Engendering transnational voices : studies in family, work, and identity 9781771120876, 1771120878, 9781771120883, 1771120886

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Engendering Transnational Voices

A broad-ranging series that publishes scholarship from various disciplines, approaches, and perspectives relevant to the concepts and relations of childhood and family in Canada. Our interests also include, but are not limited to, interdisciplinary approaches and theoretical investigations of gender, race, sexuality, geography, language, and culture within these categories of experience, historical and contemporary. Series Editor: Cynthia Comacchio History Department Wilfrid Laurier University Send proposals to: Lisa Quinn, Acquisitions Editor Wilfrid Laurier University Press 75 University Avenue West Waterloo, ON N2L 3C5 Canada Phone: 519-884-0710 ext. 2843 Fax: 519-725-1399 Email: [email protected]

GUIDA MAN AND RINA COHEN, EDITORS

Engendering Transnational Voices

STUDIES IN FAMILY, WORK, AND IDENTITY

This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Awards to Scholarly Publications Program, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. Wilfrid Laurier University Press acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Engendering transnational voices : studies in family, work, and identity / Guida Man and Rina Cohen, editors. (Studies in childhood and family in Canada) Includes bibliographical references and index. Issued in print and electronic formats. ISBN 978-1-77112-113-2 (paperback).—ISBN 978-1-77112-088-3 (epub).— ISBN 978-1-77112-087-6 (pdf) 1. Immigrant families—Social conditions.  2. Immigrant families—Canada—Social conditions.  3. Transnationalism—Social aspects.  4. Women immigrants—Family relationships.  5. Women immigrants—Social conditions.  6. Immigrant youth—Family relationships.  7. Immigrant youth—Social conditions.  8. Children of immigrants—Family relationships.  9. Children of immigrants—Social conditions.  I. Cohen, Rina, 1947–, author, editor  II. Man, Guida, 1957–, author, editor  III. Series: Studies in childhood and family in Canada JV6225.E55  2015                                                                                 

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C2015-901585-5   C2015-901586-3

Cover design by Sandra Friesen. Front-cover image © ivanastar. Text design by Sandra Friesen. © 2015 Wilfrid Laurier University Press Waterloo, Ontario, Canada www.wlupress.wlu.ca This book is printed on FSC® certified paper and is certified Ecologo. It contains post-consumer fibre, is processed chlorine free, and is manufactured using biogas energy. Printed in Canada Every reasonable effort has been made to acquire permission for copyright material used in this text, and to acknowledge all such indebtedness accurately. Any errors and omissions called to the publisher’s attention will be corrected in future printings. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit http://www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

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This book is dedicated to My daughter Gunda, whose laughter sustains me! Guida Man Itai, Ronni. Eden, Guy, Aviv, Daphne & Phebe Rina Cohen

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements Introduction: Engendering Transnational Voices Rita Cohen and Guida Man

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PART I  EXPERIENCING TRANSNATIONAL FAMILY LIVES

1 Gulf Husbands and Canadian Wives: Transnationalism from Below among South Asians – A Classed, Gendered, and Racialized Phenomenon Tania Das Gupta

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2 Maintaining Families Through Transnational Strategies: 33 The Experience of Mainland Chinese Immigrant Women in Canada Guida Man 3 Intergenerational and Transnational Familyhood in Canada’s Technology Triangle Amrita Hari

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4 Transnational Family Exchanges in Senior Canadian Immigrant Families Nancy Mandell, Katharine King, Valerie Preston, Natalie Weiser, Ann Kim, and Meg Luxton

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PART II  NEGOTIATING TRANSNATIONAL CARE WORK

5 Multidirectional Care in Filipino Transnational Families Valerie Francisco

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6 Transnationalism and Remittances: The Double-edged Position of Transmigrant Women Engaged in the Domestic Service Sector Patience Elabor-Idemudia

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7 Mothering Has No Borders: The Transnational Kinship Networks of Undocumented Jamaican Domestic Workers in Canada Susan M. Brigham

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8 Transnational Motherhood: Constructing Intergenerational Relations Between Filipina Migrant Workers and Their Children Rina Cohen

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PART III  CONSTRUCTING TRANSNATIONAL CULTURAL IDENTITIES

9 Living Up to Expectations: 2nd and 1.5-Generation Students’ Pursuit of University Education Leanne Taylor and Carl E. James

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1 0 Family, Religion, and the Re-territorialization of Culture Within the South Asian Diaspora Lina Samuel

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11 Transnational Activism: An Asian Canadian Case Xiaoping Li

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PART IV  CONTESTING HEGEMONIC DISCOURSES AND RESHAPING TRANSNATIONAL SOCIAL SPACES

12 Structuring Transnationalism: Mothering and the Educational Project Ann H. Kim

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13 Producing Refugees and Trafficked Persons: Women, Unaccompanied Minors, and Discourses of Criminalized Victimhood Hijin Park

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14 Field Correspondence: Exploring the Roots of the Transnational Habitus Christine Hughes

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15 Migrant Networks: Peruvian Women (Re)Shaping Social Spaces in Madrid Felipe Rubio

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Contributors

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Index

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

An edited book will not materialize without the contribution and collaboration of many people. First, we would like to extend our deepest thank you to the chapter authors for their exceptional contribution to this volume. The success of this book can only be attributed to the originality of their research, and their critical analysis of the data. The authors not only had to revise and edit their chapters a few times, they had had to do so under pressing timelines. We are indebted to them for their patience, dedication, and belief in us in bringing the collected volume to eventual fruition. A huge thank-you goes also to the two external reviewers for their reviews. Their excellent comments were invaluable in helping us edit, shape, and organize the collection into a coherent manuscript. Likewise, we want to thank the various personnel at Wilfrid Laurier University Press who assisted in bringing the edited book from the initial development to the publishing of the manuscript. In particular, Lisa Quinn, Blaire Comacchio, Leslie Macredie, and Rob Kohlmeier were instrumental in helping us to navigate the various stages of the publishing process. Their guidance is much appreciated. The publication of an edited book such as this one will not happen without the financial support from different sources. First of all, we are grateful for the generous support of a grant from the Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Awards to Scholarly Publications Program, provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. We would also like to extend our sincerest thanks to York Centre for Asian Research (YCAR) for a Publication Support Fund, as well as to York University Faculty

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS of Liberal Arts and Professional Studies (LA&PS) for a Minor Research Grant. Without these awards, we would not have been able to have the book published.

Last but not least, we would like to extend our appreciation to our respective families. Their patience and understanding made it possible for us to complete the book project. We dedicate this book to them.

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INTRODUCTION

ENGENDERING TRANSNATIONAL VOICES: STUDIES IN FAMILY, WORK, AND IDENTITY Rina Cohen and Guida Man

As is the case in many academic projects, the seeds for this book collection were planted long ago in our personal experiences as transnational female migrants. Transnational gendered migration is not only our main research area, it has also been an intimate part of our lived experiences, an ontological and epistemological matter, the core of who we are. We are immigrant women1 in Canada with strong links to our respective transnational/ diasporic communities. We have transnational familial ties with our countries of origin and, although evolving, distinct transnational identities. Guida is originally from Hong Kong, but her family is dispersed to four continents: Asia, North and South America, and Europe, and a number of countries. She is connected to the Chinese diasporic communities, both locally and globally. As a feminist scholar committed to activism and social change, she has always undertaken research that has been for, with, and about immigrant women, their families and communities, using a feminist conceptual framework. She is dedicated to bridging academic scholarship with community engagement, particularly in her collaborative work with grassroots organizations concerned with issues on equity, social justice, and diversity. Rina was born in Romania and migrated twice in her life, once, as a child, to Israel and later, with her spouse and children, to Canada. Similarly, her family is dispersed around the globe. She is very involved in the Toronto Jewish community and was a founder of an international organization of Israelis abroad as well as a variety of other immigrants’ organizations. In the past, she has been politically involved with the feminist organization INTERCEDE, an international organization whose objective is to end

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the exploitation of domestic workers. Currently, she is active in migrant justice organizations promoting the regularization of undocumented and visa workers as well as refugees. Guida has been doing research concerning Chinese immigrant women and their families since the 1990s. More recently, she has examined how gendered and racialized institutional and organizational processes in the context of globalization and neoliberal restructuring affect immigrant women’s lives. Her current research focuses on the transnational migration experiences of Chinese and Indian immigrant women, examining how these women utilize transnational strategies and familial networks to negotiate work and family. Rina’s research of transnational domestic workers in Canada has evolved into studying transnational motherhood and restructuring of transmigrant family relations. She has also explored the role of the “myth of return” in the formation of diasporic enclaves. More recently, she has been studying return and circular migration.  This collective work has had a long gestation. The idea for it developed while we were contemplating organizing academic sessions on marginalized transnational migrant women for the Canadian Sociological Association annual meetings. In 2008, we co-organized our first “transnational” session entitled “Globalization and Transnational Experience” at the 43rd Annual Meeting of the Canadian Sociological Association (CSA). We were interested in gender and transnational migration processes, but we deliberately kept our session title very broad, with the intention of capturing papers that would address various aspects of the transnational experience. This popular session was repeated in 2009, 2010, 2012, and 2013. As it turned out, most of the papers submitted to our conference sessions addressed issues of gender, families, work, and identities. A number of these conference papers have been included in this edited collection. But we also issued a Call for Papers to solicit Canadian scholars who specialize in the field of gender and transnational migration and who adopt a feminist/ equity/social justice framework, to write specifically for our volume. This has culminated in a unique collection of vigorous theoretical and methodological studies that focus specifically on the experiences of transmigrant women, youth, and children. In this introduction, we will first present a discussion of the genesis and evolution of the concept of transnational migration. We will then provide a review and analysis of the interrelatedness of gender and transnational migration before we describe in detail the chapters in each of the four parts of the book.

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INTRODUCTION Transnational Migration

In recent years, the intensification of neoliberalism coinciding with the rise of transnationalism, compounded by a growing acceleration of the transformative technological revolution, has resulted in the rapid increase in the mass movement of people (Glick Schiller, Basch, and Szanton Blanc 1995; Nedelcu 2012; Boccagni 2012). Consequently, traditional social institutions, such as family, work, and education, and social relations, such as gender, race, class, and age, are being reconfigured. While migration has never been a one-way process, it was not until the early 1990s that a rigorous multidisciplinary scholarly effort was made to make sense of the forms and intensity of the transnational existence (Basch, Glick Schiller, and Szanton Blanc 1994; Cohen 2010; Faist 2000; Glick Schiller, Basch, and Szanton Blanc 1992; Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007; Grasmuck and Pessar 1991; Guarnizo 1997; Itzigsohn et al. 1999; Levitt 2001; Portes, Guarnizo, and Landolt 1999; Satzewich and Wong 2006; Vertovec 1999). Rather than writing about absorption and assimilation, these migration scholars started developing the concept of transnational migration. According to Basch, Glick Schiller, and Szanton Blanc (1994: 7), pioneer social scientists in the field, transnationalism is defined as “the processes by which immigrants forge and sustain simultaneous multi-stranded social relations that link together their societies of origin and settlement.” They also used the term “transmigrants” to refer to immigrants who are involved in a multiplicity of familial, social, economic, political, organizational, and religious relationships across national borders. Today, many contemporary migration scholars adopt a transnational migration perspective, recognizing the fact that while immigrants and their families are actively integrating themselves into their new countries, they are simultaneously engaging in a variety of social relations in their home countries. The early writings of transnational migration scholars have been criticized as having several shortcomings. First, it was argued that transnationalism is not a new phenomenon and that migrants have always been linked to their country of origin (Waldinger and Fitzgerald 2004). Second, some scholars acknowledged the fact that strong ties with home countries, which may characterize first-generation migrants, tend to disappear, or at least decline, in the second or third generation (Portes 1997). In other words, it is argued that intensive transnational activity is a temporary phenomenon, typical to migrants and their children, and will diminish with time. Third, some researchers argue that the transnational migration perspective is too

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dichotomized, in contrast to assimilation theories, and that transnationalism may take various forms, including bi-local, bi-national, or pan-ethnic (Lucassen 2007). Finally, many scholars assert that despite the decline in the importance of national borders, it is premature to discard the notion of the “nation-state” as they are still very relevant in constructing policies and programs that affect the transnational experience (Waldinger 2006). More recent scholarship attempts to address these inadequacies by expanding and diversifying the scope within which early scholars worked. Steven Vertovec (2004), for example, argues that while globalization is a major cause of transnational migration, transnationality, in turn, contributes to the wider process of globalization by instigating structural transformations. These transformations include enhanced “bi-focality,” multiple political affiliations (particularly with dual or multiple citizenship and nationality), and economic transformation (via remittances and money transfer practices). In a similar vein, Suarez-Orozco et al. (2011) maintain that transnationality has enhanced the process of globalization by transforming the educational system around the world. Some scholars have started to work on issues of simultaneity in which transmigrants are not only linked bi-locally to just host and home countries, but rather, they are connected to various transnational networks (Smith 2005). Others propose to broaden the concept of transnational migration to include those who do not move away from home. They argue that social, economic, cultural, and political transnationality can be practised even without actual geographical movement (Levitt 2001; Levitt and Glick Schiller 2004). In other words, globalization processes enable actors to migrate socially, culturally, economically, or politically without changing their actual addresses. Current literature on the processes of transnational migration can be delineated by foci. Some studies focus on structural elements of transnational migration while others highlight agency elements in the process. A recent review by Kim (2009) examines the growing influence of global capitalism on transnational migrants. Kim asserts that the approach to transnational migration, which is largely derived from imperialism or a world systems theory framework, has shifted from focusing on agency to focusing on the political and economic context that creates migration flows. Furthermore, these scholars also emphasize the importance of family and work experiences, collective identities, activities, and social spaces formed by transnational migrants. Increasingly, feminist scholars, such as the contributors to this volume, have illuminated the interaction between agency and

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structure in the transnational experience. In the following section, we will briefly discuss the interrelatedness of gender and transnational migration. Gender and Transnational Migration

In this collection, the transnational voices of women, youth, and children are examined, often through a feminist lens. Historically, gender has been underplayed in transnational literature. More recently, migration and social transformation studies are paying special attention to the ways in which gender plays a role in transnational lives. Since the early 1990s, the number of women who migrate on their own has consistently been increasing (Pessar and Mahler 2003). Some sociologists, such as Donato et al. (2006), labelled this proliferation of female migration a “feminization of migration” process, highlighting the need to further examine the gendered nature of migration. The substantial increase in the feminization of transnational migration should be understood in the context of the continuing escalation in the globalization and neoliberalization of the world’s market economy, the failure of state migration policies in the West, and the commoditization of citizenship. Capital accumulation under neoliberalism in a globalized world has exacerbated and escalated the disparity between the global north and south. Consequently, while some nation-states are not able to provide basic needs for their citizens, others are lacking labour power to maintain a rapid economic growth. This has led to a growth in both economic migration and speculative migration, of which a growing number are female migrants. Feminist scholars have long noted that women and men experience migration differently (Man 1995; Morokvasic 1984; Oishi 2005; Pessar 1999; Pessar and Mahler 2003), and these differences affect their settlement and their transnational experiences. Just as gender does, so do class and race and their relations affect and are affected by transnational migration. In general, working-class immigrant women (mostly racialized) occupy precarious positions, have limited access to essential knowledge and resources, and have little social capital in comparison to middle-class professional migrants (Raj 2003). This translates into differential opportunities and abilities to mobilize transnational strategies and hence different experiences for these women. At the same time, many racialized skilled immigrant women and men also experience downward mobility and are channelled into precarious work, particularly in the early period of their arrival to the new country (Man 2004a, 2004b; see also Das Gupta, Hari, and Man in this volume). Transmigrant women’s experiences are embedded in the social, economic, political, and cultural processes in the host societies as well as

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the societies they are originally from. These processes are usually quite different, and transmigrant women are constantly navigating between these two societies, utilizing both local and transnational resources and networks they could galvanize to accomplish their work of production and reproduction in the new country. Furthermore, these women have had to deal with a distinct racial hierarchy, something they have never experienced in their home countries. Many suffer a decline in their status, seriously disrupting their life trajectories. A gendered perspective demands a scholarly interrogation and reengagement with institutions and ideologies within immigrant communities, as well as those they are embedded in in the new country, in order to determine how patriarchy, class and racism organize family life, work, identities and social policies. Such a perspective encourages an examination of how engendered transmigrants can both reinforce and challenge race and class hierarchies. While second-wave feminist analysis related mainly to gender hierarchies as shaping migration, feminist scholars of colour, as well as anti-racist and neo/post-colonial feminists, take a more comprehensive approach. Rather than treating them as separate categories, they conceptualize the relations and the intersections of gender, race, ethnicity, class, legal status, and citizenship (Arat-Koc 2006; Brand 1984; Cohen 2001; Dua and Robertson 1999; Jhappan 1996; Man 2007; Ng 1993; Stasiulis 1990; Stevenson 1999; see also Brigham; Cohen; Das Gupta; Elabor-Idemudia in this volume). Recent studies on refugees, trafficked sex workers, and asylum seekers by transnational feminist scholars have also explored spaces and bodies in these cross-border activities (see e.g., Razack 2000; Spivak 1996; also Elabor-Idemudia, Park, and Rubio in this volume). While migration can be empowering for women, some feminist scholars (e.g., Alumkal 1999; Dannecker, 2005; Ehrenreich and Hochschild, 2004; Freitas and Godin, 2010; Glick Schiller and Fouron, 2001; Landolt 2001; Piper, 2006) have demonstrated how transnational migration processes can compromise women’s position through the reinforcement of gendered and cultural norms and rigid patriarchal practices from their country of origin, in the name of “protecting” women from a “promiscuous” or “immoral” host country. At the same time, these women are constrained in their country of settlement through gendered and racialized institutional processes such as immigration policies and employment practices. Furthermore, other studies have documented a tendency of women whose marriages or family relations are problematic to begin with, to find an overseas job. This may become an “honourable” escape from a bad or abusive marriage.

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A number of studies have also illuminated that transnational migration that transforms women into breadwinners actually empowers them (see e.g., Gaye and Jha 2011; Hondagneu-Sotelo 2001). Furthermore, women are more likely to send larger remittances to their families at home than do men (Abrego 2009). Therefore, families in which the mother migrated have a better chance of benefiting economically in comparison to families in which the father migrated. In some cultures, transnational mothers are vilified for migrating, whereas other cultures will praise them as sanctifiers and heroes. In general, women bear the brunt of the load in maintaining and reproducing de-territorialized family life (Waters 2002). At the same time, mothers’ absenteeism may be socially disciplined in comparison to fathers’ absence (Pribilsky 2004). As globalization intensifies, so does gendered transnational migration. It increases not only in frequency but also in intensity. Consequently, social structures such as gender, family, or age are restructured and reconstituted; social identities are constructed and reconstructed; and social spaces are being contested and reconfigured. While scholarly interest in the processes of transmigration and globalization is increasing, there is not enough attention paid to the specific voices of women, youth, children, and the elderly in these processes. This book collection, written by a group of scholars with a strong social justice and feminist stance, fills a lacuna in this body of knowledge by providing an alternative lens, that is, by placing transnational women, youth, children, and the elderly at the centre of the inquiry, and by exploring their experiences from their own standpoints. It is important to note here that gender, class, and race have a different meaning when they are constructed transnationally and that migrant experiences (which we tend to categorize by ethnicity or nationality) vary significantly on the basis of class, race, and gender relations. Following the tradition of transnational migration scholars, this collection of papers focuses on human agency, while recognizing the structural power relations inherent in it. The Plan of the Book

This edited volume fills a gap in the transnationalism literature by bringing together original papers that examine the transnational practices and identities of immigrant women, youth, children, and the elderly in an era of global migration and neoliberalism. Specifically, the collection addresses such issues as family relations, gender and work, schooling, remittances, cultural identities, caring of children and the elderly, inter- and multi-generational relationships, activism, and refugee determination.

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The papers, theoretical and empirical, critically analyze transnational experiences, discourses, cultural identities, and social spaces of women and youth who come from diverse racial, ethnic, and cultural backgrounds; are either first- or second-generation transmigrants; have legal or precarious migration status; and enter their adopted country as trafficked workers, domestic workers, skilled professionals, or students. The volume gives voice to individual experiences and focuses on human agency as well as the social, economic, political, and cultural processes inherent in society that enable or disable immigrants to mobilize linkages across national boundaries. While there are myriad ways to organize the chapters, we have arbitrarily divided the chapters into four parts to enable us to better provide clarity. Each part contains three to four chapters that are grouped together to reflect their common thematic and/or conceptual links. Part I, Experiencing Transnational Family Lives, consists of four chapters that analyze the transmigration experiences of family members—husband, wife, children, and the aged—examining their relationships with each other, their struggles in the new country, and women’s negotiation of household work and paid work, as well as other complexities and contradictions in transmigrant family lives. Tania Das Gupta’s Chapter 1 discusses the phenomenon of twice-migrated South Asian skilled migrants to Canada, arriving via the Middle East in a two-step migration process. Utilizing a race, gender, and class analysis, Das Gupta discusses the effects transnational migration has on family relationships, work, communities, social citizenship, and identities. Following Das Gupta, Guida Man in Chapter 2 also examines skilled migrants. In her chapter, she demonstrates how Chinese immigrant women professionals utilize their agencies by devising transnational strategies to accomplish the contradictory demands of their work in the home and in the labour market. She examines how the women’s experiences are embedded in and circumscribed by social, economic, political, and cultural processes. In a similar vein, Chapter 3 by Amrita Hari investigates the strategies skilled migrant-parents from India undertake to deal with the dual transition of settlement and parenthood in Canada. The chapter identifies intergenerational and welfare policy-driven strategies that highly skilled transnational parents adopt in order to cope with reproductive obligations and productive career activities. The last chapter in Part I is contributed by Nancy Mandell et al., who present transnational migration practices and identities in a more nuanced way. The chapter examines the impact structural processes have on seniors’ intimate lives, health, and well-being and

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their relationships with adult children and grandchildren. The authors conclude that family structures and interactions function both to facilitate and to constrain the financial, emotional, and physical well-being of Canadian immigrant seniors. Part II, Negotiating Transnational Care Work, contains four chapters (5 to 8) that address transmigrant women who are domestic workers, detailing the trials and tribulations in their everyday experience and their interactions with state regulations. It begins with Valerie Francisco’s Chapter 5, which documents the multidirectionality of care work among transnational families of Filipina women. Francisco illustrates that care work in these families goes in many ways: from migrants to families “left behind,” inside families and kin left behind, and from non-migrant family members to their migrant family members overseas. This is followed by Patience Elabor-Idemudia’s Chapter 6, which discusses how migrant women domestic workers contribute to the macro-level development of their home countries by enhancing their families’ and home governments’ revenues through foreign remittances, but at the same time, they confront domination and exploitation. Elabor-Idemudia underscores the racialized and gendered context of migrant women’s experiences. Similarly, Susan Brigham’s Chapter 7 focuses on the experiences of undocumented Black Jamaican women who work as domestic workers in private homes in Canada. The women are single mothers whose children remain in Jamaica. Brigham explores how these women negotiate their transnational space as workers and mothers. Part II concludes with a chapter written by Rina Cohen, who demonstrates how migrant domestic workers in Toronto and their families in the Philippines practise motherhood from afar, thereby redefining the meaning of child care. Transnational mothers enhance their role as breadwinners and condense their role as face-to-face nurturers, complementing it with e-mothering and surrogates. Part III, Constructing Transnational Identities, consists of three chapters, which shed light on the importance of culture in the formation of transnational identities for migrant youths and adults in the diaspora. Leanne Taylor and Carl James in Chapter 9 present a vivid account of the experiences of 1.5- and 2nd-generation transmigrant university students. These authors argue that career choices and future aspirations are closely linked to these students’ cultural identities through their transnational parents and communities. Their chapter is complemented by Lina Samuel’s Chapter 10, which illustrates the salience of social history on the formation of diasporic transnational culture. Samuel’s article highlights the

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importance of religion and family in the formation of transnational identity among the Keralite diaspora in Toronto. Through religious identification, transmigrants forge strong social, economic, and cultural ties with their home country. Xiaoping Li wraps up Part III by documenting an Asian-Canadian grassroots youth movement in the 1970s that undertook community building, anti-racism, and the construction of new identity categories such as the “Asian Canadian.” Li contends that the new ethnic identities were products of transnational political engagements and highlights the need for transnational studies to go beyond their current conceptual parameters. Part IV, Contesting Hegemonic Discourses and Reshaping Transnational Social Spaces, brings together chapters that use discourse analysis to critique the persistence and hegemonic power of colonialism and imperialism, as well as chapters that contest transnational locations (habitus, social space, and criminalization). Ann Kim’s Chapter 12 explains the phenomenon and rise of transnationalism among South Korean families with a focus on how it is facilitated by social reproductive practices based on a gendered division of labour and a shift in the mothering discourse. Using critical discourse analysis, the ensuing Chapter 13 by Hijin Park discusses how the narratives of criminality and victimhood that surround refugee determination are largely tied to gendered and ageist colonial and imperial discourses. This is followed by Christine Hughes’s Chapter 14, which argues that while migrants’ habitus (lifestyle, values, dispositions, or expectations) plays a central role in reproducing gender, age, ethnicity, and class differentiations, the application of this concept only to transmigrants may undermine the probable likelihood of the development of a transnational habitus and practice among non-migrants. The final chapter, by Felipe Rubio on Peruvian “mestiza” (mixed) and “andina” (indigenous) communities in Madrid, is an excellent example of how transmigrant habitus reinforces racial inequality in the destination transnational space. Taken together, this collection provides the readers an array of significant issues that feminist and other researchers in transnational migration address. Giving voice to women, youth, children, and the aged in transnational families, the papers in this volume explore expressions of power, resistance, agency, and accommodation, in relation to transnational transformations. It demonstrates how concepts of citizenship, home, and family, as well as gender, race, ethnicity, class, age, and culture, are played out in various transnational spaces.

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INTRODUCTION Note 1. We are using the term “immigrant women” here to refer to how we are being perceived and treated by others as immigrants by virtue of our “accent” and, in Guida’s case, how she looks even though we are legally “Canadians.”

References Abrego, Leisy. 2009. “Economic Well-Being in Salvadoran Transnational Families: How Gender Affects Remittance Practices.” Journal of Marriage and Family 71 (4): 1070–85. Alumkal, Anthony W. 1999. “Preserving Patriarchy: Assimilation, Gender Norms, and Second-Generation Korean American Evangelicals.” Qualitative Sociology 22: 127–40. Arat-Koc, Sedef. 2006. “Whose Social Reproduction? Transnational Motherhood and Challenges to Feminist Political Economy.” In Social Reproduction: Feminist Political Economy Challenges Neo-liberalism, edited by K. Bezanson and M. Luxton, 75–92. Montreal, QC: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Basch, Linda, Nina Glick Schiller, and Cristina Szanton Blanc. 1994. Nations Unbound: Transnational Projects, Postcolonial Predicaments, and Deterritorialized Nation-States. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach. Boccagni, Paolo. 2012.“Practicing Motherhood at a Distance: Retention and Loss in Transnational Upbringing and Identity Ecuadorian Transnational Families.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 38 (2): 261–77. Brand, Dionne. 1984. “Black Women in Toronto: Gender, Race, and Class.” Fireweed (Summer/Fall): 26–43. Cohen, Rina. 2001. “‘Mom Is a Stranger’: The Negative Impact of Immigration Policies in the Family Life of Domestic Workers.” Canadian Ethnic Studies Journal / Études Ethniques au Canada Journal 32 (3): 76–88. ———. 2010. “Transnationalism.” In Encyclopedia of Motherhood, volume 3, edited by Andrea O’Reilly, 1214–15. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Dannecker, Petra. 2005. “Transnational Migration and the Transformation of Gender Relations: The Case of Bangladeshi Labour Migrants.” Current Sociology 53 (4): 655–74. Donato, Katherine M., Donna Gabaccia, Jennifer Holdaway, Martin Manalansan, and Patricia R. Pessar. 2006. “A Glass Half Full? Gender in Migration Studies.” International Migration Review 40: 3–26.  Dua, Enakshi, and Angela Robertson, eds. 1999. Scratching the Surface: Canadian Anti-Racist Feminist Thought. Toronto, ON: Women’s Press. Ehrenreich, Barbara, and Arlie Russell Hochschild. 2004. Global Woman: Nannies, Maids, and Sex Workers in the New Economy. New York, NY: Henry Holt and Co.

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INTRODUCTION Faist, Thomas. 2000. “Transnationalism in International Migration: Implications for the Study of Citizenship and Culture.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 23: 189–222. Freitas, Any, and Marie Godin. 2010. “Living ‘above the Ocean’: Latin-American Migrant Women in Brussels.” Paper delivered at the annual conference of the International Sociological Association. Gaye, Amie, and Shreyasi Jha. 2011.“Measuring Women’s Empowerment through Migration.” Diversities 13 (1): 49–66. Glick Schiller, Nina, Linda Basch, and Cristina Szanton Blanc. 1995. “From Immigrant to Transmigrant: Theorizing Transnational Migration.” Anthropological Quarterly 68 (1): 48–63. Glick Schiller, Nina, and Georges Fouron. 2001. “I Am Not a Problem Without a Solution: Poverty and Transnational Migration.” In The New Poverty Studies, edited by Nina Glick Schiller and Georges Fouron, 321–63. New York, NY: New York University Press. Goldring, Luin, and S. Krishnamurti, eds. 2007. Organizing the Transnational: Labour, Politics and Social Change. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Grasmuck, Sherri, and Patricia R. Pessar. 1991. Between Two Islands: Dominican International Migration. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Guarnizo, Luis E. 1997. “The Emergence of Transnational Social Formation and the Mirage of Return Migration among Dominican Transmigrants.” Identities: Global Studies in Culture and Power 4: 281–322. Hondagneu-Sotelo, Pierrette. 2001. Domestica: Immigrant Workers Cleaning and Caring in the Shadows of Affluence. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Itzigsohn, J., C. D. Carbal, E. H. Medina, and O. Vazquez. 1999. “Mapping Dominican Transnationalism: Narrow and Broad Transnational Practices.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 22: 316–39. Jhappan, Radha. 1996. “Post-Modern Race and Gender Essentialism or a PostMortem of Scholarship.” Studies in Political Economy 51: 15–64. Kim, Mimi. 2009. “The Political Economy of Immigration and the Emergence of Transnationalism.” Journal of Human Behavior in the Social Environment 19 (6) : 675–89. Landolt, Patricia. 2001. “Salvadoran Economic Transnationalism: Embedded Strategies for Household Maintenance, Immigration Incorporation, and Entrepreneurial Expansion.” Global Networks: A Journal of Transnational Affairs 1 (3): 217–41. Levitt, Peggy. 2001. “Transnational Migration: Taking Stock and Future Directions.” Global Networks: A Journal of Transnational Affairs 1 (3): 195–216.

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INTRODUCTION Levitt, Peggy, and Nina Glick Schiller. 2004. “Conceptualizing Simultaneity: A Transnational Social Field Perspective on Society.” International Migration Review 38 (3): 1002–39. Lucassen, Leo. 2007. “Migration and World History: Reaching a New Frontier.” International Review of Social History 52 (1): 89–96. Man, Guida. 1995. “The Experience of Women in Chinese Immigrant Families: An Inquiry into Institutional and Organizational Processes.” In Asian and Pacific Migration Journal 4 (2–3): 303–25. ———. 2004a. “Chinese Immigrant Women in Canada: Examining Local and Transnational Networks.” In Chinese Women and Their Network Capital, Asian Women and Society Series, edited by K. E. Kuah-Pearce, 44–69. Singapore: Marshall Cavendish International. ———. 2004b. “Gender, Work and Migration: Deskilling Chinese Immigrant Women in Canada.” In Women’s Studies International Forum, edited by P. Rag­ huram and E. Kofman. Special Issue of Out of Asia: Skilling, Re-skilling and Deskilling of Female Migrants 27 (2): 135–48. ———. 2007. “Racialization of Gender, Work, and Transnational Migration: The Experience of Chinese Immigrant Women in Canada.” In Racism and AntiRacism in Canada, edited by Sean Hier and Bolaria Singh, 235–52. Toronto, ON: University of Toronto Press. Morokvasic, Mijana. 1984. “Birds of Passage Are Also Women.” International Migration Review 18 (4): 886–907. Nedelcu, Mihaela. 2012. “Migrants’ New Transnational Habitus: Rethinking Migration Through a Cosmopolitan Lens in the Digital Age.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 38 (9): 1339–56. Ng, Roxana. 1993. “Racism, Sexism, and Nation Building in Canada.” In Race, Identity, and Representation in Education, edited by C. McCarthy and W. Crichlow, 50–59. New York, NY: Routledge. Oishi, Nana. 2005. Women in Motion: Globalization, State Policies, and Labor Migration in Asia. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Pessar, Patricia R. 1999. “Engendering Migration Studies: The Case of New Immigrants in the United States.” American Behavioral Scientist 42 (January): 577–600. Pessar, Patricia R., and Sarah J. Mahler. 2003. “Transnational Migration: Bringing Gender In.” International Migration Review 37: 812–46. Piper, Nicola. 2006. “Gendering the Politics of Migration.” International Migration Review 40 (1): 133–64. Portes, Alejandro. 1997. Globalization from Below: The Rise of Transnational Communities. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

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INTRODUCTION Portes, Alejandro, Luis E. Guarnizo, and Patricia Landolt. 1999. “The Study of Transnationalism: Pitfalls and Promise of an Emergent Research Field.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 22 (2): 217–37.  Pribilsky, Jason. 2004. “‘Aprendemos a convivir’: Conjugal Relations, Co-parenting, and Family Life among Ecuadorian Transnational Migrants in New York City and the Ecuadorian Andes,” Global Networks 4 (3): 313–34. Raj, Dhooleka Sarhadi. 2003. Where Are You From? Middle-Class Migrants in the Modern World. Los Angeles, CA: Berkeley University Press. Razack, Sherene. 2000. “Your Place or Mine?: Transnational Feminist Collaboration.” In Anti-Racist Feminism: Critical Race and Gender Studies, edited by A. Cal­­liste and G. J. Dei, 39–54. Halifax, NS: Fernwood. Satzewich, Vic, and Lloyd Wong, eds. 2006. Transnational Identities and Practices in Canada. Vancouver, BC: University of British Columbia Press. Smith, Michael Peter. 2005. “Transnational Urbanism Revisited.” Journal of Ethnic Migration Studies 31: 235–44. Spivak, Gayatri. 1996. “Diasporas Old and New: Women in the Transnational World.” Textual Practices 10 (2): 245–69. Stasiulis, Daiva. 1990. “Theorizing Connections: Gender, Race, Ethnicity, and Class.” In Race and Ethnic Relations in Canada, edited by P. Li, 269–305. Toronto, ON: Oxford University Press. Stevenson, Winona. 1999. “Colonialism and First Nations Women in Canada.” In Scratching the Surface: Canadian Anti-Racist Feminist Thought, edited by Enakshi Dua and Angela Robertson, 49–82. Toronto, ON: Women’s Press. Suarez-Orozco, Marcelo M., Tasha Darbes, Sandra Isabel Dias, and Matt Sutin. 2011. “Migration and Schooling.” Annual Review of Anthropology 40: 311–28. Vertovec, Steven. 1999. “Conceiving and Researching Transnationalism.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 22 (2): 447–62. ———. 2004. “Migrant Transnationalism and Modes of Transformation. International Migration Review 38 (3): 970–1001. Waldinger, Roger, and D. Fitzgerald. 2004. “Transnationalism in Question.” American Journal of Sociology 109 (5): 1177–95. Waters, Johanna L. 2002. “Flexible Families? “Astronaut” Households and the Experiences of Lone Mothers in Vancouver, British Columbia.” Social & Cultural Geography 3 (2): 117–33.

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PART I

Experiencing Transnational Family Lives

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GULF HUSBANDS AND CANADIAN WIVES: TRANSNATIONALISM FROM BELOW AMONG SOUTH ASIANS—A CLASSED, GENDERED, AND RACIALIZED PHENOMENON Tania Das Gupta Transnational family arrangements in Canada have been explored in two different contexts. The first was in the late 1800s, when men from India and China were employed in manual occupations and treated as outcasts in British Columbia due to their racialization as outsiders to the nation (Buchignani 1984; Joy 1984; Kazimi 2011; Ramcharan 1984). Arriving at a time of economic downturn and within the context of extreme anti-Asian racism, these early immigrants were dispossessed of all rights in the political, social, and economic arenas. Anti-Asian racism was dramatically expressed in the Komagatamaru1 incident and in anti-Asian rioting. These popular expressions were institutionally legitimized with such laws as the Chinese Immigration Act in 1885 and the Continuous Journey Stipulation of 1908 (Jakubowski 1997). The former imposed a head tax, initially at $50 and finally at $500, on all Chinese immigrants, thereby curtailing the ability of working-class Chinese people from arriving in Canada. The latter required all immigrants to arrive in Canada via one continuous journey and in effect stopped the arrival of South Asians to Canada. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1923 excluded Chinese immigrants altogether until 1947, when the Act was repealed. Moreover, such laws and policies overtly or covertly excluded the arrival of women and children altogether. This resulted in split families among Chinese and South Asian immigrants that consisted of men living and working in British Columbia and occasionally visiting their wives and children who lived in India or China. Only a few were fortunate enough to reunite with their families in Canada (CCNC [Chinese Canadian National Council] 1992; Das Gupta 2000; Dua 2000; Kazimi 2011).

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A more current instance of transnational family development in Canada has been discussed in relation to temporary migrants brought into the country to perform specified labours, such as live-in caregiving, involving predominantly Caribbean women earlier and Filipino women more recently (Arat-Koc 2001; Bakan and Stasiulis 1997). These women of precarious economic means are forced to leave their own children, husbands, and parents behind in order to travel to Canada as temporary migrant caregivers in middle-class families. In their absence, the task of looking after their own children is transferred to other members of their households, such as their parents and sisters-in-law. In both these contexts, it is notable that transnational families have been discussed in relation only to working-class racialized migrants who are legally or socially constructed as temporary residents in Canada. In other words, they are not permanent residents and citizens. In this paper, I make a departure by exploring transnational families among professional South Asian immigrants in Canada today who are being recruited due to their highly developed skills, post-secondary education, fluency in official languages, and overall cosmopolitan characteristics. Moreover, they are permanent residents, and many have been granted Canadian citizenship. Further, I will explicate relations of class, gender, and race as they are implicated in transnational family lives. While the Canadian state controls the flow of labour through its migration and immigration policies and procedures, it has less control over how migrants keep in touch with each other across borders. With recent developments in air travel and communication technology, migrants today can remain connected through instant virtual communication processes. Today’s transnational migrants resemble to some extent transnational communities of a century back yet also have new characteristics and processes, some of which I will be discussing in this paper. As mentioned earlier, transnationalism is not new to the South Asian community in Canada. Canada has a long history of receiving people as immigrants or migrants from South Asian countries as a corollary to colonial settlement. The particular connection between Canada and the countries in the South Asian region (Sri Lanka, Pakistan, India, Bangladesh, Nepal, Bhutan, Tibet) were largely a by-product of British colonialism, which gave rise to a transnational South Asian migrant population in Canada, initially made up of soldiers from the British Indian army and later by a variety of skilled and unskilled workers, both groups being predominantly Sikhs (Buchignani 1984; Kazimi 2011). As mentioned before, racist migra-

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tion and other public policies resulted in split families, which in turn laid the conditions for transnational family practices. No matter how long these early migrants laboured on Canadian soil, they were not allowed to obtain Canadian citizenship and lacked rights that were conferred on white migrants with time, such as the right to vote. A crucial factor to remember in this early period is that transnationalism was overwhelmingly imposed from above through racist, sexist, and classist immigration policies. In the 1970s, following the implementation of the points system of immigration, which brought in a so-called non-racist immigration system in Canada, the emphasis by the state was on family reunification in the South Asian community and other communities of colour in an effort to rectify the effects of its previous policy, in particular preventing the migration of families and communities of non-whites. South Asian immigrants responded through chain migration—that is, sponsorship of family members to Canada. The emphasis during these years was on building families and communities on Canadian soil with the state providing the possibility of “becoming Canadian citizens” through its new multiculturalism and citizenship policies, presumably reducing the level of transnational living that had been required before, particularly in the realm of intimate family relations. Although Canadian immigration policies today would appear to have been sanitized of their overt racism to the extent that the biggest sources of migration are countries such as the Philippines, China, and India, it is interesting to note that racism in the Canadian labour market has been creating conditions for transnationalism in intimate family relations among many of today’s immigrants from South Asia. What I intend to highlight in this paper is that even though permanent residency (although in its limited definition) is granted to the whole family, some of its members cannot take up this offer. This paper asks the following questions: Under what conditions are South Asian immigrants entering Canada today? Why are some still maintaining transnational family practices rather than living together on Canadian soil? It is my contention that (1) transnationalism today is an area of contestation and agency. It is being utilized strategically by many South Asian immigrant families to navigate around systemic racism and discrimination in the labour market and (2) transnationalism is a deeply racialized, gendered, and classed phenomenon. The level of agency exercised by today’s transnational migrants is limited by external constraints in the form of immigration and citizenship laws, labour markets, class position, domestic arrangements, and educational infrastructures with

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larger dynamics of racism, sexism, and class inequalities in their originating countries as well as in their destination countries. Arguably, there are subjective constraints also as individuals in these transnational trajectories develop rootedness and a sense of belonging in one or more places. Portes, Guarnizo, and Landolt (1999) have discussed the concept of “transnationalism from below” or “grass roots transnationalism,” in contrast to transnationalism from above, which is initiated by powerful multinational corporations or states as in the early 1900s. In many cases, the two aspects of transnationalisms exist on a continuum in a mutually interactive relationship. It is a process characterized by the contestation of national policies for immigration, citizenship, and migrant labour, particularly for professional middle-class migrants who have some level of economic, social, and cultural leverage. South Asians from the Gulf

The group that I focus on in this paper is a very recent addition to the South Asian diaspora in Canada. They are South Asians who have immigrated to Canada via the Gulf states.2 In particular, I have limited myself to considering migrants from India and Pakistan. Elsewhere (Das Gupta, 2005/2006), I have referred to them as “twice migrated,” since their first migration is from a South Asian country to a Gulf country and their second migration is from the Gulf to Canada, both undertaken within a short period of time.3 Sometimes there is a third migration, back to the Gulf state, followed by a fourth migration back to Canada or to South Asia. It becomes a circular migration movement that further intensifies familial transnationalism. Within this twice-migrated diasporic population, I focus in this paper on those who live in split families because they illustrate an under-researched area of transnational living in the realm of intimate relations among South Asian Canadians, which on the one hand emanates from state policies of both Canada and Gulf States and on the other hand represent active choices made by individual migrants given these constraints. As mentioned before, the second migration to Canada is not undertaken by the whole family, but by one-half of the family, such as by the mother accompanied by younger children or by older unmarried children alone. Due to limitations of space, I have restricted myself to describing the former case only. In most cases, the father and mother continue to travel back and forth between Canada and the Gulf, the former holding a job in the Gulf and maintaining two households, one in Canada and another in the Gulf state. The mother’s paid work status varies from one family to another—that is, sometimes she looks

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for paid employment and in other cases she does not. In contrast to transnational families in the early 1900s, today’s transnationalism is marked by “a growing number of persons who live dual lives: speaking two languages, having homes in two countries, and making a living through continuous regular contact across national borders.” (Portes, Guarnizo, and Landolt 1999, 217). In the last century, transnational living almost always involved travel by the male head of the family and infrequently at that, but today it is a process that involves multiple trips every year involving the mother, father, and their children. Although I have conducted eighteen interviews with Gulf migrants to Canada through snowball sampling and am continuing doing so, I have interviewed members from only four families who live in split family situations. Apart from these four, the others live with their intact families. The first two families that I contacted were acquaintances from my local community in Toronto. They in turn referred me to two of their friends who are also twice migrated. In addition, I contacted two other families through friends who knew about my research. Out of these families, one person that I interviewed who was here as part of a nuclear family spoke about others who lived in split family arrangements. This raised my curiosity, and I started looking for such families to contact. A telephone contact for the first such family (assigned a pseudonym as the Ahmad family) was received from another interviewee. It is their story that I present in this paper. In general, I have found that split or transnational families are quite private and not easy to reach. This could be a result of complex social reasons. On the one hand, there is a stigma associated with the way they are represented as “abusing the systems.” It appears that the Canadian government is not enamoured with the prospect of permanent residents who are living abroad whose families, who remain in Canada, are benefiting from their rights (Keung 2007). Moreover, there may be some social marginalization and shame experienced by members of these families because they are not living in nuclear families. Moreover, it is generally known that one of the reasons they are in a split family situation is that they were unable to find adequate employment in Canada. Before presenting the story of the Ahmad family, I discuss below the historical context within which these migrations have taken place. Political Economy of the Two Migrations

In this section, drawing on secondary literature as well as interviews, I briefly describe the larger context within which the two-step migrations

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have been taking place, first from South Asian countries to the Gulf countries and subsequently to Canada. Migrant labour policy in the Gulf was created when oil was discovered in the region in the 1970s; a need for a variety of labour in managing and working in the economy arose out of that development. While the vast majority of those recruited were unskilled men (Gulati 1993) and women, I restrict my discussion to skilled professional recruitment due to space limitations and also because the unskilled do not subsequently make their way to Canada because of the emphasis on educated and skilled immigrants, thus demonstrating the classed nature of immigration policies in Canada. Skilled professionals were recruited from various countries in South Asia to work in large organizations in Gulf countries. These men and women were recipients of higher education in the post-colonial period in India and Pakistan, a time when investments in higher education were deemed necessary to bolster economic growth. However, economic conditions in India and Pakistan were not quite conducive to absorbing such high numbers of skilled and educated individuals. They were looking, therefore, for an opportunity to use their professional qualifications to earn larger salaries than was possible in their home countries. At the same time, they wanted to be near enough to home that they could return there for visits and to fulfill other familial responsibilities. Migrating to the Gulf countries was a perfect solution for many of them. A large number of those migrating were Muslims and often viewed the Gulf as a region that would be consistent with their cultural and religious lifestyle. Those Muslims from India who had experienced discrimination as minorities in a hegemonic Hindu society perhaps saw the Gulf as an oasis. They got work visas tied to particular companies and later sponsored their brides and young children. As one interviewee told me, “to have a ‘Gulf husband’ was almost something to be proud of ” in certain quarters. Women almost always migrated to Gulf states as newlyweds, sometimes with babies or toddlers in tow. In time, the population of South Asian migrants in Gulf countries swelled to the point that it seemed almost like an extension of their home countries. Almost all my interviewees mentioned that they had relatives or close friends in the Gulf, and a few told me that they had as many extended family members there as they had in their hometown. While in the Gulf, professional South Asian migrants lived luxurious lives, earning tax-free salaries, living in large quarters that were free, with chauffeur-driven cars, being served by nannies, shopping, having lavish parties, and enjoying free vacations in their home countries once a year. However, despite living there for several years and decades sometimes,

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they did not have any citizenship status; neither did they have rights that they had been accustomed to in South Asia. Even children born in the Gulf do not gain citizenship rights there. Gulf states reserve such rights for their own citizens, although whites from Europe, the United States, and Australia enjoy certain privileges that are denied to South Asian professionals no matter how educated or rich they are. For example, in such racially structured societies, my interviewees revealed that South Asians are almost always paid less than “local” Arabs and white Europeans and denied access to certain jobs on the basis of their ethnic origin and racialization. In addition, as their children grew, they had concerns about their higher education. They have been faced with the choice of going back to Pakistan or India or applying for immigration to Canada, the United States, or Australia. The bulk of this migration occurred post-2000 when Canada was specifically looking, as Simmons (2010, 85) aptly put it, for “designer immigrants” to fulfill its need for “highly skilled knowledge workers” in a globalizing capitalist world. They are “ideally to have the language and work skills to begin employment soon after arrival. They are to come with savings sufficient to look after their needs until they find employment.” Knowledge workers are those who can readily fit into an economy characterized by organizations that are rapidly making use of international or trans­national communication networks and investments. Such workers are usually highly educated and skilled, are fluent in key languages, are familiar with “Western” cultures, and at the same time possess cross-cultural skills and are savvy in utilizing international travel and transnational communication networks. Many in this group have accumulated capital and can also turn to self-employment if necessary. These were definitely a highly privileged upper-middle class of immigrants. Even prior to Canada’s new Immigration Act of 2001 and the revised points system of 2004, various fees had been levied against them during the immigration application and landing process. Since March 1992, applicants have been charged $350 and spouses and children are charged $350 and $50, respectively (Simmons 2010). Although the class bias of this latest immigration phase is clear, it would appear that such a policy was not based on racial preference, which had characterized the first half of the previous century. However, as is argued in this paper, racism becomes apparent in the lives of these highly sought-after knowledge workers once they land on Canadian soil and find themselves unemployed or severely underemployed. In this sense, the overall systemic effect of the immigration policy that invites them into Canada and employers who reject them combine to produce systemic racist effects with regard

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to the precarious jobs they are forced into and that also affect their family lives. These policies are gendered as well, since women in source countries are still not equal recipients of higher education in English or French. Therefore, they continue to enter Canada as sponsored family-class immigrants and as such are not subjected to the points system, although their male sponsors earn extra points if they have higher education. As sponsored immigrants, they are viewed as “dependants” of their male sponsors and thus disadvantaged and vulnerable to various abuses as feminist, anti-racism scholars have pointed out before. Be that as it may, the twicemigrated South Asians acquire their permanent residency in Canada as families. However, as we shall see in the story below, some decide not to live in Canada as intact families but instead opt for long-distance, transnational family lives. The Ahmad Family

This Muslim family is originally from Pakistan and made up of the father, mother, and three children—an elder son and two younger daughters. I interviewed the son (Imran) and the middle daughter (Uzma). Although Imran was born in Pakistan, he was brought to Saudi Arabia as an infant. He describes his family’s move to Toronto, Canada: I was eighteen. Dad brought us here. Set us up in a nice apartment and then went back to work in Saudi. There are lots of people doing this. For someone who is forty-plus, it’s not feasible [to come to Canada to look for work]. He has twenty years’ experience in engineering … making good money there. Many end up working as security guards and driving taxis. This was beneath his sense of dignity.

Imran’s father, who is an engineer, earns $6,000 a month in Saudi Arabia, where it is not taxed, whereas, they estimated, if he was lucky he might have earned $1,000 a month in Canada. On the basis of a forecasted drop in his salary had he moved here, he decided to stay in Saudi Arabia and opted for a split-family situation. This strategy on the part of Imran’s parents demonstrates that systemic devaluation of professional degrees and work experiences and resultant underemployment in Canada of highly qualified professionals is known all over the world, particularly by prospective immigrants. Despite the many positive impressions they have of Canada, they also are well aware of these discriminatory practices against professionals of colour. Uzma adds: “My father never planned to work here. He knew the situa-

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tion for immigrants. He felt that it was hard for him. We had a lot of friends here.” Academic studies have confirmed that these impressions are not false (Alboim, Finni, and Meng 2005; Galabuzi 2001; Public Policy Forum 2004; Reitz 2005). Imran also spoke to me about racism in Saudi Arabia: “My dad feels that Saudis are racist towards others. He doesn’t like that.… No country is all positive [but it] wouldn’t stop him from living there.” Every interviewee from the Gulf confirmed the racism that they experienced there before coming to Canada. It appears, though, that some South Asians like Imran’s father have chosen to live with the racism in Saudi society but are not prepared to accept the economic downgrading they would face as foreign-educated professionals in Canada. While the racism in Gulf societies is palpable and evident in the form of unequal salaries for differently racialized communities, social segregation, and lack of citizenship rights for most long-term migrants, a well-paid job is nonetheless assured for these professionals with high, untaxed salaries, a paid-for trip back to one’s original country, and other perks described earlier. In Canada, Imran’s father would enjoy equal rights and citizenship rights in three years’ time but would have no assurance of working in his chosen field. Neither could he be assured of his income and whether that would be sufficient to support his family and to take regular trips “back home” to see his elderly parents. Imran’s mother, who is a stay-at-home mother, remained in Toronto with her three children. This arrangement had been planned. Their family’s reason for coming to Canada was children’s education, which is the predominant reason for other Gulf migrants to migrate to Canada. The few universities in the Gulf cannot handle the demand for higher education (Mahmood 2001; Y-File 2010). After settling in Canada, Imran went to a college, while his two sisters went to public school. Uzma, who was born and raised in Saudia Arabia, told me, “I went to a Pakistani school [in Saudi Arabia]. The teachers were Pakistani.… It is very competitive to get into [Saudi] schools. There is a language barrier.” Imran also commented: “After Grade 12, there are no English medium schools in Saudi Arabia. So you need to move for kids’ education. Either you move back to Pakistan or to the USA or Canada.” When I asked him, “Why Canada?” he replied: “My dad did research and other friends had applied to Canada. We had heard good things about Canada.… You can get citizenship in three years. With the citizenship, you can get good jobs in Saudi Arabia.” Imran’s answer was confirmed by all my other interviewees. They mentioned three reasons repeatedly for choosing Canada over other immigrant-receiving countries. First, Canada’s multiculturalism policy repre-

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sented a more inclusive society to them. Stories and personal experiences of racism and second-class status in the Gulf and in South Asia had created a longing for a more egalitarian destination where they would have equal rights with everyone else. Second, since education for their children was the prime motivation for migrants, a big draw was the fact that Canadian primary and secondary education is free and post-secondary education is relatively cheaper than that in other countries. Third, the fact that permanent residents are eligible to apply for citizenship in three years with all the rights and privileges that it represents is also desirable, particularly given the absence of such rights in the Gulf. When asked about keeping in touch with his father, Imran told me: My father comes over once a year … usually at Christmas time. Now my younger sister is in Grade 9, so [she] can’t take [time] off. This is the first time they have gone in the summer.… They stay for one and half months … and also go to Pakistan.

Uzma confirms: My father came for 3 months. He went back and forth. He visited us a lot [every year for 2–3 months]. Now, he visits every year for three weeks. Mum keeps visiting him.… Mother and younger sister visit twice a year.

Taking trips back to Pakistan is also part of the equation in order to keep in touch with Imran’s elderly grandparents. At the time of the interview, Imran’s parents were trying to arrange his marriage in Pakistan. His ideal plan is to bring his bride over to Canada, get his citizenship, and then return to Saudi Arabia to raise his children there. He would also keep visiting Canada to maintain his Canadian citizenship. Imran’s father sends money every month to his family in Canada. Imran mentioned that when his father visits Canada, he is not paid for his time off and so now he travels less. Imran’s father eventually wants to return to Pakistan to take care of his elderly parents there. There is historical continuity here as Imran’s grandparents had also lived in Saudi Arabia about forty years ago (according to Imran) and eventually returned to Pakistan. They, however, never came to Canada. Perhaps Imran’s grandparents would not have qualified to enter Canada as immigrants in the 1960s. Moreover, long-distance travel and telecommunications had not yet developed to the extent they have today and therefore would not have facilitated the kind of transnational living that is possible now.

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Realizing that transnational family life is difficult for his parents, Imran has recently suggested that his mother could go back and join her husband in Saudi Arabia as “it is difficult for [Dad].… He cooks for himself.” Imran has been back to Saudi Arabia only once since his family moved to Canada, and he misses it terribly. He feels more “at home” there and has a sense of belonging culturally and socially. Since he is over the age of eighteen, he needs a visa, which is expensive and more difficult to acquire. His sisters do not need a visa since, as unmarried females, they could be covered by their father’s family visa, as is their mother. When his mother visits his father in Saudi Arabia, she talks to Imran every day by phone if he is not working and Imran also uses email to keep in touch with his parents. Photos also help to keep connections alive. Uzma confirmed these practices of keeping in touch and added that her mother talks every day with her father by phone and stays in touch through email. She added: “It’s difficult for the family, especially for mother … but she is never resentful.… She has grown used to it … that’s the way.” After completing his college program, Imran found full-time employment as a salesperson. His financial contribution to the family has been a big help. He is not too thrilled with his employment, though, neither with life in Canada. He feels very culturally alienated here. Despite the fact that there are minimal contacts with local Arabs in Gulf countries, he said that “there are lots of Pakistanis.… [It] feels [like] it’s part of Pakistan.… Everyone feels they are in their own country.” His sister Uzma went to college after completing high school, while the youngest sister has continued her schooling. Uzma worked in part-time student jobs while she undertook her college program. She aspires to be a teacher. She has adjusted to life in Canada better than Imran, although she prefers Saudi society. Like Imran, Uzma is also anticipating getting married in the near future, most probably through an arranged marriage. They are both practising Muslims and have confronted Islamophobia in the post9/11 period. Imran in particular talked at length about his feeling of cultural and social alienation, exacerbated by his experiences of racism in school and in public places. In case anyone should think that the story of the Ahmad family is an exception, it should be noted that there is an area in Mississauga, Ontario, which is informally known as Begumpura, which translates as “City of Wives.” It’s an area populated by South Asian women and children, whose husbands and fathers work in the Gulf (Mahmood 2001). In 2007, an article in the Toronto Star by Nicholas Keung highlighted the vulnerability of

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many people in the same position as that of the Ahmad family, of losing their landed immigration status if they had not gained Canadian citizenship or renewed their permanent resident (PR) card, which had been instituted in June 2002, following 9/11 as part of heightened security measures. This card has to be renewed every five years, and one of the criteria for renewal is that the card holder has to be in Canada for at least 730 days (the equivalent of two years) in every five-year period. About 60 to 75% of card holders became Canadian citizens within four years. However, thousands did not and therefore have had to renew their PR cards. The news story reported that those who did not fulfill the residency requirement could find themselves without landed immigration status in Canada and could have to reapply for immigration from scratch, even though their spouse and children have been permanent residents (Keung 2007). Moreover, recent changes in the Canadian Citizenship Act differentiate between the children of naturalized citizens and those of Canadian-born citizens. If naturalized citizens such as Imran and Uzma choose to have their children outside Canada, these children will not automatically have Canadian citizenship whereas the children of born-Canadians will. This reform could penalize naturalized Canadians for living transnational lives, which seems to be not only discriminatory toward them and their children but also unrealistic in this age of globalization and multiple migrations. Conclusion

Although I began by suggesting that the strategy adopted by this cohort of twice-migrated South Asians of maintaining split households could be seen as transnationalism from below and might represent a departure from similar households in the past, which implies a certain level of agency at the grassroots level, in the end these split householders could also be subjected to draconian immigration and citizenship policies, not unlike those suffered by their ancestors at the turn of the last century. However, it cannot be denied that for these upper-middle-class South Asian migrants, transnational capital in the form of international social contacts, accumulated savings, educational qualifications, and linguistic skills allow them to subvert their racialization and racism in the Canadian labour market by finding employment in the Gulf albeit suffering racism there as well but of a different kind. The price they pay is that they cannot live with their loved ones in the same household. This is a feature that they share with the split families at the turn of the last century despite their difference in class location.

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Moreover, the underlying reason for their transnational arrangement is racism faced in Canada. In the case of the split families that I have focused on in this paper, transnationalism is deeply gendered: the male head of the household is able to subvert the lowering of his class position by transnational living, but his spouse or partner cannot. Thus she is obligated to remain in Canada with her children and struggle with devaluation, underemployment, unemployment, racism, and making ends meet as a de facto single parent, while her partner lives in relative luxury in the Gulf with relatively few family responsibilities and almost no day-to-day family duties. Could the same be said about the male migrants who lived in Canada in the 1900s away from their wives and children in India? From all reports, their lives were not luxurious. They lived together with other men in the same household and engaged in hard manual labour, earned meagre incomes, and lived lives that were socially segregated and frugal. However, there too women played the main parental role in India, bringing up their children to whom their fathers were virtual strangers. In the absence of advancement in air travel and telecommunications, there were minimal opportunities for these men to develop bonds with their wives and children. Today, transnational parenting and marital relations are facilitated by email, Skype, frequent telephoning and travelling; however the long-term effects of long-distance intimacy on spousal relationships and on father–child relationships are also worthy of research. Notes 1. On May 23, 1914, a ship called Komagatamaru carrying 376 passengers from India docked off the coast of British Columbia in western Canada. Invoking the Continuous Journey stipulation imposed on immigrants entering Canada, immigration authorities refused the ship the right to dock at the harbour, and after two months of being refused entry, all the passengers were returned to India. This incident is one of the most dramatic examples of racism in Canadian history (Kazimi 2011). 2. These include the following: Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates. I will refer to migrants from these nations as “Gulf migrants” in this paper (Russell 1992). 3. Parminder Bhachu (1993) has used the same terms about a decade earlier in referring to East African Sikh settlers in the United Kingdom and the United States. It is to be noted though that Bhachu’s twice migrated people do not neces-

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References Alboim, Naomi, Ross Finni, and Ronald Meng. 2005. The Discounting of Immigrant Skills in Canada: Evidence and Policy Recommendations. IRRP Choices, Vol. 11, No. 2, February. Arat-Koc, Sedef. 2001. Caregivers Break the Silence. Toronto, ON: Intercede. Bakan, Abigail, and Daiva Stasiulis. 1997. Not One of the Family: Foreign Domestic Workers in Canada. Toronto, ON: University of Toronto Press. Bhachu, Parminder. 1993. “Twice and Direct Migrant Sikhs: Caste, Class, and Identity in Pre- and Post-1984 Britain.” In Immigration and Entrepreneurship: Culture, Capital and Ethnic Networks, edited by Ivan Light and Parminder Bhachu, 163–83. London, UK: Transaction Publishers. Buchignani, Norman. 1984. “South Asians in Canada: Accommodation and Adaptation.” In South Asians in the Canadian Mosaic, edited by Rabindra N. Kanungo. Montreal: Kala Bharati. CCNC (Women’s Book Committee of Chinese Canadian National Council). 1992. Jin Guo: Voices of Chinese Canadian Women. Toronto, ON: Women’s Press. Das Gupta, Tania. 2000. “Families of Native Peoples, Immigrants and People of Colour.” In Canadian Families: Diversity, Conflict and Change, edited by Nancy Mandell and Ann Duffy, 146–87. Toronto, ON: Harcourt Brace. ———. 2005/2006. “Twice Migrated: Political Economy of South Asian Immigrants from the Middle East to Canada.” International Journal of the Humanities 3: 263–74. Dua, Enakshi. 2000. “‘The Hindu Women’s Question’: Canadian Nation Building and the Social Construction of Gender for South Asian-Canadian Women.” In Anti-Racist Feminism: Critical Race and Gender Studies I, edited by Agnes Calliste and George J. Sefa Dei, 55–72. Halifax, NS: Fernwood Publishing. Galabuzi, Grace-Edward. 2001. Canada’s Creeping Apartheid. Canadian Social Justice Foundation for Research and Education, May. http://www.socialjustice.org. Gulati, Leela. 1993. In the Absence of Their Men: The Impact of Male Migration on Women. New Delhi, India: Sage Publications. Jakubowski, Lisa Marie. 1997. Immigration and the Legalization of Racism. Halifax: Fernwood. Joy, Annamma. 1984. “Work and Ethnicity: The Case of the Sikhs in the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia.” In South Asians in the Canadian Mosaic, edited by Rabindra N. Kanungo, 87–102. Montreal, QC: Kala Bharati.

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GULF HUSBANDS AND CANADIAN WIVES  TANIA DAS GUPTA Kazimi, Ali. 2011. Undesirables: White Canada and the Komagatamaru. Madeira Park, BC: Douglas & McIntyre. Keung, Nicholas. 2007. “Phantom Residents to Lose Status.” Toronto Star, October 14, p. A1. Mahmood, Tahir. 2001. “Muslim Immigrants to Canada Facing Discrimination and Social Problems.” Media Monitors Network. http://www.mediamonitors.net/ tahirl.html. Portes, Alejandro, Luis E. Guarnizo, and Patricia Landolt. 1999. “The Study of Transnationalism: Pitfalls and Promise of an Emergent Research Field.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 22: 217–37. Public Policy Forum. 2004. “Bringing Employers into the Immigration Debate: The Public Policy Implications of the Survey Findings.” Ottawa, November. www .ppforum.ca. Ramcharan, Subhash. 1984. “South Asian Immigration: Current Status and Adaptation Modes.” In South Asians in the Canadian Mosaic, edited by Rabindra N. Kanungo, 35–47. Montreal, QC: Kala Bharati. Reitz, Jeffrey. 2005. “Why We Need Mentors to Tap Immigrant Skills.” Globe and Mail, February 9. http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM. Russell, Sharon Stanton. 1992. “Notes and Commentary: International Migration and Political Turmoil in the Middle East.” Population and Development Review 18: 719–827. Simmons, Alan B. 2010. Immigration and Canada: Global and Transnational Perspectives. Toronto, ON: Canadian Scholars’ Press. Y-File. 2010. “Thousands of Saudi Students Are Choosing Canadian Universities.” http://www.yorku.ca/yfile/archive/index.asp?Article=14425.

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CHAPTER 2

MAINTAINING FAMILIES THROUGH TRANSNATIONAL STRATEGIES: THE EXPERIENCE OF MAINLAND CHINESE IMMIGRANT WOMEN IN CANADA Guida Man

Chinese immigration to Canada has been increasing steadily since 1967, when the Canadian immigration policy changed to a purportedly nondiscriminatory points system, allowing previously racially undesirable groups such as the Chinese and the South Asians to enter the country. Chinese immigrants from Hong Kong started coming to Canada (as well as the United States and Australia) as a result of skirmishes along the ChinaHong Kong border in the late 1960s—a ripple effect of the turmoil of the cultural revolution happening in China. This has eroded Hong Kong people’s confidence in the stability of Hong Kong,1 then a British colony. The trickle of emigrants turned into a torrent in that period. At the same time, subsequent initiatives and changes to the Canadian immigration policy to further prioritize economic immigrants (i.e., immigrants who have skills or other assets that will contribute to the Canadian economy) attracted Chinese immigrant professionals to Canada. Since the mid-1980s, social, political, and other factors also prompted the continuing influx of Chinese immigrants to Canada, first from Hong Kong and subsequently from mainland China. In anticipation of the change of government from British to Chinese rule in 1997, some Hong Kong Chinese were uncertain about the social, political, and economic consequences in Hong Kong. Hence there was an exodus of Hong Kong immigrants to Canada, the United States, and Australia between 1986 and 1997. At the same time, as China undergoes economic structuring and opens its doors for trade, a trickle of its citizens, many of whom were professionals and skilled immigrants, started arriving in Canada. My research found the reasons for their migration varies. Many

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articulated the importance of providing a better and less stressful education for their children, better environment (e.g., cleaner air), and the desire for adventure as some of the reasons. By the late 1990s, Chinese immigrants from mainland China became the largest immigrant group to Canada. The number of Chinese immigrants has escalated to such an extent that according to Li (2005), the total Chinese population in Canada had increased from 119,000 in 1971 to over a million by 2001. By 2007, the number was over 1.3 million (Li and Li 2011, 145 Table 4). Furthermore, between 2001 and 2006, Chinese immigrant women made up the largest group of immigrant women coming to Canada (15%) (Statistics Canada 2011). Since the 1980s, the intensification of globalization, neoliberalism, and transnational processes have transformed recent developments in migration practices. Accordingly, there has been a plethora of research on transnationalism and transnational practices since the 1990s (see e.g., Basch, Schiller and Szanton Blanc 1994; Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007; Landolt 2001; Levitt 2001; Portes 2003; Satzewich and Wong 2006). These migration scholars contest the previously held dichotomized notion that situates the country of origin and the adopted country as two separate spaces with no linkage between them, and the migrant as connected only to the latter, but not the former. While these scholars may differ in their conceptualization and the levels and scales of transnational migration, they recognize the emergence and proliferation of transnational communities whereby transmigrants continue their everyday activities, relationships, networks, and identities with their home countries, while at the same time maintaining meaningful engagements in their places of settlement. Instead of being static, migration processes between places of origin and places of settlement are fluid, dynamic, and subject to transformations. Research on the transnational migration of Chinese immigrants began in the 1990s (Lam 1994; Landolt and Da 2005; Man 1995, 2007; Preston, Kobayashi, and Man 2006; Salaff and Greve 2005; Ley 2012; Waters 2005; Wong and Ho 2006; ). As mentioned previously, since immigration policies in immigrant receiving countries such as Canada, Australia, and the United States favour wealthy entrepreneurs and business immigrants, much attention has been paid to Asian business transnational migrants (see e.g., Ong 1999; Wong and Ho 2006). These immigrants’ financial resources and their ability to obtain passports from multiple countries enable them to be “hyper-mobile” and have “flexible” citizenships (Ong 1999). Wong and Ho (2006) argue that the large amount of capital brought into Canada by Chinese immigrants confirms their commitment to Canada. At the same time,

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the considerable amount of capital they left behind in their countries of origin and other countries also confirms their commitment to transnational migration. But transnational migration also occurs among poor racialized men and women—for example, due to their “temporary foreign worker” status, women from the Philippines and the Caribbean who work as caregivers in Canada have had to leave their families behind in their country of origin in order to care for the families of their employers. The impact of state processes on these immigrant women, as well as their trials and tribulations, have been well documented (Arat-Koc 1990; Bakan and Stasiulus 1997; Cohen 1999; see also Brigham, Cohen, and Francesco in this volume). Chinese immigrants have been utilizing transnational practices to maintain family relationships and to accomplish social reproduction (Kobayashi and Preston 2007; Man 2004a, 2007, 2012; Mujahid, Kim, and Man 2011), not only in contemporary society, but also in historical periods. For example, between 1886 and 1947,2 many poor Chinese worked as indentured labourers in Canada, while their wives and children remained in China due to racialized Canadian immigration policy that barred them from entering the country. The Chinese labourers, mostly indentured, were engaged in dangerous and backbreaking work in mining and railway building in order to be able to send remittances back to China to support their families. They returned to visit when they had saved enough money. These men had to endure lonely bachelors’ lives in Canada, separated from their wives and children, while the wives had to raise the children single-handedly and keep the home fires burning (Chan 1983; Man 1995). A transnational separate sphere of production and reproduction was thus created. Chinese wives stayed in China with their children, while their labourer husbands worked in Canada. Money was also sent for the construction of the family home or for rebuilding the village (see, e.g., CCNC [Chinese Canadian National Council] 1992; Li 1988). Ironically, due to their underemployment and unemployment in Canada, some recent Chinese transmigrants experience a “reversal of fortune,” literally and figuratively, to this earlier trend. These transmigrants have had to return to their home country to make a living and to send remittances to support their spouses and children in Canada. Literature on gender and transnational migration has emerged more recently to suggest gender differences in transnational activities, particularly in regard to the working class or women with precarious migration status (see e.g., Goldring 2001; Pessar and Mahler 2003; Wong 2003).

