Canadian Immigration Hotline, no. 42 (March 1993), which excerpts news articles that among other things, describe a union’s break from the NDP because of its preference for women and visible minorities; report that members of Toronto’s Somali community were fraudulently receiving welfare benefits to fund ‘feuding warlords’; and state that ‘refugee claimants means illegals’ (www .canadafirst.net/back_issues/hot-42.txt). In the U.S. context, see Grace Yoo, ‘Shaping Public Perceptions of Immigrants on Welfare: The Role of Editorial Pages of Major U.S. Newspapers,’ International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy 21(7) (2001): 47–62. For information on actual rates of welfare use, see ‘Welfare Reform & Immigration’ (Toronto: Ontario Social Safety NetWork); and Borjas, n. 32 above. 38 See, for example, Stephen J. Toope, ‘Fallout from “9-11”: Will a Security Culture Undermine Human Rights?’ Saskatchewan Law Review 65 (2002): 281; Canadian Council of Refugees, ‘Key Issues: Immigration and Refugee Protection,’ March 2004; and Sunera Thobani, ‘The Impact of 9-11 on Arab and Muslim Communities in North America,’ Seven Oaks Magazine, 26 October 2004.

REFERENCES Bhattacharjee, Anannya. 2002. ‘Private Fists and Public Force: Race, Gender and Surveillance.’ In Policing the National Body: Race, Gender, and Criminalization, ed. Jael Silliman and Anannya Bhattacharjee, 1–54. Cambridge, MA: South End Press. Côté, Andrée, et al. 2001. Sponsorship… For Better or For Worse: The Impact of Sponsorship on the Equality Rights of Immigrant Women. Ottawa: Status of Women Canada, March. Dalby, Simon. 1997. ‘Contesting an Essential Concept: Reading the Dilemmas in Contemporary Security Discourse.’ In Critical Security Studies, Concepts and Cases, ed. Keith Krause and Michael C. Williams. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Dasgupta, Shamita Das. 2000. ‘Charting the Course: An Overview of Domestic Violence in the South Asian Community in the United States.’ Journal of Social Distress and the Homeless 9(3): 173–85.

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DeVault, Marjorie L. 1991. Feeding the Family: The Social Organization of Caring as Gendered Work. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Franco, Felicia E. 1996. ‘Unconditional Safety for Conditional Immigrant Women.’ Berkeley Women’s Law Journal 11: 99. Henry, Frances, and Carol Tator. 2002. Discourses of Domination: Racial Bias in the Canadian English-Language Press. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Khosla, Punam. 2003. If Low Income Women of Colour Counted in Toronto. Final Report of the Action-Research Project, ‘Breaking Isolation, Getting Involved.’ Toronto: Community Social Planning Council of Toronto. Lowry, Michelle. 2002. ‘Creating Human Insecurity: The National Security Focus in Canada’s Immigration System.’ Refuge 28. Martin, Dianne, and Janet Mosher. 1995. ‘Unkept Promises: Experiences of Immigrant Women with the Neo-Criminalization of Wife Abuse.’ Canadian Journal of Women and the Law 8: 3. Mosher, Janet, and Joe Hermer. 2005. Welfare Fraud: The Constitution of Social Assistance as Crime. Ottawa: Law Commission of Canada. Mosher, Janet, et al. 2004. Walking on Eggshells: Abused Women’s Experiences of Ontario’s Welfare System. Report available at www.oith.ca/pdf/Walking_ On_Eggshells.pdf. National Association of Women and the Law. 2001. Brief on the Proposed Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (Bill C-11) Ottawa. Orloff, Leslye. 2001. ‘Lifesaving Welfare Safety Net Access for Battered Immigrant Women and Children: Accomplishments and Next Steps.’ William & Mary Journal of Women and the Law 7: 597. Pence, Ellen, and Michael Paymar. 1993. Education Groups for Men Who Batter: The Duluth Model. New York: Springer Publishing Co. Pollack, Shoshana, et al. 2005. Women Charged with Domestic Violence in Toronto: The Unintended Consequences of Mandatory Charge Policies. Ottawa: Status of Women Canada. Sadoway, Geraldine. 2004. ‘Still Dancing the Two-Step: Inland H & C Applications Under IRPA.’ Chapter 14, New Directions Conference Materials. Toronto: Parkdale Community Legal Services, 3 and 4 March. Smith, Ekuwa. 2004. Nowhere to Turn? Responding to Partner Violence Against Immigrant and Visible Minority Women. Ottawa: Canadian Council of Social Development. Swanson, Jean. 2001. Poor-Bashing: The Politics of Exclusion. Toronto: Between the Lines Press.

2 Violence in Immigrant Families in Halifax bar b a r a c o t t r ell, eva n g elia ta s ts oglou, a nd c a r m e n celina mo n cayo

For some years, organizations in Halifax that have been providing services for victims of violence in immigrant families have recognized the need for good working relationships and open communication between policy-makers, service providers, and the immigrant community. Often, however, the day-to-day work of service providers takes precedence, and building relationships and opening channels of communication are neglected. In addition, there is a lack of attention to research about violence in immigrant families and their needs in Atlantic Canada, and, as a consequence, a gap in services.1 To address these issues, the Metropolitan Immigrant Settlement Association (MISA) conducted the ‘Violence in Immigrant Families Research Project’ in Halifax, Nova Scotia. One important objective of this project was to increase the knowledge of policy-makers so that betterinformed policies could be put into place to address the experiences of immigrant women who are victims of abuse, and to inform the work of community-based service providers, academics, and researchers. This chapter analyses some of the findings of that research. Theoretical and Methodological Considerations While the literature on the context and dynamics of violence in immigrant families, and of immigrant women’s experiences of such violence, is relatively limited at best, in Atlantic Canada such literature is practically non-existent. It does document that violence is a form of control. Its root causes are poverty, unemployment, economic disparity, racism, and a patriarchal social structure (Barnes 2001; Michalski 2004; Friedman 1985; Drakich and Guberman 1988; Miedema 1999). There are certain

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‘risk factors’ that are conducive to violence as well, such as the degree of social isolation, relational distance, interdependence of support networks, exposure to violence, the centralization of authority, and unequal gender relations (Michalski 2004; Drakich and Guberman 1988). Few studies acknowledge that immigrant women may suffer additional vulnerability to ‘intimate partner violence’ due to their immigrant status, insecurity caused by resettlement, and lack of information regarding their rights and the services available (Raj and Silverman 2003 and 2002; Sharma 2001; Miedema 1999; Miedema and Wachholz 2002). Violence may be experienced in culturally specific forms, and the absence of family and social-support networks leads to increased isolation (Raj and Silverman 2003). Some studies identify the cultural and linguistic barriers to seeking help, such as a lack of sensitivity on the part of service-providers, and those who work in the criminal justice system, which renders access to intervention and services more difficult (Shirwadkar 2004; Law Reform Commission of Nova Scotia 1993; Miedema and Wachholz 2000, 2002). Women may be reluctant to access help because of their poverty, unemployment, and cultural beliefs regarding gender relations (Agnew 2003). Changing gender relations pursuant to migration may constitute an additional source of strain and conflict in some immigrant families (Hyman et al. 2004; OxmanMartinez et al. 2000; Van Hightower et al. 2000). Miedema (1999) and Miedema and Wachholz (2000; 2002) are among the few scholars who have studied violence against immigrant women in Atlantic Canada, with Miedema focusing on New Brunswick. In her 1999 study, she identifies the interplay of cultural norms and structural oppression as barriers to accessing services. Included in the analysis are issues of patriarchal family structures, fear of the police or deportation, lack of information for immigrant women on rights and laws, lack of diversity in social-service programming and staff, and lack of outreach programs. In follow-up studies by Miedema and Wachholz (2000, 2002), immigrant women further revealed a number of specific fears about police intervention in woman-abuse cases and identified myriad forms of harm that can occur pursuant to police involvement. The authors argued that these barriers to access are more pronounced for abused immigrant women living in regions where the immigrant population is low. A suggestion that underlies all the proposed strategies to improve access to services is to assure abused immigrant women of having understanding and respect when relating their experiences and to secure increased cultural sensitivity among service providers.

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A number of studies have been conducted that reveal the cultural dynamics of violence in particular ethnic groups. Hassouneh-Phillips (2001) investigates experiences of abuse and violence in Muslim marriages in non-Muslim majority countries (the study is based in the United States) and argues that arranged marriages and lack of support by the legal system in enforcing the marriage contract in a non-Muslim majority country, as well as normative cultural and religious pressures on wives to be submissive, have allowed women to accept abuse and witness the abuse of other women without recognition or intervention. The study underscores the need to understand culturally specific marriage practices and the ways in which these practices may influence women experiencing spousal abuse. The role of marriage and religious practices in shaping Muslim women’s gender roles and culturally permissible behaviours is associated with the special challenges they are faced with in abusive marriages in the study by Barnes (2001) as well. Ahmad et al. (2004) examine the relationship between South Asian immigrant women’s patriarchal beliefs and their perceptions of spousal abuse. Those who hold stronger patriarchal beliefs are less likely to support assistance to battered women through formal organizations, and prefer to see the violence dealt with inside the family. Besides the need for more multicultural and multilingual services, the authors suggest special outreach and educational work that conveys the message that reporting abuse and resisting patriarchy does not constitute rejecting one’s culture and identity. Other studies have highlighted a heightened susceptibility of South Asian women to wife abuse (Goel 2005). South Asian women are at increased risk for intimate partner violence as a result of social isolation, absence of family and community support, and lack of awareness of services for victims of violence (Raj and Silverman, 2003; Shelton and Rianon 2004). Shirwadkar (2004) corroborates these findings with her Canadian study. She argues that, in addition to isolation, cultural barriers prevent Indian women from speaking about the abuse they are experiencing. They prefer to turn to their natal family for support instead of social-service agencies and seldom go to shelters. Furthermore, they are frequently not well informed of their legal rights as wives in Canada, have few economic resources, lack facility in the English language and, consequently, stay in abusive relationships. Finally, Agnew, in an earlier analysis (1998), also focuses on marriage and gender relations within the South Asian community and recommends ‘culturally sensitive’ services for women.

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Yoshioka et al. (2003) conducted a comparative study of battered South Asian, African American, and Hispanic women in the United States and recommended the need, among service providers, for understanding differences and implementing culturally appropriate and aggressive outreach programs within specific ethnic communities. The researchers also found that there is a progression in the use of resources by immigrant women that is influenced by their length of stay in the country (in this case, the U.S.), with more recent immigrants tending to turn to family and their own communities rather than outsider groups. Similar findings regarding length of stay in the country and a move towards more egalitarian, and less patriarchal, power structures were reported by Kim and Sung (2000) regarding Korean American families. Research among Vietnamese families also indicates that the greater the prevalence of patriarchy, the higher the likelihood for abuse (Baha and Murray, 2003). Among other groups, Van Hightower et al. (2000) discovered that Latin women who were migrant farm workers were more vulnerable to domestic violence among temporary labourers in Canada, including seasonal farm labourers, and pointed out that cultural factors often discourage Latina women from acknowledging spousal abuse and from reporting domestic violence. According to other studies (Santiago and Morash 1995), there is a high incidence of domestic violence overall in the Latino community, though women who are experiencing the worst violence often do not tell friends or family. Discrimination, fear of deportation, dedication to the children, family unity, and shame related to the abuse were found to be important barriers to public disclosure and help-seeking behaviour among abused immigrant women. Hyman’s study (2004) of Ethiopian couples living in Canada underscores how changing gender roles, especially with the wife joining the labour force and a necessary increase in joint decision-making, placed additional stresses and strains on the marriage and the relationship, with certain age groups (for example, younger couples with shorterduration marriages) being more susceptible to the ensuing conflict than others. Similarly, Musisi and Mukta (1992), in their exploratory study of wife assault in Toronto’s African immigrant and refugee community, stand firmly on the side of structural factors being conducive to abuse rather than culturally specific features and practices. Wife abuse is identified as being a serious issue within this community, but it often gets hidden and subsumed by the labels ‘black,’ ‘immigrant,’ or ‘racial minority’ imposed by members of the outside community. The

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acquired data suggests that African Canadians who are most vulnerable to wife abuse share the following characteristics: they are recent immigrants to Canada; come from a ‘home country’ with a violent and tumultuous recent history; are relatively young (below 35 years of age); are the mothers of one to three children; have been sponsored by their spouses but are still individually recognized as landed immigrants or official refugees; and have an annual family income of less than $30,000, to which the woman contributes less than the husband. Finally, a number of studies point out the special vulnerability to violence and abuse of specific categories of migrant women, for example, undocumented women (Salcido and Adelman 2004), migrant farm workers (Van Hightower et al. 2000), refugee women (Moussa 1999), common-law wives (Brownridge 2004), and military wives (Erez and Bach 2003). The heightened fears, insecurities, lack of knowledge about laws and services, state of legal limbo, and financial instability due to their precarious situation render these women especially vulnerable and helpless in cases of abuse by intimate partners. This chapter focuses on understanding, from the perspective of abused women, the context and dynamics of violence against women in immigrant families in Halifax. It reiterates, in the voices of immigrant women, some of the major findings in the literature, mainly the role of culturally specific patriarchal gender relations in families, how gender relations collide and adapt to structures and practices in the new society, and the strain and conflict they produce in the process. The problem lies in economic disparities and inequalities based on immigrant status, ethnicity, and gender that, on the one hand, spawns violence against women and, on the other, removes or does not provide adequate support to deal with and successfully resolve the violence. Information about violence in immigrant communities was gathered in 2002 through one-to-one and focus group interviews with both immigrants and service providers. Participants were asked to discuss their experiences of abuse, the availability of ethno-cultural community help, their need for support, and their experiences when accessing or providing services. In addition, a survey with a number of selected governmental and non-governmental service organizations was conducted. One-to-one, open-ended, in-depth interviews were conducted with five immigrant women who had experienced family violence. The participants were from Cuba, China, Guyana, and Lebanon. One of the women was living with her husband at the time of the interview; the others had separated from their abusive husbands. English was the

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second language for four of the women; one did not speak English at all. All five participants were sponsored by their husbands and were between twenty-four and forty-five years old, and all had children. One had a Canadian husband; four were married to immigrants. Two focus group interviews were conducted with immigrant women and one with immigrant men. English was a second language for all twelve focus-group participants. The age range was thirty-three to fortyseven.2 Of the three men who participated, two were married and one was single; they ranged in age from thirty-four to forty-five. Only one of the men had children. Most interview and focus group participants were from visible-minority backgrounds, a factor that adds to the value of this study, as little substantive documentation exists generally on how gender and race intersect and produce inequalities in the design and delivery of social services to immigrant women (Agnew 2003). A focus group was also conducted with sixteen front-line service providers.3 Further, a survey was conducted of twenty-two organizations, including service providers, government departments, and departmental divisions, to gather information about policies that determine services and resources for immigrants who experience family violence in Nova Scotia. A Violence in Immigrant Families Advisory Committee (VIFAC) was established to monitor the project.4 Discussion of the Findings: Social Context and Services The research revealed a number of conceptual and practical problems in the design and delivery of services to abused women in families. Problems ranged from inadequate outreach services, the ways in which rights and services are explained, lack of cross-cultural awareness of service providers, and the lack of adequate language instruction and interpretation services. In addition, we found that fear of being deported (especially when the woman’s status in Canada is illegal), of having sponsorship revoked by a husband, and of losing their residence (especially if the marital home is in the husband’s name) or custody of their children, deter women from reporting abuse. (Studies such as those of Sharma [2001] and Musisi and Mukta [1992] report similar findings from other parts of Canada.) Immigrant women were also unaware of the legal ramifications on their subsidized-housing status if they reported abuse, and so remained silent (Focus Group with Service Providers, 19 November 2002). The Halifax Transition House Association staff found that some immigrant women are reluctant to stay at the

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local shelters as they are unfamiliar with such institutions and may misunderstand their role (Survey Response, September 2002). The court and justice system can be confusing and intimidating. Lack of information about and misunderstanding of Canadian justice and support-system mechanisms and the availability of social services was a problem for many abused immigrant women. Consequently, women did not activate their rights and access available services; in some cases, misinformation generated confusion and fear among them and deterred them from taking action. This was particularly true for those women who lacked English-language skills and consequently were unable to understand their rights and access the services they needed. In survey questionnaires, respondents with Community Services Employment Support and Income Assistance, Justice Court Services and Justice Victim Services, along with the Halifax Transition House Association, all cited language as one of the major challenges to adequate service delivery. As one of our interview participants stated: I started to say that I wanted to leave him. But, every time I said that, he said that I could go, but our daughter would stay with him. He said that the Canadian law would give him my daughter. That scared me a lot. I was always scared about the custody issue. He always said that I did not have a job and I did not speak English, so the law would give him custody.

Linguistic and cultural interpretation can bridge the gap between immigrant women and institutions. However, finding a trusted interpreter can be difficult. Abused immigrant women feared a breach in confidentiality that would reveal their abuse and were reluctant to use individuals from their communities to interpret for them (Focus Group with service providers, 19 November 2002). Once women access supportive programs, they may nevertheless feel isolated because service providers do not understand their culture. Individuals conceive of and express their problems and their need for support in culturally specific ways. Every culture has its own ways of expressing pain and suffering, of giving and receiving help, and expectations of the modality and outcome of the intervention. Sometimes service providers do not speak the first language of the abused women and the latter cannot express their feelings adequately in a second language. As one participant stated, ‘One of the biggest reasons for immigrants to move away from Nova Scotia is there’s nobody [they] can talk to here. There’s nobody who understands [them] here’ (Focus Group

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with immigrant women, 12 September 2002). In the absence of direct and easy communication in their first language, the women perceive emergency-room staff, front-line workers, lawyers, paramedics, and other authority figures as intimidating and unapproachable. Abused women feared that their cultures and value systems would not be respected by service providers, and that they might all be lumped together as ‘immigrants.’ Such a fear is legitimate given the relative lack of cross-cultural sensitivity and training among social-service providers, which frequently results in the invisibility of the abused immigrant women (Focus Group with Service Providers, 19 November 2002). The Department of Justice Victim Services noted that given the small numbers of immigrants it deals with and its limited resources, it cannot justify making abused women a priority. The usual procedure is for the staff to identify gaps in services, but to date no one had argued for the need for services specific to immigrants. The Halifax Regional Police Victims Services noted in a similar vein that they might introduce new programs if they ‘saw an increase in the number of incidents involving immigrant families.’ However, at the time, the calls from abused immigrant women were interspersed with 250 other calls a month; the issue was ‘not standing out’ and, consequently, had not been ‘flagged’ as a priority. Even where ‘immigrants’ are recognized as a significant numerical category, there is little support given to train service providers and front-line staff to the specific needs of this population. The absence of such training reinforces the lack of cultural awareness and sensitivity that impedes immigrant women’s access to all kinds of services, including those related to health (Agnew 1998).5 One service recipient noted: And the last person you would approach is the police because … when the police come in they don’t really come with the knowledge of the culture in mind. They are seeing just the facts, what has he done to you … and that is very superficial. Because if we all go back to our own cultures, there’s certain societal norms that are acceptable and not acceptable. And there are certain things that as a community we adhere to or do not adhere to, [and] even when we move to Canada, a lot of those values, those attitudes, do not change. (Focus Group with immigrant women, 12 September 2002)

Lack of cultural sensitivity training was identified by several organizations we surveyed. Similarly, Mosher (in chapter 1 of this book) notes that service providers need greater understanding of and empathy for

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their abused female immigrant clients. An aggravating factor here is the lack of cultural representation and diversity of staff in government and non-governmental organizations (Focus Group with Service Providers, 19 November 2002). The values and norms underlying social services were also a problem for abused immigrant women. The cultural difference between the more individualistic approach of service providers and the immigrants’ community-centred approach was highlighted during counselling. The fact that privacy, confidentiality, and one-to-one counselling are based on Western values that clash with those of immigrants who come from more traditional societies deters some from using services such as counselling. Another deterrent is the ‘rescue-separate-rehabilitate’ response to family violence, which is based on an individualistic conception of gender roles and does not attend to the family as a unit. This alienates many immigrant women. In the eyes of abused immigrant women, such a paradigm is misguided, for abuse and violence hurts everyone in the family and not just the woman. Musisi and Mukta (1992) in their study in Toronto of African immigrant and refugee women, found that their respondents’ cultural understanding of appropriate behaviour in abusive situations was insufficient for laying charges with the police or using the law. Okay, but, my thing is, if they took it to the police … okay, in that case it was taken to the police. Now, it’s been blown out of proportion, the police is [sic] siding with the woman, but then the woman has also been abusive to the man out of frustration for what the man has been doing. Both of them are wrong. But the system would side with the woman. Now the trust which is needed to let the marriage go on is gone, so have you really done much good? … There may be a different way. In our culture you probably talk to certain elders in the community, get them to sit down, talk with you. And behind the scenes things are being done, checks and balances are being put in place. But just going to the police, well from my culture, I would probably still not do it. Even though I have been here for close to 20 years, I probably wouldn’t do it. (Focus group with immigrant women, 12 September 2002)

For the participants in the present study, family violence was a private issue that was normally dealt with by a respected elder and not by obtaining help from professionals or through institutionalized services. One participant noted her dilemma in this way: ‘Yeah … also in this

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country, once it goes to the police, it’s out of your control. It’s a shame, it’s a shame’ (Focus group with immigrant women, 12 September 2002). Many women worried about the effect that police intervention would have on their partners and children. Even those who wanted their partners to be punished for their abusive behaviour had difficulty in comprehending a support model that offered no help to the entire family. Racism in Canada further prevented many participants from trusting service providers (including police and physicians). The women feared being misunderstood and furthering negative stereotypes about their culture by disclosing their abuse to service providers. They were apprehensive that information they divulged might be used to deport their partners (and this was particularly true of undocumented immigrants). Women who come from Third World countries are all too familiar with state violence and police corruption, and are further reluctant to use such services in Canada to resolve family crisis. Racist treatment by service providers kept one of our interviewees from taking steps to end the abuse: When I complained about the way he was treating me, saying that it was his obligation to support me, he said that I could not do anything about it. Nobody would hear me because I was black. He said black people are not heard here. He said that I can’t call the police. He started warning me that everywhere I went people would look at me suspiciously because I was black. So, I could not trust anybody. I was confined to the house because I didn’t have money. I didn’t know the city. (Sandra, Interview, 2 September 2002)

The issue is therefore made more complex, for providing services to mistrusting immigrants can be extremely time-consuming; time is translated into resources, which ultimately equals funding. One agency explained: We are a small organization with a staff of three and we are busy with constant referrals. We do have clients in need of additional resources, such as someone to accompany them to our office who speaks their language. It is a real need, but we just don’t have the staff time to organize it. We need to have more contact with MISA to address this. (Survey response, New Start Counselling)

The tension between the need for services and limited resources was identified by many service-providing agencies as difficult:

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Shelter services and the counselling they provide were generally thought to be insufficient in Halifax. Women who did stay at shelters found it to be a positive experience for them at first because they felt they were in a safe and supportive community, but as time went on one woman said she became dissatisfied with the counselling services in the shelter: [Translator:] It was really stressful being there because everybody was experiencing the same problem and everybody was crying. But in the beginning it was comfortable because you know that other people have similar problems that you have, but in the end everybody is sharing the same and there were no supports, individual supports. The social workers [and] the women’s counsellor at the shelter worry about logistic issues, about the schedule, about the dinner, about locking the door, about [other problems]. But there were no opportunities to speak about my own problem, how to solve the situation, how to get out from the violence cycle. (Focus group with immigrant women, 17 September 2002)

Most shelters, compelled by their limited resources and the demand for their services, limit the number of days a woman can stay with them. Once a woman leaves the shelter, there is little or no opportunity for further contact and, once again, they are isolated. There are long waiting lists for counselling and mental-health services. This interview participant felt abandoned and terrified after she left the shelter: After two months, they gave [me] some dishes, chairs, clothes, food. But after that I didn’t have attention from Bryony House. There was no more

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counselling [or] checking how I was doing. I felt so alone. This is what I really think abused women need: more support after you leave the shelter.

The shortage of outreach services is a significant problem. Abused immigrant women need help in accessing social assistance, mentalhealth services, housing, and alternative schools for their children. They also need emotional support. One service provider explained their limited ability to help in this way: We only have one outreach worker, and she’s stretched to her limits already. Women who are being abused call us to find out what their options are, and women often call for help. The outreach worker has to meet with them, and monitor the installation of emergency alarm systems, and do outreach in the community. We just don’t have the resources we need for adequate advocacy work. (Survey response, Halifax Transition House Association, September 2002)

Both the Department of Justice Victim Services and the Universal Shelter Association stated that one of their primary challenges is to reach immigrants who are in need of their services; however, the latter had no resources to allocate to seek out victims proactively, and thus few immigrants benefited from their services (Survey response, September 2004). When abused immigrant women do request help, providers may be stymied, for they have few places to refer them to for services. Hospitals, for example, now have screening processes in place so they can identify abuse, but workers may lack training in identifying abuse or providing appropriate services. Some workers complained that often they do not know what to do when they have identified a victim. Long waiting lists for services limit accessibility, making referrals a futile exercise (Focus group with service providers, 19 November 2002). The Employee Assistance Program is only available to immigrant women who are employed, and then only through those employers who offer the service. Little is known, for instance, about the risk factors for abuse among immigrant women, and assessment tools are very limited. Isolation, for example, seems to be greatly implicated in abuse, often as a compounding factor. Men control women by isolating them. Many women remain at home, caring for children or other relatives, and find few opportunities to meet neighbours or make friends. Women talked of being

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stuck ‘for years inside the house.’ One woman said that although she went into the city once a week for groceries, ‘you don’t make friends in a supermarket’ (Interview, November 2002). As immigrants, many of the women in the study had been sponsored by their male partners and had no extended family in Atlantic Canada; consequently, they were further isolated (Interview, September 2002.) Some men refused to allow their wives to speak with other women or service providers, leading one respondent to remark, ‘I couldn’t call anybody, because my husband didn’t allow me to talk to anybody. It was almost [like] living in a jail’ (Interview, November 2002). Isolation is viewed by health professionals as a psychological problem when, in fact, it is also a sociological one. As a result, service providers fail to distinguish between the presenting problem and its underlying cause, that is, abuse (Amaratunga 2002). One participant described her situation: I started to cut myself. I just felt sad. I didn’t want to move, eat. I didn’t know I was depressed. I went to see the doctor because I got an ear infection. The doctor diagnosed my depression and sent me to a psychiatrist. I didn’t say anything to them about the abuse because I didn’t have, [at] that time, my landing immigrant papers, and I still had feelings for him. After many sessions I told her. The doctor increased my dose – 50, 100, 150 – and she referred me to another doctor. She didn’t do anything else. (22)

Some service providers rely on stereotypes and may assume that being shy, silent, and indecisive are cultural characteristics, rather than symptoms of depression or victimization. Professionals were also unable to identify family violence because it was not communicated openly, and they were unable to pick up the issue within a culturally coded description of symptoms and language. Two women we interviewed suffered depression as a result of the abuse. One of them had attempted suicide twice. Not one health-care provider detected the abuse. It is highly likely that stereotypes, once again, about the women’s ethnic background played a role in not identifying the abuse, and consequently women got no information on how to seek help. Data from our study suggests the importance of future research exploring the complex relationship between isolation and abuse, and the consequences of leaving violence undetected and studied in immigrant families. Such data, we believe, will lead to better health-care delivery to abused women in diverse cultural communities.

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Violence in Immigrant Families Abuse is a problem not only of the systemic violence that prevails in society but also of the unequal power relations within the family. The dynamics of violence in immigrant families are, in some ways, no different from those in mainstream Canadian families. Although most of the participants came from countries that had no specific legislation against spousal abuse, all of them were able to identify physical, emotional, and financial abuse. One woman stated clearly, ‘Although I was … young, I knew that he was abusing me. Everything was against my dignity.’ Since physical abuse is considered a crime in Canada, husbands sometimes found other ways to abuse and control their spouses. A common pattern of migration is for the male to arrive first and find a job and accommodation before sending for his wife and children. A large percentage of women gain entry to Canada as dependent spouses. Specific groups of women, such as trafficked women, are made vulnerable to abuse because they are sponsored by men in Canada. Sponsorship makes the women legally dependant on the men and increases the potential for power imbalances in relationships and, therefore, for abuse. Women who are sponsored by their partners are often dependent on them for financial support, and sometimes feel indebted to them for bringing them to Canada. They may be emotionally blackmailed into being subservient and tolerating abuse. Some women who have still to complete the necessary immigration papers become even more dependent and vulnerable. The ignorance of immigrant women about their rights, and their mistrust of the police, courts, and other professional services, keep them trapped just as much as their fear of having their sponsorship revoked or losing the financial support of the men they live with. In all cultures, violence against women is sustained by patriarchal values and practices. Although such values are universal, their expressions are culturally specific. The experiences of the women participants in this study illustrated how patriarchal practices and structures contribute to violence within the home. The Canadian cultural framework transforms the particular ways in which violence is perpetrated, but does not stop it, nor does it necessarily lead to a contestation of patriarchy. For example, a common patriarchal value assigns women the responsibility of sustaining family life and of doing the emotional work of maintaining good relations within it.

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Immigrant women often tolerate abuse in their desire to keep the family together and ‘because of the children.’ One motive for migration is to secure a better life for children, but when women are abused they become conflicted between their desire to keep the family together and their personal safety. Some of our participants had successful careers before emigrating, and had sacrificed them in favour of migrating with their families. One respondent, for example, said that she came here because her husband, who had been a graduate student in Canada, wanted to remain here, and it was important to her that their daughter live in a unified family. She quit her managerial position in China and was subsequently unemployed in Canada for four years. After giving up her career in favour of coming to Canada, she was devastated to realize that it might have all been for nothing. Another woman stated: ‘I knew that help was there. I knew about Bryony House, I knew about counselling. I knew about it, [but] I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t do it. I thought of my children.’ Women had been socialized to believe that their personal safety or emotional stability were secondary to their families’ and husbands’ needs. In traditional cultures, a choice that prioritizes the family is not viewed as a sacrifice; rather, it is a moral obligation, thus deterring women from leaving their abusive spouses and breaking up the family. In many immigrant families there is a clash between the gender roles of their countries of origin and those that commonly prevail in Canada. In the focus group with immigrant men, one participant stated that his conflict with his wife began in Canada, because she kept asking him to help with domestic chores. In his country of origin, housework was women’s domain, and the requests from his wife seemed strange and ‘different’ to him. It was not until he was watching television and heard on The Oprah Winfrey Show that ‘strong, masculine men are not afraid to wash dishes’ that he saw her ‘strangeness’ as a cultural difference between Canada and the society he had left behind. When wives adopt such new gender norms, it can causes tension, and the change is perceived by men as threatening their position in the family; attempts to reinstate gender roles of the society left behind may result in violence. Some male participants blamed their wives for ‘abusing their rights in a destructive manner,’ thereby provoking them. In the language of the all-male focus group: In many families, there is an expectation that one family member will take a leadership role. This role is usually taken by the person who makes the

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highest income. In most of their countries of origin, this role is assigned to the man. They and their wives grow up expecting the man to be the head of his family, but when they come to Canada, many women challenge this. Sometimes the women earn more than the men and the women then think they should be the head and take control of the family. This is an uncomfortable position for a man.

Immigrant women in our study did not condone the abuse and tried to find a balance between their changed gender roles and the need to be sensitive to their husband’s culturally defined needs. They urged each other to accept men’s ‘difference,’ wherever possible, for the sake of the family. Their attitudes implied their belief in women’s superior coping ability, and greater emotional strength, as well as their facility in juggling multiple responsibilities. One female participant noted: The roles are rigid. They definitely can’t adjust as well as we can, you know, so to save some of the family violence I would say that we women have to be more accepting of certain things. Not, I mean, I’m not saying we should accept abuse. What I’m saying is accept them the way they are. Everybody has faults … (Focus group with immigrant women, 12 September 2002) … It is an expectation for women coming from our culture and, I would say, in other cultures as well, that you do all these jobs and they are the breadwinners, although mothers can win the bread, too, and I remember my mother saying always to me, ‘You have to help me on Saturdays and Sundays,’ and there’s my father and my brother, and I said, ‘Well, why only me? There are four of us … why not do it together?’ And she said, ‘Oh, these weak men! By the time I teach them what they need to do they will never do it.’ So I said, ‘Okay, but …,’ and she said, ‘But, besides, your father is earning money,’ and I said, ‘And you’re working full time, too. And after work you cannot drive the car … you go and buy stuff [and] you bring it home by tram. In the meantime my father – your husband – has come home by car. He is watching TV and you are cooking’ … But it was also ingrained in my mother that this is something that … is okay, you know? And it has not been family violence, but all these teachings to those generations have actually, you know, conditioned us as women also to think about, you know, what we should and what we should not [accept]. (Focus group with immigrant women, 12 September 2002)

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Sometimes immigrant women want to be ‘more Canadian,’ and have greater say in family decision-making, or their paid work makes it difficult for them to fulfil their traditionally assigned domestic responsibilities. When their partners resist change, it can cause tension that sometimes results in violence: I start to grow as a person, as a woman and I start to ask myself well, what I have done so far, what is my life going to be like? So when I invited my ex-husband to participate in this growth experience, he got very threatened so he acted very emotionally abusive with me. It started little by little and it got worse and because of the kids I stuck it out. I had to put up with this because I didn’t want to say anything to family in my own country. And [it went on for] years and years. I agree that emotional abuse is worse than the physical abuse because it’s detrimental to your self-esteem and without it a human being is nothing. And so when you get that message every day that you are not worth it as a woman, you are not validated as a woman, as a mother, you start to get into trouble. I got depressed, I was very sick. I had to go in the hospital for three months due to a major depression … So here I found this wonderful health care system that is totally opposite to [that available in] my country that took me in and mended me. This wonderful team of professionals helped me and so I said, ‘That’s great, I’m going home and talk to my husband and everything’s going to be fine.’ I was completely wrong. Two days after [I went home] the whole cycle [of violence] started again. This time he was even worse because he said that people of this society are putting [ideas] in my mind, that I wasn’t able, that I wasn’t worth it, that I wasn’t … capable. (Focus group with immigrant women, September 12 2002)

Men who come from societies where patriarchal values are strongly entrenched can feel disempowered in Canada because they may experience downward social mobility and, consequently, a loss of status within their family. Immigrants in Atlantic Canada tend to be underemployed, and over-represented in lower-status jobs. For both immigrant men and women, unemployment levels remain high, even though they often have higher levels of education than those who are Canadian-born. Average earnings for immigrants are lower than for their counterparts throughout the country, and even for the children of immigrants born in Canada (Pendakur and Pendakur 2007). Sometimes this is so because the educational credentials and work experience elsewhere of foreign-born people are not recognized and

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they have to start all over again, as is documented by Boyd and Yiu in chapter 7 of this book. Further, when women accept jobs to subsidize the family income, the men find their authority as head of households is somewhat diminished. Professionals who held positions of high status and responsibility in their countries of origin resent the loss of prestige and find it emotionally difficult to adapt themselves to their lower social status. One woman participant explained: Men in patriarchal [societies] … are expected to be fathers of their families, and when they come to the new country all of a sudden, due to many circumstances, they are somehow deprived of that role. They’re either on government assistance or they have to go on social assistance. Due to language barriers they’re not able to seek jobs or they’re not given or not able to find jobs … For those who are very educated it’s even sometimes a worse situation because they … have to adapt to the reality that they might not get a high[-paying], respectable job that they held in the community in their country of origin. So all of a sudden, I think, husbands are also exposed to many, many pressures which actually then, as I’m saying again, leads to a lot of frustration, a feeling of, of being disabled almost, of feeling that they are dehumanized, that they are not allowed the full potential that they have and that they have to settle [for] being … Engineers or doctors have to sometimes sweep floors or go to, you know, cleaning companies because they are aware that they have to bring bread to the table as fathers; that is their role, of course. However, they’re not able to do that.

Many female participants attributed pressures resulting from loss of status as contributing to violence in the family and abuse of women: For instance, maybe the man comes here and probably he is a professor back home. Because of the language barrier or [not having his credentials recognized], he’s driving a taxi. It’s happened in numerous African cases I know. There is a loss of self-esteem. His frustration doesn’t have any outlet … so he takes it out on his family, the people that he loves. And [perhaps] he may not even mean to [be violent], but he’s invariably taking it out on them. He may not use physical abuse because he knows in this society that you’re not supposed to inflict physical harm on someone else. But as an outlet, to let out the frustration, it comes out in emotional abuse and it is for us to recognize it. (Focus group with immigrant women, 12 September 2002)

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Men are less likely than women to have the coping mechanisms to deal with their frustrations and loss of status. Immigrant women, like Canadian-born women, tend to do the emotional work in families, and shoulder most of the responsibility for their children. The abused, ironically, may at times be helping their husbands and children cope with the stress of migration and integration into the new culture. One interview participant said: I am absolutely sure that because men … in many cultures [are] taught not to cry; they’re taught not to, you know, show fear; or weaknesses. And, all of a sudden, coming into a new culture … they are exposed to all of these [emotions] and they do not have mechanisms to deal with these pressures, while women are, I think, able to deal with them because they have been dealing with them as children, daughters, mothers, and as females in their communities. (Focus group with immigrant women, 12 September 2002)

Some women were very protective of and empathetic to their husbands’ need to preserve their status in the family through a rigid observation of traditional gender roles. Consequently, they accepted menial jobs themselves to spare their unemployed husbands humiliation, especially if they were highly educated and had high-status jobs and social positions in their countries of origin. One respondent explained: Women are more realistic and have, I think, instincts of protecting their children. From my personal experience, when I came here, I said well, okay … I’m raising children anyway; I’m scrubbing floors anyway in my home, right? I’m cleaning toilets anyway in my home, so I would rather see myself clean toilets, because I’ve been doing that for all my life, rather than see my husband doing it … going out and cleaning toilets while I’m sitting here. So these were my thoughts in how to try to protect the family from that type of humiliation, save your own husband doing these things. And I do come from a very liberated environment; however I was still doing a lot of physical work at home and [was] used to it. So cleaning the toilet, for me, was not an issue at all, and will never be. However, I know that cleaning the toilet for my husband would probably be an issue, and although he would not say it, he would do it. I would not like him to do that because I know that he would lose more than I emotionally. (Focus group with immigrant women, 12 September 2002)

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Motherhood was central in the lives of most of the participants, and pressures and changes in their parenting styles, necessitated by immigration, were a source of additional stress. It was especially true for those women whose children wanted to be ‘cool’ like other Canadian children and rejected their families’ traditional values and ways. Some immigrant women expressed concern about their fear of police intervention when disciplining their children. They tried to adapt to new ways of exercising parental control, but often felt disempowered and were afraid of being misunderstood. Service providers often assume that immigrant women who are abused can expect some emotional support from their cultural communities; however, patriarchal values prevail in this larger context as well. Not one of the interviewed women received support from her community. In some cases, members of the women’s communities knew what was going on, but stayed away. In other cases, people convinced women who were being abused to remain in the abusive relationship because ‘our tradition says so’ and as ‘a way to keep the family together.’ One interview participant, who had an arranged marriage when she was sixteen years old, was sexually abused in front of her mother and grandmother. They didn’t intervene on behalf of the young woman because having intercourse with her husband, they said, ‘was her duty and obligation.’ Immigrant women, like Canadian-born women who are abused, feel ashamed of themselves, but the situation for the former is made more difficult because of their lack of social networks outside their family relations (either here in Canada or elsewhere) and cultural communities. They fear that they will be socially isolated if they talk about their victimization to social-service agencies or the police. If women do not speak English, the absence of social networks makes it difficult for them to consider leaving their abusive spouses. One terrified woman noted that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to ‘make it’ by herself with three children and no family support (Focus group with immigrant women, 12 September 2002). Lack of information about housing and schools compounds the problem. As one woman succinctly summarized it: ‘I was penniless and didn’t know the city’ (Focus group with immigrant women, 17 September 2002). Some women reported that their partners deliberately misinformed them about their rights as women and wives, and about the availability of social services. Some men threatened that if their wives reported

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the abuse they would lose their children because they did not speak English and had no means of supporting themselves independently. Other men controlled their wives by asserting their right to throw them out of the home because they had legal title, while yet others talked of the racism of the police that would lead them to dismiss the women’s complaints. Since men frequently controlled household finances and legal documents, they could use this to further threaten and abuse their wives. Conclusion When we began this study we were interested in identifying how a specific social and geographical context, such as that in Halifax, might intersect with the abuse that immigrant women experience and the services they are able to access. Atlantic Canada, relative to Toronto or Vancouver, has a smaller percentage of visible-minority immigrants and their various communities tend to be less concentrated. Our study, however, largely echoed the findings of research on abused immigrant women conducted in other parts of Canada. As was the case elsewhere, we found that immigrant women are aware that they are being abused, but are unable to access social services for the many reasons documented in this chapter. Sometimes the problem lies in the situation of the woman, such as lack of facility with the language, a dependent immigrant status, and cultural beliefs that trap her in an abusive home and family. At other times it is the very different cultural assumptions of services that alienate women, or the racism of providers, or simply the lack of available help. Although we outline each of these issues as distinct problems, they do intersect and are intricately woven together. The public and the private are not distinct and separate domains; rather, they shape and determine our experiences in both directions. Thus, for example, racism may deter a woman from disclosing abuse, thereby making her further dependent on the spouse who is perpetrating the violence. In one way, our findings are not surprising, for the current political context throughout Canada, generally speaking, is not supportive of increasing funding for services for abused women; rather, the ideological trend has been in the opposite direction, as evidenced by many reports of cutbacks in programs. It is our hope, however, that the kind of documentation that we have provided on the individual and social consequences of violence against women will spur policy-makers to provide additional funding for better-informed social services.

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NOTES 1 In other areas of Canada, research has been conducted and reports have been written about violence in immigrant families, but according to Dr Baukje Miedema, director of research in the Family Medicine Teaching Unit (Fredericton Site), Dalhousie University, the surface of the topic has barely been scratched in Atlantic Canada (personal correspondence with Barbara Cottrell, 7 September 2002). 2 The participants came from Bosnia-Herzegovina, Chile, China, El Salvador, Ghana, Iran, Laos, Lebanon, Nicaragua, Sierra Leone, and Uganda. Three of the women were divorced, two had never been married, and four were currently married and living with their husbands. Seven of the participants had children. 3 Participants represented the Avalon Sexual Assault Centre, Coverdale Centre, Halifax Immigrant Learning Centre, Halifax Transition House Association, Halifax Regional Police Victim Services, Izaak Walter Killam Health Centre, Metro Housing Authority, Metropolitan Immigrant Settlement Association (MISA), New Start Domestic Abuse Program, North End Community Health Clinic, Nova Scotia Hospital, and the YWCA. 4 VIFAC members represented service agencies, federal and provincial government departments, and two universities. At regular meetings its members provided feedback, and refined and agreed on the research design and methodology, the data collection process, and the analysis and reports. They also discussed and collectively solved problems arising during the research process. Over the course of the project, VIFAC members increased their own comprehension of both the family-violence dynamic among newcomers and the support practices of service and government agencies. 5 Those who identified the lack of training as a problem in the delivery of services are the Department of Community Services Family and Children’s Services and the Department of Justice Court Services. Many organizations depended on MISA to inform them about immigrant issues. Community Health and Continuing Care recognized in their survey response that cultural-sensitivity education is needed for staff. The challenge was in ensuring that all (approximately 9000) staff members received it.

REFERENCES Agnew, Vijay. 1998. In Search of a Safe Place: Abused Women and Culturally Sensitive Services. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

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– 1996. Resisting Discrimination: Women from Asia, Africa and the Caribbean and the Women’s Movement in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. – 2003. Gender, Migration and Citizenship Resources Project. Status of Women Canada (online). Ahmad, Farah, et al. 2004. ‘Patriarchal Beliefs and Perceptions of Abuse among South Asian Immigrant Women.’ Violence Against Women 10(3): 262–82. Aldarondo, Etiony, et al. 2002. ‘A Risk Marker Analysis of Wife Assault in Latino Families.’ Violence Against Women 8(4): 429–54. Amaratunga, Carol. 2002. Race, Ethnicity and Women’s Health. Halifax: Atlantic Centre of Excellence for Women’s Health. Baha, Yoko, and Susan B. Murray. 2003. ‘Spousal Abuse: Vietnamese Children’s Reports of Parental Violence.’ Journal of Sociology and Social Welfare 30(3): 97–122. Barnes, Brittany McCarthy. 2001. ‘Family Violence Knows No Cultural Boundaries.’ Journal of Family and Consumer Sciences 93(1): 11–14. Brownridge, Douglas A. 2004. ‘Understanding Women’s Heightened Risk of Violence in Common-Law Unions.’ Violence Against Women 10(6): 626–51. Bui, Hoan N. 2003. ‘Help-Seeking Behaviour among Abused Immigrant Women: A Case of Vietnamese American Women.’ Violence Against Women 9(2): 207–39. Drakich, Janice, and Connie Guberman. 1988. ‘Violence in the Family.’ In Family Matters: Sociology and Contemporary Canadian Families, ed. Karen Anderson, 201–35. Scarborough, ON: Nelson Canada. Erez, Edna, and Shanya Back. 2003. ‘Immigration, Domestic Violence, and the Military.’ Violence Against Women 9(9): 1093–117. Friedman, Lisa. 1985. ‘Wife Assault.’ In No Safe Place: Violence Against Women and Children, ed. Connie Guberman and Margie Wolfe. Georgetown, ON: Women’s Press. Garcia, Lorena, et al. 2004. ‘Acculturation and Reported Intimate Partner Violence among Latinas in Los Angeles.’ Journal of Interpersonal Violence 20(5): 569–90. Goel, Rashmi. 2005. ‘Sita’s Trousseau.’ Violence Against Women 11(5): 639–65. Hassouneh-Phillips, Dena Saadat. 2001. ‘Marriage Is Half of Faith and the Rest Is Fear Allah.’ Violence Against Women 7(8): 927–46. Hyman, Ilene, and Sepali Guruge. 2002. ‘A Review of Theory and Health Promotion Strategies for New Immigrant Women.’ Canadian Journal of Public Health 93(3): 183–7.

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Hyman, Ilene, et al. 2004. ‘Post-Migration Changes in Gender Relations among Ethiopian Couples Living in Canada.’ Canadian Journal of Nursing Research 36(4): 74–89. Kim, Jae Yop, and Clifton Emery. 2003. ‘Marital Power, Conflict, Norm Consensus, and Marital Violence in a Nationally Representative Sample of Korean Couples.’ Journal of Interpersonal Violence 18(2): 197–219. Kim, Jae Yop, and Kyu-taik Sung. 2000. ‘Conjugal Violence in Korean American Families: A Residue of the Cultural Tradition.’ Journal of Family Violence 15(4): 331–45. Law Reform Commission of Nova Scotia. 1993. A Discussion Paper: Violence in a Domestic Context. Nova Scotia: Law Reform Commission of Nova Scotia. Michalski, Joseph H. 2004. ‘Making Sociological Sense out of Trends in Intimate Partner Violence.’ Violence Against Women 10(6): 652–75. Miedema, Baukje. 1999. ‘Barriers and Strategies: How to Improve Services for Abused Immigrant Women in New Brunswick.’ Research Paper Series 1. Fredericton: University of New Brunswick. Miedema, Baukje, and Sandra Wachholz. 2000. ‘Risk, Fear, Harm: Immigrant Women’s Perception of the “Policing Solution” to Woman Abuse.’ Crime, Law and Social Change 34: 3. – 2002. A Complex Web: Access to Justice for Abused Immigrant Women in New Brunswick. Status of Women Canada. At http://www.swc-cfc.gc.ca/pubs/ pubspr/complexweb/index_e.html. Moussa, Helene. 1999. ‘Violence Against Refugee Women: Gender Oppression, Canadian Policy, and the International Struggle for Human Rights.’ Resources for Feminist Research 26(3/4): 79–111. Musisi, Nakanyike, and Fakiha Mukta. 1992. Exploratory Research: Wife Assault in Metropolitan Toronto’s African Immigrant and Refugee Community. Toronto: Canadian African New-Comer Aid Centre of Toronto. Oxman-Martinez, Jacqueline, Shelly N. Abdool, and Margot Loiselle-Leonard. 2000. ‘Immigration, Women and Health in Canada.’ Canadian Journal of Public Health 91(5): 394–5. Pendakur, Ravi, and Krishna Pendakur. 2007. ‘Color My World.’ In InterrogatingRace and Racism, ed. Vijay Agnew. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Raj, Anita, and Jay Silverman. 2003. ‘Immigrant South Asian Women at Greater Risk for Injury from Intimate Partner Violence.’ American Journal of Public Health 93(3): 435–7. – 2002. ‘Violence Against Immigrant Women.’ Violence Against Women 8(3): 367–98.

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Salcido, Olivia, and Madelaine Adelman. 2004. ‘“He Has Me Tied with the Blessed and Damned Papers”: Undocumented Immigrant Battered Women in Phoenix, Arizona.’ Human Organization 63(2): 162–72. Santiago, Anna M., and Merry Morash. 1995. ‘Strategies for Serving Latina Battered Women.’ Gender in Urban Research 42: 219–35. Sharma, Anita. 2001. ‘Healing the Wounds of Domestic Abuse.’ Violence Against Women 7(12): 1405–28. Shelton, Andrea J., and Nahid J. Rianon. 2004. ‘Recruiting Participants from a Community of Bangladeshi Immigrants for a Study of Spousal Abuse: An Appropriate Cultural Approach.’ Qualitative Health Research 14(3): 369–80. Shirwadkar, Swati. 2004. ‘Canadian Domestic Violence Policy and Indian Immigrant Women.’ Violence Against Women 10(8): 860–79. Van Hightower, Nikki R., Joe Gorton, and Casey Lee DeMoss. 2000. ‘Predictive Models of Domestic Violence and Fear of Intimate Partners among Migrant and Seasonal Farm Worker Women.’ Journal of Family Violence 15(2): 137–54. Yoshioka, Marianne R. et al. 2003. ‘Social Support and Disclosure of Abuse: Comparing South Asian, African American, and Hispanic Battered Women.’ Journal of Family Violence 18(30): 171–80. – 2001. ‘Attitudes toward Marital Violence: An Examination of Four Asian Communities.’ Violence Against Women 7(8): 900–26.

PART TWO Immigrant Women and Health

Health is not only an objective biological phenomenon but one that is culturally defined and practised. Gender is a determinant of health, and scholars argue that women’s health varies depending on their social roles and the socio-economic context of their lives. Ilene Hyman, in her report Immigration and Health, found that immigrants’ health is shaped by their environment and their living conditions and that it changes in response to the pressures of poverty, marginalization, and class inequities (2001). In ‘Gender, Migration, and Health’ Arlene Bierman, Farah Ahmad, and Farah Mawani examine the interaction between the determinants of health and issues related to gender and migration on the health and well-being of women, and propose a conceptual framework that incorporates these complexities. Socio-economic factors such as education, employment, and income are ‘robust and persistent predictors of health status’ (Ratcliff 2002, 3). James Dunn and Isabella Dyck explain that the significant factors in human health status are not medical care inputs and health behaviours (such as smoking, diet, or exercise), but social and economic characteristics of individuals and populations. ‘The influence of these factors is ubiquitously manifested in profound social gradients in health status, which are surprisingly independent of diagnostic categories of illness, tending to persist across shifts in disease pattern and in hazardous exposures over time, and across societies’ (Dunn and Dyck 1998, 4). The literature on social inequalities and health has repeatedly demonstrated a positive association between social status and health status, however measured. Scholars have found that disadvantage in social roles and coping resources affects the nature and meaning of stressors

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and ultimately their effect on health. Population health is affected by the relative income differences between groups of people in the same society and between societies. The stress of economic insecurity and relative deprivation may affect the endocrine and immune systems and may also generate psychosocial stress that causes people to start smoking or engage in other behaviours that are detrimental to health (Agnew 2003). Similarly, being underemployed or having educational credentials devalued or previous work experience discounted affects the health of immigrants, writes Denise Spitzer in ‘Policy (In)Action: Policy-Making, Health, and Migrant Women.’ She argues that due to inaction and the absence of appropriate gender and diversity analysis, various federal, provincial, and institutional policies contribute to the poor health outcomes of immigrant women by limiting their access to health determinants such as education and employment. She documents that health, social, and immigration policies work to construct social relations that both facilitate and constrain access to societal and material resources. Policies are often formulated in a charged socio-political environment, and their effects are experienced differently by individuals and communities. Spitzer draws on several qualitative research projects to examine the impact of health-care reform, immigration policies, and access to supplementary health benefits on the health and well-being of immigrant women. The literature on immigrant women and health has grown slowly in the last decade, yet little attention has been accorded to elderly immigrant women. Ito Peng and Margo Lettner, in ‘Review of Health and Policy Research on Older Immigrants,’ report on demographic aging among immigrant populations and its implications for health policy in Canada, with a specific focus on older immigrant women. They suggest various ways by which government and non-governmental communities can collaborate to generate ideas on health and social policy and research. The availability (or absence) of social support systems has implications for immigrant health, write Vissandjée, Apale, and Wieringa in ‘Reaching Out and Scaling Up: The Dynamics and Relevance of Migrant Women’s Social Capital.’ They explore the concept of social capital and empowerment to consider how they might grant migrant women access to resources and support networks and have the potential of realizing multiple social and economic advantages for them. Immigrant women’s diverse modes of interaction and community membership

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may not grant them social leverage if they do not simulate the roles and social values of the host country. Indeed, ‘demands’ for social integration may not necessarily be flexible to the needs, practices, and beliefs of those experiencing migration. Such issues conjure up questions related to social justice, wherein the social well-being of migrant women may be dependent upon predefined notions and routes towards integration and so reinforce their marginalization. Social capital is not quantifiable, and it has not been documented in the fields of health policy or planning research. Yet it may be among the most salient and powerful forms of empowerment for migrant women. Spitzer documents that migrant women create supportive networks for themselves and their families and communities to resist the forces of marginalization and restore their well-being in Canada. Vissandjée, Apale, and Wieringa argue for the need to increase the recognition of diverse forms of empowerment and social capital through the channelling of specific resources to those who are in the process of integrating into Canadian society. This is an urgent matter affecting how the health of migrant women is protected and promoted.

REFERENCES Agnew, Vijay. 2003. Gender, Migration, and Citizenship: A Literature Review and Bibliography on Health. Toronto: Center for Feminist Research, York University. Dunn, J., and I. Dyck. 1998. Social Determinants of Health in Canada’s Immigrant Population: Results from the National Population Survey. Working Paper Series # 98-20. Vancouver: Research on Immigration and Integration in the Metropolis. Hyman, Ilene. 2001. Immigration and Health. Ottawa: Health Canada. Ratcliff, K.S. 2002. Women and Health: Power, Technology, Inequality, and Conflict in a Gendered World. Boston: Allyn and Beacon.

3 Gender, Migration, and Health a r l e ne s . b i e rm a n, fa ra h a h ma d, a nd fa r a h n. mawa n i

The migration experience exerts a profound influence on the health and well-being of immigrants (Beiser 2005), adding another layer of complexity to the multiple pathways through which the determinants of health operate. Gender and ethnicity, powerful determinants of health, also shape the migration experience of immigrant women (Boyd and Grieco 2003). Health outcomes for immigrant women are, therefore, the product of the interplay between social and medical health determinants, the migration experience, and gender roles, in both their country of origin and in the host society. Globally, migration is resulting in the increasing racial and ethnic diversity, within nations, of populations that until recently were primarily of European origin: Canada, the United States, member countries of the European Union, the United Kingdom, Australia and New Zealand. As a result of this growing demographic diversity, there is a need for effective policies to maintain and promote the health of these diverse immigrant communities (Beiser 2005). The factors and conditions that impact upon health often differ for men and women in the pre-migration period and during resettlement (Boyd and Grieco 2003; Pedraza 1991). Applying a gender lens enables us to develop a better understanding of the determinants of health among immigrant populations in order to inform practices and policies aimed at optimizing the health and well-being of the new arrivals. Canada has an expansionist immigration policy due to declining birth rates, an aging population, and the human resource needs (particularly for skilled labour) of its economy, and proportionately accepts more immigrants than any other country (Statistics Canada 2003). (The pattern of immigration and the gender breakdown of this population have been discussed in

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detail by Agnew in the introduction to this volume.) The Canadian experience provides an illustrative example, allowing us to develop a better understanding of the intersection of gender, migration, and the determinants of health. In order to understand the determinants of health among immigrant women, it is necessary to integrate concepts from four related areas of inquiry, each with its own distinct, though sometimes overlapping, bodies of literature: (1) social determinants of health; (2) gender equity; (3) racial and ethnic disparities in health; and (4) the migration experience. Although the health of immigrant women results from the interaction of the many factors that influence outcomes in models from all of these areas, there is an absence of literature that addresses this intersection. Social scientists are increasingly developing strategies to accomplish the challenging task of bringing together these distinct bodies of literature. However, to date they have addressed only two and, rarely, three of these areas: gender and the determinants of health (Moss 2002); gender and racial and ethnic disparities in health (House and Williams 2000); gender, class, and race (Schulz et al. 2002); and gender and migration (Boyd and Grieco 2003). Building on this work, in this chapter we examine the interaction between the determinants of health and issues related to gender and migration on the health and well-being of women, and propose a conceptual framework that incorporates these complexities. Social Determinants of Health The social determinants of health are complex and multi-factorial; they act through varied pathways, and at different levels. The social, economic, cultural, and physical environments in which individuals live constitute the milieus and contexts through which health is determined, and mediate the effect of individual-level factors on health (Evans and Stoddart 2003). Socio-economic position (SEP), whether measured by income, education, or occupation, is a powerful predictor of health status. The socio-economic gradient, the relationship between SEP and health, has been shown to exist for almost all health outcomes in countries all over the world (Adler et al. 1994; Blane 2001; Lynch and Kaplan 2000; Mustard 1996; Winkleby et al. 1992). Theoretical frameworks developed to help us better understand and study the determinants of health and their relationships form the foundation for a robust and growing body of literature on the pathways through which specific determinants of health operate. Kaplan (2004)

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and Krieger (2001) have reviewed many of these frameworks to identify their strengths and limitations, and their attempt to do so attests to the difficulty inherent in capturing these complexities within a single, unified framework. Kaplan characterizes these frameworks as metaphors that act ‘as an important caution against the potentially misleading simplification that comes from focusing on one level of influence … and not the totality of process and relations’ (125). Evans and Stoddart identified three common elements of the determinants-of-health frameworks: recognition of the centrality of contextual factors in the production of health; acknowledgment of the complexity of the interactions between the determinants of health; and locating health care in the context of the socio-economic factors that result in the production of health or illness (2003). Krieger’s ecosocial theory conceptualizes the dynamic processes that operate across multiple levels, from macro to micro, in determining the health of individuals and populations (2001). These frameworks routinely include gender and ethnicity as determinants of health. However, insufficient attention is paid to the pathways through which gender and ethnicity determine socio-economic position and intersect with other determinants to influence health. Migration, which adds yet another layer of complexity to the forces that shape health, is rarely addressed within these frameworks. Gender Equity Gender is deeply implicated in processes that appear gender neutral (Boyd and Grieco 2003, 2)

Gender roles and relations, and the inequities arising from them, are important contributors to the patterning of women’s health. There is a large body of international literature – one that focuses on gender inequities operating at the interpersonal, intra-household, community, and societal levels and their impact on women’s health – that is distinct from the literature on socio-economic inequalities in health (Moss 2002). At the macro and meso levels, gender serves as a form of social stratification, determining access to resources such as education, employment, and income (Ostlin et al. 2004). Most important, the effects of the determinants of health differ by gender (as well as by race, class, and many other criteria). An analysis of the National Population Health Survey found the social-structural and psychosocial determinants of health to be relatively more important for women in Canada, while behavioural determinants were relatively more important for men (Denton et al.

