Well, this one's a beauty. And such a fraught and timely subject. I had no idea that Canada was as awful toward the Japanese (before Pearl Harbor) as the United States was. So much arrogance, ignorance. I do think it's beautiful that you got to visit with her brother. I feel for your father, that he got cornered and had to confront his willingness to object and chose to say nothing. It's hard to speak up sometimes. We all know that. But gosh it's tiring to witness our human failings over and over again. Humans are supposed to evolve, to learn, to become better selves. I remember the pogrom stories my grandmother told, what she witnessed as a young child. But then, I watched her treat others the way she was treated. She was racist, for sure. She thought she was blending in, but that's far from the truth. I questioned her over and over, saying "why are you doing what others did to you?" She's this is different, they're animals. I never loved her the way I loved my other grandmother, who treated everyone equally. Everyone.
I was in third grade the first time someone called me a kike. A boy from my class. I didn't know yet what the word meant, but I knew it was bad, by his tone and the sneer of disgust on his face.
Why do we do this to one another? What a waste. I expect better from my fellow humans. Much better.
PS. You'll be receiving a package some time in the next few days. There won't be a card in it. It's from me, with the unexpected help of a writer friend on Substack. I fill you in once you get it. xo
Oooh, I love surprises! And prejudice? The same in every guise. Canada was awful to Indigenous people too. We are not the paragons we’re often seen to be.
My parents didn't either...they had different issues! Sorry about your grandmother. It's fascinating to me that they didn't have the power of discernment to help them see that their attitudes SUCKED. xo
I wondered too. I tried a couple of avenues on Google, where “Betty Witmer Lampson Street School” turned up a couple of photos. She married, raised a son and led a long life. A number of Lampson Street kids attended my father’s funeral in Victoria in 1981. It’s possible I met Betty, although all those people seemed terribly old and therefore of no interest.. I wish I could share the photo I found of Betty, age 4, in 1925, but attachments aren’t allowed in comments.
This beautifully written post made me cry, Rona. Years ago, when I read the diary of Anne Frank, upon reading what she wrote about believing people were intrinsically good, I marveled at her ability to still think that after everything that happened to her. I'm not sure I agreed with her then, and I still can't. I have given up on humans. Seeing and reading the news every day, it's hard to believe. I am so glad Toshi had Betty to stand by her. Still, I share her broken heart.
Rona, you have the power of the writer who can move readers deeply. That last sentence, so simply stated, filled my eyes with tears: "When Kensuke Takata left Japan, he said goodbye to Hiroshima." Nothing more needed.
What harm we humans do, over and over; it's only those subject to it that change. And all too many turn their eyes away. Then, sometimes after apologies and reparations, the awful cycle starts anew. The U.S. is in one of those cycles now, the groups being immigrants, women, Blacks, the transgendered.
I keep trying to "still believe that people are really good at heart", though I've repeatedly seen glimmers of it, and think Anne Frank might have been right, until I read something like that long piece in this past week's "New Yorker" about the Tate brothers. But for that verse from Isaiah . . . .
I don’t know if I dare read about the Tate brothers. The potential for good rubs shoulders every day with its opposite. I would not know about the Hiroshima connection if not for the reader who sent me to that book in the library. I am always learning from my readers.
That is a very moving story. I had a friend when I was younger whose family was interred in BC. I remember the first time learning his story when he showed me news clippings his family had kept. I understood it in the context of the postwar period. I am ashamed to say that at the time I did not find it astoundng or outrageous. I do now. Thank you for sharing.
"Lives change everywhere and leave no mark on the scene." Simply put and so true for all time. That sentence takes you everywhere in the world where lives have changed but are all forgotten. And your father was in one sense right to feel ashamed, but I think it does take a lot of courage to speak up – and almost everyone would have done the same in his shoes. Taking the moral high ground is the easy route. I like yours.
Thank you, Ann. In 1934 speaking up would have been close to unimaginable. I wish he had talked about the incident with the class, which he didn’t, according to Toshie’s account. But that too would have been unusual.
Oh, this is my city! My mom learned to swim in the Crystal Garden pool, and my grandmother’s family often took the streetcar to the Japanese gardens. I grew up hearing about Canada’s shameful history towards the Japanese (and other marginalized people) and I wish more people spoke up. The gardens are still beautiful and I always mentally thank the Takadas for their beauty.
