All language subtitles for Omoiyari.A.Song.Film.by.Kishi.Bashi.2022.720p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-FLUX

New York City,
how are you tonight?

It's so great to be back!

♪ I wish that I had met you

♪ When your heart
was safe to hold ♪

♪ When you were simple
and fancy ♪

♪ In that field of marigolds

Thank you guys so much!

This is gonna be a great show.

I can already tell.

One, two, three.

♪ One day, you cried to me

♪ When you thought
I would think it was over ♪

My musician name
is Kishi Bashi,

but my full name is
Kaoru Makishi Ishibashi,

and I've been going by K
since I was 13,

'cause Kaoru,

with the two vowels
next to each other,

is just impossible
to pronounce,

and I also got made fun of.

You know, "Cow-Doo, Kangaroo,
Itchy Buttcheeks."

When people ask me
where I'm from,

I tell them I grew up
in Norfolk, Virginia.

This is my high school.

This is where
I discovered I was Asian.

And sometimes they ask me
where I'm really from,

and I tell them that

my parents are Japanese.

They came to America
in the '60s.

When I was about seven,
I started violin.

I just loved it.

I loved the instrument.

I loved the sound.

I was always playing
for people.

It just became a part of me,

and I really can't imagine
my life without music.

I've always been
a proud American.

You know, this is my home.

But lately,
I've started feeling afraid.

I've been hearing
a lot of hate speech

toward immigrants
and minorities,

and sometimes
it's beyond speech.

Held against their will
first in giant cages...

It's actual policy.

Executive orders
banning immigration

or violent hate crimes
against Asian Americans,

like, right in my own backyard.

There's been
more than 2,500 incidents

of anti-Asian hate crimes.

I heard people mention

the Japanese internment camps
as a precedent

for incarcerating immigrants today.

I am a former
child incarceree

during World War II.

We're here today to protest

the repetition of history,

to protest
the unjust incarceration

of innocent people seeking
refuge in this country.

Need to move today, now.
Right now.

I remember learning
about the incarceration

in high school.

During World War II,
the U.S. government

rounded up 120,000 people
of Japanese ancestry

and put them
in concentration camps.

It's absolutely terrifying
to think that if I had lived

over 75 years ago
that I would be locked up,

locked up in a country
that I call my home.

For the first time in my life,

I felt like
I needed to speak up.

I'm not
a confrontational person.

I wouldn't call myself
an activist.

And then it kind of hit me.

I could write songs.

Most of my songs have been
about love or loss or fantasy.

But to write about racism
or history

was something
I had never done before.

I knew very little about

the Japanese American incarceration.

Men, women, and children
like my family,

they might have been sent
to these camps.

Goodbye, Athens.

I bid thee farewell.

I wanted to see what had
actually happened back then

and hear stories from people
that were there,

to write songs
from their perspective

and put them onto an album
that I would call "Omoiyari."

Omoiyari is a Japanese word

that means to have empathy
and compassion for another.

And that's how
I found myself here,

standing on what was left
of one of the largest

concentration camps
in U.S. history

that once imprisoned
14,000 civilians

of Japanese ancestry.

All that's left now
is the fields of barley

and the memories
of thousands of families

that were imprisoned here.

I need to know
how this could have happened

and why it's so important now
to remember.

Yesterday, December 7, 1941,

a date which will live
in infamy,

the United States of America

was suddenly
and deliberately attacked

by naval and air forces
of the empire of Japan.

Our West Coast became
a potential combat zone.

Living in that zone were
more than

100,000 persons
of Japanese ancestry,

2/3 of them American citizens,
1/3 aliens.

We knew that some among them
were potentially dangerous,

but no one knew
what would happen

among this
concentrated population

if Japanese forces should try
to invade our shores.

I started by interviewing
Japanese Americans

that were incarcerated
during the war,

many of them teenagers
and children

at the time of Pearl Harbor.

When the war started,

they had a list
of about 2,500 names.

The next morning after the war,
they just came,

and they came to our house.

Did the FBI take
your father away?

Yes, yes, yes.

Next morning,
they won't say anything.

Nobody says anything,

and nobody knew
what happened to him.

When did you see
your father next?

He was released in
the first part of 1945.

- '45?
- Yeah. Uh-huh.

The FBI immediately
locked up

all Japanese American
community leaders.

