Doing family: communicating memories of the Japanese American incarceration

While official government photographs from the Incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II has received scholarly attention, private photographs from the Incarceration are also valuable to the reconstruction of personal Camp memories. Using my family's photographs, I conducted oral history interviews with 5 family members who were incarcerated at Topaz or Amache Camps. My thesis employs a performance studies lens in order to better understand the relationship between memory, identity, agency, and photographs. My approach recognizes that memory, identity, and agency are complex ongoing processes, which are informed by, and inform, one another. In all, through purposeful acts of forgetting in the oral history interviews, my relatives were able to (re)conceive their Camp experiences in ways that fit their present needs. For example, in remembering to forget, the Nisei are able to construct a memory of the Camp experience that supports their identities as Japanese Americans by reinforcing their identity as an American through the depoliticization of Camp memories. Additionally, in order to better make sense of the relationship between photographs and the memory construction process, I provided a binder of family photographs from the Camps for the interviewees to view. My analysis suggests that photographs in the oral history performance are used as a prop that allows for acts of both remembering and forgetting while embracing the fragmented nature of memories. Overall, this study reveals the relationship between identity and memory with implications on how this interaction allows us to remember, forget, or remain silent. In my attempt to understand how my relatives' constructed memories of their Incarceration, I was able to reflect on my own experiences as a Japanese Chinese American. To this end, memories are not only about what is remembered, they are also about how what is forgotten and what is remembered reinforce and are reinforced by identity.

DOING FAMILY: COMMUNICATING MEMORIES OF THE JAPANESE AMERICAN INCARCERATION by Laura M. Kashiwase A thesis submitted to the faculty of The University of Utah in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Science Department of Communication The University of Utah December 2013 Copyright © Laura M. Kashiwase 2013 All Rights Reserved The Unive r si t y of Utah Graduat e School STATEMENT OF THESIS APPROVAL The thesis of ___________________ Laura M. Kashiwase__________________ has been approved by the following supervisory committee members: Suhi Choi , Chair May 9,2013 Date Approved Mary Strine , Member May 9,2013 Date Approved Wesley Sasaki-Uemura , Member May 9,2013 Date Approved and by ______________________Kent Ono______________________ , Chair/Dean of the Department/College/School o f ________________Communication_______________ and by David B. Kieda, Dean of The Graduate School. ABSTRACT While official government photographs from the Incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II has received scholarly attention, private photographs from the Incarceration are also valuable to the reconstruction of personal Camp memories. Using my family's photographs, I conducted oral history interviews with 5 family members who were incarcerated at Topaz or Amache Camps. My thesis employs a performance studies lens in order to better understand the relationship between memory, identity, agency, and photographs. My approach recognizes that memory, identity, and agency are complex ongoing processes, which are informed by, and inform, one another. In all, through purposeful acts of forgetting in the oral history interviews, my relatives were able to (re)conceive their Camp experiences in ways that fit their present needs. For example, in remembering to forget, the Nisei are able to construct a memory of the Camp experience that supports their identities as Japanese Americans by reinforcing their identity as an American through the depoliticization of Camp memories. Additionally, in order to better make sense of the relationship between photographs and the memory construction process, I provided a binder of family photographs from the Camps for the interviewees to view. My analysis suggests that photographs in the oral history performance are used as a prop that allows for acts of both remembering and forgetting while embracing the fragmented nature of memories. Overall, this study reveals the relationship between identity and memory with implications on how this interaction allows us to remember, forget, or remain silent. In my attempt to understand how my relatives' constructed memories of their Incarceration, I was able to reflect on my own experiences as a Japanese Chinese American. To this end, memories are not only about what is remembered, they are also about how what is forgotten and what is remembered reinforce and are reinforced by identity. iv To my family and all people who are surviving (or have survived) being confined or silenced by their identities ABSTRACT........................................................................................................................... iii LIST OF FIGURES............................................................................................................. viii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ................................................................................................... ix Chapters 1: INTRODUCTION............................................................................................................... 1 Encountering Difference and Myself as the Other................................................... 1 Incarceration in Context...............................................................................................5 Writing on Incarceration Photographs..................................................................... 14 Reconstructing Family Through Photographic Memories......................................29 2: METHODS........................................................................................................................37 Oral History Interviews..............................................................................................37 Participants..................................................................................................................46 3: PHOTOGRAPHS AS PROPS .......................................................................................... 59 Legitimization of Voice............................................................................................ 60 Family Memory Constituted Through Photographs............................................... 66 Using Photographs to Redirect and Reframe...........................................................70 Forgetting Through Photographs..............................................................................74 4: IDENTITY AND MEMORY........................................................................................... 78 Role of Parents (Issei) in Interview..........................................................................78 Expressions of Guilt and Justification..................................................................... 84 Nisei Identity and Memory Process..........................................................................88 Dimensions of Forgetting......................................................................................... 93 5: LOCATING MYSELF AS THE RESEARCHER.......................................................108 TABLE OF CONTENTS 6: CONCLUSION 125 Appendices A. IRB EXEMPTION......................................................................................................135 B. PHOTOGRAPHS USED IN INTERVIEWS...........................................................137 C. PHOTOGRAPH OF MARY FREEMAN AND ME AFTER INTERVIEW........ 142 D. COLOR CODING USED IN DATA ANALAYSIS............................................... 144 E. SAMPLE RAW DATA WITH MY NOTES............................................................146 REFERENCES..................................................................................................................151 vii LIST OF FIGURES 1. Miye Oshima and E.J. Kashiwase...............................................................................46 2. Bill Kashiwase.............................................................................................................. 47 3. Mary Freeman.............................................................................................................. 50 4. Dennis Fujita................................................................................................................53 5. Aiko Oshima................................................................................................................ 56 6. Moses Oshima 58 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This project would not have been possible without the time, wisdom, experiences, and kindness of those interviewed: Bill Kashiwase, Aiko Oshima, Moses Oshima, Denny Fujita, and Mary Freeman. Each of you showed me something about myself, my family, and my history. I am grateful for the opportunity I had to hear about your experience in your own voice and for your willingness to allow me to share the knowledge I gained with others. That is truly invaluable. Second, thank you to my thesis committee for your endless support of me and my research. To Wes, thank you for talking through my research with me and giving me tips on how to organize my writing. Thank you also for the documentary and movie files that provided a fun alternative to reading for research. Mary, you introduced me to an approach to research that I never knew existed but feel completely in tune with. You pushed me to think about things in ways that I never imagined, and for that, I am grateful. To Suhi, thank you for your time, energy, support, and encouragement. Thank you for exchanging countless drafts with me and pushing me to be a better writer and researcher. And although it was not easy, thank you for pushing me to be self-reflexive and put myself into my writing. Third, thank you, Julie, for unconditionally supporting me as a researcher, teacher, and friend-this experience would not be the same without you. To my friends in California, Washington, and New York, thank you for your support and encouragement from afar. Finally, I would like to thank my family: Mom, Dad, Lisa, and the extended family. Mom and Dad, thank you for always supporting me in every endeavor and for your help with completing my thesis. Without you scanning photos and documents to send me, driving me to my interviews, and phone calls to make sure I'm alive, I would not have been able to accomplish what I have. Thank you for always believing in me. x CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION Encountering Difference and Myself as the Other There are Moments that interrupt our lives, Moments that rupture our sense of who we are. As I sat in an undergraduate course on American Schools, I felt like the epitome of belonging. Each day, I walked into class and took my seat at the same table. It was a table that was marked by even more belonging; my table was always filled with my sorority sisters. Then one day, wrapped up in my security of belonging to a table in a class surrounded by my sorority sisters, I was asked to move. I was not asked to leave the classroom; instead, I was asked to move tables. I was asked to move to a table where I belonged. I was asked to move from a table where I did not belong. On this particular day, the professor decided to divide the class into two groups: White students and non-White students. In "our" groups, we were instructed to talk about racism. I remember first being caught off guard when I was told I had to get up from my table to move to another one, and then embarrassed when I realized I was asked to move because I was not White. Beyond that, the combination of anger and embarrassment resulted in some form of amnesia. I do not remember a word that was spoken between me and the other male in my group, nor do I remember what was said in the class discussion. All I can remember is sitting at a table with another male student who also happened to be Japanese. We had nothing in common-no mutual friends, different majors, he grew up in Hawaii, me in California. The only attribute that brought the two of us together at this table was our lack of Whiteness. For the rest of that day, I tried to figure out what bothered me so much about the exercise. It turns out there were many things that bothered me, but the most useful revelation I had was that I was not angry because I was not part of the White group and I was not embarrassed because the professor singled me out to move; rather, I was somehow blindsided by the recognition that others saw me as different in some way. You see, during my high school years in California, my high school was diverse in every way possible in terms of religion, ethnicity, sexuality, nationality, etc. I thought about race and ethnicity often in class discussions and readings, yet I never had to think about my own race or ethnicity. I never reflected about my own identity as a Chinese Japanese American, and no one forced me to. While culturally I participated in Japanese and Chinese family cultural traditions, I always felt like I fit in relatively seamlessly with "Americans." For me, to be American meant to be able to enjoy the rights ensured to me by our constitution-freedom of speech, freedom of religion, and the pursuit of happiness. Identifying myself as American never had anything to do with race; it was more a state of mind and a matter of citizenship. On the other hand, my racial self-concept was always a fluid one. At times I felt more Japanese than Chinese, at others I felt more Chinese than Japanese, and there were even times when I felt more American than anything else. In most cases, I thought I had control over my ethnic identity. When surrounded by my Dad's family, I feel Japanese. When I am with my Mom's family, I feel Chinese. So really, there was nothing inherently disturbing to me about being identified as non-White; instead, I think the 2 painful part of the class activity was that someone else was telling me who I was without my consent. When the professor told me I needed to move tables, his order was in conflict with how I felt in that Moment. I was made blatantly aware of my visibility as a person of color, and I was not quite sure what this meant or how I was suppose to handle it. So, for weeks I walked around Campus being aware that in some way others might see me as not belonging. In that same semester, in that same class, we had a discussion about the pledge of allegiance and we were encouraged to share our opinions on requiring students to recite it in public schools. A couple students raised issue with the use of the word God in the pledge, and the class nodded and grunted in consensus, but as I sat there, I realized that my issue was not with the use of the word God; instead, it was with the line "and freedom and justice for all." I do not believe that this country provides freedom and justice for all at the level espoused, so I do not think students should be groomed to believe that the United States is a perfect country that provides justice for all. In my mind, I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but I was not sure if I wanted to raise my hand. I worried what the other students would think and whether or not it would make me even more different from them. In the end, I timidly raised my hand and reluctantly shared my opinion. At the time, these two experiences in that one class bothered me, but why, I never really worked out. As I reflect on my own opinions