You have a beautiful city, Sheila. I have relatives there and enjoy walking where my father used to walk with his sketchbook. Dalls Road and Beacon Hill Park are favorites.
Thank you, Rona; I wish that there were no more recent examples here in Canada. When I was a child in Toronto, a good friend was invited to a birthday party at the Granite Club, where the birthday girl’s parents were members. As my friend described later, the invited kids and their parents lined up at the club’s door. All were admitted, apart from my friend, as Jews were not allowed to enter the building. She had to return home, and the party went ahead without her. The Granite Club has since moved to a different site, and has changed its admission rules. Two condo towers called Granite Place now occupy the former club site. These stories need to be heard.
The anguish of that child! My mother remembered when Eaton’s and Simpson’s would not hire Jews. Some resorts posted signs that said “No Jews or dogs allowed.” Today’s mounting anti-Semitism has deep roots.
What a heartwrenching, beautifully written essay, Rona! Timely, too. Anne Frank opened my eyes as a teen. Years after children in school bullied a boy who wore glasses, calling him “Poindexter”. That sounds like nothing compared to Toshie, but it really hurt him and even made him mean for awhile. He stopped wearing the glasses even though he could barely see without them. His actual name was Tony, same as my father, and he had a nice face. I was ten-years old and didn’t stick up for him then. 💔
Kids so rarely stick up for one another. It’s just too scary. Moral courage doesn’t come naturally to most, which is why Betty touched and inspired me by standing beside her friend.
I played Anne Frank in the play based on her book, produced and directed by my mother, when I was in high school. As a teenager who'd often felt less-than among others her age, mostly due to poverty, I suddenly saw the world through a much bigger lens. Bless Anne, and of course my mom. Lucky me!
Awash with emotions this morning, dear Rona. Just yesterday I sat with my daughter, who was crying about how some kids at school pulled down the pants of a blind classmate, and she had laughed with the crowd (and apparently with the poor boy as well, who may have laughed so he wouldn't cry.) She wailed that she was a bully, and did not know why she hadn't stood up for him. Moral courage.... oof. Maybe this is how it is cultivated, through the failing and the regret. I find myself reaching to comfort both the child and your father in this story. And I feel rage, and sorrow, and bewilderment. Beautiful storytelling, Rona, even when the story itself is steeped in such ignorance and pain.
Thank you, Kendall. I feel almost as if I know your tender-hearted daughter. If only more grownups questioned themselves as she did. The bright note in today’s story (for me) is that little Betty Witmer found a way to support her suffering and targeted friend.
Your gift as a storyteller is extraordinary. I seek to be amazed every week here. And you never disappoint. You pluck my heartstrings like a fine-tuned instrument.
I wrote a paper in high school about the injustice of the Japanese internment camps. I think I must have showed it to my father, who was born in 1928 and narrowly missed the draft age to go to war. About the camps, he said, You don’t know what that time was like! I was a shocked to hear that from him in 1980-something. Like that fear was still in his body. I was disappointed. I also felt shame for how easy it was to declare a past wrong, wrong. He’d lived something, whether I liked it or not.
It was made to seem perfectly normal, a way of protecting citizens from supposed “fifth-columnists.” The wrongness doesn’t register until present becomes past.
Well, this one's a beauty. And such a fraught and timely subject. I had no idea that Canada was as awful toward the Japanese (before Pearl Harbor) as the United States was. So much arrogance, ignorance. I do think it's beautiful that you got to visit with her brother. I feel for your father, that he got cornered and had to confront his willingness to object and chose to say nothing. It's hard to speak up sometimes. We all know that. But gosh it's tiring to witness our human failings over and over again. Humans are supposed to evolve, to learn, to become better selves. I remember the pogrom stories my grandmother told, what she witnessed as a young child. But then, I watched her treat others the way she was treated. She was racist, for sure. She thought she was blending in, but that's far from the truth. I questioned her over and over, saying "why are you doing what others did to you?" She's this is different, they're animals. I never loved her the way I loved my other grandmother, who treated everyone equally. Everyone.
