Tailor Made

Helen and Lydia came of age in the 1950s and 1960s during a period of postwar reconstruction in the Philippines marked by economic growth that would falter by the early 1970s. Both lived modest, hard-working lives on farms, and were exposed early to the traditional roles of women in provincial life. Lydia’s parents died when she was young, forcing her to leave school and take on domestic responsibilities, such as housekeeping, for her older sister. As she grew older, her siblings expected her to stay home and marry.

Helen encountered similar pressures. Although her parents valued education, there were few professions deemed respectable for women. Initially, she pursued a nursing degree, but the disapproval of her father and brothers forced her to withdraw from the program. She spent a miserable year working in her family’s fields. “Oh my God, it’s so hard,” she recalled in an interview in 2024. “All the jobs in the field I did. ... You’re out there, yeah, rain or shine.”

At the end of that year, her father presented her with two options: remain a farmer or attend school to become a teacher. Teaching was one of the few socially acceptable careers for women, as it aligned with traditional expectations of them as nurturing, mother-like figures responsible for raising and morally guiding children. Bowing to her father’s wishes, she enrolled in a teaching program in a local university.

Canada’s immigration system underwent a major overhaul in 1967, replacing discriminatory race- and country-based restrictions with a points system that assessed applicants based on education, profession, language ability, and wealth. This happened at a fortuitous time for garment workers and manufacturers.

Since the end of the Second World War, Canada’s clothing industry had relied on foreign labour, because local workers found the jobs undesirable. By the 1960s, Canada’s clothing-and-textile industry was booming. But as businesses expanded, factories faced chronic labour shortages, compounded by the declining flow of workers from traditional southern-European sources like Italy.

Winnipeg had 5,200 textile workers employed in various factories, and it was estimated that hundreds more workers were needed, while demand would only grow. The need was immediate, as Winnipeg companies estimated they were working at fifty per cent of their capacity and losing hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of business as a result.

Correspondence between industry leaders and government officials reveals that, in 1968, they were looking to the Philippines — which already had a thriving garment sector — as a potential replacement source for labour. Working with provincial and federal governments, garment manufacturers in Winnipeg set up recruitment schemes in Manila, offering jobs that came with permanent-residency status.

In October 1968, the first wave of Filipina garment workers arrived in Winnipeg, a city that throughout the 1960s and 1970s would absorb thousands of these workers due to its acute labour shortages. Estelita Naron went to Canada on this program in 1971 and found employment at Westcott, a clothing factory in Winnipeg. As a floor supervisor there with some influence, she was able to secure a job offer for her sister-in-law Helen the following year without an interview, providing her a smooth path to permanent residency. Still, it entailed personal sacrifices: Helen had to leave behind her sweetheart, Lino Padua, because the immigration program only accepted single people.

While Helen’s family was sad to see her leave home, even her father recognized the benefits that moving to Canada offered: “If you’re going to stay here, you have no life here,” she recalled him saying.

Without a family connection to help her get a job, Lydia had to pass through the formal application procedure to take part in the immigration scheme. She first heard about two visiting Canadian recruiters from her co-workers in Manila. By that time, she had three years of experience using high-speed modern sewing machines — one of the key skills the recruiters sought.

When Lydia arrived at the hotel where the recruitment was taking place, she found the waiting room filled with other women, some quietly anxious, others chatting nervously. Five hours later, when her name was finally called, she entered a small room where one Canadian and one Filipina recruiter awaited her. Lydia completed the sewing test in just ten minutes.

After the test, Lydia felt a surge of anxiety. Her future seemed to hinge entirely on this opportunity. Without a strong educational background, she feared she might not stand out. However, she was confident in her sewing skills, had a working knowledge of English from caring for her cousin’s children while he served in the U.S. Navy, and possessed a fierce determination to improve her life. While working abroad had not been in her long-term plans — and she had recently met her future husband, Manny Cansino, while on a bus ride home to Pangasinan from Manila — passing the test to become a garment worker set her on a path toward a new future.

When Lydia landed in Winnipeg, she was surprised to find a welcoming party of dozens of people waiting for her. It had become the custom for Filipina garment workers who were already in Winnipeg to greet new workers at the airport, often accompanying the representatives of the companies that recruited the women.

A manager from Silpit divided the new arrivals into two groups: those who had family or friends to pick them up and those whose living arrangements had been organized by Silpit. Like many clothing workers, Lydia received a loan from Silpit to help with her initial costs in Winnipeg. The loans — usually around $150 to $200 — were forgiven over two years, as long as the worker stayed with the company. This system, along with the company’s role in arranging living accommodations, eased a precarious part of the immigration process. It allowed Filipinas who might not have been able to save for their first few months — especially given the high costs of immigration paperwork — the opportunity to move to Canada.

