In 2017, I visited Topaz for the first time. It is a place that you can physically feel the gravity of. I took in the photos of small children at the school in the camp and read their journal entries. There were breathtakingly beautiful pieces of art created by some of the interned. And then I was able to see the record of my own ancestor who had been interned.
My heart was somehow heavy and full as we left the museum and visited the land where they had lived. I tried to imagine what it must have looked like before the barracks were taken down and the people were allowed to return to whatever was left of their homes. It was personal to my family and me.
My great-grandparents were Japanese in World War II. When Pearl Harbor was attacked, their lives were flipped upside down. My entire childhood, I heard my great-grandma’s firsthand accounts of their experiences with the FBI visiting their home and the difficulties they experienced. They were some of the lucky ones. They weren’t interned, unlike some of their friends and relatives.
From a young age, I understood that what had happened was wrong. I found it alarming that something like that had occurred in America. But I took comfort in the fact that we had learned our lesson. After all, in 1988, then-President Ronald Reagan had apologized on the behalf of America to all who had been interned with a $20,000 payment. While nothing could ever make up for what each individual went through, at least there was an acknowledgment that what happened was wrong. And I thought that there was also a promise to do better going forward.
But this last month, I have felt a real fear that we are repeating our past mistakes. I’ve been sickened these last weeks as I’ve seen stark similarities to what my relatives experienced 80 years ago. It has always been easy to target those who look different. This was true for the Japanese in America in the 1940s and it is true now. I am aware that there are arguments that there are major differences between the internment of the Japanese and what is occurring now. One of the main arguments is that the Japanese were here legally and those targeted now are not. This is true in some instances, but in the last few weeks, we have seen individuals who are here legally being detained.
The most visible example of this is Mahmoud Khalil, a former student at Columbia who has been detained by ICE. He has a green card. His wife is an American citizen. His crime is that he was involved in the protests at Columbia as a negotiator. I was appalled to see a video of my own congressman, Rep. Burgess Owens, being questioned on his views regarding Khalil. He kept repeating that Khalil was a “terrorist” and that “he should go home.”
First, there is no evidence that Khalil is a terrorist. Second, his call for Khalil to “go home” sent a chill down my spine. It feels eerily similar to what I imagine was said to my great-grandparents and others. The implication is clear: You do not belong here.
And then this week, President Donald Trump utilized the Alien Enemies Act of 1798 to deport individuals related to a Venezuelan gang. While I, like many others, have concerns about gangs and violence, I find this very concerning, as the last time this was used was during World War II against those of Japanese descent, among others. There should always be due process, regardless of the crimes that were allegedly committed. It is a fundamental core of what makes America the shining beacon on the hill.
The past is one of our greatest teachers. It offers us the opportunity to view our mistakes with clarity and helps us to not repeat our wrongs. It would be a grave mistake not to learn from the moral failings of the Japanese internment. It is up to all of us to stand up for those who are being unfairly targeted by our government.