I was in third grade the first time someone called me a kike. A boy from my class. I didn't know yet what the word meant, but I knew it was bad, by his tone and the sneer of disgust on his face.
Why do we do this to one another? What a waste. I expect better from my fellow humans. Much better.
PS. You'll be receiving a package some time in the next few days. There won't be a card in it. It's from me, with the unexpected help of a writer friend on Substack. I fill you in once you get it. xo
Oooh, I love surprises! And prejudice? The same in every guise. Canada was awful to Indigenous people too. We are not the paragons we’re often seen to be.
So I've heard. The internment camp thing is appalling to say the least. xo
Nan, my Jewish grandmother fled the pogroms and sadly had the same attitude as yours. Happily, my father didn't inherit it.
My parents didn't either...they had different issues! Sorry about your grandmother. It's fascinating to me that they didn't have the power of discernment to help them see that their attitudes SUCKED. xo
I wonder if they needed to keep some group beneath them so that they would not be the lowest of the low.
I think that's it exactly. It's unforgivable to me.
Yes, exactly. A number of groups.
Sometimes it's children who do the right thing, and they do it instinctively. I wonder what became of Betty Witmer?
I wondered too. I tried a couple of avenues on Google, where “Betty Witmer Lampson Street School” turned up a couple of photos. She married, raised a son and led a long life. A number of Lampson Street kids attended my father’s funeral in Victoria in 1981. It’s possible I met Betty, although all those people seemed terribly old and therefore of no interest.. I wish I could share the photo I found of Betty, age 4, in 1925, but attachments aren’t allowed in comments.
This beautifully written post made me cry, Rona. Years ago, when I read the diary of Anne Frank, upon reading what she wrote about believing people were intrinsically good, I marveled at her ability to still think that after everything that happened to her. I'm not sure I agreed with her then, and I still can't. I have given up on humans. Seeing and reading the news every day, it's hard to believe. I am so glad Toshi had Betty to stand by her. Still, I share her broken heart.
Thank you, Marina.
Rona, you have the power of the writer who can move readers deeply. That last sentence, so simply stated, filled my eyes with tears: "When Kensuke Takata left Japan, he said goodbye to Hiroshima." Nothing more needed.
What harm we humans do, over and over; it's only those subject to it that change. And all too many turn their eyes away. Then, sometimes after apologies and reparations, the awful cycle starts anew. The U.S. is in one of those cycles now, the groups being immigrants, women, Blacks, the transgendered.
I keep trying to "still believe that people are really good at heart", though I've repeatedly seen glimmers of it, and think Anne Frank might have been right, until I read something like that long piece in this past week's "New Yorker" about the Tate brothers. But for that verse from Isaiah . . . .
I don’t know if I dare read about the Tate brothers. The potential for good rubs shoulders every day with its opposite. I would not know about the Hiroshima connection if not for the reader who sent me to that book in the library. I am always learning from my readers.
That is a very moving story. I had a friend when I was younger whose family was interred in BC. I remember the first time learning his story when he showed me news clippings his family had kept. I understood it in the context of the postwar period. I am ashamed to say that at the time I did not find it astoundng or outrageous. I do now. Thank you for sharing.
There are people who still don’t find it outrageous that their fellow citizens were hauled off to internment camps. That’s another outrage.
"Lives change everywhere and leave no mark on the scene." Simply put and so true for all time. That sentence takes you everywhere in the world where lives have changed but are all forgotten. And your father was in one sense right to feel ashamed, but I think it does take a lot of courage to speak up – and almost everyone would have done the same in his shoes. Taking the moral high ground is the easy route. I like yours.
Thank you, Ann. In 1934 speaking up would have been close to unimaginable. I wish he had talked about the incident with the class, which he didn’t, according to Toshie’s account. But that too would have been unusual.
Oh, this is my city! My mom learned to swim in the Crystal Garden pool, and my grandmother’s family often took the streetcar to the Japanese gardens. I grew up hearing about Canada’s shameful history towards the Japanese (and other marginalized people) and I wish more people spoke up. The gardens are still beautiful and I always mentally thank the Takadas for their beauty.
