An Apology To Rose

Dear Rose:

The last time we saw one another was around grade eight at Point Grey Junior High, in Vancouver. I was Pat Hawkes then.

World War two was underway and then came Pearl Harbor and suddenly every Japanese Canadian citizen on the mainland was considered an enemy and all of you were ripped from your homes and properties and incarcerated in the interior.

You were sent away and I didn’t question this. Why would I? My parents seemed to think it was the right thing to do.

We corresponded for a while and then came the bombing of Pearl Harbor. That was when I decided that writing to you was writing to the enemy and after consultation with my mother, I stopped writing.

I was a voracious reader as a child and eventually grasped the enormity of this injustice to fellow citizens and the shame of that time has never left me. Never.

I never forgave my parents for their acceptance of such an outrage. Would I have behaved better as an adult? Probably not.

I lived in Toronto as an adult when I read in the paper about a Rose Fujita, the artist, visiting the city. It had to be you—you were so gifted. I just remember thinking—is this “my” Rose? I could call and ask.

But I didn’t. What could I say? Perhaps I hoped you wouldn’t remember me.

I wish I could have been a better friend.

You were so clever and such an artist. You lived in Marpole, where all Japanese kids seemed to live and you took the tram to school in town every day.

All I can say, Rose, is that my adult life has been lived with an eye to fighting injustice and teaching my kids to do the same.

I hope you have had a good and prosperous life, Rose and that you can forgive me for not being the smarter, better friend you deserved.