Bainbridge Island Japanese American Monument Act Of 2007
Mr. Speaker, I rise today to support H.R. 161, to expand the Minidoka Internment National Monument to include the Nidoto Nai Yoni Memorial, which commemorates the Japanese Americans of Bainbridge Island, the Japanese Americans of…
Mr. Speaker, I rise today to support H.R. 161, to expand the Minidoka Internment National Monument to include the Nidoto Nai Yoni Memorial, which commemorates the Japanese Americans of Bainbridge Island, the Japanese Americans of Bainbridge Island, Washington, who were interned during World War II.
On February 19, 1942, President Franklin Roosevelt signed an executive order which forcibly removed approximately 120,000 Americans of Japanese ancestry from their homes, their friends, and their communities. They were incarcerated by this government for their ancestry. Just over 1 month after the executive order was signed, 227 Bainbridge island men, women, and children were sent to internment camps. They were the very first Japanese American families in the United States to be incarcerated.
We in the Pacific Northwest would like to think that we live in a better part of the country, in a part of the country where things are the way they ought to be. But sometimes the way we want things to be is not the way things happen or reality. Because these Japanese Americans were taken from their homes in the heart of the Puget Sound. They were sailed to Seattle. They were loaded onto trains for a 3-day journey to Manzanar, a concentration camp in California's Mojave Desert. These Americans were the very first Americans to be so detained, and the last of the detainees were not released until October of 1946, 4\1/2\ years after the signing of the executive order and over a year after the end of World War II.
But this chapter of our history did not end there. Upon release from the internment camps, Japanese Americans could not return to the lives that they had led before the tragic and misled executive order. I would like to submit further information about General DeWitt's decisions and recommendations, and I will do that at a different time, but during the period of internment, they had lost their homes, their businesses, and their livelihoods.
By commemorating Japanese Americans who were so detained, we ensure that this sad episode in our history will never be forgotten and hopefully not repeated, because we need to learn from the mistakes of the past.
Thirty years passed before the executive order was formally rescinded in 1976. In 1988, a Presidential apology was issued internees.
This is not an abstraction. This is not a theoretical debate. The Military Commissions Act passed by this Congress on September 30, 2006, potentially puts American citizens at risk of military detention. That is a plain reading of the Military Commissions Act. It was hotly debated between the then chairmen of two committees and this Member. It has been commented upon to a limited extent in the national press.
But I think that a fair reading of the Military Commissions Act would show you that if a person is just walking down the street and is detained by military authority for whatever reason, and we are not talking about aliens in Afghanistan, we are talking about someone walking down the streets of Portland, Oregon, or in Bainbridge Island. What could potentially happen to that person?
The better course under the Military Commissions Act is that they are subject to military justice, a very limited review by a military tribunal, and the end of that appeal road is the Secretary of Defense. That is actually the better course.
Now, I have to point out that there are 25 detainees in Guantanamo who, after 5 years of detention, have not had their first review yet; and I say that is the better course because the course that is actually more troubling under the Military Commissions Act is that if there is not a review, there is no appeal. There is no appeal to a civilian court. There is no habeas corpus, a doctrine which has served Anglo American societies well for almost a thousand years.
This memorial, which H.R. 161 helps us remember, is not an abstraction. It was real suffering for the Japanese Americans, for the Americans who were incarcerated. But it is also a reminder that, as was said of the executive order much later, when actions are taken by this government in an atmosphere of hysteria, great injustices can be perpetrated; and we need to be careful in our era lest we be put in a position to issue an apology decades from now.
Following the attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii passed under
martial law, the writ of habeas corpus was suspended, and the
military police took several hundred suspected spies and
saboteurs of Japanese extraction into custody. But the very
size of the Japanese community in Hawaii (nearly half the
territory's population), and its vital importance to the
islands' economy, foreclosed any thought of wholesale
evacuation. The mainland community, however, was
proportionately much smaller (in California, barely 1 percent
of the population), more economically marginal and socially
isolated, and long buffeted by racist pressures. The mainland
Japanese for the most part kept warily to themselves, many of
them toiling with exemplary efficiency on their family fruit
and vegetable farms. Insular and quiescent, they were also
internally riven by age and legal status. Their elders, the
forty thousand first-generation immigrant Japanese, or Issei,
were generally over the age of fifty and debarred from
citizenship by the Immigration Restriction Act of 1924, a
statutory impediment that perversely exposed them to the
accusation that as non-citizens they were poorly assimilated
into American society. A majority of their children, the
eighty thousand second-generation Nisei, were under the age
of eighteen. Born in the United States, they were also
citizens. Alien and citizen alike, the peculiarly vulnerable
Pacific Coast Japanese community was about to feel the full
wrath of war-fueled hysteria.
