I was drifting in my career as an architect after arriving in Canada with my family in 1968 and, like most immigrants, was lost in the new country.
After moving to Winnipeg from Saskatoon, I switched to life insurance sales.
The Filipino community numbered seven thousand at the time, and like them, I was hungry for news from the Motherland. The only means of news were by mail from relatives or the television, as the Internet had not been invented yet. There were no Filipino newspapers in Canada at the time.
The idea of starting one came when I saw high school students assembling their paper by the traditional “cut and paste” method. On a whim, my brother-in-law and I decided we could do a paper for the Winnipeg community. Neither of us had journalism experience, although Flor Cadigal was an English teacher back home.
We agreed to name the paper Silangan, as it embodied our vision. “Silangan” in Filipino is where the sun rises — the east. We wanted the newspaper to be a beacon to our community to inspire them to greater heights. From the beginning, our goal was clear: the paper was to be a voice and a beacon and not just a mere chronicler of events,
I was editor, with Florentino “Flor” Cadigal Jr. and Ric Sumaling as the editorial staff.
Cadigal did his column — “Bato-Bato sa Langit ang Tamaan Huwag Magalit” — and Sumaling did the artwork, while I did content writing and production as well as distribution.
The first issue of the twenty-four-page tabloid came out in February 1976 and it became a sensation. The excitement of the first issue was like expecting a first baby!
It was a “labour of love” for me, as I had to do most of the work running the paper, and I neglected my selling job.
My basement served as the editorial and distribution centre. I would stay up all night to put the issue to bed and then drive to Steinbach, sixty kilometres away, to the printers. I would deliver copies to the different outlets in the city and then prepare the mailing to subscribers. The intensive labour needed to produce and distribute Silangan was eclipsed by the euphoria of its popularity among its readers.
I did not have the foggiest idea about the basics of journalism except the bare five Ws — Who, What, When, Where, and Why — so I had to learn it on my own.
Published once a month, Silangan became a staple of the community. People eagerly awaited copies at grocery stores and other outlets. It was distributed free, and whatever little income it generated from ads was just enough to cover printing costs.
From initially focusing on the Winnipeg community, it gradually expanded to other centres as I recruited more contributors and writers. Soon, I had people sending their contributions from Saskatoon, Calgary, Edmonton, and Vancouver.
The paper covered topics from social issues to politics. I did not shirk from commenting on so-called controversial community issues like the Philippine Association of Manitoba (PAM). PAM was the self-proclaimed association representing Filipinos in Winnipeg. My criticism was that it was a “song and dance” organization that was not really involved in societal issues that affected the community.
When the community faced a racial backlash, for example, PAM did not speak up, preferring instead to not “rock the boat.” They also catered to the typical Filipino propensity for “gala” affairs, hosting events where attendees come out in their lavish fashion outfits. Added to this was the organization’s lack of diversity in their officers, who were mainly medical professionals. Workers in the garment industry and other sectors were not represented in the organization’s leadership.
I was preoccupied with issues of discrimination and racism. It was common during those days to label Filipinos and other minorities or racialized people as the “bad apples” in society, much like how the mainstream media portrayed Indigenous people. I wrote and fought against openly racist treatment and once told a CBC reporter, “I am one Filipino that will not allow myself to be a doormat.” He tried to describe the way the media was treating us by replying, “They [the media] did it to the Italians and Irish before. Now it is Filipinos.”
Being a community journalist posed some very difficult dilemmas for me, including having to decide whether to cover stories about people in the community that I knew personally. One example I can remember was when a prominent member of the community was accused of a crime. The news came out in the mainstream media and callers inquired whether I was going to write about it in my paper. I agonized over the decision but realized I had no choice but to cover it as news.
My obsession to improve the community took its toll on me by the time the paper was five years old. While the paper had a growing readership and influence, the physical and emotional stress began to surface, not to mention the financial burden it was putting on me. As I devoted all my time to running the paper, I neglected my own insurance selling and relied solely on my wife’s income to sustain the family.
The advertising revenues were not sufficient to pay me or the other staff a salary, and it could barely pay for printing and other costs. By this time, I was also beginning to feel that my advocacies were not influencing the community.
The straw that broke the camel’s back was the reaction to my criticism of PAM’s sponsorship of a nationwide conference in Winnipeg. The aim was supposedly to talk about the problems faced by the community. The day before the conference, I asked several people to join me in demonstrating at the hotel where the conference was taking place. I believed the conference was a waste of money and that the organizers should not have paid travel costs for delegates from out-of-province to find out what the problems were in the Winnipeg Filipino community.
To my dismay, on the morning of the conference, no one showed up to demonstrate. I ended up alone with my family — my wife and three daughters shivering in the Winnipeg cold with our placards. People shouted at us as they passed by: “You are an embarrassment for demonstrating … nakakahiya kayo.” When we went home, the family talked about the experience; we were all bitterly disappointed.
I did a lot of soul-searching, asking myself if the struggle was worth it. That night I decided to give up the paper and called a few people to break the news. It was a shock to the community, and I knew it would be hard to face them at that moment, so I decided to withdraw to an undisclosed location to get away from the incessant phone calls.
After a few days, I received feelers that a group of Filipinos were interested in negotiating with me to buy the paper. I accepted an offer made by a group that consisted of Rod Cantiveros, Fred de Villa, and Epoy Tawagin. We agreed on a “goodwill value” for the paper as there were no physical assets nor receivables to talk about. Among the conditions of the sale was that I would stay on for several issues to help the transition. I also agreed to a two-year “no competition” clause.