Many would spend the duration
of the war imprisoned.

One hour after Pearl Harbor,

I was very, you know,
this innocent kid

that opens the door.

Where is your search warrant?

They didn't have
a search warrant.

Trashed everything.

They took him,
and I thought--

I didn't see him after that
for 3 1/2 years.

And to me,
that was devastating.

An invasion of the West
Coast seemed imminent,

and as war hysteria spread,

suspicion turned on the rest
of the civilian population.

And on February 19, 1942,

President Roosevelt issued
Executive Order 9066,

which gave the military
the power

to create exclusion zones
on the West Coast,

which prohibited
any man, woman, or child

of Japanese descent
to remain there.

Military authorities
therefore determined

that all of them,
citizens and aliens alike,

would have to move.

They were only allowed
to take what they could carry

and were given a week
to sell their property

and businesses for mostly
pennies on the dollar.

Honestly,
I cannot tell you

what I packed in that suitcase.

I think it was my clothing.

The things we stored,
well, we never got back.

Everybody knew
that you could just

really get things cheaply.

Our bank account,
it was gone.

I know my dad said,
"What do you think

of your wonderful
government now?"

Most people thought,
"Hmm, wartime.

You get to do anything
you want to do."

They just grabbed all of us.

It didn't matter.

In fact, my mother told stories
about, you know,

having to take all things
that were Japanese

and throw them
into the toilets.

You know, I was only a kid--
little kid,

four years old--
when we went in.

My mother and father were both
born in Hawaii territory,

which made them U.S. citizens.

And, of course,
my father served in WWI.

He was a dues-paying member
of the American Legion,

but that didn't help.

I mean, he just had an accent.

That was his problem.

Bainbridge Island, Washington.

This is the first place
on the West Coast

where they decided to remove
the Japanese Americans.

They escorted about
276 civilians off the island.

For many people,
there was no certainty at all

if they were gonna come back,
so I tried to--

tried--I tried to put myself
in the place

that they might have been
had they known

that they had to leave
everything behind.

After being removed
from their homes,

they were forced into
makeshift assembly centers.

Almost overnight,
fairgrounds and race tracks

were converted into
meager living spaces.

At that time, it was
the Pacific International

Livestock Center.

We were where
they usually had the sheep.

It was just one empty room.

They gave you a canvas bag
that they said,

"This is your mattress.

Stuff it full of hay."

Oh, you can play
the violin real good.

Our home is our safe haven
where we feel secure and safe,

and suddenly, you're uprooted.

And they don't even tell you
where you are going

or how long
you're gonna be gone.

It was so puzzling
and heartbreaking.

We all went quietly.

As we pulled out,
I can remember my father

holding onto the arm of his--

the seat, hard seat.

The blinds had been withdrawn,
but you could--

before they did that,
you could see

the shadow of Mount Adams
and the sun behind it.

And looking at his face,
I could just feel

that he saying goodbye

to the place that
he'd known so well.

After being on the train
for three days and two nights,

we didn't know
where we were going.

And even after we arrived
at our destination,

we didn't know
where we were at.

Sagebrush, tumbleweeds,

acres and acres
of just flat desert,

and barracks.

And we were never told

how long we were gonna
be there or anything.

The War Relocation Authority
hastily created

10 concentration camps

in some of the most
remote regions

of America's interior.

Sequestered from the West Coast

and under constant
armed guard,

they continued to be viewed
by the public

as the enemy.

It was
a very miserable sight.

There were just rows and rows
of tar paper shacks there.

We said, gee,

what a desolate place this is,
you know?

No cities, no homes.

I'll always remember
the sound

of the gate clanging behind you

and knowing that you were
really being interned.

Within weeks,
they built a place

for, you know,
11,000, 12,000, 14,000 people,

which was the third largest
city in Wyoming.

The alarming thing
was that it was--

it was completely surrounded
by barbed wire,

with guard towers,

with soldiers
and searchlights,

with guns, and aimed inside.

Heart Mountain was one
of the 10 concentration camps

that the U.S. government established

for Japanese Americans
during World War II.

This one is up in remote
northwestern Wyoming.

We are the furthest north
of any of the camps

and so consequently

the coldest
of all of the camps.

Okay.

About how many people?

So the peak population
of Heart Mountain

was about 10,700 people,

but over the three-plus years
it was open,

over 14,000
different individuals

lived here at one point.

