Nisei Identity and Reconciliation

Transcription

Olin College of Engineering
DigitalCommons@Olin
2014 AHS Capstone Projects
AHS Capstone Projects
Spring 2014
Nisei Identity and Reconciliation: Exploring the
Japanese American Internment through Literature
Sarah Seko
Olin College of Engineering, [email protected]
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Capstone Projects. Paper 19.
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Seko, Final Project Submission
Sarah Seko
AHS Capstone – Spring 2014
05/05/2014
Nisei Identity and Reconciliation:
Exploring the Japanese American Internment through Literature
Today, the mass relocation and internment of Japanese Americans during World War II
is widely remembered as a grave injustice and shameful period of American history. However,
for decades, the events of the internment were shrouded by silence both within and outside of
the Japanese American community. Following the war, the Japanese American population
emerged as a “model minority,” returning to American society and excelling in academic and
professional careers. Despite this outward success, the internment operated as a catalyst for
the cultural and personal identity struggles of many nisei, second generation Japanese
Americans. One unifying characteristic of the returning internees was their silence regarding
the years they spent imprisoned behind barbed wire. For many, the events were too painful to
remember and were associated with intense feelings of shame and guilt. One nisei woman,
Mary Sakaguchi Oda, wrote:
"Because of the humiliation and shame, I could never tell my four children my
true feelings about that event in 1942. I did not want my children to feel the
burden of shame and feeling of rejection by their fellow Americans. I wanted
them to feel that in spite of what was done to us, this was still the best place in
the world to live." (Brimner 79)
Until the birth of the redress movement in the 1970s, Japanese Americans
remained reluctant to share their wartime experiences, even among their own families.
However, two works of Japanese American literature emerged during these early years
of nisei silence. John Okada’s novel No-no Boy and Monica Sone’s memoir, Nisei
Daughter, were both written during the 1950s. Although the two works present vastly
different World War II experiences, they each communicate the relevant issues of
Japanese American identity, alienation, and reconciliation, providing unique and
surprisingly hopeful voices for the nisei generation. However, through their depiction of
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accelerated reconciliation and recovery, the books disregard the significance of
remembering the internment as part of the healing process.
On December 7, 1941, Japanese planes bombed the United States naval base at Pearl
Harbor, setting in motion a series of events that would forever alter the lives of thousands of
Japanese Americans. The following day, the United States issued a formal declaration of war
against Japan. At the time, over 110,000 Americans of Japanese descent resided in the western
states of California, Oregon, and Washington. In less than four months, the entirety of this
group, distinguished solely by their Japanese ancestry, would be forcibly evacuated from their
homes and interned in camps by the U.S. government.
The internment was fueled by wartime hysteria and racial prejudice against Japanese
Americans following the attack on Pearl Harbor. Blurring the distinction between Japanese
Americans and Japan, the news media unjustly depicted Japanese Americans as disloyal. An
editorial published in the Los Angeles Times illustrates this point:
“A viper is nonetheless a viper wherever the egg is hatched.... So, a Japanese
American born of Japanese parents, nurtured upon Japanese traditions, living in
a transplanted Japanese atmosphere... notwithstanding his nominal brand of
accidental citizenship almost inevitably and with the rarest exceptions grows up
to be a Japanese, and not an American.... Thus, while it might cause injustice to a
few to treat them all as potential enemies, I cannot escape the conclusion... that
such treatment... should be accorded to each and all of them while we are at war
with their race.” (Niiya 54)
The mass relocation was enabled by Executive Order 9066, signed by President Franklin
Roosevelt on February 19, 1942. The order authorized the designation of military zones within
the United States, effectively legalizing the exclusion of Japanese Americans from the west
coast. Of the 112,000 internees, over two-thirds were United States citizens. The nisei, secondgeneration Japanese Americans, were born and educated in America. Most nisei had never
stepped foot in Japan. Their parents, the issei, were first-generation immigrants, ineligible for
American citizenship on the basis of their Asian race. While those interned were primarily issei
and nisei, the exclusion applied to anyone of at least one-sixteenth Japanese ancestry
(Peterson).
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Initially held in temporary assembly centers, the Japanese Americans were removed to
ten more permanent internment camps located in remote areas of California, Arizona, Idaho,
Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, and Arkansas. The camps, which would become the homes of
Japanese Americans for over three years, consisted of rows of crude military-style barracks
surrounded by barbed wire and armed guard towers. The camps grew into small self-sustaining
communities with schools, hospitals, and churches which were primarily operated by the
Japanese American internees (Peterson).
The Japanese Americans who endured the internment faced significant hardships.
Forced to evacuate their homes with little notice, many families had no choice but to abandon
their property or sell their possessions at significant loss. Each internee was allowed only a
single suitcase. Many business owners closed their doors, never to see them open again . In
addition to these material losses, there was a disruption of home and family life as well as
careers. On a personal level, many of the interned were left with feelings of anger, bitterness,
and shame following the conclusion of the war (Brimner 78).
The stated purpose behind the interment was the protection of national security from
acts of sabotage and espionage. However, an investigation by the congressional Commission on
Wartime Relocation and Internment of Civilians conducted during the 1980s found that the
internment was carried out with no documented acts of espionage or other signs of disloyalty
from the Japanese Americans residing on the west coast, concluding that there was no military
or security justification for the interment. Rather, the commission found that the internment
was the result of “racial prejudice, war hysteria, and the failure of political leadership” (100th
Congress). In 1988, President Ronald Reagan signed the Civil Liberties Act of 1988 into law,
officially apologizing for the internment on behalf of the United States and providing redress for
the surviving detainees (Murray 2).
Monica Sone’s memoir Nisei Daughter depicts the cultural identity conflict Sone, a
young nisei woman, faced prior to and during World War II. The narrative spans the first
twenty-five years of Sone’s life, focusing on her childhood experiences as the daughter of
Japanese immigrants in pre-war Seattle as well as her experiences as a young adult during the
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internment. The memoir was published in 1953, just eight years after the conclusion of the war.
It began as a series of letters written by Sone while she was interned at Camp Minidoka. The
friend she wrote shared these letters with an editor. When asked by the editor to write a
complete book, Sone responded enthusiastically, later stating the following:
“I was eager to do so. This was because after I eventually left camp and moved
to the eastern part of the country, I discovered that the general public knew
nothing about our evacuation and imprisonment of thousands of American. I
wanted to tell our story.” (“Preparing to Read”)
From the above quote, it is apparent that Sone’s primary motivation for the book was
the education of the non-Japanese American populace. Sone does not mention a desire for
retribution or apology, but rather is focused on the simple desire for the story of the Japanese
American internment to be known. It is important to keep this intended audience and purpose
in mind when analyzing Nisei Daughter. Sone regarded her work as a simple, unembellished
piece of non-fiction. In fact, she did not consider herself to be a writer. In 1989, she declined
being honored at an event with other Asian American authors and filmmakers (Payne 208).
