Japanese Canadian Legacies Society, a monument, and a reunion

I have never been to a war memorial. 

I have never held a stubby pencil in my hand, found the name of someone who had been very important in my life, especially when I was a child, and etched a small pencil over their name onto white paper until their name materialized on the white sheet as a form of remembrance.

It surprised me that the act itself, almost childlike, instantly brought up memories and emotions in what felt like a full circle moment on the day I went to one of the preview days of the Japanese Canadian Legacies Project in Victoria. 

It's a small park-like setting with curved benches and zen sayings on rocks. There are three 300-foot-long waves of the names of 22,000 Japanese Canadians who were removed from their homes as a result of the War Measures Act in April 1942. More than 70% had been born in Canada.  

On Salt Spring, about 11 families consisting of 77 adults and their children who had built successful farm gardens and other businesses were removed and only two families - the Murakami and the Okano families ever returned. You can find out more from the Salt Spring Archives about their legacies.

The woman, Tomoko Ito (who I knew mostly as Mrs. Oikawa or Toni Oikawa), and whose name materialized in my etching was the mother of my best friend from childhood -- Phyllis Oikawa.  Her uncle is also listed. Kenji Ito. And I believe Phyllis's eldest brother, John Oikawa, is listed because they included the names of the children born between 1942 and 1949. There are about 22,000 names in total on the tall granite slabs that undulate along the site.

The University of Victoria was involved in the research and the searchable database for the new monument park which has granite slabs with names undulating 300 feet long. You can type in a name and find out which slab that person's name is on. The tall granite slabs are arranged in three subtle waves by geographic location of where the person was living before being corralled into the barns at the now P.N.E. site and then dispersed to areas in the interior and Alberta, a few even to Japan, a place they'd never lived. They could take from their homes only what they could carry. They thought they'd be coming back soon.

Tomoko Ito got sent to New Denver. Her parents ended up on a beet farm and barely a shack in Alberta. The database also notes where these Canadians had been living in B.C. before they were forcibly removed from their homes and communities after the War Measures Act was brought down in B.C. in April 1942. The Ito family was living on River Road in Richmond in what was then called Eburne.

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Phyllis and I became friends when we were four years old. Kindergarten was our meeting place. We grew up together and kept in touch for about 45 years. We went to different universities. She met her husband at UBC after getting a Commerce degree. She married, had two kids and lived in a different province. We'd been separated by geography since she left B.C. around the time we were 27 years old.

Some time around 2008, about 45 years after we  first met in kindergarten, our vastly different life circumstances and ongoing lack of proximity with minimal contact made me feel that it was no longer a friendship of authenticity. It felt like a friendship of history. And I wanted to let it go and intentionally made that choice after a lot of thought. For the most part, I have felt that breaking those ties was the right decision for me then, and although of course I thought about her and her mother from time to time, life moved on.

Then, in late September this year, I got an invitation to the opening of this Japanese Canadian Legacies monument. I assume I got the invitation because I live close by. The preview was for openings happening over a four day period.

Because of our friendship, I have always been interested in local Japanese-Canadian history and culture. When I lived in Vancouver, I often went to the Powell Street Festival. One year, maybe it was 2022, I won that year's grand prize of a trip to L.A. although I chose to go to Montreal instead. I was so thrilled to win that. I can no longer say "I never win anything!"

While at S.F.U. in the early 80s, I had interviewed her mother about her internment experience for an English paper.

In 2016, I was a finalist in The Writer's Union of Canada's (TWUC) Short Prose Competition for Emerging Writers for a piece I wrote about our childhood in New Westminster. It was called My Perfect Friend.

Fast forward to October of this year. 

Following my visit to the new monument, I decided to reach out to Phyllis and send her the postcard they were giving out at the previews along with my etching of her mother's name. I asked if she'd heard about this monument. I told her that if she ever decided to visit Victoria and the site, that it would be great to see her and to go to the site with her if she felt like doing that.

I heard back by email and she said that her husband and her were thinking of coming to Victoria for their 40th wedding anniversary in June, and yes, she'd like to do that if they ended up coming. 