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2004). Social and economic policies have also been shown to impact women’s health. A study done in the United States found that women experience higher mortality and morbidity in states where they have lower levels of political participation and economic autonomy; however, similar detrimental consequences for the health of men were also noted (Kawachi et al. 1999). Inequities in health associated with socio-economic position among women are often greater than overall disparities in health between men and women. Health inequities among women arise from their different gender roles and status, inequalities in the distribution of socioeconomic resources, and the interaction of these factors – in particular, the cultural and social contexts. Some scholars have brought together the literature on gender and socio-economic inequalities in health. Spitzer reviewed these two streams of Canadian literature and identified gaps for addressing health disparities associated with gender (2005). Ostlin et al. suggest addressing gender and socio-economic inequities through targeting factors amenable to change in social and macroeconomic policy (2004). The World Health Organization recognized the central role of gender as a determinant and recommended a policy of gender mainstreaming in health, that is, integrating gender into the formulation, monitoring and analysis of policies, programs, and projects. They considered such mainstreaming to be an effective strategy for achieving gender equity (2003). Moss proposes a combined framework that recognizes the essential role played by the geopolitical environment, culture, gender roles in production and reproduction, and individual and community-level health mediators in determining health outcomes among women (2002). Ethnic and Racial Health Inequities The formation of ethnic and racial minority groups is influenced by cross-country variations in immigration policies and geographic boundaries. The word ‘ethnic’ has its historical roots in the Greek noun ‘ethnos,’ which means ‘foreign people or nations’ (Isajiw 1993). Historically, ethnicity was thought to refer to members of a social group with traits originating from a common racial, regional, linguistic, or religious source. However, scholars more recently consider ethnicity (like race and gender) to be a socially constructed phenomenon that is fluid and defined in relation to particular social contexts, time, and space. Ethnicity is thus not permanent, fixed, and stable; rather, it is contingent, and the

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values said to characterize an ethnic group change over time and generations. A minority status results from a ‘lack of access to power, privilege, and prestige in relation to the … majority group’ (Henry and Tator 2002, 248). Ethnicity is thus a dynamic and complex concept. Gender, race, ethnicity, and class may be construed as a set of social relationships reproduced within local contexts and shaped within historical and contemporary social, cultural, and institutional contexts (Mullings and Schultz 2006). However, gender, ethnicity, race, and class (along with many other criteria) are not experienced as discrete and isolated phenomena, but are integrated and intertwined in myriad ways, and thus it is difficult to measure the particular contribution of any one of these factors to health. Greater insights into the effects of race, gender, and class on health outcomes can be derived through studying the intersections of the many aspects of people’s identities. Health-care systems mirror the dynamics of the broader society; thus, discrimination and bias associated with race, gender, and class operating within health-care institutions contribute to well-documented inequities in health and health care (Geiger 2006). The inequities in health status associated with race and ethnicity are thought to be a result of multiple factors, such as socio-economic position, bias and discrimination, and differential access to care and its quality (Smedley et al. 2002). When women migrate, they become subject to forces operating in the host country that contribute to racial and ethnic inequities in health. A study using data from the Health Survey for England 1993–1996 found substantially poorer health among all minority ethnic groups compared to whites, with higher morbidity for minority ethnic women compared to men in the same ethnic group after controlling for socio-economic factors. The magnitude of gender and socio-economic differences varied by ethnicity (Cooper 2002). Theoretical frameworks and research methods developed to study the effects of the intersection of race, ethnicity, socio-economic position, and gender on health can help to conceptualize their contribution to the health of immigrant women (House and Williams 2000; Jackson and Williams 2006). Migration and Resettlement Gender roles, relations, and inequalities affect who migrates and why, how the decision is made, the impacts on migrants themselves, and on sending and receiving countries. (Jolly and Reeves 2005, 1)

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The migration experience of women is fundamentally different from that of men. Depending on circumstances, migration can be either beneficial or harmful to women; it can open new opportunities and possibilities that improve their lives, or it can expose them to new hazards and vulnerabilities (Jolly and Reeves 2005). Recognizing that factors influencing migration, from macro-level structural forces to micro-level individual characteristics, operate differently for men and women, Grieco and Boyd developed an international migration theory that recognizes and accounts for these gender differences (2003). The targeted recruitment of women by developed nations into specific occupations, such as nursing and domestic work, is common (Jolly and Reeves 2005; Pedraza 1991). Educational and employment opportunities, as well as social and community roles and responsibilities before and after migration, differ by gender (Boyd and Grieco 2003). These gender differences in the experience of migration ultimately influence health outcomes. Gender, Migration, and the Determinants of Health: A Conceptual Framework A conceptual framework bringing together elements of theory from the four streams of inquiry described above (social determinants of health, gender equity, racial and ethnic disparities in health, and the migration experience) is depicted in figure 3.1, ‘Gender, Migration, and Health: A Conceptual Framework.’ The geopolitical environment constitutes the overarching context, creating forces that determine who migrates, where they migrate from, and their place of settlement. The health and wellbeing of immigrant women is the product of macro-level or national factors, such as labour-market conditions, the economy, and immigration policy; meso- or community-level factors such as neighbourhood characteristics, social networks, and discrimination; and micro-level factors such as those related to individuals and families, as for example income, education, and family structures in countries of origin (premigration) and in the host nation (post-migration). Socially constructed gender roles in countries of origin and settlement mediate at the macro, meso, and micro levels, resulting in different migration outcomes for men and women. Similarly, the determinants of health operate at multiple levels during the pre- and post-migration periods. Table 3.1 outlines the major health determinants at each of these levels. The individual may be viewed as nestled within a series of concentric circles, situated within a family or household that is in turn located within a community, a city or region, and a nation. The health and

104 Arlene S. Bierman, Farah Ahmad, and Farah N. Mawani Table 3.1 Gender, migration, and multilevel determinants of health Geopolitical factors

Macro-level factors

Meso-level factors

Micro-level factors

Pre-migration (country of origin) • Global context: terrorism; war; religious/ethnic persecution; famine; natural disasters • Political system • Reason for migration: voluntary vs involuntary • Exposure to human-rights violations • Displacement within the country of origin • Global position • Economy • Migration policy

• Labour-market conditions • Culture • Educational opportunities • Health system

• Community • characteristics • • Community norms • and cultural • values (those that • determine whether • or not women can • migrate, and with • whom) • Social networks • • Urban or rural origin • • Legal • intermediaries acting as networks • linking potential migrants with demands from destination countries

Age Gender Income Education Occupation Ethnicity Family structure Labour-force experience Reasons for migration Health status Health beliefs and practices Biology

• Access to and • quality of health • services • • Discrimination • • Housing • • Legal • intermediaries • acting as networks • linking potential migrants with • demands from • destination • countries • • Neighbourhood characteristics • • Areas of settlement/ • environment (i.e., urban vs rural • areas)

Age at migration Gender Income Education Family structure Occupation Ethnicity Labour-force participation Acculturation Culture Cultural retention Capacity to obtain legal citizenship Economic dependency Fluency in official languages Health beliefs and practices

Resettlement (host country) • Immigration policies • Political environment • Global position • Economy

• Culture • Rights and entitlements of migrants • Employment and recruitment policies and practices • Gendersegregated job market • Gender and occupational stereotypes of the host country • Housing • Environment • Labour-market conditions

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Table 3.1 (Continued) Geopolitical factors

Macro-level factors

Meso-level factors

Micro-level factors

• Like ethnic community support • Religious community • Community services • Social exclusion • Social networks and support

• Healthy literacy level • Health status • Length of time in host country • Migration status • Alteration of power relationships in family • Separation from family • Psychological resources (i.e. coping) • Caregiving • Biology

Resettlement (host country) continued

well-being (e.g., chronic illness, functional status, and mental health) of the individual is the product of the determinants of health associated with each of these levels. While adverse economic circumstances and negative social forces can create health inequities, individual and community strengths and resources, along with effective social programs, mitigate and counterbalance them. In practice, the boundaries between many of these factors overlap and are thus indistinct. For example, socio-economic position is measured by income, education, and occupation at the individual level, but it is also determined by community, regional, national, and international structural forces, policies, and opportunities. Thus, the dynamic intersection of gender, ethnicity, and socio-economic position with these macro-, meso-, and micro-level factors across time and space needs to be considered in understanding health outcomes among immigrant women. The complexity of this framework presents unique challenges to studies aimed at furthering our knowledge of the pathways to health (or illness) among migrant women. For quantitative studies there are important data and methodologic limitations that need to be recognized and addressed when possible, and taken into consideration while interpreting results. The analytic challenges presented by this framework are similar to those presented by social determinants of health

Source: Central concentric circles adapted from C. Hertzman et al., ‘Using an Interactive Framework of Society and Life Course to Explain Self-Rated Health in Early Adulthood,’ Social Science and Medicine 53(12) (2001): 1575–85.

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Figure 3.1 Gender, migration, and health: A conceptual framework

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frameworks and those used in social epidemiology as discussed in critiques by Kaplan (2004), Krieger (2001), and Evans and Stoddart (2003) and summarized by Kaplan: ‘While the heuristic utility of such models can be substantial, they do both too much and too little. Such models are common in science, but the span of factors considered in models of this type in social epidemiology – sometimes linking the most macroand microlevel phenomena – is considerably broader than that found in many scientific pursuits, creating considerable problems regarding data availability and analytical methods’ (2004, 126). Existing data sets do not include measures of all the multiple factors determining the health of immigrant women. Key constructs included in this framework (figure 3.1) are often not assessed, and when assessed may be subject to measurement error. Longitudinal data that allow analyses of these factors as they act across the life course are typically unavailable. Even when important constructs are assessed in large national surveys, there is frequently an insufficient sample size for specific immigrant populations to produce reliable estimates or for conducting meaningful analyses. A number of strategies can enhance data quality for research and policy, including facilitating linkages of multiple data sets (i.e. census, population surveys, and administrative health data); oversampling of populations of interest to ensure adequate sample size; and development of data to include measures of important omitted constructs informed by community consultation and participation. Analytic methods are also limited in their ability to capture this complexity. However, there are a growing number of newer analytic strategies that are beginning to address some of these limitations. Hierarchical models allow for determination of the contribution of factors at multiple levels. Sub-frameworks that expand on components can be used to provide insights on them that can then be interpreted in the context of the larger framework (Evans and Stoddart 2003). Models that assess the independent effects of individual variables do not capture the intersectionality of gender, ethnicity, and social class as health determinants. Thus, there is a need to examine interactions in multivariable models. CART (Classification and Regression Trees) analysis can be used to identify the relative contribution of multiple factors to outcomes. Multi-method studies done by combining quantitative and qualitative data provide evidence beyond which each method can contribute separately. Despite limitations, frameworks such as the one we propose here provide an important context to critique literature, inform our understanding, and serve as a tool in research to advance knowledge and drive change.

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The Geopolitical Environment The geopolitical environment is the overarching context shaping both migration patterns and the different experiences that men and women have of them. Socio-economic inequalities and gender roles in the countries of origin and settlement are important determinants of health. Thus, an examination of both pre- and post-migratory conditions is needed to understand the many forces influencing immigrant women’s health and well-being (Beiser 2005; Hyman 2001; Vissandjée et al. 2004). Geopolitical forces, central to sociological theories on migration, are sometimes categorized as push-and-pull factors (Frazier 2003; YansMclaughlin 1990). Push-and-pull factors combine to create a unique set of forces that determine the time, location, and identity of individuals who migrate. Compared to immigrants, refugees have limited choices regarding when and where to emigrate and resettle. People migrate for a variety of reasons, ranging from famine and earthquakes to war, oppressive political regimes, religious persecution, and poor economies. Historically, economic opportunities, a better standard of living, and freedom have been some of the more common reasons for people to migrate. Sometimes discrimination and unsuccessful economic integration may cause people to return to their countries of origin; this trend has recently received additional impetus from the availability of good employment opportunities in Asia created through outsourcing in information technologies and from economic growth in countries such as China. Sometimes family ties may pull immigrants to return to their countries of origin. The political regimes, global positioning, and economies of the countries of origin influence who migrates and also shape the migration experience. Except in studies of refugees, the geopolitical environment of countries of origin has received little attention in the literature on immigration and health (Hyman 2001; Vissandjée et al. 2004). The World Health Organization reported that in 2002 situations of massive violence in more than forty-five countries compelled people to leave their homelands. Such situations blur the boundaries that are conventionally drawn between immigrants and refugees. Involuntary migration is perhaps a more common phenomenon than is generally recognized, and it has deleterious physical and mental-health effects on immigrants (WHO 2002). Refugees exposed to trauma and systemic violations of their human rights are at a particularly high risk for mental-health disorders. Some have been tortured and raped before fleeing; consequently, trauma,

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and particularly the type of psychological trauma experienced, determines the severity and risk of adverse mental-health outcomes (Silove and Ekblad 2002). The geopolitical environment of the host countries, including their significance in global economies, can have an effect on the health of immigrants. Policies relating to immigration, employment, health, and education influence who immigrates and shape their post-migration experiences. For example, among traumatized, non-voluntary, displaced individuals, post-migration stressors affect recovery and mental health. In a three-year, longitudinal study, it was found that the persistence of psychological symptoms among refugees resulted from the association between compromised mental health and the stress of unemployment and low levels of social contacts (Lie 2002). Beiser and Hou, in their ten-year follow-up study (2001), found that refugees who experienced persistent depression were either unemployed men or women who lacked fluency in the English language. It can be hypothesized that the gender-role expectations of men as primary breadwinners created greater stress for them when they were unemployed. Women with poor English-language skills had limited interaction with others and difficulties in going out alone; they therefore felt vulnerable and isolated. Unlike refugees, asylum-seekers are offered ‘temporary’ residence and face restrictions on their rights to work, study, language classes, and health care. They also have to cope with greater legislative and administrative barriers in reunifying with their families in their countries of settlement. Consequently, this group is at a higher risk of post-migration stress (Silove and Ekblad 2002; Silove et al. 2000). Sensitivity to the social and political contexts in countries of origin and settlement can contribute towards developing resettlement policies that generate positive health outcomes among immigrants and refugees. The geopolitical context affects immigrant women and men in specific ways. Historically, women were ‘essentially … left out of the theoretical thinking about migration’ (Brettell and Simon 1986), but in the last two decades there has been extensive research on the effects of immigration on the conceptualization of ‘gender as a social system’ (HondagneuSotelo 1999). Gender is a social construct that refers to ‘all duties, rights, and behaviours a culture considers appropriate for males and females’ (Wade and Tavris 1999). The immigration policies of recipient countries may have a differential impact on men and women. In Canada, immigration legislation classifies immigrants as independent (skilled workers and entrepreneurs), dependent (accompanying spouses and children),

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family (people sponsored by close relatives residing in Canada), or refugee. When a two-parent family enters the country, only one member of the family, typically the husband, is identified as the primary applicant. (Although the family is asked by immigration officials to elect a primary applicant, they usually choose the male, because of his better education and job potential, in the hope of maximizing their chances of being accepted as immigrants.) Of all women migrating, 37.8 per cent come as dependants of male migrants, 34.7 per cent come as family, and 11.7 per cent as refugees (Statistics Canada 2000). Such categorization ignores the education and work experience and, hence, the economic potential, of dependent and family-class female immigrants; it may also restrict their access to some social services (Vissandjée et al. 2004). Categorization as dependants creates fear of deportation among women (generated by the misinformation given to them by abusive spouses) and silences them (Bauer et al. 2000). The immigration status of a refugee woman can be revoked if she leaves a partner who is the primary refugee applicant (Community Legal Education Ontario 2005). Mandatory reporting laws aggravate the barriers to accessing health services for dependent women who are victims of abuse (Gielen et al. 2000). Some U.S. states (California, Colorado, Rhode Island, and Kentucky) require physicians to report to police when a patient injury has a suspected link to partner violence, even if this is contrary to the patient’s wishes. These mandatory laws have received a higher level of opposition among non-English- than English-speaking women in the United States (Rodriguez et al. 2001). Similar findings are reported for abused women in Canada, and are documented in the previous section of this volume. A large percentage of women coming from societies with strongly entrenched patriarchal norms and relationships like living in Canada because it provides them with enhanced freedom in their personal and social relations (Abraham 2000). This is particularly true of women who come from countries where there are dowry deaths, such as in India, honour killings, which sometimes occur in Pakistan and other Muslim countries, and female genital mutilation, which is practised in parts of Africa (Heise 1989; World Health Organization 2002). Several studies demonstrate a link between patriarchal beliefs and the justification of wife abuse (Haj-Yahia 1998), men’s aggression towards women (Dobash and Dobash 1979; M.D. Smith 1990; Yllo and Strauss 1984), and women’s acceptance of wife abuse (Ahmad et al. 2004). Migration often leads to modification of and changes in gender roles within families that can induce stress (Dion and Kawakami

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1996). The gender roles of women are frequently adapted and altered during resettlement, mostly to the advantage of women. For example, gender roles are modified consequent to women’s working for pay for the first time outside the home. Sakamoto and Zhou, in their research with skilled Chinese immigrants in Toronto (2005), found that women’s paid work changed gender roles within the family, empowering the women in many ways, such as giving them greater say in decisions. Consequently, women appreciated the enhanced opportunities for personal and professional development in Canada, while men were wary of these changes. Men and women were apprehensive of the effects of these changes on their family relationships. Transnationalism Historically, migration has been viewed as a unidirectional experience; however, the availability of cheap, rapid transportation and communication technologies have changed this paradigm into one where immigrants are able to travel frequently between their countries of origin and settlement and retain close contacts with family and friends left behind. Scholars have documented the attachment and close ties that first- and secondgeneration immigrant women from many parts of the world value. They, therefore, often maintain their original cultural norms and health beliefs while assimilating and acculturating with the dominant norms of Canadian society (Agnew 2005). As Portes and DeWind note: ‘Transnationalism represents … the obverse of the canonical notion of assimilation, sustained as the image of a gradual but irreversible process of acculturation and integration of migrants to the host society. Instead, transnationalism evokes the alternative image of a ceaseless back-andforth movement, enabling migrants to sustain a presence in two societies and cultures’ (2004, 834). Beiser, Shik, and Curyk (1999) suggest that the ability to connect with their countries of origin protects the mental health of immigrants; however, the effects differ by gender, context of migration, and whether or not family and friends remain in the country of origin. Resettlement Experience Resettlement experiences exert enormous influence on the eventual health of immigrants and refugees, and on the likelihood that their human capital will fulfill its promise. (Beiser 2005)

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Trajectories of health and illness among immigrants are affected by the complex interplay of geopolitical environment and macro-, meso-, and micro-level factors in the host country. Research documents that immigrants to Canada have better than average health on arrival, an advantage over the general population characterized by scholars as the ‘healthy immigrant effect’ (Chen, Ng, and Wilkins 1996; Chen, Wilkins, and Ng 1996; Dunn and Dyck 2000). The ‘healthy immigrant effect’ results from the self-selection of immigrants and Canadian healthscreening policies. However, more recently, researchers have noted a loss of the ‘healthy immigrant effect’ corresponding to the number of years lived in Canada and the ethnicity of the individual. For example, Ng and colleagues examined self-perceived health conditions among Canadian-born individuals and immigrants using five cycles from 1994–5 to 2002–3 of the National Population Health Survey. They found that, overall, immigrants were more likely than Canadian-born individuals to report a change from good, very good, or excellent health to fair or poor health. However, this deterioration applied only to immigrants with non-European origins. At the same time, it was shown that there was a concomitant increase in the frequency with which the immigrants consulted physicians (Ng et al. 2005). Beiser notes critically that ‘little policy is directed to ensuring that [immigrants] stay healthy. This neglect is wrong-headed: keeping new settlers healthy is just, humane, and consistent with national self-interest’ (2005, 62). Micro- or Individual-Level Factors Settlement is influenced by the characteristics – such as migration status, age at time of migration, fluency in English or French, education, employment, income, family structure, length of time in Canada and stage of acculturation – of individual migrants. Migration Status: Attempts to distinguish immigrants as voluntary migrants and refugees as involuntary migrants are often made, but the distinction is not always clear given the complex contexts of migration (Mulvihill et al. 2001). For example, some women may not have a choice as to whether or not they wish to migrate, given their low status in families or exclusion from decision-making. However, the large number of women who gain admission to Canada as dependants of men (whether immigrants or refugees) encounter stresses that affect their health that are different from those of their partners (Beiser and Hou 2000). Immigrant and refugee women have

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different access to social services, and this affects how they cope with the myriad processes of resettlement – for example, identifying appropriate-level jobs, finding housing, locating schools, coping with separation from family and friends, and learning the new culture. But immigrants and refugees may also experience similar circumstances created, for example, by intimate partner violence. As discussed by Mosher, Cottrell, Moncayo, and Tastsoglou in this volume, although women classified as the dependants of male migrants cannot be deported, this threat is often used by men to intimidate and silence them. Abusive partners misinform their dependent spouses about their rights, and may threaten to separate them from their children or withdraw sponsorship of their relatives, thereby ensuring that they will not disclose the abuse to social workers and physicians (Smith 2004). Similarly, women who come to Canada under the federal Live-in Caregiver Program, with the hopes of eventually attaining permanent status, face the stress of being separated from their spouses and children for years. At times, they even put up with exploitation and physical and sexual abuse from their employers, not wanting to jeopardize their application for permanent residency in Canada (Stasiulis and Bakan 2005). Exposure to Violence and Traumatic Events: Studies suggest that the distinction between voluntary and involuntary immigrants during settlement risks masking pre-immigration exposure to political and economic violence. Immigrants and refugees are exposed to political violence during military coups, by oppressive dictatorships and repressive police, and by gender persecution and the violation of human rights. A survey of young immigrants in California found that high exposure to violence, before and after immigration, led to 32 per cent of the respondents reporting clinical symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (Jaycox et al. 2002). These levels are similar to those reported by refugees. In a sample of recent immigrants in Quebec, high levels of pre-migration exposure to political violence were reported not only by 60 per cent of refugees but also by 48 per cent of independent and 42 per cent of sponsored immigrants. Those of Chinese and Arabic ethnicity predominated in these numbers (Jaycox et al. 2002; Rousseau and Drapeau 2004). In this study, the pre-migration exposure to political violence was positively associated with emotional distress, and it did not vary across immigration categories. Although both immigrants and refugees can be exposed to violence, its severity and intensity, and therefore its impact on physical and psychological health, varies according to their country of origin.

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Age at Time of Migration: The impact of migration and resettlement varies according to the age at which women enter Canada. Women participants in a national, qualitative study felt that immigrating to Canada as adults put them at a disadvantage in learning new skills such as language and understanding their cultural contexts, and adapting to their new surroundings. They compared their experiences with the relative ease with which their children adapted, and speculated that perhaps it was due to the latter having to deal with less cultural baggage (Mawani 2001). Fluency in Official Languages: The impact of migration and resettlement on health also depends on women’s level of fluency in at least one of the official languages. Knowledge of English and French facilitates resettlement, but it does not eliminate all problems (Beiser and Hou 2000, 2001; Mawani 2001). Racism within the larger society, as noted in this volume by Racine, in her discussion of French-speaking Haitian immigrants to Quebec, may modify the advantage of knowing English or French. A longitudinal survey of immigrants with a sample of 12,000 immigrants and refugees who had been admitted to Canada in 2000–1 found that 18 per cent of the respondents were unable to converse in English or French. Of these, women were less likely than men to have knowledge of one of the official languages. Immigrants and refugees who were surveyed identified a lack or limited knowledge of English and French as their greatest barrier to employment and accessing education and health-care services (Statistics Canada 2005a). Beiser and Hou’s ten-year study of Southeast Asian refugee resettlement in Canada (2000, 2001) found that the ability to speak English did not significantly affect men’s employment, but gave women an advantage. Access to English-language training has varied over the years, and in the 1980s, subsequent to protests by feminist and immigrant groups, barriers to language training were eliminated by providing child-care services and daytime classes that women could attend free of cost. In 1990, federally funded programs were revised to recognize language training as a fundamental right of all immigrants (Community Social Planning Council of Toronto 2005). However, in the 1990s financial cutbacks reduced the amount of language training available to immigrants and refugees, irrespective of gender, and new policies have linked advanced language training to labour-market or to specific job requirements. Besides the availability and accessibility of language classes, gender roles that assign care and nurturance of families to

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women constrains their attendance at classes. Further discrimination that locates and stratifies immigrant women into jobs with irregular working hours limits their ability to acquire English language skills even more. Socio-economic Position: Education, income, and occupation, the most common measures of SEP and powerful determinants of health, tend to be correlated. However, among new immigrants, factors such as underemployment and discrimination often disrupt these well-established relationships. Although a large percentage of immigrants and refugees choose to relocate in Canada’s metropolitan cities for the employment opportunities that exist there, they encounter higher rates of unemployment and underemployment than do Canadian-born men and women. Monica Boyd and Jessica Yiu document in this volume that immigrant women, despite their higher levels of education, earn less than Canadianborn white women (see also Human Resources Development Canada 2001; McIsaac 2003; Omidvar and Richmond 2003; and Ruddick 2003). The 2001 Canadian census data indicate that post-secondary education was positively associated with higher income for Canadian-born individuals and that they constituted 60 per cent of those in the top income category. However, the association of post-secondary education with higher income did not apply to immigrants, even for those with a university degree and knowledge of an official language. The 2001 census recorded an over-representation of university-educated immigrants in low-skilled and poorly paid jobs. Furthermore, in occupations at all skill levels, recent immigrants earned less than their Canadian-born counterparts (McIsaac 2003). There are significant differences in the labour-market participation rates of recent immigrant men and women. By 2001, in all major immigrant receiving centres, the gap in employment narrowed for recent immigrant men; however, in contrast, it widened for women, doubling since 1991. Although immigrant women did not participate in the labour force at the same level as men, they earned more than their male counterparts. The reasons for this discrepancy are not clear (McIsaac 2003). Recent immigrants report higher unemployment rates than nonimmigrants (Kinnon 1999). Unemployment and underemployment have negative effects on the health of immigrants, as they do for the general Canadian population. Some evidence, however, indicates that unemployment has considerably greater negative effects on the mental health of immigrants and refugees (Beiser 2005; Beiser, Johnson, and

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Turner 1993; Kinnon 1999; Newbold 2005). The availability and accessibility of job opportunities is important, for jobs provide income, a sense of purpose, and social contacts and, besides the physical and psychosocial environments of workplaces, also affect health (Lynch and Kaplan 2000). Immigrants who are underemployed have to cope with the psychological stress induced by the lack of recognition of their skills and the relatively more unhealthy physical and psychosocial environments that often accompany low-skilled and poorly paid jobs. Refugees in the past were not as well educated or highly skilled as those who have arrived in the last decade or two; these new refugees have education and skills and are disappointed by underemployment and unemployment, which sometimes leads to clinical depression (Simich 2003; Stewart et al. 2003). Lack of recognition of credentials and skills acquired in countries of origin that leads to long-term unemployment or underemployment has a significant negative impact on mental health (Beiser and Hou 2001; Kinnon 1999). However, unemployment, underemployment and job insecurity are distributed differentially across class, ethnic and gender groups within the immigrant and refugee populations (Spitzer 2005). Immigrant women, in particular, are more likely to be in lowwage and part-time jobs that give little autonomy to workers (ibid.). Beiser and Hou characterize women as being in a ‘Catch-22’ situation: ‘Classification as a dependant rather than a wage-earner limits women’s access to language and skills-upgrading programs sponsored or subsidized by the government. Lack of language training in turn either keeps women out of the job market altogether, or steers them toward employment as domestics or in the garment industries, settings in which little opportunity exists to learn English or other occupational skills’ (2001, 327). In addition, women’s multiple roles result in conflicting demands between home and work, and these have the potential of jeopardizing their health. Length of residence: Many factors that influence health, positively and negatively, are affected by the length of time immigrants have spent in the host society. These may include the adoption of more egalitarian gender norms, education and training, acquisition of English and French language skills, and greater consciousness of the benefits of healthy diets as a result of public-education programs. But scholars have also noted the adoption of some negative behaviours, such as smoking and drug use, and a tendency towards obesity that increases over time after migration (Beiser 2005; Newbold 2005; Ng et al. 2005).

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Acculturation is defined by Henry and Tator as ‘a process of adaptation and change whereby a person or an ethnic, social, religious, language, or national group integrates with or adapts to the cultural values and patterns of the majority group’ (2002, 241). It is a significant part of the resettlement experience that involves the long-term process of modifying or discarding beliefs, values, and practices from one’s country of origin and adopting new and different ones from the host society. However, acculturation is an ongoing and complex process that is affected by a multitude of factors, such as the reasons for and age at time of migration, fluency in official languages, and length of time in Canada. Consequently, individuals and groups acculturate at different rates and in varying ways. Berry (2005) has described ‘acculturation strategies’ that distinguish between integration, assimilation, separation, and marginalization. He outlines three dimensions underlying these strategies – cultural maintenance, contact and participation with members of the dominant society, and the power to decide on how acculturation will take place. Since women typically exercise less power in families, their ability to acculturate and the degree of its extent may be somewhat constrained. Age at time of migration, length of time in Canada, and generational status have shown consistent positive associations and are deployed as proxy measures for acculturation (Hyman 2001). There are some limitations to such an approach, for individual factors in acculturation are used to represent a complex and multidimensional process. The majority of research that incorporates gender and acculturation examines its influence on specific health behaviours, such as alcohol and drug use, or sexual activity. The little research conducted to date in Canada on this topic focuses on adolescents in specific ethnic communities. Very few scholars focus extensively on the health outcomes of these behaviours. Community (Meso-Level) Factors Unfortunately, post-migration experiences – notably acculturation, unemployment, and discrimination – are only too common threats to the well-being of both immigrants and refugees. (Beiser 2005)

The individual factors described above form the context for immigrant and refugee women’s resettlement experience. The following

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section describes some important community-level factors, such as discrimination, neighbourhood characteristics, and social support. Discrimination: As the demographic profile of immigrants to Canada continues to change with the attraction to the country of more immigrants from Asia, the challenges of integrating into the Canadian economy and society increase. The health trajectories of non-European immigrants differ from those of Europeans; consequently, it becomes important to understand diverse populations. In the 1990s, 73 per cent of recent immigrants were ‘visible minorities.’ This compares with 68 per cent in the 1980s and 52 per cent in the 1970s. Some project that by 2016 visible minorities will account for one fifth of Canadian citizens (McIsaac 2003). Analysis of the 2001 census data also demonstrates a growth in Islam, Hinduism, Sikhism, and Buddhism, and this is consistent with changing immigration patterns that demonstrate increased immigration from Asia and the Middle East (Statistics Canada 2001). Despite these demographic changes, there is little Canadian research on discrimination as a determinant of physical and mental health (Health Canada 1999; Krieger 2000; Noh et al. 1999). Discrimination is defined by Henry and Tator as ‘the denial of equal treatment and opportunities to individuals or groups with respect to education, accommodation, health care, employment, and services, goods, and facilities. Discrimination may arise on the basis of race, nationality, gender, age, religion, political affiliation, marital or family status, physical or psychiatric disability, or sexual orientation’ (2002, 244). Most of the research that has been done thus far focuses on racism, with only a few scholars including gender discrimination in their analyses (Hyman 2001; Krieger 2000), and with fewer still including discrimination based on age, immigration status, religion, and nationality. It is important to do an integrated analysis of the various forms of discrimination, because individuals can face discrimination in multiple forms simultaneously (Krieger 2000). There is limited understanding of the pathways by which discrimination influences health. It may affect mental and physical health via its effect as a chronic stressor or because of its impact on intermediate determinants such as employment and educational opportunities (ibid.). The results of Canada’s Ethnic Diversity Survey indicate that of all the places and situations in which people identified experiencing discrimination, the most common related to work or applying for a job or promotion. Of those who had often or sometimes experienced

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discrimination because of their ethno-cultural characteristics in the five years prior to the survey, 56 per cent experienced discrimination at work or when applying for work (Statistics Canada 2003). Another study found that the longer Southeast Asian refugees lived in Canada, the more likely they were to experience and recognize racially based discrimination (Beiser, Johnson, and Turner 1993). These findings were replicated in a national qualitative study conducted in the early 2000s, in which refugees described feeling less at home the longer they lived in Canada because they felt frustrated with their encounters with discrimination (Mawani et al. 2003). Such a finding is counterintuitive and contradicts the commonly held assumption that immigrants and refugees feel more of a sense of belonging the longer they live in Canada (Fenta et al. 2004). Neighbourhood Characteristics: Numerous studies have shown that the characteristics of neighbourhoods, such as the degree of concentrated poverty, availability of parks and recreational facilities, accessibility of housing and community services, health care and its quality, crime, transportation, and the presence of grocery stores that carry healthy foods, may all influence individual health. Newer immigrants often concentrate in neighbourhoods, and the physical characteristics of their environment affect their health trajectories. One analysis of the 1996 census data determined that Toronto neighbourhoods with the highest proportion of recent immigrants had lower incomes than those with lower percentages of recent new arrivals (Glazier et al. 2004). It found that the average household income the highest recentimmigration quintile was almost 60 per cent lower than the average household income of those in the lowest immigration quintile. These findings indicate that the effects of immigration and income are difficult to separate at the neighbourhood level (ibid.). It is, however, important to consider their potential effects, along with those of other neighbourhood-level factors. For example, there may be neighbourhood-level differences in the concentration of particular ethnic groups within a city that result in neighbourhood-level differences in health outcomes associated with community support. Social Support: Social support and social capital are important sources of resilience in immigrant communities and mitigate the impact of adverse experiences on health, as discussed in this volume by Vissandjée, Apale, and Wieringa. Conversely, factors that disrupt established socialsupport networks can result in negative health consequences. We need to consider the social-support experience of immigrants and refugees in the

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context of the many losses they have endured during migration. Loss or separation occurs because some family members come to Canada first, while others follow a few months or even years later. Family networks or extended families disperse because individuals choose to migrate to different cities or even countries. Convention refugees are assigned to specific countries by the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (Simich 2003), and thus often find themselves separated from their kinship networks. In some refugee families, children or adults die while fleeing war and political violence or while moving from one country to another in horrendously unsafe conditions. Loss of immediate or extended family and ethnic networks is bemoaned by women who feel lonely and isolated in their ‘new homes’ (Mawani 2001). The loss of emotional and affirmational support is felt particularly acutely during the initial process of resettlement. Women from countries in Asia and Africa are accustomed to relying on the informal support provided by their families and communities. They may also be unfamiliar with the concepts of social work and welfare agencies, and may even consider it shameful or embarrassing to ask them for help when such services are used only by the indigent in their countries of origin. The absence of informal support becomes particularly onerous for single women and separated spouses, whose difficulties are further aggravated by having to forgo the comfort and security of having friends and communities close at hand. Migration sometimes requires families to live separately for a few months; at times, this may extend to a few years. Separation from spouses and partners can lead to the breakdown of marriages and relationships due to limited communication and the stress caused by uncertainty. Separation from children has a severe emotional impact on women, and they almost always desire to be reunited with their families as soon as possible (Rousseau et al. 2001). The conditions of separation influence the nature and extent of its impact on women’s health (Schen 2005). In some cases, such as domestic workers, women come to Canada and leave their children in their countries of origin with family or friends, with the intention of sending for them when they have accumulated sufficient resources and are entitled to sponsor them (Miranda et al. 2005). Refugee women are often in the heart-wrenching position of having to leave some of their children in a country on their migration route, and are torn by anxiety regarding their safety; this becomes further aggravated if they are unable to communicate with them (Mawani 2001; Miranda, et al. 2005); Rousseau and Drapeau 2004). In

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addition, the process of fulfilling the host country’s legal and administrative requirements tends to drag on for extended periods, further delaying family reunification (Rousseau and Drapeau 2004; Rousseau et al. 2001). Prolonged separation compounds the effects of trauma due to a combination of guilt about leaving children behind, fear over their safety, and the loss of the protection of immediate and extended family and social groups (Miranda et al. 2005; Rousseau, and Drapeau 2004; Rousseau, Mekki-Berrada and Moreau 2001; Schen 2005). Evidence indicates that men and women need, give, and receive social support in different ways and at various levels (Heaney and Israel 1997; Moss 2002; Mulvihill et al. 2001). Women especially require adequate support because they frequently have less power in family relationships and experience more inequities in their private and public lives (Moss 2002). Much of the work of supporting and building social networks and providing care to family and friends devolves on women, who consider it an important aspect of their gender identity. Women are conventionally expected to give more support to immediate and extended family members and to friends, despite the requirements of paid work and time commitments to homemaking. For example, immigrant South Asian women have increased caregiving responsibilities in Canada because they are cut off from the traditional informal support networks that helped them out ‘back home.’ As noted, they are also unfamiliar with the concept of social services when they first arrive, and may feel shame or embarrassment in asking for such help. In a national, qualitative survey women reported feeling more comfortable in seeking informal help from family and friends than in asking for formal support, particularly with intimate personal issues (Mawani 2001). Family members who are already settled in Canada, particularly if they are in the same city, can be helpful; however, the exigencies of life sometimes mean that all are undergoing stress in coping with family and paid-work tensions and may have little time to be supportive of each other. Thus, women can give less support, and attempts to do so out of guilty feelings can be physically and mentally exhausting and detrimental to their health (Fischer et al. 2004; Moss 2002; Watkins and Whaley 2000; Spitzer 2005). The amount of support that individuals give or receive depends also on how integrated with or alienated they are from their ethnic or religious communities in their new ‘homes.’ Women may identify with different intersecting communities, such as those comprising their ethnicity, religion, and neighbourhood. Ethnic and religious communities may be different or overlapping. For example, an ethnic community

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such as the one comprising South Asians includes individuals from different religious groups. A religious community, such as Muslims, is made up of nationals from many different countries and can be divided into many sub-groups according to their interpretation of the Koran. Each of those communities has a cultural belief system about the value of providing or accepting social support from family and friends. The literature suggests that having a large, well-established ethnic community in the city of settlement has a positive effect on immigrants’ mental health (Beiser, Johnson, and Turner 1993; Fenta et al. 2004). The ethnic community, either individually or through its organizations, can provide help in locating homes, schools, jobs, and places of worship that cumulatively generate a sense of belonging, cultural identity, and historical continuity. The larger the community, the more likely it is to have ethno-specific services to meet the needs of its members. For example, in Toronto there are many ethnic organizations of women that cater to the varied needs of individuals from their communities, such as the provision of English-language classes and help in writing resumes and filling out applications for welfare and housing, as well as legal aid in coping with violence in families. Such organizations were created, in part, to overcome the discrimination that women have encountered from mainstream social services. Besides their cultural and linguistic familiarity, women who accessed these services experienced comfort and a sense of security (Agnew 1998). Community-based women’s organizations that are specific to their ethnic groups can create positive feelings and lead to better outcomes in the mental health of immigrants (Fenta et al. 2004; Mawani et al. 2003). Fenta et al. (2004) hypothesize that the protective effects of social support from the ethnic community may be high during the early years of resettlement, but may fade over time. When immigrants first arrive, they need information and instrumental support, and feel comfortable asking for help from their communities, which have often been in Canada for some time and are assumed to be knowledgeable about its culture and society. However, over time newer immigrants need less of such help, either because they have acculturated and thus feel more comfortable in accessing support from mainstream organizations, or they have developed fluency in English or French and no longer need services in their first languages. Culture, Health Beliefs, and Health Culture plays an important role in influencing health beliefs, behaviours, and practices, as well as interactions with health-care systems

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and providers. However, when the determinants of immigrant and refugee women’s health are examined, culture is often reduced to discrete or overly simplified variables (religion, caste, race, ethnicity, family type, region and country of origin) without exploring the heterogeneity within those groups and the complex mechanisms by which cultural factors associated with them influence health and illness. In order to assess their effects on health, it is important to consider the influence of cultural factors, including values relating to gender roles, perceptions of illness, beliefs about illness causation, beliefs about the effectiveness of treatment, and help-seeking behaviours. The Illness Behaviour model helps to specify the mechanisms through which culture affects health by elaborating on the relationship between culture and illness via the intermediate determinant of health-care behaviour (Christakis et al. 1994). This model is a conceptual framework for organizing data on cultural variations in the ways in which people think about and respond to illness. The extensive literature on health in various populations around the world has shown that symptoms are perceived, interpreted, and acted upon differently by people from one cultural context to the next, resulting in different experiences of illness (Christakis et al. 1994; Kleinman 1980; Ware et al. 1992). Kleinman refers to a patient’s perception, experience, expression and pattern of coping with symptoms as ‘illness,’ as distinct from ‘disease,’ which denotes the way health professionals view illness in terms of their theoretical models of pathology. Illness, as defined above, is mediated by language, illness beliefs, personal significance of pain and suffering, and socially learned ways of behaving when ill. Kleinman emphasizes that ‘illness experiences are enmeshed in and inseparable from social relationships’ (1988, 7). Illness behaviour is defined as ‘the constellation of meanings and activities exhibited by an individual and his or her social circle in response to bodily indications perceived as symptoms’ (Christakis et al. 1994; Kleinman 1980; Ware et al. 1992). In individual or social networks, illness behaviour involves monitoring the body, recognizing and interpreting symptoms, taking remedial action (i.e., seeking lay or professional help) to rectify the perceived abnormality, and the ongoing response of the sick individual and those around him or her to the course of the illness Illness is one component of the larger category of health behaviour defined as ‘the advertent and inadvertent behaviours that maintain health, or, conversely, place persons and groups at risk for ill health’ (Christakis et al. 1994). A significant part of health behaviour is the

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help-seeking process or health-care behaviour, that is, ‘a series of activities aimed at securing treatment for illness’ (ibid.). Health-care behaviour involves seeking treatment from one of three overlapping sectors: the popular, the folk, or the professional. The popular sector consists of families, members of social networks, and the individuals themselves. Popular treatment may include dietary changes and special foods, traditional herbs and medicines, religious practices, and biomedical interventions. The folk sector consists of traditional healers, while the professional sector is made up of practitioners of biomedicine (Christakis et al. 1994; Kleinman 1980; Ware et al. 1992). The study of culture as a determinant of health and illness enhances understanding of the reasons why people behave in certain ways, and how this behaviour affects health and responses to illness (Kleinman 1980; Masi 1993; Toumishey 1993). As Kleinman (1980) states, ‘The major mechanism by which culture affects the patient and his disorder is via the cultural construction of illness categories and experiences.’ Culture affects illness by shaping perceptions of illness and determining beliefs about illness. ‘Perceptions of illness’ refers to the identification of symptoms of illness, along with their categorization according to levels of severity. ‘Beliefs about illness’ refers to beliefs about health maintenance, illness causation, and effectiveness of treatment. Health System Factors Economic, environmental, and societal factors result in a higher burden of illness among socio-economically disadvantaged populations. Factors operating at the patient level – including health beliefs and behaviours – the provider level, and the health-system level have all been shown to contribute to gender, ethnic, and socio-economic inequities in health care (Brown et al. 2004; Kim et al. 2003). The resultant health inequalities are manifested through preventable or treatable clinical conditions, such as heart disease, diabetes, or asthma. As a result, when socio-economically disadvantaged populations receive health care of lower quality, they are at especially high risk for suboptimal health outcomes. Access to quality health care can potentially improve the health of population groups of lower socio-economic position, whereas poor access and quality of care can compound these inequalities (Bierman and Dunn 2006). Access, quality, and outcomes of health care have been shown to differ by gender, ethnicity, and socio-economic position (Fiscella et al. 2000). In addition to encountering barriers to the receipt

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of effective health care due to gender and SEP, immigrant women may also encounter barriers due to language and difficulty in locating culturally sensitive and appropriate services. Equitable access to care is achieved when the use of effective health services is determined by need. Immigrant women need to clear a series of hurdles to health-care access in order to realize optimal health outcomes. First, they must enter the health-care system (primary access) and then they must negotiate its structural barriers (secondary access). Primary barriers represent the first obstacle in getting care, and include such factors as lack of or inadequate health insurance, proximity of providers, and lack of transportation (Bierman and Clancy 2001). Although Canada has a universal health-care system, some immigrant women may be uninsured or underinsured for a number of reasons, including immigration status (especially if they are undocumented), waiting times for coverage, or lack of coverage for essential services such as pharmaceuticals. Secondary, or structural, barriers include difficulty in getting appointments, specialty referrals, or advice after office hours. Language barriers and lack of familiarity with the health system may make it difficult to negotiate these barriers. Once the hurdles of primary and secondary access are cleared, health outcomes are then contingent upon the ability of the providers and of the system to understand and address specific needs: a third hurdle defined as tertiary access. Tertiary access, the link between access and quality, reflects the ability of providers and the health-care system to understand and address the patient’s needs, and includes factors such as the provider’s communication skills, cultural competence, knowledge, and clinical skills, especially those related to health problems that may be more common in immigrant populations (Bierman and Clancy 2001). Improved access and quality of care for immigrant women is dependent upon awareness and understanding of all these barriers and the development of effective interventions to address them. Since gender, ethnic, racial, and socio-economic inequities in the quality of health care have been documented in literally thousands of studies, scholarly inquiry has turned to understanding the pathways through which they occur and developing interventions to reduce them, with the goal of ultimately eliminating these disparities (Smedley et al. 2002). Brown and colleagues developed a framework for understanding the impact of socio-economic factors as important mediators of diabetes outcomes; their research can serve as a tool by which to formulate and test hypotheses that could further our understanding of

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these disparities (Brown et al. 2004). Van Ryn has explored the contribution of provider bias and the role of stereotyping in producing these disparities in quality (van Ryn 2002). The Chronic Care Model, which has guided efforts to improve health-care quality using a health-systems approach, includes the role of community resources and policy in improving health outcomes. Subsequent iterations of this model expand upon the role of both communities and the policy environment in fostering health, providing a framework that can be used to address the social determinants of health in the context of system redesign and improvement (Barr et al. 2003; Epping-Jordan et al. 2004). In Canada, the province of British Columbia is using the ‘Expanded Chronic Care Model,’ which emphasizes the role of an activated community as a partner and incorporates a focus on disease prevention and health promotion (Barr et al. 2003). There is growing recognition that successful public-health interventions also require community empowerment and participation. In the United States, targeted interventions have had modest success in reducing health disparities associated with race and ethnicity. In 2004, the National Research Council issued a report that stated that data on race, ethnicity, socio-economic position, language, country of origin, years in the host country, and measures of acculturation were essential to better understand factors contributing to health disparities, to develop interventions, and to monitor progress (National Research Council 2004). Widely accepted indicators of health-care quality, when stratified by race/ethnicity or socio-economic position, have shown that socio-economically disadvantaged individuals may receive lower quality of care even when insured and receiving care from the same health system. Use of these data can help providers assure equity in quality and outcomes of care to all of the people and communities that they serve (Bierman et al. 2002). In Canada, health data systems do not collect or report data on race, ethnicity, or immigration. In addition, large population surveys do not oversample minority populations, and thus have limited power to provide estimates for specific immigrant communities. This creates a significant barrier to assessing disparities in access, quality, and outcomes of care among new Canadians. There is emerging evidence, albeit limited, that culturally sensitive interventions can improve health outcomes (Kehoe et al. 2003). The Healthy Directions–Health Centers trial was able to achieve improvements in health behaviours among individuals from a multi-ethnic, working-class community receiving care from community health

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centres through culturally sensitive intervention responsive to the social context of the inhabitants’ lives (Emmons et al. 2005). Socioculturally tailored health-education materials were proven to be effective in promoting knowledge and the uptake of breast cancer screening among South Asian women in Ontario (Ahmad, Cameron, and Stewart 2005). Betancourt and colleagues have proposed a framework of organizational, structural, and clinical cultural-competence interventions to facilitate the elimination of disparities and improve care (Betancourt et al. 2003). An understanding of the cross-country differences is vital for addressing health disparities among ethnic minority immigrants in Canada. Brach and Fraser synthesized this literature and identified nine major cultural-competency techniques: interpreter services; recruitment and retention policies; training; coordination with traditional healers; use of community health workers; culturally competent health promotion; including family/community members; immersion into another culture; and administrative and organizational accommodations for improving health outcomes (Brach and Fraser 2000). Extant gender, ethnic, and socio-economic inequities in health and health care, compounded by linguistic and cultural barriers to healthcare access and lack of familiarity with Western health-care systems, in the context of psychosocial and environmental stressors, can all reduce or increase morbidity among immigrant women. Because data on ethnicity is generally unavailable, there is little empirical evidence about the outcomes associated with these factors for specific groups of immigrant women in Canada. An integrated, accessible, equitable, culturally sensitive, high-quality health system can foster improvement in outcomes and reduce inequities in health. Health-system interventions are likely to be most effective in partnership with policy and community-level issues that promote well-being by addressing the social determinants of health. Conclusions The health of immigrant women is determined by a multitude of interacting forces operating at several levels, from the interpersonal to the geopolitical, across time and space. The complexity of this web, coupled with the intersectionality of the factors that determine health, makes it exceedingly difficult to disentangle these relationships and to fully characterize the pathways through which they operate. The challenges inherent in understanding the influences of gender, ethnicity, and socioeconomic position on health outcomes are compounded by the dynamics

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of the migration experience, which is in turn shaped by gender. We have presented a framework that can serve to inform research aimed at better understanding the pathways through which these factors determine health outcomes among immigrant and refugee women. This gender, migration, and health framework can also serve as a tool for identifying economic and social policies aimed at optimizing health outcomes among these populations. There is opportunity to identify, support, and foster individual and community characteristics associated with resilience and well-being. The strengths and abilities of immigrant women, their families, and communities constitute an enormous resource to draw upon. Avoidable poor health outcomes have a negative impact not only on individuals and their families, but also upon the productivity and prosperity of their host nations. The growing reality of transnationalism means that countries of origin will also be impacted by the health outcomes of their migrant populations. Given the enormous role of migration in transforming the demographic composition of Western nations, a sense of urgency should be placed upon efforts to identify factors amenable to change, and to develop and implement effective interventions and policies to accomplish these changes.

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– 2001. ‘Theories for Social Epidemiology in the 21st Century: An Ecosocial Perspective.’ International Journal of Epidemiology 30(4): 668–77. Lie, B. 2002. ‘A 3-Year Follow-up Study of Psychosocial Functioning and General Symptoms in Settled Refugees.’ ACTA Psychiatrica Scandinavica 106(6): 415–25. Lim, B. 1997. ‘Korean Immigrant Women’s Challenges to Gender Inequality at Home: The Interplay of Economic Resources, Gender and Family.’ Gender and Society (11): 31–51. Lynch, J., and G. Kaplan. 2000. Socio-economic Position. New York: Oxford University Press. Masi, R. 1993. ‘Multiculturalism in Health Care: Understanding and Implementation.’ In Health and Cultures: Exploring the Relationships, ed. R. Masi, L. Mensah, and K. McLeod, 11–32. Toronto: Mosaic. Mawani, F.N. 2001. ‘Sharing Attachment across Cultures: Learning from Immigrants and Refugees.’ Ottawa: Health Canada. Mawani, F.N., L. Simich, A. Noor, and F. Wu. 2004. Discrimination, Social Support and Mental Health among Immigrant and Refugee Women. Toronto: CERIS Working Paper Series. McIsaac, E. 2003. ‘Immigrants in Canadian Cities: Census 2002 – What Do the Data Tell Us?’ Policy Options 24(5). Miranda, J., J. Siddique, C. Der-Martirosian, and T.R. Belin. 2005. ‘Depression among Latina Immigrant Mothers Separated from Their Children. Psychiatric Services 56(6): 717–20. Moss, N.E. 2002. ‘Gender Equity and Socio-economic Inequality: A Framework for the Patterning of Women’s Health.’ Social Science and Medicine 54(5): 649–61. Mullings, L., and A. Schulz. 2006. ‘Intersectionality and Health: An Introduction.’ In Gender, Race, Class and Health: Intersectional Approaches, ed. A.J. Schulz and L. Mullings, 3–20. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Mulvihill, M., L. Mailloux, and W. Atkin. 2001. Advancing Policy and Research Responses to Immigrant and Refugee Women’s Health in Canada. Winnipeg, MB: Centres of Excellence for Women’s Health. Mustard, J. 1996. Health and Social Capital. New York: Routledge. Newbold, B. 2005. ‘Health Status and Health Care of Immigrants in Canada: A Longitudinal Analysis.’ Journal of Health Services Research and Policy 10(2): 77–83. Ng, E., R. Wilkins, F. Gendron, and J. Berthelot. 2005. ‘Dynamics of Immigrants’ Health in Canada: Evidence from a National Population Health Survey.’ Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Noh, S., M. Beiser, V. Kaspar, F. Hou, and J. Rummens. 1999. ‘Perceived Racial Discrimination, Depression, and Coping: A Study of Southeast Asian Refugees in Canada.’ Journal of Health and Social Behaviour 40(3): 193–207.

134 Arlene S. Bierman, Farah Ahmad, and Farah N. Mawani Omidvar, R., and T. Richmond. 2003. Immigrant Settlement and Social Inclusion in Canada. Perspectives on Social Inclusion. Working Paper Series. Toronto: Laidlaw Foundation. Ostlin, P., G. Sen, and A. George. 2004. ‘Paying Attention to Gender and Poverty in Health Research: Content and Process Issues.’ Bulletin of the World Health Organization 82(10): 740–5. Pedraza, S. 1991. ‘Women and Migration: The Social Consequences of Gender.’ Annual Reviews of Sociology (17): 303–25. Portes, A., and J. DeWind. 2004. ‘A Cross-Atlantic Dialogue: The Progress of Research and Theory in the Study of International Migration.’ International Migration Review 38(3): 828–51. Rodriguez, M.A., E. McLoughlin, G. Nah, and J.C. Campbell. 2001. ‘Mandatory Reporting of Domestic Violence Injuries to the Police: What Do Emergency Department Patients Think?’ JAMA 286(5): 580–3. Rousseau, C., and A. Drapeau. 2004. ‘Premigration Exposure to Political Violence among Independent Immigrants and Its Association with Emotional Distress.’ Journal of Nervous and Mental Disease 192(12): 852–6. Rousseau, C., A. Mekki-Berrada, and S. Moreau. 2001. ‘Trauma and Extended Separation from Family among Latin American and African Refugees in Montreal.’ Psychiatry 64(1): 40–59. Ruddick, E. 2003. ‘A New Paradigm in a Changing Labour Market.’ 6th National Metropolis Conference. Sakamoto, Izumi, and Yanqiu Zhou. 2005. ‘The Experiences of New Chinese Skilled Immigrants.’ In Diaspora, Memory and Identity: A Search for Home, ed. Vijay Agnew, 209–29. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Schen, C.R. 2005. ‘When Mothers Leave Their Children Behind.’ Harvard Review of Psychiatry 13(4): 233–43. Schulz, A.J., D.R. Williams, B.A. Israel, and L.B. Lempert. 2002. ‘Racial and Spatial Relations as Fundamental Determinants of Health in Detroit.’ Milbank Quarterly 80(4): 677–707. Silove, D., and S. Ekblad. 2002. ‘How Well Do Refugees Adapt after Resettlement in Western Countries?’ ACTA Psychiatrica Scandinavica 106(6): 401–2. Silove, D., Z. Steel, and C. Watters. 2000. ‘Policies of Deterrence and the Mental Health of Asylum Seekers.’ JAMA 284(5): 604–11. Simich, L. 2003. ‘Negotiating Boundaries of Refugee Resettlement: A Study of Settlement Patterns and Social Support.’ Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology 40(5): 575–91. Singh-Manoux, A., P. Clarke, and M. Marmot. 2002. ‘Multiple Measures of Socio-economic Position and Psychosocial Health: Proximal and Distal Measures.’ International Journal of Epidemiology 31(6): 1192–9; discussion 99–200.