Almost immediately after
the incarcerees arrive here,

that's when the temperature
starts to drop.

And these are people
who had never experienced

a Wyoming winter.

If you look around
at the walls around us,

you'll notice that
there is not any insulation

in these barracks.

Incarceration had
a strong psychological impact

on everyone.

In addition to losing
their homes, careers,

and livelihoods,
they really struggled

to maintain their fragile
American identities.

And with a lack of privacy,
poor food quality,

and inadequate medical care,

the conditions were dehumanizing.

And one of the camps
in northern California,

Tule Lake, had truly
prison-like conditions.

And many thought that
even though

they had done nothing wrong,

they felt somehow that
they were responsible for it.

To put them in that kind
of bleak situation,

did the government see it
as a kind of punishment

for the population?

I don't think
it was necessarily

an intentional punishment,
but it was a negligence, right?

And that's something that
you see repeated over and over

throughout this story,
is that the government

just doesn't think
about the consequences.

It is acting so quickly,

and all of its decisions
are based on emotion,

are based on anger,
based on fear,

that they don't think about
these very simple issues

of, you know, what does
a community of 11,000 people

need to survive?

Thank you guys so much
for coming.

Again, my name's Kishi Bashi.

I live in Athens, Georgia,

and my actual name
is Kaoru Ishibashi.

I'm a--my parents
were post-war immigrants,

and I actually have
no direct connection

to the incarceration
except that it would be like

I would have probably
been in it

and also probably
would have been

in one of the jazz bands and...

Hopefully, you know.

But I'm just gonna start
playing some music.

I'll talk more as I go.

Oh, yeah. So listen.

The more I dive
into this trip,

I'm kind of realizing
that I actually have

some serious identity issues.

I can't really figure out

where my creative
consciousness lies.

I grew up pretty much isolated

from the Japanese American community.

Basically what it boils down to is,

I can't figure out if I'm
American or Japanese or both.

And as I make music, I always--

I always made music
as a Japanese person

or as an American person
and nothing in between,

and what I'm realizing now
is that I'd like

to kind of find
that--that space between.

I needed to have
this kind of experience

so that I could really
immerse myself

in what it was actually like
to be incarcerated.

When you look at
World War II

and the way in which
the Japanese American

communities on the West Coast
were treated,

I don't think you can say that

the negative treatment started
as a result of Pearl Harbor,

because you have to look
at the whole history

of what had taken place
prior to that.

I guess I always thought
that the war with Japan

started with Pearl Harbor,

but I'm learning that
there was a long history

of tension building
before that.

Then in 1853,
just 92 years ago,

Commodore Perry's
American fleet of four ships

sailed into Yokohama
bearing a message

from President Fillmore

offering the hand
of friendship

and the interest of trade.

1853, the year that
Japan opened up to the West,

or so it was taught to me.

The reality
of the situation was

through what we call
gunboat diplomacy.

We just sent Commodore Perry
and his black ships

to sail into Tokyo Bay
and point our cannons at them.

You see, by that time,
European powers

are really using
their technological advantage

to just grab
whatever they could in Asia

and exploit it
for the resources.

Japan, really out of fear,
had for the last 200 years

successfully closed off
its island to anybody.

Nobody in or out except
through one official port.

Now, America's
a little bit behind

in the imperialism game,

and we definitely wanted
a piece of the action.

Japan was just the beginning.

We'd eventually take
Hawaii, Guam,

take the Philippines
from the Spanish.

It was this westward push,

and so Japan was really
the only nation

that was able to push back.

So when the Japanese people
saw how behind they were

when Commodore Perry came,

they made the choice
to rapidly modernize.

They ditched
their katana swords

and their chonmage.

It wasn't easy, but something
like "The Last Samurai"

with Tom Cruise
actually happened, you know,

without Tom Cruise.

So they built
a powerful military.

The navy even defeated Russia

in a famous naval battle
that surprised the world.

And as Japan caught up,
cities were growing,

but the countryside was
a mess.

And this is when we started
to see lots of farmers

leaving Japan
for the first time,

not only because
they were finally allowed to,

but because they just needed
a better life.

Many of them settled
in Hawaii, Peru, and Brazil,

but the largest numbers
came here

to the West Coast of America,

the land of opportunity.

