Every morning across the Greater Toronto Area, thousands of undocumented workers head out to their jobs in construction, cleaning and home care, despite the fact that they are not legally allowed to live or work in Canada.
Unlike in the U.S., where many undocumented people entered without authorization at the southern border, most of these individuals in Canada entered the country legally. They came as temporary workers, international students, tourists or refugee claimants, and saw their visas expire or refugee claims rejected before they were able to transition to another type of legal status.
It’s hard to give a definitive number of undocumented people in Canada, but the federal government says it could be as high as 500,000. Many have few legal resources and struggle to navigate Canada’s complex and sluggish immigration system. By staying in the country without authorization, they are forced into the shadows, where they face limited and substandard employment, health and housing options. The Globe and Mail spent time at sites where migrants congregate in Toronto – a church, a newcomer support centre and street corners where day labourers pick up under-the-table work – speaking with undocumented and formerly undocumented people. (The Globe is using only middle names for most people in this story owing to their risk of detention and deportation.)
Fernanda and Wilber, who fled Colombia to avoid extortion by gangs, are also in hiding from Canadian authorities since they didn’t show up for a deportation flight.
Many immigration experts believe the number of undocumented people in the country will likely surge in the next few years.
While it’s too early to tell whether there will be a new wave of migrants fleeing the Trump administration crossing the border, an increasing number of Canada’s three million non-permanent residents – including international students and temporary foreign workers who are already here legally – will face a dilemma: With the government reducing the numbers of new permanent residents and temporary work permits, many may be tempted to stay when their visas expire rather than face uncertainty or worse back home.
In recent years, the federal government trialled several small-scale regularization programs, and this month it announced plans to create a regularization pathway for out-of-status construction workers. However, a larger program that would have allowed thousands of undocumented workers to get on a path to citizenship didn’t move forward, after the public mood soured on immigration as the number of temporary residents soared.
For now, the threat of detention and deportation remains real. Removals are on the rise, and the Canada Border Services Agency has committed to increasing deportations by 25 per cent this year.
Michael Barutciski, an associate professor in international studies at York University, says the growing undocumented population is worrying.
“A reasonable person could be very sympathetic, but also then concerned about what this does for the overall system. At some point, people will be asking, why do we have rules and laws?” Any responsible government needs to be concerned about public reaction turning against migration, he says. “We can end up in an American type of situation, with politicians who have very harsh solutions.”
In the meantime, many migrants are choosing to stay after losing their status, determined to find a legal pathway that will allow them to get permanent residency – and eventually citizenship – one day.
Marco, 48
From: Mexico City | Arrived in Canada: 2008
When employers discover that Marco does not have a social insurance number and can’t work legally, he says they immediately lower the salary being offered. He currently is working for an agency and paid less than minimum wage doing cleaning and maintenance for a residential building. He says undocumented workers such as himself are often subject to rude and demanding behaviour on the job that others don’t face.
Marco, who entered Canada as a tourist in 2008, sends much of his money back home to Mexico, where he is supporting his mother and other family members. He has no access to a family doctor, although he has received valuable medical help from the Canadian Centre for Refugee & Immigrant Health Care in Scarborough, Ont. He constantly fears being discovered by the authorities. Despite the challenges, Marco has no interest in going back to Mexico, where he had a difficult life as a street vendor. “I love Canada – I want to live here forever,” he says. “I am living here and there are no problems. I have a little peace now.”
Santos from the Philippines got off to a rocky start in her efforts to work in Canada.
Santos, 36
From: Pangasinan, Philippines | Arrived in Canada: 2023
Santos came on a six-month work permit, hoping that, in Canada, she would not face abusive work conditions like the ones she faced in Taiwan. With little work in the Philippines, the single mother went abroad to support her two children and her parents. However, after just one day cleaning at a New Brunswick lobster plant, Santos was told that because the catch was slow, she was being laid off.
She ended up finding another job in London, Ont., working as an under-the-table cleaner at a car dealership. The owner promised to get her a work permit and pay her $2,400 a month for eight hours of work a day. She tearfully recalls that, instead, she was working 12 to 15 hours a day, cleaning cars as well as cooking, vacuuming and doing laundry at the owner’s house. Her pay was reduced to $2,000 a month; the owner said it was because she was living at his home.
In February, with the assistance of the Filipino organization Migrante Ontario, she was able to get a two-year open work permit. “I finally got my papers so I can work legally,” Santos says. “It released all my stress. I felt so blessed and I prayed.” She is currently looking for work as a caregiver.
Getting a temporary work permit, thanks to help from an advocacy group, has eased Santos’s mind.
Alejandro, 34
From: Mexico City | Arrived in Canada: 2024
Alejandro stands in the bitter cold at a busy Toronto corner at 6 a.m. on a Monday, waiting to be picked up for a construction job. He has experience with carpentry back home but, given there aren’t many jobs for him in Mexico and earnings in Canada are higher, he came on a tourist visa a year ago with a plan to work. Despite being undocumented, Alejandro is a member of a construction union in Toronto. Although it is difficult for him to be separated from his wife and children, he’s glad he is able to send them money.
