In October, I attended two profoundly moving events that left me grappling with sorrow, injustice, and the urgent need for peace. The first was a commemoration of the 80th anniversary of World War II’s victory over fascism in China, hosted by the United Chinese American Organizations of Minnesota. The second was a lecture recounting the Japanese internment camps in the U.S., sponsored by the League of Women Voters and World Without Genocide.
Both featured elders in their 90s sharing firsthand accounts of wartime suffering. At the Chinese commemoration, four survivors spoke emotionally in Mandarin about the Japanese military’s brutal invasion from 1937 to 1945. Their stories—of infants silenced to protect hiding families, of young women raped and murdered—were haunting. These were war crimes, yet unlike Germany, Japan has never formally acknowledged or apologized for them. Remarkably, the speakers expressed no bitterness toward the Japanese people.
The internment story was told by Ms. Sudo, a frail Japanese American woman, accompanied by her son. Through photos and facts, she described how her family of ten children was forcibly relocated and confined for four years. Her camp housed 200 people per cabin, watched by armed guards. Despite poor conditions, children received schooling from outside teachers. Her siblings bore lasting trauma—some served in the U.S. Army, and others never spoke of the camps again.
Over 120,000 Japanese Americans were unjustly imprisoned under the Enemy Alien Act. Few Americans today know of this history, and even fewer understand the atrocities committed by Japan’s imperial military.
These events reminded me that the same ethnic group can be both victim and perpetrator, depending on circumstance. Is this human nature—or the result of our environment?
War breeds atrocity. Racism fuels war. What will it take to build peace?
As we reflect on the stories shared in these October events, we are reminded that history is not just a record of facts—it is a living memory carried by those who endured its weight. The voices of WWII survivors, both in China and in the U.S., speak to the resilience of the human spirit and the urgency of truth-telling.
Their testimonies challenge us to confront injustice, to recognize the pain inflicted by war and racism, and to ask ourselves what kind of future we are shaping. In honoring these elders, we do more than remember—we recommit to building a society rooted in empathy, accountability, and peace.
Let us carry their stories forward. Let us educate, advocate, and unite across communities. And let us never forget that silence enables injustice, but remembrance can inspire change.
