Site of Rohwer Internment Camp Gets Grant Money

The KUAR website has announced that Arkansas will receive $400,000 in Federal grant money for its projects devoted to the detention of Japanese-Americans during World War II.

I visited Rohwer in November, 2009 as part of my research for my novel, BROKEN DOLLS. In my blog post, "Rohwer Whispers," I wrote about visiting the site--the impact it had, the secrets it shared.

KUAR's article quoted Dr. Johanna Miller Lewis, Project Director of Life Interrupted: The Rohwer Cemetery Preservation Project:

“We need to learn from our mistakes and I think it is especially important in Arkansas because civil rights is so much an important part of the state’s history and this is just another chapter of civil rights in the state of Arkansas.”

To learn from our mistakes, we must remember our mistakes. It is the reason I wrote BROKEN DOLLS.

It's a Small World After All

It's a world of laughter

A world of tears

It's a world of hopes

And a world of fears

There's so much that we share

That it's time we're aware

It's a small world after all 

 

When I was a child, my family made annual treks to Disneyland, where my favorite ride was "It's a Small World," a magical boat cruise through world villages, serenaded by the theme song in a variety of languages. True, it might have been considered cheesy by some. But I still remember gazing at the happy faces of the singing dolls and feeling a lump in my throat as I wished the world really could be that happy.

Every once in a while, though not often enough, I experience a moment that makes me realize that our world really is small, and I am grateful to find how similar we can be, even to someone who lives half a world away.

On Friday, I met Zehui, a University of Arkansas student who is here from China to obtain her master's degree in Communications. She is working on a research paper on the Japanese-American internment camps and after finding my blog and website, emailed me to ask if we could meet to discuss my research.

I don't know what was more exciting - that someone other than friend or family had spent some time on my website or that someone was interested in the subject matter of my book, Broken Dolls.

I asked Zehui how she became interested in the internment. She told me she had originally planned to do her paper on the Nanking Massacre, but while researching the special collections of the university library, she became intrigued by information she found on the internment of Japanese Americans. I understood, having also found fascinating archives, including journal entries, letters, newspaper articles, etc.

Zehui told me she was surprised that so few people know very much about the internment, and that most did not know there had been two camps in Arkansas, Jerome and Rohwer. In doing my research, I too, have been surprised at how unfamiliar people are with this part of our history. However, most people I've spoken to have a desire to learn more about it.

But my real "small world" moment came when Zehui told me she thought it was important for history to be reported objectively and without personal opinion or emotion. It is the very thought I have had myself about history, an opinion that was born fom reading the book, "Lies My Teacher Told Me," as well as traveling to other countries and seeing the contrasts in how history is reported.

Zehui and I both believe that the past must be reported objectively. It's tempting to teach historical events with a "nationalistic" tone, and I will admit that I have been one to be drawn to the nationlism. But we both agreed, that if we don't report history as it happened, without spin or fear of how it will "make us look," we will not learn its lessons and are destined to repeat it.

Zehui's and my histories are likely very different. Not only are we from different countries, we are from different generations. In fact, she is probably younger than my own two children. But, I left our meeting feeling we had much in common, and I was grateful for the chance to get to know someone who is from the other side of our very small world.

There is just one moon

And one golden sun

And a smile means

Friendship to ev'ryone

Though the mountains divide

And the oceans are wide

It's a small world after all

A Conversation with "Broken Dolls" Character, Sachiko Kimura

This is the first of three conversations I will have with the protagonists of my novel, Broken Dolls. The book follows the lives of nine-year old Japanese American, Sachiko Kimura, her seventeen-year old brother, Nobu, and his African-American friend, Terrence Harris, from 1941 to 1945.

Jan: There are certain events that have happened in our lives that we will never forget. We will always remember where we were and what we were doing. For me, it's the explosion of the Challenger and 9/11. Where were you, and what were you thinking when you first heard that Pearl Harbor had been attacked?

Sachi:  Well, I hate to admit that I was snooping in my parents' closet, trying to find where Mama had hidden my Christmas present. As I searched, I heard a voice on the radio in the kitchen. The man was talking about Pearl Harbor being attacked. The first thing I thought of was my brother, Taro, who was in Hawaii. Mama and Papa had wanted him to stay in California to attend college, but one of his friends told him there was good money cutting sugar cane in Hawaii, so he decided to go. I didn't hear the whole story about what happened in Pearl Harbor until later, so I didn't realize it was Japanese airplanes that had attacked. After I learned it was the Japanese, I was not only frightened for Taro, but for myself, for my family. I was already being teased me for being Japanese. Kids at school called me names, and I knew they would be even meaner now. I tried to pretend I was sick the next day, because I didn't want to go to school. But Mama saw right through me, and sent me anyway.

