Hiroshi Kashiwagi

The lifelong reputation of Hiroshi Kashiwagi needs little introduction. As a longtime poet, playwright and actor, Hiroshi was a groundbreaking figure in the Asian American arts and literature movement, paving an inspiring way for other young artists to follow suit. He attended both UCLA and UC Berkeley, appeared in the documentary Rabbit in the Moon, and was still acting well into his 90s in films like Infinity and Chashu Ramen. His book, Swimming in the American: A Memoir and Selected Writings, won an American Book Award in 2005. 

His own camp experience was laden with a series of complex and varied roles: Hiroshi would work in the camp hospital treating TB patients, become a block manager, and also act in plays. But he clearly remembers the tension felt between the Japanese-speaking Issei and primarily English-speaking Nisei, where rifts, brought on by the “loyalty questionnaire,” were further entrenched in the community. 

Hiroshi passed away just days short of his 97th birthday in October of 2019. But his legacy and artistic influence for preserving the experiences of camp and Asian American history will never be forgotten.

Here we are it's July 24th, 2001 and I'm interviewing Hiroshi Kashiwagi in this home. So maybe we can start out with your name. Can you tell me when and where you were born?

I was born November 8, 1922 and I was born in Sacramento. My family was living a little bit out of Sacramento called Florin and they were farming there and then the midwife [who birthed] me was in Sacramento, so that's where my mom went.

Well would you like to paint a small picture of what life was like before Pearl Harbor?

Well I grew up mainly in Loomis, which is farming community and for a while the family sharecropped a farm -- plum and peaches. And so as a child I was there until I started school and then I took a bus into town just about four miles. And I went to grammar school in the town Loomis. But after a couple of years my parents had some good prosperous years. And then my mother had hay fever, and at that time they didn't know what it was [laughs]. She was sneezing and coughing, and running--

So they decided that they would have to leave the farm. We were about to go to Japan, separate my father who was going to remain. And we had our photos taken and everything and about ready to go, and then the grocery store in town was up for sale. And my father bought it and so we cancelled that trip and we moved into town. So from the time I was about 7, we lived in town. So I walked to school and walked back for lunch. Not too many Japanese in town -- they came to the store to shop. Only at school, I saw them at school but then there were a few white kids walking to school and I got to be friends with them. 

This was 1933, I guess when we moved. I have a brother and a sister and then there was a younger sister who was ten years younger than myself and she was born in 1933, and during the Depression, Roosevelt had his WPA so he was building a new highway which happened to come right through our store. So we had to leave the store and it so happened that my father had pleurisy and he was hospitalized. 

What's pleurisy?

Yeah, it's a lung, lung thing. It's somewhat like pneumonia. So he was in the hospital and we had this order to leave, so we moved in with a friend in the country and they let us stay there. So we stayed in the country for a couple of years. And then after two years or so, we moved back to town again. Then my father resumed the store, he found another place. He used to peddle fish and groceries to the farmers in the country.

So I remember those things during the Depression, people coming to the store, as a 7 or 8 year old I used to who work in the store -- well at least stay there until the customer came and then I would run back and get my mother or something. And that was our chore. We were stuck there. And then we also made tofu. So that was another chore that I had -- to grind the soybean.

Don't you have to wake up really early?

Hmm, did they wake up early? They might have. But the grinding you do during the day and then you cook. I think we did it mostly at night -- day and night. After school that would be my chore and I'd be stuck at this grinder, one [inaudible] smolder grinding this stone and about two hours or maybe even longer. So I was just tied to that [laughs]. That's one of the things that I did as a child in the store.

I remember going with the family to--we didn't have a real bath you know, Japanese bath, and all the farmers had baths they fired up. So we would go visit friends for bathing. The bath was burned from the outside. And you burn wood. And so yeah, you couldn't have fire in town although we did have inside this shack, we would have this big cauldron and then we would fire it up in there. So how we made our bath was to boil water in this cauldron where we cooked the tofu and then we scoop the water into a tub. And then we took a bath in the tub. So that wasn't quite like the bath. And so we would go, evenings we'd go out to to friends in the country which is about three, four miles and then it was a good visit. And everybody would take a bath and then the adults would sit and talk and we'd fall asleep. That was very nice and relaxing and soothing for the farmers who worked hard during the day. But for us it was a social thing. We always looked forward to that.

