# data[].attributes.body
The Nisei (2nd Generation) Japanese Americans were the first generation to introduce and openly invite White People to experience Japanese culture. They created a bridge between the Japanese and White people to be aware of each other's differences. This act created a sense of acceptance from the White side. And this helped the Japanese gained respect in  society, but with this opportunity were there some downfalls. The bridge that connected these two races causes a stir in understanding and acknowledging one's identity. By having the Nisei become the generation to allow both differences to happen, they responded to anti-Japanese pressures by downplaying their connections to Japan, adopting hyper-American rhetoric, recasting Issei as American pioneers, and tempering their cultural displays with displays of American loyalty.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Like other second generation children, the children of Japanese immigrants during the first half of the 20th century struggled to understand their place in American society. However, unlike other groups, the second generation Japanese, or Nisei, experience was unique because of anti-Asian sentiment in California and international politics.

Among Asian American groups, Japanese Americans had the largest number of American born children in the U.S. before World War II. Though they faced much of the same discrimination and severe immigration restrictions as the Chinese, the Japanese situation differed markedly from the Chinese. Beginning in 1882, the federal government passed a series of Chinese exclusion laws that made Chinese migration into America illegal. With the exception of merchants, diplomats, and students, no Chinese were allowed to enter America. Congress passed these exclusion laws in response to a growing tide of working class anger over Chinese labor in California. With a valuable source of cheap labor gone, American employers began recruiting labor from Japan to work in California's growing farms, mines, and factories. Threatened California workers, particularly San Franciscans, reacted angrily to what they saw as yet another wave of cheap Asian labor. However, by the early 20th century Japan had become a rising world power. Banning the Japanese as had been done with the Chinese would have made tense relations with Japan even worse. President Theodore Roosevelt moved quickly to halt Japanese immigration without upsetting U.S.-Japanese relations. Roosevelt successfully quelled Californians' demands and averted offending Japan through the 1907-1908 Gentleman's Agreement, a series of informal letters between American and Japanese leaders. This agreement virtually halted all Japanese contract labor to America.

However, the Agreement did allow the continuation of the picture bride system. In the early 20th century, the advent of photography modernized traditional arranged marriages in Asia. Photographs and letters replaced face-to-face meetings between families and matchmakers. For the first time, prospective couples living in different parts of Japan could be introduced. Japanese immigrants living in California also took full advantage of the new technology and the stipulation in the Gentlemen's Agreement that allowed them to bring wives to America. By 1940, approximately 61% of California's Japanese American community was American born, or Nisei. In comparison, American born Chinese comprised 52% of the Chinese American community by 1940.

For Nisei, the question of identity became progressively more difficult to handle in the decade preceding World War II. By the mid 1930s, the Japanese Americans, 70% of which lived in California, were in a state of heightened alert. Anti-Japanese sentiment was rising to dangerously new levels with Japan's increasing expansion in Asia. Little Tokyos in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and other West Coast cities were also dying. While Nisei wanted to spend their money in fancy downtown department stores, not in Little Tokyos, they still depended on them for jobs. Racism made it extremely difficult for Nisei to find jobs outside the ethnic economy, even with degrees from schools like UCLA and UC Berkeley. The only work many Nisei could find was on their parents' farms or in Little Tokyo stores. With no new immigration since the 1924 National Origins Act, no one was shopping in Little Tokyo anymore. Both generations knew that if they did not revitalize the ethnic economy, the effects would be disastrous.

The Nisei found the answer to these pressing problems by crafting an identity as bridges of understanding. As bridges, Nisei sought to become the mediators between Japanese American communities and white American society as well as cultural ambassadors between Japan and America. The Nisei originally formulated their bridge identity in response to a multitude of demands and expectations from the ethnic community, Japanese government, American progressive educators, politicians and civic leaders, all of which envisioned a certain role for Nisei in American society. In response, Nisei wove together an identity broad enough to encompass all these competing visions. By creating an identity that stressed culture, the bridge metaphor not only satisfied Issei, Japanese officials and intellectuals, it also fit into the cultural pluralism of progressive social scientists and educators.

