‘Seen and Unseen’ Ties to 1942

Review by Bill Doughty

This award-winning book about the federal government’s incarceration of people of Japanese ancestry during World War II has remarkable ties to what is happening today in the United States:

“Seen and Unseen: What Dorothea Lange, Toyo Miyatake, and Ansel Adams’s Photographs Reveal About the Japanese American Incarceration” by Elizabeth Partridge and Lauren Tamaki (Chronicle Books, 2022).

After Imperial Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and other military sites in Hawaii, FDR called for the incarceration of Japanese immigrants and Japanese American citizens, including children.

The government’s Western Defense Command and Fourth Army Wartime Civil Control Administration ordered evacuation of whole areas and required disposal of property, including family farms. Families were assigned a number and were no longer known by their proper name. 

Author Elizabeth Partridge shows how prisoners were shamed and ostracized.

When first arrested, detained, and forced on trains and buses to the camps, families, including American citizens, had been treated like prisoners of war, allowed to keep only what they could carry.

Upon first reporting to at least one of the camps, they had been forced to fill bags with hay and sleep in horse stables that smelled of horse manure and urine.

“Seen and Unseen” is filled with distinctive art by Lauren Tamaki augmenting the photos.

Partridge is the goddaughter of Dorothea Lange. Her dad was a Navy veteran who served in World War II and later became a photographer and assistant to Lange after the war.

With the help of Lauren Tamaki’s distinctive and provocative art, Partridge introduces readers to the work of three photographers. Most of the photography is from within the Manzanar concentration camp in eastern California near the border of Nevada.

The first photographer featured is Lange (above), who became famous for her iconic photography during the Great Depression. The U.S. government hired her to take propaganda photos of what they called “internment” of Americans of Japanese ancestry and Japanese immigrants.

Lange tried to show everyday life of her subjects who were forced to leave their homes and travel in secrecy to faraway camps under armed guard.

Many of Lange’s photographs were impounded because they were deemed to show captivity in a negative light. She was forbidden from taking photos of barbed wire, machine guns, searchlight towers, or crowded conditions with little or no privacy.

“Dorothea wanted to show how hard the Japanese and Japanese Americans wanted to make their situation bearable,” Partridge writes. Resilient captives created furniture from scraps of wood. They cleared sagebrush to start vegetable gardens. And they continued to conduct school studies despite no desks and limited supplies.

One of her most powerful photos was of farmer Torazo Sakawye with grandson Walter (below).

Ten months after the photo was taken, Torazo died in the camp.

“All Dorothea could do was hope her photographs carried a strong message. ‘This is what we did,’ she said. ‘ How did it happen? How could we?’”

Next, Partridge introduces readers to Toyo Miyatake, a professional photographer whose family was incarcerated at Manzanar through the entire war.

At first, Miyatake surreptitiously took photos using an ingenious box camera disguised as a lunchbox. Eventually he was allowed to take photos but at first was told only caucasian helpers were allowed to push the shutter button.

The third photographer whose work Partridge showcases is Ansel Adams, who was attracted to the stark beauty of the desert and mountain terrain surrounding Manzanar. Adams focused on the “hardworking, cheerful, and resilient people.”

According to Partridge, “Ansel believed the faces of earnest, young Japanese Americans would convince other Americans how trustworthy and patriotic they were.”

Most of Adams's photos show smiling faces of young people.

"Everything in a picture is not necessarily true."

– Taira Fukushima, Manzanar, Block 5

Adams was on hand to capture some departures from Manzanar in 1945. Prisoners were given a change ticket and $25. A generation later those who had been incarcerated –– and were still alive –– were awarded reparations of $20,000 each under the Civil Liberties Act.

“The money was a small fraction of what they had lost,” Partridge observes.

“At least the federal government acknowledged that the incarceration had been a profound injustice, but it could not erase the heavy emotional and physical cost to the prisoners of what had been done.”

Readers might wish for more of the photographers’ work. Fortunately many of their photos are easily found online. And the National Archives has many incarceration photographs available –– at least for now –– including previously “impounded” images.

Those who are inspired to learn more won’t be disappointed if they read this book cover to cover. Among the treasures are the back pages of essays, commentary, notes, footnotes, photo credits, and biographies of each photographer, and more. This book is rich with primary sources, critical thinking, and documentation of censorship and history.

