Recently in ASTU 100 (a reading/writing class in the UBC Coordinated-Arts Program), we have been discussing the sensitive event of Canadian Japanese internment during the second World War. Through our reading of Obasan–a novel by Joy Kogawa, revolving around the narrative of a young Japanese girl–we specifically discussed the idea of memory and remembrance.

While reading Obasan, I began to think back to how much I had previously known about Japanese internment–and astonishingly, I realized that I did not know much, despite being a Canadian myself! As my thoughts started wandering and trying to figure out how I could be more knowledgeable about the subject, it dawned on me that no matter how much I read, knowing about an event and experiencing it were two completely separate things. When discussing certain memories, is there an unsaid barrier between saying that we know of the event, and claiming that we have lived through it? And under what circumstances should we learn more about these events?

Interestingly, during high school I found these questions quite relevant in my social studies lectures. In a class that was predominantly Caucasian, it was interesting how vaguely we talked about Japanese interment. Regardless of the important legacy it had left on our country and many Japanese citizens, there was a sense of discomfort. It was almost as if people did not wish to go into great detail about the subject. There was nobody in my class–or in my grade, for that matter–that could speak on the issue from personal and/or familial experience. In the end, it was swiftly mentioned and then forgotten.

What I found ironically intriguing was that once we started talking about the internment and persecution of the Holocaust, the majority of my class (who I will remind, was predominantly Caucasian) was completely immersed in the material. Although there was still discomfort, it was not the same discomfort as when we discussed Japanese internment. And unlike the swift 20-minute discussion on Japanese internment, the focus on the Holocaust lasted 3 days. In this situation it was almost as if the people around me invited the discomfort, desiring to learn more about the event… After all, there were many individuals in my class who’s grandparents and other past family had lived through World War II Europe.

Do we then have a larger right and responsibility to learn and tell certain stories, if they are directly correlated to our own identity? Joy Kogawa herself had lived through the Japanese internment in Canada, and had used Obasan as a way to contribute to the redress movement. I personally believe that there are stories told by individuals that cannot be recreated in the same way by other people around them–that despite their narratives, there is no way we can fully understand as people who had not experienced it for ourselves. Therefore, I would argue that the sharing of stories, testimonies, and histories is not only important for keeping those stories alive, but also holds significance for those not directly correlated with the story at all. When more stories and memories are told, there are more opportunities for individuals to look at a narrative and realize that there is never just their own, personal perspective. There is never just a “single” story to sum up a moment.

This idea was beautifully depicted on a school trip I took last year to Ottawa, Ontario. Aside from Parliament Hill, the other main tourist destination that my teacher decided to take us to was the Canadian War Museum. Walking around its hangar–containing hundreds of vehicles, airplanes, and missile warfare–me and my friend came across an elderly man in a flight-based military uniform. We learned that he was a veteran from the Korean War, and had flown jets during the conflict. It was only after 30-minutes of conversing with him about his experiences that I came to a realization–Everything that had just come out of that man’s mouth could never be summarized in any descriptive plaque in the museum.

There is always another perspective–whether it be for or against our own. But through this, I would argue that in order to gain a better understanding and comprehension we must first listen and reflect on the other narratives surrounding ourselves. Through this, we can hopefully create a deeper meaning to this phenomenon called memory and perhaps see how the individual perspectives and experiences contribute to the conversation of history.