By the 1930s, the Japanese
population on the West Coast

were beginning to flourish
as shop owners,

fishermen, and farmers.

At one point, the Japanese
immigrants controlled

over 50% of all produce
in California.

Well, the Chinese came first,

and they were digging around
for gold

and competing
with the white folks.

And there was
blatant racism then.

As the Japanese farmers
in Southern California

became very successful,

the white farmers
were competing with them,

and then blatant racism.

As they started to come
to California

at the turn of the century,
the Japanese who came here

was not the docile character
that the Chinese was.

He immediately started
to become a proprietor.

They started buying lands.

California especially looked
upon Asians--

Chinese first
and then the Japanese--

with a great deal of derision

for a lot
of different reasons.

Spoke a very strange language,
dressed differently,

customs that were
totally strange

to the society
on the West Coast.

And as a result,

practiced forms
of discrimination,

very blatant discrimination
against them.

Happy little chaps,
those Japs.

I got a good mind
to report him

to the alien department.

We don't like you,
and we don't like your store.

Over the decades, actually,
I mean,

I think some of these groups
would come out

with these campaigns
of Japanese over-populating

and comparing them
to actual animals.

Cock-a-doodle-doo, please.

It was this whole notion
of a group of people

who were somehow unassimilable
in the United States.

So I think that image
was portrayed.

Then Pearl Harbor comes,

and all of a sudden,
you have an actual enemy.

So you are the enemy.

People then
associating Japan

with the Japanese American population.

Therefore, you get

a population of enemies

within the midst
of the population

in California, Oregon,
and Washington at that time.

You know, we have a system
of immigration in this country

that basically says,
"We're gonna make it

"really hard
for you to get here,

"but we know the economy needs
the workers,

and so we'll kind of look
the other way."

And then
every once in a while,

when the politics demands it,

we're gonna get
really outraged

and shocked that you're here.

Ironically, in 1942,

this removal
of the Japanese farmers

triggered the mass migration
of Mexican workers

under the guise
of the Bracero Program.

Well, what the government
seems to think

is extreme circumstance
is you can discriminate

on the basis
of race and nationality.

So the military
and civilian agencies alike

determined to do the job
as a democracy should,

with real consideration
for the people involved.

We're not against them
because of what they are.

We're against them because of
what they do and have done.

We are against them

because too many of them
act like Japs.

Hello. Hi.

Hi, I'm K's mother.

Welcome to Ishibashi house.

I love gardens, flowers, plant.

He loves to take out
the weeds all day long.

I was born in--
name called Ueno in Japan.

Had a farm.

I enjoyed those natures,

the twilight gardens.

I was born in Okinawa,
and I studied English

to become a English teacher.

And then I got the scholarship
to come here to United States.

We moved to United States
in 1970 both independently.

We just met in Seattle
as a student.

My parents really did
a great job

sharing their traditions
with me.

You know, we ate mochi
on New Year's.

I read a lot of manga.

I still like to have
white rice at dinner.

I'm making saba sushi.

Sure, there were times
when I was insecure

about being an Asian guy
in America.

Back then, we were either
screeching kung fu warriors...

Or emasculated nerds.

Growing up in Norfolk,

there weren't any
Japanese people around.

I think it made me pretend
to be as white as possible.

I've always felt that I was
never a part of the cool club,

not at school,
not in my neighborhood.

I never felt fully accepted.

And this is kind of
the in-between place

I've had to live in
for all my life.

One, two.

One, two, three, four.

I met K in 1998
at a friend's party.

They introduced us

because he plays violin
as well,

and they thought
we will be good friends.

He was very funny.

Although he looked
like a Japanese person,

he was non-Japanese for me.

I was interested
in his culture,

and he was interested
in my Japanese culture.

And I think that was the one
that connected us.

This is Sola, our daughter.

She was born in New York City.

In 2010, I moved my family
back here to Norfolk

kind of as a last ditch effort
to create my music full time.

This is my parents' attic
where I made my debut album.

Are you okay?

This is where I started
Kishi Bashi.

- Okay.
- Kay, ready?

♪ Safe place for animals

♪ We love our dogs and cats

♪ There's a groomer and a vet

♪ And we'll help you find
that perfect pet ♪

- * Meow
- * Safe place for animals

♪ We are open to all

♪ We're the best shelter ever

both: * Meow, meow, meow
and lots of woofs ♪

♪ Slithering snakes,
but don't bring hooves ♪

I think for the parents
of musicians,

you really worry all the time.

