Today’s post was written by Dr. Judy Chew, Faculty Emerita, University of Calgary.
The Story Behind the Story
For decades, a slightly chipped, glass-frame held a black and white professional photograph of an older Chinese woman at our home. With each move, the frame was neatly centered on the same walnut dresser in the master bedroom. Dressed in plain black garb, with jet-black hair pulled back in a tight bun, the woman posed with a hand on each arm of the chair. Below her knee, there were loose, light-coloured socks. Her legs were neatly crossed over each ankle. Her gaze at the camera was solemn and without a hint of a smile.
One day, my mother told me that this woman was her mother who had lived in China until her passing in 1962. I was too young to ask questions about my grandmother. Like many Chinese families I knew, we did not talk about those who died. We did not ask about how their death came about. I learned from what was not said or when I accidentally asked. To be wise was to err on the side of silence. Looking back, a traditional Chinese code permeated our home. As a child, the understanding was to honor and defer to my parents. This translated to: don’t ask personal questions about the dead; don’t ask why a question cannot be answered; don’t be disrespectful with more questions. Years went by. During a visit home from graduate school, I ventured to ask about the forbidden territory – our ancestral history. From time to time, the only information I heard was one static line, that my grandfather died, possibly poor and alone in Montreal. But on this day, my mother and I wrote down the names, dates of birth and death of her parents. Words cannot capture the elation that overcame me. This would be the first and last time.
During childhood years, I possessed a fascination about growing up in Canada as a Chinese kid. Chinese customs, superstitions, and, the meaning beneath cultural values, rules, and conflicts intrigued me at a very rudimentary level.
I have the high school essay I wrote on my experience of growing up in a bi-cultural home. A rusting gold-colored safety pin holds the flimsy pages together. Perhaps, I kept the essay because of the once-in-an-academic-lifetime grade of A++. Perhaps, the essay survived the crumbling cardboard box with each move because my efforts to make sense of my cultural, ancestral past and present were of perpetual intrigue.
Who knew that the personal experiences of cross-cultural conflicts between immigrant parents and their children would shape my career interests? While I did not end up as a cultural anthropologist or heaven forbid, a marine archaeologist, after all, my chosen career as a counselling psychologist served me well for the investigative mission of ancestral search.
As a faculty member at the University of Calgary in the mid-1990’s, I discovered the Special Collections Library. It housed the microfiche and microfilm for the Registration of Chinese Immigration which included 97,000 individuals for the period, 1885 – 1949. The librarians loaned me a weighty microfiche/film machi1ne. Searching with a mild frenzy of excitement into the darkness of the night at home, I located the name of my grandfather, LEE Hee Tun. I saw his name for the first time in a government record. Exuberance and elation followed.
Over the decades, my life-long passion for learning about early Chinese immigration in Canada and the specific historical/political contexts for my grandfather and other relatives, grew exponentially. Rich connections have been forged with a handful of aging relatives. Enhancing the research include academic scholars/authors, memoirists, historians, kindred amateur genealogists like me, and those invested in ancestral research in North America and, abroad. Truth be told, the research is a labor of love.
In 2020, Dr. Lily Cho and I corresponded about her research and writing on the C.I. 9 certificates. The government’s surveillance of the Chinese immigrants was a mixed blessing. Dr. Cho provided the link to my grandfather’s C.I. 9 certificate, along with comments. For the first time, I saw the husband of my grandmother, the father of my mother, my grandfather. From that point, the story of my grandfather moved from a static narrative statement, “he died alone in Canada”.
I am gifted with pieces of government evidence that portray his active commitment to family in China. He made return visits to China. He established a sense of comradery with peers and organizations, such as the KMT, and found employment as a restauranteur in Canada. Like countless early Chinese immigrants, his life is a portrayal of dreams for his family and a better life despite the costs.
Introduction: The Story of LEE Hee Tun
Lee Hee Tun was my maternal grandfather. When he was 26 years old, he boarded the Empress of Japan which brought him from the village of I Gong Tun, China to Vancouver. He arrived at the port on 17 May 1913, along with many Chinese immigrants from a small area near the southern port of Guangzhou, in China’s Guangdong province.