Nisei crafted their bridge identity through public displays of ethnicity (performative ethnicity) such as the Nisei Week festival in Los Angeles (1934 - present), Golden Gate International Festival (SF) 1939, the Chi Alpha Delta sorority at UCLA, and other public events. These events advertised Little Tokyos as exotic places where White Americans could experience Oriental culture by consuming the food, buying souvenirs and trinkets, and participating in tea ceremonies. Nisei wore kimonos, performed ondo dances and performed tea ceremonies, while simultaneously waving American flags, strutting in marching bands and wearing the latest American fashions. Ironically, many Nisei knew much more about American cultural traditions than Japanese cultural traditions. However, they also understood that because they looked different, some Americans would not accept them as American.

The bridge metaphor challenged this racist assumption by proclaiming an inclusive American identity. The Nisei took part in public displays of "Japanese-ness," because it played into the emerging idea of cosmopolitanism during the 1920s and 1930s. The precursor to our modern idea of diversity, progressive educators began championing the idea of cultural understanding beginning in the 1920s. They claimed that individuals were not tied to any one culture, but could be a citizen of the world. This idea emphasized the ability of people to move across cultural boundaries. As bridges, Nisei could be all things to all people. They claimed their Americanness, not based on narrow a set of White Anglo Saxon racial and cultural standards, but on an American identity that celebrated the cultures of all people living in America. It not only shaped Nisei identity in the pre-WWII period, but literally turned Little Tokyos into tourist attractions. In the context of the bridge metaphor, the performative ethnicity presented at festivals, fairs, and other cultural events played into American perceptions of Japanese difference without sacrificing Nisei American-ness.

However, by controlling the display of Japanese ethnicity, Nisei managed to keep the bridge metaphor alive for well over a decade while simultaneously revitalizing Little Tokyos. Nisei responded to anti-Japanese pressures by downplaying their connections to Japan, adopting hyper-American rhetoric, recasting Issei as American pioneers, and tempering their cultural displays with displays of American loyalty. Nevertheless, the bridge identity was short-lived. Ultimately, the bridge was unable to withstand the hysteria following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. After December 7th, 1941, the bridge metaphor died fast and quiet as Nisei signed loyalty pledges in mass numbers and second generation leaders began advocating a singular American identity.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Depression Era: 1930s: Second Generation Japanese Americans (Nisei) before WWII

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Like other second generation children, the children of Japanese immigrants during the first half of the 20th century struggled to understand their place in American society. However, unlike other groups, the second generation Japanese, or Nisei, experience was unique because of anti-Asian sentiment in California and international politics.

# data[].attributes.body
This document shows us the implications of saying "no" to questions 27 &28 on the draft. A consequence was that the person that said no would be incarcerated, and there was a possibility that so would the family. Perhaps this is why Ichiro's brother, Taro, has some ill feelings towards his brother. Perhaps there were some Japanese who were incarcerated because of one of their family's members decisions to not join the draft. For Ichiro's mother this may have been a blessing, because she is loyal to her home country, but to other's we can see how a sense of shame and embarrassment this may have brought up to other families.

# data[].attributes.headline
Continual oppression  towards Japanese Americans in modern era

# data[].attributes.subject
Continual oppression  towards Japanese Americans in modern era

# data[].attributes.body
The purpose of this article is to show that despite the economic and social success 2nd, 3rd, and 4th generation Japanese Americans have had, there was a price that had to be paid. Even after the war ended and President Ronald Reagan signed the Civil Liberties Act of 1988, the Japanese were facing tremendous acts of discrimination imposed upon them by white  people. The Japanese grouped together as a form of social support to get through the plethora of hate. Because of this social support, the Japanese were able to rise to the top and become the model minority. The author of this article realizes that the because of the resilience of the Japanese  were able to rise to the top. But she acknowledges that although her people have it well in society, it is because of Reagan's act and $20,000 compensation for the heinous act of internment that helped the Japanese establish their success. The racism that existed in the 50's towards one minority group is being repeated again in within our society. She brings up that there is still institutionalized racism, and this is most notable toward Black people. She says "Until the humanity of Black people, the most oppressed among us, is affirmed and their safety and freedom is secured, all people of color will still be second-class citizens." Today, Japanese Americans must look at their privilege and stand with other minorities against the attacks of racism and discrimination. I tie this to my analysis and understanding of No-No Boy, because we see that Ichiro faces hatred acts of discrimination from his brother and his friends. Looking at the present day lens, we must look at how Black people, Hispanics and other minorities are experiencing institutionalized racism and all kinds of racism in any form.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Most Asian Americans in the U.S. today are immigrants or the children of immigrants, so people are flabbergasted when they find out that not only were my parents born here, but my parents' parents were born here too. I'm fourth generation, as are a lot of Japanese Americans around my age.

