Employment agency — the ordeal of “exploited” immigrant workers

They came to work, to provide for their families, to build a better life for themselves in a country known for social justice. This Monday morning, under a gray  sky of spring in LaSalle, a dozen of them gathered in front of the former premises of the Iris agency, holding up signs displaying their outrage: “Disgusted to be despised! ”

“This company wanted to enslave us,” says Patrick*, an ex-employee of the Iris placement agency in LaSalle. Like him, several former workers came forward to denounce an injustice that has changed their lives: that of a closed immigration and work permit system that, instead of protecting them, has exposed them to abusive practices. The use of closed work permits by employment agencies is however a prohibited practice in Quebec. This work permit should normally be linked not only to a single employer, but also to a single position. However, in order to “rent” the labour force of these immigrants to third party companies , some employment agencies identify legal loopholes. As in the case of the Iris agency.

Tired but determined faces. Anonymously or in the open, these immigrants all tell the same stories: unpaid hours of work, contracts never received, payslips that could not be found, and, above all, the constant fear of being expelled because of the irregularity into which they've been forced.

“Nearly 20 of them filed a complaint with the Commission des Normes, de l'Équité, de la Santé et de la Sécurité du Travail (CNESST) — for some, over a year ago,” explains Laura Doyle Péan, a member of the Immigrant Workers Centre (IWC). The Montreal organization has supported their fight for many months. Banners, signs, and leaflets — this morning, for the gathering at the foot of this building that houses the employment agency's offices, the motto is simple: keep up the pressure.

“For a year, while there were numerous complaints, nothing happened, and the agency was able to continue its practices without being worried,” says Manuel Salamanca Cardona, a CTTI community organizer.

It was only after the media coverage of the case by Le Devoir four weeks ago that things started to change, he notes. “Suddenly, after the Minister of Labor Jean Boulet spoke in the article, the CNESST decided to withdraw its permits from the Iris agency.”

Indeed, since January 1st, 2020, recruitment and placement agencies must obtain a permit issued by the CNESST. Since the suspension of this permit, the company managed by Dieudonné Nidufasha can therefore no longer legally operate. The CNESST is also suing for unpaid wages totaling nearly $100,000. A first victory for these vulnerable workers, but it is far from being enough as their future remains uncertain.

According to Le Devoir, Mr. Nidufasha reportedly obtained closed permits for around 50 immigrants out of the 180 employees his employment agency recruited during its fiscal year. This foreign workforce would have worked in 18 companies in Montreal, Laval, the Laurentians, as well as in other regions.

The consequences of this case go well beyond the financial issue. The psychological stress caused by administrative instability, by the inability to pay rent or to feed one's family, as well as by the fear of eviction, has left profound traces. Some workers report sleep disorders, chronic anxiety... Patrick and Fouad, two of the victims of this scheme, have agreed to tell us their story.

“He knew we had no one to turn to, and he took advantage of that.”

“I was just visiting for a month. But I really liked Quebec, and my friends told me about work opportunities here,” says Patrick. Convinced, he decided to look for a job. It was there that an acquaintance told him about Dieudonné Nidufasha and his agency. What he didn't know was that this decision would lead him into what he considers to be a spiral of abuse and exploitation. “We didn't suspect anything. The manager seemed nice, kind, professional, and someone you'd trust implicitly. We thought he really wanted to help us,” says Patrick. Reality was quite different for this native from Cameroon who arrived in June 2023.

After four months of waiting and a cash payment of $1,250 to the director, he finally obtained the work permit promised by the agency—a completely illegal practice. “The conditions of the Temporary Foreign Worker Program (TFWP) and the International Mobility Program (IMP) prohibit employers from charging recruitment fees to workers and hold them accountable for the actions of recruiters in this regard,” confirms Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (IRCC).

Even worse, Patrick claims to have not received an interim assignment for several months. However, the agency had promised him enough contracts to do the equivalent of a full-time job. And when he was finally offered a job, it was not what he expected. “He called me and just said, “Are you ready for an adventure in northern Quebec?” ”, explains the fifty-year-old.

He discovered that the position was located in Rivière-du-Loup, more than 400 km from Montreal, in a residence for seniors. “My work permit was valid for the production machine operator category, but I found myself — with no training — working with seniors,” he continues. He had no choice but to accept. Indeed, having a so-called closed work permit, Patrick was bounded by his employer: the Iris agency.

In Rivière-du-Loup, adapting is difficult. “The first month was fine. The second, a little less... Then, Dieudonné started doing just anything. He paid us twice a month, sometimes only once, even though the residence paid a salary every week. I have been paid half my salary several times,” denounces Patrick.

He talks about an opaque system: unpaid working days, incomprehensible deductions, and, above all, a total vagueness about his rights. “He knew you couldn't say no. He knew we had no one to turn to, and he took advantage of that.”

Over the months, Patrick falls into precarity, and the situation becomes harmful to his mental and physical health. He then developed a severe stomach ulcer that took him to the hospital. “The doctor said it was because of stress,” he said. Fearful, he initially refused to confide in the health professional before finally giving in to their insistence. “I told him about my working conditions, and he explained to me that it was not normal, that it was illegal, and that I should file a complaint with the CNESST.”

