“Ay naku, don’t ever go to that area. Puno ng mga pana. They’re mostly homeless and drunk, nothing but trouble there.”
“Oh no, don’t rent in Millwoods. That’s the curry community. If you rent a room there, you will come out smelling like them, sige ka.”
“Why would you even think of doing that? Kababae mong tao! You should be thankful nasa Canada ka na. Don’t draw any attention to yourself.”
These were some of the advice given to me — more than once — from people in my heritage community during my first few years in Canada.
In 1984, I arrived in Edmonton with a scholarship to study at the University of Alberta. I was on my own, young, and still impressionable. Like most newcomers to a distant land, I gravitated toward people from my home country as I sought to find my footing in a new city, as I tried to settle and establish myself. People from one’s native land provide familiarity and a cultural safe haven for immigrants in a new place, especially for those arriving without families. Not having a single relative in Edmonton nor in all of Canada, I relied heavily on the proximity and wisdom of my heritage community, which became my extended family — my kin network — in this new environment. I soaked up the pronouncements of the titos and titas who were here before me without any hesitation because like many Filipinos, especially at that time, I was raised to listen to people older than me, to obey them without question, and to not challenge them or talk back at all.
When you move to a new land as an adult, you tend to bring your home country with you, and it serves as your frame of reference. How can you not? This is all you have known, especially if this is the first time you’ve moved away. Exploring, discovering, and taking on new experiences can be exhilarating but also confusing and disconcerting. Turning to people from your own heritage community provides security, predictability, and a sense of belonging, including a framework for what you can inherently trust and rely on. I was happy to be in a group where I could loosen up and not constantly be decoding actions and intentions, then planning and assessing my reactions. I was thankful to be where I could speak Filipino because speaking in another language and constantly being mindful of the proper words, pronunciations, and accent can be exhausting.
However, doubts started forming in my mind about the soundness of the information and advice I was getting from my kin network after I started settling into university, taking courses on comparative literature and cultural studies, and having discussions with professors and other graduate students. I could not shake the niggling feeling that there was something wrong with the perspectives my community elders were handing down to me and sharing with each other. After being immersed in studying the sociological, cultural, and environmental developments in Canada and other Commonwealth countries, I started doubting and questioning the mindset of these people I respected, the very same people who warmly welcomed me into their homes, who fed me, who invited me to their family parties, who encouraged and uplifted me when I felt homesick and alone. I had a sinking feeling, but my conviction was strong that my community elders were harbouring and circulating damaging stereotypes and prejudices, most probably without really understanding what they were doing. It was an alarming and disheartening discovery — that the people I relied on from my heritage community were so poorly informed about other cultures and persisted on believing harmful ideas that were racist and misogynistic. It was only after I was deep into my graduate studies that I recognized and understood this. And I realized that my awareness took some time because I, myself, was all these as well: poorly informed, misogynistic, racist.
In the 1960s, while growing up in the Philippines, I went to a school run by nuns, reading books in English about people, places, and activities that were completely strange to me, in words unfamiliar to my tongue. And we had no choice; these were the books we had to read for school. These were also the only books available to us then. In addition, we were not allowed to speak in any language other than English in school. Otherwise, we’d get fined. That fine was a major setback for students like me who did not even get an allowance, who sometimes even had to go to school without lunch.
Being schooled in English was commonplace in the Philippines then, not only in the urban areas. Since the early 1900s, the school system in the Philippines was founded and designed by our American colonizers. The curriculum and school materials were patterned after the U.S. school system and disadvantaged the school children in the Philippines, because not only were they trying to learn new concepts in a foreign language, but they were also being forced to do so from the point of view of a different culture. Although the Philippines started in 1974 to aim for bilingual education (English and Filipino), it was not until the school term 1978–79 that it was nationally mandated to teach areas like social studies, character education, and health and physical education in our native language, in addition to a Pilipino subject. The progress for the new program, however, was slow, as materials were sorely lacking in quantity and quality, and the teachers needed training to teach in the Filipino language. As for me, most subjects like math, natural and social sciences, religion, history, and language arts were all taught in English. Especially for literature, all the way up to university, we went from English classic to English classic written by non-Filipinos. The only exception was studying excerpts of Noli Me Tángere, written by a Filipino, Jose Rizal. But even this, we read the English translation, and we were not made to read the whole book.
The world view, mindset, and aspirations instilled in us for many, many years by those books in English, as well as the influence and instructions from both our religious and secular teachers, were all structured to uphold a foreign ideology that centred on whiteness, on the belief that white culture, values, and norms were the standard centre of the world. This was taken for granted in the Philippines then — the root, causality, or context never clearly clarified why white culture was deemed superior to ours. However, the ideas endorsed in these imported books — the way of living, concepts of beauty, criteria for success — were not only foreign but elusive and inaccessible to us. The activities and aspirations depicted did not resemble what we saw or experienced in our immediate environment, did not come near to the realities of our families, neighbours, community. Nevertheless, we were made to absorb concepts and values toward accepting that white culture was better and preferred. Moreover, a social system organized around patriarchy came bundled with the white, colonial culture that we ingested. Men were favoured from birth, and there were marked differences in what was permissible or encouraged between men and women in terms of aptitudes, career choices, social status, overall life experiences, and access to power, wealth, and privilege.