So that was our amusement too because to go out, visit these people. And then of course, the farmers liked to have visitors. So it was great social activity. 

Did you go to church?

I don't remember that we went to church that much. I think maybe for obon, or hanamatsuri. But not that often, I don't recall. But we lived in a Christian town so Methodist. And all our friends at school were Methodists. And my father's customers were Methodist, too. And Methodists had settled in the town early so they were able to buy land, so they were landowners, farmowners. And so they were more established and most of them liked fish. So they were good customers. But my father was a very staunch Buddhist. So he didn't encourage us to go to their church. But I do have a lot of Methodist friends still from those days. 

That's right, you were 19 when Pearl Harbor was attacked. So you spent really all your formative years in Loomis.

Yeah, then I moved to L.A. I was in L.A. in '39 and '40. So I know something of the city. And then later after the war we lived in L.A..

What were you doing in L.A.? 

I was a schoolboy. You know, houseboy. And I was going to high school and I finished my senior year there.

What made you decide to go to L.A.?

Well it was my father's decision. He happened to get TB and as a protection for me, he wanted to be -- because I was kind of sickly myself. So in a way he was protecting me. But TB was a problem with us and my father never went to camp because by the time the war started he was in the hospital. And so he didn't have to go. So we were separated for about four years. So that's why I got to go to L.A. and then I got to know the city a bit and after the war, which helped me because we settled in L.A.

Your father was already hospitalized when Pearl Harbor was attacked?

Yes.

What was that like to -- you know, it's a crisis situation. And the head of the household is in hospital. 

Yeah, it was pretty traumatic because my mother wasn't used to doing things by herself. So we kind of shared responsibility. And then we had friends who kind of looked in on us. Yeah, it was kind of a difficult time. When I talk about the camp it's really the period before going to camp, all that, worry and anxiety and indecision and stuff that I remember.

Do you think that was the most difficult part?

I think that was probably one of the most difficult. The other difficult time was the when the loyalty question came and we were --we didn't know what to do, we're trying to decide. And again my father was not there, and many families where the father was present, he made the decision. And sometimes they were good and sometimes they were not so good. But it was difficult to make your own decision. Yeah.

Did you and your mother make decisions together? Or you were the chonan [eldest], right?

Yeah I was the chonan, but we kind of made a group, kind of. And I was not the one making the decision. My mother had her wishes and my brother was very dominant. And then we wondered what the others were going to do. And then you hear rumors and you have relatives coming in and influencing you. So it was a hard decision to make. 

All my life up to 'til then, being the chonan, whenever there was a dealing with a Caucasian I would have to interpret. And so you know, kid and I would be stuck right there in-between them, interpreting for them. And then both sides would be very frustrated because they can't communicate -- only through this kid -- they hardly trusted him.  

How many brothers and sisters did you have?

I have a brother and a sister and a little sister who died -- she died at three and a half. She was a victim of TB. So although my parents were very careful. And then my other sister developed TB after camp. And she spent quite a few years in the hospital. And then because after the war they had these special drugs, she was cured. So she's all right. She's married, she lives in Portland..

So the assembly center was called Arboga. But it's in Marysville. And it is kind of a pasture. And they you know, leveled it off and so forth but it had been a pasture so the mosquitoes were still around. And so everybody got bit, especially women and girls. You know, they're more exposed.

Oh they wore skirts. Of course. 

So I think that's when a lot of people started to wear slacks [laughs]. I think. But the slacks were not in style at the time. But it was really the lack of privacy, you're not used to that kind of life. And to adjust to that was really a problem. And then of course the facilities were temporary so that it was more like an outhouse, the restrooms. And you line up with people you never saw before, literally line with them at the latrine. Oh, that was very hard to get used to. 

Did you have dividers?

No they didn't give us partitions. Only for the different two sexes.

I've seen sketches of those. And I've always thought, well the internment camps, they're designed by Army Corps of Engineers and that's how they're still built without partitions for single men and basic training. But you know, I understand it's designed along the lines of a barrack. But it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that these aren't single men in basic training. I don't know if it was -- what do you think made people not even be considerate enough to build dividers? 

I don't know. I think they were rushed. Yeah. So they just made it quickly. And even the permanent camps, at Tule Lake, there were no partitions at first, just toilets. And they put in the petitions later [after] many many complaints. And then they put in some partitions. But just to see the flush toilets was enough, "Ah, great flush toilets." But there were no partitions.

