Those of us privileged enough to have served as Prime Minister tend, in later years, to reflect on the achievements and disappointments of our time in office. Some observers may think that we are preoccupied with great legacy issues only and how they will be viewed by history. In my case that would include the Canada-US Free Trade Agreement, NAFTA, the Canada-US Acid Rain treaty, elimination of the manufacturers sales tax and the introduction of the GST, participation in the Gulf-war, Meech Lake Accord, and the creation of 'le Sommet de la Francophonie'. And, of course, the leadership of the Commonwealth in the fight against apartheid.

But as I get older I particularly savour those decisions and actions – that only a prime minister can initiate – and that have had lasting and beneficial effects on an individual, a family or a group of people. Not questions of earth shattering consequence perhaps or those that stand out dramatically in the great sweep of history. But actions that made my decision to enter public life so very worthwhile because of the lives they touched so directly.

Within hours of entering the House of Commons as Leader of the Opposition in September 1983 – 25 years ago – I was confronted with the explosive and historically vexing question of minority language rights in Manitoba. Many journalists wrote that the issue was thrown out by the Government of the day in an attempt to divide the party under my leadership, giving rise to the opportunity to declare subsequently that if I couldn't unite the caucus on this issue, how could I unite the country after an election. I dealt with this issue in the following words, while bringing my party to unanimous support of the parliamentary resolution: “This resolution compels us to remember our overriding commitments in this country of almost limitless space, overflowing with great opportunities for the future. These commitments comprise a respect for our linguistic and other minorities, a long-held desire to encourage their flowering, and the duty to protect the rights of our minorities – wherever they are.

The issue before us is also one of simple justice. There is no painless way to proceed. There is no blame to be apportioned. There are no motives to be impugned. There is only the sanctity of minority rights. There is no obligation more compelling and no duty more irresistible in Canada than to ensure that our minorities, linguistic and otherwise, live at all times in conditions of fairness and justice." Those final words were my bedrock beliefs and the inspiration for my stand on individual or minority rights from my early years throughout my time in office until this very day.

I appointed the Royal Commission on Nazi War criminals residing in Canada. I intervened to ensure justice for David Milgaard and his family. I acted on behalf of Italian Canadians and led the Commonwealth against apartheid and for the liberation of Nelson Mandela. And I acted to bring justice – long denied justice – to the Japanese Canadian community for the damage done to them during World War II.

On June 29, 1984, Pierre Trudeau entered the House of Commons for the last time as Prime Minister. I rose as Leader of the Opposition and invited him to act to remove the stain on our national character owing to the abusive and illegal treatment Canada had meted out years earlier to our fellow citizens of Japanese origin. “On this," I said, “his final day, would the Prime Minister grasp the moment to right a historic wrong that has been inflicted? Will the Prime Minister, on this special day, take the time to convey, either on behalf of the government or on behalf of the Parliament of Canada, a formal apology to Japanese Canadian citizens whose rights were so trampled upon in the war years? I think it would be a gesture that would sit well with all Canadians who believe so fundamentally in the sanctity of minority rights."

I then took my seat to await the prime minister's answer. Instead of taking the opportunity to soothe the quiet pain of thousands of our fellow citizens, he said: "Why does he not apologize for what happened to Riel? Why does he not apologize for what happened during the Second World War to mothers and fathers of people sitting in this House who went to concentration camps? I know some of them, Mr. Speaker. They were not Japanese Canadians. They were Canadians of Italian or German origin, or some old French Canadians who went to jail, who went to concentration camps during the Second World War. Why do we not apologize to them?... Why suddenly only the Japanese, Mr. Speaker? Is it because there are no votes in it?...Yes, come on. Is it because there are no votes in Manitoba for his party? Is it because there are no votes in all the other groups… I do not think it is the purpose of a government to right the past. I cannot rewrite history."

I have to admit I felt no anger against Mr. Trudeau that day for his insensitive response – only a great deal of sadness. To heal, to build a better nation involves passion and concern not just sterile, unfeeling reason. At that moment, I resolved to act on behalf of the Japanese Canadian community if and when I became Prime Minister. On September 17, 1984 my new government was sworn in and Multiculturalism Minister Jack Murta announced publicly we would be proceeding with a formal apology to Japanese Canadians for the mistreatment during the second world war. In an editorial the next day the Globe and Mail stated: "One could scarcely have asked for a more satisfying start for the new Conservative Government than a sign of willingness to try to clean up an old stain on the national character."…"It is not easy to understand why the Government of Pierre Trudeau made heavy weather of so obvious an obligation. The demands of common decency are at last being met."

Four years later following intensive consultation and negotiation with the community and its representatives I entered the House of Commons to formally announce an apology and measures of redress. The House was hushed and emotions were high as I rose to speak:

"Perhaps the most important element of this redress is the official acknowledgement of the wrongs of the 1940s. But redress must go beyond words and laws – important as they are for our present understanding and our future actions.