From this act, it is apparent that Sone desired for her work to be interpreted as a simple, honest
account of one Japanese American girl’s experiences.
Given Sone’s stated motivation for Nisei Daughter, it is interesting to consider the focus
of the memoir. Only in the last third of her work does Sone describe the events of World War II.
She devotes much more time to anecdotes from her childhood, which range from a humorous
incident when her mother was mistaken for the wife of the Japanese ambassador to the tragic
death of her brother on a trip to Japan. At the surface, the lack of emphasis on the internment
may indicate an unwillingness to dwell on that difficult time, a common sentiment shared by
many Japanese Americans at the time (Levine). However, this interpretation contradicts the
goal of educating non-Japanese about the internment. The choice may alternatively
demonstrate the conviction that, as a Japanese American, Sone’s life is defined by more than
the years she spent behind barbed wire. Thus, Nisei Daughter serves to teach more than the
events of the internment, providing an accessible and relatable gateway to understanding the
lives of Japanese Americans. Only by seeing what their lives were before the war can readers
fully understand the tragedy and losses which occurred as a result of the internment.
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Sone establishes what it means to be the titular “Nisei daughter” through anecdotal
storytelling which highlights significant childhood events unique to Japanese Americans. Nisei
Daughter’s opening chapter introduces the central identity conflict of the nisei generation
through a humorous account of the day that a young Sone makes the “shocking discovery” that
she is Japanese. She is initially unfazed by the revelation of her Japanese blood. However, upon
learning that being Japanese means that she must attend Japanese school each afternoon,
Sone is distraught – not by an aversion to Japanese culture, but by the thought of sacrificing her
precious playtime. Here, the nisei identity conflict is manifested through the comparatively
trivial problem of losing one’s playtime to Japanese school. However, the existence of this
duality is significant. Sone’s lost playtime foreshadows the losses that will come as a result of
her Japanese heritage. Long before the attack on Pearl Harbor, nisei were faced with the
question of what it meant to be both Japanese and American.
From a young age, Sone questions how she could be both a “Yankee and Japanese at the
same time.” She equates this existence to being “born with two heads [which sounded] freakish
and a lot of trouble” (Sone 19). The metaphor of “two heads” immediately invokes the
inherently negative imagery of a monster. This unfavorable image is augmented by her choice
of the word “freakish,” defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as “of the nature of a freak,
curious, grotesque.” No young girl wants to be a grotesque monster. Therefore, from Sone’s
first comprehension of her split identity, she views it with a negative lens. Interestingly, this
negativity does not stem from being Japanese itself, but rather it is a result of the presence of
two seemingly contradictory identities in one person. Sone establishes the tension between
these two identities as the central conflict of the memoir.
Sone’s identity conflict is manifested through the development of two distinct identities.
She describes “switching [her] personality back and forth daily like a chameleon” who
transforms from a “jumping, screaming, roustabout Yankee” at grammar school to a “modest,
faltering, earnest, little Japanese girl with a small timid voice” at Japanese school (Sone 22).
Sone uses a resonant metaphor in comparing herself to a chameleon. When a chameleon
changes its color, only the outside layer of its skin is altered. Likewise, Sone’s transformations
between her American and Japanese self are surface level. At the core, she remains the same
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person. Through this comparison, Sone does not indicate that one personality is her “true”
personality. She is not hiding her personality at Japanese school. Rather, her behavior is driven
by her environment. However, Sone’s descriptions of each persona subtly devalue her Japanese
self. Her American persona is described with the energetic and positive words “jumping,”
“screaming,” and “roustabout.” These words immediately invoke the image of a child playing.
In contrast, while “modest” and “earnest” can be viewed positively, the descriptors for her
Japanese self of “faltering” and having a “small timid voice” are not positive. Similarly, her
American self is a “Yankee,” while her Japanese self is a “little Japanese girl.” This use of critical
language portrays Sone’s lack of confidence in her Japanese self.
The racism encountered by Sone’s family during the pre-war years is a clear source of
identity conflict for the young woman. One such example occurs when Sone and her mother
are searching for a summer home in order to help Sone’s sister recover from an illness. The
Japanese American mother and daughter are refused by every landowner in their desired
neighborhood. When her mother explains that it is because of their Japanese race, Sone is
shocked, asking “is it such a terrible thing to be Japanese?” (Sone 114). Her immediate reaction
is to place the fault with herself rather than the blatantly racist landowners. Sone describes
being “torn between feeling defiant and then apologetic about [her] Japanese blood” (Sone
115). This conflict parallels Sone’s larger identity conflict. As an American, she is angered by the
injustice. Yet, because some part of herself hinders Sone from being fully American, she places
some blame on herself and feels shame due to her Japanese heritage. This feeling of guilt is
common in Japanese Americans following the war (Brimner 78 - 79). Sone observes her
mother’s seemingly easy dismissal of the situation. Returning home, Sone’s mother fakes a
happy smile and tells the family that they could not find a home they liked that day. Her
mother’s response to the incident may be indicative of the influence of the issei and Japanese
culture on the silence of the nisei following the internment. Her reaction follows the Japanese
cultural principle of “shikata ga nai,” which translates to “it cannot be helped.” By this mantra,
Japanese seek to maintain their dignity and honor when faced with tragedy or injustice. This
principle, held by many issei, is depicted explicitly in many internment narratives (Levine,
Houston and Houston). In writing Nisei Daughter, Sone is challeng3ing this principle. Rather
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than letting the internment be forgotten, she is publishing a memoir so that people will know
and remember what happened to her people.
As the narrative turns toward the events of World War II, Sone’s tone darkens. On
hearing news of the attack on Pearl Harbor, she finds herself “shrinking inwardly from [her]
Japanese blood, the blood of an enemy” (Sone 146). In an instant, her Japanese heritage
transforms into a definitively negative characteristic. Recalling the metaphor from the first
chapter, Sone writes that she again feels “like a despised, pathetic two-headed freak, a
Japanese and an American, neither of which seemed to be doing [her] any good” (Sone 158). In
comparison with the previous reference to “two-headedness,” Sone’s descriptions are notably
more negative. The escalated and self-deprecating words “despised” and “pathetic” reveal the
pain she feels as a result of her dual identity. Even the subtle transition from “sounding
freakish” to being a “freak” speaks volumes. While the former judgment is hesitant, the latter is
definitively negative. This example demonstrated the Japanese American tendency to center
blame on oneself and one’s Japanese identity, rather than make external attributions.
