Densho: A Project of Witnessing

Densho is a digital archive and repository with photographs, documents, newspapers, letters, and perhaps most movingly, recorded and transcribed oral histories of Japanese Americans’ experience of incarceration during World War II. Densho is a multi-faceted resource offering educational resources for both learners and teachers; it includes a registry of names with data about dates, ages, camps sent to, etc., and recordings and transcriptions of more than 900 individuals.

Many Seattle families were sent to camps from the central and south sections, where non-white individuals could find housing due to the practice of redlining. (The Fair Housing Act was not passed until 1968.) As a result, many Franklin students and their families were affected.

From the historical materials….

James Yoshinori Sakamoto, (’21), 1903 – 1955, was one such alumnus. His parents came to the U.S. in 1894. In Seattle, his father, Joseph, became an early hotel pro- prietor. James attended Franklin and then studied at Princeton University where he took up boxing and fought from bantam weight to junior lightweight. He was likely the first person of Japanese ancestry to fight in Madison Square Garden. He injured his left eye, and his right eye was blinded in 1927 in a fight in Utica, N.Y. He lost his sight completely and returned to Seattle soon after. In New York he worked as the English Editor of the Japanese-American Newspaper, and turned to journalism in Seattle. In 1928 he started the Japanese-American Courier, the first Japanese-American newspaper printed entirely in English. He is a past president of the Japanese American Citizens League. (Photo and historical details from the Densho Digital Repository). (See also James Sakamoto in Wikipedia)

Sakamoto family on golden wedding anniversary of Joseph Gerald Osamu Sakamoto and Mary Ann Tsuchi Sakamoto, both 80, at Minidoka Relocation Center, 12/11/1943. Pictured with his son James Y Sakamoto, 40, Marietta Misao, his wife, 37, and Marie Mineyo, aa, Marcia Tsuyumi, 6, and Justine Denice, 8 months old.  (Photo courtesy Densho.)

From the oral histories….

Frank S. Fujii, 1930 – 2016, was an inspirational and popular art teacher and basketball coach at Franklin. In an interview with Densho on September 3, 1997, Mr. Fujii explained that his father came to the U.S. in the early 1900s, first to Alaska, working in a laundry and then a cannery, and then to Seattle where he started a confectionery. When that failed, he started Fujii Tavern around 1930, which did well. Frank’s mother was an educator in Osaka before marrying his father. They had nine children of whom Frank was the youngest. His mother ran a food concession in the back of the tavern and provided the “famous Fujii chicken.” The Tavern was at 14th and Yesler in the old St. George building.

Frank S. Fujii Segment 1 from Densho Digital Repository

Eleven-year-old Frank opened the door one hour after Pearl Harbor to two big white gentlemen who said, “We’re the FBI, where is Mr. Jimmy Raisaku Fujii?” Frank said, “Oh, Dad’s here somewhere,” and when he got his father, they took him. Frank did not see him again for three and half years, and was devastated by the loss. He tried to keep track of where his father was: “he was shifted constantly, from Missoula, Montana, to Bismarck, North Dakota, to Lordsburg, New Mexico, and ended up in Santa Fe, New Mexico.” These four camps were segregated; they were all fathers, separated from their wives.

Interviewer: What was it like to be taken to Puyallup?

 “So family-wise, it was tough for us just getting ready. I think when we were told to take our belongings the first thing I picked was my mitts and my ball, and maybe my underwear and stuff like that, but it was only what you could carry. And the things we stored, well, we never got back, because the place we stored it in Seattle, you know, it was all stolen after we came back from camp.

“And I didn’t realize the impact of what it does to the parents, because when they find there’s not even that left, not even a bedspring or the personal stuff that they thought they left behind is all gone. So you kind of wonder to this day, where is all that stuff, you know? I think my folks were fantastically strong to cope with this. To be separated, to be alone, to not know the future. Being from another country, as an Issei -- Dad and Mom had no intention of going back to Japan. I think the thing that they were looking forward to was just making sure that everybody survives. “Getting ready for even Puyallup -- Dad was gone already and Mom didn’t know what to do with Dad’s stuff, because he’s gone and he’s in Missoula, Montana. I don’t think they let my dad take anything. I think the government issued the essentials, the blankets, the sheets, the toothbrush, the soap and every- thing once he got to Missoula.

“But Puyallup was a togetherness place, because most of the Japanese communities -- being close before the war -- I think there’s a tendency to be close together when you’re in camp also. And although we were dispersed in different camps, there’s a tendency to visit each other, because you were able to go inter- mingle, to go from Camp A to Camp C, to B and D. And some were in sad situations, like my brother Joe lived in Camp D, which was in a horse stall. And I went in there, and it smelled like horses, and I said, ‘Hey, is there a horse around here?’ And they nod their head, and they didn’t want to talk about it, because I think they were so upset. But it’s amazing how human beings cope.

“I remember filling up a mattress with straw. A couple of my sisters had hay fever and they couldn’t use straw, so they just had to put a blanket for a mattress and [make] a pillow by using cloth or clothing. There was so much inconvenience, and even as young as I was, I thought of the hardships. Privacy is lost. And pride is lost... “It’s amazing how resilient the Niseis were. They made the best of it. They had to line up for mess hall, and to cheer each other on; and they had classes for art, classes for people. There was a guy named Sato. He was a cartoonist. Man, I was so happy, I could go and learn how to draw Donald Duck, and Dick Tracy, and what have you.

