Never forget the internment of Japanses Americans in 1942

MEMORIES OF A BEST FRIEND
The following in memory of my best friend Tazako and her family was published in a major San Francisco Bay Area newspaper on April 13, 1995. I never forgave President Roosevelt and still feel great sadness after all these years on the 65th aniversary of that terrible event.

MEMORIES OF A BEST FRIEND
By BumbleBeeBoogie

The 50th anniversary of President Roosevelt's death brings back painful memories of a terrible time in America when unjustified (and illegal?) actions were taken against Japanese- American citizens in war time hysteria. We need to remember so it never can happen again.

Tazako became my best friend in 1939 when her family, who owned the area's only plant nursery, moved to my town. We both were in the 6th grade. Her father and mother immigrated from Japan in 1936, bringing their three little girls with them to make a new life and to escape the war they knew was coming.

Tazako's father was a shy thin man with gray-streaked black hair. His face was sun-tanned from hours spent out doors transplanting flower seedlings from the green house in the back of the nursery. He spoke little English, but we talked for hours about the flowers and how to grow them. When his English failed, he showed me how to plant seeds, transplant them into larger containers, and prune shrubs and trees to promote their growth.

Tazako's mother, a sweet petite woman, sold plants and cut flowers in a little office tucked away in the corner of the nursery where she taught me how to arrange flowers in the Japanese style. Her English was little better than her husband's. When they were not in school, the three daughters helped her with customer translations.

After school, Tazako and I often walked to the small house the family rented at the rear of the nursery's lot. Although we were from different cultures, we were alike in what eleven year old girls all over the world like to do---play games and talk about boys. I was one of the few caucasians welcomed into their home because they knew I loved their close-knit family and their old-country customs.

Tazako and her two older sisters, who had quickly become fluent English speakers, were impatient with their parent's Japanese old-country ways. It was a time when immigrants believed they had to give up their heritage and assimilate into the American culture. The girls never invited their parents to school functions because they were embarrassed by their poor English. They insisted that English be spoken in their home, which was hard for the parents, and they resisted.

When the birth of their mother's forth child drew near, the three girls, Michiko, Umiko and Tazako, pleaded that the baby, the family's first child to be born in America, be given an American name. When a robust boy was born, he was named Harry.

My close friendship with Tazako was shattered on Sunday, December 7, 1941, when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. We all were scared. I never will forget my fifteen year old brother sitting on the front porch of our home, defiantly challenging the unseen enemy, pointing his 22 rifle at the evening sky to protect his family. "Let them come," he snarled, "I'll shoot them out of the sky!"

The three girls did not come to school on Monday after Pearl Harbor was bombed. Our homeroom teacher discussed with the students how embarrassed the girls would be when they returned on Tuesday. She said we should treat them with kindness because they had nothing to do with what happened at Pearl Harbor. It was painful for the girls when they returned to school and most of the students were kind, but a few made their lives miserable. I got into a fist fight with one boy who taunted Tazako, accusing her of being a traitor.

Several weeks went by. Gradually calm returned and the girls settled into their school routines. Our homes now had block warden-approved black-out curtains hanging in their windows. Our town's young men didn't hesitate to enlist in the army and navy. (Later, thousands of young Japanese-American men would enlist in the army's Rainbow Division and be sent to Europe to fight and die for the United States.)

Then, without warning, came President Roosevelt's order to move all ethnic Japanese regardless of whether or not they were American citizens, to "relocation camps" in the mid-west. I was heart-broken when I learned what was to happen to my friends. Frantically, I pestered my mother and father about what could be done. They offered no answers. I thought about the girls insisting their parents abandon their Japanese ways and become real Americans and now the government wanted to send them away. In my twelve-year old mind, I hoped the only president I had ever known would not send the family away if he knew they were good, simple people.

One afternoon I sat down at the dining room table and wrote a letter in despair to President Roosevelt. I described Tazako's family and what good loyal Americans they were and pleaded with FDR to let my friends stay in their home. I walked to the postoffice and mailed my letter to the White House in Washington, D.C. I never received a reply.

Tazako's family was frantic because their nursery could be lost because there was no time to find someone to take over the lease. The family were told they would be allowed to take only what possessions they could carry with them on the train to the camp. What to take? What part of their lives could they leave behind? I cried for my friend as I helped her choose what to take. They packed clothing and family photographs into suitcases and boxes tied with twine. They didn't even know where they were going and no address was known for receiving letters. (Years later, I learned they were afraid to receive letters from friends because of fear they would be censored and the friends might be investigated by the government.) Tazako's family just disappeared one day after the soldiers took them to the train depot to begin their journey to the concentration camps in a mid-western state.

Finally in 1946, after the war was over, the family was released from the camp and they returned to our town. Tazako, Michiko, Umiko and Harry finally were considered American enough to live among us. By that time Tazako and I were in our senior year at High School. The nursery had been gone for a long time, converted into retail stores surrounded by concrete where once beautiful trees and shrubs had grown. The family had no resources to start over again.

I never told Tazako about my letter to the president in 1942---it would have been meaningless. We were older and soon to be graduated from high school, but Tazako's trust was gone. Nothing was he same between us again.

More Japanese internment history
JAPANESE/AMERICANS.

After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, 16,849 Americans of Japanese ancestry were relocated in ten specially built War Relocation Authority Camps in the USA. Most of these camps were located in California. Opened in March, 1942, all were closed by 1946 most internees being released well before the end of the war.

In Latin America, around 2,000 Japanese were rounded up so the US would have prisoners to exchange with Japan. During their internment, 5,918 babies were born.

A total of 2,355 internees joined the US armed forces and around 150 were killed in combat. The 100th/442nd Regimental Combat Team was formed after its members petitioned Congress for the privilege to serve in the war. It became the most decorated unit in US military history earning 21 Medals of Honor as well as 9,486 Purple Hearts.

After the war, 4,724 US citizens of Japanese ancestry, angered by this terrible injustice, renounced their American citizenship and returned to Japan. It is strange that in Hawaii, the ethnic Japanese, over 30% of the Hawaiian population, were not interned after Pearl Harbor. There were no renunciants among the German or Italian/Americans.

The US Government later agreed that the nation had acted hastily in its treatment of aliens and that the vast majority of them were loyal to America. Deaths from natural causes in the camps accounted for another 1,862. (During the war, a total of 51,156 Italian nationals were also interned in the USA. In 1942 there were around 600,000 Italian residents in the USA. All were branded 'enemy aliens' by the US Government).

Source: San Jose Mercury News

Walter
Not all of the U.S. Internees were Japanese. A white woman friend of mine, who was married to a Japanese man, insisted on going with him to the concentration camps during WWII. She told me of other mixed race families who refused to be seperated.

http://academic.udayton.edu/race/03justice/aspilaws.htm

Speaking of interracial couples, the targeted banner ads make fun of this thread, advertising "Japanese Singles".

I have been collecting and reading elementary level books (for a future classroom library. One such book is called Farewell to Manzanar by Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston and her husband James D. Houston. It is a first person recounting, many decades after the fact.

Re: Never forget the internment of Japanses Americans in 194

One of my greatest frustrations about this episode is that this outrage was not a constitutional violation, according to the United States' final authority in the matter. The Supreme Court held Roosevelt's executive order to be constitutional in Korematsu v. United States. It has never overruled this decision since. Hence, as far as the federal courts are concerned, the legal basis for this atrocity remains good constitutional law to this day.