Life Behind Barbed Wire

PREFACE

21 PREFACE AFTER FOUR years, I returned to this green island in the Pacific Ocean from the snowy mountains of Santa Fe. The differences between this world near sea level and where I had been, 7,500 feet above the sea and surrounded by the Rocky Mountains, were never so apparent to me than upon my return. Honolulu seems to have changed much, but I truly believe that it is still a beautiful place—as it has always been. Coming home to a warm, loving family after living day in and day out with only men in a barracks was a dream come true. Only those who shared our fate can truly understand this feeling. Time flies. Our group of 450 came back by way of Seattle on November 13, only a little more than a month and a half ago. With the return of 900 Issei and Nisei and their families on December 10, all who had been sent to the Mainland from Hawaii were finally home except for those who had chosen to go on to Japan. For the first time in a long while we could rest easy. When I reflect on my life as an internee during those four years, many images cross my mind like those on a revolving shadow lantern . Of course life was not easy, but the camps proved to be an invaluable training ground for the human spirit. The fallout from war hysteria threw us—innocent victims—together in a place of exile where we shared a common experience. I had presumed that a war between Japan and the United States would never come to pass, no matter how tense the situation became, but it was just wishful thinking. Of course I was prepared to accept my fate should the unthinkable happen. The fish on a cutting board cannot escape no matter how much it struggles. We all tried to accept what was happening to us calmly. Moreover , we used this “forced vacation” to read and meditate, activities we had been neglecting. Thanks to this attitude, I kept quite busy and was not 22 soga troubled much. Many people try to be sympathetic and say, “You must have been bored.” But I never found internee life tedious. Fortunately my health was always good except for the occasional light cold or minor stomach trouble. I was never hospitalized and could easily have kept up this record of good health. In the camp I was too busy to fall ill. After we were forced to move to the Mainland, all of us—Japanese from every conceivable background, from Alaska down to South America —were obliged to live in groups, fenced in by barbed wire: In the camps, we represented the Japanese community of the Americas in miniature. In what follows I have tried to record my observations and experiences of that time and place as truthfully, fairly, and simply as possible. I sometimes felt, however, that I was writing too much—particularly in the beginning, where I describe the frightening time we spent detained on Sand Island. For this I sincerely beg the reader’s forgiveness. Yasutaro (Keiho) Soga Honolulu, Hawaii January 9, 1946 ...