These International Students Wanted Citizenship. Canada Killed That Dream.
For decades, Canada has been hailed around the world as a beacon of opportunity for international students. Successive Canadian governments have banked on young, skilled newcomers to freshen an aging population and plug labour-market gaps. During prime minister Stephen Harper’s tenure, international student numbers more than doubled, from 170,000 to 350,000. When Justin Trudeau’s Liberals took office in 2015, the growth quickened as the government offered even faster pathways to permanent residency. By 2019, 638,000 international students lived in Canada. By last year the number had passed one million. The result has been a windfall for universities and colleges, which charge international students far higher tuition fees than domestic students.
Canadian employers have benefitted as well; in 2015, 79,000 international graduates held post-graduation work permits, or PGWPs, valid for up to three years. By 2020, that number had grown to 225,000. International students came to see studying in Canada, followed by working under a PGWP, as a likely pathway to permanent immigration—about three quarters of PGWP holders have become permanent residents in recent years.
Of course, there was a darker side to the international-student boom. It gave way to a thriving industry for unscrupulous immigration consultants, a rise in substandard private colleges of questionable education value and a cost-of-living crisis that left many students in poverty. For a time, though, the influx of students was roughly in balance with Canada’s needs and goals. But the boom kept booming. In 2022, in response to pandemic-era labour shortages, the federal government offered an 18-month extension for PGWPs. By last December, there were nearly 400,000 PGWP holders in Canada.
Canadians began to assign much of the blame for the country’s housing shortages, overburdened health systems and other problems to surging immigration, including students and post-graduate workers. In response, the government has reversed course, slamming shut the doors it had previously thrown open. Last year, it announced more selective criteria for choosing permanent residents, assigning priority to applicants in sectors such as health care, agriculture and STEM fields, as well as those with French proficiency. The goal was clear: to ensure people with skills essential to Canada’s economy were prioritized, while reducing the unsustainable influx.
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In December of 2023, it also ended pandemic-era PGWP extensions. For many students and recent graduates in Canada, the changes are devastating. Up to 200,000 PGWPs, issued before the government’s changes, are due to expire over the next year. Many are held by people who would have qualified for permanent residency under the old criteria but no longer do; they’ll be forced to leave the country. Others may still qualify, but because a flood of newcomers has created huge processing backlogs, their applications for permanent residency are unlikely to be approved before their work permits expire. Without additional PGWP extensions, they will also have to leave. The changes have led to despair and anger among international students, boiling over into protests and demands that Ottawa reinstate PGWP extensions and provide more paths to permanent residency for those already here. Here are four stories of would-be newcomers whose Canadian dreams have become collateral damage in the government’s efforts to reform a runaway system.
Sahib Singh, 27
HOTEL HOUSEKEEPING SUPERVISOR, MISSISSAUGA, ONTARIO
In 2021, I left my home and family in Punjab, India, and moved to Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, to attend college. Canada was advertised at home as a land of opportunity—but if I’d known then what I know today, I never would have come here. My plan was to obtain a Canadian education and work toward permanent residency. I enrolled in a postgraduate diploma in hospitality and tourism from Sault College, which I chose over schools in larger cities because I wanted to learn about Canada and develop my skills in a low-pressure environment. I completed the program, got a three-year post-graduation work permit in 2022, moved to Mississauga and started a job as a housekeeping supervisor in a hotel.
In my mind that was just the beginning: I wanted to move up the ranks in my industry, learn about Canadian society, buy land and a house, and eventually make enough money to help my parents immigrate here. But the government’s new rules have totally upended that future. My work permit expires next year, and I’ve been told that I will not get an extension. So if I want to stay, I’ll need to get permanent residency within just a few months. I don’t stand a chance—the new criteria for permanent residency don’t prioritize people in the hospitality field. I don’t think there’s any point in even applying.
I understand why Canada is recruiting newcomers with specific skills. But it’s penalizing people like me, who came here under different rules and have given our time, labour and effort to this country. When I arrived, Canada was recruiting hard in my country to address a mid-pandemic worker shortage. It feels like a nasty bait and switch.