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Transnational feminist scholars examining the intersectionality of gender and race have also examined cross-border activities of precarious migrants such as sex workers, refugees, and asylum seekers (see e.g., Elabor-Idemudia 2003, also in this volume; Spivak 1996). With the exception of a few (see e.g., Preston et al. 2006), little research has focused on middle-class immigrant women, particularly regarding the transnational migration strategies of highly educated and highly skilled immigrant women professionals. Nor has this research explored how gender, class, race, and immigrant status interact in complex ways to shape women’s transnational experiences. In this chapter, I adopt the conceptualization that transmigrants are “immigrants whose daily lives depend on multiple and constant interconnections across international borders and whose public identities are configured in relationship to more than one nation-state” (Schiller, Basch, and Szanton Blanc 1995, 48). I examine the transnational migration experience of highly educated Chinese immigrant women who were professionals in their home country. In particular, I explore how their gender relations, household work, and paid work have been transformed in the new country and explicate how these women maintain their families by mobilizing transnational strategies across national borders to accommodate their productive and reproductive activities. I argue that transnational migration is mediated by structural processes (such as immigration policies, labour market conditions, employment practices) and gender, race, and class relations, as well as individual immigrants’ agency. In the following, I will first examine the recent Chinese immigrants in Canada. I will then discuss the methodology used for my research. Finally, I will present my data analysis by elucidating the Chinese immigrant women professionals’ experiences in Canada and their transnational strategies in maintaining families. Research Methodology

This paper focuses on the experience of women professionals from Mainland China. It is based on empirical data from two research studies: (1) a project entitled “Transnational Migration Trajectories of Immigrant Women Professionals in Canada: Strategies of Work and Family” (TTWF);3 and (2) a project entitled “Chinese Immigrant Women in Toronto: Precarious Work, Precarious Lives” (PWPL).4 The data for this paper are derived from preliminary data analysis of the TTWF project involving in-depth interviews with five Mainland Chinese immigrant women. The women were all married, and they immigrated to

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MAINTAINING FAMILIES THROUGH TRANSNATIONAL STRATEGIES  GUIDA MAN

Canada between 1998 and 2008. As well, data derived from focus groups and in-depth interviews in the PWPL project are also used. The focus group comprises eight immigrant women from Mainland China. In addition, individual in-depth interviews with seven Mainland Chinese immigrant women were included. The women in the PWPL study came to Canada between 1998 and 2002. The in-depth interviews were conducted using a method known as life-history-style interviews (Cole and Knowles 2001). They are designed to enable the subjects to reflect on their experiences with the researchers as witness. This paper adopts the feminist research methodology of Dorothy Smith (1987, 2006) and uses a gender, race, class analysis (Ng 1993). This method of inquiry starts from the women’s actual everyday lives and experience but goes beyond them to discover the social organization of society. Instead of treating Chinese immigrant women as objects of the study, I place them as the subject of the research and start from their actual, everyday world. While the study focuses on individual immigrant women’s agency in changing their circumstances in the new country, at the same time it also makes visible the processes that are organized extra-locally, in the social, economic, political, and cultural processes of society and that have a tremendous impact on the women’s everyday lives. Migration and the Transformation of Women’s Experiences (Gender Relations, Paid Work, and Household Labour) Last time I said, “If you visit me you better stay one month or two months otherwise don’t visit me.…” Because I have to stop my schedule to do something for him. He said to me, “I haven’t recovered from the jetlag.… I haven’t changed totally so I have to go back to China.” So I said, “Next time don’t waste the money, instead give it to me.” It doesn’t make sense. I wanted to go somewhere with my family but he said, “I’m so tired.” [TTWF:CH#1]

This woman, Laurie, was frustrated with her husband for spending too little time with her on his visits to Canada. She and her husband and their young son immigrated from Mainland China to Canada together, but her husband, an engineer who has worked for an international company in China, was unable to secure a job in Toronto. Although he runs his own business and has been very successful in China, he could not find employment in Canada due to a multiplicity of factors such as his lack of English language proficiency, the unfavourable labour market conditions, and discrimina-

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tory employment practices in the requirement for “Canadian experience” and the lack of recognition of immigrants’ prior credentials and experience. He attempted to start a business in Canada, but that endeavour also failed. As a result, he became dejected and returned to China. Laurie, however, opted to stay in Canada for their son’s education—the very reason they immigrated in the first place. The couple has agreed to engage in a transnational arrangement—that is, Laurie and their young son would stay in Canada, while her husband became an “astronaut,” in other words, a transmigrant who returns to his home country to continue his work and business practice, while periodically paying visits to his wife and his son in Canada. His wife and son also visit him in China when time and money permit. The husband’s decision to return to Mainland China cannot be separated from the social, economic, political, and cultural processes in society. As Bourdieu (2001) has previously asserted, a structured system of social positions occupied by individuals or institutions (a field) is also structured internally in terms of power relations by virtue of the access they afford to the goods or resources (capital). These goods can be differentiated into four categories: social capital (social networks, membership in a group), economic capital (money and property rights), cultural capital (primarily legitimate knowledge of one kind or another), and symbolic capital (prestige and social honour) (Bourdieu 2001). Many new immigrant professionals have relatively high social standing in their home country; however, migration transforms their circumstances. While they try to maintain the social networks they have in their home country, in the meantime they also have to start building their social capital in the new country. Their higher education has rewarded them with professional positions with good salaries and the cachet of status and prestige when they were in their home country, but the lack of recognition by Canadian employers of their prior credentials and work experience eroded their cultural capital in Canada, forcing them to take up menial positions. Accordingly, their economic and symbolic capital dissipated with their underemployment and unemployment. Confronted with downward mobility brought on by the loss of social, economic, cultural, and symbolic capital, Laurie and her husband felt that he had no choice but to return to China to regain his social position. Research on immigrant employment has consistently found that immigrants lag behind their Canadian counterparts. On average, immigrant men and women have lower annual earnings and higher unemployment rates than their Canadian-born counterparts. A recent study found that unemployment rates tend to increase with more recent periods of immigra-

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MAINTAINING FAMILIES THROUGH TRANSNATIONAL STRATEGIES  GUIDA MAN

tion (Toronto Immigrant Employment Data Initiative [TIEDI] 2011). Immigrants’ annual earnings vary among countries of origin. But in general, immigrant women have been found to have higher unemployment rates than Canadian-born women (Badets and Howatson-Lee 1999; Boyd 1992). Among Chinese immigrants, immigrants from Hong Kong are among the highest-earning immigrant groups, but immigrants from mainland China are among the immigrant groups with the lowest annual earnings (TIEDI 2011). Chinese immigrant women’s employment income is not comparable to either their female counterparts in Canada or to their male counterparts from China (Lo and Wang 2005), and they are susceptible to underemployment or unemployment (Man 2004b; Preston and Man 1998; Salaff 2000). Although the women in this study were highly educated professionals in their home country, in Canada they encountered considerable difficulties in finding employment commensurate with their experience and qualification. Some immigrant women professionals who became unemployed after immigration found themselves relegated to the home, performing housewife duties and becoming economically dependent on their husbands. Whereas in their home country both husband and wife participated in the workforce and contributed to the household income, the changes these immigrant women experienced in their paid work transformed their relationships with their spouses. The husbands did not fare any better. Employers’ preference for Canadian credentials and experience invariably channels new immigrants into menial, precarious work that requires working long “flexible” hours, with no benefits or job security. This kind of work generates a high level of stress for workers (Vosko 2006). Many immigrant men found the demands of living in a new country and the burden of being the sole breadwinner overwhelming. The wives often had to absorb their husbands’ stress from work. The husbands felt justified in passing their stress onto their spouses since they felt that they had to work hard to support the family (Luxton 1990, 2009). Invariably, the couples’ relationships deteriorated as a result. While new immigrants’ employment woes could adversely affect immigrant couples’ relationships, a few woman savoured the unexpected escalation in intimacy with their husband due to the husbands’ downward employment mobility, allowing them more time to spend with their wives and children. The majority of the women, however, reported more difficulties. They experienced isolation and ostracism from mainstream society, as well as encountering racism and discrimination. The absence of social networks and social capital and the strain of their employment difficul-

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ties compounded their isolation and exacerbated couples’ incompatibility, resulting in constant fighting and bickering. They blamed each other for their failures, and their feelings of helplessness and frustration threatened their marriages. Some immigrants tried to improve their economic and social conditions through formal retraining processes by returning to university so as to gain formal Canadian education, knowledge, and skill. Others volunteered in community agencies or participated in other career-related activities. In such circumstances, women were often the ones who took on the responsibility of being the sole breadwinner so their spouses could pursue higher education and training in Canada. Social scientists have long demonstrated that gender relations and husbands’ participation in household labour is impinged on women’s labour force participation (see e.g., Luxton 1990, [1980], 2009). Here, a Mainland Chinese woman describes how her household division of labour was transformed after the family immigrated to Canada: There is a huge difference to me and it greatly changed my life. In China we [husband and I] both worked and both had a not too bad income. We shared our housework. Now although I feel reluctant to be a housewife, I have to do all the housework. He doesn’t have the time to help me, neither does he want to. He thinks it’s natural that I take over all the housework. I feel very depressed. That’s why I’m desperate for a job, not only because I need the money, but because I need to get back my self respect and confidence. [PWPL: MLFG, N5]

This woman and her husband both earned a bachelor’s degree in China and both worked as software engineers in China for three years prior to immigrating to Canada. However, while her husband was able to enter the labour market in Canada, the wife has become unemployed and hence financially dependent on her husband. In China, both husband and wife participated in paid work and shared their household responsibilities. Her unemployment and hence lack of financial independence in Canada made it difficult for her to negotiate an equal division of labour in the household. Her selfesteem plummeted due to her current position as a “housewife,” and she became very depressed. Women’s gender relations, their work in the home and in the labour force cannot be separated from the social, economic, and political processes in society where their experiences are embedded. Since the 1980s, China

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has been undergoing rapid social and economic restructuring. It embraces an active market-oriented economy, while at the same time maintaining a communist political structure under a one-party rule. The booming economy has been able to absorb highly skilled and educated women and men into the labour force. Hence, women’s labour force participation has remained high. Predictably, recent research in China has focused on women’s increasing participation in the labour force (Fan 2004; Lan, Dong, and Zheng 2010). As well, much attention has been paid to the links between work and family for Chinese women, particularly on how the care of children affects women’s labour force participation (Chin-Chun and Wen-Yin 2002) and on gendered division of labour (Zai, Maume, and Bellas 2000). But despite these advances in gender equality, housework and child care remain primarily women’s responsibilities in China, as in other countries. Similarly, in Canada, women’s participation in the labour force has been rising rapidly in the last few decades. This was particularly so in the 60s and 70s when the women’s movement coincided with labour market expansion. By 2006, over 70% of women with children under 16 were employed (Statistics Canada 2006; as quoted by Fox and Yiu 2009, 198). However, the high rate of women’s labour force participation in Canada has not spurred the government to provide better family support programs. Structural inequality in the labour market and gender ideology guarantees that women are still responsible for the bulk of the work in the home, particularly in child-care activities (Doucet 2001, 2006; Palameta 2003). Furthermore, globalization and the concomitant economic restructuring since the 1980s have hollowed out the Canadian welfare state and dismantled the social safety net. This further pushes the work of caring for children, the infirm, and elderly onto the family and the shoulders of women, exacerbating women’s work in the home. Despite the fact that men are contributing more to housework and child care now than ever before, women still do the bulk of the work in the home, whether or not they participate in the paid labour force (Baker 2001; Marshall 2006). Some Chinese husbands do contribute to housework and child care, and their help alleviates the women’s work somewhat. But like other women, Chinese immigrant women bear primary responsibility for the dayto-day housework and caring responsibilities. Under pressure from feminist activists and child-care advocates pushing for change, successive governments have promised but failed to deliver adequate, affordable and licensed child-care facilities for families, particularly new immigrant families. In Mainland China, there has been an institutional agenda for the revival of Confucianism and filial piety in recent years. This is not unrelated to the

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effects of the one-child policy, which culminated in the rapid increase in an aging population and the escalation in health-care demands and social services for the elderly. Traditional Chinese beliefs in Confucianism and filial piety ensured the reciprocity of caring for family members—that is, children are obliged to take care of aging parents and, in return, grandparents (particularly grandmothers) often help care for grandchildren. The restoration of these traditional ideologies helps to transfer the responsibility of elder care and child care from the public to the private sphere and onto the shoulders of women since women are typically responsible for this work due to structural inequality and gender ideology. Working women in China were typically able to procure household help and child care from members of the extended family, but due to the uncertainty of their future in the new country, many Chinese immigrant families came to Canada as nuclear family units, leaving extended family members such as grandparents behind. Without the support of the extended family members or household help to mitigate women’s productive and reproductive work, the transformation of gender relations and the unequal household division of labour become inevitable. Mobilizing Transnational Strategies and Transnational Networks

Feminist studies have previously asserted the interpenetration of household work and paid work and women’s primary responsibility for this work (see Arat-Koc 2006; Armstrong 1996; Besanson and Luxton 2006; Corman and Luxton 2001; Devault 1991; Duffy, Mandell, and Pupo 1989; Man 1997; Neysmith and Chen 2002). For new immigrants in Canada, particularly women, the task of juggling paid work, housework, and child care is intensified after immigration. Chinese immigrant women’s employment opportunities in the new country are contingent on labour market conditions and gendered and racialized institutional processes, as well as the demands on their reproductive labour in the home (Man 1997, 2004b). Although the women in my studies were highly educated professionals in their home country, in Canada they encountered considerable difficulties in finding employment commensurate with their experience and qualification. The demands of settling in a new country and the difficulties for immigrant women and men to obtain positions that enable them to use their prior knowledge and experience posed tremendous challenges to immigrant couples’ relationships. The time-consuming and demanding task of searching for work conflicted with women’s household and child-care responsibilities. This was exacerbated by the dearth of government-funded and reg-

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ulated child-care facilities that are affordable for new immigrants and the absence of social and familial support networks in the new country. Some immigrant women from Mainland China who have had to negotiate several part-time jobs in order to make ends meet and who have difficulty obtaining subsidized child care have resolved to send their children back to China to be taken care of by their grandmothers or other family members. The following is what Tien, a Mainland woman who was a medical doctor in China and whose husband was an engineer, told me about why she decided to send her daughter back to China: When we first came, I was pregnant with my daughter. My husband and I were both looking for work in our areas of work, but with no luck. We were unemployed. Then my husband’s friend took us to the factory where he worked, and we both got jobs in the factory. After my daughter was born, I couldn’t work because I couldn’t get subsidized childcare. [PWPL, MLFG: N6]

This woman sent remittances back to China to pay for the sustenance of her daughter. She talked on the phone daily with her mother to keep abreast of her daughter’s development, and she visited her daughter in China once a year when she had holidays. This transnational practice, known as “transnational mothering” (Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila 1997), is not uncommon among Chinese immigrants in Canada. Nevertheless, transnational mothering is usually a temporary solution to immigrant families’ economic insecurity and immigrant women’s conflicting paid work and household demands. It is not seen as a long-term solution. Tien planned to bring her daughter back to Canada when she or her husband had found a better-paid permanent position. Other Mainland women also related their dilemma of coping with the contradictory demands of child care and paid work and decided to send their children back to China to be taken care of by grandmothers. Some immigrant couples (e.g., Laurie and her husband) have opted to live apart in Canada and in China in order that they could maintain the family and resolve their employment and household responsibilities. By having an “astronaut” familial arrangement, Laurie was able to put her son in a Canadian school, a primary reason for their immigration in the first place. At the same time, her husband was able to continue his business in China and hence regain their social positioning, as well as enjoy the middle-class privilege of material and social status. His remittances to Laurie and their son enabled them to continue to enjoy middle-class privileges in Canada as well.

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Similar to Laurie, Jing (TTWF, CH3) and her husband, both in their mid40s, also decided that he would become an “astronaut” and live in China, while she would live as a “widow” in Toronto. Their son (fourteen years old at the time of the interview) lived with Jing in Toronto and attended school there. Prior to immigration, Jing was the head of the child health-care division at the university hospital. Jing and her husband immigrated to Canada for their son’s education. Before moving to Canada, they learned from their network of friends about the dire employment situation in Canada, so they planned their transnational arrangement even before they emigrated. After they landed, Jing’s husband returned to China to continue his small business in elevator repairs and maintenance rather than facing unemployment, while Jing and their son remained in Canada. Twice a year, the transmigrant husband would fly back to Canada to visit the family and to fulfill his residency requirement in Canada. Their son also spent summers in China to be with his father and grandparents, as well as visiting relatives and friends. However, Jing sometimes felt overwhelmed by being a single parent who juggled paid work, housework, and caring for her son in a new country. Like Laurie, she also missed her husband a great deal and feared that he might take a mistress. Being a teenager, her son was at a difficult age, and she found it challenging to discipline him without the help of her husband. At the same time, there were also unexpected transformations—for example, whenever Jing’s husband came to visit, he would do the cooking, something he never did in China. Since Jing was always busy with her paid work and part-time studies, out of boredom he learned to cook and found he enjoyed it. Similarly, her son also learned to make simple meals for himself as Jing had classes most evenings. Hence their transnational arrangement has inadvertently transformed gender relations, fostering a more equal gendered division of labour in the household. New immigrants who conduct transnational familial practices often put a time limit to their arrangement. For example, those who send their babies back to China to be taken care of by grandmothers or relatives intend to bring their children back when they are a bit older or when their own situation in Canada has improved. Jing and her husband have agreed to end their transnational arrangement when he turns fifty. However, she is determined to stay with her son in Canada for four more years until he is old enough to attend university and to be on his own. She said to me: You [sic] have to stay here for four more years. Because my son has four more years before going to the university. So it’s totally [sic] seven years. So after

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MAINTAINING FAMILIES THROUGH TRANSNATIONAL STRATEGIES  GUIDA MAN seven years, a lot of things will change. So I don’t know, maybe … maybe … I like it here, the environment … [TTWF: CH3]

Conclusion

This chapter has presented some data analyses from individual in-depth interviews with Chinese immigrant women. As a feminist and a sociologist, I analyze these women’s experiences from their own perspectives. While each transnational case is unique, the particular “case” is in fact a point of entry into a larger social and economic process, enabling us to see how the social organization of society works (see Smith 1987). It has been demonstrated in this chapter that Mainland Chinese immigrants’ gender relations, paid work, and household work have been transformed in the new country as a result of social, political, economic, and cultural processes, and gender, race, and class relations. This chapter also elucidates how the women mobilize their agency by resorting to transnational strategies to accommodate their productive and reproductive responsibilities. Over a century ago, Chinese immigrants conducted transnational familial arrangements as a response to racist and sexist institutional policies and practices. More recently, gendered and racialized institutional processes in the form of state policies and practices, professional accreditation systems, employers’ requirement for “Canadian experience,” and labour market conditions have channelled recent immigrant women into precarious employment or to becoming unemployed. This transforms their household arrangements, prompting family members to adopt transnational separate spheres of productive and reproductive activities. Although the women were unemployed and underemployed in Canada and experienced difficulties in their household arrangements, they refused to be portrayed as merely passive victims of the social, economic, and political processes of Canadian society. Despite the inhospitable reception, the Chinese immigrant women in my study considered themselves active participants of Canadian society. Many of the highly educated professional Mainland Chinese women participated in the paid labour force in precarious and menial employment in the new country in order to make ends meet. Others declined jobs that were exploitative. They were also vocal in their criticism of racism and sexism in the labour market and astute in articulating the changes that need to happen to help them integrate into Canadian society and to actualize their potentials. These women’s experiences have enabled us to gain insight into the occurrences of transnational migration in recent Mainland Chinese immigrant.

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Immigrants come to Canada as ready-made workers. The Canadian state benefits from the productive and reproductive labour of immigrants but is exempted from having to bear the cost of social reproduction of these workers. It is difficult to calculate the cost of the loss of social, economic, cultural, and symbolic capital for new immigrants’ unemployment and underemployment. At the same time, the cost of reproduction is borne solely by individual immigrant families—the lack of affordable child-care services coupled with underemployment of new immigrants put new mothers at risk of being pushed back to the home. It is evident that immigrants bear the economic and emotional cost of their transnational practices. Sending their children back to their home country to be nurtured by grandparents enables immigrant mothers to be productive workers, to engage full-time in the labour force, and to pursue better job opportunities. Paradoxically, this practice also ensures that the social reproduction of the next generation is again borne by individual immigrants in their country of origin, but not in their country of settlement. Notes 1. Prior to July 1997, Hong Kong was a British colony under British rule. Hong Kong Island was ceded to the British, and the territory of Hong Kong (including Kowloon and the New Territories) was leased to the British for ninety-nine years as a result of China’s defeat in the Opium Wars in 1898. 2. From the early period of Chinese immigration to Canada in 1858 until 1947, many racially discriminatory restrictions were imposed on the Chinese, but not on western European immigrants. In 1885, a head tax of $10 was levied on any Chinese entering Canada. This tax was increased to $500 by 1904 to restrict the Chinese from coming to Canada. In 1923, the Chinese Immigration Act prohibited all Chinese from entering Canada. This Act was not repealed until 1947 (Li 1988). 3. The project entitled “Transnational Migration Trajectories of Immigrant Women Professionals in Canada: Strategies of Work and Family” (2009–14) is supported by SSHRC through a research grant to Guida Man (PI), Tania Das Gupta (CI), Kiran Mirchandani (CI), and Roxana Ng (CI). 4. The project entitled “Chinese Immigrant Women in Toronto: Precarious Work, Precarious Lives” was supported by a SSHRC Small Grant (2005–06) and an Atkinson Minor Research Grant (2004–05),York University, to Guida Man (PI).

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MAINTAINING FAMILIES THROUGH TRANSNATIONAL STRATEGIES  GUIDA MAN References Arat-Koc, S. 1990. “Importing Housewives: Non-Citizen Domestic Workers and the Crisis of the Domestic Sphere in Canada.” In Through the Kitchen Window: The Politics of Home and Family, edited by M. Luxton, H. Rosenberg, and S. AratKoc, 81–104. Toronto, ON: Garamond Press. ———. 2006. “Whose Social Reproduction? Transnational Motherhood and Challenges to Feminist Political Economy.” In Social Reproduction: Feminist Political Economy Challenges Neo-Liberalism, edited by K. Besanson and M. Luxton, 75–92. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Armstrong, Pat. 1996. “The Feminization of the Labour Force: Harmonizing Down in a Global Economy.” In Rethinking, Restructuring: Gender and Change in Canada, edited by Isabella Bakker. Toronto, ON: University of Toronto Press. Badets, Jane, and Linda Howatson-Lee. 1999. “Recent Immigrants in the Workforce.” Canadian Social Trends (Spring), Catalogue No. 11-008, Ottawa, Statistics Canada. Bakan, A., and D. Stasiulis. 1997. Not One of the Family: Foreign Domestic Workers in Canada. Toronto, ON: University of Toronto Press. Baker, M. 2001. “Paid and Unpaid Work: How Do Families Divide Their Labour?” In Families: Changing Trends in Canada, edited by M. Baker, 96–115. Toronto, ON: McGraw-Hill Ryerson. Basch, L., N. Glick Schiller, and C. Szanton Blanc. 1994. Nations Unbound: Transnational Projects and the Deterritorialized Nation-State. New York, NY: Gordon and Breach. Besanson, K., and M. Luxton, eds. 2006. Social Reproduction: Feminist Political Economy Challenges Neo-Liberalism. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Bourdieu, P. 2001. “The Forms of Capital.” In The Sociology of Economic Life, edited by M. Granovetter and R. Swedberg, 96–111. Boulder, CO: Westview. Boyd, M. 1992. “Gender, Visible Minority, and Immigrant Earnings Inequality: Assessing an Employment Equity Premise.” In Deconstructing a Nation: Immigration, Multiculturalism, and Racism in 1990s Canada, edited by Vic Satzewich, 279–321. Halifax, NS: Fernwood.. Chan, A. 1983. Gold Mountain: The Chinese in the New World. Vancouver, BC: New Star Books. Chin-Chun, Y., and C. Wen-Yin. (2002). “The Linkage Between Work and Family: Female’s Employment Patterns in Three Chinese Societies.” Journal of Comparative Family Studies 33 (3): 451–74. Chinese Canadian National Council (CCNC). 1992. Jin Guo: Voices of Chinese Canadian Women. Toronto, ON: Women’s Press.

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MAINTAINING FAMILIES THROUGH TRANSNATIONAL STRATEGIES  GUIDA MAN Landolt, P., and W.W. Da. 2005. “The Spatially Ruptured Practices of Migrant Families: A Comparison of Immigrants from El Salvador and the People’s Republic of China.” Current Sociology 53: 625–53. Levitt, P. 2001. The Transnational Villagers. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Ley, D. 2010. Millionaire Migrants: Trans-Pacific Life Lines. Chichester, UK; Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Li, P. S. 1988. The Chinese in Canada. Toronto, ON: Oxford University Press. ———. 2005. “The Rise and Fall of Chinese Immigration to Canada: Newcomers from Hong Kong Special Administrative Region of China and Mainland China, 1980–2000.” International Migration 43 (3): 9–32. Li, P. S., and E. X. Li. 2011. “Changes in the Chinese Overseas Population, 1955 to 2007.” Canadian Review of Sociology/Revue canadienne de sociologies 48 (2): 137–52. Lo, L., and S. Wang. 2005. “Chinese Immigrants in Canada: Their Changing Compositions and Economic Performance.” International Migration 43 (3): 35–71. Luxton, M. 1990. “Two Hands for the Clock: Changing Patterns in the Gendered Division of Labour in the Home.” In Through the Kitchen Window: The Politics of Home and Family, edited by M. Luxton, H. Rosenberg, and S. Arat-Koc, 39–55. Toronto, ON: Garamond Press. ———. 2009. More Than a Labour of Love: Three Generations of Women’s Work in the Home. Toronto: Canadian Women’s Educational Press. First published in 1980. Man, G. 1995. “The Experience of Women in Recent Hong Kong Chinese Immigrant Families in Canada.” In Voices: Essays on Canadian Families, edited by M. Lynn, 271–300. Toronto, ON: Nelson. ———. 1997. “Women’s Work Is Never Done: Social Organization of Work and the Experience of Women in Middle-Class Hong Kong Chinese Immigrant Families in Canada.” In Advances in Gender Research, Volume 2, edited by V. Demos and M. Texler Segal, 183–226. Greenwich, CT: JAI Press. ———. 2004a. “Chinese Immigrant Women in Canada: Examining Local and Transnational Networks.” In Chinese Women and Their Network Capital, edited by K. E. Kuah-Pearce, 44–69. Asian Women and Society Series. London, UK: Marshall Cavendish International. ———. 2004b. “Gender, Work, and Migration: Deskilling Chinese Immigrant Women in Canada.” In Out of Asia: Skilling, Re-skilling and Deskilling of Female Migrants, edited by P. Raghuram, and E. Kofman, special issue of Women Studies International Forum 27 (2): 135–48. ———. 2007. “Racialization of Gender, Work, and Transnational Migration: The Experience of Chinese Immigrant Women in Canada.” In Racism and Anti-

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MAINTAINING FAMILIES THROUGH TRANSNATIONAL STRATEGIES  GUIDA MAN Satzewich, V., and L. Wong, eds. 2006. Transnational Identities and Practices in Canada. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Schiller, N. G., L. Basch, and C. Szanton Blanc. 1995. “From Immigrant to Transmigrant: Theorizing Transnational Migration.” Anthropological Quarterly 68 (1): 48–63. Smith, D. 1987. The Everyday World as Problematic: A Feminist Sociology. Toronto, ON: University of Toronto Press. ———. 2006. Institutional Ethnography: A Sociology for People. Toronto: Altamira Press. Spivak, G. 1996. “Diasporas Old and New: Women in the Transnational World.” Textual Practices 10 (2): 245–69. Statistics Canada. 2006. Women in Canada. Fifth edition. Cat. no. 89-503-XPE. Statistics Canada. 2011. “Immigrant Women.” In Women in Canada: A Genderbased Statistical Report, chap. 9. Catalogue no. 89-503-X. Ottawa. http://www .statcan.gc.ca/pub/89-503-x/89-503-x2010001-eng.pdf. Toronto Immigrant Employment Data Initiative (TIEDI). May 2011. Analytic Report No. 21. http://www.yorku.ca/tiedi/pubreports.html. Vosko, L., ed. 2006. Precarious Employment: Understanding Labour Market Insecurity in Canada. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Waters, J. L. 2005. “Transnational Family Strategies and Education in the Contemporary Chinese Diaspora.” Global Networks 5: 359–77. Wong, L., and C. Ho. 2006. “Chinese Transnationalism: Class and Capital Flows.” In Transnational Identities and Practices in Canada, edited by V. Satzewich and L. Wong, 241–60. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Wong, M. 2003. Borders That Separate, Blood That Binds: Transnational Activities of Ghanaian Women in Toronto. PhD dissertation, York University, Toronto. Zai, Z. L., D. J. Maume, and M. L. Bellas. 2000. “Chinese Husbands’ Participation in Household Labor.” Journal of Comparative Family Studies 31 (2): 191–215.

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CHAPTER 3

INTERGENERATIONAL AND TRANSNATIONAL FAMILYHOOD IN CANADA’S TECHNOLOGY TRIANGLE Amrita Hari

The Canadian state strategically employs immigration policy in several ways. It uses the policy as a source of capital, as a foreign policy tool, for the purposes of trade and investment, for family reunification, on humanitarian and compassionate grounds, and perhaps most importantly to recruit “skilled” and flexible workers into the national workforce to remain competitive in a demanding global knowledge economy. Concomitantly, much of the research on Canadian migrant contributions has focused on their labour market participation and the attainments of foreign-born and/or educated workers who are admitted to fill specific labour shortages. There is unequivocal evidence to suggest that immigrants who arrive as coveted professional imports (based on the definitions of skill level and type denoted by the Canadian National Occupational Classification) and whose skills and experience, although valued by a system of admission regulated by the federal economic objectives, are discredited and devalued by employers and professional regulatory bodies granting entry into the local labour markets. Immigrants when faced with employers’ preferences for workers with “Canadian experience” adopt a number of employment strategies, including down-skilling, self-employment, alternative vocation training, and volunteerism (Creese and Wiebe 2012; Hari 2013). Academic and policy concern over immigrant integration (read: economic contributions in the form of labour market attainments) reflects the long-standing bone of contention of feminist scholars over conceptualizations of “skilled work.” Feminists have criticized these conceptualizations for the exclusion of immaterial and affective labour (more recent

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terminology based on earlier conceptualizations of care work, emotional labour, and social reproduction). There is little recognition of the ways in which processes of social reproduction are no longer bound by national borders. Migrant contributions therefore are further devalued when the contributions of not only newcomers but also their transnational families to the Canadian economy and society (often at high costs) remain unrecognized and undertheorized. This chapter is concerned with unpaid reproductive work (mainly domestic labour and child care) performed in Canadian migrant households by family members (local and transnational), as opposed to paid domestic and affective labour provided by growing numbers of migrant women from the Global South in immigrant-receiving liberal democratic countries across the globe (a well-recorded phenomenon by scholars and policy-makers alike). The chapter will reveal the negotiations, adjustments, and strategies employed by Indian newcomers who undertake a dual transition: a challenging settlement process in Canada and parenthood. The particular segment of newcomers under study here is seeking work in Canada’s expanding technology sector in the Waterloo Region (also known as Canada’s Technology Triangle). The theoretical lens adopted for the chapter seeks to connect two bodies of literature—the more recent scholarly work on transnational families with re-examinations of work–life conflict (a renowned feminist contribution) in the context of a changing economic paradigm of the new/knowledge economy. This is set up in the first section of the chapter. The empirical content of the chapter is set up in the second section and draws on fieldwork conducted from June 2009 to January 2010, consisting of semi-structured interviews with newly immigrated Indian IT workers living in dual-earner households where both adults had to negotiate their entry into the Canadian labour market and also their obligations and responsibilities as parents of pre-school-aged children. I present four vignettes to show how participants negotiated their parental responsibilities amid economic uncertainty, precarious work situations, and increased competition (purported features of new capitalism). The overall theoretical contribution of the chapter is to incorporate narratives of affective labour into discursive constructions of migrant contributions by recognizing the demands from home (whether in Canada or abroad) for professional migrants, who are already disadvantaged when breaking into the Canadian economy. In effect, the twofold policy contribution is to emphasize through evidence-based research that transnational care obligations need to be taken into consideration in policy deci-

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sions regarding immigrant settlement and simultaneously to encourage a broader assessment of migrant contributions to the Canadian economy and society. Work–Life Conflict in the New Economy: The Role of Transnational Families

The vaguely defined catch-all term “globalization,” coupled with technology advancement, is often cited in the current hotly debated yet widely accepted economic narrative of new capitalism that is plaguing the Global North and the geopolitical terrain of the West. This economic paradigm shift is said to have far-reaching consequences for labour markets, including precariousness, job instability and uncertainty, and contrived competition (Sennett 2006). Previous manufacturing-based industries reliant on mass employment are being replaced by purportedly non-bureaucratic knowledge industries (coined by economist Fritz Malchup in 1962) producing immaterial objects and championing flexibility, adaptability, innovation, and individualism. This economic narrative is used by the Canadian government to construct the profile of newcomers welcomed to Canada. In keeping with historical patterns, the Canadian federal government uses immigration policies to fill national “skills gaps” by turning the “immigration tap” on and off and responding to short-term labour shortages in order to support national economic growth and maintain its global economic competitiveness. Through the points system,1 Canada projects a preference for immigrants with high levels of education or job-related experience; however, it is this education and experience of foreign-trained professionals that, upon entering, is discredited and devalued, when (if at all) they are granted entry into the local labour markets. Income levels tend to be lower and unemployment levels higher for foreign-born professionals than their Canadian counterparts (Bauder 2006; Young 2007), and many immigrants suffer downward mobility and loss of social status due to deskilling and occupational downgrading (Man 2004). In the last decade, information and communication technologies and related sectors were identified as national growth engines, and the demand for professionals in these occupational sectors has been met by a growing number of immigrants arriving from India through the Federal Skilled Worker Program (FSWP) and arriving as permanent residents, or the Temporary Foreign Worker Program (TFWP), later converting to permanent residency through Canada’s newest addition to its migration streams, the Canadian Experience Class (CEC). The FSWP was temporarily ended on

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July 1, 2012, and resumed after a brief pause on May 4, 2013, with a more restrictive eligibility criterion and an overall cap of 5,000 new applications every year (Citizenship and Immigration Canada [CIC] 2013).2 The FSWP is now more closely aligned with the CEC, and the eligibility requirements will make the Temporary Foreign Worker Program the best option for “skilled” migrants to set foot on Canadian territory. The growing numbers of lowcost yet highly skilled technology workers entering Canadian sectors are disproportionately of Indian origin. Furthermore, regional technology concentrations, including Waterloo, Ottawa-Gatineau, Calgary, and Quebec City, are becoming popular secondary settlement areas (outside the traditional Toronto-Montreal-Vancouver areas). The post-Fordist, post-industrial contemporary workplace that newcomers enter is characterized by an intensification of work through employer expectations of long work hours and employees’ willingness to perform unpaid overtime work to demonstrate their commitment to a high-demanding yet supposedly highly rewarding knowledge economy (Echtelt et al. 2009; Thomas 2007). The knowledge worker, as identified by Peter Drucker (1969) is highly educated, technocratic, independent, and in control of her means of knowledge production, resulting in the construction of new employment relations (Castells 1996). Nine-to-five work patterns are being replaced by “the flexible firm,” flexible contracts, widespread technological change, and mobile capital and labour dedicated to the production of information, knowledge, ideas, and images (Carnoy 2002). Feminist scholars have identified how these aforementioned features of the new economy workplace contribute to a continuing erosion of boundaries between personal time and work, worsening work–life conflict (Hyman, Scholarios, and Baldry 2005; Maher, Lindsay, and Franzway 2008). Although academic feminists have trouble with the notion of worklife conflict, there is much agreement that women are disproportionately affected and continue to bear primary responsibility for social reproduction in the home. The gendered division of unpaid domestic and care work is a constant impediment to developing careers in conjunction with meeting normative obligations of social reproduction in the home (Lewis 2002; McRae 2003). Another compounding factor is the growing influence of neoliberal notions of individualism and choice on the construction of the welfare state, creating conditions of deepening social inequalities by increasingly transferring welfare responsibilities from the state to individuals (Harvey 2005). The hands-off neoliberal nation-state disguises severe cuts to welfare

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services, increased privatization of state organs of social reproduction (particularly education and health), and a continued rollback of state responsibility with well-intentioned neoliberal notions of “choice” and flexibility (Esping-Andersen 2009). The shrinking welfare state has meant that individuals can expect little assistance from the state, increasing burdens on both individuals and families to resolve conflicts arising from competing demands from work and home. Canada adopts a liberal-residualist approach to child-care provision, meaning that there is no national strategy for early childhood education and care, and as a result, access to such services varies by region and individual and family circumstances. The flaws of Quebec’s universal child-care system are erroneously used to rationalize the lack of, and concomitantly need for, a nationally based, well-designed, and state-funded child-care and early childhood education system (Friendly 2008). The difficulties in obtaining child-care services are often exacerbated for newcomers with pre-school-aged children who at the same time are coping with losing family and friendship networks and supports. Furthermore, patterns of downward economic and social mobility contribute to economic uncertainty, pushing newcomers into a vicious cycle—lower incomes make it difficult to access and afford non-parental care, making it difficult for both parents to study or work full time, further contributing to their devaluation in the Canadian labour market. International transnational care arrangements provide some newcomers with a way out of this cycle but cannot be a longterm solution due to migration restrictions and the high economic and social costs associated with them. In the last two decades, a growing body of scholarly work has examined how families are often reconfigured in different ways through migration. The reconfigurations involve a complex web of relationships across generations, locations, and different stages of the life course. Of particular interest to scholars pursuing this line of inquiry is the normative obligation to provide care, presented as a duty and responsibility for individuals leading transnational lives. The focus has been on working-age migrant children caring for elderly parents in their home countries; however, newer directions in research investigate how migrant professionals meet their child-care needs, as well as the significance of processes of globalization and intergenerational and transnational relationships on these negotiations (Baldassar, Baldock, and Wilding 2007; Bryceson and Vuorela 2002; Lie 2010; Parreñas 2005). This research shows how transnational families “export” elderly parents to provide child care and these transnational

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migrants’ role in maintaining and transmitting cultural capital to their grandchildren (Denev 2009; Landolt and Da 2005; Plaza 2000). Foreign-born grandparents, arriving on temporary visitor or tourist visas, reside with their adult migrant children, frequently undertaking substantial caring and domestic responsibilities and instructing their grandchildren in religious, cultural, and family values, promoting bilingualism, and introducing them to extended family members (Phua and Kaufman 2008). Transnational families strategically maximize their transnational social capital. The temporariness of tourist or visitor visas, therefore, contrasts greatly with these transnational family members’ strong presence in the household. Older visitors often have designated bedrooms and tend to stay till the last day of a six-month visa. Despite their autonomy in household, they have limited authority in larger decision-making. The hallmark of elderly newcomers, therefore, is family interdependence rather than old-age dependence. These newcomers, however, are especially susceptible to depression and loneliness, as a result of spending most of their time at home (Treas 2008). The occurrence of transnational intergenerational care arrangements and transnational, globalized, and flexible families who maintain a sense of family connection across national borders is becoming increasingly prevalent in Canada (Mujahid, Kim, and Man 2011). These families provide various forms of support, including practical support (babysitting, gardening, shopping, and running errands), personal support (child and elder care), and emotional support. These fluid forms of support are often dependent on capacity (ability), obligation (cultural expectations), and negotiated commitments (family relationships and migration histories). The specific combination of these factors explains the unique experiences of each transnational household over its life course (Baldassar 2007). In the next section, I turn to how the newcomer parents in my research negotiated and strategized to manoeuvre themselves out of the aforementioned vicious cycle, sometimes with the help of intergenerational and transnational chains of care. “Temporary” and Sometimes Transnational Arrangements to Settle in Canada

There is much confusion as to who fits with the temporal and vague construction of the “newcomer,” but for the purpose of my research, I sought families of Indian origin who had arrived in Canada in the last ten years (based on the dates of fieldwork). I selected families in which both conjugal partners were either working in or working toward entering the Canadian

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INTERGENERATIONAL AND TRANSNATIONAL FAMILYHOOD  AMRITA HARI Table 3.1 Households interviewed in the Waterloo Region, 2009–2010

Name

Number of years in Canada

Age

Years of marriage

Household composition

Sanjay and Anita Patel

6

37, *

9

Two daughters (7 years, 4 years)

Dilraj and Jasmeet Singh

4

41, 38

11

Son (10 years), Daughter (6 years)

Yash and Namita Sharma

3

44, 34

13

Daughter (10 years)

Mahesh and Shruthi Balan

6

40, 34

8

Daughter (4 years)

Rishi and Jyoti Mehta

2

40, 39

10

Daughter (7 years)

Vijay and Lalita Khanna

7

46, *

13

Three children (14, 12, 6 years)

Shaan and Radha Menon

8

38, 34

5

Two daughters (3 years, 6 weeks)

Mohit and Aditi Shah

3

43, *

14

Son (13 years), Daughter (9 years)

Akash and Arpita Ghosh

6

41, 37

12

Son (12 years)

Ram and Madhoo Pandit

2

*, *

5

Daughter (2 years)

Venkat and Alka Nair

1

41, 40

13

Two sons (5 years, 3 years)

Aditya and Shilpa Kulkarni

2

35, 36

5

Son (3 years)

Karan and Aisha Agarwal

5

34, 32

5

Son (2 years)

Dev and Shalini Mishra

5

35, *

13

Son (8 years)

Shashi and Neena Roy

3

*, *

7

Daughter (8 years)

Source: Data provided by participants during interviews conducted by the author between June 2009 and January 2010 with immigrant families of Indian origin residing in the Region of Waterloo, Ontario. *N/A N.B. Number of Years in Canada calculated using the year interviews were conducted (2009). Bold­ed names indicate couples quoted in the chapter

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labour market and at least one of whom was involved in the technology sector. The fifteen households that I selected comprised heterosexual couples with one or three children between the ages of two and fourteen years. I was most interested in provision of child care for pre-school-aged children in the families. In all cases, men applied as the principal applicants to enter through either the FSWP or the TFWP and women arrived as dependants (i.e., either as permanent residents or with open work permits). The newcomers selected the Waterloo Region for its job prospects and its concentration of technology firms. The Waterloo Region is located in Southwestern Ontario and has rapidly earned the reputation as a centre for technology, attracting both technology firms and professionals. The region has become one of the top ten destinations for immigrants arriving in Canada and among the top five for immigrants entering Ontario, in particular attracting a growing number of immigrant professionals seeking entry in engineering, technology, and automotive fields (Region of Waterloo 2006). More than 700 technology companies (ranging from small start-ups to large multinational firms) in a diversity of sectors, including information and communications technologies, biomedical, aerospace, environmental technology, and advanced manufacturing, employ over 30,000 employees (Communitech 2006). The foreign professionals that I interviewed moved to the Waterloo Region to work in one of five large high-tech companies that have formal and informal connections with their counterparts in India’s technology centres— namely, Mumbai, Bangalore, Hyderabad, and New Delhi. The first five households were recruited using personal networks, and the remaining ten households were contacted by snowballing from this initial group. Semistructured interviews were conducted with both adults in the household and couples were interviewed separately. Interviews lasted between one and two hours and were usually held in the participants’ homes. In the chapter, I use pseudonyms to maintain confidentiality and anonymity. All participants reported making joint decisions about their commitments to work and parental responsibilities in the home. They stated that their primary motivation for migrating and their settlement objective in Canada was their children’s growth, education, and future. The following four vignettes attempt to represent their range of experiences in negotiating the dual transition of settlement in Canada (primarily securing jobs to advance their careers) and parenthood (with the goal of securing their children’s future in Canada), particularly after losing vital family and friendship networks and support. Each vignette provides a glimpse into the complex

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adjustments, strategies, and manoeuvres adopted by parents to cope with an often challenging labour market situation, requiring parents to study or work full time under considerable financial pressures, while simultaneously managing child care and domestic responsibilities. “Sometimes he calls me daddy” (Dev and Shalini Mishra)

Dev came to Canada in 2004 with his wife, Shalini, and their four-year-old son. Dev recounted his transition into parenthood: “Oh yes [laughing] the housework has changed quite a bit actually. We became more responsible for things which you would never have done before when you were single.” Dev and Shalini both began their job search immediately after arriving but were unable to find employment commensurate with their qualifications and work experience. It became increasingly difficult to sustain themselves in Toronto due to the high cost of living. The family moved to the Waterloo Region after Dev found a job in a multinational technology company with headquarters there; however, Shalini continued to be frustrated with employers and recruiters who refused to acknowledge her qualifications and experience gained in India. She was finally able to secure an entry-level, contractual, low-skilled technical job with flexible but irregular work hours. To accommodate Shalini’s atypical work hours, Dev assumed responsibility for the complex scheduling of work shifts and the different time constraints of all family members: “I was able to juggle a little time with my work and we would go out in the morning at 6 a.m. I come home at 3 p.m. and pick up my son, stay with him until 6 p.m., or until my wife gets home and I go back to work until about 10 p.m. or 10.30 p.m.” After six months in a precarious work situation, Shalini found fulltime and secure work; however, her higher income and career progression in Canada brought with it longer hours and a more rigid work schedule, resulting in Dev having to assume primary care responsibilities. Shalini admitted, “Dev is mostly taking care of the kid these days. He drops him at school and takes care of him.” At the start of our conversation, Shalini stated confidently that she has struck a successful balance between home and work: “Yes, I am quite successful because my son is doing good at school and he is not watching TV all the time and if I take one day off work then everyone gets worried. I think my house is clean all the time and we cook dinner every day and it is healthy.” Over the course of the interview, Shalini emotionally recounted how the unequal sharing of parenthood with Dev and her relentless commitment to work have evoked a deep sense of guilt and disappointment. Shalini expressed how difficult it was to be apart from

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her son and not present in his everyday life, especially in his school activities. She clarified, however, that she understands this as not negligence on her part but rather her belief in her husband’s abilities to take responsibility for their son and keep her informed. Okay, maybe I wish I had a little more time with my family. Maybe I am 80% satisfied. I would like to spend more time with my son because either I am here or Dev is here. He gets to have very little time with both of us. At night if Dev comes home late from work, my son will stay up to see him and in the morning he never sees me because I leave early. So either he sees me or he sees his dad. Anything my son is in for school like a play, award function, parent-teacher meeting or any celebration, I missed those a lot. But I only do it because my husband is there to take care of him and it is not that I totally don’t know what is going on. I keep checking with him.

Shalini admits to not feeling the same constraints with regard to domestic responsibilities such as cooking or cleaning. She takes pleasure in her accomplishments in everyday household chores and often takes greater measures to ensure that her contribution to the household is not affected to the same extent by the demands from work as her contribution to her son’s care. This does not assuage, however, her disappointment with not being able to find time with her son. I am pretty organized and I will have to clean my house every day. Even if something is not clean, in the middle of the night I will do it. I never leave anything pending and even with my son, Dev cannot do cleaning so I think I give more priority to my house, I just realized that … I think I want to spend more time with my son on weekdays because sometimes he calls me daddy. I think it is because he just says daddy more so I want to change that and be with him more. That I would change definitely, many times he calls me daddy and these days it is starting to bother me because I used to take care of him really good before and sometimes with work it is like that. With the house things I don’t think so. Everything is okay. I want to spend more time with him.

“They cannot live here more than six months” (Ram and Madhoo Pandit)

Ram and Madhoo came to Canada in 2007 and both sought to join the workforce in positions similar to those they had held in India. Ram had

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worked as a project leader (management position) in India but had to settle for a demotion to an entry-level, technical position in the largest communication technology firm in Waterloo. He arrived through the Temporary Foreign Worker Program with pre-arranged employment, making Madhoo eligible for an open work permit in Canada. Madhoo had previously worked in a health management position but found it very difficult to enter the strictly regulated health-care sector in Canada. Her credentials were not recognized by the sector-specific regulatory body despite her extensive training in medicine in India. After a number of unsuccessful applications, Madhoo decided to switch career paths and venture into what she perceived as the sector most in demand in the Canadian economy: the information technology sector. Undoubtedly influenced by Ram’s relative success in the local technology labour market, she started her full-time study in global information technology certifications to prepare herself for jobs in systems analysis and software development. After the birth of their daughter in 2008, Madhoo wanted to continue her full-time studies as Ram worked but could not afford infant daycare with only Ram’s income to draw on and Madhoo’s rising education costs. Unable to find alternatives in Canada to meet their child-care needs, Ram brought his parents from India on a tourist visa. Upon arrival, Ram’s parents immediately assumed all care responsibilities for their grandchild, freeing Madhoo to complete her certifications and Ram to continue to work full time. As per the visa regulations, Ram’s parents had to leave on the last day of their six-month visa, but Madhoo had negotiated with her parents to arrive on the following day and to stay for the next six months. Ram said, My in-laws are taking care of her for three months. They may be ready to live [here] for longer. The plan is to get them to help me out. They cannot live here for more than six months because they are here on a visitor pass. It was planned so that they take care of her during the day so we can both work/ study and the baby is taken care of. After they leave, my parents will come to take care of her.

The “visitor pass” mentioned by Madhoo refers to foreign citizens arriving on a tourist/visitor visa, who can remain in the country for only six months at a time, requiring parents of immigrants to often leave and cross the border once again to restart the day count. When I followed up with Madhoo toward the end of my fieldwork, her parents had resumed full child care

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and household responsibilities and Madhoo spent most of her time in the Waterloo Public Library in an effort to complete her studies. Ram and Madhoo did not see their daughter until the end of the workday. “She didn’t remember us” (Sanjay and Anita Patel)

Sanjay and Anita arrived in Canada in November 2003 with their older daughter, Jasmine. Despite both being equally qualified and having significant work experience in India, they had a difficult time navigating the job market in the Waterloo Region and finding opportunities commensurate with their qualifications and work experience. Sanjay began his job search upon arrival but had not anticipated or taken sufficient preparations for the barriers to labour market entry and the lack of immediate income in Canada. When Anita became pregnant with their second child, she chose not to pursue a job search, remaining out of the workforce for the duration of the pregnancy in order to provide full-time care for their daughter Jasmine. This was intended to be a temporary arrangement, and Anita understood it as the sacrifice that needed to be made for her family and as a necessary measure to ease the transition to a new country, especially when faced with the loss of all previous family networks and support. Sanjay was especially frustrated and disheartened by the interview process in his job search. Employers could not interpret his qualifications and were also unwilling to consider a probationary period in his employment contract. Anita explained: While he was in Bombay he had visited sixteen countries. Because he had international experience, we thought it would be easy to find a good job. He had completed four-levels of CGA [Certified General Accountants of Ontario] and his CPA [Certified Public Accountants]3 from the U.S.… I did not want him to go for a labour job.

After Sanjay’s three-month-long unsuccessful job search and growing financial difficulties, Anita convinced him to stop his search and focus on undergoing a lengthy and expensive accreditation process in Canada. Sanjay stayed out of the labour market to pursue full-time study to acquire the necessary Canada-specific qualifications and overcome what his employers perceived of as his “lack of Canadian experience.” In that time, Anita became the single earner in the household but underwent significant deskilling and devaluation of her credentials when she accepted a full-

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time position in shipping and receiving for UPS, despite holding a master’s degree and at least five years of work experience in the finance and accounting field. At this point, Sanjay attempted to balance full-time study with full-time care, since affording non-parental care outside the home was not possible in a single-income household. Sanjay completed the Canadian qualifications and, with Anita, began working full time. They worked alternate work shifts to ensure there is always a parent at home for their daughters. Despite their dual-earner status, their combined income was not enough to meet household expenses and Jasmine’s daycare costs. They had to assign a significant proportion of their income to pay for a specialized daycare arrangement and a registered early childhood educator for their younger daughter, who had specific learning and developmental needs. Anita and Sanjay were faced with a difficult decision and eventually decided that it would be best for Jasmine to return to her grandparents in India and attend school there (a reversal of Ram and Madhoo’s transnational arrangement discussed above). Distributing their care responsibilities among transnational family members seemed to be the best possible solution, allowing them to commit their limited time to caring for their younger daughter. With both of them in entry-level and low-paid positions, they could not afford non-parental child care outside the home for both their daughters. Anita recounted: “My husband started working in July [2007] and I had to also keep my job.… We called our father-in-law to take Jasmine with him so we could settle down.” This temporary seven-month arrangement was not without its costs. With their older daughter in India, Anita and Sanjay found a reliable and affordable not-for-profit daycare for their younger daughter, after remaining on the wait-list for more than a year, while they both worked long and overtime hours, with one goal: to gain the income needed to bring Jasmine back to live with her family in Canada. Anita painfully recounted this period of separation and expressed her sense of guilt about Jasmine’s loss of attachment upon return to Canada and also the long process of adjustment to life in Canada with her immediate family. When Jasmine returned to Canada, she did not identify Sanjay and Anita as her parents or recognize their authority. The family underwent a long and emotional process of re-establishing what they called their familial bonds. Particularly upsetting for Anita was that Jasmine refused to communicate with Anita in Hindi. Anita and Sanjay are from different states in India with different official languages—Uttar Pradesh, where the official language is Hindi, and Gujrat,

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where the official language is Gujrati. They wanted to raise their children in a trilingual environment and encourage them to communicate with them in their individual mother tongues. My older daughter came back in March 2008. She was away for seven months. She was two years and two months when she left us.… She didn’t remember us, she thought her grandparents were her parents, we told her through photos and recordings. Because she stayed with her grandparents, she only spoke Gujrati, before that she spoke only Hindi. She would not respond if I didn’t speak to her in Gujrati.

Jasmine’s refusal to speak in Hindi can be perceived of as a form of resistance. She spoke Hindi fluently but communicated only in Gujrati with her mother. After being away from her parents and living with her grandparents in Gujrat, she did not acknowledge her family in Canada, and the family in Canada bore the emotional costs of a long process of readjustment. “I thought it would be easy” (Akash and Arpita Ghosh)

Akash and Arpita worked for the same technology company in India. Living in a joint family household, Akash’s parents provided full-time care for their infant son. Akash recalled, “In India it was different because we had a housemaid and she was taking care of things and we were both working. We had different schedules but it didn’t matter that much because we had my parents staying with me.” The prospect of immigrating to Canada was more appealing to Arpita, who wanted the opportunity to improve her career trajectory. Living in a joint family arrangement, Arpita felt that she was often having to choose between being a committed worker and being a “good mother,” constructed as mutually exclusive roles by her extended family members in India and particularly her in-laws. Anita explained, “I was not habituated with the kid thing so lots of problems happening between the families and I had to suffer at work.” Akash explained his motivation to migrate to Canada differently: “Coming into a country where you don’t know too much, managing everything by yourself was definitely one of the toughest decision we took so far in our lives…. We were young and we wanted to get out and make our family ourselves and working together in one place with a comfortable living.” The decision to leave family behind was equally difficult for Arpita. She explained, “On the other hand, my parents and in-laws, sometimes I feel guilty. They hide things from me and they know that I am scared and worried…. Every-

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one is talking over the phone and says it feels like you are still here so we don’t miss you. At the same time I know they miss me and I miss them.” When asked about what they had anticipated settlement in Canada would be like, Arpita elaborated, “I thought it will be easy as we can leave children in daycare and start working. I started searching for a job and I got one and on my first day I dropped him in daycare. After the first day, I left the job because I could not do all the travelling. I love working and since my graduation I was working all the time. If I work hard now, I can work but now I have to support my son’s activities.” Arpita expressed how the lack of extended family support made this brief experience of balancing her career aspirations and caring responsibilities especially difficult, and learning from this, she felt she had little choice but to stay out of the labour market to pursue Canada-specific qualifications and focus the rest of the time on helping her son adapt to living in a new country. She continued, “He was going to pre-school so my classes were in the evening and some projects in the morning. In the evenings my husband was taking care of him so we were okay.” When Arpita resumed full-time work, the parents were rushed to find fulltime after-school care for their son only to be met with long wait-lists. Akash described their present arrangement as temporary and the result of limited choice: “After school he goes to a private daycare because I couldn’t find a spot in a government-sponsored one. [The woman who runs the daycare] is not registered but I had no choice. She stays just in front of the school so he walks down and the lady picks him up from school around 3 p.m. and I pick him up around 5:30. Without it we could not both join the office.” The Future of Intergenerational Transnational Chains of Care in Canada

The discussion in this concluding section will draw on the four vignettes and also insights from the remaining eleven household interviews. Securing employment and establishing a dual-income household was critical to feeling a sense of settlement in Canada and of belonging in an unfamiliar society. Participants described many persistent challenges to accomplishing this stated settlement goal, including credentialism (non-recognition of their foreign qualifications and work experience), ethnocultural discrimination, employer perceptions of their cultural capital (specifically their accents interpreted as lack of communication skills), and securing accessible, affordable, and reliable non-parental care for pre-school-aged children. Many recounted their frustrating and humiliating experiences with employment agencies and employers, and the growing financial constraints

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when waiting for the “right” job, which they understood is the promise of a system of immigration that bases their admittance on potential migrants’ qualifications and experience. This narrative echoes in the academic literature on the economic goals of immigration policy and experiences of labour migrants entering knowledge industries in Canada. There is overwhelming evidence, anecdotal and statistical, to support the need for policy change to rectify the dissonance in a system of admission based on education and work experience and a system of labour-market entry based on employer whims, glass ceilings, and discrimination. I want to focus the remainder of the discussion, however, on the challenges for immigrant parents to organize safe, affordable, accessible, and reliable care alternatives for their children. Although newcomers identified this as a significant if not primary barrier to labour-market entry in Canada, particularly for women, it remains under-theorized in academic scholarship and excluded from policy discussions on “skilled” labour migration to Canada. Despite similar levels of qualifications and work experience, most couples, when reconciling their obligations as workers and parents, had to choose who would pursue their career track, leaving their partner to accept, when possible, lower-paying but more flexible jobs, part-time work, or work shifts that could be juggled, with their partners engaged in full-time work. These various arrangements were intended to ensure one parent is always available to provide child care. Unsurprisingly, this decision was gendered, in that women, more often than not, were the first to opt out of the workforce, supporting their partners in their labour-market or educational pursuits and thus reinforcing conventional gender roles and the dominant gendered social order in a post-migratory context. These arrangements were constructed as temporary and necessary to ease the transition to a new country and would remain in place until the family was able to gain a strong financial position and subsequently find paid non-parental care alternatives, allowing both adults to join the Canadian workforce. In the meantime, the disproportionate number of women who transitioned from being full-time workers in their country of origin to full-time caregivers in Canada expressed their frustration and minimized and devalued their performance of affective labour by emphasizing instead their tremendous efforts to use what little time they had at home to effectively pursue volunteer or part-time work in order to remain active and avoid gaps in their job profiles. They described instead their exceptional time-management skills and capacity for intricate scheduling to pursue full-time study to gain Canadian education, in order to ease their

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transition into the Canadian labour market. During the interview, Madhoo provided a more detailed account of her study schedule and experience in vocational college rather than discuss her work as a full-time caregiver for her daughter. The preferred child-care arrangement when both parents were working or studying full time was full-time daycare, particularly governmentsponsored, not-for-profit spaces, which were perceived to be of the highest quality for having experienced early childhood educators. The most significant barrier was accessibility: long wait-lists for a limited number of spots and inflexible hours of operation that did not correspond to parents’ work schedules. Child-care arrangements in all households were dynamic and influenced by employment status and career stage of one or both parents, flexibility of work hours, relationship with supervisors or managers at work, available information about child-care options in the region, social networks in Canada (particularly related to reliable information on childcare options), availability of child-care spaces, previous negative experience with for-profit and privatized spaces, availability of transnational intergenerational care options and number of years in Canada. It cannot be deduced from the relatively small sample of the study and the data available to what extent each of these factors affected immigrant parents’ decisions or to effectively place these decision-making factors in any order of importance. Four out of the fifteen households used intergenerational transnational care arrangements by bringing their elderly parents to Canada or sending their children to live with their grandparents in India. These negotiated transnational chains of care were constrained by migration control measures in Canada (limited to six-month periods based on tourist and visitor visas); contingent on the capacity and willingness of elderly grandparents to care for their grandchildren in Canada or in India; and the extent to which immigrant parents “keep in touch” with their extended family in India. At the end of the study, nine households used unregistered home daycares and two had secured registered daycare spaces, of which one was a notfor-profit, government-sponsored centre. Intergenerational transnational care options were always temporary and unsustainable in the long term. The option was primarily used in migrants’ first few years in Canada, when returning to full-time work after maternity or parental leave and unable to access infant care spaces (often limited in every daycare). This option was also most likely to be used by newcomers who had the least information available to them about paid non-parental care alternatives in the region. Over time, the most popular although not preferred arrangement was

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unlicensed home daycares. These are a cheaper alternative with more flexible hours of operation that could be adjusted to parents’ work schedules. Although parents preferred the option of daycare centre spaces, they were less accessible due to high costs, limited spaces, and long wait-lists. In the remaining paragraphs, I am interested in discussing some of the policy implications of this research. In this current heightened securitization era, Canada is systematically restricting entries and eliminating pathways to permanent residency and citizenship for all migrants and noncitizens seeking to enter or already present on Canadian territory (Hari, McGrath, and Preston 2013). There is an urgent need to broaden the Canadian state’s understanding of migrant contributions beyond economic calculations and also include these intergenerational transnational chains of care as recognized contributions to the Canadian economy and society. Policy recognition of this type of affective labour migration is mutually beneficial for newcomers (providing non-parental care alternatives that are especially needed during the initial stages of settlement), the Canadian economy (in effect releasing workers to contribute to the Canadian economy and meeting the economic potential for which they are recruited and admitted, if economic rationale must preside over all else), and the Canadian welfare state (reducing demands on limited child-care provisions). Some proposed migration regulation measures that could be put in place to aid newcomers in meeting their settlement objectives might include a broader definition of “family” under current migration streams, expedited family sponsorships, or multiple-entry and long-duration family visitor visas. Community programs and settlement agencies could also extend existing programs and services to this group of temporary residents (transnational family members of newcomers living in Canada), including language programs, information sessions on life in Canada and mental health awareness, and social events, providing them with a greater sense of autonomy and tools to counter the depression, loneliness, and stress associated with being constrained in the home. On December 1, 2011, Canada introduced the Parent and Grandparent Super Visa, which according to then Citizenship and Immigration Minister Jason Kenney fulfills the government’s sustained commitment to family reunification. Celebrated as a success, these visas are few in number and remain exclusive. Host families in Canada must meet a minimum income level and demonstrate that they have the economic resources to purchase comprehensive medical insurance; visa applicants must undergo an exten-

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sive mandatory immigration medical exam (CIC 2012). The onus is clearly placed on migrant parents and can in turn maintain the status quo: only a few can afford this arrangement given rising financial constraints associated with settling in a new country, persistent barriers to finding employment, and the challenge of finding and funding non-parental care to sustain a two-income household necessary to meet expenses and pay for transnational intergenerational care arrangements. The Parent and Grandparent Super Visa Program is still in its developmental stages but given the recent and drastic legislative changes to create a more exclusionary Canadian state, there is no telling whether the program will remain in place and also whether subsequent revisions (if any) will benefit or further disadvantage newcomers. This chapter, similar to other contributions in the volume, emphasizes the need to incorporate transnational voices in Canada and is intended to obligate the Canadian government to take more seriously the specific needs of newcomers, going beyond labour-market and related settlement provisions, and in turn ease an already lengthy and difficult transition for those newcomers who are making every effort to make Canada their home. Notes 1. Introduced in 1967, the points system refers to a selection grid that allocates points for education (25 points), language (minimum threshold of 18 and maximum of 28 points), employment experience (minimum threshold of 9 and maximum of 15 points), age (maximum of 12 points), arranged Canadian employment (0 to 10 points), and adaptability (maximum of 10 points) to be selected as a “Federal Skilled Worker” in Canada. An applicant must accumulate a minimum of 67 points to be eligible (immigration.ca 2014).  2. The revised Federal Skilled Worker Program still adheres to the points system and retains the threshold of 67 points and the minimum language requirements. A prospective applicant, under the revised program, would have to meet one of the following requirements: (1) they have at least one year of continuous work experience in one of the twenty-four eligible occupations; (2) they have a qualifying offer of arranged employment; or (3) they are eligible to apply through the PhD stream. The CIC no longer accepts Arranged Employment Opinions and employers have to secure a Labour Market Opinion, used for hiring temporary foreign workers. Moreover, another important change that took effect on May 4, 2013, is the introduction of the educational credential assessment (ECA). The ECA process will

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References Baldassar, Loretta. 2007. “Transnational Families and the Provision of Moral and Emotional Support: The Relationship Between Truth and Distance.” Identities 14: 385–409. Baldassar, Loretta, Cora V. Baldock, and Raelene Wilding. 2007. Families Caring across Borders: Migration, Ageing and Transnational Caregiving. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Bauder, Harald. 2006. Labour Movement: How Migration Regulates Labor Markets. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Bryceson, Deborah F., and Ulla Vuorela. 2002. The Transnational Family: New European Frontiers and Global Networks. Oxford, UK: Berg Press. Carnoy, Martin. 2002. Sustaining the New Economy: Work, Family and Community in the Information Age. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Castells, Manuel. 1996. The Rise of the Network Society, the Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture, Vol. I. Cambridge, UK: Blackwell. Citizenship and Immigration Canada (CIC). 2012. “News Release: Parent and Grandparent Super Visa a Great Success.” http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/depart ment/media/releases/2012/2012-05-18.asp. ———. 2013. “Backgrounder: Information for Applicants to the New Federal Skilled Worker Program.” http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/department/media/back grounders/2013/2013-04-18.asp#list. Communitech. 2006. “State of the Industry Report 2006.” http://www.techtriangle .com/include/get.php?nodeid=235. Creese, Gillian, and Brandy Wiebe. 2012. “‘Surviving Employment’: Gender and Deskilling among African Immigrants in Canada.” International Migration 50: 56–76. Denev, Neda. 2009. “The Young-Old Transnational Travelers: On the Transformation of Care Arrangements among Bulgarian Muslim Migrants in Spain.” August 29. migrationonline.cz. Drucker, Peter. 1969. The Age of Discontinuity. London, UK: Heinemann. Echtelt, Patricia V., Arie Glebbeek, Suzan Lewis, and Siegwart Lindenberg. 2009. “Post-Fordist Work: A Man’s World?: Gender and Working Overtime in the Netherlands.” Gender and Society 23: 188–214.

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INTERGENERATIONAL AND TRANSNATIONAL FAMILYHOOD  AMRITA HARI Esping-Andersen, Gosta. 2009. The Incomplete Revolution: Adapting to Women’s New Roles. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Friendly, Martha. 2008. “Building a Strong and Equal Partnership between Childcare and Early Childhood Education in Canada.” International Journal of Child Care and Education Policy 2: 39–52. Hari, Amrita. 2013. “Foot in the Door or Double-Edged Sword: The Construction of India’s Hi-Tech Immigrants in Canada’s Technology Triangle.” South Asian Diaspora 5: 197–210. Hari, Amrita, Susan McGrath, and Valerie Preston. 2013. “Temporariness in Canada: Establishing a Research Agenda.” CERIS Working Paper Series No. 99. http://www.ceris.metropolis.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/CWP_99_Hari_ McGrath_Preston.pdf. Harvey, David. 2005. A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Hyman, Jeff, Dora Scholarios, and Chris Baldry. 2005. “Getting On or Getting By?: Employee Flexibility and Coping Strategies for Home and Work.” Work Employment Society 19: 705–25. Immigration.ca. 2014. “Who Qualifies for Canadian Permanent Residence/ Skilled Worker Immigration?” http://www.immigration.ca/index.php/en/who -qualifies-for-canadian-immigration-under-the-skilled-worker-program# skilledworkergrid. Landolt, Patricia, and Wei Wei Da. 2005. “The Spatially Ruptured Practices of Transnational Migrant Families: Lessons from the Case of El Salvador and the People’s Republic of China.” Current Sociology 53: 625–53. Lewis, Jane. 2002. “Gender and Welfare State Change.” European Societies 4: 331–57. Lie, Mabel L.S. 2010. “Across the Oceans: Childcare and Grandparenting in UK Chinese and Bangladeshi Households.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 36: 1425–43. Maher, Jane M., Jo Lindsay, and Suzanne Franzway. 2008. “Time, Caring Labour and Social Policy: Understanding the Family Time Economy in Contemporary Families.” Work Employment Society 22: 547–58. Malchup, Fritz. 1962. The Production and Distribution of Knowledge in the United States. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Man, Guida C. 2004. “Gender, Work and Migration: Deskilling Chinese Immigrant Women in Canada.” Women’s Studies International Forum 27: 135–48. McRae, Susan. 2003. “Choice and Constraints in Mothers’ Employment Careers: McRae Replies to Hakim.” British Journal of Sociology 54: 585–92. Mujahid, Ghazy, Ann H. Kim, and Guida C. Man. 2011. “Transnational Intergenerational Support: Implications of Ageing Mainland China for Chinese in Canada.”

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CHAPTER 3 In The China Challenge: Sino-Canadian Relations in 21st Century, edited by Huhua Cao and Vivienne Poy, 200–21. Ottawa, ON: University of Ottawa Press. Parreñas, Rhacel S. 2005. Children of Global Migration: Transnational Families and Gendered Woes. Pao Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. Phua, Voon C., and Gayle Kaufman. 2008. “Grandparenting Responsibility among Elderly Asian Americans.” Journal of Intergenerational Relationships 6: 41–59. Plaza, Dwaine. 2000. “Transnational Grannies: The Challenging Family Responsibilities of Elderly African-Caribbean-born Women Resident in Britain.” Social Indicators of Research 51: 75–105. Region of Waterloo. 2006. “Census Bulletin #8: Ethnic Origins, Visible Minorities & Aboriginal People.” http://region.waterloo.on.ca/en/discoveringTheRegion/ resources/Bulletin_8.pdf. Sennett, Richard. 2006. The Culture of the New Capitalism. New Haven: Yale University Press. Thomas, Mark. 2007. “Toyotaism Meets the 60-Hour Work Week: Coercion, Consent and the Regulation of Working Time.” Studies in Political Economy 80: 105–28. Treas, Judith. 2008. “Transnational Older Adults and Their Families.” Family Relations 57: 468–78. Young, Melina. 2007. “Labour Market Integration of High-Skilled Immigrants: Maximizing Knowledge Spillover in Toronto.” Local Economy 22: 401–8.

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TRANSNATIONAL FAMILY EXCHANGES IN SENIOR CANADIAN IMMIGRANT FAMILIES Nancy Mandell, Katharine King, Valerie Preston, Natalie Weiser, Ann Kim, and Meg Luxton

Globalization, Transnationalism, and Aging Families

Globalization has created a mobile form of aging in which large numbers of seniors have become international migrants. A major challenge of globalization for the study of aging concerns the ways in which this growing population of elderly transnational migrants negotiate the meanings they attach to their experiences of aging (Torres 2006). Specifically, globalization and transnationalism are changing intergenerational relations, particularly in the areas of financial and care exchanges, thus shifting our understanding of what family processes in later life entail. Using life course, transnationalism, and globalization perspectives and data gathered from twelve focus groups with ninety-one immigrant seniors in Toronto, we discuss bidirectional intergenerational exchanges within later-life migrant families. We show how aging intersects with transnational mobility in changing ideas about later-life families. Globalization, and more specifically transnationalism, has altered the political economy of material and care provision in senior migrant families, producing a new kind of aging in which the dynamics of family and social life may be stretched across different borders (Torres 2006). Transnational aging has transformed from a traditional life stage in place into a complex process characterized by mobility, insecurity, separation, and new tasks (Zhou 2012). Aging thus intersects with transnational mobility in changing ideas about family processes and practices for seniors. As Beck (2009) said, it is within the local that the effects of globalization are experienced. By examining transnational exchanges as perceived by senior immigrants, we come

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to understand how they experience the effects of globalization in their daily lives and how these experiences have reconfigured their notions of aging, as well as altering financial and care practices within transnational families. Globalization shapes aging by setting in place economic, political, social, and other processes that link the lives of people across the globe (Arxer and Murphy 2013). The course of individual lives becomes interconnected with the needs, conditions, and choices of others. Transnational senior migrants are people who stay connected with and are simultaneously influenced by more than one culture at a time, which means that transnationalism exerts a translocal impact on culture and brings about a hybridization of cultures (Torres 2006). Detailing the empirical processes and characteristics of globally linked lives reveals how transnational practices spanning two or more nation-states get played out in the daily lives of seniors. Local practices thus become examples of global processes (Glick Schiller, Basch, and Szanton Blanc 1995). Life Course Perspective and Transnational Family Processes

Within a global aging context, life course and transnational practices frame our understanding of the daily lives of senior immigrants. Senior migration disrupts traditional life course trajectories by both diversifying family structures and giving rise to new, individual life courses (Lowenstein, Katz, and Biggs 2011). By increasing the possibilities of geographic mobility for seniors, a greater range of later-life experiences has become possible. Four dimensions of Elder’s life course theory—history, age, interdependence, and agency—provide a lens through which to understand the ways in which individuals construct life paths within the limited range of structural choices available to them. Globalization reconfigures conventional narratives about growing old and initiates a more mobile form of aging that is more fragmented, less linear, and more unpredictable. Past biographies were constructed around linear models in which individuals passed through phases of education, work, and retirement. The historical collapse of lifetime jobs and an increase in global migration have resulted in non-linear trajectories in which retirement boundaries have collapsed, and through migration seniors take on more risks than past generations (Phillipson 2006). Age of migration is key to how seniors experience aging and how family exchanges take place. While older adults represent an important resource in immigrant families, the critical roles they play in caring financially and emotionally for adult children and grandchildren depend on their age at

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arrival. Life course theory also emphasizes the interdependence of family members’ lives in combination with age at migration. Sponsored seniors thus promote the survival and success of their families in different ways than those who immigrated earlier in life. Finally, seniors exercise agency within a limited range of available options. Connections with ethnic and faith communities, neighbours, volunteers, and friends become sources of social support buffering the potentially negative effects of isolation, ambivalence, and uncertainty about their senior years. One way to understand the complexities and diversities of senior life courses lies in analyzing intergenerational relationships and exchanges. Generational relations become extremely important as examples of how globalized aging and transnationalism shape family practices. Previous ideas about successful aging, life satisfaction, well-being, quality of life, and financial and care exchanges are all concepts and practices disrupted by older migration. While we know that transnationalism promotes and highlights intergenerational assistance in the exchange of financial and care provision (Torres 2006; Treas 2008; Zechner 2008), we still know relatively little about how these transactions take place within senior immigrant families and how senior immigrants themselves interpret these transactions. Life course theory instructs us to pay attention to the effects of gender and ethnicity as they interconnect with processes of globalization and marginalization (Estes 2006). Racialized and gendered wage gaps particularly disadvantage minority women, highlighting how the roots of economic insecurity in old age lie in young adulthood. Early life experiences in paid work and care work shape later life experiences, erasing any suggestion that all immigrants within the same ethnic group share similar life experiences and life outcomes in old age. While there is some indication that among all the elderly, there is a convergence of quality of life indicators, a phenomenon called “levelling,” there are also distinct differences (Durst 2005). “Multiple jeopardy” refers to the well-documented effect that gender, economics, and ethnicity, among others, has on seniors’ experiences of old age (Durst 2005). Structural disadvantage is cumulative, so that those who face setbacks in economic security earlier in life (due to immigration and/or racial barriers) are likely to face even greater hurdles to economic security, health, and well-being in old age. Women, visible minorities, and those who began life with low incomes are more likely to end up as poorer and in worse health than are men, non-visible minorities, and those who began life with more economic security (Durst 2005). Women confront structural inequalities throughout their lives in the form of poorly paid jobs, disrupted career

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paths, and caregiving demands meaning that, over time, they accumulate far less wealth and security than those with uninterrupted careers. Taken together, a lifelong pattern of career interruption and devotion to unpaid care, characteristic features of the gendered life course, mean that senior women are at greater risk of confronting financial insecurity in old age. As the population of seniors grows, researchers have begun to highlight the heterogeneity of this population, noting both differences between different age groups of seniors (young-old, old-old, and the frail elderly) as well as distinctions based on class, ethnicity, gender, and ability (Bernhard 2010; Elgersma 2010). Depending on time of arrival and their placement within an age cohort, immigrant seniors have different social and economic trajectories. They could, for example, be living in poverty and isolation or they could be living above the national financial average, surrounded by neighbours, friends, and relatives. A life course perspective also shaped our methodology. Our research study focused on young-old seniors between the ages of fifty-five and seventy, living in Toronto and York Region who have varying experiences of intergenerational family relations, health and well-being, and economic security depending on their cumulative life course experiences, their time of arrival in Canada, their gender, and their ethnicity (Preston et al. 2013). Focus group information revealed more distinctions within, than between, ethnic groups. A life course methodology allowed us to understand that treating senior immigrants as an undifferentiated group ignores the considerable variations among this population and thus renders services less attuned to meet the challenges they face. In the rest of this chapter, we turn to data collected from ninety-one participants in twelve focus groups (participants were drawn from a variety of ethnic communities, including South Asian, Hispanic, Italian, Russian, Chinese, African Caribbean, Korean, and Vietnamese). Our goal is to describe two types of intergenerational transfers—financial and care—that we found in our focus group data. Most transnational senior immigrant families engaged in a pattern of bidirectional exchange between seniors and their adult children and grandchildren. Transnational Financial Exchanges

Intergenerational financial exchanges in transnational families are both bidirectional and complicated by gender, ethnicity, and migration status. While sponsored seniors represented about half of our focus group participants, the other half consisted of seniors who immigrated to Canada in

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their earlier years. As we outlined in an earlier paper (Preston et al. 2014), most of our focus group participants from Italy, the Dominican, China, Iran, Spanish-speaking countries, South Asia, and the Caribbean arrived in Canada before 1976. Others, including many of the Russians, Iranians, Koreans, and Vietnamese, arrived after 2002. A few we interviewed, including most of the Russians and some of the Koreans, arrived as recently as 2013. Because we had participants within each ethnic group with diverse immigrant status histories—those who were both Canadian residents and those who had arrived recently—it is difficult for us to generalize about any one ethnic group. By far the most common form of financial transfer among transnational later-life families is that of moderate financial assistance from aging parents to adult children. Among seniors who have been in Canada for long periods of time, the bulk of financial support moves from elderly parents to adult children and grandchildren. This is the case even if seniors are providing for their elderly parents in other countries. Among those who provide financial help to adult children, our research suggests that those who have been in Canada longer are better established financially and therefore better able to offer this kind of support, although as we have noted, there is considerable variation within ethnic groups as well as between groups. Some ethnicities have longer histories of immigrating to Canada, however, and may be more likely to have Canadian pensions and own property in Canada. Providing financial assistance involves sacrifices for most seniors. While many Canadian seniors report their financial situations as adequate, there are important differences, especially with regard to immigrant status, visible minority status, and gender. Close to 7% of seniors in 2005 lived under the low-income cut-off (LICO) (National Advisory Council on Aging [NACA] 2005). Of these seniors, in 1998, 13% were immigrants and 22% were from visible minorities (NACA 2005). A good number of seniors are living near the poverty line (NACA 2005). For example, the income of 19% of seniors was just above the before-tax LICO in 1998 (NACA 2005). In our study we found that a much larger percentage of recent immigrant seniors live on low incomes than do longer-term immigrants or the Canadian-born (Preston et al. 2013). Following findings from others (Palameta 2004; Turcotte and Schellenberg 2007), the longer immigrants are in Canada, the higher their likelihood of not reporting a low income. Seniors who immigrated to Canada later in life are the most economically vulnerable. They are thus much less likely to have additional money to contribute to their extended families.

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Late-life economic insecurity occurs especially among those who come to Canada as sponsored seniors. Without a pension income or access to benefits from the Canadian government, these seniors have trouble obtaining basic necessities such as housing, transportation, and health care. I am a kind of typical person for seniors. I came here when I was fifty-five years old. And because after my children sponsored me for ten years, I will receive welfare assistance next year. During these times, it was very difficult for me to look for work. They did not want me. The two of us are so lucky that my children do have a little bit of extra income. For those families who do not have any extra, it is very difficult. (Male, Focus Group 5)

Approximately half of our participants were in the “sponsored seniors” category. In the past decade, the majority (83%) of new permanent residents who immigrated to Canada when they were older than sixty-five enter as family class immigrants (Elgersma 2010). This means that the sponsor— usually an adult child—promises to take on personal financial liability for repayment for a ten-year period should any social assistance be provided to the sponsored person while the undertaking is in effect (Elgersma 2010). Sponsored seniors gave many reasons for their immigration. Usually adult children insisted that they move to Canada and live with them in order to provide child care and housekeeping duties. Economic restructuring, job loss, and a consistent economic downturn over the past decade have left many adult children with high debt levels and insufficient means to manage day-to-day finances (Duffy and Mandell 2014). Elderly parents living with adult children offer the children some financial relief from the staggering costs of running a household and providing for dependants. But this unpaid help does not allow elderly transnational parents to accumulate any financial resources for their own use in their senior years: I came to Canada in 1988, when I was fifty-four. I have been living with my daughter, and taking care of my grandchild for eighteen years. I am living in an apartment at a senior building. The amount of OAS is not enough to cover my daily expenses. My children assist me to pay transportation, outgoing trip, and even to buy vitamins and other medication and other basic needs. (Female, Focus Group 2)

Many sponsored seniors told us that upon arriving in Canada, they handed over to their adult children the financial proceeds from the sale of their resources in their home countries. Homes were sold, pensions were some80

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times cashed out, and possessions were liquidated. In moving to Canada, seniors brought to their adult children an initial financial contribution that enabled their children to buy homes and household items but that left them with little if any money for their own needs. Canadian seniors typically have access to three sources of income in old age: Old Age Security (OAS), Canada Pension Plan (CPP) or the Quebec Pension Plan (QPP) and employers’ pension plans, and Registered Retirement Savings Plans (RRSP) and investments. For two-thirds of seniors, OAS and CPP/QPP represent their main sources of income while about 29% of the total income of seniors is derived from private employers’ pension plans and RRSPs, 27% from OAC (including Guaranteed Income Supplement [GIS]) and 20% from CPP/QPP. About 35% of seniors receive the GIS, 65% of whom are women. Two-thirds of men and one-half of women rely on income from private pension plans (NACA 2005). But immigrants face numerous disadvantages in accessing these sources of income (Elgersma 2010). Sponsored seniors must wait ten years in order to qualify for any state retirement income programs, such as OAS or the GIS. Ineligible for government financial assistance, sponsored seniors rely largely on their adult children for financial support. My daughter sponsored me and she is responsible for me but I haven’t received anything from the government. I have whatever I need, medicine or whatever, my daughter gives it to me. (Female, Focus Group 1)

This financial dependence makes senior transnational parents feel vulnerable and they are reluctant to make additional demands for essential healthcare items on their financially overstretched adult children: I could help my daughter—for example, I have this hearing aid that is very expensive and she has to spend that that money on me and she has no help anywhere else…. Sometimes, I feel bad to ask my daughter for things that I need or sometimes for something for the week. It makes me feel embarrassed with my daughter to be asking her, but I always see that she has to make sacrifices for me…. I feel like she has to do it alone. (Female, Focus Group 4)

If sponsorship breaks down (Wellesley Institute 2009), transnational seniors are especially defenceless. The longer immigrant seniors stay in Canada, the more the transfer system reduces their low-income rate. As they qualify for OAS and GIS, seniors have more opportunity to move out of low income and to establish inde81

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pendent living arrangements. Some seniors we talked to wished to have some independent housing and sources of income but their limited English skills, small social networks, and limited opportunities in the labour force forced them to relinquish their economic, social, and psychological independence in old age. Even when receiving meagre state support, many transnational seniors remain financially insecure and reliant on help from their children as government transfers tend to be insufficient to cover the cost of housing and other needs: It is difficult, [my children] have their own families, they have their own obligations, things to pay and it is voluntary, my daughter helps us because she rented the basement for us and it has the market price—that is the help she gives us. Sometimes she gave us presents and clothes, but she can’t anymore. (Female, Focus Group 4)

Even though many seniors say they would prefer to live alone than in transnational multi-generational families (McDonald 2011; Wellesley Institute 2009), housing costs are an overwhelming burden for them. In 2001, more than half of the seniors living on their own in rental accommodations were in core housing need, meaning 30% of their income was not sufficient to pay the median rent for housing of an acceptable size and quality in their locale (NACA 2005). Moreover, moving into long-term care is beyond the financial means of most seniors. Even senior immigrants who have lived in Canada for over thirty years find old age presents financial challenges. Due to difficulties during their adult working years of integrating fully into the Canadian labour market (Marier and Skinner 2007), many reach old age with insufficient accumulation of pension assets acquired through CPP/QPP or through private pensions. Constant worrying about money is seen by seniors as something the government should address as it negatively affects their health and well-being: According to me, nothing is as important as finance.… I would like to suggest that the government look into the finance. Because for the seniors, if they have to worry about money, many things can happen. For example, they can get depressed, high blood pressure, mainly because of financial stress. (Male, Focus Group 3)

While they are rare among this group, we did come across some transnational seniors who were the sole financial support for their adult chil-

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dren. Either through their continued paid work or through the retirement incomes they brought with them from their home countries or accumulated in Canada, there are seniors whose income provides completely for their adult children and grandchildren. In other cases, seniors were moderate or partial financial contributors to their adult children and grandchildren who were unable to earn sufficient money to live independently. Adult children are not doing as well economically as earlier immigrants, which means some parents at or near retirement age are still supporting their adult children. This finding should not surprise us as poverty statistics suggest that the poorest Canadians are young adults between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five and single mothers (Duffy and Mandell 2014): I still have three children that I still have to provide for.… I have to provide for all of them even the one who works full-time, she always says, “Gimme, gimme.” So I still have to provide for all of them. She cannot make it on her own, she is still under me. (Female, Focus Group 6)

A common form of transnational support comes from seniors who continue to provide financial assistance to family members in their home countries. Through remittances, seniors are not only providing money for their aging parents, support for hometown organizations such as alumni associations and religious institutions in their home countries, but they are also providing financial resources to their adult children living in Canada. I think all of us as Caribbeans, we have relatives back in Jamaica that we are still helping. We help our school. My elementary school, we have what we call a homecoming every two years, some of the younger people have formed what we call a homecoming so we contribute to that. Here we have a group on Tuesday morning. We try to raise things for our food bank. So, even with our meagre pension, we are still helping others. We are supporting our church, our mission projects and it’s all coming from the little pension that we have. So, we are ever thanking the Lord to help others who are in need. (Female, Focus Group 11)

Money sent to relatives allows families in home societies to survive and prosper. They create new businesses, build homes, and educate children. The World Bank estimates that approximately $283 billion in officially recorded remittances moved to developing countries in 2008 with India, China, and Mexico leading the list of receiving societies followed by the Philippines, Poland, Nigeria, Egypt, and Pakistan (Trask 2013).

