“Do you think,” he asked, “I should volunteer for the Army Nurse Corps or the WAACs?”
Everyone but Taizo laughed. Etsuko said dryly, “I do not see you in a nurse’s uniform. The WAAC uniform might flatter you more.”
“What a damnfool question!” Taizo snapped, as irritated by Jiro’s flippancy as by the question itself. “It is almost as foolish as Question 28. The same government that denies me citizenship because of my race wants me to forswear any allegiance to Japan? To renounce my Japanese citizenship? Am I to become a man without a country, with no allegiance, no home, no rights?”
Ruth had never heard such outrage in her father’s voice.
“And if we do answer ‘no’ to these questions,” Jiro said, “what can they do to us? Put us in a concentration camp?”
Ralph answered grimly, “They can put you in a worse concentration camp, like Tule Lake—or they might deport you back to Japan.”
Jiro sighed. “Would that be so awful? My son is over there somewhere—perhaps I should return and look for him. Nishi, do you agree?”
Nishi said quietly, “I am more afraid that if we answer ‘yes,’ they will send us to some hakujin community where we will be feared and attacked. The stories in the newspaper are terrible, full of hatred toward Japanese—”
“Yes,” Horace agreed, “a coworker of mine went to Idaho last year, on work furlough, to help the farmers harvest their beets. He was told that helping the war effort would be proof of his loyalty. But when they went into a restaurant to eat dinner, the owner called them ‘damn Japs’ and threw them out! They were American citizens, yet they were treated like Japanese soldiers!”
“Why are they even asking Nisei this question?” Ruth said, puzzled. “If we answer ‘yes,’ the Army could interpret it as an admission that we have loyalty to the Japanese emperor, that we are disloyal.”
“They might even take away our citizenship,” Rose pointed out.
“And if Japan wins the war,” Jiro said, “such a statement of loyalty to America could be considered treasonous.”
Frank asked, “If we say ‘yes,’ will that be as good as volunteering to enlist? I’d consider enlisting, but I don’t want to be tricked into doing it.”
Finally, Ruth addressed the group: “All right. Let’s take a poll, see where we all stand. Who’s thinking of saying ‘no’ to Question 27?”
Jiro, Nishi, Taizo, and Etsuko raised their hands—reasonably, since all were well past draft age. Rose and Ruth herself, both of whom had small children to care for, also raised their hands.
“Now, who’s considering answering ‘no’ to Question 28?”
Again Jiro and Nishi raised their hands—and, to the surprise of his children, Taizo. Etsuko asked him, “Otōsan, are you sure?”
“I am sure of nothing,” Taizo answered honestly. “I do not wish to return to Japan. But I do not wish to be a man without a country.”
“Pop,” Ralph said, “if you answer ‘no-no,’ they’ll either deport you or send you to Tule Lake. Then the only way to avoid us being separated as a family is for the rest of us to say ‘no-no.’”
“No! That is not necessary. This is my decision alone.”
“I will not abandon you, husband,” Etsuko said with steel in her voice.
Ruth glanced at Frank, who nodded and said, “We won’t either.”
“Nor we,” Horace agreed.
Taizo took that in. The idea of saying “no-no” was a seductive vent for his anger, but he could not allow his children and grandchildren to suffer the consequences of his anger. He sighed and relented. “Very well. I will answer ‘yes-yes.’ I will even join the WAACs if they ask me.”
Laughter eased the tension, but Jiro, atypically, did not laugh. “Ryuu,” he asked, “will the government allow us to repatriate to Japan voluntarily?”
The laughter receded, leaving a silent tide of sadness in the room.
“Yes, Uncle, if that is what you want,” Ralph said softly. “You’d have to wait until a prisoner exchange is available through the Spanish Consul, who acts as a humanitarian intermediary between the American and Japanese governments.”
Taizo was as shocked and saddened by Jiro’s decision as the rest of the family but he would not allow himself to show it.
“It is what we want,” Jiro said with a nod to his wife. “Our daughters have lives and families here. After the war—whoever wins it—surely we can come back and visit them. But for now, Japan, and Akira, call to us.”
* * *
Jiro and Nishi were not alone. To avoid registration, in February almost a thousand people in all ten relocation centers chose to apply for repatriation to Japan. The next month saw a similar number, and in April the requests for repatriation mushroomed to over fifteen hundred internees.
Unlike Taizo, many Issei fathers answering “no-no” exerted great pressure on their sons to do likewise and many Nisei did so of their own volition, unwilling to abandon their aged parents; filial piety demanded nothing less. Those who answered “yes-yes” risked public shame by those who vehemently disagreed. Nisei who wished to enlist in the Army often had to leave the camp under cover of night.
Registration began on February 10 and was conducted block by block in a progressive sequence, in mess halls or recreation buildings. Nisei men of draft age were registered separately from women and aliens and were also required to formally answer Questions 27 and 28 in front of an Army colonel.
By the time the Army team reached Block 31, Taizo had had ample time to ponder his dilemma. Despite his assurances to his family, he still feared the consequences of answering “yes” to Question 28, renouncing his ties to Japan while receiving nothing in return. Sitting at one of the mess hall tables alongside other Issei, he again went over the questions. He was suspicious of the phrase “Application for Leave,” as if by signing he was requesting leave to go … where? To some white community where his family would face prejudice and hostility, to “start over”? Everything he and his children had worked for all their lives had been sold, confiscated, stolen. They had little money to start new businesses. Haruo and Frank would likely find new jobs, but Taizo knew he was too old, too Japanese, to be hired by any hakujin firm.
His gaze fell, for the hundredth time, upon the last question, the words having lost none of their frightening implications:
Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States of America … and forswear any form of allegiance or obedience to the Japanese emperor, or other foreign government, power, or organization?
He felt like a man drowning at sea, adrift midway between two ships. The first ship, a Japanese trawler, had thrown him a life preserver that was floating nearby, close enough to him to grasp. The other was an American naval vessel; the captain and crew were yelling at Taizo not to take the Japanese ship’s life preserver but refused to throw out one of their own.
Tears trickled down his face. How had the ship of his life, which had found such welcome shores in Hawai'i, foundered and run aground on the rocky shoals of this damnable California? What if he was deported to Japan? Would his own people regard him as a traitor for immigrating to America?
Or might they treat him as a human being?
That would be a welcome change.
Fueled by rage, loss, and a fever to strike back in the only way he could, Taizo picked up his pencil, answered No to Question 27 and an even more emphatic NO to Question 28, and handed in his questionnaire.
He did not wait for Etsuko, Dai, and Rose to finish their questionnaires, and he did not tell them how he had answered. This was his decision alone; he would not allow them to follow his example out of filial piety. Outside the mess hall, it was ninety degrees in the shade and blustery winds blew hot from the north; but when he took in a deep breath of the air, it still tasted sweeter, purer, than it had to him since he had left Florin.
* * *