The week after Lydia arrived, the city was hit by a snowstorm. She still remembers her amazement at the “smoke” that came out of her mouth in the cold air. One of her fondest memories of those first days and weeks was playing outside in the snow with her new friends and co-workers. “I could only see snow in the fridge, you know, the freezer,” she said. “But when I came here, it’s real.”

Although their sewing skills gave them entry to Canada, many of the immigrants recruited through the garment-worker program left the industry after a few years, largely due to working conditions and pay. Lydia, like most other workers, was paid per item completed, whereas Helen worked for a standard hourly wage because she liked earning a predictable paycheque that didn’t depend on the pace of her sewing. Lydia quit her position at Silpit after the company tried to lower her piecemeal rate, because she worked so quickly that her earnings were too high. There were so many jobs available at the time, she noted, that “if you quit this morning, afternoon you got a job.” She worked for a few years in another clothing factory before leaving the industry entirely.

Helen left Westcott after being offered a lower wage increase than her co-workers. She spent a few years working at a candy factory before returning to the textile business at Dominion Tanners, where she worked with her husband, Lino, and Lydia’s husband, Manny.

For Lino Padua, the adjustment to Canada was difficult. After arriving, he lived with Helen in her brother’s basement, where he felt like a prisoner. “I was thinking Canada is very rich,” Lino remembered. “That’s what I have in mind. How come I live like in … a cell prison?”

But soon the isolation eased as Lino found work and they moved into their own home, had children, and gradually sponsored many of their own siblings to live in Winnipeg.

Now, Lino declares his happiness in Canada, especially with his sons and their families. “They’re good sons,” he said with pride. “They are very close [to each other].” He’s not sure they would have enjoyed the same quality of life in the Philippines. “I guess I don’t think so ... because my surrounding [here] is not as much crime as over there, especially back in the north where I came from.”

Like Helen and Lydia, many Filipina garment workers had boyfriends, fiancés, or even husbands and children before immigrating to Canada, but they did not disclose this to government officials. “They make a lie just because, well, you cannot blame them,” Lydia explained. “They lie just because [Canadian government officials] want single people to come over here.” However, after becoming established in Canada, these women often sponsored their husbands, parents, siblings, and the families of their spouses.

Government sources suggest that the Filipino population in Canada prior to the influx of clothing workers was around eight hundred. Determining the number of Filipina garment workers who landed in Canada in the 1960s and 1970s is challenging due to limited specific data, but information on broader trends during this period is available. By 1969, 3,001 Filipinos had immigrated to Canada. Nearly three thousand more were entering annually by 1972, with around one hundred thousand living in Canada as permanent residents or citizens in 1979, according to government records.

In Winnipeg, garment workers built upon a relatively small foundation of health-care professionals to create larger, more robust Filipino communities. The Winnipeg population was celebrated in 1979 when the city was twinned with Manila, a relationship that continues today. As of the 2021 census, more than 950,000 people of Filipino origin lived in Canada — and many can trace their roots back to a pioneering Filipina immigrant.

This was an era in global migration when women, rather than men, increasingly took the lead in initiating immigration, as Lydia and Helen did. Though their new lives came with struggles, they also brought the independence the women desired — an independence that, today, has become a hallmark of their success.

It’s New Year’s Eve 2024, and eighty-year-old Lydia Cansino is sitting in the living room of her home in Winnipeg. The deep dark of the winter night is held back by lights blazing within the house, the silence of the cold outside overcome by laughter and shouts. Lydia misses the warmth of the Philippines but, if she hasn’t come to like the cold of Canada, at least she’s used to it. Surrounding her are three generations of family, most of whom are in Canada because of her decision to leave the Philippines in 1972.

She and her family are playing a Filipino New Year’s Eve game called sabog, where she, as the host, tosses coins for kids and adults to catch. Lydia’s wit is sharp, and her jokes delight. She is often seen socializing with her friends and family and playing games, like the Filipino card game tongits — in fact, she is known to her close friends as the “Tongits Queen of Manitoba.”

Historians sometimes look for grand narratives in topics such as the impact of the garment industry on women’s lives. But Lydia and Helen’s stories demonstrate one thing: that their experiences working in clothing factories did not define their identities or their lives in Canada. Working in their trade was just the first of many steps taken to find happiness in this country. It was the means through which they came to Canada to create the richer narratives of home, family, and success in life. “Even for me, I don’t have much education. I have money here and I could buy what I want,” Lydia reflects. “For me, I’m so happy that I am here. I’m so blessed that I am here.”