She sent me pictures of her two grown kids, her granddog, and her first grandchild born three months ago. She sent me a picture of her brother Ron pushing her mom in a wheelchair on an outing in Calgary. Apparently they would meet for breakfast at a farmer's market every weekend.

I learned that her mother passed away on November 14, 2021, the eve of her 99th birthday. What an amazing life she lived, and in spite of some serious hardships and heartbreaks, I believe it was a generally happy life that she created and recreated for herself and her family throughout those 99 years.

While I was at the memorial,  listening to some short talks, a woman said that this was not a memorial, but a monument of recognition, of an ongoing legacy of Japanese Canadians. I think I understand the meaning behind that difference now.

Had I not visited, I don't think I would have had the impetus to reach out to Phyllis. I don't think I would have been compelled to take that step and have a change of heart about the role historical friendships play in our lives...especially as we age.

Who can predict the type of spin-off stories the act of visiting that monument will bring for so many others who make the trip. Who can know the human ripple effects that those granite waves will create.

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Currently, they are still putting the finishing touches on the site so it's not open to the public. I expect it will officially open in spring 2027 or even sooner.

*The Japanese Canadian Monument Park in Victoria was designed by KPMB Architects led by Bruce Kuwabara in partnership with landscape architect Kelty Miyoshi McKinnon of PFS Studio. Jack Kobayashi of Kobayashi Zedda worked on the pre-design in collaboration with the Japanese Canadian Legacies Society.  Interpretive Design was by Susanne Tabata, John Endo Greenaway and Susan Mavor of Lost and Found Design. 

Check the website for updates.

Why camping on Ruckle never disappoints me

I decided, spur of the moment, that I felt like camping at Ruckle Park this past week. I wanted to be there before the kids got out of school because in mid summer it can get way too busy for my liking. I knew it was this week or not at all, at least not until fall perhaps.

I got an online deal on a Budget car rental and headed to the island on Tuesday, a hot hot day. I had my trusty gardening wagon to take my stuff to the walk-in campsites and found a perfect site with some shade from fir trees and an unobstucted view of the ferry parade on the ocean out front.

It has been a long time, definitely more than 5 years, since I've used the tent, and it showed. Luckily, there weren't many people around to watch the fiasco. The problem was the fly which should be easy peasy to put up but it had this interesting entry cover that made it not obvious to me.

Later that night when I went to go to sleep on my blow-up mattress, the mattress completely deflated within about 30 minutes and I was basically lying on hard ground, which, given that my hips often hurt at the best of times, was pretty excruciating through the night.

Note to self: even when ground looks flat, test things out before it's time for sleep. I looked like some squirrel buiding a nest inside as I went round and round, each corner covered, to try and find a flat sleeping area and then being bunched right up against the bottom wall, the sole flat spot.

I beelined it to town the next day for Tylenol, a new blow up mattress, a couple of craft beer and chocolate. Camping in your sixties is like buying shoes: comfort first!

The best part is, and the part that never fails me almost every time I've ever camped at Ruckle, is the people I meet there. This time I met Joey, a tugboat worker from Ladysmith. He was camping for one night in the smallest tent ever as his wife was doing some mega trail running race up in northern B.C. out of Nimpo Lake Lodge. I really enjoyed talking to him because they had travelled extensively and he was a super nice guy who blew all my stereotypes about who might work on tugboats.

There was Sue, a retired doctor and her husband and their beautiful 11-year-old Australian Shepherd From Summerland, they were camping for a week before visiting their daughters in Victoria.

And Anna Clara, a 20-something social media nomad who also, spur of the moment, arrived from Vancouver.

It reminded me of the time I met the Libyan.

On Wednesday, another hot day, I made my way to a nearby lake which shall remain nameless on purpose. I walked into the water, the small entryway surrounded by lily pads as if they were placed their to welcome us. I glided into the water which, compared to the ocean, was incredibly warm. Dragon flies. The sparkling cool emerald liquid to luxuriate in. The sounds of bird call. Farther out, on a floating dock there were five naked local maidens, catching up on each other's days. A scene you're not likely to find in the city and I can only admire their comfort with their bodies.

Thank you Salt Spring for always delivering what I need, when I need it, even when it's just lazy quiet time to soak in your beauty; a quick reprieve.