Every previously-held belief about Asians is fundamentally challenged when they meet me.
Do you speak Japanese?
Nope. I took 3 years in high school, but all I got from that was the ability to say "it is raining" (ame ga futte imasu) and "the apple is red" (ringo wa akai desu).
But your parents speak Japanese.
Nope. I think my dad knows a little Spanish. He grew up in Boyle Heights.
So you must not be in touch with Japanese culture at all. You're basically white.
Well, no.

The Japanese American community is quite close-knit. We're so close-knit that we've not only managed to pass down Japanese cultural values, traditions, and food, but we've created our own uniquely Japanese American (JA) culture. Hang out with any JA who grew up in SoCal and you'll get hints of it. There is a 90% chance, for example, that we played in a Japanese American basketball league. We probably also were in JA Girl or Boy Scouts. We most likely did both of these things at a JA Buddhist church, and between basketball practice and games and Vegas tournaments, Girl Scout meetings, and church youth group conferences in Arizona, the community commanded total ownership of our weekends. We have JA scholarships, newspapers, political internships, even an online encyclopedia. There are so many things happening in the JA community at any given time that people have joked one of our main problems is that we are over-organized.

We're doing quite well as an ethnic group; solidly middle and upper-middle class. So it's pretty crazy when you think that 75 years ago, all of us were imprisoned in concentration camps for two and a half years by our federal government on the basis of racism and wartime hysteria.

And here's the super trippy part: my dad was one of these prisoners. Meaning the Internment really didn't happen that long ago.

Compare how chill life is for us now with what it was like back then:

From the time they started arriving in the late 1800's, Japanese immigrants (Issei) had it rough. They were mostly low-income workers and were banned from owning land or becoming a citizen. The government halted immigration from Japan entirely in 1924. When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, the U.S. government immediately arrested all the Japanese American community leaders (our newspaper editors, our Buddhist temples priests, etc) and then, a few months later, issued that fateful Executive Order 9066 to make my family give up their entire life to live in a desert prison camp, based on literally zero evidence of any Japanese Americans spying for the Japanese government.

When my dad returned from the concentration camps, he had to live in a Japanese American church in Boyle Heights because his family literally had nothing - no home, no jobs, no possessions. And it was exceedingly difficult for JAs to rebuild their lives from scratch, still dealing with racist neighbors and institutions. But they organized themselves, supporting each other economically, emotionally and spiritually. They continued to build all the amazing Japanese American institutions that I grew up enjoying.

In the meantime, our government quietly tried to erase all evidence of their disastrously racist actions. They destroyed most of the concentration camps. They didn't mention the Internment in schools. And most Issei and Nisei (second generation) were too traumatized and ashamed to talk much about their experience. And who could blame them?

But their children, the 3rd generation Sansei - including my mom-slowly uncovered the truth of what happened and organized a campaign to demand the government officially apologize for what they did to their parents. It was a long, heart-wrenching fight. They were able to get a commission formed to investigate the causes of the Internment. Nisei came forward for the first time ever to speak about their experiences publicly. The commission concluded that the E.O. was caused by "racism and wartime hysteria", never finding any evidence of espionage. My mom and dad flew to DC and trailed congress members down the halls of the Capitol, urging them to pass the redress bill.

And amazingly, they won. Ronald Reagan of all people signed the Civil Liberties Act of 1988, marking the first time ever that the U.S. admitted they messed up and were racist af. Everyone who was imprisoned also got $20,000. A pretty huge deal, all in all.

The first, second and third generation Japanese Americans were all super badass. Organizing farmworkers' movements, dealing with being imprisoned by our government and in some cases fighting back, becoming US senators, joining the Black Panthers, winning Redress, speaking out against anti-Muslim sentiment after 9/11.

And then there's us, the fourth generation Yonsei.

Growing up, we didn't have to deal with any of the nonsense my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents went through. They worked mind-bogglingly hard so we could enjoy lives of privilege.

Because college back in the 50's was completely free (a post for another time), my dad managed to get into UCLA and successfully broke into software programming. He got his MBA and eventually became the CIO of a large software company. My parents moved to Yorba Linda, a mostly white suburb of Orange County that was also one of the richest cities in the entire country.