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Smedley, B.D., A.Y. Stith, and A.R. Nelson. 2002. ‘Unequal Treatment: Confronting Racial and Ethnic Disparities in Health Care.’ Washington: National Academy Press. Smith, E. 2004. Nowhere to Turn: Responding to Partner Violence Against Immigrant and Visible Minority Women. Ottawa: Canadian Council on Social Development. Smith, M. D. 1990. ‘Patriarchal Ideology and Wife Beating: A Test of a Feminist Hypothesis.’ Violence and Victims 5(4): 257–73. Spitzer, D.L. 2005. ‘Engendering Health Disparities.’ Canadian Journal of Public Health 96, Suppl. 2: S78–96. Stasiulis, Daiva, and Bakan, Abigail. 2005. Negotiating Citizenship: Migrant Women in Canada and the Global System. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Statistics Canada. 2000. Women in Canada 2000: A Gender-based Statistical Report. Ottawa: Statistics Canada; Housing, Family and Social Statistics Division. – 2001. ‘Selected Income Characteristics (35), Immigrant Status and Place of Birth of Respondent (21B), Age Groups (6), Sex (3) and Immigrant Status and Period of Immigration (11) for Population, for Canada, Provinces, Territories and Census Metropolitan Areas, 2001 Census – 20% Sample Data.’ Ottawa. – 2003. Ethnic Diversity Survey: Portrait of a Multicultural Society. Ottawa: Minister of Industry. – 2005a. Longitudinal Survey of Immigrants to Canada: A Portrait of Early Settlement Experiences. Ottawa: Ministry of Industry. – 2005b. Women in Canada: A Gender-Based Statistical Report. Ottawa. Stewart, M., J. Anderson, and M. Beiser. 2003. ‘Supportive Policies and Programs for Immigrants and Refugees.’ Sixth National Metropolis Conference. Toumishey, H. 1993. ‘Multicultural Health Care: An Introductory Course for Health Professionals.’ In Health and Cultures: Exploring the Relationships, ed. R. Masi, L. Mensah, and K. McLeod, 113–35. Toronto: Mosaic. Vissandjée, B., M. Desmeules, Z. Cao, and S. Abdool. 2004. ‘Integrating Socio-Economic Determinants of Canadian Women’s Health.’ BMC Women’s Health 4, Suppl. 1: S34. Wade, C., and C. Tavris. 1999. ‘Gender, Culture and Ethnicity: Current Research about Women and Men.’ In Gender and Culture, ed. L.D.S. Peplau, R.C. Veniegas, and P.L. Taylor, 15–22. Mayfield, CA: Mountain View. Ware, N., N. Christakis, and A. Kleinman. 1992. ‘An Anthropological Approach to Social Science Research on the Health Transition.’ New York: Auburn House.

136 Arlene S. Bierman, Farah Ahmad, and Farah N. Mawani Watkins, P., and D. Whaley. 2000. ‘Gender Role Stressors and Women’s Health.’ In Handbook of Gender, Culture and Health, ed. R.H. Eisler and M. Hersen. Mahwah, NJ: Lawerence Erlbaum Associates. Winkleby, M.A., D.E. Jatulis, E. Frank, and S.P. Fortmann. 1992. ‘Socio-economic Status and Health: How Education, Income, and Occupation Contribute to Risk Factors for Cardiovascular Disease.’ American Journal of Public Health 82(6): 816–20. World Health Organization. 2002. World Report on Violence and Health. Geneva. – 2003. ‘Selected Health Indicators.’ Accessed in 2003. Available at http:// www.who.int/country. Yans-Mclaughlin, V. 1990. Immigration Reconsidered: History, Sociology, and Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Yllo, K., and M. Strauss. 1984. ‘Patriarchy and Violence Against Wives: The Impact of Structural and Normative Factors.’ Journal of International Comparative Social Welfare (1): 1–13.

4 Policy (In)Action: Policy-Making, Health, and Migrant Women d e ni s e l . s p i t zer

Canada is one of the most culturally diverse countries in the world, and over 18 per cent of its populace is foreign-born (Citizenship and Immigration Canada [CIC] 2005; Ng et al. 2005). Cultural diversity and official multiculturalism are potent symbols of the imaginary of the Canadian nation state and are reinforced by the ongoing influx of immigrants and refugees from around the world. In 2004, approximately 236,000 immigrants and refugees entered Canada, and of these over 120,000, or 52 per cent, were women (CIC 2005; Ng et al. 2005). Nearly half of these women originated in the Asia/Pacific region, 20 per cent from Africa or the Middle East and 9 per cent from South and Central America, while the remainder came from Europe and the United States (C1C 2005). This current profile represents a distinct shift in the source regions of migrants to Canada since changes made to immigration policy in 1967, when a point system that focused on enticing skilled labour from all parts of the world was initiated (Green and Green 2004). (Immigration policies are discussed in detail by Vijay Agnew in the introduction to this volume.) Research documents that when voluntary migrants first arrive in Canada, they are generally healthier than the average resident populace – a phenomenon known as the healthy immigrant effect – but they tend to lose this health advantage within the first decade of settlement in this country (Ng et al. 2005; Vissandjée, Desmeules, et al. 2004). Such a finding is somewhat counterintuitive, since immigrants are generally coming from less developed countries with lower standards of living and health care; however, the screening required in the course of immigration processing generally encourages those who are healthy (and meet other criteria) to apply.1 A critical examination of the loss of the ‘healthy immigrant effect’ reveals that not all newcomers are equally

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likely to experience worsening health status. Immigrants from nonEuropean countries are twice as likely to report a decline in health as those from Europe – and among these, women are particularly vulnerable to this deterioration of their health status (Ng et al. 2005; Vissandjée, Desmeules, et al. 2004). Poor health status is often attributed to individual health behaviours such as smoking, obesity, and physical inactivity, yet newcomers are substantially less likely to smoke, consume alcohol, or to be regarded as obese, and they are not statistically less active than Canadian-born citizens (Dunn and Dyck 2000; Ng et al. 2005). The lens of population health has been adopted by Canada to understand the full range of factors that contribute it. Population health focuses on issues beyond individual health behaviours and access to health care, and examines the impact of wider societal factors, such as socio-economic status, gender, social support, social cohesion, living conditions, learning opportunities, and work environment, on health status (L. Anderson et al. 2003; Dunn and Dyck 2000; National Forum on Health [NFH] 1997). Adopted by the Public Health Agency of Canada as the core perspective meant to inform all of its programs and policies, the populationhealth framework seeks to address the wide array of elements that contribute to the health and well-being of people and communities or, in the absence of these factors, to their ill health. This approach moves beyond a focus on the individual, her lifestyle choices, and her genetic legacy, which inform a reductionist perspective equating health with access to biomedical services and the presence or absence of disease. Instead, the ability of individuals and their communities to take action regarding their lives and work towards their aspirations is considered essential to health and well-being, as are strong social ties, remunerative and meaningful employment, and the enjoyment of a life free from poverty and discrimination (NFH 1997). Within this model, gender is regarded as an important determinant of health. Gender ideologies and gender roles are inextricably linked with health in myriad ways, as is evidenced by the pervasiveness of gender-based violence, the stresses and strains of caregiving responsibilities, and the double shift of paid and unpaid labour, to name just a few (Spitzer 2005a). Furthermore, gender intersects with other determinants, such as ethnicity and socio-economic status, that can enhance vulnerability to stigmatization and marginalization (NFH 1997). Importantly, none of these factors can be regarded as simple predictors of health, but rather should be seen as producing a dynamic matrix of dominant and subordinate positions within the social landscape.

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This lens is particularly salient when examining the decline in health status of migrants, as it facilitates a holistic, interactive, politicaleconomic, and gendered perspective that is vital to understanding conditions of gender, migration, and health. Newcomers, especially those from non-European countries, are more likely to experience a decline in socio-economic status upon their arrival in Canada, and are apt to become entrenched in the lowest echelons of society. Even controlling for factors such as education, linguistic skills, and age, the odds of being poor are increased by over 50 per cent for immigrants, and even more for those who are non-Europeans (Kazemipur and Halli 2001). Again, women are greatly implicated in this trend of downward economic and social status. For example, despite the fact that immigrant women are generally better educated than their Canadian-born counterparts, they are less likely to be employed in positions that are commensurate with their skills (Chard et al. 2000). Notably, both poverty and downward mobility are associated with poor health outcomes due to a host of factors, including reduced access to good nutrition and auxiliary health care and the stress of income insecurity (Krieger et al. 2001; National Council of Welfare [NCW] 2001). A population-health framework regards social support and social relationships as important determinants of health. Immigration, by its very nature, often involves a loss of social networks and a reduction in sources of social support, which enhances risk of poor health (Dunn and Dyck 2000; Ng et al. 2005). However, there could be mitigating factors. Immigrants who have families already established in their area of settlement are less vulnerable than those who come with no previously established contacts in Canada. Similarly, those who settle in large metropolitan areas, such as Toronto, Vancouver, and Montreal, can find some social support within their linguistic or ethnic communities more easily than those who live in remote and more sparsely populated regions. In addition, metropolitan areas may have several neighbourhood health clinics that cater to the needs of immigrants with specific racialized or ethnic identities. Community groups often rationalize the need for the government-funded services they provide as one way of recreating and substituting the social networks that are lost by immigrants when they first come to Canada (Agnew 1998). Policy Context Policies that facilitate access to health determinants, including those that help foster healthy environments, strengthen social linkages,

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reduce economic disparities, and support the delivery and availability of culturally appropriate and gender-sensitive health services, are vital to enhancing the health of individuals and communities (NFH 1997). Several important policy initiatives underpin the context for establishing helpful public policy of relevance to immigrant and refugee women in Canada. Significantly, the internationally recognized document that signalled a discursive shift from the primacy of biomedical etiologies to diverse bio-psychosocial determinants of health bears the name of our nation’s capital. The Ottawa Charter for Health Promotion, adopted by the World Health Organization in 1986, outlined the basic principles of health promotion (Scott et al. 2002). Specifically, the charter defined health as a ‘resource for everyday life’ that was predicated on a host of material and social conditions, including ‘peace, shelter, education, food, income, a stable eco-system, sustainable resources, [and] social justice and equity’ (World Health Organization [WHO] 1986). Signatories to the charter were to advance healthy public policy, address health disparities, reduce environmental pollution, and promote preventative health, among other initiatives. Of particular salience to this chapter, the charter asks that ‘health [be placed] on the agenda of policy-makers in all sectors and at all levels, directing them to be aware of the health consequences of their decisions and to accept their responsibilities for health’ (WHO 1986). Subsequent Canadian policy documents, including the Federal Plan for Gender Equality (Government of Canada 1995) and the Women’s Health Strategy, lay the foundations for the establishment of policies, programs, and services designed to meet the needs of diverse groups of women, including migrant women, who are often vulnerable to social and economic marginalization (Spitzer 2005a). Thus, while the standard of gender equality to which federal, provincial, and municipal governments are held accountable is outlined in sections 15 and 28 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms and entrenched in law in 1985 (Status of Women Canada [SWC] 2002), these further policy initiatives articulated government plans to uphold this commitment. The Federal Plan for Gender Equality laid the groundwork for promoting greater equality by working to implement gender-based analysis throughout the federal government, enhance women’s labour-market participation, improve women’s health and well-being, reduce violence against women, promote women’s participation in Canadian cultural and political life, as well as the public service, and situate Canada as a world leader in global gender equality (Government of Canada 1995).

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Importantly, this document acknowledged that the realities of women’s lives are not identical, and that as gender interacts with age, ethnicity, socio-economic class, language, religion, sexual orientation, geographic region, and (dis)ability, among other factors, to produce disparate opportunities in Canadian society, policies must address this diversity. The Federal Plan for Gender Equality included references to the pooling of migrant women in low-wage employment and to the particular vulnerabilities of women from ethnocultural communities to poor health outcomes (ibid.). The Women’s Health Strategy outlined a commitment to ensuring that Health Canada’s programs and policies not only address women’s health needs, but are responsive to sex and gender differences and disparities. Furthermore, it draws attention to hetero-normative assumptions in health research and practice, and advances health promotion that attends to the implications of the stresses and strains of the multiple roles borne by women in our society (Women’s Health Bureau [WHB] 1999). Focusing on four main objectives, the Strategy is designed to enhance Health Canada’s responsiveness to sex and gender differences in health, deepen our knowledge and understanding of women’s health, support the development of effective, gender-sensitive health services, and improve women’s health through the mitigation of risk factors and promotion of preventative health measures (WHB 1999). Despite a well-articulated policy framework designed to be sensitive to the gender and diversity issues embedded in Canadian society and to help foster the creation of a more equitable society, both internal and external influences appear to confound this vision. Within government, lack of political commitment, institutional constraints, and a lack of consensus regarding concepts and methodologies can stymie efforts to implement gender-based analysis (SWC 2002). The result is an increasing gap between articulate, well-meaning, and healthy public policy that underscores the need for participatory policy-making informed by critical gender and diversity analysis, and the stalling or derailment of efforts to enact and disseminate these strategies across and within various levels of government (Scott et al. 2002; Spitzer 2005a). Another important feature of the current environment is that the Canadian government is enmeshed in restructuring efforts driven by corporate demands that states compete with each other to ready their populace for attracting capital investment (Neysmith and Chen 2002); this priority has the potential to displace efforts to enhance social and gender equality.

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What impact does this policy environment and context have on the health of immigrant and refugee women in Canada? To address this question, I will draw from interviews conducted with migrant women in a variety of qualitative research projects intended to give voice to the lived experience of individuals who bear the impact of policies in practice. The women emigrated from diverse countries such as Somalia, India, China, Chile, El Salvador, the Philippines, and Vietnam. These respondents came to Canada as immigrants and refugees for a host of often overlapping social, political, and individual reasons. Some fled political upheavals in their homelands, others were compelled to seek employment overseas due to the promulgation of neo-liberal policies that resulted in the loss of remunerative employment opportunities, while others joined family members already settled in this country. This examination will focus on the effects on their health of select policy pertaining to immigration, settlement, and health services. Impact of Policy on Immigrant and Refugee Women Immigration Policies Throughout the last century, Canadian immigration policies were informed by economic and humanitarian concerns. Although the Canadian government has responded to people fleeing natural disasters, change of political regimes and ideologies, and religious persecution, critics have questioned whether or not the response was sufficiently generous and humanitarian. For example, questions have been raised about the Canadian government’s response to the displaced Jews who were trying to flee Nazi Germany. Nevertheless, the emphasis in immigration policies has consistently been on immigrants who could contribute economically to the development of Canada. Agnew, in the introduction to this volume, documents the priority given to economic migrants in successive immigration policies of the last century. Although in the early part of this century there was a consensus in public sentiment – articulated in government policies – regarding the need to keep Canada a ‘white man’s country,’ immigrants from China were allowed to come in (without their wives) to work on the transcontinental railway. However, the ‘preferred’ immigrants were those from Great Britain and northern Europe, while others were explicitly kept out by the enacting of legislation, such as that requiring a continuous journey, in an attempt to ban immigration from India (Anderson and Reimer Kirkham

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1998; Green and Green 2004; Jakubowski 1997). Currently, potential immigrants are adjudicated according to a point system introduced in 1967 that allocates marks for a variety of characteristics, including education, language, occupation, and personal suitability. Entrepreneurs and investors, who constitute approximately 4 per cent of all migrants, are also welcomed if they have sufficient funds or business plans deemed adequate to bolster the economy (Jones 2004). Canada’s policies towards refugees are meant to reflect our commitment to humanitarian ideals. Currently, Canada accepts approximately 7000 refugees annually (Simich et al. 2003); however, the circumstances of their sponsorship for entry into this country has an impact on social support and social cohesion – key elements in health and well-being. The majority of refugees are sponsored by the government, but private sponsors such as religious organizations also support thousands of additional refugees annually (Beiser 2003). Government-sponsored refugees are provided with a travel loan that must be repaid within months of their arrival and are expected to secure employment and avail themselves of language training (Simich et al. 2003). Although studies suggest that refugees themselves prefer government sponsorship, Beiser’s longitudinal study of Southeast Asian refugees (2003) revealed that those who were sponsored by private organizations appeared to fare better in the long term, in part because private groups played a significant role in introducing newcomers to services and other resources that could aid them in the integration process. Throughout much of the world, female migrants are subsumed under the category of family dependants, and Canada is not an exception (DeLaet 1999). While fully 75 per cent of economic migrants to Canada are male, an equivalent percentage of women enter the country under the rubric of spouse or dependant (Chui 2003). Although migrating within the context of a family-reunification program may facilitate the movement of women across borders, it can also serve to reinforce the notion that women are dependent members of the family and mere adjuncts to male migration (DeLaet 1999). For instance, most African Canadian immigrant women are admitted as dependants, a circumstance that reinforces the traditional sexual division of labour. Furthermore, its long-term impact is to constrain their opportunities for language training and skill-upgrading, which have been available, in the past, to males as ‘principal’ applicants. The gender biases that were prevalent in training for English or French as a second language in the past have been eliminated; however, throughout the 1990s the general

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cutbacks to language- and job-training programs by federal and provincial governments has nevertheless reduced the upgrading opportunities for all immigrants. One result of such retrenchment is the ghettoizing of women in the lower rungs of the labour market, particularly when they lack facility in English and French (Elabor-Idenmudia 2000). Permanent residents and citizens may sponsor a family member to join them in this country if they sign an undertaking with the minister of Citizenship and Immigration. The agreement outlines the responsibilities of the sponsor to be financially responsible for the sponsored relative and their accompanying family members for a period of three to ten years, depending on their age and relationship to the sponsor (CIC 2005). The Immigration Act of 2001 articulated the government’s goal of making sponsors more accountable and responsible for their relatives. At the same time, the amount of financial resources that an individual must possess to sponsor relatives has been increased. These regulations in sponsorship agreements have been criticized as being class-biased, as they make it more difficult for individuals to sponsor relatives outside the country. This is particularly true for female sponsors, who are often concentrated in poorly paid employment. Under the family-reunification policy guidelines, children under the age of twenty-two are regarded as potential dependants, an increase in age limit from eighteen years of age. The age limit reflects a Western construct of both nuclear familial relations and adulthood predicated on individualism. In many societies, however, adult children are not regarded as independent, and play a vital role in sustaining a household, both materially and in terms of social support. Aman,2 a Somali woman living in Toronto, describes the importance of her children: Our children, even if they are at university, they live at home. Until they get married, they are with the family. It doesn’t matter what age they are. The mother will cook for them, wash their clothes and take care of him, thinking, my child is at university studying. If we can, we take care of him, wash for him, feed him, and when he gets married, he’s in the hands of his wife. You can raise your brother’s children, your sister’s children, if they need a hand, if they don’t have enough economical support. They are part of your family and they keep with you. That’s part of our culture. (Spitzer, 2006: 50)

Luz was granted sanctuary in Canada after her husband was imprisoned in Chile following the 1973 military coup. Her eyes well up with

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tears when she recounts: ‘We were accepted [by the Canadian embassy] right there, but what happened to the oldest [daughter] Angela and my eldest son … We – my husband and I and the youngest – have to be in Canada [without them].’3 At age nineteen, Angela and her brother, in fear of the secret police, were forced to flee to Argentina to await a successful petition to be reunited with their family in Canada. The fracturing of familial social networks, the resultant loss of social support, and ongoing worry about family remaining in their homeland or in refugee camps can be major sources of stress that many women link with the deterioration in their health status. Fatoun,4 a Somali mother of six, shared her experience: My husband was ambassador to many countries … and now I’m waiting for the welfare cheque. When the war broke out, everyone went to different directions … The best thing that can happen in life is to have your husband and your children with you. I’m thinking too much. My mom died in the war. Most of my family died in the war. I want my husband with me; I don’t have document[s], how can I bring my husband?5 What can I do for him? I’m thinking too much. I developed diabet[es] and high blood pressure, high cholesterol. I developed all of these things because I am thinking too much because my husband is not with me.

Policies Affecting Settlement and Integration Skilled immigrants are selected for entry into Canada based upon a point system; however, once they arrive in this country, their education and work experiences are often not granted the same credence by employers or professional organizations. Country of origin figures prominently in the disparity between immigrants’ education and career trajectories and labour-market outcomes in Canada (Bauder 2003; Chui 2003). For example, regardless of educational attainment, 67 per cent of newcomers from Asian or Middle Eastern countries are not employed in their previous occupations, compared to 37 per cent of former Americans and 32 per cent of immigrants from Australia or New Zealand (Chui 2003, 30–2). Women often experience a precipitous decline in occupational status. Forty-three per cent of female immigrants were engaged in business, finance, and administration or social science, education, government, and religious service before migration; however, in Canada, that percentage declined to 24 per

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cent. Concomitantly, the percentage of immigrant women engaged in sales and service-sector jobs tripled, and the numbers engaged in manufacturing quadrupled as compared to their pre-migration employment profiles (ibid.). As immigrants generally do not have access to adjudication processes before arrival, they do not anticipate the magnitude of the challenges ahead. While many newcomers understand that they might be required to undergo some procedures to become recredentialed in their professional fields, the availability and cost (in both time and money) of training processes can be prohibitive (Bauder 2003). Foreign medical graduates must not only pass licensing examinations; they must also undertake a two- to six-year internship or residency. Canadian students are favoured in competition for the limited number of placements, and although some provinces have special programs to provide foreign medical graduates with these opportunities, only an estimated 5 per cent of foreign-trained physicians are currently practising medicine in Canada. Professional associations can also use subjective criteria, such as fitness to practise and good character, to exclude foreign-trained professionals (ibid.). In careers not governed by regulatory bodies, lack of Canadian experience can become another potent exclusion technique (ibid.). Brenda was told: ‘We get some people, they have Canadian education and they have Canadian experience, and you have no Canadian experience though you worked for the United Nations [in Somalia].’6 Bannerji (2004) notes that the lack of recognition of foreign credentials has led to an over-educated working class. Moreover, as men are often hesitant to assume employment that is not commensurate with their education or experience, migrant women are often employed more quickly than their male counterparts upon arrival in Canada, albeit in low-status jobs. Women are thus vulnerable to the effects of deskilling, the deterioration of skills and resulting loss of self-esteem stemming from working in positions that make little use of one’s education or experience (Alcuitas et al. 1997). Along with other young workers and an increasing number of Canadian-born women, immigrants are often found among the ranks of the part-time, contract, or temporary labour force, where one’s employment status is best regarded as precarious. These positions are not sufficiently remunerative to cover the cost of basic expenses, compelling workers to take on multiple jobs. In addition, these positions are generally characterized by

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poor health and safety records compared to workplaces offering permanent, full-time positions, and are associated with high rates of workrelated stress and exhaustion (Lewchuk et al. 2003). The disparities between expectations and reality, characterized by downward mobility, for many newcomers can be distressing. While Canada prides itself on its humanitarian concerns, settlement experiences may be been fraught with personal and systemic racism. Cora, a university-educated professional, came to Canada from the Philippines under the auspices of the Live-In Caregiver Program. While being interviewed for a job in her field, she was told that her foreign degree and overseas experience made her ineligible for the position offered; however, the interview enquired whether she would be willing to work as a live-in caregiver for her sister. She declined and took up a job at a restaurant. ‘At my present work, before they will hire the coloured people, they will hire the ones who are English-speaking people, and most of them are white. At my work, I can’t do the cashiering job. I cannot touch the till. I can only work as a busser [sic] who collects the dirty dishes and throws out the garbage at night.’7 Anthropologist William Dressler (1991) advances the notion that lifestyle incongruity, a term he uses to describe the discrepancy between the dream of an ideal life – often reflected in popular culture and in the imaginings of potential migrants – and lived experience, is an important factor in understanding inequality and health. This disparity between expectations of what life will or should be and the reality of one’s existence can act as a powerful chronic stressor that has clear implications for health, including contributing to hypertension (ibid.). Forging a better life in this country is often an unfulfilled dream for many newcomers – particularly for those from non-European countries who are often unable to reclaim their socio-economic status even in the second generation (Kazemipur and Halli 2000) – and the stress of being unable to realize one’s desires can, according to Dressler, be deleterious. Indeed, in Danso’s study (2001) carried out in Toronto, over 70 per cent of respondents felt that their hopes for a better life in Canada had not been realized. Moreover, downward socio-economic mobility appears to have similar impact (Krieger et al. 2001). For many immigrant and refugee women, stalled dreams of a better life in this country are an everyday reality, and one that is embodied in somatic response. Carolina came from El Salvador in 1988. She explained why she believes her diabetes worsened in Canada:

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I feel it’s because of depression. Being in another country, different clim[ate], different culture, the language, it was too much stress for me … Interviewer: What makes your diabetes worse? Worse? Not having job! Yeah, that’s true; it’s true. Not having job, having emotional problems, and being unstable in job. For example, you are not sure today if you have [a] job tomorrow; you don’t know. Something like that. Coping with many, many things.8

While policies may work to erode social status, those that operate to enhance social capital may have a beneficial impact on health and wellbeing. Social capital can be defined as ‘social relations that may provide access to resources and support’ (Voyer 2004, 159) and includes informal and formal social networks that strengthen intra-group affiliation, known as bonding capital, as well as those that create trusting relations, known as bridging capital, across communities (McMichael and Manderson 2004; Voyer 2004). An important dimension of social capital, social support refers to members of one’s social network who can be counted on for help in time of need; research shows that an intimate, confiding relationship can be a potent factor in helping a person cope with his or her problems (Thoits 1995). (Vissandjée, in this volume, provides a detailed discussion of social capital and its relevance for female immigrants.) One Somali woman9 described the importance of social support in her country: That is the way people can help each other, with everything. One person alone cannot capture or meet all his needs … Of course your home country is where you were born. There is no way you fail to be assisted. You know each other; you know each other’s language. So you get so [much] support … anything that you need to be assisted with, you will get it because if you really need assistance and you know a particular person is in a position to help you or will somehow get it for you, you ask him … you know him (Spitzer 2005b)

Importantly, social support can mitigate the ill effects of stress (Steptoe 1991; Thoits 1995), and therefore policies that help to facilitate migrants’ abilities to access social capital, including social support, are vital. Dunn and Dyck (2000, 1582) noted: ‘Immigrants who reported that they did not have ‘somebody to make them feel loved’ were more likely to report fair or poor health status.’ One Chinese immigrant echoed those sentiments: ‘I feel that although I’m in a foreign country, there are

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people who care for me. When I have difficulties in life, I am not so scared anymore because I believe that others will help me. My mind is more calm’ (Spitzer 2005b). Policies that have an impact on where migrants settle are particularly important in ensuring access to social capital, most notably social support and bonding capital. Currently, most migrants choose to settle in one of three major urban centres: Toronto, Montreal, or Vancouver (CIC 2005). These metropolitan areas are perceived to offer more economic opportunities and the possibility of enhancing social capital through interaction with larger ethnic communities where relatives or friends have settled and where one can recreate some semblance of a familiar environment through language and cuisine (Simich et al. 2003). For example, nor long after Ranjit came to Western Canada from India, with limited English skills, she arrived at a hospital in a large Western Canadian city to give birth: ‘I was really scared of hospitals, but then when I went in and saw two nurses from my own county, Punjab, I was very happy. They were asking [after] me and they were chatting and they were very nice to me. I was very happy so I didn’t have the urge to run away from that place that I always get when I’m feeling uncomfortable.’10 Refugees in particular have identified the need to be in close proximity to family, friends, and others from their own ethnic background in order to help them cope with the stress of migration, regardless of the well-meaning support offered by settlement agencies and sponsors (Simich et al. 2003). McMichael and Manderson (2004), working with Somali Australians, remind us that sometimes the hostilities that precipitated emigration are not always confined to native soil and can negatively influence communal relations in diaspora. Gender, however, may play an intriguing role in ameliorating intra-group hostilities and enhancing bonding capital. For instance, in some communities, Somali women11 appear to be able to transcend some of these divisions to rebuild social networks in Canada. Zahra helped organize a women’s group with the aid of a local immigrant-serving agency. Diane12 remarked: ‘The women are friends, although they are from different tribes; men are not friends. [The women] tried to get the men get together and get along, put everything aside and forgive each other, [so] they can include everybody. Right now, all the women who go to Zahra’s place are from different tribes, but they are friends and get along fine. But for the men, they only go out with their own tribes.’ A recent experiment by Citizenship and Immigration Canada, in which select refugees were settled in small groups rather than as individual

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households, was designed to facilitate the use of close ethnic ties and social support networks to ease the transition to Canadian society and improve overall health. Social networks may also play an important role in helping newcomers locate employment opportunities (ElaborIdenmudia 2000). Ena13 was a schoolteacher in Somalia. Upon arrival in Canada, she felt fortunate to find a job through her social networks. ‘[I was working] as a cashier … I started as part-time and after a while, three to four months after, they give me full-time job. Some friends of mine, they worked there, a few Somalis, my nephew, my husband’s friend. When you have some relatives working there, they accept you.’ Health Policies Immigrants undergo health screening before arriving in Canada; those with certain conditions regarded as potentially burdensome for the health care system, such as end-stage kidney disease and some cancers, can be denied entry into the country (Gushulak and Williams 2004). Notably, refugee claimants are admitted regardless of health status, and although HIV/AIDS screening is in effect, positive status is not a deterrent to migration (ibid.). Although individuals may be healthy before leaving their home country, at times the migratory journey itself can result in deleterious exposures, eroding a migrant’s health status in the early stages of arrival (Ho 2003). The location of settlement, however, has important policy implications for newcomers. Quebec has managed its own immigration policies alongside those of the federal government, and seeks to attract newcomers, preferably French-speaking, from particular professions. However, other provinces rely primarily on federal government immigration policies. Such distinctions can result in disparities in health coverage offered to new Canadians in various parts of the country (Gagnon 2002). Refugees and refugee claimants are eligible for healthcare insurance under the Interim Federal Health Program; however, permanent residents in Ontario, British Columbia, New Brunswick, and Quebec must wait three months before becoming eligible for provincial health-insurance coverage (CIC 2005; Steele et al. 2002). During that interim period, new Canadians are encouraged to purchase additional, private health insurance (CIC 2005). Notably, these expenditures come at a time when families are trying to settle into a new environment and are confronted with not only trying to secure employment, but also other expenses commonly associated with moving, such as

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utilities connection charges, rent and damage deposits, mortgage down payments and school expenses, as well as those particular to migration, such as landing fees and transportation loans. In some provinces, permanent residents are not able to access the full range of services afforded citizens. As the complete list of excluded services is subject to change, it is often difficult for new Canadians to know what services they may or may not access. According to the Longitudinal Survey of Immigrants in Canada, nearly one quarter of immigrants experienced difficulty obtaining health services – 12 per cent were unable to avail themselves of a health professional altogether – while 19 per cent complained of the cost of prescriptions and additional services and supplies not covered by medicare, including self-care materials presumed necessary to manage chronic conditions such as diabetes, as well as access to traditional and alternative medicines (Anderson, Wiggins, et al. 1995; Bubel and Spitzer 1996; Chui 2003). Qing said: ‘One time we called a Chinese doctor to come and see my mother in the house, to see what’s the problem with her head. The doctor gave some Western medicine, a prescription, and when we saw the price, it was very, very high. We couldn’t buy it. So this is the reason that even if we have a prescription, we never buy Western medicine.’14 Problems with access to health services are exacerbated both by limited clinic and physician office hours and by linguistic and cultural barriers. Jamilla,15 a young Somali Canadian college graduate, shared her thoughts: ‘[Canadians] think Somalis all have infections because of circumcision; it’s not true! When they call it mutilation, I really get angry … it’s a term I don’t agree [with]. They think we stink. Some people wrote, ‘They have infections; they have diseases.’ That’s not true! [In Canada], [Somalis] don’t feel like going to the doctor, unless they’re having a baby.’ It is commonplace to have a waiting period before seeing a health professional; however, low-income Canadians, a disproportionate number of whom, as mentioned earlier, are newcomers and female, are often constrained in their ability to free up time for these activities, particularly as their work environments are less likely to afford the flexibility or health benefits required to avail themselves of these services (Anderson and Reimer Kirkham 1998). Surinder, a South Asian Canadian multicultural health educator working with persons with type 2 diabetes, noted that ‘poverty is also a problem. Often people are going to the hospital only if they are very sick.’16 She then recounted some of the barriers she has witnessed in attempting to involve members of her community in diabetes education.

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For the clinicians to make the patients understand, the challenges include language; there are new concepts which are not present in another culture. Also, patients believe that in Western medicine the doctors just fix it, [that] no self-care is required. For patients, [challenges include] language, transportation, the overwhelming amount of information – it’s too much and too long. One-on-one is more effective than a group. We should do group education in a South Asian language for a whole group. Interpreters are good for one-on-one in an emergency setting, but they are not effective for teaching. Also, [they] should change pictures of patients to ones representing [a] multi-ethnic population, so patients identify with a disease and do not think, this is not my illness; it’s a white disease.

Furthermore, as female migrants are less likely to speak French or English,17 they are more apt to be hesitant to approach service providers without the aid of an interpreter (Anderson and Reimer Kirkham 1998; Chui 2003, 7). The presence of an interpreter, however, can make a health encounter problematic. Adele18 recalled her early encounters with Canadian physicians after she arrived in this country from Chile: We were all very new. Most of them, I knew more English than they did, you know, and I didn’t know much. I became the interpreter, and the doctor was talking to me, trying to explain, and he was very uncomfortable, very difficult. Some women with gynecological problems, I have to learn about everything before I could translate to the doctor and then back and forth and I wasn’t sure I was translating correctly, because my English was so limited at the time I had translated for other people. Interviewer: Did anyone ever accompany you when you were using the healthcare services? First, I did ha[ve] friends [who] accompanied me when we were new, and again it was very uncomfortable, even talking just about anything; it didn’t have to be gynecological to feel uncomfortable, just ordinary, because why should you have to explain something to someone and someone relate your matter to the doctor instead of directly from yourself to the doctor?!

In addition to health services, access to certain social programs, such as social assistance, may be limited by the terms laid out in sponsorship agreements for family-class migrants. These restrictions may compel family members to remain together despite living in untenable situations. For example, immigrants who require social assistance owing to

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extenuating circumstances, including their fleeing abusive relationships, are penalized $100 per month owing to the abrogation of their sponsorship agreement (Steele et al. 2002). Janet Mosher, in this volume, discusses in detail the plight of sponsored immigrant women in abusive relationships. Over the past decade, health-care reform has been promulgated by a global neo-liberal agenda that has resulted in constraints on public spending and a contraction in public services with the view of making Canada attractive to foreign investors (Gustafson 2000; Neysmith and Chen 2002). While health-care reform has been touted as being capable of producing a more efficient and cost-effective health-care system, women – if considered at all in the context of these policy changes (Horne et al. 1999) – are invariably regarded as a homogeneous category, and so their diversity and their needs remain invisible. The impact of these changes on women, and on minority women in particular, as both workers and health consumers, has been significant. As the ranks of nursing staffs across the country were reduced, leaving only those nurses with the most seniority employed in the sector, foreignborn nurses and those from minority communities, who were often more recent entries into the profession, were more likely to lose their positions (Lum 1998). In the hospital setting, nurses’ patient loads increased dramatically and demands intensified as patients found themselves discharged from hospital earlier than had previously been the norm. In obstetrics, for instance, nurses felt compelled to treat time as a commodity that needed to be spent economically. As a result, ‘costly’ encounters – or those presumed to be more costly – with patients were avoided. Notably, these interactions were often with minority women (Spitzer 2000, 2004). Despite complaining to the staff that she was in severe pain following the birth of her second child, Melissa,19 a Vietnamese Canadian mother, was discharged from hospital without an examination. She was eventually treated for a severe postpartum infection when the community-health nurse in a routine visit found her crawling on the floor while trying to care for her two children. ‘I think the doctor treated me badly because I’m not Canadian. I wanted to report him. I have to be in pain and take care of two kids … I think it’s because of cutbacks, maybe less hours … people just do their job and rush home.’ One of the major features of health-care reform has been the reduction in institutionalized care, shifting responsibility for both self-care and caring for the infirm to the private household (Armstrong and

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Armstrong 2001; Steele et al. 2002). This devolution of care has both increased the burden on women and reinforced the notion that women are natural caregivers in society (Armstrong and Armstong 2001; Scott et al. 2002; Spitzer et al. 2003). Changes in hospital discharge policies following childbirth, which see women returning home within twentyfour to thirty-six hours following delivery, have been promoted as a way of demedicalizing childbirth in line with consumer demands. One informant employed by a health authority reported on a client survey designed to gauge new mothers’ satisfaction with the implementation of this new program: ‘One-third of the women find the length of stay in the hospital too short. For some of them, they have no support. These are often women who are new to the country, women who haven’t worked outside the home and haven’t developed other women friends, or women who work outside the home whose friends are working and are isolated’ (Bubel and Spitzer 1996). Furthermore, the tasks associated with household caregiving for ill family members have become increasingly complex (Armstrong and Armstrong 2001). Not only are the supports for household caregiving, such as home-care services and aids to daily living, difficult to access owing to a reduction in budgets for these programs and increasing demand, as mentioned earlier, but non-citizens in some provinces may not be eligible for these programs altogether. Conclusion Policies formulated in a politically charged atmosphere and imbued with dominant values and ideologies, influence access to the social and material goods of the state. As Vissandjée and her colleagues (2001) note, even as researchers and activists call for a more participatory model of policy-making – one that would involve immigrant and refugee women in the process – political considerations are granted greater valence than evidence and research in the policy-making process. Furthermore, the policy environment is often fractured when issues straddle the policy domains of numerous departments and various levels of government, each with its own culture of decision-making and areas of responsibility. Hence, making it becomes difficult to both influence policy development and determine the impact of policies on select populations. If the health of the Canadian populace is, as the National Forum on Health (1997) stated, predicated on strong social ties, reduced economic disparities, and access to appropriate health services, among other factors,

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then policies that constrain access to these determinants are detrimental, particularly when we consider the health of migrant women. This chapter considers but a few of the major policy areas that are implicated in the lives and well-being of immigrant and refugee women, namely, immigration and health policies; however, even this brief overview suggests that the consequences of such policies are substantial and have the potential to negatively affect the health of this sector of Canadian society. Policies that constitute women as dependants and reinforce women’s association with the domestic role can shape their access to programs and opportunities, such as educational upgrading and second-language training, that could reduce potential isolation, enhance women’s earning capacity, and enlarge their social networks. Furthermore, narrow definitions of the family can disrupt reunification and contribute to a loss of social support and increased stress and stressrelated conditions emerging from concerns and guilt over adult children or other family members left in another country. While life in Canada has afforded some opportunities and refuge, for many migrant women the quest for improved economic circumstances or family reunification remains a dream only partially fulfilled. Depressed socioeconomic circumstances incommensurate with migrants’ previous status and education can contribute to chronic stress, frustrated ambitions, the downward mobility, and the often myriad health implications of living in poverty. Limited access to health services is likely to be more problematic for migrant women due to linguistic barriers and employment conditions that constrain women’s ability to attend medical appointments during normal business hours. Immigrant and refugee women appear particularly vulnerable to the effects of some policies owing to a relative paucity of social and cultural capital; however, migrant women too constitute a heterogeneous group whose complex needs also differ, and they are not bereft of the resources and skills necessary to engage in the interpersonal and communal activities that can resist the forces threatening to erode their health and that can, by contrast, enhance their resilience (Bannerji 2004; Stewart et al. 2004; Vissandjée, Weinfeld, et al. 2001). The deployment, for instance, of cultural brokers or community-health workers can help not only to empower individual women engaged in these roles, but can also work to benefit community members and institutions by facilitating access to health determinants such as health services and social support (Meyer et al. 2003; Spitzer 2005a). Generally bi-cultural individuals, cultural brokers link ‘persons of two or more coequal socio-cultural systems

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through an individual with the primary goals of making community service programs more open and responsive to the needs of the community, and of improving the community’s access to resources’ (Van Willigen 1993, 125–6). In essence, policies that promote and sustain community strengths and are derived from participatory processes involving immigrant and refugee women are essential to promote a healthy populace (Scott et al. 2002; SWC 2002). Canada possesses a set of policy documents that outline the pathways to increased gender and health equity through meaningful reflection on the impact of policies on our diverse population and through ongoing conversation and collaboration among members of Canadian society. Political commitment is needed, however, to ensure that these policies are put into action to improve the health of migrant women in this country.

NOTES 1 Although poor health per se is not a ground for the refusal of immigration, nevertheless, as discussed by Vijay Agnew in the introduction, the Canadian government has in recent policy documents and in its Immigration Act of 2001 explicitly articulated the desirability of selecting immigrants who will not be a burden on Canadian social services. 2 All names are pseudonyms. The interview was conducted as part of doctoral research on the impact of immigration on women’s experience of menopause and aging. ‘Migration and Menopause: The Experience of Maturation in Three Immigrant Communities,’ unpublished PhD dissertation, Dept. of Anthropology, University of Alberta; research funded by the Issak Walton Killam Doctoral Fellowship, 1998. 3 From Spitzer, ‘Migration and Menopause.’ 4 See note 2 above. 5 As many Somali women did not possess identity papers, they were required to wait five years until they could apply for permanent residency status, which would allow them to sponsor close relations to come to Canada or attend post-secondary schooling. The regulations were changed in 2001. See Spitzer 2006 for further analysis. 6 From David Young and Denise L. Spitzer, Understanding the Health Care Needs of Canadian Immigrants (2001). Project funded by the Prairie Centre of Excellence for Research in Immigration and Integration.

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7 From Denise L. Spitzer, The Land of Milk and Honey? After the Live-In Caregiver Program (2006). Funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. 8 From Denise L. Spitzer, Migrant Perspectives of Type 2 Diabetes (2005). Funded by the Humanities, Fine Arts and Social Sciences Research Fund, University of Alberta. 9 From Miriam Stewart et al., Multicultural Meanings of Social Support. Project at University of Alberta, funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. 10 From Denise L. Spitzer, In Visible Bodies: Minority Women, Nurses and the Hospital Childbirth Experience (1996). Funded by Health Canada. 11 Somali women maintain bilateral kinship ties that allow them membership in both their natal clan and that of their husband. These affiliations may facilitate inter-clan network building. 12 See note 5 above. 13 See note 5 above. 14 From Ann Bubel and Denise L. Spitzer, Documenting Women’s Stories: The Impact of Health Care Reform on Women’s Health (1995). Funded by the Capital Health Authority. 15 See note 2 above. 16 From Denise L. Spitzer, Kim Raine, and David Young, Immigration as a Determinant of a Stress-Related Disorder: Focus on Diabetes (1999). Pilot study funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. 17 According to the 2001 Census, 271,705 women, as compared to 174,585 men, are not able to speak French or English (see www.12statcan.ca/ english/census01/products). 18 See note 5 above. 19 See note 9 above.

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the Maple: Essays on Race, Gender, and the Construction of Canada, ed. V. StrongBoag, S. Grace, A. Eisenberg, and J. Anderson, 242–61. Vancouver: UBC Press. Anderson, Joan, S. Wiggins, R. Rajwani, A. Holbrook, C. Blue, and M. Ng. 1995. ‘Living with a Chronic Illness: Chinese-Canadian and Euro-Canadian Women with Diabetes – Exploring Factors That Influence Management.’ Social Science & Medicine 41(2): 181–95. Anderson, Laurie, Susan Scrimshaw, Mindy Fulilove, Jonathon Fielding, and the Task Force on Community Preventative Services. 2003. ‘The Community Guide’s Model for Linking the Social Environment to Health.’ American Journal of Preventative Medicine 24(3S): 12–20. Armstrong, Pat, and Hugh Armstrong. 2001. Thinking It Through: Women, Work and Caring in the New Millennium. Halifax: Maritime Centre for Excellence in Women’s Health. – 2002. ‘Women, Privatization and Health Care Reform: The Ontario Case.’ In Exposing Privatization: Women and Health Care Reform in Canada, ed. Pat Armstrong, Carol Amaratunga, Jocelyne Bernier, Karen Grant, Ann Pederson, and Kay Wilson, 163–215. Aurora, ON: Garamond Press. Bannerji, Himani. 2004. ‘Immigrant Women: Labour in the North American Continent.’ In Globalization, ed. M. Bhattacharya, 87–92. New Delhi: Tulika Books. Bauder, Harald. 2003. ‘Brain Abuse or the Devaluation of Immigrant Labour in Canada.’ Antipode 35(4): 699–717. Beiser, Morton. 2003. ‘Sponsorship and Resettlement Success.’ Journal of International Migration and Integration 4(3): 203–15. Bubel, Anna, and Denise L. Spitzer. 1996. Documenting Women’s Stories: The Impact of Health Care Reform on Women’s Health. Edmonton: Edmonton Women’s Health Network. Canada Health Action. 1997. Building on the Legacy. Volumes 1 and 2. Ottawa: Health Canada. Chard, Jennifer, Jane Badets, and Linda Howatson-Leo. 2000. ‘Immigrant Women.’ In Women in Canada: A Gender-Based Statistical Report, 189–214. Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Chui, Tina. 2003. Longitudinal Survey of Immigrants to Canada: Process, Progress and Prospects. Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Citizenship and Immigration Canada (CIC). 2005. Citizenship and Immigration Canada. (electronic document). At www.cic.gc.ca/english; accessed 26 November 2005. Danso, Ransford. 2001. ‘From “There” to “Here”: An Investigation of the Initial Settlement Experiences of Ethiopian and Somali Refugees in Toronto.’ GeoJournal 55: 3–14.

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DeLaet, Debra. 1999. ‘Introduction: The Invisibility of Women in Scholarship on International Migration.’ In Gender and Immigration, ed. Gregory Kelson and Debra DeLaet, 1–17. New York: New York University Press. Dressler, William. 1991. Stress and Adaptation in the Context of Culture: Depression in a Southern Black Community. Albany: SUNY Press. Dunn, James, and Isabel Dyck. 2000. ‘Social Determinants of Health in Canada’s Immigrant Population: Results from the National Population Health Survey.’ Social Science & Medicine 51: 1573–93. Elabor-Idenmudia, Patience. 2000. ‘Challenges Confronting African Immigrant Women in the Canadian Workforce.’ In Anti-Racist Feminism: Critical Race and Gender Studies, ed. A. Calliste and G. Safa Dei, 91–110. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing. Frideres, James. 1992. ‘Changing Dimensions of Ethnicity in Canada.’ In Deconstructing a Nation: Immigration, Multiculturalism and Racism in ’90s Canada, ed. V. Satzewich, 47–67. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing. Gagnon, Anita. 2002. The Responsiveness of the Canadian Health Care System Towards Newcomers. Discussion Paper no. 40. Commission on the Future of Health Care in Canada, Ottawa. Government of Canada. 1995. Setting the Stage for the Next Century: The Federal Plan for Gender Equality (electronic document). At www.swc-cfc.gc.ca/pub/ 06626195X/199508_066261951X4_e.html; accessed 29 August 2003. Green, Alan, and David Green. 2004. ‘The Goals of Canada’s Immigration Policy: A Historical Perspective.’ Canadian Journal of Urban Research 13(1): 102–39. Guruge, Sepali, Gail Donner, and Lynn Morrison. 2000. ‘The Impact of Canadian Health Care Reform on Recent Women Immigrants and Refugees.’ In Care and Consequences: The Impact of Health Care Reform, ed. D. Gustafson, 222–42. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing. Gushulak, Brian, and Linda Williams. 2004. ‘National Immigration Health Policy: Existing Policy, Changing Needs and Future Directions.’ Canadian Journal of Public Health 94(3): 127–9. Gustafson, Diana. 2000. ‘Introduction: Health Care Reform and Its Impact on Canadian Women.’ In Care and Consequences: The Impact of Health Care Reform, ed. D. Gustafson, 15–24. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing. Ho, Ming-Jung. 2003. ‘Migratory Journeys and Tuberculosis Risk.’ Medical Anthropology Quarterly 17(4): 442–58. Horne, Tammy, Lissa Donner, and Wilfreda Thurston. 1999. Invisible Women: Gender and Health Planning in Manitoba and Saskatchewan and Models for Progress. Winnipeg: Prairie Women’s Health Centre of Excellence. Jakubowski, Lisa M. 1997. Immigration and the Legalization of Racism. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing.

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Jones, Sharon. 2004. ‘Canada and the Globalized Immigrant.’ American Behavioral Scientist 47(10): 1263–77. Kazemipur, Abdolmohammad, and Shiva Halli. 2001. ‘The Changing Colour of Poverty.’ CRSA/RCSA 38(2): 217–38. Krieger, N., J. Chen, and J. Selby. 2001. ‘Class Inequalities in Women’s Health: Combined Impact of Childhood and Adult Social Class – A Study of 630 US Women.’ Public Health 115: 175–85. Lewchuk, Wayne, Alice de Wolff, Andy King, and Michael Polyani. 2003. From ‘Job Strain to Employment Strain: Health Effects of Precarious Employment.’ Just Labour 3: 23–35. Lum, Janet. 1998. ‘Backward Steps in Equity: Health Systems Reform’s Impact on Women and Racialized Minorities in Ontario.’ National Women’s Studies Association Journal 10(3): 101–14. McMichael, Celia, and Lenore Manderson. 2004. ‘Somali Women and WellBeing: Social Networks and Social Capital among Immigrant Women in Australia.’ Human Organization 63(1): 88–99. Meyer, Mechthild, Sara Torres, Nubia Cermenos, Lynne MacLean, and Rosa Monzon. 2003. ‘Immigrant Women Implementing Participatory Research in Health Promotion.’ Western Journal of Nursing Research 25(7): 815–34. National Council of Welfare (NCW). 2001. The Cost of Poverty. Ottawa: Minster of Public Works and Government Services. National Forum on Health (NFH). 1997. Canada Health Action: Building on the Legacy, volume 2. Ottawa: Minister of Public Works and Government Services. Neysmith, Sheila, and Xiaobei Chen. 2002. ‘Understanding How Globalization and Restructuring Affect Women’s Lives: Implications for Comparative Policy Analysis.’ International Journal of Social Welfare 11: 243–53. Ng, Edward, Russell Wilkins, François Gendron, and Jean–Marie Berthelot. 2005. Dynamics of Immigrants’ Health in Canada: Evidence from the National Population Health Survey. Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Scott, Catherine, and Wilfreda Thurston. 2004. ‘The Influence of Social Context on Partnerships in Canadian Health System.’ Gender, Work and Organization 11(5): 481–505. Scott, Catherine, Wilfreda Thurston, and Barbara Crow. 2002. ‘Development of Healthy Public Policy: Feminist Analysis of Conflict, Collaboration and Social Change.’ Health Care for Women International 25: 530–39. Simich, Laura, Morton Beiser, and Farah Mawani. 2003. ‘Social Support and the Significance of Shared Experience in Refugee Migration and Resettlement.’ Western Journal of Nursing Research 25(7): 872–91.

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Spitzer, Denise L. 2000. ‘‘‘They Don’t Listen to Your Body”: Minority Women, Nurses and Childbirth.’ In Care and Consequences: Women and Health Reform, ed. Diana Gustafson, 86–106. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing. – 2004. ‘In Visible Bodies: Minority Women, Nurses, Time and the New Economy of Care.’ Medical Anthropology Quarterly 18(4): 490–508. – 2005a. ‘Engendering Health Disparities.’ Canadian Journal of Public Health Health 96 (Supplement 2): S78–S96. – 2005b. ‘Immigrant and Refugee Women’s Perspectives on Social Support and Health.’ Presentation to the 10th International Metropolis Conference, Toronto, 1 October. – 2006. ‘The Impact of Policy on Somali Women.’ Refuge 23(2): 42–9. Spitzer, Denise L., Anne Neufeld, Margaret Harrison, Karen Hughes, and Miriam Stewart. 2003. ‘Caregiving in Transnational Context: “My Wings Have Been Cut; Where Can I Fly?’’’ Gender & Society 17(2): 267–86. Status of Women Canada – Gender-Based Analysis Directorate (SWC). 2002. Canadian Experience in Gender Mainstreaming. Ottawa: Status of Women Canada. Steele, Leah, Louise Lemieux-Charles, Jocalyn Clark, and Richard Glazier. 2002. ‘The Impact of Policy Changes on the Health of Recent Immigrants and Refugees in the Inner City.’ Canadian Journal of Public Health 93(2): 118–22. Steptoe, Andrew. 1991. ‘The Links between Stress and Disease.’ Journal of Psychosomatic Research 35(6): 633–44. Stewart, Miriam, Joan Anderson, Morton Beiser, Anne Neufeld, and Denise L. Spitzer. 2004. Weaving Together Social Support and Health in a Multicultural Context. Report. Available from http://www.ssrp.ualberta.ca/projects_ multicultural_meanings.html. Thoits, Peggy. 1995. ‘Stress, Coping and Social Support Processes: Where Are We? What Next?’ Journal of Health and Social Behaviour 35(extra issue): 53–79. Van Willigen, John. 1993. Applied Anthropology. Westport, CT: Bergin and Garvey Publishers. Vissandjée, Bilkis, Marie Desmeules, Zheynuan Cao, Shelly Abdool, and Arminée Kazanjian. 2004. ‘Integrating Ethnicity and Immigration as Determinants of Canadian Women’s Health.’ In Women’s Health Surveillance Report: Supplementary Chapters, 5–7. Ottawa: Canadian Institute for Health Information. Vissandjée, Bilkis, Morton Weinfeld, Sophie Dupere, and Shelly Abdool. 2001. ‘Sex, Gender Ethnicity, and Access to Health Care Services: Research and Policy Challenges for Immigrant Women in Canada.’ Journal of International Immigration and Integration 2(1): 55–75.

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Voyer, Jean-Pierre. 2004. ‘Foreword.’ Journal of International Immigration and Integration 5(2): 159–64. Women’s Health Bureau (WHB). 1999. Health Canada’s Women’s Health Strategy. Ottawa: Minister of Public Works and Government Programs. World Health Organization (WHO). 1986. Ottawa Charter for Health Promotion (electronic document). At www.who.int/hpr/NPH/docs/. Wright, Cynthia. 2000. ‘Nowhere at Home: Gender, Race and the Making of Anti-Immigrant Discourse in Canada.’ Atlantis 24(2): 38–48.

5 Review of Health and Policy Research on Older Immigrants ito p e ng a nd m a r g o t lettn er

In recent years, health researchers and policymakers in Canada have endorsed a population-based approach that defines ‘health’ not as being the mere absence of disease but rather as including a broad range of socio-economic, physical, and environmental factors that contribute to human development (Frankish 1996). Individual and collective health is influenced by social determinants such as education, positive child development, public services, income, social status, working conditions, support networks, and physical environment. Additional determinants of immigrant health include a sense of physical and psychological security, satisfactory housing, employment appropriate to education, and culturally appropriate and accessible health and social services (Beiser et al. 2003; Newbold and Danforth 2003; Oxman-Martinez et al. 2004). There is a growing body of literature on the health status of Canadian women, even that of immigrants; however, few have examined the impact of health determinants on older immigrant women. In this chapter we examine the importance of culture in understanding the health of elderly immigrant women, and review what we currently know about immigrant health in Canada through an analysis of the literature and interviews with professionals and policymakers. We conclude by identifying some gaps and recommend strategies for including older immigrant women in research. We adopt here the practice of the Canadian census and use the term ‘immigrant women’ to refer to those who were born outside the country. We define women over the age of sixty-five as elderly. (We regret not having discussed refugee health, despite its importance, as it is beyond the scope of this study.)