on the Incarceration experience of the Japanese side of my family, a portion of my feelings come from a feeling of empathy. While the Japanese side of my family is Japanese, they are also American. Much like myself, my great aunts, great uncles, and my grandparents saw themselves as Americans 3 when they were incarcerated. I imagine, to a much lesser degree, the emotions that I experienced when my Professor told me to move tables were similar to the way my relatives felt when their government told them they were enemy aliens who needed to be removed. In the same vein, the fear I felt about speaking out in class about my hesitation to the pledge of allegiance and my reluctance to share my experience in that class in some ways parallels the fear that I imagine my relatives felt about standing up for themselves and their rights. To this day, I still wonder why my family members do not openly and willingly speak about their experience or take a stronger stance on the wrongdoings of their country. Yet, at the same time, I am beginning to understand the many factors that not only shape what we remember, but also the factors that influence which memories we remember and choose to communicate to others. Even in writing about my experience in this study, I worry if and/or how it will change the way people look at me. While I feel strongly about what happened in my undergraduate course, I hesitate to share that experience with others, even those I feel closest to. In my own memories of my family's experience in the Camps, my own experience in my undergraduate class intervenes. Although the experience of being incarcerated is more traumatic and enduring than my own experience, the parallels between the two events, which occurred nearly 70 years apart, cannot be ignored. My own trauma experienced in that class has motivated me to try to better understand the Camp experience of my relatives both for the sake of knowledge, as well as to help me unpack my relationship to the past and my present. In such an excavation, the inherent messiness of memory takes center stage. By this, I mean that there are multiple and contradictory memories that exist of the Camp experience both within my family and 4 between myself and my family. The stories and narratives that emerge throughout this thesis are inevitably going to be different, and the addition of photographs is going to only further the ways in which memories will diverge. My goal and my hope is to better understand how photographs operate in the larger narrative of memory, as well as how and why people choose to remember. Being a generation twice removed from the Camp experience, I fully expect that my reading of photographs will be different than those of my relatives who lived the experience; yet, at the same time, it is within the differences and the parallels that emotions will be revealed and memories shaped and reshaped. Incarceration in Context My goal is not to recreate a story or memory of the Camp experience that can be universally agreed upon; instead, I hope to remain true to my family member's lived experience and their own memories while also creating my own. I purposefully defer the Truth question in my approach to the history and story of the Japanese American Incarceration. What I believe is of value in telling the story of the Camps is providing varying, and perhaps at times, contradictory, versions of the Camps in order to highlight the possibility of alternative truths that are often overshadowed by official versions of history. The story of the Japanese American Incarceration Camps is not a singular story, nor is there one experience that is universal to all who experienced them; however, the story of the mass Incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II often begins on December 7, 1941 with the attacks on Pearl Harbor. Following Japan's bombing of Pearl Harbor, President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 on February 19, 1942, which gave the United States Government the authorization to remove all persons of Japanese descent from designated areas as deemed necessary. 5 Following the signing of Executive Order 9066, persons of Japanese ancestry on the west coast were classified as dangerous enemy aliens and were ordered to inland Camps. Of those ordered to report to Incarceration Camps, more than 2/3 were U.S. citizens who, "by definition could not be legally ‘interned'" (Alinder, 2009, p. 8). The Japanese Americans, half of whom were children, remained incarcerated at various remote Camps around the United States for up to 4 years. They were denied due process and stripped of their citizen rights. While Japan's attacks on Pearl Harbor were used as the rationale behind the Incarceration of all persons of Japanese ancestry on the west coast, this version of how and why the Camps happened fell under the rationale of wartime necessity. While this version of the Incarceration dominates official public memory, it has also been criticized for its decontextualization of the Japanese American experience in the United States prior to Pearl Harbor (Okihiro, 1994; Takaki, 1998). Although for much of my life my education led me to believe that the Japanese American Incarceration was a result of Japan's December 7, 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor, I believe that a more nuanced approach to telling the story of the Camps is possible. This commonly held belief about the Japanese American Incarceration has been studied in a historical context by some scholars (Okihiro, 1994; Takaki, 1998); however, my own family's story reflects both the experience of my family specifically in addition to many of the circumstances that impacted the experience of all those incarcerated. According to my great uncle, Bill Kashiwase, his life began to change following the attacks on Pearl Harbor: oh yeah. well 6 7 we got cut off from the community I was suppose to go to high school but it was couldn't go to and from school stayed home all that time Then, with the signing of Executive Order 9066, my Grandfather's family, the Kashiwase's, were sent to the Merced Assembly Center and eventually to the Amache Camp in Colorado. Families were sent to assembly centers based on their geographic location. Denny Fujita explains: people from California who were relocated had a good chance of going to topaz, Poston Arizona and Amache and uh the Executive Order came out here in the Bay Area the deadline to settle your affairs and to show up to be moved to an Assembly Center was quite early General Dewitt thought the San Francisco Bay Area was a real strategic area and had to clear the Japanese out of this area first so my parents decided to move to Livingston so that wherever the core of the family moved they would be able to as well My Grandmother's family, the Oshima's, was sent to Tanforan Assembly Center and then spent the remainder of their Incarceration at the Topaz Camp in Utah. The Assembly Centers served as the gathering place for the Japanese in various areas on the west coast. Bill Kashiwase described his living conditions at the Merced Assembly Center: living quarters it was just a SHACK they built a shack thats about all it wasn't much but it was livable 8 After being ordered to their assigned Assembly Centers, families were transferred to more permanent Camps throughout the United States. Members of my family endured long train rides to both Topaz and Amache Camps in Utah and Colorado, respectively. The train ride for many was not pleasant and took several days. Bill Kashiwase explained: they had the shades pulled down but we peeked out (laughs) because every night we had to stop After arriving at the Camps from the Assembly Centers, families were assigned to barracks where they would live for the duration of their time at the Camp. Although the Camps were constructed specifically for the relocation of Japanese Americans, the conditions of the living quarters and barracks were marginal. My great uncle, Moses Oshima, described the barracks: Basically I'd say terrible it was an improvement over being in Tanforan that was horrible In addition to the poor conditions of the barracks, the Camp had several reminders that those in the Camp were not free. My great aunt, Aiko Oshima, explains: just like an army Camp with uh sentries and high uhh they're not buildings but cubicle type and they would have rifles and they would guard the whole Camp and the whole Camp you know was uh encompassed, we were surrounded by barbed wire and sentries with rifles 9 While the official memory and photographs from the Incarceration Camps often depict happy families and ordinary daily routines, it is important to remain cognizant of the reality that United States Citizens were forcibly removed and incarcerated. The question that arises in the story of the Japanese American Incarceration Camps is, how did this happen? As previously noted, the bombing of Pearl Harbor was a catalyst to the United States' entrance into World War II and the wartime necessity of removing all Japanese from the west coast; however, scholars (Okihiro, 1994; Takaki, 1998) have also delved into the Japanese American Incarceration in the context of the larger history of Japanese in California, resulting in a more expansive understanding of the motivations behind the mass Incarceration of Japanese Americans. Denny Fujita highlights four motivations for the signing of Executive Order 9066: I don't know that was necessarily just one item or one issue um having read about the alien land act um resentment against Chinese and Japanese and other Asians was definitely building um this resentment goes back to the Gold Rush era to the time of the railroads where Chinese laborers are brought in and then created competition in the gold fields so sort of like the attitudes towards Native Americans sort of the expendable easily pushed away um people who look different could easily be identified and could be excluded and could be harassed so the whole issue of um should Asians even be in the United States let alone should we allow them to own businesses and have property and to to have children to increase the population here there was tremendous fear and anxiety starting as early as 1905 1910 that the population of Japanese Americans was just rising way too rapidly if you look at a population graph it was going up pretty remarkably but you're still talking about one hundredth of a percent tenth of a percent of total population in the state 10 uh so there was also concern that Japanese farmers were monopolizing the the economics of crop being raised in the state part of it was having these limitations on how much land could be purchased or how much land could be leased forced Japanese to look at what crops could they raise to make the best profit and so it turned out to be very valuable crops like strawberries and asparagus and lettuce things that fruits that don't last very long but have a high value when they're in season it can be raised fairly intensive methods on small acreage so it the monopolization of some of these valuable crops led to a lot of resentment um about being present and being in competition with Caucasian farmers and I guess the third issue would be um just fear mongering that there was an element of the Japanese population in America that uh would would sabotage would help the enemy which turned out to be untrue but a great deal of fear and so some of these policies were developed I think to allay those fears to succumb to the pressures that the population was concerned about maybe a fourth contributor would be the newspapers tremendously exaggerated accounts Hearst Newspaper and other publications had a lot to do with the acceptance of these evacuation plans Both the first generation, Issei, and the second generation, Nisei, were affected by Executive Order 9066. The Issei, because of their citizenship status, had faced discrimination throughout their time in California. Unlike European immigrants, the Japanese were visibly different, and through this difference, they were marginalized and excluded from many of the rights that Whites received. Japanese on the west coast were excluded from labor unions and prohibited from owning land due to their citizenship status (or lack thereof). In 1790, The Naturalization Law was passed in order to limit naturalized citizenship to those classified as Whites. Such a classification allowed immigrants from countries such as Ireland and Italy to become naturalized citizens despite the other forms of discrimination they faced. Alternately, The Naturalization Law of 1790 prohibited Japanese from obtaining citizenship, a prerequisite to voting and political rights. Whereas European immigrants were permitted to become naturalized citizens, the lack of Whiteness of the Japanese prohibited them from becoming citizens, owning land, and exercising political power. Although the Issei hoped to become accepted in America, it quickly became apparent that they would never be seen for anything other than their Japanese-ness. Aiko Oshima's parents, both of whom were Issei, did not agree with their Incarceration, yet at the same time, their status within the United States prior to Executive Order 9066 is reflected in their reaction to the Camps: and my parents of course said it was wrong but they would go like this (shrugs shoulders) and say this is something that we can't help, you know However, the Nisei found themselves in a unique position because of their status as United States citizens. Despite their citizenship, the Nisei were not fully accepted into American society and were seen as perpetual foreigners. However, legally and culturally, their sense of themselves was as Americans with a Japanese cultural background. Despite the duality faced by the Nisei, many believed that "‘Patriotism' would be the key to open the door to acceptance" (Takaki, 1998, p. 223). Former JACL President James Sakamoto stated: "Only if the second generation as a whole works to inculcate in all its members the true spirit of American Patriotism can the group escape the unhappy fate of being a clan apart from the rest of American life" (Takaki, 1998, p. 223). The Nisei 11 12 strove to be seen as loyal Americans, yet often received reminders that they would always wear the racial uniform of Japanese. Perhaps the largest reminder that they were not viewed as Americans was their Incarceration due to their ethnic origin. Aiko Oshima's experience illuminates the middle ground occupied by many Nisei, not fully Japanese, but not fully American either: but us kids weren't raised with their kids you know so it wasn't until the war came and we were (pause) sent to Assembly Centers thats the first time we saw ALL these Japanese and actually I myself didn't know how to act, react to them. SO I kinda went into a little shell because growing up with Italians and Germans and other nationalities and Chinese, you know and not knowing other children you know of Japanese ancestry until we were sent to Merced Assembly Center It becomes evident how the Nisei could feel displaced by the Incarceration because of their already existing identity of an American with a Japanese background. The duality of growing up among a diverse group of individuals while also experiencing discrimination based on their Japanese heritage is a memory that had the potential to shape the experience of the Nisei and the way that they remember and choose to talk about their Camp experience. In the larger scheme of World War II and the United States' involvement, those events such as Pearl Harbor, the Atomic Bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the Battle at Iwojima are marked and remembered through iconic photographs, whereas the Japanese American Incarceration Camps are often forgotten (Sturken, 2001). Few Americans are unfamiliar with the iconic mushroom cloud photograph or