Forgiveness (6 page)

Yosuke was a second son. He was not responsible for the family’s land in Chiba the way his older brother was. He wanted to venture out and see the world. Yosuke thought long and hard about what business opportunities he might be able to explore that would be of interest to his fellow countrymen. He came up with two things: beef and shoes.

In 1907, Canadian officials in Japan were taking names of men who wanted to obtain Dominion visas. Yosuke did not know much about Canada, but he did know that Canada had a lot of cows and that everyone wore shoes. That was enough for him. He signed up and was one of the first men chosen.

Yosuke left Japan in search of brighter days. He cast off from his beloved island with a heavy but hopeful heart. He was leaving as dark clouds were forming over the Land of the Rising Sun. He felt the poison in the air.

The Vancouver that Yosuke Oseki fled to in 1907 was a pioneer town—muddy, rainy, hardscrabble. The Japanese all congregated along Powell Street. The name of that part of town was as unwelcoming as the country: “Japtown.” It was so isolated from the broader Vancouver community that it may as well have been in Japan. There, the first-generation Japanese—the
Issei
—huddled together to shield themselves from their strange and generally hostile new surroundings. They tried their best to recreate their lives. Tastes and traditions brought them comfort. Merchants made tofu and imported rice, tea, and sake. Four square blocks of fishmongers, boarding houses, dry cleaners, grocers, and
izakaya
houses formed the epicentre of the Japanese experience in Canada. While almost all of the immigrants were literate, it was in the Japanese language. Most did not speak English, but the safety and security of Japantown allowed them to function with ease.

By 1907, nearly eight thousand of the Emperor’s subjects were living in Canada—and these were, almost to the last soul, in British Columbia. But the welcome mat was not out. The media portrayed these eight thousand, and their Chinese counterparts, as the “Asian
invasion” and the “yellow peril.” Several high-profile politicians capitalized on the public’s resentment and fear. Hate groups such as the Asiatic Expulsion League migrated north from the United States. Ruthlessness ruled the day. National newspapers printed venom in black and white that aimed to strip Asian residents of their very humanity. They were, in large part, successful.

Unemployment was high, and blame had to fall somewhere. Idle hands so easily turned into active fists. On September 7, an angry mob took their hostility to the street in Canada’s first race riot. Close to ten thousand men gathered around City Hall. The mob was determined to spend the evening ridding Vancouver of the “Japs” and “Chinks.”
Stand for a White Canada
banners waved above heads as the crowd marched through Chinatown smashing every window in sight.

As the mob turned the corner onto Powell Street to do the same in Little Tokyo, the Japanese men readied themselves. They had learned about what was happening around Carrall Street. They heard the mob march like an army. Everyone turned out their lights. The women and children hid wherever they could. The men were on the roofs, waiting. There was no time to prepare, and no speeches were made, but everyone knew that they were going to defend themselves. They had families, and the mob was violent. There were some police, but they did little to stop the mob from advancing.

As the mob neared, the Japanese men began throwing stones down from their rooftops. This slowed the mob’s progress, but soon those same rocks were going through store windows and the Japanese had to charge with anything they had: sticks, knifes, more rocks.

Fierce hand-to-hand combat erupted on Powell Street. Bloodied bodies littered the street. There were gunshots. The fight went on throughout the night. Shopkeepers and miners became sentries. Fishermen became medics. The Japanese defended their neighbourhood with an intensity not anticipated by the mob. Men, five at a time, would charge at a dozen men twice their size. It should not have been much a fight, but it was. By dawn, the Japanese had
successfully defended their beloved Powell Street, although not without significant casualties. Bandaged men littered the sidewalks. It looked like it had hailed shards of glass. Bodies were battered, stores and homes were damaged, but the Japanese were not defeated. They held their bloodied heads high.

In response to pressure from the Canadian government, Japan agreed to restrict the number of passports issued for Canada to a mere four hundred per year. And there it was: the first action against Japanese Canadians. The tiniest of steps. History has proven all too many times that discrimination in any form is a downward spiral.