Interactive map of the surrounds of the City of Guangzhou, Guangdong, China
Lee Tun paid the $500 Chinese head tax which was required by the Canadian government in its effort to limit the Chinese from settling in Canada. Sharing the common hope that North America (aka Gum Saan, or Gold Mountain) offered opportunities for a better life, my grandfather left behind the familiar faces of family and friends, culture, and country. He began life in Canada by making his way to Verwood, SK. Located on the Canadian Pacific Railway line between Viceroy and Assiniboia in southern Saskatchewan, the town once served as a grain-handling point for local farmers.
Interactive map of Verwood, SK
Lee Tun in Verwood, SK
According to an official government document from The Department of the Interior, Chinese Immigration branch, my grandfather lived in Verwood and worked in a local restaurant. See Chinese Immigration no. 9 Form for Lee Hee Tun, below. He became a restaurant keeper at the City Café.
He likely learned about the opportunity to work in Verwood by word of mouth. He joined a handful of men, including Lee Yam Quong (age 41) and Lee Loy Bo (age 30) who had travelled from the same village of I Gong Tun in China to Verwood before my grandfather. The group of men likely roomed and socialized together in a boarding house. In doing so, they could speak their native Taishanese dialect and help each other as they faced the successes and challenges of living in an unfamiliar country. They kept alive Chinese cultural practices and customs, and recognized familiar holidays. Life together as immigrants offered a touch of home that lay oceans away.
Connections were solidified by family clans, giving the Lee men opportunities to work in groups and for each other as a part of “chain migration.”2 Together, they expanded social spheres beyond their home town of Verwood.
Saskatchewan’s growth as a province was linked to the Canadian Pacific Railway. Its construction was made possible in part through the sacrifice of many Chinese immigrants. They often sought new life in railway towns like Moose Jaw, Saskatoon, and Regina. As a part of the province’s development and growing need for services, many opened cafes, grocery stores, and hand laundries where they did all the washing and ironing.
The life of Chinese in Canada
My grandfather and other Chinese immigrants had barriers to overcome. It was common for Chinese men to come alone. Their hope was to get established and then bring their loved ones to join them in Canada. For others, the dream was to return to China with financial stability. In addition to facing loneliness and an unsure future, the men encountered racial discrimination in the form of a mandatory “head tax” of $500. This was the federal government’s anti-Chinese law. The Chinese Immigration Act, 1885 was the initial piece of Canadian legislation to exclude immigrants on the basis of ethnic origin. At that time, a tax of $50 was imposed on every Chinese person seeking to enter Canada. This measure was only temporarily effective. In 1900, the amount was increased to $100 per person and followed by another increase to $500 in 1903. With few exceptions, the head tax was a required payment upon arrival in Canada. In 1903, $500 was the equivalent of two years of wages. With the odds of being reunited with family stacked against him, my grandfather did not give up. He worked hard because he believed in a better future.
Social Connection
In her 2015 book, Cultivating Connections: The making of Chinese Prairie Canada,3 Brandon University professor Dr. Alison Marshall describes how early Chinese immigrants congregated for social and political functions across towns and provinces. Modes of transportation such as car and train made attendance at Kuomintang (KMT) gatherings possible.
Dr. Marshall pointed out my grandfather’s KMT lapel pin in a government-issued Head Tax photograph (at right). The KMT lapel pin represented China’s National People’s Party and symbolized my grandfather’s effort to make connections and cultivate a sense of cultural belonging in Canada. Through his KMT membership, he joined fellow “sojourners” – temporary workers in Canada who intended to return to the home country. They valued the idea of a modernized China. Collectively, they also found strength to combat intense local discrimination and the Chinese Exclusion Act.
In 1925, after working in Verwood for twelve years, my grandfather made his way to Vancouver, perhaps in search of better work prospects. He lived on Pender Street in Chinatown. For the early Chinese immigrants and their families, there were sweeping global economic disruptions from the Great Depression (1929-1939) and the Second Sino-Japanese war (1937-1939). The latter later merged into the Asian theatre of the Second World War. These political events crippled transpacific communication and financial networks. Furthermore, the early Chinese immigrants in Canada were forced to live under the oppressive grip of the 1923 Chinese Exclusion Act. These disruptions had a catastrophic impact on their ability to send remittances and exchange letters with their families in China. Such unspeakable realities were endured by my grandfather and countless Chinese immigrant men in Canada.