the raising of the flag at Iwojima, both of which emphasize the way that a photograph can make us remember an event, as well as the ways that it can help us forget (Sturken, 2001). Given the ways that photographs create remembering and forgetting, it is crucial to understand how the photographs from the Incarceration were produced, as well as the ways in which they are used to guide memory and acts of remembering. The Japanese American Incarceration is a historical Moment that if not told, gets lost in history. If it is not talked about and told and retold, all we have is the official memory of the event, a single, capital "T" Truth. It is only through the memory process of individuals who experienced the Camps themselves that we can uncover truths and other ways of knowing and remembering that otherwise would remain untold. Memory work surrounding the Camps is not just a matter of shaping my own memories about the Camp; rather, it is also the primary way in which those stories and memories that are circulated in the public and public understanding are formed. As we remember Moments in history, such as the Japanese American Incarceration, it is exactly that, a Moment in time that is and will continue to be constantly reconstructed in the future. The experience of my relatives will be told and retold to future generations, and right now, the opportunity to see and hear their experience in their own words is still available. Through sharing their own experience and providing alternative truths, they are making an attempt at their own agency and creating their own truth, things that have historically been left to government records and official public memory. While the photographs I will use and the stories I will hear are about my family, my approach extends to the larger 13 picture of how the Camps are remembered and the relationship between photographs, memory, and identity, as well as how people remember, and what people choose to remember. In order to elucidate the value in studying family photographs, it is important to understand how others have studied photographs from the Japanese American Incarceration. In addition to addressing whose photographs have been studied, it is also useful to explore how the photographs have been used and what story of the Camps has been allowed to be presented and reinforced to the public. Writing on Incarceration Photographs During the years of the Incarceration of Japanese Americans, the government authorized select photographers to enter the Camps and photograph the lives and experiences of the incarcerated Japanese Americans. These images that were produced are important because "on one hand, camera images can embody and create memories" (Sturken, 2001, p. 35); however, at the same time, the restrictions placed on photographing the Japanese American Incarceration resulted in a limited number of photographs that can be used to remember and reconstruct the Incarceration experience. Official War Relocation Authority (WRA) photographs serve as the dominant historical record used to remember the Incarceration. However, because of the scarcity of non- WRA photographs available to the public, scholars (Alinder, 2009; Creef, 2004; Danovitch, 1981; Gordon, 2006; Ishizuka, 2006; Kuramitsu, 1995; Weglyn, 1999) who have studied photographs from the Japanese American Incarceration often focus on the sanctioned photographs produced by Ansel Adams and Dorthea Lange. 14 These government censored photographs are worthy of being studied for their ability to create remembering, yet they simultaneously contribute to a narrow understanding of the Camp experience and provide only one perspective from which to conceptualize the event. For example, Art History scholar Kristine Kuramitsu (1995) argues that "the government photos of the Incarceration serve as a tool to deceive and disguise the injustice of the Incarceration by focusing only on the visually benign, pleasant, or poetic aspects of the experience" (p. 623). To this end, the majority of scholarship written on photographs from the Japanese American Incarceration focuses on the photographic work of Adams and Lange. The dominant narratives that emerge from this line of research include an analysis of Adams and Lange's photographs in terms of their visual representation of nationality and patriotism (Creef, 2004); their failed attempts to provide "truthful" representations of Japanese Americans and the Incarceration (Alinder, 2009; Creef, 2004); a comparison of their work (Creef, 2004); their benign, ordinary, and domestic representation of Camp life (Alinder, 2009; Creef, 2004; Sturken, 2001; ); and the use of their photographs to endorse the WRA's version of the Incarceration (Kozol & Hesford, 2001; Kuramitsu, 1995). While each of these scholars have framed their analysis of the photographs in varying ways and at times reached conflicting conclusions about both Adams's and Lange's photographs, their research yields information that is valuable to my own reconciliation of the way that Adams's and Lange's photographs operate in remembering the Japanese American Incarceration. Additionally, the photographs taken by Adams and Lange have proved to be fruitful for others' research and have provided a foundation from which to explore 15 alternative avenues of inquiry by illuminating the scarcity of research on Camp photographs taken by nonauthorized photographers. During the years of the Incarceration, the government authorized select photographers to enter the Camps and photograph the lives and experiences of the incarcerated Japanese Americans. Ansel Adams was invited to photograph the Camps by the project director at Manzanar, Ralph Merritt, beginning in November of 1942. Merritt instructed Adams to photograph Camp life in a way that highlighted the incarcerated Japanese Americans' loyalty to the United States government. At the discretion of the WRA, Adams was not to photograph the violent side of the Incarceration (Manzanar, in its earlier years, experienced the beating of Fred Tayama, which led to protests and riots) and he was forbidden from photographing any barbed wire or guard towers. Alinder's (2009) explanation of these directions is clear: the riot and any other symbolic representations of violence, such as guard towers, are in contention with the WRA and Merritt's ultimate goal of establishing Japanese Americans as worthy of reintegration into American society, as well as upholding the reputation of Incarceration Camps as peaceful centers. Following Alinder's (2009) understanding of Adams's photographs, English scholar Judith Fryer Davidov (1996) suggests that Adams's photographs at Manzanar use the Nisei to paint an accomodationist view of Japanese Americans. This is accomplished in one of two ways: through the depiction of submissive subjects or through the visual representation of patriotism evidenced through enlistment in the United States army (Davidov, 1996). Adams's photographs perform in a manner that both supports and encourages an understanding of the Camps as humane, benign, and perhaps even 16 beneficial to those incarcerated. This view of the Camps that Davidov (1996) offers is further supported by Historian Jasmine Alinder's (2009) explanation of Adams's position as a WRA photographer. Alinder (2009) describes Adams's book Born Free and Equal as the epitome of promoting the government's message and aiding "in the transition of Nisei from the Camps into their post-Incarceration lives" (p. 53). Because of this, much of Adams's work from the Camps presents a combination of innocent portraits, innocent images o f everyday activities, and snapshots of the serene and peaceful natural beauty that surrounded Manzanar. However, such images, while arguably part of a public relations Campaign on behalf of the government, also represented Japanese Americans in a way that challenged the images presented in war propaganda in the U.S. media (Alinder, 2009). Because of the alternative view of Japanese Americans provided by Adams, Alinder (2009) finds reason to praise his work: "In his work at Manzanar, Adams challenged the derogatory portrayal of people of Japanese descent in U.S. war propaganda by insisting on the loyalty and "Americanness" of the incarcerated" (p. 45). An example of Adams challenging the circulating image o f Japanese Americans as the enemy is his inclusion of individual portraits in Born Free and Equal. According to Alinder's (2009) analysis, this was significant because for many Japanese Americans, their association with Japan was evident in their appearance, specifically, their faces. Yet, instead of avoiding the association that the American public made with Japanese faces, Adams chose to include portraits of Japanese Americans that were confined to the face. These photographs were cropped in a way that the viewer's attention is drawn to the eyes, nose, and mouth of the individual. Alinder (2009) suggests that this strategy 17 begs the viewer to interact with the individual photographed in a familiar and very personal manner. Despite Alinder's (2009) praise for Adams's work, she points out that Adams's book Born Free and Equal "also uncritically reproduced other aspects of dominant stereotypes of Japanese Americans, including the perception that they were passive and thus ideally suited for domestic labor and other forms of servile work" (Alinder, 2009, p. 45). Asian American cultural studies and visual studies scholar Elena Tajima Creef (2004), although similar to Alinder (2005, 2009) in certain aspects of her critique of Adams, also closely aligns with my own position on the portraits produced by Adams. Creef (2004) argues that Adams's portraits were an attempt to strip Japanese of their collective identity, consciousness, and sense of difference, in favor of a transcendent American individualism" (p. 31). It seems to me that although Adams may have succeeded in establishing Japanese American loyalty, he also removed individuals from their own histories. While I do adopt Creef's (2004) stance on Adams's attempt to strip Japanese Americans of their collective identity and consciousness, I also see Japanese Americans as being constructed as a homogenous group with little to no family or personal history. Rather than capture the individual spirit of Japanese Americans, Adams's photographs functioned as a way to create a singular Japanese American identity that fit the desires of American society. Because of this homogenous view of Japanese Americans constructed by Adams, dissenting Japanese American voices and faces were left out of Born Free and Equal. Their images were not captured, their stories not told. 18 In addition to Adams, the WRA also commissioned Dorthea Lange to document the Internment through photographs. Photographic documentarian Gina Wenger (2007) takes a sympathetic approach to analyzing Lange's photographs of the Camps. She highlights Lange's effort to photograph the harshness and difficulties that existed within the confines of the barbed wire through her photographs of the sick, the elderly, and the very young. In Wenger's (2007) opinion, Lange's photographs represented her sensitivity to the condition of the incarcerated, a condition that she attempted to document through her photographs. Despite such efforts, many of Lange's photographs were impounded, and before she passed away, Lange admitted that she was required to sign a contract that forbade her from discussing or disclosing her work (Wenger, 2007). A criticism that both Lange and Adams have endured is their stance as outsiders. In order to further the distinction between "insider" and "outsider," as well as familial and public, I would like to review the literature written about Toyo Miyatake's photographs. Miyatake owned and operated a professional photography studio prior to his Incarceration, and upon his forced removal to Manzanar, Miyatake made the decision to chronicle life inside the Camps. According to multiple sources (Alinder, 2009; Chalfen, 1991; Creef, 2004), the restrictions placed on the use of cameras by Japanese Americans in the Camps varied across time and space. The most typical narratives regarding how family photos were obtained from the Camps explain that cameras may have been smuggled in by one family and then shared with others in the barracks, that lenses were concealed and brought into the Camps where a makeshift camera was then constructed, that sons and daughters who occasionally returned from their military service or job placements brought cameras on their visits, and lastly, some highlight the 19 loosening of restrictions on cameras as the war progressed. According to Alinder (2009), it is unclear whether Miyatake smuggled in a camera or built one once incarcerated, but regardless, he was able to capture images during his time at Manzanar. Although Miyatake was not originally an authorized WRA photographer, his photographs have been used in government archives to recreate the Japanese Incarceration experience. Perhaps two of the most valuable and controversial photos taken by Miyatake involve two things whose presence is often absent in WRA photos: barbed wire and a guard tower. These two images by Miyatake are a testament to the images that are rarely seen, and thus forgotten among the smiling faces and posed photos of the Incarceration. One of the images, "Boys Behind Barbed Wire," is one of the most commonly reproduced photographs from the Incarceration. While this image is widely spread and has been reproduced in various contexts, it also demonstrates the way that photographs are not always simplistic, historical accounts of the past. In a similar vein, Alinder (2009) states, " .. .the perceived veracity of documentary photography has been manipulated and exploited to tell versions of history that often elide complex experiences and smooth over the contradictions of the past" (Alinder, 2009, p. 87). In smoothing over contradictions of the past, the ability for photographs to prohibit critical thinking, allows for a narrow understanding of the past. In particular, "The photograph of ‘Boys Behind Barbed Wire' is not a window onto the past, but a highly constructed image, whose conceit stems from the position of Miyatake's camera, on the opposite side of the fence from the boys" (Alinder, 1998, p. 4). The photograph, when disseminated, does not encourage critical engagement with the context in which it was taken. The angle at which the photograph was taken suggests that either Miyatake or the boys were 20 positioned outside the fence. This begs important questions about whether or not the boys were performing for the camera or if their expressions are sincere. This aspect of the photograph does not minimize the ability for the photo to represent injustice, but it does raise questions about the agency of those incarcerated to make decisions about how they were represented. However, in addition to the barbed wire and guard tower, Miyatake was able to capture community events that an outsider or visiting photographer may not have had access to. While the mundane and ordinary nature of Miyatake's photographs could be criticized for not detailing the violence and injustice that transpired within the Camps, Alinder (2009) offers a response to such criticisms by stating that Miyatake did not intend to be the poster child for the antiCamp sentiment; instead, his hope was to document and create a visual record of the experience. This intent was relayed through Miyatake's son years after the Camps were closed. I believe this highlights one of the stances on photographs that I take in this thesis: the photograph is not a decisive, finite depiction of a single truth or reality; instead, the photo is a form of memory that allows for interpretation and reinterpretation. One of the primary ways that photographs from the Incarceration exemplify the malleable nature of memory through