Oh you mean you had out drop toilets at the assembly center.

Oh yes. And they filled up and it was miserable. By the time, we were there about two months, and they got full. I don't know, they probably had to dig new holes and shift the houses. But what I did was, and other people did the same, we volunteered to work in the hospital and then the hospital had the facilities. I don't know, I guess they must have had a septic tank or something. But I did work in the hospital and probably it was for that reason.

What was your job at the hospital?

Oh, orderly. You give back rubs and stuff, take temperatures, pulses.

Did you stay an orderly throughout your stay?

No, no. I only did it for a short while. I also did after I went to Tule Lake and I had this very idealistic thing that I would like to help the patients because my father was a patient outside. And so I worked in the TB ward, very fearlessly and you know, giving back rubs and getting close to people. And I didn't realize at the time that you could catch that through the air. But luckily I didn't catch it. But I was afraid that people, you know, didn't think that I would live very long. Because I was exposed. But that's what I did for a while.

Well you know, working in the hospital was a kind of a prestige thing. You got everybody in nice white clothing. 

You got to wear nice clothes. You weren't dirty. 

I also worked in the mess hall and I was a waiter for a while and when I was a dishwasher. Then after that I worked in the block manager's office. Have you heard of that?

Yes. 

Well, we had a block manager and then he had an assistant and I was his assistant. Later when people moved out then I became block manager so I was block manager for a short while. 

I've been thinking [that] the whole fabric of society the Japanese American society changed overnight as this were just usurped the powers of the same man.

In my case I think the blog manager was Japanese speaking and he was Issei. There were two -- I served on the both -- one was Issei and he knew, could understand English. He could go to the meetings and understand what they're saying. I don't think he spoke out that much. And then the other guy was from Hawaii and he was more Nisei than Issei. But the thing was, you had to make announcements in the mess hall -- directives from the administration. And you had to make that in English and Japanese so they needed someone bilingual. Yeah. And it was sort of hard to find a Nisei bilingual, able to speak. Although we had one guy who was kind of stupid but -- he spoke both languages [laughs]. 

Stupid but bilingual.

Yeah. I mean only jerks could become block managers [laughs]

Is that right?

Well you're a tool of the administration, you're just, you're relaying their wishes, directives to the people and then all you did was pass out supplies.

Well until you just said this, I envisioned block managers as voice of the people.

No. They had very little voice, actually. They met as a group every week, they met but it was just receiving these directives and they would discuss it among themselves. But what could they do? But they were called "block heads." [laughs] And there were some good people. But that's the kind of attitude we all had. 

But you became one. 

I became one, yeah. But I don't know I don't remember going to meetings that much.

Well let's go head on into the loyalty questionnaire. You seem like the ripe age for quandaries.

Yeah, I was exactly the right age. And well, right you know at the beginning everybody felt, why are we doing this? They were trying to force this registration on us. And no, why should we? We are in camp, we're prisoners -- why should we? And then gradually, people thought otherwise or people change their mind. And there was the constant pressure from the administration to register and the groups that hadn't registered were rounded up and taken in at gunpoint. Yeah, certainly.

And then within the questionnaire were the two crucial loyalty questions. Now the questionnaire was, it was really a big mess but what it was was they wanted to clear out the camp and it was a kind of a lead clearance. And they wanted to figure out who were the loyal ones and who were the disloyal. And then the army, it also became a draft thing because of the question. And the army came in to recruit volunteers. Just before that registration or during that registration and they thought they would have droves of volunteers but they didn't. 

And so it became difficult. And they were pressuring people to do this and do that and those who wanted to -- well people wanted to leave camp. Everyone wanted to leave camp so the only way to do that was to answer positively, yes/yes. And so people did that and others of course didn't want to go into the army. I mean why should we risk our lives for the country when they're treating us like aliens?

So that was sort of a general atmosphere. I mean there were people who probably thought otherwise. But in general people-- 

In general they were outraged at this. You know, how could they do this to us? Because they put us in prison and then they said we want you to be loyal and serve in the country, in the army. I couldn't see that. And one of the reasons as I think that, you know, we had gone through a lot of racism and discrimination and abuse as we grew up. Family was always aware of prejudice and discrimination, like being called "jap." And while we were going to school we had this all the time. And in my case I thought it was a way of getting back for all the abuse that I had taken.