Yeah, but I thought
it's fun life.

Maybe because
you are an engineer,

you thought that way, huh?

Yeah, but...

- I don't know.
- Artist.

♪ We're a safe place
for animals ♪

Meow! Woof!

Good.

I love artists, you know.

I mean, not rich,

but more fun life,
I thought, you know.

Hi.

I'm Kishi Bashi.

We're happy to have
Kishi Bashi with us

here in the studio.

Kishi was born

and actually raised in Norfolk,

lived in New York
the last 10 years,

and you're back,
and tell us why.

Yeah, I just kind of--

I moved back here
to concentrate

on my solo album.

It's the first time
I've really been able

to just dig in and just
kind of make it on my own.

♪ And the source
was your laughter ♪

♪ Threw me off the wall,
used your face ♪

So welcome.

♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah

♪ And the medicine
came after ♪

I found that Japanese
is actually

a very syllabic

and percussive
kind of language,

and I speak it.

So it kind of made sense for me

to integrate it into it.

You know, I was embarrassed
at first, you know.

It features a lot of, like,
sound effects

like space opera,

a lot of varied speed strings
and saxophone.

Just kidding.
That's my dad's saxophone.

It's fairly experimental.

Our next guest
is a violin virtuoso

and a talented singer.

Please welcome Kishi Bashi.

♪ For the love
of the soft game ♪

♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah

♪ Made of models
set in plaster ♪

♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah

This is my job,

is to create music
and to inspire people

and to make people happy.

So I think music was a shield
for me in a world

where just being myself
wasn't enough.

Okay.

Hey, you guys ready?

Hey, guys, let's go.

both: * The end, the end

both: * The end, the end

♪ The end, the end, what then

I am Sola.

You can do it. Go.

And kids can do it too.

Writing that first album,
I think that's when I realized

that my daughter was learning
and growing.

And the thought of her feeling
how I had felt,

feeling bad
about being Asian American,

I didn't want that for her.

I wanted her to be proud
of where we had come from.

And I think I wanted that
for myself too.

♪ The very last breath
of the hero of our tale ♪

♪ Would leave you
only to guess ♪

♪ Did he truly prevail
in the sequel ♪

♪ I guess I'll have to write
a sequel ♪

♪ The very last breath

Ready.

Thank you.

I want Sola to understand
that there's another side

of our identity,
that we're from Japan

that has this rich history.

You know,
there's a lot of beauty

in knowing where we come from.

There's a tradition
on New Year's

to go to the temple
and pay your respects

to your ancestors.

And in return,
you hope they'll bless you

with a happy and healthy year.

For me, it's important
to show gratitude

to those who paved this path
that we're walking on.

Thank you.

So this is where
my dad grew up, like,

basically walking distance
from this castle,

and this castle is like
this massive fortress.

It's a very powerful area.

This is where the most famous
ninja clan was born.

I've been coming here, like,
all throughout my life.

I went to an elementary school
down the street, like,

for, like, a summer.

It wasn't until recently
that I realized

that the history here
is very rich.

There are ninjas
all over the place.

Being back here, I'm reminded

of how proud I am
of my heritage

and how difficult it's been
to express that in America.

We look so different
visually, culturally,

but in the end,
we all want the same thing:

happiness.

These are my cousins.

Everybody pretty much lives
around Iga,

and they've been here
as long as I can remember.

The first Ishibashi

and then this is
the second Ishibashi.

This is my grandfather,
and this is my grandmother,

a very positive spirit.

That's my dad.

He grew up here.

My cousin made this piece,
"Omoiyari."

It means a heart
that has consideration.

Omoiyari is basically
to put yourself

in another person's shoes
and have consideration

and then acting on it.

So it's a big part
of Japanese culture.

It's a beautiful idea.

Being back
with my family here,

I thought of my own relatives
who stayed here in Japan

who were on the losing side
of the war.

And the sheer loss
they must have endured.

But back then in 1942,

the Japanese army
was absolutely brutal.

Japan was the enemy,

and by association,

the Japanese American immigrants

suffered as a result.

There was no empathy,

no consideration,

no omoiyari.

