As I embark on a meaningful journey to my mother’s homeland of Hawaii to write a book about my family’s experience during World War II, this trip will be one like no other I will ever take: revealing truths and stories previously untold, but surely never forgotten once they are shared.
In all families, there is “that one story” that seers and bonds the family legacy together, and in mine, our tale is one of hidden secrets, pride, prejudice, bravery, and historical intrigue.
My mother was about 10-years-old when the infamous attack on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii spewed shockwaves and fear throughout the country.
She watched her two older brothers enlist in the war and suddenly leave for Europe. This was an unusually difficult situation at best, as my uncles were Japanese-Americans who called America their homeland, and yet, faced a lot of racial discrimination like many other Japanese experienced after Japan attacked the United States on homeland soil. But unlike thousands of Japanese-Americans on the mainland of America who were interned in concentration camps, had their land and possessions taken away, and were torn apart as families some never to be reunited, Japanese residents in Hawaii were allowed to keep their freedom, property, and autonomy in part.
The reason was economical as is the case with most decisions during wartime and political upheaval. There was such a large Japanese population in Hawaii at the time, and it was economically unfeasible to intern them. It would have been irreversibly detrimental to Hawaii to lock up such a large percentage of their sustainable workforce.
This controversial decision meant that my family was able to keep their acres of coffee farmlands, which they had toiled and worked to own for two generations.
While the young men of the family left their homeland to battle the war overseas in Europe, my mother, along with other women in her family, fought on the home front to keep their land prosperous, and morale high, as women have historically done during wartime.
My uncles enlisted in the 442nd Purple Heart Battalion, a self-sufficient fighting force comprised 100 percent of Japanese-American soldiers from all over the country with unrivaled performance and service.
Although several books, a few films, documentaries, and passages in history books were produced about the 442nd, the experience and servitude of Japanese-American soldiers, and what they accomplished in the war is largely untold, much like the historical accounts of African-American soldiers who honorably served.
As a small child I vividly remember my uncles discussing how they felt that it was “their duty and calling” to enlist in the War on the behalf of America, and how they never considered any other possibility.
The same was true for most Japanese-Americans who lived in the mainland states.
Even though the government interned their families, and they lost everything they worked for, in some ways, many of these soldiers felt even more patriotic. They wanted to prove their allegiance to their country, prove that they were true, red-blooded Americans.
My mother, who was a young girl at the time, said she doesn’t remember any hesitation, caution or conflict as to whether or not her brothers would risk their lives and fight overseas, it was simply the expected and “right” thing to do.
On one particularly balmy day at dusk near calm Hawaiian waters not far from the family farm where we often got together, I recall my grandfather, who also worked as a fisherman, speak about how it was a both a glorious and difficult time to be alive.
In his words, Japanese-Americans were as American as anyone else, and his sons fought bravely, as expected, alongside Caucasians, African-Americans, and everyone else willing to risk their lives for the country.
Japanese culture by nature is private and does not believe in self-promotion, even using the word “hagi,” which means shame if one is thought to brag. Sadly, many Americans do not know much if anything at all about this part of World War II history.
Thankfully, I have one uncle who remains alive today to tell his story of what it was like to serve as a decorated soldier during World War II, and I am grateful and look forward to hearing first-hand about his personal accounts of what it was truly like to be a part of American history.
His story will be akin to many other soldiers who fought, yet different insofar as the double-edged sword he experienced overseas and at home with racism and bigotry.
In addition, as more veterans of World War II pass away each day, taking their stories with them to their graves for eternity, the impetus to both hear, and tell their stories becomes more crucial by the day.
As for my uncle’s long-awaited interview, I picture us underneath a Hawaiian Banyan tree on a windswept afternoon under clear Island skies. I am as calm and still as the ocean as I listen with baited breath to his quiet memories filled with thunderous, stormy, and sentimental tales of a soldier who fought for his country more than a half a century ago.