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In the Canadian literature on health very few studies deal directly with older immigrant women in Canada. To supplement the literature review we conducted interviews with front-line health-care professionals and government decision makers and policymakers who work on or with immigrant populations. Since most front-line health-care professionals and policy experts do not normally publish their work, it was necessary to meet with them to gain additional information and develop further insight into the situation of older immigrant populations, particularly women. A total of thirteen semi-structured interviews were conducted in Ontario between June 2004 and April 2005. Each interview ranged from one to two hours, and was based on pre-drafted interview questions. Whenever possible interviews were taped; otherwise extensive notes were taken. The content of the interviews were then analysed and coded according to themes. In addition, two workshops were conducted, in November 2004 and March 2005, each involving approximately thirty participants from the immigrant, health-care, and policy communities. We presented our preliminary findings to the participants for feedback to validate and revise our analyses accordingly. A Demographic Profile of Aging Immigrant Population People over the age of sixty-five accounted for 13% of the total Canadian population in 2001, up from 11.8% in 1991 (Statistics Canada 2001). Canada’s population is demographically young when compared to Japan’s (20%), Italy’s (18%), and Germany’s (18%), but is marginally older than that of the United States (12%). It is widely acknowledged in the literature that demographic ageing will continue and is projected to increase to 15% by 2011. Statistics Canada’s ‘Report on the Demographic Situation in Canada’ (2003) found that immigrant women who have been living in Canada for ten to fourteen years have almost the same fertility rate as those of Canadian-born women (1.5 vs 1.47). This suggests that immigration may not be an effective long-term solution to combat the greying of the country. In 2001, 39.7% of elderly Canadians (1.03 million people or 5.2% of total population) were immigrants. Among the elderly immigrant population nearly one-fifth (18% or approximately 185,000) were immigrants who had come to Canada within the last ten years. Data on elderly immigrant populations in Canada reflects the shift in source countries consequent to changes in immigration policy since 1967 (discussed in detail

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Table 5.1 Place of birth for immigrant seniors in Canada, 2001 45–64 years United States Central and South America Caribbean and Bermuda Europe Africa Asia Oceania and other Immigrant population

65–74 years

4%

United States

5%

Central and South America

6%

Caribbean and Bermuda

50% 4% 30% 1% 100%

Europe Africa Asia

75 years and over

4.0%

United States

5.8%

2.3%

Central and South America

1.5%

3.4%

Caribbean and Bermuda

65.6% 2.6% 21.4%

Europe Africa Asia

Oceania and other

0.7%

Immigrant population

Immigrant 100% population

Oceania and other

2.4% 72.0% 1.7% 16.1% 0.6% 100%

by Vijay Agnew in the introduction of this volume). Before 1991, about two-thirds of the elderly immigrant population were born in Europe (702,185 or 68.3% of all elderly immigrants). Since 1991, the 2001 Canadian census reveals, elderly immigrants of European origin made up less than 5% (32,865 or 4.7 % of the entire elderly immigrant population). Asians constitute the second largest group of elderly immigrants in Canada; in 2001, fully 19.2% of all elderly immigrants (or 197,495) were from this group. However, the majority of them are immigrants who have come to Canada since 1991 (125,865 or 63.7%). Similar changes can be noticed in the countries of origin of elderly immigrant populations along age cohorts. As illustrated in table 5.1 and figures 5.1–3, there has been a gradual decline in immigrants from Europe and a concomitant increase in the proportion of immigrants who are born in Asia as the cohort age group declines. For example, in 2001, approximately 72% of elderly immigrants over the age of 75 were born in Europe, while those born in Asia accounted for 16%. For those in the age category of 45–64, however, the proportions were 50% and 30%, respectively. The gender breakdown of the elderly immigrant population reveals a significant over-representation of women among the 75-plus age category for all groups. In Canada, immigrant women over the age of 75 outnumber their male counterparts by a ratio of 1:41. This is somewhat

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Table 5.2 Place of birth for immigrant seniors in Canada by gender, 2001 45–64 years

65–74 years

75 years and over

Gender

Males

Females

Males

Males

Immigrant population

Females

Females

892,765

928,230

295,400

307,245

176,775

248,855

United States

33,075

44,520

10,010

14,255

8,960

15,540

Central and South America

39,705

44,875

5,915

8,195

2,100

4,280

Caribbean and Bermuda

45,180

59,515

8,690

11,750

3,255

6,745

Europe

454,490

451,740

199,420

196,185

129,545

177,040

United Kingdom

122,235

127,260

45,035

51,920

36,570

62,905

Other Northern and Western Europe

109,245

106,410

52,750

48,580

24,645

34,485

Eastern Europe

61,230

63,685

29,045

32,915

38,245

45,120

161,775

154,390

72,585

62,770

30,085

34,525

42,615

34,935

7,515

7,900

3,285

3,830

Southern Europe Africa Asia

269,200

283,300

61,905

66,970

28,620

40,005

West Central Asia and the Middle East

36,465

29,775

7,075

6,490

3,110

3,470

Eastern Asia

103,370

111,585

29,320

30,865

14,005

20,795

South-East Asia

55,605

76,700

9,610

14,170

4,980

8,365

Southern Asia

73,755

65,240

15,895

15,435

6,525

7,375

Oceania and other

8,495

9,360

1,950

2,000

1,015

1,415

11,125

11,310

1,635

2,440

1,075

2,185

Non-permanent residents

Source: Statistics Canada, 2001 census

the same ratio as those born in Europe (1:37) as well as those born in Asia (1:4). A similar pattern can be seen for immigrant populations in Ontario, where in general women over the age of 75 outnumber their male cohort by a ratio of 1:39 (for those born in Europe by 1:35, and Asia by 1:36) (see table 5.2).

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Figure 5.1 Place of birth for immigrants in Canada, 75 years and over 1%

6%

16%

1% 2%

2%

United States Central and South America Caribbean and Bermuda Europe Africa Asia Oceania and Other

72%

Figure 5.2 Place of birth for immigrants in Canada, age 65–74, 2001 1% 4%

2% 3%

21%

United States Central and South America Caribbean and Bermuda Europe Africa Asia Oceania and Other

3%

66%

The ethnic and racial demographic changes in the composition of the elderly immigrant population suggest the urgent need to understand the role of culture in aging and how it intersects with health and equitable access to health-care services.

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Figure 5.3 Place of birth for immigrants in Canada, age 45–54, 2001 1% 4%

5% 6%

30%

United States Central and South America Caribbean and Bermuda Europe Africa Asia Oceania and Other

4% 50%

Age, Culture, and Health The aging of the immigrant population presents a challenge to health practitioners and policy experts: to identify problems and develop appropriate services forpeople. Geriatric professions increasingly recognize the importance of understanding the cultural norms of women, including the differences within and between cultures. There are certain subjective predictors of the quality of life for elders, such as the significance of social support, that can be universally applied; however, the particular form they take varies across cultures (Chappell et al. 2004). Health beliefs and attitudes about illness, disease, and death, as well as health-seeking behaviours, such as attitudes towards prevention, diagnosis, treatment, and use of health services, are culturally influenced (Goodwin et al. 1999). For example, ‘old age’ is understood and valued differently in many cultures. Similarly, different cultures have varied explanations for health and disease. Chinese medicine places emphasis on ‘Chi’ as a vital force that is comparable to Western ideas about immune-system equilibrium (Kaptchuk 1983). Some elderly immigrant women’s beliefs in religion and spirituality are a key mediating factor in their health (Meadows et al. 2001). Many elders can be fatalistic about the cause of disease and nihilistic about treatment, which affects their use of health services (Goodwin et al. 1999). The relationship between aging and ethnicity is dynamic. Ethnic identity is not static; rather, it changes across the lifespan (Damron-Rodriguez

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1998). Acculturation affects identity and varies in time, degree, impact, and consequences. However, the heterogeneity of immigrant groups means that the degree of acculturation differs according to factors such as class, gender, race, and personal and group histories. Existing research uses different ways of evaluating acculturation and how it relates to health. Thus, the expression of illness, as well as measures of objective health, may change with acculturation and over time (Salant and Lauderdale 2003). Almost all researchers note the significance of language and the cultural competency of professionals in providing health services to elderly immigrants and facilitating their utilization of it. Our interviews also confirm the critical importance of communication in health care. As language acquisition declines with age, access to health information and the capacity to understand options and make health-care decisions deteriorates as well. Some immigrant elders never become literate in English (or French), or speak a dialect, which heightens the effect of language as a barrier to care. This may result in inappropriate care, unmet needs, and errors in diagnosis and treatment. The Ontario Women’s Health Bureau notes that ‘there is a fundamental mismatch and tension between the beliefs, expectations, and behaviours of Western-trained health care professionals and those of immigrant, refugee, and racial minority women’ (1993). The norms of some older immigrants, such as their deference to authority, desire not to offend by disagreeing, stoicism, and sense of social and familial obligations, may not be well understood by health-care providers (Fitzgerald et al. 2001). Issues of privacy and autonomy, however appropriate in some cultures, may conflict with what families in other cultures, especially elders, deem to be ethically appropriate treatment. However, an emphasis on individual and relational approaches without addressing systemic barriers such as those of race, gender, and class has its limits as well. As Brotman points out: Advances in the articulation of multicultural practices and policy dealing with ethnic communities have focused almost exclusively on developing competency skills based on individual communication and understanding between formal service providers and clients, rather than on exposing and altering institutional structures and power relations marked by racism … ‘Multiculturalism’ programs emphasizing the expansion of workers cultural repertoire has largely been adopted in aging organizations … Multicultural programs mask issues of discrimination and disadvantage,

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thereby disabling any major shift in class and power relations between people of colour and the white majority. (Brotman 2002)

Elderly immigrant women, like Canadian born women, are particularly vulnerable to poverty. The gender segregation of the labour market and the continuing disparities between wages for men and women despite government policies and human-rights legislation leave women more at risk of having low income at retirement. Gender roles that assign women household responsibilities, child care, and elder care sometimes result in their accumulating fewer years of paid employment and thus lower pensions. Immigrant women’s health may be further affected by neo-liberal policies that ‘erode income, housing, and neighbourhood conditions; fragment or impose new obligations on already overburdened networks; or proliferate demeaning and demoralizing stereotypes’ (Geronimus 2000). Geronimus argues that public-health practitioners are often engaged in ‘ameliorative approaches and actions,’ that is, strategies to change individual behaviour and expand access to medical services that do not fundamentally alter underlying inequalities. However, health-care systems reflect the cultural values and the status of the individuals within the nation, thereby constructing and shaping identities and experiences. Racial discrimination continues to bedevil elderly immigrants, restricting their access to and utilization of health services. Exclusion and, by implication, the critical and urgent need to enhance inclusion were recurring concerns in the interviews we conducted with front-line professionals and policy experts, even though the focus of the discussions was on health indicators. Clinical research helps us to understand the determinants of health, whether they are physiological, cultural, social, or environmental. Health researchers have documented the exceedingly low participation rates of older immigrant women in most studies (Curry 2003; Gavaghan 1995); and they are under-represented in most research and practice models on aging and caregiving as well. Recent explorations of the barriers and facilitators to participation in research among immigrants of all ages have focused primarily on cancer prevention (Curry 2003). The literature reports that participation can be encouraged by establishing trust and connection with the community and by involving immigrant researchers at all levels, from lead investigators to data collectors (Curry 2003; Levkoff and Weitzmann 2000). The barriers to recruitment can stem from research institutions as well as from the immigrant communities.

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Sometimes barriers may be socio-cultural in nature, such as a lack of information about the purpose and benefit of clinical research, beliefs that regard it as an intrusion, lack of facility in the English language, or the social stigma associated with certain conditions such as dementia (Hinton et al. 2000). At the individual and community level, barriers to participation may stem from low self-esteem owing to marginalization and exclusion, poverty, and caregiving responsibilities (Arean 2003). Some researchers note that the burden of participation in clinical research is often higher for low-income groups that for the middle class: for example, there may be costs involved such as parking, taxi and public transit fees (Mattson et al. 1985). The challenge for investigators is to develop recruitment methods that address the issues that are specific to the community rather than trying to develop a one-size-fits-all approach to recruitment and retention. Evidence indicates that a consumer-centred model of research yields better results with older immigrant adults than do traditional research methods, and that provider referral and face-to-face contact yields greater recruitment rates (Arean 2003). A consumer-centred model balances the needs of research with the community’s perspectives on it, then fits the recruitment and retention strategies to individual needs (Arean 2003; Levkoff and Weitzmann 2000). The needs of the older community are explored and the research study tailored to meet those needs (Souder 1992). What We Know about Immigrant Health On an individual level, immigrants demonstrate resilience in adapting and acculturating (Muecke 1992; Beiser and Hyman 1998; Des Meules et al. 2004; Hyman 2004; Oxman-Martinez et al. 2004). The immigration experience has the potential for positive, empowering outcomes, such as providing greater access to primary health care. However, it can also have negative outcomes with consequent health risks, such as a drop in income and socio-economic status, lack of employment appropriate to education, and family separation that can lead to stress, depression, and isolation. (The significance of social support networks to health is discussed by Vissandjée, Apale, and Wieringa in chapter 7 below). The ‘healthy immigrant effect’ noted by researchers is generally attributed to Canadian immigration screening procedures that disqualify people with serious medical conditions and to the higher probability that healthy people will emigrate. The ‘healthy immigrant effect’ tends

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to diminish over time as a result of increased stress related to immigration experiences, inadequate social support, and the adoption of mainstream Canadian lifestyles (Chen and Wilkins 1996; Dunn and Dyck 2000; Hyman 2001, 2003; Hyman and Dussault 2000; Parakulam et al. 1992; Perez 2002; Ng et al. 2005). Newbold and Danforth (2003) argue that, except for those who have arrived recently, immigrants experience a worse health status relative to non-immigrants across most dimensions. DesMeules et al. (2004) point to a sharp increase in physician claims approximately three months after immigrants arrive in Canada. (This does not necessarily indicate a sharp decline in immigrant health; rather, the increase in physician claims may be a function of the threemonth residency requirement for public-health-care eligibility in many provinces.) A recent Statistics Canada report based on the longitudinal National Population Health Survey found noticeable differences in the level of health deterioration within the immigrant population. Recent non-European immigrants were more likely to report deterioration in health as compared to Canadian-born or European immigrants (Ng et al. 2005). The risks to health increase vastly for immigrants over the age sixtyfive. For example, Lai’s survey of health status (2004) shows a higher rate of poor mental health among older Chinese-Canadians compared to their native-born counterparts. Furthermore, among older ChineseCanadians, women’s health status was worse than men’s on all measures of the study. Similarly, the survey of Mayetela et al. (1999), located in Quebec, reports that older immigrants face greater difficulties in adapting to Canada if their immigration was involuntary and if the cultural and political differences between Canada and their countries of origin are pronounced. Social isolation, poverty, and being caregivers to their families make older immigrant women particularly vulnerable to health problems. Such findings underscore a need for targeted strategies for elder care, particularly with respect to mental health and major or terminal illnesses. Health Status Results: Preliminary Indicators The literature review and interviews with front-line professionals suggest four areas of concern in relation to the elderly immigrant population: primary care, infectious disease, chronic disease, and mental health. In each of these areas the utilization of services by elderly immigrants is affected by cultural and social barriers.

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Primary Care Studies suggest that the intersection of gender, ethnicity, race, and class in the identities of elderly immigrants results in differential primary-health-care outcomes. There is some evidence to suggest there is a pattern of lower health- and social-service utilization among elderly immigrants compared with that of the native-born or white elderly population (Suinn et al. 1992; Salant and Lauderdale 2003). Boult and Boult (1995), for example, found that the physician utilization rates among older Asian-Americans were noticeably lower compared to those of the general population. However, there are intergroup and intra-group variations as well (Tran and Dhooper 1996.) Liu (2003) notes that serviceutilization rates among Asian/Chinese American elders varied depending on the time of their immigration (and status), work history, current living conditions, and ability to speak English. In Canada, Ali et al. (2004) found similar variations in the patterns of health-service-utilization outcomes between immigrant and non-immigrant populations and within immigrant populations. DesMeules et al. found in addition some regional differences in patterns of service utilization by immigrants (2004). Low service utilization has sometimes led to a higher rate of serious illnesses among immigrant groups. For example, Jackson et al. (2000) and Ogilvie et al. (2004) found a higher incidence of cervical cancer among Southeast Asian immigrants as a result of their lower participation in cancer screening procedures, such as the pap smear. Similarly, Meana et al. (2001) found that immigrant women’s level of education and acculturation to Canadian society were significant factors in determining breast-cancer-screening behaviour. In Ontario, evidence gathered for this study indicates that the elderly form a significant proportion of ‘non-citizens,’ that is, people who have overstayed their visitor’s visa or are otherwise undocumented immigrants. Given their age, the health of these immigrants can deteriorate rapidly, yet they have no legal right to primary care. Practitioners we interviewed spoke of the challenge of assessing patients without knowing their long-term health history and when translation, usually by a family member, can affect the kind of information provided. Evidence gathered for this study indicates that immigrant elders prefer ‘formal’ care, such as in a hospital setting where facilities are clean and health-care providers are easily identified by their dress. Recent immigrants who have never had access to publicly funded health care

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tend to ‘want the full work-up’ and may be at risk for ‘overmedicalization,’ a service issue that has never been fully addressed by practitioners. In addition, evidence indicates that transportation to appointments becomes a significant issue for elderly immigrants whose mobility and use of public transit decline with age as their fear of travel increases. Immigration may connect past health histories with present circumstances. When women immigrate, they sometimes leave behind routines in which they were physically active but at the same time deprived of adequate amounts of food. In Canada these women are sometimes compelled to lead a sedentary lifestyle, with easy availability of food that is high in calories. Clinical observations show an increase in Type 2 diabetes, with a resulting higher probability of heart disease, stroke, amputation, and medication. Canadian norms of health behaviour fail to recognize the psychological impact of food deprivation followed by unrestricted access to it. Nonetheless, there is a need to increase the awareness of appropriate health-promotion strategies for eating and exercise among this population. The dietary patterns of new immigrant women, particularly those from non-Western countries, point to the importance of nutritional intervention that is sensitive to their social contexts and histories (Hyman et al. 2002). Alternative therapies, and in particular herbal remedies, are important to some groups of immigrant women. Women often use alternative therapies but some of these might be illegal in Canada, while others may be unfamiliar to health-care providers. Studies report a lower rate of health-care utilization of traditional health practices among elderly immigrants. For example, Ma’s study of Chinese immigrants (1999) found a low rate of utilization of Western treatments, which was partly accounted for by tendencies for self-treatment and the use of traditional home remedies (see also Lai et al. 2004). Studies such as these attest to the need for acknowledging, integrating, and educating providers about the health beliefs and practices of immigrant communities. Caregiving by an elderly immigrant population influences their health, and the cultural and racial biases of health-care providers increase their burdens. Tennstedt and Chang’s research (1998) found that ethnicity was a better indicator of the differences in the level of informal care provided to elders than their socio-economic status. This study showed that African-American and Puerto Rican elderly were more likely to receive informal care than white elders regardless of their socio-economic status. Other studies show that immigrant caregivers were less likely to receive adequate support, such as home care and

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meal delivery, because of how they are perceived by outsiders, which in turn increased their reluctance to use such services. Hong (2004) found that approximately half of Asian-American caregivers reported problems in receiving support from outside the family for reasons that ranged from difficulties in dealing with a complex bureaucracy to a lack of qualified providers. Choi (2001) similarly notes lower participation rates in home-delivered meal programs among Asian-American elderly lacking proficiency in English. Brotman (2002) found that participation in public-sector services, such as home care, tends to be low for ethnic families because of the tendency among service providers to hold higher expectations of family care among immigrants. Studies also show a variety of problems associated with the primary care of elderly immigrants, such as a lower likelihood of their receiving flu vaccines owing to language and institutional barriers (Mark and Paramorem 1996), a lower rate of dental-service utilization (Ahluwalia and Sadowsky 2003), a higher rate of cardiovascular disease and a low rate of leisure-time physical activity (Eyler et al. 2002). In Ontario, evidence gathered from our interviews indicates a unique caregiving trend among immigrant elders: older middle-aged daughters (65 years and over) caring for frail elderly mothers (80 years and over), that is, ‘younger elderly’ immigrant women looking after the ‘older elderly.’ The daughters are post-menopausal and often have associated health concerns, yet carry a heavy caregiving load with little or no support from social-service agencies. Louis Racine, in chapter 9, argues that the racism encountered by Haitian-Canadians in Quebec forces daughters to provide home care to their elderly parents despite its heavy toll on their own health and well-being. Infectious Disease There is a growing concern among health professionals and researchers about the need for more effective monitoring and treatment of immigrants who belong to the group at high-risk for tuberculosis (TB). Data show that TB has declined rapidly in Canada; however, in some immigrant sending societies there has been a rapid increase of TB in recent years. Consequently, there is the potential for newly arrived immigrants from those countries to spread the disease, particularly in the popular settlement areas for immigrants. In Canada, 58% of all TB occurs among the foreign born; however, as Cowie et al. point out (2002, 85), in the southern part of Alberta, from 1990 to 1995, the foreign born accounted

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for 17% of the population but 71% of the TB cases. Similarly, in Ontario, over 80% of TB cases are accounted for by foreign-born individuals during 1994 to 1995 (Uppaluri et al. 2002). Citizenship and Immigration Canada (CIC) administers careful preimmigration screening for individuals at high risk of developing TB who would most likely benefit from preventive intervention after immigration. However, in practice, few of these individuals, once they enter Canada, adhere to the recommendation that they agree to medical monitoring by local public-health units. In Ontario the adherence rate among immigrants was only ‘20% overall and 10% within 30 days as recommended by Canadian medical surveillance guidelines’ (Uppaluriet al. 2002, 90). It is obvious that the current preventive strategies for high-risk immigrants are not working, and that a more effective coordination between CIC and local public-health bodies is required. Moreover, given the global differences in the drug resistance patterns of TB, a more efficient and coordinated strategy of detection and treatment may be needed as well (Khan et al. 2002). TB is no longer a health hazard for most of Canada, including Ontario. On average, Ontario has about four hundred TB cases annually, and of these about 95% are among foreign-born individuals. While few Ontario doctors know how to treat TB, the provincial program ‘TB Up’ (Ontario Ministry of Health and Long-Term Care) was cited as an example of a good program response to undocumented migrants or others without a health card who need to access TB diagnosis or treatment. Generally, the ‘decentralization’ of TB treatment in Ontario over the past fifteen to twenty years has not been followed by other provinces. Preliminary research shows that matching individual, molecular, and demographic data to ascertain clustering may indicate transmission patterns and suggest how structural factors, such as housing, affect TB infection. Evidence from our interviews indicates that, over the long term, viral hepatitis and childhood vaccine-preventable diseases may become public-health issues in cases where immigrant elders have never been vaccinated in their countries of origin. Preliminary research, using patient data from Ontario’s community health clinics, indicates that immunity may be fairly high, but the results are not conclusive. Chronic Disease Research on breast cancer suggests the effectiveness of public education on the benefits of mammography in increasing the participation

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rate among older immigrant women. A study of older Russian immigrant women in Israel found that women who were least integrated into Israeli society – older, unemployed, or working at low-skilled labour – tended to have the highest risk for late detection of breast cancer (Remennick 1999). American studies stress the importance of developing effective health-education strategies for older immigrant women. Thomas et al. (1996), for example, found that mammography eases recipients’ minds and was the most significant predictor of its utilization by women over the age of sixty-five. Following up on this study, Fox et al. (2001) show that the targeted mailing of information on the benefits of mammograms resulted in a significant increase in screening rates among elderly minority-group women in California. Levy-Storms and Wallace’s study (2003) noted that having connections to interpersonal networks, such as through churches, was positively related to the rate of mammography screening among older Samoan women. Indeed, a recent study by Jones et al. (2003) shows that older African-American and Hispanic women have a higher rate of mammography screening compared to older white women, perhaps as a result of active health-education programs directed to these groups. Canadian studies confirm these findings. Meana et al.’s study of older immigrant Tamil women (2001) concluded that those who were less educated and less acculturated to Canadian society were more likely to have never had a mammography as compared to their better educated and more acculturated counterparts. According to this study, the perceived barriers to mammography were largely psychological: a procedure causing worries about breast cancer, embarrassment, time constraints, and fear of pain. Ahmad and Stewart’s study of South Asian immigrant women in Toronto (2004) also confirms the relationship between acculturation and clinical breast examinations. In this study, women who were older and had lived for several years in Canada had a better knowledge of breast cancer and were less reluctant to have periodic clinical breast examinations. Finally, in a study of Chinese women in British Columbia, Hislop et al. (2004) note the importance of women’s knowledge of cervical cancer risk as a factor for pap screening. In Ontario, evidence gathered for this paper indicates that elderly immigrants tend to develop the same or similar conditions in old age – osteoporosis, high blood pressure, stroke, and dementia – as do nativeborn individuals. Some researchers observed that the incidence of chronic disease among immigrant elders is affected by their pre-entry health-status screening and consequently may be lower.

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Mental Health An ethnogerontological perspective is important in interpretations of mental illness (Abramson et al. 2002; Henderson 2002). (Ethnogerontology deals with the effect of race, culture, and ethnicity on the health and well-being of the elderly.) Studies suggest that elderly immigrants have higher risks of mental health problems. In the United States, Tran and Dhooper’s study (1997) found that low income and ethnicity were positively linked to chronic stress and psychological distress for elderly Cubans, Mexicans, and Puerto Ricans. Similarly Chiriboga et al.’s research (2002) notes that the combination of gender (female), low income, and chronic financial strain along with health stressors were associated with greater symptoms of depression among Mexican-Americans over the age of sixty-five. Using Geriatric Depression Scales (GDS), Strokes et al. (2001) found extensive symptoms of depression among the Chinese-American population aged sixty to sixty-nine who were living with their children, which were highest among those who came to the United States within the last five years. British studies report an increase in psychiatric morbidity among the ethnic elderly population; for example, older Bengalis demonstrated high levels of anxiety, a low level of life satisfaction, and other symptoms of depression (Shah 1998; Silveira and Ebrihim 1998). Canadian studies suggest that social support structures are an important factor to both the physical and mental health of elderly immigrants (Lai 2004). For example, Wu and Hart (2002) found that poor physical and mental health was negatively associated with social contact, involvement, and support. Ahmed et al.’s study of recent Hindispeaking immigrant women in Canada (2004) identifies mental health as an overarching concern for them. They define mental health primarily in terms of the stress factors related to immigration (such as loss of social support and economic uncertainty), downward social mobility, barriers to accessing health services, and social and climatic changes. These immigrants needed to become more self-aware and develop coping mechanisms by forming new social networks and practising preventive health techniques. In their Quebec-based study of immigrant women, Mayetela et al. (1999) raise similar concerns, and recommend the need to understand older immigrant women in the context of their low income, lack of social networks, and burden of providing informal health care to family members.

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In Ontario, evidence gathered for this study indicates that anxiety, stress, and depression are often the most significant issues presenting in clinical practice. Family reunification, the most common route by which elderly immigrants come to Canada, has many positive associations and outcomes for the parent; however, they are displaced socially and culturally and may develop mental illnesses. The stigma associated with mental illness is not unique to immigrant communities. However, elderly immigrants may have additional concerns, for example, anxiety about the impact of such a diagnosis on the family’s reputation, not just their own (Arean 2003). Some elderly immigrants may perceive symptoms of mental illness multidimensionally as encompassing the religious, spiritual, and environmental domains, and consider the medical establishment’s attempt to pathologize it as degrading (Lu et al. 1995). The typical geriatric sample in mental-health studies is 86 to 90% white (Arean and Gallagher-Thompson 1996). The low representation of and participation by elderly immigrants in psychosocial research is problematic, particularly when mental disorders offset mortality, morbidity, and poor quality of life (ibid.). Recently researchers have attempted to facilitate the participation of immigrant elders in clinical studies by becoming more culturally sensitive to their concerns. For example, researchers have tried to increase knowledge about an ongoing study by utilizing community networks and ethnic media. Sometimes they provide transportation to the research site and give monetary incentives to complete follow-up assessments. Researchers have attempted to minimize confusion by having the same interviewer administer baseline and follow-up assessments over time (Thompson and Gallagher 1984). These strategies have been helpful in increasing the recruiting and retention of older immigrants into mental-health studies. Conclusion Women’s health is a continuum that extends throughout their lives, and is closely related to their life circumstances. However, pre- and post-migratory experiences and how they impact health remain largely unexplored in research. Immigration presents much the same challenges to men as to women; however, socio-economic status, gender (female), and power relations result in differential health outcomes for men and women.

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Many health-care studies suggest developing a strategic framework to guide the scope, means, instruments, and evaluation of research, as well as for recruiting and retaining individuals from the group being investigated (Arean 2003; Arean and Gallagher-Thompson 1996; Curry and Jackson, 2003). The literature suggests researchers adopt the following principles: •

•

• •

Consult with community opinion leaders, gatekeepers, and representatives when designing research. Focus groups and advisory boards should be made up of members from the target community to overcome fear and the stigma associated with research, such as that into mental health. Include staff members on the research team who are ethnically similar to, experienced with, or are actual members of the target population so that participants feel comfortable. This has the additional advantage of enhancing insight and sensitivity for the investigators. Anticipate the burdens that research imposes on the respondents to minimize attrition and increase retention. Provide feedback to the community so that participants feel they are making a contribution and develop faith and trust in the research and the researchers.

A number of research, policy, and program gaps in relation to older immigrant women’s health were identified in our research. These include the need for: • •

• • •

•

More comprehensive evidence about immigration as a health determinant. National, longitudinal population-based research instruments on health and social determinants from the perspective of immigrants. More comprehensive mapping of the effect of specific cultures on health determinants, beliefs, and behaviours. Health information about immigrant subgroups who may present vulnerabilities in health status and service use. Understanding the relationship between knowledge levels about care and the outcomes of health promotion and prevention strategies. Understanding the impact of immigration on health-system support and renewal, and the management of risks to health.

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We suggest that future health research on elderly immigrant women be grounded in the determinants-of-health approach, develop research questions and methodologies in consultation with immigrant communities, practitioners, and policy experts, and use community-based research methods.

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6 Exploring Social Capital among Women in the Context of Migration: Engendering the Public Policy Debate bil k i s v i s sa n d jée, a lish a a pa le, a nd sa s k i a w i er in ga

Often simplistically summed up as ‘It’s who you know, not what you know’, the concept of social capital is no stranger to criticism. Given this (mis)conception, it is no wonder that recommendations to integrate social capital into public policy cause much debate among social scientists. Contributions to social-capital theory by scholars such as Wakefield and Poland (2005), Franklin (2004), Salaff and Greve (2004), Mackian (2002), Drevdahl et al. (2001), Adler and Kwon (2000), and Kawachi et al. (1997) include more critical analyses of social-capital theory. Appraisals pivot on findings where social networks operate as resources that support women’s health, well-being, and empowerment or, alternatively, as sites and sources of control, isolation, and manipulation. These findings provide a broader scope through which the value and dynamics of social capital can be discussed with respect to public policy and its relevance for migrant women in their quest for social justice. The notion of social capital stems from the idea that humans are social beings who rely on family, friends, and community throughout their lives to meet various needs and interests. Social capital is manifest through the various resources present in, cultivated by and reciprocated through social networks and relations (Edwards 2005). It is believed to facilitate the production of resources as well as access to those and other resources, including assistance in finding a job or housing and support while starting a new educational program or navigating a health-care or legal system. Among recent immigrants, social support is described as a key resource that, among other ways, may be defined as a ‘way of fulfilling the ideal of social justice and equity’ (Stewart et al. 2004, 4). Derived from social integration and participation, social capital is deemed beneficial to communities and individuals alike and may be an important indicator of empowering social networks.

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Investing in the resources that promote community development and cohesion is generally regarded as a public-policy priority (that is, something that appeals to citizens and elected governments). Yet, building social capital through public policy is a complex issue involving power, representation, access to resources and opportunities, and agency. A well-known critic of neo-liberal capitalism and a political activist in France, Bourdieu locates social capital in the realm of class, social positioning, and power relations therein. In doing so, he brings to light important questions, questions that are also being investigated by the Canadian government’s Policy Research Initiative. For example, what are the proposed implications of building social capital through policy initiatives and how can these be identified? Can public policy be used to harness the potentials of social capital in an empowering and equitable manner? Can the integration of social capital into public policy facilitate policy objectives, such as social integration, enhanced civic participation, and improved health and well-being? If so, how? Questions such as these give ample reason for further discussions on social capital and its place in public policy. At the same time, it is important to point out that social capital is already an inherent part of public policy. Public policy is developed and operationalized in a manner that corresponds to an intuitive understanding of the dynamics of social relations of a civilian majority. New research exploring the integration of social capital into public policy must acknowledge this and aim to clarify the value and dynamics of social capital both within and beyond mainstream citizenry. Understanding these dynamics is the first step in learning how to build public policies that support empowering forms of social capital among social groups such as migrant women, where the likelihood of socio-political inequity and marginalization may be heightened. In doing so, policymakers – and more specifically in this chapter, public-health policymakers – may be in a better position to support migrant women’s quest for social justice. This chapter provides a discussion of social capital and migration with a focus on women’s health and well-being. As a form of power relations having a complex relationship with women’s health and well-being, we explore the role of social capital in the settlement and integration experiences of women who have recently immigrated to Canada. Using gender-based analysis, we begin by saying a few words about social capital, followed by a brief overview of women’s experiences of international migration. We will then have adequate context for further discussion of the value and dynamics of social

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capital among migrant women and how health policies can be formulated in support of migrant women. Social Capital, Women’s Health, and Gender-Based Analysis: Advancing a Basic Framework Both women and men share a common goal of enjoying ‘good health’ (MacMurray 2007, 384.) Gender-based analysis helps clarify women’s and men’s specific needs and interests and may be used to explain persistent disparities in health outcomes, socio-economic status, visibility and representation, as well as exposure to violence and social isolation. Worldwide, women remain over-represented in impoverishing, insecure, and marginalizing social conditions, often with significant and persistent health costs (Marmot 2005; Wieringa 2005; Vissanjdée et al. 2005 and 2004; Kawar 2004; Spitzer 2005; Walters 2003; and Fuhrer and Stansfeld 2002). The health costs of social inequities in both developing and developed regions are well documented and partially explain the recent surge of interest in social-capital theory as a means of overcoming poor health outcomes resulting from social exclusion and marginalization (Marmot 2005; Farmer 2003; Gin and Arber 2002; Drevdahl et al. 2001; Adler and Kwon 2000; Kawachi et al. 1997). Social integration, participation, and community empowerment are central elements of social-capital theory (Putnam 1995); they likewise constitute important aspects of community health promotion (Wakefield and Poland 2005). Within the area of population health, equitable partnerships and civil participation in the development of healthy communities are regarded as empowering foundations in overall health promotion. Social capital is believed to play a strategic function towards this end and, as a result, the integration of social capital into public health policy is being explored as a potential priority initiative. Yet, as the nature of policymaking is highly politicized, it works in a context of finite resources, diverse needs and interests, as well as with respect to global health issues, such as rapid urbanization and migration, climate change and an increasingly limited fresh-water supply, infectious disease, violence, and poverty (Famer 2003; Marmot 2005; MacMurray 2007; Labonte 2005; Hancock 1992). In the politics of representation, gendered and other power relations are firmly entrenched at the heart of decision-making. Thus, despite the value being placed on integrating social capital into public health policy, issues such as these cannot be overlooked because of their potential for reinforcing

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the inequitable distribution of power, resources, and opportunities, and even for eroding social capital. Gender-equitable health policies integrate gender-sensitivity at all levels of policy research and development, improving opportunities, support, and resources for both women and men in both daily opportunities and throughout the life course (MacMurray 2007; Vissandjée 2007a; Spitzer 2005; Walters 2003; Weber and Parra-Medina 2003). An equitable health system integrates the social determinants of health that shape health experiences and outcomes, including gender and migration. It may facilitate gender equity by taking into account the way that gender interacts with other social determinants of health, including ‘childhood education, health literacy, preventive care, and economic opportunities [that] are pivotal to community development, community competence and building social capital’ (MacMurray 2007, 279). Exploring social capital through a gender-sensitive discourse on power relations may illustrate the extent to which women’s needs and interests remain compromised by inequitable power relations. In the context of migration, for example, social-capital research more aptly explains how women’s social capital is unravelled rather than how it is enabled (Kawachi et al. 1997). The absence of gender-sensitive approaches to social-capital theory could well explain why recognition of migrant women as both ‘importers’ of social capital as well as contributors to emerging forms of social capital remains unacknowledged. Women’s Health in the Context of Migration – How Does Social Capital Fit In? Just as both women and men desire good health, likewise both recent immigrants and native-born communities share this common goal. The dynamics and relevance of social capital among migrant women reflect both public policies that facilitate empowering experiences of migration and social integration, as well as policy gaps resulting in social marginalization or exclusion. Worldwide, women constitute just over half (52%) of all migrants, and in Canada, approximately 250,000 immigrants land each year (Citizenship and Immigration Canada [CIC] 2005). The relationship between migration and health may be strongly influenced by the diverse experiences previous to, during, and after migration. For example, migration could be one strategy women use to overcome inequitable conditions; professional development, business opportunities, family

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reunification, and the desire to improve one’s standard of living are classified as motivations for voluntary migration. Conversely, a large proportion of international migrations are involuntary, occurring in response to socio-political conflict, ecological disaster, trafficking, or a search for asylum. In either case, it is clear that the impetus for migration often differs among women and between women and men. Yet, as Stewart et al. explains, regardless of gender or socio-economic, political, or cultural background, ‘newcomers come to Canada with high hopes and expectation for a better and more fulfilling life’ (2004, 12). Migration may result in both losses and gains in terms of opportunities and access to resources. Ongoing research is thus needed in order to determine what role social capital plays in supporting migrant women’s initiatives for equitable and just experiences and opportunities, including those that translate into positive health outcomes. More specifically, as a social determinant of health, further research is needed to clarify the health effects of migration (Vissandjée et al. 2007a, b; Spitzer 2005; Hyman 2001). For example, access to education, to better-paid employment with more benefits, and to a large amount of information on health may result in increased health literacy, with improved or sustained health outcomes. Unfortunately, as attested to by the healthy immigrant effect, most immigrants arrive in very good health; however, after approximately ten years, significant declines in health status are widely evident. Multiple factors may interact, including socio-structural factors such as un- or under-employment and low income, social isolation, abuse or discrimination, the development of poor health behaviours, as well as luck or genetics. As stated by Vissandjée et al., ‘in this post-millennium era, Canada continues to pride itself in having a multicultural identity, in leadership in population health and having a health care system that is available to all. Yet the recognition of this diverse demographic has not fully been translated into healthy care policies and services that substantiate an integrated approach to the needs and interests of women experiencing migration’ (2007, 1). As earlier discussed, social capital is rarely disaggregated by a broader conceptualization of gender. When it is, women’s health is primarily viewed in terms of reproduction. For example, it has been found that it is particularly challenging for mothers to maintain a strong momentum in their careers due to the gaps in social support or women’s caregiving responsibilities, which may be exacerbated by the onset of socio-economic insecurity, often experienced throughout the course of migration and resettlement (Salaff and Greve 2004). Certainly, many women migrate as

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family members, and thus tend to be classified as dependents, a catch-all category in family-class immigration legislation. Yet, beyond this specific aspect of women’s health, there is a significant gap in research that engages women who do not have children and are not classified as dependents. Consequently, knowledge of the dynamics and relevance of social capital for women suffers from a limited conceptualization of what it means to be a healthy woman, which may or may not include the sphere of child rearing and domestic responsibilities. Research generated by a more inclusive account of women’s health remains limited. Such limitations may also be contributing to the narrowly deployed conceptualization of social capital among women generally as well as in the context of migration. For example, social capital is often described as an empowering resource whereby wellintegrated communities would enjoy better health outcomes than poorlyintegrated or poorly established communities. For recent migrant women, empowerment may involve gaining new rights or opportunities embedded in a new citizenship. More accurately, however, the processes and phases of migration are likely to entail both empowering and marginalizing experiences. As women’s professional qualifications are often obscured during family-class immigration, subsequently, women’s access to employment, education, language training, and thus to a degree of social and financial autonomy, are also effected (Kawar 2004; Arat-Koc 1999; Thobani 1999). Moreover, the process of (re)negotiating gender norms and perceptions occurs at multiple social levels and there may not always be a comfortable fit between the norms and rights instituted at the state level and how gender operates in one’s home or community. The gaps and distinctions therein may be a source of tension, conflict, and isolation for many women. A significant degree of support may be found in diaspora communities among women who have recently experienced migration. Even so, it is not clear whether or how these social networks enable women to renegotiate inequitable gender norms or social structures. Throughout the challenges they may face during migration, women demonstrate resilience that may both stem from or generate social capital. For example, where migrant women experience social marginalization or discrimination, bonding with women of similar experience may generate a powerful form of social support, enabling women to ‘get by’ from day to day. It could also stimulate bridging across diverse groups of women engaged in a similar struggle to subvert gender-based inequities. Referred to as ‘linking,’ the experience of building bridges

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among women of diverse backgrounds and socio-economic status may even further enable the leveraging of resources and information needed for advances in other forms of capital, including human, economic, and political forms (Woolcock 2001) and may also be used in successful endeavours to resist and subvert structural injustices. Such initiatives may be a salient and highly influential form of empowerment, with potentially very positive effects on women’s health and well-being. Indeed, the quality of social capital generated by resilience may be remarkable. However, bridging gaps in public policies and institutions demands significant mobilization across community-based groups, and further research is needed to evaluate the role of social capital within grassroots initiatives. While social capital may be a testament to community capacity, as well as a valuable component of capacity-building, the extent to which social capital is used to contest social injustices could also be an important indicator of the existence of inequitable public policy and its unjust social effects. Social-capital theory is described in terms of local, community-based relationships. By nature, migration would appear to unravel social capital; the nature and dynamics of social relations are likely to undergo significant changes with the loss of proximity. Foundational features of community, trust, reciprocity, and a sense of belonging constitute proxy measures of social capital. They also characterize the nature of the social relations required to facilitate and cultivate social capital. In other words, in order to tap into the benefits of social capital, a basic level of social integration is needed. In the context of migration, social integration is typically a goal rather than a reality. During the process of forming integrated communities, the norms and perceptions of both newcomers and prior residents undergo a period of reflexive interaction, (re)negotiating and transforming the form, nature, and content of relations and networks. Coinciding with this process may be the development of networks based upon shared identity. In some instances, ‘this is a reflection of the continuity of symbolic capital, namely, shared or common meanings, memories, future expectations and symbols’ (Faist 2000, 15). In other instances, it may be a manifestation of social exclusion from mainstream society or a blend of the two. As noted by Vissandjée et al., ‘integration also depends heavily on the efforts of social institutions to foster the capacity of all women to bridge identities and experiences’ (2007b, 5). Maintaining a broader sense of community and cultural identity through symbolic capital may be a significant source of solidarity. However, investing in and drawing upon symbolic forms of social

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capital alone, also referred to as ‘bonding,’ may not always be an effective means of ensuring equitable access to resources and opportunities. For example, it may be difficult to translate symbolic capital into the tangible resources required to meet daily needs or long-term interests. Moreover, one’s cultural or ethnic identity is not static and is likely to be shaped to some extent by migration itself and through the development of new relationships and interaction with a new way of living and functioning in society. As explained by Biidu (2004), social-capital research has tended to look at the effects of migration on women as opposed to the diverse ways that women, throughout migration, own, uphold, and mobilize resources for the well-being of their families. This tendency may be a reflection of which questions get asked and which ones do not. For example, as previously noted, gender-based analysis has yet to be systematically integrated into social-capital research. As a result, research has not yet accounted for the ways in which women operate as sources of social capital for their families, for other women, and for their partners during migration. Early research in this area points out that women and men do not even define social capital in the same ways (Lowndes 2004). The insights shared by Ginn and Arber (2002) from their extensive qualitative research work indicate that men appear to define social capital as a means of upward social or professional mobility, whereas women appear to use social capital as a resource to get by, and it is operationalized in terms of child-care exchanges, access to education, skills/language training and (re)qualification, gaining information about health care, educational opportunities, skills and language training or professional (re)qualification programs, or learning about new foods and cooking styles (Ginn and Arber 2002). Trust, social support, safety, and well-being are also well implicated in women’s conceptualization of social capital. However, these are viewed as proxy measures of social capital that are not readily quantifiable, and thus remain poorly understood (ibid.). Despite the increasing significance attributed to social capital in population health research, further emphasis is needed on developing research tools that accurately capture how social capital facilitates women’s access to empowering resources as well as a broader, gender-sensitive conceptualization of social capital. Thereafter, we may be better able to identify policies that represent and respond to migrant women’s needs and interests in such a way as to further build on their capacities. Overall, it seems that a positive relationship between social capital, women’s health, and women’s empowerment initiatives cannot be

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guaranteed (Veenstra 2005; Mackian 2002). In some contexts, high levels of social capital may facilitate access to health information and increased health literacy. It may also foster a more supportive environment, reducing, for example, isolation during illness or stress from daily or life challenges experienced in recent migrant communities. Ultimately, empowering forms of social capital would enhance equitable access to the resources and opportunities that protect against ill health. These are the forms of social capital that public-policy researchers aspire to identify, understand, and replicate. Yet, it is as important for policymakers to identify and understand forms of social capital that may reinforce unhealthy behaviours or perceptions of health and illness, particularly where the health issues in question are regarded as taboo. Just as women’s participation and investment in maintaining tradition and cultural norms and values may not necessarily contribute to empowering opportunities and resources for themselves or other women, likewise social capital may not always facilitate healthy behaviours or access to quality health care and information. Thus, along with efforts to emphasize the benefits of social capital among migrant women, community-health researchers and policymakers must also attend to and contest policies that reinforce social inequity and marginalization as well as forms of social capital that are damaging to women’s health, autonomy, and empowerment. Research intersecting women’s health, migration, and social capital demonstrate the complexity of these concepts. In this light we can better appreciate the caution exercised concerning the integration of social capital into public policy. Caution may be even further warranted in the context of migration in order to ensure that policy research and development indeed works in support of the diverse strategies that women across the world use to protect and maintain their health and well-being as well as continue the pursuit of social justice. Social Capital, Gender, and Power: Public-Policy Implications Social-science research has aptly demonstrated the importance of shared values, ideologies, and ambitions as the substance of social cohesion. Individual and community identities are shaped by the cultural dimensions of social norms, perceptions, and expectations. Reciprocity, responsibility, and solidarity are believed to constitute the fabric of social capital (Putnam 2001; Faist 2000); as a social building block, social capital depends on the cultivation of and (re)-investment

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in mutual and community-wide benefit. However, as a theory of social relationships, social-capital theory must take into account the extent to which social relations are dynamic, fluid, and responsive to historical, cultural, political, and economic contexts and are, above all, manifestations of power relations. Power dynamics are also a central impetus behind gender-based analysis, with gender-equity and women’s empowerment initiatives evolving from a dedicated scholarship in the social sciences. Much of the literature on women’s empowerment works to uncover the ways in which social structures, policies, and relations operate either to perpetuate or to overcome gender-based inequalities (see Grown et al. 2005; Vissandjée et al. 2005; Wieringa 2005, 1994). Social capital is generally regarded as a resource within cohesive communities, a contributor to improved quality of life, as well as a protector against community fragmentation, violence, and poverty. Yet, as earlier mentioned, social capital may also function as a site and source of inequitable power relations. Indeed, a woman’s needs, interests, and experiences are varied and are strongly shaped by the context in which she lives. As one explores women’s experiences of migration, it becomes apparent that, like gender, culture is not a static set of ideas, perceptions, norms, or ideologies. At present, however, social-capital literature is largely characterized by a more static perspective of social relations, prioritizing the nuclear family and Euro-centric traditions, norms, and values. It is within this framework that much of social-capital theory has been developed. Prioritizing such a demographic does not necessarily reflect a growing proportion of trans-national communities that are characterized by the increasingly postmodern, cosmopolitan (ethnically, socially, religiously, etc. diverse), mobile, and urbanizing climate of many societies. While migration has always been a feature of human societies, the integration of more diverse perspectives of ‘community’ and the various social dynamics therein into social-capital theory is only in its infancy. While public-policy research on social capital is on-going, further research is needed (PRI, 2005a, b, c). As noted earlier, public policy does not operate in a vacuum. Moreover, it is not clear that policy interventions to facilitate the development of social capital will necessarily generate equitable or empowering effects; any intervention in one area of a community will have effects on other dimensions of that community and the broader network of communities in which it is situated, effects that may or may not be beneficial (Levesque 2005).

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Problematizing social-capital theory with respect to power relations, such as gender, brings our inquiry back to a familiar crossroad in the discourse. On one hand, social networks may be characterized by their bridging capacities as operationalized within communities who share ‘similar demographic characteristics’ (Woolcock 2001, 13). Greater social cohesion, maintained through existing community networks, is deemed to benefit both individuals and the community at large, with potential implications in terms of health and longevity, professional opportunities, affluence, and so on (Schuller 2001). On the other hand, social networks may be characterized by the capital that is generated across communities founded on similar interests, experiences, or positions. In other words, social capital may function as a means of enabling communities, such as those experiencing marginalization, not only to ‘reach out’ through horizontal networks, but also to ‘scale up’ through vertical networks. Interestingly, recent research on social networks postulates that weak social networks – those linking persons of diverse social or economic status – may be more likely to foster upward mobility, particularly in the labour market (PRI 2005b). In comparison, when one’s social network consists only of those in a similar situation, for instance, a community suffering from a high unemployment rate, ‘scaling up’ as individuals or as a whole community may be more challenging than it is for an individual of a lower socio-economic status who interacts with individuals of a higher socio-economic status. In this circumstance, it is hypothesized that upward social mobility may be more readily achieved. The same may be said for learning a language, often a precursor for employment. For example, learning to speak French may be more of a challenge for a recent immigrant woman living in Quebec if her only or primary social contacts are other immigrant women who do not speak French than it would be for a woman who is in regular contact with members of the francophone community. At the same time, social capital consists of a wealth of resources that are not necessarily fully used. Simply interacting with members of the francophone community does not guarantee substantial advances in learning French, nor does it guarantee access to employment. Gender-sensitive research directed by and conducted with migrant women is critical to the development of socially just (i.e., best) policies and practices. At present, it seems that interventions intended to facilitate social capital among migrant women could perhaps operate as a gateway generating the kinds of capital needed to foster equitable participation, representation, and agency across all sectors of

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society (Levesque 2005, 16). However, from a policy- and programdesign perspective, fostering social capital is a highly complex initiative. Partnership-based research initiatives, involving governments, researchers, policymakers, and communities are therefore central to the development of relevant and inclusive policy decisions. By conducting comparative, participatory-based research with both socialcapital-rich communities and those experiencing social exclusion, researchers may contribute considerable understanding of the inner workings of communities in diverse situations and of how people work together to achieve their goals and overcome challenges. Significantly more research is needed to develop sensitive and effective ways of countering inequitable and disempowering forms of social capital that perpetuate control and isolation, particularly with respect to gender. Systematic monitoring and evaluation of both the benefits and costs of initiatives designed to engender social capital is also needed. As social capital is a reflection of power relations and is already inherent in public policy, further discussions on social capital are in keeping with the interests of migrant women. By fleshing out the dynamics and relevance of social capital among migrant women through a gender-based analysis, we may construct a more accurate framework to clarify the sense in which public policy can operate as a stepping stone enabling migrant women to access empowering resources and opportunities embedded in social capital. Continuing the Quest for Justice As indicated by the many challenges presented in this chapter, a number of authors suggest that it is high time to take the concept of social capital beyond the benefits prioritized in traditional social relations. Doing so has given rise to a more critical perspective of what social capital is. Social-capital theory is indeed no stranger to criticism and controversy. In line with Wakefield and Poland (2005), Franklin (2004), Mackian (2002), Drevdahl (2001), Adler and Kwon (2000), and Kawachi et al. (1997), we do not uncritically accept the idea that social capital benefits women’s health, well-being, or empowerment – or that it ought to be unequivocally integrated into public policy. In Canada, the government is already inherently involved in the development of social structures that represent a demographic majority. Thus, further research and action taken to ensure full and equitable participation in society by populations currently experiencing social exclusion is clearly an imperative. Initiatives towards such ends are continually fraught with

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the challenges of social divestment from key arenas, including access to quality and timely health care, higher-quality education, and community development programs, some of the basic building blocks of social infrastructure. For migrant women, access to these resources generated by the social – and other – capital of mainstream Canadian society is often deeply challenged by the extent to which social networks are deferential to existing – and often inequitable – power structures. A key feature of equitable public policies within the scope of social investment and empowerment is the ability to bridge diverse communities, facilitating capacity and agency and thus access to the many resources and opportunities embedded in Canadian society. In the context of migration, equitable investment in gender-sensitive social services and infrastructure can be regarded as a contributor to empowering forms of social capital, enabling women to overcome the perpetual challenges to their security and well-being on financial, social, political, and personal fronts (Grown et al. 2005; Hampson 2004; Farmer 2003; Sen et al. 1994). Of central importance, women’s already enormous social contributions must be formally recognized and validated. While there may be no linear trajectory bridging social capital and women’s empowerment in the context of migration, the resources embedded in social capital are as much tools used to subvert structural injustices as they are essential stepping stones for migrant women.

REFERENCES Adler, P.S., and S.W. Kwon. 2000. ‘Social Capital: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.’ In Knowledge and Social Capital: Foundations and Applications, ed. E. Lesser. Boston: Butterworth-Heinemann. Agnew, V. 1996. Resisting Discrimination: Women from Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean and the Women’s Movement in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Anderson, J. 2000. ‘Gender, “Race,” Poverty, Health and Discourses of Health Reform in the Context of Globalization: A Postcolonial Feminist Perspective in Policy Research.’ Nursing Inquiry 7: 220–9. Arat-Koc, S. 1999. ‘NAC’s Response to the Immigration Legislative Review Report: “Not Just Numbers.”’ Canadian Women’s Studies: Immigrant and Refugee Women 19(3): 18–23. Beck, U. 1997. The Reinvention of Politics: Rethinking Modernity in the Global Social Order. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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Biidu, D.G. 2004. ‘The Gender Dimension of the Hague Declaration on the Future of Refugee and Migration Policy.’ In Femmes en movement: Genre, migrations et nouvelle divisions internationales du travail, ed. F. Reysoo and C. Verchuur. Berne: Commission suisse pour L’Unesco. At www.iued.unige.ch. Bourdieu, P. 1986. ‘The Forms of Capital.’ In Handbook of Theory and Research in the Sociology of Education, ed. J.E. Richardson. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Coleman, J.S. 1988. ‘Social Capital in the Creation of Human Capital.’ American Journal of Sociology 94, suppl.: S95–S120. Drevdahl, D., S. Kneipp, M. Canales, and K. Dorcy. 2001. ‘Reinvesting in Social Justice: A Capital Idea for Public Health Nursing.’ Advanced Nursing Sciences 24(2): 19–31. Edwards, R. 2005. ‘Social Capital: A Sloan Work and Family Encyclopedia Entry.’ Families and Social Capital ESRC Research Group, South Bank University. At http://www.bc.edu/bc_org/avp/wfnetwork/rft/wfpedia/ wfpSCent.html; retrieved July 2005. Faist, Thomas. 2000. The Volume and Dynamics of International Migration and Transnational Social Spaces. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Farmer, P. 2003. Pathologies of Power: Health, Human Rights and the New War on the Poor. Berkeley: University of California Press. Fuhrer, R., and S.A. Stansfeld. 2002. ‘How Gender Affects Patterns of Social Relations and Their Impact on Health: A Comparison of One or Multiple Sources of Support from “Close Persons.”’ Social Science & Medicine 54(5): 811–25. Franklin, J. 2004. ‘Politics, Trust and Networks: Social Capital in Critical Perspective. An Introduction.’ Families and Social Capital ESRC Research Group, Working Paper no. 7, April 2004, London: London Sough Bank University. Ginn, J., and S. Arber. 2002. ‘Gender and the Relationship between Social Capital and Health.’ In Social Capital for Health: Insights from Qualitative Research, ed. C. Swann and A. Morgan. Health Development Agency. At http://www.publichealth.nice.org.uk/page.aspx?o=502307; retrieved 1 June 2002. Glaeser, E.L. 2000. ‘The Formation of Social Capital.’ Paper presented at international symposium ‘The Contribution of Human and Social Capital to Sustained Economic Growth and Well-Being,’ organized by Human Resources Development Canada and OECD. Quebec City, March 2000. Grown, C., G.R. Gupta, and A. Kes. 2005. Taking Action: Achieving Gender Equality and Empowering Women. UN Millennium Project, Task Force on Education and Gender Equality. London: Earthscan.

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Hampson, F. 2004. Empowering People at Risk: Human Security Priorities for the 21st Century. Report of the Helsinki Process on Globalization and Democracy, Track on Human Security. At http://www.helsinkiprocess.fi/ netcomm/ImgLib/24/89/Track3.pdf; retrieved April 2005. Kawachi, I., B. Kennedy, K. Lochner, and D. Prothrow-Stith. 1997. ‘Social Capital, Income Inequality and Mortality.’ American Journal of Public Health 87: 1491–8. Kawar, M. 2004. ‘Gender and Migration: Why Are Women More Vulnerable?’ In Femmes en movement: Genre, migrations et nouvelle divisions internationales du travail, ed. F. Reysoo and C. Verchuur. Berne: Commission suisse pour L’Unesco. At www.iued.unige.ch. Kinnon, D. 1999. ‘Canadian Research on Immigration and Health: An Overview.’ The Metropolis Project, Health Canada. At http://dsp-psd .communication.gc.ca/Collection/H21-149-1999E.pdf; retrieved April 2005. Lowndes, V. 2004. ‘Getting On or Getting By? Women, Social Capital and Political Participation.’ British Journal of Politics and International Relations 6(1): 45–64. Mackian, S. 2002. ‘Complex Cultures: ReReading the Story about Health and Social Capital.’ Critical Social Policy 22(2): 203–25. Marmot, M. 2005. ‘Social Determinants of Health Inequalities.’ The Lancet 365: 1099–104. Miedema, B., and E. Tastsoglou. 2000. ‘But Where Are You Really From, Originally? Immigrant Women and Integration in the Maritimes.’ Atlantis 24(2): 82–91. Narayan, D. 1997. ‘Voices of the Poor: Poverty and Social Capital in Tanzania.’ Washington: World Bank. Portes, A. 1998. ‘Social Capital: Its Origin and Applications in Modern Sociology.’ Annual Review of Sociology 24:1–24. Putnam, R. 1995. ‘Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital.’ Journal of Democracy 6(1): 65–78. – 2001. ‘Social Capital: Measurement and Consequences.’ Isumu 2(1/Spring): 41–52. Rankin, P., and J. Vickers. 2001a. ‘Public Policy and the Integration of Gender.’ In Women’s Movements and State Feminism: Integrating Diversity into Public Policy, 28–33. Ottawa: Status of Women Canada. – 2001b. ‘It Is All Very Well for the Majority.’ In Women’s Movements and State Feminism, 35–6. Salaff, J., and A. Greve. 2004. ‘Can Women’s Social Networks Migrate?’ Women’s Studies International Forum 27: 149–62.