photographs can be found in the literature written on the WRA's use of captions. Since Adams and Lange were both authorized by the WRA, their photographs were subject to captioning at the discretion of Camp authorities. Here, the issue of the photographer's agency becomes a point of contention in the context of both Adams's and Lange's photographs. For example, the WRA's use of captions emerged as a key way to preclude the viewer's interpretation of a photograph or to nullify 21 22 the photographer's original purpose in taking a particular photo. Alinder (2009) offers insight into this aspect of the censorship process by explaining that all WRA photographs were sent to a single processing location in Colorado where all captioning and photo distribution occurred. At this Colorado location, WRA employees (caption writers) were instructed to provide the photographs with captions that directed the viewer's attention to positive aspects of the photograph and concealed any references that could taint the government's reputation and image. French Literary theorist Roland Barthes (1978) addresses the notion that words anchor the meaning of an image by describing text as something that can guide a viewer through an image, requiring the viewer to make certain twists and turns in order to arrive at a predetermined meaning chosen in advance by the words. Such an assertion seems to hold particularly true when I think about words attempting to anchor a particular meaning to an image. Words, or captions, are instrumental in guiding a viewer's reading of a photograph, yet this addition of text can also serve to misdirect the viewer and aid the construction of incomplete narratives or knowledge. Art critic and writer John Berger and Documentary Photographer Jean Mohr (1989) argue that words and images operate in a mutually reinforcing relationship dynamic. Through each one's presence, the others' truthfulness increases, creating a false impression of heightened certainty: In the relation between a photograph and words, the photograph begs for an interpretation, and the words usually supply it. The photograph, irrefutable as evidence but weak in meaning, is given a meaning by the words. And the words, which by themselves remain at the level of generalisation, are given specific authenticity by the irrefutability of the photograph. (Berger & Mohr, 1989, p. 91-92) When put together, the power of the photographs and the power of the words are enhanced and any questions or uncertainty surrounding the meaning of a photograph gains the appearance of being answered. With this understanding of the relationship between text and images in mind, it becomes apparent how the photographs taken by Adams and Lange exemplify the way that words can anchor meaning because the captions chosen by the WRA were intended to fix a particular view of the Camps in history. Although Barthes (1978) also acknowledges that text and image can work in complementary rather than competing ways, the use of words with WRA photographs seems to more fully represent words and images as being in opposition and the text being used to fix a predetermined meaning to a photograph. One of Lange's photographs that demonstrates the competition for meaning between the image and the text depicts a young boy who stands staring at the camera, tightly holding a paper bag in one hand and the other hand by his mouth. Hanging from his coat is a clearly identifiable tag with his family number on display. Perhaps even more noticeable than the identification tag is the small boy's cap. He is wearing a sailor cap with the words "Remember Peal Harbor" clearly displayed. The sailor cap and family number tag work against each other, one identifying his loyalty to the United States, and the other labeling him as the Other. Given what is known about Lange and her tendency to capture small protests and paradoxes, it seems likely she was aware of the irony that her photograph captured. Despite Lange's intent when she took the photograph, Alinder (2009) points to the way that a simple caption can transform how a photograph is read by calling the viewer's 23 24 attention to certain aspects of the photograph over others. Instead of highlighting the irony present in the sailor cap and identification tag, the WRA employee chose to caption the photograph in a way that calls attention to the maintenance of the nuclear family. The caption read as follows: The family unit is kept intact in various phases of evacuation of persons of Japanese ancestry. Above is a view.. .when the first group of 664 was evacuated from San Francisco. The family unit likewise is preserved at War Relocation Authority centers where evacuees will spend the duration. (Alinder, 2009, p. 39) However, looking at the photograph, there is no evidence of a nuclear family. Instead, the small boy is flanked by two men, yet there are no clear signs that either man is the boy's father. Additionally, the photograph provides little visual evidence of a mother, a vital component of the "nuclear family" the WRA is keeping intact. Not only does the caption chosen by the WRA employee choose to ignore certain aspects of the photograph; the caption also seems to inorganically construct something that does not exist, as is evidenced by a clear lack of any sort of nuclear family in the photograph. Lange represents an example of the way in which the addition of captions to her photographs removed her autonomy and restricted her agency as the photographer. Through the WRA authorized photographs, captions emerged as a key way to preclude the viewer's interpretation of a photograph or to nullify the photographer's original purpose in taking a particular photo. According to Alinder (2009), Lange failed in her attempt to capture the harshness of the Camps in large part because of her lack of control over the captions that accompanied her photographs. Without the power to control the captions, Lange discovered that her photographs were malleable and able to be shaped to fit the needs of the WRA. Despite her efforts, Lange's photographs are in constant competition with the text that the WRA assigned each photograph. As the above discussion demonstrates, official WRA photos taken during the Japanese American Incarceration have been studied quite extensively (Alinder, 2009; Creef, 2004; Gordon, 2006; Kuhn & McAllister, 2006); however, the personal photos taken by those incarcerated have received little attention with the exception of studies including Toyo Miyatake's photos (Alinder, 2009; Davidov, 1996). Given what is known about the WRA's control over the captions of the photographs taken by Adams and Lange, as well as their position under the control of the WRA, Miyatake's photographs that capture ordinary life begin to illuminate the importance of including photographs of the Incarceration that are taken by people other than Adams and Lange. When photographs become free-floating signifiers in the public sphere, the accompanying text becomes even more influential. Especially with photographs of historical events for which we were not present, viewers of these photos are confronted by a multitude of images that are difficult to understand. There is a natural tendency for the viewer to latch on unquestioningly to any explanations that happen to be offered to them that can explain the meaning o f the photo. The captions or text associated with the photograph then provides signposts that guide the viewer of the photograph toward a particular meaning. Both the photograph and the text increase their power through their relationship--the text reinforces what the viewer "sees" and the image reinforces what the text "says." However, when we flip through family albums, captions become decreasingly significant. Therefore, photographs taken by people other than authorized photographers, as well as those photographs that are not anchored to a written caption, 25 merit the attention of those attempting to explore how memory and photographs from the Japanese American Incarceration interact with one another and construct truths about the experience. While Adams and Lange's photographs offer material that can be used to study Camp photographs, much of the focus has been on the agency (or lack thereof) of the photographer. Work written on Miyatake's photographs (Alinder, 2009; Davidov, 1996) opened the door to conceptualizing Camp photographs as a joint effort between photographer and photographed subjects, which reinvigorated the conversation about agency. As an insider, Miyatake's photographs represent an example of joint agency. By this, I mean that Miyatake and his subjects, together, were able to present a view of themselves that was not contingent on their Incarceration. Rather, as members of the same community and in the same situation, Miyatake and his subjects were able to create photographs that represented their own vision of their wartime experience. Davidov (1996) aligns with this reading of Miyatake's photographs adding, "it is not simply in imitation of the white man or in conformity to his expectations: they are reconstructing, insofar as they can in this restrictive environment, their own lives as, on the outside, high school and college students, nurses and teachers, farmers and artists (p. 236). Here, the similarities to Adams' photographs emerge: both attempted to capture ordinary Moments that stressed the strength of the community of Japanese Americans. However, again, the intent of the photographer and the subjects cannot be fully known. And while the photographs are tendentious, the truth that can be found in the agency of the subject represents not a capital "T" Truth, but rather the truth of the individual being photographed. 26 However, research on the agency of the photographed subject is not limited to the photographs of Miyatake. Alinder (2009) addresses the agency of the photographed subject by cautioning against reading the portrayals of Japanese Americans in an over­simplified manner. In looking at the photographs of Adams and Lange, she warns that a smile should not be read solely as a signifier of submissiveness or joy by pointing out that a smile could be a strategy implemented by the subject in order to project a specific image to outsiders, or it could be the result of someone's simple directions to "smile." I believe the agency of the photographed subject is an area that requires further exploration if we are to begin examining Camp photographs in order to gain a more complex understanding of the experience and memories of those in the Camps. Alinder (2009) begins this line of research by examining the multiple reasons why a photographed subject may choose to smile for the camera: perhaps the subject wants to be read as obedient and servile in order to offer a stark contrast to the wartime propaganda that constructed an image of Japanese Americans as dangerous enemies. Such assertions can be foregrounded by the anti-Japanese sentiment during the time the photos were taken. "Intensely aware that the dominant media and the government were portraying them as criminals, many Japanese Americans apparently went out of their way to counter such images and savage whatever shred of dignity they could by dressing in their finest clothes and putting ‘the best face' on a situation that was fundamentally humiliating and degrading" (Alinder, 2009, p. 17). In this reading of the WRA photos, Alinder (2009) is creating a shift in both agency and power. In recognizing the agency of the subject, we can deviate from official narratives of the Incarceration and complicate our understanding of the Incarceration experience, as well as the degree of truth and 27 28 authenticity attributed to photographs. Building upon Alinder's (2009) recognition of subject agency, I believe that the agency o f photographed individuals should also be explored in terms of viewer agency in the process of communication and memory construction using family photographs. As the agency of photographer and viewer are elaborated upon, I hope to begin to make the argument that agency cannot be overlooked in any effort to understand how photographs operate within the larger context of remembering and memory construction. In order to further the discussion of agency, we must turn to those who have most often been ignored when assigning agency in reading photographs: the photographed subjects and the viewers who are themselves implicated in the photograph. While official government photographs from the Incarceration have received scholarly attention, those photographs from the Japanese American Incarceration that were never published, and therefore never studied, can contribute academically to the ongoing conversation about agency in photographs and memory. This study will contribute to the existing information that exists about Camp photographs, but it will also provide a new perspective because the photographs at the center of the research are family photographs rather than official government photographs. While I am limiting myself to my own family's photographs in this study, I believe it will be useful to future studies that wish to further explore photographs that rarely receive scholarly attention. Unlike the photographs taken by Adams and Lange, this study will use as its focus personal family photographs. Due to the difference between official government photographs and family photographs, I believe that new ways o f understanding and making sense of individual agency, memory, and identity will emerge. Whereas those 29 photographs taken by Adams and Lange may have aimed to capture the everyday ordinariness of Japanese Americans, family photographs offer an alternative of view of everyday life that illuminates aspects of agency, such as family identity, which authorized photographers could not capture. It is within the nuances of family photographs that the everyday lives of Japanese Americans can reveal important information as to the meaning of photographs taken, as well as the role agency plays in remembering the Incarceration in the present and for future generations. In this sense, this study's overall contributions will be in the areas of identity and agency and will come from the relatively unexplored perspective of family photographs from the Japanese American Incarceration. Reconstructing Family Through Photographic Memories When I looked at my own family's photographs from the Japanese American Incarceration, I did not see what I had expected. I had imagined that my family photographs would provide the counter narrative to the construction of the Japanese American Incarceration circulated by the official narrative, yet as I flipped through the pages of photographs, I was met with images of the everyday, ordinary lives of what could be nearly any family. At first, I searched the photographs for a sign of unhappiness or despair; perhaps a child refusing to smile was signifying resistance. Then, I had Moments of thoughts such as: Maybe the Camps were not so bad after all. I realized that I was missing a key aspect of photographs: the role of agency. The family photographs I stared at did not have any meaning inherent to them; instead, the meaning of the photograph is something that is constructed through human agency. As a viewer of these photographs, I was exercising my own agency in piecing together the significance of what I saw. My past recollections of learning about the Camps in school crashed into my 30 personal feelings about the injustice of the Camps, which then were challenged by my own family's silence regarding their experience. While the meaning I assigned to the photographs emerged from habitualized ways of thinking, I was also exercising agency as I attempted to figure out what the photographs meant. In addition to my own agency, the agency of the photographer and the photographed subjects become increasingly important in