Jan:  So, how were you treated after Pearl Harbor?

Sachi:  The next day, dozens of kids called me Jap -- even more than before. But does the tenth time you're called a name hurt more than the first time? I don't think so. It hurt my feelings the same every time someone said it. Every time they whispered as I walked down the hallway. But it was harder on my brother, Nobu. I remember when he came home that day we'd first heard the news. He slammed the front door so hard the windows rattled all over the house. Then, he started yelling at Mama and Papa about how his friend's father had come outside when they were shooting baskets in the driveway. He told Nobu to go home, to never come back, all because he was Japanese. After Nobu finished yelling at my parents, he stomped up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door so hard a picture fell off the wall.

Jan:  You and your family were sent to an internment camp in Arkansas. They were very dark times for your family. Were there any bright moments that brought you through the darkness?

Sachi:  Yes, but not for awhile. After Papa was killed by those boys, the ones Nobu thought were his friends, I didn't think I could be any sadder. Then, we found out we had to leave our homes. I had to leave most of my belongings behind. When we arrived at Santa Anita, a racetrack they had converted to temporary housing, the smell was awful and we even had to share bathrooms. But, you know, there were parts about being there that I liked. All the people were Japanese. I no longer felt different from everyone else. Nobody called me names anymore. Then, some of our friends were sent to assembly center camps in California, some to Utah. But we were sent to Arkansas. Arkansas! I'd never been so far away before. There, the air was so hot and sticky, even fanning myself didn't make me feel cooler. But, it was also there that the most wonderful thing happened. I met Jubie Lee Franklin. Funny, fearless, downright naughty at times, and she became my very best friend. And though her skin was black, she wanted to be blood sisters with me -- me, a Japanese girl. I can still hear her words, can still see her with her hand over her heart. "It don't matter what we look like. Auntie Bess always tell me ever thing that's important sets right here in my heart."

Jan:  If you could tell the world something about yourself that we don't know, what would it be?

Sachi:  I wish I could be more brave. That might sound strange, coming from a young Japanese girl. But I have grown up learning the Japanese way of "saving face." Many Caucasians don't know what that means, so I'll try to explain. It means never doing anything that might bring shame, either to me or my family. One must behave, not speak out of turn, be respectful. Imagine the fearful thoughts that go through my head when I want to speak up, or try a new adventure. Will it anger someone? Bring shame? So, rather than take the chance, I refrain. I wonder what chances I have missed at discovering something new about someone or something else, or even about myself. Maybe that is one reason Jubie Lee was brought into my life. I don't need to worry about saving face with her. No, she wants to see every kind of face I have, whether it's a smile, a scowl, a tear or a frown. She wants -- no, demands -- to see every part of me, not just the honorable ones.

Honor

"All of us can't stay in the [internment] camps until the end of the war. Some of us have to go to the front. Our record on the battlefield will determine when you will return and how you will be treated. I don't know if I'll make it back."

            -- Technical Sergeant Abraham Ohama, Company "F"

            442nd Regimental Combat Team, Killed in Action 10/20/1944

Since beginning work on my novel, Broken Dolls, (see synopsis), I have learned many new things, not only about the history of the internment of Japanese Americans, but also about the history of my own family. I always knew my mother and her family had been forced to sell their belongings before being relocated to Tule Lake Relocation Center. When Tule Lake became a high security segregation camp for those Japanese Americans deemed to be "disloyal," they were moved to Topaz Relocation Camp in Utah.

My Grandparents

My grandparents were from Japan - Issei, first generation. Due to the Naturalization Act of 1790, they were not allowed to become American citizens. However, my mother and her siblings were born in the United States - Nissei, second generation. Therefore, they were citizens of this country when they were relocated to internment camps.

My mother and her mother

What I didn't realize until recently, was that my Uncle Yoshio - my mother's oldest brother - fought in the United States Army while his family was interned in these camps. He was a member of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, composed entirely of Japanese American soldiers.  The 442nd became the most decorated unit in United States military history for its size and length of service.

442nd Regimental Combat Team Website

Even more amazing to me was something I learned just last week from my cousin, Uncle Yoshio's son: his dad, my uncle, my mother's brother, received the Bronze Star.

