History Lesson on the Japanese Canadian Internment

Sit by the radio, listening
Hear of great battles
Make paper planes like the great birds of war,
Think of the day
That you can enlist,
Like your father,
Veteran,
Fight for your country.

Radio tells of Japan
And pearl harbor
Bombs rain down
Suffering follows
For those there, and those still here,
“We are Canadians”
They cry,
But no one seems to listen.

It starts with boats, cameras, radios
Then homes are taken
People are taken
With only what they can carry
Leaving behind a scattered trail
Of memories and broken dreams
Wishing for hope in dark times
Watching as they continue to take and take and take

Forced here and there without explanation
Onto trains that are
Dark, cramped, crowed
The people like cattle
Afraid and uncertain
Arriving at ghost towns and camps
Prisoners hoping for a rescue that never comes
Even though they are not the enemy

This ‘new home’ is not home
Tiny houses like shacks
With relentless heat and cold reaching in
Spend nights
Looking at stars through cracks in the walls
Wishing without a word or answer
Guarded like convicts,
Thought of as spies

For years I was there,
with mother and brother
Father was far, working, suffering
We were prisoners in our own country,
The country that father had served
That grandfather gave his life for
Had they forgotten about all
That we had given?

We had to fight long to be acknowledged,
Gain compensation and apology,
And the ability to come back home
But now we seem forgotten
As they work for truth and reconciliation
They remember pain brought to some
But what about us?
Did we not suffer as well?

Canadian history is larger than just
What people talk of now
There are more stories to be told,
More injustices that were faced,
Many problems still impacting
Those of us still here,
Still living,
Still fighting.

Sometimes I really hate my life.

I just started crying because I couldn't get my bracelet off my wrist. And it's stupid. But one thing happens and then every little thing sets me off. And it's even worse because no one freaking notices. I don't look like I just cried. I mean, yeah, it was just a few quiet tears, but still. No one in my family is going to ask me what's wrong. No one's going to walk over and give me a hug. And even if they did, I'd just say “I'm fine” or “I'm just tired” and would they push and get me to talk about what's really bothering me? No. They just accept it and move on with their lives because of course I'm fine I'm always fine why wouldn't I be anything but freaking fine.

And I don't even know why I'm writing this or why I would even push submit because it's not like somebody's gonna read it it's not like someone's going to notice and care and ask me if I'm really alright and be there for me so that I can talk to them because that's not how it works.

Heck, if someone was reading this, they'd probably think that it's like all the writings above. Fictional. While it's not. This is me. Really. Even if probably no one who knew me would think so because I'm fun and energetic and kind and I'm fine totally fine definitely not struggling or anything, because why would I be?

Anyways, that's how I am, how are you?

MMAP April 7th: “Canary in a coal mine”
TWs: mentions of imprisonment/poison/gas/death

As they lower the cage, a lilting voice floats up from the hole, just audible over the clinking of the chains.

Pretty bird fly away…

Everything seems to fall silent even the clinking as the men operating it pause as if entranced- everything save the soft moan of wind and creak of the boards. Then she really starts to sing.

I’m the canary in the coal mine
Sacrificing for the rest
Breathing in the air
And hoping for the best
The best
The best.

They knew that it could kill me
But I’m their warning sign
I know that it might end me
But at least they will be fine.

I feel that I recognize the tune, but I can’t recall where from. It hangs like the memory of a dream at the edge of my consciousness, where my fingers can brush it but I just can’t catch hold.

I’m the canary in the coal mine
Wondering if it’s my last day
Breathing in the dust
I want to fly away
Fly away
Fly away.

Then a soft sound joins the melody. Someone whistling along. And I remember where I’ve heard this song.

They knew that it could kill me
But I’m their warning sign
I know that it might end me
But at least they will be fine.


Esca is sitting on the roof of the shed, eyes closed, his blonde hair ruffling in the wind. Some are turning to stare up at him, but most still seem entranced by her voice.

I’m the canary in the coal mine
With much too little room
Breathing in the poison
Preparing for my doom
My doom
My doom.

That’s when Burgen finally snaps out of it. “Stop that racket at once!” He yells. Esca doesn’t even flinch. Most of the workers seem unchanged. He stares around as if stunned that his order wasn’t immediately obeyed.

They knew that it could kill me
But I’m their warning sign
I know that it might end me
But at least they will be fine.

Burgen storms over to the mechanism, and bellows “Keep lowering!” and the workers holding the chain finally unfreeze. The clinking resumes as she continues to sing.

I’m the canary in the coal mine
Running out of breath
Breathing in the gas
And waiting for my death
My death
My death.

Burgen proceeds to stomp over to the shed, where Esca’s still whistling. I start pushing through people and towards them. “Shut it!” Burgen yells at the boy. He doesn’t react. Burgen reaches up to grab his boot, but is comically short. “Get him down!” Burgen orders two men, who start to climb the ladder.

They knew that it could kill me
But I’m their warning sign
I know that it might end me
But at least they will be fine.

Esca yelps as they push him off the roof, his whistling cutting off. I get there too late to catch him and he slams into the ground. I drop to one knee beside him and he blinks up at me. Just winded.

Pretty bird fly away….

She sings.

“Don’t,” I whisper. He takes a deep breath and finishes with her.

Pretty bird fly away
Or you won’t live another day.