He was disappointed when the federal government decided not to pursue a program of regularization for undocumented migrants last year. “I wish they would give migrants who are already here an opportunity to correct their status,” he says. “We’re just coming here to work.”
One of his main worries in Canada is health care: He believes he would be covered for a work-site injury, but not if something happened off the job. “I came here for a better life, for more opportunities. In Mexico, Canada is presented as this great opportunity, where everything is going to be easier, but it’s not. It’s been very difficult.”
Fernanda and Wilber say it would be dangerous to return to Colombia, where their family has long been a target of the ELN guerilla group. ‘All we want is to be here legally,’ Fernanda says.
Fernanda and Wilber, 22 and 23
From: Bogota, Colombia | Arrived in Canada: 2022
In February, Fernanda and Wilber and their daughter didn’t show up for the deportation flight that was supposed to take them back to Colombia. The couple says they are scared that if they return, they will be targeted again by the ELN, an armed group that killed Wilber’s uncle and has been attempting to extort the family for years.
Wilber says he fled to Mexico with Fernanda, who was pregnant, after being pursued by gunmen in Colombia. Their daughter was born there, but they heard the ELN knew where they were, so they crossed the U.S. border without authorization. They finally made it to Canada, making a refugee claim at Niagara Falls; they were happy to be reunited with Wilber’s mother, who had also fled the ELN.
Last August, the Immigration and Refugee Board rejected their refugee claim, saying they could have asked for asylum in Mexico. The family didn’t have money to hire a lawyer to appeal the decision. Since the deportation flight, they have gone into hiding and cut off contact with almost everyone. After hearing that officers showed up at Fernanda’s English class, she stopped going. Wilber left his under-the-table construction job and they pulled their daughter out of daycare, even though she had just gotten over a difficult transition and was adapting to the program.
“After fleeing and settling down again, and now being told that we have to leave, it’s really hard,” says Fernanda, who is talking to a lawyer about options after they scraped together money for some legal consultations. “All we want is to be here legally. It’s an ugly feeling, like we did something wrong and at any moment they’re going to capture us, and we will lose everything we went through to get here.”
‘Every time I step outside, I feel like I’m not safe because I’m undocumented right now,’ says Micua from the Philippines.
Micua, 39
From: Pangasinan, Philippines | Arrived in Canada: 2022
After his mother spent years supporting their family as a domestic helper in Taiwan, Micua felt it was his time to go abroad and contribute. He initially came to Canada on a student visa; after finishing school, he worked as a personal support worker on a postgraduate permit.
He ended up paying $3,000 (a partial payment on an expected $7,345) in fees to Jeanett Moskito, a recruiter who has been the subject of complaints from other Filipino migrants. Ms. Moskito promised to get Micua a work permit and a job; he wasn’t aware that it is illegal to charge foreigners for finding them employment. She found him a position as a meat cutter at a grocery store in a town on Georgian Bay, Ont., but didn’t succeed in getting his work permit extended, so he had to quit. (The Globe reached out to Ms. Moskito multiple times but she did not comment.)
Micua says he is frustrated and depressed over his situation. He isn’t working and is saddled with loan payments, as Ms. Moskito told him he needed a car to get the grocery job. “Every time I step outside, I feel like I’m not safe because I’m undocumented right now. If I get deported and go to the Philippines, I don’t have work there. My life is here now.”
Permanent residency now allows Rayon Barrett to visit his native Jamaica without worries about re-entering Canada, which he faced over seven years without a work permit.
Rayon Barrett, 36
From: Kingston, Jamaica | Arrived in Canada: 2014
Rayon had been fascinated with Canada since a visit as a teen. He left his job working at an Royal Bank of Canada branch in Jamaica to try his luck here, entering on a tourist visa that allowed him to stay for six months.
He was not expecting seven years of struggle. Without a work permit, he relied on cash-paying factory and construction gigs. Over time, he says, employment agencies became more reluctant to hire people without papers. Bosses often delayed paying him, and once, after sustaining a face injury on a construction site, he was turned away from a hospital as he didn’t have $1,000 for treatment.
After getting married, his wife – a permanent resident – was able to sponsor him, and he received PR status. “It was the happiest day of my life in Canada,” Rayon says. “The distress that you feel of not having any stability or security – all of that was lifted.”
He was also overjoyed to visit home, something he couldn’t do while undocumented as he might have had difficulty re-entering Canada. “For eight years, I didn’t see one member of my family. When I took a trip back to Jamaica, I almost cried when the plane landed, knowing I would see my brother, my father, my sister.”
Now a permanent resident, Rayon says it’s a challenge finding a decent job given the seven-year gap in his résumé, so he’s enrolled in college for construction engineering. He looks forward to applying for citizenship this spring. “My heart goes out to the people who are still undocumented,” he adds. “I know how difficult it is from both sides.”
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