So this is a song--

this is a song called
"Theme for Jerome,"

and it kind of has to do
with this decision

that a lot of immigrant parents
have to make for their children

where, are they gonna be
as American as possible,

or can they retain
this culture,

this--this--the origin?

You know, the story
that makes us who we are.

It's complicated, you know.

This one starts with a--

so it starts with
a lullaby I made up.

It goes like this.

"Theme for Jerome"
is a song I wrote

about the loss of culture.

I thought,
how could they do this?

They're so American.

They play baseball.

They don't have an accent.

But many of them
did have accents.

They played shamisen.

They wrote haiku.

They were immigrants
like my parents.

When you're locked up
in a camp

because your country fears
your culture,

you've really got no choice
but to bury it

so that your children can
survive and be accepted.

And I imagine this song
to be passed down,

but without words,

This is one
of the guard towers.

It's one of the things that

the incarcerees remember
the most

and that it was always--

there was always
a spotlight up there,

and they were always looking
for people at night.

At first,
they thought it was necessary,

but after a while,
they realized that

there were just
regular people,

civilians in here, so...

When I started researching

I related to the immigrants
who had the Japanese heritage

but had made themselves
a new life in America

and how torn
they must have felt.

The reality was
they're bicultural,

and this was
the thing that was

unfortunately unacceptable.

Bronze Star medal,
World War II.

So we're saying hello to my--

my dad, George.

He was a PFC in the U.S. Army.

He was born in 1919.

He was from Wyoming,

and he died here in Wyoming
in 2003.

After graduating
from high school,

he worked for the railroad.

When the war broke out,

he and the other
Japanese Americans

were all fired.

"We are good workers.
We love our country.

We will never do anything
against our country."

He wanted to sign up for
the draft, but at that time,

the Japanese Americans
were not allowed

to join the air force

or the navy
or the army at first.

People ask, why would
Japanese Americans

want to join an army
when they're being incarcerated

in 10 different camps
and detention centers

all over the United States?

And their answer was they
wanted to prove their loyalty.

Finally, they did open up
a unit of the army,

and they called it the 442
Regimental Combat Team.

This was a segregated unit.

It was only for
the Japanese Americans,

and he joined that,

and he was sent
to France and Italy.

Uncle Clarence Matsumura
from Los Angeles

from Heart Mountain joined

because of his
technical skills,

and they were the only part
of the 442

that went to Germany.

My uncle Clarence was one
of the liberators

of people coming out of
the Dachau concentration camps.

The 442nd was one
of the most decorated units

in U.S. military history

and also remains
one of the units

that took the most casualties
for its size.

All in all, about 33,000
Japanese Americans

joined the U.S. military
to fight during World War II.

The 442nd's motto was,
"Go for broke,"

meaning to bet it all.

Being wrongly imprisoned,

I guess there wasn't much else
to lose, really.

And under the watchful eyes
of their Caucasian superiors,

hundreds of Nisei worked
as translators

in the Pacific War.

And in Europe,
the 442nd proved to be

a fierce combat battalion.

We are here to re-pledge,
one way or the other,

our unreserved loyalty to
the United States of America.

We will give our lives
if necessary

in defense of those
democratic principles

for which other Americans have
lived and fought and have died.

Hi, Dad. We're proud of you.

Thanks for being here with us.

And you were a veteran
all of your life.

You believed in "go for broke"
all of your life.

And we know that
you are proud of us too.

We know that you are proud
of your family,

and we are so proud of you,
because you taught us

what it meant to be
a strong, pure,

dedicated American.

Thank you
for what you have done for us.

Thank you, Dad.

For the first time,
I understood the resilience

of the American Japanese.

They were living through
a monumental loss

in face of serious suspicions
behind barbed wire fences,

true grace
under intense pressure.

Despite their
horrible treatment,

they were able to reorganize themselves

and create a little community.

Schools, post offices,
work facilities

as well as farmland
for growing food

and keeping livestock

and did their best to create
normalcy for their families.

Sports teams, gardens, concerts,

and places of worship grew
and even thrived

within the barbed wire.

The older kids, I mean,
you know, high school kids,

boy, 18 years old
and you're 12,

they're wearing the same
bobby socks.

They got the same hairdo.

They wearing letter jackets.

And don't forget
the Heart Mountain Eagles

had a basketball team.