And that's where I spent my adolescence. Think white picket fences and identical looking rows of two-story homes, perfectly paved streets and even an artificial lake. Think stay-at-home moms overly active in their children's PTA. In Yorba Linda, " the Land of Gracious Living ", all my classmates in my honors and A.P. classes were white or Asian and upper-middle class. On the weeknights, my dad helped me with my Calculus homework and in the summer, I went to horseback riding and science discovery camps. On the weekends, of course, I did Japanese American extracurriculars.

Here's our fake lake in the land of gracious living

The only racism I experienced growing up was the occasional jerk kid making slanty-eyes at the Asian kids at recess or that one time when my US History teacher referred to me as "his yellow friend". Sucks, but still limited to the person-to-person kind of encounters that didn't really bother me because I was too busy racking up community service hours for college applications. Of course I experienced internalized racism-I struggled for many years with feeling inferior to white people - but it wasn't too bad because my mom fought white supremacy in a bunch of creative ways, from starting a Multicultural Week program at my elementary school to coloring over my plastic doll family's blond heads with Black sharpie so I would have more relevant playthings.

But systemic racism on the level of real oppression? That felt very much like something confined to my history textbooks. Which probably wasn't helped by the fact that said textbooks were very fond of explaining that Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have A Dream" speech effectively ended racism. Even the Internment and what happened to my own family seemed abstract - part of a far-away past that had zero bearing on my life.

When I think about it now, it's fairly ironic that my community's struggle and success resulted in me being too privileged to be able to conceptualize the oppression my family faced as anything other than abstract and far-away, but that's what happened. And that's the reality of the vast majority of fourth generation Japanese Americans like me. We take our community institutions for granted. We're complacent. We're content with the status quo.

If I hadn't gone to college and made friends from different ethnicities and socio-economic classes and learned there that systemic racism is still a very real thing, I would still be just as complacent and clueless to this day.

But thankfully, I eventually realized that I was so insulated against racism my entire life not because racism magically disappeared after the camps. Rather, it was because white people decided to be less racist towards Japanese Americans.

White people decided to paint a new public image of Japanese Americans during the Civil Rights movement when Black people were fighting their own battle against institutionalized racism. They deemed our cultural values of hard work and humility the reason we were able to pick ourselves up by our bootstraps. They declared us a "model minority" that they could use against Black people to discredit their fight for liberation because if those Asian American whiz-kids could make it, why can't you?

It's crazy to realize that this contrived model minority label is the reason white people don't see me as a threat, when just a few decades ago, they were calling for my dad to be locked up in prison camps. The label is the reason they assume I'm smart and hard-working. It's the reason I can navigate white relationships and institutions with ease. It's the reason I won't get followed through a store or shot by the police.

In the meantime, Black and brown communities get painted as gangsters, drug addicts, criminals, and terrorists. With our new Presidential administration calling to ban Muslims from the US and deport all undocumented immigrants, the same thing that happened to our community is happening to others.

Oh well, we shrug. It's a pretty sweet deal for us.

But it's not.

Our privileged standing in society isn't real. It's something white people gave us. As long as white supremacy exists, it can be taken away. All it takes is another Pearl Harbor for all the racism and oppression of the past to come back and screw us over.

That's why we have such a huge stake in ending racism against everyone. Because we'll never be free until we are all free. Until the humanity of Black people, the most oppressed among us, is affirmed and their safety and freedom is secured, all people of color will still be second-class citizens.

75 years after the passage of E.O. 9066, the Japanese American community is at a crossroads. What will we do in the face of unprecedented direct attacks on others?

Will we join the protests when ICE drags undocumented immigrants out of their homes the way we were once dragged out of ours, or will we stay silent?

Will we speak out against our country's deterioration into a fascist regime feeding on the racism and xenophobia that devastated our own community, or will we turn a blind eye?

It's a moment of truth for all of us. The moment calls for us to reckon with the privilege we have and why we have it. And it calls for each of us to look deep inside ourselves and ask what comforts we are willing to sacrifice for freedom.

No one spoke up for us when FDR threw us in prison camps. If we are silent when others are under attack, White Supremacy will win once again. But if we speak out, our support will be powerful. Our potential as Japanese Americans in the movement for social justice is unlimited. To stand in solidarity with Black and Brown liberation despite the many benefits our model minority status gives us would be a huge blow to White Supremacy.

As one of the most well-organized and well-resourced communities out there, imagine the impact we could have. Our ability to fundraise instantaneously, quickly bring hundreds of people together, and utilize our professional talents and skills would all be invaluable to the movement. We could take over our elected officials' offices after church every Sunday to demand sanctuary cities, train all of our Girl Scout troops and basketball teams in direct action organizing against ICE, raise money for Black Lives Matter. The possibilities are endless.