At least I’m not alone. Many friends who hoped to begin a life here are now facing deportation too. We have social media support groups. We’re organizing protests and talking to MPs. But we’re grappling with a lot of depression and despair, not knowing what our next steps will be. Friends are calling their parents and breaking the news that all the time and money they’ve invested in Canada will lead nowhere.
My options look bleak as well. I can go back to India and apply to become a permanent resident from there, but my chances will drop dramatically if I leave and stop accumulating Canadian experience. Others in my situation have considered applying for asylum, on grounds of cruel and unusual treatment in their home countries. There are no guarantees; they might end up staying here for years, away from family, only to be sent home anyway. But if the front doors close, some people will try to get in through the back. I’ve heard of people, desperate to avoid deportation, talking about remaining here undocumented—of course, they risk facing harsher consequences down the line.
I’m advocating for people in my position. The government should at least extend work permits again and give us more time. I hope we see change soon, because I can’t help but feel like we were scammed into coming here: we helped Canada when it needed us and were then told to go home.
Novjot Salaria, 38
BUSINESS ANALYST, BRAMPTON, ONTARIO
In 2020, my husband and I were living in Delhi. On the surface, things were good: we owned our home, I had a stable career as a business analyst and my husband did post-production work for TV and film. But India felt suffocating. In the past few years, the country has become sharply polarized between supporters and opponents of Prime Minister Narendra Modi, whose Hindu-nationalist policies have divided the country and marginalized minority groups. People like us, who don’t support the prime minister, feel targeted.
We wanted a more stable environment, and Canada was a top contender. Everything we heard—from word of mouth, from immigration consultants and in promotional material from the Canadian government itself—gave us the impression it was a heaven for international students, a place to study, work and become a citizen. In 2021, I enrolled in a one-year program in digital and content marketing at York University in Toronto. The idea was to complete my studies and get a post-graduation work permit. My husband would be eligible to get a work permit and join me. Together we set our sights on permanent residency, building a new life and maybe starting a family.
I rented a basement apartment near the university. It was dark and cold, and living alone during pandemic lockdowns was depressing. But within a year I finished my studies, secured a three-year work permit and found an IT job at a bank. My husband sold our home in Delhi and joined me as planned. It was a struggle—his field is competitive in Canada, but he managed to piece together freelance work for North American Punjabi news channels. We carefully followed the steps the government outlined to achieve permanent residency: I improved my English-language proficiency, secured a job in an in-demand sector and paid my taxes on time.
By 2024, I had two years of Canadian work experience. I figured this would maximize my score under the comprehensive ranking system—the points-based system the government uses to assess permanent-residency applicants from the Canadian Experience class, the immigration stream best suited to me. There was one problem: the same year I arrived, the government had paused permanent residency intake from the stream. The reasons weren’t clear, but they were likely related to pandemic backlogs. In 2024, applications reopened—but because so many people had been waiting years to apply, the threshold for success had shot up. When I first arrived in Canada, an applicant could get permanent residency with a score below 400; today it’s in the mid-500s. My current score is just too low, about 500.
Thanks to the shifting expectations, my chances have vanished. And because the government ended work-permit extensions, I can’t get more time to improve my score. My work permit will expire next August, and I don’t see any way to stay after that. When I think of the time and energy we’ve devoted to building a new life here, I feel heartbroken.
On top of that, we’ve encountered political toxicity and division here, just as in India. It stings when we hear about Canadians scapegoating international students, blaming us for the housing crisis or price inflation. I want to be part of this country, to help it grow. But I look around and hear people talking as if immigrants like me are stealing from it. If we go back to India, we’ll have nothing. We sold our home to finance my education, and we’ll have to start over in the job market. The most crushing thing is that, for a while, it felt like our hard work and sacrifice—which we expected and accepted as part of moving to a new country—were starting to pay off. Now it looks like it was all a waste.
Venkata Putta, 26
COMPUTER SCIENCE STUDENT, SHERBROOKE, QUEBEC
Last fall, I moved from southern India to Canada to complete a master’s degree in computer science at Bishop’s University in Sherbrooke, Quebec. My goal is to become a health-care researcher, with a focus on advancing technology to improve newborn care. I chose Canada because it has a reputation for welcoming immigrants and supporting innovation. I believed it was the best place to accomplish my goals.