One of the essays in the back is titled “Civil Liberties and the Constitution.” The essay addresses one of the four cases brought by Japanese Americans that went before the Supreme Court: Korematsu v United States. In 1944 the Court ruled in favor of the government, but a generation later a federal court overturned that ruling when new evidence was uncovered that the military had lied about the need for incarceration,

“However, In 2018, several Supreme Court justices wrote about the Korematsu case in what are called ‘dicta’ –– statements made in written court opinions that do not affect the outcome of the case being heard. In a ruling restricting travel and immigration to the United States, Chief Justice John Roberts wrote, ‘The forcible relocation of US citizens to concentration camps, solely and explicitly on the basis of race, is objectively unlawful. ... Korematsu was gravely wrong the day it was decided, has been overruled in the court of history, and to be clear has no place in law under the Constitution. (He referred back to Justice Robert H. Jackson's dissent in the 1944 Korematsu Supreme Court case and quoted Jackson's words.)

Justice Sonia Sotomayor went one step further than Justice Roberts. ‘Today, the Court takes the important step of finally overruling Korematsu,’ she wrote, denouncing it as 'gravely wrong the day it was decided.’

Despite the dicta, Korematsu v. United States still stands, a painful symbol of our country's racial prejudice. And how can we be sure it will never be looked upon favorably in the future and used to violate the rights of another group of American citizens?”

Another essay/commentary is “Keeping Our Democracy Strong.” The keyword is “our.”

“As important as our leaders and our institutions are in our democracy, it depends on all of us to keep it safe. Even in the United States, built on strong democratic ideals, deliberate violations of people's civil rights can and do occur. No matter what kinds of inaccurate words are used to hide these violations, we can name them for what they are, and speak out against them, loud and clear. We can bear witness to old injustices, learn from them, and do our best to ensure they never happen again.

In the 194os, taking photographs was complicated.

Cameras could be cumbersome, film expensive, and developing and printing photographs a complex process. Today, we can use our cell phone cameras to capture injustice when we see it, and quickly let others know. These images cannot be marked

‘impounded’ and left hidden in a filing cabinet.

We each have in our pocket a tool for social justice that earlier generations never could have dreamed of.”

Photo by Toyo Mayatake

Cameras –– bulky and rare then, handy and pervasive now –– are one of the remarkable ties to history. Images, and now video, are compelling evidence of the crimes of violence against people who are targets or who practice their First Amendment rights to protest. Witness the shootings of Renee Good and Alex Pretti this month in Minneapolis.

Among other ties to history:

• Then (and now), migrants and immigrant families were targeted by race.
• U.S. citizens were also arrested, detained, or worse.
• Officials used (and use) propaganda to lie about processes, procedures, and outcomes of a massive operation.
• People were required to show their “papers.”
• Uniformed law enforcement used chemical agents against protesters.
• Fear was a weapon.
• Those who protested often faced beatings, arrests, and even shootings.
• Families were often separated and given no information about the whereabouts of their loved ones.
• Fort Sill, used for past incarcerations of Native Americans and then Japanese Americans is now used again by the Trump Administration to incarcerate immigrants from Central America.
• Other sites, such as Fort Bliss and Terminal Center, once used as concentration camps for  Japanese immigrants and Japanese Americans, are now used to incarcerate hispanic immigrants.
• White supremacists and Christian nationalists supported “law and order” despite violations of the rule of law, Constitution, morality, and civil liberties.
• Some military service members and law enforcement personnel followed illegal orders.
• There was no accountability or justice for victims for decades.
• The negative impact on families lasted for generations.
• Then as now, officials covered up facts and prevented investigations.

"My question is always, why was I, a child, put into a

concentration camp? I was a citizen. 

That's against the Constitution."

– Joyce Yuki Nakamura Okazaki

This book and others came onto Navy Reads reading list after listening to Rachel Maddow’s podcast production “Burn Order,” a story about how some leaders in the military justified racist persecution of people of Japanese ancestry in the United States during World War II, while others, including a Navy intelligence officer told the truth. Maddow documents heroic efforts by a woman and a lawyer to uncover the true reason for the illegal incarceration.

A key takeaway from then and now: Each person has the opportunity to make a difference.