So on the 75th anniversary of Executive Order 9066, at a time when immigrants, people of color, and LGBTQ folks are under severe attack, I believe the best way to honor my family and my community's struggle is to fight for justice - for everyone. I'll make a ton of mistakes along the way, undoubtedly, because there's so much I still don't know. But I'm going to try.

And if all of us try, that's how we'll win.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
A history of oppression, a life of privilege: What it's like to be 4th generation Japanese American...

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Most Asian Americans in the U.S. today are immigrants or the children of immigrants, so people are flabbergasted when they find out that not only were my parents born here, but my parents' parents...

# data[].attributes.body
This was a very interesting read. We read in No-No Boy some elements of assimilation, and if assimilation contributed to people feeling a sense of loss their their Japanese side with their American side. I think this reading poses some controversial thoughts and arguments. The reading says that assimilation may have helped the Japanese Americans move ahead in society, but at what cost? In another article, I will show psychological impacts of losing one's identity to be as competent as White Americans.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Outcasts! : the story of America's treatment of her Japanese-American minority

# data[].attributes.body
This poetry reflects the dehumanizing experience Japanese Americans faced. It also ties in the experiences Black people faced, but I think the overall message gives into the idea of why Japanese Americans who gained rights became hard-working and respected people. Ichiro gets called racial slurs, but despite being in this crisis of identity, he still tries to find a way to feel a sense of patriotism towards the United States.

# data[].attributes.headline
Comparable: Japanese Internment and Family Seperation

# data[].attributes.subject
Comparable: Japanese Internment and Family Seperation

# data[].attributes.body
connect this to our topic on identity, because today many young children will face some form of identity loss from removal from their parents. Ichiro removed himself from his mother's perspective of the outcome of the war, and this stirred up the way he saw himself in relation to his parents. The separation of Latino children from their parents is a different form of removal and disconnection. While the Latino children's is more of a physical/proximal disconnect, both Ichiro's experience with his parents and the latino children's removal from their parents can be a consequence of losing base with their upbringing and some sense of their culture. Because in some ways, our parents shape our perceptions and experiences.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Family Separation Is Being Compared to Japanese Internment. It Took Decades for the U.S. to Admit That Policy Was Wrong

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Bush compared the modern border policy to that "shameful" WWII-era plan. It took decades for the U.S. to learn the lesson of that mistake.

# data[].attributes.body
We know that most asians, especially the Japanese are considered the model minority. However with this label comes the heavy pressure to show peers, friends, and other people outside of their race that they are capable and worthy just as White Americans. This scholastic reading shows that the internment camps psychological trauma has carried a huge impact on post WW2 Japanese American generations. To avoid history from being repeated, some see losing their cultural values in order to align with those who hold the power in society.

# data[].attributes.headline
Why I love a country that once betrayed me

# data[].attributes.subject
Why I love a country that once betrayed me

# data[].attributes.body
A very moving speech by Geore Takei that highlights his time as someone who was a victim of the internment camps. I think Takei's perspective of the war and how it shaped the way we perceive people as Americans. During those times, race played a huge role in determining who was loyal and who wasn't loyal to the United States. Takei says that the reason why he loves this country despite what it did to him and his people is due to one of his father's sayings: "our democracy is a people’s democracy, and it can be as great as the people can be, but it is also as fallible as the people are." Furthermore, the people who fought for America was one of the examples that shows that people can still be racially different and have a sense of patriotism. No color is the true definer of who is loyal and who is not.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Why I love a country that once betrayed me | George Takei

# data[].attributes.headline
Identity Crisis in relation to Ichiro's case

# data[].attributes.subject
Identity Crisis in relation to Ichiro's case

# data[].attributes.body
Because of this social support, the Japanese were able to rise to the top and become the model minority. The author of this article realizes that the because of the resilience of the Japanese were able to rise to the top. But she acknowledges that although her people have it well in society, it is because of Reagan's act and $20,000 compensation for the heinous act of internment that helped the Japanese establish their success. The racism that existed in the 50's towards one minority group is being repeated again in within our society. She brings up that there is still institutionalized racism, and this is most notable toward Black people. She says "Until the humanity of Black people, the most oppressed among us, is affirmed and their safety and freedom is secured, all people of color will still be second-class citizens." Today, Japanese Americans must look at their privilege and stand with other minorities against the attacks of racism and discrimination. I tie this to my analysis and understanding of No-No Boy, because we see that Ichiro faces hatred acts of discrimination from his brother and his friends. Looking at the present day lens, we must look at how Black people, Hispanics and other minorities are experiencing institutionalized racism and all kinds of racism in any form.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
During an annual pilgrimage in late April to the site of a former internment camp, U.S.-born children of Japanese immigrants to the U.S. recounted divisions among Japanese-Americans during and after World War II.