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While not always recognized in studies of transnational later-life families, co-residence represents a form of bidirectional transnational support. Recent immigrant seniors are more likely to live in a one- or two-generation family, meaning that multi-generational households can contain three or more generations (Bernhard 2010). While financial dependence precipitates some multiple-generation living arrangements, cultural preferences may predispose others. Co-residence or multiple generations living together is a trend up to eighteen times more likely to be found among immigrant seniors from developing countries than with Canadian-born and immigrant counterparts from the developed regions (Basavarajappa 1998). Since women outlive men, senior immigrant women are especially likely to be widowed; they also have poor English skills and live in a threegeneration family (Ng et al. 2007). While this study did not find evidence of ethnic differences in regard to seniors’ living arrangements, other studies have identified some noteworthy patterns that suggest that ethnicity, gender, and income affect seniors’ living arrangements. Kaida and Boyd (2009) compared living arrangement preferences of Dutch, German, British, Italian, East Indian, and South Asian seniors. They discovered that elderly Canadians of Dutch and German descent, followed by the British, are the least likely to live with extended families while Italians, East Indians, and South Asians are more likely to live with family in old age. Pacey (2002) examined the living arrangements of Canadian and Chinese Canadian seniors and found that the longer immigrants live in Canada, the closer their living arrangements come to resemble those of Canadian-born seniors. A “family-first” policy prevails, suggesting that overall, ethnicity is more important than income in predicting living arrangements of seniors. Culture plays an important role in decisions regarding living arrangements. Among those seniors who for either financial or cultural reasons reside with their adult children, co-residence becomes a primary way of transferring resources from parents to children (Albertini, Kohli, and Vogel 2007). Seniors provide valuable child care and household help that their adult children could not afford on their own. However, senior vulnerability makes them reluctant to express any frustration with their co-residency arrangements. When asked to comment on how they liked living with their adult children, research participants tended to be guarded, perhaps not wanting to “air dirty laundry,” as one community partner suggested. Rather than talking about their relationship with their children, seniors frequently made

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reference to how busy their children are, and how many demands they have on their time and resources. Some seniors noted that they accepted their children’s limitations in what they could provide in time and material support. Others felt it was their role as parents and grandparents to help out within the household, especially by providing child care for grandchildren. Despite their reluctance to speak, however, some seniors mentioned that financial dependence with co-residents can lead to conflict. Children don’t want to get along with their parents when they grow up. They want to live independently. I have been living with my daughter because we came to Canada together. Since we bought a house together, we are still living together. My daughter often says “You know, mom? There are no daughters like me. I still live with you and spend time with you. What a good daughter I am.” Actually, she is the one who benefits from living together with me. She has no worry after giving birth to her children. Many women have a hard time finding someone who takes care about herself and a baby after giving a birth. How lucky my daughter is but she doesn’t agree. (Female, Focus Group 6)

Interestingly, overall, immigrant seniors report they are content with their living arrangements (Ng et al. 2007) although this may be the result of lack of choice as more recent immigrant seniors are more likely to be low income. In focus groups, participants frequently expressed that they did not want to complain about their situation, even while they noted that their senior years were not what they hoped for. This ambivalence reflects the fact that they are grateful for their children’s support while at the same time mindful of the “busyness” of their children’s lives. My problem is that my two children live close by and if I face any problem they come quickly. If I move somewhere else, they won’t be able to come to us that quickly. They have their own kids and they have so many plans for their own children like taking them to this club or that activity like piano lesson or hockey club. They have time for us but not that much time which we expect from them. That’s why I don’t leave the house. (Female, Focus Group 4)

Economic insecurity brings fear of the future. Many seniors were anxious about what the financial future might bring in the way of unexpected expenses and the uncertainty of whether they would have enough money if they experienced a frail period at the end of their lives. Some referred to “living on the edge,” surviving in the present and uncertainty about what

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the future would hold. Among the most at risk of the financially insecure are visible minority women and single dependent women. All financial vulnerability fosters anxiety: The only thing I have is I’d like better living conditions and right now I cannot afford the conditions I would like to live under. Because even if you have money you can’t access the money because of strings and it’s not good. Money is tied up there, a little bit tied up there. Then if you take the money to live the lifestyle you want, you worried about a couple years from now if you are ill, what are you going to do? Who is going to be there? Like you know, so you are really living on the edge. (Female, Focus Group 9)

Among transnational seniors, age at landing affects economic security in later life. New immigrants are at the highest risk of experiencing financial problems in old age (Pendakur and Pendakur 2011). Recent newcomers tend to be from non-English speaking countries and are more likely to be people of colour. While working beyond age sixty leads to a higher annual income and less social transfer in later years, very few sponsored seniors have opportunities to earn money, and few long-term immigrants remain in the labour force (Wellesley Institute 2009). Among transnational later-life families, co-residence is a common way of actualizing bidirectional intergenerational transfers, albeit not without some costs to the emotional well-being of seniors. In the next section, we examine transnational care exchanges in more detail in order to understand their implications for creating and sustaining later-life families. Transnational Care Exchanges

How do we understand the impact of globalization on care? Arlie Hochschild (2001) suggests that global capitalism affects whatever it touches and it touches virtually everything, including global care chains: a series of personal links between people across the globe based on the paid or unpaid work of caring. Common forms include adult daughters immigrating to developed countries to care for other people’s children while their mothers remain in the home countries caring for their children. Aside from transnational mothering, the most common form of care chain we found in transnational senior families is an elderly parent immigrating to Canada to care for adult children and grandchildren. Finances and a desire to have their children raised by their elderly mothers prompt adult children to sponsor their parents as seniors.

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This pattern of caring has prompted some transnational scholars to suggest that the traditional child-care burden of young women has been transferred onto the shoulders of senior family members, especially women (Zhou 2012). We found in our focus groups that within senior immigrant transnational families, women provide the bulk of care both to adult children, their partners, and the grandchildren. Interestingly, our focus group participants do not employ the term “carer.” For the most part, they see caregiving as a role expected of elders toward adult children and grandchildren and as tasks that fall within the traditional responsibilities of intimate relationships (Molyneaux et al. 2011). For them, caring work is simply an unquestioned function of intimate relationships. In families, people take care of one another. In the “family-first” ethic, taking care of one another is described more as an expression of love, nurturing, affection, and commitment than as a set of tasks and responsibilities. Most of our participants rejected any notion of care tasks as burdensome, unidirectional, or unusual. Rather, they describe their caring relationships as reciprocal based on mutual support founded on an agreed-upon set of family responsibilities. Many cited strong cultural norms that assert caring for family members as a family duty or obligation, largely affection-based and voluntary in nature (Molyneaux et al. 2011). Sponsored seniors were among the most likely to be living in extended transnational family households. Caring for grandchildren, walking or driving them to school and to programs, undertaking domestic labour, and maintaining the family home all represent crucial tasks for any landowner with dependent children. Seniors in our research felt that while caring for children was an expression of love and commitment to their family, it also limited their opportunities to fully engage with a life stage after children. As one participant said: The years go by fast. You see, the children, when they are kids they need you. Then when they grow up, they still need you. They get married—they still need you. So we are so attached to them. (Female, Focus Group 7)

For most seniors, caring is considered to be a crucial part of female gender identity. Hence gender roles play an important part in dividing caring tasks between relatives and between men and women (Heinz 2009). Many senior immigrant women who came as sponsored seniors did so expecting to take up roles as primary caregivers (Cook 2010). For these women, gender, migration, and co-residence strongly predict the nature and volume of care they provide (Keefe, Rosenthal, and Beland 2000). However tiring, or

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even overwhelming, caring can appear, none of the seniors accepted a definition of their care work as an imposed, unwanted burden: Of course, because I think women have run the home … when the man is sick, women take care of [them].… Men rely on the family for women to take care. Men get sick earlier than women so the experience is different. (Male, Focus Group 9)

Martin-Matthews (2007) shows how women’s care work binds families together at the expense of the caregiver’s financial security. Sons also provide care albeit in a different fashion. In their study of Caucasian Canadians, Chinese Canadians, and Hong Kong Chinese, Chappell and Funk (2012) found that sons tend to provide care only when daughters are not available or they offer primarily monetary assistance or supervision. When adult children provide care for parents, a lot of their care involves some mixture of formal and informal arrangements (De Sao José 2012). Most informal providers of elder care are in the labour market. In 2002, 70% of caregivers aged forty-five to sixty-four were employed (Pyper 2006). This group is one that has come to be known as the “sandwich” generation, which tends to refer mostly to midlife adults who provide care for their own aging parents and for their dependent children. Numerous studies have discussed this generation with regard to the amount of time they spend caring for seniors, the type of care work they produce for seniors, the gendered nature and intensity of their care work, the consequences of providing care work to their work lives, caregiver burden, consequences to providers in planning for retirement, and the consequences of long-distance caregiving (Pyper 2006; Turcotte and Schellenberg 2007). Often, senior immigrants continue to provide care to aging parents in other countries. This type of transnational care happens through relatives, friends, the Internet, and other communication devices. For some immigrants, care from afar may be harder than caring locally or even in their own homes: I find that our generation is the most sandwiched. Have to take care of parents and children. However, to our children, they are in bliss because on a finance level, they don’t have to worry. (Male, Focus Group 12)

In addition to the stress of distant family obligations, there was evidence in the focus groups that seniors felt pulled between countries and cultures.

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Some seniors wondered aloud if they had made the right decision in coming to Canada: Most West Indians expect to stay here, work and then go back … but that never materialized. Number one, you’re away from home and all your friends are gone and no one has time for you. Besides, you have OHIP here, and you got your children.… That is so true. Those expectations. All of us came here to build, to do, to get the money and go back and retire. (Female, Focus Group 9)

While it is impossible to know what other outcomes might have been possible, this longing for their country of origin and “the road not taken” illustrates the dilemma some immigrants face in attachments with families, communities, and places, resulting in complex identities.Transnationalism disrupts traditional life course longings, underscoring the tension between past and present attachments. Some questioned whether staying in their country of origin would have been better after all, because it would solve the problem of having connections to two places and cultures. Some expressed that they had always intended to return to their country of origin but discovered, after decades away, that the home they left was no longer one to which they felt they could return. As one Italian woman said: I’ve been here forty-five years, I’m a Canadian citizen yes, but I don’t feel that I’m a Canadian. I don’t feel that I’m Italian, I don’t feel I’m Canadian. Because the English is not perfect. It’s not a language that I can speak inside out. And Italian, the same thing—I almost forgot my language. (Female, Focus Group 7)

As we have seen, seniors continue to have caregiving responsibilities well into old age. As they themselves increasingly need care, however, there may be a clash between their expectations of the care they will receive and what their adult children and family members are able or willing to provide. A recent study of baby boomers in Quebec (Guberman, Lavoie, and Olazabal 2011) indicates a shift in the attitudes and behaviours of midlife adults providing care to aging parents. Midlife baby boomers seem to be placing restrictions on their caregiving, particularly concerning the tasks they are willing to assume and the frequency of their help. Most are very reluctant to take on instrumental or nursing home care because it is ongoing and daily, making it very difficult for them to maintain their many commitments. They remain open to delegating much of the caregiving and assum-

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ing the role of coordinator and manager of the various services required as opposed to providing these services (Guberman, Lavoie, and Olazabal 2011). Some seniors commented on the ways that this growing individualistic trend among midlife adult children is shifting care attitudes in transnational families. Our research highlights the struggle between generations, for both autonomy and independence, and the relative security of familial support and interdependence. And while seniors consistently noted their considerable contributions to their family household, this contribution may not be valued or recognized as such. This is exacerbated for women, who are expected to provide care throughout their life course, often at the expense of their own economic independence. It is still more common for women to leave the labour market or limit their paid working hours in connection with caring. Employment thus acts as a buffer to limit men’s availability for caring (Heinz 2009). Within families, De Sao Jose (2012) suggests that caregivers establish what he calls “care thresholds,” beyond which recipient demands exceed provider capacity, thus necessitating the intervention of formal help. When care demands produce negative demands in personal, professional, leisure, or other family activates, a caregiving threshold is exceeded. While we were not able to distinguish types of care thresholds, we do appreciate that this concept provides a useful way to explore care arrangements families undertake at different points in the life cycle. The caregiving threshold seems to be higher for poorer, older transnational senior immigrants in our study. Some seniors stated that they wished their adult children could be paid for the care they provided to them. In some countries, governments have instituted cash-for-care schemes that enable care recipients to be eligible for an allowance that can be used to compensate caregiving relatives or friends, or to purchase care supplied by profit or non-profit organizations, or self-employed care workers (Grootegoed et al. 2010). Research suggests that even though increasing numbers of seniors are choosing personal allowance options, UK studies show that neither recipients nor givers are very satisfied with this arrangement (Grootegoed et al. 2010). Paid family caregivers report higher levels of emotional strain compared to unrelated workers. The most strained relationships are those among co-resident paid caregivers. Recent Canadian data suggest that while fewer seniors are living alone than in previous generations, nevertheless, as we age, we are far more likely to live alone than in any other arrangement. This is particularly true of women. Although seniors who have never had children are numerically

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small in our sample, they provide material and care support to extended family members in Canada and abroad. Not all seniors expect to be looked after when they are frail. Many said that they are not providing care now with the expectation that they will be “paid back” later: In my family, my husband is like me. We take care of our children. We don’t expect that they will take care of us when we got old or they will pay back. But I think there are a lot of advantages when we live together. Sometimes they help you, like driving you to the stores, or help you with what you cannot do. And when you are in a foreign country like here, it helps you not to be so lonely. (Female, Focus Group 3)

Senior care work has both positive and negative effects on the health and well-being of carers. Caregiving is associated both with higher levels of social connection and resulting feelings of well-being. Strong family connections and community support help protect low-income immigrant groups from some of the more deleterious effects of poverty and ill health (Durst 2005). But care work also exacts a toll on seniors’ feelings of stress and isolation (Pyper 2006). Parents providing a substantial amount of caregiving report the same symptoms as adult children who provide a lot of care to aging parents: headaches, backaches, burnout, insomnia, helplessness, anxiety, depression, worry about being unavailable to other family members and having no time for themselves (Guberman, Lavoie, and Olazabal 2011). Seniors report that their caregiving, along with their lack of language skills and extra money, severely restricts their ability to develop new networks of friends and companions their age. We cannot see our friends because we have no money to pay TTC fares. We feel socially isolated. (Female, Focus Group 4)

Loneliness is a key issue for immigrant seniors. Combined with few financial resources to pay for transportation, seniors in transnational families rely on community programs for social contact: Seniors are isolated. They don’t know how to travel by themselves. No free transportation. Many seniors don’t go to work and language is a problem. Government should help them with free transportation and more programs

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CHAPTER 4 for the seniors. That would help with mental health issues. They are happy to come to the senior programs with the free transportation to meet friends and desire more trips to go places and free swimming classes. (Male, Focus Group 2)

For isolated seniors, community centres and seniors’ programs provide much-needed relief from social isolation. For me, it’s been very complicated, this thing with the language, and I am alone with my son and nobody else, the only thing that has been helping me a little bit is this centre that has help me here in many things because without it, I would be zero. (Female, Focus Group 1)

Transnational seniors were vocal in their assertion of the need for more community programs: We need communities centre to meet to get together with Latin American seniors and we could feel more like family; to have more activities, recreational activities, like we do here and then, we go home more relax, better. (Female, Focus Group 1)

Conclusion

Globalization has created a distinctive stage in the history of aging, destabilizing conventional ideas of growing old (Phillipson 2006). Through a transformation of the life course, seniors now experience more risk, uncertainty, and change than previous generations. Migrating represents one way to manage risk while providing resources to families. Transnationalism highlights and promotes intergenerational assistance, which is thought to contribute to the incorporation of immigrants into Canada (Trask 2013). Transnational family exchanges represent one way to understand the local effect of global trends. By viewing transnational families from the perspective of seniors, we gain a greater understanding of intergenerational relations among family members. Globalization and transnationalism are changing the patterns of financial and care transfers among families. Examining senior transnational families exposes the ways in which care work or intimate labour is situated in the global labour market and subject to both market forces and structures of gender and ethnicity. Social, cultural, political, and economic structures shape the characteristics and dynamics of care work and, correspond-

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ingly, care work becomes key for unravelling the impact of globalization on family formations (Boris and Parrenas 2010). Senior family members must negotiate the meanings they attach to old age and to family responsibility as they take up positions within later-life families hitherto not anticipated. These new roles and responsibilities, played out in intergenerational relationships, have both positive and negative effects. On the one hand, families have greater resources from which to draw on. Seniors provide considerable domestic housekeeping, money, economizing, and care for and instruction to grandchildren. On the other hand, providing these resources affects the well-being of seniors. Feelings of loneliness, isolation, and silencing can lead to poor emotional well-being at the same time as seniors feel proud and satisfied with their contributions. These contradictory effects often lead seniors to express a form of ambivalence in assessing their lives. Transnationalism also affects social policy as well as the work ethnic communities take up in providing services for senior immigrants. Trans­ national lifestyles are accepted and adapted to more easily by some than others and it is the role of policy and communities to support these changes. Communities become important sources of supportive relationships for seniors, locations where they can share their troubles and learn strategies for survival. They also represent sources of knowledge about services available for them. As multi-ethnic, transnational families increase in Canada, we need more studies analyzing their dynamics so that we can put in place supportive national policies and local pillars of support. As Arxer and Murphy (2013) remind us, focusing on interconnections between globalization and aging fosters critical reflection on the barriers to global integration and fair social outcomes. References Albertini, Marco, Martin Kohli, and Claudia Vogel. 2007. “Intergenerational Transfers of Time and Money in European Families: Common Patterns—Different Regimes?” Journal of European Social Policy 17 (4): 319–34. Arxer, Steven L., and John Murphy, eds. 2013. “Introduction.” In The Symbolism of Globalization, Development and Aging, 1–12. New York, NY: Springer, 2013. Basavarajappa, K. 1998. “Living Arrangements and Residential Overcrowding Among Older Immigrants in Canada.” Asian and Pacific Migration Journal 7 (4): 409–32. Beck, Ulrich. 2009. World at Risk. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press.

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CHAPTER 4 Bernhard, Judith, Ilene Human, and Ellen Tate. 2010. “Meeting the Needs of Immigrants Throughout the Lifecycle.” Region of Peel Immigrant Discussion Paper. Brampton, ON: Region of Peel, Human Services. Boris, Eileen, and Rhacel Salazar Parrenas, eds. 2010. “Introduction.” In Intimate Labors: Cultures, Technologies and the Politics of Care, 1–12. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Chappell, Neena. L., and Laura M. Funk. 2012. “Filial Responsibility: Does It Matter for Care-giving Behaviours?” Ageing and Society 32: 1128–46. Cook, J. 2010. “Exploring Older Women’s Citizenship: Understanding the Impact of Migration in Later Life.” Ageing and Society 30: 253–73. De Sao José, José. 2012. “Logics of Structuring the Elder Care Arrangements 0ver Time and Their Foundations.” Sociological Research Online 17(4), 1–12. http:// www.socresonline.org.uk/17/4/1.html. Duffy, Ann, and Nancy Mandell. 2014. “Poverty in Canada.” In Society in Question, seventh edition, edited by Robert J. Brym, 109–31. Toronto, ON: Nelson. Durst, Douglas. 2005. “More Snow on the Roof: Canada’s Immigrant Seniors.” Canadian Issues—Themes Canadiens (Spring): 34–37. Elgersma, Sandra. 2010. “Immigrant Seniors: Their Economic Security and Factors Affecting Their Access to Benefits.” Social Affairs Division, Parliamentary Information and Research Service, Publication No. 07-45-E. Ottawa, ON: Library of Parliament. Estes, Carroll. 2006. “Critical Feminist Perspectives, Aging and Social Policy.” In Aging, Globalization and Inequality: The New Critical Gerontology, edited by Jan Baars, Dale Dannefer, Chris Phillipson, and Alan Walker, 81–110. Amityville, NY: Baywood Publishing. Glick Schiller, Nina, Linda Basch, and Cristina Szanton Blanc. 1995. “From Immigrant to Transmigrant: Theorizing Transnational Migration.” Anthropological Quarterly 68 (1), 48–63. Grootegoed, E., T. Knijn, and B. Da Rolt. 2010. “Relatives as Paid Care-givers: How Family Carers Experience Payments for Care.” Ageing and Society 30: 467–89. Guberman, N., J-P Lavoie, and I. Olazabal. 2011. “Baby-boomers and the ‘Denaturalization’ of Care-giving in Quebec.” Ageing and Society 31: 1141–58. Heinz, U. 2009. “Couples’ Provision of Informal Care for Parents and Parents-inlaw: Far from Sharing Equally?” Ageing and Society 29: 369–95. Hochschild, Arlie Russell. 2001. “Global Care Chains and Emotional Surplus Value.” In On the Edge: Living with Global Capitalism, edited by Will Hutton and Anthony Giddens, 130–46. London, UK: Random House. Kaida, Lisa and Monica Boyd. 2011. “Poverty Variations among the Elderly: The Roles of Income Security Policies and Family Co-Residence.” Canadian Journal on Aging 30 (1): 83–100.

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TRANSNATIONAL FAMILY EXCHANGES  MANDELL ET AL. Keefe, J., C. Rosenthal, and F. Beland. 2000. “The Impact of Ethnicity on Helping Older Relatives: Findings from a Sample of Employed Canadians.” Canadian Journal on Aging 19 (3): 317–42. Lowenstein, A., R. Katz, and S. Biggs. 2011. “Rethinking Theoretical and Methodological Issues in Intergenerational Family Relations.” Ageing and Society 31: 1077–83. Marier, Patrik, and Suzanne Skinner. 2007. “The Impact of Gender and Immigration on Pension Outcomes in Canada.” Paper presented at the Annual Canadian Political Science Association Conference, Saskatoon, SK, 30 May–2 June, 12. Martin-Matthews, A. 2007. “Situating ‘Home’ at the Nexus of the Public and Private Spheres: Aging, Gender and Home Support Work in Canada.” Current Sociology 55 (2): 229–49. McDonald, Lynn. 2011. “Theorizing about Ageing, Family and Immigration.” Ageing and Society 31: 1180–1201. Molyneaux, V., S. Butchard, J. Simpson, and C. Murray. 2011. “Reconsidering the Term ‘Carer’: A Critique of the Universal Adoption of the Term ‘Carer.’” Ageing and Society 31: 422–37. NACA (National Advisory Council on Aging). 2005. “Seniors on the Margins: Aging in Poverty in Canada.” Ottawa, ON: Minister of Public Works and Government Services Canada. Ng, Cheuk Fan, Herbert C. Northcott, Sharon McIrvin Abu-Laban. 2007 “Housing and Living Arrangements of South Asian Immigrant Seniors in Edmonton, Alberta.” Canadian Journal on Aging 26 (3): 185–94. Pacey, Michael A. 2002. “Living Alone and Living with Children: The Living Arrangements of Canadian and Chinese-Canadian Seniors.” Social and Economic Dimensions of an Aging Population (SEDAP), Research Paper No. 74. McMaster University. http://socserv2.mcmaster.ca/sedap. Palameta, Boris. 2004. “Low Income among Immigrants and Visible Minorities.” Perspectives, Catalogue no. 75-001-XIE. Ottawa, ON: Statistics Canada, April, 15. Pendakur, K., and R. Pendakur. 2011. “Color by Numbers: Minority Earnings in Canada 1995–2005.” Canadian Public Policy 28 (4): 489–512. Phillipson, Chris. 2006. “Aging and Globalization: Issues for Critical Gerontology and Political Economy.” In Aging, Globalization and Inequality: The New Critical Gerontology, edited by Jan Baars, Dale Dannefer, Chris Phillipson, and Alan Walker, 43–58. Amityville, NY: Baywood Publishing. Preston, Valerie, Ann Kim, Samantha Hudyma, Nancy Mandell, Meg Luxton, and Julia Hemphill. 2013. “Gender, Race and Immigration: Aging and Economic Security in Canada.” Canadian Review of Social Policy/revue canadienne de politique sociale, 68/69(2012/2013): 90–106.

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CHAPTER 4 Preston, Valerie, Natalie Weiser, Katharine King, Nancy Mandell, Ann Kim, and Meg Luxton. 2014. “Worked to Death: Diverse Experiences of Economic Security among Older Immigrants.” In Future Immigration Policies: Addressing Challenges and Opportunities during Integration into Canada, edited by Kenise Murphy Kilbride, 67–84. Toronto, ON: Canadian Scholars’ Press. Pyper, Wendy. 2006. “Balancing Career and Care.” Perspectives on Labour and Income 18(4): 37–47. Torres, Sandra. 2006. “Culture, Migration, Inequality and ‘Periphery’ in a Globalized World: Challenges for Ethno- and Anthropogerontology.” In Aging, Globalization and Inequality: The New Critical Gerontology, edited by Jan Baars, Dale Dannefer, Chris Phillipson, and Alan Walker, 231–44. Amityville, NY: Baywood Publishing. Trask, Barbara Sherif. 2013. “Locating Multiethnic Families in a Globalizing World.” Family Relations 62 (February): 17–29. Treas, Judith. 2008. “Transnational Older Adults and Their Families.” Family Relations 57 (October): 458–78. Turcotte, Martin, and Grant Schellenberg. 2007. “A Portrait of Seniors in Canada.” Catalogue no. 89-519-XIE. Ottawa, ON: Statistics Canada, February, 277. Wellesley Institute. 2009. Citizenship Matters: Re-examining Income (In)Security of Immigrant Seniors. Alternative Planning Group, Toronto, Canada. Zechner, Minna. 2008. “Care of Older Persons in Transnational Settings.” Journal of Aging Studies 22(1): 32–44. Zhou, Yanqui Rachel. 2012. “Space, Time and Self: Rethinking Aging in the Contexts of Immigration and Transnationalism.” Journal of Aging Studies 26: 232–42.

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PART II

Negotiating Transnational Care Work

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CHAPTER 5

MULTIDIRECTIONAL CARE IN FILIPINO TRANSNATIONAL FAMILIES Valerie Francisco

The Philippines state’s sophisticated and aggressive migration management system supplies hundreds of thousands of Filipino women as migrant workers globally (Guevarra 2009; Rodriguez 2010; Tadiar 2004). The development of the Labor Export Policy was originally penned by the dictatorial regime of Ferdinand Marcos in 1974 to increase national revenue through migrant remittances. Endorsed and continued by Philippine presidents after Marcos, agencies like the Philippine Overseas Employment Agency (POEA) and the Overseas Worker Welfare Administration (OWWA) have become permanent institutions in Philippine governance. Through the decades of exporting Filipino citizens as migrant labour, the institutionalization of migration has become part of the rubric of Philippine politics and economy. Complementarily, the state employs a sophisticated and convincing rhetoric of gender and family to mobilize Filipino women to seek work overseas, thereby making labour migration a key element in restructuring the Filipino family. Thus the historical and ongoing culture of migration in the Philippines has revised the conception, function, and operations of the Filipino family. Care work—physical and emotional labour that helps maintain functions and meanings of a family—takes different forms, especially for families with members who are separated for long periods of time and long distances. For Filipino families that live and have lived with generations of migrants in their families, forms and providers of care have changed dynamically much like other transnational phenomena such as capital or culture that have changed Philippine society. Therefore the transnational

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family is an important site to examine the macro processes of globalization, labour export, and migration as this unit of social life is contingent on the consequences of those processes. Moreover, as I mentioned before, because migration is a mainstay in contemporary Filipino culture and society, it is also imperative to examine the maintenance of the transnational family as a set of social relations between two sets of actors: both migrants and the people they left behind. Current transnational families are characteristically different than families who have historically been separated before as technology has enabled daily communication (Parrenas 2005b) and serial migration marks the character of some migrants’ relationships with their families left behind (Lorente 2005). Given these conditions, this chapter proposes that families left behind are actively involved in the renegotiation of transnational care. They are not just passive actors in receiving care and providing support from abroad; rather, they are also reformulating care from the place left behind. I find that Filipino families that already worked in intricate and extended kin networks before family members migrated have better tools to absorb the absence of a family member. Although migration, especially when a mother leaves, makes a family situation difficult, mothers’ roles are quickly absorbed and distributed among her family left behind, because of the extended kin networks that were and are present in Filipino families. I push the paradigm of the nuclear family used in past studies of the transnational Filipino family by positing that Filipino families already work in an extended care network when they are all present in one place. Thus, the migration of a family member can activate that network to different ways. The adaptations within the kin network make space for families left behind to rearticulate their absorption of work in two ways: first, an answer to immediate needs and, second, as a form of care to their family member who migrated. The questions that guide this paper then are these: How do families left behind work with what they have and take advantage of available family resources such as extended kin networks to reorganize domestic labour? How do sisters, aunts, mothers, husbands, and children left behind understand their roles when they step in to care for the family left behind? In this chapter, I present data that demonstrate how families left behind take care of one another as well as the migrant family member. This paper extends the ideas of care in what Hondagneu-Sotelo calls “transnational motherhood” and what Rhacel Parrenas calls “long-distance intimacy” by reconceptualizing care to include the kin network instead of a nuclear fam-

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ily of parents and children. By framing care in the arrangement of the kin network, a more complex and intricate articulation of care in the transnational family emerges. In what I call multidirectional care, migrant family members redefine their participation in care work with their families left behind simultaneously with families left behind. Families in the Philippines are grappling with and rearticulating the kind of care they can provide to their migrant family members. In what follows, I explore how family members left behind understand caring for one another in the Philippines as a way to care for their migrant family members living in New York City. Reorganizing and taking up the work of maintaining the family is at once caring for physically present family members, but it is also a form of care for a migrant member. With qualitative data from families left behind and their migrant family members, I show that care, redistributed pre-migratory kinship networks, is interpreted by participants as answering pressing needs but also a way of caring for migrant family members. Transnational Families

The characteristics of family formation transforms alongside social, political, and economic shifts in history (Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila 1997). Scholars establish that the family form has observed and absorbed changes under the conditions of globalization and migration by revising definitions, roles, and operations of the family across the borders (Asis, Huang, and Yeoh 2004; Dreby 2010; Parrenas 2005a; Rodriguez 2010). Asis, Huang, and Yeoh (2004, 199) argue that the “transnational family—generally one where core members are distributed in two or more nation states but continue to share strong bonds of collective welfare and unity—is a strategic response to the changing social, economic and political conditions of a globalizing world.” In this study, the transnational family is defined specifically under globalization and is exemplified by long-term separation over far distances wherein migrant family members seek livelihood abroad to support families left behind. In this arrangement, families strive to reorganize operations of the family, such as domestic labour, care, and income, to maintain the functions of the family but also to retain their ideals of family life. Scholars studying the sociology of immigration and transnationalism have introduced concepts to understand the reorganization of gender and the transnational family under globalization (Dreby 2010; HondagneuSotelo and Avila 1997; Parrenas 2005a). Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo and Ernestine Avila’s (1997) pivotal work about Latin American domestic workers in Los Angeles establishes that gender is organizing the changing social

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relations of family under migration and globalization. They argue that “transnational mothering radically rearranges mother-child interactions and requires a concomitant radical reshaping of the meanings and definitions of appropriate mothering” (1997, 557). Migrant mothers often expand their definitions of motherhood by being the breadwinner, while fulfilling intensive emotional and nurturing roles from afar. Joanna Dreby’s (2010) work with Mexican migrants in New Jersey and their families in Mexico explores how these separated family members still “do family.” She gives us a look at the work of maintaining a transnational family from different vantage points: migrant parents, caregivers, and children left behind. Migrant parents stay active in the lives of their families by providing financial support for basic goods and needs and keeping communication open through letters, pictures, phone calls, and cards. Still, reorganization of the definitions of family is concurrent; children and caregivers left behind are not passive recipients of money and goods. Dreby shows us that children leverage power over migrants’ family members by “emotional withholding” (2010, 142) and monetary exchange for care puts significant importance on a caregivers’ role in negotiating with a migrant parent. Both migrants and families left behind reshape the meaning of family transnationally. Still, these works centre the migrant as the primary care provider in the transnational family. Although discussion of families left behind has emerged in recent scholarship, the roles of non-migrant family members are often contingent on leveraging or redirecting care received from their migrant family member. The discussion of care work from families left behind explores how children withhold emotions to leverage power over migrant family members (Dreby 2010) or how they use achievements to gain more support from their migrant parents (Parrenas 2005a; Smith 2006). Yet this analysis puts the actions of families left behind as reaction to migrant family members’ support. In this chapter, I depart from this formulation and focus on how families left behind interpret and enact care work that is not tethered to the migrant family members. Transnationality of the Filipino Family

Filipino families have been rearticulated across borders since the early twentieth century through labour migration to different states in the United States (Espiritu 2003). But a key turning point in the migration of Filipinos (and consequently the reorganization of Filipino families) was with the increase of women migrants through the Labor Export Policy in the 1970s.

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Current rhetoric on labour migration hinges on gender-specific and gender-coded ideals of filial piety and empowerment, which reflects the dominant narrative of why women migrate (Guevarra 2009). The Philippine’s migration industry is therefore central in the reorganization of the contemporary form of the Filipino family. The “care chain” (Ehrenreich and Hochschild 2003; Isaksen, Devi, and Hochschild 2008) is illustrated in the migration of Filipino women and the displacement of care work (or what some scholars call domestic labour [or social reproductive labour]) for Filipino women and their families. As Filipino women migrate to do paid care work in foreign countries, they also leave behind care work in their own families. The examination of transnational Filipino families has been led by Rhacel Parrenas’s (2005a, 2005b) pioneering research about the various strategies migrant mothers employ to cope with the emotional strain of being away from their families, such as gifts, financial support, and communication through phone and letters. Parrenas argues that migrant mothers, despite their sacrifice, are stigmatized for their decision to leave by patriarchal ideology and the nuclear family formation. These patriarchal logics then lead “children of global migration” to have trouble understanding their mothers’ absence and the strained relationships brought about by the separation (Parrenas 2005a; Reyes 2008). Families, women and daughters in particular, left behind often assume the roles of migrant women with distaste and anger. This dynamic is definitely reflective of some relationships in the transnational Filipino family; however, in this chapter, I consider the other reasons that impel families left behind to take up care work. Outside of replacing a migrant family member, what are the other reasons why members of families left behind take up domestic work and the roles left behind? Why do they do it? How do they understand that work as a contribution to the family as a whole and not just their migrant family member? For families left behind, reconstructing their families draws from the notion of “relativizing” (Bryceson and Vuorela 2002), redefining membership and roles in the family based on needs, length of separation, and distance. Whether people are blood-related or not, the vacuum in the care chain left by a migrant mother or sister becomes refilled with redefined care providers. Asis, Huang, and Yeoh (2004), in their research with Filipino migrants in Singapore and their families in the Philippines, find that migrants’ families in the Philippines reconstitute the family by who is around, who can take up work, and how long those roles have to be filled in by fictive or extended kin. This move to pay attention to the coping strat-

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egies of families left behind outside of their relationship to the migrant is what I build on for the rest of this chapter. It is important to note that while the migrant is revising care work in the transnational family, families left behind are doing so simultaneously also. Lastly, the longstanding Philippine’s migration industry has made migration a cultural staple in contemporary Filipino society. I argue that the sedimentation of migration as a pillar in Philippine society deserves continuous research attention. Prior research on the transnational Filipino family is temporally situated during the onset of accelerating migration; now twenty years after scholars turned their attention to the transnational family, I believe new understandings of absence and care work have surfaced. As the “migrant family member(s)” becomes a familial institution, new understandings about how care is redistributed, valued, and deployed emerge through different lenses on who gets incorporated into participating in “doing family” relative to the situation at hand and definitions of care within these arrangements. In this chapter, in particular, I will focus on kin networks’ role in articulating care for families left behind and migrant family members in the context of the longstanding social fact of migration as a form of livelihood for Filipinos. Method

This chapter draws from a multi-sited research project conducted from 2008 to 2011 that used qualitative methods (specifically, interviews, group interviews, and participant observation) to analyze the social processes that go into maintaining a transnational family. There are two sets of participants in this multi-sited study: first, Filipino migrants, mostly women working as domestic workers in New York City, both documented and otherwise, as they have experienced long-term separation from their families for various reasons (see Table 5.1); second, family members of those domestic workers who live in Metro-Manila, Philippines, that include but are not limited to their children, husbands, partners, siblings, and parents (see Table 5.2). Research began in New York City then continued in Manila with interviews and focus groups with Filipino domestic workers and continued with follow-up interviews for the duration of three years. The Participatory Research-inspired methodology influenced the second phase of the research; it was because of the encouragement and participation of domestic workers in New York that I was able to meet families in the Philippines, first through Facebook or Skype, then personally visiting their homes in Manila. I believe that by staying inside of family networks and collect-

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MULTIDIRECTIONAL CARE  VALERIE FRANCISCO Table 5.1 Research Participants in New York City, United States New York City Migrant

Mothers/ Grandmothers

Sisters/Aunts

Fathers

36

10

4

Total: 50

Table 5.2 Research Participants in Manila, Philippines Manila Family left behind

Children

Husbands

Parents

Siblings

9

5

4

7

Total: 25

ing family histories through interviews from both migrants and families left behind, I am able trace how care work is reorganized on both side of a transnational family over time and space. “Taking care of them is taking care of her”

Joan Gonzalez Hernandez and Vickie Gonzalez Marcos are sisters who live in a one-bedroom apartment in Queens, New York. They are both mothers of three and two children, respectively, who are living in the Philippines. Both of them left to work as domestic workers in New York City in the early 2000s. In the Philippines, both of them were housewives and relied on their husbands’ and their siblings’ collective income to feed their families and keep their households afloat. In an interview held in Queens, Joan said to me: Before I decided to leave, we didn’t have much. My husband lost his job. I didn’t have one. My siblings were giving us money for our basic expenses. My mother let us stay in a room in her house. As in, the six of us in one room, no bathroom. When we needed to use the bathroom we had to go to my mother’s side of the house. Our lives were like that. (April 2009)

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She continued to tell me that because of unemployment and poverty, her four siblings, their children, and their children’s children lived together. Although it was hard to live in an overcrowded house, they traded child care and chores for little bits of money to pay for their kids’ tuition, clothing, and food. In the Philippines, Joan and Vickie lived in a twenty-foot radius of one another along with their parents, siblings and their children, and their children’s children. In Tondo, Manila, I visited their poor urban neighbourhood. The corner that the Gonzalez family occupied was teeming with little children; three women were doing laundry and hanging up wet clothes on a few clotheslines in front of the set of cramped buildings where Joan and Vickie’s family lived. Joan and Vickie’s oldest sister, Tita (or Aunt) Tina, who was sitting on a block of wood rubbing soapy clothes together, recognized me and yelled in Tagalog (the national language of the Philippines), “Hoy Val! I’m washing Vickie’s kids’ underwear so you better give me my hug from Vickie!” Joan was the first to migrate in 2003, and then she convinced her younger sister Vickie to follow her in 2005. Their work as domestic workers in New York City supports a constellation of five families: Joan’s three children and four grandchildren; Vickie’s husband and two children; Joan’s oldest sister, Tina, and her three adult children, who have a total of four children; Joan’s brother and wife and their two kids, one of which has one newborn baby; and Joan and Vickie’s aging mother. Although some of their siblings in the Philippines still work part-time jobs, most of their responsibilities fall along the lines of keeping the household together and making sure that Joan and Vickie’s children have three square meals, money for school, and money to have some fun on the weekends. I point to Joan and Vickie’s case to demonstrate how kin networks are critical to sustaining the many Filipino families who are struggling to survive. A cramped and crowded house is better than no house at all. For the majority of the participants in my study, their living and family arrangements in the Philippines revolved around living with one or three other families whether they were siblings, family friends, or parents. Many Filipino women who eventually migrated were able to avail themselves of kin networks to bolster limited incomes and periods of job-seeking. As some of the Filipino women in my study began to migrate for work, the kin network became much more important in ensuring that their families would compensate for their absence in the family upon their departure. This kin set-up becomes key in understanding how migrants’ sisters who are aunts or migrants’ mothers who are grandmothers take on caring for more family

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members and understand it as a way to care for their migrant family member. This is often a gendered transferral of domestic work but as I will show below the kin network becomes an important public for fathers and sons to challenge the gendered norms of domestic labour left behind. When I talked with Joan’s youngest son, Calvin, who is eighteen years old and was only eleven when his mother left, he spoke about Tita Tina’s role in their lives: Calvin: If Melann can’t do [chores], it’s Tita Tina she goes to. Like when Mama went to her before when she was here. If Melann doesn’t know what to do, at least she has someone to go too. Yea, Tita Tina. She’s happy to take care of us but of course it’s different. Her way of taking care of us is different from my mom. Because it’s like this, if we don’t know what to do or how to do it and we can’t solve it among ourselves, we go to her…. That’s how she helps us. She helps Mama. Valerie: She doesn’t feel like it’s too much when you ask? Calvin: No, not really. She said that she can’t do everything Mama does and she isn’t Mama but when we need help or want help, it’s okay to ask her. It’s not a bad thing to go to her. This is how she can help. (July 2010)

In the exchange quoted above, Calvin discusses how Tita Tina interprets her help to the kids as not only help to them but to her sister as well. He understands Tita Tina as a reliable person who is available to them when he and his sister need help. When he signals to “before,” Calvin’s comments allow us to see how the Gonzalez family worked when everyone was close to one another. Now, since his mother has migrated, leaning on his Tita Tina feels less like an imposition instead a continuation of the relationships they had fostered when his mother still lived in the Philippines. In a way, the care work that is now redistributed among Melann, Calvin, and Tita Tina is a practical move to keep the family together but it also doubles up as a way to keep Joan’s stress to a minimum, as she knows that her kids and her sister are continuing the way of life they had before. The kin network that shared family responsibilities for the kids and upkeep of the house before becomes the very network that is rearticulated when a family member migrates. In an interview with Joan, when I shared with her how Calvin and Melann saw Tita Tina, she said, “I know that when Tina is there, my heart can rest because I know her with my kids. They respect her. I feel good when she is with my kids.” Joan’s remarks bring us full circle, as she acknowledges that the care work that becomes rearranged at home gives

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her some respite even though she still feels the guilt of being away from her family. For migrants, every little bit of help matters when separation from family lasts for years. Calvin and Melann looking for help and Tita Tina’s pitching in is a response to Joan’s absence but this reallocation also stretches all the way to New York as Joan’s stress over her family’s well-being decreases with the knowledge that they take care of one another. When kin networks are considered as the arrangement of care work before migration, taking up more work does not become the main issue that families left behind struggle with. Sure, taking up the responsibilities of a whole other set of children is challenging. But if the family already has experience working together to keep a family intact, being able to redistribute it among the people left behind is not a steep transition. Actually, the people who take up the work interpret their “helping out” as a contribution to caring for their migrant family member. In the Sancho family, Rita is a migrant domestic worker living in New York City who has been away from her family since 1995. She comes from what she calls “isang pamilyang nagaabraod,” a family of migrants. Her mother migrated to support her and her six siblings when they were younger. And as soon as the oldest siblings in her family became old enough to migrate, they did. She has no children in the Philippines but helps to support her four siblings and their respective families. I interviewed her three sisters, Lara (28 years old), Leslie (34 years old), and Len (43 years old), in the Philippines about their experiences in a family of migrants. They reference their first experience of migration, their mother going to Saudi Arabia in 1976: Valerie: Did your papa step up when your mama left? Len: Oh yeah, Papa, so much. He was the one doing the laundry even before Mama left. He was really the only one to do the laundry. Because we had split up chores among the kids and the Tita and Tito living with us. But after Mama left, he took on double because he was the mother and father at the house. Valerie: Uh-huh. He didn’t feel like too macho to do that? Lara: Oh Papa? He didn’t do the macho thing! No way! Not at all! [Everyone laughs] That was his task in the order of things before! We all had chores. Even our underwear, even when we were in puberty, he washed all of it. That’s how he was while he was doing our laundry and our aunt was ironing he would tell us, “You and you, this and that, you’re all going to learn how to wash clothes too! Mama would want me to teach you. When she comes back, you’ll know how.” (July 2010)

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This is about making sure that the Sancho girls were learning the lessons that their mother would have wanted them to know. Papa filled in for his wife, but he also made sure that upon her return she would not be coming back to lazy children. She would be coming home to children who had responsibilities around the house and for one another. Papa Sancho was taking up the work of his migrant wife and he was also ensuring that the redistribution of labour among the girls was a sort of taking care of his wife’s worries that motherless children would not learn the things a mother would want them to. Taking care of his kids was an immediate necessity, but there’s an inherent piece where this work also contributes to caring for Mama Sancho as well. Amid this conversation with Papa Sancho in the background, he said, “Taking care of them is taking care of her.” For Papa Sancho, taking care of his girls with the help of his kin allowed him to step into his domestic duties with acceptance and affirmation. Because the Sancho girls’ uncle and aunt lived with them, the support system built in Mama Sancho’s absence became an important public for Papa Sancho to be affirmed for his new roles. Given the history of migration in Rita’s family, her father, aunts, uncles, siblings, nieces and nephews, and parents always worked together to raise one another. When it was Rita’s turn to migrate, Lara, Rita’s younger sister closest to her in age, talked about how Rita still likes to be involved in the lives of her family in the Philippines: Valerie: Because she’s not there to participate, does she find her own way to direct the planning? Lara: Yes, and that’s why we let her. Right? [laughs] She gets excited too. And it makes me happy too. Valerie: Is it like that with your other siblings? Lara: All of us are like that … [laughs] all of us are like that. Especially the one in Japan. (July 2010)

When Lara, Rita’s younger sister, was telling me about how she tries to keep Rita involved, she talked about including her in the planning of family events and occasions. It sounds like a superficial way of keeping migrant sisters involved but as we continued talking, Lara told me about how Rita was a central organizer for almost all of their family activities before she migrated. From Sunday dinners to neighbourhood fiestas, Lara and her older sisters, Leslie and Len, filled in each other’s stories about Rita’s past duties as the family organizer:

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CHAPTER 5 Lara: Tell her the story about when Rita had the measles during fiesta! Leslie: We have to do a flashback to the fiesta of measles! Len: Because of Rita’s love for organizing things, she couldn’t leave the room because she was contagious but she still insisted on helping out figuring out what things needed to go where, what else we were missing and keeping track of the things that wasn’t done. (July 2010)

The Sancho family recognizes that one of the most painful aspects of their migrant sisters’ experiences, especially Rita’s, is missing out on big family activities. Carving out a way in which migrant sisters can still participate, whether it is picking out which ice cream to serve or the colour theme for the fiesta, is a way that migrants’ family in the Philippines keeps them involved in the everyday activities of the family despite the distance. These transnational acts are critical not only for the family in the Philippines but for their migrant counterparts. Even if the sisters in the Philippines have to carry out the actual shopping and planning that their migrant sisters would have done if they were in the Philippines, giving their migrant sisters a role in the planning as supervisors or party planners is a way that siblings left behind make sure their migrant family members are still part of family life. The Sancho family’s adaptation to family members abroad includes helping them still feel like they are a part of the living and changing dynamic of the Sanchos. I would also argue that since the sisters Lara, Len, Leslie, and Rita had formative experiences of migration when their mother left, they are also able to expand the participation of their migrant sisters through this conception. Len, the oldest Sancho sister, mentioned that when Mama Sancho was away she would send back a cassette tape along with balikbayan boxes to narrate what imported product should go to which kid. She would keep track of how much orange juice mix we’d drink and send another pack in bulk when she expected us to have no more. (August 2010)

In their experiences with their migrant mother in the past, the Sancho sisters already had a model about how to “do family” across time and space. Thus there is a precedent in giving Rita and their migrant sister in Japan, Rome, a role in current-day family activities. As migration repeats over generations, families are building the capacity to integrate their migrant family members’ absence, yet sustain their presence.

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Families left behind demonstrate that care work in the Philippines deployed inside the kin network can also be interpreted as care work toward and for a migrant family member. They show that because migration has become an institution in Philippine society and family, strategies for redistributing care to migrants are passed down through generations. These inherited methods can then be framed as a way of keeping the family together, even if families left behind are sending that care work to migrants. But do migrants care?

Interviews with and stories from Philippine-based families made it clear that they understood their caring for one another or making room for their migrant family members to participate in family activities as strategies of care work toward their migrant family member. This necessarily led me to ask if migrant mothers or sisters or aunts interpret their families’ actions in keeping them in the loop as reciprocal care work. Indeed, migrants were relieved to see their families left behind taking care of one another. Betty, a fifty-six-year-old domestic worker living in Queens, is a mother of four kids who has been away from her children for four years. Although three of the four children are over twenty years old and the other is eighteen, they still definitely felt the strain of her absence. When I asked, “How is your relationship with your kids?” she responded with a story about a recent problem at her home: Last April, the housekeeper left them. I asked them, “Who will take care of the house?” You know what they said? “We had a meeting, us four. We decided that we’ll share the chores.” So that I could save. See? This is how they take care of me.

Betty interprets her kids taking care of one another as a form of taking care of her because they have solved a sensitive issue that Betty could not have fixed from afar. Betty could have been stressed about who could do the work around her house as that was her role in her home but her kids understand that there was an immediate need in housework and took up their mother’s work by pitching in to help one another. For Betty’s kids, this is an indirect consequence of solving their immediate problem. By helping one another remedy their domestic work issue, they were able to indirectly help their mother out a bit financially and emotionally. Betty understands this sort of reorganizing of work as a form of care toward her because it is one less thing she has to worry about but it is also about understanding that

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her children are taking responsibility for one another. This dynamic helps migrant mothers, like Betty, to know that things at home are being taken care of despite their absence. Moreover, seeing the cohesion between families left behind also makes sacrifice of migration lighter. I asked Lorie, a thirty-four-year-old domestic worker in New Jersey what her biggest accomplishment has been since she left the Philippines in 1996 to support her parents, siblings, and their siblings’ families. She answered: Both of my brothers graduated college. I wasn’t able to do that. I bought a house for my parents. It’s important to me that they include me in the decisions of what happens in the house or what courses my brothers took. Because I know they are taking care of my sacrifices.

Lorie walks us through the opportunities that her work abroad enabled for her parents and brothers. Lorie had dreams of finishing school but because she was the first to receive an opportunity to go abroad for work, she did not hesitate to take a job in the United States. Telling me about her brothers’ graduations, she said, “I’m so proud of them. I’m proud that I can do that for them.” Lorie’s tears of pride and sacrifice were returned by her brothers’ making good of Lorie’s long-term distance, but what made her feel integrated was that her family invited and acknowledged her opinion on important matters. Lorie continued, telling me that her advice was not always followed. Yet she understood that accomplishments like certificates of graduation and actual gains for the family like erecting a home are ways that the family was taking care of her and her years away. Migrant mothers and sisters acknowledge that when their family members left behind stepped up to care for one another, they demonstrated that migrants’ care work from abroad was reciprocated. Even if the care work coming from the Philippines is not manifested in financial ways, the stories of families and their migrant family members show that also non-monetary forms of care count. Conclusion

When care and family are framed in the kin network that Filipino families often work in, we can see that family members left behind interpret taking up the work and roles of those who have left as a progression of their past roles. The decentralized arrangement of care in the kin network gives a wide range of people responsibilities for one another. The necessary shifts in care work after a family member migrates and they can then rely on the

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network that exists. Members of families left behind talk about their current roles as meaningful because they are support systems to their migrant sisters or mothers. After all, the shared practice of care work was in place even before migration. Of course, the significant roles kin take up by providing care and labour in the families left behind is often compensated with financial support from their migrant members, but the equation is more complex than a simple exchange of money for domestic labour. Families left behind show that taking up the work of maintaining a house and taking care of children is about answering immediate needs but they also understand it as taking care of their migrant family member. These stories and quotes are extensions of the scholarship on the transnational family. Scholars have found multiple directions of care in the transnational family, such as children talking about how good they are doing in school so that mothers will not be so worried (Dreby 2010; Parrenas 2005a; Smith 2006). Other scholars write about the lethargy of fathers left behind, who are slow to assume domestic roles as they clutch on to every last remaining strand of the culture of patriarchy in a world that has sentenced them to a lifetime of un- and underemployment and given their wives a superficial financial mobility (Parrenas 2005a). My project confirms the scholarship partly; when some fathers adopt a strict patriarchal logic, the transgression in gender ideology of migration their wives make strips them of their masculinity. However, when masculinity in a household is defined and valued in various ways, influenced by the kin network and shared household tasks, the transition into becoming nurturing fathers is not so profound. Of course, even the best of fathers in transnational families still feel the stigma of the reversal of gender roles. But they have more sources from which to draw their value (i.e., kin, children, migrant counterpart) to combat that stigma. My contribution to this burgeoning field of study is the idea of situating the transnational family in their longer, larger histories of non-transnationality, in the times when they were all together in the same nation, and even in the same home. It is a useful analytic and theoretical contribution for three reasons: first, I am pointing to situating transnational families, migrant and non-migrant family members alike, in their longer history of “doing family” because the interactions of families post-migration is influenced by how families have handled other challenging and difficult life events—perhaps the very changes that led to a decision to migrate, like the loss of a job, eviction, or death in the family. Past research on transnational families has started at studying the family at the time of migration and the

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consequences of that particular life event. However, I argue that situating these families in the forms and dynamics and operations that they were in before one of their family members migrated is an important factor in analyzing the ways in which they have adapted. This analytic perspective allows us to bring in the continuity in the lives of families who are and/or have been dealing with migration. Tracing the histories of families allows us to trace the history of migration in the Philippines through the redistribution of care in Filipino families, the Sancho family being a case in point. We can look at how care work has grown to be more sophisticated as the Sancho family members left behind incorporated their generations of migrants in the everyday lives in the Philippines. As we look at the histories of families, they are the index of the effects of immigration policies that sentence families to painful, albeit innovative strategies of staying a family. The juxtaposition of these histories of families to the histories of globalization and migration in the Philippines should shame Philippine politicians that rely on migration as a form of national industry. Yet it should also show that despite the agony of separation, families are elastic and resilient against constant global transformations. References Asis, Maruja, Shirlena Huang, and Brenda S. Yeoh. 2004. “When the Light of the Home Is Abroad: Unskilled Female Migration and the Filipino Family.” Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 25 (2): 198–215. Bryceson, Deborah Fahy, and Ulla Vuorela. 2002. The Transnational Family: New European Frontiers and Global Networks. London, UK: Berg Publishers. Dreby, Joanna. 2010. Divided by Borders: Mexican Migrants and Their Children. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Ehrenreich, Barbara, and Arlie Russell Hochschild. 2003. Global Woman: Nannies, Maids, and Sex Workers in the New Economy. New York, NY: Macmillan. Espiritu, Yen Le. 2003. Home Bound: Filipino American Lives across Cultures, Communities, and Countries. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Guevarra, Anna Romina. 2009. Marketing Dreams, Manufacturing Heroes: The Transnational Labor Brokering of Filipino Workers. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Hondagneu-Sotelo, Pierrette, and Ernestine Avila. 1997. “‘I’m Here but I’m There.’” Gender & Society 11 (5): 548–71. Isaksen, Lise Widding, Sambasivan Uma Devi, and Arlie Russell Hochschild. 2008. “Global Care Crisis.” American Behavioral Scientist 52 (3) (November 1): 405–25.

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MULTIDIRECTIONAL CARE  VALERIE FRANCISCO Lorente, Beatriz P. 2005. Asian Migrations: Sojourning, Displacement, Homecoming and Other Travels. Singapore: NUS Press. Parrenas, Rhacel. 2005a. Children of Global Migration: Transnational Families and Gendered Woes. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. ———. 2005b. “Long Distance Intimacy: Class, Gender and Intergenerational Relations Between Mothers and Children in Filipino Transnational Families.” Global Networks 5 (4): 317–36. Reyes, Melanie M. 2008. “Migration and Filipino Children Left-Behind: A Literature Review.” Miriam College/UNICEF. http://www.unicef.org/philippines/ 8891_10202.html. Rodriguez, Robyn Magalit. 2010. Migrants for Export: How the Philippine State Brokers Labor to the World. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Smith, Robert C. 2006. Mexican New York: Transnational Lives of New Immigrants. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Tadiar, Neferti Xina Maca. 2004. Fantasy Production: Sexual Economies and Other Philippine Consequences for the New World Order. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press.

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CHAPTER 6

TRANSNATIONALISM AND REMITTANCES: THE DOUBLE-EDGED POSITION OF TRANSMIGRANT WOMEN ENGAGED IN THE DOMESTIC SERVICE SECTOR Patience Elabor-Idemudia A major characteristic of today’s globalized world is the mass mobilization and migration of people, especially women, both within and between countries and regions. Transnational migrants are projected as a people to celebrate in view of their ability to relocate to countries and regions of the world where they can improve themselves. However, this emancipatory perception of transmigrants, especially women, is problematic considering the fact that although their ability to migrate is potentially counterhegemonic, it is by no means always pleasant or successful when it comes to their labour force participation. Inasmuch as the enlistment of migrant labour is integral to capitalist development, with free trade, deregulation, and neo-liberalism as guideposts of globalization, the flow of migrants, especially women, from peripheral formations to more affluent countries has, in contemporary times, become quite unprecedented (Aguilar 2005) and sometimes unprofitable to migrant women (Maher 2004). Often, home states of migrant women are not positioned to protect the citizenship rights of those engaged in “globalized social reproduction” (Troung 1996, 29). Women who work as nannies and live-in domestic workers and who are unfamiliar with their rights as workers in host countries are most vulnerable to physical and sexual abuse, excessively long working hours, inadequate food, and low wages, with many of them confronting discrimination that is compounded by their irregular status. This paper uses a case study of African immigrant women in the Netherlands to explore what exactly transnationalism entails and why women who migrate internationally for labour purposes end up in situations comparable to slav-

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ery despite the fact that they are viewed by their families as heroes whose remittances help to sustain them. Transnationalism and African Women’s Work Status and Perception: Heroes or Slaves?

The term “feminization of migration”1 describes migratory trends since the 1990s and involves the fact that more women are migrating independently in search of jobs rather than for family reunification. African women are no exception to this trend. The fact remains, however, that although the female migrants tend to be educated, they are generally perceived as a people with limited knowledge or inferior formal schooling (Elabor-Idemudia 2010; Ng 1988). Their indigenous cultures are seen as inherently “conservative” and “pathological” and not oriented toward developing high levels of selfesteem and independent self-identity, thereby rendering them incapable of successful participation in the social life of their adopted country (Agnew 1996). Deepening poverty in their home country drives women to seek employment elsewhere. On the other hand, changing social reproduction need in developed welfare states is pulling the migration of African women to receiving countries in Europe and North America (Lutz 2008). It is now estimated that at least one out of ten households in several European countries uses domestic “help” to engage in a wide range of activities. This increased demand for domestic workers is explained by the mass entry of women into the formal wage economy; the neoliberal dismantling of the welfare state; shifts in norms of hygiene, leisure, and child rearing in middle-class life (Hondagneu-Sotelo 2001; Maher 2001, 2004); and the organization of social reproduction and gender that is structured by gendered inequalities (Maher 2004) in addition to maintaining domestic labour as women’s work. For the African migrant women from Ghana, Nigeria, and Cameroon who were interviewed for this case study, high unemployment and deteriorating socio-economic conditions were part of their everyday experience. Their countries of origin are rife with political instability, corruption, wars, civil unrest, natural disasters, and an unaffordable cost of living. Women, especially the married ones from countries where patriarchal values dominate, are generally assumed to have financial guarantees from their husbands or parents and are therefore not given priority in gainful employment in the formal labour sector. Their primary responsibility is seen as child care and housework, which, in effect, reproduces traditional gender

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ideology that entails sexual division of labour. The fact remains that women who are single mothers or are married to unemployed men have to fend for their families. In their desperation to make ends meet, they become vulnerable to human traffickers who promise them employment opportunities abroad. They generally end up in positions of work abroad where they have limited rights and no protection and are subjected to slavery-like conditions although perceived by their families as heroes. Slavery-like Experiences of Migrant Workers

The United Nations defines slavery as “any institution or practice which, by restricting the freedom of the individual, is susceptible to causing severe hardship and serious deprivation of liberty” (International Labour Organization [ILO] 2006, 26). Many female domestic workers who arrive in foreign countries find their freedom restricted by lack of citizenship. They often confront exploitation by employers who subject them to slavery-like work conditions that include non-payment of salary, long working hours, no days off, and no health-care provision. Most of these migrant women do not have any avenue to complain to the police (UN-INSTRAW 2007). In many cases, the employer holds on to their passports, preventing them from leaving or contacting their embassies to file complaints. These conditions result in unregulated migration whereby illegal migrants fall victims to exploitative recruiting agents or traffickers. ILO estimates that there are over 30 million illegal or irregular migrants worldwide with about 60% of them being women (2006). Given their vulnerability, they often become victims of agents and employers who promise them lucrative jobs but instead lure them into the sex trade industries and domestic work, where they are denied protection by labour laws and are unable to unionize (Ndiaye 2007). The International Organization for Migration (IOM) estimates that approximately 50% of today’s migrant women confront dangers such as violence, sexual abuse, unwanted pregnancies, theft, and fraud. For the most part, in their labour force participation, they perform typical women’s work in the worst possible occupational niches with regard to remuneration, working conditions, legal protections, and social recognition (UN-INSTRAW 2007). For employers, hiring migrant domestic workers often constitutes a status symbol of a luxurious life and entails ordering them in a racialized hierarchy, with Filipina women at the top signalling the highest status and commanding the highest salaries while African women occupy the bottom rung of the hierarchy with the least pay (Fernandez 2010). Kimberlé Crenshaw

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(1989) sees this ranking of migrant domestic women workers as resulting from intersectional discrimination. Perceiving Migrant Women Workers as Heroes

Generally speaking, women play leading roles as senders, recipients, and managers of remittances. Whether the remittance-sender is a daughter, mother, or a sibling, migrant women usually remit funds to female relatives caring for their children (although women may also remit funds to their husbands, especially if they stay in charge of children and household). Thus women become critical actors in the remittance-to-development paradigm, and understanding differential gender characteristics in remittance use, savings, and investments becomes a major prerequisite for the success of local development programs. According to INSTRAW (2007), from a strictly economic viewpoint, the beneficial development effects of remittances at the local level can occur in two main ways: their remittances directly increase the income and standard of living of their families and indirectly contribute to the economy of their home countries. Despite women’s privileged status as remittance recipients, this does not automatically translate into increased personal or social empowerment, as the link between the two is mediated by a broad number of factors such as marital status, social class, household composition, the distribution of power within the household, gender norms, and access to social services. Therefore, the fact that a woman receives remittances does not necessarily mean that she will decide how such remittances are used nor does she benefit from them. INSTRAW’s (2007) case studies indicate that, while in some situations remittances may empower women, in most situations they are not equally distributed within households. The emphasis on women as remittance-based credit recipients and leading actors in microcredit projects often leads to the instrumentalization of women, who have come to be seen as not only responsible for their families’ well-being but also as ultimately responsible for community development as a whole. This view emphasizes women’s empowerment not for their own sake, but rather as heroes who take responsibilities for the well-being of others. The Gendered Nature of Crossing Borders and Boundaries

While male migrant workers tend to concentrate in production and construction sectors, women migrants tend to do domestic labour and care

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work (Itzigsohn and Giorguli-Saucedo 2005). Demand for such workers is less dependent on the economic cycle and more on longer-run demographic and social tendencies in the receiving countries. For example, aging or affluent societies or countries with a higher rate of women’s participation in the labour market require more caregiving workers. When Castles and Miller (1993) declared the “feminization of migration” as one of the characteristics of the “Age of Migration,” they did so based on statistical evidence that in processes of international migration women have outnumbered men (Carling 2005; Global Commission on International Migration [GCIM] 2005; Yinger 2006, 2007; Zlotnik 2003). According to Yinger (2006), this development accounts not only for a dramatic change in numbers but also for the reasons why female migrants have changed tremendously. Moreover, female migrant labour is concentrated in feminized domains of care work, entertainment, and prostitution. Case Study of African Migrant Domestic Workers’ Experiences in the Netherlands The Context

This study was conducted in the Netherlands while I was on an official mission for the ILO in 2005.2 It focuses on African migrants with irregular status who had been interrogated by law enforcement agents and were awaiting the decision of the Dutch government to either regularize their status on humanitarian grounds or deport them. The government’s decision was premised on the condition that interrogated immigrants would be willing to testify against their traffickers under the then newly promulgated B9 immigration law. In the interim, they were granted temporary stay with work permits. Most of the immigrants could find work only as domestic workers in hotels and private homes. It was with one such cleaner assigned to my room in the hotel where I stayed that I engaged in a conversation. During our brief conversation, I learned that there was a large community of African migrants with irregular status living in Bijlmer, a neighbourhood generally labelled the “African village” in the north end of Amsterdam. Our conversation resulted in the exchange of addresses and phone numbers and a subsequent visit to Bijlmer, where I met with Reverend Tom Marfo, a community leader who voluntarily took responsibility for most of the illegal migrants. His church ran a safe haven for those who had nowhere to stay. Rev. Marfo granted me an interview regarding his struggles to keep the migrants fed while enabling them to acquire skills needed for employ-

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ment if and when their status was regularized. He was also able to arrange ten interviews with migrants who were under his care. Interviews

Semi-structured in-depth interviews were held with ten women in April 2005 in the Bijlmer church under the watchful eyes of church and NGO representatives. This was done so as to accommodate the women who were under the stewardship of various non-government organizations. Interview questions were open-ended and explored information such as family background, reasons for migrating, how migration took place, experiences in the Netherlands since arrival, and their working conditions as domestic labourers. Responses were hand-recorded as tape-recorder use was not allowed. Findings

The interviews revealed that the migrants were between 24 and 48 years old and were living in fear of deportation. They indicated that their irregular status made them vulnerable to exploitation, as over 2,600 asylum seekers in the Netherlands with irregular status had already been deported. Three of the women indicated that they had not intended to come to the Netherlands as undocumented migrants but had initially arrived legally and subsequently overstayed their permit. They revealed that they were being targeted for deportation as “illegal” migrants because of their race and gender while Caucasians from Eastern Europe were allowed to relocate to other parts of Europe. They indicated that they had received no government assistance and could find work only in the domestic sector, construction, transportation, or flower industries, sometimes for extremely low wages without access to any medical care. The findings further revealed that the women were unwilling to voluntarily return to their home countries to face conditions of poverty and instead preferred to seek amnesty and remain in Amsterdam. Most of the subjects indicated that they had family responsibilities back home and that, in spite of their meagre incomes in the Netherlands, they were still able to remit part of their earnings to dependent relatives. With regard to their lives as African domestic workers, respondents were most revealing as they indicated experiences such as limited mobility, distrust, disrespect, and being charged for items damaged in their workplace. Moreover, their working conditions included irregular hours, non- or late

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payment of wages, and cases of verbal abuse. The findings were indicative of the challenges faced by transmigrants in their global positioning as already highlighted. Long hours of work and insult from employers

Most of the women interviewed revealed that they engaged in long hours of household work without overtime compensation. In addition, the women were expected to incorporate the roles of nanny, cook, launderer, grocery shopper, and cleaner into one, with no indications that such roles were appreciated by the employers. Benefits such as health-care coverage or insurance for accidents on the job were never indicated in the women’s contracts as they were perceived as workers without rights. Abuses of the workers’ rights are evident in the voices of “Hope” (pseudonym), a single 24-year-old Nigerian who worked in a private house, and “Agnes” (pseudonym), a 30-year-old Ghanaian woman domestic worker. They had the following to say: Once I arrived at the home in the morning, I never had the time to sit down for a minute as there was so much work to do. I cleaned the house, did the grocery, cooked, did the laundry manually, and picked up the children by bus from school and fed them all for a meagre salary. I was not allowed to turn the radio on either. Yet my Madam will return and ask what I had spent the day doing without any thank you on her part. Most times, she would bring friends to the house to show it off because of how clean and well organized things were. She bossed me around a lot and never asked how I was. (Interview with Hope, 2005) I was afraid if I quit the job, my employer would call the police on me. Madam often got angry with me, complained to the Pastor who also got angry with me. The Pastor asked, “What do you want?” I said, “I want to die, because the people here are cruel, everything I do is wrong, I’m always called an idiot and stupid.” (Interview with Agnes 2005)

The women also revealed their fear of deportation, which may have contributed to their exploitation and ill treatment by employers who knew that they were unable to complain to the police. In the absence of unions or regulatory bodies to monitor these working conditions, they were extremely vulnerable.

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CHAPTER 6 Loneliness and sexual harassment by employers

It is quite common for domestic workers, especially those who serve as livein workers, to be subjected to sexual harassment and abuse from employers. In the words of “Mary,” a forty-year-old Nigerian immigrant mother of four who worked in a retail store as a cleaner, “My employer has made several sexual advances at me and my rejection made him very angry. He even threatened to hand me over to the police if I do not cooperate.” The result of rebuffing such advances is ill treatment and isolation, which leads to loneliness, frustration, and mental health problems. Having no means to fight back, Mary continued to live with the harassment and insults: I have always been an upbeat person but since I started working in the store, I have been reduced to a non-entity. The male store proprietor calls me names and tells me how lucky I am to have a job which otherwise I will not have in my home country. I had to finally tell the Pastor of my church about my ordeal and he is in the process of helping me find another job. (Interview with Mary 2005)

Other interview subjects revealed that their maltreatment had seriously affected their self-esteem. For example, “Janet,” a twenty-five-year-old Ghanaian mother of three, notes: Here I am looking after other people’s children while my children have only their grandmother who was not very well to adequately look after them. But then, what choice do I have especially since their father does not have a job. I am the sole financial provider and I wish they would see what I do to earn the income I send to them monthly. My boss has never asked after my children yet expects me to work overtime most of the time. I will not mind if only they paid for the overtime. They do give me Sundays off and that is the pay I get for my overtime. They treat me like a donkey without a life and this makes me very sad. I am a human being after all. (Interview with Janet 2005)

It is obvious from the experiences of the women that, in order to secure a job, they were expected to sell their labour and also their bodies. Even when the situation was brought to the attention of the clergyman who served as their guardian in Biljmer, the employer could not be confronted. Instead, another job had to be sought. The employer was, therefore, in a position to continue to harass his female workers who, due to their illegal status, had no rights or power to resist.

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TRANSNATIONALISM AND REMITTANCES  PATIENCE ELABOR-IDEMUDIA Deprivation and employers’ distrust of domestic workers

Interviews with subjects revealed that they experienced high levels of distrust of employers that were detrimental to the migrant workers. This is evident in the experience of “Joy,” a twenty-seven-year-old Cameroonian mother of one child with responsibility for five siblings and two aged parents. With tears in her eyes, she described her experience as a domestic worker, as she was not allowed to eat from the food that she cooked for the family. She brought her food from home if she was to eat anything during the work hours. She says: Yet the madam always accuses me of stealing her food. She knows that I am poor and uses that knowledge to reduce me into a thief. She locks up the pantry door yet continues to accuse me of stealing. This really hurts me but I continued to work for her because of my illegal status and the responsibility that I have for my family back home. I felt I had no choice but to take the insult while hoping for divine intervention. (Interview with Joy 2005)

Not only was Joy treated with distrust and as an outsider, she was not provided any allowance for food but was expected to feed herself from her meagre salary. Citizenship and identity: Grounds for abuse

According to Shafir (2004), citizenship constitutes a broad legal and social framework for membership in a political community. The interviews revealed the significance of identity and citizenship in the global positioning of immigrants. The fact that the interviewees lacked Dutch citizenship enabled their abuse by employers. Not all of them started out with an irregular status. “Charity,” for example, a twenty-six-year-old Nigerian woman, came as a visitor and overstayed her visiting visa, refusing to return to her unemployed status in Nigeria. She had two younger dependent siblings and poor parents and she wanted to support them by working in the Netherlands. She was, however, interrogated by law enforcement agents and was awaiting the result of her appeal under the B9 immigration law. Although she held a BA degree in English, she settled for a domestic worker position, which allowed her to sustain her family. She related her experience as follows: I confront insults and degradation every day from the wife of my boss. She always accuses me of being overdressed and advised that I wear a uniform to

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CHAPTER 6 work. She is on my case from the moment I arrive at work until I leave. She installed a camera in the house to monitor me when I am at work and when I am in the backyard hanging up laundry, she phones to make sure that I am not “goofing off.” I am like a prisoner who needs to be watched all the time. In my attempt to tell her how I feel about her treatment, she slapped me for insubordination and that was the day I quit the job. I am currently looking for another job. I could not take legal action against her because of my irregular status in the Netherland. I miss my family every day and look forward to when I will see them again because I know they will appreciate my sacrifice for them. (Interview with Charity 2005)

The issue of citizenship also affected “Lady,” a forty-eight-year-old Ghanaian mother of seven children, who was the oldest of the interviewees and was a bit more contemplative in relating her experience. She felt that her country of origin had failed her, and now her efforts to improve herself in a new country had also failed. She was very conflicted by her situation and was hoping for some relief from her employer, who criticized her constantly. She noted: My employer complained about my appearance from the moment I arrived in the morning until I left. She accused me of having body odour and did not want me touching anything without taking a bath upon arrival. She complained about my accent and my child-care techniques. She wanted me to discipline her children as she did not want to do so herself. She would drink herself to a pulp and blame me for the children’s rowdiness. When I refused to discipline the children when they would not listen to her, she accused me of being weak and a thief. She finally got me fired. I was very relieved to leave as I felt trapped in a situation over which I had no control. My status as an irregular migrant has brought me a lot of regrets because I am a wellrespected member of my community back home. (Interview with Lady 2005)

Charity’s and Lady’s experiences are testament to the physical and verbal abuse as well as injustice that some migrant domestic workers confront on the job by virtue of their difference. Class and race constituted major factors informing the relationship between employers and workers in the cases presented so far. Additionally, cultural difference and accents are commonly used to discriminate against immigrants and used to justify their ill treatment (Elabor-Idemudia 1999). However, as Charles Taylor (1994: 56–57) argues, “the concept of equal dignity often (if not always) derives its

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idea of what rights and entitlement are worth having from the perspective of the hegemonic culture, thus enforcing minority groups to conform to the expectations of dominant culture and hence relinquish their particularity.” Failure to conform often results in the minority culture being derided and ostracized by the dominant culture. Equal rights are realized only when there is mutual respect for cultural difference. Merely putting into place the promise of liberalism for the nurturing of the modern authentic self obliterates the notion that differences between individuals should not constitute the normative foundation for the assignment of certain rights or entitlement to some individuals or groups but not others. Resilience and coping

Interviews also revealed that, as migrant women, they developed resilience through religious faith, which enabled them to cope with the challenges of working as domestics. Other coping strategies included lowering job satisfaction expectations from employers and focusing on temporariness of their situation. “Faith,” a thirty-five-year-old widow and a mother of five, is a Christian from Cameroon who relied heavily on her spirituality to keep her going. She had two jobs—a full-time position as a housekeeper in a hotel and a part-time weekend job as a maid in a home. She said she felt it was her cross to bear in order to take care of her children, who were being temporarily cared for by her aged mother. She had the following to say: I am grateful to have something to do to earn an income for the upkeep of my children. I came to Amsterdam as a trafficked person because I was desperate for a job. My current jobs are not the best but at least I have an income. I am not expecting any good treatment but simply work under any condition. My primary employer is very good to me but my part-time employer does not see me as a person. The family does not allow me to interact with the children as they feel that my English is not good enough. My job involves cleaning the house, doing the laundry, washing dishes, and cooking meals. My interaction with them is limited to work and nothing else. They have never bothered to find out anything about my situation. I look forward to the day when my children will be grown up enough to take care of themselves and then I can retire. (Interview with Faith 2005)

“Grace” is an eighteen-year-old Nigerian high-school dropout who out of desperation to help her single mother who had fallen ill and her three siblings decided to travel abroad in search of a livelihood. She voluntarily

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chose to be trafficked abroad, knowing that she had no education to support her. She was already on the ground in Amsterdam working as a sex worker before being interrogated by the law for soliciting sex. She pleaded her case and explained her precarious situation, which fell on deaf ears. As far as the law was concerned, she was an illegal alien who was to be deported. She was one of the beneficiaries of the Pentecostal Church (with Rev. Tom Marfo as the clergy) and was awaiting further appeal. She had just been hired in a new job as a domestic worker and related her experience thus: My boss was a very kind-hearted woman who allowed me to eat one meal from my cooking in the house. I did all the cleaning and cooking in the house in addition to child care. The main problem was with the children who called me all sorts of names. Their parents did not discipline them even when they were not nice to me. They were not nice to me and were abusive. They behaved a little bit better when their parents were home but turned into a different set of people when their parents were away. They would damage a lot of things in the house and lay the blame on me when their parents came home. As I was aware that my family relied on my financial support for survival, I did not mind the insults. I am sure that God will see me through the situation I am in and someday give me an opportunity for a better job. (Interview with Grace 2005)

Here is another case of faith providing an abused worker with the resilience to cope with the everyday challenges confronted on the job. Moreover, the domestic workers were resident in the same community in Biljmer where they met in the evening to commiserate with each other and give each other encouragement. They were also members of the same religious institution where they gathered on Sundays to pray together for success and strength to face their challenges. Implications of Findings for the Global Positioning of Migrant Women

Based on the interviews’ findings, it is obvious that the subjects’ experiences in the international labour market have been challenging. Although women confront devalued status globally, women of colour, who constitute the bulk of migrant workers, often face exploitation, verbal and physical abuse, sexual harassment, distrust, devaluation, inhumane treatment, and human rights abuses from their employers as evident in the “voices” of the

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subjects of my case study. The immigrant women’s fundamental rights were abused by their Caucasian female and male employers who perceived them as racially inferior because of their lower socio-economic class and, therefore, undeserving of being treated with respect. Additionally, the findings mirror the global positioning of women in the domestic service industry in the United States as revealed by black American anti-racist feminists like Angela Davis and bell hooks. Various other studies have deconstructed the representation of migrant women as “others,” which has informed not only stereotypical common sense notions but also scientists, administrators, and policy-making in migrant-receiving countries (Kofman 1999; Lutz 1991, 1997; Phizacklea 1998). The case of the African migrant women domestic workers in Bijlmer highlights the significance of lack of legal status in the abusive working conditions of these women. Their irregular status made it difficult to access social justice. By being viewed as outsiders, they were marginalized to the fringes of the society where their vulnerability exposed them to exploitation by employers in “black” jobs.3 While it is clear that immigration status mediated the experiences of these African migrants in Bijlmer, the significance of gender, race, and class was nuanced throughout the voiced experiences of the migrants. As, for example, the fact that illegal immigrants from Eastern Europe had a choice to voluntarily relocate to other regions of Europe and the African immigrants were deported to their home countries has implications for the mediating role of race and ethnicity. Most of the women who had been trafficked for prostitution still did not receive much-needed protection from exploitation as legitimate domestic workers. In addition to their race, gender and class also contributed to their exploitation by middle-class white female employers who considered them inferior because of their lower socio-economic class and by their male employers who abused them through unwanted sexual advances because of their gender. These treatments of migrant workers confirm their inferiorized and devalued status in the global context that culminated in their slave-like treatment with little to no rights. The conditions under which immigrant domestic workers toil in private households are more comparable to slavery-like conditions experienced by men because of the level of bondage involved. The existence of a form of contract between the workers and their employers exacerbate their slaverylike horrid experiences, a contention amply supported by the narrations of the subjects in this paper’s case study. Similarly, domestic employeeemployer relationships is likened by Anderson (2000, 149) to “contempo-

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rary legal slaves of the poor of the Third World (such as African women migrants), giving the middle class of the First World (Netherlands) materialistic forms of power over them.” Anderson refers to Aristotle’s distinction between “legal” and “natural” slaves to make her point, arguing that it is their race and gender that naturalize these migrant workers’ subjugation— their presumed closeness to nature suiting them for the occupation—while citizenship (or lack thereof) and nationality furnish the legal justification. When they hire a racialized migrant domestic, says Anderson (2000, 164), Caucasian employers are not obtaining labour power but rather the very self, the personhood of the worker, that is transformed into a commodity, which can be commanded, racialized, and abused. The domestic acts as a status provider who has “to give honor through dishonor.” Liberated from the drudgery of housework, the mistress/employer becomes like a man who can engage in production unhampered by the physical labour of social reproduction, while continuing to enjoy the emotional aspects of parenting. To fulfill her hero and maternal role to her family back home, the migrant domestic worker “is reduced to showing care through impersonal remittances, the fruits of her hard labor” (Anderson 2000, 118). Conclusion and Protecting the Right of Migrant Domestic Workers

The case study presented in this paper reveals that globalization plays a significant role in shaping local, regional, and transnational political mobilization.4 Although the imbalances of political and economic power between different types of workers within a country and between workers in different countries are exacerbated by race, class, and gender, these same processes create continuities that can become the ground for mobilizing across asymmetrical differences. Giugni (2002) contends that, because of globalization, social movements in different countries take on similar characteristics and that these similarities can be an advantage in mobilizing resistance to exploitation of migrant workers across national boundaries. This implies that those concerned with the renewal of the labour movement must come to terms with the fundamental way that gender structures neo-liberal globalization, labour markets, free trade agreements, etc. Union feminists understand the tensions and contradictions between productive and social reproductive spheres, the sexual politics of trade unions, and the importance of building forms of transnational solidarity contingent on an understanding of cultural and social differences among workers. A number of conventions seek to protect migrant workers and combat the trafficking of people; they include the International Convention on the

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Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families, adopted in 1990, which came into effect in July 2003; the UN Convention against Transnational Organized Crime 2000, its Protocol to Prevent, Suppress and Punish Trafficking in Persons, Especially Women and Children (2000); and the ILO Migrant Workers Convention 1975 (No. 143). However, no comprehensive multilateral framework exists for the cross-border movement of people that is substantial and widespread. It is estimated that the phenomenon involves over 10 million people a year and is growing. The International Labour Organization initiated discussions on a draft convention on the Rights of Domestic Workers. The convention which was recently (October 2011) ratified by member states sets out international labour standards on domestic work and at the same time aims to promote and protect the rights and freedoms of domestic workers. The ILO further states that the adoption of international labour standards on domestic work would present an unprecedented opportunity for the organization to bring to its mainstream workers who are deemed to be outside its constituency. Delegates at the 99th Session of the ILO conference noted that although domestic work has become a global phenomenon, many domestic workers are not protected by national laws, thereby leaving them vulnerable to abuse. It was suggested that setting of labour standards was a first step to recognizing that domestic workers deserve both rights and respect. In a draft convention by the ILO, it proposed that states should ensure domestic workers are protected against all forms of abuse and harassment. Domestic workers should be informed of the terms and conditions of their employment through contracts and should be free to join trade unions. This seems to be a step in the right direction toward ensuring the protection of domestic workers. Notes 1. Although a net feminization of flows has occurred in certain regions, what has really changed in the last couple of decades is the fact that more women are migrating independently in search of jobs, rather than as “family dependants” travelling with their husbands or joining them abroad. In addition to this change in the pattern of female migration, the other significant change taking place concerns the level of awareness on the part of migration scholars and policy-makers as to the significance of female migration and the role of gender in shaping migratory processes and, most importantly, the increasingly important role of women as remittance senders (INSTRAW, 2007). 2. The interviews cited here were all conducted between April 17 and 20, 2005, in Bijlmer, Amsterdam.