Sone and her family are interned together, first at the Puyallup assembly center and
then at the Minidoka Relocation Center in Idaho. In a chapter ironically titled “Life in Camp
Harmony,” Sone questions her place as a Japanese American even more, writing:
“If there were accusations to be made, why hadn’t I been given a fair trial?
Maybe I wasn’t considered an American anymore. My citizenship wasn’t real,
after all. Then what was I? I was certainly not a citizen of Japan as my parents
were. On second thought, even Father and Mother were more alien residents of
the United States than Japanese nationals for they had little tie with their
mother country. In their twenty-five years in America, they had worked and paid
their taxes to their adopted government as any other citizen.
Of one thing I was sure. The wire fence was real. I no longer had the right
to walk out of it. It was because I had Japanese ancestors. It was also because
some people had little faith in the ideas and ideals of democracy. They said that
after all these were but words and could not possibly insure loyalty. New laws
and camps were surer devices.” (Sone 177 – 178)
The above statement marks Sone’s most explicit anger directed toward the internment
in Nisei Daughter. Even so, her words are relatively tame for someone who has recently had her
entire life taken away. Sone clearly indicates her belief that the treatment of Japanese
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Americans is wrong and a violation of their rights, even questioning whether or not she is still
an American. This shows that Sone’s definition of American is intertwined with the civil liberties
and freedom the United States violated. Sone struggles to cast blame on an outside source,
only going so far as to point out that some unnamed people had “little faith in the ideas and
ideals of democracy.” The reality of the situation in the camps is a result of more than the
passive lack of faith in democracy that Sone describes. History has shown that the internment
was motivated by many factors, including racism. Sone does not draw attention to the inherent
racism of the internment, which differs from her prior open descriptions of pre-war racism.
Here, it is essential to consider the context and intended readership of Nisei Daughter. Sone’s
goal was to educate the general American public of the existence of the internment, not to
convince them that the internment was wrong or place blame on the United States. In the eyes
of the American public, a more passionate and critical response may have been interpreted
negatively and resulted in the rejection of Sone’s work entirely. As such, Sone may have muted
her true feelings toward the internment.
The compelling honestly of Sone’s narration is markedly absent from the final chapter of
the work in which she relates the hasty reconciliation of her Japanese and American sides. Like
many young nisei, Sone sought an early release from the internment camp. She was released to
Illinois where she worked as a dental assistant before returning to college. Nisei Daughter
reaches an abrupt conclusion upon Sone’s return to camp to visit her parents who are still
interned. “I don't resent my Japanese blood anymore," she tells her parents. "I'm proud of it...I
used to feel like a two-headed monstrosity, but now I find that two heads are better than one"
(Sone 236). For the third time, Sone refers to the metaphor of the “two-headed” monster.
Despite the complete resolution Sone is portraying, she still views herself as possessing two
heads. Sone does not state that her two heads have become one or that her two heads have
been one all along. Rather, by stating that “two heads are better than one,” she implies that
there are still two distinct parts in her Japanese and American self. She attempts to put a
positive spin on her situation while ignoring the fact that the very concept of having two heads
is “freakish” to use her childhood descriptor. Sone concludes the novel with the following inner
monologue:
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“I had discovered a deeper, stronger pulse in the American scene. I was going
back into its main stream, still with my Oriental eyes, but with an entirely
different outlook, for now I felt more like a whole person instead of a sadly split
personality. The Japanese and the American part of me were now blended into
one.” (Sone 238)
This declaration of closure feels rushed with no clear basis for Sone’s newfound sense of
wholeness and hopeful outlook. It feels out of place for Sone to mention her “Oriental eyes,” a
divisive characteristic which only feeds into the notion of basing identity on race. It is a
strangely dissociative phrase to use when professing her wholeness, undermining the concept
of true integration between Japanese and American – both within herself and within society.
Sone’s final statement, that “the Japanese and the American part of me were now blended into
one” directly contradicts her previous statement that she still has two heads. This
contradiction, combined with the lack of rationale for the transformation, ultimately causes
Sone’s sense of optimism and reconciliation to ring false.
The motivation behind this clean and overly wrapped-up ending is unclear. Were Sone’s
words accurate of her feelings at the time? If so, Sone’s story does not reflect the continued
emotional struggles that many nisei faced in the years following the war (Brimner 78). It is
difficult to believe that Sone would have achieved such complete closure at a time when her
parents remained imprisoned behind the barbed wire fence of an internment camp. Perhaps,
nearly a decade later, Sone had reached a greater level of closure and wanted to represent
these more recent reflections in the book. This cliché ending may also be tailored to Sone’s
audience, the general American public, who might be more accepting of this happy ending.
While the American public felt great pride at the United States’ victory in the war, they may
have felt guilt for the events of the internment, especially when reading Sone’s personal
narrative. Thus, for the American public, it would be satisfying and validating to read Sone’s
optimistic ending, which conveys the message that the internment was not permanently
damaging and even resulted in positive outcomes.
Insight into this ending can be found in Sone’s preface to the 1979 edition of Nisei
Daughter. This preface can almost be read as a revision of her own words. Briefly describing
the events of Sone’s life since the conclusion of Nisei Daughter, the preface focuses on the then
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current movement of Japanese Americans to petition the government for redress. Sone wants
to tell the nation about the events of 1942, “a time when [the Japanese Americans] became
prisoners of their own government, without charges, without trials” (Sone xvi). She concludes
with a quote by Yale Professor V. Rostow: “until the wrong is acknowledged and made right, we
shall have failed to meet the responsibility of a democratic society…the obligation of equal
justice” (Sone xvii). In less than three pages, Sone casts more wrongdoing upon the U.S.
government than in the entirety of her memoir. With the passing of time and separation from
the events, Sone appears to have reached a more complete understanding of the internment.
Additionally, the existence of the redress movement provided hope for the apology and
reparations that many Japanese Americans previously thought impossible. By 1979, more
Japanese Americans were speaking out against the interment. This growing movement may
have empowered Sone to more freely state her true convictions.
Published four years after Sone’s memoir, John Okada’s novel, No-no Boy,
chronologically picks up where Nisei Daughter left off, opening just after the conclusion of the
war. However, the novel’s protagonist, Ichiro, experienced a vastly different wartime
experience from that of Sone. As the titular “No-no boy,” Ichiro belongs to the group of nisei
who refused to serve in the United States armed forces during World War II and were thus
imprisoned for draft evasion. The novel deals with Ichiro’s personal struggle with the
repercussions of his wartime decisions, largely centering on his search for his identity and place
in American society while faced with ostracism from the Japanese American community.