During the war, the U.S. government interned more than 120,000 people of Japanese ancestry at 11 relocation camps built across the U.S., as they were deemed a danger to national security. Some 10,000 people were relocated to a camp constructed in the desert in Manzanar at the foot of the Sierra Nevada in California's Owens Valley, the site of the April pilgrimage.

Satsuki Ina, 71, professor emeritus at California State University, Sacramento, who was a keynote speaker at the 46th Annual Manzanar Pilgrimage at the Manzanar National Historic Site, was born at the Tule Lake Segregation Center, another former camp in the state. The war ended when she was 1 years old and the family was subsequently released.

Ina did not even know that such camps for Japanese-Americans had existed before she began studying at the University of California, Berkley, in the 1960s. Shocked to know that her parents had been interned, she decided to pursue a career in the field of combating racial discrimination.

Ina's parents were ashamed of their internment and said nothing about it until their death, she said.

The relocation camps were built in remote areas, surrounded by barbed wire and patrolled by armed guards.

Toru Isobe, 89, was a high school student when he and five other family members were interned and forced to live in a small room at the Manzanar camp. Dust blown into the dwellings made the residents' eyes red, he recalled.

Shared lavatories and showers, without partitions, were limited in number and inmates formed long waiting lines outside even when it snowed, said Isobe, who was raised in the city of Shizuoka and emigrated to the U.S. at the age of 12.

Inside the internment camps, there was strife among residents pledging their loyalty to the U.S. and those siding with Japan. Divisions between issei, the direct immigrants from Japan, and their U.S.-born offspring, or nisei, ran deep.

Ina's father was a "no-no boy," the term given by the U.S. government to Japanese-Americans who answered no to two key questions on a questionnaire to examine their willingness to serve in the U.S. armed forces and defend the U.S. No-No boys were segregated at the Tulelake camp and considered potential enemies of the U.S.

Ina's father loved Japan and named his daughter Satsuki in honor of her birth in the month of May. After the war, however, he did not speak Japanese and called his daughter Sandy instead. He never revealed the reason for the change.

Issei helped each other survive in the U.S. and established Japanese communities in various parts of the country. Little Tokyo in downtown Los Angeles is a typical example.

It was a bustling district with a large number of Japanese restaurants and other shops.

But no longer. Japanese-Americans are now a minority in Little Tokyo, where many sushi and ramen restaurants are run by other Asian immigrants. Hotel New Otani, a symbol of Little Tokyo, has been taken over by a U.S. hotel chain.

At the pilgrimage to the former Manzanar camp, Ina called for Japanese-Americans today to say "no-no" to the discrimination she says they still face.

Isobe, meanwhile, lamented that "Japanese (in the U.S.) don't feel the value and pride of being Japanese."

Issei have passed away and nisei have moved to the suburbs, said Isobe, who serves as a guide at the Japanese American National Museum.

Little Tokyo remains only in name, he said, and other Japanese communities in North America have faded as well.

Japanese-Americans, cut off from Japan through the war, have Americanized themselves and lost their linguistic heritage and communities, according to Ina.

Driven by pressure to be respected, they tend to pursue careers as professionals and engineers, she said.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Japanese-Americans recall how war tested loyalties, spurred identity crisis | The Japan Times

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
During an annual pilgrimage in late April to the site of a former internment camp, U.S.-born children of Japanese immigrants to the U.S. recounted divisions among Japanese-Americans during and after World War II. During the war, the U.S.

# data[].attributes.body
Those who did not fight for the United States Armed Forces were not seen as loyal. However it's more complex than that. People who didn't serve didn't necessarily they weren't willing to give their lives to this country. Those who said no to question 27 & 28 may have had family members pressure them to say no. Those who did serve were seen as traitors to their Japanese heritage, but amongst Japanese Americans who were slowly getting integrated to America's values saw them as heroes. Defining loyalty has been complex for these individuals, because there is no real common reason for their acts.