understanding family photographs. Family photographs, unlike official government photographs, carry the weight of passing on family identity to future generations. While agency is an area that needs to be further explored in studies of all Camp photos, including those by Adams and Lange, family photographs offer the unique opportunity to explore agency from the perspective of critic/viewer, as well as the photographed subject's agency. As the critic in this study, I am able to actively engage with my own agency, as well as listen to the photographed subjects describe their Camp experience and narrate family photographs, which creates a unique space to exercise agency over photographs. Family photographs from the Japanese American Incarceration both negotiate and embrace the inherent ambiguity of photographs. The elusiveness of both photographs and memory is visited by Hirsch (1997) in the following passage: . .the tension between the photograph's flatness and its illusion of depth, between the little the photograph reveals and all that it promises to reveal but cannot" (p. 119). This inadequacy of photographs reflects the elusiveness of photographs by demonstrating the way that a photograph holds much promise for the viewer in terms of recording an event, yet at the same time, that photograph promises to provide a memory that is riddled in ambiguity. In Sociologist Eviatar Zerubavel's (1996) work on retrieval sites of social memory, he asserts that snapshots, home videos, and television are the primary means through which we, as individuals, remember our relatives, family events, and historical events. Elaborating on snapshots, Zerabuvel (1996) focuses on the production of images as an effort to freeze a Moment in time in order to preserve that Moment for future generations. The use of photographs to communicate with future generations is an area that has been well studied by various scholars (Chalfen, 1991; Hirsch, 1997; Kuhn & McAllister, 2006; Zerabuvel, 1996) and identifies a main purpose of family photographs. Additionally, scholars studying family photographs and albums (Chalfen, 1991; Hirsch, 1997, Kuhn, 1995; Langford, 2001) have found that family photographs serve a particular function as a form of communication. In addition to constituting an occasion for communication, family photographs and family albums beg for a particular type of talk around their viewing. Hirsch (1997) says, "As a social practice, photography is one of the ‘family's primary instruments of self-knowledge and representation-the means by which family memory [is] continued and perpetuated, by which the family story [is] henceforth.. .told'" (pp. 6-7). McAllister (2006) and Chalfen (1991) both follow this line of thought in their own research on family photographs. McAllister (2006) suggests that family photographs function as cultural artifacts that are preserved with the goal of sharing them with future generations. Similarly, Chalfen (1991) approaches family photographs and family albums as a mode of interpersonal communication. In particular, Chalfen's (1991) assertion that families use photographs to "retain and communicate historical, personal, social, and cultural information" resonates with my own understanding of my family's photographs (p. 63). 31 32 Chalfen (1991) cites American Studies scholar James Kaufmann when he describes family photographs as a strategy for organizing and arranging family experience. In addition to organizing and arranging family experiences, Chalfen (1991) also argues that through photographs, certain narratives or stories are "told, retold, and revitalized in visual forms" (p. 166). From this constant telling and retelling in addition to the conscious ordering of photographs to create a family history for future generations, family photographs become both a mode of communication and an instrument for enforcing a particular family identity. Kuhn (2007) points out that "in most societies, family photographs have considerable cultural significance, both as repositories of memory and as occasions for performances of memory" (p. 284). As an artifact, family photographs inherently contain messages or meanings that are constantly up for contestation, which is a key site of the interaction of memory and family photographs. Additionally, family photographs prompt storytelling and acts of remembering between family members because family photos are often intertwined to a larger family narrative. The meanings and messages contained in family photographs are different from those meanings or messages that may be assigned to other photographs (nonfamily) because rather than being anchored through captions, family photographs are used to communicate various meanings that change over time. Often, words are used to either anchor or de-anchor photographs from their meanings. The inherent ambiguity in photographs is often negotiated through accompanying captions or text. It is through text that a single meaning is assigned and transmitted. On the other hand, family photographs are riddled with the same ambiguity as nonfamily photographs; however, their ambiguity is appropriated in a manner that increases the types of meaning that a photograph can have and increases the amount of control the family has over the photograph and the ways that the photograph can be shaped to meet family needs over time and space. The family photograph, in many ways, is an ongoing conversation that is continually maintained over generations. Art History scholar Langford (2001) describes family albums as "a horizontal narrative shot through with lines of both epic and anecdotal dimension" (p. 175). Within the realm of family photographs, the verbal performance of memory is magnified because as Langford (2001) notes, family albums and photographs tend to follow an "oral structure" more than other types of photographs. As a mode of communication, family photographs and albums often remain under the control of the family members and are used as a way to tell, retell, and revise the family's history. This purpose of family photographs makes captions, due to their fixed meaning, at odds with the purpose of family photographs. While captions and text strive to anchor meaning to a photograph, family photographs allow for the constant retelling and reremembering through oral communication with family members. The photographs, in combination with the oral narrative that the family chooses to assign the photograph, mark the meaning of the photograph and communicate the family's self-identity. In this way, the photographs themselves, as well as the family's agency in creating past memories, serves as the basis for creating a family memory of a past event and the ensuing image that such memories produce. Often times, family photographs open a space in which a family narrative can be told and family identity can be reinforced rather than finding meaning within the actual event or objects being photographed. For example, in flipping through a family album, 33 the stories that are told are not always specifically about the photograph; instead, the photos foreground the family identity and stories that are transmitted. This is significant to understanding how memory and photographs operate within the specific context of family memory and family photographs because it illuminates the ways in which both agency and the identity of the viewer of the photograph influence the significance or meaning assigned to acts of remembering through photographs. Family memory "is characterized by the strength of its group allegiances and its powerful emotional dimension (Erll, 2011, p. 306). Whereas collective memory may encompass the shared remembrances of a nation, family memory often refers to those memories shared by a closer-knit, interdependent group of individuals. This enhanced sense of emotional allegiance can be further unpacked by examining how intergenerational communication operates in collective and family memory. While it can be assumed that a nation's collective memory is passed down through generations, the intergenerational nature of family memory is more personal and reflects a specific identity particular to the family. Since collective memory is constantly being constructed and reconstructed, the transmission of information and memory from generation to generation is important; however, within the realm of family memory, the inter-generational communication that takes place serves a role that is more personally connected to the individual than the transmission of collective memory. For example, unlike other social groups such as those that we join extracurricularly, we do not choose which family we enter; we automatically enter into a predetermined position within a group that has already established rules and norms. These norms and rules of the family are imposed and instilled within us, thus representing the "inescapability of family 34 memory" (Erll, 2011, p. 306). Family memory is a specific type of collective memory where relations of kinship, as referenced by Halbwachs (1992), become increasingly significant. I believe it is this differentiation between the levels of investment of the individual in the memory being passed through generations that highlights how family memory is a type of collective memory, yet also has its own distinct characteristics. However, family memory, like collective memory, is maintained over time and is an ongoing process that is used to constantly define and redefine what the past means in the present. A primary way that family memory shapes present memories is through the inter-generational communication of memories through photographs. For example, while each member of a family may have their own personal memories, there are often certain memories that are shared by all members of the family and that can be captured in a photograph or series of photographs. These memories that are shared by all family members represent those memories that form the collective memory of the family (family memory) and communicate the family's identity. And while family photographs are an important medium through which the family can communicate shared memories and identity, the aforementioned discussion of the relationship between image and text should be revisited. If family photographs either lack or have limited text (in the form of captions), the oral narrative that is constructed around the photographs becomes equally as important as the photographs themselves. For this reason, oral history interviews provide the necessary space in which family members can create a narrative that addresses the ambiguity of the photograph by either anchoring a new meaning or deanchoring a presumed meaning to the photograph. 35 For example, family members may choose to orally share positive and happy aspects of Camp in order to reinforce what is seen in a photograph, or family members may express sentiments that contradict the seemingly joyous photographs and reframe how the photo can be understood. In this sense, oral histories are an opportunity for family members to exercise agency over how the family is remembered, as well as how photographs are understood by later generations. In addition to the family members' agency, oral history interviews open a space where I, as the viewer of the photograph, can construct my own captions and begin to imagine the captions that could narrate the experience captured in the photographs. In short, oral history interviews provide the connective tissue that is inherently lacking in photographs to construct memories of the family identity and history. Oral history interviews carve out a performative space where I am able to interact with my family members who are the subjects of the photographs or have a close relationship to both the people photographed and the Camp experience. Oral histories offer a rare opportunity to explore how photographs are used in acts of remembering, as well as how my family members navigate photographic evidence when such photographs contradict the family memory that they want to present. It is within the contradictions, tensions, and nuances of the interactions between myself as the viewer of the photographs, my family members, and the photographs themselves, that oral histories as a method provide the opportunity to most fully grasp the human behaviors associated with remembering through photographs and the remembering of traumatic events. 36 CHAPTER 2 METHODS Oral History Interviews When I try to imagine how I would react if my country uprooted me from my life and forced me to live in a government-run Camp based solely on the fact that my ancestors are Japanese, I picture myself as being outspoken about the injustice, protesting this wrongdoing, and telling my story to anyone that will listen. Because of these feelings, I never understood why my family rarely spoke of their Camp experience. During a class in high school, I had learned about how many Japanese lost everything- their homes, their possessions, their land, their businesses, and their personal belongings. I learned about the all-Japanese American infantry, the 442nd Regiment, who risked their lives for a country that was imprisoning many of their families. More importantly, I began to realize that the experiences and stories of loss and sacrifice that I learned about in this class were those of my family as well. I was able to draw parallels-my Grandpa served in the Military Intelligence Service (MIS) and all his brothers and sisters were American citizens, yet were confined behind barbed wire. My family never explicitly spoke of the Camps, but I was able to piece together family stories I had heard about my Grandpa being in the military with the information I learned in my high school class called "The Japanese American Experience." The story I had created in my mind about my family's Camp experience was disrupted when I looked at our family photos from that time period. I cannot remember how I learned that my family had photographs from their Camp years, but I must have always known because when I needed photographs for a class paper, I emailed my Mom and Dad asking about them. They sent me two sets of photographs-a CD that my Dad's cousin, Denny Fujita, had created titled "Kashiwase & Fujita Photos" and a collection of photos compiled by my Dad's uncle, Bill Oshima. As I looked through the photographs, I realized that I had seen these before, but I could not recall the reason or time. Looking at these photographs for the second time, I experienced a mixture of feelings. In many ways, the photographs I saw were not extraordinary in any way, which may shed light on why they had never caught my attention before. However, because the second time I looked through the photographs it was for a paper and I had no choice but to spend time combing through them and looking for what they meant, I was forced to really think about what these seemingly ordinary photographs represented. The photographs were not what I had hoped to see-I had hoped to see evidence of the loss and struggle that the Japanese American Incarceration Camps caused, but instead, I saw smiling family portraits, captured Moments of a growing toddler, and snapshots of the teenage years of my great aunts and uncles. Instead of pushing these photographs aside because I did not see what I expected (or what I wanted), I realized that the ordinary nature of these photographs held significance and that perhaps they would be valuable in furthering my understanding of the Camps. I have since approached the purpose of this study as recognizing the value in the seemingly ordinary, as well as learning more about the 38 photographs my family took at Topaz and Amache Camps in order to understand how these photographs interact with family memory and identity. The photographs alone held a particular meaning to me, but I wanted to know more about