Unlike Nisei Daughter, No-no Boy is not a memoir. Its author, John Okada, was a
Japanese American World War II veteran himself. Given his own decision to serve, it is
interesting that Okada selected a draft resistor as the protagonist of his novel. Okada’s security
in his identity as a veteran may have freed him to write openly about this controversial subject.
The existence of “no-no boys” and the Japanese internment itself brought feelings of shame to
many Japanese Americans (Yoon). During this time, most nisei remained silent about their
wartime experiences. The little that was publicized focused on the heroic war effort of nisei
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soldiers as depicted in the 1951 film Go for Broke! In writing No-no Boy, Okada chose to expose
an issue which induced feelings of shame within the Japanese American community.
The novel’s title “No-no Boy” originates from a document that came to be known
unofficially as the “loyalty questionnaire.” In 1943, during the midst of the internment, the War
Relocation Authority issued a questionnaire to all people of Japanese heritage age 17 or older.
The questions ranged from past foreign travel to what newspapers the subject read. Two
questions in particular, designed to confirm the loyalty of the subject, generated controversy
within the camps:
Question #27: Are you willing to serve in the armed forces of the United States
on combat duty, wherever ordered?
Question #28: Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States of
America and faithfully defend the United States from any and all attack by
foreign or domestic forces, and forswear any form of allegiance to the Japanese
Emperor or any other foreign government, power, or organization?
For the Japanese American internee, these questions were confusing, primarily because
of the unknown repercussions of answering “yes” or “no.” For issei, who were not allowed to
become naturalized American citizens, there was fear that their response to question 28 could
potentially leave them without a country (Ng 57). For nisei, it was unclear if answering
affirmatively to question 27 was equivalent to immediate enlistment into the service (“The
Question of Loyalty”). The nisei men who answered the questions with negative responses
came to be known as “no-no boys.” There were many reasons for negative responses including
“the No of protest against discrimination, the No of protest against a father interned apart from
his family, the No of bitter antagonism to subordination in the relocation center, the No of a
gang sticking together, the No of thoughtless defiance, the No of family duty, the No of
hopeless confusion, the No of fear of military service, and the No of felt loyalty to Japan”
(Murray 79). Despite the multitude of reasons for answering “no,” most of which were not
related to a loyalty to Japan, those who did so were labeled as disloyal. Many were transferred
to the Tule Lake Relocation Center which acted as a segregation center. A person was not sent
to federal prison for being a “no-no boy.” However, when the interned nisei were drafted,
those who refused were imprisoned for draft evasion (Ng 72).
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In No-no Boy, Ichiro’s motivation for refusing the draft is never explicitly stated. Even he
struggles to understand his choice. His “reason [for resisting the draft] was all the reasons put
together” (Okada 34). When thinking of his friend and family he claims “it was for this that I
meant to fight, only the meaning got lost when I needed it most badly” (Okada 34). Ichiro was
more a confused young man than an impassioned resistor. Betrayed by his country, he no
longer knew who he was or for what he would be fighting. Okada establishes Ichiro as a pitiable
character. While the reader may not understand Ichiro’s actions, his anguish and remorse are
clearly conveyed.
In the aftermath of the war, Ichiro’s life is filled with a deep-rooted insecurity in his
American identity. To a fellow nisei friend, he says that their trouble is “because we’re
American and because we’re Japanese and sometimes the two don’t mix … you had to be one
or the other” (Okada 91). Like Sone’s “two-headed monster,” Ichiro feels as though he is made
of two distinct parts which cannot be merged, describing being American as a “terribly
incomplete thing” (Okada 53). Throughout the novel, Ichiro is searching for somewhere he can
call home. This quest is as much an internal search as it is external. Ichiro cannot find his
physical place within American society until he accepts himself and believes in his own worth. A
majority of the text consists of internal monologue in which Ichiro questions his past decisions
and his future existance.
The novel does not focus on Ichiro’s time in the internment camp or prison. Rather, it
opens with Ichiro’s return to his parents’ home following his release from prison. Returning
home, Ichiro has lost his drive. Formerly a university student, Ichiro has no desire to return to
his studies. This lack of motivation stems from his Ichiro’s hopeless outlook. His thoughts tend
toward the melodramatic. He feels as if he has no place or future in American society because
of the disloyalty he demonstrated. He is clearly remorseful for his actions, going so far as to
wish to switch places with a terminally-ill and wounded war veteran, with an amputated leg.
Ichiro dreams of the day when his past actions will be forgotten and there will “again be a place
for [him]” (Okada, 52). Physically, he has a home Seattle with his parents, but emotionally he
does not even feel home there. His mother maintains delusional beliefs about Japan having
won the war, his father is a pushover too afraid to confront Ichiro’s mother, and his younger
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brother resent Ichiro’s no-no boy status. Ichiro’s aspirations are typical of the American Dream:
“I will buy a home and love my family and I will walk down the street holding my son's hand and
people will stop and talk with us about the weather and the ball games and the elections"
(Okada 52). These are the things that American has taught him to value, and this is the life he
desire to live. Throughout the novel it appears that Ichiro has chosen to pursue an American
life. However, he feels held back by his Japanese side and fears there is no place for him in
America because of his wartime actions.
Okada uses Ichiro’s first encounter with a Japanese American character to demonstrate
the ostracism no-no boys faced within the Japanese American community. Initially happy to see
Ichiro, an old acquaintance and Japanese American army veteran spits on Ichiro when he learns
of his “disloyalty.” Similarly, Ichiro’s younger brother, Taro, will barely speak to him because of
his embarrassment over Ichiro’s actions. As a result of the shame he feels on Ichiro’s behalf,
Taro rushes to join the army to demonstrate his own loyalty to America. These reactions
illustrate the sentiments of much of the post-war Japanese American community. Following the
war, there was a push for Japanese Americans to prove their status as true Americans. The
existence of no-no boys was viewed as a shameful blemish on the record. Thus, “no-no boys”
were ostracized in order to disassociate their “disloyal” actions from those of the loyal Japanese
Americans.
