I can not find work related to my profession because by standard, I was under
qualified. Neither can I be hired for lower jobs because I was over qualified.
I was being hang-up between not good enough and overly good. Strange, but this
has been the insanity in Canada towards new arrived immigrants. This made me a
jobless person.
I seemed lifted from the ground with jubilation when my wife told me that we.re
going to have a baby. It was the happiest moment in my life. It was just four
months ago when all Filipinos in the city attended our wedding. There were 68
of them. I was going to have my own family. The thought of being a father made
me very proud. It indeed was a big change from a lifestyle I just left behind.
My euphoria a while after was mixed with worry. There was no maternity leave
with pay at that time and both of us would have no income in few months. We
have no relatives. We had acquaintances, but we rather be by ourselves alone to
handle this problem. I therefore must find work. This time, any job wouldn't
matter at all.
My first interview as a high school graduate did find employment. I was hired
janitor by an international manufacturing company in the city. My assignment
was to clean a ten-foot deep carbon black pit. They called it snake pit. It was
physical work and very messy. At the end of the shift, I was completely covered
with black soot. I could hardly recognize myself. It was agonizing torture. All
my body parts ached. I never did physical work all my life and suddenly I was
working like an animal. It was an ordeal that I could not accept. I resented
it. I wanted to go home.
Late afternoon the third day, amidst sizzling summer heat, I decided to walk
home. I had a bad day. I just dared a worker to a fistfight after hurling
racial insult at me. Our basement suite was just up the hill a mile away. I
made a short cut by going through grassland. Prairie grass was up to my waist.
There was a little creek with clear flowing water. I took off my working boots
and soaked my feet. Across the creek was a service railroad tract and beside it
was a top portion of a wooden chapel steeple. It could have been unloaded from
a train and was sitting on the ground for sometime.
I climbed inside through a window and sat on a pile of wood. It was there where
I poured my heart out. All that I was came slowly in my mind. From easy
lifestyle in Butuan, Cebu, Manila and on to the Cursillo House of Los Banos
where my desire to change began to unfold flashed so vividly in my thoughts. I
looked up the ceiling and like a kid lost totally in unfamiliar surrounding, I
wept praying for help.
It came to my senses that the snake pit was not only to challenge my worthiness
to father a family, but also as penance to forgiveness. It was a test of
endurance on my sincerity to mend my way. There was no turning back. This gave
me the courage to willingly face and to overcome trials before me. I can not
afford to fail. I refused to give away what was mine and regardless of racial
madness and ugliness of the time; I claimed my right to exist.
I gave all I can. I accepted work without hesitation. It was my claim to
fatherhood that gave me strength. I worked twelve hours a day and I prayed a
lot. I had perfect attendance and never was I late for work. Racial
intolerances were common from the dominant white workers. City's ratio was 265
whites to one colored person. There were only a handful of us non-white in the
plant. I did not mingle and neither socialized. I had no time for that. If I
was different, so be it. I was there for a purpose and not for other reason. I
didn't care about anything at all. I had a lonely life in the factory.
My promotion however was faster than normal. From janitor up the production
line and onward to better job after job with more responsibility and pay. The
reason was education. Most of around six hundred workers had very little formal
education and many were refugees from Eastern Europe. I was confident that man
to man I was equal and in some areas even better. I didn't waver for one moment
in proving my worth.
I realized later that there was more to just exist. When I was somewhat in
comfort level, I started aiming to hold the high ground. This was my way of
addressing racial prejudice and other abuses on worker's right. I had been
ignoring these for sometime. I knew that wrongful deeds were often done that I
couldn't fight it then. I bowed my head in blind obedience long enough. The
time has come to also put in my little share to make things right.
I met a guy named Ron in the lunchroom. He worked at the front office as a
public relation man and was the editor of the company's news magazine, whose
circulation was to all our plants nationwide. He was interested on the plight
of immigrant workers. We talked and after asked me to write half a page
narrative. I titled my article, "Challenge."
This caught the eyes of the local union president. He liked my style of using
simple words, easy to read and easy to understand. It was suited for workers on
the floor. The union was looking for editor to run their newsletter. The job
was offered and I accepted.
After a year with nineteen editorials, I was known in name in and around the
plant. My editorials became powerful that it served as worker's voice and
conscience in the workplace. I wrote strong commentaries attacking management
and also at times against the union on its favored behavior with the company. I
saw faults at both ends of the equation and I wanted it fixed. This was
difficult to do with the same set of union officers. The alternative was to put
up a new lineup with a liberal platform to run against the right wing long time
incumbents in the incoming union election. I coined a campaign slogan of
"membership is the boss."
I supported our slate of candidates with inspiring and emotional commentaries
in the newsletter. My editorials were also focused on mismanagement of the
union. It was an intense campaign. On Election Day, a huge tent was set up at
the parking lot availing workers in all shifts to vote.
All candidates in our line-up came out victorious. Workers desired for change
and they got it. I was elected vice president.
No one really cared much about the insignificant position of vice president.
But when the president unexpectedly stepped down for health reason, the whole
spectrum suddenly changed. I assumed leadership of a big labor union. The
dominant white workers were not expecting a none-white accented Asian immigrant
to lead them. This was where fun began.
(Chapter 3 - To be continued)
