Writings

“Collective ancestral healing" by Monel Chang (장윤정)

Healing begins by naming what happened. 

Healing begins by inviting space to grieve. 

Healing begins by reclaiming what was lost. 

Healing begins by calling in the collective. 

This is a story about collective healing. 

Collective ancestral healing is the process of remembering, grieving, and transforming the inherited wounds we carry—together. It honors the truth that healing our lineages is inseparable from healing our communities, and that this work must live in the body, in ritual, and in relationship. 

In the afternoon of April 2nd, 2025 in Ben Lomond, California, a Japanese American man, his baby wrapped on his chest, lifts one side of a simple wooden bench—an act both tender and deliberate. Opposite him, a Chinese American man grips the other end. Together, they carry it toward a space that is becoming something more—a circle, a structure, a container. They place the bench carefully, aligning it with two others already positioned. Now, a triangle of benches emerges—quietly forming a shape of gathering, a geometry of intention. 

1868 marked the beginning of Japan’s modernization and industrialization. Under the Meiji Restoration, Japan began to build a centralized, militarized nation-state modeled after Western powers. The first Sino-Japanese War broke out in 1894 between the Empire of Japan and the Qing Dynasty of China, marking a turning point in East Asian history. The conflict centered around control of Korea — as part of a broader strategy of imperial expansion, economic survival, and nationalistic ambition. 

In Ben Lomond, California, in an enclosure of redwood trees in the woods, the Japanese man leaves the triangle of benches and the Chinese man stays. He is joined by seven North Americans of Korean, Chinese, and Filipino descent. They all sit, knee to knee, huddled on the benches while the Japanese-American man sits just outside of the triangle next to two other Japanese Americans. “Look, I brought my grandparents,” says a Korean of Brazilian nationality. They show us a clear glasses case with two black and white passport photos propped up with a stick of palo santo between them. 

In 1904 Japan fought over influence in Manchuria and Korea, gaining control over the Liaodong Peninsula, rights to Port Arthur and Dairen, and influence in southern Manchuria. Japan officially annexed Korea in 1910, beginning 35 years of harsh colonial rule. Japan suppressed Korean culture and identity by banning the Korean language and forcing Japanese names, and exploited Korea’s resources and people. The March 1st Movement in 1919, a major independence protest, was violently crushed, with over 7,000 killed. Throughout the occupation, over 700,000 Koreans were forced into labor, and tens of thousands of women were enslaved as “comfort women” for Japanese troops. Many were tortured or subjected to brutal conditions, including medical experiments. 

On the benches arranged in a triangle, the eight Korean, Chinese, and Filipino members of the Asian diaspora sit in silence, holding hands. Taking deep breaths together, tears begin to stream down their cheeks. "My grandparents were in a work camp." Stomping turned into screams. "My grandfather never knew happiness, he was always serious and angry. He hated the Japanese and wouldn't tell me what happened. It brought him too much suffering to remember." Clutching each others hands they whimper louder and louder until wails are yelled in fury. "They made my grandparents erase their Korean names and take on Japanese one, told them they were no longer in Korea, that they were in Japan now, told them they were no longer Korean, that they were Japanese. They tried to erase us." 

In 1931, Japan invaded Manchuria, beginning its aggressive expansion into China. In Nanjing, China, Japanese troops killed an estimated 200,000 to 300,000 civilians and prisoners of war and enacted widespread mass executions and rape of over 20,000 women in the span of six weeks. In Manchuria, Japan's Unit 731 conducted inhumane medical experiments on Chinese civilians and prisoners. Victims were subject to vivisection, biological weapon testing, and other horrific procedures. 

Guttural screams echo through the forest. Taking turns and all at once, they yell the words their ancestors did not. “You killed my people.” “My people were tortured to death!” “My people were raped.” Their cries, deepening and growing, resemble animalistic pains of the spirit realms. “Our ancestor are here with us, we are crying their tears. We are protesting what they held in silence.” Through the fighting tears, a voice says, ”I asked my Filipino grandmother what her first date was, thinking she would say something about romance, but she replied that her first memory was of the Japanese invasion of her farming village and the screams she heard before she refused to say anything else." 

The Japanese invaded the Philippines in 1941, committing numerous atrocities against the Filipino population, including the Bataan Death March, where thousands of prisoners of war were forced to march under harsh conditions. The Japanese established a brutal regime, mistreating Filipinos, including forcing them into labor, and young woman into brothels. The Japanese occupation of the Philippines had a devastating impact on the country, with an estimated 500,000 Filipinos dying during the occupation which ended 3 years later. Japanese rule ended with Japan’s defeat in World War II on August 15, 1945, leading to Korea’s liberation and eventual division.

"I am so angry. I am in so much pain. This is not my grief and it is my grief. This is our grief. This is all of our grief." The elder of the group shares, "Grandmother, grandfather, we are here together to honor you, thank you for your sacrifices and hear your pain. You will no longer be silenced." "Grandmother, you have suffered so much for us. Thank you for all of the sacrifices you made so we could be here today. 할머니, 이제 쉬세요 (halmeoni, ije shieseyo)." "Grandmother, you can rest now." In a sea of chanting the Koreans exclaim, "Yes, grandmother, grandfather, we are here. Hear our cries, we remember you and you will never be forgotten. 할머니 할아버지, 이제 쉬세요 (halmeoni harabeoji, ije shiseyo)." They all collectively exclaim, ”Grandmother, grandfather, you can rest now. Please rest now, you can rest." Their wails turn to cries and whimpers into silent tears. 

Contemporary sentiments toward Japan in the Asian countries it once colonized remain deeply influenced by historical grievances. While Japan has issued multiple apologies over the years, critics often view them as insincere or undermined by contradictory actions, such as officials visiting the Yasukuni Shrine or downplaying wartime atrocities in school textbooks. In South Korea, issues like the unresolved comfort women dispute and forced labor compensation continue to fuel anti-Japanese sentiment. In China, where memories of the Nanjing Massacre and Japanese aggression remain vivid, resentment can sometimes erupt into violence; a notable example occurred in 2024, when a Japanese schoolboy was stabbed in Shenzhen, highlighting how deep-rooted tensions can flare into tragic acts, especially amid periods of diplomatic strain.

Blowing their noses and hugging, the eight Koreans, Chinese, and Filipino participants step out of the inner triangle of benches and sit on the outer benches. It is time for the witnessers to enter the inner circle. The three members of Japanese ancestry, who had been sitting on the outer benches witnessing, shuffle into the inner circle, with their arms at their sides, their heads held low and eyes downcast. They hold their hands and murmurs of “I’m sorry,” reverberate. “I feel like a shell.” “I feel numb.” A long prayer in Japanese is said aloud by the man who had assembled the benches: “I want to say sorry but even saying sorry in the language my ancestors used feels weak and anemic after the depths of violence that our people perpetrated, but at the same time I know that an apology isn’t completely useless either. It's all I have right now.” He looks up at the outer circle and says “gomennasai,” or I’m sorry.” He continues to cry, hold his fists in the air and puts his hands on the backs of the other Japanese participants in the circle. They hold each other and cry until members from the outer circle encircle them and they all cry together. 

We cannot heal what we do not name. But naming is only the beginning. 

Healing continues through grief, through truth, through being together.

Through remembering. Through mourning. Through the courage to say:

“You can rest now.”