I grew up with little knowledge about the internment of roughly 110,000 Japanese Americans, including children, who were unjustly suspected of being enemy aliens. Two images remain vivid for me as we commemorate the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II: my father’s recurring nightmares and an elderly woman struggling to hold back tears as our bus entered the former camp at Tule Lake, California.
My father, Benjamin Pimentel Sr., was a teenager when Japan invaded the Philippines after Pearl Harbor. Like many young Filipinos, he joined the resistance movement. During that time, he was captured and interrogated by the Kempetai, the Japanese secret police. Later, his brother—my Uncle Jesus—was taken by the same forces and never returned. Our family believed he was executed.
Once strong and athletic, my father emerged from the war frail and weakened after years of surviving in the jungle. He never fully recovered, physically or emotionally. For decades he was haunted by nightmares about his wartime experiences.
Despite all he endured, my father never showed hatred toward the Japanese. His tone remained calm and his words fair whenever he spoke of that period. He would often remind me with quiet clarity:
“The Japanese soldiers back then were very brutal.”
“The Japanese imperial forces really caused a lot of damage.”
Yet his reflections were never vengeful—only factual and thoughtful, shaped by a deep understanding of human frailty and history.
Years later, after moving to the United States, I found myself visiting Tule Lake and meeting Japanese Americans whose families had suffered under suspicion and confinement during the war. My father’s fairness and restraint helped me grasp the meaning of compassion amid tragedy.
This reflection explores a father’s wartime suffering and dignity, connecting his quiet resilience to lessons found among Japanese-American survivors at Tule Lake.