But Frank just nodded and draped his arm across her shoulders. “Of course you did. I’m just glad you’re both safe.” He looked at Ralph. “Are we safe? Do you think they might come after you?”
“I don’t know,” Ralph said. “I don’t think so, but after all I saw tonight, I don’t know anything for sure.”
Frank looked thoughtful, then got up, picked up a makeshift crowbar fashioned out of scrap metal, and gripped it firmly. “Someone should stand guard, just in case,” he said. “I’ve been asleep for nearly half the day, so I’ll take first shift.”
Etsuko stood. “I will tell Taizo and Jiro and Horace. They will want to arm themselves as well.” She gave Ruth a kiss. “You are a good sister, butterfly.”
Ruth tried to sleep, but as exhausted as she was, she couldn’t. Every time she closed her eyes she saw that young man, wrapped in a shroud of blood and falling, falling forever in her memory.
* * *
His name was James Ito: seventeen years old, from Pasadena, shot through the heart and abdomen and pronounced DOA at the Manzanar hospital. The other fatality was Katsuji “Jim” Kanagawa, twenty-one, from Tacoma, Washington. Dr. Goto had labored to repair the perforations in Kanagawa’s stomach, lung, and pancreas, but he died of bronchial pneumonia five days later. Nine other men, ranging in age from twenty to fifty, recovered from bullet wounds. Dr. Goto’s report stated that all of the wounded but for James Ito were shot in the side or back, indicating they were running away. When the Army told Goto to change his findings, the doctor refused—and was summarily fired and transferred to another camp.
Two soldiers—privates Ramon Cherubini and Tobe Moore—had been the ones to start shooting, firing their weapons into the crowd as parts appeared to be advancing on them. Authorities determined that they acted in self-defense, and they were not prosecuted.
Well into Monday morning, Manzanar was in a state of barely contained chaos. Martial law was declared; meetings were broken up by MPs with tear gas. Throughout the night there were attacks on suspected inus.
Army reinforcements and California State Guard troops were called in to keep order. There were scattered work strikes. Schools closed. Many pro-American Japanese sought protective custody in MP headquarters, and by Wednesday sixty-five people—including Fred Tayama and Free Press staffers Chiye Mori, Satoru Kamikawa, Joe Blamey, and Ted Uyeno—were removed from Manzanar for their own safety. Jobs were found for them in nonmilitary zones in the Midwest and Northeast as part of the WRA’s “work furlough” program that allowed evacuees out of the camps if they relocated from the West Coast. Fifteen men thought to be the prime instigators of the riot—including Harry Ueno, who had been sitting in a jail cell the whole time—were ultimately sent to Tule Lake Relocation Center in Northern California.
The Free Press suspended publication for twenty days, and when it returned no mention was made of the revolt of December 6.
On December 21, a Buddhist funeral was held for James Ito and Jim Kanagawa in the woods outside the camp. Only 150 internees were permitted to attend. The rest of the camp’s residents, most wearing black armbands in honor of the fallen, observed a two-minute prayer and moment of silence at one P.M.
As she stood silently among the mourners inside the camp, Ruth grieved not just for the two young men but for everyone in Manzanar. This was insanity, all of it. Valid grievances had turned into senseless brutality, on all sides. In her heart she was deeply afraid—afraid that the violence and death had marked everyone at Manzanar as suspect, as potentially dangerous subversives. She feared that even if the war ended tomorrow, the authorities would never permit the ten thousand souls imprisoned here to leave—and that the mountainous walls surrounding them would be the farthest horizons that they would ever know.
Chapter 11
1943
Taizo liked to sit in the wooden chair outside his apartment, gazing at the Japanese rock garden an ambitious neighbor in Barrack 4 had wrought from the blistering forge of the desert. It was a karesansui, a Zen or meditation garden, at its center a “lake” of white sand—artfully raked to mimic gentle waves combing the surface—with stones of quartz floating on the lake like crystalline islands. A miniature footbridge connected the “shore” to the largest island, a pyramid of granite rocks that represented Mount Horai, the mountain paradise of Shintō legend and symbol of a natural world of perfect harmony. During Taizo’s first months here this garden was a solace to his spirit. He could stare at it, meditating, for hours, and the reality of life at Manzanar did not disappear but lost its power to affect him.
