It's quite amazing to find that a country as young as Canada (136 years young) includes events in its history that have already been tucked away and require quite an effort to uncover. Canadian schoolchildren are justifiably taught to be proud of their country's peacekeeping efforts, its fight for freedom in the World Wars and individual successes that have led to the invention of the telephone and the discovery of penicillin.

However, there is a dearth of introspection in history classes unlike, for example, the German curriculum where all students must reconcile their country's actions during the Third Reich. This is unfortunate because Canada's history does include dubious events that deserve to be taught and reflected upon. One event in particular is Canada's internment of Japanese-Canadians during World War II, which is worth contemplating today as the world enters an era where security forces are highly nervous of Muslims as an ethnic group.

Having learned very little as students about the internment, it poses quite a dilemma for the contemporary journalist when searching for information about it. A natural place to start the search would seem to be within one's circle of friends and colleagues. However, the average Japanese-Canadian families seem quite reticent about discussing it with outsiders and even amongst themselves.

"My grandfather used to tell us one story only from the camps – about a very strong one-armed man," began one 34-year-old Japanese-Canadian male who preferred to remain anonymous. "It's seen as a black mark on their history. That generation is almost ashamed of being Japanese. They were incarcerated but they feel it was their fault. They'd prefer to forget about it and move on."

Sadly, this was not an isolated case. A 26-year-old Japanese-Canadian woman balked at broaching the topic with her family. "My father doesn't talk much about [the internment]. I don't think he's interested in thinking about it," she said effectively closing the topic.

Fortunately, with a little digging and some luck it is possible to find people who will unabashedly discuss the events of sixty years ago. One such man is Jesse Nishihata who is the former English editor of the Japanese-Canadian newspaper Nikkei Voice. He is quick to dispel any ideas that this is a sensitive topic. "I'm an old geezer now so I have time to talk."

Jesse, 74, currently lives in a one-bedroom apartment in north Toronto. He welcomes his visitors with an inviting smile and a warm handshake. Then with very little prompting he jumps into a narrative of his past starting with his pre-war life in Vancouver where he lived with his parents and three siblings.

"We lived near Powell Street with many other Japanese," he vividly recalled, "My father had a sheet-metal shop and worked very hard. Life was usually pleasant, but sometimes around Hallowe'en the Georgia Gang would come marauding along Powell Street. Then the Japanese judo members would come out and throw them around."

Despite being occasionally subjected to such ignorance, Jesse's family was clearly doing well in Vancouver and felt a part of the city. And when it came time for his family to move into the British Columbia interior in 1942, he was faced with explaining to his immigrant parents what was happening. And so began a journey for a young boy that was more adventure than burden, but should never have happened in the first place.

The Nishihata's family's first stop was near Hope, BC. "We were sent to the Tashme internment camp which had to be at least 100 km from the west coast. They named Tashme from the first two letters of three RCMP officers: Taylor, Shine and Mead," he explained. "There were some barnyards and we had to build shacks to live in. We couldn't go back to Vancouver, but Tashme was better than the other camps."

While most people were not allowed to bring many of their possessions, Jesse's father was permitted to salvage some components for his metal shop. "My father re-established his shop in a chicken coop," remembered Jesse, "And sometimes our non-Japanese friends from Vancouver would bring us other things to help."

For four years, the Nishihata family, along with the other Tashme residents, were confined to their camp. Their freedoms were essentially taken away on the basis of their cultural background. Naturally, this left a bitter taste with many Japanese-Canadians and one family including Jesse's cousin went straight back to Japan after the war ended. On the other hand, Jesse's adventure would continue as they had been told to either go back to Japan or head east of the Rocky Mountains.

"We were sent to Alberta and ended up in Diamond City near Lethbridge, but it wasn't much of a city," he chuckled. "We became sugar beet farmers. Mama, Papa and I went out to the fields, but my siblings stayed in the house. The Ukrainian farmer guy was young and very, very nice, but we weren't farmers at all. We weren't alone though, some other Japanese were also in Lethbridge."

It was there in Diamond City that Jesse seemingly enjoyed one of his most memorable experiences. "The wind would come from the Rocky Mountains," he wistfully recalled, "It would turn the sky a beautiful blue colour. It was amazing how it would come towards us and warm up the air. We called it a shinook."

The Nishihata's stay in Diamond City was a short one at just under two years, when his father decided to pack them up and head to Montreal where some friends had relocated. It was here that Jesse's life achieved some normalcy as he attended post-secondary education and was able to enjoy the full benefits of being a Canadian citizen.

Throughout his tale, Jesse was very calm and peaceful. He claims to have never held any anger towards anyone responsible for the interment. He did think the government's attempts at redress were "funny", but appreciated the gesture. These memories were clearly important to him as he had saved some diaries and pictures from those times to this day. Unfortunately, he could not remember where he had left them.

Sadly, this was not the only thing he couldn't remember. There were times during our conversation that he couldn't remember what he had just told me. This made me realize that I was lucky to get the chance to talk to a man who had lived through so much and pass on those experiences to a new generation.