It has been exactly 30 years since I came to America this May. I have already spent more time in America than I did in Japan. I have become more and more uncertain about whether I am Japanese or Japanese-American every year, but that is not something that has just started happening. When I first read Masao Yamashiro's "Kiebeni Nisei: The Dismantling of the 'Japanese'" (Satsuki Shobo), I think that I was already experiencing a wavering of so-called "identity."
Originally from Hawaii, Yamashiro returned to Okinawa at the age of two. In 1932, at the age of 16, he returned to Hawaii and worked in a variety of jobs before moving to Los Angeles, where he attended university and studied literature. However, when war broke out between the United States and Japan, he was sent to an internment camp, where he founded a literary coterie magazine called "Tetsusaku." After the war, he worked mainly as a gardener while also engaging in literary activities. Even now, at the age of 93, he continues to write his column "Going to Buy a Piglet" for the Rafu Shimpo.
It was about 10 years ago that Yamashiro suggested that a monument to the poetry of Japanese-American poet Kagawa Bunichi, who was a member of the Iron Pencil group, should be erected. About five years later, in 2005, this dream was finally realized. Of course, there was the support of many people, but it was achieved in a situation where not many people even knew who Kagawa Bunichi was, so it is impossible not to see Yamashiro's ability to lead people in this.
I don't remember exactly when I first read "Kiebe Nisei" but I think it was not long after it was published in January 1995. There was something inside me that was stimulated. For example, the following sentence: "After living in this country for 20 years, 30 years, you will eventually become aware that something inside you is being generated and something is being disintegrated." It is about "people who, even after naturalization, pretend to be Americans while retaining their Japanese content" and "real Japanese who live in America with a 'seduction view of life'." Yamashiro says, "(Such Japanese) always try to bring back the history of immigration to square one and live with the same strong homeland orientation as they did in their early days of migrant work."
The stimulation I received from these words gradually became something like questions to me. They were questions like, "What did you come to America for?" and "What are you trying to do here now?" I would say that they forced me to become more conscious of myself as a Japanese person living in a foreign country like America. There were certainly many personal and work-related things to consider, but these questions were brought about by the "power of time."
About 15 years later, on the day of my 60th birthday, I stood in front of the memorial tower at the former site of the Manzanar camp, feeling the dry, hot wind blowing at me. I had the feeling of a literary youth, wanting to stand at this important place in Japanese history for the first time in a long time and see what I would feel there. However, contrary to my expectations, I realized that nothing resonated with me. The issue of internment cannot ultimately be my problem. That was my understanding. When I thought this, Yamashiro-san suddenly came to mind. Or, to be precise, Yamashiro-san is a "second generation Japanese who returned to America." Perhaps it was because at Manzanar, I was deeply aware of my Japaneseness.
And now, an event commemorating the third anniversary of the erection of the Kagawa Bunichi Poetry Monument will be held at the Little Tokyo branch of the Los Angeles Public Library, so for that purpose I re-read Yamashiro's "Kie Nisei." I've turned 60, and the question of how to live the rest of my life has always loomed before my eyes, and I felt like I was looking for hints on how to live in "Kie Nisei."
Unfortunately, I still did not have the strength to firmly deny the criticism that I was a "natural Japanese," but I still got something out of the event. During the preparations for the event, Yamashiro-san had repeatedly said, "I don't talk," but he spoke passionately about Kagawa Bunichi to the nearly 80 people who had gathered. "Kagawa-san is a full-fledged poet," "The monument is the first historical monument to be built in the Japanese community," "Start with 'The Sea Shines' and please choose your favorite poem by Kagawa-san." For some reason, I was deeply moved by Yamashiro-san's appeal. As a kibei (Japanese American), Yamashiro-san had always walked in places that were not in the spotlight, so he disliked anything flashy and standing in front of people to speak was out of the question. What did not disintegrate within Yamashiro, a second-generation Japanese who returned to America, and what I am sure will never disintegrate in the future, is none other than Kagawa Bun'ichi within Yamashiro, what he learned from Kagawa Bun'ichi, and the literature of poetry that connects Kagawa Bun'ichi and Yamashiro.
"If you live in this country for 20 years, 30 years, you will eventually become aware that something is being generated and something is being decomposed inside of you." Perhaps I have finally reached the point where I can become aware of such things. I am still unable to express in words what it is that has been generated and what it is that has been decomposed, but there is no need to rush to come up with an answer.
I'll probably read "Kie Nisei" a few more times. I wonder what impression I'll have when I read it five years from now. Or ten years from now, or twenty years from now. And whatever it may be, I'm quietly confident that I will accept the impression I get at each moment with sincerity.
*This article is reprinted from TV Fan (June 2009).
© 2009 Yukikazu Nagashima