My studies at Bishop’s have been difficult but rewarding, providing lots of hands-on experience in an environment that encourages creativity and collaboration. I graduate next summer, and I plan to apply for a work permit so I can work toward immigrating permanently—but the flurry of changes to Canada’s immigration rules have blindsided me, making it incredibly hard to plan for the future.
My biggest challenge is the new requirement to take a language proficiency test for my work permit application. It’s especially frustrating because I already passed the same test when I was accepted to Bishop’s; because that was more than two years ago, the government won’t accept it. That means spending up to $400 to take it again. Even worse is the timing: in order to submit my work-permit application before my student visa expires, I have to take the test in December, right in the middle of university exams. Juggling two major obligations makes an already nerve-racking time extra difficult.
Beyond that, the goalposts for international students keep shifting. Even if I get a work permit, the constant changes in immigration rules make it hard to know what’s coming next and if I’ll ever have a chance at permanent residency. International students just want a fair, consistent, predictable process that recognizes the sacrifices we’ve made and the wealth of knowledge and talent we bring to the country.
For example, I’m developing a device for newborn care that monitors infants’ body temperature, skin colour, eye colour, weight and heart rate, among other factors, to track their health, particularly during those critical first few weeks of life. It could save lives. Think of how many other students have ideas and skills we can’t even imagine yet.
That’s why it’s so disheartening to hear some Canadians talk about international students like we’re parasites. I pay about $12,000 per semester in tuition—far more than Quebec residents do. I have a campus job as a kitchen supervisor to cover my expenses, and I live in a small two-bedroom apartment with a roommate. People like me are not responsible for Canada’s problems. But we can help solve them, contributing to the country’s cultural diversity, its economy, its innovation and its growth. And by bridging gaps between nations, we help build a more inclusive society for everyone.
Elaine Unarce, 33
HUMAN RESOURCES STUDENT, VICTORIA, B.C.
Back home in the Philippines, I built a good career as a criminology professor. By 2022 I’d earned a Ph.D. and was working up the professional ladder. But academia in the Philippines is male-dominated. I was even passed over for a job in favour of a man who was far less qualified, without a master’s degree. I switched to human resources, which is more egalitarian, and decided to study abroad and get an international degree, which would make me more competitive at home.
Canada quickly emerged as a top choice. I focused on B.C.—the mild weather and natural beauty appealed to me. In early 2023, I enrolled in a two-year HR program at Camosun College in Victoria, one of the province’s largest public colleges. I planned to get a work permit after graduating, because I knew Canadian experience would give me another edge when job-hunting at home. I didn’t plan to immigrate permanently, but that changed when I saw how much better women are treated in Canadian workplaces. At home, sexism, ageism and racism are rampant.
Canada isn’t perfect, obviously, but there is far less institutionalized discrimination here, and greater gender equality. I also received enormous support from professional women’s networks. It didn’t hurt that Victoria is so beautiful, and Canada is so clean. (When I arrived I could hardly believe I could drink the tap water. At home that could make you sick.)
By this January, I’d decided to try to build my career and life in Canada. The problem was the government’s new, narrower criteria for selecting permanent residents. It prioritized workers in health, STEM, trades and a few other fields, none of which applied to me. On top of that, the comprehensive ranking system score needed for permanent residency has spiked, and is beyond my reach now. I still stand a chance at getting a work permit, but my shot at permanent residency, which would let me start a new life here for the long term, looks slim.
The thought of returning to the Philippines now feels like a shame. Living in Canada has shown me that gender doesn’t have to be a barrier to advancement, and it provided opportunities I never thought possible. I want to contribute to a society that embraces equality—but that dream is probably dashed now.
I don’t know what my future holds, but I’m trying to make the most of the time I have here. I know people accuse international students of exploiting the system as a shortcut to permanent residency. But some of us only decide to stay after we’ve experienced how good things are here. Can people blame us for wanting a better life?