A central conflict of the novel is the contrasting values of the issei parents and their nisei
children. Okada emphasizes this conflict with the extreme views of Ichiro’s mother. Fervently
loyal to Japan, Ichiro’s mother is delusional in her belief that Japan won the war. She hopes to
soon return to Japan. Ichiro’s decision to refuse the draft was partially motivated by his
mother’s belief in Japanese honor. After the war, Ichiro is ashamed and angered by his
mother’s refusal to accept Japan’s defeat. He blames her for his current situation and for his
inability to be completely American. The following excerpt relates Ichiro’s reflection on his
Japanese and American directed toward his mother, but not spoken aloud:
“There was a time when I was your son. There was a time that I no longer
remember when you used to smile a mother's smile and tell me stories about
gallant and fierce warriors who protected their lords with blades of shining steel
and about the old woman who found a peach in the stream and took it, and
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when her husband split it in half, a husky little boy tumbled out to fill their hearts
with boundless joy. I was that lad in the peach and you were the old woman and
we were Japanese with Japanese feelings and Japanese pride and Japanese
thoughts because it was all right then to be Japanese and feel and think all things
that Japanese do even if we lived in America. Then there came a time when I was
only half Japanese because one is not born in America and raised in America and
taught in America and one does not speak and swear and drink and smoke and
play and fight and see and hear in America among Americans in American streets
and houses without becoming American and loving it.” (Okada 63)
The excessive repetition of the words “Japanese” and “American” in this passage
emphasizes Ichiro’s fixation on what he views as the mutually exclusive concepts of being
Japanese or being American. He once was “Japanese with Japanese feelings and Japanese pride
and Japanese thoughts.” It would be simpler to say that he once had Japanese feelings, pride,
and thoughts. Yet, the repetition of the word “Japanese” conveys the total and encompassing
characteristics of his Japanese self. Ichiro’s mother raised him so that every aspect of Ichiro was
Japanese. Okada uses the same style of repetition when describing how Ichiro who was “born
in America and raised in America and taught in America” and who lived “in America among
Americans in Americans streets and houses” shifts his cultural identity away from Japanese.
Although the portrayal of Ichiro’s mother is exaggerated and not indicative of most issei
mothers, there is truth in the distinct contrast between the issei and nisei generations.
Although most issei intended to remain in America, they were prohibited from becoming
naturalized American citizens. At this time, Asians were the only racial group ineligible for
citizenship. In California, there were laws in place prohibiting issei from owning their own land
(“The Issei Immigrants”). These restrictions prevented issei from ever being as American as
their nisei children and completely viewing America as their home.
As Ichiro wanders aimlessly through life, Okada introduces characters and events to
both represent various aspects of the Japanese American post-war experience and to further
Ichiro’s development. Unlike Sone’s abrupt resolution, Ichiro’s story is truly a journey toward
finding his place in American society. Ichiro is shown forgiveness and friendship from three
characters: a wounded nisei army veteran, the nisei wife of a soldier, and a white business
owner who offers him a job despite his “disloyalty.” Through the acceptance of Ichiro by each
14
of these characters, Ichiro takes steps toward accepting himself. Ichiro’s journey is also
furthered by two deaths. First, his mother, upon discovering that she is wrong about Japan’s
victory, commits suicide. For Ichiro, the passing of his mother is a freeing experience as her
conviction to Japanese honor will no longer haunts his decisions. The second important death is
that of Freddie, a fellow “no-no boy,” who acts as a foil to Ichiro. Freddie has resigned himself
to a wasted life. He spirals into an increasingly dangerous and self-destructive lifestyle, and is
ultimately killed accidentally in a confrontation with another Japanese American. Okada’s
reliance on characters to further Ichiro’s journey conveys the importance of community in
healing. Although Ichiro has been hurt by the Japanese American community, he must rely on
member of this community to facilitate his healing process.
Like Nisei Daughter, Okada’s novel ends on a surprisingly hopeful note, contrasting the
novel’s gloomy tone. Following the death of another no-no boy, Ichiro, contemplates the future
direction of his life, ending with a final hesitant, but optimistic inner monologue:
“A glimmer of hope – was that it? It was there, someplace. He couldn’t see it to
put it into words, but the feeling was pretty strong. He walked along, thinking,
searching, thinking and probing and, in the darkness of the alley of the
community that was a tiny bit of America, he chased that faint and elusive
insinuation of promise as it continued to take shape in mind and in heart.”
(Okada 251)
When compared with the absolute despair and hopelessness exhibited by Ichiro
throughout the novel, this passage is quite optimistic. However, Ichiro’s words remains very
timid. Okada uses several qualifying adjectives, including “glimmer,” “tiny bit,” “faint,” and
“elusive” to diminish the extent of his hope. Similar to his reasons for resisting the draft, Ichiro
cannot “put [his hope] into words.” As the “faint and elusive insinuation of a promise,” there is
nothing tangible for Ichiro to obtain, nor is there a promise that this “glimmer of hope” will
amount to anything. However, for Ichiro in his hopeless state, acknowledging the existence of
hope is the most important step toward beginning to live again.
Ichiro does not reach the perfect resolution depicted in Sone’s Nisei Daughter. Rather
he glimpses the potential of a future place for him in American society. This place begins within
his own mind and heart as he must first accept his past and believe in his future. Okada’s No-no
15
Boy appears to be geared toward reconciliation within the Japanese American community
rather than an education of the general American populace. A complete transformation for
Ichiro would have read false to this audience, still buried deep in the healing process. However,
Ichiro’s glimpse of hope translates to a message of hope for the Japanese American community.
If Ichiro, a no-no boy, can find hope and redemption, then there must also be hope for the
Japanese American community to find their place in American society.
Neither Nisei Daughter nor No-no Boy was commercially successful upon its initial
publication. However, during the redress movement, which began in the 1970s, both books
were rediscovered and published again to more success. Today, they are regarded as classic
works of Asian American literature and are often read in classrooms when studying the
internment. The lack of initial success is indicative of America’s readiness to confront the
controversial history of the Japanese American internment. Many Japanese Americans were
trying to move on with their lives, stifling the emotions produced by the memory of the
internment. With this in mind, the act of acknowledging or reading a book devoted to those
painful experiences may not have been desirable. Even further, Sone’s exceedingly hopeful
conclusion may not have resonated with Japanese Americans still struggling with the
repercussions of the internment. Likewise, No-no Boys very controversial subject may have
been viewed as having the potential to renew the negative sentiments towards Japanese
Americans. Given this historical climate, John Okada and Monica Sone demonstrated great
bravery in refusing to be silent and making the Japanese American story known.
