Saturday, August 14

JAN WONG

Friday, August 13, 1999

The joint RCMP-Canadian Armed Forces attempt to keep out a shipload of illegal Chinese migrants hardly inspires confidence. Even a bunch of little children in life vests made it to shore.

It's a good thing we're not facing an enemy attack. Although some may consider Wednesday's landing an invasion of sorts, it's not too late to fix the situation. Just think of Canada as one big transit lounge. Here's a six-point program:

Install Chinese billboards along the British Columbia coast: "The GST. Everything you wanted to know but your snakehead never told you."

Instead of immigration officials, dispatch a team of chartered accountants to greet them on the beach. Make sure they're specialists in comparative Canada-U.S. tax rates.

Put up helpful signs, such as: "Turn right for Seattle."

Hand out coupon booklets for cross-border shopping bargains.

Rent electronic signs, flashing the current U.S. exchange rate. Adorn with a graph showing the loonie's stunning decline.

If all else fails, hand them the takeout menu from Ming's, the Victoria restaurant that catered to the last bunch of boat people. Warn the new group about the ordeals of daily chow mein ingestion.

Queue-jumping is deeply un-Canadian. What's more, those darned people file a refugee claim, then disappear.

Exactly. While the Fujian component in New York's Chinatown has exploded in recent years -- police estimate 100,000 legal Fujianese, perhaps 200,000 more illegals -- you have to look hard to find a Fujian peasant in Canada.

And the newcomers are mostly peasants because, unlike pampered Chinese urbanites, they will slave for next to nothing. Snakehead smugglers also prefer them: They leave behind a web of clan relations, otherwise known as kneecappable collateral.

These latest 150 people, including about 20 children, were charged about $40,000 (U.S.) each for passage. Why would they work for Canadian pesos? In New York, a peasant in a brothel can make two to three times what she could for the same work back home. At that rate, she can repay her debt in seven months.

Smuggler ships avoid going directly to the U.S. That's because the U.S. Coast Guard diverts them to Mexico or Bermuda or, if a vessel is unseaworthy, takes the passengers there itself. If the ship makes it into U.S. waters, an immigration official conducts on-board interviews -- and has the authority to turn away anyone considered to have a bogus claim. (Under our system, the mere presence of a Canadian immigration officer on a ship automatically starts the refugee-claim process.)

Some of these newcomers may well end up in Canadian sweatshops and brothels and restaurant kitchens. In that case, information about comparative income-tax rates is irrelevant. But even if they don't pay taxes, and goodness knows our underground economy is vast, they do take jobs squeegee kids disdain. They clean homes, lay bricks, and wash bok choy.

Ever consider why labour-intensive Chinese food is a bargain? Italian food used to be cheap, too, until life in Italy improved. Now spaghettini with fresh clam sauce costs $14 a plate, before GST, PST and tip. And the people running take-out pizza parlours are from Korea or Albania.

In my first summer job, I worked as an illegal. I was an underaged 14, dying to augment my allowance. My father hired me at his fast-food stand at Expo '67, just across from the popular Czech pavilion.

One hot July day, I pumped drinks non-stop. The machine couldn't handle it. Neither could I. The soda was warm. The fizz wasn't right. When the umpteenth customer expressed annoyance, I burst into tears and stomped out. After three generations, that immigrant backbone goes a little soft.