Curiously, no clamor for wholesale reprisals against the
mainland Japanese arose in the immediate aftermath of the
Pearl Harbor attack. The Los Angeles Times soberly
editorialized on December 8 that most of the Japanese on the
Coast were ``good Americans, born and educated as such,'' and
serenely foresaw that there would be ``no riots, no mob
law.'' General John L. DeWitt, chief of the army's Western
Defense Command, at first dismissed loose talk of mass
evacuations as ``damned nonsense.'' He condemned any
broadside assaults on the rights of the American-born Nisei.
``An American citizen, after all, is an American citizen,''
he declared. Individual arrests were another matter.
Government surveillance, ongoing since 1935, had identified
some two thousand potentially subversive persons in the
Japanese community. Along with fourteen thousand German and
Italian security risks nationwide, they were quietly rounded
up in the last days of 1941. But those individual detentions
stopped well short of wholesale incarcerations. ``I was
determined,'' Attorney General Francis Biddle wrote, ``to
avoid mass internment, and the persecution of aliens that had
characterized the First World War.''
In fact, the immigrants whose loyalty had been questioned
during World War I had then been freshly arrived and seemed
to many observers unarguably alien. But by 1941 those older
European groups were settled communities, well assimilated,
their patriotism as well as their political loyalty actively
cultivated by Roosevelt's New Deal. Though a surprising six
hundred thousand Italians--more than 10 percent of the entire
Italian-American community--remained Italian citizens and
were automatically labeled ``enemy aliens'' after Mussolini's
declaration of war, Roosevelt instructed Biddle to cancel
that designation in a joyfully received announcement at
Carnegie Hall, shrewdly delivered on Columbus Day 1942, just
weeks before the congressional elections.
The Japanese were not so fortunate. As war rumors took wing
in the weeks following Pearl Harbor, sobriety gave way to
anxiety,
then to a rising cry for draconian action against the
Japanese on the West Coast. Inflammatory and invariably false
reports of Japanese attacks on the American mainland flashed
through coastal communities. Eleanor Roosevelt's airplane, en
route to Los Angeles on the evening of the Pearl Harbor
attack, was grounded in the Midwest while the first lady
telephoned Washington to check a radio message that San
Francisco was under bombardment. Painters at Stanford
University blacked out the skylight of the library's main
reading room so that it could not serve as a beacon to enemy
pilots. Carpenters hammered up dummy aircraft plants in Los
Angeles to decoy Japanese bombers away from the real
factories. Athletic officials moved the traditional New
Year's Day football classic from the Rose Bowl in Pasadena,
California; the game was played instead in North Carolina,
presumably safe from Japanese attack. Japan's astonishing
string of victories in the Pacific further unsettled American
public opinion. Hong Kong fell on December 2, Manila on
January 2, Singapore on January 25.
The release at the end of January of a government
investigation of the Pearl Harbor attack proved the decisive
blow. The report, prepared by Supreme Court Justice Owen J.
Roberts, alleged without documentation that Hawaii-based
espionage agents, including Japanese-American citizens, had
abetted Nagumo's strike force. Two days later, DeWitt
reported ``a tremendous volume of public opinion now
developing against the Japanese of all classes, that is
aliens and non-aliens.'' DeWitt himself, described by Biddle
as having a ``tendency to reflect the views of the last man
to whom he talked,'' soon succumbed to Rumor's siren. He
wildly declared to an incredulous Justice Department official
that every ship sailing out of the Columbia had been attacked
by submarines guided by clandestine radio operators near the
river's mouth. When evidence of actual attacks failed to
materialize, DeWitt invoked the tortured logic that the very
absence of any sabotage activity on the West Coast proved the
existence of an organized, disciplined conspiracy in the
Japanese community, cunningly withholding its blow until it
could be struck with lethal effect. In February the respected
columnist Walter Lippmann alleged that military authorities
had evidence of radio communications between ``the enemy at
sea and enemy agents on land''--a charge that FBI director J.