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CHAPTER 6 3. Black jobs refer to what Anderson (2000) refers to as dirty work with low wages, labour intensive, with slavery-like working conditions and no benefits. Wages are usually paid “under the table” with no paper trail. Such jobs are often rejected by citizens and taken up by desperate migrants. 4. There are two excellent anthologies that provide detailed empirical analysis of these processes from a social movement perspective (see Khagram, Riker, and Sikkink 2002; Smith and Johnston 2002).

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MOTHERING HAS NO BORDERS: THE TRANSNATIONAL KINSHIP NETWORKS OF UNDOCUMENTED JAMAICAN DOMESTIC WORKERS IN CANADA Susan M. Brigham We can no longer conceive of migration as a permanent up/re-rooted process; rather migrants or transmigrants have footholds in their country of origin and in their receiving country. In the social spaces between countries, transmigrants develop “pluri-local frames of reference which structure everyday practices, social positions, biographical employment projects and human identities, and simultaneously exist above and beyond the social contests of national identities” (Pries 2001). These complex social spaces, which de-emphasize physical geographical place, are important locations for analysis, particularly when the social space involves Canada, where one in five of the total population is foreign-born (Statistics Canada 2006). A particularly valuable empirical focus of study is the social spaces that exist within kinship networks (Faist 2000). With the presence of many migrants who have left their home countries without their dependent family members, transnational kinship networks are common phenomena (Wilding and Baldassar 2009).These networks are organized, extended, and sustained across distances and borders in response to economic and social uncertainty, resulting in significant reconfiguration in both form and content. Many of these transnational kinship networks involve women, often mothers, who migrate to work as domestic workers, some of whom are undocumented workers. While there are no precise statistics on how many undocumented immigrants reside in Canada, it is estimated there are between 20,000 and 200,000, a number that is on the rise (Magalhaes, Carrasco, and Gastaldo 2010). Magalhaes et al. (2010, 132) declare that “although undocumented

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migration has become an issue of high international relevance, it has been strikingly understudied in Canada.” This chapter addresses this research gap. In this chapter I take a transnational perspective of kinship networks, with the aim of exploring the ways transnational mothers negotiate their roles and identities as women, mothers, migrants, and undocumented domestic workers. I focus on Jamaican transnational migrants who performed domestic labour without a work permit in the private homes of Canadian employers and have since returned to Jamaica. The women are mothers who parented their children in Jamaica while residing in Canada. With regard to research methodology, I relied on qualitative methods to help me understand the research participants’ viewpoints in relation to their histories and how they are influenced by various social, religious, political, and economic currents. I conducted in-depth semi-structured open-ended interviews in 2009 with Black Jamaican women (i.e., women who were born in Jamaica and are of African descent) who had worked in the last five years in Canada for at least one full year as undocumented workers and have since returned to Jamaica. I also interviewed Jamaican government officials. For the purpose of this chapter I focus on the transcripts of interviews with four Jamaican women and two government officials. Each interview lasted between two and three hours and was audio recorded. All interviews were transcribed and analyzed for recurrent themes. At the request of most of the participants, their narratives were altered to reflect a standard English even when it was not used in the interviews. To protect the confidentiality of the participants, I refer to each with pseudonyms. The chapter is organized as follows. In the first section I discuss the theoretical framework. In the second section I provide the context of the study. The third section briefly reviews literature on mothering within transnational kinship networks. Following that I draw on the voices of the migrant women to discuss their experiences of negotiating transnational spaces during the time they resided in Canada. This is followed by a discussion and conclusion. Theoretical Framework

In the face of economic recession and increasing neoliberal policies that have reduced social services thereby putting strains on families, many women and men from the South are migrating to Northern countries in an effort to support their families (Coe 2011). Thus transnational families

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and kinship networks problematize the concept of an “ideal” traditional family structure, which is often characterized by constant cohabitation and close physical proximity of parents and children in a traditional patriarchal structure. In this paper I use the term “transnational kinship networks” to refer to various configurations of “family,” including those with blood ties, affinal, or non-kin who are considered integral to the family. The transnational kinship networks engage individuals of several generations in multiple relations, including social and economic interdependencies and decision-making arrangements that extend across many dwellings and borders over sustained periods of time. To underscore the significance of the kinship network, I borrow from Safri and Graham’s definition of the “global household” (Safri and Graham 2010, 112), which is this: a demographically significant, financially consequential, geographically dispersed institution engaged in international production. It coordinates and participates in international migration and contributes the most stable capital flow to developing countries in the form of intrahousehold remittances. In addition, it orchestrates and carries out international production of child care, health care, elder care, and affective labor.

As much as it is reconfigured through migration, the kinship network continues to peform an important function “as an ideological construction and as a fundamental principle of social organization” where race and gender intersect (Hill Collins 1998, 63); therefore, a transnational perspective of kinship networks must take race and gender into account. In every society, gender influences people’s expectations, roles, and ways of being within hierarchies of power and privilege. Through socialization processes we come to view gendered practices as normal or natural. Gender is a process but it is also a structure, “a latticework of institutionalized social relationships that, by creating and manipulating the categories of gender, organize and signify power at levels above the individual” (Ferree et al. 1999, xix). Operating concurrently on “multiple spatial and social scales (e.g., the body, the family, the state) across transnational terrains” (Pessar and Mahler 2002, 815), gender affects transmigration in various and conflicting ways. It “structure[s] the whole migration process, including practices, identities and relations between the different actors involved. Therefore, men and women experience transnationalism in a different way and have a different relationship to their ‘homes’” (Dannecker 2005, 658) yet they are both active agents.

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Race intersects with gender and is often associated with assumed or real biological differences, such as skin colour and phenotypical features. The racialization of people based on skin colour and phenotypical features has occurred through historical and social processes, which has resulted in political, material, and social consequences for individuals (Winant 2000). Over time, hierarchies of power have been established based on skin colour and other markers of difference. For women in Jamaica, the establishment of such hierarchies must be placed in the historical and developmental context of Jamaica that takes into account over 300 years of slavery between 1502 and 1807. The annihilation of the indigenous Arawak people by the Spanish between 1502 and 1655, the forcible relocation of African peoples to Jamaica, and the suppression and exploitation of these uprooted African peoples by British “slave masters” between 1655 and 1808 were predicated on a violent ideology of white supremacy (Craton 1974). Further, “the history of Black women in slave society in the Caribbean is submerged beneath a layer of damaging stereotypes and common misconceptions … and the ethnocentric bias [that] … ascribed inferiority of Black people” (Watt 2004, 201–2). Such a system of oppression relied on establishing unequal social and economic relations between groups based on race, gender, class, and ethnicity, where the White middle and upper classes profited from land ownership and the forced labour of Blacks. Capitalism, colonialism, racism, and sexism have contributed to the reproduction of this system of oppression, as certain groups continue to be constructed and socialized as the labouring class (Miles 1989). Hierarchies of power were, and continue to be, used by dominant groups to distinguish which racialized groups get access to societies’ resources and certain jobs, who can migrate, and who can gain citizenship. For example, in receiving countries such as Canada, “racialized immigrant female labour is the ‘new proletariat’ under globalization … a category … aligned with subaltern formations of previous eras.… [These are the women] who could not be incorporated into a white working class” (Hong 2006, 111). Context of the Study

Migration is woven into the fabric of Jamaican life and society (Lucas and Chappell 2009). With a high unemployment rate (9% for men and 16% for women for the year 2009–2010 [Statistical Institute of Jamaica 2011]), low wages, and high cost of living in Jamaica, many Jamaicans look for employment and educational opportunities outside of their country. Gunst (1995, 22) describes this “massive migration” as something that “inflicts wounds

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that bear a strong resemblance to slavery’s forced partings [where] children often grow up without ever knowing their mothers, and the pain of separation has become a fixture in the island’s soul-scape.” While the scars of migration in kinship networks persist, the remittances from migrants continue to provide a major source of foreign exchange accounting for nearly 15% of the gross domestic product (GDP) (Central Intelligence Agency 2011). Jamaica also suffers from a high level of violence; indeed it has the distinction of being the most violent country per capita in all of the Caribbean, with violence against women a key concern (Haniff 1998). With this economic and social backdrop, the emigration of women will likely continue, as Stella from the Department of Labour in Jamaica confirms: The fact is Jamaica is a beautiful country but we do have economic issues.… There are not enough opportunities in terms of jobs and education and so on and so Jamaican women in particular think that going to North America is a better option for them and for their children. Most of the [migrant] women are mothers. They have the economic need.

Krista from the Jamaican government’s Bureau of Women’s Affairs echoes the gendered expectations that women take responsibility for supporting their families economically and emotionally, reminding us that domestic work has historically been and continues to be an option for Jamaican women in this endeavour: The [responsibility] of most Jamaican women … is that of taking care of their families and … women will work wherever they can get employment and so for women who are uneducated or have low education level a social avenue where they will seek employment is in domestic work here and abroad.

The migration stream of Jamaican women with all levels of education to Canada has ebbed and flowed with changes in Canada’s immigration policies and practices, which has sought to control the movement of Black migrants from the Caribbean (Bashi 2004). For example, despite Canada’s racist immigration laws, a small number of Jamaicans immigrated to Canada to work in the mines of Cape Breton in the 1800s. And in the 1950s with Canada’s need for certain workers, the “preferential categories” of immigrants were gingerly if not reluctantly sidestepped, allowing a small group of Jamaicans to work in such occupations as blacksmiths, train porters, and domestic workers (Calliste 2000). With regard to the latter occupation, a small

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number of women from the Caribbean were recruited as domestic workers in 1955 through the West Indian Domestic Workers Scheme under an agreement between the governments of Canada, Jamaica, and Barbados (Macklin 1992). This was the beginning of government schemes to bring women of colour into Canada to work as domestic workers as the supply of “more desirable” women domestics (i.e., white, European, firstly from the United Kingdom and then in the 1940s from Eastern Europe) diminished. Between 1956 and 1962, according to Palmer (1975, 785) the categories of preferred immigrants as explicitly stated by the Canadian government were these: Preferential status is given to those from France and the United States. Second … to immigrants from western European countries if they had certain approved economic qualifications. Persons, from other countries, no matter how well qualified they were economically, could not enter Canada unless sponsored by a close relative.

In 1962 Canada removed the restrictive geographical bias. In 1967 the relative sponsorship clause was eliminated and a point system was introduced that based applicants’ chances of immigration to Canada on such things as their proficiency in the official languages, their level of formal education, their family status, age, arranged employment, and occupation. This opened up immigration to previously excluded nationalities such as Jamaicans. At that time Canada was in need of certain workers, such as domestic workers, nurses, and teachers (Brigham 1995; Calliste 2000; Kelly and Cui 2010), which resulted in an increase of skilled Jamaican immigrants. By 1969 Jamaica appeared on the list of the top ten source countries to Canada (Serge 1993), and in 1974 the number of Jamaican immigrants reached an all-time high (11,286). Since then Jamaica has moved up and down on the list of the top ten source countries; Jamaica was high on the list from 1969 to 1979 and 1984 to 1988 (Citizenship and Immigration Canada [CIC], cited in Brigham 1995), with the number of women outnumbering men every single year. Additionally, Jamaica is one of the top ten source countries of temporary foreign workers (TFW) (CIC 2010a, 61). These workers enter Canada on a temporary basis to fill “gaps in the labour market” (CIC 2010a, 51) in both high- and low-skilled jobs. TFWs have been steadily increasing in number (for example, from 72,114 in 1985 to 192,281 in 2008 [CIC, 2010a, 52–53]). With regard to foreign domestic workers, Canadian immigration policies have altered over time, significantly affecting Jamaican women’s immigration status and quality of life. The Live-in Caregiver Program (LCP) regu-

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lates domestic workers who enter as temporary foreign workers. Migrants applying through the LCP must meet educational requirements and are permitted to work only as caregivers and reside in their employers’ homes. After a minimum of two years of live-in domestic employment, the worker may then apply for permanent resident status (CIC 2010b). Such a program privileges those who have had the wherewithal to attend and complete secondary school, access bureaucracies, and pay the various required fees (e.g., passport, medical examination, and agency fees). Those not able to meet the immigration requirements for live-in caregivers recognize that the demand for live-in domestic work continues to rise in countries like Canada and it is one of the easiest jobs to find as an undocumented migrant, especially in urban centres (Andall 2000). Additionally, in Canada, the stereotype of black women as career domestics “naturally” good at and best suited to domestic work persists, with little recognition of the fact that Black women’s choices of work are often limited due to discrimination (Calliste 2000). Migrant domestic workers are often placed in tenuous positions, being neither permanent residents nor citizens, a situation that undermines their capacity to protest inequalities and exploitation in the workplace (Brigham 2002). Further, domestic work takes place in private homes where “governments are reluctant to fully apply legal rules concerning conditions of work when this work takes place in private homes … [which] in effect grants private employers control over this occupation and over the lives of live-in domestic workers” (Brigham 2005, 3). For illegal workers, their capacity to protest is significantly further limited. The LCP was not an avenue for entry into Canada for the research participants yet domestic work in Canada was still seen as a source of livelihood that was promoted among the participants’ transnational kinship networks. Review of the Literature on Mothering Within Transnational Kinship Networks

In the past twenty years, literature on female migration and its impact on transnational kinship networks has increased. A common theme in this literature is the stress and emotional upheaval experienced by migrants, particularly mothers, and their kin left behind due to prolonged separation and mothers’ continued responsibility for family while living at a distance (Brigham 2002; Dreby 2006, 2007; Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila 1997; Salazar Parreñas 2001; Schmalzbauer 2004), which ties them “to an endless negotiation and justification of their physical absence from home” (Fresnoza-Flot 2009, 266).

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The impact of parental migration on kin left behind, particularly on children, is discussed in the literature. For example, in a study of Filipino transnational families, Salazar Parreñas found that children of migrant mothers were more negatively affected than children of migrant fathers, but she attributes this to the conventional gendered conception of caring practices in the family that “reinforce the ideology of women’s domesticity” (Salazar Parreñas 2005, 97). She elaborates, “The destabilization and internal contradiction in gender that we find in the transnational families of migrant mothers do not lead to drastic transformations in the gender ideological beliefs of children” (Salazar Parreñas 2005, 98). Gendered ideology commonly arises in the literature on transnational families. Dreby (2006), who studied Mexican transnational families, highlighted the role of transnational gossip as a mechanism for maintaining the conservative roles of Mexican mothers and fathers who migrate to the United States and leave their children behind and the impact this has on children–parent relationships. Dreby determined that gossip serves to promote mothers’ responsibility as caregivers and to monitor their morality while for fathers it reinforces their role as economic provider. In a study examining the impact of Filipino and Moroccan women’s migration to Barcelona, Zontini (2004, 1141) acknowledges transformation of gender roles is a slow process as men do not necessarily accept such changes, resulting in women “silently taking up yet other burdens on top of their usual commitments.” Dannecker, who focused her study on Bangladeshi migrant women returning from working in Malaysia, found that women are trying to implement new gendered practices such as dressing differently in the home and “criticiz[ing] their husbands and families by referring to the Malaysian context and their own experiences” (Dannecker 2005, 667) but these new gendered practices are far from drastic and remain at the micro level. In a study I conducted with Filipina migrant domestic workers, I concluded that some Filipinas see their new role as the family “breadwinner” through migration as a means to challenge traditional gendered parenting roles “while others felt their migration was necessary for economic reasons but still commend the ‘ideal’ traditional husband/wife roles” (Brigham 2002, 359). While female migrant workers’ monetary contributions to the Philippine economy is widely acknowledged, traditional gendered ideology and expectations persist in varying degrees, resulting in a rationalization of inequalities both inside and outside the home. In sum, these studies indicate that while parental migration has resulted in a negotiation of kinship/family members’ roles and responsibilities, it has had little impact on the revolutionizing of gendered parenting roles in

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the transnational family. These studies also confirm stress and emotional upheaval experienced by migrant mothers and their families left behind, especially children, which is exacerbated by a gendered expectation that mothers in particular are primarily responsible for the care of their families even when physically absent from home. Negotiating the Transnational Space

In this section I draw on the narratives of the research participants to discuss the complex ways they negotiate transnational spaces, including workplaces and relationships. First, I focus on the participants’ motivations for migrating, their experiences as domestic workers, and their mothering work while living in Canada. The reasons for migrating varied between the research participants, although economic reasons were common underlying reasons for all of the women. All the research participants were the economic “breadwinners” in their families before migrating, during their time in Canada, and after returning to Jamaica. All indicated that their ability to migrate depended on having an established social network in Canada that encouraged and supported their migration (i.e., a friend or relative who would provide a letter of invitation to support an application for a Temporary Resident Visa to visit Canada) (CIC 2012), having someone to care for their children in their absence, and additional personal factors.1 Negotiating Work

Each participant found work within a few months that involved caring for elderly people, including those who were invalid and/or had dementia, and/ or caring for one to three young children. The women stayed in these jobs for as little as one week and as long as one year. For those who were able to secure full-time long-term employment with one family, their work conditions were more consistent and their employment more secure yet still on a temporary basis. For those who could not find full-time employment, their work was more precarious. For instance, Tressa states: “I had three jobs for the day. Three different people I worked for in one day. I do babysitting in daytime, cleaning [in the afternoons], and then looking after an old lady [overnight for 12 hours].” For Tressa and Mandella, this precariousness left them on the brink of homelessness, which they were mostly able to manage by relying on their networks for temporary places to stay or, when those failed, using their savings and borrowings to rent an apartment. Mandella elaborates:

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CHAPTER 7 My friend got fed up with me sleeping nights on her couch so then I had to get a room for myself. That cost me an additional $500 a month, plus hydro. I wanted to live with someone, to split the bills … and if something traumatic or something bad happened, the person you’re sharing with could help keep your stuff safe. But this didn’t work out.

Mandella’s constant fear of “something traumatic or bad” happening was echoed by all research participants as their insecure circumstances kept them in a state of high alert, ever ready for flight from authorities. While the lack of proper immigration documents was a continuous burden for the women, employers saw this as an opportunity to exploit their labour. For example, Tressa explained, “My employers knew I didn’t have papers. They hired me anyway but they knew I couldn’t complain about my salary or about the job.” While negotiation is not something Mandella was able to do when threatened with being reported, her response was always to “walk away.” For her and Tressa, negotiations had to happen at the time of hiring, specifically negotiating the live-in requirement. Unlike Mandella and Tressa, who mostly “lived out,” Sylvia and Kaysha lived in the whole time they were in Canada; both were responsible for children. Sylvia’s work conditions were quite stable because she stayed with the same family for the duration of both her visits (two years in total). Her main concern was that she rarely left the house and had to be available to the family both day and night. Kaysha’s main objection was the amount of work for low pay and the violence she regularly witnessed in the home, perpetuated by the male employer toward the female employer. Mandella, who refused live-in work as much as possible, cautions, “The disadvantage of when you live in is that you don’t have any hours when you should stop working. It is like going back into slavery.” Further, as a live-in caregiver, both the job and accommodations are tied, so when the job falls through, the caregiver becomes homeless. Mandella and Tressa believe living in impinges on one’s self-respect and independence and borders on “slave-like conditions.” Krista also stresses the strong identity of Jamaican women forged through a history of slavery and colonialism, set within patriarchal and capitalist structures: You have to look at domestic service in the Caribbean context because at the back of our mind we know what slavery is, even though we did not experience it or our parents, we read about it or talk about it. It’s also a colour issue because in Jamaica, domestic service was very much [based on] colour, the

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MOTHERING HAS NO BORDERS  SUSAN M. BRIGHAM way they used to work for the British, so there is a colour and a class issue in Jamaica [around] domestic service.

Mothering from Away

For the research participants, being a mother was a prideful role that brought meaning, respect, and recognition within their communities. All research participants are single mothers with parenting responsibilities resting predominantly on their shoulders, although in Mandella’s and Kaysha’s cases their mothers co-parented. In all families, female family members (such as sisters and nieces) were expected to provide unpaid child care. None of the participants received support from their children’s fathers. When asked about the role of fathers in general in Jamaica, participants observed a norm of households headed by single women with fathers often “out of the picture.” Stella from the Department of Labour observes, “Jamaicans have a long history of absentee fathers,” adding, when considering the involvement of mothers and fathers, it is mainly fathers who “tend not to play a big role in the lives of their children.” With regard to gendered expectations in kinship networks, all the research participants highlighted the conventional gendered conceptions of caring practices in their families, which they extend to Jamaican kinship networks in general. All research participants, who are single parents, suggest that domestic work is almost exclusively done by women, especially in single-parent homes that are headed by women. Stella refers to the thesis that in times of slavery, men were denied the opportunity to be parented by their mothers and fathers and to parent their own children, which has had long-term consequences on the role and definition of fatherhood in the present day (Moreau 1987). Family psychologist Dr. Barry Davidson elaborates: [During slavery, Jamaican] men were only to be breeders and not fathers. For at least 179 years (from British conquest to emancipation) the male slaves were robbed of their birthright of learning to be proper fathers and providers.… Family psychology informs us that the problems from parents to children pass several generations. (Cited in Sutherland, 2012, para. 4)

Currently, in Jamaica about 45% of Jamaican households are headed by women (compared with almost 13% of all Canadian census families which are female lone-parent families [Statistics Canada 2012]). These Jamaican households are larger than the national average household and larger than those headed by males. Moreover, “female-headed households have a lower

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per capita consumption than those headed by males” (Planning Institute of Jamaica, 2002, cited in UNICEF, 2013, para. 3). Generally, conventional gendered expectations in Jamaican kinship networks are that mothers, in particular, are primarily responsible for caregiving in their families and this extends to transnational migratory contexts. A participant who worked as an unauthorized migrant domestic worker observed: I think for a woman it is mainly her responsibility that you have to support your family back home. Because I am sure that 90% of the women that [migrate] have dependants. If they do not have a child they have their mother, or sister or whatever to support.…

The women attempted to perform care work and maintain intimate emotional relations with and provide economic support for their children in Jamaica, which involved regular phone calls and sending their children “barrels” or care packages. Tressa explains: Some holidays you would pack barrels [to send to your children]. That’s why they call the children [of migrants] “barrel kids.” You would put clothing, food stuffs, shoes, everything and send. I can tell you, you can send everything to your kids but love and the motherly care [that] only the mother can really give and a lot of us went away saying there are greener pastures and we are going to get our papers within a year and then send for our kids. That is a dream not a reality. Canada is a beautiful place [but] when you go, reality checks in.

Except for Sylvia, who was in Canada for the shortest amount of time (two years in total), the women talked about feeling a lack of control over the actions of those left in charge of their children and how much information they got about their children, which affected them psychologically. Three of the women discuss this in relation to what they referred to as “regrets.” Regrets

Mandella lived like an exile in Canada, year after year trying to save enough money to return or find a way to bring her children to Canada. Her biggest regret was being away from her daughter when she needed her mother the most:

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MOTHERING HAS NO BORDERS  SUSAN M. BRIGHAM I left my children for ten years. At the time I left they were fourteen and fifteen. You get all the stories about what your children are going through in Jamaica and you can’t jump on a flight to home and you cannot go and come in case of emergencies because a lot of us have lost our children.… What my daughter went through, she got pregnant at fourteen and I was not there for her. She was raped [and] she became suicidal and the family … [they] do not want to call because they know your papers are not okay.… The doctor told me, “Well, we do not know if she is going to pull through” and I said, “Somebody is not telling me the truth! If she is dead just tell me!” [My daughter] she was a learner, she was the brightest of them and the favourite of the family so when she got pregnant everyone was telling her she had let them down and all that and Mummy was not there, that she could not talk to Mummy. I spent many nights crying.… Honestly if I could turn my life back I would not have gone to Canada.

Kaysha also talked about her regret for leaving her child: When I left he was four years old and we were apart for seven years…. He stayed with my mum because we were living there [at her place] before I left. And I remember the first time I went back home when he was eleven … at Christmas time and I saw him and it was like he didn’t even know who I was … like he didn’t want to come near me. It took him a while before he started talking to me.… I do have regrets for leaving him because before I left, at four years old [his] reading and writing was way advanced for his age and by age eleven all that was gone. He could not read any more stuff that he used to read.… Maybe with my mum always working … and my younger sisters were not responsible, I guess my mother and sisters just let him go.

Similarly, Tressa’s regrets are related to long-term guilt for leaving her children in an environment where they were largely neglected: My children said to me, “Mummy, we will never leave our kids behind.” Although I had loving sisters … you know it was a big family [but] the attention the children should have gotten they didn’t get. And so for domestic workers their children have the disadvantage.

With the exception of Sylvia, the other participants indicated a network of friends on which they relied to get them through their painful experiences.

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These social networks provided emotional and economic support and valuable knowledge. For example, Mandella joined a church where she learned how to “counsel” herself through the pain of the loss of her daughter and develop skills to support women who had been raped. Because of the church, she decided to “give up her lies” and returned to Jamaica. After too many close calls of having her undocumented status found out by authorities, Tressa also returned to Jamaica, where she now works part time in a hotel and looks after a grandchild, while building a house “bit by bit.” Sylvia and Kaysha returned when their employers no longer needed them. Kaysha has since immigrated to Canada with her son; she works full time as an accountant. The others also hope to return to Canada. Discussion

Transnational kinship networks are complex relationships and arrangements that extend across time and social and geographical spaces and have significant impacts financially, geographically, and demographically. Transnational networks (kinship and social) played imperative functions for the research participants; each participant is an active member in a web of networks. The networks are important learning sites, where information is shared and knowledge generated. They also supported and channelled the women’s migration to Toronto, provided guardianship for their children in Jamaica, and emotional and economic assistance in Canada and Jamaica. The women attributed their acts of resistance, self-esteem, and dignity preservation in part to their social networks. Integral to the women’s networks was transnational othermothering, which refers to the communal role of women in communities of African descent. For the research participants, othermothers are women with whom they may be kin, such as their grandmothers, sisters and great aunts, or non-kin, such as neighbours or fellow parishioners, who provide strong social support, including nurturing; imparting values, culture, and traditions; and sharing wisdom through storytelling and anecdotes, as well as occasional economic support such as a temporary place to stay, use of the telephone, loans or gifts of household items and clothes, and/or spending money. Othermothering in the Black diaspora demonstrates the way in which the community organizes to nurture itself and future generations (Watt 2004). Migrating undocumented is another form of resistance, resistance to legislation that excludes them from working with authorization as domestics because they do not have the required qualifications to apply under the LCP.

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At the same time, an “ideology of women’s domesticity” (Romero 1992, 69) persists, which affords men greater choice to distance themselves from emotional, economic, and social involvement in their kinship networks, placing responsibility on women, as well as burden and blame on mothers for migrating as a way of supporting their children. The participants described being torn between leaving to support their children economically and staying to support them emotionally and socially; their efforts to do both led to constant anxiety, self-blame, and regret. The experiences of the participants support findings from other studies that conclude women and their children endure emotional upheaval and stress when mothers migrate without their children; these emotions and stress are intensified by normative gendered expectations that mothers are primarily in charge of their children’s well-being. Important to note is that kinship networks are situated within “an ideology and politics” of neoliberalism, where people are “produced as individual entrepreneurs and consumers whose moral autonomy is measured by their capacity for ‘self-care’—their ability to provide for their own needs and service their own ambitions” (Brown 2006, 694). Such an ideology downplays the notion of collective responsibility and the principles behind a welfare state, placing accountability on individuals for their survival and well-being and blame on them for their hardships. Neoliberalism attempts to place beyond question existing inequalities experienced by individuals. Yet the experiences of the participants highlight the persistence of a division of labour based on ideologically and socially constructed differences that attempt to “naturalize” exploitative conditions for Jamaican women in kinship networks and as undocumented workers in Canada. Conclusion

A transnational perspective of kinship networks helps to uncover some of the ways transnational mothers negotiate their roles and identities as women, mothers, migrants, and undocumented domestic workers. Further study is required to understand the complexity of transnational kinship networks and the macro structures within which they exist in order to find ways to support and transform them as more socially just spaces. With concerns about a global recession, it is imperative migration researchers examine how weakening economies affect transnational kinship networks, including women’s health and work conditions, as well as how transnational kinship and social networks, community groups, and governments are

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responding (or not) to the changing economic, cultural, and social needs of migrants and their kin. Additionally, more research needs to be done with undocumented workers to better understand their multifaceted experiences, including how the structural conditions of their non-status affect their health and well-being. Undocumented domestic workers’ contributions to Canadian society, their coping strategies, and needs must also be more fully examined. Note 1. For example, Tressa states: “I was raped. And in the community all the eyes are on you and the negative talk. I lived with that in my head for years. When that gun was put on my head I just had to do what they wanted to do. You could not say anything so they would say, ‘Oh, she didn’t say anything so that means she was in agreement.’ … I was ashamed of myself. I had to get far away from the community.”

References Andall, Jacqueline. 2000. Gender, Migration and Domestic Service: The Politics of Black Women in Italy. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Bashi, Vilna. 2004. “Globalized Anti-Blackness: Transnationalizing Western Immigration Law, Policy, and Practice.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 27 (4): 584–606. Brigham, Susan. 1995. The Perception and Experience of Immigrant Filipino Caregivers: A Study of Their Integration into Canadian Society. Master’s thesis, University of Alberta. ———. 2002. Women Migrant Workers in the Global Economy: The Role of Critical Feminist Pedagogy for Filipino Domestic Workers. Ph.D. thesis, University of Alberta. ———. 2005. “Transnational Homeplaces: A Case Study of Filipino Migrant Domestic Workers.” Presented at Adult Education Research Conference (AERC), Athens, Georgia. Brown, Wendy. 2006. “American Nightmare: Neoliberalism, Neoconservatism, and Democratization.” Political Theory 34 (6): 690–714. Calliste, Agnes. 2000. “Nurses and Porters: Racism, Sexism and Resistance in Segmented Labour Markets.” In Anti-Racist Feminism: Critical Reader Race and Gender Studies, edited by Agnes Calliste and George Dei, 143–64. Halifax, NS: Fernwood. Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). 2011. The World Fact Book: Jamaica. https:// www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/jm.html.

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MOTHERING HAS NO BORDERS  SUSAN M. BRIGHAM Citizenship and Immigration Canada (CIC). 2010a. “Canada: Facts and Figures: Immigrant Overview Permanent and Temporary Residents.” Research and Evaluation Branch, Citizenship and Immigration Canada. Ottawa, ON. ———. 2010b. OP 14: Processing Applicants for the Live-in Caregiver Program. http:// www.cic.gc.ca/english/resources/manuals/op/op14-eng.pdf. ———. 2012. Visiting Canada: Letter of Invitation for Countries Whose Citizens Require a Temporary Resident Visa to Enter Canada. http://www.cic.gc.ca/ english/visit/letter.asp. Coe, Cati. 2011. “What Is the Impact of Transnational Migration on Family Life?: Women’s Comparisons of International and International Migration in a Small Town in Ghana.” American Ethnologist 38 (1): 148–63. Craton, Michael. 1974. Sinews of Empire: A Short History of British Slavery. Garden City, NY: Anchor Press. Dannecker, Petra. 2005. “Transnational Migration and the Transformation of Gender Relations: The Case of Bangladeshi Labour Migrants.” Current Sociology 5 (4): 658, 667. Dreby, Joanna. 2006. “Honor and Virtue: Mexican Parenting in the Transnational Context.” Gender and Society 20 (1): 32–59. ———. 2007. “Children and Power in Mexican Transnational Families.” Journal of Marriage and Family 69: 1050–1064. Faist, Thomas. 2000. “Transnationalization in International Migration: Implications for the Study of Citizenship and Culture.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 23 (2): 189–222. Ferree, Myra, Judith Lorber, and Beth Hess. 1999. Revisioning Gender. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Fresnoza-Flot, Asuncion. 2009. “Migration Status and Transnational Mothering: The Case of Filipino Migrants in France.” Global Networks 9 (2): 252–70. Gunst, Laurie. 1995. Born fi’ dead. New York, NY: Henry Holt. Haniff, Nesha. 1998. “Male Violence Against Men and Women in the Caribbean: The Case of Jamaica.” Journal of Comparative Family Studies 29 (2): 361–69. Hill Collins, Patricia. 1998. “It’s All About the Family: Intersections of Gender, Race and Nation.” Hypatia: A Journal of Feminist Philosophy 13 (3): 62–82. Hondagneu‐Sotelo, Pierette, and Ernestine Avila. 1997. “‘I’m here, but I’m there’: The Meanings of Latina Transnational Motherhood.” Gender and Society 11 (4): 548–71. Hong, Grace K. 2006. The Ruptures of American Capital: Women of Color Feminism and the Culture of Immigrant Labor. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press.

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CHAPTER 7 Kelly, Jennifer, and Dan Cui. 2010. “A Historical Exploration of Internationally Educated Teachers: Jamaican Teachers in 1960s Alberta.” Canadian Journal of Educational Administration and Policy. http://www.umanitoba.ca/publications/ cjeap/. Lucas, Robert, and Laura Chappell. 2009. “Measuring Migration’s Development Impacts: Preliminary Evidence from Jamaica.” Development on the Move Working Paper 2. IPPR and Global Development Network (GDN) and Institute for Public Policy Research. Macklin, Audrey. 1992. “Foreign Domestic Worker: Surrogate Housewife or Mail Order Servant?” McGill Law Journal 37 (3): 682–760. Magalhaes, Lilian, Christine Carrasco, and Denise Gastaldo. 2010. “Undocumented Migrants in Canada: A Scope Literature Review on Health, Access to Services, and Working Conditions.” Journal of Immigrant Minority Health 12: 132–51. Miles, Robert. 1989. Racism. London, UK: Routledge. Moreau, Bernice. 1987. “Adult Education among Black Nova Scotians, 1750–1945.” Journal of Education 400: 29–35. Palmer, Howard. 1975. Immigration and the Rise of Multiculturalism. Vancouver, BC: Copp Clark. Pessar, Patricia, and Sarah Mahler. 2002. “Transnational Migration: Bringing Gender In.” International Migration Review 37 (3): 812–46. Pries, Ludger. 2001. “The Approach of Transnational Social Spaces: Responding to New Configurations of the Social and the Spatial.” In New Transnational Social Spaces: International Migration and Transnational Companies, edited by L. Pries, 3–33. London, UK: Routledge. Romero, Mary. 1992. Maid in the USA. New York, NY: Routledge. Safri, Maliha, and Julie Graham. 2010. “The Global Household: Toward a Feminist Postcapitalist International Political Economy.” Signs 36 (1): 99–125. Salazar Parreñas, Rhacel. 2001. Servants of Globalization: Women, Migration and Domestic Work. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Salazar Parreñas, Rhacel. 2005. Children of Global Migration: Transnational Families and Gendered Woes. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Schmalzbauer, Leah. 2004. “Searching for Wages and Mothering from Afar: The Case of Honduran Transnational Families.” Journal of Marriage and Family 66 (5): 1317–31. Serge, Joe. 1993. Canadian Citizenship Made Simple. Toronto, ON: Doubleday. Statistical Institute of Jamaica. 2011. Statistics: Everybody’s Business. http://statinja .gov.jm/. Statistics Canada. 2006. Immigrant Population by Place of Birth and Period of Immigration. http://www40.statcan.ca/l01/cst01/demo24a-eng.htm.

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MOTHERING HAS NO BORDERS  SUSAN M. BRIGHAM ———. 2012. Portrait of Family and Living Arrangements in Canada. http://www12 .statcan.ca/census-recensement/2011/as-sa/98-312-x/98-312-x2011001-eng.cfm. Sutherland, Alicia. 2012. “Breeders, Not Fathers: Psychologist Says Slave Past Created Bad Jamaican Dads.” Jamaica Observer, April 9. http://www.jamaicaob server.com/news/Breeders-not-fathers_11200276#ixzz2hqeb2neK. UNICEF. 2013. Parenting in Jamaica. http://www.unicef.org/jamaica/parenting _corner.html. Watt, Diane. 2004. “Traditional Religious Practices Amongst African-Caribbean Mothers and Community Othermothers.” Black Theology: An International Journal 2 (2): 195–212. Wilding, Raelene, and Loretta Baldassar. 2009. “Transnational Family–Work Balance: Experiences of Australian Migrants Caring for Ageing Parents and Young Children Across Distance and Borders.” Journal of Family Studies 15 (2): 177–87. Winant, Howard. 2000. “Race and Race Theory.” Annual Review of Sociology 26: 169–85. Zontini, Elisabette. 2004. “Immigrant Women in Barcelona: Coping with the Consequences of Transnational Lives.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 30 (6): 1113–44.

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CHAPTER 8

TRANSNATIONAL MOTHERHOOD: CONSTRUCTING INTERGENERATIONAL RELATIONS BETWEEN FILIPINA MIGRANT WORKERS AND THEIR CHILDREN Rina Cohen

Transnational Migration and Motherhood

Increasingly, transnational migration involves the geographical separation of family members for lengthy periods of time (Cohen 2010). Historically, young men started chains of migration by moving to a new country in search of better jobs. Once they’ve settled, women and children, if they had any, followed. However, in the past thirty years, as an expanding number of women crossed borders in search of work, scholars noticed a new pattern of migration they refer to as the “feminization of labour migration” (Boyd and Taylor 1986; Piper 2003). Most of the carework in developed countries— child care, elder care, health care, hospitality care, and in particular housework—is almost exclusively performed by migrant women (Aranda 2003; Lan 2003, 2008; Lutz 2002). Since the early 80s, a growing number of Central American women have been leaving their children behind to provide care and domestic services for Californian families. In Western European countries, thousands of Eastern European and North African women are serving as nannies and homemakers. For example, Turkish, Romanian, and Polish women work in Germany, Moroccan women work in Spain, and Algerians in France. In Australia and in Canada, Chinese mothers are sending young children back to China to be cared for by grandmothers and extended relatives (Aulakh, 2008; Man 2004). There are several contexts that determine the particular combination of the nationalities of transnational migrant workers and the country in which they work. These contexts include international agree-

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ments (Caribbean or Filipina women in Canada), past colonization (Algerians in France), geographical proximity (Mexicans in the United States), history of slavery (Black women in the southern US), and informal networks (Filipina women in South Arabia, the United States, and Canada). Feminization of migrant labour results not only in substantial social and economic changes in communities (Bettio, Simonazzi, and Villa, 2006; Hochschild 2003; Vullnetari and King 2008) in the sending countries, but also in major transformations in spousal (Constable 2003; Hoang and Yeoh 2011) and intergenerational relations within the migrants’ families (Hewett 2009). While various governments developed different policies to enable migrant workers to fill the growing demand for reproductive work on a temporary basis, they made it harder, if not impossible, for mothers to migrate permanently or, later, to reunite with their spouses and children. Consequently, international circulation of migrant women from poor countries created a situation where millions of mothers find themselves in need to practise motherhood, as well as other forms of family care, thousands of miles away from their children (Carling and Schmalzbauer 2012). In the past decade, scholars have started to pay attention to the impact of lengthy separation on the relationship between migrant mothers and their children back home (Boccagni 2012; Cohen 2001; Fedyuk 2012; FresnozaFlot 2009; Illanes 2010; Nicholson 2006). Most literature on female immigration regards the spatial rupture of transnational mothers from children as an abnormality with severe consequences. It analyzes it as a deficient form of motherhood, a temporary phase that needs to be fixed, stressing the harmful impact of this experience on mothers and their children, especially where these mothers are expected to look after other people’s children (Anderson 2000; Parreñas 2001b). However, this chapter, following more recent literature on transnationalism, considers multi-locality not just a necessary undesired stage before complete migration, but rather as a social reconfiguration of motherhood that assists mothers and children in maintaining a sense of familial belonging within the context of a geographically split family. In this chapter I argue that transnationalism does not postpone, but rather redefines, conventional discourses of motherhood. Transnationalism develops new strategies for dealing with maternal roles. In comparison to conventional uni-local mothering, which focuses on nurturing, multi-local transnational mothering is characterized by a reconfiguration of the nurturer’s role as well as an enhancement of the provider’s role.

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One of the major features of transnational mothering (as well as other transnational activities) is the flow of financial support from receiving countries to sending countries. Mothers who cross borders in search of a source of livelihood are regularly sending remittances to their children back home. According to the World Bank, in the year 2004, transnational remittances exceeded $126 billion. These remittances pay for children’s food, housing, clothes, education, and health expenses and, occasionally, finance local caregivers. Studies indicate that women, especially mothers, are perceived as more reliable remitters than men because they are believed to be more responsible for the maintenance of their children’s households. Remittances are not only about monetary support, they are also a reflection of social obligations and emotional ties. In addition to sending money, transnational mothers are sending parcels to their children, especially around Christmas and other family holidays. The periodical parcel symbolizes not just material support but also caring and nurturing (Da 2003; Dreby, 2006; Parreñas 2005). Transnational motherhood is also characterized by intensive communication. Depending on the level of material and technical resources, transnational mothers are nurturing and connecting with their children by using telephone and Internet mediated software, such as Facebook and email. This enables these mothers to construct simultaneous interactions during family experiences such as holidays and birthdays. Via phone and Internet, mothers send and receive photos and short video recordings, oversee the performance of substitute caregivers, supervise their kids’ homework, suggest advice, and provide support. Finally, through sporadic visits, transnational mothers are able to portray their love and occasionally participate in significant events in their children’s lives such as graduations or weddings. Despite the curtailed version of nurture, transnational mothers manage to sustain emotional ties, spoil, advise, discipline, reprimand, supervise, educate, criticize, and love their children across national borders (Cohen 2000; Hondagneu-Sotelo 2001; Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila 1997). In conclusion, case studies suggest that transnationalism transform conventional notions of motherhood—they intensify the providing roles of mothers and modify their nurturing practices. An increasing number of mothers are able to successfully practise transnationalism in the global labour market by leaving their children in, or sending them back to, their home country and by reconfiguring motherhood.

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CHAPTER 8 The Bi-national Political Context—The Philippines and Canada

Many of the mothers in Canada who care for their children from afar are from the Philippines. The Philippines is considered one of the poorest countries in the world. It suffers also from an extreme gap between a handful of rich landowners and masses of poor, landless people. This high level of inequality, which existed under both Spanish and American colonial regimes, continues to prevail today. So, despite the fact that the country is rich in natural resources and an educated workforce, its economy is collapsing and its citizens are encouraged to seek their livelihood elsewhere (Kelly 2010). The economy, which was weak to begin with, has deteriorated since the corrupt dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos (US Department of State 2012). Poverty is pervasive not only in large urban centres but also in rural areas, and half of the population lives on less than $2 per day. One of the ways in which the country tried to alleviate its poverty, high unemployment, and heavy foreign debts was exporting labourers to other countries (Gonzalez 1996; Tyner 2004). The government established state recruitment agencies for overseas workers. Later, when it became too complicated for the government to handle all the applications, it developed policies that regulated private recruiting agencies. These agencies charge migrant workers “placement fees” for services they provide (Ball 2004). The government constantly praised overseas workers as national heroes who contribute not only to their families but also to their homeland (Rodriguez and Tiongson 2001). The Live-in Caregiver Program (LCP) and the remittances that are sent home every year by more than 8 million Filipinos abroad enabled the Philippines to reduce unemployment rates and pay off some of the country’s foreign debts to the IMF (International Monetary Fund) (Espiritu 2003; Zaman 2006). Filipinos are therefore likely to continue to work in various countries, including Canada, just so their families, particularly their children, will be able to survive. Canada, on the other hand, is a developed country that is suffering from a chronic shortage of domestic workers. Historically, the recruitment of domestic workers to Canada has been driven by the domestic demand and international labour supply, as well as by Canada’s nation-building projects (Hsiung and Nichol 2010). In the past twenty years, since 1992, Canada implemented the LCP, which attracts mainly Filipina migrant workers. In this program, caregivers are allowed into Canada as domestic workers for a period of two years. During these two years, they are required to live in and work only in their sponsoring employer’s home, they may not do any paid work outside of their employers’ home or take courses or training programs

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that are designed for Canadian citizens, and unlike other immigrants, they may not be joined by their immediate families. At the end of that period, they can apply for permanent residency (PR) status, which, eventually, may lead to citizenship (http://www.liveincaregiverprogram.com). Permanent residency status releases the caregiver from the live-in requirement and from the link to a particular employer. Although the LCP was introduced as non-discriminatory, it is criticized for being racist and ethnocentric (AratKoc 1989; 2001; Stiell and England 1997), particularly because of the live-in requirement and the inability of domestic workers to enter Canada together with their spouses and children. Long-Distance Transnational Motherhood

In the following section, I discuss transnational intergenerational relations between Filipino migrant mothers who live and work in Toronto and their children who live in the Philippines. Data for this chapter draw from two empirical studies on paid domestic workers in Toronto. In the first study (study A), I conducted fifty in-depth interviews with domestic workers and seven interviews with professionals (three community workers and activists, a social worker, an immigration officer, and two placement agency workers). Only nineteen of them had children back home. Part of the interviews with the mothers among them (N=19) dealt with the ways in which these workers, employed by Canadian families mainly as child-care providers, cope with the distance between them and their own children. In particular, I was interested in exploring the ways in which intimacy is produced and developed in these transnational interactions. Of the mothers, five were already landed immigrants, twelve were employed in the Foreign Domestic Worker (FDW) program, and two were undocumented. The women ranged in age from twenty-two to fifty-three years. In the second study (study B), through INTERCEDE (International Coalition to End Domestic Exploitation—an advocacy organization for the rights of domestic workers), I interviewed eleven domestic workers from the Philippines, aged thirty-six to fifty-three years, about their reunification with spouses and children. In the unstructured interviews, I asked the women to reflect on the period in which they mothered from afar. Seven of these women had obtained already Canadian citizenship and four had been granted landed immigrant status just before the interviews. Participants in the first study were recruited from acquaintances, employment agencies, domestic organizations, and public parks. For the second study, I gathered information from interviewees involved with, and

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enlisted with, INTERCEDE. Four of these interviewees were contacted again for the purpose of exploring their use of information and communications technology (ICT) in communicating with their children. The interviews were conducted in English. Transcripts include excerpts in which Filipina women described their working conditions as well as their painful experience of living apart from their families for years and the ways they coped with the lengthy separation. Enhancing the Breadwinner Role

Recent research demonstrates that migration, in general, forces men and women to renegotiate traditional gender roles. This need to renegotiate intensifies when a mother leaves other family members behind and migrates in search of a job. Since in most countries of origin, women assume the role of primary caregivers to other family members, especially to their children, their physical long-term absence requires the transformation of gender roles (Gamburd 2008; Wrigley 2005). These women’s roles transform, in most cases, into those of the primary breadwinners. Some of the mothers who were interviewed reported that their husbands were unemployed (or underemployed) for quite some time before their departure. With the departure of the mothers, some of the husbands/fathers had to take over the traditional roles of caring for their children (cooking, cleaning, and child care). This role reversal, where the father becomes the main, or sole, caregiver, and the mother transforms into the primary provider, may become a source of friction and tension. As Faith noted: The kids are not very happy with the way my husband treats them. He was a soldier when we first got married and now he thinks that he is running an army base. He is very strict with them and does not allow them to stay out late. My son wanted a motorcycle for this 17th birthday but my husband does not want him to get one. When I used to speak to him, he was crying and asking me when will he be able to join me in Canada. (Faith, Interview B11)

Faith’s husband did not step into the maternal role very easily. This difficulty was also demonstrated by other studies. For example, in her work on Sri Lankan transnational mothers, Gamburd (2008) found that, as a result of rigid gender ideologies, most men would feel their sense of masculinity threatened if their wives became the major breadwinner and they had to assume traditional females’ roles cleaning, cooking, and caring for young

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children. In most cases, however, the caregiving role of mothers is transmitted to one of the females in the family. This can be a sister, a cousin, or a grandmother (usually the maternal grandmother). As one of the interviewees in study A recalled, “I used to send them money every month but my husband did not spend it on the kids. He did not know how to take care of them. When they ran away one summer to my mother, I started to send her [Tanya’s mother] money for their expenses” (Tanya A18). The tendency to nominate a grandmother as a surrogate was also reported by Parreñas (2005), who found that most of the migrant women leave their children in the care of their mothers, mothers-in-law, or another female kin. The main outstanding feature of transnational motherhood is the enhancement of the breadwinner’s role. The relatively high earning ability of the overseas mothers is very empowering to them. This was noted by several scholars of transnational motherhood (Dreby 2006; Gamburd 2008; Parreñas 2005; Schmalzbauer 2004). The augmentation of their breadwinning role enables them to redefine conjugal relationships (Pribilsky 2004) as well as their intergenerational relations. On the other hand, becoming the major, and oftentimes the sole, breadwinner is also very taxing. The following quote is a good example of how draining this role can be. It is taken from an interview with a widowed domestic worker who was away from her family for eleven years (four years in Dubai and seven years in Canada) before going home to visit her children. I had to make a sacrifice for my children. When my husband died, I applied to go to Dubai. My mother took care of my son and my daughter and I sent them $150 every month. In Dubai I worked for an Egyptian family, cleaning, cooking, and taking care of their twin babies. I slept with the twins in the same room and cared for them also at night. I worked seven days a week and was not allowed to go out by myself, [pause] only with my employer. After three years I applied to come to Canada. I am here already seven years and I have gone to the Philippines only once…. If not for the need to feed my children, I would not have gone abroad…. It’s very hard but this is the sacrifice I have to make. (Patricia, Interview A8)

Here is another example of a separated mother who has to support her kids: My three sons have no father. He is living with another woman. I had to come to Canada to send money for them to go to school and have toys and books.

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CHAPTER 8 I miss them very much but if I was staying with them in the Philippines they could not have an education … and would have no future. Now I buy them whatever they need so they do not ask from friends, they do not borrow, they do not steal. (Letty, Interview B3)

Letty actually represents many mothers who indicate that their major efforts are targeted at improving their children’s education so that they will fare better in life. Since education beyond elementary school, as well as health care, is very costly in the Philippines, mothers (and fathers too) have to work abroad in order to finance their children’s educational and health expenses. The next quote illustrates how two parents are away from their home in the Philippines and are managing financial child support transnationally. We were living in a small town in Luzon. My husband was a teacher and I worked with his mother in a small store. We lived with my husband’s parents and they helped us with the girls. When my husband got an offer to care for a man with MS in Canada, I told him to go. In the first year, he sent us a lot of money and we bought some land. But after a few months, his employer went into a nursing home and my husband couldn’t find another job. So he found another Canadian family to sponsor me to come. Now the two of us work in Toronto and send money for the girls and for my mother-in-law to pay for her medications. We also bought some more land in our village. In three years my youngest daughter will graduate from high school and then we will bring them here. (Rosie, B7)

In the above quote, we see how two overseas paycheques enable poor families to purchase land for the family, health care for the grandmother, and education for the children. This would not have been possible without this income. Sometimes parents have to take turns in working abroad. Melanie’s story illustrates the strategy by which mothers alternate breadwinning and caregiving roles with their husband. Despite the fact that she is already a permanent resident in Canada, Melanie prefers to support her children in the Philippines rather than bringing them to Canada. There, they can go to private schools and live a middle-class life with the money they receive from their mother. In Canada, the same income will surely keep them in deep poverty.

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TRANSNATIONAL MOTHERHOOD  RINA COHEN My husband worked for two years on a ship in Italy but after he came back home he could not find another contract. So we decided that I’ll go abroad and he will stay with the children for a couple of years. I worked in Thornhill as a nanny for three years and now I am a nurse aide at Baycrest [geriatric facility]. Few months ago I started the process of sponsoring my husband and my children. But I am not in a hurry. It is cheaper to support them there, [pause] send money from here. (Melanie, B2)

Melanie’s case illustrates also the wide gap between the standard of living in Canada and that of the Philippines. Since the government of the Philippines cannot provide its citizens with decent health care and educational services, it is exporting labour power in order to finance basic social services. The money that a domestic labourer earns in Canada can go a longer way in the Philippines. Therefore, it makes better sense for Melanie’s family to stay geographically separated—so her children could receive finer education and a middle-class lifestyle in their homeland rather than live in poverty in Canada. Condensing the Nurturing Role

The most fascinating element in transnational motherhood is the ability to redefine traditional nurturing and motherly care. In other words, motherhood becomes flexible and elastic and can be condensed and/or diluted. There are two major techniques to transform conventional motherly care into a transnational one. The first one is to activate the care chain by relegating nurturing roles to spouses or to other women (relatives, neighbours, or friends) with lower earning power. This is part of what is defined as “the care chain” (Isaksen, Sambasivan, and Hochschild 2008). The second technique entails using ICT technology to supervise and communicate with children and their supplementary caregivers. Activating a care chain

In some transnational families, the non-migrating spouses take over the caring roles and the family experiences what is often identified as a “role reversal.” This change is documented in several studies. For example, Pribilsky (2004, 315), who researched conjugal relations and co-parenting in Ecuadorian transnational migrants in New York City and the Ecuadorian Andes, demonstrates how female migration alters “traditional roles.” Women are asked to carry out males’ duties, while males are expected to

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assume caring roles. In the case of the Filipino families, however, it is normally another female relative who assumes the daily caring chores. This is, in most cases, a grandmother, an older sister, a cousin, or a neighbour. Some of the interviewees expressed their frustration with children who became attached to their “other mothers.” As one thirty-nine-year-old interviewee reports, After five years, I am a stranger to my own kids. When I visited them last Christmas, my fourteen-year-old son wanted to see the presents that I brought for him. After a day, he became a little shy with me. He is used to my sister taking care of him and she is like a mother. I was a little bit jealous of my own sister. (Angela, B4)

Part of condensing the nurturing role is nurturing through other mothers. However, the achievement of financial security goes hand in hand with restructuring (sometimes loosening) the bond between mothers and children. The weakening of the emotional attachment between the breadwinner mother who lives overseas and her children who are left behind may result in feelings of loss and disturbing insecurity for mothers. Cybermothering

Some scholars characterized the reproduction of social relations among migrant urban communities as “transnationalism from below” (Guarnizo and Smith 1998; Herrera-Lima 2001), practised by ordinary people (rather than “transnationalism from above,” which is created by states and institutions). A great facilitator of this form of transnationalism is cyberspace technology. With the extensive popularization of the Internet and low-cost international calling plans, Filipino transnational families communicate almost daily through telephone calls, cellphones, email, and web pages. Lately, they have also been using Skype computer calls, Viber (Internet phone calls), Internet-faxes, Internet chat rooms, and webcams (an image chatting apparatus). Transnationalism and the Internet, in general, have been seen as breaking down boundaries, not for a borderless world, but for a reconfiguration of social relations across political borders. What might have once been outside national, or community, margins is now more effectively included within a larger framework of an imagined community (Licoppe 2004). Moreover, the importance of this technology to transnational families was acknowledged as early as in the early 90s. Glick Schiller, Basch, and

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Szanton Blanc (1995), for example, argued that this technology enabled transnational families to construct, sustain, and reproduce social relations that cross national and cultural borders. The technology did not transform families into virtual units but rather redefined the character of their daily activities (Madianou 2012). In the same vein, Wilding (2006) argues that family events are not constructed solely in cyberspace. There is no new or radical separation between virtual and real life, and certainly no virtual family has come to displace the family that is situated in geographic space: “The ICTs are used primarily to enable ‘everyday’ interactions that occur between family members who communicate across distance and national borders” (Wilding 2006, 126). Wilding claims that new information and communication technologies have been integrated into common, ongoing patterns of everyday social life, stating that “transnational care-giving by communication technology supplements the continuation of existing family practices” (138). Similarly, Licoppe (2004, 135–63) noticed that “communication technologies, instead of being used to compensate for the absence of our close ones, are exploited to provide a continuous pattern of mediated interactions that combine into ‘connected relationships,’ in which the boundaries between absence and presence eventually get blurred.” This daily penetration, via Internet communication technologies, strengthens the feeling of a co-presence and surveillance that functions as a form of surveillance of children’s or partners’ everyday life. Indeed, various scholars examined the ways in which ICT is used to enhance motherly nurturance (Penaranda and Ma 2010; Peng and Wong 2012). Transnational mother–child relations are constructed via the ability to form transnational familial interactions. One of the respondents, Apple, revealed that she uses her mobile smartphone to text-message her kids almost every day, mainly about their schoolwork. She also uses Skype to communicate with them every other Sunday. [T]his is how I stay on top of things and they know that I supervise their behaviour. They tell me about their teachers and tests and also about their friends. Before I called them once a week or so but lately I do it almost every night. My little one likes to show me her drawings…. She also makes faces— make me laugh. (Apple, B11)

Another interviewee enjoys communicating with her seventeen-year-old daughter using email and text messaging on a special application on her phone.

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CHAPTER 8 I can do it only where there is WiFi—at the home of my employer, on the second level, and in some of coffee shops or McDonald’s. I will SMS [short message service] later at night to make sure that she is home with her little brother. (Elizabeth, B5)

Mobile phones, especially text messaging, can be a way of creating what I call “cybermothering.” This practice becomes possible in light of a cognitive perception of co-presence. Panagakos and Horst identify SMSing as “a way of maintaining ongoing background awareness of others, and of keeping multiple channels of communication open” (quoted in Panagakos and Horst 2006, 112). Transnational households rely on ICT in order to maintain surveillance and keep an eye on their children’s (and sometimes spouses’) activities. This helps them to maintain motherhood and family unity in spite of their split locality. Another form of surveillance, which is less common but still available, is by monitoring credit card expenses. A more substantive form of surveillance by ICT is tracing finances. Elizabeth is paying the credit card expenses of her seventeen-year-old daughter, Angela. She has a link to this account on her smartphone and is able to trace all Angela’s credit card purchases online. By monitoring her daughter’s expenses, Elizabeth is able to follow the everyday life trajectory of her daughter. She is contemplating an arrangement in which her phone will ring every time Angela purchases something with the card. This way, she would be able to know the price and content of each purchase. This form of virtual surveillances enables Elizabeth to cyber-mother her teenager daughter. Conclusion

As the demand for reproductive work in developed countries increases and the economies of poor countries deteriorate, the South to North flow of care workers will continue. This movement has created a clear global division of care work. It also created a chain of care, in which Western privileged middle-class families (mostly mothers) farm out care work to migrant women from formerly colonized countries. These migrant women leave their children behind and, in turn, delegate their motherly tasks to others, usually to spouses or grandmothers. When family care arrangements break down, they hire domestic workers, who might be too poor or too old to migrate themselves, to care for their left-behind children. Parreñas (2001a) calls it a three-tier system.

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Some of the mothers I talked to preferred their children to stay in the Philippines because of the high cost of living in Canada and because they felt that their children would be less exposed to risky behaviour. In one case, a mother, after reunification, sent her thirteen-year-old son back to Isabella (an island in the Philippines) to live with her sister. She chose to continue to maintain a geographically split family so she could save more money and so her son could be raised in a better protected environment. In some cases, migrant women were able (and chose) to provide a middle-class lifestyle for their kids in the Philippines, by supporting them from afar, rather than reuniting with them in poor, overcrowded apartments in low-income, and high-crime, neighbourhoods in Canada. In these cases, reunification is postponed until the children mature and become economically independent. Using grandmothers and other female relatives and neighbours as surrogates, as well as using ICTs, Filipina care workers in Toronto, are able to effectively parent their children from afar. By working overseas, they earn more and are able to provide a better life for their children. While enhancing their breadwinning role, they condense and redefine their nurturing role. Although they all miss their children and suffer as a result of these distanced relations, they manage to re-create parent–child interactions and practise transnational motherhood. References Anderson, B. 2000 Doing the Dirty Work? The Global Politics of Domestic Labour. London: Zed Books. Aranda, E. 2003 Global Care Work and Gendered Constraints: The Case of Puerto Rican Transmigrants. Gender and Society 17 (4): 609–26. Arat-Koc, S. 1989. “In the Privacy of Our Own Home: Foreign Domestic Workers as Solution to the Crisis in the Domestic Sphere in Canada.” Studies in Political Economy 28 (Apr): 33–58. ———. 2001. Caregivers Break the Silence. Toronto, ON: Intercede. Aulakh, R. 2008 “The Trauma of Raising Kids an Ocean Away: Immigrant Couples Find Sending Their Children Back Home to Grandparents Is the Only Way to Make Ends Meet.” Toronto Star, November 15, A1. Ball, R. E. 2004. “Divergent Development, Racialised Rights: Globalised Labour Markets and the Trade of Nurses—The Case of the Philippines.” Women’s Studies International Forum 27 (2): 119–33. Bettio, F., A. Simonazzi, and P. Villa. 2006. “Change in Care Regimes and Female Migration: The ‘Care Drain’ in the Mediterranean.” Journal of European Social Policy 16 (3): 271–85.

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CHAPTER 8 Boccagni, P. 2012. “Practising Motherhood at a Distance: Retention and Loss in Ecuadorian Transnational Families.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 38 (2): 261–77. Boyd, M., and C. Taylor. 1986. “The Feminization of Temporary Workers: The Canadian Case.” International Migration/Migrations Internationales/Migraciones Internationales 24 (4): 717–34. Carling, J., C. and L. Schmalzbauer. 2012. “Central Themes in the Study of Transnational Parenthood.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 191–217. Cohen, Rina. 2000. “‘Mom Is a Stranger’: The Negative Impact of Immigration Policies in the Family Life of Domestic Workers.” Canadian Ethnic Studies Journal / Études Ethniques au Canada Journal 32 (3): 76–88. ———. 2010. “Transnationalism.” In Encyclopedia of Motherhood, edited by Andrea O’Reilly, 1214–15. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Constable, N. 2003. “A Transnational Perspective on Divorce and Marriage: Filipina Wives and Workers.” Identities: Global Studies in Culture and Power 10 (2): 163–80. Da, W. W. 2003. “Transnational Grandparenting: Child Care Arrangements Among Migrants from People’s Republic of China to Australia.” Journal of International Migration and Integration 4(1): 79–103. Dreby, J. 2006. “Honor and Virtue: Mexican Parenting in Transnational Context.” Gender & Society 20 (1): 32–59. Espiritu, Y. L. 2003. Home Bound: Filipino American Lives Across Cultures, Communities, and Countries. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Fedyuk, O. 2012. “Images of Transnational Motherhood: The Role of Photographs in Measuring Time and Maintaining Connections Between Ukraine and Italy.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 38 (2): 279–300. Fresnoza-Flot, A. 2009. “Migration Status and Transnational Mothering: The Case of Filipino Migrants in France.” Global Networks 9 (2): 252–70. Gamburd, M. R. 2008. “Milk Teeth and Jet Planes: Kin Relations in Families of Sri Lanka’s Transnational Domestic Servants.” City & Society 20 (1): 5–31. Glick-Schiller, N., L. Basch, and C. Szanton Blanc. 1995. “From Immigrant to Transmigrant: Theorizing Transnational Migration.” Anthropological Quarterly 68 (1): 48–63. Gonzalez, J. L., and J. M. Sanche. 1996. “Filipina Domestic Helpers in Singapore: Profile, Problems, and Interventions.” Asian Migrant 9 (3): 74–79. Guarnizo, L. E., and M. P. Smith. 1998. “The Locations of Transnationalism.” In Transnationalism from Below: Comparative Urban and Community Research, Ser., V. VI., edited by M. P. Smith and E. L. Guarnizo, 3–34. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction.

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TRANSNATIONAL MOTHERHOOD  RINA COHEN Herrera-Lima, F. 2001. “Transnational Families: Institutions of Transnational Social Spaces.” In New Transnational Social Spaces: International Migration and Transnational Companies in Early 21st Century, edited by L. Pries, 77–92. New York, NY: Routledge. Hewett, H. 2009. “Mothering across Borders: Narratives of Immigrant Mothers in the United States.” Women’s Studies Quarterly 37 (3–4): 121–39. Hoang, L. A., and B. Yeoh. 2011. “Breadwinning Wives and ‘Left-Behind’ Husbands: Men and Masculinities in the Vietnamese Transnational Family.” Gender & Society 25 (6): 717–39. Hochschild, A. R. 2003. “Love and Gold.” In Global Woman: Nannies, Maids and Sex Workers in the New Economy, edited by B. Ehrenreich and A. R. Hochschild, 15–28. New York, NY: Metropolitan Books. Hondagneu-Sotelo, P. 2001. Domestica: Immigrant Workers Cleaning and Caring in the Shadows of Affluence. Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Hondagneu-Sotelo, P., and E. Avila. 1997. “I’m Here but I’m There: The Meanings of Latina Transnational Motherhood.” Gender & Society 11 (5): 548–60. Hsiung, P. C., and K. Nichol. 2010. “Policies on and Experiences of Foreign Domestic Workers.” Sociology Compass 4 (9): 766–78. Illanes, J. C. 2010. “Migrant Mothers and Divided Homes: Perceptions of Immigrant Peruvian Women about Motherhood.” Journal of Comparative Family Studies, 41 (2): 205–24. Isaksen, L. W., U. Sambasivan, and A. R. Hochschild. 2008. “Global Care Crisis: A Problem of Capital, Care Chain, or Commons?” American Behavioral Scientist 52 (3): 405. Kelly, P. F. 2010. “Filipino Migration and the Spatialities of Labour Market Subordination.” In Handbook of Employment and Society: Working Space, edited by S. McGrath-Champ, A. Herod, and A. Rainnie, 159–76. London: Edward Elgar. Lan, P. 2003. “Maid or Madam? Filipina Migrant Workers and the Continuity of Domestic Labor.” Gender & Society 17 (2): 187–208. ———. 2008. “New Global Politics of Reproductive Labor: Gendered Labor and Marriage Migration.” Sociology Compass 2 (6): 1801–15. Licoppe, C. 2004. “‘Connected’ Presence: The Emergence of a New Repertoire for Managing Social Relationships in a Changing Communication Technoscape.” Environment and Planning 22 (1): 135–56. Lutz, H. 2002. “At Your Service Madam! The Globalization of Domestic Service.” Feminist Review 70: 89–104. Madianou, M. 2012. “Migration and the Accentuated Ambivalence of Motherhood: The Role of ICTs in Filipino Transnational Families.” Global Networks 12 (3): 277–95.

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CHAPTER 8 Man, Guida. 2004 “Chinese Immigrant Women in Canada: Examining Local and Transitional Networks.” In Chinese Women and Their Network Capital, Asian Women and Society Series, edited by K. E. Kuah-Pearce, 44–69. London: Marshall Cavendish International. Nicholson, M. 2006. “Without Their Children: Rethinking Motherhood among Transnational Migrant Women.” Social Text 24 (3): 13–33. Panagakos, A. N., and H. A. Horst. 2006. “Return to Cyberia: Technology and the Social Worlds of Transnational Migrants.” Global Networks 6 (2): 109–24. Parreñas, R. S. 2001a. “Transgressing the Nation-State: The Partial Citizenship and ‘Imagined (Global) Community’ of Migrant Filipina Domestic Workers.” Signs 26 (4): 1133–49. ———. 2001b. Servants of Globalization: Women, Migration and Domestic Work. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. ———. 2005. Children of Global Migration: Transnational Families and Gender Woes. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Peñaranda, C., and C. Ma. 2010. “‘I Hear You as if You Were Next Door’: Information and Communication Technology Uses in Transnational Migratory Contexts.” Athenea Digital 19. Peng, Y., and O. M. H. Wong. 2012. “Mothering from Afar: Filipina Domestic Workers and Their ICTs Usage in Hong Kong.” Shehui/Society: Chinese Journal of Sociology 32 (2): 199–222. Piper, N. 2003. “Feminization of Labor Migration as Violence Against Women: International, Regional, and Local Nongovernmental Organization Responses in Asia.” Violence Against Women 9 (6): 723–45. Pribilsky, J. 2004. “‘Aprendemos a Convivir’: Conjugal Relations, Co-parenting, and Family Life among Ecuadorian Transnational Migrants in New York City and the Ecuadorian Andes.” Global Networks 4 (3): 313–34. Rodriguez, E. R., and E. R. Tiongson. 2001. “Temporary Migration Overseas and Household Labor Supply: Evidence from Urban Philippines.” International Migration Review 35 (3): 709–25. Schmalzbauer, L. 2004. Striving and Surviving: A Daily Life Analysis of Honduran Transnational Families. Ph.D. thesis, Boston College. Stiell, B., and K. England. 1997. “Domestic Distinctions: Constructing Difference among Paid Domestic Workers in Toronto.” Gender, Place and Culture 4: 339–59. Tyner, J. 2004. Made in the Philippines: Gender Discourses and the Making of Migrants. London: Routledge. US Department of State. Bureau of East Asian and Pacific Affairs. (September, 2012.) U.S. Relations with the Philippines. http://www.state.gov/r/pa/ei/bgn/2794 .htm.

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TRANSNATIONAL MOTHERHOOD  RINA COHEN Vullnetari, J., and R. King. “‘Does Your Granny Eat Grass?’ On Mass Migration, Care Drain and the Fate of Older People in Rural Albania.” Global Networks 8 (2): 139–71. Wilding, R. 2006. “‘Virtual] Intimacies? Families Communicating across Transnational Contexts.” Global Networks 6 (2): 125–42. Wrigley, J. 2005. “Migration, Domestic Work, and Repression.” New Politics 10 (3): 132–37.

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PART III

Constructing Transnational Cultural Identities

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CHAPTER 9

LIVING UP TO EXPECTATIONS: 2ND- AND 1.5-GENERATION STUDENTS’ PURSUIT OF UNIVERSITY EDUCATION Leanne Taylor and Carl E. James

Research addressing the lives of first- and second-generation immigrants increasingly critiques traditional theories of immigration (including those on classic and segmented assimilation) for their tendency to conceptualize the movement and settlement of peoples as a linear process in which immigrants are seen as demonstrating a disconnect from their countries of origin (Kasinitz et al. 2002; Portes 1999; Satzewich and Wong 2006). This past research draws attention to the ways in which immigrants not only fit in, adapt, or “assimilate” into a new country but also how they identify and maintain relationships with their destination and origin countries (Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007; Plaza 2006; Portes and Rumbaut 2001). Such perspectives explore the ways that non-white immigrant youths strive to create particular identities that enable them to challenge, work with, and navigate the structures of society (James and Taylor 2008b; Kasinitz 1992; Levitt and Waters 2002; Nagel 1994; Portes and Rumbaut 2001). As university educators seeking to better meet the needs of a diverse student population and support students in achieving their educational and career aspirations, we are especially interested in and raise questions about the ways in which immigrant students experience their schooling, construct their aspirations, and pursue their opportunities. In this chapter, we explore the educational, familial, and community experiences of 1.5- and 2nd-generation1 students attending a Toronto university. They had applied for and had been accepted to a pilot program designed to help open up occupational and career paths for students from traditionally marginalized groups.2 The program provided financial, men-

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toring, and administrative support for students in their first three years of study while at university.3 We build our discussion on the students’ stories that we collected over a three-year period. Their stories tell of their ongoing educational, social, and familial experiences and how they negotiate and navigate the institution. Our focus here is on their evolving experiences as transnational students. We draw attention to how they framed their educational motivations, constructed and utilized their emerging identities, and identified and negotiated various familial and cultural contradictions that evolved for them while at university. Specifically, we ask: How do students’ ethnic identities play out in their higher education experiences, including their decision to attend university, their career choices, their perceptions of opportunities, future aspirations, and ongoing relationships with parents and community? We see the choices the students made as interconnected with transnational processes, which tells us further about the supports they draw on and might need in order to achieve their goals. Over three years, eighteen university students participated in the study.4 Each was expected to take part in life history interviews, follow-up interviews, and weekly group meetings (all of which were tape-recorded and transcribed). Participants were also asked to keep and submit to the research team personal journals in which they documented their ongoing experiences and concerns. Although we collected information for all students in the program, for the purpose of this chapter we explore the stories of five—Akwasi, Sam, Jasmine, Amy, and Tristana5—who represent a range of racial and ethnic backgrounds (Ghana, Portugal, Sri Lanka, Panama, and El Salvador, respectively). Significant in our decision to focus on these particular students is that they shared some common characteristics. All were the first in their immediate families to attend university, had immigrant parents, and were encouraged by their parents to attend university. Contextualizing Transnational Students: Identity, Family, and Educational Aspirations

We discuss students’ stories with an understanding of transnationalism as more complex and fluid than just the movement and connections of people across global spaces. Transnational perspectives, while implying “the regular and sustained engagement of persons in activities and networks that span societies of origin and settlement” (Plaza 2006, 213), also provide a useful lens to understand the experiences and aspirations of immigrant students who feel that they belong, identify with, and organize their daily lives across national boundaries (Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007). This

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is a process that, as Brittain (2002) explains, includes more than just the movement of capital, but also people and their social networks. They help us take into account how immigrants might adapt and make personal, family, and career decisions by drawing on and preserving their varied cultural networks, communities, and ties with their “home” countries. Research shows that migrants do not need to have contact with their country of origin or engage with traditional transnational practices to be considered transnational (Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007; Levitt and Glick Schiller 2004). Migrant groups who are linguistically, racially, and ethnically different from the dominant group in their host country may also have different transnational needs and priorities (different than those who may fit within the dominant racial, cultural, and linguistic landscape). Moreover, as Levitt and Glick Schiller (2004) contend, transnational practices can also include those who are non-migrant. We see this point as significant when discussing 1.5- and 2nd-generation youths who may not necessarily travel to their parents’ countries of origin and may not have clear memories of living in that country (if they ever did) but may still closely identify with and feel intensely committed to these countries, regions, or ethnic groups. The ways in which many 1.5- and 2nd-generation students understand their social worlds are also related to the hyphenated identities that many develop and that are intricately tied to their parents’ home country (Plaza 2006). Drawing on interviews with Caribbean immigrants in Canada, Plaza (2006, 213) points out that the generation-and-a-half and second-generation immigrants who grew up and were raised in Canadian transnational families and homes often felt “pulled in the direction of the mainstream culture but drawn back by cultures of their parents.” Such experiences may foster a sense of or need for what Sanchez (2007) describes as “world learning” and “cultural flexibility” since transnational students may operate in ways that challenge binary understandings of identity as “either-or” and remain flexible in their conceptions of identity. They do so by understanding themselves as affiliated with and drawing on multiple communities and traditions (all contributing to how they understand themselves, their aspirations, and their experiences). Cultural flexibility involves “belonging to two distant places” and includes the ability to “participate as members of multi-ethnic inner city neighbourhoods” while asserting “simultaneous multiple identities (not serial or sequential identities)” (2007, 509). In this way, flexibility or “dexterity” is often necessary for immigrant youths who balance their parents’ worlds with those in which they are growing up.