But now he could find no solace in the white waves of sand. The loss of his farm and home was a bitter harvest not of his own sowing; all that was left to him was his dignity. Now he had been shorn of even that, and by his own daughter’s hand. When Dai had feared for her brother’s life and both Frank and Haruo lay abed, had she come to her father? Had she shown him the respect he was due as head of the family and asked for his help in the search? No; she had gone off her own, dismissing her otōsan as a fragile relic too old to be of any assistance. Ever since his collapse in the fields the family treated him as if he were made of porcelain and with one bump might shatter like an old plate. But he was still a man. He was happy Dai and Ryuu were unharmed, but she should have shown the proper respect to him as a man.
Tears were trickling down his face and he wiped them away before anyone could see. He was proud of Dai, her courage and spirit; all he had wanted was one last chance to make her proud of him.
“Hey, Pop!”
Ralph came running up, holding a folded-up newspaper. Taizo concealed his sadness with a smile. “Ryuu, what brings you here so early?”
“Big news!” He rapped on the apartment door. “Hey, Sis! Frank!”
Ruth and Frank came out, equally surprised to see Ralph. “FDR just announced it,” Ralph said, opening the paper. “The Army’s going to form an all-Nisei infantry battalion!”
A few days earlier, the War Department had unexpectedly announced that it was rescinding its ban on Japanese American citizens serving in the armed forces and they were now free to volunteer for military service.
“It’s going to be called the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, and the Army is calling for volunteers from both Hawai'i and the mainland.”
“Looks like the JACL is getting what it wanted,” Frank noted.
“But get this,” Ralph went on. “Now FDR says, quote, ‘Americanism is not, and never was, a matter of race and ancestry. A good American is one who is loyal to this country and to our creed of liberty and democracy. Every loyal American citizen should be given the opportunity to serve this country…’”
Ruth looked incredulous at that. “Americanism isn’t a matter of race and ancestry? Then what the hell are we all doing in this sand trap?”
“It’s a first step,” Ralph said. “At the Free Press we’ve heard rumors that the government’s started to have second thoughts about this whole internment. They’re already speeding up the work furlough program. And now there’s this.”
“I think it is an excellent idea,” came a voice from behind them. They all turned to see their neighbor, Takeyoshi Arikawa, a proud smile on his face as he walked toward them. “Our son Frank is going to be part of this regiment. It will be his chance to show his loyalty. They will represent us all, all of us who love America.”
“Congratulations, Arikawa-san,” Taizo said, knowing what this meant for his friend and neighbor. “I am sure your son will acquit himself nobly.”
Ruth had to admit to herself, she was surprised. After the riot, she never thought the government would trust any Japanese again.
But of course, it would not be as easy as all that.
* * *
A week later an Army team descended on Manzanar, and two separate “registration forms” were distributed to all households. The first, for Nisei men, was a Selective Service form, “Statement of United States Citizen of Japanese Ancestry.” The second, given to Nisei
women and all Issei, was a War Relocation Authority form, “Application for Leave Clearance”—“leave” as in relocation via the work furlough program. The questions were mostly innocuous, asking for the registrants’ sex, age, marital status—but two were far from innocuous, requiring unambiguous, unqualified yes/no answers:
Question 27 asked Nisei men:
Are you willing to serve in the armed forces of the United States on combat duty wherever ordered?
The equivalent for Nisei women—and, oddly, Issei of both sexes—was:
If the opportunity presents itself and you are found qualified, would you be willing to volunteer for the Army Nurse Corps or the WAAC?
Question 28 was substantially the same on both forms:
Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States of America … and forswear any form of allegiance or obedience to the Japanese emperor, or other foreign government, power, or organization?
