71 pages • 2 hours read
The question of identity—national, ethnocultural, and religious—is central to Facing the Mountain. On the surface, the Japanese American experience during World War II pits them against the majority Americans—Anglo-Saxon, white, Protestant. Japanese Americans living in the US were othered racially, culturally, and maybe even politically; they were unified as “enemy aliens” in the eyes of some white Americans. Yet as the author explores this question, the reader learns about more complex gradations of identity within the Japanese American population as well.
American colonialist settlers in the 18th and 19th centuries promoted white Western European supremacy, suppressing the Indigenous population of the continent, forcibly importing enslaved Africans, looking down on incoming Southern Europeans, and restricting immigrating Slavs, European Jews, and East Asians. Legal hindrances, such as immigration restriction acts, and widespread nativism and racism were underpinned by pseudo-science focused on perceived racial differences in intelligence and behavior. Given this context, it is unfortunately not surprising that Japanese immigrants fleeing terrible economic conditions in late-19th and early-20th century Japan were seen as inferior because of their race. They were relegated to working long hours in menial labor jobs such as farming, rail, mining, and service industries. However, despite facing racism in the US, some first-generation Japanese Americans held prejudicial attitudes toward their own.
The first difference Brown draws between first-generation Japanese Americans has to do with class. Despite living in the US for decades and respecting the country’s laws, Issei were prohibited from obtaining citizenship through naturalization per Ozawa v. United States Supreme Court case. However, while some Issei remained impoverished farmers, like Rudy Tokiwa’s parents, others pursued the proverbial American dream by slowly working their way up to the middle class, like the Shiosakis, who owned and operated a successful laundry. Another class marker within the first-generation Japanese American community was regional identity of origin: “Those who hailed from one prefecture in Japan often looked down on those from another” (54). At the bottom of this hierarchy were the Okinawans—the Ryukyuan people of Southern Japan—an ethnically and culturally distinct group.
Second-generation Japanese Americans, or Nisei, were pulled in a variety of directions by their complex identities. For one thing, Nisei ties (or lack thereof) to Japanese culture and customs caused generational clashes within families. Having obtained American citizenship through birth, many Nisei had no interest in Japanese culture and felt completely American. Other Nisei, however, wanted to maintain a relationship with their parents’ homeland and traveled to Japan to visit extended family and for education. Both of these decisions—to adopt Japanese identity or not to engage with it—were a potential trigger of conflict between generations, as it could violate the Japanese custom of respecting elders, especially fathers as decision-makers. Moreover, for second-generation Japanese Americans interested in maintaining a relationship with their parents’ homeland, other questions of immigrant identity arose. Fumiye Miho illustrates the problem of belonging such Nisei faced. Having often experienced prejudice in the US, she also failed to find a home in Japan, where, despite embracing the language and culture, she was seen as a foreigner, insulted for her “degenerate Western apparel” (301).
American regional identity also played a significant role within the second-generation Japanese community. Brown describes a lack of cohesion between the Hawaiian (the “Buddhaheads”) and the mainlander Nisei (the “kotonks”). Because the Hawaiians were outside the exclusion zone, their families did not experience the concentration camps. Of course, there were exceptions to this rule, as Kats Miho’s father was imprisoned for being an important member of the Japanese American community in Hawaii and having strong ties to his homeland. Overall, however, it was not until the Japanese American chaplains suggested sending the mainlanders on field trips to the concentration camps that the Hawaiian Japanese Americans that Brown writes about fully realized the extent to which their mainland counterparts were negatively affected.
Roosevelt’s Executive Order 9066 regarding exclusion zones brought the question of identity to a head. Yet here, too, the reactions varied. The majority of Japanese Americans chose to stay quiet and comply despite losing their homes, livelihood, and way of life. Others, like Gordon Hirabayashi, opted to peacefully challenge the constitutionality of these wartime measures. Forty years later, in the 1980s, he was proven right with his convictions overturned. And others instead fought hard to prove their loyalty to the country that punished them on racial grounds by volunteering to fight in Europe and becoming the most decorated unit in World War II.
The title of the book, Facing the Mountain, is both a metaphor and a literal illustration of the feats that the 442nd Regimental Combat Unit and its auxiliary 522nd Field Artillery Battalion performed in mountainous Italy and France. Many of the book’s subjects faced seemingly insurmountable circumstances, overcoming them through resilience and perseverance.
Brown documents a surprising number of actual mountainous obstacles. The first are the Vosges Mountains in France, where, in October 1944, the 141st Texas Regiment was lured and trapped. They were surrounded by German troops and running out of food, radio batteries, and medicine. Going against the advice of other officers, General Dahlquist ordered the 442nd to rescue the Texans. Despite the seeming impossibility of this mission, the 442nd ran up the mountain into enemy fire, succeeding but suffering significant casualties. Similarly, in March 1945, General Clark ordered the 442nd to create a diversion by ascending the 3,000-foot peak of Mount Folgorito in the Azanno area of Italy. Climbing at night in full gear, Nisei soldiers managed to break through the Gothic Line, which no one had done before, helping the final Anglo-American Allied push in the area. The author specifically singles out this feat in the Epilogue, having traveled to see the ascent firsthand and thus able to fully appreciate the audacity and physical endurance that it took.