whether or not they represented the Camp experience of my family. I felt that the story the photographs told was not the story of my family, yet their very existence made me question this belief. As a researcher, it was my job to highlight these photographs as a significant part of my family's history, but in order to discover the meaning behind them, I needed to hear about my relatives' memories of Camp first hand. Oral histories provided the appropriate means through which to gather information and stories about my family members' experience in Camp. I started with the assumption that speaking with my relatives would provide a counter narrative to the memory of Camps created through my family photographs. I hoped that the oral history interviews would illuminate why the photographs I saw seemed to represent a version of the Camps that was in contradiction to how I had envisioned their experience. I imagined that using photographs in the oral history interviews would stir up specific memories or stories; I imagined that seeing the photographs would recall memories connected to the place (the Camps); I imagined that the photographs would serve as the foundation of the interviews. However, I also knew that my identity as a relative and a younger generation had the potential of affecting what my relatives would say. Given the research that has shown that family photographs are a primary way of passing on family memory and identity to future generations, I assumed that the relatives I interviewed would be cautious of what they said in order to maintain the dignity of the family name. This knowledge prepared me for the oral history interviews by turning my attention to the 39 importance of not just what is said, but also how it is said. Beyond that, I went into my interviews knowing that the words spoken and recorded were significant and meaningful; however, those meanings that could not be recorded such as emotions and feelings expressed through embodied actions required my attention. This approach to research is supported by performance scholars (Conquergood, 1991; Turner, 1986) who argue against the privileging of written text over other ways of knowing. Critical Performance scholar Dwight Conquergood (1991) states: "It would be a great mistake for a communication researcher simply ‘to sit down with a transcript of discourse' and privilege words over other channels of meaning" (p. 189). My own approach to conducting the oral history interviews mirrors Conquergood's effort to move research away from a purely text-positivism approach and advocates the idea that the world can be understood through performance. The everyday performances of individuals, such as those that take place during oral history interviews, can reveal much about the meaning behind what we know and how we know. I believe that it is within the interplay between the spoken word and the performed actions of my relatives that I will have the best chance at getting to understand their experience. While I believe that the words recorded during my oral history interviews are important, equally important is the context behind the words, as well as how the words are spoken. Oral histories are not just texts that document a story; rather, oral histories, as a practice, are embodied performances that provide and create meaning that lies far outside the boundaries of the text or recorded word. The meanings that emerge in the process of the oral history interview cannot be translated into text because the words cannot capture the bodily expressions and experiential dimensions of the dialogic process occurring 40 between the participant and the researcher. Oral histories, more than a record of an historical event, are embodied performances where telling is transformed into doing, where by telling, meaning is being made. Due to the meaning-making process inherent in oral history interviews, the performance of oral history acquires significance through its coperformance with the researcher, which makes the process of oral history a collaborative, dialogic experience. By seeing myself as a coperformer, the oral history interview acquires depth and complicates the meaning that emerges. Memory scholar Marianne Hirsch (2005) quotes Performance scholar Diane Taylor as stating: " . i t is clear from their quotations and examples that traumatic memory is transmitted from victim to witness through the shared and participatory acts of telling and listening associated with live performance" and the listener "comes to be a participant and co­owner of the traumatic event" (p. 1504). Oral histories represent the Moment that remembered events are transmitted through embodied memory acts, often using the body as medium for expression. Within these Moments of embodied acts of remembering, those acts that lie outside of discourse such as a laugh, tear filled eyes, averted eye contact, or a sudden change in demeanor are captured and felt by the researcher in a way that reading a transcript or text could not communicate. It is within the practice of oral history interviews that the performance-related questions of making meaning through bodily experience and the researcher as coperformer become both crucial to using oral histories effectively as well as interrogating the claims about what it means to be a coperformative witness as researcher. If oral histories can be conceptualized as something other than solely an objective, factual record of an historical event, then the nuanced, embodied, and performative 41 42 aspects of oral histories can be excavated in order to complicate meanings and introduce possibilities that open a space for other ways of knowing and understanding. Oral histories, when understood as more than an historical record, provide a lens through which to see how a particular individual remembers a Moment in history from a specific standpoint. What those speaking say is equally as important as how they say it and why they say it. Questions as to the subject position of the speaker and the context in which the speaker is speaking can reveal just as much, if not more, than the words being recorded. If, as Ethnographer Soyini Madison (2010) argues, "History makes subjects and subjects make history," then the performance of the speaker must be recognized as a habitualized performance that is intertwined with the history of both the historical event being discussed and the speaker's position within that history. Through oral history performance, the present and past unfolds, interacts, and is in constant interaction. The use of oral history interviews in this study embraces the nuances of human interaction and human experience, which maximizes the potential contributions to furthering our understanding of the experience o f those interviewed, as well as the role of family photographs in this remembering. I can propose this possibility because as a coperformative witness who is participating in the meaning making process, there are feelings that are communicated and translated to me that cannot be said through words; they are felt in the Moment and in the relationship dynamic. My own experience as a researcher conducting oral history interviews benefits from understanding oral histories as a performance both on the part of the person interviewed and myself as the researcher. Since oral histories are both dialogic and coperformative, my oral hsitory interviews with my relatives about their experience in 43 Incarceration Camps during World War II become increasingly complex. I do not use the word complex in the pejorative; rather, I mean to highlight the importance of a laugh or the deep-rooted pain in tear-filled eyes that could, without a recognition of the performative nature of oral histories, go unnoticed. Additionally, the self-reflexivity exhibited by Madison (2010) pushes me to see how my position as the researcher can and does affect the meaning and knowledge that is made and remade through the oral history performance. And lastly, while the oral history process itself is central to my analysis, I must be continually conscious of my own transformation and my own intentions as I perform my research. In his autobiography, 19th-century African American leader Frederick Douglass proposed that we "reimagine participant-observation as coperformative witnessing" (Conquergood, 2002, p. 149). Douglass argues that those who want to understand slavery put down their books and "meet enslaved people on the ground of their experience by exposing oneself to their expressive performance" (Conquergood, 2002, p. 149). Coperformative witnessing, as described by Conquergood (2002), represents an "experiential, participatory epistemology" (p. 149). This notion of coperformative witnessing challenges the idea that as the researcher, I can know without feeling and experiencing. This relationship between experiencing and feeling as described by Douglass and Conquergood also has implications on who is the knower and who can be known. I have modeled how I view myself as the researcher in this study off the work of ethnographers such as John Jackson (2005), Soyini Madison (2010), and Kathleen Stewart (1996), who have attempted to complicate our understanding of the role of the researcher. These three authors in particular provide important insight because throughout each researcher's work, the reader is guided through a research process that does not privilege the authority of the researcher nor does it attempt to produce clear cut, final knowledge about the people at the center of their work. In his ethnography, Jackson (2005) is not intent on getting the "right" answer; rather, through his interactions with the people of Harlem, he is attempting to figure out how he, as the researcher, can get at the nuances of those he interacts with. Through human interaction, the small details of everyday performances can be detected and used to further our understanding of the meaning that emerges from the dialogic process of oral history interviews. As a coperformer in this study, my own role as the researcher requires self­reflection and analysis. The role of the identity of the researcher has proven to be crucial to the researcher's understanding of the people and processes being studied. For example, throughout Madison's (2010) ethnographic work in Ghana, she herself undergoes a transformation. As coperformer and coperformative witness, Madison has highlighted the crucial nature of self-reflection as an integral part of the research process. In reading Acts o f Activism: Human Rights as Radical Performance, it becomes evident that in research and in taking on the position of coperformer, the transformation that the researcher undergoes reveals much about ourselves in addition to the meanings that emerge from our work. My assumptions, expectations, hopes, and fears that existed at the onset of this study have since evolved and remained the same. The memories I have created for myself through my interactions with my family members, as well as the meaning that the photographs have acquired in my eyes, represent the ways that coperformative research constantly reminds me of my own agency in how I remember 44 the Camps, as well as how interactions with my family members through oral history interviews transform my own feelings towards my family and the Camps. My own subject position confronted me and made me aware that I cannot fully understand their experience, and because of that, I cannot make judgments about how they choose to remember or conduct their lives. The Oral History Interview provides a space in which my relatives can safely do memory. The memory space that is constructed lends itself to presenting the speaker with a sense of legitimization, a feeling that may not exist within alternative spaces. For this reason, the Oral History Interview is conducive to the memory process because it embraces the inherent instability, malleability, and insecurity characteristic of memory. I have chosen to provide the transcription of my oral history interviews in poetic verse following the lead of ethnographer Madison (2010) who says, "poetic transcription reflects what happens when we translate beyond the "good syntax" and the spelling eye of the prose writer and embrace the poetic style in lines of varying lengths, positioning words and phrases in ways that project the rhythm as well as the tone and affect of the human voice" (Madison, 2010, p. 169). In an attempt to privilege the feeling, sensing, and dialogic nature of oral histories, using poetic verses is an attempt to honor the what and how of the words. Additionally, words in all capitals signify that the speaker placed an emphasis on the words, and words in italics represent an action that the speaker made or did. 45 Participants Choosing whom to interview became a more complicated process than I had originally planned. I turned to my mom and dad for guidance because the two people whom I wanted to interview most, my grandma and grandpa (Figure 1), were no longer with us. Neither of my grandparents stayed in the Camps for long because my grandpa, E.J. Kashiwase, joined the military and sent for my grandma, Miye Oshima, to join him in Minnesota. Despite their brief time in Camp, hearing their experiences was something 46 Figure 1. Miye (Oshima) and EJ Kashiwase, 1944 I felt I needed to hear in order to help me sort through my own relationship to the Camps. Since that was not possible, their brothers and sisters served as the next best options. I chose Bill Kashiwase, my grandpa's younger brother; Mary Kashiwase, my grandpa's younger sister; Moses (Moe) Oshima, my grandma's younger brother; Aiko Oshima, my grandma's sister-in-law; and Denny Fujita, my grandpa's nephew. Interview 1: Bill Kashiwase-Sunday, August 5, 2012 Uncle Bill (Figure 2) bears a striking resememblance to my grandpa. They share the same mouth, jawline, and ears. On the day of the interview, my dad drove me the 2 hours to Sacramento, California where Bill lives in a retirement home. My dad had been to the assisted living facility before to visit Uncle Bill, so when we pulled into the parking lot, I followed him into the building, past the reception desk, down a hallway, past the dining area, up a flight of stairs, down another hallway, and finally arrived in front of my uncle's door. I knocked quietly. When the door opened, two of my dad's cousins, Paul and Ron Kashiwase (Bill's sons), were standing in the doorway. I greeted 47 Figure 2: Bill Kashiwase. Work Release-Seabrook, New Jersey, 1944 (right) each of them and they welcomed us into the apartment. Uncle Bill, hearing the commotion, had gotten up from his rocker to see who was at the door. He immediately saw my dad, walked towards him and extended his hand, addressed him by his first name, and seemed excited to see him. He exclaimed: "Hi David!" His reaction to me was not as enthusiastic and I don't think he remembered who I was. Because I arrived with my dad, he knew we were related, but I don't think he recognized my face because I had not seen him for a few years. My dad, Ron, and Paul decided to take a walk around the building in order to allow me time with Uncle Bill. After they left, Uncle Bill looked at me, a bit puzzled, but did not say anything. I pulled up a chair such that I sat in front of him slightly off to his left. I began asking questions that were met quickly with brief responses. At 84 years old, Uncle Bill is becoming hard of hearing and also occasionally spoke quietly. Despite his short-winded nature, Uncle Bill was definitive in his responses and endearingly blunt. At about 22 minutes, this was the shortest interview, but my overall visit was about 1.5-2 hours. After I turned off the recorder and my dad, Ron, and Paul returned to the room, we decided to all get lunch together. I walked behind Uncle Bill as we walked out to the parking lot. He walked slowly, carrying