Question 28 exploded like a grenade in all ten relocation camps, and the uneasy peace in the wake of the Manzanar riot was shattered in a blast of anger, bewilderment, and indignation. Worse, it broke the bonds of family, and the Watanabes were no exception.
* * *
After Pearl Harbor, many Nisei men wanted to defend their nation, only to be told that their ancestry marked them as potentially suspect. Now the Army, represented by a team holding informational meetings in Manzanar mess halls, told them, “Signing this statement will give you the opportunity to prove your loyalty to the nation on the field of battle.”
“We didn’t prove it when we peacefully agreed to leave our homes and come to this damn place?” a man shouted back. “You didn’t ask Germans or Italians to prove their loyalty—how many times do we have to?”
The Army officers had no ready answer for this.
“Yes,” said another Nisei, “why do you ask for our loyalty after you’ve done all the damage to our lives?”
“If we answer ‘yes’ to these questions, will our privileges and rights as citizens be restored? Can our families go back to our homes?”
The Army team allowed that that was not yet possible.
“Would I be considered disloyal if I answer ‘no’ only to Question 27?”
“Why can’t we serve alongside white soldiers?”
“Will we receive restitution for the loss of our homes and businesses?”
Again, the officers had no ready answers.
In the absence of clarity from the Army, many families had to puzzle out the meaning and consequences of the questions for themselves. The Watanabes gathered for this purpose one morning while all the children were in school, all eight adults squeezing into Taizo and Etsuko’s apartment.
The first comment was Jiro’s, and typical Jiro it was:
“Do you think,” he asked, “I should volunteer for the Army Nurse Corps or the WAACs?”
Everyone but Taizo laughed. Etsuko said dryly, “I do not see you in a nurse’s uniform. The WAAC uniform might flatter you more.”
“What a damnfool question!” Taizo snapped, as irritated by Jiro’s flippancy as by the question itself. “It is almost as foolish as Question 28. The same government that denies me citizenship because of my race wants me to forswear any allegiance to Japan? To renounce my Japanese citizenship? Am I to become a man without a country, with no allegiance, no home, no rights?”
Ruth had never heard such outrage in her father’s voice.
“And if we do answer ‘no’ to these questions,” Jiro said, “what can they do to us? Put us in a concentration camp?”
Ralph answered grimly, “They can put you in a worse concentration camp, like Tule Lake—or they might deport you back to Japan.”
Jiro sighed. “Would that be so awful? My son is over there somewhere—perhaps I should return and look for him. Nishi, do you agree?”
Nishi said quietly, “I am more afraid that if we answer ‘yes,’ they will send us to some hajukin community where we will be feared and attacked. The stories in the newspaper are terrible, full of hatred toward Japanese—”
“Yes,” Horace agreed, “a coworker of mine went to Idaho last year, on work furlough, to help the farmers harvest their beets. He was told that helping the war effort would be proof of his loyalty. But when they went into a restaurant to eat dinner, the owner called them ‘damn Japs’ and threw them out! They were American citizens, yet they were treated like Japanese soldiers!”
“Why are they even asking Nisei this question?” Ruth said, puzzled. “If we answer ‘yes,’ the Army could interpret it as an admission that we have loyalty to the Japanese emperor, that we are disloyal.”
“They might even take away our citizenship,” Rose pointed out.
“And if Japan wins the war,” Jiro said, “such a statement of loyalty to America could be considered treasonous.”
Frank asked, “If we say ‘yes,’ will that be as good as volunteering to enlist? I’d consider enlisting, but I don’t want to be tricked into doing it.”
Finally, Ruth addressed the group: “All right. Let’s take a poll, see where we all stand. Who’s thinking of saying ‘no’ to Question 27?”
Jiro, Nishi, Taizo, and Etsuko raised their hands—reasonably, since all were well past draft age. Rose and Ruth herself, both of whom had small children to care for, also raised their hands.
“Now, who’s considering answering ‘no’ to Question 28?”