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In our conversations with students, the stories they shared of their parents point to what their parents taught them about their origin countries, about their reasons for migrating, and about the resulting expectations placed on them. In many ways, these youths seemed to understand why their parents may have had to leave (or flee) their home countries and the hardships they have endured as a result. Such a connection with parents, Sanchez explains, can allow youths to reduce “to a great degree the alienation or dissonant acculturation that many immigrant families experience” (Sanchez 2007, 509). Of significance to our discussion of these youths is what Yosso describes as aspirational, navigational, and resistant capital. While Yosso’s primary reference is to elementary and secondary levels of education, her discussion is useful in helping us to consider the ways that these children of immigrant parents may have entered university already equipped with a range of unrecognized cultural capital and community support. Her concept recognizes that there are multiple sources of value and forms of cultural capital that marginalized groups bring to the table that traditional cultural capital theory does not recognize or value (Yosso 2005, 77). Aspirational capital refers to a form of resiliency found in groups and “refers to the ability to maintain hopes and dreams for the future, even in the face of real and perceived barriers.” For example, aspirational capital can be found among parents who encourage their children, and who strive themselves, to achieve goals “beyond their present circumstances” (Yosso 2005, 78). This capital is often nurtured through the promise of education. Navigational capital refers to “the ability to maneuver through institutions not created with Communities of Color in mind” (80). Yosso explains that this form of capital draws on one’s various social networks and “acknowledges individual agency within institutional constraints” as “People of Color draw on various social and psychological ‘critical navigational skills’ to maneuver through structures of inequality permeated by racism” (80). Resistant capital is a form of cultural wealth that recognizes the structures of racism shaping individuals’ lives and encompasses the “knowledges and skills fostered through oppositional behaviour that challenges inequality” (80). Yosso explains that resistance is strengthened when individuals are able to draw on the other forms of capital (i.e., linguistic, familial, navigational, etc.) and when parents “consciously [instruct] their children to engage in behaviours and maintain attitudes that challenge the status quo” (81). Interestingly, resistance is not always represented by “oppositional behaviour, such as self-defeating or conformist strategies that feed back into

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the system of subordination.” Resistance can also be transformative when individuals are aware of and recognize “the structural nature of oppression” and are consequently motivated “to work toward social and racial justice” (81). Informed by these perspectives, the remainder of the chapter unpacks students’ experiences along three central themes that emerged over the course of our conversations with them: (1) parental and community expectations and educational aspirations; (2) how students asserted their identities (including their sense of the role of culture, community, race, and racism) and strategically drew on them in ways that helped them navigate university and shape their educational and career aspirations; and (3) the resulting conflicts, costs, and contradictions that arose for them as a result. “Something That Nobody Could Take Away from Us”: Fulfilling Expectations

Through the socialization of their immigrant parents, many young people come to accept that education is what will afford them access to the opportunities they seek in order to succeed in this society (Forcese 1997; James and Haig-Brown 2001; Lopez 2002). To this end, many immigrant youths aspire to attend university, rather than college, believing that a university education will best position them for social and economic mobility in the society (Fuligni 1998; James and Taylor 2008b). Similarly, the students involved in the project spoke clearly about the influence their parents had on their motivations for seeking out and attending university. Akwasi, born in Ghana, moved to Canada when he was eight years old where he lived with his single mother. Akwasi explained that for his mom, who emigrated for Akwasi’s opportunities, these opportunities did not and should not include basketball (something Akwasi played often in high school and for which he had achieved success and won trophies). As Akwasi understood it, “That’s why she is here. She came here and she saw me playing basketball a couple years back and she was like ‘I didn’t come over here in this cold weather for you to play ball.’ She kept telling me that.” Akwasi’s mother’s comments signal the views of many immigrants who come to new countries like Canada with the hopes that their children will achieve success and attain a “better” life (James and Taylor 2008a; 2008b) and so many spoke about the influence their parents had on their motivations for seeking out and attending university. Amy, who is Chinese, the eldest of three children, and the only one among her siblings to have been born in Panama, was similarly influenced

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by her parents’ expectations and their recognition that success would be impossible in her birth country, a belief that precipitated their move to Canada when Amy was seven years old. As she explained, her mother’s “happiness comes from the fact that we’re educated here and in this beautiful world Canada and not in Panama where you have a university degree and you’re working in a restaurant. Because my cousins and my aunts all of them work in night clubs and bars—so you don’t really go anywhere.” Similarly, Sam, who is Portuguese and born in Canada, spoke of his parents, with whom he lived while attending university, as concentrating on his obtaining a university degree. He recognized the sacrifices his parents made for him in order to “give us all the opportunities that they probably never had” because, as he explained, “no one from our side of the family in Portugal has that level of education.” Although his eldest (and only) sister (born in Portugal) had attended college for one year, she dropped out after her first year. Thus, Sam’s parents, particularly his father, seemed to direct their focus on him and wanted Sam to be “something really high up there” like a doctor or lawyer that is “high class, with a nice big job.” Jasmine, who was born in Sri Lanka, moved to Canada when she was thirteen years old and is the eldest of three girls who all live with their single, divorced mother. For Jasmine, who was also dealing with challenges from her own divorce at age twenty—having married young and been a victim of an abusive relationship—education was an opportunity she did not take lightly. It was also one her mother had always stressed as important to her family and to the broader Sri Lankan community, especially as a family of women. Tristana, whose family is from El Salvador, spoke strongly about the sacrifices her single mother made for her family. The youngest of three girls (and the only one born in Canada), Tristana told us that her mom worked long hours running a hair and aesthetics salon in a low-income community downtown in order to support her children. She did so with the understanding that as “Hispanic women” her daughters will face significant challenges and barriers without a university degree. As Tristana explained: My mom would rather completely lose all the money she has so we can go to school. She values it a lot because it’s something that she knows that nobody could take away from us, and it’s something that she knows we will need in the future. We need to depend on ourselves and in order to do that we need our education basically. Because you are not going to get ahead as a woman without a degree.

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The reasons students sought to fulfill parents’ expectations were also intricately tied to their family’s transnational connections, including a recognition of the struggles that followed the move, relationships with extended family members abroad, the appreciation of the possibilities Canada presented that would have been less possible elsewhere, and a desire to make families and communities proud regardless of whether they had ever been or returned to their parents’ country(ies) of origin. This aspirational capital, interconnected with their sense of their parents’ desires, was shaped by a tacit understanding of expectations that were further reflected in their communities. As Tristana explained, sometimes the expectations were just “understood” and “unspoken.” She felt that rather than feeling direct pressure from her mother, her desire to seek out university was instead “conditioned” through witnessing her mother’s values, belief systems, past experiences, and ongoing sacrifices and struggles. All was intertwined with their desire to fulfill their parents’ expectations and give a good “return” on the financial and cultural investments and sacrifices their parents had made over the years. So while university was a way of building individual careers, it was also seen as potentially raising their family’s social and community status, ties and bonds, knowledge, and cultural capital. For example, Akwasi’s mother encouraged him to pursue education and a profession that would be seen as respected in the larger Ghanaian community, something she could also communicate to her family back “home” in Ghana. The broader African community was significant in helping to shape these expectations and how Akwasi understood and responded to them. Not only was Akwasi living up to his mother’s expectations (and understanding the sacrifices she had made for him by coming to this country), but he was also living up to what he believed were “African expectations” (specifically Ghanaian). This was something that his mother passed on, particularly since Akwasi had not been to Ghana since he left at age eight. He explained that while his extended family would acknowledge his athletic basketball successes, ultimately it was education that mattered most. His understanding of “African culture” was that many “strive to be professionals,” explaining that “it’s an African thing” and that “you could be the biggest star on the ball court, on the entertainment field, anything, [but if] you go back home [and] if you have the degree, you’re this, you’re known as that.” Thus, Akwasi’s success would mean that his mother would be known as the “lawyer’s mother” or the “doctor’s mother.” Similarly, Tristana noted that she was influenced by a desire to represent her family and ethnic community. Attending university was akin to “being

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part of a movement” such that “even the act of filling out my name for the application for university” was part of that movement. Tristana’s sister reinforced this view, telling her, “You owe it to me and you owe it to your history and who you are … to being a woman and to being Spanish.… You owe it not to yourself but to who you are.” Tristana came to understand that her presence in university was significant because it was important “just being there” regardless of what one learns. The desire to “give back” to their communities was also reflected in various students’ experiences and their sense of themselves, signalling how being able to represent their communities in university also helped them to strengthen family ties, meet expectations, and make family proud. Being a university student was something that allowed Tristana to, as she put it, “become a part of my family” and assert her place in her family. “Knowing Yourself Is Powerful”: Asserting Identities and Navigating University

The ways in which students spoke of their shifting identities and their evolving understanding of themselves as either 1.5- or 2nd-generation immigrants seemed significant in how they sought to fulfill their aspirations. Their cultural and ethnic backgrounds became strengths and university became a forum for many to express their identity and appreciate its value and utility. Wanting to carve out a place in the university, students asserted aspects of themselves that they felt were both unique and able to also link them with others. University also helped them to figure out and utilize their transnational locations and ties (including the expectations of their parents) and move toward viable, important, and meaningful careers and lives. These connections to their parents and to their countries of origin in turn became an important form of navigational capital that informed the strategies they employed in their attempt to make their way through the institution. Ostensibly, they came to appreciate that as transnational, racialized, and marginalized individuals, they could not find success (in school or in communities) by adhering to singular or dualistic understandings of culture or themselves. Seeing value in their parents’ cultures (which motivated them to attend university) but aware of their individual experiences (having grown up in Canada, for the most part), they sought to assert the heterogeneity of their identities while in university. For example, Sam explained how he resisted groups that seemed exclusionary or one-sided. He told us that the university’s “Multicultural Week”

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was “too country based” and exclusionary because it forced him to “choose” a singular aspect of his Portugueseness. I think it should be more including of other cultures as well. Because if you’re Canadian and you already have a mixed background, so being here, you’re part of this country and this country, so what culture are you so you don’t belong to one specific one, you belong to all sorts. So we’re starting to develop our own culture here. It’s just so confusing for me to think of multicultural week…

Sam was negotiating the differences he was observing between his more traditional Portuguese experiences at home (which he valued) and those expressed at school (which he also wanted to be a part of). And as Tristana explained, being Hispanic in Canada meant she saw the importance of campus cultural clubs to “kind of stress culture because you don’t want to just conform and just be Canadian. You want to be a part of your culture and you want to share that with people.” The idea of being “just Canadian” reflects a common assumption that Canadianness is “culture-free” and suggests that despite multiculturalism policy some students did not see Canada as necessarily respecting or responding to their cultural needs, interests, or experiences. However, they saw the university as providing them with opportunities to assert their identities as well as to see what other forms of cultural expression were possible and in what ways that could be different from their own communities and families. For example, they had seen and heard about the ways their parents and community members struggled and made sacrifices for their education (e.g., moving to Canada, working long hours, offering financial assistance) and had come to understand these experiences as part of their parents’ culture—experiences they may not have easily connected with but still respected. At university, students shared how they started to learn about different experiences within their broader social networks and cultural communities. For example, they spoke of how they were exposed to a range of cultural activities on campus and engaged with people “doing big things.” Through these experiences, they found new ways to assert their cultural, racial, and ethnic identities while maintaining connections with their parents’ countries of origin. Akwasi’s shifts in identity while in university are especially illustrative of this cultural flexibility. Akwasi’s sense of himself as Ghanaian, while also experienced through his mother’s recounting of her experiences and her

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attempts to instill cultural practices and values into her son, evolved while in university. Akwasi sought out and became involved in the Black Lawyers’ Association on campus, took interest in African studies and politics (even researching the possibility of spending a year in Ghana through a university program), and spent time at the African Canadian Legal Clinic where he met an African-Canadian woman (the first Black woman, Akwasi told us, to “head the law area”), who became a mentor and encouraged him to pursue law. Seeing other “black and brown and mixed” people “doing big things” and who were “focused” influenced his sense of himself as a Black African male, inspired him to learn more about Black history and Black people, and gave him “instant confidence” to do well. By the second year of university, he had changed his name from Lewis to Akwasi and had returned to Ghana on vacation with his mother at age twenty (the first return since he left at age eight). When asked why he decided to visit Ghana after all these years, he told us that the trip was in part to see his estranged father and family but was also an attempt to connect with a place he felt was also “home.” As he explained, “I really wanted to go back and see what it was like, everybody else had gone and I hadn’t gone. It’s home, you know—I wanted to go and see home.” Tristana similarly spoke of her identity as shifting in university—an identity informed by her awareness and experiences growing up as a child of an immigrant. It was in part a recognition that, as she put it, “you have to work harder to be accepted, or else you can be excluded.” As she explained, “University is more than just getting a job. I think university has given me experience in which I define my identity and became comfortable with myself.… What I mean exactly is that the analytical skills I’m learning are allowing me to more clearly understand the circumstances and all aspects of my life.” Thus students’ identities and different associations on campus became instrumental to how they came to navigate the institution. Specifically, their sense of themselves as transnational and as connected to a country of origin became key factors in the careers they ultimately chose, the volunteer work they pursued, the courses they took, and their ongoing sense of what they felt was the value of education. It also helped them deal with feelings of isolation, bolstered their confidence, and helped them define and carry out what they understood as their civic responsibility as education became a “revolutionary” and “empowering” resource. We see this as a form of resistant capital. Students drew on their various cultural, community, and familial strengths and developed attitudes that helped them challenge norms

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and what they saw as oppressive structures and social and racial injustice. For example, Sam chose the path of environmental studies and volunteered for an organization that provided fresh fruit and vegetables (food boxes) to local families, many of whom were Portuguese and who may not have had regular and affordable access to fresh and nutritious food. Akwasi sought out law and spoke of his desire to be involved in African Canadian legal issues in an effort to gain skills to help his community. Tristana sought out sociology as a way of creating change for herself, her family, and her community, explaining that “university provides me insight into social issues.” Thus she sought to network with various marginalized people and connect them with those in what she saw as the dominant group to help create opportunities. Sam, Tristana, and Akwasi, guided by their shifting identities (which evolved to recognize the challenges that they and others face as racial and ethnic minorities), spoke of themselves as bridges between the dominant group and other marginalized groups. Put differently, over time, these students came to utilize their knowledge of themselves as capital that held possibilities. As Tristana phrased it, “Knowing yourself is powerful” and “revolutionary.” Working through the system with a sense of “who you are” (racially, culturally, and in relation to one’s parents, to their countries of origin, and to larger society) is what drove them forward. Tristana explained that engaging in dialogue in university about her experiences really helped me feel like, you know, I’m not lonely and I’m not isolated … it’s all about knowing yourself, like I told you before. Knowing yourself is powerful; knowing who you are and your insecurities, your fears, your anxieties and also then the second part of it is talking about it. You know what I mean? Because if you talk about it it’s revolutionary because someone else in the same room has the same opinion as you and then you start something.

Tristana strove to make important connections, recognizing through her experiences that she is not merely an individual but a vehicle for social change. As transnational students, aware of barriers they faced and that were felt in their communities, they saw themselves as having a responsibility to make changes and give back. Their burgeoning identities and sense of civic responsibility were influenced by their relationships with their communities (at home and on campus), shaped their responses to larger concerns of equity and social justice, and informed the educational and career aspirations they ultimately chose.

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CHAPTER 9 “Huge Pressure on Us”: Costs, Challenges and Contradictions

Students’ evolving identities, assertions of community and family pride, and attempts to fulfill aspirations did not come without a cost. Challenges arose despite parents’ hopes and expectations for their children and despite the ways that students sought to assert their identities and move through university in ways that seemed to balance their understanding of home with new experiences at school. In particular, being able to relate to their family, whether through language, on an intellectual level, or by communicating the support they felt they needed, grew increasingly difficult as they continued in school. For example, while many students’ parents were pleased that their children were in university and had high expectations for their success, many still placed high demands on their children at home that ultimately created added pressures. Some students felt that their parents were often unaware of or unconcerned with what they actually needed to succeed in university. For example, Jasmine worked part time while at school to offset her tuition and to support the household. She explained, My mom thinks I am not supporting my family in a financial way. I am trying my very best to negotiate and tried pleasing her. It is hard. I am always stressed out when it comes to family and education. I have to [do] good in school. I don’t have any OSAP [Ontario Student Assistance Program]. money to support my studies. I am trying my best to finish my courses with decent marks so that my money I am spending tuition on will not go in vain.

Jasmine explained that the many expectations of the Sri Lankan community place a “huge pressure” on her family, particularly as both Jasmine and her mother are divorced. As the eldest, she felt added pressure from her mother, who did not seem to understand the time needed to study, often remarking (when she saw Jasmine studying), “What are you studying for? Ph.D.?” Jasmine explained that “my mom she has huge pressure on us that ‘oh, your dad left us now it’s your duties and you’re responsible to get higher education, you have to study.’ I somehow turned out to be the wonder woman—I have to do everything to please her.” Sam also expressed a similar tension at home—one that became more complex as he went through school. Despite the fact that his parents were proud that he was in university (recall that his sister attended college for only a year and then dropped out, leaving Sam’s parents to put their attention on his success), they struggled to understand the types of supports

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he needed at home. In a journal entry Sam wrote, “My family, I’d thought, would play a major role in my school life. But I was wrong. They don’t ask how I’m doing or if I have any problems.” He described the following as an example of some of the contradictions and challenges he faced: Early today at 3 a.m. I was finishing typing a six-page essay and I was so happy that it was almost done, [then] the power went off. Guess what! I lost some of the work but the reason the power went off really hurt me. My DAD had turned off the power because he believed I was spending too much time on the computer and making far too much noise. If you ask anyone at that house except my dad I was not making a peep. I wasn’t even printing anything. I hate my father at times. I had to help him Thursday and do him favours and I told him I had a lot of homework to do and he said don’t worry—whatever—and then he pulls something like this! What am I supposed to do? I can’t afford to live on my own.

Both Jasmine and Sam (and many of these students) entered university expecting that their family would be more supportive. Given their parents’ high expectations and intentions that they seek out postsecondary education, they naturally assumed parents would also help them in that process. But they learned that their families, though well intentioned, could not always provide the kinds of supports they needed and, as a result, inadvertently created more barriers. Part of the shifts in their family relationships is connected to their deepening awareness of racism and their expanding language to communicate it. Many explained that as they went through university and learned more about injustices and racism they felt more compelled to speak out against it, something that created challenges for them at home. Sam spoke of how he now noticed the racist remarks at home: “I remember hearing ‘Chinese are going to take over Canada’ or something, you know. And as a kid I didn’t really think about it and went with it—‘Okay, there’s too many Chinese people, or something like that,’ you know, and then when I grew up it just started bugging me and I’m like, ‘Why do you guys make fun of different cultures, you know.’” To Sam, his parents “come from the old world,” which he felt made them less likely to appreciate multiculturalism and diversity, when, as he says, his “dad is attached to the whole Portuguese culture that it’s hard to detach him from.” Finally, other challenges include negotiating the growing realization that their increasing education may present a threat to parents and to their

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community. In addition to family responsibilities and the cultural lag that students felt, other contradictions included their growing realization that asserting their transnational identities risked creating new challenges. They realized that they may face additional barriers and challenges due to aspects of their racial and ethnic background, appearance, and beliefs. Akwasi explained a contradiction he felt when he decided to grow his hair and wear it in braids. His choice of hairstyle was in part an expression of his developing Ghanaian identity and growing connections with members of Toronto’s Black community. However, Akwasi also understood the stereotypes, challenges, and discrimination associated with particular images of black males, including violence and crime (James 2005), and thus wondered what barriers he might face if he continued to wear braids. I thought my biggest barrier would be my hair. The style and the way I do it—it’s not going to be accepted. If I left it out, they’d look at me funny. If I go into a courtroom will I be taken seriously if I have the braids? Will I get a job with braids? There’s a lot of discrimination against dreads in the workplace. There are people who have been forced to cut their dreads and stuff and had to go to court.

Similarly, Tristana explained in a journal entry that she was learning more of her precarious position as a “Hispanic woman”: “As a side note, I’ve also realized that people don’t especially like forward or strong people and when these characteristics are in women, people are more offended; so in classes I often have to hold back from talking even though I really [don’t] want to.” And for Sam, he spoke of how he will not get into more heated arguments with his family, especially his dad, because “they see things one way and I see things another way. So now in my house, I have complete freedom, and they know they’re not going to get through to me; and they have the threat that I’m higher educated so I should know more too, so they respect that.” A number of the students felt they were becoming distanced from their parents and expressed guilt for not being more fluent in their parents’ language, for getting more education than their parents knowing what they had sacrificed, for seeing and learning things that their parents did not understand, for approaching their parents’ cultures differently than what their parents might have expected for them, and for wanting “more.” Despite their parents’ hopes and aspirations for their children, these contradictions remained; the challenges students faced reflect their struggles to balance a host of ongoing pressures, expectations, and realities.

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LIVING UP TO EXPECTATIONS  LEANNE TAYLOR AND CARL E. JAMES Conclusion

What should these students’ experiences mean for us as educators? What do we need to know? The students’ stories tell us how they attempted to live up to expectations—those they felt were placed on them by their families and communities, as well as the expectations they placed on themselves as they tried to find balance between their home/family and schooling experiences and their evolving identities and sense of themselves as students from immigrant families. What comes up time and time again is a desire to negotiate the differences between themselves and their parents. For students, living a transnational life is about drawing on navigational, aspirational, and resistant capital; being culturally flexible; drawing on transnational ties to succeed in Canadian society; and using various skills learned in other aspects of society (e.g., university). As educators, we need to think about supporting transnational students who, as these stories show, may be attempting to find balance in their educational pursuits, may be experiencing various contradictions and challenges in their families and communities, and may not have the supports we would expect or hope they would have. For example, the various cultural clubs and associations on campus may offer a significant sense of not only community and attachment to their parents’ cultures, but also are supports on which they can draw as they seek to articulate their cultural identities in ways that may not always be possible at home. Educators must recognize that universities are not only places where students seek knowledge and obtain credentials but can also play an important role in helping to bridge the divide between students and their parents and communities. We conclude with the observation that while the educational needs and aspirations of all students are intricately linked to their financial, cultural, familial, and social circumstances, for students of immigrant parents, the relationship between these factors needs special attention if these students are to participate in university and to graduate. How we address the ways in which students traverse their cultural contexts and how they construct aspirations and expectations are things we need to think of as being complex and not a linear process. In other words, it is not just about the fact that parents came here for success. Children take inspiration from their parents’ aspirations and construct their identities in productive ways that might be mutually beneficial. Thus trying to carve out their own path, they are aware of the potential challenges and contradictions that they might face in doing so. Ultimately, it seems that while these students are acculturating themselves into the Canadian context they still have to maintain broad cultural

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ties. For many of these students, their working-class background mediated their transnational identities. We call for further research that explores more closely the experiences of middle-class transnational students. Notes 1. The term “2nd generation” refers to people who were born in Canada to immigrant parents. While they would have been raised and educated in a Canadian environment, they may still have close connections with various aspects of their parents’ country of origin. The term “1.5 generation” (also termed “generation and a half ”) refers to those who moved to Canada as youths, usually when they were between eight and twelve years of age and likely to have some memory of their country of origin. 2. “Bridging the Solitudes” is a Community University Research Alliance project funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council. The project was approved by York University’s Human Participants Review Sub-Committee and followed the usual ethics procedures. 3. Although students did not receive academic credit for their involvement,

they were given honoraria for participating in the project as well as for attending regular research meetings called the “Common Hour.” The Common Hour, facilitated by Leanne Taylor, provided participants a space to interact with each other; build relationships; initiate and maintain contact with mentors, advisors, faculty, and administrators; and share their ongoing and shifting experiences at university. Everyone was aware of the research component of the Common Hours and signed consent forms. Each meeting was tape-recorded and transcribed.

4. There were two cohorts with nine students per cohort. Selected students were chosen based on the determination that due to their barriers they would likely not have been able to attend university without the support the program provided. While students still needed to meet the university’s academic entrance requirements, once admitted, they were able to participate in whatever program and courses they chose. 5. These names are pseudonyms.

References Brittain, C. 2002. Transnational Messages: Experiences of Chinese and Mexican Immigrants in American Schools. New York, NY: LFB Scholarly. Forcese, D. 1997. The Canadian Class Structure. Fourth edition. Scarborough, ON: McGraw‐Hill Ryerson.

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LIVING UP TO EXPECTATIONS  LEANNE TAYLOR AND CARL E. JAMES Fuligni, A. J. 1998. “Adolescents from Immigrant Families.” In Studying Minority Adolescents: Conceptual, Methodological and Theoretical Issues, edited by V. C. McLoyd and L. Steinberg, 127–43. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Goldring, L., and S. Krishnamurti, eds. 2007. Organizing the Transnational: Labour, Politics, and Social Change. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. James, C. E. 2005. “Constructing Aspirations: The Significance of Community in the Schooling Lives of Children of Immigrants.” In Learning, Teaching and Community, edited by L. Pease‐Alvarez and S. Schecter, 217–33. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. James, C. E., and C. Haig-Brown. 2001. “‘Returning the Dues’: Community and the Personal in a University/School Partnership.” Urban Education 36 (3): 226–55. James, C. & Taylor, L. 2008a. “Beating the Odds and Making Their Way in University: The Case of Three Females of Immigrant Parents.” Interchange: A Quarterly Review of Education 39 (2): 221-244. James, C., and L. Taylor. 2008b. “Education Will Get You to the Station: Marginalized Students’ Experiences and Perceptions of Merit in Accessing University.” Canadian Journal of Education 31 (3): 567–90. Kasinitz, P. 1992. Caribbean New York: Black Immigrants and the Politics of Race. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Kasinitz, P., M. Waters, J. Mollenkopf, and M. Anil. 2002. “Transnationalism and the Children of Immigrants in Contemporary New York.” In The Changing Face of Home: The Transnational Lives of the Second Generation, edited by P. Levitt and M. Waters, 96–122. New York, NY: Russell Sage Foundation. Levitt, P., and N. Glick Schiller. 2004. “Transnational Perspectives on Migration: Conceptualizing Simultaneity.” International Migration Review 37: 847–74. Levitt, P., and M. C. Waters. 2002. “Introduction.” In The Changing Face of Home, edited by P. Levitt and M. C. Waters, 1–30. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Lopez, N. 2002. “Race‐Gender Experiences and Schooling: Second‐Generation Dominican, West Indian, and Haitian Youth in New York City.” Race, Ethnicity and Education 5 (1): 67–89. Nagel, J. 1994. “Constructing Ethnicity: Creating and Recreating Ethnic Identity and Culture.” Social Problems 41: 152–76. Plaza, D. 2006. “The Construction of a Segmented Hybrid Identity among Oneand-a-Half-Generation and Second Generation Indo-Caribbean and AfricanCaribbean Canadians.” Identity: An International Journal of Theory and Research 6 (3): 207–29. Portes, A. 1999. “Conclusion: Towards a New World: The Origins and Effects of Transnational Activities.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 22 (2): 463–77.

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CHAPTER 9 Portes, A., and R. Rumbaut. 2001. Legacies: The Story of the New Second Generation. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Sanchez, P. 2007. “Urban Immigrant Students: How Transnationalism Shapes Their World Learning.” Urban Review 39 (5): 489–517. Satzewich, V., and L. Wong, eds. 2006. Transnational Identities and Practices in Canada. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Yosso, T. J. 2005. “Whose Culture Has Capital? A Critical Race Theory Discussion of Community Wealth.” Race, Ethnicity and Education 8 (1): 69–91.

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THE FAMILY, RELIGION, AND THE RETERRITORIALIZATION OF CULTURE WITHIN THE SOUTH ASIAN DIASPORA Lina Samuel

The process of changing homelands and the experience of settlement and adaptation to new environments are mediated through institutions such as the family and religion. I argue that the connections and commitments to the family and the larger church community are enabling, as well as constraining, for the respondents in the study. Migrant attachments and identification with the homeland (both old and new) undergo specific strains and transformations when second-generation children mature, and institutions such as the family and religion play a central role in how this interaction between the first and second generation unfolds. South Asians,1 in general, have been coming to Canada since the early 1900s and there have been a number of studies that have examined their immigration patterns and experiences (Buchignani, Indra, and Srivastava 1985; de Lepervanche 1984). There have also been some insightful studies that focus on women in the South Asian diaspora (Brah 1996; Das DasGupta 1998; Dhruvarajan 1991, 1992, 1996; Ghosh 1979, 1981; Handa 2003; Joshi 2000; Naidoo 1980, 1985a, 1985b, 1987; Ralston 1991, 1996 ). However, there has been minimal research on the Syrian Orthodox Christian Community2 of Kerala, India. This group, originating from the state of Kerala, is unique for a number of reasons.3 The region of Kerala holds a very distinct position in the developing world. From the 1950s to the present, the state has been governed, except for short intervals, by the Communist (Marxist) Party, a government that is recognized as having brought radical changes to the masses of Kerala. These changes include very important land reform and redistributive polices that have successfully channelled resources into

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key areas such as housing, health care, and education (Franke and Chasin 1991). The policies implemented by democratically elected governments have brought very significant changes in overall living conditions for the Keralite population (Parayil 1996). Historically, the Syrian Christians flourished under British colonialism (from the eighteenth century) and advanced in English education, and a large majority of graduates went on to become professionals and administrators in colonial British institutions (Kurien 2002, 52). The Christian community of Kerala provides the state with 90% of its nurses and a majority of nurses working throughout the other states of India (Mohan 1990). The Christian community educates and sends nurses around the world to countries that actively recruit nursing professionals. In India, according to Percot (2006), nursing training has increased, particularly in the private sector as nursing labour markets continue to open in both the West and in the Persian Gulf countries. All the respondents in the study trace their origins to the Syrian Christian Church of India, and a majority of first-generation respondents entered Canada as nursing professionals. Patriarchal traditions and gender ideologies, brought from the home country, are both reinforced and challenged here in the host country. The narratives of the respondents point in particular to the role of the family and the church in defining and limiting the migrant experience. The study is rooted in gendered experiences and how individual experiences of migration and settlement are shaped by larger institutional and structural relations such as the economy, the family, and religious beliefs. The migration experience itself plays a central role in strengthening institutions such as the family and religion in the lives of individual migrants. There is an intergenerational shift in how individuals respond to and incorporate obligations that stem from the family and the larger church community. This paper examines the key role of the family and religion in framing the migration and settlement experiences of migrants from Kerala. Both these institutions are glorified and are seen to set them apart not only from the dominant community but from the larger South Asian community. Culture and Migration and Identity

The movement of people across boundaries has challenged traditional perceptions of culture, which were seen to inhabit a specific place and time. Cultures were understood as developing in a particular territory under specific conditions, separate from other cultures (Papastergiadis 2000, 103–104). The “deterritorialization of culture” refers to the attachments

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individuals and groups have to different and diverse communities despite not sharing a common territory with other members of the same group (Papastergiadis 2000, 115). The process of reterritorialization extends this argument by focusing on the ways in which institutions, such as the family and religion, recreate these communities in new territorial spaces. The research in particular examines the role of religious and familial ideology in the “reterritorialization” of migrant diasporic cultural identity. The research reveals the importance of the Syrian Orthodox church in not only grounding religious values and beliefs, but strengthening the role of the family in the socialization of migrant children. The crisis of identity and identification is a central theme in the contemporary discussion of culture. How do migrant groups create and transfer a particular set of symbols and beliefs within the diaspora? Further, how are notions of culture and migrant identity negotiated within the diasporic context? The making of identity is very much linked to the making of culture. The ways in which diasporic and racialized identities are constructed is dependent on how culture is incorporated and how the group itself is inserted into the country of settlement. Because the respondents in the study come from a region of India with progressive social development policies and follow the dominant religious tradition of the host country (Christianity), one might assume that their attempts to reinvent identity are less traumatic than those who come from other parts of the world. Their social positioning back in Kerala and their high levels of formal education set the stage for an easier transition into dominant Canadian society. The research points to the ways in which patriarchal traditions and gender ideologies, brought from the home country, are both reinforced and challenged here in the host country. The structures of male dominance (which are supported through the larger institutions of the family and religion) play a central part in how the immigrant experience unfolds and how identities are constructed. Culture, Community, and Social Capital

Classical theorists like Durkheim (1995 [1912]) and Weber (1949) provide a conceptual framework and methodological tool for understanding the role of institutions and culture in the lives of individuals and larger groups. For immigrants, religious beliefs, values, and cultural practices establish a way in which individuals come together; there is a collective conscience that is at the centre of these groups and allows them to form collectives in new spaces. The Weberian method of understanding (and prioritizing) interpre-

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tative subjective meanings enables the researcher to understand individual motives and individual rationales for maintaining, transforming, or rejecting certain cultural beliefs and practices. Cultural practices and expectations are interpreted by the individual and internalized by the group. More contemporary writings on culture extend the discussion by examining the impact and ramifications of culture. Bourdieu’s (1990) discussion on social capital is relevant for this context. For migrants, capital, in all its many forms (economic, social, cultural, and symbolic), acts as a resource to help them advance in society. For Bourdieu, social capital plays a key role in the production and reproduction of inequality in capitalist society (1990). Further, Bourdieu’s work forces us to think about how social positioning and underlying issues of race, class, and gender influence individuals’ or group access to social resources, which are necessary in modern society. The important networks that emerge from family connections are a key form of social capital for new immigrants. For migrant families, the larger extended kin group served to assist migrating individuals in finding housing and employment, gaining access and information to social services, and learning essential life skills in the new country. The family plays an important and continuous supporting role in the migration experience. Social capital, thus, can be understood as a resource (Bourdieu 1990) that individuals possess, but as well, social capital can take the form of networks of cooperation and reciprocity (Putnam 2000). According to Faist (2000, 102–103), social capital has two functions. As a resource for individuals and groups, social capital serves to open doors for people. Second, social capital can facilitate cooperation among members of the same groups or across diverse groups. Social capital can act to connect people to networks, groups, and organizations and allows for the integration of groups through shared social and symbolic (cultural) ties. Among the Malayali4 diaspora, migrant life stories reflect both dimensions of social capital. Social capital in the form of family relationships, networks, and community connections can act to increase social mobility in the larger society. Putnam (2000) argues that community engagement is central to the building of collective goods such as mutual support, cooperation, trust, and institutional effectiveness. In relation to this present study of migrant diasporic identity, such forms of capital can encourage, either by choice or necessity, inwardlooking tendencies and can reinforce exclusive identities and homogenous group affiliation (Putnam 2000, 22). Capital in this form also has negative implications and can work to limit and confine life choices and reinforce patriarchal structures that women in particular attempt to overcome.

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The experiences of this group force us to think about how immigrants from a former British colony who have embraced the religious traditions of the West (Christianity) and the dominant middle-class notions of success maintain linkages with the old and, further, how do these attachments and feelings of belonging manifest themselves in their host society. Transnationalism and the Keralite Diaspora

The Keralite diaspora can be seen as a modern-day movement of people. Contemporary writings on transnationalism focus on the movement of peoples that are “contiguous rather than scattered” (Van Hear 1998, 6). Transnational social spaces centre on the continued connection between two or more regions, and this flow of migrants is no longer seen as linear but is circular and multidirectional (Faist 2000, 12–13). The literature on transnationalism focuses on individuals who, having left “home,” are engaged in continuous movement across borders and who then maintain and sustain social, economic, and cultural contact with the sending and receiving countries (Wong 2007). The process of transnationalism encourages the development of hybrid identities (Cohen 1997, 157; Satzewich and Wong 2003, 376), as well as multiple and fluid identities. Transnationalism conceptually attempts to account for new immigrant identities and the emergence of new immigrant communities within the context of a global capitalist system (Kivisto 2001). Immigrants, of both the past and present, show concern and involvement in both their home and host countries. What is unique now is the intensity and level of these involvements. Communities that do not share the nearness of space form other non-spatial linkages and connections through exchange, reciprocity, and solidarity to achieve a high degree of social cohesion and a commonly held basket of symbolic and collective goods (Kivisto 2001, 569). Methodology and Respondent Profile

The study is based on the responses of sixty-four individuals, all residing in the Greater Toronto Area (GTA). I used a semi-structured questionnaire. While the questionnaire had a structured set of questions, I encouraged respondents to tell me their “stories” and not be constrained by a set of questions. Fifty women and fourteen men, between the ages of twenty and seventy-one, were interviewed. All the individuals trace their origin to Kerala. In addition to formal interviews, I also had informal conversations with two priests from two of the largest churches in the GTA and two leaders of community cultural organizations.

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There were a number of steps involved in gaining contact with potential respondents. My first meetings were with the priests of two the largest churches in the GTA. Both priests put me in touch with adult members as well as youths from their church communities. My research began with a snowball survey originally sourced from these two priests. I also contacted the University Malayali Students Association and met with two youth members. I used a combination of purposive sampling and snowball sampling techniques. With the purposive technique, I relied on my own as well as the priest’s ability to select women and men who were “representative” or “typical” of the population. With an understanding of the general population, I phoned members who appeared suitable for the study. Initially I spoke with anyone who was willing to participate as long as they were over the age of eighteen. The snowball technique was also used as meeting with women and men led to further contacts and referrals to other members of the community who were interested in participating. The respondents are divided into three groupings or cohorts. The First Generation Cohort (seventeen respondents) arrived between 1965 and mid-1977. The Second Generation Cohort (twenty-six respondents) were children of the first generation. Finally, the Third Cohort is newer immigrants to Canada who arrived between 1993 and 2005 (twenty-one respondents). In the First Generation Cohort, all, except for two women who came with their husbands and young children and one man who came after marrying a nurse, were nurses who immigrated as independents responding to a labour need in Canada for nursing professionals. The average age for the first-generation respondents is 65.9 years of age. The fifteen nurses in the respondent group were all educated in nursing schools in India and soon after finishing their work requirements moved to New Delhi, where they worked for a couple of years prior to leaving for Canada. The husbands of nursing wives did not fare so well in attaining suitable employment based on their levels of education. The Second Generation Cohort (twenty-six respondents) are children of the first generation over the age of eighteen. Except for one respondent (who chose to complete her high-school education in a private school in Kerala), all did their elementary, junior, and high-school and university education in Canada. The average age for the second generation group is 29.6 years of age. The third cohort in the study is a more recent group to the GTA. I refer to these respondents as the First Generation Second Cohort (twenty-one respondents). These migrants arrived in Canada between the years of 1993

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and 2005 and came directly from India, Malaysia, the Persian Gulf, South Africa, and the United States. This third cohort of First Generation immigrants came for a variety of reasons, and their stories speak of different motivations and rationale for leaving their country of origin. For some families, the motivation for leaving South Africa was a search for a safer place to live; for others emigrating from the Middle East or Malaysia the motive was to seek greater work and educational opportunities for themselves as well as their children. The average age for this group is 34.2 years of age. Except for the eldest first-generation respondent, who was seventy-one years of age, all the respondents are university educated. As immigrants from the state of Kerala and as members of the Syrian Christian community, respondents reported taking education seriously and place a great deal of value on professional university education. This focus on education in the diaspora continues as well-educated parents have higher expectations for their children with regard to a professional university education. Educational levels of immigrating parents play a key role in shaping the educational beliefs, practices, and outcomes of second-generation immigrant children (Fuligni and Fuligni 2007, 232). Children whose parents have completed only minimal years of schooling tend to complete fewer years of schooling and settle for lower-paying jobs when they reached adulthood (Blau and Duncan, 1967, cited in Hernandez, Denton, and Macartney 2007, 14). While the first generation of respondents tended to be nurses, the second-generation children as well as the new set of migrants held a variety of professional positions (medical professionals, dentists, scientists, engineers, business managers, software developers, teachers, IT consultants). All respondents trace their religious beliefs and orientation to the Syrian Christian Church of India, though some have moved to newer church communities: Pentecostal, Brethren, Baptist (Fundamentalist/Charismatic churches). The majority of my respondents still attend weekly services at the local Malayalam church and many of the second-generation youth still value their religious affiliation and loyalty to the Syrian churches (both Orthodox and Catholic). There are at least fifteen Orthodox Syrian churches in the Greater Toronto Area. All the first-generation respondents (both of the first cohort and the second cohort) are active in not only the Malayalee churches but also local Malayalam community organizations (which are open to non-Christians). As adults, the second generation, though they participated in community organizations as young children, reveal more limited activity in the Malayalee community, which is primarily through the church as they no longer attend community festivals or celebrations.

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For the First Generation Cohort, the church and the family are key forms of distinction for the group, not only from Canadian society as a whole but the rest of the Indian community. For the early immigrants who worked hard at establishing the churches and bringing priests over from Kerala, religious traditions were important and needed to be passed down to the younger generations. This level of importance is even greater for the new immigrants who have arrived and found well-established church communities that enabled them to make immediate community linkages and friendships. All my respondents testified that the family structure in their community was the distinguishing cultural characteristic that kept them separate and distinct from other groups. While these feelings regarding the importance of the family resonate with many immigrant communities, the strength and resilience of the Syrian Orthodox church and its role in reaffirming the community and the family in the migration experience is unique. The narratives presented here speak to the singular focus on the “family” as a defining characteristic of the “Malayali” community. The ideological and cultural forces that idealize the roles and responsibilities of parents and children mask the ways in which the assumed pattern of familial regularity is challenged through the migration process. A defining feature in the creation of transnational identities is the role of religion and family structure. I refer to it as the “religious” reterritorialization of familial culture. The institution of the family and its commitment to the Syrian Orthodox church enable a reimagining of the Malayali community far from the state of Kerala. All the respondents in the study place high value on the family structure and the religious upbringing in their community. The family structure and religious affiliation with the church were ways in which to distinguish and distance themselves from dominant Canadian society. When asked about what distinguishes them as Malayalis from the larger community, all my respondents pointed to the family structure. Consider Darren’s comment (a new immigrant who was part of the First Generation Second Cohort): Commonly the family values are not here in Western society, but again I do know that within this some of the Italians and Portuguese are like us, they do have a culture like our Indian culture, they value the family the same as us. Commonly though, I do not think the concern for the family is there. We protect our kids and we are always there for them. We live for our kids. Here

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CULTURE WITHIN THE SOUTH ASIAN DIASPORA  LINA SAMUEL there is too much individual freedom. It is good to have someone watching you over, they [your family] are there for you.… Here when you have a crisis in family there is nobody to help you. There is too much independence in North America. You have no one.… In the Western culture you just have the husband and wife, two accounts, and when the crisis comes you just walk away. In our culture we stand as one and we face crisis together. I like this value.

For first-generation respondents, the focus of family culture and Syrian religious tradition was an important element of their identity. In Darren’s comment above, he references this notion of difference. There is a different values system between their community and that of the dominant group. Values that prioritize the collective interests of the family over individual and self-interests are held in high regard. These forms of deep attachment and self-sacrifice for children are seen as unique for the group. Darren romanticizes the family and ignores the complexities of the relationships between parents and children and the burdens placed on individuals (particularly the second-generation children) who are expected to continue these norms and values. Second-generation respondent Joseph, a twenty-eight-year-old professional engineer and a practicing Syrian Christian, in speaking of the family structure, says: The family orientedness of our culture is very visible. Indians, they define their identity by their family. Here [in Canada] I have seen totally the opposite. Here they raise their children up until a certain age and then they make sure they protect their own selves [the parents]. Here you raise your kids and then let them go. We are not like that.

Joseph’s comment speaks to a continued familial involvement in the lives of children. He is quick to dismiss this type of closeness and continuity with “Canadian” families who have more limited involvement in the lives of their adult children. According to second-generation respondents, the expectations of and duties toward the family weigh heavily on their shoulders as they attempt to find a middle path and forge their own identity independent of their parents. Salima, a second-generation respondent, points to the combination of family and religious upbringing in her childhood. Her comments also point to the cultural expectations that are placed on youths when they are

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growing up and beginning their own families. These expectations over the life course limit their options, particularly for young women if they make choices that compromise these familial demands. For me I grew up in a sort of mix of Indian and Western culture. My sister and I were very involved when we were younger, dancing, playing the violin, playing the piano, doing skits, everything. We went to India as a family fourteen times.… Our Indian culture is more traditional and it is very based on the Malayali Christian church.… Because of this there are a lot more things you have to do with your life. At a certain point you have to get married, you have kids, you go to church, this is based on our culture. I think that a lot of people would say that the Indian culture is very family oriented.

For Manushi, the family structure is important: “Family stands out as number one. Marrying within our community is important because of our focus on the family. When you say divorce, for a Malayali it is a big thing, it is so rare, whereas for a Western family its: ‘Oh things did not work out and they divorced.’ Here [in Canada] divorce is so common.” For Manushi the importance in family loyalty and maintaining cultural practices, which hold meaning for her, ground her identity as a migrant in Canadian society. Through her repeated travels back to her Malayali community in the Middle East and India, in addition to her active participation in the Malayali community in the GTA, she is able to sustain her links to her parental homeland. The transnational family structure is maintained through the “high intensity” of exchanges, cross-border visits, and repeated contacts on a continual basis. The continued visits to Kerala among first-generation families helped sustain and solidify the importance of Kerala as a “homeland” and kept alive traditional values in the minds of young people growing up in Canada. The process of making migrant identities is situated within the framework of religious ideology and the family structure, both of which determine the choices that migrants make as they establish new lives. For the second-generation respondents in particular, the tensions between individual choice and meeting familial/community expectations were prominent in their reflections. The Second Generation: On Being Syrian Orthodox Christian

The church plays a central role in the lives of the second-generation respondents. Comments on the church ranged from ones that were very critical to those that pointed out the importance of the church in the community.

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All the second-generation respondents grew up very active in the church community. The church was a central marker for their parents and for their identification as Malayali. Parents of the second generation worked hard in establishing churches and bringing over qualified priests to preside over services and guide the community. There is a real division among children of the first generation cohort, who came in the 1960s and 1970s, and young adults, who came with parents as part of the new immigrant group. Many in the second-generation group are active only marginally as adults or do not attend church at all; the children of the new immigrant group make up for this lack of participation. Of the second-generation children (twenty-six) who grew up in the GTA, only nine (34%) responded as being active in the Orthodox church. The rest were non-participatory and went only occasionally on Christmas or at Easter. Many have joined other churches or have stopped going altogether. Of those who came after 1990, all twenty-one of these respondents are very active in the church and attend regularly. For the newer immigrant cohort, their level of religious activity was high partly as a result of their migration experience. In their countries of origin (Middle East, South Africa), the Syrian Orthodox community was an important feature in their lives. With their arrival in the GTA, they continued to participate in the community church. The church has been, and continues to be, an important part of their lives despite their travels. For the newer cohort, their friendships and networks with church members are an important part of their lives and reaffirm their sense of belonging to Canada. For the young adults of the first generation who have grown up here in the GTA, their contact with the community churches are not a central feature of their lives (though they were when they were younger). Dominant perceptions of success and status are an important element in the Malayali community, and community expectations are then placed on families and in particular on second-generation children. From the Second Generation Cohort, Laura, who is thirty-three and works in the finance industry, recognizes the overwhelming need for parents to impress each other within the church community through the marriage of their children. These expectations from the larger community place pressures on adult children in marrying the “right” husband or wife. Reflections on maintaining status within the community and the church point to the tensions that arise from contradictory messages both from parents and the church, as well as the conflicts between the pursuit of Christian goals and the pursuit of community goals focused on money and status. While some claim the goal of marriage should be the pursuit of love, compassion, and

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self-fulfillment, respondents like Laura see that the community and the church are really valuing material things that can be acquired only by having large salaries. For the church community, Laura sees that certain occupational categories are more highly valued: the doctor or engineer or lawyer. These occupations are highly desired in the Malayali marriage market. Laura perceives her parents’ generation using marriage and the attainment of a doctor for a son-in-law or daughter-in-law as a way to move up in the community social ladder. Thus, as Laura observes, parents prioritize their community standing rather than the well-being of the child. And when you need the community they are not really there for you. The community will judge you. This judgment is off balance with their supposed faith in God.

Smitha, a second-generation respondent who immigrated with her parents in 1974 and lived through a divorce, echoes a similar critique of the church community: I am not active in the Indian church or community. First of all, due of my history, nothing I stand for is of value to the community. I am not a good example to their culture. I could be the best person in the world but would not be accepted due to my divorce. I am essentially at fault for [not] making things work out and conform to the needs of my husband. I am a bad example for the community. I do not want to belong to such a community.… The Malayali community can be very superficial and judgmental. They can be very limited in their views.

In the above excerpt, Smitha is very conscious of being excluded from the community because of her divorce. She also claims that her divorce has labelled her in the community and therefore she is seen as a “bad” person. She continues by stating that “it seems that men can do no wrong … it is always the woman’s fault!” The experience of her divorce and the lack of support she received from the church community forced her to see her positioning in the community and the differential treatment accorded men and women. Her experiences with the church and with the community changed once she began having marital problems and once the divorce was finalized. She is no longer active in the church or the community as a whole. However, for Catherine, a younger second-generation professional nurse, the church is an important part of her life. Unlike Laura and Smitha,

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she is very drawn to the community and sees it as an important source of support. She is also hoping to marry within the community. She is committed to participating in the Orthodox church and is a key participant in local Christian conferences. I am involved very heavily in the Marthomite Church. I am a youth leader and Sunday school teacher. We have plays, we do fund raising. Fund-raising for conference, or other things.… In church we used to have two English services and two Malayalam services, but now this has changed because … onethird of the church, the new members are coming from Malaysia and they cannot speak Malayalam. For them out of respect they had two English services, but now this has changed and has gone down to one, when we were in Sunday School we were doing Holy Qurbana [Holy Communion] in Malayalam and we had to put it into English.

Renuka, a new immigrant, arrived in 2004 with her husband and young son. The church is an important part of their life as well. She has a Bachelor of Commerce degree from an Indian university and was twenty-three when she married. She believes in the “traditional” family structure and has opted to stay at home and raise her son. Her responses were grounded in Christian teachings, and she sees the Malayali Christian church as playing an important role in her family life. “My future family life is more important than a career.” Renuka’s commitment to her faith is typical of the new cohort of Malayali immigrants who attend church regularly and maintain membership. There has been a decline in attendance among the Second Generation Cohort, who despite having grown up in the church have very critical views about the role of the church in their lives. Sybil comments on the church and the community in general and points to the decline in attendance by the second-generation children. This new group of people coming from the Middle East who are settling in [the GTA], who married within the community and are raising their children in [the GTA], if you look at the kids that grew up here, the idea of getting together and doing Christmas functions and Onam functions, we are NOT going to do that. We are NOT going to organize that. Those people coming from the Middle East will do this and continue the community. The Malayali kids that grew up here, the way that they stay connected is through their own activities together.

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At the same time, alternative religious values and forms of spirituality are finding their ways into the lives of the first- and second-generation respondents. The declining participation among the second generation in the church is creating a void that is being filled by members from the new immigrant cohort. These new members tend to be more fundamentalist and conservative in their values. Respondent Caroline (age twenty-four), whose parents immigrated from Malaysia in 1988, is also typical of this new group. She is an active member in the church community, taking on various leadership roles and participates in local and national Christian conferences. Her identification with the church is strong. For more spirituality, she also attends a Pentecostal church. A number of the younger adults from this new cohort would often attend two services on a single Sunday, the traditional Orthodox service with their parents and then a Charismatic service (Pentecostal) later in the day with their other Malayali friends. Kavita, also twenty-four years of age and a new immigrant from the Middle East, is active in both the Malayali Orthodox and Pentecostal church communities. She claims, “I find I get more spirituality from these services. I am more fulfilled spiritually from these [Charismatic] services.” She states her parents and many members of the Orthodox church are “nominal Christians who are born into the Christian faith,” but do not choose it at a “personal level.” On the whole the Orthodox churches play a central role in the lives of these new immigrant young adults. For those second-generation adult children who no longer attend church, they still claim that the church was a key institution in their family lives. Much of their young lives were filled with attending and participating in church and community organizations and cultural celebrations. Unlike the new immigrants, the Second Generation Cohort who have grown up in Canada are more critical or disapproving of the church and the pressures that were placed on them through these organizations. This disengagement with the cultural practices and expectations of their parents emerges not only with the attendance of church services but importantly when choosing marriage partners (Samuel 2010). We see an “ideological hybridization” for migrants, particularly those from the second generation—a merging of two or more different value systems. For the first generation and more recent adult immigrants, there is a greater tendency to meet the expectation of parents as well as the church. There is an overwhelming desire to follow through on prescribed expectations. However, for the second generation, we see an increasing “ideological hybridization” that is influenced by the culture of choice. Second-generation youths, despite having grown up in the Syrian Orthodox church commu-

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nity and having experienced pressures regarding education and marriage, nevertheless modify, adapt, and reject practices and prescribed cultural expectations. For the respondents in this study, their commitment to the church and their responsibilities toward the family fulfill a deeper need for belonging to a collective. The Family, Religion, and the Reterritorialization of Culture

The case study of the Malayali diaspora in Toronto demonstrates that family and religious ideologies play central roles in determining and defining migrant identification. The research illustrates the importance of the family unit in the migration process as well as in the reterritorialization of culture in the host country. For these migrants, the glorification of the family can be seen as a strategy for survival in the host country. Migrants tend to valorize and glorify the family unit and “their family” in particular, because these relationships and support structures (emotional and financial) are important during the migration process. The family is idealized and held as a source of identification, even for those individuals who have suffered at the hands of family members and the larger community. In this way the family unit and religious grounding can be seen as a cultural/social “strategy” that enables certain forms of action and encourages the formation of certain kinds of identities. Thus cultural values and ideologies around the family play a direct and powerful role in organizing social life. The faith of these migrants in institutions such as the family and in religious doctrine feeds a collective need for identification. Echoing Durkheim (1995 [1912]), their belief in the church feeds the collective conscience and allows for greater group cohesion. Religious ceremonies and beliefs are “collective representations” and are reflective of their “realities” and meanings. Meanings attached to the Syrian Orthodox belief system, and by extension to cultural practices regarding marriage, are representative of the group and the larger collective conscience. Conscience is taken to mean three distinct but related things: internalized sanctions, awareness, and perceived culture (Bohannan 1979, 78–79). In this present study, the church sets out a prescribed mode of behaviour for its followers, which is rooted in a patriarchal Christian faith. The members of the community internalize these expectations of group behaviour and “proper” family behaviour and project these expectations on to second-generation youth. Religious beliefs and the glorification of the family, which is the key site of socialization of children (Murdock, 1949; Parsons 1951), work to encourage group cultural retention and transmission. Both institutions reinforce group identification

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with Kerala and strengthen ties to the homeland. Both institutions facilitate the reimagining and reterritorialization of diasporic cultural identities far from their ancestral homeland. For the respondents in this study, belief in the family and in the church guide their actions and determine the extent to which certain cultural practices are retained and valued. I argue that connections to the family and church community are both enabling (as a form of social capital) and constraining (through cultural restrictions) for the respondents in the study. Strong family ties as well as religious affiliation with the Syrian Orthodox church provide a key form of distinction, from the dominant community as well as from the larger South Asian community in Canada. Family, kinship, and community networks that are present in the Keralite community act as necessary social and cultural capital, which is linked with economic capital, both of which are vital for success in capitalist societies (Bourdieu 1990). Because of participation in church and community affairs, these migrants are able to extend their participation into the larger community and become involved in Canadian life. The respondents’ affiliation with the Syrian Orthodox church also serves an important second purpose; this link to an ancient Christian church distinguishes this group from other Indians who are perceived to occupy an inferior position. The Christian affiliation allows this group to distance themselves from other Indians of Hindu and Muslim faith, and in this way they can align themselves with the Eurocentric value system. The alliances that were forged with the British through the history of colonialism gave the Syrian Christians in Kerala an advantage not only within India but abroad in overseas colonial offices. Said (1993) argues that the culture of imperialism has political consequences as well as ideological implications. The British imperialist mechanism and structure in India occurred at the economic and political levels, as well as through “recognizable cultural formations” such as education, literature, and visual and musical arts (Said 1993, 12). In this way cultural forms become the mode by which the messages of imperialism are incorporated into the local culture. The ideas of what constitutes high culture become revered and glorified and the ideological messages of the colonizers become internalized. One can argue that Keralites, through their adoption of British language and religious forms, which arrived even earlier with the Portuguese, not only sanctioned these imperialist systems but used it as a method of distinguishing themselves from other Indians through a process of “internalized Orientalism.” Their knowledge of English and English belief systems set them apart from other Indians who did not refer to the same fundamental belief system that is

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based on Christian ideology. This mode of distinction plays a central role in migrant loyalty to the Christian church. Like all the second-generation respondents, their lives in Canada have been dotted with numerous trips to Kerala that helped maintain links to the country of origin. These trips fostered a respect for the birthplace of their parents and encouraged them to continue to participate in the community(ies) in the GTA. The primary mode of linkage to the community is through the church as most continue to attend services, though not so regularly. Though attendance is variable (particularly for the second generation), all respondents point to the Orthodox church as a place of importance for their family and the community at large. Migrant attachments to the larger community, their feeling of belonging to the nation(s), and their diasporic identities are mediated, negotiated, and transformed through the family unit and the larger religious community. Family structure and kinship ties, sanctified through the church, facilitate the continuity of culture and cultural practices with regard to marriage. Family needs and family reputation are seen to supersede the needs and desires of individuals (Choudhry 2001, 378), and for women in the second generation, this value of prioritizing the collective good is difficult to uphold. Notes 1. South Asian refers in a broad sense to individuals who have a historical and cultural connection to the South Asian subcontinent. 2. The Syrian Community in Kerala claims the origin of Christianity emerges from Saint Thomas the apostle who landed in north Kerala in 52 AD (Mar Thoma Metropolitan, 1985). 3. Census Canada collects information for the larger South Asian category, which includes a broad span of countries in the region. Obtaining population statistics for Malayali community specifically was difficult. According to Census Canada, a total of 16,080 reported Malayalam as their mother tongue in the 2011 Census, approximately 1.54%of the 1,047,235 whose mother tongue is classified as either a Dravidian or Indo-Aryan language. 4. “Malayali” refers to the inhabitants of Kerala who speak the language of Malayalam.

References Bohannan, Paul. 1979. “Conscience Collective and Culture.” In Emile Durkheim, 1858–1917: A Collection of Essays, edited by Kurt H. Wolff, 77–96. Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press.

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CHAPTER 10 Bordieu, Pierre. 1990. “Social Space and Symbolic Power.” In In Other Words: Essays Toward a Reflexive Sociology, 123–39. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Brah, Avtar. 1996. Cartographies of Diaspora: Contesting Identities. London, UK: Routledge. Buchignani, Norman, D. M. Indra, and Ram Srivastava. 1985. Continuous Journey: A Social History of South Asians in Canada. Toronto, ON: McClelland and Stewart. Canada. 2011. Census of Canada. http://www12.statcan.gc.ca/census-recensement/ index-eng.cfm. Choudhry, U. K. 2001. “Uprooting and Resettlement Experiences of South Asian Immigrant Women.” Western Journal of Nursing Research 23 (4): 376–93. Cohen, Robin. 1997. Global Diasporas: An Introduction. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press. Das DasGupta, Shamita, ed. 1998. A Patchwork Shawl: Chronicles of South Asian Women in America. Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press. de Lepervanche, Marie. 1984. Indians in a White Australia: An Account of Race, Class and Indian Immigration to Eastern Australia. Sydney, Australia: George Allen and Unwin. Dhruvarajan, Vanaja. 1991. “Women of Colour in Canada: Diversity of Experiences.” In Women Changing Academe. The Proceedings of the 1990 Canadian Women’s Studies Association Conference, edited by Sandra Kirby et al., 3–12. Winnipeg, MB: Sororal Publishing. ———. 1992. “Conjugal Power among First Generation Hindu Asian Indians in Canada.” International Journal of Sociology of the Family 22: 1–34. ———. 1996. “Hindu Indo-Canadian Families.” In Voices: Essays on Canadian Families, edited by Marion Lynn, 301–27. Scarborough, ON: Nelson Canada. Durkheim, E. 1995. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. Translated by K. E. Fields. New York, NY: Free Press. First published 1912. Faist, Thomas. 2000. The Volume and Dynamics of International Migration and Transnational Social Spaces. Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press. Franke, Richard W., and Barbara H. Chasin. 1991. “Kerala State, India: Radical Reform as Development.” Monthly Review 42 (8): 1–23. Fuligni, Andrew J., and Alison Sidle Fuligni. 2007. “Immigrant Families and the Educational Development of Their Children.” In Immigrant Families in Contemporary Society, edited by Jennifer E. Lansform, Kirby Deater-Deckard, and Marc H. Bornstein, 231–49. New York and London: Guilford Press. Ghosh, Ratna. 1979. “Women and the Politics of Culture: South Asian Women in Montreal.” Resources for Feminist Research 8 (3): 21–22. ———. 1981. “Minority Within a Minority—On Being South Asian and Female in Canada.” In Women in the Family and Economy: An International and Compara-

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CULTURE WITHIN THE SOUTH ASIAN DIASPORA  LINA SAMUEL tive Survey, edited by George Kurien and Ratna Ghosh, 413–26. London, UK: Greenwood Press. Handa, Amita. 2003. Of Silk Saris and Mini-Skirts: South Asian Girls Walk the Tightrope of Culture. Toronto, ON: Women’s Press. Hernandez, Donald J., Nancy A. Denton, and Suzanne E. Macartney. 2007. “Family Circumstances of Children in Immigrant Families: Looking to the Future of America.” In Immigrant Families in Contemporary Society, edited by Jennifer E. Lansford, Kirby Deater-Deckard, and Marc H. Bornstein, 9–29. New York and London: Guilford Press. Joshi, Vijaya. 2000. Indian Daughters Abroad: Growing up in Australia. New Delhi, India: Sterling Publishers Pvt. Kivisto, Peter. 2001. “Theorizing Transnational Immigration: A Critical Review of Current Efforts.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 24 (4): 549–77. Kurien, Prema A. 2002. Kaleidoscopic Ethnicity: International Migration and the Reconstruction of Community Identities in India. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Mar Thoma Metropolitan, Alexander. 1985. The Mar Thoma Church Heritage and Mission. Houston, TX: T & C Copy and Printing. Mohan, N. Shantha. 1990. Status of Nurses in India. New Delhi, India: Uppal Publishing House. Murdock, George P. 1949. Social Structure. New York, NY: Free Press. Naidoo, Josephine C. 1980. “East Indian Women in the Canadian Context: A Study in Social Psychology.” In Visible Minorities and Multiculturalism: Asians in Canada, edited by Victor K. Ujimoto and Gordon Hirabayashi, 193–219. Toronto, ON: Butterworth and Co. ———. 1985a. “Contemporary South Asian Women in the Canadian Mosaic.” International Journal of Women’s Studies 8 (4): 338–50. ———. 1985b. “A Cultural Perspective on the Adjustment of South Asian Women in Canada.” In From a Different Perspective: Studies of Behaviour across Cultures, edited by I. R. Lacqunes and Y. H. Poortinga, 76–92. Lisse, The Netherlands: Swets and Zeitlinger. ———. 1987. “Women of South Asian Origins: Status of Research, Problems, Future Issues.” In The South Asian Diaspora in Canada: Six Essays, edited by Milton Israel, 37–58. Toronto, ON: Multicultural History Society of Ontario. Papastergiadis, Nikos. 2000. The Turbulence of Migration. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Parayil, Govindan. 1996. “The ‘Kerala Model’ of Development: Development and Sustainability in the Third World.” Third World Quarterly 17 (5): 941–57. Parsons, Talcott. 1951. The Social System. New York and London: Free Press and Collier Macmillan.

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CHAPTER 10 Percot, Marie. 2006. “Indian Nurses in the Gulf: Two Generations of Female Migration.” South Asia Research 26 (1): 41–62. Putnam, Robert D. 2000. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York, NY: Simon and Schuster Paperbacks. Ralston, Helen. 1991. “Race, Class, Gender and the Work Experience of South Asian Immigrant Women in Atlantic Canada.” Canadian Ethnic Studies 23 (2): 129–39. ———. 1996. The Lived Experience of South Asian Immigrant Women in Atlantic Canada. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press. Said, Edward. 1993. Culture and Imperialism. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf Samuel, Lina. 2010. “Mating, Dating and Marriage: Intergenerational Cultural Retention and the Construction of Diasporic Identities among South Asian Immigrants in Canada.” Journal of Intercultural Studies 31 (1): 95–110. Satzewich, Vic, and Lloyd Wong. 2003. “Immigration, Ethnicity, and Race: The Transformation of Transnationalism, Localism, and Identities.” In Changing Canada: Political Economy as Transformation, edited by Wallace Clement and Leah F. Vosko, 363–90. Montreal and Toronto: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Van Hear, Nicholas. 1998. New Diasporas: The Mass Exodus, Dispersal and Regrouping of Migrant Communities. London, UK: UCL Press. Weber, Max. 1949. The Methodology of the Social Sciences. Translated by E. A. Shils and H. A. Finch. Glencoe, IL: Free Press. First published in 1904. Wong, Bernard P. 2007. “Immigration, Globalization, and the Chinese American Family.” In Immigrant Families in Contemporary Society, edited by Jennifer E. Lansford, Kirby Deater-Deckard, and Marc H. Bornstein, 212–28. New York, NY: Guilford Press.

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TRANSNATIONAL ACTIVISM: AN ASIAN CANADIAN CASE Xiaoping Li

In 1970 a small group of second- and third-generation Japanese Canadian and Chinese Canadian students in the University of British Columbia formed two activists groups with the goal of addressing the issues that Canadians of Asian descent faced in Canada. By launching the “Asian Canadian Experience” event on campus, they started the Asian Canadian movement, a grassroots movement primarily formed by youth that aimed at achieving equal treatment for Canada’s racialized minorities. Over three decades this movement evolved and shifted, and members of several generations of Asian Canadians participated in it. Along with its contribution to community building, it has, at times, succeeded in uniting various Asian Canadian communities and injected a collective voice of Asian Canadians into the Canadian public sphere. This movement produced collective, hyphenated, or dualistic identities such as “Asian Canadian,” “Chinese Canadian,” and “Indo-Canadian” and popularized them in Canadian society. In this chapter I contend that these identities were products of transnational political engagements and that cases like the Asian Canadian movement highlights the need for transnational studies to go beyond their current conceptual parameters. My account of the Asian Canadian movement contributes to scholarly explorations into transnationalism, diasporas, and ethnicity; it adds to the effort to explore the relationship between transnationalism and diaspora. I contend that existing theoretical frameworks of transnationalism fall short in recognizing the transnational activities of second, third, and even fourth generations of diasporic groups such as Chinese, Japanese, and

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South Asian Canadians that have a long history of settlement in Canada. In this account of Asian Canadian youth activism, I shall foreground the Asian North American diaspora as a key location of transnational activities, showing the necessity of a more integrative approach to the studies of groups, whether they are called diasporic or transnational communities, and their activities. In so doing, this chapter joins in the effort that has been made by some scholars to broaden the conceptualization of transnationalism (Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007; Kennedy and Roudometof 2002) in order to accommodate a wider range of experiences of and practices by a variety of groups and communities. Given that many participants in the Asian Canadian movement have no significant tie with the “homeland” of their parents or grandparents, this case can also shed light on generational research on transnationalism. So far empirical studies of second-generation migrants are inconclusive on the transnational trends among this group. Some researchers believe that transnationalism does not go beyond the first generations; others have found that there is a rather low and diminishing level of transnationalism among the second generation; still others have identified a range of possibilities and practices (Somerville 2008). With its participants ranging from first-generation migrants to second-, third-, or even fourth-generation Asian Canadians, and with the North American continent being its primary locale of transnational activities, the Asian Canadian movement suggests that transnationalism is a very complex phenomenon that defies generalization. For instance, it is possible that transnationalization among racialized communities was, and may still be, transmitted through several generations, while this may be less the case among migrant groups that are less racialized. Finally, by looking into the practice of identity construction by young Asian Canadian activists in the 1970s and 1980s, my account of this grassroots movement contributes to a better understanding of ethnic communities and ethnic identities today. In the following, I shall first introduce a broader conceptualization of transnational communities by foregrounding the concept of diaspora; second, I offer a brief account of the Asian Canadian movement, especially its transnational activities; and third, I discuss the production of new collective identities in transnational fields. Locating a Grassroots Activism

During the past two decades, transnationalism has emerged as the new paradigm in immigration research. This new paradigm has significantly shifted migration studies and opened up new areas of exploration in related fields

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such as diaspora and ethnic studies. However, it is clear that the meaning of transnationalism remains unsettled (Mahler 1999; Wong 2002b, 51). The predominant use of this term in social sciences today derives largely from the important anthology by Glick Schiller, Basch, and Szanton Blanc (1992, ix), who define transnationalism as migrants’ practices of forging and sustaining “multi-stranded social relations that link their societies of origin and settlement.” While they were not certain whether transnationalism is a new immigration experience or a phenomenon that existed all the time, they saw it as a form of migration that “differs significantly from previous migration experience,” insisting on linking the emergence of this phenomenon to “recent changes in the world economy, especially the extensive penetration of capital into the third world” (x). Conceptualized this way, the concept of transnationalism has been applied primarily to the study of recent immigrants, and the geographical parameters of transnationalism are largely restricted to two locations: the “homeland” and the “receiving country,” leaving out a range of groups and transnational activities in diaspora communities that have less or little to do with the “homeland” than with other places. Ongoing scholarly explorations of the meaning and practices of transnationalism and transnational communities have tried to broaden the understanding of this phenomenon by, for example, questioning the binary way of thinking of home. As Wong (2000b, 170) pointed out, we ought to realize that “the traditional notion of ‘home’ being associated with a single country of origin or birth does not necessarily always apply.” Some others have argued that since transnational engagements are forged by a variety of groups in civil society, transnationalism should not be seen as a phenomenon that exists only among recent immigrants. They suggest that transnational studies expand their analytical categories to include the experience and activities of “globalized communities” such as diasporic communities; “cultural/aesthetic communities” that are connected by lifestyle orientations and affective bonds shaped by aesthetic, athletic, leisure practices; “political/ethical communities” that work on local and global injustices; and “professional/business communities” that operate globally (Kennedy and Roudometof 2002, 14, 20–21). A broader conceptualization of transnationalism allows for a better understanding of diasporic grassroots movements like the Asian Canadian movement; most of the participants are not recent immigrants but the children and grandchildren of those who settled in Canada in the nineteenth century and early twentieth century. Many, then, have no significant tie with the “homeland” of their parents or grandparents. Unlike

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cases of transnational activism among recent immigrants documented by researchers (Cheran 2007; Santianni 2003; Sundar 2007; Wayland 2007), the Asian Canadian movement was not actively involved in politics or community development in the “homeland” in Asia. Rather, it focused on building community, constructing new collective identities for Asians in Canada, and pushing Canada to address its democratic deficit (i.e., racial inequality). Some participants of this movement had never set foot on the soil of their ancestral land by the time they became politically active; their tie to the ancestral land was therefore largely symbolic. To them, Canada was home where they were, ironically, positioned as the “other.” This case sheds light on generational research on transnationalism by showing that transnationalism does exist among the second or third generation, and that the diaspora, rather than the “homeland,” should be given more attention as one of the key sites of transnational activities. The term “diaspora” was largely absent in the research agenda on transnationalism formulated by Glick Schiller and her associates in 1992. In recent years, scholars have begun to probe the similarities and differences between these two concepts as well as interrogate the “conceptual conflation” (Faist 2010). Efforts have been made to “define, operationalize, theorize, and critique the two concepts.” It is recognized that “diaspora” and “transnationalism” emerged to respond to the same perceived problems; that is, “traditional concepts and approaches to studying immigrants, immigration and ethnicity are ill-equipped to understand new trends and realities” (Satzewich and Liodakis 2007, 207). Furthermore, although these two concepts “reflect different intellectual genealogies,” they “cannot be separated in any meaningful way.” In fact, they have fuzzy boundaries and often overlap (Faist 2010, 11). Both have been used to refer to cross-border processes and to “similar categories of persons involving forms of forced and voluntary migrations” and they are sometimes used interchangeably (Faist 2010, 9). Scholars have also identified some differences between the two concepts. Compared to the concept of transnationalism, the concept of “diasporas” is much older. The term has been often used to “denote religious or national groups living outside an (imagined) homeland” (Faist 2010, 9). In the late twentieth century, it evolved considerably, expanding from its historical reference to Jews to the inclusion of many other groups as well as to the development of new definitions of contemporary diaspora (Wong 2002a). Although there are many definitions of diasporas, they all constitute three minimal characteristics identified by Van Hear: a population dispersed from a homeland to two or more other territories; enduring pres-

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ence abroad with possibly movement between homeland and new host; and social, economic, political, or cultural exchange “between or among the spatially separated populations constituting the diaspora” (Wong 2002a, 54–55). Thus the concept offers a broader spatial conceptualization than that of transnationalism, which, in its predominate usage, anchors on the dichotomy of the country of origin and country of settlement. A major difference between the two concepts, as Satzewich and Liodakis (2007) have pointed out, is that diaspora has become more permeated in popular consciousness and wider public discourse than transnationalism for unknown reasons. One of the subtle distinctions between the two is that “diasporas do not necessarily need contemporary and concrete social ties [with the homeland], as memory of a homeland is a symbolic one” (Faist cited in Wong 2002a, 54.) On the whole, scholars have not agreed on how to reconcile diaspora and transnationalism. While some see “diaspora” as one particular form of transitional community, Satzewich and Liodakis think this proposal is problematic. They argue that the two concepts are “more compatible than some who work within the transnational perspective imply,” and they suggest that “one way to reconcile them is to define transnationalism as a set of practices in which diasporas, immigrants, and others engage” (2007, 225). The case of the Asian Canadian movement indicates a close relationship between diaspora and transnationalism: the Asian North American diaspora, rather than the ancestral land, played a prominent part in Asian Canadian transnational activism. Members of second- and third-generation Asian Canadians who participated in the movement had a largely symbolic tie with the ancestral land. In the 1970s, some of them, following the examples of many African Americans and Asian Americans, travelled to China, Japan, and India for the first time after they had become engaged in the politics of “race.” One of the outcomes of such transnational experience was an epiphany about their identity—that they were not Chinese or Japanese or East Indian and that part of their roots was in Canada and North America. Despite the sharing of primordial ties of blood, race, ethnicity, and nationality with people in the ancestral land, the young activists recognized cultural and experiential differences between the former and themselves. This recognition entailed a kind of “detachment” from the ancestral land, which may explain why they looked more into the North American Asian diaspora for sources of inspiration and why their political activities focused on the “here” and “now” rather than on “there” and “then.” This point will be elaborated in detail later in the chapter.

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Social, political, or cultural exchanges among the Asian populations in Canada and the United States and their shared experience of oppression, deprivation, and exclusion configured the transnational field in which the Asian Canadian movement operated and shaped its political agenda. The idea that transnationalism, similar to globalization, takes place both “from above” and “from below” is highly relevant to the Asian Canadian youth movement. Guarnizo and Smith (1999) see transnational capital, global media giants, and supra-national political institutions as generating transnational activities from above. On the other hand, transnationalism from below is constituted by cross-border activities in the spheres of work, trade, family, and professional association; social networks formed by individuals and groups; and resistance practices against domination by diasporic, ethnic minority groups in their “host society.” Transnationalism from below has been celebrated, particularly by postmodernist, cultural studies scholars such as Hannerz (1989), Bhabha (1994), and Gilroy (1993). Those who are critical of this celebratory approach offer a more nuanced reading of this phenomenon by showing that diasporic and transnational political activities are not always subversive or oppositional by nature (Glick Schiller and Fouron 1999; Guarnizo and Smith 1999). Nonetheless, my account will demonstrate that the Asian Canadian movement was a case in which youth, politicized by the social movements and political developments in the era, carved out a counter-hegemonic political space to advance social justice causes. Asian Canadian Transnational Activism: Goals and Activities

This brief account of the early stage of the Asian Canadian movement is based on my research carried out between 1997 and 2004. During this period I interviewed dozens of activists, participated in community events organized by them, and collected and analyzed magazines and anthologies of writing produced by activists groups. Again in the summer of 2010, I conducted research on Asian Canadian theatre on the West Coast and collected more data on Asian Canadian transborder political and artistic activities. Probably due to its small scale and low public profile, this movement was long neglected by both academic researchers and the general public. Its contribution to Canada’s democratic development and the well-being of Asia Canadian communities has been recognized only recently (Li 2007). Although we can conveniently perceive this movement as an ethnic minority movement waged within the borders of the Canadian nation-state, a revisit to this case through the “lens” of transnationalism is meaningful.