The nisei generation was forever impacted by the events of the Japanese American
internment. Betrayed by the only country they knew, the nisei returned home from the war
with a need for reconciliation and healing. This struggle for identity and belonging plays a
prominent role in both Nisei Daughter and No-no Boy, taking a different form in each of the two
works. Sone seeks to become whole through the reconciliation of the Japanese and American
portions of her identity. Ichiro also searches for this wholeness, but his greatest healing must
come from the belief that there is a place for him in American society. In both books, an
optimistic conclusion implies that this healing either has or will be accomplished. However,
16
Sone’s depiction of complete reconciliation comes across as a pretense as she inexplicably
comes to terms with the duality of her identity. Ichiro’s healing is far from complete, only
capturing a glimpse of hope for the future. Because of their rushed conclusions and depictions
of accelerated healing, neither of these stories illustrates the complexity of the healing process
for the nisei. The characters do not gain a true understanding of the internment’s role in their
lives. It is striking that this significant event which is truly at the core of the nisei identity conflict
does not play a more prominent role in the healing process. The protagonists both reach a
personal sense of hope through internal reflection, neglecting the significant influence of the
internment and other external factors on their lives. While they develop an optimistic attitude
for the future, the characters fail to fully accept or understand their past. This mirrors the nisei
silence regarding the shame of the internment. As the books themselves document and
confront the events of the Japanese American internment, there is irony in this message of
silence. While imperfect, the existence of these two works of Japanese American literature
embodies an important step within the healing process. By sharing and to some extent,
challenging, the events of World War II and its aftermath, No-no Boy and Nisei Daughter,
establish a voice for their silent generation.
17
Part II: Annotated Writings of Saburo Seko
“There may be contradictions in this work of mine but I
know at the end everything will fall into place and
everything I write down will have some valid reason.”
Saburo Seko, 1976
To his close friends and family, my grandfather, Saburo Seko, was known by the
nickname “Sab.” To me, he will always be jii-chan, the informal Japanese name for grandfather.
I never met my jii-chan. He passed away following a heart attack in 1990, two years before I
was born and two years after President Ronald Reagan signed the Civil Liberties Act of 1988
into law, officially apologizing for the internment on behalf of the United States and providing
redress for the surviving detainees.
Born on Terminal Island, a small Japanese fishing village off the coast of Los Angeles, my
grandfather was a nisei. During World War II, my grandfather and his family were relocated and
imprisoned in the Manzanar Internment Camp. Despite his United States citizenship, my
grandfather was interned solely on the basis of his Japanese heritage. There, in the California
desert, he grew from a fifteen year old teenager into an adult, graduating from Manzanar High.
After returning to Los Angeles following the internment, my grandfather was later drafted
during the Korean War. While serving in Japan with the army’s Counter Intelligence Corps, he
met my grandmother, Eiko Akashi, a native to Japan. The two married and returned to America,
where they would raise their two sons.
As a child, my parents taught me about the Japanese American internment, telling me of
my grandfather’s life. We even drove to the barren desert to see Manzanar, the place that had
once been my grandfather’s home. In contrast with my parents’ openness, my father says that
my grandfather was reticent to speak on the subject of his own experiences during the
internment. Like many nisei, he remained silent about a time which was very personally
significant. However, at the age of fifty, over thirty years after the conclusion of World War II,
my grandfather began to write down his memories of the internment.
A collection of twenty pages typed on a typewriter, his writings are covered with hand
written edits and comments. These scattered thoughts and stories give the impression that he
18
intended to return to them some day but never got the chance. Here I present selected
excerpts from his writings, with my own annotation and analysis.
Author’s note: The following passage is the combination of two separate writings by my
grandfather. Both excerpts depict the events following the attack on Pearl Harbor by Japan and
were merged for the purpose of presenting the events with clarity and detail. Bolded text is
used to distinguish between the two passages.
“Where in the hell is Pearl Harbor?”
JAPANESE PLANES BOMB PEARL HARBOR!! Where in the hell is
Pearl Harbor? That's in Hawaii! This was a surprise.
There's been talk of war for quite some time now but I did
not think war could become a reality. Didn't even really
know what the hell war was. But still I really couldn't
believe that we were attacked by the tiny country of my
origin...
Dad was out at Sea. It was Sunday afternoon. News
about Pearl Harbor was in the air. Me and my friend (Miki)
had our hearts set on seeing a movie at the Fox Cabrillo
Theatre which was across the channel in San Pedro. We had
planned it a couple of days ago and were looking forward to
it. So in spite of the terrible news, the meat of which had
not really sunk into us, we got on the ferry boat and got
off on the San Pedro side and walked towards 7th St. Out of
nowhere came a military truck and off came troops with
drawn bayonets pointing right at us. They looked like they
wanted to kill. It frightened and surprised me so much that
I didn't even think to protest. We were herded into an
enclosed fenced area. We were detained for a few hours by
armed troops and denied going to that movie at the Fox.
Finally they released us but ordered us to go home. We did.
SO THIS IS WHAT WAR DOES! They didn't even know that
I'm American. What I've been taught at school that we're
Americans. What about that? I was more confused when we
were told not to come to school when we tried on Monday. I
was more hurt than confused. How about my Caucasian &
Mexican friends in school?? Do they think of me as the
enemy???? It hurt so much inside of me that I dare not let
it come out for I had a lot of pride in being born of
Japanese background and knew I was just as loyal or maybe
more than my white and brown friends at school.
19
Everything was happening too fast. Dad didn’t come
home from his fishing trip. They picked him up right off
the boat as he docked. I guess the charge was: suspicion of
being enemy agents - spies. Didn't have a chance to come
home or to say goodbye before they took him to North Dakota
with the rest of the men. I caught a glimpse of him through
the bus window as they took him away. We were left with
mother. All the men were taken away. Reporters were all
over the place taking pictures and writing awful things
about the Japanese people which of course were all full of
shit.
Two men dressed in suits came to our door and flashed
their badges or whatever and showed what I guess was a
search warrant. Their manners were polite but what they did
was something I thought could never happen in this
democratic country, land of the free and all that bull
shit. They came in and went through all of our personal
belongings. Even a diary. Opened up all the dresser
drawers. Took nautical maps (which anyone could buy at the
map stores in San Pedro). Anyway we just let the SOBs go
through everything without protesting. As a matter of fact
we found ourselves being more cooperative to these Pigs; Of
course, times were different then and there were no such
words as pigs except for the real animal pigs.
A few days later we were informed that we can come to
school. Good Ol’ San Pedro high and of course we did attend
school again. But although I knew I was not guilty of
anything, the news media, the politicians, the so-called
leaders of our country and community had all turned out
against us and had the general public believing that the
JA’s were not to be trusted and phrases like ONCE A JAP
ALWAYS A JAP. THE ONLY GOOD JAP IS A DEAD JAP. STAB IN THE
BACK JAP. Etc. Tell them I was an American and the answer
to that was GO TAKE A LOOK IN THE MIRROR! Well, I took a
damn good look at the mirror and by golly, they were right!