No amount of money can right the wrong, undo the harm, and heal the wounds. But it is symbolic of our determination to address this issue, not only in the moral sense, but also in a tangible way. In that spirit, we will accept applications for the granting of Canadian citizenship to eligible persons or Japanese ancestry, still living, who were expelled from Canada or had their citizenship revoked during these years. We will also accept requests for the clearing of names of eligible persons of Japanese ancestry who were convicted of violations under the War Measures Act and the National Emergency Transitional Powers Act. As well, in commemoration of all who suffered these injustices, we will establish a Canadian race relations foundation to foster racial harmony and cross-cultural understanding. Mr. Speaker, the treatment of Japanese Canadians in wartime was not only unjustified on moral and legal grounds, it went against the grain of the country itself.

We are a pluralistic society.

We respect one another's language, opinions and religious beliefs. We celebrate our linguistic duality, and our multicultural diversity. We rejoice in the strengths of our regions, in the knowledge that they strengthen the whole. We are a tolerant people living in freedom in an abundant land.

That is the Canada which our forebears worked to build. That is the Canada we wish to leave to our own children. As inadequate as apologies are, they are the only way we can cleanse the past so that we may in good conscience face the future. Mr. Speaker, I know I speak for members of all sides of the House in offering to Japanese Canadians the formal and genuine apology of this Parliament for those past injustices and our solemn commitment to Canadians of every origin that they will never be repeated."

As I concluded my remarks and took my seat, I looked up at the galleries, overflowing with elderly Japanese Canadians, many in tears, and their families, and saw an outpouring of raw emotion from a group of loyal Canadians whose reputations and honour had been tarnished and besmirched by a government that had led Canada from that very chamber almost fifty years earlier.

After the apology and the announcement of the $300 million compensation package we'd negotiated with the Canadian Association of Japanese Canadians, I received a poignant letter from His Eminence Cardinal Carter, the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Toronto, which read: "At this moment I wish to address you, not to offer advice nor to point out an obligation but to commend you most highly as a humble citizen of this country for your historical gesture to our Japanese fellow countrymen. For better or for worse, I was old enough at the time of the events to be very conscious of them, and while I understood the distress and the war hysteria under which we all laboured, even at that juncture I felt a great hurt and a deep sadness. If ever there was a collective miscarriage of justice and a condemning of persons as guilty without proof this was it…I love my country. I have seldom been ashamed of her, and this one exception is now expunged by your gracious and timely intervention. I speak for no one but myself, but I am convinced that my sentiments reflect a consensus particularly of those of us who were alive and grown up at the time of this unfortunate lapse from grace and judgment."

What happened to the Japanese Canadians in wartime must never be allowed to happen again in this country which is why my government then revoked the War Measures Act – the legal instrument that enabled this odious decision to be implemented and replaced it with a much more sensitive and reasonable piece of legislation. What happened to 22,000 Canadians then was one of the most shameful episodes in the history of our country. What happened to them was that they lost their jobs, their homes, and their savings, while they were separated from their families and forcibly relocated, either to camps, or to other parts of the country away from the West Coast. The Japanese Canadians lost everything – except their dignity, their personal honour and their tenacious sense that, in spite of everything, this was their country.

A prolific and gifted Japanese Canadian writer named Muriel Kitagawa, wrote in The New Canadian in March of 1942: "Whatever comes, let us forge a record of dignity and endurance to leave as a proud legacy for our sons and daughters."

To her four children, including twins born during her family's relocation, she left an extraordinary literary legacy in her writings during and after the war, later collected in a remarkable book entitled: "This Is My Own", meaning my own family, my own community, my own country.

Of the 22,000 Canadians who were re-located during the war, 17,000 of them, including Muriel, were naturalized or native-born Canadians, "Nisei" or second generation Canadians such as herself.

There was never a shred of evidence, then or later, of any disloyalty to Canada. Indeed, the attempts of many Japanese Canadians to enlist in our armed forces were rudely rebuffed.

The Canadian government did this to citizens of our own country primarily because the American government was doing it to theirs. It was purely in a pathetic conformist spirit that our government went along with the American re-location and incarceration of over 120,000 Japanese Americans.

In the prevailing hysteria and paranoia of the day, the Commissioner of the RCMP issued an official warning "To Male Enemy Aliens" to evacuate the "prohibited areas" within weeks.

They were neither enemy, nor alien. They were Canadian.

But I remember thinking on that memorable day in Ottawa 20 years ago, that this was the essence of democracy. Democracy is imperfect, but it generally gets things right, or makes them right, in the end. And I thought too what a high honour it was for me to serve as Prime Minister when Canada finally touched the hearts and souls of those in the Gallery and told them how sorry we were for the searing injustice inflicted upon good and loyal Canadians and how proud we are to have them as citizens of this great nation.

It was a moment in the House of Commons that made me proud to have chosen a career in public service. It is to do good things for Canada that people of all political persuasions actually go into politics – and on a September day in 1988 we did precisely that.

Muriel Kitigawa must have known that in 1947, when she wrote: "It is not enough to be a native Canadian, and accept that mere birth alone is everything: privileges, responsibilities, pride, allegiance. One must grow into citizenship; one must shoulder the responsibility before there is any real joy in the privileges; one must be vigilant for the honour of one's country, its integrity, else how can one say with pride: I am Canadian."

And she concluded with a line from a poem by Sir Walter Scott: "This is my home, my native land." For her life, and the lives of other Japanese Canadians in wartime, Canada can be grateful. They were gentle but persistent patriots, who loved our country in spite of everything, and made it a better place. For their lives, we are a better people, living in a better land.