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Schuller, T. 2001. ‘The Complementary Roles of Human and Social Capital.’ Isumu 2(1/Spring): 18–24. Schuller, T., S.Baron, and J. Field. 2000. ‘Social Capital: A Review and Critique.’ In Social Capital: Critical Perspectives, ed. S. Baron, J. Field, and T. Schuller. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sen, G., A. Germain, and L. Chen. 1994. ‘Reconsidering Population Policies: Ethics, Development, and Strategies for Change.’ In Population Policies Reconsidered: Health, Empowerment, and Rights (Harvard Series on Population and International Health), ed. G. Sen, A. Germain, and L. Chen, 3–11. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Spitzer, D.L. 2003. What’s Sex and Gender Got to Do with It? Integrating Sex and Gender into Health Research. Institute for Gender and Health, Canadian Institutes for Health Research. Ottawa: Health Canada. – 2005. ‘Engendering Health Disparities.’ Canadian Journal of Public Health 96(suppl. 2): S78–S96. Status of Women Canada. 2005–6. Report on Plans and Priorities. Strategic Outcome: Gender Equality and the Full Participation of Women in the Economic, Social, Cultural and Political Life of Canada. At http://www.tbs-sct.gc.ca/ est-pre/20052006/SWC-CFC/SWC-CFCr5601_e.asp#section2_1_1. Thobani, S. 1999. ‘Sponsoring Immigrant Women’s Inequalities.’ Canadian Women’s Studies: Immigrant and Refugee Women 19(3): 11–16. Vissandjée, B., A. Apale, S. Wieringa, S. Abdool, and S. Dupéré. 2005. ‘Empowerment beyond Numbers: Substantiating Women’s Political Participation.’ Journal of International Women’s Studies 7 (2 November). Vissandjée, B., and M. Des Meules. 2004. ‘Gender, Ethnicity and the Migration Experience: Social Determinants of Health.’ In A Canadian Snapshot of Fields of Study and Innovative Approaches to Understanding and Addressing Health Issues. SSHRC and CIHR Initiative. Vissandjée, B., M. Weinfeld, S. Dupere, and S. Abdool. 2001. ‘Sex, Gender, Ethnicity, and Access to Health Care Services: Research and Policy Challenges for Immigrant Women in Canada.’ Journal of International Migration and Integration 2(1): 55–75. Vissandjée, B., et al. 2005. ‘Women’s Health at the Intersection of Gender and the Experience of Migration.’ In Women’s Health in Canada: Critical Perspectives on Theory, Policy and Practice, ed. M. Morrow, O. Hankivsky, and C. Varcoe. Wakefield, S., & B. Poland. 2005. ‘Family, Friend or Foes? Critical Reflections on the Relevance and Role of Social Capital in Health Promotion and Community Development.’ Social Science and Medicine 60(12): 2819–32.

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Walters, V. 2003. ‘The Social Context of Women’s Health.’ In Canadian Women’s Health Surveillance Report. Canadian Public Health Initiative. Ottawa: Health Canada. At www.hc-sc.gc.ca. Weber, L., and D. Parra-Medina. 2003. ‘Intersectionality and Women’s Health: Charting a Path to Eliminating Health Disparities.’ In Advances in Gender Research 7, Gender Perspectives on Health and Medicine: Key Themes, ed. M. Segal, V. Dmos and J. Kronenfeld. Amsterdam: Elsevier. Wieringa, S.E. 1994. ‘Women’s Interests and Empowerment: Gender Planning Reconsidered.’ Development and Change 25: 829–48. – 2006. ‘Measuring Women’s Empowerment: Developing a Global Tool.’ In Engendering Human Security, Feminist Perspectives, ed. T. Truong, S. Wiering, and A. Chachhi. (forthcoming). Woolcock, M. 1998. ‘Social Capital and Economic Development: Toward a Theoretical Synthesis and Policy Framework.’ Theory and Society 27: 151–208. – 2001. ‘The Place of Social Capital in Understanding Social and Economic Outcomes.’ Isumu 2(1/Spring): 11–17.

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PART THREE Immigrant Women and Equity

Equity incorporates the concepts of equality and justice, and in contemporary times is often used loosely to refer to either of them. Equality and justice are legal terminologies, but equity is a broader and more flexible term. Martha Nussbaum, a feminist political philosopher, quoting Aristotle, writes that ‘equity is a kind of justice, but a kind that is superior to and frequently opposed to another sort, namely, strict legal justice … It may be regarded as a ‘correcting’ and ‘completing’ of legal justice’ (1999, 160). The authors included in this section go beyond interpreting legal principles or asserting that immigrant women have the legal right to be treated justly and equally. Rather, they document the inequities experienced by them in employment, caregiving, advocacy, and family-dispute resolution. Employment and income inequalities are two of the most significant concerns of immigrant women. These have been documented by Monica Boyd and Jessica Yiu in ‘Immigrant Women and Earnings Inequality in Canada.’ In this paper special attention is given to the economic remuneration that immigrant women receive and to the policy levers that currently exist with respect to reducing earnings inequalities between immigrant women, immigrant men, and the Canadian-born. The research reviews previous studies and government reports, and also provides information on the earning of immigrant women at the start of the twenty-first century. Employment and pay equity policies differ at the federal and provincial levels, and have been enacted in different times and sometimes even rescinded (as in the case of employment equity in Ontario in 1999). Although the gap in wage earnings and the discrimination experienced by racialized immigrants has been documented over and over again,

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policy responses have only helped in limited ways to ameliorate the situation. The problem may lie in the lack of disincentives for employers to comply or the difficulties of implementing the legislation. Or it might be, in the words of Senator Noel Kinsella, that ‘institutions act as collective memory carrying forward values, principles, and traditions’ (in Henry and Tator 2005, 164). Editorials and news reports in the media use racially coded and rhetorical arguments to question and undermine such policies (Henry and Tator 2005). Racism, whether systemic and as experienced in routine everyday circumstances, continues to haunt immigrant women. Louise Racine, in ‘Haitian-Canadians’ Experiences of Racism in Quebec: A Postcolonial Perspective,’ uses a feminist analytical lens to examine how gender, race, ethnicity, and social class intersect to shape the everyday lives of Haitian-Canadian caregivers in Quebec. She argues that although the policies of multiculturalism are espoused in Quebec, as in the rest of Canada, the special status accorded to the founding nations marginalizes racialized minorities such as Haitian immigrants. Racine draws upon the findings of a feminist ethnography to explore how racism, non-recognition, or misrecognition of culturally different Others, such as Haitian-Canadians, impedes their social integration. Racism in the larger society determines the health and patterns of utilization of healthcare services by Haitians, and also mediates their decisions as to how to provide care to their aging parents. Feminists have been concerned with the problem of portraying women as victims of patriarchy, capitalism, Eurocentrism, among many other isms. Hanley’s discussion in ‘Challenging Gendered and EthnoRacial Assumptions in Organizing for Housing Rights’ illustrates the racism that excludes women, and the possibilities of inclusion through an acknowledgment of the values underlying organizational strategies. Hanley documents this racism by reflecting upon her experience as a feminist with a grassroots Montreal tenants’ rights organization as it struggled to address gender and ethno-racial stereotypes in its community organizing. After reviewing the practical steps taken by this particular community group in grappling with prevalent gender and ethno-cultural stereotypes, she turns to the literature on feminist crosscultural community organizing. The chapter critiques approaches and practices suggested by the literature in light of the experience of the Montreal community group in question. Shortcomings of the ‘multicultural’ approach are highlighted and possibilities for overcoming these shortcomings through feminist organizing are suggested.

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Annie Bunting and Shadi Mokhtari, in ‘Muslim Women’s Interests and the Case of “Shari’a” Tribunals in Ontario,’ highlight the challenge of pursuing law reform and social-justice activism relating to Muslim women’s issues in Canada by examining the debates and discourses surrounding ‘Shari’a’ arbitration tribunals in Ontario. On 15 February 2006 the Ontario legislature passed the Family Statute Law Amendment Act, bringing two and a half years of public debate – or one chapter of the debate – to a close. Introduced into the provincial legislature only three months earlier, the new law makes any religious arbitration of family disputes unenforceable in Ontario, and requires that all family arbitrations conform to provincial statutory requirements. Henceforth, a family arbitration decision will be enforceable only if the arbitrator applies Ontario law or that of another Canadian jurisdiction. Arbitrators may not apply, for example, New York State law or Talmudic law or Islamic law to their cases. This paper explores the socio-legal dimensions of these developments, along with public debate, from the perspective of migrant Muslim women in the Toronto area. Research participants, mostly religious Muslim women, were asked about their views on religious arbitration and family-dispute resolution concerning such issues as marriage contracts, mehr (dower), custody, support, and divorce. The authors conclude that women’s rights activists and feminists must take greater strides towards striking a balance between advocating for state protection of women’s rights and avoiding the trappings of dominant discourses and portrayals of Islam and Islamic law as inherently violent and oppressive to women, and of Muslim women as victims thereof.

REFERENCES Henry, Frances, and Carol Tator. 2005. ‘A Critical Analysis of the Globe and Mail Editorials on Employment Equity.’ In Situating ‘Race’ and Racisms in Space, Time, and Theory: Critical Essays for Activists and Scholars, ed. Jo-Anne Lee and John Lutz, 161–77. Montreal and Kingston: McGill Queen’s University Press. Nussbaum, Martha. 1999. Sex and Social Justice. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

7 Immigrant Women and Earnings Inequality in Canada m o n i c a b oy d an d jessic a yiu

The existence of a gender wage gap in the Canadian labour market is undeniable. In 2003 the average earnings of women were 63 per cent of their male counterparts’ (Statistics Canada 2006). Wage disadvantages for the foreign-born and visible-minority populations also are well documented (Aydemir and Skuterud 2005; Boyd 1992; Basavarajappa and Halli 1997; Basavarajappa and Jones 1999; Hum and Simpson 1999; Li 2000, 2001; Palameta 2004; Pendakur and Pendakur 1998, 2000, 2002; Reitz 2001; Smith and Jackson 2002; Swindinsky and Swindinsky 2002). These inequalities fuel increasing interest in the ‘triply disadvantaged,’ that is, visible-minority immigrant women, who suffer the brunt of the negative cumulative effects of being female, a visible minority, and foreign born, and who are consistently the lowest earners in the Canadian labour market. Research on the earnings of immigrant women in general and on the ‘triply disadvantaged’ varies considerably in methodology, in disciplinary origins, in data sources, in the groups studied, and in research design. Although there exist highly informative studies of particular groups of visible-minority women in specific settings (Das Gupta 1996; Calliste 2000; Daenzer 1993; Ng et al. 1999; Stasiulus and Bakan 2005), most investigations on earning inequalities are conducted by economists and sociologists who rely on census data or other Statistics Canada surveys, and who analyse such data with multivariate statistical techniques. The analysis of large data sets and the use of statistics are motivated by three considerations: first, data sets like the census of population are based on the principle of complete enumeration of the Canada population. As a result, such data offer information on large numbers of people, making it possible to

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study the earnings of small groups. Second, once the data are released into the public domain, access is assured; consequently, research results can be produced quickly, obviating the need for a long time frame to field a survey or conduct interviews. Third, the policy arena is highly influenced by studies that appear to have robust findings, and that can be generalized to all Canadians. These considerations have had a twofold effect: first, quantitative studies dominate in the field of earnings inequalities and, second, a large number of studies now exist on the earnings gap by gender, by visible-minority status, and immigrant status as well as on the earnings of those who are triply disadvantaged by all three dimensions. This large body of census- and survey-based research itself is quite heterogeneous, varying in the time frame, specific focus, target groups under investigation, statistical methods, and variables used in the statistical analysis. Nonetheless, from these studies several core questions emerge with respect to the earnings of immigrant women. First and foremost, does a wage disadvantage exist for these women and, more specifically, is there evidence of a triple disadvantage in the earnings of visible-minority immigrant women? Second, if yes, what are the magnitudes of the disadvantages, and what are the fluctuations in size over time, particularly over successive immigrant cohorts? Third, does gender, ethnicity, or nativity matter more in accounting for the wage differentials between foreign-born visible-minority women and others in Canada? Fourth, and alternatively, does the combination of these three statuses create an earnings penalty that is greater than that from just summing up the separate impacts (Boyd 1984; Epstein 1973)? Fifth, through what processes are wage disadvantages for the triply disadvantaged created? Here, the possibilities considered in studies range from overt discrimination to those earnings disadvantages that result from variations in wage-productivity-related factors along gendered, ethnic, or native lines. Sixth and finally, given the growing concern over the economic consequences of being ‘triply disadvantaged,’ what is the impact of recent policy responses to employment-based inequalities? Answering these questions is the core objective of this chapter. We accomplish this task through a comprehensive review and summary of existing studies. Because so much of this literature assumes a familiarity with the basic methods and logic of analysis used by these studies, we begin with a short orienting overview of the general approach to such quantitative analyses. Then, we summarize the general findings regarding the wage disadvantage, taking note of the tremendous

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heterogeneity found in widely defined populations such as visible minorities, and asking whether the gap between the ‘triply disadvantaged’ and other comparative groups has widened or narrowed over the past several decades. Next, we discuss some of the explanations of the factors and processes that contribute to this phenomenon, particularly considering the complex dynamics between gender, ethnicity, and nativity. In the last section, we briefly outline the existing policies and ask if they can remedy the earnings inequalities between visible minority, immigrant women, and other groups in the Canadian economy. Quantitative Studies of Earnings in Canada: Or Everything Your Statistics Professor Wanted You to Know Earnings gaps assume that the earnings of individuals in a specified group ‘S’ are compared with the earnings of those in group ‘P.’ As noted elsewhere in this chapter, one of the first questions to ask when discussing the labour-market earnings of visible-minority immigrant women is ‘With whom should they be compared?’ If the interest is in the relative earnings of all immigrant women, should these earnings be compared to those of Canadian-born women, or to those of foreign-born men or Canadian-born men? The number of possible comparisons increases further when race and ethnicity are factored in. Table 1 indicates the appropriate comparison groups when the dimensions of difference are nativity, race or ethnicity, and gender. If the interest is in the relative earnings of immigrant visibleminority women (A), should they be compared with non-visibleminority foreign-born women (B), Canadian-born visible-minority women (C), or not-visible minority Canadian-born women (D)? Or should they be compared to those of men, and if so, to those of the highest-earning group in Canadian society, namely, Canadian men who are not visible minorities (Z)? As discussed in later sections, answers vary across research studies, but usually (A) is compared with (D) and, to a lesser extent, with (Z). With the comparison group selected, the challenge in most quantitative studies of earnings differentials is not that they exist but rather how to explain them. A variety of statistical methods are used; usually, but not always, ordinary least squares (OLS) regression, commonly referred to as regression analysis and, increasingly, quartile regression. All rely on a basic representation in which earnings are explained by a set of variables:

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Table 7.1 Different comparison groups for earnings Foreign-born Visible minority

Canadian-born Not visible minority

Visible minority

Not visible minority

Women

A

B

C

D

Men

W

X

Y

Z

Earnings = (variable 1, variable 2, variable 3, and so on) The variables ought to be determined by what one thinks are the most important explanations. In actuality, if researchers have had no input into information collected in a particular set of data, they are limited to the variables in that data set, and thus are limited to a particular set of explanations. The Canadian census and many large surveys collect good information on the socio-economic and family characteristics of respondents. However, they do not collect information that documents the process of hiring, job placement, promoting, or paying, any of which can be discriminatory. Thus, census data can tell us if earnings inequalities are an outcome of the characteristics of (A) compared to (D) or (X), in such areas as education, age, or size of community, or whether inequalities persist after statistical techniques adjust for the different factors. But census data (and many other surveys) cannot show whether employers are prejudicial and refuse to hire a particular group of people or insist on paying them less. The analyses can only tell us if different earnings persist after taking into account other factors known to influence earnings. Unequal outcomes may persist because of employer discrimination, but they also may reflect other factors not included in the analysis, such as working in a small firms where pay levels are lower rather than in large firms with higher pay rates. This constraint on how the earnings process is conceptualized is incorporated into quantitative analyses. In this chapter we are interested in the earnings of immigrant visible-minority women. The simplest representation of this is: Earnings = (Z)+(Y)+(X)+(W)+(A)+(B)+(C)+(D) Now, assume that one thinks that different groups have different levels of education and that is the reason for the earnings gaps between (Z) and (A) or (D) and (A). Researchers would add education into the representation, coming up with: Earnings = (Z)+(Y)+(X)+(W)+(A)+(B)+(C)+(D)+Education In this case, the values of Z,Y,X,W,A,B,C,D would change because the

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results would be those that would exist if one adjusted for the effects of educational differences between the groups. In many studies reported here, earnings have been adjusted for group differences in variables such as age, place of residence (thought to reflect local economies and, hence, job and earnings opportunities), language skills, education, occupations, industry of employment, weeks worked, and immigrant’s length of time in Canada. In such studies, the overall strategy is to focus on those differences in earnings that remain after adjustments. Again, interpretations of results differ: some analysts interpret the remaining differences as reflecting discrimination, or at least signalling the possible existence of discrimination, while others do not (see Gunderson 2006). In addition, some studies examine the impact of variables known to affect earnings separately for various groups of interest. For example, if we wanted to know if visible-minority immigrant women (group A) get the same pay increases for having university degrees as do nonvisible Canadian-born women (group D), the representation would be: Earnings of (A) = ED(a), where ED(a) is whether or not (A) has bachelor’s degree Earnings of (D) = ED(d), where ED(d) is whether or not (D) has bachelor’s degree In this case, researchers would be interested in whether or not the effect of ED(a) on earnings was less than the effect of ED(d). Here too, some analysts interpret differences between ED(a) and ED(d) as barriers in the utilization of education on the job, while others see them as indicating discrimination. Immigrant Visible-Minority Women: Lower Earnings and by How Much? Most of the studies that form the backbone of this chapter use information about the earnings of immigrant women in the mid-1980s through the mid-1990s. Before turning to these studies, we update the most basic of findings, asking, What are the current earnings of immigrant women? Using data from the 2001 Canadian census of population, figure 7.1 shows that, while gender differences exist, within each male and female population, Canadian-born and foreign-born non-visible groups are similar in earnings to Canadian-born and foreign-born visible-minority groups. Thus, the basis axis of difference appears to be visible-minority rather than immigrant status. However, these patterns reflect the age, the settlement patterns, and,

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Figure 7.1 Average wage, salary, and self-employment earnings by nativity and gender, age 20–64, working one week or more in 2000, Canada 50,000 44,951

45,000 29,955 39,423

40,000 35,000 30,000 25,000

32,235 25,516 23,575 27,642 23,100

20,000 15,000 Women

Men

Can. born, not vis. min

Can. born, vis. min

Foreign born, not vis. min

Foreign born, vis. min

Source: Statistics Canada. 2001 Census Public Use Microdata File. Tabulations prepared especially for this chapter by the first author.

to a lesser extent, the educational characteristics that exist between the eight groups represented in the chart. For example, of those aged 20–64 who worked one or more weeks in 2000, close to half of the visibleminority immigrant population was living in Toronto rather than in other communities, compared to fewer than one-third of the nonvisible-minority immigrant population and about one in ten of the Canadian-born non-visible-minority population. As discussed elsewhere, these group differences in geographical location, particularly when one group, such as the foreign born, lives in a high-wage-rate area, can mask the sizeable differences in earnings that actually exist (Boyd 1992). Figure 7.1 shows the results of a hypothetical exercise in which all groups must have the same age, the same percentages living in Toronto or not, and the same educational distribution. These adjusted earnings clearly show that immigrant women have lower earnings than their Canadian-born counterparts or as compared with men. Foreignborn visible-minority women have the lowest earnings of all. (The level of earnings and the magnitude of differences between groups will change if the analysis also takes into account other factors such as number of weeks worked and if employment was full time or part time.)

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Figure 7.2 Adjusted* wage, salary, and self-employment earnings by nativity and gender, age 20–64, working one week or more in 2000, Canada 50,000 45,000 40,818 31,80239,585

40,000 35,000 30,000 25,000

28,325 26,188

24,745 23,082

20,000

20,298

15,000 Women

Men

Can. born, not vis. min

Can. born, vis. min

Foreign born, not vis. min

Foreign born, vis. min

* Assumes that all groups have the same distributions with respect to age, living in Toronto or not, and education. Source: Statistics Canada. 2001 Census Public Use Microdata File. Analysis and tabulations prepared especially for this chapter by the first author.

Previous studies also confirm the existence of the ‘triply disadvantaged.’ In studies that analyse earnings differentials along gender, nativity, and ethnicity lines, foreign-born women of visibleminority status consistently have the lowest actual and adjusted earnings out of all comparative groups (e.g., Boyd 1999; Li 2000; Pendakur and Pendakur 1998, 2002; Shamsuddin 1998). However, while there is general consensus that a wage disadvantage exists, there are significant variations among visible-minority subgroups that make up the aggregate composite of the ‘triply disadvantaged.’ For example, one study found that, in adjusted earnings, there are almost no wage differentials between Chinese and non-visibleminority women, while there is a significant earnings disparity between black and non-visible-minority women (Swidinsky and Swidinsky 2002). Another study found that Asian ethnicity is not consistently negative for earnings, given that the economic costs associated with foreign birth are not significantly larger for Asian

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female immigrants than for their European counterparts (Lee 1999). Nevertheless, in spite of these ethnic-subgroup variations, immigrant visible-minority women as a whole fare poorly compared to their non-visible-minority counterparts: their earnings gap from Canadian-born non-visible-minority women is almost twice as large (Pendakur and Pendakur 2000). Having established the existence of a wage disadvantage, most of the existing research seeks to determine its magnitude, albeit with contested findings (Boyd 1992; Basavarajappa and Jones 1999; Hum and Simpson 1999; Lee 1999; Li 2000, 2001; Pendakur and Pendakur 1998, 2000, 2002; Shamsuddin 1998; Swidinsky and Swidinsky 2002; Wanner and Ambrose 2003). In one study, using the 1996 census, the earnings disparity between visible-minority immigrant women and Canadianborn non-visible-minority men was estimated at 55 to 66 per cent, depending on the Census Metropolitan Area (Li 2000). This study compared the earnings of immigrant visible-minority women with those of non-visible-minority men, the ultimate reference group for ascertaining the degree to which the ‘triply disadvantaged’ are truly disadvantaged by the combined negative effects of gender, nativity, and ethnicity. However, most studies are typically limited to analysing data along only two axes of comparison – nativity and ethnicity among women – with varying results. For example, using the 1991 census, Pendakur and Pendakur (1998) found that the double negative effect of being foreign born and of a visible minority accounted for approximately 9 per cent of lower earnings among women. In the same study, using ethnicity as the main independent variable, they also found no significant difference between the earnings of visible minorities and non-visible minorities, when the samples of the Canadian-born and immigrant women were pooled (ibid.). By contrast, Shamsuddin (1998), who focused on the effects of nativity, found that foreign-born women, regardless of ethnicity, generally had 11 to 19 per cent lower earnings owing to their immigration status. To further complicate the matter, the effect of visible-minority status varies substantially according to nativity. Using the 1991 census, Basavarajappa and Jones (1999) found that immigrant non-visibleminority women had an earnings advantage of approximately 8 per cent over their visible-minority counterparts, while Canadian-born nonvisible minorities actually had an earnings disadvantage of approximately 10 per cent over their visible-minority counterparts. Even in these results, there is significant heterogeneity by detailed ethnicity, as

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illustrated in a study conducted by Pendakur and Pendakur (1998). Among Canadian-born women, only those of Greek and Aboriginal origins faced an earnings penalty in comparison to those of British origin, while the other non-visible-minority and visible-minority ethnic subgroups did not suffer a clear earnings disadvantage. Among immigrant women, none of the non-visible-minority ethnic subgroups faced an earnings penalty, while among the visible minorities, those of black, Vietnamese, and West Asian origins did. Another trend that confounds the magnitude of the earnings disadvantage of immigrant visible- minority women is the gendered interaction effect of nativity and ethnicity. Some studies have found that although immigrant visible-minority women remain the lowest earners as a whole, the earnings penalty associated with being foreignborn and a visible minority is much higher for men than women (Boyd 1992; Basavarajappa and Jones 1999; Hum and Simpson 1999; Swidinsky and Swidinsky 2002). As Swidinsky and Swidinsky point out, based on data from the 1996 census, labour-market disadvantages associated with visible-minority status are largely confined to immigrant men, especially among those who were older at the time of immigration. Moreover, as Basavarajappa and Jones (1999) determined, using the 1991 census, in spite of the significant earnings penalties faced by both visible-minority immigrant men and women, compared to their non-visible-minority counterparts, there was a wide gender disparity in the size of this penalty: for women it was 8 per cent, while for men it was 30 per cent. Other studies indicate that nativity is more significant for explaining the low earnings of immigrant visible-minority women, while ethnicity is more associated with the lower earnings of visible- minority men, regardless of immigration status, compared to their respective non-visible- minority counterparts (Boyd 1992; Hum and Simpson 1999; Pendakur and Pendakur 1998). Boyd (1992) observes that one explanation for these diverse findings by gender may be found in the compressed wages of women relative to men. Women are not as commonly found in the highearnings range as are men. Thus, inequalities within the female population may be smaller than within the male population. These complicated and often contested findings have resulted in two main camps of thought: those who have found the earnings disadvantage to be minimal or inconsistent given the heterogeneous, even contradictory, results across gender and specific ethnic groups (Hum and Simpson 1999; Pendakur and Pendakur 1998, 2000, 2002; Swidinsky

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and Swidinksy 2002), and those who have found a substantial and stable degree of earnings disparity (Boyd 1992; Li 2000, 2001; Smith and Jackson 2002) between immigrant visible-minority women and other groups. Variations in Earnings Inequalities over Time Another point of contention regarding the statistics on gender wage inequality is the amount of fluctuation in this earnings disparity over time. Most studies (e.g., Aydemir and Skuterud 2005; Reitz 2001; Schellenberg 2004) show that there has been a widening of the earnings gap between foreign-born, particularly recent arrivals, and native-born individuals (both men and women) over successive immigrant cohorts since the 1960s. In one study, using baseline estimates that control for unemployment rates, labour-market experience, and years of schooling, the full-time, full-year entry earnings for immigrant women who arrived between 1995 and 1999 were, on average, 22 per cent lower than for those who arrived thirty years earlier (Aydemir and Skuterud 2005). Some studies show that this overall decline in relative entry earnings for recent immigrants has had a greater effect on women than men (Reitz 2001; Schellenberg 2004). A possible reason for this widening earnings gap is that recent immigrants, particularly women, are more likely to be trapped in low-wage jobs (Schellenberg 2004). A few studies also show a widening earnings gap between visible minorities and their non-visible counterparts, at least among the Canadian-born, since the 1970s (e.g., Pendakur and Pendakur 2000, 2002). However, while visible-minority men have always suffered a disadvantage, visible-minority women once had a significant earnings advantage over their non-visible counterparts, and this has only deteriorated over the past two decades (Pendakur and Pendakur 2002). Nevertheless, other studies provide a more mixed and even optimistic picture regarding the relative entry earnings of recent immigrants in comparison to their predecessors (e.g., Pendakur and Pendakur 1998; Smith and Jackson 2002). As one study suggests, there is no evidence of a significant entry earnings decline for more recent female immigrant cohorts except for some Southern European groups. However, there has been a significant decrease in the entry earnings of recent male immigrant cohorts since the 1980s (Pendakur and Pendakur 1998). Another study suggests that although the earnings gap between recent immigrants and other Canadians persists, it has

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narrowed over time; notably, the period of economic recovery during the mid-to-late 1990s substantially levelled off employment and income opportunities for all groups, including immigrant cohorts: in other words, ‘the rising tide did lift all boats’ (Smith and Jackson 2002, 1). This was particularly true for recent immigrant women who, in spite of their enduring economic disadvantages, managed to secure more weeks of work and higher wages at a rate that outpaced other comparative groups (Smith and Jackson 2002). Moreover, there seems to be a convergence in the earnings of native-born and foreign-born women over the entire career span (Pendakur and Pendakur 1998; Wanner and Ambrose 2003). When the earnings of successive female immigrant cohorts are tracked as they age, it seems that they ‘catch up’ with their native-born counterparts, thereby achieving some degree of earnings parity. In sum, several unresolved issues that exist in research on the earnings disparity between immigrant women, particularly those of visibleminority status, and other groups include its existence, magnitude, and fluctuation over time. There is general consensus that immigrant visible-minority women do earn substantially less than other comparative groups, thus validating their label as the ‘triply disadvantaged.’ However, there is disagreement over the magnitude of this disadvantage, which varies according to the groups singled out for study, and its fluctuations over time, although more studies suggest that it has widened for more recent immigrant cohorts. Explaining the Lower Earnings of Immigrant Visible-Minority Women In explaining the earnings disparity of immigrant visible-minority women, one of the first questions asked is whether gender, nativity, or ethnicity matters more in creating this disadvantage. Given the pervasively gendered nature of the Canadian labour market, gender is assumed to matter ‘most’ in the existing research, and most studies separate men and women, with very few cross-comparisons. Within these parameters, the literature contests the significance of nativity versus ethnicity as the primary basis for this wage disadvantage. There is a general consensus that nativity matters more than ethnicity, at least for immigrant visible-minority women (e.g., Boyd 1992; Lee 1999; Hum and Simpson 1999; Pendakur and Pendakur 1998, 2000; Warner and Ambrose 2003). Studies agree that immigration status has a

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greater effect than visible-minority status on the wage disadvantage of foreign-born visible-minority women . Some even suggest that visibleminority status is an insignificant factor in the lower earnings of immigrant women (Hum and Simpson 1999; Wanner and Ambrose 2003). However, in some cases, ethnicity – namely, visible-minority status – does seem to matter. One study argues that while labour-market discrimination against non-visible minorities is culturally contingent (e.g., access to employment and earnings opportunities are limited by their remaining in ethnic enclaves or using solely non-English/non-French languages), discrimination against visible-minority immigrants tends not to be culturally contingent, thereby suggesting that discrimination is based on skin colour alone (Reitz and Sklar 1997). Most studies do not entirely dismiss the effect of ethnicity, conceding, rather, the notion of a dynamic interplay between gender, nativity, and ethnicity. (e.g., Boyd 1992, 1999; Li 2000, 2001). Many argue that the ‘triple disadvantage’ is not an outcome of the additive effects of these variables, but the consequence of the unique interaction between these variables, from which their individual impact cannot be separated or reduced. As a result, the compounding effects of these variables lead to a chain reaction that ultimately leads to an earnings disparity. To illustrate, one study that examines the relationship between language proficiency and earnings argues that immigrant visible-minority women are more likely to have lower levels of language proficiency in English and French (i.e., Canada’s official languages) as opposed to visible-minority women and immigrant women separately; thus, they are also more likely to experience lower levels of labour-force participation and earnings (Boyd 1992). However, another study, which also illustrates the complex interactions of gender, racial origins, and nativity on earnings, cautions that at low level of earnings the additional negative effects of racial origin are less apparent (Li 2000). There are several interesting findings regarding the complex ways in which these variables interact. For one, gender has a two-way effect: being female can either buffer against or exacerbate the wage disadvantage as related to visible-minority or immigrant status. In cases when being female is a buffer, studies have found that visible-minority status penalizes men more than women, compared to their non-visibleminority counterparts, in terms of income and labour-market opportunities (Palameta 2004; Pendakur and Pendakur 2000; Swindinsky and Swindinsky 2002). Sometimes, this degree of income disadvantage by visible-minority status can differ by a margin of more than 20 per cent

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for men than women (Basavarajappa and Jones 1999). However, other research finds that being female exacerbates the negative effects of immigrant status on wages, so that the disadvantages associated with foreign birth are higher for women than for men (Hum and Simpson 1999). Some studies also suggest that nativity conditions the interaction of gender, visible-minority, and immigration status. In particular, being Canadian-born seems to absorb the wage disadvantages associated with being female and a visible minority. Basavarajappa and Jones (1999) point out that among women, visible-minority status actually produces an income advantage of approximately 10 per cent for the native-born, while it confers a disadvantage of over 8 per cent for the immigrant. Given the complex and dynamic interplay of gender, nativity, and visible-minority membership, what are the processes that produce earnings disadvantages? A few studies have suggested direct discrimination in terms of racism, sexism, and birthplace discrimination (Boyd 1992; Pendakur and Pendakur 1998; Shamsuddin 1998). As has been noted above, one study argues that limited labour and income opportunities for visible-minority immigrants, including women, are not culturally contingent – that is, related to cultural barriers such as lack of language proficiency or living in an ethnic enclave – implying that discrimination is based on skin colour alone (Reitz and Sklar 1997). However, most of the literature points to less pervasive processes, given the heterogeneity of wage levels across comparative groups by nativity, race/ethnicity, and gender. Some analysts insist that various forms of discrimination in the Canadian labour market persist, albeit in less explicit terms, such as, for example, the devaluation of foreign work experience. One study found that among more recent immigrants, the income disadvantage of visible minorities over their nonvisible counterparts was largely due to the unfair assessment of their prior work experience abroad (Basavarajappa and Jones 1999). Another found that immigrant women, more than their male counterparts, suffered from the declining returns to foreign work experience (Aydemir and Skuterud 2005). An even more frequently documented form of systemic discrimination is the under-recognition of foreign educational credentials. Professional and technical degrees gained abroad are deemed unequal to those gained in Canada; this results in an immediate loss of human capital on entry for immigrants. And these adverse effects are aggrandized, based on gender and racial origins. As Li (2001) argues, the joint

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negative effects of immigrant status and possession of a foreign educational degree are most severe for visible-minority women and least severe for white men (also see Boyd 1994). In fact, most studies agree that place of schooling is a more significant predictor of the earnings gap faced by immigrant visible-minority women than it is for their male counterparts. One study found that while education in the United States or the United Kingdom does not necessarily benefit immigrant women, as it does men (men receive about a 13 per cent bonus with a degree from either country), those who receive degrees from nonWestern parts of Europe, Asia, and Africa suffer an earnings penalty of 6 to 8 per cent, compared to those educated in Canada, versus a 1 to 6 per cent penalty for their male counterparts (Pendakur and Pendakur 2000). There is further evidence that place of schooling, rather than immigration status alone, significantly accounts for immigrant earnings differentials among women. While there is a gradual convergence in occupational attainment and earnings between native-born and immigrant visible-minority women, there continues to be a lack of career mobility for those in the latter group who are educated abroad (Boyd and Kaida 2005; Wanner and Ambrose 2003). In fact, the low and declining value of foreign education seems to have accelerated for women over the past two decades, and the overall decline in relative earnings for immigrant women with foreign degrees, compared to those with Canadian degrees, is larger than for their male counterparts (Reitz 2001). A possible reason for the greater difficulty faced by immigrant women in having their foreign degrees recognized is that many primary immigration applicants (most often men) are likely to have jobs prearranged upon entry into Canada and thus, concomitantly, have their foreign credentials recognized. If women arrive as sponsored dependents (more often the case), they are not screened on the basis of educational qualifications, and thus are less likely to have their credentials properly recognized after arrival (Pendakur and Pendakur 1998, 2000). Apart from discrimination, some argue that wage disadvantages for marginalized groups stem from their less ‘competitive’ standing in productivity-related determinants in terms of human capital, work activity, occupational distribution, and other personal socio-demographic factors (Boyd 1992; Basavarajappa and Jones 1999; Pendakur and Pendakur 2000; Smith and Jackson 2002; Swidinsky and Swidinsky 2002). With respect to human capital, several studies have focussed on language proficiency in English or French as perhaps the most important variable

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for economic well-being (Aydemir and Skuterud 2005; Boyd 1992; Lee 1999). For example, Boyd (1992) found that wage and employment levels substantially decline as language skills decrease; this, in turn, is often associated with foreign birth or visible-minority status. More importantly, she identifies the sequence in which the labour-market disadvantages of low language proficiency accumulate: for example, immigrant visible-minority women who have low levels of language proficiency are also more likely to have the lowest levels of education, which, in turn, contributes to the lowest rates of labour-force participation and the highest percentages in low-skilled occupations, and therefore results in the lowest earnings. In terms of work-activity variables, it appears that the earnings penalty experienced by immigrant women, particularly visible minorities, is significantly accounted for by their fewer weeks worked and mostly part-time status (Basavarajappa and Jones 1999; Pendakur and Pendakur 2000; Swidinsky and Swidinsky 2002). Interestingly, although controlling for work-activity variables substantially narrows the earnings gap between visible minorities and their non-visible counterparts, at least among immigrant women, the gap persists among immigrant men (Swidinsky and Swidinsky 2002). A study conducted by Pendakur and Pendakur (2000) that considered occupational distribution had similar findings: here, the earnings disadvantage of Canadian-born visible-minority and immigrant nonvisible-minority women disappeared once occupation and industry were controlled. However, their male counterparts still faced a substantial earnings penalty even after adjusting for occupational distribution. Finally, socio-demographic factors, including place of residence, age, marital status, and family size, also contribute to variations in levels of earnings. Yet as many studies concede, even after these factors are taken into account, a strong pattern of visible-minority and immigrant wage disadvantage remains, particularly among women (e.g., Boyd 1992). A few studies suggest that the impact of entry labour-market conditions (e.g., high unemployment rates during periods of economic recessions) affects the earnings of recent entrants, including recent immigrant cohorts. By controlling for these conditions, which influence wage levels across nativity groups, one study found that one-half of the earnings gap between recent immigrant cohorts of women and other female workers (including the native-born and earlier immigrants) was accounted for (Aydemir and Skuterud 2005). In sum, existing research on immigrant women’s earnings offers myriad explanations for why they earn consistently less than other

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demographic groups in the Canadian labour market. Commonly, three variables are considered: nativity, ethnicity, and gender. Although some studies have prioritized the effects of nativity over ethnicity, most of the literature points to the more salient interplay between all three variables. This suggests that the earnings disadvantages associated with being solely female, a visible minority, or an immigrant do not merely accumulate. In other words, the ‘triply disadvantaged’ phenomenon becomes entangled in the unique interaction between the three variables, and individual effects can neither be reduced nor separated. Moreover, some studies have posited ways in which these variables interact in an indeterminate and contextual manner. More specifically, a given variable (such as gender) may buffer against the prevailing wage disadvantage in some circumstances while exacerbating it in others. Other explanations of the low earnings of immigrant visible-minority women focus on the processes arising from this interaction between variables. While very few studies posit direct discrimination – whether racism, sexism, or birthplace discrimination – as the main process, much of the research points to less pervasive processes, including systemic discrimination in the form of devaluation of foreign work experience, and under-recognition of foreign educational credentials. In addition to discrimination, some research attributes the wage disadvantage to the lower standing of immigrant women, particularly visible-minority women, in such productivity-related criteria as human capital (specifically, language proficiency), work activity levels, occupational distribution, and other personal socio-demographic factors. Finally, a few studies have noted the impact of poorer labourmarket entry conditions on the lower earnings of all recent entrants, native-born and immigrant alike. Minding the Gap: Canada’s Policy Levers Given these findings of earnings inequalities that operate to the disadvantage of immigrant women, and visible-minority immigrant women in particular, what can be done to remove them? In the remainder of this chapter we answer this question by considering the existing policy responses at the government level. Before we consider specific policy remedies, it should be noted that as a formalized set of procedures that seek to achieve specified goals, policies on economic inequalities often build on two key concepts: equality and equity. Equality exists when outcomes are the same; equity

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exists when there is fairness in producing outcomes. These distinctions are important when discussing earnings inequalities and related policies. Equality and equity are not the same, even though the terms may be erroneously interchanged. To invoke an extreme example, if all Canadian workers in paid employment had exactly the same wages, salaries and self-employment income, earnings equality would exist; but the outcome would be inequitable since – under economic theory – some might be less productive than others who would work exceptionally hard. And some might not have the skills commensurate with the wage rate paid, while others would be over-skilled. In another extreme example, if inequalities existed in the earnings of workers, they might be ‘fair.’ For example, economic theory generally sees wages as linked to productivity. If a group of workers lack language skills or have lower levels of education that dampen productivity, then lower wages will result. However, not all earnings differentials are equitable. Earnings inequalities often result from inequities somewhere in the system, and discrimination – discriminating among workers with the same set of skills and treating some differently – is a major form of inequity. Research about the earnings of immigrant women thus focuses on both issues: equality and equity. As our overview suggests, it is evident that earnings inequalities exist; why this is so includes explanations that emphasize the impact of economic downturns and note that foreignborn women differ in earnings-generating characteristics such as language proficiency. Other explanations emphasize unfair evaluations of the worth of immigrant women’s labour. As discussed early in this chapter, census data and many large surveys do not observe – and therefore cannot document – the actual process of discrimination. But when studies show different and unfair assessments of prior work experience abroad, different and unequal earnings returns to educational credentials, and unequal outcomes that simply cannot be explained by other factors, then suspicions grow that unfair barriers exist. Barriers to fair treatment exist outside the labour market, and these can impact on the earnings of immigrant women. For example, in the 1970s the Canadian federally funded language training programs privileged the training of male heads of household. The difficulty faced by immigrant women in obtaining federally funded language training increased the likelihood that they would lack language skills necessary for better-paying jobs. This policy was changed in the 1980s to include women, although it still is far from comprehensive (Boyd 1990, 1999;

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Man 2004); however, the example from the 1970s indicates that a comprehensive attack on earning inequalities also needs to consider those barriers that exist outside the employment arena, but which nonetheless affect the earnings of immigrant women. That said, the major policy levers that currently exist to diminish earnings inequalities in Canada focus on barriers within the labour market. One targets direct discrimination, the other two policies target systemic discrimination. The Canadian Human Rights Act (1978) addresses direct discrimination, where unfair treatment of one worker compared to another exists and where such treatment is prejudicial to individuals. Examples include paying someone less than another or inequitable promotion or hiring practices. This legislation uses a complaint-based approach, which presupposes that employees can identify the propagator of discrimination, and it focuses on making amends for the past in that it benefits only those filing complaints (Agocs 2002; Weiner 2002). Although it hypothetically can help improve the earnings of immigrant women, including visible-minority immigrant women, its extensive use as a tool for remedying earnings inequalities is likely to be undermined by the complaint-based approach, coupled with lengthy wait times before cases are heard. Systemic discrimination refers to ‘those patterns of organizational behaviour that are part of the social and administrative structure and cultural and decision-making processes of the workplace, and that create or perpetuate relative disadvantage for members of some groups and privilege for member of other groups’ (Agocs 2002, 257–8). In studies of earnings, the persistence of inequality in opportunities for, and returns to, employment by gender, nativity, and race/ethnicity after productivity-related characteristics have been taken into account is frequently attributed to ‘systemic discrimination.’ Canada’s legislative redress to systemic discrimination in the labour market takes the forms of employment-equity and pay-equity programs. Employment- and pay-equity programs are systemic remedies to systemic discrimination; they involve proactive processes whereby employers are charged with responsibility for determining whether there is discrimination in their employment system, and if there is, they are charged with the responsibility for devising and implementing a remedy for it (Weiner 2002). Weiner points out that because discrimination is built into employment systems, it is difficult for employees to suspect, let alone determine, that employment systems are working in such a way as to put them in a position of relative disadvantage. Hence,

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a proactive (as opposed to a complaint-based) approach is appropriate for redressing systemic discrimination. Both programs recognize that earnings inequalities can be produced by unfairly segregating workers into different jobs with different job titles and then having higher wages for one set of jobs than for another. Pay-equity programs seek to remove this source of earnings inequality by defining equality in terms of job content: ‘equal pay for work of equal value’ indicates that jobs of equal value to the organization should be paid equivalently, regardless of whether the duties and responsibilities of the jobs are totally different (Weiner 2002). Employment-equity programs seek equality of employment opportunities by gender, race, and disability. In order to ensure this objective, employers that are part of this program are required to undertake the following tasks: to ascertain representation based on workplace surveys and correct underrepresentation; to identify and eliminate barriers to employment for members of designated groups; to ensure reasonable accommodation; to consult and collaborate with employees and their representatives; and to prepare an employment-equity plan, including both qualitative and quantitative objectives (Bakan and Kobayashi 2000). Although pay-equity and employment-equity programs differ, both work well together. As Gunderson (2002) notes with respect to basic male-female earnings differentials, with only employment-equity programs, women might be paid discriminatory wages; with only pay-equity programs, women might not be hired at all (also see Fortin 2002, Fortin and Huberman 2002). In recent years, the federal government and a number of provinces have legislated pay-equity and employment-equity programs (Agocs 2002; Bakan and Kobayashi 2000; Leck 2002; Pay Equity Task Force 2004; Weiner 2002). Much has been written about the overall effectiveness of existing legislation and the need for improvements in new legislation (Agocs 2002; Jain and Lawler 2004; Leck 2002; Pay Equity Task Force 2004). However, from the perspective of immigrant women in general, and visible-minority immigrant women in particular, neither policy lever is explicitly proactive towards them. In wording and in practice, payequity legislation focuses on male-female inequalities in general; it does not recognize that race or immigrant status also may be mechanisms of job segregation and thus sources of unequal earnings. Similarly, the federal employment-equity legislation passed in 1986, and again in 1995, targets four groups as disadvantaged in terms of access to opportunities

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for regular and full-time employment, reasonable compensation, and representation at upper levels of the occupational hierarchy: women, members of visible minorities, aboriginal peoples, and persons with disabilities (Agocs 2002). Immigrant women are included in employmentequity initiatives as women and, separately, as visible minorities. However, under the terms of the legislation, firms can comply with employment-equity requirements by hiring white women and visibleminority men and by ignoring the foreign-born altogether. A task force for pay equity was established in 2001 by the federal government to review the legislation and ensure that employers take more effectual steps towards achieving equality. Although the report of the task force was submitted in 2004, the revised legislation has yet to be passed by parliament and implemented. In all, the inequities and inequalities faced by immigrant and visible-minority women do not appear to provoke an outcry from the public for ameliorative action; rather employment equity and pay equity are criticized as being misguided and a form of ‘reverse discrimination’ against white males. This latter position is demonstrated in a recent analysis (Henry and Tator 2005) of a series of Globe and Mail editorials in which the liberal principles of individualism, equal opportunity, fairness, and merit were used to argue for the dismantling of employment equity in Ontario in 1999. The editorials noted that Canadian society provides all citizens with individual rights to pursue their dreams and equal opportunity to get ahead based on merit; thus, programs such as Employment Equity are unfair to most white Canadians and a threat to liberal democracy, for they ‘challenged the fundamental tenets of liberalism such as individual rights and equal opportunity’ (ibid., 166). Further, these editorials argued, the playing field is even and employers adopt a neutral attitude in hiring employees; they did acknowledge that sometimes discrimination might occur, but such instances were rare and not systemic. Such editorials, and the beliefs both underlying and promulgated by them, convey powerful messages that can affect policy development and implementation. Neglecting evidence of continuing inequalities in the hiring and wages of visible minorities, they focus attention on the dangers of implementing group rights that undermine the values of a liberal democratic society (Henry and Tator 2005). As well, such editorials implicitly and in racially coded language aggravate perceptions of the unfair advantage that visible minorities gain through systemic

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policies in employment rather than understanding the matter as one of equity and equality for all Canadians. Consequently, programs such as Employment Equity and Pay Equity, are in constant tension with the prevailing ideologies of the population and its ruling elites. A rightwing conservative government might favour the status quo that privileges some but disadvantages visible-minority immigrant women, and their agendas make it less likely that they will introduce and implement progressive programs for these women. Similarly even a liberal government, in the absence of strong public pressure, may be reluctant to make it a priority to initiate and support systemic remedies in the names of equity and equality. Conclusion Many studies undertaken on earnings during the past twenty years reach similar conclusions: immigrant women earn less on average than do Canadian-born women and men. Further, visible-minority women are most at risk of having low earnings. Given that earnings gaps exist between immigrant women and other groups, the pivotal questions become: how large are the gaps, do they exist over time, does the size of the gap vary by ethnicity or race, is one or the other more important for understanding earnings inequalities, or are there unique consequences of being foreign born, female, and a visible minority? Finally, and as, if not more, important, what explains these earnings gaps? No simple answers emerge. Our survey of the literature finds substantiation for the existence of a ‘triply disadvantaged’ population of immigrant women, who by virtue of their gender, visible-minority membership, and immigrant status experience earnings penalties greater those of other groups. Further, while debate is ongoing, a number of studies suggest that the earnings gap has widened rather than narrowed over time for those who are recent arrivals in Canada. However, less consensus exists over the actual magnitude of the disadvantage, and whether race/ethnicity or being foreign-born is the more important underlying dimension accounting for the gap. Studies also offer a variety of explanations for the earnings gap between immigrant women, particularly those of colour, and others in the Canadian labour force. Studies note that a portion of the gap reflects differences between immigrant women and other groups in productivity-related characteristics such as educational levels and language proficiency; others call attention to the impact of economic cycles in deepening the magnitude of earnings inequalities.

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However, many studies, including those that offer alternative explanations, grapple with the findings that differences in earnings remain, even after possible explanations associated with productivity or with a worsening economy have been factored into statistical analyses. These findings of persisting earnings inequalities to the detriment of immigrant women, and visible-minority immigrant women in particular, suggest that systemic discrimination may be at work. Indicators include the under-evaluation of the educational credentials of immigrant women and the lack of recognition for their work experience outside Canada. Coinciding with these findings is the fact that current policy initiatives at the federal and provincial levels are not likely to substantially diminish the earnings gaps existing between immigrant women and others or to improve the earnings of visible-minority immigrant women. Employment-equity and pay-equity legislation and related programs are targeted at groups other than immigrant women. Individual immigrant women may find marginal improvement in their earnings from these programs under the assumption that ‘a rising tide lifts all boats.’ But if earning inequalities that reflect inequities are to decline for immigrant women, additional levers of intervention will be needed.

REFERENCES Agocs, Carol. 2002. ‘Canada’s Employment Equity Legislation and Policy, 1987–2000.’ International Journal of Manpower 23(3): 256–75. Aydemir, Abdurrahman, and Mikal Skuterud. 2005. ‘Explaining the Deteriorating Entry Earnings of Canada’s Immigrant Cohorts.’ Canadian Journal of Economics 38(2): 641–72. Bakan, Abigail, and Audrey Kobayashi. 2000. Employment Equity Policy in Canada: An Intrerprovincial Comparison. Ottawa: Status of Women Canada. Basavarajappa, K.G., and S.S. Halli. 1997. ‘A Comparative Study of Immigrant and Non-Immigrant Families in Canada with Special Reference to Income, 1986.’ International Migration 35(2): 225–52. Basavarajappa, K.G., and Frank Jones. 1999. ‘Visible Minority Income Differences.’ In Immigrant Canada: Demographic, Economic, and Social Challenges, ed. S.S. Halli and L. Driedger, 230–56. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Boyd, Monica. 1984. ‘At a Disadvantage: Occupational Attainments of Canadian Immigrant Women.’ International Migration Review 18 (Winter): 1091–119. – 1990. ‘Immigrant Women: Language, Socioeconomic Inequalities and Policy Issues.’ In Ethnic Demography: Canadian Immigrant, Racial and Cultural

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Variations, ed. Shiva Halli, Frank Trovato, and Leo Driedger, 275–96. Ottawa: Carleton University Press. – 1992. ‘Gender, Visible Minority and Immigrant Earnings Inequality: Reassessing an Employment Equity Premise.’ In Deconstructing a Nation: Immigration, Multiculturalism and Racism in ’90s Canada, ed. Vic Satzewich, 279–321. Halifax: Fernwood. – 1994. ‘A Matter of Degree: Immigrants, Educational Credentials and Economic Correlates.’ Presented at the Canadian Employment Research Forum (CERF) Workshop on Immigration, Hull, Quebec, 1992. Available at www.chass.utoronto.ca/~boydmon/research_int/immg_accr.html. – 1999. ‘Integrating Gender, Language, and Race.’ In Immigrant Canada: Demographic, Economic, and Social Challenges, ed. S.S. Halli and L. Driedger, 282–306. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Boyd, Monica, and Lisa Kaida. 2005. ‘Foreign Trained and Female: The Double Negative at Work in Engineering Occupations.’ Paper presented at the annual meeting of the Canadian Sociology and Anthropology Association, June, London, Ontario. Calliste, Agnes. 2000. ‘Nurses and Porters Racism, Sexism and Resistance in Segmented Labour Markets.’ In Anti-Racist Feminism, Critical Race and Gender Studies, ed. Agnes Calliste and George J. Sefa Dei, 143–64. Halifax: Fernwood. Daenzer, Patricia. 1993. Regulating Class Privilege: Immigrant Servants in Canada, 1940s–1990s. Toronto: Canadian Scholars Press. Das Gupta, Tania. 1996. Racism and Paid Work. Toronto: Garamond Press. Epstein, Cynthia F. 1973. ‘Positive Effects of the Multiple Negative.’ American Journal of Sociology 78(4): 912–35. Fortin, Nicole. 2002. ‘Occupational Gender Segregation: Public Policies and Economic Forces: Introduction and Overview.’ Canadian Public Policy 28, suppl. 1: S1–S10. Fortin, Nicole M., and Michael Huberman. 2002. ‘Occupational Gender Segregation and Women’s Wages in Canada: An Historical Perspective.’ Canadian Public Policy 28, suppl. 1: S11–S39. Gunderson, Morley. 2002. ‘The Evolution and Mechanics of Pay Equity in Ontario.’ Canadian Public Policy 28, suppl. 1: S117–S130. – 2006. ‘Viewpoint: Male-Female Wage Differentials: How Can That Be?’ Canadian Journal of Economics 39(1): 1–21. Henry, Frances, and Carol Tator. 2005. ‘A Critical Analysis of the Globe and Mail Editorials on Employment Equity.’ In Situating ‘Race’ and Racisms in Space, Time, and Theory: Critical Essays for Activists and Scholars, ed. Jo-Anne Lee and John Lutz, 161–77. Montreal and Kingston: McGill Queen’s University Press.

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Hum, Derek, and Wayne Simpson. 1999. ‘Wage Opportunities for Visible Minorities in Canada.’ Canadian Public Policy 25(3): 379–94. Jain, Harish C., and John J. Lawler. 2004. ‘Visible Minorities under the Canadian Employment Equity Act, 1987–1999.’ Industrial Relations 59(3): 585–611. Leck, Joanne D. 2002. ‘Making Employment Equity Programs Work for Women.’ Canadian Public Policy 28, suppl. 1: S85–S100. Lee, Sharon M. 1999. ‘Do Foreign Birth and Asian Minority Status Lower Canadian Women’s Earnings?’ Canadian Studies in Population 26(2): 159–82. Li, Peter. 2000. ‘Earning Disparities between Immigrants and Native-born Canadians.’ Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology 37(3): 289–311. – 2001. ‘The Market Worth of Immigrants’ Educational Credentials.’ Canadian Public Policy 27(1): 23–38. Man, Guida. 2004. ‘Gender, Work and Migration: Deskilling Chinese Immigrant Women in Canada.’ Women’s Studies International Forum 27(2): 135–48. Ng, Roxana, Renita Yuk-Lin Wong, and Angela Choi. 1999. ‘Homeworking: Home Office or Home Sweatshop? Report on Current Conditions of Homeworkers in Toronto’s Garment Industry.’ NALL (Network for New Approaches for Lifelong Learning) Working Paper. Available at www.oise .utoronto.ca/depts/sese/csew/nall/res/06homeworkers.htm. Palameta, Boris. 2004. ‘Low Income among Visible Minorities and Immigrants.’ In Perspectives on Labour and Income. Statistics Canada, Catalogue no. 75-001-XPE, pp. 12–17. Pay Equity Task Force. 2004. Pay Equity: A New Approach to a Fundamental Right. Ottawa: Department of Justice Canada. Pendakur, Krishna, and Ravi Pendakur. 1998. ‘The Colour of Money: Earnings Differentials among Ethnic Groups in Canada.’ Canadian Journal of Economics 31(3): 518–48. – 2000. ‘Ethnicity and Earnings.’ In Immigrants and the Labour Force: Policy, Regulation and Impact, ed. R. Pendakur, 159–91. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Pendakur, Krishna, and Ravi Pendakur. 2002. ‘Colour My World: Have Earnings Gaps for Canadian-born Ethnic Minorities Changed over Time? Canadian Public Policy 28(4): 489–512. Reitz, Jeffrey. 2001. ‘Immigrant Success in the Knowledge Economy: Institutional Change and the Immigrant Experience in Canada, 1970–1995.’ Journal of Social Issues 57(3): 579–613. Reitz, Jeffrey, and Sherrilyn Sklar. 1997. ‘Culture, Race, and the Economic Assimilation of Immigrants.’ Sociological Forum 12(2): 233–77. Schellenberg, Grant. 2004. ‘Earnings.’ In Statistics Canada, Immigrants in Canada’s Census Metropolitan Areas (August).