“As I reflect back, I know it sure wasn’t easy for my folks, and my older brothers, who understood what was happening, you know. I sort of understood what was happening, but you don’t get the impact until you get older. I wasn’t (able) to say (then), ‘Here’s how I feel right now.’ As I got older, I continually spoke about internment camps to friends and teachers. No matter what, if I had an opportunity, I did. I spoke at the college, (in) sociology classes, and law and justice classes. In high school there was a law and justice class at Franklin where I taught, (taught by) Rick Nagle, who was sincerely interested in the Japanese American movement. That’s why I always went back to Franklin after I left in ’72. I went back to talk to students about what camp I went to and how the process went from Puyallup, to those that went from Puyallup to Minidoka, or Puyallup to Tule Lake like our family.

Frank Fujii holding the logo he designed for the National Day of Remembrance. (Photo, courtesy of Ann Fujii-Lindwall.)

“Here we were in California (at Tule Lake camp) and Dad is in New Mexico. It was hard, because I wrote letters, and he couldn’t write back. He wasn’t that adept (at) writing long letters. I think he was just dejected. I could sense that. But I did my writing, just to write. And you know, I get really kind of touched by that, because I know for the kind of person he was, to see him go through this whole ritual of abandonment, losing his business, being alone. “With most of us in Tule Lake, we could survive with our friends and athletics. I think the tough part is when you realize that your father is doing nothing. And I think for most Isseis to be not given anything to do, it’s almost as much torture as giving them hard labor. They, they just existed. That ruined a lot of their functioning, to feel good about themselves. Once they came back from the war, I could sense the loss of energy, self-esteem, pride, you name it. That’s the part (that) bothers me the most, that I can’t forget. I don’t feel bad about not forgetting; I’m glad that I do (remember). Dad was such a good person that I, I really feel hurt inside, you know. 

Interviewer: What was it like for you to be a Japanese American teacher in this high school where you have a very diverse population? And what was that like, especially at the time?

 “Well, to me, at Franklin was ideal, because we were, actually at that time, we were one- third Asian, one-third black, and one-third white. That was the most beautiful time of my teaching career, and I enjoyed it very much. As I came to Franklin I felt real strong about being part of the community. Then to be asked to be an assistant basketball coach and then the head coach job -- I felt real fortunate. I really felt it was like a dream come true, because I got to teach and coach.

“What it did for me was -- when you think you found your niche and you like the students, you still have to learn to deal with a lot of fac- tors in teaching. You had to be sensitive to the minority scene, laterally speaking -- with the “other Asians,” you know, the Cambodians, the Vietnamese, the Indochinese, the Chinese American, the Japanese Americans. I learned a lot and I think that’s what made my life more interesting.

To read or listen to the full transcript of the interview with Mr. Fujii see: Densho Digital Archive - Frank S. Fujii Interview

Tom Ikeda Retires from Densho

 “After the September 11 attacks on US sites, Densho took another direction, one that resonates today. ‘There was a feeling of horror and shock at what was happening to the Muslims, that they were singled out for hate like we had been,’ Ikeda suggested. ‘Then Densho worked harder to develop its website with the story that what happened to Japanese Americans should not happen to any other ethnic group.

“Since then, they specifically decided to promote social justice by widely sharing the incarceration camp experience… Beyond the videotaped interviews, Densho staff have created an online encyclopedia, search- able photo archives and a history curriculum, available on the website, for middle school and high school classes.

‘I am proud of our high school students today,’ Ikeda said, ‘they are showing the power that an individual can have if they decide to take a political stand. That will make a difference in the future of our nation.” Ikeda explained that it’s not enough to say you attended a mixed-race school. “You have to make a point about an injustice, you have to be intentional about speaking out. It doesn’t change anything to just talk every day with your same group of friends. There are more and different foreign-born students. Get to know them,” he stated emphatically. “Talk with teachers and orga- nize people and times to speak out when you see any injustice.” (Tom Ikeda, quoted in Quaker Times, Spring 2018, Vol.24 Issue 2, Mayumi Tsutakawa, ’68)

Densho means “to pass on to future generations” or “to leave a legacy.” The founding group included Scott Oki, (’67), Tom Ikeda, (’74), Penny Fukui (Executive Director, Japanese American Chamber of Commerce) and Bobbie Stern. Following a visit to Steven Spielberg’s Shoah Foundation in Los Angeles which was in the process of recording and digitizing over 50,000 interviews with Holocaust survivors, they realized both the value of the project, and that their knowledge of personal computing technology could simplify the process. (Oki and Ikeda had both been employed by Microsoft.)

Ikeda became the Executive Director, and Oki the Board President of this nonprofit, grassroots organization, which relies mostly on individual donations. Last year Ikeda retired, and turned the reigns over to Naomi Ostwald Kawamura.

For an extensive history of Tom Ikeda and Densho, see: here.

See also:

Beloved Seattle artist Frank S. Fujii passes  away at 86 - International Examiner (iexaminer.org)