President’s Message April, 2020
April 22, 2020
| (Photo – Aiko Murakami, centre with lei) PRESIDENTS MESSAGE Two hours before the birthday party for Mike Murakami’s mother Aiko was to begin, doors to her long-term care home were shut to all but essential visitors. No stranger to the unforeseen, Aiko married David Murakami in 1942, their honeymoon a train trip to Kaslo internment camp. There she had two babies, one of whom, did not survive. The Murakami’s ended up in New Denver where Aiko, recruited by Hide Shimizu, taught at the school and Mike’s dad spent a short time in the town’s TB sanatorium. Life under siege, in sickness and in health with a heavy burden carried by those ill and those caring for failing loved ones. And so, it is now. Happy occasions, rites of passage; anniversaries, weddings, baby showers, graduations. Cancelled or postponed. Life interrupted. When I worked at a refugee shelter, my appreciation for the hardships of separation increased. Inevitably, those finding sanctuary from dangers in their homeland come to that moment when they learn that a loved one is ill or has died. And they cannot be there to assist and comfort and grieve alongside friends and family. In this time when it’s our species versus a virus, I am grateful that the need for physical distance is due to our concern for each other, not the threat of violence. A co-worker from Sierra Leone told me of his escape into the jungle during the eleven-year civil war, foraging for weeks, learning how to hit the ground just below the height at which shrapnel does maximum damage. I’m grateful that we can look to the skies without fear as the only explosive noises familiar to those of us born in Canada are celebratory fireworks. I also learned from my colleague of the trials of those needing surgery at that time – family members had to find gasoline to power a generator and solicit donations of blood for transfusions. Recently, along with a group of friends, we assisted a family of seven who escaped by foot into the desert from Homs, Syria. The parents took shifts at night to watch for danger. They confided that at times they considered that mercy would come in the form of simultaneous death. Desperation. Those who fled Vietnam by boat are familiar with the perils of the “refugee highway” be it piracy and those who would exploit desperation. Japanese Canadians well know of wartime hardships in Canada. For some, like Hattie Tanouye, an additional layer of hardship – on top of the injustice of forced dislocation and racism – occurred when her first husband Yoshiaki died of leukemia. Displaced to an Alberta sugar beet farm, Hattie was left with two toddlers and a baby, living in one room with parents-in-law and a brother-in-law and family. With a Mother’s Allowance of $15 a month and no employment prospects she made the excruciating decision to join family in the east and leave her older children with her in-laws – the only viable care option for a single mother of three hoping to find work and travel across Canada by train. When interviewed in 1996 Hattie said, “I think if relocation had never taken place, my first husband may not have died. It was a hardship.” 1 I like to think that as Japanese Canadians we tend to count our blessings and have an affinity and empathy for those who suffer the most in times of hardship. Our collective history includes desperate searches for lodgings, an appreciation of the work of migrant labourers and an understanding of why Canada’s Indigenous peoples have reasons to mistrust the promises of citizenship. In 1990 Hattie was recognized by the City of St. Catharines for her volunteer work and in 1993, she received the Governor General’s medal for her contribution to her community including serving as President of the Japanese Cultural Society of St. Catherines. In reflection she said, “there are a lot of ‘ifs’ in a person’s life, but for all the hardship I feel I am a better person for it”.2 At this time when protecting our elders is foremost in our minds, their resilience and strength are a legacy that we can draw on to help us through this time of extraordinary uncertainty and dramatic changes. Hattie outlived her second husband Frank. She died in 2014 at the age of 95. Aiko turned 103 in March, sharing her cake with her caregivers. To our elders, to our healthcare heroes, and all those who work to protect us and provide essential services, we are most grateful. Friends, stay home, stay well, stay strong. We love you. Lynn Deutscher Kobayashi and the Toronto NAJC Board of Directors 1 Exiles in Our Own Country, Japanese Canadians in Niagara, Addie Kobayashi pg. 74 2 IBID pg. 70 |