his cane in one hand, but holding it such that it hovered above the ground. After lunch we returned to Uncle Bill's apartment and my dad and I prepared to leave. As I packed up my belongings, Uncle Bill remained standing rather than returning to his rocking chair. My dad extended his hand to say goodbye. I walked over to Uncle Bill and we hugged. Throughout the interview, I felt sad imagining Uncle Bill being forced into Camp. He did not say anything specific that made me feel this way, but the way he talked about 48 wanting to get out of Camp as soon as he could and not graduating with his class because he did not want to wait to leave reminded me that these details, while perhaps small, represent the intense feelings that Bill experienced, even though he did not explicitly communicate those emotions to me during the interview. In particular, Bill said he remembers Camp as a prison, yet he thinks they should be called Internment Camps because "it sounds better." Such a statement raises questions about how Bill is constructing his identity based on his memories and how something is remembered informs his identity. Despite an "it is what it is" attitude, Bill's interview offers insight into other possibilities that can be further explored through the framework of memory and identity. Interview 2: Aunt Mary-Sunday, August 5, 2012 As I walked up to the front door of Mary Freeman's (Kashiwase) house, I could not recall what she looked like. It had been several years since I last saw her and I was unsure what to expect. As the door opened, I was met with the face of an 85-year-old woman small in stature, who would easily have passed for a 65-year-old in appearance and energy. She immediately embraced me with a warm and welcoming hug. Originally, Aunt Mary (Figure 3) was not going to be interviewed, but due to a few twists of fate, I was able to set up a last-minute interview with her. Because of the complicated process of arranging the interview, I had a few nerves when I knocked on the door, but the love that emanated from her smile and voice eased any anxiety I had. When I walked into her house, I wasn't sure where to go. There was a kitchen to my left and a living room to my right. Instead of asking, I lingered in the entryway until Aunt Mary gently nudged me towards the kitchen. Upon turning the corner to the 49 50 Figure 3: Mary Freeman. Amache, 1944 (right) kitchen, I was met with the grin of Uncle Amos. The kitchen table, large and rectangular, was covered in various books, folders, and papers. Aunt Mary sat down and motioned for me to sit in a seat that had been cleared to her left. Uncle Amos sat at the head of the table to my right, and my dad sat down across from me. The conversation turned to small talk as my dad exchanged pleasantries with his aunt and uncle-they asked about my mom and sister and told us about their upcoming vacation to see their grandchildren. Soon thereafter, my dad excused himself to go on a walk in order to give me space to start my interview. Before I could say anything, Aunt Mary pulled out an envelope and started pulling out photographs and laying them down in front of us. I pointed and laughed at the size of the massive glasses frames that my relatives were wearing in the photographs, and Aunt Mary pointed out and named each person. The photographs she showed me were not from the Camps, but they were indicative of how the interview would proceed and feel. Yes, the interview was about the Camps, but more than that, it was about family. For nearly 2.5 hours (only 1 hour 54 minutes recorded), I sat next to Aunt Mary and reminisced about her memories of Camp, of growing up, and of my grandparents. Midway through the interview, Aunt Mary's daughter walked in the front door with fresh Monju from a local bakery in Sacramento. Knowing that my dad and I were coming, Aunt Mary had sent her daughter to get fresh Monju for us-I gladly obliged to my aunt's request and ate a piece and took a few for the road as well. However, before I left, Uncle Amos took a picture of Aunt Mary and myself, as well as a picture of my dad, Aunt Mary, and me. They insisted on printing copies of each photo for my dad and me before we left. Throughout the interview, it was clear to me that Mary wanted to be helpful and provide me with information. On more than one occasion, she referenced reading she had done to research about the Camps, which, at first, took me by surprise because I could not understand why she had to read about something she had experienced. In addition to providing information about the Camps, Mary told many stories about the family and seemed to enjoy reminiscing about memories both preCamp and postCamp. Overall, the interview was a fun journey into my family's history in general rather than just focusing on the Camps; however, Mary became emotional when she talked about her parents and the injustice they endured in Camp. The visceral reaction that Mary had to her parents experience was interesting and contrasted with the rest of the interview. 51 Interview 3: Denny Fujita-Tuesday, August 7, 2012 My dad's cousin Denny (Figure 4) is a 69-year-old retired chemistry professor who has taken an interest in our family history. Although he is "retired," he still works tirelessly volunteering with conservation groups and performing in-depth research on our family. Part of our family history in which Denny has taken an interest is the Incarceration period. His Father, Henry Fujita, was very observant and had an active analytical mind, according to Denny. During the Camp period, Henry Fujita turned his energy towards observing and documenting the family's experience. Because of the efforts of Henry Fujita, Denny was able to gather letters and other forms of correspondence that helped in piecing together his family history. I initially reached out to Denny in April 2012 in hopes of locating photographs from the Camps because my dad told me about Denny's involvement and research regarding our family history. Through our email correspondence, it became clear to me that he had invested a lot of time researching and organizing family information. He mailed me a research project that he had been working on involving his grandfather (Tsuneji Fujita) that related to the 1913, 1920, and 1923 Alien Land Laws. The case was entitled "The People of the State of California vs. Tsuneji Fujita, Eigi Fujita, Katsumi Fujita (his father), Michi Fujita and Tomoe Fujita." The case was appealed to the State Supreme Court and was settled in favor of the Fujitas in 1932. Thereafter, that decision served as a precedent so that many other Nisei were able to legally purchase land in California. He created a 114-page booklet detailing the cases and named it "The Fujita Property Case & California Alien Land Laws." Denny's research has also extended to family photographs, mainly through the compilation of family photos. He created digital copies of family photographs from 52 53 Figure 4: Denny Fujita. Amache, 1944 (right) their time at Camp and happily shared them with his extended family (my family included). My mom accompanied me on this interview because she thought it would be nice to catch up with Denny's wife, Sue, while I interviewed Denny (and she wanted to take them out to lunch after). Both Denny and Sue greeted my mom and me at the front door. As I looked around, I saw a dining room table to my right that was covered in stacks of papers, folders, and books. We walked past this table into the kitchen where discussion quickly turned to Denny and Sue's cat, which evolved into a tour of their home. The backyard was beautifully landscaped and cared for, with an abundance of plants and trees; it was exactly what I would expect from someone as meticulous as Denny. After the tour, Denny and I made our way into the dining room to the table covered in books and papers. Throughout the interview, I interjected questions, but also wanted Denny to have the opportunity to share his wealth of knowledge; given the extensive research he had performed, I was afraid that asking questions would limit the information he shared. My interview with Denny was a joint effort to work through the stacks of folders and papers that he had on his table. Much of what he said was in reference to the document he had in hand at the time; often, he would ask if I wanted a copy. If I did, he would set it aside in a pile. By the end of the interview, there was a hefty stack of documents such as letters, work release requests, newspaper articles, and other documents from the Camp experience that I wanted copies of. His wife, Sue, kindly offered to make the copies for us while we continued talking. Denny was a great resource and had granted me access to many documents that I otherwise would likely not have discovered on my own. Prior to arriving at Denny's home in Sebastopol, California, I had a feeling that my interview with him was going to be extremely educational because of all the research he had personally performed. This feeling was correct. For the most part, Denny spoke from a seemingly academic viewpoint that reflected the extent of his research on the Incarceration. Because he was born in Camp, many of Denny's memories are informed by stories others have told him, his research, and photographs. As he notes, he does remember much from Camp; it still seems that he is affected by the experience and is mindful of the experience of his parents, specifically, his Father, Henry Fujita. There was one occurrence in the interview when I felt that Denny's demeanor about the subject matter shifted to a slightly more personal and subjective one, and that was when he spoke about being born in Camp, although, he did not elaborate on what that meant to him. Our interview lasted 2 hours and 2 minutes. 54 Interview 4: Aiko Oshima- Wednesday, August 8, 2012 Of all the interviews I did for this study, I was most familiar with Aunt Aiko and Uncle Moe. With the exception of the past 6 years, my family spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with Aunt Aiko and Uncle Mo. On rotating years, they would host it at their home in Castro Valley. When my mom and I arrived at their home, Aunt Aiko (Figure 5) opened the door and greeted me with a long embrace. It had been several years since I had last seen her, and I could tell how happy she was that I was at her home. She was smaller in stature than I remember; she could not be more than 5 feet and 90 pounds. At 84 years old, she was still very active and energetic. She led us from room to room explaining anything and everything that might have changed since we had last seen her house. After the tour, my Mom excused herself to pick up lunch at a Chinese restaurant down the street. My aunt and I sat at their kitchen table, a small, round, white table. We sat directly across from each other and began our interview. Aunt Aiko had prepared for the interview by pulling out books about the Camps, as well as old pamphlets from past Camp reunions. She would occasionally stand up and walk behind me where there was a massive stack of "stuff." She offered to allow me to borrow any of the books or pamphlets I wanted; she even offered to let me take her high school yearbook from Amache. Throughout the interview, she was extremely open to sharing what she remembered and seemed to enjoy speaking about her experience. Every time I asked, "is there anything else you want to add?" or "Is there anything else you remember?," she always had a new story to share or a new point to make. Aunt Aiko wanted me to understand as much as I could without having been there. For example, when she tried to 55 56 Figure 5: Aiko Oshima, Amache, 1945 (right) explain the barracks to me, she jumped up and searched the counter for a paper and pencil so she could draw a picture of how they were set up. Aunt Aiko had a refreshing enthusiasm, but she also expressed raw emotion and let herself feel and experience however her memories took her. She remembered the positive things about the Camp with a smile, but she also showed her pain through her tears when she discussed the struggle of her parents. My interview with Aunt Aiko lasted just under 1 hour. Aunt Aiko highlighted the positives of her Camp experience, but was also visibly disturbed by recollection of the treatment of citizens and became emotional when talking about the Incarceration of her parents. This combination of positive statements about Camp with explicit statements of pain and anger raises questions about memory and how and why certain memories are constructed and what narratives are privileged through the remembering process. 57 Interview 5: Moe Oshima- Wednesday, August 8, 2012 After completing my interview with Aunt Aiko, my mom came in with the food and we set up a buffet on their counter. My aunt, my mom, and I filled our plates with food and waited for Uncle Moe to come inside. When Aunt Aiko told him it was lunchtime, he said he was supervising yard work in the front yard. My mom, aunt, and I finished lunch and Uncle Moe still had not come inside. Aunt Aiko again asked Uncle Moe to come in and he said he would be in soon. We cleaned up the dishes and my mom and I decided we would run some errands then come back later in the day to interview Uncle Moe. Right as we opened the door to leave, he was standing up from the stoop and getting his walker set up to help him get inside. We sat at the same kitchen table where I had previously interviewed Aunt Aiko. As long as I can remember, Uncle Moe (Figure 6), a retired pharmacist, has been a very practical and intelligent man. At 89, he is still a mentally sharp individual despite failing hearing. During my interview with him, there was little eye contact and the long pauses in his answers made his answer feel very calculated. For about 45 minutes, much of the information Uncle Moe chose to share was about the family; he spoke in a formal and informative manner, which made me feel like he was carefully crafting the stories he told me in order to convey a certain story about our family. The phrase, "on the whole" were used to reference the family, with main focus being on how well the family stayed together even during the Camps. Uncle Mo crafted his statements to portray the family in a positive light and to possibly neutralize the Camp experience He tended to focus more on the positives than the negatives and often referenced my grandparents, EJ and Miye, throughout the interview. 