I Am Compelled.

My Story: Immigrants, the “Other,” and Being Afraid of Fear

After reading this NY Times article, I feel compelled to respond on behalf of those across the US and the world who are being made to feel afraid, excluded, and most of all, “Other,” barred from established lives and jobs, friends and family, or the opportunity that could have been, following President Trump’s shameful executive order.

History tells us that there was another executive order, handed down by President Roosevelt in 1942, that targeted and excluded a group of people based on race and national origin. This order declared that all people of Japanese ancestry be removed from their homes and relocated to internment camps. It was our government’s response to the fear and hysteria following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. People no longer wanted Japanese (Americans) as neighbors when any one of them could be a spy or maybe a brother or friend of someone who attacked us on our soil. Sound familiar? The total of those relocated to these prison camps was nearly 130,000 people, and at least two-thirds were American-born citizens. People were allowed to bring a small number of possessions, but otherwise they had to sell everything else for cents on the dollar to those willing to exploit their hurried and powerless position. Homes, businesses, communities, possessions — All lost in the name of safety and national security.

It is here that my story intersects. Both of my father’s parents were Japanese and born in America. They lived in California and owned their home and a grocery store, something fairly rare for those with limited English, education, and means. Their hopes were like those of all Americans and especially minorities who saw America as a land of promise and freedom — They wanted to raise a family, enjoy a measure of success, and send their children on to a happier, fairer, more educated and successful future than had been available to them. They had a baby girl in 1941, but that joy quickly turned to fear and chaos as Pearl Harbor set them on a completely different course. They lost their home, grocery store, possessions and their pride, and were shipped off with their friends and neighbors to camps all over the country.

My father was born within the walls of one of these camps. He was welcomed into the world by happy parents, his big sister, and a home of injustice and shame. He took his first steps within chained walls, his earliest sights included armed guards and prison barracks. My father’s young family was eventually released after a couple years as the war ended, and they relocated to Chicago. Along with the other internees, they had to create new homes in new cities in the midst of incredible racism and hatred.

My heart breaks as I write this American history that is my family’s history. Much of the heartbreak comes from the deep shame that was placed on an entire people group by their government, solely based on race. My father’s family was no different. The shame, the financial ruin, the grief of things lost — relationships, the work of their hands, pride — this impacted generations.

So, why do I write all of this? As I said, I am compelled.

Much like my father was compelled during the ’90s Gulf War when someone vandalized a favorite donut shop in our town. You see, that donut shop was owned by a man from the Middle East, and when my dad read in the local paper that someone had bashed in all the windows and spray painted much of the inside, he had to speak up. He saw his parents’ grocery store that was taken from them; he saw a man trying to make an honest living in a small town. This man had an American flag hanging in his shop, and to him, this was his country and he was proud to be here. But in the midst of war and fear, he sadly became an outsider and a target.

History teaches us that violence, terror, and great loss of life leads to a choking fear and hatred of the “Other.” In their attempt to ensure safety for themselves, their loved ones, or their land, they take greater and increasingly extreme measures to exclude the “Other,” and inevitably some will develop hatred and prejudice in the process.

So, as I read the NY Times article, I felt overwhelming sadness and trepidation. The mounting racial tensions and the public support for keeping the “Other” out (immigrants/refuges, the Wall, police shootings, etc.) has actually resulted in a signed Presidential executive order, which “suspended entry of all refugees to the United States for 120 days, barred Syrian refugees indefinitely, and blocked entry into the United States for 90 days for citizens of seven predominantly Muslim countries: Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria and Yemen.” How can this actually be happening? many are asking. Not only are Syrian refugee families, who had been accepted with all necessary paperwork and were on their way, being turned back, but people with green cards from the specified Muslim countries, who were out of the US when the order was signed, are not being let back in. These people have jobs and have built lives and many were on a path to citizenship.

And this, this reminds me of my father’s family, and the pain that reverberates out to generations.

This order is like pouring accelerant on the flames of racial tension, fear, and hatred that are already burning. It gives validation to people’s deep fear. It makes ill-treatment of people groups seem official and government-backed. Just like Roosevelt’s order gave people permission to hate and suspect their Japanese (American) neighbors, Trump’s does the same with Muslims, those from the specified countries, or anyone who looks like “them.” This order takes us several, large steps closer to repeating some of our most shameful mistakes.

In the case of my family and Japanese Americans, the US government officially apologized in 1988 and paid reparations in the amount of $20,000 to each survivor or their heirs. The legislation actually included an admittance that government actions were based on “race prejudice, war hysteria, and a failure of political leadership.”

This also sounds very familiar.

I am one person imploring those who support such measures to take pause. Take pause about all of it, regardless of political belief. Whether it’s a rock through someone’s window because they wear a turban, or a kid who walks to his friend’s house in fear because of the color of his skin, or an entire people group imprisoned without due process, or genocide, fear of the “Other” in the name of protecting ourselves takes us to ugly places. And please don’t be mistaken that these examples have nothing to do with each other. They’re all on the same continuum and we are not immune, individually or as a country, to moving closer to the deplorable.

Each of us must decide where we stand. I have friends and family on both sides of the aisle, and I do not consider this a politically motivated plea. It’s human-kind motivated. I, too, want to feel safe, keep my children from harm, and I do not want a future for them that includes heightened terror and wars — No one wants that. We must be honest with ourselves, however, and decide what we are willing to do to somehow reach the level of safety and security we seek. It is unrealistic to believe that America will always be able to keep the threats out, especially if we continue to treat other nations in such unfriendly terms.

We cannot sit back and watch our government inch us along this continuum of injustice in the name of safety just like we cannot watch as someone is harassed with racial slurs on the street. My father’s family experienced both, and I will damn well not sit here and watch the same thing happen before my eyes.

Like I said, I am compelled. Please join me.