They even played some football,

and they played
the Cody Broncs

and the Powell Panthers.

It didn't take
the community long

to know who the hell
was in there.

They weren't spies.

There wasn't espionage.

There was not one single
case of espionage

in any camp
as far as I know of the 10.

After the war had ended,

the camps were
eventually closed

and Japanese Americans were
once again relocated

to cities like Chicago.

Hi. What's your name?

Oh, Frances Kobata.

Were you born in America,
or--

Yeah, I was born
in Seattle, Washington, 1923.

I'm way older than you.

Just a little bit.

But I've been coming here
since 1947.

I don't speak good Japanese,
but--

- No, that was pretty good.

In the pre-war period,

there was only about
400 Japanese Americans

who lived in Chicago.

After the war,
about 20,000 Japanese Americans

lived in Chicago, all of them

coming out of the camps
to try to make a new life.

So Chicago was chosen
by--like, chosen.

It's not like they--
- Yeah.

They kind of gravitated
toward the city.

It was like--it was--
- Totally.

They wanted a new city,

somewhere away
from the West Coast,

somewhere that didn't have

a lot of pre-war
racial prejudice.

The folks who were leaving
the camps then

were instructed
not to congregate

so that you weren't creating
fear among the local populace.

They also really
incentivized them

to assimilate
into the dominant

white Caucasian culture

and kind of staying away
from speaking the language

or expressing any sort of
Japanese culture or identity.

Once they hit the ground
here in Chicago,

there were a lot of challenges
that they had to overcome.

They had to find jobs, housing,

redevelop a sense
of social space.

Was there ever a hope
that you could go back

to the West Coast to--
or was it pretty much

just out of the question?

You couldn't go back initially.

We had nothing to go back to.

Right. That's true, true.

A lot of Japanese Americans
lost their language.

They lost their connections
to their homeland

and really lost a large sense
of who they were as a people.

I always thought assimilation
was like a virtue growing up.

- Totally.
- And then realizing that--

now, you know,
that's something

that's completely unfair,
you know,

for immigrants
to, like, basically

throw away a culture,
basically a piece of your soul.

I discovered I had an identity.

I have identity issues.

Remember I told you
I felt like I was very white?

Well, now I'm about to embrace
my Japanese American heritage.

I started to feel
this sense of rebellion...

Like it's important
for me to feel and act

as a Japanese American.

I wasn't afraid anymore.

all: * O'er the land
of the free ♪

♪ And the home

Wow.

In the face
of this injustice,

many still gather every year

in what are called pilgrimages,

and after all
they've been through,

they remain very patriotic
and proud to be Americans.

I brought my family
to Heart Mountain

because I wanted
to show them what I learned

and also to introduce them
to this community

that I had become a part of.

You know,
I wanted to show Sola,

"Look, you'll find
your identity one day."

And I wanted to thank
my parents

for giving me
that Japanese culture

so I could become
this bicultural American

that I really never thought
was possible.

Our path to being American

is very different, you know,

and kind of race
and immigration policy

being a really big part
of that.

To say that that's the process
of becoming American

for Asian Americans,
was to be excluded,

to lose your citizenship,

to lose your property,

to go through
internment camps.

You get sent to a new city,
you start from nothing,

you work your way up,
and that's the American Dream?

It wasn't until recently
that I realized

it's, you know--to be American,

you need to be as white
as possible.

Right.

It's--I don't know.

I think it's--

I feel like I've been fed
this lie, like, my entire--

my entire life, you know,
and I don't know.

What do you think about that?

I mean, yeah, I think that
that's what we're told, right,

that whiteness is good,
and it means access,

and it means opportunity.

And Asian Americans,
being the "model minority,"

are often used as a reason
to put other minorities down,

right, to say, "They made it,

so how come
you haven't made it?"

You know, we can be played
as the model minority.

We can also be played
as the enemy and the other.

And so how do we own
that identity

and decide what being
Asian American means for us?

You know, there's a saying
that you're either at the table

or you're on the menu,

and for a really long time,

Asian Americans
have been on the menu,

and we're just now getting
a seat at the table

and thinking about,

how do we bring others
along with us?

If the definition
of a concentration camp

is a place where you detain
a large number of civilians

indiscriminately,

then we definitely had them
in the United States

during the Second World War.

So why, years later,
do we have systems

that look remarkably similar?