How do you get back at them?

Not saying, not serving in the Army. Saying I don't want to serve. Well actually what happened was I didn't register, so I didn't commit myself until very late and then finally I think I did register on one of those.

And register right now means filling out the questionnaire?

Filling out the questionnaire. They would say, you only have so-and-so day to register and so forth, and we just ignored it. It was risky but we did that. 

What happened to those people?

Well, it turned out that they could not force them, and put them in another jail which is what they had done. They took them to a county jail outside camp. So they had to be released. And as it turned out they could not force this registration on us. It was not compulsory. But they never told us that. So we learned about this years later, that it had no been compulsory. And they threatened us they said, was it 20 years in jail? $20,000 or something like that -- it was fantastic. And in Tule Lake, some people got their draft notices and were taken in for refusing to be drafted. I don't remember that but I met some people [inaudible] and the judge said that you can't do that.

So how about the rest of your family? How did they answer the loyalty questionnaire?

Well we answered as a family. I mean my mother's influence -- the fact that my father was in the hospital. So we were not going to go to Japan. We would be separated from him. And so it was a kind of family decision. I was fairly fluent in Japanese at the time. And if I had thought about the language schools, I could have been, I would have been in the MIS. Because I was more proficient than those who learned at school at that point. So that if I had said yes I would serve then I would have been in the language service. But it didn't occur to me.

Well they didn't make an open statement about it, it was sort of hush hush this whole MIS thing, so unless they discovered you. 

Right. Once you're in the army and they say, well what can you do? 

One man I interviewed only knew about it because he worked in the employment office. And so he was able to volunteer. Long before the loyalty questionnaire.

Yeah, and if I had known I think I would have gone. Because I had gone to Japanese language school. And we all went, but I was more diligent. I learned, I had more facility. So well, I don't speak it too well but I could read a lot now. I majored in Oriental Language [at UCLA].

Well, did you like your job being a block manager?

Well I mean, it was just, any kind of job was just passing time. And it was just enough to survive day to day. 

I've heard about the raids. What did they raid for? 

Oh, those who were opposed to the administration or they were leaders or someone had angered them. Leaders, they were very afraid of the leader types because they would influence too many of the others. So there were raids. They figured if they take the leaders, then, the others will be--

Well, Days of Infamy and the book about Tule Lake, Kinenhi, talks about men who were dragged away and bashed with a baseball bats, and you know, they were hurt so bad that some had to be hospitalized. Were you involved or had knowledge of that?

No I was not involved in that. But I was affected. There was pressure, there was duress and so, we were influenced by all of this, the environment. But I wasn't involved in actual violence, or defiance. I don't think I even went out to watch. You know people went out to watch when there was a riot. They were part of the crowd rioting. 

So you basically tried to stay out of trouble? 

Yeah, stay out and hope that things would get better and days will pass. And as I say, it was just enough to live from day to day. Endure it. And so, didn't do anything. Although before the registration, I was involved with different activities. I was in the theater and acting. And I was in a writing group.

Well what happened after the registration -- were those activities banned?

Those things were stopped. Because unless you did it in Japanese, or you know to do something like that American was just too American. So it just stopped.

It wasn't banned by the administration. It was Japanese Americans, looked down upon. Did they give you the silent treatment?

Yeah I was in a play, just during this registration and I don't know for some reason we couldn't continue because we were pretending to be Caucasian. You know, we didn't write our own plays so we were doing Caucasian plays. And people thought that was too American, not appropriate at the time. So I remember we withdrew. So all these activities came to a halt. And politics took over.

And then after the segregation, all the people came from other camps and they were all you know, pro-Japan and raring to go back to Japan, so that if they saw anything that was non-Japanese you know, they were -- so we were forced to speak in Japanese. 

Were you scared?

Well sometimes some people were very threatening. It was lots of show. Yeah, it was not a pleasant time, or place because those people who came from the other camps, they were late comers so they were put in some way out of the way place or placed with those of us who were there already. And so there were newcomers and didn't have the right jobs and they thought we were stupid because we were just-- well, we weren't pro-Japan as they were. So there was lots of pressure and so that was an influence, too.

Well I mean it's so obvious but I never thought about how the late comers wouldn't get the good jobs, they would already be taken, so that's additional pressure or problems for people who came. 

And it took several years to get used to these people on both sides, accept each other. And of course some people even got married.