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Shamsuddin, Abul. 1998. ‘The Double-Negative Effect on the Earnings of Foreign-Born Females in Canada.’ Applied Economics 30(9): 1187–201. Smith, Ekuwa, and Andrew Jackson. 2002. Does a Rising Tide Lift All Boats? The Labour Market Experiences and Incomes of Recent Immigrants, 1995 to 1998. Ottawa: Canadian Council on Social Development. Stasiulis, Daiva K., and Abigail B. Bakan. 2005. Negotiating Citizenship: Migrant Women in Canada and the Global System. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Statistics Canada. 2006. Women in Canada: A Gender-based Statistical Report. Catalogue no. 89-503-XIE. Ottawa: Minister of Industry. Swidinsky, Robert, and Michael Swidinsky. 2002. ‘The Relative Earnings of Visible Minorities in Canada: New Evidence from the 1996 Census.’ Relations Industrielles/Industrial Relations 57(4): 630–59. Wanner, Richard, and Michelle Ambrose. 2003. ‘Trends in the Occupational and Earnings Attainments of Women Immigrants to Canada, 1971–1996.’ Canadian Studies in Population 30(2): 355–88. Weiner, Nan. 2002. ‘Effective Redress of Pay Inequalities.’ Canadian Public Policy 28, suppl. 1: S101–S115.

8 Migrant Muslim Women’s Interests and the Case of ‘Shari’a Tribunals’ in Ontario a nn i e b u nt i ng a n d sh a d i mo kh tari

On 15 February 2006 the Ontario legislature passed the Family Statute Law Amendment Act, bringing two and a half years of public debate – or one chapter of the debate – to a close. Introduced into the legislature only three months earlier, the new law makes any religious arbitration of family disputes unenforceable in Ontario, and requires that all family arbitrations conform to provincial statutory requirements. Henceforth, a family-arbitration decision will be enforceable only if the arbitrator applies Ontario law or that of another Canadian jurisdiction. Arbitrators may not apply, for example, New York State law or Talmudic law or Islamic law. This chapter will explore the socio-legal dimensions of these developments and public debates from the perspective of migrant Muslim women in the Toronto area. We asked participants in our research, mostly religious Muslim women, about their views on religious arbitration and family dispute resolution concerning such issues as marriage contracts, mehr (dower), custody, support, and divorce. Introduction Zainab1 has been married three times, the first when she was ‘young and out of the country’ (Somalia), and her parents negotiated the marriage. ‘I never accepted the marriage,’ she said in the group discussion she attended. She went to court to petition for divorce, but her husband ‘gave money to the judge’ and she lost. She appealed to the High Court of Somalia. Eventually, an agreement was struck whereby her father paid her husband a sum of money and in return he agreed to a divorce. Zainab was married a second time and she and her husband lived in Canada and had two children. ‘Then he left Canada,’ she explained,

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‘and he did not come back.’ She approached a lawyer about divorce proceedings, and it was recommended that she go to an imam at the mosque for the religious divorce as well as to the family court for a civil divorce. Her husband had been gone eight years by that time and had not provided any support for her or her children. The first imam she approached asked a number of questions: about the whereabouts of her husband; if she had talked to him; whether an imam ‘over there’ could talk to him, and so on. He would not agree to a divorce. She approached a second mosque, where she couldn’t find anyone to help. Finally, at a third mosque, the imam gave her advice and the religious divorce. This allowed her to marry a third time within her religion.2 Such ‘imam shopping’ by a Somali immigrant woman in Toronto may seem unusual or unexpected. But contrary to the prototypical vulnerable Muslim woman depicted in the public debate over Shari’a tribunals, Zainab is a well educated, professional woman who has the support of friends. She was one of six Somali Canadian women who spoke about their experiences of and thoughts on marriage, divorce, and the proposed Islamic arbitration tribunals in Ontario. Each of the women in the group was religious, of similar age and ethnic background, and held a unique perspective on the various issues surrounding the Shari’a tribunals debate. We also interviewed three schoolteachers at an Islamic school in Scarborough, Ontario. Each had a different ethnic background; two were middle-aged immigrants and one was a young Canadian-born Muslim daughter of immigrants. Like the Somali Canadian women, they also held different opinions and understandings of religious arbitration of family matters in the province.3 Most of the women agreed that for religious women it is important to have religious mediation of their separation agreement and to secure a religious divorce that would be honoured in Canada or in a Muslim country. At the same time, women we spoke to had divergent opinions about the desirability of having religious arbitrators making binding decisions that would be enforced by Ontario courts. Indeed, there was considerable misunderstanding among our respondents about the binding nature of mediated agreements and arbitration decisions generally. While most of the women with whom we spoke saw themselves as capable of upholding their own rights, either through their choice of arbitrators or their inclination to challenge what they considered to be patriarchal interpretations of Islamic law, they felt that there were other women in the Muslim community, particularly new immigrants, who would be more vulnerable.

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This chapter weaves migrant Muslim women’s views into its analysis of the proposed religious arbitration of family matters in Ontario and other out-of-court dispute resolutions. The announcement in 2004 of the establishment of an Islamic arbitration service in Ontario, and the response to this public statement, has brought into sharp focus how little we know about religious tribunals in the province and how little we know from the people who may choose to avail themselves (with or without community and family pressure) of the services offered at existing mosques or proposed arbitration tribunals. As the public debate over Shari’a tribunals and their consequences for women’s rights unfolded, we found the relative absence of devout migrant Muslim women’s voices in the debate notable.4 Thus, in this chapter, we seek to better reflect these voices.5 Through contacts in various Muslim communities in Toronto, we arranged three interviews and one focus-group discussion.6 Some of these contacts derived from ongoing research into informal dispute resolution in Muslim communities and previous interviews at mosques in 2003. Other contacts arose from public panel discussions organized by the South Asian Legal Clinic and the University of Toronto’s Office of Student Affairs. On each of these occasions members of the audience expressed an interest in participating in research discussions. While we used a standard list of interview questions as well as a short survey for participants,7 we took an open-ended approach to questions, rather than rigidly keeping to the interview template. This allowed people to explore issues in their own way and on tangents. All the interviews were recorded and transcribed, while we took notes to supplement the transcripts. Our research is not meant to be a random, representative sample of religious, migrant Muslim women; it is rather a set of voices as shared with us. Our aim is to add to this discussion by complicating the composite figure of the ‘vulnerable Muslim woman’ in whose name religious arbitration is being opposed (Bakht 2005; Canadian Council of Muslim Women [CCMW] 2004). Rather than a two-dimensional picture, we attempt here to present the dynamic gender consciousness of migrant Muslim women and their varied opinions.8 In doing so we highlight the complexities of talking about Muslim women’s rights concerns in the current debate. While the focus of our chapter is not on the government policy and legislative responses to the proposed ‘Islamic Institute for Civil Justice,’ or on the feminist critiques of Muslim personal law, it is critical to include discussion of these important contributions to the

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public debate (Bakht 2004; Boyd 2004). In the first section of our chapter, we briefly lay out the existing legal framework governing mediation and arbitration of family matters in Ontario. It became clear in our focus group and interviews, as well as in public meetings, that there is a lack of understanding about family-dispute resolution procedures and their legal status.9 One teacher at an Islamic school stated that she thought mediation and arbitration were the same thing, a common misperception.10 In the section that follows, we briefly summarize the proposed religiousarbitration institute and the reactions from the provincial government, the media, and the public. Of particular concern here is the Boyd report, commissioned by the Ontario government in 2004, and the government’s legislative response, introduced the following year. In the next section, we discuss feminist lobbying efforts and women’s equality concerns. We conclude with some discussion of the policy issues and recommendations for further research. Throughout the chapter we will draw on the interviews conducted in the spring and summer of 2005 with Muslim women in Toronto. Legal Context of Family Mediation and Arbitration in Ontario Upon the breakdown of relationships, couples have a number of different options for arranging their lives. They may simply live separately and never formally divorce. If they have children, they may decide on future living and custody arrangements without the assistance of a lawyer or other third party – again without putting their private decision into a formal separation agreement. Some couples go this route for financial reasons. Others seek the advice of a trusted adviser, family friend, lawyer, or social worker. Some may seek the assistance of a mediator to resolve their differences. Others may choose to litigate. The Ontario Family Law Act sets out the principles that apply to the determination of custody of and access to children, support obligations, and division of family property.11 Some couples will forego the formalities and expenses associated with litigation in the court system in favour of empowering an arbitration tribunal to settle their differences. Negotiation, mediation, and arbitration are options that often appeal to couples who would prefer to resolve their disputes on the basis of norms other than those enforced by the courts. The Ontario Family Law Act puts in place a set of basic rights and obligations to which everyone is entitled as a ‘default position.’ It then

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accords great value to private autonomy by permitting couples to contract out of its provisions. The act recognizes private agreements if they meet the formal requirements stipulated in the act for ‘domestic contracts.’12 If there is a conflict between a domestic contract and statutory rights – if, for example, a domestic contract states that a wife is entitled to less than half of the family property, the amount she would be entitled to under the act – the act stipulates that the provision of the domestic contract will prevail over the rights and obligations set out in the act.13 As a result, couples routinely rely upon, and courts routinely enforce, private agreements that depart significantly from the ‘default position’ set out in the act. The scope permitted by the act for private contracting out of statutory rights puts the lie to the myth, propagated repeatedly during the Shari’a tribunal debates, that there is one family law for all Ontarians. The law permits privatized legal pluralism. The policy in favour of private autonomy is not absolute. The Family Law Act limits the enforceability of domestic contracts on certain grounds. A court may set aside a domestic contract if a party failed to disclose significant financial matters, or if a party did not understand the nature or consequences of the contract.14 Moreover, provisions of domestic contracts are unenforceable if a court finds that they are not in the best interests of the child. Section 56(1) reads: ‘In the determination of a matter respecting the education, moral training or custody of or access to a child, the court may disregard any provision of a domestic contract pertaining to the matter where, in the opinion of the court, to do so is in the best interests of the child.’ Further, a court may set aside provisions of domestic contracts dealing with financial support if the results are unconscionable or leave a family member dependent on social assistance,15 or if the child support provided ‘is unreasonable having regard to the child support guidelines.’16 Clauses requiring chastity are also unenforceable.17 Let us now turn to the differences between the arbitration and mediation of family disputes and how the law regulates each. Mediation, in legal discourse, is a consensual process aimed at reaching a negotiated settlement with the assistance of a third-party mediator.18 In Ontario mediation is mandatory in most kinds of civil litigation; family law, however, is excluded. Family mediation is thus a voluntary process in Ontario; the courts may order mediation of family disputes only on the consent of the parties.19 A successful mediation results in a negotiated agreement. Like agreements reached through other means, mediation agreements may take the form of ‘domestic contracts’ that are binding on the parties and prevail over

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any inconsistent provisions of the Family Law Act, subject to the limitations on the enforceability of private contracts described above. The parties to family mediation ought to be represented by counsel to ensure the fairness and enforceability of the resulting agreement. Mediators are expected to advise spouses to seek independent legal advice before, during, and certainly after a mediated settlement has been reached. For lawyer-mediators there are applicable rules in the Code of Professional Conduct that require lawyer-mediators to explain that they are not giving legal advice. There is an Ontario Family Mediators organization, but the field is not regulated by the government. If mediators choose to join the membership of either the national or provincial organization, then they bind themselves to ethical and professional behaviour. Family Mediators Canada, however, is quick to point out that they cannot evaluate the training or monitor the practices of their members.20 In contrast to mediation, arbitration removes the decision-making power from the parties themselves. The parties must agree to arbitrate their dispute and they must draft an arbitration agreement setting out the scope and terms of the arbitration. By turning to arbitration, the parties vest the power to render an enforceable decision in the arbitrator they choose; it is this decision-making power to which critics of religious arbitration object. Until recently, the status of arbitration decisions under the Family Law Act was unclear. The act did not refer to arbitration decisions at all. Did they constitute domestic contracts subject to the procedural requirements and substantive limits on ‘contracting out’ in the act? Or would arbitration decisions prevail in their entirety over any inconsistent provisions of the Family Law Act? The 2006 legislative amendments have now made it clear that arbitration decisions (or ‘family arbitration agreements’) are domestic contracts subject to the Family Law Act, so long as those decisions are based on Canadian law.21 Agreements based on arbitration decisions may be set aside on the same basis as other domestic contracts. In addition, arbitration decisions are enforceable only if the parties receive independent legal advice and the requirements of the Arbitration Act and regulations are met.22 Arbitration decisions that are not based on Canadian law have no legal effect.23 The result of the 2006 amendments is that family arbitration decisions are brought within the complex set of provisions in the Family Law Act that seek to respect private autonomy and secure some basic civic entitlements. Family arbitrations that are not based on Canadian law –

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for example, those based on religious principles or foreign law – have no legal effect. Couples may still arrange their affairs after separation on the basis of religious principles by entering into a separation agreement that is not based on an arbitration decision. In such a separation agreement, they may choose, for example, not to abide by the provisions for equal division of family property found in the statute or the spousal-support obligations set out therein. Separation agreements other than arbitration agreements are not affected by the new law. They may be based on any laws or principles the parties choose, and are legally binding subject to the general limitations described above. The arbitral door to creating binding agreements based on religious principles has been firmly shut by the 2006 amendments. But parties determined to settle their family rights and obligations on the basis of religious principles in a legally binding manner have other options open to them. They can create separation agreements by any means other than binding arbitration. Negotiated separation agreements, even those concluded with the assistance of informal advisers, mediators, or arbitrators (so long as the latter’s awards are ‘advisory’ only or not legally binding), can be based on religious principles and are legally binding under the Family Law Act. Thus, the government’s denial of legally binding force to family arbitration based on religious principles is, it turns out, a matter of legal form rather than normative substance. The formal obstacle to binding religious arbitration of family matters is easily evaded, if the parties so desire, by embodying the results of advisory religious arbitration decisions in negotiated separation agreements. Just as the Family Law Act before 2006 did not refer to arbitration, the Arbitration Act in Ontario did not refer to family matters – it neither promoted nor prohibited arbitration in this area.24 Once people have chosen arbitration, there are some limitations and procedural requirements found in the Arbitration Act. For example, according to the act, arbitration agreements must set out the matter to be adjudicated, the applicable law, the scope of the arbitration, and its time frame. The arbitrator chosen by the parties is obliged to be fair and independent.25 Should the arbitrator act in a biased fashion, his or her decision may be set aside.26 Arbitration decisions can be appealed according to section 45 of the act only where ‘the importance to the parties of the matters at stake in the arbitration justifies an appeal, and determination of the question of

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law at issue will significantly affect the rights of the parties.’ Arbitration decisions may also be set aside on judicial review pursuant to section 46 of the act if, among other grounds, there has been a procedural flaw in the arbitration, or a failure to treat the parties fairly and equally. As several commentators have pointed out, though, the scope of judicial review and appeal of arbitral awards are very narrowly construed. Jean-François Gaudreault-Desbiens argues: ‘Both the legal hurdles placed in the path of a potential appeal and the empirical evidence showing a conspicuous absence of appeals of faith-based awards since 1991 justify adopting the assumption, as a working hypothesis …, that, generally speaking, faith-based arbitrations are, and will continue to be, conducted on the basis of … agreements that seek to exclude external judicial intervention to the fullest extent possible.’27 The 2006 amendments to the Arbitration Act explicitly include family arbitrations in the scope of the act so long as they are conducted exclusively in accordance with the law of Ontario or another Canadian jurisdiction. Arbitrations based on other laws or principles are not ‘family arbitrations’ and have no legal effect. Family arbitrations based on Canadian law will henceforth be subject to the regulatory regimes of both the Arbitration Act and the Family Law Act. Family arbitration decisions not based on Canadian law are not regulated by either act; they are ‘advisory’ decisions that have no legal effects. Placing family arbitration decisions based on religious principles ‘beyond the law’ does not mean, of course, that such arbitrations will cease to take place. For the reasons described above, the content of any such decisions may still become legally binding if the parties take the step of embodying them in separation agreements. If the government were truly interested in creating ‘one family law for all Ontarians,’ as its rhetoric suggests, then it would have had to take a very different course. It would have had to ban the contracting out of statutory entitlements altogether. However, the creation of a one-size-fits-all family law regime would encounter significant political resistance. The recent amendments leave untouched the Family Law Act’s balance between private contractual autonomy and statutory entitlements.28 The courts are increasingly deferential to private marriage contracts and separation agreements in a way that should trouble us if we are concerned with the potential for vulnerable people to be exploited in the name of the freedom to contract. The Family Law Act presumes an equality of bargaining power that may not exist in family relationships. In Hartshorne (2004), the Supreme Court of Canada upheld a marriage

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agreement where the lawyer wife had agreed to make no claim to division of property despite getting legal advice that the agreement was ‘grossly unfair.’29 And in Miglin (2003), the Supreme Court of Canada upheld a separation agreement wherein the wife agreed to a final, spousal-support release clause and five-year ‘consulting agreement’ with their lodge with an annual salary of $15,000.30 Both women had independent legal advice and both were middle class. The decision in Miglin stated that ‘the court should set aside the wishes of the parties as expressed in pre-existing agreement only where that agreement fails to be in substantial compliance with the overall objectives of the [Divorce] Act, including certainty, finality and autonomy.’ And, the court stated, ‘circumstances less than ‘unconscionability’ in the commercial law context may be relevant, but a court should not presume an imbalance of power.’31 There has only been one reported case of a Muslim marriage contract in Ontario being brought before the courts for enforcement. In that case, Kaddoura v. Hammoud,32 the court refused to intervene and decided, rather, that the matter fell within the expertise of religious authorities. Citing a United States Supreme Court decision from 1976, Justice Rutherford concluded that ‘to determine what the rights and obligations of Sam and Manira are in relation to the undertaking of Mahr [a variation used in the decision] in their Islamic marriage ceremony would necessarily lead the court into the ‘religious thicket,’ a place the courts cannot safely and should not go.’33 By contrast, in British Columbia, a court concluded in Amlani v. Hirani34 that the Muslim marriage contract was indeed a domestic contract for the purposes of the statute, and ordered that the husband pay the mehr owed under the contract at the time of separation. One key theme that arose in our interviews before the change in the law was the perception among participants that an arbitrated decision would not be binding and enforceable in a ‘Canadian court.’35 One woman stated that she would use Shari’a tribunals if they were available in her area ‘because I am a Muslim and Shari’a is my Koran book. If I am not happy about the Shari’a decision I have the right to choose Canadian law.’36 Another woman said she would use religious tribunals ‘only as a last resort before going to family law.’37 A third woman, Fazia, described arbitration as ‘counselling, the step before going to court.’38 Interestingly, after the 2006 amendments to the law, religious arbitrations conducted according to an Islamic legal code would indeed just be ‘counselling’ and not binding in an Ontario court. Generally, we found there was a lack of legal literacy, or understanding, about the

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nature of mediation and arbitration in our interviews and in public discussion about the issue. Proposed Muslim Family Arbitration Fazia’s comments refer to ‘counselling’ currently taking place through family services at mosques and Muslim social services in and around Toronto. Most mosques offer counselling and mediation services to community members. In addition to prayers, community discussions, and education, imams will meet with individuals and couples about any stress in their life, including marital issues. Sunita explained that ‘women come to the mosque all the time to speak to the imam about whatever conflict … predominantly immigrant [women] I would say, mostly African … Somalian, Arab, it’s really a mix.’39 Some imams refer to this as family mediation, others as counselling or pastoral care. These sessions do not render written separation agreements, but rather advice and counsel for couples who may be having trouble in their marriage. Nonetheless, imams may well offer their opinion as to what is the ‘right Muslim thing to do’ in the context of a separation. In contrast to mediation within Muslim mosques and communities,40 in October 2003 the Canadian Society of Muslims established the Islamic Institute for Civil Justice, with the intention of providing arbitration services on family and business matters. The thirty-member committee that established the institute is composed entirely of men. Indeed, it was reported that only one woman was present at the convention. The stated intention of the institute is to establish ‘Darul Qada,’ or private judicial tribunals for Islamic arbitration. The available material from the committee states that decisions will not violate Canadian law.41 At the time the announcement was made, parties were free to choose the applicable law pursuant to the Arbitration Act. The expectation was that Muslim personal law would be applied by tribunals and the results would be legally binding. Half of our interview participants were aware of services available at mosques, but had not heard of the proposed arbitration tribunals or the Boyd report. Boyd Report The Attorney General of Ontario appointed Marion Boyd, in January 2004, to review the Arbitration Act and the ‘impact that the use of arbitration may have on people who may be vulnerable, including women,

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persons with disabilities and elderly persons. The review will include consideration of religious based arbitrations.’ From the middle of July until November 2004, Ms Boyd met with interested parties, including the Canadian Council of Muslim Women (CCWM), the National Association of Women and the Law (NAWL), the Women’s Legal Education and Action Fund (LEAF), B’nai Brith, the Muslim Canadian Congress, and the Islamic Council of Imams – Canada. The Boyd report was released on 20 December 2004 under the title Dispute Resolution in Family Law: Protecting Choice, Promoting Inclusion. The Boyd report is presented in eight chapters and includes forty-six recommendations. It begins with an overview and history of arbitration in the province and proceeds to discuss family and inheritance law, Boyd’s consultations, as well as the constitutional issues at stake. In particular, the report discusses religious dispute resolution in the context of constitutionally protected freedom of religion, multiculturalism, the separation of Church and state in Canada, and equality rights. In her analysis, Boyd argued: By availing itself of provincial legislation that has been in place for over a decade, and that has been used by others, the Muslim community is drawing on the dominant legal culture to express itself. By using mainstream legal instruments minority communities openly engage in institutional dialogue. And by engaging in such dialogue, a community is also inviting the state into its affairs, particularly since the Arbitration Act, even in its present form, specifically sets out grounds for state intervention in the form of judicial oversight. Use of the Arbitration Act by minority communities can therefore be understood as a desire to engage with the broader community. (Boyd 2004, 93)

Following this logic of ‘inclusion,’42 the report recommended the continuation of religious arbitration of family matters subject to numerous safeguards (Boyd 2004, 133). These safeguards are grouped under the headings of legislative and regulatory changes, independent legal advice, training for professions, oversight of arbitrators, public legal education, community development, and further policy developments. Boyd rightly signalled the confusion around the role of the Ontario government in ‘allowing’ religious arbitration through amendments to the Arbitration Act. The media and general public often described the provincial government as having brought ‘Shari’a law’ or Shari’a tribunals to the province of Ontario, or as having allowed the establishment

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of the tribunals. Before the 2006 amendments, the act did allow binding arbitration according to religious principles, and treated family arbitration no differently than the arbitration of commercial disputes. Until 2006, the government had not made any changes to the Arbitration Act in terms of religious or family arbitration, since the legislation was initially passed in 1991. It is striking that, when the issue captured public attention in 2003, the provincial government and the attorney general knew almost nothing about the existing practices within Muslim communities and rabbinical courts in Ontario. The government had no commissioned studies of faith-based decision-making bodies, or of informal practices affecting individuals’ access to justice in the province. It was obviously beyond the scope of one short provincial inquiry to fully research family dispute settlement in the province; however, these issues remain in need of scholarly and policy attention. Boyd’s report also rightly placed the arbitration of family matters squarely within the Family Law and Divorce Acts. Within this legal context, as described above, courts may enforce privately negotiated domestic contracts, including separation agreements, concluded through mediation or arbitration. The most important and contentious issue for our purposes is that parties may contract out of certain statutory standards. Again, our interviews and observation of public meetings revealed a lack of understanding of the existing family-law regime, wherein parties may arrange their post-separation affairs as they wish, in some cases below the standards for spousal support or equitable division of marital property. As some critics, such as NAWL, have pointed out, the privatization of family justice is a troubling issue not adequately discussed in the debate around religious arbitration. Faith-based family arbitration is just an extension – though the most hotly debated aspect – of the larger trend of privatizing justice in the province.43 The Boyd report recommended continuation of arbitration in family law as an option, including using religious laws and principles should her recommended safeguards be put in place. Some critics argue that the family law bar was very strong in its lobby for the continuation of the status quo. Boyd found no evidence of systemic discrimination against women,44 at the same time as she conceded that she did not have adequate testimonial evidence to conclude there was no discrimination. The report states, for example, that no one came forward with evidence about informal religious processes and their detrimental impact on women. As Pascale Fournier has commented, ‘The irony lies in the fact that arbitration is by definition a private system that is

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entered into by agreement, without any duty on the part of the arbitrator to render the arbitral award public. Hence, it is little surprise that Marion Boyd didn’t find any ‘legal evidence,’ the evidence being of a ‘private’ nature.’45 The Boyd report further recommended numerous regulations to safeguard the interests of parties, including the securing of legal advice/certificate of independent legal advice, providing the decisions in writing, providing the principles of religious/faith-based arbitration to parties, and having arbitrators register with voluntary professional organizations. There were strong public reactions, which we will briefly discuss below, to the release of the Boyd report. The premier of Ontario announced on 11 September 2005 that the province would ‘ban religious arbitration’ in family-law issues. A headline in bold on the front page of a national newspaper read ‘Ontario rejects Sharia law’ (Alcoba 2005, A1). On 15 November the Family Statute Law Amendment Act was introduced, with the press release trumpeting ‘McGuinty government declares one law for all Ontarians.’46 Let us turn now to the public reactions. Reactions and Feminist Organizing – The World Is Watching The proposed Shari’a tribunals garnered quick and strong reactions in 2003 in the mainstream press and Muslim communities. The Canadian Council of Muslim Women (CCMW)47 issued a statement voicing a number of substantive concerns about the proposed arbitration tribunals. Homa Arjomand founded the International Campaign Against the Sharia Court in Canada.48 Both organizations then called for a moratorium on family arbitration, whether in existing rabbinical courts or new Islamic tribunals. NAWL49 established a working group made up of various women’s groups and academics concerned with the impact of the proposal on women. Its working group included participation from the National Organization of Immigrant and Visible Minority Women, Rights & Democracy,50 LEAF,51 and Women Living Under Muslim Laws (WLUML).52 The problems identified by feminist groups and individuals include the concern that new immigrant women would not know about secular courts and their rights under Canadian law. Indeed, they expressed concern that Muslim women generally will feel pressure to go to the Islamic Institute or other religious tribunals, especially when their community remains an important source of support and identity for them.53

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Other critiques include the fact that Islamic schools of jurisprudence are complex and contested, and it is not clear which laws will be applied by the institute and how arbitrators would have adequate expertise in these various schools of law. There are at least five major schools of Islamic jurisprudence, and there are countless interpretations from jurists, reformists, and Islamic feminists alike.54 Further, accessto-justice concerns included the narrow scope of judicial review and appeal of the arbitrated decisions discussed above.55 Finally, some commentators worried that courts would defer to the Muslim tribunals on matters of domestic contracts and other matters concluded according to Islamic law or Muslim marriage traditions. These issues remain in the press and very much in public debate. Of course, as we discussed above, women have the right to contract out of statutory minimum standards, and courts are deferring to those agreements as well. This leaves room for concerns that objections to the religious arbitration on this front are at least to some extent rooted in perceptions of Muslim women as so vulnerable that they cannot be accorded the same agency other Canadian women are regularly accorded.56 While this paternalism is a real concern, it cannot be considered the end of the analysis. The general right to contract out of rights and engage in arbitration is predicated upon an assumption that each party is equally capable of looking out for his or her rights and best interests. This assumption may not give adequate weight to power imbalances in family relationships, imbalances that may be exacerbated by a sense of religious obligation or compulsion. In religious arbitrations, the arbitrator may be accorded greater authority and deference due to what the parties would consider to be his religious credentials. When asked if women participating in Islamic family law arbitration would be more likely to accept or challenge a religious arbitrator’s interpretation of Islamic law, Zakiyya responded, ‘If it’s an imam that they respect, I doubt that they would challenge it.’57 It is easy to imagine a woman who participates in religious arbitration putting her religious obligations above her personal (material and personal-status) interests. These conclusions however, can be complicated by research documenting the complex and masked ways in which devout Muslim woman regularly pursue their interests within religious institutions and religious discursive frameworks.58 As Zakiyya also pointed out, the women in her community are constantly negotiating their rights in various realms. ‘It’s just part of life.’59

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Women’s Rights Concerns Women’s rights advocates largely agree that the use of Islamic personalstatus laws in religious arbitration present serious concerns of genderbased discrimination. Even though religious arbitrations will no longer be given legal effect in Ontario, these concerns still need to be taken seriously in that jurisdiction, as religious arbitration may shape the contents of legally binding separation agreements. As with most other religiously based legal frameworks, Islamic jurisprudence is premised upon a number of patriarchal assumptions translating into both substantive and procedural provisions that disadvantage women. At the same time, the risk of coercion and unequal bargaining power both before and within the arbitration process leaves further cause for concern. Thus, this section will review the potential women’s rights violations presented by religious arbitration and briefly highlight some of the complexities and countervailing considerations raised in each instance. We hope also to signal some of the areas where Islamic feminists are arguing for more liberal interpretations of Islamic jurisprudence.60 It is necessary to briefly introduce the traditional model of gender relations in marriage adopted in Islamic jurisprudence, currently referred to as the ‘complementarity of rights and duties’ model.61 While this model has been challenged in recent years by Islamic feminists and reformist jurists alike, it is still the predominant model adhered to by conservative Muslims, and there is no reason to believe that it would not be adopted by at least some participants in religious arbitration. The model is based on the assumption of natural sex differences between men and women. It finds that while there are similarities between the sexes such that they can be considered equal in creation, equal in their ability to attain spiritual perfection through devotion to God, and thus equal in human dignity, there are also significant differences between men and women rooted not only in each sex’s biology and physiology, but also in nature, psychology, and essence. For example, according to most traditional jurists, men are by nature more aggressive, rational, analytical, cool-headed, and calculating, while in contrast women are more emotional, nurturing, and concerned with family and the home.62 Such differences in allegedly innate characteristics justify different roles for each sex, translating into the public/ private divide with which feminists are intimately familiar. Different

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roles in turn call for and justify a balance of rights and duties for each sex such that rights and duties are natural and equitable but not equal or similar. The rights-and-duties scheme is centred around economic and labour distributions. The husband has a duty to provide financially for women and dependants, and in return for her ‘right’ to live completely free of the burden of having to provide for her financial needs and work, a wife has the duty to obey her husband and to accept his headship of the family. In the orthodox view, this formulation is discriminatory only when viewed in isolation, not when the overall balance of rights is considered.63 Arbitrators’ personal and professional adherence to this model may result in discriminatory rulings, for example, a ruling of fault in the dissolution of marriage for lack of obedience. While the substantive result is an economic loss (i.e., of the dower), the discriminatory and patriarchal rationale employed in the ruling may in itself have detrimental or discriminatory effects beyond the immediate economic impact. Contrast this model with the preamble to Ontario’s Family Law Act: Whereas it is desirable to encourage and strengthen the role of the family; and whereas for that purpose it is necessary to recognize the equal position of spouses as individuals within marriage and to recognize marriage as a form of partnership; and whereas in support of such recognition it is necessary to provide in law for the orderly and equitable settlement of the affairs of the spouses upon the breakdown of the partnership, and to provide for other mutual obligations in family relationships, including the equitable sharing by parents of responsibility for their children.

At the same time, at least some migrant women participating in religious arbitration can be expected to pose indirect challenges to the model in accordance with the lived experiences as Canadian immigrants. A study of migrant Muslim women in Norway demonstrated a propensity to challenge the complementarity model (for example, through employment), despite accepting it as a religious ideal (Predelli 2004). We observed similar inclinations among some of the Canadian migrant women we interviewed, all of whom have in practice transcended the model based on traditional gender roles by seeking employment in the public sphere. For example, Laila referred to the emotional nature of women as a way of justifying the Shari’a provision that limits women’s divorce rights.64 Azmat, too, displayed a simultaneous acceptance and challenging of the complementarity model:

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I’m not complaining about my husband. My husband is perfect in my eyes, but I’m generally talking when you have a child in the house, men don’t want to do anything; [they] sit around [and] let the woman do the work … distribution of work. According to the Islamic Sharia, Islamic law also, it’s not allowed … the Prophet, during his lifetime, always help[ed] his wife. He would personally do everything for them … men do[n’t] think that way. They think they have a little throne and they can sit and do whatever they want and don’t have to do anything … we start from there and think that they are the little king of their house and can’t do anything else, I mean, when I say partnership, it is equal partnership, of course men and women have different rolesto play, but they are both playing some kind of role in this.65

Before embarking on a discussion of the discriminatory provisions that can potentially be implemented and enforced through religious arbitration, it is important to clarify the discriminatory provisions of Islamic jurisprudence that such arbitration tribunals would not have jurisdiction to implement. It also demonstrates that what both its proponents and opponents refer to as the implementation of ‘Shari’a law’ can more accurately be considered a partial and circumscribed adaptation of classical Islamic jurisprudence.66 In addition, while we reference the classical laws of Islamic jurisprudence impacting on women’s rights in this section, we would like to note that despite the widespread portrayal of Islamic jurisprudence as static and immutable, many of its contemporary implementations display dynamism and respond to changing social realities. A study of particular relevance to the current Canadian debate over religious arbitration was conducted by Moussa Abu Ramadan, who presents the transformation and reform of Islamic jurisprudence surrounding child custody materializing in Shari’a courts in Israel between 1992 and 2001.67 Traditional Islamic jurisprudence places considerable limitations on a women’s right to divorce, while giving men an absolute and virtually instantaneous divorce prerogative.68 However, faith-based arbitration cannot implement these provisions (in the place of civil divorce) because the Divorce Act governs civil divorce; such tribunals would only have jurisdiction over religious divorce. As well, temporary marriage (permissible under Shi’a jurisprudence) and polygamy is and would remain illegal in Canada. The age of civil marriage of girls, currently eighteen without parental consent and sixteen with parental consent,69 would be determined by Ontario law. It goes without saying

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that none of the highly objectionable criminal and penal provisions in traditional Islamic jurisprudence, such as stoning for adultery or unequal blood-money (punishment/ compensation) for men and women, could be sanctioned by such arbitration tribunals. Identifying these provisions at the onset is imperative, because it prevents the sensationalism and distortions that often accompanied the debates over ‘bringing Shari’a to Ontario,’ for example, through analogies to Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia.70 The fact that some of the most troubling provisions of gender-based discrimination found within traditional Islamic jurisdiction do not fall under the jurisdiction of the proposed religious-arbitration tribunals does not mean that significant women’s rights challenges are not posed by the proposal. Even when many discriminatory provisions of Islamic law are excluded, others remain. First, Islamic law significantly limits a mother’s child-custody rights upon divorce and, in some schools, upon the father’s death, such that after a child reaches a particular age (which varies significantly among the different schools of jurisprudence), the mother automatically loses custody.71 Further, the mother loses custody of her children, regardless of their age, if she remarries. The other major substantive area of discrimination that Muslim women participating in religious tribunals would likely face is in the realm of economic rights. Under classical Islamic law, there is no provision upon divorce for division of property acquired during the marriage, and no requirement of spousal support beyond a four-month period following the divorce unless the wife is pregnant, in which case this support period is extended to the full term of the pregnancy. The wife is entitled to the dower (the mehr mentioned above) agreed upon in the marriage contract only if the divorce falls into the narrow category in which the dissolution is considered ‘not her fault.’ This means that Muslim women taking part in religious arbitration are likely to face discrimination in the determination of economic rights, and could be deprived of important economic rights provided under Canadian law.72 As well, although classical Islamic laws of succession and inheritance are quite complex and elaborate, generally the inheritance of a female is half of that of a male.73 Because the Family Law Act states that it may review and set aside a domestic contract if it is in the best interests of the child to do so, it is possible to characterize the rights violations at stake as largely economic in nature.74 However, the use of Islamic family law (even in its limited form) has gender-based discrimination implications beyond economic

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rights. Further, there is potential for concern about procedural forms of discrimination against women. First, under classical Islamic jurisprudence, women’s testimony is generally given half the weight given to a man’s (although this is generally applied in commercial cases). It is unclear whether part of the implementation of ‘Shari’a law’ envisioned by Muslim proponents of religious arbitration would include this rule of evidence. Second, in several schools of Islamic jurisprudence, women are prohibited from serving as judges. This leaves open the possibility that some institutes providing religious arbitration would exclude female arbitrators. One woman we spoke with contested this view, saying, ‘No it’s not true, we could do that. Women can act as judges, this is not a judgment, this is … arbitration we are going to … I would be able to do that, and I think that according to the Shari’a [if] there is a party that is having problems, they can choose me and I can negotiate. I don’t see any problem in that. I would do that.’75 Finally, as most women’s rights advocates opposing religious arbitration have pointed out, before potentially facing instances of substantive discrimination, coercion, and power imbalances within the religious-arbitration process, there is a very real danger of Muslim women facing coercion and pressure to take part in the process. Social, community, mosque, or family pressure could compel a Muslim woman to take a dispute to a Shari’a tribunal instead of the Canadian judicial system or any other secular form of dispute resolution in order to avoid the stigma of taking an ‘un-Islamic’ or ‘Western’ route.76 One theme that arose in our focus group was the importance of religion for migrant Muslim woman in the diaspora. While in Somalia or India or Egypt women need not organize around religion, in Canada religion becomes an important shared marker of identity. One woman stated that we ‘are becoming more faithful in the diaspora … restarting our identities in this country.’77 Fazia reiterated that ‘in diaspora we are getting closer to the religion because it is some commonality.’78 Since in Somalia, she added, ‘everyone was Muslim … culture was more important in many ways than the religion itself. But as we came out and they ask for …we are learning more about religion, we keep getting closer to religion because we have the opportunity now to see ourselves.’79 Further, the potential for such coercion has increased in recent years with the rise of political Islam, combined with new dynamics associated with many Muslims’ sense of being targeted and under siege in the post–September 11 era.80 Accordingly, in addition to being seen as a religious obligation, participating in religious arbitration may take on a

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political significance as a form of resistance to the racism and Islamophobia Muslims currently experience. A prevailing sentiment that seeking gender equality in a Canadian court when a Shari’a tribunal is available is tantamount to confirming Western stereotypes of Islam’s misogyny and inferiority can present added pressure to use religious tribunals. Finally, some opponents of religious arbitration have argued that migrant Muslim women may be more susceptible to such pressures than non-immigrant Muslim women owing to the presence of language barriers and their lack of familiarity with the Canadian legal system and norms.81 Our interviews reveal that pressure and coercion are real and present concerns in religious Muslim communities. Almost all the women with whom we spoke conceded that some form of this type of pressure exists and saw some migrant women as particularly susceptible to it. When asked whether a religious Muslim woman who chooses to take a familylaw dispute to the Canadian courts would face stigmatization, Zakiyya said that it is certainly possible: ‘People might judge her values because she has this option of going through an Islamic route and she chose not to.’82 Hawa shared this view, stating, ‘Talking about vulnerable women, behind a family connected with the Imam … could [lead to] character assassination in the community … not women like us who can speak out strongly.’83 Finally, when asked if she thinks women are informed of their choice to seek or reject the application of Islamic family law in the resolution of their disputes, Azmat replied, No I don’t think so; a lot of women are not. A lot of women who came from different cultures, different backgrounds, some of them are educated in [their native] language. Some can’t even speak English, so probably most of them are not even aware of what is going on and for them probably they feel that Shari’a is the only way and they are stuck with it.84

Questions of coercion are critical if provision is being made for particular instances of gender-based discrimination in the name of upholding Muslim women’s freedom of religion and agency. If coercion is in fact taking place, then the upholding of women’s choice is rendered meaningless. However, two other dimensions further complicate the coercion issue. Even if there are serious concerns relating to coercion – and when pressed, to varying degrees most parties involved in the debate over religious arbitration agree there are – it cannot be said that coercion (at least to a degree greater than that normally tolerated by the law) operates in all instances.

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Thus the question arises: can the right of all Canadian Muslim women to have their civil disputes disposed of in accordance with their religious beliefs be denied in order to prevent some cases of coercion? Or, is upholding this right important enough that other measures should be taken to counter coercion, but that an all-out ban on religious arbitration or religious contracts cannot be justified? In our view, this question can best be answered when more comprehensive studies encompassing confidential interviews with devout Canadian Muslim women are conducted and a better assessment of the percentage of these women who value this right – and the percentage who have serious reservations stemming from the potential of coercion once the right is provided – can be made. It is significant, however, that several of the women with whom we spoke made it clear that settling their disputes in accordance with Shari’a provisions was absolutely vital to them, with one participant indicating that if she had to go through Canadian courts she would not take advantage of any rights afforded to her beyond those permitted under Shari’a: [I]f there[’s] anything in the civil that gives me more than Islamically, then I wouldn’t take it. No, like here they give half on property and in Islam it is not the case. And really again I am accountable in front of God and not the Canadian system. So I would do what would make me happy with God especially [as] I have read the Quran and I know what is in it. If I [didn’t] know then I would seek knowledge from people who know.85

It is, however, crucial that in any future assessments of coercion, agency is not understood exclusively as Muslim women’s overt rejection of traditional or religious institutions and embrace of emancipation as defined through a Western, rights-based framework.86 Several studies have highlighted the ways in which pious Muslim women practise agency through simultaneously adopting and contesting patriarchal religious practices and doctrine (Mahmood 2001; Predelli 2004; Torab 1996). Several of the women we interviewed demonstrated a complex gender consciousness encompassing a propensity to question dominant traditional interpretations of Islamic law, and a sense that at least some male proponents of Islamic law have a gender bias. For example, Azmat made the following statement: If a woman goes for arbitration and she doesn’t know her rights, what is she asking for? She will have to listen to whatever they are going to give to her. If a woman goes well informed, then they can negotiate and they

254 Annie Bunting and Shadi Mokhtari can say, ‘Hey, you can’t say this to me, because this is not the Islamic law,’ because we lose the negotiating power right there when we are not informed.87

Elsewhere she asserted: … I would like to say to these women [that they] should study the Islam more and learn about the religion more before they are so scared or insecure. If they really don’t know about the religion of course they are going to be scared of something they don’t know, so they are not knowledgeable enough because in their country the man usually dominates the society and they were the ones who implemented the laws and kind of made it from the male perspective, not from the women’s side, and that’s what is causing problems. It’s not the law, it’s the people who are implementing the law.88

Moreover, the coercion question cannot be limited to formal religious arbitration. As mentioned above, informal dispute resolution has long been taking place in Canadian Muslim communities, with imams and other community leaders serving as mediators or even informal arbitrators. Even though religious arbitrations of family disputes will no longer be legally binding in Ontario, the results of such arbitrations may be subsequently embodied in a separation agreement that is legally binding. As long as these informal channels are known and regularly relied upon within the community, the threat of coercion within these processes also exists. It is possible, as a number of observers have noted, that allowing for a more formalized religious-arbitration process would benefit women if various safeguards, state oversight, and greater public accountability are put in place. Conclusions With the passage of the 2006 legislative amendments in Ontario, courts will no longer enforce religious arbitrations of family matters in the province. However, informal religious dispute resolution will continue and people will seek religious counsel. People may continue to find the provincial family courts to be culturally and economically inaccessible. Thus, we need to understand the social dynamics leading people to seek out religious mediation of their separation disputes and to be attentive to the deficiencies identified in the courts. As we have argued in

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this chapter, the perspectives of religious and migrant Muslim women ought to be taken into consideration when studying the developments in this area. In our research we sought out and highlighted devout migrant Muslim women whose voices had not been reflected in the debate over religious arbitration in Ontario. On 12 November 2005, a round table was held in which another group of women (and one man) with Muslim backgrounds (several of whom were immigrants or from immigrant families) discussed their views on the debate over religious arbitration in Ontario. The group consisted of social workers, lawyers, and activists, most of whom did not identify themselves as particularly devout or conservative Muslims. With a few notable exceptions, like our interviewees, they had not participated in the public and media debate on religious arbitration. Several participants indicated that this was because they had been extremely uncomfortable with the limiting and highly charged parameters of the debate. The overarching sense that was shared by a large number of the round-table participants was of being caught between two forces: the forces of Islamic revivalism built upon increased impositions of patriarchal interpretations of religious obligations; and the forces of Orientalism manifested in the forms of racist and essentialist representations of the violent and irrational Muslim man, the agentless Muslim woman, and a panic over the ensuing invasion of secular Western societies by the Muslim immigrants among them. Several participants indicated that while they saw both forces as extremely troubling, they found one more so than the other. In the discussion between the round table’s two convenors, Amina Jamal and Sherene Razack, the former, who had spent more time living and researching in Pakistan, held the view that the threat from Islamization was more alarming. The latter, who is based in Canada, was more concerned with what she has called ‘fundamentalism’s mirror image,’ the productive power of representations of Muslims in the ‘war on terrorism’ and how it spills over into debates such as the present one (Razack 2004). Many participants criticized the Canadian Council of Muslim Women for collaborating with Western feminist organizations employing simplistic, Orientalist representations of the dynamics at play and perpetuating notions of a sort of good Muslim/bad Muslim89 divide in the media.90 This discussion only strengthened our sense that a number of important standpoints and accumulated experiences had been left out of the debate over ‘Shari’a law in Ontario.’

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It is important to document and analyse the complex nature of domestic relations in Muslim families in Canada in order to undermine the simplistic presumptions about Muslim men and women’s role in the family and in society (Berns McGown 1999; Khan 2002). Common stereotypes and misunderstandings see Muslim women’s roles as emblematic of the oppressive character of Islamic law and Muslim social norms. Such views leave little room for nuanced discussion of the importance of religion for women in the diaspora, negotiations of cultural and religious gender identity, deficiencies in the provincial family court processes, and dynamics of private ordering and political Islam. At the same time, issues in Islamic family law, such as the marriage of minors and custody dispositions, pose some of the most profound challenges to cross-cultural judgment in a diverse society (Nussbaum 1999). While some Muslim community leaders have expressed a desire for greater deference to and accommodation of Islamic family codes in the family courts, feminists and other critics have identified problems with this proposal (Khan 1993). It was our aim to add to this public discussion by highlighting insights provided by interviews with religious migrant Muslim women in Toronto.

NOTES 1 Pseudonyms are used at the request of research participants. Focus group, 24 June 2005, Toronto. 2 Focus Group, 24 June 2005, Toronto. 3 Interviews, 16 June 2005, Toronto. 4 In our view, the debate was largely dominated by spokespersons representing women’s rights groups, more secular Muslim organizations voicing opposition to the proposal, and elite male religious figures voicing support for it. 5 While we endeavour to reflect the voices of religious migrant Muslim women, we realize that the women with whom we spoke represent only one segment of this population and that our research is limited in this important respect. Future research ought to seek out the perspectives and experiences of religious migrant women with less education and less integration into mainstream Canadian society. 6 These included Afghani, Somali, Iranian, and South Asian Muslim communities. Another focus group with Muslim women in a women’s shelter proved extremely complicated and arrangements fell through more than once.

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7 We asked all participants to sign informed-consent forms that described the research project and any possible risks associated with participating. 8 And see, for example, the Canadian Council of Muslim Women’s report on Muslim women and immigration, education, and employment: Dr Daood Hamdani, Muslim Women: Beyond Perceptions (2004); available on CCMW website, at http://www.ccmw.com/. 9 Questions we asked our participants included whether they were knowledgeable about their rights under Islamic law or under Ontario family law, and about available legal services. 10 Sunita, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. 11 R.S.O. 1990, c. F.3. See also Children’s Law Reform Act, R.S.O. 1990, c. C.12; and Divorce Act, R.S.C. 1985, c. 3 (2nd Supp.). 12 Family Law Act, part IV. 13 Ibid., s. 2(10). 14 Ibid., s. 56(4). 15 Ibid., s. 33(4). 16 Ibid., s. 56(1.1). 17 Ibid., s. 56(2). 18 Connie Noble’s book is a good introduction to mediation for lawyers: Family Mediation Handbook: A Guide for Lawyers (Toronto: Butterworths, 1999). 19 Family Law Act, s. 3(1). 20 Ontario Family Mediation states: ‘OAFM cannot certify the competence of any member listed here. While OAFM has no licensing powers, it does offer an accreditation process, which permits those with the appropriate training and experience to obtain the designation Acc.FM (OAFM). You are urged to consider contracting with accredited mediators with expertise matching your specific requirements. OAFM has no power to discipline its members, other than revoking membership and encouraging compliance with standards of practice accepted within the mediation community. See website: http://www.oafm.on.ca/general_public/mediators_directory .html (accessed 30 March 2006). 21 Family Law Act, s. 51, as amended by Family Law Statute Amendment Act, 2006, S.O. 2006, c. 1, s. 5(6). 22 Ibid., s. 59.6, enacted by the Family Law Statute Amendment Act, 2006, s. 5(10). 23 Ibid., s. 59.2, enacted by the Family Law Statute Amendment Act, 2006, s. 5(10). 24 Arbitration Act, R.S.O. 1990, c. 17. As Boyd explains: ‘British Columbia adopted its Commercial Arbitration Act, 1986, c. 43, now R.S.B.C. 1996, c. 55

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in 1986. Despite its name it too applies to all arbitrations, but it gives the courts more discretion to refuse to enforce an arbitration agreement or an award than does the Uniform Act’ (Boyd 2004, 11). Section 11 (1): ‘An arbitrator shall be independent of the parties and shall act impartially’; s. 19: ‘… the parties shall be treated equally and fairly.’ Ibid., s. 46(1). Jean-François Gaudreault-Desbiens, (2005) 16(1) World Arbitration and Mediation Report 18 at 20. Put another way (as one government policy lawyer stated), the new legislation brings ‘family arbitrations’ onto the same footing as mediated agreements under the act. Hartshorne v. Hartshorne [2004] 1 S.C.R. 550. Miglin v. Miglin [2003] 1 S.C.R. 303. Ibid. As well, it is ironic that courts may well see Muslim women in need of protection from themselves – separation agreements – more readily than middle-class, non-religious women. Kaddoura v. Hammoud, 168 D.L.R. (4th) 503, 44 R.F.L. (4th) 228, [1998] O.J. no. 5-54, 83 O.T.C. 30. Ibid., para. 28. Amlani v. Hirani [2000] B.C.J. no. 2357. On the other hand, a few women commented that it would be desirable to have decisions enforced by the family courts, sanctioned by government. Interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. Interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. Interview, 24 June 2005, Toronto. Sunita, interview, June 16, 1005, Toronto. For a discussion of informal mediation, see Annie Bunting, ‘Mediating Cultures, Mediating Family Disputes: Informal Dispute Resolution in Toronto Muslim communities’ (2005, on file). Mumtaz Ali, the lead spokesperson for the Institute stated at a panel discussion that ‘Canadian law will trump Islamic law; the Charter looks after this. The media has missed it because of Islamophobia.’ 16 November 2005, Faculty of Law, University of Toronto. For an excellent critique of the logic of inclusion, see Pascale Fournier, ‘Sharia Court in Canada and Global Civil Society: From Protecting Choice, Promoting Inclusion to Producing Choice, Promoting Exclusion,’ paper for ‘A World for All? The Ethics of Global Civil Society,’ 4–7 September 2005 (on file with author). See Trevor C.W. Farrow, ‘Re-Framing the Sharia Arbitration Debate,’ Constitutional Forum 15 (2006). Farrow argues that ‘the Sharia debate is

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really a red herring for something much bigger at play: the ongoing and systemic privatization of our public justice system. This [third] concern, in turn, involves two sub-issues. First, there is an increasing tendency to resolve important human rights and other public and private interest disputes behind closed doors without any kind of public scrutiny of the processes or results (Sharia or other). Second, as a result, we are systematically downloading – privatizing – a fundamental tool of democratic governance’ (9). ‘The Review did not find any evidence to suggest that women are being systematically discriminated against as a result of arbitration of family law issues. Therefore the Review supports the continued use of arbitration to resolve family law matters.’ Boyd 2004, 133. Fournier, ‘Sharia Court in Canada,’ at 6, n. 20. In her critique of the report Fournier argues that ‘ultimately, the reasoning in presented in the report converts the discussion from a debate about gender equality and economic fairness into a set of speculations on the necessity of accepting and valuing the Other as the Other, as well as on the non-interventionist role of the Canadian state in the ‘private sphere’’ (at 6). Fournier further argues that the socio-economic needs of Muslim women and redistributive justice questions were ignored in the report. News release, Ministry of the Attorney General, 15 November 2005. The news release continues with ‘only Canadian law to apply to family law arbitrations.’ From the beginning the CCMW was successful in establishing itself as an authoritative voice defending and representing the interests of Muslim women. It maintained both a high profile in the media and close collaboration with a spectrum of women’s rights and human-rights organizations opposing religious arbitration. CCMW maintained that religious arbitration violated the Charter of Rights and Freedoms and would create a two-tiered system in which Muslim women have less protection under the law than other Canadian women. An Iranian Canadian immigrant, Arjomand has been most vocal about the risk of ‘political Islam’ and argued in public meetings and in the press that this proposal and its supporters are spreading a conservative interpretation of Islam. For many Iranian immigrants and refugees who have come to Canada to escape a theocracy, the proposal was seen as a shocking attempt to apply religious laws and principles in a democratic secular state – laws they had come to Canada to avoid. NAWL was building on its work on the effects on women of the privatization of justice and decreased funding for legal aid in the area of family law.

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They were further concerned about gender equality issues more generally in this area. Rights & Democracy’s Women’s Program worked with the coalition of groups and published a large brochure entitled ‘How Women’s Rights are not protected in Sharia tribunals in Canada and Abroad.’ As part of its broader work on women’s rights in Canada and Afghanistan, the Women’s Program took a strong stand against any religious arbitration in family matters in Canada. See LEAF submission to Marion Boyd, 17 September 2004. WLUML is an international women’s rights non-governmental organization that was based in France and now has its headquarters in London, with regional offices in Lagos, Nigeria, and Lahore, Pakistan. WLUML monitors women’s rights violations in Muslim countries and engages in actions to protect women in particular cases, such as that of Amina Lawal. At http://www.wluml.org/english/index.shtml (accessed 29 March 2006). WLUML and other international observers expressed concern that Canada would consider condoning any interpretation or version of Islamic law where none had proved effective in protecting women, not in northern Nigeria, not in Afghanistan, not in Pakistan. ‘LEAF is concerned that arbitration may not be chosen freely in many circumstances. For some women there may be very strong pressures based on culture and/or religion, or fear of social exclusion. These issues may be very real in faith-based communities, where some women may be called a bad adherent to a particular faith or even an apostate if they do not comply with arbitration.’ LEAF submission, 2004. Anver M. Emon, ‘Shades of Grey on Sharia,’ National Post, 29 July 2005, A12. Emon writes that ‘the Islamic tradition, to be a living one and not just a dead letter, must be nurtured; any nurturing must be contextual, which in this case, necessarily involves addressing both Ontario and Islamic legal traditions.’ ‘LEAF is concerned that the ability to have disputes decided under principles other than the Ontario Family Law regime undermines women’s equality rights and is a step backward for all women in Ontario.’ LEAF submission, 2004. The perception and portrayal of Muslim women as exceptionally susceptible to false consciousness pervades not only mainstream Western political and social discourses, but also large segments of contemporary Western legal and academic literatures. As Saba Mahmood notes, there is an extensive and long-standing scholarship on Arab and Muslim women that depicts them as ‘passive and submissive beings, shackled by structures of male authority.’ Saba Mahmood, ‘Feminist Theory, Embodiment and the

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Docile Agent: Some Reflections on the Egyptian Islamic Revival,’ Cultural Anthropology 16(2): 202–36 at 205. Zakiyya, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. It should be noted, however, that other interviewees indicated that they would be proactive in choosing an imam whose interpretations of Islamic law they generally accepted. See Ziba Mir Hosseini, Marriage on Trial (London: I.B. Tauris, 2002), which demonstrates how women in Iran and Morocco manipulate patriarchal Islamic legal systems in furtherance of their interests. Zakia, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. We would argue, however, that such an Islamic feminist perspective was not present in the debates in Ontario. For one prominent Shi’a articulation of this model, see Ayatollah Murtada Mutahhari, The Rights of Women in Islam, 1st ed. (Tehran: World Organization for Islamic Services, 1981). Ibid., at 172–5. Interview of Mohammad Hassan Sa’idi, co-editor of Payam-e Zan by Ziba Mir Hosseini, 7 September 1995, in Islam and Gender: The Religious Debate in Contemporary Iran (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), at 101. Laila, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. Azmat, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. In reality, to varying degrees this can be said of virtually all ‘Islamic law’ currently being implemented in contemporary legal systems. See, for example, Kilian Balz, ‘The Secular Reconstruction of Islamic Law: The Egyptian Supreme Constitutional Court and the Battle over the Veil in State-Run Schools,’ in Legal Pluralism in the Arab World, ed. Baudouin Dupret, Mauritz Berger and Leila al-Zwaini (Cambridge, MA; Kluwer Law International, 1999), 229–44. Moussa Abu Ramadan, ‘Transition from Tradition to Reform: The Shari’a Appeals Court Rulings on Child Custody (1992–2001),’ Fordham International Law Journal 26 (March 2003): 595–655 at 599. Syed Mumtaz Ali has stated that he views Shari’a in such a dynamic and pluralistic way. See Syed Mumtaz Ali, ‘Is Shari’a Incapable of Change?’ available at http:// muslim-canada.org/explainsharia.html (accessed 30 March 2006). However, other statements by Ali framing religious arbitration as a religious duty raise concerns that these statements are made to quell public concerns. Panelist, University of Toronto, Faculty of Law, 16 November 2005. For an overview of Islamic family-law provisions, including those pertaining to divorce, see John Esposito, ‘Classical Muslim Family Law,’ in Women in Muslim Family Law (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2001), 14–26. See also Dawoud Sudqi El-Alami, ‘The Uncodified Law’ in Islamic Marriage and

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Divorce Laws of the Arab World (New York: Aspen Publishers, 1996), 1–32, and Aziza al-Hibri, ‘Islam, Law and Custom: Redefining Muslim Women’s Rights,’ American Journal of International Law and Policy 12 (1997): 1–43. Marriage Act, R.S.O. 1990, c. M.3, s. 5. It is beyond the scope of this paper to analyse the media coverage of the ‘Sharia debate’ in Ontario. We would like to note the number of times newspaper articles on the issue discussed arbitration in proposed tribunals in Ontario along with state theocracies such as Saudi Arabia, Iran, and Afghanistan. For example a 23 May 2004 Toronto Star article on religious arbitration begins, ‘Had she stayed in Iran, Homa Arjomand would now be dead,’ and includes quotes referencing domestic violence, polygamy, early marriage of girls and stoning under Islamic law; Lynda Hurst, ‘Ontario Shari’a Tribunals Assailed: Women Fighting Use of Islamic Law but Backers Say Rights Protected,’ Toronto Star, 23 May 2004. In a 1 June 2004 issue of the Toronto Star, Op-Ed pieces in favour of and against ‘Shari’a tribunals’ are positioned around a large sketch of a woman wearing an Afghan-style burqa; ‘Should Ontario Allow Shari’a Law?’ Toronto Star, 1 June 2004: A19. For a review of classical Islamic law pertaining to child custody, see Abu Ramadan, ‘Transition from Tradition to Reform,’ at 599. As noted above, what complicates the current discussion of religious arbitration fostering the violation of Muslim women’s economic rights is the fact that all Canadian women are able to contract out of many of the economic rights granted to them by the state through prenuptial agreements and separation agreements, the latter sometimes resulting from arbitration. As well, under Ontario law, through testate succession, a testator can incorporate discriminatory inheritance provisions in a will, although no such discrimination exists in intestate succession. For a more elaborate discussion of women’s inheritance rights, see Mary F. Radford, ‘The Inheritance Rights of Women under Jewish and Islamic Law,’ Boston College International and Comparative Law Review 23 (Spring 2000): 135–84. This is not to say that couples will not submit the issues of child custody and child support to arbitrators in informal and formal settings; this will likely continue. The point is that the threshold for judicial oversight and appeal will be lower than in the case of property division and spousal support as the court retains its jurisdiction as standing in parentis locus. Azmat, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. Jasmine Zine, ‘Proposed Shari’a Tribunals in Canada,’ paper presented at the Couchiching Institute on Public Affairs, 7 August 2004.