Like most Japanese men, Yosuke fished. He was very good at it, he always seemed to find where the fish were. He would spend the evening looking at maps, tracing his finger over the rivers and inlets along the coast, tapping the map when he found his spot. He would whisper to himself at the kitchen table. He was almost praying, or maybe he
was
praying. His family needed him to catch fish, but they never worried. They knew he would. And he always did, until he couldn’t.

The Oseki family had moved from Eburne, a farming community between Vancouver and Richmond, to a Vancouver neighbourhood known as Celtic right after Mitsue was born because Toru, the eldest son, had just turned seven and Eburne did not have a school for him. Even at seven, Toru understood the position he held. Tradition dictated that he would be the one taking care of the family. He took his responsibilities seriously.

Eichi, the second son, had his father’s build. As a young child, he was teased a little because of his round shape. So instead of calling him fat, Toru called him Pat. It made Eichi feel better. The name stuck and he was called Pat all his life.

Even when Pat was a young boy, it was clear he had inherited his dad’s fishing instincts. He was every bit as precise. He could always find the best place to fish, and he spent his whole life doing it. Mitsue never saw a better fisherman than her brother Pat.

In the spring of 1926, Yosuke got a job with a cannery in Celtic and moved his growing family into one of the company houses just off 49
^th
Street, south of Brennan Street. They were row houses, eight per row. Each house had three wooden steps that led to a framed front door with a window and a flowerbox on either side. The house was small but warm and comfortable.

When Yosuke was home, he would gather the family around the front sitting room and talk. He made sure they always talked as a family and he led sessions that would go on for hours. Whenever a big decision was to be made, he would sit everyone down in that room. There was not enough space on the couch for them all, so he would bring in a kitchen chair to sit on. He would listen to his family and challenge them to consider issues in different ways. He’d then deliberate on what he had heard, and, when he was ready, tell them what he thought they should do. Yosuke’s familial behaviour was exceptional for a Japanese man. He had a mind for thinking things through. He kept things close to his heart.

There were two bedrooms off the living room. Tomi and Yosuke slept in one with the girls, and the boys slept in the other. Mitsue shared a bed with her sister Mary, while the baby, Susanne, had a small bed beside theirs. The kitchen was in the back of the house. There was an outhouse in the backyard near the garden. A few years after they moved in, Yosuke built a bathroom off the kitchen and had a Japanese soaker tub put in. A fire had to be lit under the tub to keep the water warm. Visiting friends marvelled at how prosperous Yosuke was. The house even had running water and electricity.

The secret to Yosuke’s success was his two fishing licences. He could fish for both salmon in the summer and cod in the winter. None of his friends had two licences. Most of them could fish for salmon, but not for cod. Yosuke had thought it through. He could fish year-round. But the extra income came at a price.

There were only a few cod licences granted to Japanese men. It was the cod that took Yosuke out to sea from February through to May, to fish around Pender Island. He’d have no rest and his family
would miss him desperately—his talks, his warmth, his calm. But they did not want for anything. Though they didn’t have a lot, they always had what they needed.

Yosuke had two boats: one for salmon and one for cod. The salmon boat was smaller because he used it just for the day, but the cod boat was much bigger. Cod fishing was especially tough. The weather was cold and the days were long. When Yosuke docked for the evening, he would read all night. He always took the Bible out to sea with him, and the Buddhist teachings.

Mitsue loved the summer because the salmon fishing was good. From May until September, Yosuke would fish the Fraser River. In those days, the salmon was close, so Yosuke would be home every night. He’d catch all kinds of salmon: sockeye, coho, pink, white springs, and chum. Sockeye was the best, and made him the most money, but Mitsue loved it when her dad caught chum because they salted it and made
ochazuke.
She loved how the salted fish tasted in the hot rice. Tomi would add a plum
umeboshi
to make it a little sweet and sour. Tomi, Mitsue, and Mary would bone, salt, and dry mountains of chum. On those summer nights, the Celtic families would throw potluck feasts and all the women would bring their sushi and chow mein. The men would bring their fishing tales.

