George Yoshinaga

As the troop ship S.S. Pennant slowly docked at the port in Yokohama about three weeks after peace in the Pacific War was declared, I stood on the top deck of the vessel and peered down at the Japanese men working on the wharf and thought to myself, "I finally made it. I'm finally going to set foot on Japanese soil."

These thoughts crossed my mind because who would have imagined when I was growing up that a war would make it possible for me to finally enter the country where my immigrant parents originated from.

A fellow GI, a Caucasian youth spit towards the men below.

One of the Japanese men glared up and bellowed "bakayaro."

Of course, the GI didn't know what the man was saying so he laughed and waved at him.

I moved away and grabbed my equipment to prepare to disembark from the vessel. We were loaded into a truck and we rumbled away from the pier.

None of us knew where we were going. There were a dozen other Nisei in the group, all of us members of the U.S. Army Counter-Intelligence-Corp.

When we arrived at our destination, we learned that we were at Camp Zama about thirty miles from Tokyo.

En route, I was amazed at the sight which we witnessed from the back of the truck. People, men, women and children were wandering along the road aimlessly with the bombed out wreckage of the city as the background.

At Zama we were moved into tents because there were no buildings large enough to hold the troops.

And, we still had to dine on C and K rations since there were no mess halls set up to feed the troops.

Our stay was short, however, as each of us were assigned to units throughout Japan. Two other Nisei and I were ordered to Okayama in Central Japan.

Living conditions were better there since the Army took over houses belonging to the Japanese because as members of the CIC we did not have to live at the military housing set up by the Army.

As CIC personnel, our work was vastly different from those of the regular GIs who were members of infantry units whose main job was to maintain law and order in the area.

Using our Japanese language skills, we were assigned to interrogate former Japanese military officers in an effort to take into custody those who were considered to be on the "wanted list" by the U.S. Army.

On one assignment we took into custody a high ranking naval officer who was alleged to have been part of the Pearl Harbor attack. We turned him over to the proper Occupation Forces department in Osaka.

While the Nisei had official duties as members of the Occupation Forces, there are two experiences that I, and other Nisei in the military, encountered that is a story which has never been told but we encountered while stationed in Japan. The first was the face-to-face encounters with the native Japanese.

We quickly learned that almost all of the native Japanese were completely ignorant about Japanese Americans.

Their confusion about Japanese Americans was compounded by the fact that we were serving in the U.S. Military as part of the Occupation Forces.

As I moved around on my official duties, the most frequently asked question was "ana ta was Nihonjin desuka?" (Are you really Japanese.)

When I explained that my parents immigrated to America and I was born there, therefore I was classified as an American, they seemed just as puzzled.

Some comprehended my explanation but many were befuddled.

When told of my parents were from Japan, the next question usually was, (in Japanese of course) "where in Japan did they live before going to America?"

"Kumamoto," I would tell all of them.

During these give and take discussions, the tension between us seem to lighten considerably.

Some of the Japanese even invited me to come to their home and have dinner. It was an invitation I did not accept but in retrospect, regretted that I didn't because it would have been an educational experience for me to learn about the Japanese and what their lives were like during the height of the Pacific War.

Of course, during my seven month tour of duty in Japan I did become friends with a few Japanese but most were hired by the Occupation Forces to work with us in various capacities.

The other experience which I encountered but which was equally veiled in mystery involves those Japanese Americans who repatriated to Japan during the war, most from Tule Lake which was converted from a relocation camp into a segregation center for those desiring to go to Japan.

I spotted two of them while riding in my jeep in downtown Okayama. They were easy to distinguish from the native Japanese simply by the way they were dressed. They wore their flannel plaid shirt and blue jeans and leather boots, the style of clothing most of us wore when we were in camp before entering the U.S. Army.

Initially, I was hesitant about making contact with them because I did not know what their reaction would be in meeting a follow Nisei in an Army uniform. About the third time I saw them on the street, I stopped my jeep and said, "hey guys, what going on?"

They were surprised that I addressed them in English.

"How come you didn't speak Japanese to us," one of them responded. "How did you know we were not Japanese Japanese?"

I explained about their clothing.

We laughed about it "Yeah, these were the only clothes we brought along."

During the conversation, I learned that life was tough for the repatriates because life condition in Japan was terrible and it was tough to adjust to things like food shortages land poor housing because of the damage inflicted by U.S. Air Force bombing raids.

Both of the fellows I talked to said they were 17 years old.

"If we knew what it was going to be like, we would probably have refused to repatriate and part with our Issei parents who were determined to return to Japan."

"We hope that we can return to America one day," they both lamented.

I also learned that one of the determining factors in their families to repatriate was that everyone seem to agree that Japan was going to win the war and life would be better for Japanese Americans in Japan.

"Man, that was a lot of crock," one of them said.

In an effort to lift their morale, I said "well since both of your were minors when you left Tule Lake, when all the turmoil is settled, it may become possible to return because, after all, you are still U.S. citizens and were too young to have made the decision that your parents made for you."

"Do you really think so?" they said in unison.

I explained that I had heard something about this from some knowledgeable people. "Man, I hope you're right."

I told them that my sister repatriated from Tule and was living in Kumamoto and her son, (my cousin) was trying to volunteer to join the U.S. Army and that things were going pretty well.

They both looked at each other and said, "hey, maybe when we turn 18 we might try to go that route."

We then parted company. As I drove away from them I looked in the rear view mirror and saw them smiling and waving goodbye.

To this day, I wonder if they ever did make it back to the good old U.S.A.

And this is the story about the Nisei and the Occupation of Japan that should be told to the Japanese Americans who might have wondered happened to all those who gave up on America and journeyed across the Pacific to a land they had never seen before.