Past the gate
and barbed wire,

this detention center runs
much like any prison

or jail in the U.S.

On any given day,
1,500 migrants

are housed here,
a look behind the curtain

for an agency
that's been heavily criticized

for its treatment of migrants
on our southern border.

Love and compassion is really
the underlying power

that we have as people
to really--

to rise above adversity.

And I think
it's why you're all here.

It's why we care
about the people inside.

It's why we know
that this is wrong

and that hopefully from now on,

we will tell all our friends
that this is wrong.

This is not right.

This is not right to be
incarcerating people,

especially people of color,
to know that--

to think America is
a certain kind of--

should look like
a certain kind of a country

when we know that
it's really for everybody.

This is actually my first time
performing music at a protest.

I think it's time.

It's now about 78 years
since the camps closed

that were holding 120,000
people of Japanese ancestry,

and it's time now for us
to close these camps.

No more oppression!
No more cages!

No more criminalization!

We say enough,
and enough is today.

We want to make sure that
nobody goes through this.

The experience of
the Japanese American community

is so terrible,
and everybody agrees with that.

It's sad that
they have to come out today

to fight along our side.

Shut it down! Shut it down!

all: Shut it down!

What do we want?
all: Justice!

When do we want it?

all: Now!

How do we get it?

all: People power!

One more time.
What do we want?

I think without compassion,
this is what happens.

And I think
omoiyari's really important

in that we can find
that compassion

and empathy to understand

that people are suffering
in there.

♪ In every one of us

♪ There is a heart
that arises ♪

♪ Birthed in loss and pain

♪ And pain

Throughout American history
in communities of color,

there is a clear
reoccurring pattern.

Forced removals,
family separation,

and mass incarcerations.

When will we stop
repeating history?

all: Omoiyari!

- Omoiyari.
- Omoiyari.

♪ What are the things
you wanted ♪

♪ The same as anyone

♪ Just a hand to hold
a little ♪

♪ After all is said and done

♪ And the days were
long and open ♪

♪ 'Cause I had a view of you

♪ The summer of '42

♪ When I was in love with you

♪ I am in love with you

♪ I am in love
with you ♪

♪ I am in love with you

♪ I am in love
with you ♪

♪ But years have turned
to ages ♪

♪ And I know
you have someone new ♪

♪ I looked for you
with every breath ♪

♪ A soldier wrecked
with solitude ♪

♪ I climbed
to the highest mountain ♪

♪ And I shouted to our view

♪ I was in love with you

♪ I was in love
with you ♪

♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh

all: * Ooh, ooh, ooh

♪ I am in love with you

♪ I am in love
with you ♪

♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh

♪ I am in love with you

♪ I am in love
with you ♪

♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh

♪ I am in love with you

♪ I am in love
with you ♪

♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh

♪ I am in love with you

♪ I am in love
with you ♪

♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh

♪ I am in love with you

♪ I'm in love with you

♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh

♪ I am in love with you

♪ One day, you cried to me

♪ When you're afraid
I would think it was over ♪

♪ Four years of eternity

♪ And you cursed the sun
in the sky ♪

♪ What is this thing
called love ♪

♪ And the feelings decide
that it's over ♪

♪ Nothing can heal the sound

♪ For the sadness

♪ Has withered to dust

♪ It was a bit much

♪ For two lovers like us

♪ Who lived in the stars

♪ Above a world
that wasn't fair to us ♪

♪ You chose that simple life

♪ Of your own device

♪ There's nothing I can do

♪ I'm feeling
red, white, and blue ♪

♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh

♪ Come here, my moonlit dove

♪ Come away with me
into the ether ♪

♪ Nothing is blinding here

♪ But the savory side
of your blush ♪

♪ Our world is fading fast

♪ And the fury of hatred
and anger ♪

♪ Join me in solitude

♪ On the banks
of the river of trust ♪

♪ It was a bit much

♪ For two lovers like us

♪ Who lived in the stars

♪ Above a world
that wasn't fair to us ♪

♪ You chose that simple life

♪ Of your own device

♪ There's nothing I can do

♪ I'm feeling
red, white, and blue ♪

♪ And as the time goes by

♪ We stand here,
statues in tandem ♪

♪ And here we'll stay,
my love ♪

♪ As we fill the world
with our rust ♪