A Valley with a Complicated Past
When you take in the lake and mountain views in New Denver or stroll past the ghostly remnants of buildings in Sandon, it’s hard to imagine these were once the site of hastily built internment camps. Yet in 1942, under the War Measures Act, more than 22,000 Japanese Canadians were forcibly removed from their homes on the B.C. coast and sent inland.
Here in the Slocan Valley—New Denver, Lemon Creek, Bay Farm, and Popoff—thousands of families arrived to a life they never asked for: tar-paper shacks, shared outhouses, and the loss of everything they’d built. It was an injustice that scarred lives and communities. But it also became a story of resilience. Out of these camps came writers, doctors, artists, and leaders who would go on to help reshape Canada.
As internee and later judge Maryka Omatsu reflected, internment was a crucible: something that could have broken the people in her community, but instead it taught empathy, persistence, and the strength of ‘gaman’—the concept of enduring the seemingly unbearable with dignity.
Legacies that Reached Across Canada
Life in the camps was basic and often harsh—cold winters, crowded cabins, scarce supplies. But even still, the spirit of the people shone through. Families planted gardens, organized baseball leagues, staged plays and concerts, and made sure children could continue school.
That combination of hardship and community shaped many young lives. The lessons—resourcefulness, teamwork, mutual care—would travel far beyond the valley in the years to come.
Joy Kogawa was just a child when her family was sent to Slocan. Decades later, she became one of Canada’s most celebrated authors. Her novel Obasan broke the long silence around the internment years, giving voice to stories that had been buried in grief.
“What this [internment] has taught me,” she has said, is, “don’t deny the past. Remember everything. If you’re bitter, be bitter. Cry it out!”
Through her words, classrooms and communities across Canada have confronted this painful chapter in history—and taken steps toward understanding and reconciliation.
As a young boy at Bay Farm camp, David Suzuki attended Pine Crescent Elementary School alongside Joy Kogawa. He has spoken of the disorientation and exclusion of those years— recalling how he felt isolated and picked on. “That was a very defining time in my life because of the bonding with nature and the encounter of discrimination and the pain that it caused.” He recalled to the CBC.
That early experience of injustice deepened his empathy for people and the planet, fuelling a lifelong passion for environmental stewardship and equity. Suzuki went on to become one of the world’s best-known science communicators and environmental advocates, turning personal loss into a determination to protect the Earth for future generations.
Raymond Moriyama was also a student at Pine Crescent School in Bay Farm. The cramped, makeshift structures of camp life and the resourcefulness it demanded sparked an interest in how spaces could shape well-being.
Those early impressions carried into his career as one of Canada’s most respected architects—beginning with his tree house. “It is a psychological hell when your own country, the country of your birth, stamps you an ‘enemy alien,’ disowns you and expels you… That tree house, when finished, was beautiful. It was my university, my place of solace, a place to think and learn.” He recalled.
Many of his designs—such as the Canadian War Museum and the National Museum of Saudi Arabia—went on to emphasize openness, community, and remembrance. Moriyama often credited the endurance and ingenuity learned during internment as the foundation for his approach to both life and design.
As a teenager in New Denver, Henry Shimizu also learned how to make do with very little. After the war, he became a pioneering surgeon, training future doctors and improving patient care.
Later in life, he turned to painting, creating a series of vibrant canvases capturing camp life—the gardens, the community events, the friendships. His art, exhibited across Canada, helped others see the humanity behind the history.
“Art serves as a way to express emotions that are sometimes more impactful left unsaid.” He said in an interview.
Born in B.C. and interned as a child, Art Miki grew up to lead the National Association of Japanese Canadians during its fight for justice. In 1988, his leadership helped secure an official apology from the Government of Canada and a redress settlement.
He credits his community’s ability to survive internment not by surrendering hope but by working together. “Pay it forward. If I have this knowledge, I should pass it to the next person. Hopefully, that person will pass on the same knowledge to someone else.” he said.
Visiting and Remembering
Part of the legacy of the internment years is preserved at the Nikkei Internment Memorial Centre in New Denver. Here, original camp buildings, personal artifacts, and interpretive displays tell the story of resilience and cultural survival. Walking through the preserved shacks, visitors can sense both the loss and the quiet dignity of the people who lived here.
Beyond the museum, the valley itself holds traces of their lives—gardens planted by internee hands, old fruit trees still bearing, and community spaces once filled with the sound of children at play.
The injustice of the internment changed Canada. It forced the country to face its failures and, through the tireless work of people like Kogawa, Suzuki, Moriyama, Shimizu, Miki, and others, commit to doing better. The 1988 Redress Settlement acknowledged the wrong and made a national commitment to human rights and diversity.
But as Joy Kogawa reminds us, only through remembering can we move toward justice, “Memory is the only way forward.”
Here in the Slocan Valley, memory is not abstract—it’s rooted in the land, in the buildings, and in the stories passed on. Walking through the valley is a chance to connect with that history, to honour the people who lived it, and to carry their lessons into the future.
