My Two and a Half Years Behind Barbed Wire
Posted by Anqi Alice Li on September 30th, 2024

Last weekend, I attended a deeply educational lecture at the Carmel Foundation, hosted by the Japanese American Citizens League (JACL). The speaker was Mr. Yukio Shimomura, a survivor of the World War II Japanese American incarceration camps. The room was filled with an older crowd, and I found myself seated next to Larry, a jovial man who carried a piece of cartoon clipped from a newspaper in his pocket. We joked about our age difference and exchanged snippets of Japanese, bridging decades with laughter. The room fell into a respectful silence as Mr. Shimomura, a reserved figure, approached the microphone.

Though he struck me as quiet and introverted, his voice carried clarity and composure as he began his talk. His first slide bore a surprising question: “What is most important to an American?” The audience murmured with responses—“Freedom,” “Our First Amendment rights,” and others. It was an unusual opening for a talk on wartime incarceration, but it would soon make perfect sense.

Mr. Shimomura described the unimaginable: the forced incarceration of 110,000 Japanese Americans following the attack on Pearl Harbor, a result of Executive Order 9066. From infants to the elderly, entire families were uprooted. For his family, it meant leaving their home in San Francisco and being confined first to the Tanforan Assembly Center, a converted horse race track in San Bruno, and later to a desolate camp near Topaz, Utah.

He painted vivid pictures of life in the camps: families dining in mess halls, sleeping in makeshift quarters that reeked of their former equine inhabitants, and enduring constant humiliation under the watchful eyes of armed guards. His older brother lost his sight due to inadequate medical care. Upon their release, they found their home and possessions confiscated. Poverty awaited them on the outside, where they lived in neighborhoods littered with debris and drunkards. Shimomura spoke of the slurs and scorn he endured as he tried to rebuild his life in a society that viewed him as an outsider.

Still, his family fought to reclaim their lives. His parents worked tirelessly to rise back into the middle class. Yet, through all this hardship, what stood out most was Mr. Shimomura’s resilience. He spoke of his anger and indignation, emotions he carried for years before learning the power of forgiveness.

His conclusion was striking: “Don’t let anybody take away your freedom, and don’t let anybody tell you America isn’t great.” His words hung in the air, a reminder of the strength it takes to reconcile love for a country that betrayed you.

After the war, Mr. Shimomura graduated high school and, to my surprise, joined the U.S. Army. I couldn’t reconcile this choice with the injustice he and his family endured at the hands of the military. Later, over the phone, I asked him why he chose to serve. His answer was simple yet profound: “Know your roots.”

His message remains with me. It’s a call to understand history, preserve it, and ensure that the mistakes of the past are never repeated.