Villains & Heroes – Places in History

Review by Bill Doughty

In her books and other productions, Rachel Maddow presents strong profiles of people who find their places in history as either villains or heroes. In past works she compares felon Spiro Agnew with principled Elliott Richardson (“Bag Man”); oil tycoons with environmentalists (“Blow Out”); and America First fascists with supporters of democracy (“Ultra/Prequel”).

In her latest work, “Burn Order,” Maddow examines the incarceration of Japanese people and Americans of Japanese ancestry in the aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor that began America’s participation in the Second World War. Once again, she cuts through both-sides-ism and whitewashing to reveal who are the bad guys and the good people in historic eras.

Maddow’s revelations start with the heroic efforts of Navy intelligence officer then-Lt. Cmdr. Kenneth Ringle. Ringle determined and reported that people of Japanese ancestry living in the United States presented no threat to the war effort against Imperial Japan

History proved him right.

During the war, U.S. Navy Captain Ringle (pictured above) commanding the USS Wasatch (AGC-9) in the South Pacific in 1945 during World War II. He was promoted to the rank of Rear Admiral upon his retirement. His path before, during, and after the war is a brilliant example of patriotism.

On the other side of the ledger, Maddow’s “Burn Order” continues with the misguided work of Army officers Lt. Gen. John DeWitt and Maj. Robin Bendetsen, who ignored Ringle’s report and carried out cruel and harmful incarceration of families at various concentration camps mostly in western states.

Bendetsen is revealed as the brains behind DeWitt’s “jittery” strategy and tactics that bordered on paranoid fantasies and fear of sabotage. DeWitt harbored and promoted bizarre conspiracy theories publicly and within his chain of command.

DeWitt (above) testified to members of Congress in April 1943, warning no Japanese Americans could be trusted because “a Jap’s a Jap.” He told San Francisco officials he thought it might be a good thing if San Francisco got bombed by Japan, in order to “awaken this city.”

Both DeWitt and his Stephen Miller-like advisor Bendetsen earned their places in history even though both escaped personal accountability.

Some white Americans protected the property of their Japanese neighbors who were incarcerated. Sadly, other white Americans were not as heroic and greedily took over belongings, businesses, and farmland.

As evidence, Maddow provides numerous newspaper clips, letters, and photographs on the MS NOW site for “Burn Order.”

An inspirational heart of Maddow’s story is the dedicated efforts of one individual, in particular: Aiko Herzig-Yoshinaga.

Aiko (above) spent countless hours at the National Archives researching records of the government’s incarceration. She eventually discovered documents that revealed the Army based their actions on racism while ignoring evidence contrary to their scheme and then trying to cover up their crimes against the Constitution.

In 1981, Lawyer and researcher Peter Irons uncovered key U.S. government memos revealing the suppression of evidence and destruction of documents related to the 1940s policy of mass incarceration of Japanese Americans. He partnered with Aiko Herzig-Yoshinaga to bring about justice for people unlawfully rounded up and put in concentration camps.

When President Ronald Reagan signed the Civil Liberties Act of 1988 to acknowledge federal wrongdoing, it was an official apology for the mass incarceration of Japanese Americans in the 1940s. Reagan described the incarceration as a “grave wrong” against the Constitution.

Listening to the “Burn Order” podcast prompted further exploration of the heroes, villains, and victims of this era in American history and their own places in history.

New on our Navy Reads to-read list now are books such as “The Literature of Japanese American Incarceration,” edited by Frank Abe and Floyd Cheung (Penguin Classics, 2024),“Seen and Unseen: What Dorothea Lange, Toyo Miyatake, and Ansel Adams’s Photographs Reveal About the Japanese American Incarceration” by Elizabeth Partridge and Lauren Tamaki (Chronicle Books, 2022), and “Justice at War: The Story of the Japanese American Internment Cases” by Peter Irons (Oxford University Press, 1983).

Speaking of places in history ... Yesterday, Maddow headed a two-hour special about public testimony by Special Prosecutor Jack Smith regarding the January 6, 2021 insurrection attempt by Donald Trump and his supporters. Clear in his testimony: Capitol Police and other uniformed personnel, along with those on the side of law, order, and accountability are on the right side of the ledger.

Andrew Young ‘An Easy Burden’

Review by Bill Doughty

He was a lieutenant to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. In fact, he was by his side not only in life but also at King’s death at the hands of an assassin.