Edgar Hoover had already advised Biddle was utterly without
foundation. A radio technician from the Federal
Communications Commission reviewed DeWitt's ``evidence'' of
electronic signals and declared it hogwash. All 760 of
DeWitt's suspicious radio transmissions could be accounted
for, and not one involved espionage. ``Frankly,'' the
technician concluded, ``I have never seen an organization
[the U.S. Army's Western Defense Command] that was so
hopeless to cope with radio intelligence requirements. The
personnel is unskilled and untrained. Most are privates who
can read only ten words a minute. . . . It's pathetic to say
the least.''
But by this time facts were no protection against the
building gale of fear and prejudice. ``Nobody's
constitutional rights,'' Lippmann magisterially intoned,
``include the right to reside and do business on a
battlefield.'' Lippmann's colleague Westbrook Pegler echoed
him less elegantly a few days later: ``The Japanese in
California should be under armed guard to the last man and
woman right now,'' Pegler wrote in his widely read column,
``and to hell with habeas corpus until the danger is over.''
Unapologetically racist voices also joined the chorus.
``We're charged with wanting to get rid of the Japs for
selfish reasons,'' a leader of California's Grower-Shipper
Vegetable Association declared. ``We might as well be honest.
We do. It's a question of whether the white man lives on the
Pacific Coast or the brown man.'' Prodded by such sentiments,
in early February 1942 DeWitt officially requested
authority to remove all Japanese from the West Coast. It
was impossible he claimed, to distinguish the loyal from
the disloyal in the peculiarly alien and inscrutable
Japanese community. The only remedy was wholesale
evacuation. The same man who had said a month earlier,
``An American citizen, after all, is an American
citizen,'' now announced, ``A Jap's a Jap. . . . It makes
no difference whether he is an American citizen or not. .
. . I don't want any of them.''
At the Justice Department several officials, including
conspicuously Edward J. Ennis, director of the Alien Enemy
Control Unit, as well as Biddle's assistant James H. Rowe,
struggled to quell this irrationally mounting fury. Rowe
denounced Lippmann and Pegler as ``Armchair Strategists and
Junior G-Men'' whose reckless charges came ``close to
shouting FIRE! in the theater; and if race riots occur, these
writers will bear a heavy responsibility.'' Attorney General
Biddle informed Secretary of War Stimson ``that the
Department of Justice would not under any circumstances
evacuate American citizens.'' But at a fateful meeting in the
living room of the attorney general's Washington home on the
evening of February 17, the gentle and scholarly Biddle
buckled. Facing off against Assistant Secretary of War John
J. McCloy and two army officers, Ennis and Rowe argued
heatedly that DeWitt's request for evacuation orders should
be denied. Unknown to his two subordinates, however, Biddle,
new to the cabinet, unsure of his standing with Roosevelt,
and overawed by the Olympian figure of Stimson, had told the
secretary of war by telephone earlier in the day that he
would not oppose DeWitt's recommendation. When this became
clear, Rowe remembered, ``I was so mad that I could not
speak. . . . Ennis almost wept.'' Even Stimson had grave
misgivings. ``The second generation Japanese can only be
evacuated,'' he wrote in his diary, ``either as part of a
total evacuation, giving access to the areas only by permits,
or by frankly trying to put them out on the ground that their
racial characteristics are such that we cannot understand or
even trust the citizen Japanese. This latter is the fact but
I am afraid it will make a tremendous hole in our
constitutional system to apply it.'' Despite his own
reservations and the sputtering opposition of the Justice
Department officials, Stimson advised the president that
DeWitt should be authorized to proceed. The cabinet devoted
only a desultory discussion to the matter. On February 19
Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066. It directed the War
Department to ``prescribe military areas . . . from which any
and all persons may be excluded.'' No explicit reference to
the Japanese was necessary. When Biddle feebly objected that
the order was ``ill-advised, unnecessary, and unnecessarily
cruel,'' Roosevelt silenced him with the rejoinder: ``[T]his
must be a military decision.''