You have a beautiful city, Sheila. I have relatives there and enjoy walking where my father used to walk with his sketchbook. Dalls Road and Beacon Hill Park are favorites.
Thank you, Rona; I wish that there were no more recent examples here in Canada. When I was a child in Toronto, a good friend was invited to a birthday party at the Granite Club, where the birthday girl’s parents were members. As my friend described later, the invited kids and their parents lined up at the club’s door. All were admitted, apart from my friend, as Jews were not allowed to enter the building. She had to return home, and the party went ahead without her. The Granite Club has since moved to a different site, and has changed its admission rules. Two condo towers called Granite Place now occupy the former club site. These stories need to be heard.
The anguish of that child! My mother remembered when Eaton’s and Simpson’s would not hire Jews. Some resorts posted signs that said “No Jews or dogs allowed.” Today’s mounting anti-Semitism has deep roots.
What a heartwrenching, beautifully written essay, Rona! Timely, too. Anne Frank opened my eyes as a teen. Years after children in school bullied a boy who wore glasses, calling him “Poindexter”. That sounds like nothing compared to Toshie, but it really hurt him and even made him mean for awhile. He stopped wearing the glasses even though he could barely see without them. His actual name was Tony, same as my father, and he had a nice face. I was ten-years old and didn’t stick up for him then. 💔
Kids so rarely stick up for one another. It’s just too scary. Moral courage doesn’t come naturally to most, which is why Betty touched and inspired me by standing beside her friend.
I must have been too scared and overwhelmed. I was a brave kid, too. :\ I have to believe Tony turned out okay. I love that Betty stood by Toshie!
A beautiful and moving piece. Thank you.
I wasn’t prepared for how emotional this was gonna be. Thank you for a moving and thoughtful piece.
Nor was I, to be honest.
I’ve always wondered why Germans weren’t hauled off to internment camps.
I think some of them may have been? There were definitely some Italians who were sent to camps, here in Canada.
You just gave me pause for thought. Not that anyone should have been hauled off.
I played Anne Frank in the play based on her book, produced and directed by my mother, when I was in high school. As a teenager who'd often felt less-than among others her age, mostly due to poverty, I suddenly saw the world through a much bigger lens. Bless Anne, and of course my mom. Lucky me!
Dream role! I’m retrospectively jealous. I got to play Helen Keller, another dream role.
Yes indeed!
Awash with emotions this morning, dear Rona. Just yesterday I sat with my daughter, who was crying about how some kids at school pulled down the pants of a blind classmate, and she had laughed with the crowd (and apparently with the poor boy as well, who may have laughed so he wouldn't cry.) She wailed that she was a bully, and did not know why she hadn't stood up for him. Moral courage.... oof. Maybe this is how it is cultivated, through the failing and the regret. I find myself reaching to comfort both the child and your father in this story. And I feel rage, and sorrow, and bewilderment. Beautiful storytelling, Rona, even when the story itself is steeped in such ignorance and pain.
Thank you, Kendall. I feel almost as if I know your tender-hearted daughter. If only more grownups questioned themselves as she did. The bright note in today’s story (for me) is that little Betty Witmer found a way to support her suffering and targeted friend.
She would love you, Rona! And yes, Betty really did shine in this story. Those brave, kind acts of solidarity are what move this whole thing forward.
Maybe she is old enough to appreciate this story (or part of it) and Betty’s role.
I’m going to share it with her. Maybe we need a “be brave like Betty” mantra going forward. Or, “what would Betty do?” xoxo
I love that, Kendall.
Your gift as a storyteller is extraordinary. I seek to be amazed every week here. And you never disappoint. You pluck my heartstrings like a fine-tuned instrument.
So good to know, Jill. Thank you.
I wrote a paper in high school about the injustice of the Japanese internment camps. I think I must have showed it to my father, who was born in 1928 and narrowly missed the draft age to go to war. About the camps, he said, You don’t know what that time was like! I was a shocked to hear that from him in 1980-something. Like that fear was still in his body. I was disappointed. I also felt shame for how easy it was to declare a past wrong, wrong. He’d lived something, whether I liked it or not.
It was made to seem perfectly normal, a way of protecting citizens from supposed “fifth-columnists.” The wrongness doesn’t register until present becomes past.