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The Asian Canadian movement not only affirms the agency of migrant youth or the children of migrants and testifies to the complexity of identity formation in the contemporary world, it also shows that ethnic minority movements formed in a transnational social field can avoid the trap of ethnic nationalism; by “the trap,” I refer to the essentialist approach taken by some individuals and groups to cultural heritage or roots, identity, and territory, which often results in bigotry, exclusion, and even destruction. Moreover, as mentioned above, this case demonstrates that the trans­ national activities are not carried out just by first-generation migrants and are not confined to the “homeland” and the land of “settlement.” The goals and activities of this youth movement formed primarily by Canadians of Asian descent who were born and/or grew up in Canada put concepts such as “homeland” and “host society” in question. Some scholars have begun to assess the meaning of home in light of transnational communities and transmigration (Al-Ali and Werbner, cited in Wong 2002a, 169–70). For example, Wong (2002a, 169) argues that “with increasing transnationalization it is possible to recast the binary way of thinking of home and to conceptualize it as being plural and evolving. That is, it is possible to have a ‘home,’ or several ‘homes,’ away from ‘home.’” Transnational political organizing among the Asian population in Canada has a long history. Active engagement in homeland politics was found among members of the Chinese Canadian diaspora who, at the turn of the twentieth century, supported the overthrow of the Qin Dynasty and the founding of the Republic of China. Travelling and fundraising activities within the North American Chinese diaspora contributed significantly to the political transformation in the “homeland.” During the Second World War, Chinese Canadians also contributed financially to China’s resistance against Japanese invasion (Chan 1983; Ng 1999; Wickberg 1982). With more Asians migrating and settling down in Canada over the past half a century, diasporic Asian Canadian involvement in homeland politics has only increased. For example, clashes between pro- and anti-mainland Chinese government groups occurred on Canadian streets during the Beijing Olympic torch relay. Filipino, Tamil, and South Asian Canadians are engaged, at various degrees, in politics in the home country while researchers have also documented these groups’ active participation in politics in Canada (Kelly 2007; Sundar 2007). Both scholars and community activists recognize that transnational practices are built within the confines of specific social, economic, and political relations. In particular, nation-building processes orchestrated by

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the state of a “host society” can foster involuntary transnational engagements (Basch, Glick Schiller, and Blanc 1994; Glick Schiller, Basch, and Szanton Blanc 1992; Glick Schiller and Fouron 1999; Shakir 2007). Transnational political activities that emerged among Asian Canadian youths during the 1970s and 1980s had much to do with the multiple forms of oppression that Canada’s Asian population experienced. Although in the postwar years Canada began to address the problem of systematic racism entrenched in laws and immigration policy, for those young Asian Canadian activists Pierre Trudeau’s 1968 campaign slogan—a “just society”—did little to alleviate their sense of otherness in Canadian society. Many suffered from alienation, internalized racism, and identity crisis. Self-hatred, suppression of their ethnicity, and deliberate evasion of their own ethnic communities were typical manifestations of racial oppression. For instance, in their interviews, Tamio Wakayama (interview, July 14, 2002), Aiko Suziki (interview, August 22, 1998), and David Fujino (interview, August 12, 1998) recalled how they shunned fellow Japanese Canadians. Keeman Wong (interview, August 29, 1998) and Sean Gunn (interview, July 2001) described their discomfort with being Asian while growing up. These collectively experienced problems had been suppressed for a long time, but they surfaced and were brought to the fore when social movements in North America and decolonization in Third World countries created a conducive climate for some young Asian Canadians to experience “a political awakening,” as declared in the Asianadian Magazine, a national magazine published by the young activists under a pan-Asian identity (Gunn and Yee 1980). These youths began to seek answers to questions related to their feelings of self-doubt and alienation from Canadian society, their disconnection to communal history and cultural heritage, and the continual exclusion of racialized minorities in Canada’s political, social, cultural, and economic spheres. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, small groups of Asian Canadian youths in greater Toronto and Vancouver areas began to organize, gradually developing networks across the country and the Canadian–American borders. The main objective of the Asian Canadian movement was to transform Canadian society by forcing it to confront its racialized stratification and by steering it toward a more democratic path. For the young activists, political organizing and initiating cultural projects with social, political agendas ushered the beginning of a new era in their lives. David Fujino recalls: “It was a heady time, a time to rediscover the community, the people, and a time to develop a sense of belonging” (interview, August 12, 1998). National

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youth conferences, concerts, and photo exhibitions on Asian Canadian themes; writing and theatre workshops; magazine publishing and community radio broadcasting were employed as means of social engagement by the activists to combat racism, sexism, and capitalism exploitation; to build and strengthen their ethnic communities; and to construct and foster new collective identities for Asians in Canada. In investing tremendous amount of energy into the production of new consciousness and radical discourses, the Asian Canadian movement highlighted the importance of culture as a site of struggle where social changes could be achieved. In what is regarded as a “seminal” essay published in 1972, Asian American activist Ron Tanaka passionately articulated the importance of creating a “genuine Asian Canadian culture.” He argued that the Anglo cultural hegemony and the race-based class system in Canada had strangled Asian Canadian artistic creativity and voice in the public cultural sphere. He urged young Asian Canadians to create a genuine Asian Canadian culture that would resurrect history (in the case of Japanese Canadians) and help engender and strengthen community. “Art has meaning and value only within the context of a community,” he wrote. The Asian Canadian artist’s role and “moral obligation” are to “rebuild the spiritual life of his community” (6). “The end of all art should be to bring about an understanding of the community’s being in the world.” Cultural activities should aim at “establish[ing] lines of communication” among members of “our own race”; newspapers, journals, and photo and art exhibits should serve as “ways to develop a community consciousness” (4–6). The production of radical discourses and images became an integral part of the Asian Canadian movement’s political and social agenda. Literary writing, magazine publishing, photography, music and performance, radio broadcasting, and Taiko drumming, a traditional Japanese drumming popularized in North American by the Asian American movement, were the primary cultural tools used by the young activists to express their ideas, emotions, and aspirations as well as to capture lost histories, rebuild communities, and construct new collective identities. In the process, community-based cultural institutions were established to sustain the production of new consciousness. Among the major cultural institutions were the Asian Canadian Writers’ Workshop, Asian Canadian Theatre Workshop, the Powell Street Festival, the periodical Rikka, which devoted considerable space to Aboriginal issues and Third World politics, and The Asianadian Magazine, launched by the Asianadian Resource Workshop, a pan-Asian activist group formed by university students in

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Toronto. As proclaimed in its inaugurate issue, The Asianadian had an ambitious agenda: to find new dignity and pride in being Asian in Canada; to promote an understanding between Asian Canadians and other Canadians; to speak out against those conditions, individuals and institutions perpetuating racism in Canada; to stand up against the distortion of Asian history in Canada, stereotypes, economic exploitation, and the general tendency towards injustice and inequality practiced on minority groups; to provide a forum for Asian Canadian writers and artists; and to promote unity by bridging the gap between Asians with roots in Canada and recent immigrants. (“Editorial” 1978)

By gathering activists from Chinese, Japanese, South Asian, Central Asian, Filipino, Korean, and Vietnamese communities, the magazine played a pivotal role in community organizing and mobilization and in fostering a panAsian Canadian identity. The Asianadian and the Powell Street Festival, an annual event organized by Japanese Canadian community activists to showcase and celebrate Asian Canadian creativity, served as the major conduits that connected the activists and community members across Canada and linked Asian Canadian activists to their Asian American counterpart. What should be emphasized is that the Asian Canadian movement drew a great deal of inspiration and support from social and political movements outside of Canada; it was sustained by cross-border travelling and trans­ national circulations of ideas spread by traditional media such as books and music albums. In the late 1960s, a rising Asian American movement began to catch the attention of some young Asian Canadians, and it was crossborder travels made by a few individuals that sowed seeds of political organizing in Canada. The Asian Canadian movement’s birth on the West Coast was not accidental. Some young Chinese and Japanese Canadians were exposed to the ideas of Asian American movement through Ron Tanaka, who was teaching in the English Department at the University of British Columbia (UBC) at the time. His students formed two activist groups and, following the example of Asian American activists, they returned to Chinatown and pre-war coastal Japanese Canadian settlements such as Powell Street in Vancouver and the fishing town Steveston to collect stories about individual and community histories. These two groups launched the “Asian Canadian Experience” event on the UBC campus and in so doing they proclaimed the birth of a pan-Asian identity that embodied social and political messages. During the same period, in Toronto a series of “rap meetings”

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was organized by a Sansei (third-generation Japanese Canadian) who had just returned from California after spending years observing Asian American social actions there. Meetings participants, who also formed two activist groups, listened to Grain of Sand, the Asian American movement’s infamous recording of protest songs, shared their own experience of racism and alienation, and discussed community politics and issues concerning identity (Watada 1999). After the movement was launched, the bond between Asian Canadian and Asian American activists grew stronger over the years due to frequent cross-border travels, friendships, and collaborations between activists in these two countries. The Asian American movements’ influence on their Canadian counterparts was cultural as well as political. For example, the Asian American emphasis on the role of culture and the arts in producing new consciousness and social change was embraced by Asian Canadian activists. The idea of achieving “cultural self-determination” infused tremendous energy into the production of Asian Canadian music, literary writing, and theatre. With few Asian Canadian activists being professionally trained in the arts, Asian American activists served as their mentors. The best musicians, writers, and playwrights produced by the Asian American movement were invited to cross the border to participate in cultural events organized by Asian Canadian activists. This was particularly true on the West Coast since Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Jose were hotbeds of Asian American political and cultural activities. For instance, it is Asian American activists that introduced theatre as a tool of consciousness-raising to Asian Canadian activists and planted the seeds for Asian Canadian theatre. Yellow Fever, which is considered the first Asian Canadian play, was developed under the mentorship of Asian American activists/theatre artists.1 The first play with Asian American and Asian Canadian themes staged in Canada was Asian American playwright/activist David Henry Hwang’s FOB. It was mounted by the Canasian Artists Group, an Asian Canadian activist group in Toronto (Terry Watada, interview July 14, 1998). Shortly after the production of FOB, young activists in Vancouver formed the Asian Canadian Theatre Workshop, beginning to learn acting and playwriting in order to tell stories about Asian Canadian experiences. Keeman Wong recalls how he and fellow activists felt encouraged to have found a new medium for their political expressions; theatre was used to “examine issues” and “raise people’s consciousness” (interview, August 29, 1998). The Powell Street Festival invited well-known Asian American musician Char-

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lie Chin and the San Francisco-based band Bamboo Brew to perform their music, inspiring more young Asian Canadians to write and perform their own music.2 California’s Taiko Dojo helped instigate Taiko drumming as a means of Asian Canadian political and cultural expression (Mayu Sakataki, interview, July 11, 2003). Meanwhile, members of the Asian Canadian Writers’ Workshop in Vancouver made annual trips to the United States to participate in Asian American cultural events (Sean Gunn, interview, July 2001). The Asianadian collective would send members to the United States to observe various Asian American political events and brought strategies of community organizing back to Toronto. The politically charged cultural projects undertaken by Asian Canadian activists played a crucial role in injecting a collective Asian Canadian voice into the Canadian public arena. As channels of communication, they conveyed radical ideas that originated from outside of Canada to their Asian Canadian audience and readers. Noticeably the Asian Canadian movement subscribed to a body of radical ideas that originated from outside the Asian North American diaspora and the Third World. Exchanges between Asian Canadian and Asian American activists connected Asian Canadian activists to the civil rights movement, the Black Power movement, and Third World revolutionary thinking. The activists embraced the ideas of Black American leaders such as Stokely Carmichael, Malcolm X, W. E. B. DuBois, and those of Third World intellectuals and political leaders such as Frantz Fanon, Amílcar Cabral, Che Guevara, and Mao Zedong (Terry Watada, interview, July 14, 1998; David Fujino, interview, August 2, 1998). The movement’s affiliation with the Third World was further enhanced by first-generation migrants/activists who came from Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean region. With first-hand experiences of European domination, they helped broaden the perspectives and the scope of the Asian Canadian struggle, connecting it to struggles far away from the North American continent, and added an anti-imperialism dimension to the movement. Those who had participated in the student movement in colonial Hong Kong brought to Canada their belief in democratic principles and equality (Anthony Chan, interview, August 11, 2003). Those from South and Southeast Asia contributed to the movement by writing in The Asianadian Magazine about the history of colonialism, struggles for independence, and post-colonial conditions, offering comparative analysis of political affairs in Canada and their homelands (see Khan 1980; Rahim 1981). Their connections with the “homeland,” as M. L. Handa (1979, 9) put it, were an asset in the struggle for social justice in Canada:

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TRANSNATIONAL ACTIVISM  XIAOPING LI What do we bring with us as immigrants? The most common answer is that we bring a portfolio of culture: language, dress, food habits, dance, music, traditions, etc. What is often forgotten is that immigrants from the Third World such as South Asia, also bring a political perspective. This political perspective, common to all no matter how widely we differ on the spectrum of political ideology, is that the “West did it” to the colonies. We all feel committed to a correction of the global injustice implying a correction of imbalance of power: that the Western imperialist hold should weaken and disappear and the poor ex-colonized countries should grow in strength. This conscious or latent political perspective, which history has embedded in us as victims of colonial and imperialist history, is in addition to the “cultural portfolio” which we bring.

By maintaining close ties with the Asian American movement and by emphasizing solidarity with other oppressed groups in the First and the Third World,3 the Asian Canadian movement became part of an international movement toward social justice and equality. Its multiple transnational orientations had significant bearing on its practice of identity construction. The Making of the “Asian Canadian”—Ethnicity Unbound

The paradigm of transnationalism, together with contributions from postmodern and post-colonial theories, fostered conceptual shifts in ethnic studies by challenging conventional understanding of ethnicity, ethnic identity, and ethnic community, and recasting “ethnic” and “ethnic and racial studies” “into frameworks and language that recognize transnational and diaspora formations and identities and postcolonial legacies” (Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007, 9; Winland 1998). These conceptual shifts were predated by the Asian Canadian practice of constructing transnational identities. Asian Canadian activists’ reclaiming of Canada as “home” and their ties with other places resulted in hyphenated or dualistic identities, proving that the bounded conceptualization of race, class, ethnicity, and nationalism indeed falls short in capturing the essence of self-fashioned identities like the “Asian Canadian.” Among the outcomes of the Asian Canadian movement is a set of new identities. Although they are part of the popular lexicon in Canadian society today, names such as “Asianadian,” “Asian Canadian,” “Chinese Canadian,” and “Hindu Canadian” did not exist in Canada prior to the 1970s.

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Historically, Asian Canadians were positioned by the dominant society as the foreign and unassimilable through terms such as “Mongolians,” “the Asiatic,” and “Orientals.” The resulting alienation, as an Asianadian editorial states, forced Asian Canadians “to reconstruct our identities” and to “answer questions such as who are we, what is our collective identity, [and] how we relate to a society in which we are the ‘other’”(“Editorial” 1984). In the 1970s and early 1980s, names such as “Chinese Canadian,” “IndoCanadian,” “Asianadian,” “Canasian,” and “Asian Canadian” were coined and promoted by the young activists.4 These identity categories are meant to convey a set of social meanings: identification with particular histories and geographical spaces, “a new sensibility” as the inaugural issue of The Asianadian states, a new political force on the Canadian political landscape dominated by the “two solitudes,” namely, English and French Canadians, and diasporic consciousness and practices existing in what Homi Bhabha (1994) calls “the interstitial space.” In a nutshell, these self-designated identities entail a double claim: claiming Canada by asserting their Canadianness and claiming the possession of a hybrid identity and “in-betweenness.” Thus identities such as the “Asian Canadian” are not self-contained and naturally given categories that derive from cultural heritage but products of the activists’ discursive practices and social, political actions. Transnational engagements were crucial to the production of these new identities. The “Asian Canadian,” for instance, was constructed with a keen awareness of the ancestral land and with political influence from North America. Specifically, the imprint of transnationalism is evident in three aspects: first of all, the “Asian Canadian” was initially borrowed from the Asian American movement and sustained by ongoing exchanges and collaborations between Asian Canadian and Asian American activists. A main task of the Asian American movement, suggested by contributors to Roots, an important anthology published in 1970, was to address the problem of assimilation and reclaim suppressed ethnicity. Achieving “cultural self-determination” consisted of naming themselves, defining their own values, and articulating publicly their perspectives, emotions, and aspirations. The movement constructed the collective identity “Asian American” “in primarily racial and political terms.” The identity served largely as “a vehicle for forming coalitions between the Chinese, Japanese, Filipinos, and Koreans for political reasons … a strategic, political, and rhetorical resource for struggle and ultimately for empowerment—especially when ‘ethnic specific’ resources cannot do the trick” (Lane Hirabayashi, cited in Xing 1998, 22). For the same reasons, Asian Canadian activists borrowed

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this strategy in order to unite various groups of Asian background in Canada into one political force and voice. Second, the activists’ symbolic tie with their ancestral land and culture influenced their self-naming. The Asianadian Magazine was crucial in engraving the “Asian Canadian” identity into the consciousness of its readers. In the inaugural issue, Anthony Chan (1978) rejected the label “Oriental” and made a first attempt to define “Asian Canadian”: “Asian Canadians should be referred to as peoples whose cultural heritage originated in East Asia (China, Hong Kong, Japan, Korea, Macao), Southeast Asia (Burma, Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam), and South Asia (India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka) and now make their homes in Canada.” “Asianadian” is “the best term” to refer to Asians in Canada “because it describes a person with an Asian and Western sensibility. It is not a blend but an amalgamation of Asian and Western culture” (Chan 1978, 13). Third, the movement’s transnational attachment inscribed the new culture the activists endeavoured to create. In the making of contemporary Asian Canadian culture, they drew cultural resources from North America, the ancestral land, and other diasporic Asian communities. Rather than concentrating on the retention and importation of traditional cultures from Asia, the activists strove to create something new that reflected both their ethnic cultural heritage and their lived experience in North America. This is the vision of the organizers of the Powell Street Festival in Vancouver, for example. When the festival was conceived in 1977, the activists envisioned the event as a celebration of Japanese Canadian culture, which is not “a pale imitation of traditional Japanese art.” As Wakayama states, “We felt that an authentic Nikkei expression represents a fusion of whatever remains from our Japanese heritage along with our own traditions and experiences of 100 years of living in Canada” (interview, July 1, 2002).5 The mixing of different cultural, aesthetic traditions is evident in the writing, music, visual art, and films produced by Asian Canadian activists. Asian Canadian culture today, therefore, is emblematic of a de-territorialized culture that cultural theorists such as Stuart Hall (1990, 1996), Paul Gilroy (1993), and Homi Bhabha (1994) have written about. The cultural and artistic expressions that emerged along the Asian Canadian identity are truly the culture of transmigrants.

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As a loosely organized response to the social conditions in Canada, the Asian Canadian movement aimed at mobilizing and building community, combatting racism, and intervening in national politics. However, it was also part of a larger social justice movement that swept North America and the Third World. The movement was invigorated by critical discourses and revolutionary ideas from the Third World and the United States; the young activists’ search for history, community, and identity as well as social justice was guided and sustained by transnational networks. Cross-border travelling, exchanges, and collaborations forged bonds between Asian Canadian and Asian American activists, linking Asian Canadian activists to African American and Third World struggles. This transnational political and cultural activism continued into the 1990s, when racialized minority activists in Canada, the United States, and Great Britain fought for equitable representation in the cultural sphere, further decentralizing Europe as the universal subject of culture. Although the Asian Canadian movement has never achieved the same public profile as the Asian American, the civil rights, and women’s movements, this grassroots youth movement generated numerous outcomes at individual, communal, and societal levels. First of all, by engaging themselves in issues of “race,” community, nation, capitalism, and imperialism, the youths transformed themselves from victims into activists. Second, the movement’s emphasis on cultural production has produced award-winning writers, visual artists, filmmakers, and dancers,6 as well as established a community cultural infrastructure that has served as a fertile ground for new Asian Canadian cultural expressions. Politically, the new Asian Canadian consciousness stimulated community political organizing during the 1980s, when the Japanese Canadian Redress Movement took off and won, and Chinese Canadians, supported by a broad range of ethnic community organizations, marched on the streets of Toronto, Vancouver, Victoria, Edmonton, Saskatoon, Winnipeg, Montreal, and Halifax and forced the mainstream media to apologize for their racist depictions of the community (Chan 1983; Gunn and Chen, 1979; Kwan 1979, 1980). Finally, new collective identities such as the “Asian Canadian” that stemmed from lived experiences of de-territorialization and transnational engagement have not only empowered the youths who subscribed to them and their ethnic communities but also, after being inserted into the Canadian public consciousness and discursive space, reshaped the meaning of Canadianness.

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The Asian Canadian case broadens our understanding of transnationalism by delineating the intersectedness of transnationalism and diaspora and emphasizes the necessity of taking diaspora more seriously in studying transnational experiences. Meanwhile, it illustrates how the transnational lens can help us better understand contemporary ethnic identities and communities. Notes 1. The award-winning play Yellow Fever tells the story of the Japanese Canadian experience of racism in Canada and was written by Rick Shiomi. Shiomi (email interview, July 24, 2010). 2. See The Asianadian 3 (3) (1980). 3. The internationalism of the Asian American movement is clearly reflected in its early publications such as Roots (1971) and Asian Women (1971). The two major Asian Canadian magazines, The Asianadian and Rikka, regularly published articles on Third World politics. 4. In the 1930s some second-generation Japanese Canadians formed an organization with the name the Japanese Canadian Citizens League. Between 1970 and 1985 the Asian Canadian movement started actively and consciously articulating hybrid and transnational identities. 5. The term “Nikkei” is commonly used to refer to the children of Japanese immigrants. 6. For example, Joy Kogawa, Roy Miki, Paul Yee, Sky Lee, Richard Fung, and Alvin Erasga Tolentino are award-winning artists.

References Basch, Linda, Nina Glick Schiller, and Christina S. Blanc. 1994. Nations Unbound: Transnational Projects, Postcolonial Predicaments, and Deterritorialized Nationstates. New York, NY: Gordon and Breach. Bhabha, Homi. 1994. The Location of Culture. London, UK: Routledge. Chan, Anthony B. 1978. “The Chinese Committee in Canada,” The Asianadian 1 (1): 13. ———. 1983. Gold Mountain: The Chinese in the New World. Vancouver, BC: New Star Books. Cheran, R. 2007. “Transnationalism, Development, and Social Capital: Tamil Community Networks in Canada.” In Organizing the Transnational: Labour, Politics, and Social Change, edited by Luin Goldring and Sailaja Krishnamurti, 129–44. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. “Editorial.” 1978. The Asianadian 1 (2): 2.

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CHAPTER 11 ———. 1984. The Asianadian 5 (4): 2. Faist, Thomas. 2010. “Diaspora and Transnationalism: What Kind of Dance Partners?” In Diaspora and Transnationalism: Concepts, Theories and Methods, edited by Rainer Bauböck and Thomas Faist, 9–34. Amsterdam, Netherlands: Amsterdam University Press. Gilroy, Paul. 1993. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Glick Schiller, N., Linda Basch, and Cristina Szanton Blanc. 1992. Towards a Transnational Perspective on Migration. Annals of the New York Academy of Science. Vol. 645. Glick Schiller, N., and G. Fouron. 1999. “Transnational Lives and National Identities: The Identity Politics of Haitian Immigrants.” In Transnationalism from Below, edited by M. P. Smith and L. E. Guarnizo, 130–64. London, UK: Transaction Publishers. Goldring, Luin, and Sailaja Krishnamurti. 2007. “Introduction: Contextualizing Transnationalism in Canada.” In Organizing the Transnational: Labour, Politics, and Social Change, edited by Luin Goldring and Sailaja Krishnamurti, 1–24. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Guarnizo, L. E., and M. P. Smith. 1999. “The Locations of Transnationalism.” In Transnationalism from Below, edited by L. E. Guarnizo and M. P. Smith, 3–34. London, UK: Transaction Publishers. Gunn, Sean, and Pat Chen. 1979. “Chop-Sueyed Again!” The Asianadian 2 (2): 27–28. Gunn, Sean, and Paul Yee. 1980. “Editorial.” The Asianadian 3 (2): 11. Hall, Stuart. 1990. “Cultural Identity and Diaspora.” In Identity, Community, Culture, Difference, edited by Jonathan Rutherford, 393–404. London, UK: Lawrence & Wishart. ———. 1996. “New Ethnicities.” Stuart Hall: Critical Dialogues in Cultural Studies, edited by David Morley and Kuan-Hsing Chen, 441–49. London, UK: Routledge. Handa, M. L. 1979. “The Struggle of South Asian Canadians.” The Asianadian 2 (3): 8–10. Hannerz, Ulf. 1989. “Notes on the Global Ecumene.” Public Culture 1 (2): 66 –75. Kelly, Philip F. 2007. “Transnationalism and Political Participation among Filipinos in Canada.” In Organizing the Transnational, edited by Luin Goldring and Sailaja Krishnamurti, 215–31. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Kennedy, Paul, and Victor Roudometof. 2002. “Transnationalism in a Global Age.” In Community across Borders: New Immigrants and Transnational Cultures, edited by Paul Kennedy and Victor Roudometof, 1–26. London, UK: Routledge.

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TRANSNATIONAL ACTIVISM  XIAOPING LI Khan, Timur. 1980. “Separation: Bangladesh and Quebec.” The Asianadian 2 (4): 24–27. Kwan, Cheuk. 1979. “The Foreign Threat That Never Was!” The Asianadian 2 (3): 21–22. ———. 1980. “The Anti-W5 Movement.” The Asianadian 2 (4): 11–13. Li, Xiaoping. 2007. Voices Rising: Asian Canadian Cultural Activism. Vancouver, BC: University of British Columbia Press. Mahler, Sarah. J. 1999. “Theoretical and Empirical Contributions Toward a Research Agenda for Transnationalism.” In Transnationalism from Below, edited by M. P. Smith and L. E. Guarnizo, 64–102. London, UK: Transaction Publishers. Ng, Wing Chung. 1999. The Chinese in Vancouver, 1945–1980. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Rahim, A. 1981. “Power Struggle in Bangladesh.” The Asianadian 3 (4): 22–24. Santianni, Michael. 2003. “The Movement for a Free Tibet: Cyberspace and the Ambivalence of Cultural Translation.” In The Media of Diaspora, edited by Karim H. Karim, 189–202. London, UK: Routledge. Satzewich, Vic, and Nikolaos Liodakis. 2007. “Race” and Ethnicity in Canada. Don Mills, ON: Oxford University Press. Shakir, Uzma. 2007. “Demystifying Transnationalism: Canadian Immigration Policy and the Promise of Nation Building.” In Organizing the Transnational, edited by Luin Goldring and Sailaja Krishnamurti, 67–82. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Somerville, Kara. 2008. “Transnational Belonging among Second Generation Youth: Identity in a Globalized World.” Journal of Social Sciences 10: 23–33. Sundar, Aparna. 2007. “The South Asia Left Democratic Alliance: The Dilemmas of a Transnational Left.” In Organizing the Transnational: Labour, Politics, and Social Change, edited by Luin Goldring and Sailaja Krishnamurti, 206–14. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Tachiki, Amy, Eddie Wong, and Franklin Odo with Buck Wong, eds. Roots: An Asian American Reader. Los Angeles: UCLA Asian American Studies Center. Tanaka, Ron. 1972. “The Sansei Artist and Community Culture.” Powell Street Review 1 (1): 1–6. Van Hear, Nicholas. 1998. New Diasporas: The Mass Exodus, Dispersal and Regrouping of Migrant Communities. London, UK: UCL Press. Watada, Terry. 1999. “To Go for Broke: The Spirit of the 70’s.” Canadian Literature 163: 80–91. Wayland, Sarah. 2007. “Transnational Nationalism: Sri Lanka Tamils in Canada.” In Organizing the Transnational, edited by Luin Goldring and Sailaja Krishnamurti, 55–66. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press.

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CHAPTER 11 Wickberg, Edgar, ed. 1982. From China to Canada: A History of the Chinese Communities in Canada. Toronto, ON: McClelland and Stewart. Winland, D. 1998. “Our Home and Native Land? Canadian Ethnic Scholarship and the Challenge of Transnationalsim.” Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology 35 (4): 555–78. Wong, L. L. 2002a. “Home Away from Home? Transnationalism and the Canadian Citizenship Regime.” In Communities across Borders: New Immigrants and Transnational Cultures, edited by Paul Kennedy and Victor Roudometof, 169–81. London, UK: Routledge. ———. 2002b. “Transnationalism, Diasporic Communities, and Changing Identity: Implications for Canadian Citizenship Policy.” In Street Protests and Fantasy Parks: Globalization, Culture, and the State, edited by David R. Cameron and Janice Gross Stein, 49–87. Vancouver, BC: UBC Press. Xing, Jun. 1998. Asian America Through the Lens: History, Representations, and Identities. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press.

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PART IV

Contesting Hegemonic Discourses and Reshaping Transnational Social Spaces

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CHAPTER 12

STRUCTURING TRANSNATIONALISM: MOTHERING AND THE EDUCATIONAL PROJECT Ann H. Kim

Transnational families among South Koreans today have shifted in form from those of the past. In the 1960s and 1970s, it was more common for male labour migrants from the developing Republic of Korea (henceforth Korea) to leave spouses and children for economic opportunities abroad. After settling in their adopted country, typically other parts of Central and East Asia, Germany, and North America, male migrants and their families reconnected in a more or less permanent move overseas. More recently, Korea’s new position in the global economy has altered family demography and strategies for social and economic mobility (U. Cho 2005). It is in this context that the transnational family has re-emerged and taken on a new form. This time children are being sent abroad for educational opportunities, predominantly for English language acquisition, leaving one or both parents to work in Korea, and often with the hope of reuniting as a family back in Korea. Broadly, such families may be defined as “transnational families,” yet more narrowly defined concepts are applied to identify specific family structures and their individual members. Particular terms have emerged in media and academic representations of the phenomenon of geographically separated spouses who migrate with young children or adolescents. In the literature on the Chinese transnational family, common expressions include “satellite” and “astronaut” family (Irving, Benjamin, and Tsang 2000; Man 1995). Among Koreans, a familiar label is the kirogi gajok (also gireogi, meaning “wild goose family”). In the kirogi family, the father works in Korea

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away from the immigrant mother and children (U. Cho 2005; S.-C. Kim 2001; Lee and Koo 2006).1 For Koreans, this analogy is heavily imbued with cultural connotations, as wild geese symbolize family loyalty and marital harmony. Wild geese engage in seasonal migration, they make long trips to bring food back for their young, and they are monogamous and remain loyal even after the death of a mate. The term kirogi has been used in the news media, in self-reference, and in the scholarly literature. While it is often applied as a general term, a variegated typology has subsequently developed that distinguishes fathers according to their ability to see their children: eagle fathers, for fathers who can afford to see their children several times per year; geese fathers, for fathers who see their children about once a year; and penguin fathers who rarely see their children. As the Korean diaspora grows with transnational migration to Canada, the United States, China, Singapore, Australia, New Zealand, and the Philippines, the kirogi typology may be increasingly recognized outside the Korean community. However, the continued usage of this term is problematic as women who are labelled “kirogi moms” find themselves stereotyped and stigmatized as homewreckers and characterized as selfish. They have begun to shift the terminology to refer to themselves as “yu-haksaeng mom” (foreign student mom), and this is the term I apply here, interchangeably with transnational mother. This chapter explains the phenomenon and rise of transnationalism among Korean families with a focus on how it is facilitated by social reproductive practices based on a gendered division of labour and a shift in the mothering discourse. Using the case of foreign student mothers in Canada, it argues that transnationalism is structured by women engaged in the “educational project,” a term used by Griffith and Smith (2005) to refer to the work that mothers do that complements the work of schools. In the chapter, I refer to this phenomenon as a strategy and situate it in the context of the cultural dominance of the West and of the conditions in Korea that shape families’ perceptions and understandings of the qualities that determine their life chances and that of their children. Globalization, the English Language, and the Korean State

The expansion of the English language in Korea cannot be separated from the global order that emphasizes the importance of the English language and Western culture for political and economic power from the micro to the macro level. The hegemonic spread of English around the world, initially due to colonialism, has been now inexorably tied to economic global-

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ization and development, and science and technology (Grabe 1988; Lysandrou and Lysandrou 2003). Arguably, this is perpetuated by international or parastatal organizations like the World Bank, which promote English education as a moral and ethical obligation of the state, one that ensures citizens have the ability to compete in the global market and to meet the labour needs of multinational corporations within their borders (Narkunas 2005). In essence, the extent to which a state endorses English language acquisition domestically is an indication of the degree to which the state has embraced globalization (Mandal 2000). Other countries, in addition to Korea, have had to contemplate their linguistic and cultural stance in a world where English is the dominant language (for example, Japan [Kubota 1998], Malaysia [Mandal 2000], South Africa [Kamwangamalu 2003] and Vietnam [Narkunas 2005]). While the cultural flow is not simply unidirectional and there are alternative frameworks within countries that challenge globalization (Mandal 2000), the dominance of the English language (or more accurately, English languages [Kachru and Nelson 1996]) cannot be understated nor is it likely to fade (Bruthiaux 2002). For example, the extreme motivation among Koreans to acquire the language coupled with the ever-expanding English language industry has been equated with psychosis, and it can be translated from Korean into English as “English language mania” (Park and Abelmann 2004), “English fever” (J. S. Park 2008; Shim 1994,) and “English craze” (J. S. Park 2008). Yet characterizing individual families and focusing on the expansion of the English as a Second Language (ESL) industry detracts from the official discourse that promotes it. In Korea’s case, the state has been one of the most powerful engines driving “English mania” and the commodification of the language associated with it. In Korea, the state wholeheartedly embraced globalization with a globalization (segyehwa) policy unveiled in 1995 (S. S. Kim 2000). Since enactment, a series of national governments have aggressively striven to reach economic parity with the core countries of the United States and Western Europe. At the same time, Korea’s globalization framework encompassed more than the economy. There was a recognition that in order to advance Korea’s position in the world system, they would have to be as open in the areas of education, their legal system, politics and the media, public administration, environment, and culture (Koh 2000). Progress was made in some of these areas partly through greater involvement in the United Nations (Koh 2000), yet little progress was made in the cultural arena due to language and the persistence of Confucian values (S. S. Kim 2000).

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This can be expected to change in the future as the official framework of globalization has now penetrated all levels of the educational system. In 1997, a key moment in the era of “English language mania,” English language classes became part of the national public elementary school curriculum (Lee 2006; Park and Abelmann 2004) and younger children began to be exposed to the importance of this global language. Prior to that year, English instruction had been introduced in middle schools. At the other end of the educational spectrum, tertiary institutions were also motivated to meet the goals of internationalization, with increasing numbers of university courses being fully taught in the English language, and by Korean nationals. Earlier, English language was, for the most part, limited to the university entrance exam (Shim 1994). The push for the spread of English language instruction and usage at all levels of the educational system came as much from the private sector as from the state. With a need for bilingual workers to compete in the global market, multinational corporations as well as government agencies have developed a system of opportunities and rewards, applied at the hiring stage through advancement, based on English language ability (Lee 2006; Shim 1994; Stevens, Jin, and Song 2006). For example, Lee (2006) describes how conglomerates such as LG and Samsung use TOEIC (Test of English for International Communication) scores to distinguish eligibility for bonuses, promotions, and training opportunities. And in general, these assessments are ongoing throughout one’s career. The system of incentives and rewards established in the public sector and in the multinational segments of the private sector has influenced people’s drive to acquire English for themselves and their children. This feature and the global spread of the language have shaped both its instrumental and symbolic value emphasizing the importance and necessity of English for a number of possibilities: (1) competing for a spot in a top-tier university and graduating; (2) having a respectable career and economic stability; and (3) being at ease in the wider world (Park and Abelmann 2004). And while English has been a marker of class distinction since the nineteenth century, until the 1990s it had been accessible only to the religious, technical, and intellectual elite who had gone abroad to study (Shim 1994). Now, English is no longer simply associated with wealthy families of privilege but is tied to mass education and employment, and rooted in “education fever” (J.-K. Park 2009, 50), which is itself deeply rooted in an ideology of meritocracy that developed from an examination system that began in the tenth century. This ideology promotes the “belief that virtually any

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Korean can advance himself through his own efforts” (J.-K. Park 2009) and “justice for all” (H.-J. Cho 1995), and that education is the most respectable means of achieving status and influence. In other words, the widespread concern with the English language is that it has been made essential to educational and occupational achievement in an assumed level playing field. Interestingly, although English has become a “robust” feature of the economic system (Lee 2006), there is a perception that the public educational system is inadequate for preparing students for any of the three possibilities described above. While local school boards in Korea have sought ways to enhance curriculum and instruction—for example, the Toronto District School Board teamed up with the Chungcheongbuk-do Office of Education in 2005 to provide teacher training in English as a Foreign Language (Toronto District School Board 2005)—parents of young children continue to seek alternatives; the explosion of private language markets domestically and abroad attests to this demand. With a large middle class, there are large numbers of families who will not only pay the extra tuition costs, they will send their children abroad, often with one parent. In other words, they become a transnational family. The Rise in International Education and Transnational Families

The contemporary transnational family made its public appearance in the late 1990s, coinciding with the introduction of English language instruction in elementary schools and with the Asian financial crisis. The economic crisis of 1997 spurred the growth in transnational family migration (U. Cho 2005) as economic instability under globalization became all too real and a segment of the middle class took advantage of access to international opportunities as a way to secure their families’ futures. As discussed, one way of securing the future was through the acquisition of the English language and its associated cultural capital, as this came to be perceived as essential for entry into professional occupations and upward mobility within Korea (Lee and Koo 2006; Orellana et al. 2001). The impact of events in 1997 on the outgoing flows of primary, middle, and secondary-school students is visible in the numbers. At the elementary school level alone, the number of students who went abroad—defined as studies longer than six months—in 1995 was 235, or 0.6 per 10,000 students (Center for Education Statistics 2008). By 2005, the number had risen to 8,148 or 20.8 per 10,000 students. Large increases were also observed for middle- and secondary-school students. Figures reported for 2009 show that Canada was the third most common destination for foreign students at

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these educational levels, after the United States and Southeast Asia (Center for Education Statistics 2010). Turning to Canada alone, the trend in the incoming flows of foreign students with visas, including tertiary-level students, is discernible in the Citizenship and Immigration Canada (CIC) data in Figure 12.1. Between 1980 and 1994, the maximum number of students arriving from Korea in any given year was approximately 2,100 (in 1994). From 1995, the year when the segyewha policy was announced, to 2006, when annual flows reached their peak, flows more than tripled, from 4,500 to 15,600 students, and from 1997 to 2008, Korea was ranked the number one source of incoming foreign students. Since 2000, annual foreign student inflows have outnumbered (by more than double in most years) the immigrants arriving through the permanent resident stream. Among primary- to secondary-level students, the visa student population grew more than threefold, from 1,600 to nearly 5,900 during the same period. Their increasing presence as a percentage of foreign student flows from 1996 onward is shown in Figure 12.2. With the exception of a dip in the percentage in 1999, the percentages of female and male students in the primary- to secondary-school levels grew in relation to all foreign students from Korea. Given that many students who enroll in English language programs arrive during their summer holidays and without a visa—and thus are not counted by CIC or the Korean Education Development Institute— we can assume the numbers are somewhat greater. Also absent from these international student data are the mothers, who often accompany their children without their spouses. Arriving on visitor visas, the women are not counted in the statistics but they are noticed in local communities. A conservative estimate would place mothers with about half to three-quarters of the foreign students in the primary through secondary-school years. The official foreign student counts also omit those families who have legal status as permanent residents but in all other respects are transnational families engaged in the educational project. Given that some children stay longer than a year, a rough estimate would place the number of transnational families in 2009 at approximately 20,000.2 To summarize, we find that the international student population from Korea rose significantly since globalization became the official discourse, and that this period has seen younger students make up a significantly higher proportion of foreign students, particularly to Canada. This rise in transnationalism through the 1990s and 2000s was facilitated by several factors.

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STRUCTURING TRANSNATIONALISM  ANN H. KIM Fig. 12.1

Numbers of incoming foreign students from South Korea, 1980–2010

16,000 14,000 12,000 10,000 8,000 6,000 4,000 2,000

2010

2009

2008

2006 2007

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2004

2002 2003

2001

2000

1999

1998

1996 1997

1994 1995

1993

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1989 1990

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1986 1987

1985

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1982

1981

1980

0

Data Sources: Custom tabulations from Citizenship and Immigration Canada, foreign students by country of residence 1980–2009, CIC Facts and Figures 2010. The bar colour for the year 1997 (IMF crisis) is black.

Fig. 12.2

Percentages of foreign students from Korea at the secondaryor lower level, by gender

60 50 40 30 20 10 0 1996

1997

1998

1999

2000

2001

2002

Male

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Data Source: Citizenship and Immigration Canada (CIC) custom tabulation on total entries of foreign students by gender, level and study and source country.

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The first factor is tied to the perception that local school programs in Korea were ineffective at preparing students to be functional in English beyond what was required for the college entrance exam. With an increasingly greater proportion of university classes across disciplines being conducted entirely in the English language and the media’s portrayal of the country’s political and business leaders’ abilities to network in international circles as shamefully incompetent due to their poor English language skills (J. S. Park 2008), the standard marker of distinction has shifted to include linguistic and cultural fluency, which continues to be stratified by class. Some families pay the premiums associated with having a native speaker as tutor or group instructor while others would pay the added costs for the perceived legitimacy of a native English environment. Thus the appeal in sending young children overseas has to do with the perception that the English learned in Korea is qualitatively inferior to that which is learned by linguistic and cultural immersion in the West. This perception exacerbated the construction of Koreans as incompetent English speakers (J. S. Park 2008) and of natives from the West, namely Canada, the United States, Australia, New Zealand, and the United Kingdom, as authentic speakers. The rising presence of English language teachers from these regions—despite many having no or minimal pedagogical training—as well as of fellow students who had been overseas, has fed the perception that it is the English in these places that is of value. The highly competitive educational dynamic in Korea has also not helped to keep students in Korea. The dynamic is one that respondents in the study of New Brunswick Koreans in 2009 summed up as “horrible” and in need of “escape.”3 The dissatisfaction with the educational system in Korea has also been cited by transnational fathers living in Korea (Lee and Koo 2006). Our own pre-test survey results from the Toronto Korean Families Study (TKFS) were consistent with this focus on education by families.4 Transnational mothers placed children’s education at the centre of their migration decision whereas for immigrant mothers who were living with their spouses and children (we refer to them as “immigrant mothers”), their children’s education seemed less central. Rather, they cited more familyoriented or lifestyle reasons for moving. Second, border policies are important for understanding migration patterns, particularly within a migration system (Simmons 1989). Under a political economy perspective, the movement of people between Canada and Korea should be contextualized within the ways in which the two states hinder or facilitate cross-border movement. In addition, it should also con-

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sider other states that influence movements within the system as well as other types of links (A. H. Kim 2007). As it would be a challenge to identify all the connections that could affect the movement of students and families between Korea and Canada, including the border policies and conditions of countries such as the United States, we can highlight some key features. In the case of transnational families from Korea to Canada, the presence of yu-haksaeng moms might not have received much notice in Canada were it not for a bilateral agreement between Canada and Korea signed in 1994 that waived the visa requirements for stays of six months or less for nationals of both countries. This opening of borders for short-term visits eased movement between the two countries, yet it also made it difficult to accurately track the numbers of students who were studying in Canada without visas, as mentioned above. With the change in policy, Kwak and Hiebert (2010) estimated the foreign student numbers in Vancouver to be potentially twice the CIC figures. In addition to this change in border policies, economic considerations such as currency exchange rates may be another type of link that shapes individual motivations to choose Canada over another country for temporary visits. Han and Ibbott (2005) tested this hypothesis and found some support to suggest that the weak Canadian dollar relative to the US dollar in the late 1990s could have led some Korean migrants to come to Canada rather than to the United States. Affordability is an obvious consideration in decisions to move and this is evident in Figure 12.1. There was a drop in foreign student flows in 1998, the year after the Asian financial crisis, and again in 2009, the year after the global economic crisis in 2008. Yet despite the relatively open borders and increased affordability, the numbers may not have been as high as might be expected. It must be remembered that in contrast to Canada, the Korean government regulates departures from the country. The government has also made it a legal requirement for most students in the primary- and middle-school grades to remain in schools in Korea and has outlined a policy that penalizes absences longer than six months, labelling those early study-abroad children as “illegal” (J.-K. Park 2009). The implications of this policy for global householding patterns are not well understood; it may have had a deterring effect on some families and have dampened flows or it may have pushed those seeking overseas education to apply for permanent status. Third, information and access to educational institutions overseas widened immensely through various sources, particularly through web-based forums, interpersonal networks, and migration brokers (also known as

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education brokers), as well as through family members’ own migration trajectories. For example, through interviews with transnational fathers, both Lee and Koo (2006) and S.-C. Kim (2001) found that prior to their global householding arrangement, parents had prior exposure to living overseas. This suggests that many transnational families already have a certain degree of comfort living abroad (S.-C. Kim 2001). With respect to the Internet, very few studies have explored in-depth how potential migrants use it to aid their locational decisions, but in the New Brunswick Koreans study, we found that it was an important medium for finding not only institutional information but for connecting with the experiences of earlier migrants. The use of the Internet in this way is not surprising given that Korea is well known for being “wired.” In 2001, 51.5% of residents in Korea had access to the Internet compared to 45% of residents in Canada (World Bank 2011). Currently, Korea has the fastest connection speeds (Sutter 2010) and there has been a proliferation of twenty-four-hour Internet cafés. It is now common for potential migrants to find localized information through virtual “cafés” that are based in Canadian cities. Stories shared within social networks and the presence of family and friends located abroad also create bridges between places (Collins 2008). One interviewee in Park and Abelmann’s (2004) research spoke of how the knowledge of her friend’s daughter’s visit to New Zealand to learn English influenced her own decision to move abroad with her two sons for three months. Such stories, along with a familiar contact in the country of destination, operate to shorten the distance between places, particularly when children are involved. As well as sharing information with potential migrants through the World Wide Web, earlier migrants facilitate cross-border movements through their economic activities. In particular, international students’ moves are facilitated by members of a pre-existing local Korean community in the country of destination (Collins 2008; Kwak and Hiebert 2010). The earlier migrants engage in immigrant businesses that cater to international students and facilitate their arrival and settlement. Of particular relevance are locally based education brokers, who not only consult on issues of immigration and placement in institutions but provide a full package of referral services, including housing through homestays, tourism, and settlement. The importance and influence of brokers also emerged in the study on New Brunswick Koreans with several respondents referring to brokers as acting more like tourist operators, lauding the benefits of living in New Brunswick and directing them to apply.

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Previously, I discussed the role of Internet technology in facilitating communication and information sharing between parties who would have otherwise never corresponded. However, technological advances do more than simply reduce the social and spatial distance among strangers. They also link family members separated by geopolitical borders. As the fourth factor facilitating the rise in transnational households, many scholars have recognized that transnationalism is assisted by advances in technology (Basch, Glick Schiller, and Szanton Blanc 1994; Portes, Guarnizo, and Landolt 1999). Maintaining frequent contact with spouses and children has become much more affordable and easier with direct flights between Seoul and two major Canadian cities (Toronto and Vancouver), mobile and Internet phones, and electronic mail. Finally, any discussion of global householding would paint a partial picture without addressing the issue of gender. The feminization of migration is an important and increasing trend globally (Castles and Miller 1998) as the range of positions taken up by women expands. The scale at which women are now moving abroad to engage in both paid and unpaid carework and for educational and professional opportunities has been increasing. Among Koreans, foreign student mothers move to care for their children, but this is only possible due to the gendered nature of social reproductive practices in their families. Shifts in the Mothering Discourse, Gendered Social Reproductive Practices, and Transnationalism His mother takes a nap after dinner and wakes herself up with the help of an alarm clock before he comes home [1 a.m.]. She prepares fruit and cookies for him to eat before he takes a shower. She, as any other devoted [education mother], is tense like her son. She believes that she is to a great extent responsible for her son’s academic performance. Therefore, she tries to control and support her son’s achievement as best she can. Any extra money is invested in encouraging her son to fight well in the monthly mock exams. Chang’s mother is always short of sleep, like her son. She too is fighting the war. (H.-J Cho 1995, 150)

In this excerpt, the author is describing her nephew’s mother. Chang was in his final year of secondary school and preparing for the university entrance exam. Confucianism continues to shape the contemporary roles of mothers and fathers and gender persists as an organizing feature of social reproduc-

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tion within families and in society at large. The concept of social reproduction used here refers to those daily activities that maintain existing life and reproduce the next generation—socially, economically, biologically—but it is also broader, encompassing the institutions, the strategies, and the ideologies that sustain and structure those activities (Laslett and Brenner 1989). The traditional view in Korea places men in the public sphere (as government officials and scholars) and women in the domestic or private sphere (H.-J. Cho 1996). The ideal (married) woman’s (or hyun mo yang cho) life is centred on her spouse and his kin, and her children; she is “a submissive wife and sacrificial mother” (E.-H. Kim 1998, 27) or “good wife, wise mother” (S. J. Park 2007, 189). Men are the heads of families, maintain the moral order, and are not to be concerned with day-to-day life (H.-J. Cho 1996). This is not unlike the ideology that developed in North America during industrialization that also gendered the organization of households and placed increasing responsibility for children’s education on the mother (Laslett and Brenner 1989). Griffith and Smith highlight the “mothering discourse” that “assigns to women the major role in the work of sustaining their children in school” and requires mothers to structure their time, activities, and concerns around their children’s education, while at the same time, it assigns to husbands “a marginal role” (2005, 98). Although their discussion of the discourse is set in the context of middle-class households in Canada, it can also be applied to frame the discussion on mothering in the Korean context. S. J. Park (2007) argues that prior to the 1990s, the mothering discourse emphasized tradition and drew from a cultural heritage rooted in Confucianism. According to Confucianism, education was the means to improve oneself, socially, economically, and morally, and in a kinship based society, the hope and expectation fell onto sons (H.-J. Cho 1995). However, the extent to which sons were able to succeed in this role was believed to be dependent on the mother. The mothering discourse in Korea was thus firmly anchored in an “extreme idealization of motherhood” (H.-J. Cho 1996, 94) that revered mothers who adhered to its tenets, particularly with respect to their children’s education. It was also believed that a mother’s power, authority, and status would be elevated according to the educational and occupational achievements of her children. While motherhood continues to be idealized in Korea today and a woman’s status in her family and among her peers still depends on her children’s accomplishments, S. J. Park (2007) argues that the discourse has shifted in the 1990s context of the government’s neoliberal agenda and educational

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reforms that followed the principles of privatization, competition, and diversification. Specifically, it has moved from an old discourse that situated the obligations of mothers and mothering work under the rubric of tradition to an emphasis on raising creative, competitive citizens in the global economy, which is the project of the contemporary “education manager mother” (S. J. Park 2007, 193). In their managerial positions, mothers are now engaged in an intense educational project that places heavily upon them, regardless of class background, the responsibility of knowing and seeking out the combination of private after-school educational programs that will lead their young children to a successful outcome on the university entrance exam. Yet despite this shift in the mothering discourse, it is clear that it remains affixed to a gendered division of social reproductive tasks. It is also clear that the discourse is based on a model image of the father as breadwinner and of the mother that assumes she is a full-time homemaker (S. J. Park 2007) as only women who devote their full time to the educational project can meet the demands of the image (Griffith and Smith 2005). While the women’s movement in Korea has made progress in situating human rights and women’s rights on the public agenda, Moon (2000) argues the reallocation of state resources under economic globalization has made it more difficult to push the agenda forward. The Asian financial crisis revealed that gender remains (and could be relied on as) a key organizing principle of society and of households. Female employees, particularly pregnant and married ones, were the most expendable as they were the first to be let go (U. Cho 2005). The ideology concerning the different roles of women and men is evident, to some degree, in labour force participation rates and the gender wage gap. The 2009 female participation rate for Korea was 57.9% compared to a rate of 81.9% among men (Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development [OECD] 2011). Among OECD member countries, Korea had one of the lowest rates for women whereas the men’s rate fell closer to the median. The rates for Canada, for comparative purposes, were 75.7% and 84.4, respectively. While women’s labour force participation rates have no doubt been on the rise in Korea from a historical perspective, particularly in the informal economy as tutors, babysitters, cleaners, and in sales (Kim and Finch 2002), their official rates remain low by comparison. The wage gap also tells a story of gender inequality in the formal labour market. Women who participate full time in the formal economy earn 38% less than men. This was the highest wage gap among OECD member countries (OECD

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2011). In Canada, the rate was 21%. Thus the discourse that dichotomizes home and work spheres has not weakened but remains firmly entrenched in the state and in the private sector, despite women’s increasing participation in the formal economy. In a news story about how women are delaying marriage and children in Korea, Blaine Harden referred to a full-page advertisement appearing in a Korean newspaper that read, “I am a bad woman; I may be a good employee, but to my family I am a failure; in their eyes, I am a bad daughter-in-law, bad wife and bad mother” (Washington Post, March 1, 2010). According to the Post article, the woman who commissioned the advertisement, Hwang Myoung-eun, was referring to her status as a working professional and mother of a six-year-old son and her frustration with being branded as selfish and irresponsible. It is this ideology that shapes her experiences and those of many like her, coupled with the real conditions of paid work for women that restrict them to the domestic sphere and in the end influence decisions to go transnational. Contrasted with the lack of power that women have in the world of paid work, the strict separation of public and domestic spheres can be seen, paradoxically, as providing women with greater power in the home (H.-J. Cho 1996). The decision-making power of transnational mothers is also evident in the TKFS survey pre-test results. We found that transnational mothers were more likely to say it had been their sole decision to move (as opposed to a decision made by their spouses and/or children) than immigrant mothers. Transnational mothers were also more likely to say that they took sole responsibility for domestic chores and managing finances in Korea. As this suggests, it seems likely that transnational families epitomize a model of gendered social reproduction (Lee and Koo 2006) even as their decisionmaking power in the family may be increasing. Given the rising levels of education among women, with many of them having had or continue to have paid work experience, we should expect women to have greater decision-making power in the household than they did in the past. Along with their ability to make decisions for themselves, their children, and their families, mothers can also have their own agendas for moving abroad. Specifically, migrating with children as a lone parent can be viewed beyond its pure instrumental motivations, as transnational engagements also reflect mothers’ desires for cosmopolitan identities and experiences for themselves and their children (Park and Abelmann 2004; Weenick 2008). While the high demand for ESL classes among foreign student mothers in Toronto may be viewed as evidence of their need to fulfill

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the callings of the mothering-for-education discourse, it can also be viewed as evidence of their hope to be part of a global community. Discussion and Conclusions

Among families from South Korea, the search for a global education and perceptions of life chances must be contextualized in the contemporary global economy that gives supremacy to the cultural and linguistic traits of the West. Furthermore, it must also be understood in relation to the state’s quest for economic growth and development and, ultimately, to elevate Korea’s global position. Finally, it must be situated in the ideology of educational meritocracy: that education is the most legitimate route to improved socio-economic standing. Given this context, changes in national policy and, consequently, in the educational system, as well as economic conditions, have reshaped the mothering discourse and simultaneously entrenched traditional social reproductive practices of families. Along with a number of additional factors, including the highly competitive nature of the educational system in Korea and the perception of an inferior English language curriculum, the separation of social reproductive spheres according to gender has had the effect of increasing the transnational engagements of families. Other important factors include changes in border policies that generally eased movement between Korea and Canada, increased access to information on migrating abroad for English language programs, and advances in communication and transportation technology. It must be remembered that families become transnational in a myriad of ways and that being a transnational family is, for the most part, a temporary state. The type of family addressed here refers to those families that send children abroad with the mother and do not address those families that become transnational after migrating with all their members. In some cases fathers return to Korea due to a lack of employment opportunities in Canada and leave unemployed mothers and children. In other cases, fathers return to Korea alone after relocating abroad temporarily for work or study, leaving behind children and their mothers who have found employment in Canada and are unwilling to return to Korea. The reasons for these latter types of transnational families are different from those who move temporarily for their children’s foreign education as their decisions are made under different conditions and considerations. That is, relative economic conditions and structural barriers in both places of origin and destination are key factors for transnational families that become so after their initial migration. Future

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research is needed to identify these myriad forms of transnational families and the varied conditions under which they are created. This discussion also does not address the experiences of transnational families with regard to their settlement and integration, their family dynamics and relationships, and their mental and physical health. We do not yet have a clear understanding of how families differ in these areas according to their type of migration strategy. However, we do know that legal status determines accessibility to social programs and services and that many transnational mothers and their children are unable to access support when needed. There is a sense among foreign student mothers in Toronto that while they support the local economy beyond the tuition they pay for educational programs, they and their children receive little in return. This heightens their feelings of alienation and of being viewed narrowly as consumers. We can, however, adopt a broader approach and view their transnational engagements under the purview of global citizenship and, thus, treat them as citizens. Notes The author would like to acknowledge the Toronto Korean Families Study (TKFS) project funded by a SSHRC Standard Research Grant 2009–2012 and the New Brunswick Koreans Project funded by the New Brunswick Population Growth Secretariat in 2009. Thanks to Choong Ho Park, Young-Ah Kim, Eun-Joo Cho, and Andrew Nguyen for research assistance. Thanks also to Wansoo Park, Min-Jung Kwak, Eunjung Lee, Samuel Noh, Sung Hyun Yun, Jeeseon Park, Jose Itzigsohn, and Chedly Belkhodja. Any and all errors are the sole the responsibility of the author.

1. Although less common, fathers also migrate with children while mothers remain in Korea. 2. This estimate includes students who arrived alone and those who arrived with one parent. It is estimated by taking the percentage of primary to secondaryschool students (37.9% percent) from the total number of foreign students from Korea present in 2009 (25,871) (Citizenship and Immigration Canada 2010). Since I do not have the figures for primary- and secondary-level students present in Canada, I applied their observed rate in the flow data. This figure (9,805) was doubled and rounded to account for families without visas and for families who arrived as permanent residents. 3. As part of the New Brunswick Koreans project, four focus groups were conducted in Fredericton, Moncton, and Saint John with mostly recent Korean immigrants.

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STRUCTURING TRANSNATIONALISM  ANN H. KIM 4. Data collection for the full TKFS survey was underway at the time of writing. The pilot test was conducted in February and March 2010 in Windsor, Ontario, and consisted of seventeen mothers, about half of whom were transnational mothers.

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CHAPTER 12 Weenink, Don. 2008. “Cosmopolitanism as a Form of Capital: Parents Preparing Their Children for a Globalizing World.” Sociology 42: 1089–1106. World Bank. 2011. Internet Users (per 100 people), Infrastructure. World DataBank: World Development Indicators database.

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PRODUCING REFUGEES AND TRAFFICKED PERSONS: WOMEN, UNACCOMPANIED MINORS, AND DISCOURSES OF CRIMINALIZED VICTIMHOOD Hijin Park

Large-scale migrations of people, primarily from the Global South to the Global North, are what define the contemporary moment (Spivak 2002, 47). Of particular concern to Western nation-states is the arrival of uninvited, irregular migrants, who have been increasingly criminalized from the 1990s onward. These refugee claimants and undocumented migrants are conceptualized as the underbelly or dark side of globalization. They, and the transnational criminalized organizations that facilitate their migration, are perceived to be a threat to national sovereignty and global security (Bradimore and Bauder 2011). Although refugee and undocumented communities are often omitted from studies on transnational migration (since they are defined by their inability to freely move within and between nations), they have significant transnational political, economic, and social ties. Various transnational state and non-state organizations and bodies act to facilitate the identification, management, protection, surveillance, and deportation of smuggled and trafficked refugees; the discourses that support who is designated a genuine refugee or trafficked victim in need of protection and who is a “bogus refugee” or economic migrant abusing Western generosity are decidedly transnational (Binder and Tošić 2005; Hyndman and Walton-Roberts 2000). As I aim to show, they supersede national borders since the narratives of criminality and victimhood that frame refugee determination are largely tied to colonial and imperial relations. This chapter examines the Western governance of irregular uninvited transnational migration by analyzing Canadian administrative, judicial,

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and mainstream media constructions of the refugee claims of one of the most significant boat arrivals in Canadian history. In the summer of 1999, approximately 600 Chinese migrants from Fujian province arrived off the coast of British Columbia in four separate boats. Termed the “summer of the boats,” this event sparked a passionate debate about issues of Canadian sovereignty, immigration and refugee policy, and the rise of transnational human smuggling and trafficking operations. Over 95% of the refugee claims were denied, far exceeding the average failure rate of refugee claims in Canada. This resulted in a series of mass deportations, the largest in Canadian history (Mountz 2010, 16). Significantly, the refugee claims of the women and minors were disproportionately successful. Through a critical discourse analysis of the documents pertaining to the refugee claims of the Chinese migrants of 1999, I highlight how the experiences of women and minors are regulated by gendered and aged discourses of victimhood and criminalization. Work on irregular migration in the contemporary moment primarily focuses on discourses of security and how migrants are dehumanized as terrorists and criminals (Pratt 2005). Similarly, the vast majority of work on the Chinese migrants of 1999 examines how the migrants were criminalized by the mainstream media and government bodies as “bogus refugees” and “queue jumpers” (Mountz 2010). While this work highlights the centrality of race—and to a lesser extent class—gender and age are noticeably absent as categories of analysis. Also absent is an examination of how humanitarian discourse operates in conjunction with discourses of security to legitimate the overall criminalization of the boat migrants. My argument is that by foregrounding the claims of the women and unaccompanied minors, it becomes clear that humanitarianism and criminalization operate relationally, are not distinct, and are part of the same discursive field. In keeping with a number of anti-racist feminist scholars, I frame the refugee hearing as a colonial encounter between Third World victims/ criminals and First World saviours (Razack 1998, 88–89). Thus, this chapter works from the premise that the Canadian refugee determination system is not an objective system that can distinguish true refugees from economic migrants using impartial, internationally recognized criteria regarding persecution. Rather, it is part of the global management of populations that draws on and reproduces colonial narratives of Asian women and children as pitiable victims of Asian men and culture. Thus this chapter is not about the Chinese women, men, and minors who arrived by boat in 1999 or about the policies of the Chinese state, but about how the refugee claims

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of the migrants are understood through Western Orientalist and imperial discourses. I begin by examining how gender and age inform constructions of victimhood and criminality that shape who is a foreign criminal abusing our generosity and who is a refugee deserving of pity. To do this, I draw on work that critiques the international refugee regime (Malkki 1995) and that problematizes anti-trafficking campaigns (Sharma 2003). From this perspective, I then look at how women and children were constructed as “exceptional” migrants during the 1999 “summer of the boats.” I move on to analyze the Immigration and Refugee Board (IRB) documents pertaining to the refugee claims of the Chinese migrants of 1999. I conclude this chapter by examining how criminalization is both constituted and masked by discourses of humanitarianism. Gender and Age in the Refugee Protection and Anti-Trafficking Regimes

Malkki (1995, 497–98) contends that although people have always sought refuge and procedures have existed to manage refugees, it was not until after World War II in Europe that the “refugee” as a particular social and legal category emerged in its current form. The “refugee” was produced by the practices and regimes of knowledge created by transnational institutions, non-governmental organizations, Western governments, journalists, and academics involved in defining the form and content of humanitarian aid and was not produced prior to or independently of this process (Hardy and Phillips 1998, 9). The process of refugee determination creates two identities: the First World saviour and the Third World Other, the refugee-accepting countries and the refugee-producing countries (Razack 1998, 3). Persecution comes to mean what “they,” the refugee-producing countries, do and what “we,” the refugee-accepting countries, cannot do and are in charge of resolving. The archetypal refugee was implicitly defined as an active, heterosexual, adult male “heroically trying to assert his (typically male) individuality against an oppressive state” (Luibheid 2002, citing Bhabha, 105). Despite the legal presumption of a refugee as male, and the common visualization of refugees as a mass of humanity, Malkki (1996) notes that “refugeeness” today is often embodied by women and children, and a “woman with child.” This is the case, Malkki (1996) argues, not just because most refugees are women and children but because refugees by definition are those who need to be helped and they must display their helplessness (388). Highlighting

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the visual and performative aspects of refugee determination, administrators in charge of identifying and assisting refugees do so by identifying exemplary victims. The face of this authentic victimhood is increasingly that of Third World women and children. Grewal (2005) explains that the recent and much celebrated recognition of gender-based persecution in refugee discourse has facilitated the (re)production of the figure of the oppressed Third World female Other. Drawing on analyses of the first gender persecution cases in the 1990s in the United States and Canada, Grewal (2005, 180) argues that these cases reveal how the use of gender persecution guidelines has revitalized constructions of the victimized woman as the consummate refugee. The East is constructed as a site of oppression and violence, and the West as a space of freedom and choice. In their attempts to assist female migrants in receiving access to and validation within the system, non-governmental organizations affirmed this Orientalist narrative (180–81). Alongside this contemporary construction of the Third World Woman and the Woman and Child as victimized refugees is the revitalization of anti-trafficking campaigns. Bhabha (March 2005) confirms that within the force-versus-choice dichotomy of migration, men are primarily associated with smuggling, their irregular migration assumed to be consensual and thus criminal, while victims of trafficking are presumed to be women and children forced into the clandestine world of sexual slavery and indentured labour. Dauvergne (2005, 5–6) adds that the exploitation of women and children inserts a powerful emotive force into anti-trafficking campaigns far exceeding its statistical relevance, since it taps into powerful narratives of the victimization of society’s most helpless: women and children. The possibility that women, and to a lesser extent minors, can utilize the services of a human smuggler and consent to migrate to the North to work in the sex industry is rarely considered in contemporary discourses of human trafficking. Although anti-trafficking campaigns are not synonymous with refugee protection, these two separate but inextricably linked Western discourses merged to frame how the refugee claims of the Chinese migrants of 1999 could be heard. The focus on human smuggling and trafficking, and on choice and force, appears to have assisted the refugee claims of the women, and particularly the children, while simultaneously acting to limit the migrant men in their claims. Within smuggling and trafficking discourse, only trafficked migrants are victims, and “trafficked victims” refers almost exclusively to women and children. The gendering of trafficking discourse

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and the Orientalist scripts on which refugee and anti-trafficking discourse rely enabled more women and children to be deemed helpless victims. The Politics of Pity: The Refugee Claims of the Chinese Migrants of 1999

In the case of the 1999 migrants, the presence of women and children on the boats was seen as exceptional. With regard to the arrival of the second boat, Daniel Girard in the Toronto Star (August 13, 1999, A1) stated, “The latest batch of migrants are believed to be from the same province. But the children and about 40 women make this ship different.” An audience member at a roundtable discussing the ramifications of the “summer of the boats” argued that it is important to address the issue of children because “we don’t want to be caught ever in the situation where you’re all of a sudden saying, ‘there’s all these minors! We never thought we’d get minors. We just thought we would get people’” (Charlton et al. December 2002, 37). In Western discourse on migration, “people” and “migrants” appear to be adult males. Like refugee advocates (see R. Wong 2000; V. Wong 2000), the media frequently represented Chinese women, girls, and boys as potential victims of the global sex trade (see Manthorpe 1999). Thus two gendered and aged categories of irregular migration appear to exist: smuggled adult male economic migrants (often referred to simply as “the migrants”) and persecuted and/or trafficked women and children who may be forced to work in the sex trade. It is by fitting into this latter category that claimants may be recognized as refugees. The refugee claims of the Chinese migrants of 1999, finalized between 1999 and 2003, had a 4% success rate (as opposed to a national average of 50%) (Canadian Council for Refugees 2005). Of the 577 refugee claims put forward by the migrants, approximately 400 were made by adult men, 90 by adult women, and the remainder by unaccompanied minors. Twenty-four of these 577 claims were successful: twelve adult women, seven minors, and five adult men (Mountz 2004, 336). Thus approximately 79% of the successful claims were made by women and minors of both genders although they made up approximately only 25% of the total claims. This section analyzes the publicly available documents pertaining to the refugee status of the Chinese migrants. Although most refugee hearings are held in public, the IRB does not provide transcripts of refugee hearings to the public; IRB officials are not required to and do not provide written decisions of all refugee claims. Deemed “exceptional,” many of the hearings of the Chinese migrants were held in prisons that were not open to the public.

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Other hearings were held in the regular IRB hearing rooms in Vancouver but were not open to the public for security reasons (Anderson, Melissa, IRB Vancouver, personal communication). Thus my analysis is limited to the claims available on the IRB and government websites. In examining the details of the refugee claims, my intent is not to highlight the inconsistencies or inadequacies of the refugee determination system. Rather, my aim is to reveal in detail how the imperial story (Razack 1998, 114) operates in the refugee determination process. Within the realm of refugee discourse, China’s one-child policy and religious persecution are among the most accepted claims for Chinese women and men, respectively (Mickleburgh 1999). Drawing on the work of Boltanski, Claudia Aradau (2004, 258) argues that the politics of pity “needs to configure suffering as recognizable, something the spectators can identify and sympathize with.” Since the 1980s the legitimized form of suffering for Chinese women has primarily been centred on the dictates of China’s one-child policy, which limits most couples of the Han Chinese majority to one or two children. The Canadian nation-state has defined China’s family planning policy as a potential source of claims of persecution by both men and women since the early 1990s (Shacter 1997, 724–25), based on the denial of the basic human right to reproduction through forced abortion and sterilization. In the 1999 cases, all adult men who based their claims on China’s onechild policy were unsuccessful. The evidence reveals that the one-child policy is primarily gendered female and religious persecution is primarily gendered male. There is also no evidence that any of the women (or men) based their claims in part on being a victim of sexual slavery or other forms of indentured labour. While Sharma’s (2003) interviews with twenty-four of the Chinese migrant women reveal that a number of the women intended to do sex work in North America, none seem to have drawn on the narrative of sexual exploitation. This may be because, as her interviews show, many of the women were well aware that they must conform to recognized narratives of persecution for Chinese women in order to receive refugee status (Sharma 2003, 61), and China’s one-child policy is a more established claim than more recent Western panics regarding sex trafficking. Nonetheless I propose that the conflation of Third World women with victimization in both contemporary anti-trafficking discourse and refugee discourse worked to assist the women in their disproportionately successful refugee claims.

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Although media and government discussions of the migrants’ poverty, rather than their claims to persecution, reinforced the general conclusion that they were economic migrants, poverty seemed to contribute to ideas of victimhood for the women by making them vulnerable to the abuses of Chinese men and the state. The Western construction of the “Third World woman” was prevalent in the women’s refugee hearings, where emphasis was placed on their lack of education, their poverty, the rural conditions under which they were raised, the sexism of the men in their lives, and the barbarity of the Chinese state. Deemed a Convention refugee in November 1999, Lin Li Jeun’s case involved aspects of the “Third World woman.” Lin is described in the IRB hearing as a twenty-nine-year-old woman who comes from a “large, poor family,” “has an elementary school education,” and “has spent her life since the end of her schooling working on the family farm” (Canadian Refugee Determination Division [CRDD] V99-02637 1999, 1). Lin’s claim was based on the grounds that if returned to China she would be persecuted by the Chinese government for bringing an abortion certificate proving that she had a forced abortion in 1992. In another successful case, the IRB summarized the refugee claim thus: We find her presentation to be a sufficiently plausible tale of a poorly educated rural woman who has run up against the often-draconian implementation of family planning policies of China. Another factor: most of her various statements to immigration officers were very consistent with her PIF [Personal Information Form] and testimony at the hearing. There is no good reason to disbelieve the thrust of her evidence. (CRDD V99-03499 2000, 2)

Although it is unclear why her femaleness, education, and rural roots would affect her ability to narrate her life story (something that she, more than anyone else, should be able to discuss), plausibility has evidently been tied to gender, poor education, and rural upbringing. Another unnamed woman is depicted as an equally poor rural woman who is victimized by a sexist and ableist Chinese culture. Since her only son had a cognitive disability, she was desperate to have another child who could support herself, her husband, and their disabled son, and she illegally removed her IUD. When she was discovered to be eight months pregnant, her unborn daughter was forcibly aborted (CRDD VA0-00592 2000, 2). Through an interpreter she stated:

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CHAPTER 13 Officials from the Brigade came with a large group of people and arrested me. I was eight months pregnant.… Locals pleaded in tears for them to let me go but the officials from the Brigade just ignored them.… They treated me like a felony criminal, when I was just a pregnant woman in the last days of her pregnancy! I pleaded with them to wait till I gave birth to the child and would be willing to undergo tubal ligation right away and even go to jail. They refused to listen and forcibly escorted me to the hospital for the abortion. That baby girl that was taken out was still moving and was able to open her mouth. My heart was broken when I saw what happened to a living child. It was like she was being executed before she was even born—she had done nothing to deserve this. I was devastated and continue to suffer. (CRDD VA000592 2000, 2)

In this admittedly horrific tale, the claimant told a recognizable tale of trauma and pain that involved a desperate and self-sacrificing pregnant woman, a baby girl “executed” in a country and culture that is constructed in the West as regularly killing and/or discarding girls, and a mother witnessing the death of her child. It is not surprising that IRB member Daggett concluded that the woman was a Convention refugee (CRDD VA0-00592 2000, 7). This claimant adequately performed and conformed to the narrative of the “thoroughly disempowered, brutalized, and victimized” Third World woman refugee subject (Kapur 2005, 115). A significant component of the Third World female refugee subject is the presence of oppressive men. The three women cited above had abusive husbands. Although the Chinese state was the agent of persecution, rather than the husbands, the women were physically or emotionally abandoned by their husbands in their time of need. Lin Li Jeun’s husband is stated to have left her in part because he was displeased about the large fine issued to them for her unauthorized pregnancy (CRDD V99-02637 1999, 3). In the case of the second woman, her husband borrowed a large sum of money from her parents to start a business and then abandoned her because “he was furious that their newborn was a daughter” (CRDD V99-03499 2000, 1). The third woman testified that the trauma of seeing the live birth and subsequent death of her child was further exacerbated by her husband’s cruel response. In her Personal Information Form she recounted: After they killed my child, the officials from the Brigade still levied a fine against me (for having failed to take two of the IUD tests) and inserted an IUD in me. My husband, irate over the loss of our child and the fine on top

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PRODUCING REFUGEES AND TRAFFICKED PERSONS  HIJIN PARK of that, said he wanted to divorce me.… I suffered so much misery at home. I thought that the only way out for me was a new life in exchange for my life to come to Canada, a country where human rights are respected and where there is freedom and democracy. If I succeed in my refugee claim, I would like to apply for my husband and son to join me in Canada. (CRDD VA000592 2000, 2–3)

The oppressive practices of all three husbands contributed to the construction of the women as victims in need of protection. Chinese men were also constructed as needing to be liberated from the Chinese state. This was done, however, through the discourse of religious persecution and political opinion. Yoko Arisaka (2000, 212) notes that Asian nations have been defined by the West as primitive in part because Asian countries, by and large, are not Judeo-Christian. This script assists in making the stories of religious persecution understandable to the IRB. In IRB refugee claims based on religious persecution (whether the outcome is negative or positive), the West is constructed as a space where all are free to practise various religions. In accordance with patriarchal scripts, the narrative of victimhood for Chinese men and women tends to conform to gendered distinctions between the public and the private, the mind and the body, and the hero and the victim. Men are associated with the former and women with the latter. The successful claims of the Chinese migrant women and men of 1999 tend to fall within the parameters of patriarchal scripts in which women are associated with the body and reproduction, and men are associated with the mind; women exist within the realm of private life and the family, and men in the realm of public life and civil society; women are dependent daughters, wives, and mothers and men are individual citizens persecuted by an oppressive state. An examination of the successful claims of the Chinese migrant men further clarifies the ways in which passive victimhood informs the gendered imperial story for the Chinese migrant women, since it appears that men, much more so than women (and children), can draw on narratives of masculine heroism. In the case of a thirty-four-year-old man whose successful refugee claim was based mainly on religious persecution, his activities are continually defined as political and his character as “determined” and “confident” (CRDD V99-03480 2000, 4). In the case of a thirty-oneyear-old man who also gained refugee status based on religious persecution, his involvement with spreading the Catholic faith is defined as politi-

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cal and he is described as “persuasive,” “knowledgeable,” “co-operative,” and “intelligent” (CRDD V99-03485 2000, 3). Although in the 1999 cases, some women and girls based their refugee claim in part or primarily on religious persecution, there is no evidence that any of them were successful (see CRDD V99-03528 2000). I propose that if the successful cases of religious persecution made by men mentioned above had been made by women, the narratives would have constructed the women as passive victims of persecution rather than as active heroes. As Razack (1998) revealed in her work on African-Caribbean women refugee claimants, their strength and ability to survive despite extreme violence and hardship could not be seen as heroic. Instead, they were seen as not being the passive victims required by the gendered imperial narrative. A twenty-seven-year-old man received refugee status because he identified some of the snakeheads (human smugglers) and snakehead enforcers on his boat. The IRB found that there were reasonable grounds to believe that the snakeheads would seek retribution for his actions. The Chinese government would not be able to protect him due to a lack of commitment and effort to eliminate smuggling and the fact that many local officials are involved in smuggling (CRDD VA0-00611 2000, 8). The agents of persecution in this case were the snakeheads. The man’s actions were defined as political whereas the actions of women claimants who illegally removed their IUDs were not defined as political. While reproduction is clearly a political issue, the women were primarily defined through narratives of personal and family trauma. Medical evidence proved that as a teenager Lin Li Jeun received a knife wound from family planning officials when she tried to protect her mother from the officials who wanted to sterilize her. She brought an original copy of her abortion certificate from 1992 in order to prove that she had suffered a forced abortion (CRDD V99-02637 1999, 5). This act was crucial to her refugee claim, as the board found that the Chinese state might subject her to persecutory treatment for providing a document to a Western state proving that persecution exists in China. Nonetheless, Lin is not defined as a political activist or as a woman who resisted the dictates of China’s one-child policy. If any of the women had attempted to construct themselves as political activists rather than victims, their chances of receiving refugee status may have been significantly diminished. Claims of gender-based persecution are assisted when a woman is perceived as helpless in the face of Asian patriarchy, rather than someone who actively negotiates or resists it.