I AM A JAP!
One guy who I thought was a friend asked me if I had
known that the Japanese were going to bomb Pearl Harbor.
Stupid ass! Maybe not stupid. It just reflected what most
of the public was thinking. He was typical – influenced by
the newspapers & politicians who did or didn’t know how
unjust they were. Slogans like “once a Jap, always a Jap”
didn’t do me any good. School was never fun but now it was
a nightmare. People were scared to be labeled Jap lovers so
20
not many tried to help us – help us retain our
Constitutional rights.
A few weeks went by and FBI agents came around to all
the houses giving out notices to get the hell off the
Island within 48 hours.
My grandfather’s words echo with the confusion, anger, and pain he experienced as a
Japanese American teenager during World War II. Although he began writing his story decades
after the events of the war, he primarily writes in the voice of his fifteen year old self. Recalling
his teenage anger and confusion, his words are candid and unrestrained. Some thoughts,
however, are clearly the reflections of his older self. This unique narration style provides insight
into his how his perspective on the events changed with time. My father says you can clearly
hear his father’s voice in his rough, conversational writing, as if he is sitting across from you
telling the story himself.
At the time of the Pearl Harbor attack, my grandfather was a fifteen year old freshman
in high school who had recently made the track team as a pole-vaulter. Each day, he rode the
ferry from Terminal Island to attend school across the channel at San Pedro High School. His
actions reveal his youthful naiveté and anger. Although “news about Pearl Harbor was in the
air,” he and a friend chose to go see a movie on the afternoon of the attack. There is no
indication of worry or fear in this decision as he had not yet realized how the attack on Pearl
Harbor would affect his daily life as a Japanese American. Why should it? He was an American
citizen.
In many ways, the incident outside of the theater must have been eye-opening for my
grandfather, marking the beginnings of his identity struggles. He is forced to witness the effects
of war firsthand when he is stopped by the soldiers because of his Japanese face. At this point,
he appears confident that he is an American, blaming the ignorance of the armed guards who
did not “even know that [he is] American.” His status as an American citizenship was something
he had been taught at school by his white teachers. It was a fact that he had never questioned.
Suddenly, as the result of events far beyond his control, my grandfather’s Japanese face was
enough to take that away and make him a “Jap.” Referring to another negative experience, he
recounts that, when he told someone he was an American, they replied “GO TAKE A LOOK IN
21
THE MIRROR!” His response: “well, I took a damn good look at the mirror and by golly, they
were right! I AM A JAP!” The phrase “I AM A JAP” is significant. “Jap” is a derogatory racial slur
for Japanese, used to identify the enemy in Japan (Fussell). It was used throughout World War II
propaganda in the slogans my grandfather lists such as “Once a Jap, always a Jap” and “Stab in
the back Jap.” By calling himself a Jap, I do not believe that my grandfather is saying that he is
Japanese and not American. However, when everyone around him is using his Japanese face to
tell him who he is, it is hard not to surrender to their view. This cultural identity conflict is
consistent with the conflict observed in many nisei writings, including Monica Sone’s Nisei
Daughter and John Okada’s No-no Boy.
Emotions, particularly feelings of anger and betrayal, are at the forefront of my
grandfather’s writing. To convey the strength of his feelings, he makes use of capitalization and
punctuation. He writes entire phrases such as “JAPANESE PLANES BOMB PEARL HARBOR!!” “SO
THIS IS WHAT WAR DOES!” and “I AM A JAP!” in all capital letters. Each of these phrases
represents an important revelation in my grandfather’s life. Likewise, he uses multiple
exclamation points and questions marks to indicate shocking or outrageous events. Finally, his
use of profanity is notable as well. My mother told me that my grandfather did not regularly
use profanity, at least not at the time he wrote the documents. This may indicate that he used
more profanity as a teenager, or that the subject matter was understandably very upsetting to
him. Throughout the paper, his use of capitalization, punctuation, and profanity very explicitly
convey the tone of his writing.
There is a clear feeling of betrayal throughout the text. Most explicitly, he states that
“the news media, the politicians, the so-called leaders of our country and community had all
turned out against [the Japanese Americans].” Phrases like “so-called leaders” and “one guy
who I thought was a friend” illustrate the loss of faith in those he once trusted. The irony of the
propagandized phrase “STAB IN THE BACK JAP” is apparent as it is the Japanese Americans who
were betrayed. When another high school student who he “thought was a friend” asked if he
knew about attack on Pearl Harbor before it happened, my grandfather’s first response was
“stupid ass.” I don’t know if he said this to his friend’s face. At the time, most Japanese were
not openly speaking out against the racism they encountered. Immediately following his
22
instinctual response, he retracts it, writing “maybe not stupid.” He acknowledges that his friend
was “typical,” and his words “reflected what most of the public was thinking…influenced by the
newspapers & politicians who did or didn’t know how unjust they were.” The tone of these
sentences is strikingly calm in contrast with the entirety of this entry. It is unclear when my
grandfather reached this sympathetic understanding of the actions of his friend, but I assume it
is something he came to terms with later in life.
From the incident outside of the theatre to the FBI raids and arrest of my greatgrandfather, the attack on Pearl Harbor was followed by incredibly life-changing events for my
grandfather. It is difficult to imagine what must have felt like to have for my grandfather to
have the life he knew taken from him so suddenly by his own country. Even with the passage of
time, he is still able to clearly recall the pain and anger he felt.
23
“Manzanar”
Several watch towers with armed sentries, search
lights, and barbed wire contained one square mile of desert
which they called Manzanar. When the camp was completed and
occupied fully with prisoners, there were 36 blocks and ten
thousand people in this one square mile area.
The view to the west was breathtakingly beautiful.
High mountains with snow which made every sport fishing
enthusiast want to go up there. The problem was of course
the barbed wire fence and the search lights and weapons on
those watch towers.
I heard some guys did go up there and back. What the
hell, it was only their lives that they were risking.
They’d crawl under the barbed wire fence while the search
lights were turned the other way and somehow get out of
camp. Coming back into camp created the same problem. It
had to be done at night. Anyway to them it was well worth
the risk. They said there were several lakes up there in
those mountains. And each time they would go to a lake
higher up in the mountains.
Can’t understand why they ever had sentries with
loaded weapons keeping us inside. Well, it was no problem
getting out of this crummy place. What the hell can a Slant
eye do after he gets out?????? Who wanted to get out? Where
could we go? With everything gone, where in the hell can a
guy go to make a living? …Everything that I thought
couldn’t happen had happened.