Andrew Young, now in his 90s, has had many titles in his lifetime: UN Ambassador, Mayor of Atlanta, Congressional Representative, Co-chair of Olympic Games, Executive Director of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, and ordained minister of the United Church of Christ. His other titles include: civil rights leader, peacemaker, family man, and author.

Young’s “An Easy Burden: The Civil Rights Movement and the Transformation of America” (HarperCollins, 1996) is as relevant today as it was when written nearly 30 years ago.

Need a jolt of hope? This is a good book filled with optimism in the face of pessimism, love in a time of hate, and unity despite efforts at creating division and inequality.

Andrew Young shows how the American civil rights movement arose largely as a result of World War II and the resultant Marshall Plan. The military provided proof and a blueprint for the success of diversity, inclusion, meritocracy, and equality.

Young’s perspective is rooted in a post-colonial world and his religious faith and commitment to nonviolence.

“There were many who made the American civil rights movement possible: men and women, preachers and laypeople, students and workers, young and old. But in the 1960s, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), the organization I was involved with during the civil rights movement, was largely made up of thirtyish, Southern-born, Negro preachers. We were children of the New Deal of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. We spent our adolescence enjoying the rise of the United States as a defender of liberty and democracy in World War I. Our high school and university life was defined and colored by the social responsibility of the Marshall Plan, a sense of world community signaled by the founding of the United Nations and, yes, the successful liberation of India from British colonialism— without violence.”

Despite growing up in a segregated and racist South, Young and his compatriots committed themselves to finding the “better angels of our nature,” as Lincoln called for.

Young writes, “The former slave and abolitionist Frederick Douglass described the effort to end slavery as a struggle to save "black men's bodies and white men's souls." It was in this tradition that the preachers who founded the Southern Christian Leadership Conference decided its mission was "to redeem the soul of America."

“That soul we saw less in America's actions than in its ideals: freedom, equality, justice. While we endured segregation, we knew that America had shed the blood of hundreds of thousands of its sons and daughters in a war that ended slavery. We knew that America had risen up out of the depths of a Great Depression to defeat fascism. We had cheered the exploits of Dorie Miller and the Tuskegee Airmen and other colored soldiers who refused to let racial segregation prevent them from offering their lives for freedom and for America, and we were inspired by their example. Dorie Miller was told he could only be a cook's helper, but he dared to believe he could shoot down enemy aircraft [at Pearl Harbor]. The Tuskegee Airmen dared to believe black men could fly. 

We were thought to be naive, but in truth we were visionary. We dared to believe that America could be healed of the gangrene of racism. We saw America as we could become, not just as we were.

We believed that people could change, because we were constantly aware of how far we had come, personally. But most of all, we believed that a free society was constantly changing and that we could influence those changes to accommodate the needs and aspirations of all of our citizens, and that race, creed, gender, and national origin could be strengths rather than problems.

We began with the limited goal of ending racial segregation. But we came to understand segregation as just one aspect of the barrier confronting black Americans in American society.

The March on Washington became a march for jobs and freedom, because in a nation based on free enterprise, access to jobs and money are an essential component of freedom. We came to see the war in Vietnam as a symbol of the destructive role America was playing in suppressing the cause of freedom for people of color not just at home, but around the world.

As America made the world safe for democracy, we had to make America's democracy safe for the world.

Racism, war, and poverty were anchors dragging on our society, preventing us from reaching our full potential, as if anchors from a nineteenth-century sailing ship had been attached to the space shuttle. We accepted the challenges of detaching those anchors.

We knew it was a burden, but we believed it was an easy burden in a country as great as ours. We believed that God didn't give anyone more burden than he or she had the strength to bear. Our faith made our burdens light, because we never carried them alone. Our understanding and clarity of vision was a blessing, and I was taught that God requires us to use the gifts that we have been given. Racism, war, and poverty were heavy burdens, to challenge injustice was an easy burden.

We possessed a fundamental faith in democracy and free enterprise. We learned to address the nation through a free press; we made our claims on the economy by word and deed. We believed in our American heritage-a great people in a great nation that was ready to lead humankind in a new way of thinking and working. We believed in a future that we would help to create from our faith in spite of very real fears. Martin expressed it for all of us when he constantly reminded us that ‘the moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice.’"