It's difficult for me to put into words how I feel when I think about these young men fighting - some even sacrificing their lives - for a country that put their families behind barbed wire. But, there were many stories like my uncle's. Many of these young Japanese Americans soldiers must have held the same sentiments Tech. Sgt. Ohama expressed in his words above:

"Our record on the battlefield will determine when you will return and how you will be treated."

This history is not something my mother or her family spoke about much. Perhaps many Japanese Americans are unnecessarily ashamed of this history, or it is too painful a period in their lives to re-live. Perhaps it is the philosophy of gaman - patience, endurance. Or, maybe it is the attitude of shikata ga nai - resigned acceptance.

I am Sansei, third generation. The more I have learned since beginning work on Broken Dolls, the more I realize this is history we should all remember. Most of all, I respect the honor and dignity of those who experienced it.



Synopsis of Broken Dolls

It hit me on the drive in to work today. What have I done? In the synopsis I originally presented in this blog, I told the ending to the book! My apologies to those of you who already read the original synopsis. Nothing worse than knowing how a story ends!

NOTE: The synopsis I originally posted here was written for agents and editors -- they do want and need to know the ending of the book.

So, now I have amended it, removing the thrill-packed conclusion. Guess you'll just have to stand in line with a throng of fans to find out! :-)


It is 1941, and racial tensions are rising toward Japanese-Americans in the California community where nine-year old SACHIKO KIMURA lives. She is torn between the Japanese culture her mother compels her to learn, and wanting to be “American” like the rest of her friends. When Japan attacks Pearl Harbor, the tensions erupt, and Sachi is even more confused over her identity as a Japanese-American.

One afternoon, two days before Christmas, Sachi is at the park with her papa, MICHIO KIMURA. While playing on the slide, she witnesses three teenage boys taunting and beating her father. She especially remembers the colored boy with hazel eyes, TERRENCE HARRIS. Sachi’s older brother, NOBU KIMURA, comes upon the park scene in time to catch his three friends in the act. They run, and Nobu cries out to them. How could they beat up his father? The Kimura's are informed of Papa's death the day after Christmas.

On the morning of the beating, Terrence’s family had received a telegram that his father was killed in the attack on Pearl Harbor. In a blind fury, he leaves his mourning mother’s side, searching for something to make him forget his pain. He comes across two high school friends who convince him the only thing that will help is to “get a Jap.” When they find the Japanese man in the park, they do not know it is Mr. Kimura, father of their friend, Nobu. The three assailants are arrested later that night.

The attorney assigned to Terrence’s case, EDWARD BLAKE, has sympathy for Terrence’s story, having lost his own father at the hands of the Germans in World War I. Terrence is convicted of manslaughter and spends two years in jail. Blake becomes his mentor and helps to pay his way through college.

In April 1942, the Kimura’s are sent to Santa Anita Assembly Center—a converted horse race track. There, Sachi experiences her mother’s first outward discrimination, when she forbids Sachi to be friends with a boy of lower social class. But Sachi believes that attitude makes her mother as wrong as those who put them in the camp, and disregards her mother’s authority.

Several months later, Sachi and her family are transferred by train to the War Relocation Center in Rohwer, Arkansas, where Sachi develops a friendship with JUBIE LEE FRANKLIN, a local colored girl. But, as Sachi learns acceptance and forgiveness, Nobu and Mama become more embittered by events of racism toward Japanese-Americans.

In March, 1943, Nobu’s resentment over the United States’ treatment of its Japanese-American citizens leads him to become a “No No Boy,” when he answers “no” to the two questions on the loyalty questionnaire given to internees: Are you willing to serve in the armed forces of the United States on combat duty wherever ordered? And, Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States of America and faithfully defend the United States from any or all attacks by foreign or domestic forces, and forswear any form of allegiance or obedience to the Japanese emperor, or other foreign government, power or organization? He is categorized as “disloyal,” and like thousands of others, is sent away to Tule Lake, a maximum-security camp. Sachi and Mama remain at Rohwer.

Terrence is released from prison in January, 1944, and shortly after, passes his entrance exam into the University of California. With the prompting and encouragement of Mr. Blake, Terrence has become interested in civil rights, and pursues a law degree.

The World War II years, internment and an unexpected event affect Sachi and Nobu differently, and their lives take separate directions when the war ends.

Will Nobu be able to forgive the way Japanese Americans were treated?
Will Sachi's and Nobu's close relationship remain unchanged?
What is the surprise event?

Stay tuned!

Sachi's Letter to Nobu

I've come to understand that my characters are like children. They want my undivided attention, and will only agree to "talk" to me if they get just that -- undivided attention. So, when I finally sit myself down, open my mind and let my fingers fly over the keyboard, they tiptoe in, sit beside me and begin to tell me what's on their minds.