24
“Terminal Island”
Located approximately twenty miles from the heart of Los
Angeles is an island. It doesn’t really look like an island
but it is surrounded by water which is spanned by bridges
to the outside world…On the southwest side of the island
was fish harbor and a community of Japanese people lived in
this area. East San Pedro Elementary school. The fish
canneries, one California bank, four grocery stores, one
drug store, a couple of barber shops, three hardware
stores, two cafes, a couple of bars, etc, were located in
this area…
I used to sit on the edge of the wharf for hours at a time
waiting for the San Joaquin to come in with a load of
sardines. Most of the time dad did not disappoint me. To
this day I have not seen a better sight than the San
Joaquin loaded with sardines so that the stern of the boat
was actually under water and the happy smiles on the faces
of the all-Japanese crew…
Unless you are searching for it, you probably won’t find the Terminal Island Memorial.
Overlooking the Los Angeles harbor, the memorial seems out of place in the industrial area
most commonly frequented by truckers and longshoremen. However, the small shrine is a
reminder of the thriving Japanese-American community which once existed on the island. A
Shinto gate shrine, inscribed with the kanji character dai ryu “plentiful fish,” and a statue
Japanese fisherman reflect the time when Terminal Island was inhabited by over 3,000 first and
second generation Japanese-Americans.
During my grandfather’s childhood, the island was connected to the outside world by a
single drawbridge to Los Angeles and two ferry boats to San Pedro. This isolation led to the
development of a close community with a unique culture and dialect. The fishing village was
referred to by its inhabitants as furasato, which literally translates to “old village” (“San Pedro,
CA Japanese…”).
Like most of the island’s residents, my great-grandfather was a fisherman and my greatgrandmother worked in one of the village’s canneries. My great grandfather owned his own
ship, The San Joaquin. Initially entering the United States in Seattle, he worked odd jobs – as a
25
house boy or a railroad builder – before settling in Terminal Island, which my grandfather
describes as the place his father “wanted to spend his life.” However, that dream would not
happen. Everything changed with the war.
Because of its location near the Port of Los Angeles, Terminal Island was the first
location to experience the mass evacuation of Japanese Americans. Forced to evacuate on 48
hours’ notice, the residents faced significant financial losses. Fisherman, including my greatgrandfather, lost their boats, which were, in essence, their livelihoods. Following the war, there
was no furasato to return to. Most of the homes and businesses had been demolished by the
Navy, and the land was under government control. The village on Terminal Island would never
revive in any capacity. It was simply another casualty of the war.
--I have never had reason to question my status as an American citizen, nor have I felt
judged because of the way my face looks or the country of my ancestors. It is hard for me to
imagine that just two generations ago, my grandfather was forced to look at himself in the
mirror and question his entire identity. In writing his story, he hoped that his words would
“have some valid reason.” If nothing else, his honest words and raw emotions have spoken to
me. I am incredibly thankful to have this insight into the life of the grandfather I never knew.
26
Top left: My grandfather’s portrait
from Manzanar High
Top right: My grandfather,
stationed in Japan during the
Korean War, with my
grandmother, his future bride
Bottom: My grandfather,
grandmother, and father in front
of their home in Long Beach, CA
27
Family portrait of my grandfather, his three brothers, and his parents (1939)
28
Me in front of the monument at Manzanar.
29
Works Cited
100th Congress, S. 1009, reproduced at internmentarchives.com. Retrieved September 19,
2006.
Brimmer, Larry Dane. Voices from the Camps: Internment of Japanese Americans During World
War II. New York: Franklin Watts, 1994. Print.
Girdner, Audrie, and Anne Loftis. The Great Betrayal - The Evacuation of the Japanese
Americans During World War II. 1st ed. Toronto: The Macmillan Company, 1969. Print.
Houston, Jeanne Wakatsuki, and James D. Houston. Farewell to Manzanar. New York: Bantam
Books, 1974. Print.
"The Issei Immigrants and Civil Rights." Densho, n.d. Web. 3 May 2014.
<http://www.densho.org/learning/spice/lesson2/2reading2.asp>.
Levine, Ellen. A fence away from freedom: Japanese Americans and World War II. New York:
G.P. Putnam's, 1995. Print.
Murray, Alice Yang. Historical memories of the Japanese American internment and the struggle
for redress. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2008. Print
Niiya, Brian, and Calif Angeles. Japanese American history: an A-to-Z reference from 1868 to the
present. New York: Facts on File, 1993. Print.
Payne, James Robert. "Protest and Accommodation: Monica Sone's Nisei Daughter."
Multicultural autobiography: American lives. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1992. .
Print.
Okada, John. No-No Boy. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1979. Print.
Ng, Wendy L.. Japanese American internment during World War II: a history and reference
guide. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 2002. Print.
Peterson, Clarissa. "20th Anniversary of the Civil Liberties Act / Japanese Internment During
World War II." The Leadership Conference on Civil and Human Rights. The Leadership
Conference, 18 Aug. 2008. Web. 3 Apr. 2014.
<http://www.civilrights.org/resources/features/018-civil-liberties-act.html>.
"Preparing to Read Camp Harmony from Nisei Daughter by Monica Sone." Holt, Rinehart, and
Winston, n.d. Web. 5 May 2014.
<http://www.swl.k12.oh.us/Downloads/camp%20harmony.pdf>.
30
"San Pedro, CA Japanese Memorial Terminal Island." San Pedro, CA Japanese Memorial
Terminal Island. N.p., n.d. Web. 3 May 2014. <http://www.sanpedro.com/spcom/TerminalIsland-Japanese-Memorial.htm>.
“The Question of Loyalty." Densho, n.d. Web. 1 May 2014.
<http://www.densho.org/learning/spice/lesson5/5reading5.asp>.
Sone, Monica. Nisei Daughter. Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 1953. Print.
Tateishi, John. And Justice for All - An Oral History of the Japanese American Detention Csmp.
1st Ed. New York: Random House, 1984. Print.
Yogi, Stan. "You Had to Be One or the Other": Oppositions and Reconciliation in John Okada's
No-No Boy. MELUS , Vol. 21, No. 2, Varieties of Ethnic Criticism (Summer, 1996) , pp. 63-77
Yoon, Senogho. ""No place in particular": inhabiting post internment America, articulating post
internment anxieties in John Okada's No-No Boy.." ARIEL: n. pag. Web. 2 May 2014.
31

Nisei Identity and Reconciliation

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