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H1, interview, 24 June 2005, Toronto. Interview, 24 June 2005, Toronto. Ibid. For a study of how a diasporic Muslim community’s marginalization fosters identity politics that disempower women within that community, see Robina Mohammad, ‘Marginalization, Islamism and the Production of the Others’ Other,’ Gender, Place and Culture: A Journal of Feminist Geography 6(3) (1999): 221–41. Ziba Mir Hosseini, lecture at Noor Cultural Centre, Toronto (10 April 2005). While no doubt language and cultural barriers result in some Muslim women being pushed in the direction of religious arbitration, there are also a number of countervailing considerations. Foremost among them is that to varying degrees, Muslim migrant women in Canada will have far greater exposure to social norms surrounding women’s rights and gender equality than do the average Muslim women living in a Muslim-world context, where prevailing social norms are more inclined towards gender inequality. Zakiyya, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. Hawa, interview, 24 June 2005, Toronto. Azmat, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. Laila, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. Lena Jeyyusi, ‘Modernity’s Contested Boundaries: Describing, Inscribing and Transcribing Arab Women,’ paper presented at the 2005 Middle Eastern Studies Association Annual Conference, Washington, DC, 19 November 2005. Saba Mahmood suggests that it is necessary ‘to think of agency not as a synonym for resistance to relations of domination, but as a capacity for action that historically specific relations of subordination enable and create’ (2001, 203). Azmat, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. Azmat, interview, 16 June 2005, Toronto. In the introduction to his book, Mahmood Mamdami discusses the political rhetoric after 9/11: ‘But this could not hide the central message of such discourse: unless proved to be ‘good,’ every Muslim was presumed to be ‘bad.’ All Muslims were now under obligation to prove their credentials by joining in a war against ‘bad Muslims’ … The presumption that there are such categories masks a refusal to address our own failure to make a political analysis of our times.’ Mahmood Mamdani, Good Muslim/Bad Muslim: America, the Cold War, and the War on Terror (New York: Pantheon Books, 2004), 15–16. While defending the grounds for the CCMW’s decision to cooperate with Canadian feminist organizations and take [?] a decisive stance in

264 Annie Bunting and Shadi Mokhtari opposition to religious arbitration, Nehzat Jafri also challenged the critiques by asking why the critics had not lent their voices, views, and proposals to the organization from the onset and taken a more active role in participating in the process themselves.

REFERENCES Alcoba, Natalie. ‘Ontario Rejects Sharia Law: Jews, Christians to Lose Their Religious Tribunals as Premier Vows “One Law for All.”’ National Post, 12 September 2005, A1. Bakht, Natasha. 2004. ‘Family Arbitration Using Sharia Law: Examining Ontario’s Arbitration Act and Its Impact on Women.’ Muslim World Journal of Human Rights 1(1). – 2005 (March). ‘Arbitration, Religion and Family Law: Private Justice on the Backs of Women.’ NAWL. At http://www.lcc.gc.ca/research_project/ bakht_main-en.asp. Berns McGown, Rima. 1999. Muslims in the Diaspora: The Somali Communities of London and Toronto. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Boyd, Marion. 2004. Dispute Resolution in Family Law: Protecting Choice, Promoting Inclusion. Toronto: Ministry of the Attorney General. Canadian Council of Muslim Women. 2004. ‘Tribunals Will Marginalize Canadian Muslim Women and Increase Privatization of Family Law.’ Available on CCMW website, at http://www.ccmw.com/. Khan, Shahnaz. 2002. Aversion and Desire: Negotiating Muslim Female Identity in the Diaspora. Toronto: Women’s Press. Mahmood, Saba. 2001. ‘Feminist Theory, Embodiment and the Docile Agent: Some Reflections on the Egyptian Islamic Revival.’ Cultural Anthropology 16(2): 202–36. Nussbaum, Martha C. 1999. Sex and Social Justice. New York: Oxford University Press. Predelli, Line Nyhagen. 2004. ‘Interpreting Gender in Islam: A Case Study of Immigrant Muslim Women in Oslo Norway.’ Gender and Society 18(4): 473–93. Razack, Sherene. 2004. ‘Imperiled Muslim Women, Dangerous Muslim Men and Civilised Europeans: Legal and Social Responses to Forced Marriages.’ Feminist Legal Studies 12(2): 129–74. Torab, Azam. 1996. ‘Piety as Gendered Agency: A Study of Jalaseh Ritual Discourse in an Urban Neighborhood in Iran.’ Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 2(2): 235–52.

9 Haitian-Canadians’ Experiences of Racism in Quebec: A Postcolonial Feminist Perspective loui s e r ac i n e

This chapter presents experiences of everyday racism observed and collected in a critical ethnography among a group of Haitian-Canadians in Quebec.1 In this essay I argue that encounters with ‘systematic, recurrent, and familiar practices’ (Essed 1991, 3) of racism impede the social integration of Haitian-Canadians. Essed (1991, 2000) cautions researchers about emphasizing ‘institutional’ over ‘individual’ racism, for such a distinction ‘places the individual outside the institutional’ and blurs the relationship between these two forms of racism. I found that Haitian-Canadian women’s experiences of everyday racism influence their care for aging parents at home, and their underutilization of health and home-care service (Racine 2004). Consequently, I concur with researchers such as Bibeau (1987), Guberman and Maheu (1997), and Massé (1995), who contend that issues of racial and gendered discrimination, coupled with institutional racism, influence HaitianCanadians’ health and social integration in Quebec. Canada has adopted multiculturalism as a principle for integrating immigrants and for according equality to all cultures. Yet, biases from the past give prominence to the two founding nations, disadvantaging cultural and racial groups who come to be defined as Others. HaitianCanadians represent a minority within minorities since, historically, Quebec has a subordinate status in relation to the rest of Canada. Haitian-Canadians in Quebec are ‘Othered’ by old-stock2 Quebeckers, which makes them subaltern or second-class citizens. This underlying intercultural conflict cannot be dissociated from the discourse of cultural and social identity that arises from political, economic, and legal rights from which French Canadians living in Quebec assert their unique, but at the same time exclusionary, politics of identity (Eisenberg 2005).

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Methodology (a) Perspective A postcolonial feminist framework guided the data collection and analysis in this study. Postcolonial feminism is a paradigm of inquiry from which the hegemonic practices of Western science in marginalizing other forms of knowledge can be counteracted. It aims at disrupting the relations of ruling that silence the voices of culturally different Others, at integrating subjugated knowledge, at unveiling asymmetrical power relations, and at developing transformative knowledge directed at achieving social justice by correcting inequities arising from social discrepancies affecting non-Western immigrants (Racine 2003). Postcolonial feminist epistemology focuses on patriarchy as a source of oppression, for it allows us to locate social inequalities within a political, historical, cultural, and economic context, and to examine how they are constructed (Quayson 2000). Such a perspective enables nurse researchers to integrate the knowledge of immigrants and refugees and to ‘give a voice to racialized women who have been silenced. It provides the analytic lens to examine how politics and history have variously positioned us and shaped our lives, knowledge, opportunities, and choices’ (Anderson 2000a, 145). The onus of presenting subjugated racialized voices is on the postcolonial feminist researcher. In this paper I draw on Anderson (2000b), Meleis and Im (1999), Quayson (2000), Schutte (2000), and Smith (1987) to define postcolonial feminism as a critical perspective aimed at addressing health problems stemming from social inequities that affect the well-being of non-Western people (Racine 2003). (b) Context of the Research: White Researcher, Black Participants I am a white Canadian and Quebecker woman. Feminist methodology does not require the researcher’s gender, racial, ethnical, social, and cultural location to be erased, but recommends that it be channelled into cognitive efforts to enhance self-reflexivity (Reinharz 1997). Self-reflexivity helped me to identify my racial biases and get to better know myself. During fieldwork I was often asked to discuss my political views. I responded by asserting that I believe in Canada as a united country, although I too am torn between my loyalties to Canada and to Quebec. I was constantly reflecting on the debate over Quebec’s

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secession/sovereignty, but in my research I attempt to convey HaitianCanadians’ standpoint, which provides insights from different historical, social, cultural, and economic locations. During interviews Haitian-Canadians often articulated feelings of being socially rejected. Despite my gender, I did not have easy access to female participants. Oakley (1981) and Finch (1993), who shared the subjects’ ethnic and social backgrounds, had no difficulty in connecting with and interviewing women. However, gender alone does not ensure that the recruiting of participants and collecting of data is made easy. The literature reports that women of colour are more concerned with the issue of race than gender (Edwards 1990; Kauffman 1994), and perhaps this made it difficult for me, as a white female, to connect with HaitianCanadian women. I attempted, however, to establish trust with my respondents by recognizing the racial difference between us. Reflexivity helped me to transcend the limitations of my cultural framework in order to understand the perspectives of the participants. To paraphrase Schutte (2000), I stepped out of my colonial shoes and adjusted my Western feminist lens to reach the Haitian-Canadians and understand their perspectives on aging, caring, health services, and social relations with mainstream Quebec society. From a feminist methodological perspective, issues of race and gender privileges cannot be overlooked; rather, they must be carefully tackled and scrutinized when one is doing fieldwork in non-Western communities (Alcoff 1991). Acknowledging my biases helped me to create an environment of trust while attempting to decrease the power imbalance related to our different social locations. I was able to equalize power with some, but not all, participants. Self-reflexivity helped me to discover that relations of ruling and issues of race, gender, and class are intrinsically linked, as is revealed in my field notes of a participant observation session conducted at a caregiver’s home: I said: ‘I’d like to have a boy like you.’ He replied: ‘Yes but I can’t change my colour.’ It struck me so much that I was almost speechless. Then, I asked: ‘But who told you this?’ The boy remained silent. I repeated my question: ‘Can you tell me who told you that?’ He remained silent but started pressing his head harder against my shoulder. Afterwards when I left the caregiver’s home, I was very sad. It grieved me to hear a young boy talking about his skin colour and saying that he couldn’t change it. He was indirectly implying that he could not be my son since we were racially

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different. I was puzzled that a child could speak about racialization as a biological construct at so young an age. Many questions came to mind: Who can teach a five-year-old that his skin colour is not the right one? Had he learned this at kindergarten? Did he hear that when playing outside with the neighbour kids? Was he listening to his parents’ conversations? Were his older siblings informing him about it? The formulation of these questions deserves a careful examination. For instance, what did I mean by the words ‘it,’ ‘this,’ and ‘that’? What was I trying to silence and for what reasons? In fact, I may have been attempting to escape some distressing facts about my own racial background.

This excerpt illustrates an instance of white defensiveness, where I saw myself as being colourless (Roman 1993). White defensiveness obfuscates and erases issues of racial privilege and unequal power relationships associated with social and political locations, defined as referring to the ‘historical, geographical, cultural, psychic, and imaginative boundaries that provide ground for political definition and self-definition’ (Lewis 2000, 173). White defensiveness contributes to ‘white misrecognition of the effects of our own racially privileged locations, that is, the ways in which institutionalized whiteness confers upon whites (both individually and collectively) cultural, political, and economic power’ (Roman 1993, 72). I was negating the fact that white is a colour while trying to erase the impact of the ideology of Whiteness in inducing, among HaitianCanadians, a consciousness of racial differences pertaining to their Blackness. Fanon (1967) notes: As a schoolboy, I had many occasions to spend whole hours talking about the supposed customs of the savage Senegalese. In what was said, there was a lack of awareness that was at the very least paradoxical. Because the Antillean does not think of himself as a black man; he thinks of himself as an Antillean. The Negro lives in Africa. Subjectively, intellectually, the Antillean conducts himself like a white man. But he is a Negro. That he will learn once he goes to Europe; and when he hears Negroes mentioned he will recognize that the word includes himself as well as the Senegalese. (148)

Fanon demonstrates how the encounter with Whiteness triggered the consciousness of Blackness among young Antilleans. It is not surprising that the young Haitian boy told me about his skin colour, since he

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had met with white people and knew the differences between being black and white. The ideology of Whiteness differs in various social contexts, since its structural effects are expressed in particular ways but are nevertheless exclusionary. One participant who came to Canada at the age of sixty-five with a well-developed consciousness of being a black man in Haiti, described his first encounter with the Canadian ideology of Whiteness by saying, ‘As soon as the aircraft landed and hit the tarmac, as soon as you get off the plane, you know you’re Haitian. I never felt like this in my country. I never think about the colour of my skin, but here you’re reminded that you’re a Haitian all the time.’ Whiteness stratifies people socially in Haiti and in Canada. In Haiti, the lighter the colour of the skin, the more likely was individual is to be associated with the wealthy and elite Haitian mulattos, who are perceived to be the colonizers’ heirs. In Haiti, race intersects with social class and produces a stratification based on the colour of skin, and ‘the lighter the melanin, the greater the social and economic opportunities’ (Mensah 2002, 33) Intra-ethnic racism is a vestige of Haiti’s colonial past that unveils the association between colonialism, racism, and classism. In Canada, Whiteness represents an instrument of social stratification whereby racialized people are categorized by the state as visible minorities to distinguish them from white Canadians. Such a term has been critiqued by visible minorities for it marks skin visibility and designates them as ‘minorities.’ In Canada, Whiteness is also a remnant of the nation’s colonial past and sustains relations of domination of the English and French over culturally different Others. Whiteness, some scholars argue, is thus a means of colonization, a form of epistemic violence used to promote dominant groups’ social interests and further silence culturally different Others. Frankenberg states: ‘The notion of ‘epistemic violence’ captures the idea that associated with West European colonial expansion is the production of modes of knowing that enabled and rationalized colonial domination from the standpoint of the West, and produced ways of conceiving ‘Other’ societies and cultures whose legacies endure into the present’ (1993, 16). My research explored the extent to which this social stratification, based on skin colour, has been reinserted in Quebec among the HaitianCanadian community. Intra-ethnic tensions between fair-skinned and dark-skinned Haitian-Canadians influence and divide social relations in Quebec as in Haiti. In the course of my research I observed that fairskinned Haitian-Canadians tended not to interact freely with their darkskinned compatriots. However, these intra-ethnic divisions between

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Haitian-Canadians do not have an impact on their relations with oldstock Quebeckers, since the degree of Whiteness does not facilitate Haitian-Canadians’ integration into white mainstream society. (c) Sample The study was carried out in two Eastern Canadian cities and used participant observation and open-ended interviews to collect data from primary caregivers. A sample of convenience, composed of sixteen Haitian-Canadian primary caregivers, nineteen aging persons, and four home-care nurses, was formed, for a total of thirty-nine. A sample of convenience refers to the use of respondents who have experienced the phenomenon under study (Creswell 1998). Twelve out of sixteen participants were women, mostly daughters who were caring for aging mothers at home. The first part of the fieldwork took place from November 2000 to August 2001, during which twenty-one interviews and fifteen sessions of participant observation at caregivers’ homes were conducted. During the second part, from October 2001 to February 2002, three validity interviews were conducted with some participants, with the goal of mapping out the data analysis. (All names given here are pseudonyms.) Twelve Haitian-Canadian women caregivers and three men participated in this critical ethnography. Drawing on participant observation and interview excerpts with caregivers, this chapter documents how, despite Canada’s multicultural policies, Haitian-Canadians, particularly women, experience racism in the form of Othering and exclusionary practices that subordinate them to white Quebeckers. Haitian Immigrants in Quebec: A Profile Immigrants and refugees to Canada before 1996 were predominantly white, with Europeans constituting 47 per cent of the total. In comparison, 31 per cent were from Asia, 16 per cent from the United States, the Caribbean, and South and Central America, and the remaining 5 per cent from Africa (Health Canada 1999). However, since 1997 the majority of new immigrants and refugees have come from non-European countries, mostly Asia and Africa (Health Canada 1999; Ministère des relations avec les citoyens et de l’immigration du Québec 1996). In 1997, 13 per cent of the new immigrants and refugees to Canada settled in the province of Quebec, and 10 per cent of those chose Montreal as their

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city of residence (Health Canada 1999). Statistics Canada (2001) reported that the net population of Quebec in 1999 was 7,351,191, and that it would increase to 7,455,208 by 2002. In 2002 the province accounted for nearly 24 per cent of Canada’s total population (ibid.). In 1995 the greater Montreal area represented 40 per cent of the more than seven million inhabitants of Quebec, and of these, 83 per cent were francophones,3 10 per cent were anglophones,4 and 7 per cent were allophones5 (Vaillant and Dumont-Lemasson, 1995). Increased immigration of non-Western peoples is a relatively new phenomenon in Quebec when compared to the provinces of British Columbia and Ontario (Health Canada 1999; Mensah 2002). In Montreal the black community represents 30 per cent of visible minorities, whereas Arabs and Asians account for 17 per cent (Statistics Canada 2001). After Toronto, Montreal has the second-largest black community in Canada. In contrast, Vancouver has attracted a higher proportion of South Asians and Chinese immigrants (ibid.). Traditionally, Quebec has considered immigration as a way of maintaining its population level; however, ‘Quebecers were not prepared for the presence of Blacks in their midst. Some felt invaded while others were afraid of, or uncomfortable with, Blacks. It was a matter of time before racial problems surfaced. Incidences of racism and racial prejudice against the Haitian population in Quebec have been reported in many studies’ (Mensah 2002, 107–8). The Haitian community of Montreal is one of the largest ethnic groups in the province. Statistically, the number of Haitian immigrants to the Montreal area is followed by immigrants or refugees from China, Algeria, France, Lebanon, Morocco, Romania, Philippines, India, and Sri Lanka (Statistics Canada 2001). The Canadian census of 1991 reports that of the total Haitian population of 39,410 in Montreal, nearly 7950 were between the ages of 45 and 65 (20 per cent) and 3035 were 65 or older (8 per cent) (Ministère de la Culture du Québec 1995). Most senior citizens came to join their adult children through immigration programs that aimed to unify families. Haitians were attracted to come to Canada, and particularly Quebec, owing to its historical relations with France and links to the former French colonies (Dougé 1982; Stepick 1998). Haitian immigration was first encouraged by religious orders, predominantly composed of French Canadians, who established parishes and schools in Haiti (Dejean 1980). Later, the province, by way of the Gagnon-Tremblay/ McDougall Agreement signed in 1991, allowed for the recruitment of

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French-speaking immigrants, such as Haitians, to compensate for the decline in the births among the old-stock Quebeckers (Foster 1996; Mensah 2002; Ministère de l’Immigration et des Relations avec les Citoyens du Québec 1999b). The Haitian community is internally diverse, differentiated by time of arrival, social class, education, and age. Four waves of immigration have shaped the Haitian community of the greater Montreal and Laval areas. The first wave occurred before 1971 and represented about 7 per cent of the current population. These immigrants were highly educated, and many were young students and professionals who came from the elite, the upper social class, and the bourgeoisie (Dougé 1982). The second wave occurred from 1971 to 1980, when approximately 17,905 Haitians arrived in Canada. These immigrants were mainly workers who found employment in the industrial sector of Montreal. During this time, specific programs aimed at unifying families were enacted. The study showed that most of the adult children who had come to Canada to work had also sponsored their parents’ entry in Canada, except for one mother and one aunt who sponsored a daughter and a niece, respectively. The third wave occurred from1981 to 1991, at which time the number of immigrants started decreasing and only 16,750 Haitians were admitted into Canada. Perhaps the decrease in numbers can be explained by the political situation in Haiti. JeanClaude Duvalier was ousted in 1986 and deported to France. However, his exile did not bring about political and social stability; rather, between 1986 to 1990 there were four military coups. Fleeing the country became extremely dangerous and could explain the decreased numbers of Haitian attempting to immigrate to the United States and Canada (Stepick 1998; Ministère de la Culture du Québec 1995). During the fourth wave of immigration, between 1994 and 1998, 8078 Haitians were admitted into Quebec (Ministère de l’Immigration et des Relations avec les Citoyens 1999a). From 1991 to 2001, 14,200 immigrants from Haiti settled in the Montreal and Laval areas (Statistics Canada 2001). Women were over-represented in each of these four waves of immigration (Ledoyen 1992). In 1995, 56 per cent of the total population of 39,410 Haitians in Canada were women (Ministère de la Culture du Québec 1995). This over-representation of Haitian women followed a pattern similar to that of other Caribbean women who came to Canada in the same period to work in the health and industry sectors (Foster 1996; Mensah 2002; Williams 1998). Haitian-Canadian women in the sample found jobs, such as in health care and garment manufacturing,

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that were similar to those found by other women from the Caribbean. They worked in poor conditions, were paid low wages, and had no job security, particularly when they worked in small private businesses. Blacks have lived in Montreal in the past and continue to do so at the present time. Ninety-four per cent of the Haitian-Canadian population lives in three major neighbourhoods of the greater Montreal area: Rivière-des-Prairies; St-Michel; and Montréal-Nord, where they account for 36,280 of the local inhabitants. The city of Laval accounts for 4705 Haitian-Canadian citizens. Williams (1998) argues that the high concentration of Haitian-Canadians in these areas is explained by the discrimination of landlords, a desire among immigrants to stay within their cultural community, government subsidies for housing in this area, and the lack of social mobility among its residents. Usually, education and economic status are positively associated with housing conditions (Williams 1998); however, highly educated Haitians chose to stay in neighbourhoods with high immigrant concentrations to avoid encountering racial discrimination in the more culturally and racially homogeneous neighbourhoods of the Montreal North or South Shores. Bibeau (1987) argues that Haitian immigrants needed to alleviate the impact of cultural shock, and thus chose to stay close to others from their ethnic community. Haitian immigrants who came in the 1990s were less fluent in French than were the members of the Haitian bourgeoisie, or middle class, who had immigrated earlier and consequently desired to be close to their community. Haitian-Canadian women, either at school or at work, are exposed to various forms of Othering that subordinate them, thereby precluding their full integration into mainstream society and excluding them from the benefits of citizenship. The Ideological Context: Canadian Multiculturalism The politics of multiculturalism underpin the normative discourses and practices of Othering in Canada. The Multiculturalism Act was passed into law in 1988 by a Progressive Conservative government; however, it was largely inspired by late Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau, who was committed to ‘principles of equality, individual liberty, and undifferentiated citizenship on which liberal societies are founded … [Trudeau] sought to make Canada into a civic, bilingual, multicultural, uni-national political community founded on a shared allegiance to values such as absolute legal equality, symmetry among the provinces, tolerance for

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religious and cultural differences expressed (only) in the private sphere, and the inalienability of individual rights (except in times of crisis)’ (Maclure 2003, 97–8). Trudeau argued that multiculturalism represented a fundamental characteristic of Canada’s social fabric, and thus it was imperative to recognize the contributions of all immigrants and refugees to Canada (Maclure 2003). The Multiculturalism Act acknowledges the equality of all cultures and removes barriers of discrimination, with the goal of enhancing tolerance and the social integration of people with diverse identities. Consequently, all Canadians are equal and have the right to practise their cultures, to have them recognized publicly, and to participate and be represented in the nation’s institutions, such as health care, education, the social services, and the media. Canada is a multicultural country within a bilingual framework. The formal adoption of multiculturalism as an official policy created expectations of social recognition within the Haitian-Canadian community, as within other ethnic and racial groups in Canada. Multiculturalism, critics argue, reinforces both Anglo- and Franco-Canadian predominance, because it acknowledges the special status of the French and English as the two founding nations and gives formal recognition to their languages. Yet, despite the formal recognition of all cultures, and despite the fact that a large proportion of Haitian immigrants are Frenchspeaking, Haitian-Canadians encounter racism in Montreal. For HaitianCanadians, multiculturalism, with its promise of recognizing different cultures, is a mere illusion. Rather, the expectations generated by the formal enunciation of multicultural policies have embittered HaitianCanadians, and perhaps even widened the social gap between them and white Quebeckers. The ideology of multiculturalism incorporates ideas from Canada’s colonial past based on the coexistence of the English and the French populations, referred to as the two founding peoples of the nation. Stuart Hall (1997) defines ideology as ‘the mental frameworks, the languages, the concepts, imagery of thought, and the systems of representation, which different classes and social groups deploy in order to make sense of, define, figure out, and render intelligible the way society works’ (26). Multiculturalism adopts the white, Eurocentrist ideology of the Canadian state and represents, as Bannerji puts it, a vehicle of racialization, dissimulated behind the principle of recognition (2000). However, Charles Taylor (1995) disagrees, arguing that multiculturalism, in a liberal democracy such as Canada, is articulated around the notions of equality and identity.

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Our identity is partly shaped by recognition or its absence, often by the misrecognition of others, and so a person or group of people can suffer real damage, real distortion, if the people or society around them mirror back a confining or demeaning or contemptible picture of themselves. Non-recognition or mis-recognition can inflict harm and be a form of oppression, imprisoning someone in a false, distorted, and reduced mode of being (Taylor 1995, 225). Taylor’s politics of recognition are ostensibly directed at correcting the effects of non-recognition or mis-recognition of subaltern groups such as Aboriginals, ethnic minorities, and some groups of women in Canadian politics and society that the formulation of two founding nations erases. But there is a lacuna in his thesis. Taylor argues that the principle of universal equality means that all human beings are equal regardless of any differences. Treating human beings equally avoids categorizing people as first- and secondclass citizens. Each citizen – including women, Aboriginals, Métis, and people of all ethnic groups – enjoys the same rights as others. However, such a premise requires that ‘we give acknowledgment and status to something that is not universally shared’ (1995, 234), and thereby creates a dilemma. How does a liberal, democratic society promote universal equality and social justice without acknowledging cultural differences or diverse identities? For Taylor, no differences can be acknowledged, since doing so would violate the principle of universal equality. However, in everyday life we find socially constructed differences in human populations that affect how they exercise their citizenship. Further ignoring cultural differences could negatively affect women from patriarchal minority cultures by neglecting culturally specific gender inequalities. Okin (2005) notes that there is a tension ‘between the traditional practices of many minority groups and the basic citizenship rights of women’ (71). Therefore, she argues that it may be advantageous for some nonwhite women to integrate into the culture of the majority to access their citizenship rights fully (through being part of the universal category of women) rather than be constrained by minority-culture practices that oppress. By aligning oneself with the dominant culture, women can access the privileges that others of their gender have in the majority culture. However, within this space women may also need to be protected because of linguistic or racial discrimination in the majority culture (71). Okin urges women to avoid such choices and tensions by adopting cultural hybridity and positioning themselves in a ‘third space’ where women’s rights to equality and freedom can be acknowledged and promoted.

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Scholars such as Bannerji (2000) adopt a more radical stance on equality. Bannerji argues that Taylor aims at maintaining the status quo by failing to acknowledge, as equals, culturally different populations such as First Nations peoples and non-Western immigrants. She argues that Taylor assumes a bicultural view of the nation, where English and French communities share a cultural essence of ‘Europeanness,’ and that such a dualistic identity erases the specific identities of others, thus undermining their equality. Taylor’s interpretation of multiculturalism negates the ‘different differences’ and implies that the English and the French are Canadians, while non-Western peoples are not ‘real’ Canadians. She goes on to say that ‘underneath the ‘two solitudes,’ as he knows well, Canada has ‘different differences,’ a whole range of cultural identities which cannot (and he feels should not) be given equal status with the ‘constituent elements’ of ‘the nation,’ namely the English and the French’ (2000, 98). Politically, Taylor’s interpretation of equality and identity are meant to appease Quebec’s separatism and maintain Canada’s unity. His conceptualization of multiculturalism casts culturally different Others in essentialist categories of exclusion. Ng (1993) argues that Canada’s multicultural policy crystallizes culturally different Others in essentialist stereotypes based on racial and ethnic6 differences. It generates patterns of social exclusion based on skin colour and uses gender to further label citizens as women of colour or visible-minority women, thereby locating them in positions of racial, social, political, and economic disadvantage (Anderson and Reimer Kirkham 1998; Carty and Brand 1993; Foster 2002; Lee and Cardinal 1998). Recognition is enmeshed in colonial relations of power, since only the two constituent elements of the nation (Taylor’s ‘we’) can grant an equal status to culturally different Others (Taylor’s ‘them’). Bannerji (2000) notes: As he [Taylor] sees it, neither official multiculturalism nor the politics of representation can bring about the desired solution to the problem caused by the presence of ethnic cultural others in Canada or the West [Western societies]. Though he supports everyone’s need for recognition and appeals to ‘us’ who are in a position to grant it, he does not question why ‘we’ have this power to grant or withhold it. He does not ask whether his discourse of recognition has moved from its universalist ground because it rests in the actuality of socio-historical relations of

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white settlers’ colonies or former colonial powers still locked in imperialist relations with the rest of the world. (135–6)

Taylor’s uncritical adoption of the Eurocentrist history of Canada and the primacy of the two founding people does not take into account how such cultural hegemony has silenced the Aboriginals, Metis, and nonWestern populations, among others. Consequently, he obfuscates the impact of cultural domination, colonization, and power imbalances in bestowing recognition by the dominant elite on Others. Taylor’s lack of recognition of cultural differences constitutes a de facto extension of colonial and imperialist hegemony in discourses of multiculturalism. The ‘consensual and collusive liberal sense of cultural community’ (Bhabha 1994, 175) is aimed at assimilating cultural differences by using ‘liberal ethics of tolerance and the pluralist framework of multiculturalism’ (ibid., 177). Taylor’s politics of recognition sustain and confirm Canada’s preference for symbolic multiculturalism and Quebec’s preference for institutionalized multiculturalism. Roberts and Clifton suggest that symbolic multiculturalism ‘allows members of an ethnic group to participate and benefit as members of a complex industrial society while retaining the sense that they belong to a smaller, more intimate community’ (1990, 134). The term institutionalized multiculturalism in Quebec refers not just to the incorporation of a belief in multiculturalism in legislation rather to its particular interpretation. In that province it also means that collective values such as those encoded in liberalism and the importance of French language be prioritized while accepting and recognizing cultural differences of its diverse populations. However, such a conception is problematic because it essentializes a ‘unique and authentic way to be a Quebecker’ (Maclure 2003, 137). For Quebec, the recognition of differences may pose a threat to its status as one of Canada’s founding peoples. Cultural representation is historically, socially, and culturally constructed and inscribed in a discourse around which Canada’s politics of multiculturalism create areas of racial, ethnic, gendered, social, and linguistic exclusions. Such social exclusions represent a particular feature of Canada’s social and political landscape. The practice of multiculturalism enables the two founding peoples to compete to promote their social, political, and economic agendas while glossing over the interests of Aboriginals and non-Western immigrants. ‘The national project is deeply driven by the rivalry between anglophones and francophones –

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Canada’s ‘two solitudes.’ Equally patriarchal and race inscribed, these two solitudes remain central cultural/political actors’ (Bannerji 2000, 73). Politics of Multiculturalism: The Quebec Experience In 1991 the government of Quebec took control of its immigration policy through the Gagnon-Tremblay/McDougall agreement.7 The Quebec Ministry of Immigration’s priority was to make new immigrants and their offspring French and to enhance their social integration in the francophone society of the province (Denis 1999; Germain and Rose 2000). This was partly accomplished through Bill 101, the controversial language law that stipulates that French is to be the language of all allophones (Quebec’s designation of all immigrants who are neither French nor English). Montreal was specifically targeted by this policy as Canada’s third (after Toronto and Vancouver) major urban centre in attracting new immigrants. However, despite the federal-provincial agreement, there are few differences between Canada’s and Quebec’s immigration policies, since both are premised on the primacy of the two founding peoples. Hidden behind the official state politics of multiculturalism and its supposed openness to cultural differences is the fact that ideologies of Canadianness, Quebecness, and Whiteness have historically constructed the gendering and racializing of Canadian and Quebec identities and societies, and continue to do so at the present time (Lee and Cardinal 1998; Maclure 2003). Canadianness is ‘a view of the nation imagined as naturally white, male, Christian, middle- and upper-class, English-speaking, British and, more recently, Northern European in [its] cultural heritage’ (Lee and Cardinal 1998, 218). Canadianness is a product of a dominant Anglo-Canadian nationalism sometimes referred to as ‘hegemonic nationalism’ (ibid.). Quebecness is an ideology that is believed to define a ‘true and authentic way to be Québécois’ (Maclure 2003, 137). Ideologies of Canadianness and Quebecness raise questions of equal citizenship and nationalism, for they are closely associated with identity and power relations between different groups. ‘Nationalisms are … ethnic ideologies, which hold that their group should dominate a state. A nation-state, therefore, is a state dominated by an ethnic group, whose markers of identities (such as language or religion) are frequently embedded in its official symbolism and legislation’ (Ericksen 1993, 99).

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Canada’s and Quebec’s national identities or nationalisms Other immigrants from non-Western countries. Potential immigrants are selected based on their ability to speak one of Canada’s two official languages. French-speaking immigrants are encouraged to settle in the province of Quebec to balance its demographic deficit, while English-speaking immigrants (and refugees) are mainly directed to other Canadian provinces (Germain and Rose, 2000). Haitian immigrants, upon arriving in Canada, immediately face the paradoxical ideology of Canada/Quebec multiculturalism and the ongoing political debate over Quebec’s secession and sovereignty. They are caught in a political crossfire between the two founding peoples; they confront a racialized society where their ethnic identities are divided, wounded, stigmatized, ghettoized, and silenced (Foster 1996). Quebec lags behind Canada in acknowledging cultural differences. Eller notes (1999): The Quebecois movement [Quebec’s nationalism regardless of political allegiances] sees multiculturalism as a threat to its rights and status as the other Canadian society. Multiculturalism, they fear, dumps them along with every other cultural or interest group into a cultural politics in which all cats are gray, in which all groups’ rights are equal and equally important, or equally unimportant. In this formulation, Quebec may be distinct, but it is not special, because everybody is distinct. This multicultural gloaming is perfectly antithetical to what the Quebecois have aspired. (343)

Quebec’s crisis of identity, fuelled by real or imagined fears of losing its privileged status as a founding people, requires it to socially integrate people who are culturally different from the mainstream society. Haitian-Canadians have had difficulty in fully integrating into Quebec’s mainstream society because immigrants are perceived as threatening the old-stock Quebeckers’ ethnic boundaries. As early as 1975, Jean Marchand, a Liberal minister, wrote that ‘some potential immigrants have felt that Quebec has provided a less favourable environment for immigrants than have most of the English-speaking provinces’ (Marchand 1975, 68). Quebec is struggling to integrate Haitian immigrants into its midst, a situation replicated in other Canadian provinces historically and at the present time. Canadian multiculturalism excludes immigrants by introducing racial, gendered, and social hierarchical divisions among citizens. The different

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levels of citizenship it creates by its conceptualization of the two founding nations ‘Others’ immigrants. The process of Othering arises from the ideology of multiculturalism, particularly its premise of the two founding nations. Othering is an exclusionary social process by which culturally different people (mostly non-Western) are judged according to the norms, values, and behaviours of the dominant white group. Hence, Othering is a socially and culturally constructed process that serves to promote and maintain the social agenda of the dominant ethnic group. It is a way of governing society whereby some ethnic groups are excluded from significant issues and institutions, such that a social hierarchy organized around levels of subalternity is constructed. Recognition of cultural diversity that is implied by the policy of multiculturalism cannot be conflated with the acknowledgment of cultural differences that nevertheless stigmatize various Others into fixed or essentialist identities inscribed in a hegemonic discourse of representation (Canales 2000). Othering has an impact on the everyday lives of Haitian-Canadians and on their ways of caring, since it adopts the caregivers’ perceptions of the old-stock Quebeckers and their decision-making process for the use, or lack of use, of public home-care services. I use the framework of multiculturalism to discuss the everyday lives of Haitian-Canadians, drawing my analysis from data collected from Haitian-Canadian primary caregivers who look after aging parents at home. In the next sections, interview and participant observation excerpts are presented to explore how the exclusionary effects of social, cultural, political, and economic Othering have an impact on HaitianCanadian caregivers’ everyday lives and ways of caring. Othering at School and Work Racial inequalities at school create inequities that have a long-term impact on employment and income. One participant, Mary, told me of racial discrimination at her school and its reluctance to recognize foreign diplomas. Mary was born in a town in the northern part of Haiti. Her mother made many sacrifices to educate her children, who all studied in private institutions directed by French, Belgian, or Canadian priests and sisters. When Mary immigrated to Canada, she realized that the Haitian educational system replicates the French system; high school years are extended and college is not available. In Haiti, after graduating from high school, students enter directly into university. In Quebec, students need to attend a college, or CEGEP, before being

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admitted to a university. Mary was unable to find work as a secretary in Quebec, as her Haitian diploma was not recognized, and so she began working in a kindergarten. After a while she quit her job because of its poor working conditions and decided to enter a CEGEP to study laboratory techniques. She alleged that some teachers discriminated racially by assigning lower grades to Haitians, but nevertheless she was able to complete her degree. A male participant noted that ‘social integration begins with the recognition of the value of foreign diplomas. That’s where social integration starts … You have to open the doors.’ The lack of recognition of foreign diplomas immediately de-skills Haitian-Canadians, just as it does all other immigrants from nonWestern countries living in different parts of Canada. Haitians, like other immigrants, have to go back to school in Canada to complete a diploma that will be recognized by employers. However, those who have a family to support must immediately look for employment. They accept low-skill, low-wage (i.e., manufacturing) jobs that subjugate them. Immigrants face particular difficulty in entering professional fields such as medicine and law, not only in Quebec but in all other Canadian provinces as well. Professional associations and licensing bodies are notoriously reluctant to recognize foreign-trained workers or professionals, and such blatant protectionism affects immigrants’ social integration into Quebec and Canada. The government of Quebec (1996) acknowledges that there may be some explicit and implicit instances of racism in the educational system, such as between teachers and students, but notes emphatically that few studies have been conducted to document the problem. Government literature does acknowledge that while racism cannot be generalized, it does frequently occur against members of the black anglophone and francophone communities. There is, however, a widespread perception of racism in education that was echoed by respondents in this study. Perceptions of racism are influenced by social positions. Non-recognition or mis-recognition of cultural identities can lead some groups to ‘internalize their own inferiority’ (Taylor 1995, 225). One participant constantly asked: ‘Is it because I’m black?’ Negative self-perceptions are derived from individuals’ racial, ethnic, and social status. In 2002 only 2.1 per cent of the so-called visible minorities were working in Quebec’s public apparatus. In Ontario this number is as high as 9.4 per cent, and in British Columbia 7.4 per cent; it is 5.6 per cent in the rest of Canada. Members of Quebec’s Council on Intercultural Relations

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have noted that the darker the skin tone, the less chance of being hired (Le Soleil, 24 April 2002, A9). The government of Quebec acknowledges the high toll of racial discrimination among visible minorities, particularly young men and women between the ages of fifteen and twenty-four who are in the workforce (Ministère des Relations avec les Citoyens et de l’Immigration du Québec 1996). In 2001 Torczyner and Springer conducted a survey of the black8 community of Montreal, physically scattered in different neighbourhoods. They found that the rate of unemployment was two and a half times higher for blacks than for non-blacks. My interviews illustrated the impact of racism on health through the prism of labour relations. Racist remarks, whether subtle or ruthless, are devastating and affect people’s health and social integration. Haitian-Canadian men, compared to women, are more likely to encounter racism from co-workers. Othering occurs in the workforce between co-workers, managers, and workers, and even customers and employees. Racist comments based on stereotypes, distrust, strategies of avoidance, and sexual harassment were frequently reported. Generalizations are made in both communities regarding the other ethnic group. A former health-care worker, now retired, cannot forget the rudeness of some of his co-workers: ‘People are not educated to work with people coming from other communities. One day, a man told me, ‘You’re just a damned Negro.’ It doesn’t matter, since I know I’m a black man, a Negro, and I don’t care about it. It doesn’t matter if you are Indian or black because I didn’t choose the colour of my skin. I had no choice.’ Another male participant described how he was perceived by customers: ‘They [called] me ‘you dirty nigger, dirty dog, tonton macoute.’ They say, ‘Hey, tonton macoute, go back to your country!’ So, we [HaitianCanadians] say okay, we must integrate into the mainstream society. But how can we do that when there’s always a barrier to fence us off?’ Racial discrimination also occurs in the process of job attribution and in promotions to jobs with higher status. One participant, who wanted to apply for a job that entailed managing workers, noted: ‘Often, when I go to the office, I find a job posting and phone to get information on that job posting. When I called, they had already figured out that I’m, uh, that I’m Haitian [Creole accent]. So, they told me that the job was not open since somebody had been hired for it recently. I went back to check out the board, and I saw that the job was still posted! Nobody had been hired but they simply didn’t want me to get the job!’ As a Haitian-Canadian, the odds were against this participant.9 The health-care system represents a microcosm of the larger society, and

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replicates its racial, gendered, and class inequities and oppressions. Further politics of multiculturalism facilitate the gendering and racializing of the health-care system. Haitian-Canadian Women and Health Care Race, class, and gender intersect to impact women caregivers’ health and wellness. Laura describes the racism she encountered at work: While at work, I had little problems with an employee. This was extremely difficult; it was almost a disaster. The employee said: ‘People who come to this clinic are very educated, very educated. And you can’t work here.’ And he went on to say: ‘You can’t work here. You can’t do the work. It’s not just a question of being nicely dressed … You aren’t …’ And he said: ‘Do you understand what I mean?’

Experiences like those of Laura have an obvious impact on women’s health. After this incident Laura reported being depressed and needing psychological support and counselling. She even became fearful for her children, and felt that despite doing their best work, the children, like her, would never be accepted in Quebec. Laura’s perceptions about home-care services and nursing homes also changed subsequent to this incident. She prefers to keep her aging mother at home, rather than ask for Local Community Service Centre (CLSC) services, since she cannot see any racialized women in nursing homes. Laura’s mother is creolophone, and thus could not communicate with the white, francophone Quebecer staff. Laura says: Anyway, nursing homes aren’t prepared [for people like us]. I’ve visited some nursing homes and I found that ‘ethnic groups’ have no place there. I don’t see them in these places. Perhaps I’ve visited the wrong ones, but the quality is not the same [as in the home setting]. As well, there are ways of doing things; it’s just not the same. I find that if a person is unconscious it’s fine since they have no choice. But when people are conscious and they have to go, [that is difficult] … Sometimes, even if the person speaks French … But those who don’t speak French, they are completely powerless. Those who speak Creole, they’re powerless. They can’t be understood [by nurses or other health practitioners].

Racism in the health-care system can also take the form of a person being denied care based on skin colour. Edward, a retired health-care

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worker, reports: ‘I saw nursing aides refusing to care for a nonQuebecer – to approach or touch them. They [nursing aides] won’t feed a non-Quebecer; they won’t help this person to go to the bathroom. Hopefully, there are some non-Quebecers who work there and care for these people … otherwise … Do you see?’ Physical and verbal abuse from white francophone clients have been reported by Haitian-Canadian caregivers who also worked as professional nurses or in other allied health fields. Most of the time, women did not report these incidents to their managers, preferring to endure the situation despite its impact on their health and quality of life at work. They did this even when some ‘old-stock’ Quebeckers’ clients yelled, ‘Don’t touch me!’ ‘Get out of my room!’ Women reported constant monitoring as another form of harassment that occurred. For instance, Sonia reported the case of a young male co-worker, a nurse like her, who was proud to call himself a racist. He said to her: ‘You know I’m a racist. I don’t like Haitians because they’re lazy.’ She responded: ‘It’s pure nonsense what you’re saying.’ She said that the young man always left her out of the decision-making process. As well, he harassed her by constantly monitoring her work performance. Sonia’s and other Haitian-Canadian nurses’ experiences of everyday racism are quite similar to those reported in Ontario. Racism on the hospital wards occurs in the form of disciplinary measures, verbal abuse, physical threats from patients or their relatives, false accusations of medication-delivery errors, excessive monitoring, and unregulated kinds of dismissals and firing procedures (Das Gupta 2002; Hagey et al. 2007). Haitian-Canadians have been described as ‘the poorest residents of Montreal’ (Germain and Rose 2000, 235). Racism compels them to accept work with low wages and poor working conditions that are frequently below their level of competence and knowledge. Norah is a middle-aged woman, a single mother and a young grandmother who also provides care for her aging mother, who lives with one of her siblings. Currently, she is confronted with precarious work and family conditions. She works at a minimum-wage, non-unionized job. Since she is not a member of a union, she is not entitled to benefits such as retirement savings or dental and hospital insurance. After paying for rent and groceries, she has little money left. Norah said: I must work twice as hard as the other workers, you know? I must devote lots of my energy, lots of effort, and it’s not easy for me. And I know there are people who don’t like me. I must give more. I must work harder. The manager wants me to work harder than my co-workers. And I don’t have

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lots of seniority, so they are tough on newcomers, too. They are very tough with me. I really feel … Sometimes I think that Mummy was right when she refused to go to a nursing home. Oh, it’s not easy to be a woman. It’s not easy to be a woman. It’s not easy to be an immigrant! [Loudly] No. No. No. Because the co-workers treat me like an animal and I think animals are better treated than I. It’s scary, since I fear losing my job. I’m constantly under stress. Do you see? They don’t respect workers. Other employees have to suffer these conditions, too. I’m not alone. I can’t continue to work there. It’s tense and stressful. I’ve enough stress looking after my family and caring for Mummy. I can’t take it anymore. It’s no good for my health or my morale.

The situation of these women illustrates the triple jeopardy of being a woman, an immigrant, and racialized. They experience racism and sexism at the individual and institutional levels at work. There is little solidarity between white and black nurses for, as Jacobs notes, ‘Race, ethnicity, and class play an important role in dividing women and erode women’s claim to be sisters in a common struggle against patriarchy’ (Jacobs 2002, 5). Social Othering Racism and sexism affect women differently. Although racialized women come from different social backgrounds and classes in their countries of origin, in Canada most of them, nevertheless, confront race and gender discrimination at work. They are humiliated and oppressed when men treat them as sexual objects. For instance, during fieldwork, I witnessed a sexual advance being made towards a Haitian-Canadian woman. I was waiting for the light to change at a street intersection when I saw a white, middle-aged man roll down his car window and address a black woman: ‘Hey babe! What do you do to own such a car?’ After the incident, I talked with a key informant who reported that similar episodes happen frequently. She said: ‘They [white men] ask this silly question because the woman is just a damned Haitian.’ Racism and sexism act as implicit relations of ruling in women’s everyday lives. However, women are not mere victims. bell hooks (1984) notes that black women are well located to challenge oppression, racism, sexism, and classism to bring about social justice: As a group, black women are in an unusual position in this society, for not only are we collectively at the bottom of the occupational ladder, but our

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overall social status is lower than that of any other group. Occupying such a position, we bear the brunt of sexist, racist, and classist oppression. At the same time, we are the group that has not been socialized to assume the role of exploiter/oppressor in that we are allowed no institutionalized ‘other’ that we can exploit or oppress. (14)

During my fieldwork, I noticed glances of disapproval while attending activities with key informants. At shopping malls or restaurants, some men and women would glance at our table but address me, not the key informant. Sometimes I was excluded simply because I was with a Haitian-Canadian woman. Even though Haitian-Canadians share a French culture with Quebeckers, that did not seem to influence the interactions between them. I was compelled to ask myself why French and Italian-Canadians exclude Haitian-Canadians during social gatherings? Why did the French Canadians and Haitian-Canadians not intermingle, since most of them speak the same language? What’s more, these three groups are all predominantly Catholic. The rate of intercultural marriage between Italian- and French Canadians is high compared to that between members of Western and non-Western populations (Germain and Rose 2000). The answer lies in race and racism. The ideology of Whiteness, as discussed above, acts to divide people on the basis of race conceptualized as a biological attribute, and thus skin colour is used to categorize and divide people. Political Othering The rise of the separatist/sovereignist movement remains an emotive and polarized issue in the Canadian political landscape. During my fieldwork for this study, key informants and participants told me about feeling excluded after Quebec’s 1995 referendum. Haitian-Canadian men discussed this more willingly than did the women, although the women felt similarly rejected from mainstream society on the basis of their political allegiances. I do not want to argue in favour of one political option over another, to replace one nationalist discourse for another, or one exclusion for another. I wish to be ‘critical enough to abandon the concept of ethnicity the moment it becomes a straitjacket, rather than a tool for generating new understanding’ (Eriksen 1993, 162). The data documents, however, that ethnicity, cultural identity, social class, and nationalism construct a discourse of social exclusion that Others the Haitian community.

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Political Othering aims at promoting and imposing the political and economic interests of the dominant ethnic group while erasing the commitments of other groups. As a discursive practice of exclusion it impacts Haitian-Canadians’ social integration, health, and economic well-being. As an exclusionary discursive practice it influences HaitianCanadian caregivers’ perceptions of the health-care system and its practitioners. Many caregivers commented on the increased level of racism, including cultural ethnocentrism, after the last referendum. A key informant, who immigrated to Canada more than four decades ago, was outraged like so many others by former premier Jacques Parizeau’s comments that cited money and ethnic votes as the cause of separatists’ losing the referendum. She felt that younger HaitianCanadians were less concerned about the political debate around sovereignty and secession and more about their Haitian and Canadian/ Quebec identity. She said: It’s not their reality. They feel torn between Haitian and Quebec identity. They came to Canada to live in peace, to enhance their living conditions, and for their children to get a better education and to enjoy political freedom and safety. They are not interested and don’t feel concerned about sovereignty. It belongs to the past and we must focus on the future. You are not an oppressed people, so they don’t understand why you want to secede. It’s your fight, not ours.

Another key informant noted: ‘If you’re not white, you’re not a Quebecer. If you’re not Nationalist, you’re not a Quebecer.’ These excerpts illustrate the social exclusion felt by Haitian-Canadians, which is not that different from the experiences of other cultural communities in Quebec. Quebec’s secession/sovereignty debate categorizes members of ethnic communities who have chosen the federalist option as not being ‘real’ Quebeckers. Political Othering has an impact on social integration because it highlights the differences between Canadians. Haitian-Canadians and their children born in Canada/ Quebec feel they are neither complete strangers nor full citizens, neither Canadian nor Haitian-Canadian. Conclusion The appointment in 2006 of Michaëlle Jean, a Haitian-Canadian, as governor general to succeed Adrienne Clarkson, a Chinese-Canadian, can

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suggest that racism is a thing of the past. Such appointments have symbolic value, for they assert publicly and unequivocally that all are equal and have equal opportunity to take on positions based on merit rather than have their aspirations circumscribed by ascriptive criteria. Such appointments, however symbolic, do not just happen; rather, they implicitly acknowledge the myriad struggles of racialized people who have asserted their determination to be equal to all other Canadians and to gain a measure of social justice for themselves and others like them. Social change, however, does not follow a smooth trajectory in which there is movement only in a positive direction. Rather, politics, national or international, intervene and can lead to a re-emergence of forces that were previously losing their momentum, as evidenced by the rise of Islamophobia consequent to 11 September 2001. In Quebec a controversy was created in 2007 in the town of Herouxville by its adoption of a ‘code of conduct’ for immigrants which specifically noted that in their society the ‘stoning of women will not be tolerated.’ Although such a code has been labelled by some as racist, others support the town for articulating what they themselves feel, and yet others suggest that accommodating to diverse cultures threatens ‘social cohesion’ (Globe and Mail, 8 February 2007). Racial and sexual discrimination impedes the social integration of Haitian-Canadian men and women, and affects caregivers’ health and, thus, their way of caring for aging relatives at home. Othering is based on colonialist ideology and hegemony. In Quebec the process of Othering is complex and generates multiple exclusions and cultural vulnerabilities based on gender, race, ethnicity, class, and political allegiances. This chapter has demonstrated the need to integrate knowledge from the margins as one way of achieving justice in the Canadian health-care system. We must ask, how can Western feminist nurse researchers reconcile the respect for cultural customs with women’s basic human rights? I contend that a postcolonial feminist perspective can be used as a theoretical lens to achieve social justice in the health-care system and in the discipline of nursing.

NOTES 1 I am grateful to Haitian-Canadians who participated in this study. I thank Dr Joan Anderson from the School of Nursing at the University of British Columbia for her comments and support in writing this chapter for my

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PhD dissertation. I thank the National Health Research Development Program (NHRDP) and the Canadian Institutes of Health Research (CIHR) for their financial support. Finally, Dr Vijay Agnew deserves heartfelt thanks for her helpful and constructive comments in refining this chapter and for the opportunity she provided to present Haitian-Canadian women’s voices. The term old stock is generally used to designate the descendants of French settlers, also named Québécois de souche, Quebeckers, or French Canadians living in Quebec (Eller 1999; Robin 1996). French Canadian is mostly used to designate French inhabitants of other Canadian provinces, excerpt Quebec (Eller 1999). Francophone refers to the French-speaking population, regardless of ethnicity (Eller 1999). I use ‘French Canadians,’ and ‘old-stock Quebecker’ interchangeably to designate the French-speaking population of European ancestry. Anglophone refers to the English-speaking population of Quebec, regardless of ethnicity (Eller 1999). Allophone refers to Quebec residents who speak neither French nor English as their mother tongue, regardless of ethnicity, but does not include Aboriginal peoples (Eller 1999). Ethnicity and culture must be differentiated, since two groups can appear to be culturally almost identical and yet constitute different ethnic groups owing to violent inter-ethnic relations, such as Croats and Serbs in the former Yugoslavia (Eriksen 1993). Eriksen explains: ‘For ethnicity to come about, the groups must have a minimum of contact with each other, and they must entertain ideas of each other as being culturally different from themselves’ (11–12). According to the Ministère des Affaires Internationales, de l’Immigration et des Communautés Culturelles, Quebec started controlling its immigration in 1978, through the Cullen/Couture agreement (Government of Quebec 1996). In Torzyner and Springer’s survey, members of the black community were from the Caribbean, Bermuda, and Africa. Despite a high level of bilingualism among the young blacks of Montreal, racial discrimination occurring in the workforce seems related to skin colour. ‘The level of unemployment for Black university graduates was identical to that of non-Blacks who had not completed high school in 1996’ (Torzyner and Springer 2001, 51). Racism at work is also reported in studies in Ontario among AfricanCanadian nurses who are denied positions of prestige and leadership

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Louise Racine despite their qualifications and skills (Hagey et al. 2007). In British Columbia, Anderson and Reimer Kirkham (1998) reported racism in the health-care system and in the design of health programs and policies.

