Days of Camps Haunt Memories of Many

Row upon row of black, tar-paper barracks here have been replaced by uniform fields of alfalfa. This remote Indian reservation offers no hint today that the internment camp here during World War II was a watershed experience for Japanese-Americans.

No monument stands at the Poston Relocation Center, just a small engraving on a decaying, graffiti-covered gymnasium that says it was “built by the Japanese residents of Poston, 1943.” The government tore down most of the camp after the war, and locals say that, as each year goes by, fewer former internees visit the lonesome site, where 19,534 Japanese-Americans--1,851 of them from Orange County--were interned.

Fifty years later, Japanese-Americans have been portrayed as a “model minority” that has rebounded economically. But the internment legacy haunts generations of Japanese-Americans. It shapes how they perceive their identity and raise their children, and it explains why they are now concerned about the rise of Japan-bashing and racial hate crimes.

Many camp survivors say they would like to forget the internment that stripped them of their constitutional rights and cost them years of their lives. Some never shared that trauma with their children, even after the redress movement won an official government apology and reparations. Others feel compelled to keep the lessons of internment alive.

“Some people want to forget, but I think it should be remembered because it should never happen again,” said Mary Yamagata Nitta, 75, of Santa Ana, who was interned with her family at Poston. “There is so much Japan-bashing now that we could go through the same thing.”

David Kanno, a 38-year-old lawyer in Irvine and a third-generation Japanese-American, doesn’t speak Japanese. He grew up in Fountain Valley with baseball and the Pledge of Allegiance. When he first heard his father, James Kanno, talking about “camp,” he assumed he meant the Boy Scouts.

But gradually, the younger Kanno awakened to the stark reality of an era when an Asian face prompted racial slurs or worse.

“People are people, and sometimes they turn against you,” he said. “I’ve been taught that by my father and history. It’s something that has been with me all my life, though we’ve never had a real sit-down talk about it.”

Likewise, Dean Matsubayashi, a 21-year-old senior at UC Irvine and a Sansei activist, said:

“It’s a big part of American history, but when I was young, my parents never really talked about (the internment). Last year I talked to my mom about it, and it was like falling into a big ditch, sad and scary. . . . It is why I stay involved in Asian-American issues.”

Some survivors paint camp as a positive experience that tested their endurance. Others say the psychological effect of internment, especially in the years immediately afterward, was similar to the effect of rape for a woman without a support network.

Scarred by the internment, Japanese-Americans changed their expectations. They tried harder than ever to assimilate into mainstream America and began marrying out of the race at high rates, raising questions as to whether the community was committing “ethnic suicide,” said Stephen S. Fugita, director of ethnic studies at Santa Clara University.

Because of discrimination, many were unable to break into professions, continue farming or even find housing after the war. In Southern California, many became gardeners or ran nurseries. Some became high-profile citizens, such as the late Court of Appeals Justice Stephen Tamura or Rep. Norman Y. Mineta (D-San Jose).

Those who were interned often did not teach Japanese to their children, but they encouraged them to become educated professionals, saying they had to work hard to overcome discrimination, said John Liu, assistant professor of social science at UC Irvine.

“My parents said education was something that nobody could take away from you,” recalled Susan Hori, 36, a Sansei attorney in Newport Beach whose parents were interned at a camp in Minidoka, Idaho.

Some Nisei say they are now more comfortable talking about camp, thanks in part to the government’s apology in 1988 for the internment and legal decisions in the 1980s overturning the convictions of those who resisted the internment.

“I think the analogy to rape victims is becoming less true as time goes on,” said Arthur Hansen, director of the Oral History Project at Cal State Fullerton. “Just as for victims of rape, there is a support network now that reinforces survivors. With the catharsis of redress, they see the experience as a badge of identity.”

Survivors of Poston are planning a reunion for the first time in October. The organizers plan to erect a simple monument at the site of the camp. It will be something for the rest of the nation to remember, when all of the survivors are gone.

According to scholars, about 73% of the surviving internees eventually returned to the West Coast. The 1990 census reported 29,704 Japanese-Americans in Orange County, or 1.2% of the population. Perhaps two-thirds of the 120,313 interned are alive today, scholars say.

The younger generation grew up in another world. Sansei are only about a third as likely as Nisei to say they have experienced considerable discrimination as an adult, according to a poll in 1980 by Fugita and David O’Brien, a professor at the University of Missouri.

But driven by ideals of 1960s civil rights activism, Sansei joined their parents in the redress effort to win an apology and compensation from the government. They were also inspired by the 1970s “Roots” phenomenon to explore their ethnic history.

Because of the Vietnam War, Sansei sometimes sympathized with the 10% of the evacuees who took a stand against the internment by forswearing allegiance to the United States and refusing to fight in the U.S. military.

“I’m proud of the Japanese-Americans that fought in the war. They took a stand of being more American than the Americans and it worked for them,” said David Kanno. “I also don’t see any conflict in being equally proud of those that resisted the draft.”

While time and circumstances have broadened the understanding of the dilemma of those internees who felt that the injustice of internment justified civil disobedience, some tension between the generations has lingered.

“The Sansei almost felt the Nisei were stupid to let this happen to them,” said James Kanno, 66, a Santa Ana real estate broker. “But it’s a different world today. When redress came up, some Nisei didn’t want to stir the pot again.”

Yet, the younger generation helped file lawsuits and worked with the Nisei on the political campaigns that led to the apology and reparations bill of 1988, which authorized $20,000 payments to each camp survivor.

Orange County’s Japanese Descendants The first known migration of Japanese into the county took place in 1900 when laborers from a railroad section gang entered under contract to harvest celery for the Vegtable Union. Families began sharecropping in 1905.

How Population Has Grown Number of individuals 1900: 3 1990: 29,704

Statistics Farmland leased in 1941: 9,696 acres Farmland owned in 1941: 869 acres Number of farms: 245 Estimated value of land and buildings in 1941: $3.5 million Major crops: tomatoes, chili peppers, lima beans, strawberries, squash, asparagus Major communities: Wintersburg (Huntington Beach), Anaheim, Talbert (Fountain Valley), Newport Beach, Tustin, Buea Park, Santa Ana, Laguna Beach Sources: U.S. Census Bureau; Orange County Farm Bureau; Cal State Fullerton Oral History Project; Cornell University; Journal of Orange County Studies; Yugi Ichioka, research associate, Asian American Students Center; UCLA. Researched by DEAN TAKAHASHI / Los Angeles Times