Deepest Condolences

Remembering and Recognizing Injustice Today
(I wrote this article for a local paper after the Ouye family reunion in 2007. I know it is only a small part of who she is but it was how I came to love her. I hope it is well recieved, it is with respect and honor that I post it here.)

by Daisy Ouye

October marks 62 years since the closing of Topaz Internment Camp. The site was recognized this year as a National Historic Landmark thanks to the diligence of the Topaz Museum Board and other supporters. They believe it is important that we remember the strength of the people interned, as well as injustices of former actions of the US federal government.

In central Utah, Topaz held over 8,000 of the 110,000 Japanese Americans unconstitutionally detained during WWII. Japanese Americans who lived along the west coast were treated as a threat to national security. Entire families were stripped of their land, homes, all belongings (except one suitcase), and the freedom that America promises.

Eleven of my partner’s family members were detained at Topaz. We got the opportunity to interview two of them at a family reunion last year. They were on their way to a movie when the bombing of Pearl Harbor took place. The two 19-year-old girls, Hatsue and Margaret, along with another friend, had the car radio on. “Japan just bombed the United States....We gotta go home,” Margaret said as they relived the moment.

Hatsue added, That’s what we did and we pulled the shades down.”

I asked them why, and Margaret said, “We were afraid because of the discrimination. They never considered us American citizens.” She casually imitated the kind of slurs they’d become used to: “ ‘There goes another Jap.’ ”

Anti-Japanese government propaganda created a backdrop of fear and hate that permeated society. It was this atmosphere that made these detention camps possible.

Under Executive Order 9066, “All persons of Japanese Ancestry” were instructed to report to so-called ‘civil stations’. “My family and Hatsue’s family, we all went on the same bus to the Tanforan Racetrack. That was our first home.” Margaret, who turned 86 this year, is wonderfully good-natured. She told us that “Families of four or less lived in horse stalls, and of course some families would write ‘Seabiscuit’ above the door,” she laughed with Hatsue. “And Hats”, she joked, “She was lucky. She had a big family. She had the honor of sleeping in the tar paper barracks. The floors were wide boards. I remember grass would grow between the boards. They’d be mowing the floors.” They laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Hatsue Ouye and Margaret Ouye were childhood friends, who married my partner, DK Ouye’s great uncles, Seigo and Joe. They giggled like schoolgirls and we were enthralled. Then the mood changed when Hatsue said “I had a scholarship to go to school, but the war just ended everything.”

After six months at Tanforan, they were taken on a train to Delta where most of them would stay for the remainder of the war. They truly made homes of the windowless tarpaper barracks that stood in rows behind barbed wire. With armed guards in towers watching, they carried on with life, making gardens, art, and their own newspaper and school, all under a common philosophy of “Shikata Ga Nai” or “It cannot be helped.”

In February of 1943, the Army’s loyalty registration and recruitment program required detainees over the age of 17 to answer a series of questions. The two that stood out asked them if they would swear allegiance to America and denounce Japan, and if they would serve in the US military anywhere they were ordered to.

“On the questionnaire—28 and 29”, Margaret said, “I feel I’m an American citizen. I gotta do whatever my government says. My whole family said yes. And now they talk about this no/no and the yes/yes people. They were considered no/no dogs—sent to Tule Lake. We were the yes/yes. We were supposed to be the better citizens.”

Hatsue’s family members also answered yes. “I guess, in a way, the war completely disrupted our family,” she said. That was an understatement.

Many of those who responded to the questions did so with a qualified yes-if their civil rights were restored. The War Department replied that only mutual confidence and cooperation could restore loyal Japanese Americans to their civil rights. The present program was not complete rehabilitation but the first step in that direction. The US government maintained that it had evidenced its faith in loyal Japanese Americans by giving them the opportunity to serve their country...to demonstrate to the American people that they have faith in America.

As a result, one third of the no responses changed to yes, including the answer given by my partner’s great uncle, Tomatsu Ouye. We are fortunate to have obtained a recorded interview from 1983 done by a high school student with Tomatsu. He was detained at Topaz when he was drafted into the Army.

“If none of us had fought in the war we...would have been in the same shoe as before the war started. We would work for peanuts,” Tomatsu said.

They wanted to prove loyalty, gain release for their parents, or just have the ability to assimilate. They would become the 442nd, the most decorated unit in US history.

“Roosevelt wanted one regiment, or division if he could get it, all of one race: Japanese. So he didn’t care whether we got exterminated or lived. He didn’t care...But it turned out the other way.”

This segregated unit was sent on the most dangerous of missions, including the rescue of the “Lost Battalion.” They suffered 800 casualties to rescue 211 men. The regiment from Texas, named them “honorary Texans.”

Tomatsu received seven citations for bravery and made it home to his family. More than half of the 18,000 Japanese Americans who served as the 442nd died, literally, fighting for their freedom.

We visited Topaz two years ago for the dedication of a new site marker and a veteran’s memorial that would bear Tomatsu’s name. The previous marker was used for target practice and the vast acreage was used as an unofficial garbage dump and place for underage drinking parties. Small signs marked locations of the library, metal shop, and where some of the other buildings were on what is now a National Historic Site.

The Topaz Museum Board, now with federal backing and protection, will continue archaeology work, curation of artifacts, recording of oral history, and plans to offer guided tours at the site.

We asked Hatsue and Margaret if they saw similarities between the government’s actions of the 40’s and those of today

Margaret said, “Now it’s all come out about the no/no and the yes/yes. I read the Japanese newspaper and that keeps coming out. This new Lieutenant Watada. He said he’s not gonna go fight in Iraq. He said that’s not a real war. Now the yes/yes seem to say your government paid to send you to school you gotta do whatever they say. The no/nos say he’s brave and he’ll do anything else, just not fight in Iraq, so that evens it out. He’s speaking his opinion,” she summed up with a smile. Margaret was born Masako and that is the name on her birth certificate but she has gone by the name Margaret since she was a girl and a teacher said her name was “too Japanesey, too hard to remember. As of today, you’re Margaret,” a name her mother had trouble pronouncing.

After consideration, Hatsue told us, “One thing I can say, they kept it a secret. The people back east didn’t know what was happening to us.”

There are many parallels. Anti-Muslim and anti-Arab hostility and black sites for unlawful detainment that includes torture are today’s backdrops. New veterans memorials will be built. Remembering and understanding the realities of this history is truly important. But it is not enough just to remember. We must learn to recognize, speak out, and take action against the injustices of today.

Daisy Ouye is a frequent contributor to Works in Progress.