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Although the label “victim of trafficking” did not directly support the claims of the Chinese migrant women and men, the refugee claims of several Chinese minors hinged on whether they were trafficked by their parents or consented to be smuggled. The publicly available hearings of three minor males were all successful based on the IRB’s conclusion that the minors were trafficked by their fathers as a source of income. The minors were to work in North America and send remittances back to their family. On April 20, 2000, seventeen-year-old Li Zu Huang and fifteen-year-old Zhang Yong Ming were found to be Convention refugees based on membership in a particular social group, “minor children who are sent from China into servitude” (CRDD V99-02926 2000, 1). Parents were the “agents of persecution.” Heard jointly, the claims of both male minors were successful based on the distinction between economic or smuggled migrants and genuine refugees or trafficked victims. Referring to Li Zu Huang’s claim, IRB member Baldwin cited Article 4 of the UN Charter of Rights that prohibits slavery and the slave trade (CRDD V99-02926 2000, 4–5). The case of a sixteen-year-old boy was bolstered by evidence that his father regularly physically abused him and that as a minor, he could not protect himself. IRB members Graub and Beckow go on to state: In addition, the father has exposed the son to the risks of debt bondage…. The claimant’s father has subjected him to cruel and degrading punishment, both by being physically violent with him and by placing him in the hands of the human smugglers.… The claimant must have a link between the persecution he fears, if returned to China, and one of the grounds set out in the [refugee] definition. We find that he has a link as a member of a particular social group—namely, minors. The child’s vulnerability arises as a result of his status as a minor. (CRDD V99-02929 2000, 6)

Since refugee determination is forward-looking, a positive outcome rested on whether the IRB members believed the minors would be re-trafficked if returned to China. In all three cases, the IRB found that the father was determined to send his child to North America and the fine imposed by the Chinese state upon return would strengthen the father’s commitment to trafficking his child for money. The Chinese state cannot be relied upon to protect children from their parents, since IRB country reports reveal that state officials in Fujian and elsewhere in China are involved in human smuggling (CRDD V99-02926 2000, 5). Unlike Canada, where the minors

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are currently under the guardianship of the British Columbia Ministry of Children and Families, “the panel is unaware of any [Chinese] state-run or government-sponsored institution that would assume responsibility for the welfare of the child” (CRDD V99-02929 2000, 9). The panel also found that, according to country documents on China, the police would not interfere in cases of child abuse since child welfare is considered a private family matter. Extended family members would not provide prolonged care of the minor since a culture of filial piety (obedience to parents, particularly fathers) is strongly enforced (CRDD V99-02929 2000, 4 and 9). As the above statements reveal, Western constructions of Chinese culture and the concept of filial piety constitute significant components of the distinction between being smuggled versus being trafficked, and therefore of the perceived availability of state protection. The vast majority of minor claims in the available documents examined the issue of filial piety, whether the outcome was negative or positive. In the successful case of Zhang Yong Ming, Baldwin states: Your testimony was that if your father wished to send you back then you must go. You stated that you felt obligated to fulfil the wishes of your father, despite what had been harsh and unbearable difficulties on the boat journey. You stated that you felt you had been pushed out from the family because your father had selected you because your other siblings were sisters. (CRDD V99-02950 2000, 6)

All of the above statements were deemed credible due to a Chinese culture of filial piety. In the case of eight unaccompanied male minors whose claims were heard jointly by the IRB, counsel for the minors argued that “children cannot consent to being trafficked” due to their age and due to the prevalence of “filial piety” in Chinese culture. In reaching a negative decision, the IRB concluded that overall the claimants were forthright and engaging young men who all face a grim reality in China. They endured extreme hardship and very real danger to come to North America with the hope of economic betterment. However, their circumstances do not fall within the scope of relief offered by the Convention definition. (Li, Shu Ping et al v. M.C.I., para 3, emphasis added)

The case was appealed to the Federal Court of Canada, and in December 2000, Federal Court Justice Frederick Gibson accepted the appeal and

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ordered that the claim be re-determined by a differently constituted panel of the IRB (O’Reilly 2000). It is unclear what happened to these eight male minors as only one of their re-determination hearings is available on RefLex. This seventeen-yearold’s claim was once again denied in the summer of 2001. The panel states: The claimant alleges he had no choice but to board the boat for the USA when his father so decided, due to the culture of filial piety. This is inconsistent with the assertive young man apparent from the claimant’s other testimony, that he quit his job in China without consulting his father, who was very angry. In any event, the claimant was inconsistent regarding his consent to departure. (CRDD V99-03532, 2002, 3, emphasis added)

It seems that part of the reason the refugee claims of the eight minor males were rejected was because the IRB believed that they were “forthright and engaging young men” (Li et al v. Canada) and that the seventeen-year-old male was an “assertive young man” (CRDD V99-03532 2002, 3). Although they were legally under the age of eighteen, the characters of the minors were such that they were seen as active agents who had the wherewithal to make life-altering decisions. Hence, unlike adult male claimants where assertiveness, confidence, and determination supported their refugee claims based on religious persecution and political opinion, the claims of minor males were seen as suspect if evidence of assertiveness could be found. This is primarily due to the distinctions made between smuggling and trafficking, which are central to the minors’ claims of persecution but not central to the men’s claims of religious persecution. Minor females also received negative refugee claims because they did not conform to the construction of “victims of trafficking” bound by “filial piety.” According to Karen O’Connor Coulter, a lawyer for one of the minor females, her claim and that of nine other minor females were unsuccessful because “these girls took the hardship of being unwanted girls as simply a fact of life. Someone reframing it as a refugee claim and a type of persecution was a new concept to them” (Jimenez 2001, 21). As revealed by Dauvergne (2005), in order to be seen as trafficked, one must be a passive, helpless victim. Also, it is highly significant that the continual construction of China as a culture ruled by filial piety serves to construct Chinese state and culture as “different and civilizationally backward” (Kapur 2005, 113) regardless of whether the claimant receives a positive or negative determination. Similar narratives of cultural inferiority and discourses of crimi-

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nality and victimhood frame the hearing regardless of the outcome. Both positive and negative determinations support gendered and aged imperial narratives that I argue are central to the refugee process. Conclusion: Criminalization and Humanitarianism as Constitutive

With the establishment of the UNHCR in 1951, the question of refugees, which had been conceptualized as a military and security issue, came to be understood as a social or humanitarian problem (Malkki 1995, 499–500). Beginning in the 1980s and solidifying in the 1990s, refugees were again seen primarily in terms of security, but understood within a human rights framework of protecting genuine refugees within a system established for that purpose. Thus Elinor Caplan, Minister of Citizenship and Immigration in “the summer of the boats,” defined human smuggling as a threat not so much to the Canadian state per se as to the integrity of the Canadian refugee determination system and the well-being of genuine refugees. Grewal refers to this utilization of human rights discourse as “a claim of good governance” (2005, 122) that has come to dominate the ways in which governments and NGOs conceptualize the crisis of migration (158). Global migration is also framed around discourses of crime and, most recently, terrorism. Anna Pratt and Mariana Valverde confirm that criminality has always operated as a category of exclusion, but the extent to which criminality has become the guiding principle for exclusion in immigration law is historically unparalleled (2002, 135), pointing to the creation of the Organized Crime Unit of Citizenship and Immigration Canada in 1994 as a vivid example of the movement toward criminalizing migration (137–38). The case of the Chinese migrants of 1999 shows that criminalization and humanitarianism operate concurrently in the selective inclusion and exclusion of Third World Others. Bhabha (March 2005) asserts: Despite the plethora of human rights concerns associated with human smuggling, it is in fact the law enforcement imperative—the war against terrorism, narcotics, and irregular migration—that has moved this issue up the international political agenda.

As the analysis of the refugee claims reveals, Chinese women, men, and children become refugees through the construction of Chinese state barbarity and Chinese transnational organized crime. In justifying their detention, Immigration Minister Caplan stated, “Recent experience may also

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lead us to consider detention as a human security issue, that is, in cases where the persons may themselves be at risk from the smugglers” (qtd. in Tanner and Hasselback 1999). Alistair Boulton, past-president of the Canadian Bar Association refugee section, pointed out that since nearly all refugees arrive in Canada through the services of smugglers, “it really means you’re going to lock everyone up upon arrival” (ibid.). Thus Caplan’s framing of the detention as protection is in keeping with techniques of neoliberal criminalization that draw on human rights discourse. In arguing that anti-trafficking campaigns and their emphasis on protecting women and children still criminalize the migration of trafficking victims, Sharma asks: [I]s it possible that the actual intended utility of anti-trafficking campaigns is not to serve the interests of migrants but to function as an arm of border control? If so the issue is really how it has chosen to represent its objectives as humanitarian, thereby sustaining support for an inherently oppressive project from many progressive people. (2003, 55)

Likewise Anne Gallagher describes human rights discourse as the “cloak” through which security measures are legitimated and normalized (cited in Dauvergne 2005, 6). It can be argued that the purpose of constructing Chinese women and children as victims and refugees is not so much to identify and rescue the vulnerable and exploited as to further construct Chinese men and the state as in need of First World intervention, particularly in the context of global concerns about the economic and political rise of parts of Asia (Park 2010). Thobani states that the fixation on smugglers and traffickers as the cause of trafficking disguises how Canada supports and benefits from increased trade liberalization and free trade agreements that have produced the conditions for migration from the South to the North (2001, 30). Instead of being accountable for neoliberal practices that have increased global inequality, the Canadian state participates in debates about how our security is threatened by China’s inability to adhere to universal human rights. Implicit in this debate is the belief that it is the West that can bring equality to China if and when it chooses to do so and, unlike cultural sharing, this would not be a two-way exchange. This chapter has addressed how refugee protection and anti-trafficking campaigns work to normalize First World management of Third World Others through discourses of criminalization and victimhood, smuggling,

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and trafficking. Unlike previous work on the “summer of the boats” that centres on criminalization, I have highlighted how refugee protection and national security discourse operate through one another. Rather than being diametrically opposed and disconnected narratives, the discourses of criminality/national security and victimhood/humanitarianism are inextricably linked and continue the legacy of colonial gendered narratives using new subjects such as refugees, illegal migrants, and new regimes of governing such as “children’s rights” and “women’s rights are human rights.” References Aradau, Claudia. 2004. “The Perverse Politics of Four-letter Words: Risk and Pity in the Securitisation of Human Trafficking.” Millennium: Journal of International Studies 33 (2): 251–77. Arisaka, Yoko. 2000. “Asian Women: Invisibility, Locations, and Claims to Philosophy.” In Women of Color and Philosophy: A Critical Reader, edited by Naomi Zack, 209–34. Oxford, UK: Blackwell Publishers. Bhabha, Jacqueline. March 2005. “Trafficking, Smuggling, and Human Rights.” Migration Information Source: Special Issue on Migration and Human Rights. http://www.migrationinformation.org. Binder, Susanne, and Jelena Tošić. 2005. “Refugees as a Particular Form of Transnational Migrations and Social Transformations: Socioanthropological and Gender Aspects.” Current Sociology 53: 607–24. Bradimore, Ashley, and Harold Bauder. 2011. Mystery Ships and Risky Boat People: Tamil Refugee Migration in the Newsprint Media. Report. 11-02, Vancouver, BC: Metropolis British Columbia. Canadian Council for Refugees. 2005. Immigration and Refugee Board Refugee Protection Division, Statistics 2004. Canadian Refugee Determination Division (CRDD). February 16, 2000. V99-02637, Neuenfeldt, November 22, 1999. In RefLex Issue 132. ———. March 29, 2000. V99-03528, Sachedina, Hamelin, January 27, 2000. In RefLex Issue 135. ———. April 12, 2000. V99-03485, Terrana, February 14, 2000. In RefLex Issue 136. ———. April 12, 2000. V99-03499, Vanderkooy, Neuenfeldt, February 15, 2000. In RefLex Issue 136. ———. April 26, 2000. V99-02929, Beckow, Graub, February 21, 2000. In RefLex Issue 137. ———. June 21, 2000. V99-03480, Cunanan, Vanderkooy, April 11, 2000. In RefLex Issue 141.

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PRODUCING REFUGEES AND TRAFFICKED PERSONS  HIJIN PARK ———. July 19, 2000. V99-02926, Baldwin, Vanderkooy, April 20, 2000. In RefLex Issue 143. ———. July 19, 2000. V99-02950, Baldwin, Vanderkooy, April 20, 2000. In RefLex Issue 143. ———. September 13, 2000. VA0-00592, Daggett, June 21, 2000. In RefLex Issue 146. ———. November 1, 2000. VA0-00611, Ross, Daggett, August 17, 2000. In RefLex Issue 150. ———. January 24, 2002. V99-03532, Gibbs, Terrana, October 12, 2001. In RefLex Issue 180. Charlton, Alexandra, Suzanne Duff, Dan Grant, Alison Mountz, Robin Pike, Joshua Sohn, and Chris Taylor. December 2002. The Challenges to Responding to Human Smuggling in Canada: Practitioners Reflect on the 1999 Boat Arrivals in British Columbia. Vancouver, BC: Vancouver RIIM Centre of Excellence. Dauvergne, Catherine. 2005. “And Yet We Are Not Saved: Hegemony and the Global War on Human Trafficking.” Faculty of Law Diversity Workshop, University of Toronto, November 10, 1–29. Girard, Daniel. 1999. “Korean Crew to Face Smuggling Charges, Officials Round Up Chinese Migrants.” Toronto Star, August 13, A1. Grewal, Inderpal. 2005. Transnational America: Feminisms, Diasporas, Neoliberalisms. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Hardy, Cynthia, and Nelson Phillips. 1998. No Joking Matter: Discursive Struggle in the Canadian Refugee System. Melbourne, Australia: Department of Management, University of Melbourne. Hyndman, Jennifer, and Margaret Walton-Roberts. 2000. “Interrogating Borders: A Transnational Approach to Refugee Research in Vancouver.” Canadian Geographer 44: 244–58. Jimenez, Marina. 2001. “The Promised land.” Saturday Night, January 27, 16–24. Kapur, Ratna. 2005. Erotic Justice: Law and the New Politics of Postcolonialism. Delhi, India: Permanent Black. Li, Shu Ping et al v. M.C.I. (F.C.T.D., no. IMM-932-00), Gibson J, December 11, 2000. Luibheid, Eithne. 2002. Entry Denied: Controlling Sexuality at the Border. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Malkki, Liisa H. 1995. “Refugees and Exile: From ‘Refugee Studies’ to the National Order of Things.” Annual Review of Anthropology 24: 495–523. ———. 1996. “Speechless Emissaries: Refugees, Humanitarianism, and Dehistoricization.” Cultural Anthropology 11 (3): 377–404. Manthorpe, Jonathan. 1999. “100,000 People Smuggled from China Every Year.” Vancouver Sun, July 21, A1.

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CHAPTER 13 Mickleburgh, Rod. 1999. “Boat Person Gets Refugee Status: After Rejecting 36 Claims, Officials Finally Accept One.” Globe and Mail, November 26, A1. Mountz, Alison. 2004. “Embodying the Nation-state: Canada’s Response to Human Smuggling.” Political Geography 23: 323–45. ———. 2010. Seeking Asylum: Human Smuggling and Bureaucracy at the Border. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. O’Reilly, Finbarr. 2000. “Chinese Migrant Children Spared Deportation.” National Post, December 21, A4. Park, Hijin. 2010. “A Nation Through Home Invasion: White Settler Nationalism, Chinese Criminality and the 1999 ‘Summer of the Boats.’” Asian Journal of Canadian Studies 16 (1/2): 89–113. Pratt, Anna. 2005. Securing Borders: Detention and Deportation in Canada. Vancouver, BC: University of British Columbia Press. Pratt, Anna, and Mariana Valverde. 2002. “From Deserving Victims to ‘Masters of Confusion’: Redefining Refugees in the 1990s.” Canadian Journal of Sociology 27 (2): 135–61. Razack, Sherene H. 1998. Looking White People in the Eye: Gender, Race, and Culture in Courtrooms and Classrooms. Toronto, ON: University of Toronto Press. Shacter, Ron. 1997. “The Cases of Ward and Chan.” Osgoode Hall Law Journal 35 (4): 723–35. Sharma, Nandita. 2003. “Travel Agency: A Critique of Anti-trafficking Campaigns.” Refuge 21 (3): 53–65. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. 2002. “Resident Alien.” In Relocating Postcolonialism, edited by David T. Goldberg and Ato Quayson, 46–65. Oxford, UK: Blackwell. Tanner, Adrienne, and Drew Hasselback. 1999. “Caplan to Consider Tougher Detention Laws for Illegals.” National Post, September 10, A4. Thobani, Sunera. 2001. “Benevolent State, Law-Breaking Smugglers, and Deportable and Expendable Women: An Analysis of the Canadian State’s Strategy to Address Trafficking in Women.” Refuge 19 (4): 24–33. Wong, Rita. 2000. “Deportation of Migrants Shameful, Activist Charges.” Vancouver Sun, May 18, A19. Wong, Victor Yukmun. 2000. “Bias at Vancouver Refugee Board.” Vancouver Sun, June 5, A10.

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FIELD CORRESPONDENCE: EXPLORING THE ROOTS OF THE TRANSNATIONAL HABITUS Christine Hughes

Studies increasingly abound in migration scholarship about how migration and transnationalism contribute to personal and social change. These include examinations of how migration influences economic development (Basok 2003), children’s health (McKenzie 2006), educational attainment (Cox Edwards and Ureta 2003), and household gender roles and relations (Piper 2005; Resurreccion and Van Khanh 2007; Weinstein Bever 2002). This chapter examines some particularities of how the work of Pierre Bourdieu can be brought to bear in theorizing these questions about the effects of migration. Specifically, some migration scholars have found Bourdieu’s key concepts of habitus and field to be useful tools to explain changes in migrants’ dispositions and behaviours, and related societal and institutional shifts (e.g., Kelly and Lusis 2006; McKay 2001). The key contribution of eminent French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu (1930–2002) has been to purportedly bridge the problematic divide between objectivist and subjectivist understandings of what social actors do (Mahar, Harker, and Wilkes 1990; Webb, Schirato, and Danaher 2002) by showing that objective social surroundings condition subjective dispositions (Bourdieu 1990). These dispositions—the habitus—strongly influence human practice (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992), and there is a growing body of work that seeks to use the idea of a “transnational habitus” (Guarnizo 1997) to account for changes in migrants’ practices during and after migration periods. This chapter considers how best to understand the development of a set of transnationalized dispositions, those that combine conditioning from different environments made possible by migra-

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tion. Given that Bourdieu is clear that habitus is in large part tied to, and structured by, fields—specific spheres of social relations within which people are socialized and live—a transnational habitus must be linked to one or more fields. Here, I examine two different field-focused approaches or understandings: cross-border movement and transnational social fields or formations. I ask whether these formations could be fields in the Bourdieusian sense, or if we would be more in keeping with Bourdieu’s intentions to locate the transnational habitus instead in movement between and negotiation of more distinct fields. This chapter, therefore, grapples first with ontological questions of what a field is or can be where Bourdieu’s key concepts meet migration and transnationalism studies, and second with which approach to understanding how the transnational habitus develops is a more fitting use of Bourdieu’s work and of greater viability for migration and transnationalism studies. While this chapter is ultimately exploratory, it does arrive at a few arguments. First, a transnational social field may be too all-encompassing and “leaky” to fit Bourdieu’s conceptualization of a field, but, second, if one wishes to include non-migrants in the study of the development of the transnational habitus, the movement-between-fields approach is not adequate. Third, however, the transnational-social-spaces approach leaves us blind to the particular influences that cross-border movement entails; such movement may help to explain why a transnational habitus develops more in migrants than non-migrants. In the end, I propose that the approaches could be combined after further work on how different spaces imbricate. The chapter begins by situating the discussion within migration scholarship and then proceeds to lay out in more detail the key concepts of habitus and field. This is followed by an explanation of the two approaches to understanding the development of the transnational habitus and an analysis of the viability of the two approaches, with a focus on Bourdieu’s conceptualization of a field, as well as empirical applications. Theoretical material is complemented by empirical insights from published studies, as well as from my research on how temporary migration to Canada has affected household gender relations in Guatemala. Temporary Migration and Transnationalism

This discussion is situated in, and draws on, two trends in migration as a practice and a focus of study: the increasingly non-permanent character of international human movement and the related emphasis on living transnationally. Non-permanent migration, variously termed as tempo-

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rary, circular, or transnational, has become increasingly prominent among migrants, and both sending and receiving country governments prefer it for its more expedient contributions in the service of economic needs and priorities (José Alcalá 2006; International Organization for Migration [IOM] 2008; Kapur and McHale 2005; Reed 2008). As an example, Canada increasingly favours temporary migration to immigration to meet the labour needs of employers, a shift discernible in the increase since the 1990s in the proportion of temporary versus permanent residents admitted to Canada (Trumper and Wong 2010). The second and related trend with which this chapter engages is the tendency of migrants and their families toward transnational lives, coupled with a focus on transnationalism among migration scholars. The extent and intensity of migrants’ ties to “home” have increased, prompting the identification of new tools and approaches in migration scholarship in order to understand migrants’ ties to their countries of origin and the implications thereof (Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc 1995; Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007; Kivisto 2001). In relation to migration,1 transnationalism generally refers to belonging to or organizing daily life between and among different locales that span borders (Brickell and Datta 2011; Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc 1995; Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007). Among the different strands of transnationalism scholarship (see Kivisto 2001; Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007), of greatest utility for the current discussion are those that emphasize social spaces. These spaces formed by individual migrants and groups have received various names, such as transnational social formations (Guarnizo 1997), transnational social fields (Kelly and Lusis 2006), and the catch-all term “transnational spaces” (Faist 2004, 2). These terms refer specifically to spheres that span cross-border territorial locations, made up of sets of ties and the growing number of people who live within them (Faist 2004; Kivisto 2001; Portes, Guarnizo, and Landolt 1999). Transnational spaces are sites and conduits of various forms of exchange and diffusion, for example of ideas, goods, capital, information, influence, and cultural practices (Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc 1995; Lindstrom and Muñoz-Franco 2005; Ramirez, Garcia Dominquez, and Miguez Morais 2005, 39). While the temptation may be to consider these flows and activities as going from one place or person to another, examining transnational social spaces involves exploring how something new is formed, the constitution of “a singular new social space” (Kivisto 2001, 565). The question with which this chapter engages is whether one should conceive of these transnational spaces as being fields in the Bourdieusian

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sense and participation in them as an impulse in the development of the transnational habitus. Bourdieu: Habitus and Field

As indicated above, one of the stated key aims of Bourdieu’s work is to overcome dichotomies common to social science—namely structure and agency, and objectivism and subjectivism—in explaining practices (Bourdieu 1990). In an effort to avoid over-reliance on either the determinism of external conditions or conscious intention and rational calculation (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992), Bourdieu proposes the conceptual tools of habitus and field in order to arrive at an understanding of practices that implicates both internal or subjective structures, and objective structures and conditions. In short, people act in particular ways because habitus, which is structured by the conditions of fields, predisposes them to do so. The habitus has been rather infamously described as a “system of durable, transposable dispositions” (Bourdieu 1990, 53). In other words, habitus is a set of tendencies or unconscious preferences that endure over time and that individuals carry as they move through their lives (Mahar 1992; Thieme 2008). These dispositions strongly influence the way individuals see the world and how they act within it.2 In this vein, Bourdieu refers to the dispositions of habitus as “structuring structures”; however, dispositions are also “structured structures,” meaning that the dispositions constitutive of the habitus are shaped by objective conditions to which people are exposed during their life trajectories (Bourdieu 1990, 53). The conditions that structure the habitus are to be found in fields. Bourdieu defines a field as “network, or a configuration, of objective relations between positions” (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992, 97). It is a bounded network of relations among different actors and institutions (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992; Hillier and Rooksby 2002), characterized by power dynamics revolving around the distribution of, and struggle for, capital (Crang and Thrift 2000; Mahar, Harker, and Wilkes 1990; Thieme 2008; Webb, Schirato, and Danaher 2002). Akin to a game, every field has its own order, rules, and logic that in large part determine what actions, thoughts, and discourses are or are not allowed or possible (Mahar, Harker, and Wilkes 1990; Thieme 2008; Webb, Schirato, and Danaher 2002). Authors employing Bourdieu have tended to take a considerable degree of liberty in applying the concept of the field to real-world sites and spheres of activity, ranging, for example, from medicine as a career area to the whole formal labour market (Hillier and Rooksby 2002). To think in terms of a field is to

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think relationally and dynamically about a delimited set of actors, institutions, and activities and how they relate to one another as they struggle for position and capital (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992). Whereas the influence is not completely deterministic, a field largely structures habitus (Thieme 2008), and the question, again, with which this chapter grapples is which field or fields propel(s) the development of a transnationalized habitus (to be defined below). Migration and transnationalism scholars can fruitfully employ the work of Bourdieu to investigate the links between migration and/or transnational living, and personal and social change. However, we should do so in a way that allows for the right balance between remaining true to Bourdieu’s most important tenets and engaging his work with new developments in migration scholarship. This paper seeks to contribute to a dialogue about such a balance. Use of Bourdieu in Migration and Transnationalism Studies

Within the last ten years to so, migration scholars have picked up Bourdieu’s habitus as a tool in explaining changes in the behaviour and attitudes of returning or circular migrants. The argument, in short, is that migration and transnationalism influence the habitus, making its “transformation and adaptation both possible and necessary” (Thieme 2008), and a change in habitus impels a change in migrants’ various behaviours. These assertions emanate from an understanding of habitus as enduring and difficult to change but changeable through exposure to new environments and experiences (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992), which may generate a “lack of fit” or “fish out of water” situation (Webb, Schirato, and Danaher 2002) in which habitus confronts new objective structures and may be transformed. By way of example, McNay (1999) takes these ideas about actors’ movements between fields and resulting field-habitus dissonance and applies them to the study of gender. She identifies the household and particular occupations as fields in the Bourdieusian sense, each endowed with its own logic and set of exigencies to which the development of a particular habitus largely corresponds. A lack of fit between habitus and field may arise when a woman enters formal employment after having spent time raising children and not working outside the home. She may find that her habitus does not suit her for the demands of a given workplace. Given that fields shape habitus, dispositions that encounter new fields may gradually align with the demands of those new environments (in McNay’s case, a workplace) in order to make habitus “fit” or adapt (Mahar, Harker, and Wilkes 1990; Webb, Schirato, and Danaher 2002). Migration scholars have picked

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up on these ideas to understand personal and social change arising from migration. Several authors have identified migration as a key process that can change the habitus. This results from migrants encountering new and different fields through, or as a consequence of, migration; the range of new impressions and activities they experience (Friedmann 2002; Schmidt 2002; Thieme 2008); and lessened proximity to familiar cultural environments that reinforce the corresponding habitus (Fischer 2001). Returning to an application to gender studies, female migrants in new fields may be “able to explore new ways of thinking about themselves and their gendered experiences” (Gidwani and Sivaramakrishnan 2003, 199). Changes to habitus are often discernible in the practices of migrants who return or visit home, as evidenced in research on Filipino migrants by Kelly and Lusis (2006) and McKay (2001, 2005), who identified changes to migrants’ habitus in their speech, appearance, dress, and consumer choices. While a full explanation for such changes in migrants’ behaviour is not straightforward—involving factors such as the nature of their experiences overseas and how migrants have been received upon returning home— these and other scholars identify the key factor as being a transnationalization of migrants’ habitus (McKay 2001, 44), the development of a “transnational habitus” (Kelly and Lusis 2006, 831).3 The idea of a transnational habitus builds on the idea of transnationalism itself, involving practices and relations that cross borders and living or feeling at home in more than one place (Levitt 2001). The transnational habitus is a set of dualistic dispositions (Guarnizo 1997) or “contrapuntal schema” (McKay 2005, 85) that combines elements of the environments that migrants start from and move to or through, ‘“travels” with migrants across borders, and continues to evolve. The imprints on habitus of influential early and long-term experiences are difficult to dislodge (Bourdieu 1990), but dispositions are cumulative and continually evolving in response to new experiences and fields of activity (Webb, Schirato, and Danaher 2002). Remembering that a field is a precondition for habitus (McLeod 2005), the key question that arises is to which field or fields should we link the transnational habitus? The literature suggests two main possibilities for the generation of the transnational habitus: movement between, and negotiation of, two or more fields in the course of migration, or participation in a transnational field. The first follows the idea that migration brings migrants to new fields, wherein they often experience a range of new impressions and activities. For instance, Kelly and Lusis (2006) say that migrants’ move-

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ment between places defines the transnational habitus, and John Friedmann’s (2002) work on migrants in global cities suggests that migrants’ habitus undergo change as a consequence of moving to urban from rural areas. Friedmann draws on the work of Bourdieu himself, arguing that the migration of Algerian Kabyles to Germany must have disrupted their habitus substantially. One can easily imagine some of the new or different fields, and by extension experiences, to which migrants may be exposed. My own research has examined the temporary labour migration of Guatemalans to Canada. Over and over again, migrants shared with me the many ways in which Canada is “different” from Guatemala, to which they were not accustomed and had to adapt. Positively, these included Canadians’ respect for one another, the security of personal property, and drivers’ mindfulness of pedestrians. Posing more of a challenge, in Canadian agricultural employment, migrants cited a tough and demanding work ethic, the strangeness of having female supervisors, and racially and nationality-based workplace hierarchies, which have also been noted by other authors about labour migrants’ experiences in Canada (Preibisch and Binford 2007; Sharma 2002; Stasiulis 1997). Furthermore, their Canadian living arrangements— migrant workers typically live communally with others of the same sex— demanded that men cook, clean, and launder their clothing, which they would not typically do in their Guatemalan households. Thus, this approach to understanding how migrants’ habitus changes emphasizes individuals’ movement from one place to another (and back again), and the differences between “home” and “away” fields, such as those of employment, households, and communities, in order to identify what may induce changes in the habitus. In understanding this approach, one needs to be careful not to fixate too much on places, as in geographical or named localities. While habitus has been applied to place (Friedmann 2002; Hillier and Rooksby 2002; McKay 2005), as will be further explained below, Bourdieu’s conceptualization of a field emphasizes sociality more than territoriality and is better understood as a space than a place (Kelly and Lusis 2006). This approach is based on moving from place to place, but the emphasis is on the changes of fields and differences between or among fields involved in such movement. The second way to apply Bourdieu’s work to the development of the transnational habitus, keeping with the emphasis on new experiences but with a shift in the sphere of focus, is to take up the scholarship on transnationalism, in particular the idea of a transnational field. As outlined above,

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the concept of a transnational social space, formation, or field describes the networks or webs of social relations that span and link areas of origin and destination at various possible scales4 (Kelly and Lusis 2006; Levitt 2001). These are forged by migrants and non-migrants through exchanges of various resources, communication, and other means of influence and bordertranscending activity (Guarnizo 1997). The relations and interactions within these fields—valuation and exchange, for instance (Kelly and Lusis 2006)— abide by social expectations, patterns, and cultural values that are shaped by more than one social, economic, and political system (Levitt 2001). The key point here is that the transnational habitus may arise from participation in and exposure to what Kivisto calls a “singular new social space” (2001, 565). This approach focuses on the influences of the activities that occur in the space that joins disparate people and places. The focus here is not on individuals’ movement from place to place as such and the differences between the fields encountered in each, but rather the space formed between, and as such transcending, places. Kelly and Lusis (2006) argue that migrants’ experiences transcend the scales to which they have been analytically assigned, and perhaps so should Bourdieu’s concept of habitus be linked to a social space that connects and transcends the narrower fields to which the habitus is most often thought to correspond. By way of application to temporary labour migration, Becerril (2007), studying the phenomenon of Mexican agricultural labour migration to Canada, refers to transnational circuits and communities that increasingly exist between sending communities in Mexico and Canadian rural communities by means of an intensification of social relations between the two places. She sees these as “trans-local and transnational social processes” (158) that transcend the operation and control of either nation-state. In my work, although the particular system under study of migration of Guatemalans to Canada has a shorter history than that of Mexicans, considerable evidence has arisen of transnational ties and activities, including communications, economic remittances, social remittances, and political organizing. Migrants in my study would call their families in Guatemala from Canada as often as once a day, and both sides often saw this communication as indispensable to maintaining a connection to loved ones and “home” and reducing the emotional toll and worry that characterized much of the migrants’ time away. The primary motivating factor among my study participants for migration to Canada was necesidad (economic necessity), and migrants would send remittances to spouses or other family members as often as once a week. Non-material flows also figured in some cases, evi-

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denced by migrants’ transfers of knowledge and practices to their home community, based on their experiences in Canada (Hughes 2014). Finally, some of the migrants in my study have become involved in a political advocacy group for former labour migrants to Canada, seeking redress for allegedly unfair dismissals from the migration program (Valarezo and Hughes 2012).5 Partnerships and cooperation with labour rights organizations in Canada and the United States have given this organizing a decidedly transnational character. Thus, with communications, remittances, and political organizing, an increasing number of strands constitute a transnational social formation between Guatemala and Canada out of this instance of labour migration. We have, then, two possible sources for the transnational habitus: the influences involved in moving between or among multiple fields and participation in a transnational field. Focusing on the former, again, is to emphasize the differences between spheres that migrants encounter through crossing borders. Tying a transnational habitus to a transnational social field, on the other hand, is to investigate the influences of a new social space and set of social relations. It would mean that habitus does not only combine two or more separate social entities or domains, but incorporates elements of the socio-cultural, economic, and political formation in which those entities come together (Guarnizo 1997). However, would we be conceptually faithful to Bourdieu to call these transnational social spaces fields in the Bourdieusian sense, and to what extent would we serve the investigation of the transnational habitus by doing so? Are we better off to locate the transnational habitus in the influence of cross-border and cross-field movement? This discussion turns now to considering how a transnational social field measures up to Bourdieu’s concept and to some empirical insights into which approach might better serve migration scholarship in its engagement with Bourdieu. Conceptual Comparisons

Let us first consider a comparison between transnational social spaces or fields and Bourdieu’s field. The transnational space bears resemblance to Bourdieu’s field in a few respects, and in fact Kivisto (2001, 566) argues that the “intellectual lineage” of transnational social spaces likely derives from Bourdieu. A transnational field, like Bourdieu’s concept, consists of— indeed is a system of—relations among people and institutions that occupy specific positions, some of which have more power or capital than others (Faist 2004), and it exposes those who live or act within it to certain exigen-

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cies—sets of social expectations, cultural values, and patterns of interaction (Levitt 2001). Also, while there are many possible reasons or motivations for living transnationally, the activities in which people and groups engage in this field are oriented toward the accumulation of capital, especially economic, and they strategize and compete with others in these efforts. In a similar vein, Bourdieu emphasizes that social actors in fields are bearers of capital and that they orient their struggles within fields to either preserving or subverting how capital is distributed (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992). Furthermore, Levitt (2001) argues that individuals are embedded in transnational fields to the extent that they cannot be viewed in isolation from these formations. Given the close conditioning relationship between field and habitus—which in turn for Bourdieu generates much of individuals’ thought and action—social actors and their behaviours cannot be considered in isolation from the field(s) they find themselves in, specifically from the games and rules those fields impose on actors, like a “gravity” (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992; Hillier and Rooksby 2002, 6). Fields and transnational social spaces, therefore, share several characteristics. Furthermore, fields and transnational social spaces draw on similar understandings of space. Space, as “an abstract term for a complex set of ideas” (Tuan 1977, 34), is not a topic that lends itself to a brief foray, subject as it is to diverse interpretations (Crang and Thrift 2000). I focus here on the ways in which Bourdieu and transnationalism scholars seem to conceptualize space and draw upon insights from sociology and social geography. In sociology, one sees a movement away from space as an absolute category to space as processes and in process (Crang and Thrift 2000). Doreen Massey (1994, 4, 22), a social geographer, also emphasizing the dynamism of space, describes it in terms of social relations. Instead of thinking of space as “a flat, immobilized surface, as stasis,” she advances a conceptualization of space as “constituted by the interlocking of ‘stretched-out’ social relations.” She emphasizes the processual and dynamic nature of space in order to show how it is politicized. For her, spaces are sites of social contest, aimed at the power to label those spaces and give them meaning. One finds parallels to such social and dynamic understandings of space among the transnationalism scholars informing this discussion, such as Thomas Faist. Kivisto (2001) locates Faist’s understanding of space in the Swedish school of time-geographers, which maintains a distinction between space and place. For Faist, space may include physical features but the term also refers to “larger opportunity structures, the social life and the subjective images, values, and meanings” that a place represents. He con-

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tinues that space “encompasses or spans various territorial locations.… Space has a social meaning that extends beyond simple territoriality; only with concrete social or symbolic ties does it gain meaning” (Faist 2000, quoted in Kivisto 2001). In emphasizing the sociality over the territoriality of spaces, Faist attempts to break free from the “container concept of space” (Faist 2000), and his conceptualization of space aligns with that of other transnationalism scholars, such as Glick Schiller and Portes (Kivisto 2001). How does Bourdieu’s approach to space fit with Faist and his contemporaries? This is somewhat difficult to resolve, because nowhere in the literature consulted here does Bourdieu clearly delineate his understanding of space. It is difficult to pinpoint any specifics from Bourdieu on the issue, as his work exudes “a vagueness with respect to space” (Kelly and Lusis 2006, 835). Painter asserts that clear use or analyses of spatiality is limited in Bourdieu’s work. He contends that, for Bourdieu, social spaces are where social groups are formed and distributed (Painter 2000, drawing on Bourdieu 1985). Rather unhelpfully for the purposes of precision, Bourdieu states, “the social world can be represented as a space” (Bourdieu 1985, quoted in Painter 2000). One finds more guidance in understanding Bourdieu on space by examining further how he and authors who engage with his work conceptualize fields. These discussions often refer to fields as spaces. Bourdieu describes a field as a “space of forces or determinations” (2002, 31). Among other authors, Crang and Thrift (2000, 6) describe a field as a “socially structured space” and a “space of play,” and Painter (2000) refers to a field as a structured space of relations. Authors also point to the social-ness of fields. Kelly and Lusis (2006, 845) emphasize that fields where habitus develop are “more social and less physical than is often assumed.” Mahar et al. (1990) also direct us to think of a field not as a fenced-off geographical domain, emphasizing instead the idea of a network of forces. Rooted in the ideas of space as social, not (only) physical, made up of dynamic ties and activities, one ultimately comes to find considerable similarity between definitions of fields and transnational social spaces. For Faist, a transnational social space is constituted by “combinations of social and symbolic ties, positions in networks and organizations, and networks of organizations that can be found in at least two geographically and internationally distinct places” (Faist 1998, quoted in Kivisto 2001). Meanwhile, Bourdieu and Wacquant argue that, analytically, a field can be seen as “a network, a configuration of objective relations between positions” (1992, 97). Both Bourdieu’s fields and transnational social spaces encourage us to

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think relationally. Also recall that spaces for Faist can span or encompass territorial locations. This is the case as well according to Tuan (1977), who asserts that space is an expanse that links places. This characteristic is also true of Bourdieu’s field. If we think, for instance, of the academic or intellectual field, this can include educational institutions in a number of cities or countries, as well as their situated actors. Thus, with these observations, we find that fields and transnational social spaces draw on similar conceptualizations of space. On the surface, then, with regard to characteristics and understandings of space, one can discern a certain degree of similarity between transnational social spaces and fields as conceptualized by Bourdieu. I would argue, however, that questions arise with respect to three other issues worthy of consideration in this comparison: place, autonomy, and scale. First, while I cautioned above that the movement-between-fields approach should not be interpreted as emphasizing places or localities as such, what if a field is thought of or referenced in terms of place instead of space? The distinction between space and place merits its own in-depth discussion, which I cannot provide here, but most geographers and other social scientists call for a distinction between the two. While the two concepts are “closely related” and their meanings often converge in experience (Tuan 1977), space is generally considered more abstract and place more specific (Massey 1994; Short 2001; Tuan 1977). One finds resistance in Bourdieu’s work to defining fields in terms of physical places. For example, a house— which many would describe as a place—is treated as a field and a space by Bourdieu (1990). Kelly and Lusis emphasize that Bourdieu is not specific on whether a place can be a field, but they point out that Bourdieu does tie habitus to nationality and locality, thereby at least suggesting that a country or sub-national place could be a field. Other authors have taken more liberty to tie habitus to place. For instance, Hillier and Rooksby (2002) call habitus a “sense of place”; Friedmann (2002), as mentioned above, attributes habitus change to moving from rural to urban locales; and McKay (2001) refers to habitus as a “practical sense of place.” A transnational social field, on the other hand, is not a place. I contend that it might be most useful to consider that a field and place could closely align when a place is characterized by a particular network of social relations. Until scholars have better resolved the relationship between place and Bourdieu’s field, the possibility of field-as-place problematizes the comparison currently underway. The second issue complicating the comparison concerns autonomy. Although there is some overlap and mutual influence between fields (Webb,

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Schirato, and Danaher 2002), Bourdieu and Wacquant (1992, 98) describe them as “relatively autonomous.” While fields are arbitrary social constructs (Bourdieu 1990), they have identifiable boundaries, defined by specific logics and rules (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992), the hierarchy of the valuation of different types of capital (Mahar 1992), predominant sets of activities (Mahar, Harker, and Wilkes 1990), as well as a specific groupings of “institutions, rules, rituals, conventions, categories, designations, appointments and titles” (Webb, Schirato, and Danaher 2002, 21–22). If we consider, for instance, the fields of medicine and law, we can think of links and interplay between them, such as health-related laws or legal cases involving medical malpractice. However, we can also understand the ways that each could be considered its own field, defined by particular activities and sets of objectives, rules, actors, and relations. Thus, fields, by Bourdieusian definition, must have boundaries, albeit in flux, and components that identify those spheres as different in character from others. I am concerned about whether a transnational social field does or can meet these criteria. As laid out above, transnational fields encompass a great deal—so many kinds of connections, interests, and activities—and by definition, there is inevitable blending and bleeding between them and the various sub-fields that feed into them and constitute them as new social spaces. These characteristics call into question whether this space is circumscribed and autonomous enough to fit Bourdieu’s conceptualization. Ultimately, for Bourdieu, “the limits of the field are situated at the point where the effects of the field cease” (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992, 100). We could posit that the transnational field is delimited by transnational activities, such as communications, exchanges, and travel, and its boundaries from other fields are erected when and where there are no identifiable links or effects between them. It is increasingly difficult in this day and age, however, to identify a social space without transnational ties of some sort. A transnational field may encompass too much and its boundaries may be too “leaky” to fit Bourdieu’s conceptualization, and as a tool to understand the development of the transnational habitus, it may be too conceptually cumbersome. Part of the difficulty in situating a transnational social formation visà-vis Bourdieu’s concept of the field with respect to autonomy lies in the uncertainty surrounding the scale at which Bourdieu’s concepts can or should be applied (Kelly and Lusis 2006). If one envisions a transnational social field as being a dynamic space above people and territories, it becomes a question of applying the concept of field to a supra-national

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scale. Or if not necessarily residing above but spanning or being made up of many smaller fields, the issue of a transnational field’s size arises. Can Bourdieu’s field be elevated in a conceptually safe manner from relatively circumscribed and grounded spaces, such as a household, academia, or politics, to the supra-national level or to a super-field? Bourdieu is not explicit as to the social or spatial boundaries of habitus formation, i.e., “how we might identify the scale at which the habitus of a group or collective is defined” (Kelly and Lusis 2006). Kelly and Lusis, drawing on Jenkins (1992), suggest that this vagueness reflects Bourdieu’s orientation toward providing “‘thinking tools’ that can be deployed in empirical situations, rather than a clearly defined explanatory framework” (Kelly and Lusis 2006, 835). This can make it difficult to operationalize Bourdieu’s concepts, and in this case, to say with much certainty where to locate the scale of the field(s) responsible for the development of transnational habitus. Bourdieu himself says that one cannot necessarily know the boundaries of a field a priori, that such delineation may well require empirical investigation (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992), but how would one go about doing this in the case of a transnational social formation? Perhaps therein lies the answer: if one cannot empirically appreciate or delineate a field’s relative autonomy with a considerable degree of certainty, then perhaps one should not treat that social space or formation as a field in the Bourdieusian sense. A consideration of the conceptual comparisons between Bourdieu’s fields and transnational social spaces has demonstrated that the two concepts share some characteristics and seem to draw on similar understandings of space. However, transnational social spaces cannot be places and may not meet Bourdieu’s requirement of relative autonomy, at least not in a way that is empirically feasible to ascertain. I would argue that a conceptual comparison is inconclusive. To the extent that one wishes to apply, with caution, the transnational-social-spaces approach to research on the transnational habitus, this next section briefly considers the usefulness of each approach from an empirical perspective, where the aim is to account for development (or not) of the transnational habitus. Empirical Considerations

In addition to conceptual considerations, it is also important to reflect on the utility of each approach under examination here for real-world research applications. The key function of the transnational-social-spaces approach lies in its assistance in accounting for the possibility of a transnational habitus among non-migrants. Attention in examinations of transnationalism

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normally centres on migrants, but activities undertaken by non-migrants are integral to the transnationality of families’ lives (Kelly and Lusis 2006). Non-migrating “stayers” live within transnational social spaces and contribute to their very formation by being on both the receiving and giving ends of the strands that connect origin and destination. The habitus of nonmigrants may be transnationalized in ways that reflect the influences of elements of transnational social spaces, such as flows of knowledge, practices, and values. For instance, Kelly and Lusis (2006) suggest that “collectively endorsed evaluations of various forms of capital” may change among nonmigrants (my emphasis), and McKay (2001) finds a “translocal habitus” among non-migrant women in Filipino communities of overseas contract workers in their changing styles of dress and discourses on femininity. If one wishes to take non-migrants into account in examining the transnationalization of habitus, then employing the transnational-social-spaces approach may therefore be fruitful. That being said, my own study did not reveal a transnationalization of the habitus of non-migrants, despite their participation in transnational social spaces. On the other hand, I discerned limited habitus transnationalization among migrants, especially those who had spent a longer time in Canada than others. Among a few, their styles of dress and ways of speaking and presenting themselves evidenced a certain distinguishing North American-ness or “worldliness,” and about one-third of returning men contributed more to household work, normally the exclusive domain of women, which I argue suggests changes to gender aspects of their habitus (Hughes 2014). I suggest that this limited habitus change that was discernible among migrants, but not among their non-migrating partners, owes itself to the direct experience of new and different fields that migrants’ cross-border travel brought them to. Bourdieu emphasizes that it is the multiple experiences of and in fields that condition habitus (Bourdieu 1990; Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992). Tuan’s (1977) discussion of the experience of space and place is instructive here. He describes experience as “the various modes through which a person knows and constructs a reality”; furthermore, a “lived body,” with all its senses, undergoes experience (Tuan 1977, 35). For non-migrants, Canada can be known or learned about only indirectly—through discussions and photographs, for instance—“not through the discerning eye or mind” (Tuan 1977, 162). It would seem that indirect “exposure” to these fields—through participation in a broader transnational social field—is insufficient to encourage much habitus change in non-migrants. Furthermore, the approach focusing on cross-border move-

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ment between fields gives researchers some precision in connecting specific experiences and characteristics of fields to effects on migrants’ habitus. For instance, there are particular characteristics of agricultural work, communal living, and the “context of reception” (Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007, 18) for migrants in Canada that have little to do with transnational ties per se and that a transnational social space approach would not capture. Implications and Conclusion

While the cross-border-movement approach may better equip us for investigating changes to migrants’ habitus, it does not capture the influences on migrants’ or non-migrants’ habitus of transnational social spaces, which may be problematic, given that Levitt (2001) argues that we cannot view individuals in isolation from their embeddedness in transnational fields. The solution may be to investigate the influences of both sets of spheres, that is, transnational social spaces and fields encountered at destination. The most promising way to conceptualize the relationships among fields may be as co-existing, overlapping, and multi-levelled (Painter 2000). Massey points toward a “simultaneous multiplicity of spaces: cross-cutting, intersecting, aligning with one another, or existing in relations of paradox of antagonism” (1994, 3). Mahler and Pessar indicate such a direction in gender-related studies: “It is both within the context of particular scales as well as between and among them that gender ideologies and relations are reaffirmed, reconfigured, or both” (2001, 445). And to the extent that fields align with places, these, too, exist at different scales (Tuan 1977). These ideas fit with Bourdieu’s understanding of habitus as a multi-layered concept; there is an “open-ended set of possibilities” for what the habitus identifies with in any given situation (Kelly and Lusis 2006, 835). However, just how to proceed with understanding the relationships among the different spaces that condition habitus requires further intellectual and empirical consideration. In conclusion, this chapter has explored the application of Bourdieu’s work—specifically habitus and field—to migration and transnationalism studies in an effort to make a contribution to the theorization of how or why migration and transnationalism may or may not bring about personal and social change. It has examined two possible approaches to understanding the development of a transnational habitus, characterized by focusing, respectively, on cross-border movement between fields, and participation in transnational social spaces. I have provided a conceptual comparison of Bourdieusian fields and transnational social spaces, which revealed that

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the concepts share certain characteristics, but that place, autonomy, and scale problematize an alignment of the two. In the empirical application of the two approaches, we see that the transnational-social-spaces approach allows us to consider non-migrants in investigations of habitus transnationalization, although this process may not occur much for non-migrants. The cross-border-movement approach may better explain the transnationalization of migrants’ dispositions and lends greater precision to investigating the specific influences of fields that migrants directly experience. Incorporating consideration of transnational social spaces into investigations of habitus requires thought and analysis as to the interpolation of various spaces (and places) at different scales and their respective conditioning effects on social actors. Notes 1. The term has its origins in the 1960s when it was used to refer to transnational corporations (Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc 1995). 2. While reference is made here to individuals, habitus operates at the level of both collectives and individuals: “To speak of habitus is to assert that the individual, and even the personal, the subjective, is social, collective” (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992, 126). Though it is inscribed on individual human bodies and minds, habitus is shared by people of similar status within or similar conditioning by a field or sets of fields in which those people primarily act (Crang and Thrift 2000; Webb, Schirato, and Danaher 2002). 3. The development of a transnational habitus—or any change to a migrant’s habitus—should not be considered a foregone conclusion. Examples in the literature demonstrate considerable variability in the degree to which habitus changes, what forms it takes, and how long any changes to it may last (cf: Guarnizo 1997; Schmidt 2002). This chapter takes the transnational habitus as a starting point, but in empirical analyses, care should be taken to investigate whether and how the habitus may have changed. 4. The scale at which transnationalism has been most often examined is that of the nation-state, with an emphasis on the idea of border-spanning activities. There have been increasing calls recently for consideration of connections at other scales, for instance local-local ones between migrants’ home and destination communities, that have little to do with the nation-state per se (Brickell and Datta 2011). 5. The particular instance of labour migration under examination in my study was the Temporary Agricultural Workers to Canada (TAWC) Project, initiated in 2003 based on partnerships between the International Organization for

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CHAPTER 14 Migration (IOM) in Guatemala and private producer organizations in Canada, with some involvement by the Guatemalan government. The TAWC Project operated within the regulations of the Agricultural Stream of the Pilot Project for Occupations Requiring Lower Levels of Formal Training (NOC C and D), part of Canada’s Temporary Foreign Worker Program (TFWP). There have been significant institutional changes, however, since my fieldwork in 2010, including a lessening of the IOM’s involvement, an increase in that of Canadian private producer organization FERME (based in Quebec), the discontinuation of the pilot project, and a new framework in Canada’s TFWP for agricultural work (see http://www.esdc.gc.ca/eng/jobs/foreign_workers/agriculture/index.shtml)/.

References Basok, Tanya. 2003. “Mexican Seasonal Migration to Canada and Development: A Community-based Comparison.” International Migration 41 (2): 3–26. Becerril, Ofelia. 2007. “Transnational Work and the Gendered Politics of Labour: A Study of Male and Female Mexican Migrant Farm Workers in Canada.” In Organizing the Transnational: Labour, Politics, and Social Change, edited by Luin Goldring and Sailaja Krishnamurti, 156–72. Vancouver, BC: University of British Columbia Press. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1990. The Logic of Practice. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. ———. 2002. “Habitus.” In Habitus: A Sense of Place, edited by Jean Hillier and Emma Rooksby, 27–34. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Bourdieu, Pierre, and Loic Wacquant, eds. 1992. An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Brickell, Katherine, and Ayona Datta, eds. 2011. Translocal Geographies: Spaces, Places, Connections. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Cox Edwards, Alejandra, and Manuelita Ureta. 2003. “International Migration, Remittances, and Schooling: Evidence from El Salvador.” Journal of Development Economics 72: 429–61. Crang, Mike, and Nigel Thrift. 2000. “Introduction.” In Thinking Space, edited by Mike Crang and Nigel Thrift, 1–30. London, UK: Routledge. Faist, Thomas. 2000. “Transnationalization in International Migration: Implications for the Study of Citizenship and Culture.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 23: 189–222. ———. 2004. “The Border-crossing Expansion of Social Space: Concepts, Questions and Topics.” In Transnational Social Spaces: Agents, Networks, and Institutions, edited by Eyüp Özveren and Thomas Faist, 1–34. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Fischer, Edward. 2001. Cultural Logics and Global Economics: Maya Identity in Thought and Practice. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press.

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FIELD CORRESPONDENCE  CHRISTINE HUGHES Friedmann, John. 2002. “Placemaking as Project? Habitus and Migration in Transnational Cities.” In Habitus: A Sense of Place, edited by Jean Hillier and Emma Rooksby, 299–316. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Gidwani, Vinay, and K. Sivaramakrishnan. 2003. “Circular Migration and the Spaces of Cultural Assertion.” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 93: 186–222. Glick Schiller, Nina, Linda Basch, and Cristina Szanton Blanc. 1995. “From Immigrant to Transmigrant: Theorizing Transnational Migration.” Anthropological Quarterly 68: 48–66. Goldring, Luin, and Sailaja Krishnamurti. 2007. “Introduction: Contexualizing Transnationalism in Canada.” In Organizing the Transnational: Labour, Politics, and Social Change, edited by Luin Goldring and Sailaja Krishnamurti, 1–22. Vancouver, BC: University of British Columbia Press. Guarnizo, Luis. 1997. “The Emergence of a Transnational Social Formation and the Mirage of Return Migration among Dominican Transmigrants.” Identities— Global Studies in Culture and Power 4: 281–322. Hillier, Jean, and Emma Rooksby. 2002. “Introduction.” In Habitus: A Sense of Place, edited by Jean Hillier and Emma Rooksby, 3–25. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Hughes, Christine. 2014. “At Home and Across Borders: Gender in Guatemalan Households and Labour Migration to Canada.” Ph.D. dissertation, Carleton University. International Organization for Migration (IOM). 2008. “Second Evaluation— Program Temporary Agricultural Workers to Canada.” Working Notebooks on Migration 25: 1–42. Guatemala City: IOM. José Alcalá, María. 2006. The State of the World Population 2006—A Passage to Hope: Women and International Migration. New York, NY: UNFPA. Kapur, Devesh, and John McHale. 2005. The Global Migration of Talent: What Does It Mean for Developing Countries? (CDG Brief). Washington, DC: Center for Global Development. Kelly, Philip, and Tom Lusis. 2006. “Migration and the Transnational Habitus: Evidence from Canada and the Philippines.” Environment and Planning A 38: 831–47. Kivisto, Peter. 2001. “Theorizing Transnational Immigration: A Critical Review of Current Efforts.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 24: 549–77. Levitt, Peggy. 2001. “Transnational Migration: Taking Stock and Future Directions.” Global Networks 1: 195–216. Lindstrom, David, and Elisa Muñoz-Franco. 2005. “Migration and the Diffusion of Modern Contraceptive Knowledge and Use in Rural Guatemala.” Studies in Family Planning 36: 277–88.

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CHAPTER 14 Mahar, Cheleen. 1992. “An Exercise in Practice: Studying Migrants to Latin American Squatter Settlements.” Urban Anthropology and Studies of Cultural Systems and World Economic Development 21: 275–309. Mahar, Cheleen, Richard Harker, and Chris Wilkes. 1990. “The Basic Theoretical Position.” In An Introduction to the Work of Pierre Bourdieu, edited by Cheleen Mahar, Richard Harker, and Chris Wilkes, 1–25. London, UK: Macmillan. Mahler, Sarah, and Patricia Pessar. 2001. “Gendered Geographies of Power: Analyzing Gender across Transnational Spaces.” Identities 7: 441–59. Massey, Doreen. 1994. Space, Place, and Gender. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. McKay, Deirdre. 2001. “Migration and the Masquerade: Gender and Habitus in the Philippines.” Geography Research Forum 21: 44–56. ———. 2005. “Migration and the Sensuous Geographies of Re-Emplacement in the Philippines.” Journal of Intercultural Studies 26: 75–91. McKenzie, David. 2006. “Beyond Remittances: The Effects of Migration on Mexican Households.” In International Migration, Remittances, and Brain Drain, edited by Çaglar Özden and Maurice Schiff, 123–47. Washington, DC: International Bank for Reconstruction and Development/The World Bank. McLeod, Julie. 2005. “Feminists Re-reading Bourdieu: Old Debates and New Questions about Gender Habitus and Gender Change.” Theory and Research in Education 3: 11–30. McNay, Lois. 1999. “Gender, Habitus and the Field: Pierre Bourdieu and the Limits of Reflexivity.” Theory, Culture & Society 16: 95–117. Painter, Joe. 2000. “Pierre Bourdieu.” In Thinking Space, edited by Mike Crang and Nigel Thrift, 239–59. London, UK: Routledge. Piper, Nicola. 2005. Gender and Migration. Geneva, Switzerland: Global Commission on International Migration. Portes, Alejandro, Luis Guarnizo, and Patricia Landolt. 1999. “The Study of Transnationalism: Pitfalls and Promise of an Emergent Research Field.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 22: 217–37. Preibisch, Kerry, and Leigh Binford. 2007. “Interrogating the Racialized Global Labour Supply: An Exploration of the Racial/National Replacement of Foreign Agricultural Workers in Canada.” Canadian Review of Sociology/Revue canadienne de sociologie 44: 5–36. Ramirez, Carlota, Mar Garcia Dominquez, and Julia Miguez Morais. 2005. Crossing Borders: Remittances, Gender and Development. Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic: INSTRAW. Reed, Austina. 2008. “Canada’s Experience with Managed Migration: The Strategic Use of Temporary Foreign Worker Programs.” International Journal 63 (Spring): 469–84.

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FIELD CORRESPONDENCE  CHRISTINE HUGHES Resurreccion, Bernadette, and Ha Thi Van Khanh. 2007. “Able to Come and Go: Reproducing Gender in Female Rural–Urban Migration in the Red River Delta.” Population, Space and Place 13: 211–24. Schmidt, Johanna. 2002. “Migrant Bodies: The Embodiment of Identity amongst Samoan Fa’afafine in New Zealand.” New Zealand Sociology 17 (2): 179–97. Sharma, Nandita. 2002. “Immigrant and Migrant Workers in Canada: Labour Movements, Racism and the Expansion of Globalization.” Canadian Woman Studies 21/22: 18–25. Short, John Rennie. 2001. Global Dimensions: Space, Place and the Contemporary World. London, UK: Reaktion Books. Stasiulis, Daiva. 1997. “The Political Economy of Race, Ethnicity and Migration.” In Understanding Canada: Building on the New Canadian Political Economy, edited by Wallace Clement, 141–71. Montreal, QC: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Thieme, Susan. 2008. “Sustaining Livelihoods in Multi-local Settings: Possible Theoretical Linkages Between Transnational Migration and Livelihood Studies.” Mobilities 3: 51–71. Trumper, Ricardo, and Lloyd Wong. 2010. “Temporary Workers in Canada: A National Perspective.” Canadian Issues Spring: 83–89. Tuan, Yi-Fu. 1977. Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Valarezo, Giselle, and Christine Hughes. 2012. “Pushed to the Edge: Political Activism of Guatemalan Migrant Farmworkers.” Global Justice: Theory Practice Rhetoric 5: 94–119. Webb, Jen, Tony Schirato, and Geoff Danaher. 2002. Understanding Bourdieu. London, UK: Sage. Weinstein Bever, Sandra. 2002. “Migration and the Transformation of Gender Roles and Hierarchies in Yucatan.” Urban Anthropology 31: 199–230.

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CHAPTER 15

MIGRANT NETWORKS: PERUVIAN WOMEN (RE)SHAPING SOCIAL SPACES IN MADRID Felipe Rubio

There have been significant shifts in migration patterns to Europe in the past two decades. Although countries with considerable migration histories, such as France, Great Britain, and the Netherlands, continue to be seen as desired destinations, the type of migration, the origin of migrants, and the emergence of new receiving countries have altered perceptions and relations between host populations and newcomers. One such region is the Iberian Peninsula, with Spain and its capital, Madrid, receiving high numbers of people from throughout the globe. Madrid is an “artificial construct.” There are almost no Mardrileños in this metropolis since the majority of the population has migrated over the centuries from other areas in Spain to contribute to the growth of this city (Benítez Dueñas 2005). At the same time, Madrid is a very real place, a seat of power from a bygone era that extended itself through “roots and routes” (Gilroy 1993, 90) of conquest, decay, trade, ideas, and people that has straddled the Atlantic for over 400 years. From 1998 to 2010, global migration processes have significantly increased the number of non-European Union (EU) populations in Spain. Madrid’s total population, for example, has increased from 2.8 million to 3.2 million in the same time frame, much of it associated with global migration processes. The number of Latin Americans rose from almost 6,000 to 300,000; in the same period, the Peruvian population grew from just over 2,000 to 39,000 (Ayuntamiento de Madrid 2010). This chapter examines how Mestiza and Andina Peruvian women in the district of San Blas, Madrid, negotiate their everyday lives at the local

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and global levels through the creation, development, and maintenance of migrant networks. Mestiza/o and Andina/o refer to ethno-geographic backgrounds within Peruvian society. Mestiza/o is a referent to Peru’s mixed (Spanish and Indigenous) populations, most of them urban dwellers residing in the coastal cities that dot the country’s geography along the Pacific Ocean. Andina/o, on the other hand, refers to indigenous populations from the Andean region. This ethno-geographic division has sharpened since 1980, when Peru’s coastal cities began receiving a large influx of Andean (internal) migration (Altamirano Rua 2006, 67) due to violent internal conflicts, which produced approximately 800,000 displaced populations and internal refugees (Altamirano Rua 1999, 7). This chapter argues that although Mestiza and Andina women are considered to be of the same nationality, due to their differing socio-spatial and socio-cultural conceptions, they utilize migrant networks differently in order to (re)shape spaces within the same urban geography. It shows how such global migrant networks are helping to construct and modify and, in some cases, attempt to re-solidify spatial formations, such as urban centres and the nation-state. Theoretical Concepts

This chapter examines how migrant networks contribute to the reshaping of spaces. It is an attempt to consciously work with the concept of space (which has been for the most part ignored or sidelined) and work with the triad of the Social, the Historical, and the Spatial, rather than with the traditional binaries of the Social and the Historical (Soja 1996, 71). Furthermore, it works with Soja’s (1996, 2000) work on breaking down and further defining Henri Lefebvre’s (1991, 8, 40, 118) concepts of perceived, conceived, and social spaces into Firstspace (physical space), Secondspace (imagined space), and Thirdspace (social space). This chapter will refer solely to physical, imagined, and social spaces. Physical space refers to what surrounds us—for example, buildings, fences, highways, and so forth. It refers to all areas, “which are comprehended in empirically measurable [and mappable] configurations” (Soja 1996, 74). Imagined spaces are the abstraction of physical spaces. For example, imagined spaces within the nation-state are most often regarded as the limit(s) within a group of people that have been defined as closed according to a defined set of ideas, values, morals, and cultural customs. These boundaries, according to Georg Simmel, are the precondition of what provides the purposeful activity and understanding of a society, thus enabling a sense of being and hope in an otherwise infinite world (in Tester 1993, 7). Lastly,

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social spaces are where daily social processes are met with continuities, contradictions, conflicts, ruptures, articulations, connections, and disjuncture. This chapter works with the social spaces that migrant networks create and develop as “pathways which facilitate the exchange of material things and information … thus not only things but also [social] relations” (Lefebvre 1991, 77). Under this broad framework, this chapter analyzes the how local migrant networks are interconnected with a set of globalizing migrant networks. Moreover, it attempts to illustrate how the women have contributed to the growth of self-sustaining migrant networks. Within these networks (Portes 1997; Portes, Guarnizo, and Haller 2002, 281; Portes and Rumbaut 2006, 357; 2001, 64), women have become active agents of change and leadership, contributing to the continuing “feminization of migration” (Castles and Miller 1993, 8). The feminization of migration has also increased the gendering of migration in which women are viewed as more fit to perform specific types of jobs such as nannies, caregivers, and au pairs, thereby stereotyping jobs by gender and ethnicity. Lastly, this chapter works with the concepts of de-territorialization and re-territorialization (Agnew 2005; Appadurai 1996; Brenner 1999; GarciaCanclini 2005). According to Breckenridge et al. (2002, 2) there are three powerful forces at work in the contemporary world: nationalism, globalization, and multiculturalism. Nationalism, through its different variants—be they religious, ethnic, civic, and/or banal—has proven to be a resilient form of territorializing groups in “cohesive” containers that perpetually attempt to exclude those thought to be non-members. And although the modern nation-state under the Westphalian system is “‘bundled’ on a territorial basis” (Blatter 2003, 186), it is not a constant of history, even if imaginaries of “roots” and “home” as permanent and static territories have become widespread. This is not to make the argument that place is not of importance to different groups. However, the idea of exclusive rights to a specific territory denies the social, historical, cultural, and political changes through war, genocides, evictions, and purges of “outsiders” from these “exclusive” geographies that dislodged many groups from previously commonly shared regions. De-territorialization as a form of challenging the “naturalization” of the nation-state has brought forth a number of concepts challenging this myth. Beck (2003, 453) confronts this assumption within the social sciences by defying the “methodological nationalism,” which “sees states and their governments as the cornerstone of social scientific analysis.” Urry pro-

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poses a similar position in critiquing research on social mobility, arguing that “much of the social mobility literature regarded society as a uniform surface and failed to register the geographical intersections of region, city and place, with the social categories of class, gender and ethnicity” (2000, 3). Billig’s form of the de-territorialization of “society” is to free this term, “which lies at the heart of sociology’s self-definition … created in the image of the nation-state” (Billig in Urry 2010, 349)—in other words, to rid itself of the methodological nationalism at the heart of the social sciences, which became fused with nationalization projects in Western Europe during the late nineteenth century. Re-territorialization and de-territorialization are most generally argued as interrelated concepts (Agnew 2005, 445; Brenner 1999, 43; Soja 2000, 151). There is a common underlined assumption that these terms have a cause-and-effect relationship; that is, when a de-territorialization occurs, a re-territorialization typically follows. For example, the rise of new cartographies, such as the de- and re-territorialization of borders within the Schengen Area countries (Condinanzi, Lang, and Nascimbene 2008, 205), many of whom are also member countries of the re-territorialized supranational entity that is the European Union (EU). At the same time, the EU has itself de- and re-territorialized its borders since its inception as the European Economic Community (ECC) in 1958 (Schimmelfennig and Rittberger 2006, 73) to its 2007 expansion to include Romania and Bulgaria (O’Brennan 2006, 3). Another important aspect of this debate and the focus of this chapter are how contemporary global migrants and their networks contribute to the de-territorializations and re-territorializations of different cartographies (e.g., urban centres, regions, and nation-states). Methods

In working with the “extended case method” (Burawoy 1998; Burawoy et al. 1991, 271; Burawoy et al. 2000), which places importance on both internal and external causes affecting localities, ethnographic fieldwork was conducted in the district of San Blas in Madrid, Spain, between April 1 and September 30, 2010, with Mestiza/o and Andina/o Peruvian populations. San Blas was chosen because of its high concentration of Peruvian migrants and is representative of Peruvian communities in Madrid. Moreover, it presented the opportunity to gather data from informants who migrated at different periods and with differing trajectories. Data-gathering methods employed in San Blas included a six-month participant observation and sixty-five (thirty-five women and thirty men) narrative interviews con-

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ducted with members of Peruvian communities in this district. Moreover, semi-structured interviews were conducted with faculty from the Universidad Complutense de Madrid and several non-governmental organizations working with Peruvian and Latin American communities throughout Madrid. The author has translated all interviews from Spanish to English. Mestiza Physical Spaces

Mestiza women’s translocal networks (Appadurai 1996, 40), although spanning the globe, are directly tied to the coastal cities throughout Peru, where they emigrated. For example, Maria (whose experiences represent the similar trajectories of others interviewed), before migrating, had spent little time away from her hometown of Trujillo, Peru. For the better part of her life, Maria’s entire physical geography had been mostly relegated to one urban centre. The physical spaces that Maria inhabited until the mid80s were for the most part relegated to a middle-class life where she experienced, or “enjoyed,” a constant social fencing or isolation throughout Trujillo (Maria Lopez, narrative interview, July 3, 2010). The entry to specific physical spaces (e.g., private university) allowed her to become, as she notes, “a professional,” whose qualifications as a nurse were being squandered due to the “inabilities of the [local] hospital [where she worked] to provide a decent life” for her and her family (Maria Lopez, narrative interview, July 3, 2010). The choice to leave her immediate and extended family, as well as her social circles, was made easy by the early death of her husband in 1991; this, coupled with one income and five children, exacerbated the family’s financial situation and made Maria’s decision to migrate a more compelling one. Through different contacts, information flowed about opportunities in Madrid and throughout Spain for health-care workers. Holding a Peruvian passport contributed to not needing a tourist visa. Also, beginning in 1991, Latin Americans as part of the former colonial empire could apply for a “cupo,” a temporary work permit renewed on a yearly basis, which tied employee to employer (Paerregaard 2009, 63). Moreover, the former colonial language provided a further advantage in looking for employment since many employers preferred Spanish-speaking workers (Martinez Bujan 2009, 171). In March 1994, having procured a cupo, Maria arrived at Barajas Airport and made her way to the District of Vallecas in southern Madrid. Six months later, she moved to a piso (apartment) in the District of San Blas.

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Imagined space in this chapter is taken to be the limit(s) within which a person or a group of people that have been socially defined according to an assigned set of ideas, values, and/or morals and cultural customs operates. Madrid and San Blas, as imagined spaces, are visualized through the lenses of past and present. For example, prior to migration, Carmen envisioned Madrid as a European city, a view of a metropolis based on two sources. First, there were the glossy brochures and videos produced by tourism industries; second, and just as important, the ever-growing number of migrant networks brought forth a “distorted view of life in Madrid and how we could overnight help our families. This became part of our everyday” (Carmen Becerra, narrative interview, July 28, 2010). Madrid, after all, is an ephemeral space; it is a place of transition, “where we put our lives on hold before going back home” (Elena Diaz, narrative interview, July 12, 2010). Migration networks are also helping to physically de-territorialize Mestiza/o families into “ephemeral” places throughout the globe, including Madrid. This loosens their ties to the homeland, thereby significantly spatializing it in the imagination, while loosening their grip on its physical and social spaces. The success of these pioneers has resulted in widespread networks. As the case of Alicia, who migrated in 1997, reveals, all her immediate and half her extended family have migrated to different regions throughout the globe (Alicia Torres, narrative interview, July 12, 2010). Although the majority resides in and around Madrid, Alicia’s translocal (Appadurai 1996, 40) networks span from Miami to Los Angeles in North America, London and Brussels in Europe, Sidney in Australia, and Dubai in the Middle East. These networks continue to grow through the frequent emigrations from Peru to other regions in the world. This physical de-territorialization, coupled with an imagined re-territorialization (return), presents the everyday contradictions that many pioneer migrants are faced with. The imagined spaces that Mestiza pioneers had of Madrid, prior to migration, shifted upon arrival. First, San Blas is not the neighbourhood they expected to reside in. Second, the sharing of physical spaces with indigenous Peruvians created problems of self-image. Racism in Peru is embedded in everyday life; its pervasiveness and permissiveness can be embodied in former Peruvian president Alan Garcia’s (2006–2011) reference to indigenous populations as “second class citizens” (Isla 2009, 29). Lastly, the salience of these women in leadership roles has reshaped how they are seen in San Blas and in their hometowns.

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For many Mestiza women interviewed, San Blas is their second or third destination within Madrid. For many, “ending up in this neighbourhood was a shock” (Alicia Torres, narrative interview, July 12, 2010). This neighbourhood represented a step down in the gilded Peruvian social hierarchy. The physical appearance of the neighbourhood according to many is not the problem; it is what these physical spaces represent(ed). Although the majority migrated for economic reasons, social class still represents(ed) a strong signifier about their “imagined place(s)” within society. Some remember sending pictures to their families taken in the middle-class or upscale neighbourhoods where many worked as domestics and/or healthcare providers. As Alicia points out, it “was the only thing we could do at the time, we needed to show that we were doing better than at home. That we were right in migrating in the first place, otherwise, [people] would talk and laugh at us” (Alicia Torres, July 12, 2010). With the increased migration of her family, Alicia soon realized that such imagined worlds could not be continued. This downward shift in social class, coupled with the racialization of Latinos/as as a homogenous migrant group, became the “Other” (Garcia-Canclini 2001, 60; Hall 1992, 279; 2000, 5;). The implications of this “Othering” became more negative when they realized indigenous women were included in this term. When migration from Peru once again began in the 1980s (Paerregaard 2009, 46), Criollas/os (refers to individuals of Spanish ancestry born in the colonies), Mestizas/os, and Andinas/os in Spain became regarded as Latinas/os by Spaniards. From the outside looking in, there was no separation between ethnicity and social class since all “Peruvians” held the same passport. Since Mestiza women were “forced to leave [Peru]” due to economic reasons, to share the same socio-geographical with the former “Other” “that lived in shanty-towns back home” (Patricia Molina, narrative interview, July 15, 2010) was not positively received. Just as important as this socio-spatial dislocation was that they were viewed as part of the same “nation”; as Patricia comments, “The passport may be the same, [but we] are not the same people, [we] need to make them [Spaniards] see this” (Patricia Molina, narrative interview, July 15, 2010). The racism faced by indigenous populations has been spatially (re)connected to the former colonial centre. At the personal level, Mestiza pioneers wield new forms of power, space(s) formerly the province of the male “bread winner.” Financial independence, children’s education, property and business ownership, to taking charge of migration networks has led to a redefinition of women’s social roles.

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Based on everyday experiences, traditional social spaces have been partially breached by a spatial imaginary, where women are the ones in charge. This strengthens the contradiction between Madrid and other urban centres in their global network, as an ephemeral space. It promotes the idea of migration, as Patricia states, “as one- or two-year [period abroad] to save money in order to go back [home] and have a better life.” This has also become a problem for them, “how do [we] tell them [women in Peru] that this is not true [returning to Peru] without destroying our dream” of returning (Patricia Molina, narrative interview, July 15, 2010); in other words, there is a struggle between keeping their new social roles and the drive to return. Local networks cannot be thought of as institutions with specific headquarters. However, if there is one place where the imaginary is centred, it is the locutorio. The locutorio can be equated to an Internet café. However, it serves as more than a communication hub. Translocal migrant networks could not have developed and sustained themselves as fast as they have without increased innovations in information technologies (Appadurai 1996, 34; 2002, 56; Hannerz 1996, 131), which have become integral to such networks. The locutorio, in districts like San Blas, serve different purposes than those located in Madrid’s downtown core since Internet access is not as widespread. Locutorios in San Blas provide the means to develop global connections with local repercussions and vice versa. These “media-scapes” (Appadurai 1996, 40), which are locally produced, provide the information necessary for migrant groups to plan and carry out alternatives depending on local circumstances. They cover such topics as labour-market insertion, the legal requirements to enter a country, how to make money transfers, the challenges of family decisions on who would be “better suited” to migrate, and decisions on the construction of family homes in their hometowns. These and other decisions are carried out globally through these local communication hubs. In San Blas (as in other districts with high migrant concentrations), locutorios also provide everyday practical uses. For example, they are used to communicate with government agencies in the form of sending faxes. However, more important is the use of such spaces for employment and housing information; some also provide imagined spaces via traditional Latin American food and drink; and all are used as social spaces where information travels back and forth through the physical spaces of homes and neighbourhoods and, at the global level, through migrant networks.

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Everyday lived spaces are where direct everyday lived experiences take place. For Mestizas, women’s social spaces in San Blas have been reshaped throughout their tenure in this district. Many began their lives in Madrid, sharing apartments with other (Peruvian/Latin American) women. These crowded shared social spaces provided the early connections to create, maintain, and sustain migrant networks that were based on ethnicity, rather than citizenship or social class (it is important to note that networks for Mestiza and indigenous women work parallel closed and separate from each other). For the Mestiza women interviewed, there is a need to present the image of “Peruvians as civilized” (Ana Silva, narrative interview, June 25, 2010), which is often equated with Spanish cultural traits de-territorialized and re-territorialized during colonization processes, and have become part of Criollo cultural proclivities. This however denies hybridization processes (Anzaldúa 1987, 5; Appadurai 2006, 83; Bhabha 1994; Clifford 2003; Garcia-Canclini 2001, 2005), which include the contribution of indigenous as well as other global migrant groups such as Chinese, Japanese, Italians, and Germans to Peru, since colonization (Paerregaard 2009, 222, 234). To be Peruvian in this context refers not only to the container (Agnew 2005, 40), that is, the nation-state, but a narrow cultural and ethnic idea of what is regarded as “acceptable,” a euphemism for Western cultural traits. In Madrid, however, for many, this was “the first time that [we] have had to live in the same place” (Ana Silva, narrative interview, June 25, 2010). Sharing urban geographical borders has become a point of contention due to the loss of social status. A status that has been held on to for generations brought about through self-segregation and isolation. In practice, segregation and isolation are also performed with other ethnicities and nationalities that reside in the district, with the exception of work-related functions; in other words “Spain ends at the front door, where Peru begins” (Ana Silva, narrative interview, June 25, 2010). This, however, is the narrow Criollo version of culture that reigns as “Peruvian.” Socio-spatial dislocation within San Blas manifests itself through the delineated imagined spaces of how Peruvian societies “are”: an imagined total demarcation and racialization of the “type” of individual that “should” reside in specific neighbourhoods of Peru’s coastal urban centres. This racist-spatialization has been exported to neighbourhoods like San Blas. However, the lack of political power or economic means has made it difficult for segregation between Mestiza/o and Andina/o Peruvians to take place at the geographical level. Dislocation is experienced through ignoring the shared existence of social spaces, such as

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shopping malls and cafés—although this latter feature of Mediterranean life is not an integral part of the everyday. In not placing importance on such social spaces, everyday life can be experienced and ignored at the same time. The following sections discuss and analyze how Andina women’s physical, imagined, and social spaces are (re)shaped within the same urban centre. Andina Physical Spaces

For Andina women, Madrid is the result of two or more migrations, the first of which, according to all the women interviewed, was to Lima. This movement for the most part was a forced migratory process beginning in the early 80s, due to the violent conflicts in the central highlands between revolutionary groups such as Sendero Luminoso and Movimiento Revolucionario Túpac Amaru, the military, and drug cartels. Many moved with their “entire families to Lima to the pueblos jóvenes [shanty towns]; we had no other choice since there was not enough [money] for anything else” (Catunta Huamàn, narrative interview, August 13, 2010). Lima as a physical space became a transition point. This transition for the majority continued in Argentina for two reasons. First, as Paerregaard (2009, 9) points out, many were denied tourist visas for their first option, most often the United States. Second, as migration to Argentina gained steam in 1993 (Paerregaard 2009, 83), it involved a safer route than the illegal travel through parts of Central America and Mexico. Buenos Aires and other urban centres in Argentina became a magnet, especially between 1992 and 2001, when the Argentine peso was pegged to the US dollar. This first physical re-spatialization was made easier because they did not have to worry about an entrance visa or the need to know a different language. This made the first voyage abroad “tolerable. At least [we] could speak and communicate with others” (Kety Chasqui, narrative interview, September 13, 2010). Informants state that since the majority overstayed their tourist visa, the possibilities of deportation were always present: “[We] never really went too far from the neighbourhood if [we] did not have to, just in case they [police] would ask [us] for our papers” (Rosa Quispe, narrative interview, August 21, 2010). Hence, their geographies were bounded by fear of deportation and the prospect of not having the ability to support their families back home. Women interviewed worked between two and four years; it all depended on “how long [they] could remain abroad without seeing [their] families” (Rosa Quispe, narrative interview, August 21, 2010).