Again Jiro and Nishi raised their hands—and, to the surprise of his children, Taizo. Etsuko asked him, “Otōsan, are you sure?”
“I am sure of nothing,” Taizo answered honestly. “I do not wish to return to Japan. But I do not wish to be a man without a country.”
“Pop,” Ralph said, “if you answer ‘no-no,’ they’ll either deport you or send you to Tule Lake. Then the only way to avoid us being separated as a family is for the rest of us to say ‘no-no.’”
“No! That is not necessary. This is my decision alone.”
“I will not abandon you, husband,” Etsuko said with steel in her voice.
Ruth glanced at Frank, who nodded and said, “We won’t either.”
“Nor we,” Horace agreed.
Taizo took that in. The idea of saying “no-no” was a seductive vent for his anger, but he could not allow his children and grandchildren to suffer the consequences of his anger. He sighed and relented. “Very well. I will answer ‘yes-yes.’ I will even join the WAACs if they ask me.”
Laughter eased the tension, but Jiro, atypically, did not laugh. “Ryuu,” he asked, “will the government allow us to repatriate to Japan voluntarily?”
The laughter receded, leaving a silent tide of sadness in the room.
“Yes, Uncle, if that is what you want,” Ralph said softly. “You’d have to wait until a prisoner exchange is available through the Spanish Consul, who acts as a humanitarian intermediary between the American and Japanese governments.”
Taizo was as shocked and saddened by Jiro’s decision as the rest of the family but he would not allow himself to show it.
“It is what we want,” Jiro said with a nod to his wife. “Our daughters have lives and families here. After the war—whoever wins it—surely we can come back and visit them. But for now, Japan, and Akira, call to us.”
* * *
Jiro and Nishi were not alone. To avoid registration, in February almost a thousand people in all ten relocation centers chose to apply for repatriation to Japan. The next month saw a similar number, and in April the requests for repatriation mushroomed to over fifteen hundred internees.
Unlike Taizo, many Issei fathers answering “no-no” exerted great pressure on their sons to do likewise and many Nisei did so of their own volition, unwilling to abandon their aged parents; filial piety demanded nothing less. Those who answered “yes-yes” risked public shame by those who vehemently disagreed. Nisei who wished to enlist in the Army often had to leave the camp under cover of night.
Registration began on February 10 and was conducted block
by block in a progressive sequence, in mess halls or recreation buildings. Nisei men of draft age were registered separately from women and aliens and were also required to formally answer Questions 27 and 28 in front of an Army colonel.
By the time the Army team reached Block 31, Taizo had had ample time to ponder his dilemma. Despite his assurances to his family, he still feared the consequences of answering “yes” to Question 28, renouncing his ties to Japan while receiving nothing in return. Sitting at one of the mess hall tables alongside other Issei, he again went over the questions. He was suspicious of the phrase “Application for Leave,” as if by signing he was requesting leave to go … where? To some white community where his family would face prejudice and hostility, to “start over”? Everything he and his children had worked for all their lives had been sold, confiscated, stolen. They had little money to start new businesses. Haruo and Frank would likely find new jobs, but Taizo knew he was too old, too Japanese, to be hired by any hajukin firm.
His gaze fell, for the hundredth time, upon the last question, the words having lost none of their frightening implications:
Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States of America … and forswear any form of allegiance or obedience to the Japanese emperor, or other foreign government, power, or organization?
He felt like a man drowning at sea, adrift midway between two ships. The first ship, a Japanese trawler, had thrown him a life preserver that was floating nearby, close enough to him to grasp. The other was an American naval vessel; the captain and crew were yelling at Taizo not to take the Japanese ship’s life preserver but refused to throw out one of their own.
Tears trickled down his face. How had the ship of his life, which had found such welcome shores in Hawai'i, foundered and run aground on the rocky shoals of this damnable California? What if he was deported to Japan? Would his own people regard him as a traitor for immigrating to America?
Daughter of Moloka'i Page 18
