By Sean Griffin MONG his constituents who have twice elected him as a Communist member of the Punjab State legislature, Dar- shan Singh is rarely ever called by his first name or even his family name. He’s known universally as ‘‘The Canadian’’. Even when he rises in the house to add his voice to the parliamentary debate, the Speaker will first recognize him as “‘The Canadian’’. And the hundreds of workers, peasants and trade union leaders who seek his assistance in making representations to the Legislature may not know of Darshan Singh but invariably they will know of ‘‘The Canadian’’. For Darshan, the name is a proud mark of distinction and he laughingly comments, ‘‘I gave up my family name in the interests of internationalism.’’ Yet in another way, it is a rebuff to the official government policy of a generation ago — policy which has not even yet been changed completely. For despite the fact that Darshan spent a decade in this country as a trade union leader, writer, lecturer and organizer, official policy never bestowed on him the full rights of a Canadian. In 1939, he was forced to go into hiding in Alberta when the federal immigration authorities refused him the right to work. And it was not until 1947, the year he left to return to his native India, that East Indians were given the right to vote in British Columbia. Darshan, who was back in this province recently for a visit lasting several weeks, looks now with great interest at the gains made by the East Indian community — at the growth of the community but particularly at the strong traditions of trade unionism that are now firmly established among East Indian workers in the dominant forest industry. But in 1937, when he arrived in Canada, the situation was dramatically different. Ten years later, when he returned to India, the changes he had helped to bring about were just as dramatic. **I came here in 1937 to attend the University of B.C.,” Darshan recalls, adding that he joined the Young Com- munist League ‘‘the same year I got here.’’ He had brought with him the vivid memory of mass demonstrations against British rule, testimony to the growing strength of the Indian independence movement which had been ‘inspired by the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. But after only two years of studies, immigration authorities told him he could no longer work in Canada — he was financing his schooling by working in the wood industry — and declared that he would have to get money from India if he wanted to continue. “It was tantamount to a deportation order,’’ Darshan remembers, ‘‘and I was forced to go into hiding in Alberta.” By 1940, in what Darshan saw as a move to befriend India because of her potential contribution to the British war ef- fort, the federal government indicated its preparedness to forgive the ‘‘illegal’’ immigrants. But as he came out from hiding, the government promptly conscripted him into the army — the first East Indian student to get a conscription order. Ottawa’s timing, of course, wasn’t accidental. Yet four months later, he and the few other East Indians who were conscripted were suddenly out of the army. Their induction had touched the raw nerve of the government’s long standing policy of discrimination towards East Indians. “The East Indian community kicked up a row over the conscription order. They said that if we were to be con- scripted, we should be entitled to vote,’’ he relates. “‘But instead of extending the franchise to include East In- dians — as should have been done years before — the government just threw us out of the army.’’ As a member of the YCL and the then illegal Communist Party which he had joined while in Alberta, Darshan had already been a part of the campaigns to extend industrial union organization throughout the province and the strug- gles; then coming into prominence, to win full citizenship rights for East Indians and other disenfranchised immigrant groups. That same year — 1940 — Nigel Morgan, then district organizer for the fledgling International Woodworkers of America, approached him to undertake a union post organiz- ing the East Indian workers in the mills on the coast and on Vancouver Island. And in that position, the struggles for union rights and equal citizenship rights was to merge. “It was a terrible situation in the industry at the time,” oan Griffin photo TO THOUSANDS. HE’S KNOWN AS ‘THE CANADIAN" Interview with Dershan Spm Darshan says. ‘‘East Indians and Chinese earned far less than white workers doing the same jobs.’’ (Japanese workers fac- ed the same discrimination but they were physically removed from the industry in February, 1942, with the internment of all Japanese.) “Although there was a minimum wage of 40 cents an hour, East Indians and Chinese earned about 27% cents — or even less. And they were in all the worst jobs. ‘*Even in those mills owned by East Indians — like Mayo Lumber at Duncan or Kapoor Lumber at Sooke Lake and later Barnett — the situation was no different.”’ For the employers, it meant asizeable profit margin as more tHan one-half of woodworkers were employed at inferior wages —,even lower than the substandard for the industry. Darshan estimates that East Indians constituted about one- quarter of the work force. And the organizing was tough. ‘‘East Indian workers were terribly afraid of being victimized if they approach the union,”’ he notes, citing the lack of citizenship rights and the ever-present fear of deportation as major reasons. ‘‘And they were afraid the union. wouldn’t be able to protect them.”’ But by early 1944, the first of several mills with large numbers of East Indian workers — operations like Millside Lumber and the Bloedel, Stewart and Welch mill at Port Al- berni — were brought into the union. ‘‘And by the end of in March, 1943, in one of a number of representations to Victoria, the Khalsa Diwan Society petitioned for the ex- tension of the franchise to East Indians in B.C. Darshan Singh is in the far back row, centre. N. S. Gill, secretary of the Society is in the front row, third from left. With the delegation were IWA president Harold Pritchett (back row in overcoat) and Sir Robert Holland (left, in black hat), former civil service official in India, who presented the petition to premier John Hart and the cabinet. PACIFIC TRIBUNE—APRIL 27, 1979—Page 8 ors 1944 and the beginning of 1945, they joined en masse,’’ he 1 remembers. Confirmation that the union’s organizing policy had brought unity for unity came in the 1946 industry-wide strike, a landmark for the IWA when “‘no one crossed the picket lines — and the East Indian workers were out to a man.’ But if the powerful wave of industrial union organization and:the boom of wartime industry gave considerable impetus to the struggle to obtain union agreements, the campaign tO win the right to vote encountered more difficulty. . When he came to this country, Darshan recalls, ‘‘East In- dians didn’t have the right to vote, they couldn’t practice law or medicine, they weren’t admitted to many public places and were barred from buying houses in many locations.’ He explains that the fight to change that, to win equal rights was fought mainly in the years between 1942 and 1947. The most important organization was the Khalsa Diwan So- ciety — the Sikh temple society — led by secretary Nagindat Sing Gill. é “The Society sought the support of trade unions, the CCF, the Labor Progressive Party and other organizations and made a number of representations to Victoria to demand the right to vote,’’ Darshan says, citing lobbies in 1943 and 1944 as well as meetings and demonstrations. Giving added voice to the demand in a 1943 lobby to Vic- toria was Harold Pritchett, then district president of the IWA which championed citizenship rights just as it did trade union rights. Despite the wide support for the demand, however, the government’s response was ‘‘mainly a negative one; Dar- shan remembers. The racist bias which for decades had found expression in several pieces of discriminatory legislation was typified by — the comments of George Pearson, Liberal labor minister in the Coalition government, who told the legislature in March, 1944 that East Indians, Chinese and Japanese were “‘unreli- ‘able, dishonest and deceitful.’’ His remarks, made in opposition to a bill to extend the franchise introduced by CCF Vancouver Centre MLA W. W. Lefeaux, evoked a storm of protest. But the government con- — tinued to obstruct. By 1947, however, the impact of the campaign and the ’ changes throughout the world — the Indian independence movement was a reflection of the new spirit of liberation — re finally swung even the Hart government. The legislature adopted committee proposals to extend the franchise to Bast — Indians and Chinese — although Native Indians were still denied citizenship rights in their own land. For Darshan as for the others in the Khalsa Diwan Society and those who had lent their support, it was the culmination — of a long campaign. ‘‘But 1947 was only the formal recogni- F tion,’? Darshan emphasizes now, “and the fight for full — rights and full equality still goes on.’ The same year that the legislation was endorsed, Darshan resolved to return to India. Throughout the years in Canada, he had remained close to the Indian independence move- ment, carrying its ideals to Canadians in two coast-to-coast — lecture tours and countering the distorted reports that Cana-- dian newspapers featured regularly. He had also authored a — “‘The Rise of the New Asia’’ about the liberatioaa book, movement awakening in Asia. “I felt that if I was to make a contribution, I vant to make it in India,’’ he says, remembering the decision made — 32 years before. But if his days are now filled with the endless work that goes with being a Communist MLA, he retains his links with Canada — and has something to say about Canadian politics — and its impact on the East Indian community. The 32 years have brought significant changes, not least to the woodworking industry and the IWA where, he notes, “East Indians seem to enjoy equal rights in virtually every field and-are doing work at every level in the industry. In the union, they are represented at the plant and shop ’ steward level but — and here Darshan voices some disap- — pointment — in the locals and.in the region. “It’s partly the fault of the community and | Have urged them to fight for positions in the union and to assert them- selves. ‘It’s not just a question of representation,’’ he adds, un- they are not represented at the executive level — derlining the point. ‘‘The [WA -needs East Indians in the — leadership, to maintain unity and to mobilize rank and file” participation.’ He also notes that the racism which was once embodies in — government legislation still lingers although it is now largely the property of a ‘‘very, very insignificant minority’”’ which, | however, is often vocal and, not infrequently, influential. “‘What’s needed to combat that racism and to isolate those who promote it,’’ he emphasizes, ‘‘is a broad, democratic front made up of the East Indian community, together with trade unions and other democratic organizations and politi- cal parties. ; “‘But,’? he adds, pointing to the continuing campaign, “that approach is still lacking.”’ Looking back after carefully observing the changes, Dar- shan returns to the fight to win the vote and his earlier com- ment that the struggle ‘‘for full rights goes on. ‘Fast Indians still face racialism as well as discrimination by federal immigration authorities,’ he says, citing the racist — incidents of recent years and the endless delays and restric- tions that immigrants encounter in bringing their families to this country. ‘More than that, there is an urgent need for the East In- dian community to play a much more active role in the labor movement and the political life of the country. “There are 300,000 East Indians in Canada — 95 per cenil of whom are working people — and they have a tradition in Canada going back nearly 80 years. They have made a tre- mendous a contribution to Canadian society — but they are® not represented in political life. a ae ie ae. a. a oe > ae a aS —sars ~f LL) Oo F cull ~~ rye ee a ene ee ae a ee ee ae a ee ok be Ye oe