The predilection toward venerating white and male cultures and ideals was echoed outside school as well, for this was what our elders learned and passed on down the generations. In hindsight, this was also why I was not critical of those divisive and derogatory remarks from the titos and titas in Edmonton in the 1980s, instructing me not to associate with Indigenous people, who were generalized as homeless and worthless, as well as to avoid other heritage communities while making fun of them. I accepted these precepts without questioning them because they were simply extensions of what I had heard my whole life before coming to Canada, which I had already internalized as status quo.
“If you don’t behave, kukunin ka ng bumbay.”
“No, girls can’t do it. That’s only for boys.”
“Ay, ang puti! And what a nice nose. She will go far.”
“Let your kuya have more, because he’s a boy.”
“Why did you stay out under the sun? You’re so dark, mukha ka ngayong busabos” (you look poor and dirty).
I grew up surrounded by uncritical belief and blind adherence to white colonial and patriarchal standards that made me feel inferior, insecure, and fearful about my future. Without truly understanding the underlying reasons, I felt that I was never good enough, that I could never measure up to the ideals and aspirations required of me. There was an incessant mantra in my head, “I will never be beautiful nor rich nor successful enough,” and it was echoed by many around me as well — my siblings, classmates, friends, and relatives, even those who were older. As a response, we all kept striving to be better, we all kept trying harder and harder, not fully understanding that the playing field and rules were not conceived for us to win. I did not realize then that this was intentional and bolstered by systems and structures that profited by intentionally making people like me feel deficient and anxious. We were indoctrinated into believing that our identity and worth were premised upon some standards set and controlled by others, not ourselves. Our precarious self-esteem drove us to constant self-surveillance and self-management mode, and it made us vulnerable to outside approval and submission to authorities.
I believe that generations and generations of Filipinos constantly made to feel inadequate and powerless by colonial principles gave rise to attitudes and values that became embedded in our psyche, which, in turn, were deemed as cultural traits, when, actually, these were responses to trauma caused by inequality and distress: complaisance, deference to authority, conflict avoidance, self-restraint, persistence, determination to work hard, and the urge to excel. For me, this inadequacy complex is a major reason why being a Filipino can feel like we lead a life of constant striving, a life where we always need to be productive, where we need to keep improving ourselves. And we keep orienting the definition of improvement and success on colonial standards, which are mostly unattainable. In the 1980s, to “go abroad” was one of the most prominent signs of success for Filipinos. Specifically, it was to go to America. Many difficult years under a dictatorship contributed to Filipinos wanting to immigrate and “finally make it” in America. America was so revered, I remember some people’s response when I told them I was leaving with a scholarship to study at a university in Canada: “Okay na rin yan, at least you can go abroad. Malapit na yan sa America, maybe you can transfer later.” Not knowing any better then, I secretly wished the same: to someday “make it” to America.
I did not know much about Canada when I arrived in 1984. This was pre-Internet, pre-cellphone days, and a time when travel was very expensive and not as commonplace. Canada seemed harmless. I had not heard of Canada colonizing or being at war with any country. In my limited experience, the people seemed kind and friendly enough. However, as I mentioned earlier, I quickly learned that in a colonial country like Canada, whiteness and white superiority are deeply embedded in its policies, structures, values, and systems, so that racialized groups are negatively impacted in many aspects of our lives: employment, housing, education, justice, social participation, and access to goods and services. Even some of the kind, friendly Canadians I met were not aware or uncritically accepting of the gaps and hierarchies between the dominant white population and those who were non-white. After I learned this, I tried sharing my apprehensions with my heritage community about the power dynamics being sustained in Canada that favoured the colonists’ culture and led to racism. I encouraged the community to fight the systems and values that kept us marginalized and exploitable, instead of comparing and pitting ourselves against other heritage groups. But I was not successful in raising awareness or understanding. Compared to their lives in the Philippines, the Filipinos in Edmonton had jobs, houses, access to health care, schools, and churches. So, they did not perceive the inequality of access to wealth and social participation that I was pointing out. Instead, they told me, “That’s the way it’s always been and will be for us,” and advised me to be grateful to Canada. There was nothing that needed to change, other than Canada should allow more of our relatives to easily immigrate here. People also pointed out that Canada encouraged immigration and multiculturalism and was the first country to pass a national multiculturalism law in 1988. Hence, Canada must love people like us. My contention that multiculturalism did not equate to inclusion and equity fell on deaf ears.
