By Order of the President FDR and the Internment of Japanese Americans by Greg Robinson Harvard University Press, 336 pp., $27.95 Free to Die for Their Country The Story of the Japanese American Draft Resisters in World War II by Eric L. Muller University of Chicago Press, 256 pp., $27.50 AMONG THOSE WORRIED that the United States may react to the slaughter of September 11 by turning against Arab Americans, frequent reference is made to the relocation of 110,000 ethnic Japanese (among them my parents and other relatives) from the West Coast a few months following Pearl Harbor. A pair of recent books unwittingly aid in understanding that widely condemned action: Greg Robinson’s “By Order of the President: FDR and the Internment of Japanese Americans” and Eric L. Muller’s “Free to Die for Their Country: The Story of the Japanese American Draft Resisters in World War II.” Muller, a law professor at the University of North Carolina, interviewed Japanese Americans who turned against their country in time of war and resisted the draft (an uncle of mine was among these). Robinson, a historian at the University of Quebec, notes the translation of Roosevelt’s suspicions of Japan into virtual dismissal of Japanese-American loyalty. These are scholarly contributions in a field where publication is dominated by popularizers and ambulance chasers, but they aim merely to confirm what has become conventional wisdom: Few actions of the Supreme Court have occasioned so much criticism as the 1944 Korematsu v. United States decision, which legitimized the relocation. In the years since, popular novels and films, such as “Snow Falling on Cedars,” have trumpeted the injustice of the drastic action. Racism, economic opportunism, and wild charges all befell the hapless minority. In 1988, following the recommendations of a commission appointed by his predecessor, President Reagan signed a bill apologizing to those relocated and giving $20,000 to each of those still living. But, in fact, the case for relocation was a much closer call at the time than hindsight has allowed it to be. Both Robinson’s “By Order of the President” and Muller’s “Free to Die for Their Country” are forced to ignore important parts of the historical record in order to assert their conclusion that “ethnic profiling” is reprehensible even in time of war, with all the undermining of national security that might follow. As Robinson puts it, Roosevelt “refused on racial grounds to accept them on equal terms as Americans. . . . This refusal blinded him to the invidious and undemocratic character of the repressive actions he and the government undertook.” To advance his case, Robinson sifts through the disputes within the government and among Roosevelt’s special advisers over the loyalty of ethnic Japanese. Some advocated total relocation, while others maintained that loyalty interviews should suffice for isolating the potential subversives. Hadn’t the most dangerous ethnic Japanese already been picked up immediately following Pearl Harbor? Robinson argues that “Roosevelt’s failure was a lack of compassion, or, more precisely, of empathy”–an odd charge to make of a president at war. OF COURSE, one must take seriously Robinson’s arguments about Roosevelt’s political opportunism in 1944, when he delayed the closing of the camps. This may have been nothing more than an example of the political calculations Roosevelt was forced to make, as was Lincoln in the Civil War. But, for Robinson, what lies at the bottom is Roosevelt’s prejudices about race and nationality. “During the prewar years the president consistently regarded Japanese Americans as adjuncts of Japan and therefore as potential enemies despite their American birth or decades-long residence in the United States. . . . Roosevelt automatically extended . . . hostility and suspicion to the entire Japanese American community.” What Robinson is finally incapable of appreciating is Roosevelt’s strategic vision. After all, if Imperial Japan thought in racial terms, must Roose-velt ignore this? Though he cites the distinguished historian John J. Stephan’s “Hawaii Under the Rising Sun,” Robinson ignores the evidence Stephan presents about Imperial Japan’s war plans for using America’s Japanese in the occupation of Hawaii. The primary flaw in Robinson’s argument is his failure to consider the relocation in the light of foreign policy exigencies. Thus, Robinson completely omits the “Niihau episode.” Following the attack on Pearl Harbor, a Japanese fighter pilot landed his crippled Zero fighter-bomber on the tiny island of Niihau, at the western end of the Hawaiian archipelago. He was able to persuade an American of Japanese ancestry to assist him in taking over the island, with its small number of inhabitants, who knew nothing of the attack. Eventually, loyalists (including other Japanese Americans) were able to kill their confused neighbor, and the pilot committed suicide. But to claim, as Robinson and virtually all of the critics of the relocation do, that there was a “complete absence of any documented case of espionage or sabotage by Japanese Americans” is clearly wrong. What Niihau revealed to those responsible for the national security of the United States is that a completely ordinary Japanese American was capable of subversive behavior. What temptations would other Japanese Americans have in case of hostilities on the mainland? After all, the issei (immigrants from Japan) were not citizens, and many of the nisei (Americans of Japanese descent) were dual citizens who had experienced vicious discrimination. Why should they be loyal? The lives of ethnic Japanese during the war reflected the split in Americans’ attitudes toward them. Those living outside the west coast (about 10 percent of all ethnic Japanese) were not relocated. Besides leave policies for those working or attending school outside the camps, the ethnic Japanese attempted to live normal lives, with schools, work, team sports, and entertainments. The extent of normalcy (at least for wartime) was such that the draft was extended to Japanese Americans. It seems incongruous that almost heroic virtue should be legally required for people in this position. Like the freedmen who fought for the Union in the Civil War, Japanese-American volunteers helped affirm an American identity to counter the suspicions of their fellow Americans. In “Free to Die for Their Country,” Muller sees the celebration of these volunteers as “sad, even tragic.” What fascinates him is the personal and legal story of those who refused to serve. Muller believes that the story of these “patriots” can contribute to the “construction of a truly American identity.” In recounting the trials of these draft resisters, he makes some useful contributions about jurisprudence during time of war, including one judge’s anticipation of Justice Felix Frankfurter’s substantive due process argument, as he dismissed charges against the draft resisters. Muller’s disgust with any military service is encapsulated in his candid declaration, “to me, everything about going to war sounded terrifying, from basic training to the trenches. I could not imagine myself surviving such experiences.” But, as an author, he should not permit his squeamishness to distort his judgment about citizenship and patriotism. What if the draft resisters and those who supported them, including the pro-Japan rioters, who beat and intimidated their pro-American fellow evacuees, had become the face of Japanese Americans? This identity would have meant a far different place for Japanese Americans following World War II. One cannot say that the relocation of Japanese Americans aided the victory over tyranny. Surely the overwhelming majority of those relocated were loyal. Nonetheless, carefully read, these recent works prevent us from condemning those who made the decision to relocate. Ken Masugi is director of the Center for Local Government at the Claremont Institute. November 12, 2001 – Volume 7, Number 9