In protests and marches for freedom, against poverty, and “against fear,” Young lived and preached a code of nonviolence as learned from MLK who learned it from Ghandi.

Young’s view is one with a wide-aperture –– focused on the whole world and also into the future. And his love for America as well as his hope and optimism are at the center.

“America is so important to the world at this moment in history as we seek a new vision for our world. As I travel around the globe, I am reminded that the heads of state and people of nearly every country look to America for leadership. Yet, the poverty in our midst undermines our will and ability to respond to the call to global leadership and to meet the challenge of global poverty and environmental degradation—a far greater threat to future generations than even the Cold War. When I served as United States Ambassador to the United Nations, I became aware of the intense appreciation that the Japanese delegation had for the U.S. role in rebuilding Japan after World War II. That experience led many Japanese businessmen to advocate a global fund for strategic infrastructure projects that would improve the environment, facilitate sustainable development, and generate jobs. They identified fifty such strategic projects, including the English Channel Tunnel (which the British built themselves), a natural gas pipeline across Africa from the Nigerian oil fields to the Mediterranean, and a sea level canal through Nicaragua. Without enthusiastic backing from the United States, a new global infrastructure fund could not move past the visioning stage, yet no nation would benefit more from such projects than the United States. For example, the practical benefits of a canal across Nicaragua to accommodate modern supertankers are at least twofold: given the cost and dangers associated with the long voyage around South America from the Atlantic to the Pacific, the canal would pay for itself in short order. Moreover, a canal under international governance would provide the basis for long-term economic growth and resulting political stability for U.S. neighbors and trading partners in Central America.

Investing in development in Central America would produce far better results in reversing the immigration flow than the punitive measures presently finding political favor.

This is the kind of forward thinking that is required from American leadership today: investing in the future to solve problems and prevent problems. How much better to build a canal than to build a wall. How much more effective to support the creation of jobs in their own regions for workers who presently risk life and limb in pursuit of a better life in the United States, rather than to put forward yet another plan for making illegal immigrants' lives only more miserable once they're here. Our nation's prosperity rests on the vision of leaders who invested in and built bridges, roads, canals, communication networks, and national parks. These are the things that make for peace.

In an expanding economy people are too busy making money and accumulating material goods to fight over ancient prejudices.

Had there been growth rather than recession in Europe when Bosnia and Serbia became independent of the former Yugoslavia, I doubt we would have seen the kind of bitter carnage that we have witnessed in that region of the world. The frustration that erupted in riots in South Central Los Angeles were rooted as much in the steady withdrawal of jobs and resources from that community as in the tragic beating of Rodney King.

Our own budget deficit has become the new excuse for ignoring growing problems in our midst and shirking our global responsibilities. But America does not have the luxury of attempting to shrink its way out of deficits; we only enlarge our problems when we withdraw resources from cities, schools, rural communities, infrastructure, parks, health care, and environmental protection. We undermine the integrity and vitality of our communities and we trigger dangerous recessions that breed conflict and violence. Surely responsible and dedicated Americans of all races can, based on the dictates of our minds as well as our hearts, pull together to meet the present challenge of poverty in all its complex manifestations both at home and

I am considerably older than I was in 1961, and I hope I'm wiser and certainly much more experienced after having moved through the Congress, the United Nations, the city of Atlanta, and the private sector. I have yet to find a reason to question or doubt the faith that we had in America then. Everything I know now convinces me that the struggle to eliminate racism, war, and poverty is a burden, but in America, with all the freedom and opportunity afforded us under our Constitution, in the most productive society in human history, it is an easy burden if we undertake it together.”

For much more about Andrew Young, readers may want to watch Rachel Maddow’s new film: “Dirty Work.” From the MSNBC website: “This gripping documentary reveals the untold story of Andrew Young — a behind-the-scenes force of the Civil Rights Movement and a quiet giant of international diplomacy. A master negotiator, strategist, and bridge-builder, Young was the man who did the essential, often thankless ‘dirty work’ that changed history, operating in the shadows while others stood in the spotlight.” Young considers the “dirty work” he did as “an easy burden.

Andrew Young celebrates black history with First Army, Fort Gillem, Georgia, in 2009 (Gayle Johnson, First Army Public Affairs Office)