leadership – FilipinaYEG

By: Giselle General

I suppose it’s kind of strange that I’m continuing the name of these series as “Recovering Political Candidate” given that I am running again. There’s already two posts I made as part of this series:

Then again, it feels like while I’m embarking on one, I’m still recovering from the previous one, unpacking all the things I’ve experienced and observed. Time gives perspective as they say, and going through the same experience again, I suppose this time for me, with four years of maturity, sheds things in a different light.

When people think about running for office, they often imagine debates, door-knocking, and campaign signs. But what most don’t see—and what few openly talk about—are the financial, professional, and emotional costs of stepping into the political arena. For those of us who come from working-class, immigrant, or marginalized communities, these costs aren’t just inconvenient. They’re systemic barriers.

As someone who immigrated to Canada as a child and became the first in my family to graduate from a Canadian university, I’ve experienced the unspoken challenges of trying to “break in” to political spaces while navigating real-life survival. I didn’t grow up around people who ran for office. My relatives didn’t work white-collar jobs or attend Chamber of Commerce lunches. Like many others, I was figuring it out as I went—sometimes fumbling, sometimes scraping by, always learning.

When I ran for City Council in 2021, I had to keep working full-time in the spring and summer with two months off full-time campaigning.

A time-tracking table. Each half-hour for every day of the week is represented by one cell on the table. Times are color-coded as follows: Sleep, Personal Care, Meals, Chores, Commute to Work. Work. Family/ Friends social time. About 30 hours is not color-coded, representing the maximum hours that can be spent theoretically, on the election campaign. — I wondered what the true difference between a candidate who is campaigning full time compared to someone who is doing it after work. And it’s all the green blocks here, about extra **30 – 40 hours** every week. That’s why I can’t help but wonder, even I’m technically adding more, would three months of full-time campaigning be enough?

I banked my vacation days and carefully budgeted unpaid leave. Not because I had the luxury to, but because I couldn’t afford to stop earning income. I later learned that many candidates take months off entirely, living off savings or family support. I didn’t have that option then.

In this second run, I’ve come to see just how many “norms” in local politics are built around people with financial privilege, professional networks, or flexible lifestyles. Here are just a few examples of the hidden costs:

Visibility Comes with a Price Tag

Being “present” at the right events such as fundraisers, business luncheons, galas, is often seen as a sign of seriousness. But tickets can cost $50 to $200 or more. Even free events often expect donations. Most happen during the workday, which means using time off or risking your job. And for women, racialized folks, and those with specific appearance pressures, just showing up polished and prepared costs time and money.

Running While Working Can Break You

There’s a quiet expectation that serious candidates go on leave to campaign full-time. But unpaid leave means lost income, and not everyone can afford that. Some of us push through by working during the day and campaigning at night, leading to exhaustion, burnout, or even injury. This is a real and unsustainable cost.

In 2021, my husband and I decided that I will never compromise on my sleep (so no all-nighters) that he will not be deeply involved in the campaign so we have a semblance of a healthy home life, and that the financial cost of taking a bit more time off work is worth it. We are hoping it will help prevent permanent injuries or trauma.

Starting Up A Campaign Isn’t Free

Even a modest campaign needs branding, a website, photos, flyers, signs. Unless you’re fundraising from day one or have wealthy donors ready to go, those expenses fall on you. There’s also pressure to appear “professional” which means a slick logo, high-quality materials, a polished online presence. That’s because anything less may be judged as unprepared or unserious.

While I’m re-using many supplies form 2021, I know if I don’t freshen up my style, it will be outdated and out of touch. There are many more cool apps and tools that help make things more efficient, and many are subscription based that can stack up if not kept in check.

Who You Know Matters – Much More Than Anticipated

I’ve spent years volunteering, organizing, and serving on boards, but I’ve also learned that social capital doesn’t always translate into campaign capital. Recognition and legitimacy are often reserved for those already plugged into elite circles or political dynasties. Meanwhile, working-class and immigrant leaders are often asked to “prove” themselves for years—often invisibly—before being seen as viable.

As a simple example, through my community service I knew of about 5 executive directors or CEO-level people from nonprofits. If many of them decline to publicly endorse me because of repercussions at their job, the list runs out pretty quickly. While someone with deeper networks and connections, whether it is because they had parents who are still alive and able, or who were also are politically connected, had a profession that already has a certain prestige assigned to it, or had lived in the area for much longer, the odds are definitely in their favour.

Where Campaign Schools Fit In

One thing that has been incredibly valuable to me has been participating in campaign schools—local and national programs designed to help women learn the basics of running for office. I’ve attended several, and I always leave feeling inspired and energized. They offer toolkits, checklists, and often a sense of solidarity that’s hard to find elsewhere. Being in a room full of women determined to lead and make a difference is powerful.

But for those just starting out, what’s offered in these programs is maybe 5% of what’s truly needed to launch a viable, well-resourced campaign. Turning that initial spark into a full campaign with traction, momentum, and infrastructure is a whole other challenge—especially if you don’t already have access to wealth, political connections, or campaign professionals.

That’s why these programs must not just continue—they need to grow. Campaign schools and women-in-politics initiatives should be more robust, more practical, and more deeply connected to the realities that many of us face: holding down full-time jobs, navigating care responsibilities, or entering spaces where people don’t expect someone like you to lead. We need to move from inspiration to implementation, and that takes sustained, tangible support.