The last issue of Silangan came out in July 1982, and a brief announcement came out in the Winnipeg Free Press. Cantiveros became the paper’s editor, and after a year its name was changed to Filipino Journal, presumably because Silangan had a controversial reputation. Filipino Journal continues to this day, making it one of the oldest Filipino newspapers in Canada. The other is Atin Ito of Toronto.
After the closure of Silangan, I was offered a column in the Winnipeg Sun, which I declined as I had no confidence in my writing ability.
And while my pen lay idle after the sale, things were happening fast in the homeland. Senator Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino, the dictator Ferdinand Marcos’ main rival, was assassinated on August 21, 1983, and the country was in turmoil. I was itching to cover this event, but I had no platform.
A day after the Aquino assassination, I rang up Winnipeg Sun editor Paul Sullivan and asked if he was interested in an opinion piece.
“If you can do it in two hours or so, we can use it,” he said. I stayed up late that night, frantically ransacking my files about Aquino and Marcos, and my piece came out the next day.
I was becoming increasingly restless over not being able to write about the Philippine situation, so I thought of venturing into another publication. In February 1983, Kalayaan was born. “Kalayaan” means freedom in Filipino, and it was appropriate for the times as the Motherland was under Martial Law and fighting to regain its freedom.
A modest eight-page tabloid, Kalayaan featured articles about the Filipino people’s struggle and the fight against the Marcos dictatorship and Martial Law.
Defying traditional journalistic standards, I reluctantly took up the leadership of the anti-Marcos movement that formed in Winnipeg soon after the Aquino assassination on August 21, 1983. The August Twenty-One Movement (ATOM) was the vanguard of the anti-Marcos opposition in Canada.
Kalayaan had a busy time covering the series of events in the city that included the visits of Agapito “Butz” Aquino, brother of the slain senator, and other Philippine personalities.
When Kalayaan carried advertising from the Bank of Nova Scotia, I was asked by the local anti-apartheid group if I was willing to withdraw the bank’s ad as it was doing business in South Africa. It was a lucrative contract for a small paper like mine, but I did not hesitate to cancel it in support of the anti-apartheid movement.
The paper exposed the extravagance of the Philippine government in maintaining a large consulate in Winnipeg. A poor country like the Philippines did not need to rent a whole floor of a downtown office building and employ ten people. I compared it to the Japanese Consulate, which occupied only a quarter of the space in the same building. The story was picked up by the Winnipeg Free Press and the controversy erupted. Soon after the consulate was closed, I bore the brunt of the blame for its closure from some people in the community. My exposé perhaps contributed to the consulate’s demise, although it was a decision made by the Philippine government.
But it was in issues related to racism that I found myself most embroiled. The Indigenous community and people of colour were fair game for the mainstream media, and headlines screamed of crimes allegedly committed by them. I could not understand why only Indigenous people and people of colour were identified in crime reporting. Our race was always identified, while the race of people of European ancestry was not.
I helped organize a meeting with mainstream media and community leaders to discuss the issue of racialized reporting of crime news in the city. Media representatives argued that there was no racism in their reporting, as the identification of race was “germane” to the story.
One incident involving some Filipinos during Folklorama was reported by the Winnipeg Sun, whose headlines screamed “Filipinos in fracas,” and whose articles warned of potential trouble during Folklorama, a practice of sensationalizing news involving people of colour.
This happened after our meeting with media representatives, and I thought if the media would not respond to our concerns, maybe we should hurt them in their pocketbooks. I called for a boycott of the paper and asked some people to call and cancel their subscriptions. Some Filipino mothers called the Winnipeg Sun to tell them that their boys would no longer be distributing the paper if the discriminatory practice continued. Corner stores that sold the paper also called to say that they would stop selling the Sun.
The editor at the time, Kelly Armstrong, called and asked me to hold off on my call for a boycott. I said it was too late, as Kalayaan was on its way to the printers with my editorial for a boycott on it. The move prompted an editorial response from the Sun explaining their side. It was the first time a major media outlet in the city had acknowledged their actions, which was a major victory for the Filipino community.
I thought of expanding Kalayaan to other ethnic communities in Winnipeg in the hope of increasing circulation. The paper became a magazine, and I named it Mosaik to reflect the diversity of the city. Personalities that were featured included Elijah Harper, the first Indigenous member of the Manitoba legislature, and Evelyn Lau, the acclaimed Chinese-Canadian poet and author. Despite my efforts, however, the publication did not become a viable financial operation and folded after a year.
In 1992, my family moved to the west coast and settled in Vancouver. Since I had contacts in the city while publishing Silangan, I was invited to write for the Philippine Chronicle, then published by Boding and Erly Juatco. When the paper changed ownership, I became its new editor until it folded.
In early 2009, I tried to revive Silangan with a first tabloid issue in April. It lasted for ten issues until January 2010. I then moved to Philippine Asian News Today (PNT), published by Rey Fortaleza in 2009 as the Senior Editor, until December 2014 when I started my own online paper: philippinecanadiannews.com. The vision is to link the Filipino diaspora in Canada.
Today, at eighty-three years old, I am still doing what I love to do: telling and sharing the stories of our community.
We haven’t reached one million views yet, but I will keep writing with that goal in mind, one click at a time.
Working for forty-six years now as an “accidental journalist” in Canada has not always been easy, but I have thoroughly enjoyed it, and I am truly grateful that I have chosen this path.