It happened this morning.

In my book, Broken Dolls, Sachi, my eleven-year old Japanese-American girl is still an internee at the Rohwer, Arkansas Internment Camp. Her eighteen-year old brother, Nobu, has been sent to a Justice Department camp in Santa Fe, New Mexico, because he answered "No-No" on Questions 27 & 28 of the loyalty questionnaire given to all Japanese-Americans over the age of eighteen. Sachi misses him terribly, and sits down to write a letter. But rather than tell him about the black hole in her life since he's been gone--that would make him more homesick--she decides to tell him about what she and her friend, Jubie, a local black girl, have been up to.

Here is a segment of that letter:

. . . When we moved one big rock, a couple of weird-looking, lobster-like creatures skittered away. Jubie called them crawdads. She said you could eat them, and that she’d ask her Auntie Bess to cook up a pot. But first, she said we’d have to catch a bunch of them. I don’t know. They look a little creepy. How am I supposed to help catch them if I don’t want to touch them? And eating them? Yuck.


People around here eat some strange foods, Nobu. Of course, Jubie probably thinks what we eat is strange, too.

I told her once that sometimes we eat our rice with seaweed wrapped around it. She crinkled her nose and asked what seaweed was. I had to remind myself that she’s never even seen the ocean, so she’s probably never heard of seaweed. When I explained that it was like thick, long blades of grass that grew in the ocean, she crinkled her nose even more, then stuck out her tongue!

That’s okay, because that’s how I felt about eating crawdads . . .


For me, there's no greater pleasure in writing than when my characters talk to me so openly that my fingers fly on the keyboard just to keep up with their words.

In the Shadow of Heart Mountain

Last week, I visited my third Japanese-American internment camp site—Heart Mountain Relocation Center, thirteen miles outside of Cody, Wyoming.

I was nine years old when I visited my first site, Tule Lake Relocation Center in California. I remember watching my mother stare at the desolate site with tears in her eyes. At the time, I felt sad, even helpless, seeing her cry. And, when she explained I, too, would have been sent to the camps--though I am an American, born in the United States and only half-Japanese--I felt a lump in my throat, as I imagined watching the dust that whipped all around us from behind barbed wire fences. It scared me to think of being taken from my home and sent to a camp, even though I’d never been to Japan, and knew very little of the faraway country.

The experience of watching my mother relive her poignant memories, and feeling the fear of the Japanese-Americans of that era, was part of the inspiration behind my book, Broken Dolls.

The second site I visited was in Rohwer, Arkansas. Before I started writing Broken Dolls, I didn’t know Arkansas had had two internment camps—Rohwer and Jerome, both in southeast Arkansas. (For more information on Rohwer, please see the blog I posted after my visit to Rohwer in November, 2009, titled "Rohwer Whispers.)

None of the original buildings remain at Rohwer, only a few grave markers and a monument to the internees. However, at the site of Heart Mountain, part of the hospital and its smoke stack still stand. Also, a monument garden and walking path describes what the relocation center was like in pictures and essays. An Interpretive Learning Center is scheduled to open in August 2011. The building that will house the center is a replica of the barracks that covered what is now farmland in the shadow of Heart Mountain. Those barracks housed over 10,000 residents, and at the time, the relocation center was the third largest populated area in Wyoming.
Today, very little remains at the sites of most of the relocation centers. Sadly, it is symbolic of how little we remember of this era. I’m often amazed at how little people know of the internment of Japanese-Americans, but I’m also pleasantly surprised at how interested they are for more information.

Last week at the Wyoming Writers Conference, following a presentation on Heart Mountain by poet, Lee Ann Roripaugh, I spoke to David Reetz, President and CEO of the Heart Mountain Wyoming Foundation.. He described how the foundation was established to memorialize and educate the public about the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II.

Development of this memorial and its Interpretive Learning Center is an important mission today, for we must remember our history.









“Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” -- George Santayana

Rohwer Whispers

When I first started writing Broken Dolls, I wasn’t aware there had been two relocation centers in southeast Arkansas. This discovery added new layers to my story which follows the lives of a Japanese-American family from 1941 to 1968.

In November 2009, I decided to visit the site of one of the relocation centers, Rohwer. I began with an interview with the former mayor of McGehee, Arkansas, Rosalie Gould, an authority on the history of the Rohwer and Jerome Relocation Centers. She holds an extensive collection of artifacts from the camps and has maintained relationships with many former internees. She told me fascinating stories that were told to her by internees, and she shared her collection of photographs, artwork and essays. Her interview started my passage into the past and helped me to better understand what it meant to be a Japanese-American in the 1940’s.