When he finally turns to the CNESST, it is too late for him to benefit from the protective measures provided for vulnerable workers. Since his work permit expired in October 2024, he lost his legal status. “I wanted to file a complaint before, but the head of the residence dissuaded me from doing so. He said it would cause problems. I thought I was being loyal, but instead I found myself with no status,” says Patrick.

Now living with his sister in Laval, he is fighting to regularize his situation. But with no documents, no formal proof of employment, he hits a wall. “I just want people to recognize what I've been through. They took advantage of me because I was vulnerable. I did everything I could to be honest. And I've been let down.” Today, the Iris agency still owes him $2,500 of unpaid salary.

With no status, Patrick is not allowed to work and can no longer provide for his wife and son, who remained in Cameroon until he can fly them in. A difficult reality for the father. “I explained the situation to my wife, but she thinks I'm lying and have started a new life here with another woman. It's very hard for me because, unfortunately, some African men do that, but I don't want to leave my family behind.”

Ashamed of not being able to support his family and feeling guilty for depending on his sister to survive, he knows that the coming months will be long and painful. But he remains determined to fight for his rights and regain his dignity. In the meantime, he can count on the solidarity among former agency workers.

“I took a day off so I could be there today and make my voice heard”

“I arrived on July 28, 2023,” recalls Fouad, who is originally from Algeria. The young man believed that he would be able to quickly enter the job market thanks to his experience in the oil sector. A year later, his journey is one full of pitfalls, unclear promises, and Kafkaesque approaches. “Even if it didn't suit my employer, I took a day off to be there today and make my voice heard.”

The tone is calm and composed, but either in French or in Arabic, the tiredness is palpable. Upon arriving in Canada with a tourist visa, Fouad hopes to turn his stay into a professional opportunity. “A friend told me about the agency. He said that people got their work permit in a few weeks,” he said. He therefore contacted Dieudonné Nidufasha, who invited him to an information meeting.

“We were a group of about fifteen people, and he explained to us all the steps that needed to be taken. He told us that we had to pay him $1,250 in cash to obtain a work permit, and that once we get it, he would give us assignments to work full-time,” said the 30-year-old. Fouad thinks he is in front of a professional in search of a workforce for sectors experiencing a shortage of workers. He doesn't suspect anything.

The young man with a shaggy beard follows the recommended steps: paying $1,250 in cash to the director of the agency, making an appointment at the hospital for the medical consultation, then submitting the file to Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (IRCC). After four long months of waiting during which Fouad lived off his savings, his work permit was finally issued.

But while he was expecting to receive job offers from the employment agency, nothing happened. “I was told they would find me a job, but that it would be good if I found interested employers myself and told them to go through the agency to hire me. I was very surprised!” explains Fouad.

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He adds that he had no proposals for another four months. “It was very hard, I had no money left,” confesses the young man as he looked down. Trapped in an extremely precarious situation, with no family, he survives thanks to the food aid he received from some community organizations. When he was finally called to work for five months in a company, he thought things would improve.

Even worse, after two days of work, the client told him that he would call him back when he needed him. Shocked, he explains that he thought it was a several-month assignment but realized that wasn't the case. "Once again, I've been lied to! And the worst part is I wasn't even paid for that work.”

At that moment, his situation became critical. Fouad then contacts several people, seeks solutions, and ends up obtaining a letter of collective support through the Immigrant Workers Centre (IWC). He is grateful for their help: “Thanks to them, I was able to get the open work permit for vulnerable workers.”

Today, Fouad, who has never told his parents about his difficulties — out of shame and discretion — wants to believe in a better future. However, he laments the fact that the immigration system does not protect him. “My open work permit is only valid for one year and is not renewable. It is very difficult to find an employer who agrees to contract for only a few months,” he said.

Thanks to his seriousness and the help of the community, he nevertheless found a full-time job paying $17 per hour. The problem is that, even if this unexpected employer wants to keep him and applies for a work permit, he would not have the opportunity to do so. Work permits for low wages are in fact frozen as a result of government measures taken at the end of last year to reduce immigration.

“I understand that they want to reduce immigration, but for those who are already here and who have suffered like us, I think they should change the system and at least give us a chance,” he whispers half-heartedly.

As we were parting ways, he discusses with Manuel Salamanca Cardona possible solutions to maintain his status. “We want to maintain the pressure and remain visible on this issue. The more agency workers who speak, the more likely we are to get a response and fix their situation. It is also an opportunity to relaunch the debate on closed work permits, which have been denounced for years, because each time, the cases are different, but the human consequences are the same,” notes the community organizer.

At the end of the meeting, a woman joins us. She too is a victim of the agency: “I am sorry, but I cried too much, I am no longer able to tell my story.” The forty-year-old is unable to recount her experience, so vivid is the trauma. For his part, Fouad, who did not think that his personal situation could be the subject of a complaint to the CNESST, is now considering filing one. Once more.

Contacted several times, the Iris agency and its director, Dieudonné Nidufasha, did not respond to our interview requests. On site, no one seemed to be present in the company's offices. La Converse also requested an interview with CNESST, with no success to this day.

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* Alias

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