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For Andina/os, migration to Madrid is regarded as more than economic; there is a sense of eviction from their homelands. Lima and other coastal cities are not spatialized as home; they are places that they were forced to migrate to. Madrid, on the other hand, became a chosen physical geography, which carries different imagined and social spaces. In experiencing Madrid’s physical spaces, many Andina women faced different realities. In Buenos Aires, many of the informants previously lived and worked in the middle- and upper-class neighbourhoods of Palermo and Recoleta. Upon arrival, there was an assumption that Spain, as a more prosperous country in economic terms than Argentina, and Madrid, as the capital, would be more aesthetically pleasing throughout its entire geography. These spatial imaginations were dashed once they found housing in the southern districts of Madrid, since the central goal for many was to settle in Madrid with their families, and away from the pueblos jóvenes of Lima. Although they worked as domestics and did not own the dwellings in Buenos Aires, a certain aesthetic form came to be expected from “places in rich countries” (Marta Collque, narrative interview, August 1, 2010). For Andina women, physical spaces are especially important for three reasons. First, Madrid for Andina women, unlike Mestiza women, is not an ephemeral space. It is not a “waiting room of history” (Chakrabarty 2000, 8) until they can return home. Second, having lived as “refugees” (Altamirano Rua 1999, 7) within their own country in the shantytowns of Lima, aesthetics alongside aspects like safety and educational facilities became an important aspect of a neighbourhood. Although a significant number have been residing in this district for ten years, it continues to be maintained as a place of transition. At first glance, this seems contradictory since the majority own their own piso, as well as having immediate and extended family members displaced throughout this district’s geographies. However, since theirs is a long-term generational project, such expectations are left for second and subsequent generations. Lastly, the geographical location of this district and its most eastern neighbourhoods where they reside are at once part of Madrid and its borders. This spatial location coincides with the marginality of the pueblos jóvenes of Lima. This physical “segregation” does not go unnoticed; as Maura notes, it becomes “a problem when I have to go to work since it is [most often] on the other side of the city. I waste a lot of time on the metro” (Maura Huarcay, narrative interview, August 17, 2010). In connecting the marginality in which their past and present neighbourhoods are geographically located, Andina migrant networks, attempt to provide the means (most often in monetary terms) to shift their status

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from the margin to the centre (hooks 2000), even if this can be currently performed only at the physical level in their hometowns in Peru’s Andean Region. Andina Imagined Spaces

Imagined spaces are dealt with at two different levels: first, they are seen through non-sequential historical processes, and second, through everyday practical experiences. As stated in the previous section, the concept of “Peruvian” often takes on a narrow definition of “barely reconstructed” Criollo cultural traits, while “leaving out enormous indigenous and peasant populations who manifest[ed] their exclusion in a thousand revolts” (Garcia-Canclini 2005, 8) from contributing to the development of Peru as a nation-state, through what Mignolo (2002, 158) refers to as the hidden face of modernity—coloniality. Andina women in San Blas constantly live with this ambivalence (Anzaldúa 1987, 78). The geography that currently fences in Peru as a nation-state is not recognized but seen rather as imposed and artificial. The “imagined community” (Anderson 1983) is not one that is existent through the external definition of the modern nation-state as contiguous between nation and territory (Gellner 1983, 1994; Hobsbawm 1990; Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983). Rather, it is defined through linguistic and ethnic histories that straddle different contemporary borders, such as the Aymara-speaking peoples, who have been de-territorialized and re-territorialized between what are now Bolivia, Chile, and Peru; and the Quechua-speaking ethnic groups that span contemporary Argentina, Bolivia, Colombia, Ecuador, Chile, and Peru. The re-spatialization of cartographies, imposed by a Criollo minority during the nation-building processes and adopted by Western European imaginations of artificially bounded physical borders and boundaries, in one stroke de- and re-nationalized millions of people. The ambivalence they hold about holding a Peruvian passport and citizenship on one hand, while not having this sense of identity on the other, has led some to differentiate between Andina/o and Latina/o. The uses of these concepts are directly tied to imagined geographical spaces. Latina/o is used in reference to contemporary territorial divisions between nationstates. It is a referent to ideas of race/ethnicity as directly tied to territorial nation-states. As one informant points out, “[racial] purity cannot exist, it is as if [people] have never left their homes before and become mixed.… They [Mestizas/os] are a good example.… They [Spanish] came and changed everything” (Maura Huarcay, narrative interview, September 15, 2010). Sec-

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ond, the concept of Andina/o de-spatializes geographical regions from contemporary political boundaries. These imagined spaces, however, do not regard the former territory held by the Inca Empire, as the author originally assumed, but a borderless continent that is connected linguistically by Quechua- and Aymara-speaking peoples. Imagined spaces are connected with social standing at home and abroad. As with Mestiza women, indigenous women began to be seen through their new leadership roles. Localized decision-making processes have global dimensions. Such decisions, made through translocal networks, have raised women’s profiles and capabilities to and respect for the choices made regarding familial futures. Informants in Madrid take part in the “most important famil[ial] decisions because [they] contribute the most to the [family] budget” (Marisa Inguill, narrative interview, September 19, 2010). For example, remittances sent in euros to their hometowns have elevated some of these women into a higher status than other siblings living in the United States, who send home US dollars. Such imaginaries are also related to legal status. The majority of Peruvians in Spain through periodical regularizations, especially the ones that took place in 2000 and 2001 (Martinez Bujan 2009, 145), became legal residents; moreover, many have become Spanish citizens. The legality of these women has proved to be decisive in the power wielded in the global networks. Having the capabilities to “show face,” in both senses of the term, through travelling back and forth to Peru and other parts of the globe, with Spanish passports, has proven advantageous. This mobility, an advantage that many in the United States do not have due to many having undocumented status, provided the creation of imagined spaces where many women are often consulted first when making decisions regarding property ownership, in Peru or otherwise. Networks have also proved a necessary tool to provide alternative options to family members; as Tamara notes, they act as escape valves for the “young who cannot find jobs because they are [seen as] cholos [derogatory term used to describe indigenous populations]. It is better for those that want it, to get out” (Tamara Ocllo, narrative interview, September 27, 2010). Moreover, networks also continue to reshape how women are perceived; they have forged new images that travel the globe about “who is in charge now [laughter]” (Tamara Ocllo, narrative interview, September 27, 2010).

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The everyday social spaces that Andina women experience have been altered since their arrival in San Blas. First, as with Mestiza pioneers, they all arrived in Madrid alone, which for many was a continuation of life in Argentina. Daily life on individual terms allowed many of the respondents to become self-reliant, away from male figures. This, however, does not equate with complete independence, but with self-reliance connected to other pioneer women in the same situation. The majority of those interviewed met each other through the sharing of a piso, where, “[we] only saw each other usually on Sundays. Before we got our [residence] papers, we used to live with the families we worked for. [We] never told these people about our pisos, [w]e wanted a place of our own where we could rest and get away” (Tamara Ocllo, narrative interview, September 27, 2010). This change would continue when immediate and extended families joined them in San Blas. Second, the women of San Blas, and Spain in general, benefited from the periodic regularizations (1985, 1991, 1996, 2000, 2001, and 2005). The legalization of their status in Spain proved decisive in the intensification of the Madrid hub(s) of such network(s) (Escrivá 2003, 8). It provided the means to sponsor family members and friends, who in turn would continue solidifying such networks. Third, the real estate crash of 2008 brought the construction industry to a halt, an industry in which many Latinos, Peruvian men included, lost their jobs at a relatively fast pace. The Spanish government’s attempt to lure non-European Union migrants to return to their countries of origin began with the Programa de Retorno Voluntario de Inmigrantes de la Comunidad de Madrid (Comunidad de Madrid 2008), which offered to pay unemployment benefits upon their return to their home countries; however, it did not have the intended effect. As women informants state, “The problems are not only here, the gringos [derogatory term used for US citizens] are also having the same problems. [W]hy would we leave when they want [people] to give up their permanent residency [in Spain]?” (Tamara Ocllo, narrative interview, September 27, 2010). Through their networks, some were very aware of this global situation. Some began to propagate the idea of shared living once again. This plan did not take off as much as they would have hoped for; however, for some, it became a way of paying the mortgage by having relatives who were renting move into their pisos and share the costs. Lastly, at the global level, as with Mestiza women, socio-spatial dislocation and isolation became evident. Dislocation for many of these women, however, was a more localized affair. The core of these dislocations was the

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connection to different urban centres throughout the Andean Highlands. The word “Peru” was spoken sporadically, but it did not carry the weight as it did for Mestiza women. The nation-state, for pioneer women informants, has become secondary (if it ever was primary). Such localizations, work under the rationale of informants’ concepts of borders. Throughout their personal and common histories, boundaries and borders have been imposed on them. Internally, through racism, and social and economic exclusion in Peru, and externally due to visa requirements preventing their migration to the United States, as well as stereotyped into specific employment sectors (i.e., domestic service), making the permeation of borders by Andina women an everyday practice. Conclusion

This chapter connected empirical findings with theories of physical, imagined, and social spaces in order to analyze how everyday life is experienced by women from two communities that shared a common citizenship and geographical location, yet their lives diverge widely due to different social, historical, and spatial trajectories. It used the development of migrant networks to examine how two groups of women have become leaders in their respective translocal communities. It has also shown how such migrant networks help to (re)produce different conceptions of belonging. The nationstate can no longer be taken as the overriding measure of identity (political, cultural, social, legal, etc.). Although the current phase of globalization cannot be said to have begun such processes, advances in information technology and cheaper methods of transportation have greatly contributed to the growth and maintenance of such networks. Moreover, local geographies have become more interconnected, making internal and external forces play more significant roles in people’s daily experiences. The cosmopolitans of today are not the elite that (still) live under citizenships and nationalities of specific nation-states. Today’s cosmopolitans are most often the victims of modernity, those who have not reaped the rewards that capitalism professes, and those who do not live in the comfort of knowing they “belong” in those regions in which they currently reside. These are the migrants, refugees, diasporas, asylum seekers, and exiles. This brings to the foreground the idea that there cannot be one universalism, rather, universalisms, which are often based on particularities making them not universals as such, but rather arguments for the basis of a universal (Breckenridge et al. 2002, 6, 7, 8).

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CONTRIBUTORS

SUSAN M. BRIGHAM is Associate Professor in the Faculty of Education at Mount Saint Vincent University, Halifax, Nova Scotia, in the area of lifelong learning. Susan has conducted research and presented her work in Africa, Asia, Europe, and North America, including the Caribbean. Her most recent co-edited book is Building on Critical Traditions: Adult Education and Learning in Canada (2013, Toronto: Thompson). Her research interests include adult education, teacher education, migration, and diversity issues. RINA COHEN is an Associate Professor in the Department of Sociology and a member of the Graduate Program in Gender, Feminist, and Women’s Studies at York University. Her areas of interest include diaspora engagement, transnationalisms, immigrant women, sociology of families, cultural identities, and qualitative research methods. She has authored numerous articles on domestic care workers, transnational motherhood, children’s contribution to housework, and diasporic communities. TANIA DAS GUPTA is a full Professor in the Department of Equity Studies at York University. She teaches, researches, and publishes about race, gender, and class issues in the workplace and in the labour market; migrant and immigrant women; “twice-migrated” South Asians in Canada and their transnational living; community development; the labour movements and activism in racialized communities. Her publications include Real Nurses and Others, Racism and Paid Work, Learning From Our History, (co-edited)

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Race and Racialization: Essential Readings, and numerous book chapters and journal articles. PATIENCE ELABOR-IDEMUDIA is a full Professor in the Department of Sociology and an Associate Member of Women and Gender Studies at the University of Saskatchewan, where she has taught and researched since 1995. Her research and published work have focused on rights of immigrant women in Canada, minorities in the academy, transnationalism, and migration/human trafficking in Europe, Australia, Canada, and West Africa. Her articles have appeared in such journals as Agenda: Empowering Women for Gender Equality, International Journal of Humanities, Canadian Journal of Woman’s Studies/Cahier de la Femme, and Negro Journal of Education. She has also contributed chapters to a number of books, including Indigenous Philosophies and Critical Education (2011), The Age of Knowledge: The Dynamics of Universities, Knowledge and Society (2011), Possibilities and Limitations: Multicultural Policies and Programs in Canada (2005), and Feminist Post-Development Thought: Rethinking Modernity, PostColonialism and Representation (2002). Her current research focus is on gender and food security in Ethiopia. VALERIE FRANCISCO is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Sociology at the University of Portland in Oregon. She works with a global perspective, both in her scholarship and in her teaching. Her current book project explores the dynamics of gender and technology of care work in Filipino transnational families in the Philippines and the United States. Francisco contextualizes the shifts in the long-standing transnational family formation in the Philippines through an examination of neoliberal immigration policies and market forces in the Philippines and globally. Dr. Francisco’s research program includes a transnational study of Filipino migrant mothers in New York City and their families left behind in Manila, and a participatory action research with Filipino immigrants working as caregivers in the United States. Dr. Francisco also writes on the transnational activism that emerges from the social conditions of migration, separation, and migrant labour in journals such as Critical Sociology, Working USA, The Philippine Sociological Review, and International Review of Qualitative Research. AMRITA HARI is an Assistant Professor in the Pauline Jewett Institute of Women’s and Gender Studies at Carleton University. She has a BA Hons and MA in Geography from the University of Toronto, and a DPhil in Geogra-

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phy from the University of Oxford. She is interested in broader questions concerning global migrations, transnationalisms, diasporic formations, and citizenship. Her previous work examined migrants’ reconfigurations of gender roles in productive and reproductive labour in a post-migratory context. Her current research is focused on how gendered and racial hierarchies are reproduced through migration policies in a neoliberal globalized world, and the resulting transnational processes, intersectional identities, and migrants’ acts of resistance. CHRISTINE HUGHES received her PhD in Sociology in 2014 from Carleton University with a concentration in Political Economy. Her dissertation investigated how household gender relations in Guatemala are affected by men’s and women’s temporary labour migration to Canada. She holds an MA in International Development Studies and a BA in Political Science. Her research has examined gender and transnationalism, migration and development, gender-based violence, migrant workers’ political activism, and how to theorize changes in gender relations. Her fieldwork has been based in Central America. Hughes is currently a Women’s Rights Knowledge Specialist in the Centre for Gender Justice at Oxfam Canada. CARL E. JAMES is the Director of the York Centre for Education and Community (YCEC) and Professor in the Faculty of Education at York University. He is also cross-appointed to the Graduate Program in Sociology and Social Work. James is recognized nationally and internationally for his work in equity, education and schooling, and youth studies. His research interests include educational and occupational opportunities and access for marginalized youth; the limits of multiculturalism in addressing issues of racialization and racism; the implications of suburban “urbanization” for young people; the complementary and contradictory nature of sports in the schooling and educational attainments of racialized students; and community-centred approaches to learning. ANN H. KIM is an Associate Professor of Sociology at York University in Toronto, Ontario, and is a Faculty Associate of the York Centre for Asian Research and of CERIS. Her research is largely motivated by questions related to the immigrant and ethnic integration process and pathways to integration. She has studied the experiences of Korean immigrants in relation to ethnic entrepreneurship, living arrangements, and new destinations. Recent projects include Korean transnational families and education

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migrants, the economic security of immigrant seniors, and the Agency Data on Migration (ADMIG) Pilot Project. She has published in the American Journal of Sociology, Canadian Journal of Urban Research, Canadian Studies in Population, and Canadian Review of Social Policy, and is co-editor of Korean Immigrants in Canada: Perspectives on Migration, Integration and the Family. XIAOPING LI is a College Professor at the Sociology Department, Okanagan College, British Columbia. With training in various disciplines, she has a broad range of research and teaching interests, including cultural politics, globalization, community activism, immigration and multiculturalism, minority rights, and media and society. Her last major research project focused on artistic development and community activism among Asian Canadians. Her book, entitled Voices Rising: Asian Canadian Cultural Activism, was published by the University of British Columbia Press in 2007. Currently she is researching and writing about Chinese language media in Canada, seeking to contribute to the emerging field of ethnic media studies in this country and to further Asian Canadian Studies. She is also active in the local Asian communities. Working with other community activists, she hopes to improve the treatment of immigrants and racialized minorities in the Okanagan region. GUIDA MAN is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Sociology and a member of the Graduate Program, York University. She is also a faculty associate at York’s Centre for Feminist Research (CFR), the Centre of Excellence for Research on Immigration and Settlement (CERIS), and the York Centre for Asian Research (YCAR). Her research interests intersect im/migration and transnationalisms, families, and women and work in the context of global economic restructuring, using a gender, race, and class analysis. She has an extensive research and publishing record and is currently completing a SSHRC funded research on immigrant women’s transnational migration strategies of work and family. She has published in such journals as Women’s Studies International Forum, Canadian Women’s Studies Journal, Asian Pacific Migration Journal, and International Journal of Interdisciplinary Social Sciences. NANCY MANDELL is a Professor in the Department of Sociology, York University, and is a Faculty Associate at York’s Centre for Feminist Research (CFR) and the Centre for Excellence for Research on Immigration and Set-

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tlement (CERIS). Her research and teaching interests include gender, aging, qualitative methods, schooling, and family. Recently she has published on life course analysis of midlife Canadian women, senior immigrants and transnational family patterns, gendered and racialized forms of carework, and academic-community research partnerships. She is completing a SSHRC grant entitled “Worked to Death,” which examines patterns of economic security among aging immigrant families. HIJIN PARK is Associate Professor of Sociology at Brock University in St. Cath­arines, Ontario. Her publications include articles on race, gender, and migration in Social and Legal Studies, Social Identities, and Gender, Place, and Culture. Her current research on racialized female murderers examines the ways in which constructions of gender, race, class, disability, and violence shape and legitimize Canadian white settler colonialism and neoliberalism. Her research areas include feminist legal studies, refugee and migration studies, and differential racialization. FELIPE RUBIO is a Postdoctoral Fellow in Latin American Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin, working on Chinese migrations to Peru and Latin America from both historical and contemporary approaches. He is also a member of the International Research Training Group “Between Spaces,” a network of research universities in Berlin and Mexico City co-funded by the German Research Foundation and Mexico’s National Council on Science and Technology. His doctoral work in Global Studies at the Centre for Area Studies, University of Leipzig, focused on Peruvian communities in Madrid, Spain, and how they, along with other ethnic minorities, continuously contribute to the shaping and reshaping of this urban centre. Rubio holds an MA in Society and Politics from Lancaster University (UK) and a BA in Sociology from the University of Toronto. LINA SAMUEL, PhD, is an Assistant Professor in the Sociology Department at McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario. Her research examines intergenerational cultural retention and the construction of diasporic identities among South Asians in Canada, including the challenges faced by elderly South Asian immigrants, precarious and insecure employment among immigrants, and migration within the context of the unevenness of global development. She teaches in the areas of work and occupations, social inequality, family, immigration, transnationalism, race, and ethnicity.

319

CONTRIBUTORS

LEANNE TAYLOR is an Assistant Professor in the Faculty of Education at Brock University, where she teaches courses addressing the sociocultural contexts of education, including diversity and equity issues in schooling. Her ongoing research explores the social construction of racialized identities; multiracial discourses and critiques of critical “mixed race” theory; transnational and immigrant student aspirations; the experiences of marginalized and “at risk” youth in secondary and postsecondary schools; and the effects of school policies and teacher conduct on student experiences. A key focus of her work addresses how education that strives to be equitable and socially just must continually engage with the complexities of race and ethnicity, including multiracial experiences.

320

INDEX

Abelmann, Nancy, 244 absenteeism. See fathers, and fatherhood; mothers, and motherhood activism: of Asian population in Canada, 219–20; of generational transnationalism, 213–14; transnational activism, 215–16 affective labour: in conceptualizations of skilled work, 53–54; devaluation of, 68–69; immigration policy recognition of, 70; in kinship networks, 137; as unpaid work, 78 African domestic labour: coping strategies, 127–28; deportation, fear of, 122, 123; discrimination against, 126; employers distrust of, 125, 128; experiences of in Netherlands, 121–29; as migrant female labour, 118–19, 155; sexual abuse, 117, 119, 124; status of women in patriarchal societies, 118–19; as status symbols, 119, 130; verbal abuse, 123–26, 128; working conditions in Netherlands, 122–25, 129, 132n3 agency: external constraints on, 19–20; interaction with structure in trans-

national experience, 4–5; life course perspective, 76; and navigational capital, 178, 182–84; and transnational strategies, 45 aging: and globalization, 93; and transnational mobility, 75–76 agricultural labour migration: advocacy groups, 281, 289–90n5; gender aspects of habitus, 287; temporary migration of, 279–81 alienation: of Asian Canadian youth, 220; of foreign student mothers, 250 Anderson, B., 129–30 Andina Peruvians, 10, 296; forced migratory process, 304; imagined spaces, 306–7; physical spaces, 304–6; social spaces, 308–9; sociospatial dislocation, 308–9 anti-trafficking campaigns, 257, 258–59, 269 Aradau, Claudia, 260 Arisaka, Yoko, 263 Arxer, Steven L., 93 Asianadian Magazine, 220, 221–22, 224–25, 226, 227 Asianadian Resource Workshop, 221–22

321

INDEX Asian American social actions, 222–23, 229n3; cross-border mentoring, 223–25 “Asian Canadian Experience,” 213, 222 Asian Canadians: artistic activities, as focus of research, 218; artist’s role in cultural creation, 221; as “Asianadian,” 227; coalition formation, 226– 27; community organizing, 223–24; cross-border mentoring, 222, 223–25; cultural institutions, 221–22; cultural production, 228, 229n6; cultural self-determination, 223, 226; dualistic identities, creation of, 10, 213–14, 225–26; generational transnationalism, 213–14; Japanese Canadian Redress Movement, 228; as “others,” 216, 220, 226; politics of “race,” 217–18; “rap meetings” in Toronto, 222–23; reshaping of Canadianness, 228–29; ties to home country, 214, 215–16; transnational activism, 215–16, 219–20; Yellow Fever (play), 223, 229n1; youth movement, 213–14, 217–18, 218–25, 228–29 Asian Canadian Theatre Workshop, 221, 223 Asian Canadian Writers’ Workshop, 221, 224 Asis, Maruja, 101 aspirational capital, 178, 181–82, 189 astronaut familial arrangements, 37–38, 43–44, 235 asylum seekers, 36 Australia, Chinese immigration, 33, 34 autonomy, of fields, 284–85, 289 Avila, Ernestine, 101–2 baby boomers, shifting care attitudes, 89–90 Bangladesh, 18

Barbados: West Indian Domestic Workers Scheme, 140 Basch, Linda, 164–65, 215; transnationalism, 3 Becerril, Ofelia, 280 Beck, Ulrich, 75, 297 Begumpura (“City of Wives”), 27–28 Bhabha, Homi, 218, 227 Bhabha, Jacqueline, 258, 268 Bhachu, Parminder, 29–30n3 Bhutan, 18 Billig, 298 bi-local transnationality, 3–4 bi-national transnationality, 3–4 “black” jobs, 129, 132n3 Black Power movement, 224 Boltanski, Luc, 260 Boulton, Alistair, 269 Bourdieu, Pierre: conceptualization of space, 282; experiences of fields in conditioning habitus, 287–88; habitus and field, concepts of, 273–74, 276–77, 281–86, 289n2; habitus as multi-layered concept, 288–89; power relations of social positions, 38; social capital, 195–97 Boyd, Monica, 84 Breckenridge, Carol A., 297 Bridging the Solitudes program, 175–76, 190n2 Brigham, Susan M., 9, 135–53 Brittain, C., 177 Cabral, Amílcar, 224 Canada: accessibility to social programs, 250; annual earnings of immigrants, 38–39; cost of living, 167; domestic workers, recruitment of, 158–59; Federal Court appeal of refugee rejections, 266–67; female labour force participation, 247–48; foreign-born population, 135; for-

322

INDEX eign student inflows, 239–41, 250n3; Komagata maru, 17, 29n1; multiculturalism policy, 19, 25–26; reasons for choosing, 25–26, 243, 244; settlement transition, 8; standard of living, 162–63; systematic racism in, 220; temporary migration of labour, 275; undocumented migrants in, 135–36; women’s labour force participation, 41 Canada Pension Plan (CPP), 81 Canadian Experience Class (CEC), 55–56 Canadian immigration legislation: Canadian Citizenship Act, 28; Chinese Exclusion Act (1923), 17; Chinese Immigration Act (1885), 17, 46n2; Continuous Journey Stipulation (1908), 17, 29n1; Immigration Act (2001), 23 Canadian immigration policies: application fees, 23, 53; border policies with Korea, 242–43, 249; Canadian Experience Class (CEC), 55–56; and Caribbean migration, 139–40; Chinese immigration, 46n2; classed nature of, 22; deportations, 256; economic goals of, 67–68; economic immigrants, 33, 34–35, 53; entry restrictions, 70; family-class immigrants, 24, 80; family reunification, 19, 53, 70; Federal Skilled Worker Program (FSWP), 55–56, 60, 71n1, 71–72n2; in filling of “skills gaps,” 55; Foreign Domestic Worker (FDW) program, 159; Immigration and Refugee Board (IRB), 257; knowledge workers, as “designer immigrants,” 23; landed immigration status, 28; Live-in Caregiver Program (LCP), 140–41, 158–59; migration regulation proposals, 70; Organized Crime

Unit, 268; Parent and Grandparent Super Visa, 70–71; permanent resident status, 18, 19, 28, 159; points system, 19, 23, 33, 55, 71n1, 140; preferred immigrant category, 139–40; racialization of early immigrants, 17, 19; refugee determination, 255–70; rejection of refugee claims, 266–68; skilled professional recruitment, 22, 23, 53; sponsorship, 77, 140; strategic uses of, 53; Temporary Foreign Worker Program (TFWP), 55–56, 60, 63, 140, 289–90n5; Temporary Resident Visa, 143; West Indian Domestic Workers Scheme, 140 Canadian National Occupational Classification, 53 Canadian refugee determination system. See refugee determination Canadian Sociological Association: “Globalization and Transnational Experience,” 2 Canasian Artists Group, 223 capital, categories of, 38 capital accumulation, global disparity in, 5 capitalism: and migrant labour, 117; new capitalism, 54, 55 Caplan, Elinor, 268, 269 care obligations: consideration of in policy decisions, 54–55 “care thresholds,” 90 care work: as affective labour, 53–54, 68–69; cash-for-care programs, 90; chains of care, 58, 69–70, 86–87, 92–93, 163–64, 166–67; displacement of in Filipino families, 103; dynamics of in Philippine society, 99–100; in feminization of migration, 155–56; gendered division of labour, 56; global division of, 166–67; Livein Caregiver Program (LCP), 140–41;

323

INDEX live-in caregiving, 18; long-distance caregiving, 88; multidirectionality of, 9; “sandwich” generation, 88; shared practice of “doing family,” 112–14; shifting care attitudes, 89–90; unpaid, 78 Caribbean women, 18 Carmichael, Stokely, 224 Castles, S., 121 Central American women, 155 chain migration, 19, 155 chains of care, 58, 69–70, 86–87, 92–93, 163–64, 166–67 Chappell, Neena L., 88 child care: effect on women’s labour force participation, 40–41, 63–67, 68–69; as barrier to labour-market entry, 68; of children in home country, 65–67; emotional cost of, 65–66; and employment decisions, 68–69; family support programs, 41, 42–43; government-sponsored, not-forprofit, 69; intergenerational kinship networks, 137, 148, 155; intergenerational relations, 42–43, 44–45, 46, 57–58, 63–67, 76, 77, 80, 84–85, 93; liberal-residualist approach to, 57; unregistered home daycares, 69–70; work–life conflict, 61–62 children, 7, 9; of absentee mothers, 102, 106–9, 111–12; effect on women’s labour force participation, 40–41; alternate care arrangements, 18; “barrel kids,” 145; child-care provision, 57; early childhood education, 57; education of as cause for migration, 24–26, 34, 38, 43–44, 60; emotional withholding, 102; foreign student migration, 239–41, 250n3; impact of parental migration, 142–43; Keralite involvement with, 201–2; of naturalized citizens vs.

Canadian-born, 28; refugeeness of, 257–58; split-family arrangements, 24–27, 28; transnational experience of, 44, 46; as victims of trafficking, 265–68; virtual surveillance of finances, 166. See also child care; fathers, and fatherhood; mothers, and motherhood Chin, Charlie, 223–24 China (mainland): Confucianism, 41–42; cultural revolution, 33; filial piety, 41–42, 266, 267; as migration source, 19; one-child policy, 42, 260, 261–62, 264; remittances to, 83; state protection of children, 265–66; women’s labour force participation, 41 Chinese Canadians. See Asian Canadians Chinese Exclusion Act (1923), 17 Chinese immigrants: as indentured labourers, 35; population in Canada, 34; professional women, 36–42; racialization of early immigrants, 17, 19, 35, 46n2; reasons for migration, 33–34. See also Hong Kong Chinese Chinese Immigration Act (1885), 17, 46n2 Chinese refugees: “summer of the boats,” 256–57, 259–60 circular migration. See temporary migration citizenship: and identity, 125–27, 130; role in transformation of nationality, 4 class relations: and English language skills, 242; as factor in employer/ employee relationships, 128–29; inequality as external constraint, 20; in migration experience, 5, 6; Peruvian indigenous populations, 300–301; transnational constructs of, 7

324

INDEX Cohen, Rina, 9, 155–71; background and research interests, 1–2, 11n1 colonialism: and growth of English language, 236; and immigration, 18–19; influence on refugee determination, 255–56; in refugee determination, 10; relationship to migrant labour, 156 communication technologies: agricultural labour migration, 280–81; Facebook, 104; labour demand, 55–56; locutorio, 302; in maintenance of family connections, 18, 26, 27, 29, 88, 100, 157, 160; in migrant networks, 302, 309; Skype, 29, 104; virtual communications, 18 community programs, 92, 93 community status, and expectations of education, 181–82 Continuous Journey Stipulation (1908), 17, 29n1 Convention against Transnational Organized Crime (UN), 131 Crang, Mike, 283 Crenshaw, Kimberlé, 119–20 criminality, as category of exclusion, 268 criminal organizations, and human trafficking, 255 cross-border movement: and habitus, 274, 281, 288–89; as transnationalism from below, 218 cultural alienation: in split families, 27 cultural capital: employer perceptions of, 67; of English language acquisition, 239; erosion of, 38, 46 cultural difference: expectations of dominant culture, 126–27 cultural flexibility, 177, 182–85, 189 culture: effect on seniors’ living arrangements, 84; collective conscience of, 195–96, 207; deterritorialization of, 194–95, 227;

diasporic culture, and social history, 9–10; essentialist approach to, 219; expectations of dominant culture, 126–27; hybridization of, 76, 206–7; reterritorialization of, 195, 207; role of in migration experience, 5–7; social capital, 195–97 cybermothering, 164–66 Dannecker, Petra, 142 Das Gupta, Tania, 8, 17–31 Dauvergne, Catherine, 258, 267 Davidson, Barry, 145 Davis, Angela, 129 deportation: fear of, 304; of illegal domestic workers, 122, 123; “summer of the boats,” 256 De Sao José, José, 90 de-territorialization: of Mestiza Peruvians, 300; of Peruvian ethnic groups, 306–7; and re-territorialization, 297–98 deterritorialization of culture, 194–95, 227 diaspora: characteristics of, 216–17; conceptual comparison to transnationalism, 216–17; and transnationalism, 213–14, 215 discourse analysis, 10 discrimination: in Black women’s choices of work, 141; of Canadian experience requirement, 37–38, 39, 45; intersectional discrimination, 119–20; against migrant workers, 117; youth awareness of, 188 domestic workers: as breadwinners, 7, 9, 40, 142, 143, 160–63, 167; deportation, fear of, 122, 123; employers’ distrust of, 125; experiences of in Netherlands, 121–29; illegal (irregular) status of, 121; protection of, 130–31; racialized hierarchy of,

325

INDEX 119–20; reorganization of gender, 101–2; slavery-like conditions, 119, 122–25, 129–30, 132n3, 143–45; social reproduction needs, 118–19; as status symbols, 119–20, 130; and transnational care, 9. See also African domestic labour; Filipino women; Jamaican domestic labour Donato, Katherine M., 5 downward mobility: effect on child care, 57; of foreign-born professionals, 55; of precarious work, 5; and underemployment, 38–39 Dreby, Joanna, 102, 142 Drucker, Peter, 56 dual-earner households: and settlement process, 67–68; work-life conflict, 54–55 dualistic identities, creation of, 10, 175–76, 177, 197, 213–14, 225–26 DuBois, W.E.B., 224 Durkheim, E., 195, 207 eagle fathers, 236 Eastern European women, 155 economic capital, 38, 46 economic immigrants: “flexible” citizenships, 34; immigration policy towards, 53; prioritization of, 33 education: as aspirational capital, 178, 181–82, 189; Bridging the Solitudes program, 175–76, 190n2; cultural flexibility of immigrant youth, 177, 182–85, 189; devaluation of foreign credentials, 24–25, 38, 45, 55; in Keralite cultural tradition, 199; Korean student migration, 235–36; as means of achieving status, 239; non-white university students, 175–76; parental expectations of, 179–82, 189, 199; parental pressures, 186–87; resistant capital of, 184–85, 189; retraining,

40; of skilled professionals, 18, 22, 23, 24–25, 38. See also schooling (of children) “educational project,” and transnationalism, 236 education brokers, 243–44, 245 Egypt, remittances to, 83 Elabor-Idemudia, Patience, 9, 117–34 Elder, Glen, life course theory, 76 elder care: and family interdependence, 57, 58; health-care needs, 42; in kinship networks, 137; as women’s responsibility, 42, 88 email, 27, 29, 157, 164–66 e-mothering, 9 employment practices: annual earnings of immigrants, 38–39; Canadian experience requirement, 37–38, 39; in migrant experience, 6; in migration experience, 45 employment strategies: down-skilling, 53; self-employment, 23, 53; vocation training, 53; volunteerism, 40, 53 English as a Second Language (ESL) industry, 237–38, 248; teacher training, 239 English language acquisition: by foreign students, 235, 236–39, 248; in global economy, 249; possibilities enabled by, 238; TOEIC (Test of English for International Communication), 238 ethnic identities, construction of, 10, 213–14, 225–26 ethnicity: effect on seniors’ living arrangements, 84; conceptual shifts in understanding of, 225–26; “family-first” policy, 84, 87; migrant networks by, 303; suppression of, 220 ethnic nationalism, 219 ethnocultural discrimination, 67

326

INDEX Europe: migration patterns to, 295; re-territorialization of, 298; social reproduction, and migrant female labour, 118–19 Facebook, 104, 157 Faist, Thomas, 196, 282–83, 284 family, and family relations, 6–7, 8; effect of child care on women’s labour force participation, 40–41; astronaut familial arrangements, 37–38, 43–44, 235; “care thresholds,” 90; cash-for-care programs, 90; chain migration, 19; chains of care, 58, 69–70, 86–87, 92–93, 103, 163–64, 166–67; communication technologies, 18, 26, 27, 29, 88, 100, 157, 160; coping strategies of Filipino families left behind, 103–4; cybermothering, 164–66; definitions of family, reorganization of, 102; “family-first” policy, 84, 87; filial piety, 41–42, 266, 267; filial responsibility, 88; Filipino culture of migration, 99–100; financial exchanges, 77, 78–86; and gender reorganization, 101–2; interdependence of, 57, 58, 76, 77; intergenerational care network, 106–8; intergenerational relations, 42–43, 44–45, 46, 57–58, 92–93; Keralite diaspora, 200–202; kinship networks, 100–101, 137; kirogi families, 235–36; Korean student migration, 235–36; of Malayali community comparison to Canadian society, 200–202; migration regulation proposals, 70; multi-generational households, 84–85, 86; Parent and Grandparent Super Visa, 70–71; social capital of, 196–97; and social reproduction, 35; split families, 17, 18–19, 24–27, 28; transnational child

care, 44–45; transnationality as temporary state, 249; twice-migrated split families, 20–29; “wild goose family,” 235–36; work–life conflict, 54–57. See also child care; senior transnationals family-class immigrants, 24, 80 family support programs: child-care facilities, 41, 42–43 Fanon, Frantz, 224 fathers, and fatherhood: absenteeism, 7; absenteeism of in Jamaican culture, 145; alternate child care arrangements, 162–63; eagle fathers, 236; geese fathers, 236; Korean migration patterns, 235–36, 250n2; penguin fathers, 236; reversal of gender roles, 109, 113, 160; split-family arrangements, 24–27, 29; transnational gossip, 142 Federal Skilled Worker Program (FSWP), 55–56, 60, 71n1, 71–72n2 female migrant labour: labour force participation, 121; as “others,” 129; sexual abuse, 117, 119, 124. See also care work; domestic workers feminist scholarship: agency, interaction with structure, 4–5; gender, role of in precarious work, 35–36; gender hierarchies, 6–7; research methodology, 36–37 feminization of migration: gender, and migratory trends, 118, 121, 131n1, 155–57, 297; Korean foreign student mothers, 245; migration experience, gender differences in, 5–7 field, and habitus: of agricultural labour migration, 279–81; and autonomy, 284–85, 289; comparison to social spaces, 281–86; described, 276–77; experiences of fields in conditioning habitus, 287–88; movement-

327

INDEX between-fields approach, 274, 284; power relations of capital, 276; relationship between, 282; relationships of fields, 288; scale of, 285–86, 289; sociality of field, 279–80, 289n4; social-ness of fields, 283; transnational fields, 285 Filipino women: adaptations to family abroad, 110; as breadwinners, 142; coping strategies of families left behind, 103–4; as domestic workers, 9, 105–8, 158–59; domestic workers as status symbols, 119, 130; family history of migration, 108–9, 111; family strategies of care work, 111–12, 112–14; impact of parental migration, 142–43; kinship networks, 100–101, 103–4, 105–11, 164; as live-in caregivers, 18; long-term separations, 104–12; non-monetary forms of care, 111–12; reasons for migration, 105–6; stigmatization of, 103 financial exchanges: focus group participants, 79; intergenerational assistance, 77, 92–93; nature of, 78–79; from parents to adult children, 79; seniors as sole support for adult children, 82–83. See also remittances first- and subsequent generation immigrants: aspirational capital, 178, 181–82, 189; hyphenated hybrid identities, 177; identity construction, 175–76; navigational capital, 178, 182–84; parental expectations of, 179–82, 189; religion, and church community, 193, 194; resistant capital, 178–79, 189; Syrian Orthodox Christian church, 193–95, 209n2; ties to home country, 3, 175, 177. See also Keralite diaspora; non-white university students

Firstspace (physical space), 296 FOB (play, Hwang), 223 Foreign Domestic Worker (FDW) program, 159 frail elderly seniors, 78, 91. See also senior transnationals Francisco, Valerie, 9, 99–115 free trade, and migrant labour, 117 Friedmann, John, 279, 284 Fujino, David, 220 Funk, Laura M., 88 Gallagher, Anne, 269 Gamburd, M.R., 113 Garcia, Alan, 300 geese fathers, 236 gender: effect on seniors’ living arrangements, 84; feminization of migration, 5–7, 118, 131n1, 155–57; field-habitus dissonance, 277–78; foreign student inflows, 240, 241; as key organizing principle of society, 247–49; reversal of gender roles, 109, 113, 160, 163–64; role of in refugee claims, 256–57, 259, 261–64, 266–68 gendered division of labour, 10, 62; in African patriarchal societies, 118–19; among Korean families, 236, 246, 247; in care-giving, 87–88; of migrant labour, 120–21; in unpaid care work, 56, 78 gender inequality, wage gaps, 247–48 gender relations: in care work, 142; child care, and employment decisions, 68–69; of Chinese one-child policy, 42, 260, 261–62, 264; effect of unemployment/underemployment on, 39–40; and feminization of migration, 156; and hierarchies of power, 137–38; household division of labour, 40–42, 44, 62; intersection

328

INDEX with race, 138; of Jamaican women, 138–39; and kinship networks, 137–38, 145–46, 149; life course perspective, 77; of migrant labour, 120–21; migration experience, differences in, 5–7; and neoliberalism, 130; reorganization of, 101–2, 106–7; transformations in, 44, 45; transnational constructs of, 7; wage gaps, 77–78 generational transnationalism: levels of, 213–14; ties to home country, 214 geographic proximity, and migrant labour, 156 Ghosh family (Akash and Arpita), 59, 66–67 Gibson, Justice Frederick, 266–67 Gilroy, Paul, 218, 227 Girard, Daniel, 259 Giugni, Marco G., 130 Glick Schiller, Nina, 3, 164–65, 177, 215, 216, 283 globalization: aging experience of senior migrants, 75–77; consequences for labour markets, 55; and de-territorialization, 297–98; and diasporic communities, 215; and feminization of migration, 5–7, 118, 131n1; and intergenerational relations, 57–58; Korean globalization policy (segyehwa), 237–39, 240; and migrant labour, 117; and new capitalism, 55; restructuring of social structures, 7; role in political mobilization, 130–31; and social safety net, 41; transnational family as strategic response to, 101–2; and transnationality, 4 Global South: migrant affective and domestic labour, 54 gossip, 142 Graham, Julie, 137

grandparenting. See intergenerational relations Grewal, Inderpal, 258, 268 Griffith, Alison I., 236, 246 Guaranteed Income Supplement (GIS), 81 Guarnizo, Luis E., 20, 218 Guevara, Che, 224 Gulf States: migrant citizenship status, 23, 25; migrant labour policy, 22–23, 25; racism in, 25, 26; South Asian population, 22; twice-migrated people, 20–21, 29n2, 29–30n3 Gunn, Sean, 220 Gunst, Laurie, 138–39 habitus: boundaries of, 285–86; described, 276, 289n2; development of among non-migrants, 10; and field, 276–77, 289n2; influence on human practice, 273–74; as multi-layered concept, 288–89; of non-migrants, 286–88; and social space, 279–80; sources for, 277–81; translocal habitus, 287 Hall, Stuart, 227 Han, Jae-Dong, 243 Handa, M.L., 224–25 Hannerz, Ulf, 218 Harden, Blaine, 248 Hari, Amrita, 8, 53–74 health care, in kinship networks, 42, 137 Hiebert, Daniel, 243 Hillier, Jean, 284 Ho, C., 34 Hochschild, Arlie, 86 home, binary thinking of, 215, 219 home country: cultural ties with, 10, 209; protection of citizenship rights, 117; ties to, of first- and subsequent generation immigrants, 175, 177

329

INDEX Hondagneu-Sotelo, Pierrette, 100–101, 101–2 Hong Kong Chinese: annual earnings, 39; reasons for migration, 33–34, 46n1; student movement, 224. See also China (mainland); Chinese immigrants hooks, bell, 129 Horst, H.A., 166 host country: cultural conflicts, 5–7; external constraints of, 19–20; workers’ rights, 117, 123, 124 Huang, Shirlena, 101 Hughes, Christine, 10, 273–93 humanitarian discourse, in criminalization of boat migrants, 256 human rights, and refugee determination, 268–69 human trafficking: anti-trafficking campaigns, 257, 258–59, 269; of children, 265–68; criminality vs. victimhood of refugees, 255–57; exploitation of migrant labour, 119; sex trade industries, 119, 128, 259; vs. smuggling, 266; snakeheads, 264 Hwang, David Henry, FOB (play), 223 hybrid identities. See dualistic identities, creation of Ibbott, Peter, 243 identity construction: Asian Canadians, 213–14, 225–26, 229n4; career choices, and cultural identities, 9; and cultural flexibility, 177, 182–85, 189; and cultural identification, 195; dualistic identities, 10, 213–14, 225– 26; hybrid identities, 197; ideological hybridization, 206–7; migrant diasporic identity, 196, 197; of nonwhite university students, 175–76 illegal migrants. See undocumented migrants

imagined space (Secondspace), 296; of Andina Peruvians, 306–7; of Mestiza Peruvians, 300–302 immigrant integration, 53–54 Immigration and Refugee Board (IRB): refugee hearings, 261–64; “summer of the boats,” 257 immigration policies: and colonialism, 18–19; institutional process of, 6 imperialism: influence on refugee determination, 255–56; political consequences, 208; in refugee determination, 10; role of in migration flows, 4 income levels: effect on seniors’ living arrangements, 84; of foreign-born professionals, 55; of seniors, 79–81 income sources, Canadian seniors, 81 India, 18; education of skilled professionals, 18, 22; Komagatamaru, 17, 29n1; as migration source, 19; racialization of early immigrants, 17, 19; remittances to, 83; technology sector, 60; twice-migrated people, 20–21, 29–30n3 Indian transnationals: technology workers, 56; work–life conflict, 54–55 Indo-Canadian, 213 INTERCEDE (International Coalition to End Domestic Exploitation), 1–2, 159 intergenerational relations: aging experience of senior migrants, 75–76; child care, 42–43, 44–46, 57–58, 63–67, 69–70; of children in home country, 65–67; and family interdependence, 58, 76, 77; financial exchanges, 77, 78–86; forms of support provided, 58; life course perspective, 75–76; visitor visas, 58, 63, 69 “internalized Orientalism,” 208–9 internalized racism, 220

330

INDEX International Convention on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families, 130–31 International Labour Organization (ILO), 121; Migrant Workers Convention 1975, 131; Rights of Domestic Workers, 131 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 158–59 International Organization for Migration, 289–90n5; migrant female labour, dangers faced by, 119 Internet: cybermothering, 164–66; use in locational decisions, 243–44, 245; use of in family communications, 18, 26, 27, 29, 88, 100, 157, 160 intersectional discrimination, 119–20 interviews, life-history-style, 37 irregular migrants. See refugee claimants; undocumented migrants Islamophobia (post-9/11), 27 isolation: of African domestic labour, 124; of senior migrants, 77, 91; women’s experience of, 39–40 Jamaica: as immigrant source country, 140; remittances, and gross domestic product, 139; unemployment rate, 138; violence against women, 139 Jamaican domestic labour: as live-in caregivers, 143–45; racialization of, 138; social networks, 147–48; as undocumented workers, 136, 144– 45; West Indian Domestic Workers Scheme, 140; working conditions, 143–45 James, Carl E., 9, 175–90 Japanese Canadian Redress Movement, 228 Japanese Canadians. See Asian Canadians

Kaida, Lisa, 84 Kelly, Philip, 278, 280, 283, 284, 286, 287 Kenney, Jason, 70 Keralite diaspora: alternate religious values, 205–6; cohort groupings, 198–209; cultural expectations of youth, 201–2; divorce, 203, 204; familial culture of, 200–202, 207; “internalized Orientalism” of, 208–9; marriage, 202, 203–5, 209; and nursing profession, 194; patriarchy in, 194, 195; population statistics, 209n3; reasons for migration, 199; religious identification of, 10, 199, 200, 202–6, 207–8, 209; respondent profile, 197–99; Syrian Orthodox Christian church, 193–95, 200, 202–7, 209n2 Keung, Nicholas, 27–28 Kim, Ann H., 10, 75–96, 235–54 Kim, Mimi, 4 King, Katharine, 75–96 kinship networks: adaptations to family abroad, 110, 166–67; decentralized arrangement of care, 112–14; effect of global economies on, 149–50; as extended care network, 100–101, 105–11; fathers, role in, 109; of Filipino families, 100–101, 103–4; and gender relations, 137–38, 145–46, 149; intergenerational relations, 155, 161; intersection of race and gender, 137–38; of Jamaican women, 145–46; and neoliberalism, 149; non-monetary forms of care, 111–12; social spaces within, 135 kirogi families, 235–36 Kivisto, Peter, 280, 281 knowledge economy, described, 56 knowledge industries: in new capitalism, 55; technology sector, 54

331

INDEX knowledge workers: described, 56; as “designer immigrants,” 23 Komagatamaru, 17, 29n1 Koo, Hagen, 244 Korea: bilateral agreement with Canada, 243, 249; Chungcheongbuk-do Office of Education, 239; Confucianism, 237, 245–46; education policy regulations, 243; English-language acquisition, 235, 236–39; Englishlanguage mania, 237–38, 249; factors affecting student migration, 242–45; fathers, typology of, 236; female labour force participation, 247–48; foreign student migration, 239–41, 250n3; gendered division of labour, 236, 246, 247; globalization policy (segyehwa), 237–39, 240; historical migration patterns, 235; ideology of meritocracy, 238–39, 249; Internet connection speeds, 244; kirogi families, 235–36, 250n2; kirogi moms, 236, 240; mothering discourse in, 246–47; political economy of migration, 242–43; reasons for choosing Canada, 243; teacher training, 239; visitor visas, 240; yu-haksaeng moms, 236, 243 Korean Education Development Institute, 240 Kwak, Min-Jung, 243 labour force participation: agricultural labour migration, 279–81; of Canadian women, 41; devaluation of foreign credentials, 24–25, 38, 45, 53, 61, 63, 64–65, 67; educational credential assessment, 71–72n2; employment issues, 67–68; employment strategies, 53; and household division of labour, 40–42; Indian IT

workers, 58–67; self-employment, 23, 53; split families, 20–21; and temporary migration, 275; unemployment/underemployment, 23; women, 247–48 labour markets: Canadian experience requirement, 37–38, 39, 45; consequences of globalization, 55; discrimination within, 19, 24–25; knowledge industries, 55–56; political economy of two-migrations, 21–24; recruitment of skilled professionals, 22, 23, 53; in transnationalism from above, 20 landed immigration status, 28 Landott, Patricia, 20 language: and communication skills, 67; English as dominant language, 236–39; Federal Skilled Worker Program (FSWP), 71n2; senior transnationals, 84, 91 language proficiency: and employment, 37; and immigration, 140 Latin America: domestic workers, 101–2; migration to Madrid, 295–96 Lee, Jamie Shinhee, 238 Lee, Yean-Ju, 244 Lefebvre, Henri, 296 levelling, in quality of life indicators, 77 Levitt, P., 177, 282, 288 Li, P.S., 34 Li, Xiaoping, 10, 213–32 liberal-residualist approach, of childcare provision, 57 Licoppe, C., 165 life chances, and English language acquisition, 239, 249 life course perspective, 76–78; aging experience of senior migrants, 75–77; and ethnicity, 77; gender, effects of, 77

332

INDEX Liodakis, Nikolas, 217 Live-in Caregiver Program (LCP), 140–41, 158–59 locutorio, media-scape of, 302 loneliness: among immigrant seniors, 91–92, 93 long-distance intimacy, 100–101 Lusis, Tom, 278, 280, 283, 284, 286, 287 Luxton, Meg, 75–96 Madrid (Spain): as artificial construct, 295; as ephemeral space, 302 Magalhaes, Lilian, 135–36 Mahar, Cheleen, 283 Mahler, Sarah, 288 Malayali diaspora. See Keralite diaspora Malchup, Fritz, 55 Malkki, Lisa H., 257–58 Man, Guida, 8, 33–51; background and research interests, 1–2, 11n1 Mandell, Nancy, 8–9, 75–96 Marcos, Ferdinand, 99, 158 Marfo, Rev. Tom: and illegal African workers, 128 Marfo, Rev. Tom, and illegal African workers, 121–22 marriage: arranged marriage, 26, 27; in Keralite diaspora, 202, 203–5, 209; migration as escape from, 6 Martin-Matthews, A., 88 Massey, Doreen, 282, 288 McKay, Deirdre, 284, 287 McNay, Lois, 277 media, role of in refugee claims constructions, 256, 259 men: chain migration, historical context of, 155; effect of unemployment/underemployment on, 39–40; migrant labour, 120; as principal applicants, 60 mental health concerns, 124

Mestiza Peruvians, 10, 296; as breadwinners, 301; class relations, 300–301; imagined spaces, 300–302; loss of status, 303; in Madrid, 299; social spaces, 303–4; socio-spatial dislocation, 303–4; ties to home country, 300 Mexican migrants: agricultural labour migration, 280; transnational gossip, 142; transnational mothering, 102 Mexico, remittances to, 83 microcredit projects, remittance-todevelopment paradigm, 120 middle-class professionals, social capital of, 5 Mignolo, Walter D., 306 migrant labour, gendered nature of, 120–21 Migrant Workers Convention 1975 (ILO), 131 migration: chain migration, 19; effect of global economise on, 149–50; effect on family relationships, 155–56; feminization of, 5; gendered nature of, 5–7; influence on habitus, 277–79, 289n3; and kinship networks, 137–38; and neoliberal policies, 136; Philippine institutionalization of, 99–100; separations of, 139; and settlement process, 66–67; and transnationalism, 215 migration brokers, 243–44, 245 migration scholarship: care in transnational families, 113; gender, role of in precarious work, 35–36; habitus and field, use in, 277–81; linkages between home/host country, 34; mothering, and kinship networks, 141–43; theoretical development, 3–5; on transnationalism, 214–16 Miller, M.J., 121

333

INDEX Mishra family (Dev and Shalini), 59, 61–62 Mississauga (Ontario), as Begumpura (“City of Wives”), 27–28 Moon, Seungsook, 247 mothers, and motherhood: absenteeism, 7, 9; alternate child care arrangements, 18, 162–63; breadwinner role of, 7, 9, 40, 142, 143; chains of care, 58, 69–70, 86–87, 92–93, 163–64, 166–67; cybermothering, 164–66; decision-making power of, 248; e-mothering, 9; gendered division of labour, 10; impact of separation on mother–child relations, 156; intergenerational child care, 63–67, 155, 159; kinship networks, 100–101, 145–46; kinship networks, literature review, 141–43; Korean student migration, 236, 240; maintenance of family connections, 145; multilocality of migration, 156; nurturing practices, 157, 163–66; othermothering, 148, 164; reasons for migration, 143; regrets of absent mothers, 146–48; responsibility of education, 246; single mothers, and poverty, 83; as single parents, 25, 27–28, 29; stress of absence, 141, 149; transnational mothering, 43, 102, 156–57 multiculturalism, 19, 25–26, 297 multi-generational households, 84–85, 86 multi-locality, in reconfiguration of motherhood, 156 multinational corporations: promotion of English education, 237, 238; transnationalism from above, 20 multiple jeopardy, of seniors, 77–78 Murphy, John, 93 Muslims: Gulf States migration, 22; Islamophobia (post-9/11), 27

nationalism, and territorializing of groups, 297 nationality, and citizenship, 4 nation-state, and national borders, 4, 309 navigational capital, 178, 182–84 neoliberalism: capital accumulation, disparity in, 5; effect on migration, 136; effect on work–life conflict, 56–57; and gender relations, 130; and globalization, 117; impact on migration, 3; impact on welfare state, 56–57; and kinship networks, 149 Nepal, 18 Netherlands: African domestic workers’ experiences, 121–31; B9 immigration law, 121, 125 new capitalism: features of, 54; and globalization, 55 Nigeria, remittances to, 83 non-permanent migration. See temporary migration non-white university students: aspirational capital, 178, 181–82, 189; campus cultural clubs, 183, 189; career choices, and cultural identities, 9; civic responsibility, sense of, 185; cultural flexibility of, 177, 182–85, 189; as first- and subsequent generation immigrants, 175–76; generational transnationalism, 213–14; identity construction, 175–76; Keralite diaspora, 198; navigational capital, 178, 182–84; parental expectations of, 179–82, 189; parental pressures on, 186–87; resistant capital, 178–79, 184–85, 189; University Malayali Students Association, 198 North America, migrant female labour, 118–19 nursing profession, 194; Keralite diaspora, 198

334

INDEX nurturing practices, 157, 163–66 O’Connor Coulter, Karen, 267 Old Age Security (OAS), 81 old-old seniors, 78. See also senior transnationals Orientalist discourse, of refugee claimants, 256–57, 258 othermothering, 148, 164 Overseas Worker Welfare Administration (OWWA), 99 Pacey, Michael A., 84 Paerregaard, Karsten, 304 Painter, Joe, 283 Pakistan, 18; education of skilled professionals, 18, 22; remittances to, 83; twice-migrated people, 20–21, 29–30n3 Palmer, Howard, 140 Panagakos, A.N., 166 Pandit family (Ram and Madhoo), 59, 62–64 pan-ethnic transnationality, 3–4 Parent and Grandparent Super Visa, 70–71 parenting, and parenthood, 7, 9; of children in home country, 65–67, 155; elder care, 57; expectations of children, 179–82, 189; global householding arrangements, 244; intergenerational relations, 42–43, 44–46, 57–58, 63–67; of Keralite diaspora, 200–202; parental pressures on children, 186–87; parental sacrifices, 180; in settlement transition, 8, 60–61; sharing of, 61–62; split-family arrangements, 24–27, 28, 29, 162–63, 167. See also fathers, and fatherhood; mothers, and motherhood Park, Hijin, 10, 255–70

Park, So Jin, 244, 246 Parreñas, Rhacel Salazar, 100–101, 103, 142, 161 Participatory Research methodology, 104–5 Patel family (Sanjay and Anita), 59, 64–66 patriarchy: Chinese migrant women, 263; of Filipino society, 103; in immigrant communities, 6; in Keralite cultural tradition, 194, 195; role in identity construction, 195 penguin fathers, 236 Percot, Marie, 194 permanent resident status, 18, 19; Canadian Experience Class (CEC), 55–56; criteria for, 28; and Live-in Caregiver Program (LCP), 140–41 persecution: Chinese one-child policy, 42, 260, 261–62, 264; parents as agents of persecution, 265; perception of in refugee discourse, 257, 258; religious persecution, 260, 263–64 Peruvian migrant communities, 10; Andina society, 296, 304–9; conceptions of belonging, 309; Criollas, 301, 303; extended case method, 298–99; Latina/Andina differentiation, 306– 7; Mestiza society, 296, 299–304; Peru, ethnic histories in, 306–7 Pessar, Patricia, 288 Philippine Overseas Employment Agency (POEA), 99 Philippines: care work, dynamics of in Philippine society, 99–100, 112–14; Labor Export Policy, 99, 102, 158; migration as cultural staple, 104; as migration source, 19, 158; Overseas Worker Welfare Administration (OWWA), 99; remittances, and national economy, 83, 99, 158; standard of living, 162–63

335

INDEX physical abuse, of migrant workers, 117 physical space (Firstspace), 296; of Andina Peruvians, 304–6; of Mestiza Peruvians, 299 Plaza, D., 177 pluri-local frames of reference, 135 Poland, remittances to, 83 political activities: of Asian population in Canada, 219–20; of Chinese refugee claimants, 263–64 political affiliations, 4 political mobilization, and globalization, 130–31 Portes, Alejandro, 20, 283 poverty: among seniors, 79–80, 91; Canadian statistics on, 83; as cause for migration, 118, 122; of “Third World woman,” 261–62 Powell Street Festival, 221, 222, 223, 227 power hierarchies: in gender relations, 137–38; of social positions, 38 Pratt, Anna, 268 precarious work: downward mobility of, 5; of Jamaican women, 143–44; live-in caregiving, 18; role of gender in, 35–36; stressfulness of, 39; and unemployment/underemployment, 23–24, 45 Preston, Valerie, 75–96 Pribilsky, J., 163 professionals. See skilled professional immigrants prostitution, 121 Protocol to Prevent, Suppress and Punish Trafficking in Persons, 131 Putnam, Robert D., 196 quality of life indicators, 77–78 Quebec, child-care system, 57 Quebec Pension Plan (QPP), 81

race, and racialization: in class hierarchies, 6; of domestic workers, 119– 20, 126–27; as factor in employer– employee relationships, 128–29; in Gulf States, 23; intersection with gender, 138; kinship networks, 137– 38; labour market discrimination, 19; in migration experience, 5; in Peru, 300–301; and racial inequality, 10; resistant capital, 178–79, 184–85, 189; transnational constructs of, 7; of visible minorities, 213–14 racial oppression, manifestations of, 220 racism: of early Canadian immigration policies, 17; youth awareness of, 187, 188 Razack, Sherene, 264 recession, economic effect on migration, 136 RefLex, 267 refugee: as legal category, 257 refugee claimants, 36; African-Caribbean women, 264; assertiveness of, 266–67; detention as security issue, 268–69; gendered persecution, 261–64; persecution claims, 260; successful claims, 259; “summer of the boats,” 256, 259–60; as Third World Other, 257–58; victimhood vs. criminality of, 255–57 refugee determination, 256–57; appeal of rejected claims, 266–67; colonial/imperial influences on, 255–57; criminality and victimhood discourse, 10, 255–57; and human rights, 268; identity construction, 257; and national security, 268–70; persecution, perception of, 257; politics of pity, 260; role of gender in refugee claims, 266–68; successful claims, 259; “summer of the

336

INDEX boats,” 256, 259–60; of “Third World woman,” 261–63 refugeeness, 257–58 Registered Retirement Savings Plans (RRSP), 81 religion: and church community, 193, 194, 199, 207–8, 209; as coping strategy, 127; importance of in identity formation, 10; importance of in Keralite diaspora, 202–6, 207–8; Western constructions of nonJudeo-Christian societies, 263 remittances: agricultural labour migration, 280–81; of Chinese indentured labourers, 35; to developing countries, World Bank estimate, 83; as economic transformation, 4; empowerment of women, 120; to family in Canada, 35, 43; as family support, 102; intrahousehold, 137; role in home country economy, 9, 83, 99, 139; by seniors to home country family, 83; and social status, 307; in split families, 26; transnational mothering, 43, 157; of women vs. men, 7 remittance-to-development paradigm, 120 reproductive labour: of skilled professional immigrants, 46; unpaid, by family members, 54 resistant capital, 178–79, 184–85, 189 re-territorialization, and de-territorialization, 297 reterritorialization of culture, 195, 207 retraining. See vocation training Rights of Domestic Workers (ILO), 131 Rikka, 221 Rooksby, Emma, 284 Rubio, Felipe, 10, 295–309 Safri, Maliha, 137

Said, Edward, on culture of imperialism, 208 Samuel, Lina, 9–10, 193–209 Sanchez, P., 177, 178 “sandwich” generation, 88 Satzewich, Vic, 217 schooling (of children): early childhood education, 57; as reason for migration, 24–26, 34, 38, 43–44, 60, 162. See also education Secondspace (imagined space), 296; of Andina Peruvians, 306–7; of Mestiza Peruvians, 300–302 self-esteem, 124 senior transnationals: age groups of, 78; agency of, 77; aging experience as migrants, 75–77; as caregivers, 86–88; child care by, 76, 77, 80, 84–85; community programs, 92, 93; economic insecurity, 77, 79–81, 85–86; and elder care, 42, 57, 58, 88; eligibility for government benefits, 81; and family interdependence, 76, 77, 84–85; financial concerns, effect on health, 82; financial exchanges, 77, 78–86; focus group participants, 79; frail elderly seniors, 78, 91; intimate lives of, 8–9; multi-generational households, 84–85, 86; multiple jeopardy, 77–78; poverty, and low-income cut-off (LICO), 79–80; questioning of migration decision, 89; reasons for immigration, 80; as sole support for adult children, 82–83; sponsored seniors, 80–82, 87; as unpaid help, 80–81; vulnerability of, 81–82, 84–85; women living alone, 90–91 settlement transition: community programs, 70; goals and challenges, 66–67; transnational families, 54–55

337

INDEX sexism, as external constraint, 20 sex trade industries: and human traffickers, 119, 128, 259; prostitution, 121 sexual abuse, 117, 119, 124 sex workers, 36, 121 Shafir, G., 125 Sharma, Nandita, 260, 269 Sikh immigration, 18 Simmel, Georg, 296 Simmons, Alan B., 23 simultaneity of transnational networks, 4 skilled professional immigrants: characteristics of, 18; Chinese professional women, 36–42; devaluation of foreign credentials, 24–25, 38, 45, 53, 55, 61, 63, 64–65, 67; downward mobility experience, 5, 38–39, 55; educational credential assessment, 71–72n2; education levels of, 18, 22, 23, 24–25, 38; gender relations in transnational strategies, 36; household division of labour, 40–42, 44, 62; Keralite diaspora, 194, 199; nurses, 194; as ready-made workers, 46; recruitment of, 22, 23, 53; twostep migration process, 8; vocation training, 40, 53, 63, 64–65, 67 skilled work, feminist conceptualizations of, 53–54 Skype, 29, 104, 164, 165 slavery: Aristotelian distinction on slaves, 130; “black” jobs, 129, 132n3; and Jamaican hierarchies of power, 138; United Nations definition of, 119; working conditions of undocumented workers, 143–45 Smith, Dorothy E., 37, 236, 246 Smith, M.P., 218 social capital: cost of, 46; of cultural connections, 208; erosion of, 38; forms and implications of, 195–97;

impact on female migration experience, 5–6 social isolation among seniors, 91–92, 93 social marginalization of split families, 21 social networks: of immigrants, 38; of Jamaican women, 147–48; as transnationalism from below, 218; transnational perspectives of, 176–77 social reproduction: cost of, 46; gendered nature of among Korean families, 236, 245–46; of migrant contributions, 54; and migrant female labour, 118–19; neoliberal privatization of state organs, 56–57; as women’s responsibility, 56 social spaces: of Andina Peruvians, 308–9; comparison to field, 281–86; Firstspace (physical space), 296; of Mestiza Peruvians, 303–4; plurilocal frames of reference, 135; reshaping of through migration, 296–98; Secondspace (imagined space), 296; Thirdspace (social space), 296, 297; in transnationalism scholarship, 275; and understandings of space, 282–84 social status: and community standing, 203–4; loss of, 55; parental expectations of education, 181–82 social support: of seniors, 77 socio-spatial dislocation, 303–4, 308–9 Soja, Edward W., 296 South Asian transnationals, 209n1; recruitment of, 18; Syrian Orthodox Christian church, 193–95, 209n2; as twice-migrated people, 20–29, 29–30n3 Southeast Asia, foreign student inflows, 240 South Korea. See Korea

338

INDEX Spain: Andina Peruvians, 301, 304–9; Criollas, 301, 303, 306; Mestiza Peruvians, 299–304; non-European populations, 295; Peruvian population in, 295; racialization of Latinos as “Other,” 301; real estate crash (2008), 308 split families, 17, 18–19; astronaut familial arrangements, 37–38, 43–44; parenting arrangements, 24–27, 28, 29, 162–63, 167; stigma of, 21 sponsorship: family-class immigrants, 24; family reunification, 19 Sri Lanka, 18, 160 stereotypes: of career domestics, 141; youth awareness of, 188 stress: of absentee mothers, 141, 149; and precarious work, 39 Suarez-Orozco, Marcelo M., 4 “summer of the boats”: Canadian refugee policy, 255–70; refugee hearings, 259–60; rejection of refugee claims, 266–68; role of gender in refugee claims, 256, 261–64; trafficking of children, 265–68 Suziki, Aiko, 220 symbolic capital, erosion of, 38, 46 Syrian Orthodox Christian church, 199; and Keralite diaspora, 193–95, 202–7, 208, 209, 209n2, 209n3; as reimagining of Malayali community, 200 Szanton Blanc, Cristina, 3, 165, 215 Taiko Dojo, 224 Tanaka, Ron, 221, 222 Taylor, Charles, 126–27 Taylor, Leanne, 9, 175–90 technology industries: Canadian technology concentrations, 56; Waterloo Region, 60 technology workers, 56

Temporary Agricultural Workers to Canada Project, 289–90n5 Temporary Foreign Worker Program (TFWP), 55–56, 60, 63, 289–90n5; Jamaica as source country, 140 temporary migration: of agricultural labour, 279–81; and habitus, 277; and transnationalism, 274–76 Temporary Resident Visa, 143 text messaging, 165–66 Thirdspace (social space), 296, 297; of Andina Peruvians, 308–9; of Mestiza Peruvians, 303–4 Third World: affiliation with Asian Canadian youth movement, 224–25, 229n3 Thobani, Sunera, 269 Thrift, Nigel, 283 Tibet, 18 Toronto District School Board, 239 Toronto Korean Families Study (TKFS), 242 transmigrants: defined, 36; problematic perceptions of, 117; ties to home country, 3 transnationalism: conceptual comparison to diaspora, 216–17; defined, 3, 215; and diaspora, 213–14, 215; and “educational project,” 236; geographical parameters of, 215; and hybridization of culture, 76; in immigration research, 214–16; influence on habitus, 277–79, 289n3; and technological advances, 245; and temporary migration, 274–76; term origins, 275, 289n1; theoretical development, 3–5 transnationalism from above, 164, 218; and multinational corporations, 20 transnationalism from below, 164, 218; grass roots transnationalism, 20; of twice-migrated South Asians, 28–29

339

INDEX United States: Chinese immigration, 33, 34; civil rights movement, 224; domestic service industry in, 129; foreign student inflows, 239–40 Universidad Complutense de Madrid, 299 Urry, John, 297–98

transnational migration: forms of, 3–4; structural processes affecting, 36 transnational mothering. See mothers, and motherhood transnational social fields. See social spaces transnational social formations. See social spaces transnational spaces. See social spaces travel, and maintenance of family connections, 26, 29 Trudeau, Pierre, 220 Tuan, Yi-Fu, 284, 287 two-step migration process: Gulf States, 20–21, 29n2; South Asian skilled workers, 8, 20–29, 29–30n3 underemployment: devaluation of foreign credentials, 24–25; and downward mobility, 38–39; effect on spousal relationships, 39–40; of knowledge workers, 23; and precarious work, 23–24, 45; and return to home country, 35 undocumented migrants: accessibility of social justice, 129; deportation, fear of, 122, 123; exploitation of, 119–20, 127–28; as form of resistance, 148; as live-in caregivers, 141, 143–45 unemployment: effect on spousal relationships, 39–40; of foreign-born professionals, 55; immigrant rates of, 38–39; of knowledge workers, 23; and precarious work, 23–24, 45; and return to home country, 35 United Nations: Convention against Transnational Organized Crime, 131; Protocol to Prevent, Suppress and Punish Trafficking in Persons, 131; refugees as humanitarian problem, 268

Valverde, Mariana, 268 Vancouver, foreign student inflow, 243 Van Hear, Nicholas, 216–17 Vertovec, Steven, 4 victimhood: of Asian women and children, 256–57; constructions of, 267–68; gendered distinctions of, 263–64; oppressiveness, in construction of victimhood, 262–63; of women as refugees, 257–59, 261–63, 267–68 visitor visas, 58, 63, 69 vocation training, 40, 53, 63, 64–65, 67 volunteerism, 40, 53 Wacquant, Loïc, 283, 285 Wakayama, Tamio, 227, 229n5 Wakyama, Tamio, 220 Waterloo Region, interviewee selection criteria, 58–61 Weber, Max, 195–96 Weiser, Natalie, 75–96 welfare services, neoliberal cuts to, 56–57 welfare state: social inequalities, and neoliberalism, 56–57 Wilding, R., 165 women: as agents of change, 297; alternate child care arrangements, 18; as breadwinners, 7, 9, 40, 142, 143, 157, 160–63, 167; as caregivers, 41–42, 78, 86–88, 142; as dependents, 60; devaluation of affective labour, 68–69; domestic workers, 9;

340

INDEX economic insecurity, 77–78, 85–86; effect of unemployment/underemployment on, 39–40; eligibility for government benefits, 81; employment, impact on caregiving, 90; gender, role of in precarious work, 35–36; gender differences in migration experience, 5–7; gendered wage gaps, 77–78; as heroes, 120; household division of labour, 39, 40–42, 44, 62; as illegal domestic workers, 119–20; isolation of, 39–40; Jamaican conditions of, 138–39; as live-in caregivers, 18; living alone, 90–91; middle-class professionals, 36; migration as escape from marriage, 6; othermothering, 148; passive victimhood of, 263–64; perceptions of as migrants, 118; redefinition of social roles, 301; refugeeness of, 257–58, 259; as remittance recipients, 120; reshaping of perceptions, 307; sexual exploitation, 260; as “single” mothers, 44, 83, 119; skilled professional Chinese immigrants, 36–42; social reproduction responsibilities, 56; in split families, 20–21; as sponsored family-class immigrants, 24; time-management skills, 68–69; unemployment rates, 38–39; as victims of trafficking, 267–68

Wong, Keeman, 220, 223 Wong, L., 34, 215, 219 workers’ rights, 117, 123, 124, 141 working conditions of illegal domestic workers, 119–20, 122–25, 129–30, 141 work–life conflict: child-care provision, 57, 61–62; of dual-earner households, 54–55; effect of neoliberal policies on, 56–57 World Bank: promotion of English education, 237; remittances to developing countries, 83, 157 X, Malcolm, 224 Yellow Fever (play), 223, 229n1 Yeoh, Brenda S., 101 Yinger, N.V., 121 Yosso, T.J., 178–79 young-old seniors, 78. See also senior transnationals youths: career choices, and cultural identities, 9; cultural expectations of Keralite diaspora, 201–2; identity categories, construction of, 10. See also first- and subsequent generation immigrants; non-white university students Zedong, Mao, 224 Zontini, Elisabette, 142

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Books in the Studies in Childhood and Family in Canada Series Published by Wilfrid Laurier University Press

Making Do: Women, Family, and Home in Montreal during the Great Depression | Denyse Baillargeon; Yvonne Klein, translator | 1999 | ISBN 978-0-88920-326-6 Children in English-Canadian Society: Framing the Twentieth-Century Consensus | Neil Sutherland; with a new foreword by Cynthia Comacchio | 2000 | ISBN 978-0-88920-351-8 The Challenge of Children’s Rights for Canada | Katherine Covell and R. Brian Howe | 2001 | ISBN 978-0-88920-380-8 Love Strong as Death: Lucy Peel’s Canadian Journal, 1833–1836 | J.I. Little, editor | 2001 | ISBN 978-0-88920-389-230-X Something to Cry About: An Argument against Corporal Punishment of Children in Canada | Susan M. Turner | 2002 | ISBN 978-0-88920-382-2 NFB Kids: Portrayals of Children by the National Film Board of Canada, 1939–1989 | Brian J. Low | 2002 | ISBN 978-0-88920-386-0 Freedom to Play: We Made Our Own Fun | Norah L. Lewis, editor | 2002 | ISBN 978-0-88920-406-5 Evangelical Balance Sheet: Character, Family, and Business in Mid-Victorian Nova Scotia | B. Anne Wood | 2006 | ISBN 978-0-88920-500-0 The Social Origins of the Welfare State: Quebec Families, Compulsory Education, and Family Allowances, 1940–1955 | Dominique Marshall; Nicola Doone Danby, translator | 2006 | ISBN 978-088920-452-2 A Question of Commitment: Children’s Rights in Canada | R. Brian Howe and Katherine Covell, editors | 2007 | ISBN 978-1-55458-003-3 Taking Responsibility for Children | Samantha Brennan and Robert Noggle, editors | 2007 | ISBN 978-1-55458-015-6 Home Words: Discourses of Children’s Literature in Canada | Mavis Reimer, editor | 2008 | ISBN 978-1-55458-016-3 The Dominion of Youth: Adolescence and the Making of Modern Canada, 1920–1950 | Cynthia Comacchio | 2006 | ISBN 978-0-88920-488-1

Depicting Canada’s Children | Loren Lerner, editor | 2009 | ISBN 978-1-55458-050-7 Babies for the Nation: The Medicalization of Motherhood in Quebec, 1910–1970 | Denyse Baillargeon; W. Donald Wilson, translator | 2009 | ISBN 978-1-5548-058-3 The One Best Way? Breastfeeding History, Politics, and Policy in Canada | Tasnim Nathoo and Aleck Ostry | 2009 | ISBN 978-1-55458-147-4 Fostering Nation? Canada Confronts Its History of Childhood Disadvantage | Veronica Strong-Boag | 2011 | ISBN 978-1-55458-337-9 Cold War Comforts: Maternalism, Child Safety, and Global Insecurity, 1945–1975 | Tarah Brookfield | 2012 | ISBN 978-1-55458-623-3 Ontario Boys: Masculinity and the Idea of Boyhood in Postwar Ontario, 1945–1960 | Christopher Greig | 2014 | ISBN 978-1-55458-900-5 A Brief History of Women in Quebec | Denyse Baillargeon; W. Donald Wilson, translator | 2014 | ISBN 978-1-55458-950-0 With Children and Youth: Emerging Theories and Practices in Child and Youth Care Work | Kiaras Gharabaghi, Hans A. Skott-Myhre, and Mark Krueger, editors | 2014 | ISBN 978-1-55458-966-1 Abuse or Punishment? Violence Towards Children in Quebec Families, 1850–1969 | Marie-Aimée Cliche; W. Donald Wilson, translator | 2014 | ISBN 978-1-77712-063-0 Engendering Transnational Voices: Studies in Families, Work and Identities | Guida Man and Rina Cohen, editors | 2015 | ISBN 978-1-77112-112-5