But my real empathic journey began the following day, when I drove to the site of Rohwer Relocation Center. When I was a child, I’d visited Tule Lake, a relocation center in California where my mother spent three years of her childhood. As a little girl, I couldn’t grasp the concept of being “relocated.” In fact, I thought it would be an adventure to live in a desert camp. But I saw my mother crying as she recollected her days in camp, and it made me queasy, but I didn’t understand why.

So, on that very warm day in November 2009, I hoped that as an adult, I might feel something deeper and come to a better understanding at the Arkansas site.

I left my hotel, and my gas gauge indicated I had approximately 1/8 tank of gas. I approached a gas station at the crossroad of US-65 and AR-1, where I would turn off the highway to get to Rohwer. I debated whether or not to stop. I pulled in and found the pumps were not auto-pay. Lazy and in a hurry, I didn’t want to take the time to go inside. So, convincing myself the site couldn’t be that far off US-65, I turned onto AR-1 and headed in the direction of Rohwer.

I drove and drove. And drove. Through acres and acres of cotton fields, still dotted with puffs of white. Through marshy patches of tall trees. All the while the gas gauge snuck toward “empty.” Surely I’d pass through a small town that would have a gas station. But what if I didn’t find one before I ran out of gas? There was hardly a house in sight. I really was out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere.

As my heart beat nervously, I wondered when I would finally arrive at Rohwer. And would it be before I ran out of gas? Then, in the middle of my frustration and fear, an epiphany hit me. I realized my anxiety might be similar to what the Japanese-Americans felt as they were being relocated from California to Rohwer, Arkansas.

Such a strange-looking land. So hot and humid. In-the-middle-of-nowhere.

The “low gas” warning light flashed on, feeding my fear of the fast-approaching empty tank. But I immersed myself in that fear and apprehension and imagined being on the train that brought the internees from California almost seventy years before.

When will we be there? What will Rohwer look like? Will there be armed guards and barbed wire, like at the last camp?
In the distance, I saw a couple of buildings, perhaps a town?

Please have a gas station.

My heart pounded.

How much farther to Rohwer? Why aren’t there any mileage markers? What if I’m not going the right direction? Please have a gas station.
There it was. A tiny station in a tiny town. Though it was not an automatic pump, I counted my blessings and proceeded inside to pay. I interrupted the conversation of two young girls behind the counter and an awkward silence followed. One girl glared at me while the other took my credit card, and I felt like a stranger in a strange land. I wondered why. Was it because I wasn’t from “around these parts?” Still engaged in imagining the feelings of an internee, I even wondered if it was because I am half-Japanese, so close to Rohwer. I finally decided it was probably because I’d cut short the gossip of two teenage girls.



Finally, a couple of miles farther down the road, I saw the sign for Rohwer. I turned right onto a gravel road and crossed the railroad tracks on which the internees would have arrived. I got out of the car and stared down the long, lonely track. I turned 360°. A small swamp. Cotton fields. Tall, shrubby trees. Arkansas Highway 1, Rohwer Relocation Center Memorial monuments.

The tarpaper barracks that housed almost 12,000 Japanese-Americans from September 18, 1942 to November 30, 1945 were gone. All that was left was a group of monuments that stood in a grove of trees in the middle of a cotton field, and a tiny cemetery of internees who had died while in camp. I felt lonely and sad, but at the same time grateful, to be the only visitor at the small site.

Swatting mosquitoes away from my face, I closed my eyes, and imagined getting off the train after a four-day ride from California. Being half-Japanese, if I had been alive during that time, I too would have been sent to a relocation center.

The wind whispered in my ear as I walked around the site looking for any memento that might tell me a secret of the camp. A lost trinket. A carving in a tree. A name I might recognize on a headstone.


At last, Sachi, the young girl in my book, whispered a secret to me that changed my story in Broken Dolls. Sachi has become a part of me, and every page I write is a visit with her. One day, when my book is finished, I’ll miss her.

As I prepared to leave Rohwer, I wanted to leave my own monument to the internees. I searched for something special, but the area was barren. Gravel crackled with every step I took in my search. Rocks! That would be my monument. I stacked several and left them as my personal monument to the Japanese-Americans who were taken from their homes in California and brought to Rohwer, Arkansas.

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Then, I drove away with the secrets I’d learned.