58 Figure 6: Moses Oshima, Topaz, year unknown, (right) CHAPTER 3 PHOTOGRAPHS AS PROPS The focus of this chapter is on the way the photographs were used in the interviews. Before completing my interviews, I wrote, "I imagined that using photographs in the oral history interviews would stir up specific memories or stories; I imagined that seeing the photographs would recall memories connected to the place (the Camps); I imagined that the photographs would serve as the foundation of the interviews" (Chapter 1). However, now that I have conducted the interviews and analyzed the role of the photographs in the oral history interviews, my understanding of the relationship between photographs and memory in the context of oral history interviews has evolved into a more expansive understanding of the role of photos. The photographs often led to anecdotes about the family or about a family member. These anecdotes were not always particular to Camp and often blurred with the pre- and post­Camp years. The role of photographs can help us understand how they are attributed meaning by the speaker and demonstrate the agency of the speaker in reframing the photograph to represent a family story or family member rather than connect it to the place of the photo (the Camps). In making sense of the uses of photographs in the oral history performance, we can better understand the role of photographs by conceptualizing them as a prop within the performative space of the oral history interview. That is, 60 photographs are not just objects that happen to be in the interview. Instead, props serve a specific purpose and enhance the performance. In viewing the photographs as props, it elucidates the way that photographs allow for memories, which are by nature nonlinear and incomplete, to appear cohesive. The way the speakers used the photograph demonstrates the ways that as a prop, the photograph is not solely about what is in the photo; instead, the photograph is about identity and memory. Throughout the oral history interview performance, props were used at pivotal Moments that carried the interview performance and allowed for seamless acts of remembering and forgetting. This chapter contains implications about the role of photographs in the memory process and suggests that photographs, although traditionally viewed as devices to remember, are also conducive to forgetting. Legitimization of Voice Within the memory space in which the speaker is performing, we can further explore the ways that the legitimization of one's voice and memories occur. As someone from a younger generation who has expressed interest in learning about the experiences of an older, presumably wiser generation, my relatives were aware that I was looking to them to fill memory voids that I could not fill myself. In retrospect, I am able to understand the pressure this may have placed on them and how it may have led them to the insecurities about their own memories. Throughout the oral history interview process, it became apparent that the individuals I spoke with wanted to be helpful. More specifically, they wanted to be able to answer my questions and to provide me with the most accurate information they could. These underlying desires were present even before the interviews took place. For 61 example, in the process of asking my relatives to speak with me and setting up a time to do so, I received hesitant responses that expressed a fear that they did not remember enough or would not be able to give me the information I was looking for. After reassuring each person that I was not "looking for" anything in particular and that anything and everything they remembered would be perfect, I was able to allay my relatives' fears and convince them that their memories, however scattered or incomplete, were of great interest to me. Despite my best efforts to reassure them that I was not looking for anything specific and that it was okay if they did not remember everything, there was a tendency for speakers to cite outside sources during their interviews by using phrases such as "I r e a d . . ". The following example taken from my interview with Mary Freeman demonstrates how speakers referenced an external authority: yeah and it was dark seems to me like we just took an extra long time and that part was true because I read just the other day it was an extra long time it seemed like like and it says it looked like the the reading said it seemed like where we were the day before it was getting dark but we're still in the desert cuz we have to keep on uh going back and forth as if changing rails to let the other trains go by and um uh so it took an extra long time we can understand that but I thought that we went ended not ended but we one of the places we went to I remember was Albuquerque New Mexico and um I thought it said they said Albuquerque New Mexico ok In these verses taken from the transcription of Mary's interview, she is using information from someone else to inform her own memories, as well as to pass information on to me that she trusts is real because it was in books. The part where Mary references reading about the train ride is relevant to a discussion about memory because here, Mary is using an outside source as a way to legitimize her own memory. Mary's insecurity and need to verify her own experience with an official record points to the fragile nature of memories and the doubt that surrounds the memory construction process. If Mary was unable to find a source that supported her own memory of the long train ride, does that mean her memory is incorrect? The referencing of books or other records of the Incarceration experience also has implications on how memories are constructed. For example, in Mary's interview, she begins with her own memory, uses something she read to verify her memory, then again returns to her own memory. Yet, in her description about the train ride, it becomes unclear as to whether she is speaking in the voice of the book she read or if she has returned to speaking from her own recollection. Regardless of whether she is retelling me what she remembers, or if she is retelling me what she read, the information she absorbs while reading outside sources informs and influences her memory by either reinforcing her memories or making her doubt them. This is significant because it suggests that while Mary's memories belong to 62 her, she is not the sole author of those memories and there are contextual/historical factors that affect memory construction. As discussed in Chapter 1, memory is never solely an individual or collective process; rather, it is both individual and collective. This aspect of memory construction becomes relevant as we try to understand why speakers relied on other research to validate their memories of something with which they have first-hand experience. The validation of memories that Mary found in the books she read raises questions about the process of remembering: If memories need to be verified by someone else or a historical record, would Mary's memories be untruthful if they could not be corroborated? The unstable nature of the memory process has consequences on what is remembered, but it also influences those who are attempting to perform their memories and what they allow themselves to share with others. When speakers enter a memory space, the insecure relationship between an individual and their own memories can become magnified when the speaker is asked to remember in situations such as an oral history interview. The space of oral history interviews itself is unique because of the staged and explicit request for an individual's memories surrounding a historical event. In this request, speakers are aware of the authority that their words are given, and this authority on a particular subject or event can cause self-doubt or hesitance. However, the photographs seemed to provide a memory space where the speaker could legitimize their authority and knowledge by being able to identify and name the people in a photograph. When seeing a photograph, the speaker's voice becomes legitimized when they are able to offer information about the photograph. This is important because even if the speaker has demonstrated a level of doubt about their 63 64 memories from their Camp experience, they are able to talk about the photograph in terms of the people in it, which is an area where they are confident and secure. Rather than being required to focus on the location and place (Camp) of the photograph, speakers can avoid confronting their insecurities around their memories and can instead offer stories about people that are disconnected from Camp memories. This suggests the tactical decisions make by the speakers to reclaim their authority by naming and reaffirming their relationship to the people in the photograph without having to navigate the fragile nature of their memories surrounding the possible trauma associated with their actual Camp experience. The following portion of Bill Kashiwase's interview illustrates how the tendency to name people instead of addressing other memories that could be associated with the photograph can occur: LK: Are you in this one? is this you? (show photos) BK: Henry Fujita Mary that must be Denny Nancy and Gary LK: Where was it taken? BK: Must've been right in front of their house their shack LK: Were you allowed to have cameras? BK:Yeah oh yeah (back to photographs) thats Henry there he came back there James yeah yeah I guess that's James my mother and father Mary Dennis Fujita In this exchange, I present Bill with photographs and pose simple questions. In his response, Bill chooses to name the people in the photograph instead of elaborate on other memories with which the photograph is associated. Providing the names of people in the photograph allows the speaker to avoid silence or pauses that could challenge their authority or delegitimize their voice, yet simultaneously allows them to direct their memories away from their memories of being in Camp towards their family members. Referring back to the memory space occupied by the speaker can perhaps help us better recognize how the photographs are a site to not only legitimize voice, but to also maintain authority. If a speaker begins talking about something that makes them uncomfortable or that they no longer want to talk about, it would be difficult to say that to someone who is eagerly listening. The photographs allow for the speaker to seamlessly redirect the interview while maintaining their poise without having to make explicit statements of discomfort or avoidance, which could lead to uncomfortable silences. In the following verse from Denny Fujita's interview, he reflects on his memories of Camp in relation to his parents: They were sacrificing a lot just to shield us from the harshness of the conditions (starts flipping through photos I brought) We see that Denny is acknowledging both the poor conditions of the Camp as well as the sacrifices his parents were forced to make. These feelings are likely derived from other memories, yet instead of elaborating, Denny turns to the binder of photographs. Again, the photographs provide something else to think about and allow Denny to veer away from his memories regarding the harshness of the Camps and the sacrifices of his parents. The photo in this instance is not just something to look at; instead, it serves a specific purpose and carries the interview performance even when there is an absence of words. As a prop, the photograph is almost an actor itself and can allow for the continuation of the performance even when the actor, or speaker, has chosen to stop speaking. 65 66 Family Memory Constituted Through Photographs The performance that takes place around the photographs can be better understood through frameworks of family identity and family memory discussed in Chapter 1. A primary way that family memory shapes present memories is through the intergenerational communication of memories through photographs. So, while the speakers are choosing certain memories to anchor to the photographs, they are simultaneously influencing the memories I myself form in relation to the photographs. This intergenerational communication allows for the speaker to exercise agency over both how the photograph is used, as well as the stories that future generations will associate with the photograph. In particular, the decision for the speaker to highlight the people in the photograph rather than their experiences or memories associated with the photograph may reflect their recognition of the concept of family memory. For example, while each member of a family may have their own personal memories, there are often certain memories that are shared by all members of the family, and it is the shared memories that constitute family memory. If the speaker had focused on their personal memories in relation to the photo, it may be in contradiction to the memories that another family member holds. Since I am a family member of a younger generation, the speaker may have been conscious about the family memory that was transmitted to me. By focusing on the people, the speaker could talk about something that would be universally agreed upon by the family; whereas, if the speaker spoke about their personal memories of Camp, it would not necessarily be family memory. The interplay between what is photographed and the memories that emerge from the photograph are also tied to the way that memories transmit family identity and family stories. In Chapter 1, I cited Kuhn (2007) as stating: "in most societies, family photographs have considerable cultural significance, both as repositories of memory and as occasions for performances of memory" (p. 284). In the oral histories interviews, the photographs become an opportunity for the performance of a certain family identity and family story to be narrated. Since the photographs taken in the Incarceration Camps seem to be conducive to the remembering of non-Camp-related memories, it becomes evident that individuals have agency in how they use photographs in the memory process by molding the photograph to fit the narrative or story they decide to share. Additionally, the role of the photos in the interview indicate that family memories and stories that emerge through the photographs are not always solely about the photograph itself, and are instead more about the family identity. The photograph, rather than a central object in the interview, is a prop that is used selectively for a purpose. The photograph exists in the performance to support the memories; the photographs are not the memories themselves. Given the insecurity about Camp memories that appeared in the interviews, speakers steered clear of personal memories of Camp and instead focused on people or anecdotes that were not directly related to the Incarceration period. While oral history interviews and family photographs are conducive to sharing those memories that members of a family all share, it is also a space where families can create forgetting. Family memories, much like collective memory, are constructed and agreed upon versions of the family's history and identity. When a speaker looks at a photograph and shares memories from a time period different from that of the photo, it could possibly be a sign that forgetting is taking place through the act of remembering. For example, in my interview with Mary, one photograph leads her on an anecdote that is chronologically 67 68 removed from Camp, yet the photo seemingly triggered the memory. Looking at a photograph of the family in front of their barrack, Mary says: MF: Oh the barrack because he was right across the street from Denny was born there LK: Ohh Ok, I knew he was really young. I didn't know he was born there. MF: She was expecting at the time that um we were in Amache I think he was born in April uh when a lot of your cousins were born in April And um she was Auntie Anne was uh kinda showing but she had a what they call a princess lined princess style coat camel coat she asked if we could trade because I had Grandma Kashiwase my mother had uh made uh camel coat only camel coat and had a box that was the style then but she made it from some used um garment she had found that she could draft a pattern from that she could make me a coat that she got in um we always went to the Salvation Army in San Francisco when we had to go for our annual dentist and so uh mama drove grandma drove and you know that Grandpa didn't drive so anyhow she would drive all the way to I thought to was Richmond wherever we caught the ferry to go across we had to go she drove the car on passenger and car onto the ferry that would take us over the San Francisco Bay to San Francisco and that is where they had they were uh that was their home along with Anne and Dennis and EJ and uh my and Henry and that was before they went to Livingston They were going to make San Francisco their home they had their businesses there so they had friends there also that they left behind but they always continued their friendship every year It is possible that Mary is directly referencing Camp; however, she also diverges from Camp memories and engages memories from either pre- or post-Camp times. The aspect of the photograph that Mary chooses to engage is her sister's coat. By focusing on the coat, t