When one is used to being passive and constantly told to sacrifice for the family and community, assertiveness may be perceived as aggression and disrespect. When one is not used to being self-confident, confidence can be misconstrued as arrogance. My dissent and talking back to those who were older than me and who had been in Edmonton longer than me was construed exactly as such — arrogance. I think my confidence was taken for arrogance because it triggered some fear that I was challenging the status quo, just when more and more Filipinos were getting established in Edmonton, enjoying the fruits of their labour and wages. The dream to pursue when we go abroad is to find a job, buy a house and car, raise a family comfortably, and send money back home. At that time, there was really no one in the Filipino community who understood why I was deviating from this immigrant’s dream and asking them to divert their time and energy toward addressing inequality, misogyny, and racism. I think it also did not help that I was a cash-strapped academic living in a rented studio apartment, did not have a car, and was unmarried and childless, which all belied the idea of success within our community.
Still wanting to belong to and be accepted by my kin network, I succumbed to normative social adjustment and toned myself down. To be safe, I tried to only chat about movies, food, people, clothes, children, and houses. I tried to not be critical of conversations and actions even as I perceived them as biased and prejudiced. I tried to make excuses or explain away some behaviours, especially from the older people, in view of their generation’s upbringing and hardships. But it was really difficult to keep ignoring the double standards between genders, the preference for white patriarchal culture and values, the push to conform to white standards of beauty, the constant striving to assimilate into a culture of intensified consumption.
I believe that there is no neutral space between being a racist and diligently fighting racism, no neutral space between sexism and relentlessly fighting misogyny. White centring, together with its patriarchal and consumption-focused ideals, is so pervasive and harmful that we need to be intentionally and actively fighting it daily. It is not enough to stop laughing at some jokes, to keep quiet when someone says a racist or sexist statement, or to ignore news harmful to a group due to race or gender. There is no neutral space. One is either supporting whiteness as a dominant culture or actively opposing it. When I mentioned earlier that my heritage community was racist and misogynistic, and so was I, it was because, by refusing to accept how colonial and patriarchal mentality had impacted racialized groups and we needed to change, my heritage community was being complicit in sustaining the dominant culture. As for me, by being selective in my opposition, by choosing to sometimes stay quiet and not do anything, I was also furthering the damage caused by racism and misogyny.
In 1989, I left Edmonton to move to Germany for a scholarship toward my PhD. I ended up working in Europe, as well as Asia, for quite some time and came back to Edmonton only in 2007 with my husband and son to stay in Canada permanently. Working at the University of Alberta and raising a young child while establishing roots in a new city kept me busy for the first few years after coming back. It was not until 2014 that I slowly started being more involved again with the Filipino community in Edmonton. After twenty-five years, the community had changed tremendously. There were only about six thousand Filipinos in the early 1980s, and this grew to sixty-five thousand by 2016. It was also a much more diverse group in terms of age, profession, educational achievement, and artistic abilities, as well as gender orientation. I was happy to note a marked increase of more progressive, open-minded, and forward-thinking Filipinos, mostly younger than me. I surmised they were not as strongly bounded by the strict colonial education we had pre-1980s.
I had also changed. In 2014, I was not a fledgling academic anymore, trying to lecture my elders out of a world view and mindset that took decades of indoctrination. I had a better grasp of how big and complex socio-racial hierarchies and processes are, the myriad ways both locals and immigrants position themselves within them, and how it will take a very long time to unpack centuries of inequality created by the preference for whiteness. I also learned that it was better to choose a different starting place — to situate all these through a lens of understanding, compassion, and healing, rather than anxiety and anger. With this, I was able to join together once more with my heritage community, gain allies, and better move forward on raising awareness about systemic inequalities.
Now, in 2022, I remain an avid advocate for equity, inclusion, and diversity, and not only for people of Philippine heritage. I believe it is imperative that we go past heritage, past ethnicity, past single socio-cultural categorizations and show how closely intertwined the factors, causes, and impacts of widespread inequalities are: Black Lives Matter, #MeToo movement, rise in Asian hate, LGBTQ+ struggles, the heartbreak of residential schools, climate change and climate migrants, and so on. We get a more comprehensive picture of what needs to be addressed for society to change if we see the interconnectivity among all these. This way, we also better understand the need to bring communities together, sharpen our solidarity work, and transition from organizational silos to wider community-based solidarity. It is encouraging to see many cross-community events and discussions promoted not only in Edmonton, but Canada-wide, many available and shared online. It is encouraging to see there are more and more relevant materials available from diverse sources, from treatises to personal stories showing how real people, real families have been impacted. It is encouraging to see more young people aware of the systemic causes of these inequalities and wishing to be involved in effecting change. It is crucial that we move from our silos and focus on working together to learn, share, and take appropriate action. Only when we amplify each other’s voices and expand spaces for each other, can we offer up and understand truths from many angles, from different perspectives, from a truly diverse population. Then, we are more discerning and do not have to accept one truth from a single white centre.