There are also many metaphorical mountains—challenges that would cow any but the bravest of people. Solly Ganor overcame the cruelty and industrial-scale violence of the genocide conducted by Nazis in Lithuania and then in Germany. He miraculously survived in the Kovno ghetto with his parents and sister and avoided many instances of mass killings. Sent to the Dachau death camp with his father during the final years of the Holocaust, he grew weaker but was able to make it through the Dachau Death March, where others died from exhaustion, exposure, or were shot by SS guards. Ganor’s awakening on the snow on May 2, 1945, was akin to rebirth: “All he could see was a bright white light surrounding him on all sides” (439).
For Gordon Hirabayashi, the immense mountain was his legal battle and civil-rights protest against the federal government of the United States: a David vs. Goliath scenario. Although he initially lost, decades later, his conviction was overturned. Hirabayashi valued his principles over his freedom, which he was willing to sacrifice to remain true to himself.
Interestingly, Brown also describes some self-created mountains. During their hardest time of physical hardship and emotional suffering after losing their comrades, some Nisei, faced with the horrors of war, questioned the existence of God—overlaying existential crises of faith on top of situations of extreme exertion. The two Japanese American Protestant chaplains, Masao Yamada and Hiro Higuchi, counseled their fellow soldiers, some of whom turned to faith to find solace and the power to keep going. Similarly, Rudy Tokiwa’s mother subjected herself to a ritualistic cold-water shower at the crack of dawn every morning as a way of replicating some of the bodily privations her son was undergoing abroad. For her, this challenge was part of a prayer to keep her son safe until he came home: As she stood in the icy water, she intoned, “Kamisama has awarded this to me, for what I have done” (460), naming the Japanese Shinto deities (spirits).
The 20th century gave rise to three key ideologies: Liberalism, Communism, and fascism (Nazism). These ideologies, which differed in a variety of ways, divided individuals by class and state, or race and ethnicity. What united them, however, was the need to classify and organize large populations—impulses that ranged from documenting populations via passports or other quantifiable methods of identification, to separating groups for mass-scale forced- or prison labor, to industrial-scale violence and genocide.
Concentration camps—prison, labor, concentration, and death camps—were used in countries around the world starting in the late 1800s. Britain used concentration camps during the Second Anglo-Boer War in South Africa. In the early 1920s, Poland put Russians into concentration camps featuring a particular level of barbarism. In the 1930s, the Soviet Union used camps for labor and political prisoners, some labeled as “class enemies,” on a mass scale. Nazi Germany’s use of concentration camps to conduct genocide against Europe’s Jewish population and other marginalized groups is the most famous example because of the unprecedented level of cruelty and systemic, government-sponsored mass violence.
The United States is not often mentioned in this context. The country takes pains to hold itself up as moral leader, and, as a liberal democracy, it differs in ideology and form of government from authoritarian Nazi Germany and Soviet Union. Yet US use of concentration camps to hold Japanese Americans fits into this paradigm of population classification and control. Veiled language was an important part of American propaganda normalizing these camps, which were euphemistically referred to as “assembly centers” (impermanent facilities) or “war relocation centers” (more permanent facilities) and had menacingly dystopian names like Camp Harmony. Stanford historian Gordon Chang describes Roosevelt’s Executive order 9066 as “[m]ass ‘scientific’ population control by everyday liberal Americans” (Chang, Gordon, “Japanese Americans During World War II” in Landscaping the Human Garden, 2003, p. 204). Chang argues that many Americans, including Liberal anti-racists, convinced themselves that these camps were for the Japanese Americans’ own benefit:
Most American political leaders and the public, even as they embraced anti-aggression and antiracist purposes, had little problem endorsing the internment of persons of a racial minority at home. They had been nurtured on nineteenth-century and early-twentieth-century assumptions about genetically based racial hierarchy of humankind and the claims of a ‘biology’-based social Darwinism that linked social behavior, psychology, and culture to blood (191).
The author of Facing the Mountain does not explicitly unpack this parallel between the US and Nazi Germany, but he documents the history and eugenicist undercurrent of American anti-Asian racism throughout the book.
According to Chang, the American social planners “found themselves molding, reshaping, remaking a people in ways they determined best and consistent with their own ostensibly higher values and superior way of life, regardless of the rights and sentiments of the subject population” (195). Indeed, the most alarming aspect of the wartime-era American concentration camps is the fact that they were based on pseudo-scientific eugenicist racial ideas not unlike those of Nazi Germany. Several academic articles came out during World War II entitled “Relocation Centers as Planned Communities” and “The Psychiatric Approach in Problems of Community Management: From a Study of a Japanese Relocation Center” (Ibid, 195). In other words, Japanese Americans were observed and studied like guinea pigs. Thus, the Japanese American experience in World War II camps was different from the authoritarian counterparts in degree but not in principle.
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