My life as a concert wasteland

In early December, I went to this special storytelling event hosted at the Royal BC Museum in Victoria, B.C., in conjunction with the exhibit, Beyond the Beat: Music of Resistance and Change, which ends Jan.5, 2026. 

Six  individuals from a variety of cultural backgrounds shared stories about their personal intersections with music and concerts or concert venues that really stood out for them as milestones in their lives.  

After that event, I reflected back on my own musical background and it made me question how someone who likes music, and who took piano lessons for 9 years, could have had so few concert experiences growing up.

I went to almost no concerts as a teen or young adult. In contrast, when I was in my late 20s, I met a friend who was so into music that she even worked at a place that was a precursor to The Society of Composers, Authors and Music Publishers of Canada (SOCAN), which I believe may have been called Performing Rights Organization. The office was located just off Robson Street on Thurlow in a second floor office. I too worked there for a while as the receptionist and until writing this, I'd forgotten all about that. It was short-lived. 

The woman who ran the place, Lynne Partridge, had a dramatic personality and according to Google was inducted into the BC Entertainment Hall of Fame in 2020-2021 for her work on performing rights. The prominent Canadian music manager and booking agent, Bruce Allen, would occasionally pop in.

I remember this same friend, Pam Melnyk (who must have got me the job), dragging me to a Nick Cave concert at the Town Pump in Gastown in the 1980s. I'd never even heard of Nick Cave back then. If my memory serves me correctly, he may have started the concert by coming out of a coffin or maybe he just looked like he’d died and had just risen.  All I could think, watching and listening was, “I hate this. How long is this night gonna last?” 

“Nick Cave” by NRK P3, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

I now realize how incredibly "lucky" I was to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds in such a small venue for a relatively cheaply-priced ticket. Now, 39 years later, another friend whose brother lives in Liverpool told me recently that he was desperately seeking a ticket to a Nick Cave concert in Ireland and debating whether he could afford the lofty price. It blows my mind that all these years later, Nick Cave is still performing and is such a legend.

Pam and I also went on a trip to San Francisco in 1987 or 1988 and she was so excited to show me the Haight-Ashbury District and point out the places where Janis Joplin hung out and performed. 

It was such a great trip. When we got on the plane to come home, a voice over the P.A. system announced the flight was overbooked and they'd be willing to pay for an extra night in a hotel if anyone wanted to get off. We dashed off that plane so fast, hands raised, deliriously happy to spend one more night in San Fran. You'd think we'd won the lottery. It didn't even matter that they wouldn't give us back our luggage for the night.

I was raised in such a straight-laced family and I was a really quiet and shy kid so I didn't really grow up with a friend group that I hung out with. I had my basketball team and one really close friend and we didn't go to concerts because we had no money. Maybe that explains it, not that it’s convincing enough. 

Mostly we spent time just listening to albums. Carole King. Earth,Wind and Fire. Chicago. Fleetwood Mac. The Cars. The Band. Pat Benetar. Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music. The Doobie Brothers. The BeeGees. Annie Lennox. The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.   

We went to Pink Floyd when their music was the background as part of some light show at the Vancouver Planetarium in the 1970s. I recall going to Paul Simon and Elton John concerts at B.C. Place but that's about it. Oh, and David Cassidy. Can’t forget that heartthrob from back in my day.

Like so many families, we had one of those old stereo systems in a big wooden console with the record player inside and my parents listened to Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. I think they had a Louis Armstrong and a Nat King Cole album. My sisters had a 45 of Petula Clark singing "Downtown" that they'd play all the time. Or when we finally got a black and white TV, we'd watch Ed Sullivan on Sunday nights when the Jackson Five and The Supremes and Tiny Tim were first on his show. Wow. Do I ever feel old writing this!  

Anyway, I know this post has nothing to do with Salt Spring, but if you have a chance to catch the exhibit at the Royal BC Museum in Victoria, and you're of a certain age, it's bound to bring up some personal music memories.

Even if you don't go, why not slow down, grab a Bailey's, do some daydreaming and take a mental stroll down your own musical memory lane. 

I'm absolutely certain it will be a million times more interesting than mine.