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Health Canada.1999. Canadian Research on Immigration and Health: An Overview. Ottawa: Health Canada. hooks, bell. 1984. Feminist Theory: From Margins to Center. Boston: South End Press. Jacobs, Merle. 2002. Is Anyone Listening? Women, Work, and Society. Toronto: Women’s Press. Kauffman, K.S. 1994. ‘The Insider/Outsider Dilemma: Field Experience of a White Researcher “Getting in” a Poor Black Community.’ Nursing Research 43(3): 179–83. Ledoyen, Alberte. 1992. Montréal au pluriel: Huit communautés ethno-culturelles de la région montréalaise. Quebec: Institut québécois de la recherche sur la culture. Lee, Jo-Anne, and Linda Cardinal. 1998. ‘Hegemonic Nationalism and the Politics of Feminism and Multiculturalism in Canada.’ In Painting the Maple: Essays on Race, Gender, and the Construction of Canada, ed. Veronica StrongBoag et al., 215–41. Vancouver: UBC Press. Lewis, Gail. 2000. Race, Gender, Social Welfare: Encounters in a Postcolonial Society. Cambridge: Polity Press. Li, Peter S. 1990. ‘Race and Ethnicity.’ In Race and Ethnic Relations in Canada, ed. Peter S. Li, 148–77. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Maclure, Jocelyn. 2003. Quebec Identity: The Challenge of Pluralism. Montreal and Kingston : McGill-Queen’s University Press. Marchand, Jean. 1975. ‘The Liberal Government’s Immigration Policy. White Paper on Immigration 1966.’ In Immigration and the Rise of Multiculturalism, ed. H. Palmer, 62–8. Toronto: Copp-Clark Publishing. Massé, Raymond. 1995. Culture et santé publique: Les contributions de l’anthropologie à la prévention et à la promotion de la santé. Montreal: Gaëtan Morin. Meleis, Afaf, and E.O. Im. 1999. ‘Transcending Marginalization in Knowledge Development.’ Nursing Inquiry 6(2): 94–102. Mensah, Joseph. 2002. Black Canadians: History, Experiences, Social Conditions. Halifax: Fernwood. Ministère de la Culture du Québec. 1995. Profils des communautés culturelles du Québec. Quebec: Publications du Québec. Ministère des relations avec les citoyens et de l’immigration du Québec. 1996. Le racisme au Québec: Éléments d’un diagnostic. Rapport final soumis au Ministère des affaires internationales, de l’immigration et des communautés culturelles. Montreal: Centre d’études ethniques de l’Université de Montréal. Narayan, Uma, and Sandra Harding, eds. 2000. Decentering the Center: Philosophy for a Multicultural, Postcolonial, and Feminist World. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.

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Ng, Roxana. 1993. ‘Racism, Sexism, and Nation Building in Canada.’ In Race, Identity, and Representation in Education, ed. Cameron McCarthy and Warren Crichlow, 50–9. New York and London: Routledge. Oakley, Ann.1981. ‘Interviewing Women: A Contradiction in Terms.’ In Doing Feminist Research, ed. H. Roberts, 30–61. London: Routledge. Okin, Susan Moller. 1999. Is Multiculturalism Bad for Women? Princeton: Princeton University Press. – 2005. ‘Multiculturalism and Feminism: No Simple Question, No Simple Answers.’ In Minorities within Minorities: Equality, Rights and Diversity, ed. Avigail Eisenberg and Jeff Spinner-Halev, 67–89. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Quayson, Ato. 2000. Postcolonialism: Theory, Practice or Process? Cambridge: Polity Press. Racine, Louise. 2003. ‘Implementing a Postcolonial Feminist Perspective in Nursing Research Related to Non-Western Populations. Nursing Inquiry 10(2): 91–102. – 2004. ‘The Meaning of Home Care and Caring for Aging Relatives at Home: The Haitian Canadian Primary Caregivers’ Perspectives.’ Doctoral diss. Vancouver, University of British Columbia. Reinharz, Shulamit. 1997. ‘Who Am I? The Need of a Variety of Selves in the Field.’ In Reflexivity and Voice, ed. R. Hertz, 3–20. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Roberts, Lance W., and Rodney A. Clifton. 1990. ‘Multiculturalism in Canada: A Sociological Perspective.’ In Race and Ethnic Relations in Canada, ed. Peter S. Li, 120–47. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Robin, Régine. 1996. ‘L’impossible Québec pluriel: La fascination de la souche.’ In Les frontières de l’identité: Modernité et postmodernisme au Québec, ed. Mikhaël Elbaz, Andrée Fortin, and Guy Laforest, 295–310. Sainte-Foy and Paris: Les Presses de l’Université Laval et Éditions de l’Harmattan. Roman, Leslie G. 1993. ‘White Is Color! White Defensiveness, Postmodernism, and Anti-Racist Pedagogy.’ In Race, Identity, and Representation in Education, ed. Cameron McCarthy and Warren Crichlow, 71–88. New York and London: Routledge. Schutte, Ofelia. 2000. ‘Cultural Alterity: Cross-cultural Communication and Feminist Theory in North-South Contexts.’ In Decentering the Center: Philosophy for a Multicultural, Postcolonial, and Feminist World, ed. Uma Narayan and Sandra Harding, 47–66. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Sherill, Grace, and Gabriele Helms. 1998. ‘Documenting Racism: Sharon Pollock’s The Komagata Maru Incident.’ In Painting the Maple: Essays on

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10 Challenging Gendered and Ethno-Racial Assumptions in Organizing for Housing Rights jill ha nl e y

In the face of globalization, international migration has meant that urban areas around the world are becoming increasingly ethnically diverse. This is especially the case in Canada, a country with some of the most ethnically diverse cities in the world. The presence of women from diverse cultural backgrounds in our neighbourhoods has forced community workers, especially those of European heritage, to reevaluate the meaning and implementation of their feminist values. Community organizing in Canada must adapt to the challenge of difference if it is to be effective in working towards social justice with a focus on gender and ethno-racial equity. In this chapter, I will reflect upon my experience as a feminist activist with a grassroots Montreal tenants’ rights organization as it struggled to address gender and ethno-racial stereotypes in its community organizing. Of course, we remain far from finding the perfect solution, but we have learned some things in the past few years of reflective action. Organizing efforts were flagging in this community association owing to an inability to work with the newcomer population of the neighbourhood, particularly women. In line with models for cross-cultural community organizing, the group made changes it hoped would improve neighbourhood participation. Only with time and a lot of listening did we discover that some of the ‘blueprints’ we had adopted were fraught with ethnocultural – and especially gender – stereotypes that impeded our attempts to organize. After reviewing the literature on community organizing and its approach to addressing ethno-racial and gender differences, this chapter will turn to the practical steps taken by this particular community group in grappling with prevalent gender and ethnocultural

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stereotypes. I will offer a brief history of community-organizing orthodoxy on the issue, ending with today’s feminist cross-cultural model. I will use my organizing experience in Montreal to inform my critique of the approaches and practices suggested in the literature. In particular, I want to highlight the shortcomings of the ‘multicultural’ approach to organizing in recent immigrant communities, and I would like to discuss the possibilities that the feminist organizing tradition might provide instead. Community-Organizing Literature on Ethno-Racial and Gender Issues So what exactly can be found in the community-organizing literature when one looks for information on mobilizing an ethnically diverse neighbourhood into a mixed-gender organization? Since the 1980s, academics have been lamenting the demise of community organizing, especially class-based neighbourhood organizing. According to some, the late 1960s and early 1970s were the height of neighbourhood organizing, and it has been declining (or at least changing to be less of a challenge to the status quo) ever since (Gittell 1980; Lustiger-Thaler and Shragge 1998). Robert Putnam’s 1995 article ‘Bowling Alone’ caused a great stir with its assertion that democracy was threatened by the decline of civil society in general. The reasons given for this demise of the community movement have been varied. In the Canadian context, some argue that the community victories of the 1970s (resulting in greater state intervention in social provisioning) dampened the impetus for organizing (Dionne 1997; Shragge 1999). Others argue that the rise of a neo-conservative political environment since the 1980s has made community organizing for redistributive purposes difficult, and has required a shift towards a professionalized community-development model (Fisher 1994b). Still others argue that the ‘partnership’ paradigm currently being used by the state – particularly in Quebec – to enlist community organizations in the provision of services has resulted in groups being too overwhelmed to raise an effective opposition to the state or, at worst, being completely co-opted to the interests of the state (Panet-Raymond 1992; Hasson and Ley 1994; Lamoureux 1994; White 1997). Many housing activists see this as the case in social housing as the government has withdrawn from direct provision and relied on community groups to develop social housing while retaining control over the process. Many

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see partnership as one of the only possibilities for gains in our current political context (Hasson and Ley 1994). The most hotly contested argument in the literature and in practice is that identity-based organizing has caused the demise of more class-based, neighbourhood-oriented organizing (Gitlin 1995, 1997; Calpotura and Fellner 1996; Miller 1996). The degree to which this decline actually took place is a subject of debate (Miller et al. 1990; Fisher 1994b; Borgos and Douglas 1996). What does seem clear is that direct-action, conflict-oriented neighbourhood organizing declined in popularity, while more collaborative community-development approaches increased (Shragge 2003). What is unclear is whether this transformation is simply a change in tactics or whether it represents a fundamental change in values and ideology. Recent trends indicate, however, that feminism, radicalism, and direct action may be making a return to the community scene as the fight against globalization begins to have more impact on the community movement (Fisher and Shragge 2000; Kruzynski and Shragge 2000). Historically, the field of community organizing was first formally identified by American sociologists and adult educators during the First World War, and has been taught in colleges and universities since the 1940s (Austin and Betten 1990). Lindemann’s description of community organization – as ‘a conscious effort on the part of a community to control its affairs democratically, and to secure the highest services from its specialists, organizations, agencies and institutions by means of recognized interrelations’ – was popular with community workers in the 1920s (Austin and Betten 1990; Fisher 1994a). In Canada, however, it seems that neighbourhood-based organizing of the type with which we are concerned was not a dominant form of organizing until later in the century (Lustiger-Thaler and Shragge 1998). In Canada, early-twentieth-century precursors to community organizing include cooperative organizing in Quebec, the Atlantic provinces, and the Prairies, ethnic political organizing in our major cities, and organizing for women’s and labour rights across the country (Lotz and Welton 1997; Lotz 1997). The community movement as we know it today blossomed in the late 1960s and early 1970s, reaching its height of activity in the late 1970s. The approach in the 1970s was confrontational, making clear demands of the state and threatening social disruption if they were not met. The provisions of the welfare state were expanded in this period and community groups were able to win many concessions in the field of housing, including tenants’ rights and funding of third-sector (i.e., cooperative and community) housing. By the 1980s,

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the confrontational approach was facing diminishing returns, and retrenchment of state social spending convinced many community groups to move to a more collaborative, community-development approach. Partnership and coalition-building were common practices by the early 1990s (Panet-Raymond and Mayer 1997; Lustiger-Thaler and Shragge 1998; Mayer et al. 1998; Shragge 2003). Since the mid-1990s, however, when it became clear that state cutbacks were unlikely to be temporary and that economic growth did not seem to be ‘trickling down’ to the community level, there has been renewed interest in more radical forms of organizing (Fisher and Shragge 2000; Kruzynski and Shragge 2000). The success of efforts such as the World March of Women (in mobilization and education if not in terms of state concessions), the rise of international resistance to the ‘globalization of misery,’ and the increasing interest of community groups in anti-globalization activism hold promise for the coming decade of organizing, given their mobilization of youth and a turn towards more activist approaches. Throughout the past century, the definition of what constitutes a ‘democratic process’ has been contested and has evolved. From the earliest days of the community tradition, the concept of ‘participatory democracy’ has been central. Since the 1960s, however, community organizations have been challenged to ensure that the social groups marginalized in what passes as ‘democracy’ on a macro level do not find themselves in the same position in the process of community organizing. Out of this critique have emerged important new models for the processes of community organizing, the internal working of community groups. The two most powerful new paradigms for participatory democracy in the community-organizing process are feminist and cross-cultural organizing. Participatory Democracy Organizers of the 1920s were influenced by ideas of participatory democracy as essential to the process of community organization (Dewey 1927, 1929). This basic idea – that organizations should be run with the assumption that individuals have both the right and the ability to contribute in some way, however small, to social decision-making – is often cited as something that makes community organizations unique. Participatory democracy suggests that organizations should function in such a way that they are open to new members, that members have

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real power in setting the agenda and priorities of the organization, that conflicts can be addressed and hopefully resolved within the structure of the organization, and that members may participate on an equal basis (Students for a Democratic Society 1999). Recently, there has been a hot-blooded debate – as was particularly evident among anti-globalization groups preparing for the April 2001 Summit of the Americas in Quebec City – over whether direct democracy (face-to-face, with an equal say for all those present for decisionmaking) is necessary for true democratic functioning or whether participatory democracy (which can allow for forms of representative democracy) can offer the equitable sharing of decision-making power sought by activists. An example of an internal model that reflects the participatorydemocracy perspective would be what was termed the ‘Open-Door Policy’ in an earlier study (Hanley 1999).1 Organizations working in the open-door-policy approach hold a basic desire to be inclusive and to reflect the neighbourhood. The membership of these groups is usually concentrated among people from one or two cultural backgrounds. For example, in Boston, many organizations are majority African American and white American. In Montreal, white Québécois and Anglo-Canadians tend to dominate. These groups recognize that the demographics of their neighbourhoods are changing, and they wish to invite their new neighbours to participate in community initiatives. Using traditional multicultural tactics, open-door-policy organizations reach out to newcomers or those traditionally under-represented. The open-door-policy organizational structure can be likened to traditional liberal political structures. The rhetoric says that every individual is equal and that his or her contributions are equally valued. Without specific efforts to ensure that this is so, however, ‘open-door’ organizations can be critiqued in the same way that liberal democratic theory has been critiqued: the results don’t measure up to the rhetoric. Social, economic, gender, and other inequities interfere with full participation in the organization. While overt discrimination may not be easily observable, there are systematic barriers to participation. While open-door-policy organizations take steps to attract diverse participation, they are rarely able to create a situation where the different cultural groups have equal impact (Anner 1996; Delgado 1997). This is because organizations working in this framework fail to recognize that the pre-existing structure of the organization was designed to serve their own cultural expectations and ways of working. It is fairly common for

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members of the dominant culture to believe that they do not have a culture, or that their culture does not impact their organization. As we are told by Gutiérrez et al. (1996, 503), ‘Acknowledging the importance of one’s own culture helps one recognize its importance to others.’ The end result of open-door-policy organizing may be an organization with a diverse membership, but with divergent levels of participation, influence, sense of ownership, and commitment. Feminist Organizing Feminist organizing is another important approach to the process of community organizing within a group (Guberman et al. 1997). To some extent, feminist organizing arose out of women’s frustrations as participants in the male-dominated social movements of the 1960s (Evans 1979; Minkoff 1995). At the core of the New Left and Civil Rights movements of the 1960s, many women were disturbed that while they were fighting for justice, their own rights were often not respected within activist organizations (Evans 1979; Dominelli 1989; Naples 1998b). Feminist organizers argue that status quo ‘participatory democracy’ does not necessarily create a context in which all participants have an equal opportunity to both voice their interests and have them listened to seriously. Weil is tough in her critique of traditional, participatory democracy organizing: ‘Despite a rich and proud heritage of female organizers and movement leaders, the field of community organization, in both its teaching models and its major exponents, has been a male-dominated preserve … Strategies have largely been based on ‘macho-power’ models, manipulation, and zero-sum gamesmanship’ (as cited in Stall and Stoecker 1998, 729). In feminist organizing, special attention is accorded to working with traditionally marginalized groups and to working in a nonhierarchical manner. The range of what is considered an appropriate issue for discussion and possible action has also been expanded with feminism’s classic assertion that ‘the personal is political.’ Feminist organizing holds particular salience among women of colour and immigrant women, often the backbone of inner-city, neighbourhoodorganizing efforts. One explanation is that ‘feminism presents a holistic vision of the type of involvement needed for sustained action under repressive circumstances’ (Pilisuk et al. 1998). In feminist organizing, there is an attempt to integrate personal and family-life interests into the struggle for social change, which reflects the reality that these issues are central to our quality of life, but also the fact that women remain primarily responsible for these domains (Naples 1998a).

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A practice model that reflects one stream of feminist organizing is the ‘Differences Are Fundamental’ model (Hanley 1999).2 Organizations working with this model share many of the characteristics of traditional identity-based organizing. Whether because they feel excluded from mixed organizations, they feel they have unique interests, or they simply want to preserve a unique perspective, differences-arefundamental organizations choose to organize on the basis of a particular identity. While they exercise their right to remain separate, differences-are-fundamental groups also recognize that there are many situations in which they can best represent their interests in collaboration with other groups. Organizational representation in such institutions as neighbourhood councils, school boards, and issuespecific coalitions becomes a key strategy for these identity-based community groups. Cross-cultural Organizing As we confront the increasing diversification of our neighbourhoods, feminist organizing also offers a new way to think about bringing people together to work for common cause. ‘Communities that really are not communities – that lack the networks, culture, support systems and other qualities – require first the foundation that the womencentred model can provide to prevent self-destructive oligarchies’ (Stall and Stoecker 1998, 741). The cross-cultural approach has adopted many such feminist critiques and applied them to questions of race and ethnicity. Rather than simply inviting marginalized groups to be present in community organizations and assuming that they will be able to participate fully in the existing structure, cross-cultural organizing seeks to change the way in which organizations work, building in mechanisms for true participation (Heskin and Heffner 1987). According to Calpotura and Fellner, The critical difference is between the concept of inclusion and that of selfdetermination. Some traditional community organizing has moved, in more and less effective ways, to be inclusive, bringing women and people of colour into their existing organizational structure and culture. But the women and people of colour who rise in the ranks of traditional community organizing endeavours are those who buy into the traditional culture – a policy and practice of affirmative action, at best. That is far different from having the room to redefine or transform organizational life. (1996, 3–4)

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Organizations working with a cross-cultural model (Hanley 1999) make a deliberate effort to change their ways of working so that different cultures have a structural forum in which to voice their views. There is an awareness of an ongoing need for change and readjustment as well as of the fluid nature of individual cultural identities. In resistance to the structural racism and discrimination that exists in our society, cross-cultural groups undertake affirmative action within their own organizations in an attempt to both gain from different cultural perspectives and to give each cultural group an opportunity to address their interests. Few organizations ever feel that they have achieved true equality within their ranks. Aiming to do so within today’s social context requires strong ideals. There are several preconditions that are essential to this pursuit: – Members of socially privileged cultures must be willing to give up some of the power they hold by default of numbers or recognition by the wider society. – Members of the organization must be willing to experiment with structure in order to find an approach that works for everyone. There must be recognition that this structure may have to be adjusted over time as the neighbourhood or the organization changes. – There must be an ongoing dedication of both time and resources to the development and maintenance of cross-cultural cooperation. In culturally diverse neighbourhoods, organizing with a cross-cultural framework can allow for the building of a strong and united organization able to take on a variety of issues of interest to a wide spectrum of the community. The challenge of achieving true inclusion of different points of view (whether the differences arise from gender, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, economic status, etc.) is daunting within community organizing. Both the feminist and the cross-cultural approaches, however, offer some guidance as to how to address diversity in a concrete fashion. Linking the Literature to Our Work Traditional Alinsky-style organizing focused on economic and political issues without recognition of ethno-racial or gender differences in experience (Alinsky 1946, 1972). In the late 1960s and early 1970s, both

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women’s groups and ethno-racial groups (especially native, black, and Latino) began to organize around identity-based issues. By the 1980s, high immigration numbers from non-European sources raised the issue of diversity, and multicultural organizing became important. Early feminist organizing was able to address some gender inequities in traditional organizing, but often focused on women-only organizing (not the case for our housing committee) and, in focusing on white women’s experiences, came to face fierce criticism for structural racism (Agnew 1996). Early ethno-racial organizing, similarly to early feminist, was able to address some ethno-racial inequities, but often incorporated patriarchal structures. In addition, the experiences of longstanding ethno-racial minorities are quite different from those of recent immigrants. Today, most organizations would say they aimed to practise multicultural organizing, but this approach, often ‘gender-blind,’ didn’t work in our neighbourhood. Recently, there has been a big push to recognize that women have formed the backbone of most of the organizing efforts of the last thirty years, and also that their experience of motherhood can be a catalyst for organizing (Boris 1993; Kruzynski 2004). This is true, but it can also lead to complacency about women’s involvement; while they may be a traditional base for organizing, women are not a homogeneous group, and organizing approaches must adapt to different cultural and economic contexts. Women’s dominance in the movement has been related to a particular cultural and socio-economic context. The literature on organizing with women of colour offers suggestions that fit most closely with our interests, but much of the writing deals with more established minority groups, and also tends to discuss women-only organizing efforts. Thus, in the community-organizing literature, we found a situation where the issue of diversity would be addressed, but not gender. Or that gender would be addressed, but not race and ethnicity. We got lots of good ideas from the women-of-colour literature, but not too many ideas about how to have women and men working in the same organization in an equitable way. In this next section, I will describe in more detail the organizing context for this article before turning to the ways in which we were able to apply some of these concepts from the literature. Organizing for Tenants’ Rights in an Immigrant Neighbourhood The community group I work with was established thirty years ago when the population of the neighbourhood was made up predominantly of

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two groups of European Mediterranean immigrants, along with a minority of English and French Quebeckers. At that time there were many young families in the neighbourhood, many of whom owned their housing or were renting from friends and relatives. At the beginning, as one of the only such groups in the community, our organization was a typical neighbours’ association with the basic mandate to improve the local quality of life, from recreation to housing to poverty to whatever was the hot issue of the day. The group was characterized by volunteer action and a challenging funding scenario that made it difficult to systematize its activities. Over the years, the neighbourhood’s community movement grew, and new organizations addressing a variety of issues sprang up. As other groups took on such things as food security, youth activities, education, and employment, the members of the group I worked with decided it was time to get more focused in their actions. After evaluating the work being done in the neighbourhood, as well as local needs, they decided to transform themselves into a housing-rights organization. The rate of home ownership was declining in the neighbourhood, housing conditions were deteriorating, and the rights of tenants were becoming more and more of a concern. At the same time, this neighbourhood had yet to claim the stable funding available for housing-rights groups in each neighbourhood. The Community Group Today Today, the organization maintains its focus on tenants’ rights. Its funding allows for two permanent staff members. A coordinator is responsible for administration and some public education, while a housingrights adviser meets with individual tenants to inform them of their rights, responsibilities, and avenues of recourse in cases of housing problems. The community organizers, owing to funding constraints, are only hired on a project basis, but we have been able to maintain at least one organizer position for the last five years. The board members, elected biannually by the general assembly, have mostly been from the older ethnic communities in the neighbourhood, and women have outnumbered men. For example, at the time of the work to be described here, the board was composed of five women and two men, including three white francophones, two Haitians, one white anglophone, and one South Asian. General membership is extremely diverse, although the older immigrant groups

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are over-represented compared to the more recently arrived groups, and there is a fairly equal gender split. The organization’s major activities over recent years can be divided into four categories. The individual-housing-rights service – in which individuals come to consult an adviser about housing problems such as excessive rent increases, evictions, conflicts with the landlord, or necessary repairs to heating or plumbing – sees over six hundred people per year. Second, tenants of problem apartment buildings or with a common landlord are supported on a collective basis in coming together to file complaints and fight for better conditions. Organizing for social housing – both in terms of creating housing projects in the local neighbourhood and participating in provincial and national coalitions to improve housing policy and financing – is another key activity. Finally, the organization has long been involved in action research, collaborating with both municipal and academic researchers to document housing conditions in the neighbourhood and serve as a basis for organizing and the defence of housing rights. On the surface, these activities are similar to those carried out by tenants’ rights groups in any Montreal neighbourhood, but as we shall see in the next section, the neighbourhood context means that our group is facing new challenges in housing organizing. Neighbourhood Context Since our community group had first been founded, the neighbourhood had undergone major changes. Although the population had been fairly stable since the 1960s, in the early 1990s, as the original population aged and their children moved to other neighbourhoods, the elderly Mediterranean residents eventually began to sell or lease their homes. The community became a major destination for new immigrants to Montreal, a settlement neighbourhood where people would often live for the first few years after their arrival before moving on to another neighbourhood. There was also a significant change in the ethno-racial mix of the neighbourhood from a majority of white Mediterranean immigrant groups to a majority of non-white recent immigrants, particularly from South Asia. In terms of organizing housing, this ethno-racial change brought to the surface many examples of racism in housing that – combined with the facts that the neighbourhood is one of the most densely settled in Canada and that over 60 per cent of its population relies on

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employment insurance, welfare, or pensions (Statistics Canada 2003) – created new imperatives in defending housing rights. The Organizing Dilemma When I became involved with this group five years ago, the focus was heavily on individual services, with almost no use of collective action. No direct community-organizing efforts –to change the more structural elements of housing problems – had been made for many years, ten according to staff members. Although housing rights is one of the few areas of community work that still regularly uses direct organizing (and this continues throughout Montreal – Hanley 2004), many of the community workers in this neighbourhood felt that it was not possible to organize the new immigrant population. Many reasons for this were given: – ‘They have other things to worry about.’ Community workers felt that, with all of the individual challenges involved in settlement – enrolling children in school, finding employment, finalizing immigration papers, psychological adjustment – neighbourhood newcomers were too preoccupied to become involved in collective action. – ‘It’s not in their culture to organize.’ The image of South Asian culture was generally that it was passive and very hierarchical. Confrontation with authorities was imagined to be against this culture’s values or predisposition. – ‘It’s too risky for them to confront their landlord/politicians/ government bureaucracy.’ Given the precarious immigration status of many individuals, or their feeling that they could arbitrarily be deported, it was perceived as dangerous to mobilize the new residents in actions that might disturb local powers. – ‘It’s impossible for us to communicate with them.’ Most of the staff of local organizations was francophone; in fact, there were few, if any, community workers who spoke South Asian languages. It took time before community workers grasped to what extent the newcomers were likely to speak English as a second language, thereby opening the doors to communication. Still, the need to constantly translate from English to French was time-consuming and also raised the question of the need for newcomers to integrate into Québécois society with French as its public language. – ‘We can’t find qualified staff from that community.’ Lack of recognition of foreign credentials, lack of French capacity in the new

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immigrant population, and different working styles posed barriers to groups hiring staff from among the newcomer population. – ‘Women in that culture don’t get involved outside the home and the men are working all the time.’ Although women were very visible in public places, their style of dress made them seem inaccessible to community workers. Men were more likely to attend community meetings. Please notice that all these quotes talk about ‘them.’ This is no accident. At the time when our community-organizing project was starting, there were almost no representatives of the recent immigrant communities working for local community groups. Gender was a major element in the discomfort between the groups in the neighbourhood. For the first time, apart from race, gendered ways of dress were being raised as barriers. Saris and headscarves were being seen in the neighbourhood and were taken as major markers of difference. The newcomer women, because of their style of dress, were seen as separated from the mainstream and uninterested in connecting, an interpretation that seemed less applicable to the men, who dressed in a more Western fashion. And because there was no real communication between established residents and newcomers, their differences made it quite tempting to think in terms of ‘us’ and ‘them.’ At the same time, however, our housing-rights organization was seeing a deterioration of housing conditions in the neighbourhood. Although there hadn’t been much in the way of community organizing in previous years, the new immigrant groups of the neighbourhood were making good use of our individual-housing-rights services. As the staff got to know local residents, it started to become clear that many of the excuses put forward for not organizing were unfounded. The staff and the board (who at this point had no members from the recent immigrant communities) decided to apply for funding to hire an organizer and start the neighbourhood’s only direct organizing project. It was once the funding was secured to hire a full-time community organizer that I became involved as a volunteer hoping to lay some groundwork for her PhD dissertation research on housing organizing (Hanley 2004). The group hired a woman who shared the Mediterranean heritage of the neighbourhood’s older residents but who also had a great deal of cross-cultural organizing experiences. The members involved in the organizing project at the beginning, none of whom were from the recent immigrant communities, felt strongly that in order for an organizing project in this neighbourhood to be successful, recent

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immigrants and women in general would have to be involved as full participants. The problem was that most of those in positions of power felt this wasn’t possible. So, of course, as good organizers, we decided we had to ask elsewhere! Asking Elsewhere Given that most of the community groups in the neighbourhood believed that direct participation or mobilization of the recent arrivals to the neighbourhood was impossible, it became necessary to go to other sources for information. A good starting point was to talk directly to some of the neighbourhood’s recent immigrant women. This should have been simple enough, but without pre-existing connections with these communities and without any staff that spoke South Asian languages, this proved to be quite challenging. It quickly became clear that this was an important task, but also one that would take a longterm investment. The starting point was to engage those women who came for individual services in discussions about their broader issues and concerns, and to try to see if there were ways that those could be addressed collectively rather than exclusively on an individual basis. We also began asking advice from community organizations outside our neighbourhood that had worked successfully with a diverse population or else specifically with South Asians. When we began our project, this was, again, not easy to do. There were only a few other neighbourhoods in Montreal that were as ethnically diverse as ours, and, within them, many groups were not successful in working cross-culturally. Those that were usually had different mandates from ours, so direct transfer of their experiences was not possible. We were able to speak with several South Asian associations, but they were usually much more culturally than politically oriented. The cultural associations were invaluable in terms of helping to bridge cultural misunderstandings and language gaps, while the one or two politically oriented organizations had some important organizing tips. As the academic in the crowd, I was also interested in drawing on the available community-organizing literature regarding cross-cultural organizing, especially – since so much of the reticence was related to gender – cross-cultural organizing from a gendered perspective. Such literature was readily available, but somehow, as noted above, it just didn’t seem to fit our situation.

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Our goal was to build meaningful participation in our organization by women and men from the different ethnic communities in our neighbourhood in order to create political pressure to improve housing conditions. To date, the first two sources of information are proving the most fruitful, but it has taken us two years to get to the point of building the necessary relationships and developing our organizational capacity enough to be able to communicate effectively with women from the recent immigrant communities. In the meantime, we relied on what we could glean from the community-organizing literature. Moving Forward in the Field Luckily for us, community organizing can be a forgiving process where, if people are honest and reflective and open to sharing power, they have a good chance of moving at least a little bit forward. Through lots of listening, lots of discussion, and lots of trial and error, we have been able to cobble together an approach that has resulted in a membership, board, and staff more reflective of the neighbourhood. The feminist and cross-cultural organizing literature was able to offer certain insights that proved useful in our efforts. Feminist organizing stresses the need to recognize and deal with difference, pushing past the public, mainstream interpretation of differences to try to understand seemingly marginalized experiences from the perspective of the individual. The feminist organizing paradigm, with its politicization of personal experiences, urged us to consider the ways in which newcomers’ family structures might not fit our outsiders’ interpretation and to try to shift our organizing to a more holistic approach. Rather than starting with confrontation and policy issues, there needed to be a ‘getting to know each other’ phase and a focus on ‘consciousness-raising’ around cultural and political issues for all involved. In terms of organizing models, the differences-are-fundamental model suggested that women’s workshops or events exclusively in Bangladeshi, Urdu, or Punjabi might be an important starting point in bridging the gap between new neighbourhood residents and the overall organization. The cross-cultural model suggested that the usual way of working might have to change. Increased efforts at written and simultaneous translation, ethnic-specific recruitment, and working groups were called for. Tactics that invited participation by people with a range of social locations were necessary. Having staff and leadership from under-represented ethnic communities was essential.

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Today, we are far from perfect, but we are also far from where we started from five years ago – in a good way! Our investigations led us to see the initial discouragements we suffered a little differently: – ‘They have other things to worry about.’ While it is true that women in the neighbourhood were extremely busy getting settled into their new homes, some saw involvement in a collective activity as a good way to meet people and get to understand the Canadian social and political system. Being involved in community organizing can be a definite buffer against feeling lonely and powerless. – ‘It’s not in their culture to organize.’ This idea clashed with the unusually high proportion of refugee claimants, many of whom had been politically active, who were settling in the neighbourhood. Also, as is fairly well known, even to the people who used this argument, there are strong traditions of people’s movements in South Asia. – ‘It’s too risky for them to confront their landlord/politicians/ government bureaucracy.’ In addressing this barrier, it was important for us to establish what was and what was not truly risky for people. In reality, for anyone without permanent residency, which represented a large proportion of neighbourhood residents, involvement with the police was risky. This had implications that had to be taken very seriously in choosing tactics. However, filing complaints about housing conditions with the city or the rental board, exposing exploitative housing conditions in the media, or talking with neighbours about standing up to the landlord could in no way jeopardize people’s immigration status. Popular education on this issue was key to getting the involvement of new residents. – ‘It’s impossible for us to communicate with them.’ This obstacle was fairly easily overcome. At first, we were able to find Englishspeaking individuals in the community who were interested in working on housing issues and who were then able to translate for others at meetings. We also published flyers in a variety of languages, letting people know their rights and inviting them to come to the housing-committee-for-action meetings. Later, we were able to hire staff members who spoke a variety of languages and to recruit new leadership for working committees. – ‘We can’t find qualified staff from that community.’ The most important factor in changing this perception was having an honest discussion about what was most important in hiring community organizers. In many community groups, basic qualifications such as

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specific university degrees or ‘excellent written French or English’ serve to exclude the hiring of newly arrived migrants who might otherwise be perfect for the job. We had to change our mindset to say that sharing our basic commitment to defending social rights (although the definitions might be discussed) and being able to communicate this with our constituency (neighbourhood residents of all origins) was more important than degrees or dominantlanguage writing skills. The organization had to commit to supporting the new organizers by helping with such things French or English writing in return for their cultural, linguistic and organizing expertise. When we won a new grant, we were able to hire three new community organizers – two women and one man – representing the new ethnic groups in the community. – ‘Women in that culture don’t get involved outside the home and the men are working all the time.’ This preconception was especially interesting to challenge. In fact, we found that women in the neighbourhood were having an easier time finding employment than men, in part owing to sexist employers’ perception that they would serve as a docile workforce. This reversal of gender roles was causing tension in some newcomer families. Fairly quickly, as well, community workers came to understand that the different styles of dress among women did not in any way indicate a lack of interest in contact with community workers. This faded as a concern with increased familiarity. By getting past these initial misperceptions in order to enter into true communication with neighbourhood residents, the housing committee has, over the years, been able to succeed in bringing together a diverse group of neighbourhood residents in which women and men share leadership, operating with what approximates a cross-cultural, feminist organizing model. We have secured the first co-op the neighbourhood has seen in many years and have taken a full role in the provincial housing-rights coalitions. To the surprise of many others in the housing movement, our neighbourhood is now one of the most successful in mobilizing participants for protest demonstrations and other public actions. Lessons Learned and Conclusion Our organizing experience in one Montreal neighbourhood helped us to learn some important lessons. The most obvious is simply that the dominant, mainstream perception of the neighbourhood and of the

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motivations of the people who lived there, were markedly different from the reality. Behind these misperceptions is what can be termed benevolent racism and sexism. The community workers’ stereotypes were based on a limited knowledge of the newly arrived ethnic groups, their cultural, and gender practices and beliefs. The implications drawn from this limited, largely book-derived, knowledge were believed to be in the best interests of the newcomers. The community-based services on offer were intended to be a form of support for the neighbourhood’s South Asian residents. The missing link, however, was true engagement with the newly arrived community, taking the time and making the adjustments necessary in order to effectively communicate and, eventually, redistribute power within the community more equitably. This requires a willingness to question one’s own position and be willing to give up positions of domination. This experience confirms a fundamental challenge facing community organizations: to avoid duplicating society’s racism, sexism, and related exclusion within the organization. The broader picture is that politically progressive goals are not automatically accompanied by a progressive process. A focus on an external/public political issue (e.g., housing) can obscure internal/personal political issues (e.g., racism and sexism). The fact remains that our neighbourhoods are becoming more diverse. This is relatively old news, but we still are struggling with how to respond in our organizing. We also struggle with gender issues; the dominant understanding of gender dynamics in organizing is usually based in white European culture or, if we’re lucky, on the experiences of cultural groups with a critical mass or a long history in North America (i.e., African-American, Latino, First Nations). The perspectives of newer or less powerful minority groups are rarely reflected or understood by others who are organizing. When they are, it is usually through the vehicle of an ethnic-specific initiative. While women-only organizing is important – probably essential – most organizing still occurs in mixed-gender groups. We need to continue to consider how to build equitable mixed-gender organizations. The fact that many community organizations are, by default, dominated by women doesn’t mean that women hold power in all community organizations. The moral of the story is that there is very little guidance available for organizing initiatives that are by nature of mixed gender and ethnically diverse, with many new immigrants. Trying to address the challenges posed in this chapter is an ongoing learning process.

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NOTES 1 This study was undertaken between May 1997 and May 1999 for a master’s thesis at Tufts University’s Department of Urban and Environmental Policy. It was based on interviews with 15 community organizers from a wide range of ethnic and ideological backgrounds, as well as participant observation of two community organizations in Montreal and one in Boston. 2 Boston researcher Molly Mead has studied youth organizations’ approaches to addressing gender differences and developed a typology from which I have borrowed (Mead 1998).

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Panet-Raymond, Jean, and Robert Mayer. 1997. ‘The History of Community Development in Quebec.’ In Community Organizing: Canadian Experiences, ed. Brian Wharf and Michael Clague, 29–61. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Pilisuk, Marc, JoAnn McAllister, and Jack Rothman. 1998. ‘Coming Together for Action: The Challenge of Contemporary Grassroots Community Organizing.’ Journal of Social Issues 52(1): 15–38. Putnam, Robert D. 1995. ‘Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital.’ Journal of Democracy 6(1): 65–78. Shragge, Eric. 1999. ‘Looking Backwards to Go Forward: The Quebec Community Movement 30 Years Later.’ Interventions (110): 53–60. – 2003. Activism and Social Change: Lessons for Community and Local Organizing. Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press. Stall, Susan, and Randy Stoecker. 1998. ‘Community Organizing or Organizing Community? Gender and the Crafts of Empowerment.’ Gender and Society 12(6): 729–56. Statistics Canada. 2003. 2001 Census. Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Students for a Democratic Society (SDS). 1999. ‘Participatory Democracy (from the Port Huron Statement, 1962).’ In Social Theory: The Multicultural and Classic Readings, ed. Charles Lemert, 348–52. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. White, Deena. 1997. ‘Contradictory Participation: Reflections on Community Action in Quebec.’ In Community Organizing: Canadian Experiences, ed. Brian Wharf and Michael Clague, 62–90. Toronto: Oxford University Press.

Conclusion

Immigrants from Third World countries have come to live in Canada throughout the twentieth century and, now, into the new millennium. Earlier in the last century they were far fewer in numbers and had more restrictions placed on their entry than in later years. In the last three or four decades, the lives and contributions of these immigrants have been documented, and there is now greater understanding of the myriad ways in which race, class, and gender intersect and inform the conditions under which aspiring Canadians live and work. The essays in this volume have had the objective of contributing to this growing body of literature, particularly in the areas of health, violence, law, and equity. They fill in some critical gaps in the literature, such as in our knowledge about older immigrants, the marginalization of Haitian-Canadians in Quebec, and the exclusion of racialized immigrants in advocacy organizations in Montreal. A few essays touch upon the critical issue of how immigration status intersects with and informs (or does not inform) health policies and the availability of health services. And one essay documents the contemporary debate regarding the introduction of Shari’a tribunals in Ontario. All together, such documentation constitutes an expression of racialized immigrant women’s agency and their individual quests for social justice. ‘Citizenship,’ write Stasiulis and Bakan, ‘is a relationship … a negotiated set of rights and obligations and practices.’ It is not ‘linear, static, or thing like’ (2003, 165). The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms gives immigrant women, as citizens, the right to equality, but as the authors document in this book, it is sometimes denied to them in practice. Racism shadows their lives and constrains their opportunities in the workplace and in accessing health and social services. The cultural

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norms of racialized migrants are sometimes misunderstood or, worse, used as much as in everyday living to rationalize their unequal treatment in law and social policy. Although inequality and racism have been constants in the lives of racialized immigrant women, their severity and intensity have varied over time and place, as have the organized struggles of immigrants to win a measure of social justice for themselves. Thus, for example, in the 1970s and 1980s there was a greater consciousness, given the visibility of organized anti-racist and feminist demands, for action, and for the need to eradicate the conditions that resulted in inequality between citizens. Equality was interpreted within specific social contexts to determine whether it had been achieved substantively by all citizens, and when it had not, such case studies formed the basis for demanding ameliorative policies and programs. Since the 1990s there has been a sea change, attributed by some to the neo-liberal agenda that takes a dim view of citizens who make impositional claims on the state based on difference or systemic discrimination. In this view, the state and the market should reflect the motivation of individual self-interest and, in general, reduce spending; consequently, social policy is subordinated to the demands of labour flexibility and structural competitiveness. The rationale of cost-effectiveness is used to restrict spending on social programs or to dismantle them. There is less concern for redistribution and equity, and more on what is referred to as the self-reliance of individuals and communities on their own resources. Consequently, social and ameliorative programs introduced in earlier times to reduce inequalities and accord a measure of social justice to the disadvantaged have had their resources restricted; in some cases they have been dismantled all together. One example of this urge to ‘rationalize’ is the diminution of programs for language training for immigrant women, which was initiated after documentation was generated to show their gender biases. New programs were put in place that considered the women’s needs (such as child care, employment, and resources, which were in any case limited) to avail themselves of classes scheduled during the day or in distant locations. Such programs were used extensively by the women who needed them, but were later redesigned to limit advanced language training to those who had jobs, regardless of gender (Boyd 1990). Thus, although gender claims were accommodated, access to language training was, over time, restricted. Since the 1990s, the ideological trend in Canada has been towards conservatism and right-wing beliefs that have undermined progressive

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politics by arguing that they contradict the values of a liberal democracy. Some opinion polls note that a majority of Canadians feel that ‘too many immigrants, especially from visible minorities’ are entering Canada; consequently, there is a ‘genuine expression of ‘growing intolerance’ or ‘cultural insecurity’ based on a legitimate concern that too many ‘non-whites’ would render Canadian values ‘slipping away’’ (Li 2003, 173). Editorials in the Globe and Mail in 1999 used liberal values such as individualism, equal opportunity, fairness, and merit to undermine employment equity in Ontario (Henry and Tator 2005). Here, Boyd and Yiu note that employment and pay equity policies were criticized as giving preferential treatment to racialized groups (and other designated minorities) and discriminating against white males. The editorials argued that remedial programs were an unwarranted expense and that they pandered to minority sentiments; they were even characterized as being unfair to white Canadians. Such editorials and opinion polls, and the beliefs both underlying them and promulgated by them, convey powerful messages that can affect policy development and implementation. The essays in this volume have documented the fact that although our understanding of the intersection of socially significant criteria such as race, gender, class, and immigration status has expanded considerably, their integration into developing policies has been limited. Bierman, Ahmad, and Mawani document the existence of myriad factors that affect the health of racialized immigrant women, and note the need to integrate them methodologically and theoretically by way of generating knowledge about them and designing equitable policies in health care and other social services. Spitzer goes on to argue that though government initiatives (e.g., the National Forum on Health) document the conditions that would accord equality to racialized immigrant women in accessing health care, decision-makers do not always integrate these concerns with the development of policies. Even when some policies are designed to benefit racialized immigrant women, their applicability is limited, for oppressions of race, class, and gender are intertwined and require systemic and structural remedies to eliminate inequalities and accord all citizens social justice. The ‘healthy immigrant effect’ was referred to by several authors in discussing health status and services. Immigrants are healthier than the general population when they first arrive in Canada, but this advantage dissipates over their next ten years in the country. The initial

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advantage that immigrants have is explained by their willingness to undergo the stresses and strains of moving from one country to another and by their having to pass the required medical examinations before entry. As for the subsequent loss of advantage in their health status, it is possible to ‘blame the victim’ by arguing that, like other Canadians, immigrants variously adopt a sedentary lifestyle, suffer from obesity, take up smoking and alcohol consumption, or shun exercise. However, Spitzer contends that the explanation may lie in systemic and structural inequalities that result from unemployment, lack of recognition of educational credentials and work experience received in less affluent countries, and racism. The situation is ironical and counterintuitive, but also an indictment of Canadian policies that provide good cause for national embarrassment. The elimination of structural and systemic inequalities needs political will and motivation. Politics, however, is ‘the space between established policy and emancipatory movements’ claims for equality’ (Bakker 1996, 24). Politics is not just a set of abstract principles; rather, it is a process that informs policies by ongoing contestation between those who have been excluded historically and those who have benefited from the prevailing status quo. Racialized immigrant women have sought representation in decision-making bodies, in government agencies, and in advocacy movements, and they have spoken on their own behalf for equity and social justice. Vissandjée, Apale, and Wieringa demonstrate the critical role of the resources generated through social capital in empowering immigrant women. They explain that ‘where migrant women experience social marginalization and discrimination, social capital may operate through community-based groups, mobilizing resources to bridge gaps in public institutions while heightening awareness and working to subvert structural injustices.’ Jill Hanley documents one struggle of immigrant women in Montreal to engage with advocacy and community organizing by challenging and questioning the prevailing racial stereotypes that inhibited their participation. Struggles against ideologies are ‘shaped by the historical material moment – the habitus – of a given era, but that same habitus provides materials and means for resistance to those ideologies and constraints’ (Holt 2000, 120). The success of immigrant women in creating a space for their engagement in advocacy becomes, in the haunting phrase of Toni Morrison, ‘a story to grow on’ (ibid., 123). Documenting such

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accounts creates knowledge but, even more important, serves to inspire other groups, in different circumstances and locations, and can reinforce their determination to struggle for equality and social justice. Immigration is a quest for a better life, and the challenges immigrant women encounter in Canada are an opportunity for realizing their human potential. This quest transforms individuals, shapes their character, and tests their mettle. Or, in the words of Salman Rushdie, ‘The quest for the grail is the grail … The point of the Odyssey is the Odyssey’ (2002, 352).

REFERENCES Bakker, Isabelle, ed. 1996. ‘Introduction.’ In Rethinking Restructuring: Gendered Change in Canada, ed. Isabelle Bakker, 3–28. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Boyd, Monica. 1990. ‘Immigrant Women: Language, Socioeconomic Inequalities and Policy Issues.’ In Ethnic Demography: Canadian Immigrant, Racial and Cultural Variations, ed. Shiva Halli, Frank Trovato, and Leo Driedger, 275–96. Ottawa: Carleton University Press. Henry, Frances, and Carol Tator. 2005. ‘A Critical Analysis of The Globe and Mail Editorials on Employment Equity.’ In Situating ‘Race’ and Racisms in Space, Time, and Theory: Critical Essays for Activists and Scholars, ed. Jo-Anne Lee and John Lutz, 161–77. Montreal and Kingston: McGill Queen’s University Press. Holt, Thomas. 2000. The Problem of Race in the 21st Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Li, Peter. 2003. Destination Canada: Immigration Debates and Issues. Toronto: Oxford University Press. Rushdie, Salman. 2002. Step across This Line. Collected Nonfiction 1992–2002. Toronto: Alfred Knopf. Stasiulis, Daiva K., and Abigail B. Bakan. 2005. Negotiating Citizenship: Migrant Women in Canada and the Global System. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

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Contributors

Vijay Agnew is a professor of social science and the former director of the Centre for Feminist Research at York University. Her book Resisting Discrimination: Women from Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean and the Women’s Movement in Canada (1996) won the Gustav Myers Award as an ‘outstanding book on the subject of human rights in North America.’ Her other books are Interrogating Race and Racism (2007), Diaspora, Memory and Identity: A Search for Home (2005), Where I Come From (2003), In Search of a Safe Place: Abused Women and Culturally Sensitive Services (1998), and Elite Women in Indian Politics (1979). In 1998 Agnew was appointed to the External Research Advisory Committee of the Status of Women, Canada. Farah Ahmad is an assistant professor at the Dalla Lana School of Public Health, University of Toronto, and associate scientist at the Centre for Research on Inner City Health, St Michael’s Hospital, in Toronto. Dr Ahmad’s research focuses on health-care access and utilization at the intersections of marginality, such as gender, immigration, ethnicity, and domestic violence. Using an interdisciplinary approach, Dr Ahmad examines multilevel contextual factors to develop tailored interventions in collaboration with community, health professionals, and policy makers that address health disparities. Alisha Apale is a research associate with Professor Bilkis Vissandjée at the University of Montreal. She has conducted research on nonstatus Burmese refugees, women’s access to quality health care and information, and the value of social capital among women in rural Gujarat, India.

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Arlene S. Bierman, MD, MS, is a general internist, geriatrician, and health-services researcher, the inaugural holder of the Ontario Women’s Health Council Chair in Women’s Health, and associate professor of Nursing, Health Policy, Evaluation, and Management, Medicine, and Public Health at the University of Toronto. She is also a senior scientist in the Li Ka Shing Knowledge Institute at St Michael’s Hospital and adjunct scientist at the Institute for the Evaluative Clinical Sciences. Dr Bierman is PI of the POWER (Project for an Ontario Women’s Health Evidence-Based Report Card) study, which is developing a tool to help policy makers and health-care providers to improve the health of immigrants and reduce health inequities. Her research is directed at examining the impact of models of health-care delivery and finance on access, quality of care, and health outcomes among older adults, with a special focus on low-literacy and low-income populations and the unique needs of older women. Her work addresses the interface between health policy, access to care, clinical practice, and health outcomes. Monica Boyd holds the Canada Research Chair in Immigration, Inequality and Public Policy at the University of Toronto. A demographer and sociologist, Dr Boyd has written numerous articles, books, and monographs on the changing family, gender inequality, international migration (with focuses on policy, immigrant integration, and immigrant women), and ethnic stratification. Her current research projects are on immigrant inequality in the labour force, the migration of high-skilled labour and related re-accreditation difficulties, and the socio-economic achievements of immigrant offspring. She also is studying the labour-market consequences of immigrant language proficiency, funded by an award from the Social Science and Humanities Research Council. As part of the United Nation’s ‘Beijing – 10 years later’ initiative, she recently completed several reports and position papers, commissioned by the United Nations Division for the Advancement of Women and by the United Nations Research Institute on Social Development, on situations facing migrant women. Annie Bunting is an associate professor in the Law and Society program at York University, teaching in the areas of social justice and human rights. She received her LLM from the London School of Economics and Political Science (1991) and her SJD from the Faculty of Law, University of Toronto (1999). The topic of her doctoral dissertation is international women’s rights, culture, and the case of early marriage.

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Professor Bunting has worked with a variety of human rights organizations, including Human Rights Watch, the Canadian Human Rights Foundation, Centre for Rights and Democracy, and the Women’s Legal Education and Action Fund (LEAF). She worked with the National Judicial Institute with courts in British Columbia, Alberta, Ontario, and Nova Scotia facilitating workshops on multicultural issues in family law. Professor Bunting is currently working on a SSHRC-funded project, ‘Cross-Cultural Issues in Canadian Family Law.’ Barbara Cottrell is a researcher, writer, and adult educator with many years of experience working with academics and community groups. In 2004/2005, she co-researched the Parent Abuse in Immigrant Communities and the Violence in Immigrant Families projects, and was project coordinator of the Security and Immigration Research Project. She is currently coresearcher for the YWCA Halifax Housing for Homeless Newcomers Project. Her anti-violence articles and papers have been published in Canada, Germany, and the United States. She is the author of When Teens Abuse Their Parents (2004). Barbara is president of the Nova Scotia Chapter of the Canadian Evaluation Society and a member of the Research Advisory Committee of the Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives, Nova Scotia. Jill Hanley is an assistant professor at the School of Social Work, McGill University. Previous to that she was a postdoctoral fellow with the Groupe d’études sur le racisme, la migration et l’exclusion at the Université Libre de Bruxelles as well as with the University of Montreal’s School of Social Work. Her research focuses on access to social rights (especially housing, health, and labour) for people with precarious immigration status. She is active both as a community organizer with Montreal’s Immigrant Workers’ Centre and in the city’s social housing movement. Margot Lettner is an adjunct instructor in the Health Studies program, University of Toronto, and in the Department of Politics and Public Administration, Ryerson University, where she focuses on the dynamics between health and social policy, politics, law, and public administration. She is also the principal of Wasabi, a consulting business in public policy research, consultation facilitation, and government relations. Her clients include Health Canada, the Public Health Agency of Canada, the Ontario Ministry of Health and Long-Term Care, the Centre for Urban Health Initiatives (University of Toronto), the National

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Network on Environments and Women’s Health (York University), and the Wellesley Central Health Corporation. She was a member of the Ontario Public Service 1991–2003, having worked in the Cabinet Office as executive director of Health, Education and Social Policy as well as senior portfolio adviser, Social Policy. She was also a director and senior policy adviser with the Ministries of Economic Development and Trade, Labour, and Community and Social Services. Farah N. Mawani is a public-health scientist committed to communitybased global health research with marginalized communities internationally and with immigrant and refugee communities in Canada. She is currently a travelling faculty member in the Health and Community program of the International Honors Program, in affiliation with World Learning/SIT. She is also a CIHR Research in Addictions and Mental Health Policy & Services (RAMHPS) fellow at the Dalla Lana School of Public Health, University of Toronto, where she is completing her PhD in Public Health Sciences. Her primary area of expertise is the social determinants of immigrant and refugee mental health. Shadi Mokhtari is a human rights and women’s rights attorney and independent scholar. She holds a JD from the University of Texas School of Law and an LLM and PhD from Osgoode Hall Law School. She is currently Managing Attorney at a domestic violence non-profit organization in the Washington, DC, area. She is also the managing editor of the Muslim World Journal of Human Rights and the author of After Abu Ghraib: Exploring Human Rights in America and the Middle East (2009). Carmen Celina Moncayo is a psychologist with a master’s degree in Community Psychology from the Pontificia Universidad Javeriana, Bogota, Colombia. She has worked for more than twenty years in the field of women’s rights from a feminist perspective, focusing on family violence, sexual and reproductive rights, and internal displacements of population in Colombia. Since moving to Canada she has been doing research on family violence and immigration while working with the Metropolitan Immigrant Settlement Association in Halifax as a family counsellor. Janet Mosher is an associate professor at Osgoode Hall Law School, York University. Professor Mosher joined Osgoode Hall Law School’s faculty in 2001 after teaching at the Faculty of Law and the Faculty of

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Social Work at the University of Toronto, where she was also the director of the Combined LLB/MSW program. From 2001–4 she was the academic director of Osgoode’s Intensive Program in Poverty Law at Parkdale Community Legal Services. Her research has focused on the intersections of violence against women and poverty, and upon issues of access to justice. Ito Peng is an associate professor at the Department of Sociology, and the director of the Dr David Chu Chair Program in Asia Pacific Studies at the Munk Centre for International Studies, University of Toronto. She teaches in the areas of comparative social policy and welfare states, gender and social policy, and health and social policy. Dr Peng has written extensively on cross-national comparisons of gender and precarious work and on older immigrant women’s health and its policy implications in Ontario. She received her PhD from the London School of Economics and taught there, at Hokusei Gakuen University and the Kwansei Gakuin University School of Policy Studies in Japan before joining the University of Toronto in 2002. Louise Racine, RN, PhD, is an assistant professor in the College of Nursing at the University of Saskatchewan. She obtained her PhD in nursing from the University of British Columbia in 2004. Her research interests are in the areas of cultural nursing, family caregiving among non-Western immigrants and refugees, accessibility to health care services, and the health of francophone communities living in Western Canada. Her program of research also focuses on the delivery of culturally safe nursing care to racialized populations. She received a Saskatchewan Health Research Foundation New Investigator Award to study the health needs of immigrants and refugees in Saskatchewan. She is an affiliate researcher with the Prairie Metropolis Centre, University of Alberta. Denise Spitzer, PhD, is the Canada Research Chair in Gender, Migration and Health at the University of Ottawa, where she is an associate professor affiliated with the Institute of Women’s Studies and a principal scientist in the Institute of Population Health. Spitzer is interested in how global processes – intersecting with gender, ethnicity, migration status, and other social identifiers – are implicated in health and wellbeing. Her research focuses primarily on immigrant and refugee women and engages with critical perspectives of the body; transnationalism

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and constructions of identity; the impact of policy on health; human agency and social support; and community-based research and gender and diversity-based analysis. She has published in journals such as Gender & Society, the Medical Anthropology Quarterly, and the Canadian Journal of Public Health, and has worked with various government agencies on issues pertaining to gender-based analysis. Evangelia Tastsoglou, PhD, is professor and chair in the Department of Sociology and Criminology at Saint Mary’s University. Her publications are in the areas of gender and international migration; migration and globalization; Canadian immigration; (im)migrant and minority women and citizenship; gender, migration, and security; the intersections of ethnicity/race, gender, and class; multiculturalism and anti-racism; and gender and diasporas. Recent books include Women, Migration and Citizenship: Making Local, National and Transnational Connections (co-edited, 2006) and Women, Gender and Diasporic Lives: Labor, Community and Identity in Greek Migrations (2009, forthcoming). Bilkis Vissandjée is a professor at the School of Nursing, University of Montreal; she holds a doctoral degree in population planning and international health from the University of Michigan. As the academic codirector of the Centre d’excellence sur la santé des femmes – Consortium Université de Montréal 1996–2002, she contributed significantly to its research program, studying the complexities involved in the trajectories of immigrant women’s access to health services in a context of cultural diversity. Dr Vissandjée was recently appointed by the health minister of Quebec to sit on an advisory committee for the adaptation of health programs and policies to cultural communities in Quebec. In 2002 she was appointed by the federal Minister for International Cooperation to serve on a peer review committee of the Association of Universities and Colleges of Canada in partnership with CIDA. Dr Vissandjée’s work aims to understand better the relationship between gender, culture, and migration as social determinants of health, and the need for gender- and diversity-sensitive indicators that value and reflect women’s lives, work, productivity, and social, cultural, and economic security over their lifespan. Saskia Wieringa, PhD, is the director of the International Information Center and Archives of the Women’s Movement in Amsterdam. Her

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research interests are in women’s empowerment and agency, gender planning, and same-sex relations. Some of her recent publications include Female Desires: Same-Sex Relations and Transgender Practices across Cultures (co-edited with Evelyn Blackwood, 1999), Sexual Politics in Indonesia (2002), and Tommy Boys: Lesbian Men and Ancestral Wives (coauthored with Ruth Morgan, 2005). Jessica Yiu is a PhD candidate in sociology at Princeton University. She received her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in sociology at the University of Toronto. Her main research interests are in the areas of immigration and ethnicity, particularly the experiences and integrative processes of second-generation immigrants. Her previous research included measuring levels of transnational activity across immigrant generations and examining the various ethnic-focused child-rearing strategies of immigrant families and communities.