What now?

This isn’t just my story. It’s a structural pattern. Politics in Canada, even at the local level, often functions as a gated space. Those gates aren’t always locked, but they are weighed down by money, time, and access. And the reality is, people from communities like mine often pay the price just to stand in the same room.

But here’s what I’ve learned: knowing these barriers doesn’t make me cynical—it makes me even more committed to change. Because if we want a city that’s truly inclusive, we need a political system that supports everyday people stepping into leadership.

That means:

Talking openly about the financial and emotional costs of candidacy.
Supporting candidates not just with votes, but with practical help—rides, printing, graphic design, donations, and more.
Reimagining what political legitimacy looks like, so it’s not based on your job title, who you golf with, or shared tables at a fancy gala, but your service to your community.

I’m still learning, healing, and unlearning as I go—just like many others. The journey of immigration, trauma, and over-responsibility doesn’t disappear when you run for office. But neither does the strength and wisdom that comes from living through it.

So if you’re thinking of running someday, or if you’re supporting someone who is: know that it’s okay to ask for help. To name the barriers. To build slowly and strategically, even if you don’t have all the traditional tools.

The more of us who show up authentically, the more we change what “leadership” looks like in this city.

I’m still willing to spill the tea!

And I’ve offered this before and I will emphasize it again. If you are interested in running for politics and wanted to know how it really looks like for someone who was described as marginalized, underdog, non-conventional candidate, who is an everyday worker and attempted to do this in 2021, I’m willing to tell it all. While scheduling might be trickier because I have to hustle even more to make up for what I’m lacking, I’m willing to share the numbers, the details of the years of planning, the financial and family decisions, the spreadsheets and timelines I aimed for, I reached and I missed. Talk to me, and I will share the real deal of my experiences. Not to scare people off, but to be more equipped.

By: Giselle General

My significant other is born-and-raised in this city we call home. He hasn’t experienced living anywhere else, not counting the times he had to go out of town for work, his travels, or when he came with me to visit and tour the Philippines. Staying in those places are temporary and that was very clear, and at the end of that short timeframe, it will lead to going home again to Edmonton.

While in my case, I grew up in a small mining village in the Philippines, and even continued to live there after my parents and sister passed away. It was unexpected circumstances that prompted me to move to the nearby city to finish high school, and then I was told I’m moving to another part of the world. When I came to Canada, I thought that I will be able to build relationships and set roots in St. Catharines, Ontario, when an abrupt move to Edmonton changed things again.

We had conversations about our future. and it is established that we will be in Edmonton for the rest of our lives. This is not something I wasn’t “over the moon” about exactly, but I’m not actively opposed to it either. It is a good city to live in, with decent opportunities and ways to have an enjoyable life, and I get the benefit of being with people who have lived here for much longer than me. I know that for some couples, location and mobility are key factors in their relationship, and I’m more than happy to be swayed by his desire to build roots here, or in his case, keep and grow the ones he already had.

I guess it is good to do things from a place of love. Because I associate my spouse as being part of this city, I feel more inclined to actively love and care for this place as well.

I told him, if we are going to live here forever, might as well do something to make improvements or keep the good things as they are. In my younger years, getting involved in clubs is something I always enjoy. It is pretty rewarding to be part of a group, with a positive and productive goal, even if it sucks up part of one’s spare time. Turns out, finding ways to do community service here is very easy, given that there are lots of choices. In fact, it can be too easy to get overwhelmed!

That is what inspired me to volunteer for the community league. It is pretty neat that there is a formal organization, that has a structure, funding mechanisms and established processes, for people whose affiliation is just one thing: that they live near each other and want to do good things for their neighbours. It has been three years since I started volunteering, and my spouse and I have a specific tasks that we diligently fulfill.

That is what motivated me to find my happy medium of getting involved in my cultural community, and with the city at large. He knew that writing and journalism is an interest of mine, and he cheered me on when I started writing columns for a provincial cultural newspaper for the Filipino community. He has even helped me with topics or phrasing, when the annoying ‘Writer’s Block’ hits me at unexpected times.

Being conscious of how your significant other navigates your city can encourage you to speak out in ways you haven’t anticipated before. For example, my spouse was very concerned about the changes in the transit system because of how it will affect me, as someone who does not drive. While a typical person who drives might not care as much, he was inspired to answer the online surveys, come with me to the in-person engagement sessions, and half-jokingly asks me whether we should sell the house so I get the same frequent bus access that I currently have.

The River Valley System of Edmonton is a huge part of our relationship. A few of our first dates consisted of walking through these beautiful natural trails. A longer hike is an annual tradition for us. Naturally, when we discovered that there is a formal organization that focuses on preservation of the River Valley, I considered participating. Oh, if only I have more hours in the day! Or maybe, there will be an opportunity or schedule when this will work better in the future. For now, when we are wanting a more casual date, we’ll continue to use this network of trails and doing our best to be responsible users of this incredible natural resource. We are subscribed to the newsletter of this conservation society, and we try to keep up to date on relevant news and research.

I guess it is good to do things from a place of love. Because I associate my spouse as being part of this city, I feel more inclined to actively love and care for this place as well. I hope that more people feel the same way about where they are living right now.