So the administration thought that it would be a good idea to put all these no/nos together. But what they did was they multiplied the problem at Tule Lake. I mean it really exaggerated.

Yes. Because those who remained in Tule Lake were not all you know such hot pro-Japan tigers. We were there in protest and so a lot of us refused to register and others were no/no or no/yes. So there were all kinds of people and then there were people who were there because the parents forced them to be there, or some of them were separated from their families. And this whole loyalty thing exploded.

I didn't know who I would encounter because I was at a barbershop getting my haircut at camp and this woman was the barber. And she started to talk, you know? And not realizing that we we had opposing views. And she couldn't understand my position. And we were not friends but certainly we were in activities together. The registration really tore us apart. It's, yeah. People you were friends with? [laughs] Suddenly you were someone from another country or something. You became enemies. It's just really ridiculous. And it was all done by the government, and we were the victims.

I mean they probably -- I mean of course they couldn't foresee this kind of explosion within the community. I don't really get what they were thinking, it's so simplistic. "It's us and them" mentality. 

Well they thought that we all think the same way.

"A rat's a rat," kind of? 

Yeah, or if we'd be loyal. They thought every Issei would be loyal. But the problem continued even after the war and we faced a lot of ostracism.

For being Tule Lake people?

Yeah, so we didn't dare mention. And yet somehow we would have to -- kind of forced to admit that we were in Tule Lake and that was always difficult. And even now, the veterans, I mean the veterans, I have nothing against the veterans and those who served. But somehow they cannot understand our position. Well, maybe had I been a veteran and been through the war, maybe I'd feel the same way. 

I've talked to some veterans who are very accepting of conscientious objectors but I also understood by the way he spoke that he was an exception rather than the rule. That he understood everybody was under duress and there was no such thing as a right answer. And you had to do what your heart told you.

Well my brother went through the same experience as I did, but he married a girl who had left camp early. Even before the registration, she left. And so she felt that she was -- all this fuss over the registration was nonsense. To her she was an American who had gone back east and lived life that way. And so I don't know how they adjusted because somehow I think they avoided the subject for a long long time until their kids grew up. And then sansei kids began to question. "Where were you?" And so forth. And I don't think even now they have found some--

It was that traumatic.

So the kids feel that we have done right by protesting. In a way I feel, I still feel a little bit of guilt, that I should have served my country. But then, I did how -- followed my own conscience so I feel alright about that. But I do feel for people who were, you know, were killed in the war or wounded, and I have great sympathy and empathy for them.

But you still have this little question in the back of your mind. 

And it was a long time before I could say I was, I am an American. One time I was working with a white fellow and something came up and I said something and he said, "Aren't you an American?" You know, he's telling me you're an American. And I never thought of myself as being American at that point.

But later when the apology and reparations -- then I began to feel that I am an American. So that--this is something that was my own.

But the whole experience questioned whether you were an American. You weren't treated as an American protected under the Constitution. Your rights were taken away and you were challenged.

It just seems, I don't know. I cannot understand the fact that we had to prove our loyalty. Prove. The apology was more meaningful. But then you know, before we were not, we never felt that we were part of America. We were foreigners. My parents were foreigners. They're just here and because of the good graces of some of their neighbors, they felt they would have to play up to these white people. Well, there were some nice, good Caucasians. But for the most part we were never accepted. So we were foreigners.

Do you think congressmen and senators, Nikkei senators and congressmen are accepted as Americans?

Oh yeah. I would think so. Yeah I think so.

Do you think this could happen again? 

I think so. Yeah. Pretty easy, I think. I mean when the country is put in a situation, pressure situation. We have to scapegoat some group of people. And it's so easy. Blame somebody. And then this racism is always going along. I mean we're more aware, and we speak out against it. We have the JACL and we have other groups who will speak out whenever there is a racist remark or something.

But you know, those who make it either don't care or they're not aware because they never experience it themselves, unless you experience it yourself. Yeah. It never hits home. They think, "Oh gee, I didn't mean anything." That's what they say. 

If there is a message that the younger generations should have from you. If there is a lesson in all this. What do you think it might be? 

A lesson for young people. Gee, I think they should look at people as people and not the difference. It's kind of hard. We're all the same. We're human beings.

Interview conducted by Grace Megumi Fleming. JAMsj thanks Grace for allowing the museum to archive and share these oral histories