The commercial success that paid for the life Mitsue was living had ramifications. There was no matter of greater contention than the success of the Japanese in the B.C. fishing industry. The Japanese had come to Canada ready to fish. They had generations’ worth of experience and were exceptionally skilled. By 1925, Japanese were bringing in the biggest hauls in the country. They were prospering in their new home. This did not go unnoticed.

Toru was a fine brother to Mitsue. Her eyes danced when she reflected on him. She sat on the edge of her seat when he spoke.

In Celtic, Toru’s position as the eldest son was more than symbolic. It transcended the Japanese way of life. The Pacific’s winter
waters would take Yosuke away for months at a time. This left Toru responsible for his mother and siblings. Every day, Toru would take Mitsue to school on his bike. This was an onerous task. Mitsue had three friends that lived in the same bank of Celtic cannery row houses: Miyoko, Sumiko, and Haruko. Mitsue and Miyoko, in particular, were inseparable. Toru would deliver them all to school, shuttling each girl individually a distance up the road, only to double back and scoop up another until they had all been dropped off at school. The four girls giggled the entire two-mile trek.

At Kerrisdale Elementary School, Mitsue and Miyoko were the only Japanese kids in their grade. Sumiko and Haruko were the only other Japanese children in the school, which went up to Grade 6.

Mitsue lived in two worlds. There was the Japanese world, her community in Celtic. Her family, her friends, the food she loved, and the Japanese Centre were all there. That was the world of the familiar, filled with love. But tomorrow was not there. Mitsue knew from a very early age that her future was in the English world, the world of education, modern lifestyle, modern fads. It had movies and fashion and it spoke English. She wanted to be a part of that world. Her parents wanted her to be a part of that world too. She tried to fit in. She was taught to play by the rules, follow the instructions, and not cause any trouble. If she did well, she thought, she would be accepted.

As the eldest sister, Mitsue bore a lot of responsibility at home. Her mother depended on her. Tomi was a smart, feisty woman. She had had lots of schooling. She loved to study. When she finished grade school in Japan, she had planned to go to college to become a teacher. But her mother told her if she had too much education no man would marry her, so she didn’t go. That had always saddened Mitsue.

There were a lot of chores that needed to be done to keep the family going—especially when Yosuke was out fishing. Mary was just a few years younger than Mitsue; Susanne was seven years younger. Mitsue loved to help her mother with the ironing. She would iron all of her sisters’ dresses and her brothers’ shirts and
slacks. Everything was washed by hand and all the ironing was done on the stove.

Once a week, a truck from one of the Powell Street stores would come to Celtic. It sold all kinds of Japanese food:
nasubi, bok choy
, tofu, rice,
shoyu
, and
mirin.
There was never a shortage of Japanese food.

Yosuke and several of his friends rallied to try to make working conditions and pay more equitable for the Japanese fishermen. When on land, Yosuke would go door-to-door trying to convince his fellow fishermen to sell their catch at market rates. If they stuck together, he’d argue, they’d get a fair shake. Some listened, but most didn’t. The concept of fairness seemed out of their grasp.

Yosuke tried to make life easier for his community and Mitsue tried to make life easier for him. The focus of family life was to assist and to be obedient, to make their parents proud. The sense of duty was constant.

On the weekends, all the siblings would go to Celtic’s community park, three blocks down Brennan Street. It had an open grass field, and those old enough would play soccer or baseball. Mitsue liked soccer best because she had longer legs than most of the girls and could run faster. The Japanese kids would stick together on the weekends, rarely playing with the white children. Mitsue and Miyoko would play with the
hakujin
kids at school, but once they were on our own, they would usually stick together. There were no signs to make it official, no physical barriers; it was just the way it was.

Celtic had a Japanese centre right around the corner from the row houses, a one-storey building with two rooms that the cannery had helped build. This small building was the centre of the Japanese community’s world. It was their Japanese school, their church, and the place they’d all gather for events and festivals. The parents pooled their money to pay a teacher to come every weekday from four until five to teach the children Japanese reading and writing.