Travels Home
LEE Hee Tun traveled back to his home country several times to visit his wife, Lai Quey Hai and children.
His daughter, Mei Hing, (my mother) was born in 1922 and son, Ming Gee was born six years later. With a spirit of unwavering commitment, my grandfather sent remittances home to China. These funds helped to further his children’s school education, to construct a spacious home, and to enhance the family’s quality of life overall.
Lee Tun in Montreal
At some point, my grandfather moved to Montreal, Quebec, where in early April 1939, he passed away. He is buried in Montreal’s Côte-des Neiges cemetery. The specific section was set up by the Chinese Catholic Mission in 1917 to provide a resting place for early Chinese immigrants.
Sadly, my grandfather died without his family. His wife and children were not able to join him in Canada. His daughter (my mother), Mei Hing, emigrated from China to Kingston, ON in the 1950’s. She married my father, Ging Gar Chew, who was a restauranteur.
The Past Meets the Future
In June 1990, relatives from Connecticut travelled with my mother to Montreal on a road trip. My grandfather’s flush grave marker was located in Côte-des-Neiges cemetery. During the visit, my mother placed her hands on the gravestone. Hardly a word was spoken by her. The silence held years of unarticulated sadness. The silence held the pain of lost dreams about her father and family. The visit to the gravesite allowed my mother to sigh with relief. Finally, she was able to pay homage to her long-lost father in person and cherish these golden moments.
I have deep respect and am grateful for my grandfather. Even though I have never met him, the records of his return trips to China reflect the importance he placed on his Chinese roots and family. He trusted in what the future could be for them in Canada. We, his descendants, are benefactors of his resilience, strength, and determination. He will not be forgotten.
Submitted in loving memory of LEE Hee Tun by his grand-daughter, Dr. Judy Chew.
Chinese Immigration no. 9 Form for Lee Hee Tun
Lee Hee Tun travelled to China during the First World War. The below form shows that he applied for a Chinese Immigration (C.I.) no. 9 re-entry form on 24 Oct 1917. He left the next day on the CPR’s Empress of Asia, Vancouver to Hong Kong, where presumably he disembarked to travel to his home village in Guangdong. He was away for one year, nine days, returning 3 Nov 1918.
Postscript
On a note of interest, English-Chinese author and journalist, Edith Eaton (1865 – 1914), was known for her steadfast fight against racism and the unjust treatment of Chinese people. Upon her death, the Montreal Chinese community established a memorial next to her grave.4 Eaton’s tombstone is located in Montreal’s Mount Royal cemetery, which shares a sprawling green expanse with Côte-des-Neiges cemetery. Their proximity makes them walking distance neighbours. Inscribed on her stone is the saying, “Yi bu wang hua,” which means, “The righteous one does not forget China.”
About the Image
These two images of the graves of the author’s maternal grandparents were found in the photo collections of the author’s mother, Mei Hing, in Kingston, ON. They were likely taken by Mei’s brother Ming Gee in Toisan, Guangdong, China.
References
- Individual records are available via Collection Search at Library and Archives Canada and there is an Excel download of the register’s transcript from UBC. See Peter W. Ward and Henry Yu. “Register of Chinese Immigrants to Canada, 1886-1949.” Faculty Research and Publications: “Register of Chinese immigrants to Canada 1885-1949.xlsx,” and “Register_of_Chinese_Immigrants_description.pdf.” documents online. University of British Columbia Open Collections at https://open.library.ubc.ca/collections/facultyresearchandpublications/52383/items/1.0075988. ↩︎
- Alison R. Marshall, personal communication, March 18, 2026. ↩︎
- Alison Marshall, (2015). Cultivating connections: The making of Chinese Prairie Canada. UBC Press: Vancouver, BC, accessed 26 Jun 2026: https://www.ubcpress.ca/cultivating-connections. ↩︎
- Mary Chapman, (11 Apr 2021). Writing from 130 years ago shows we’re still dealing with the same anti‑Asian racism, website, The Conversation Canada, accessed 26 Jun 2026: https://theconversation.com/writing-from-130-years-ago-shows-were-still-dealing-with-the-same-anti-asian-racism-158281. ↩︎