Near the end of They Called Us Enemy, George Takei says that one of the biggest issues in the United States is that the darker chapters of American history—such as the forced incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II—aren’t commonly talked about. Indeed, when teenaged George becomes curious about his childhood in the internment camps and searches through his textbooks and library books for information, he finds next to nothing about what happened. Thus, George Takei positions his graphic memoir as a teaching tool and a way to increase awareness of the history of Japanese internment. The memoir proposes that it’s essential to learn about this history because it’s only by remembering the past that people can prevent repeating horrible events in the future.
George Takei shows that when people purposefully remain silent about the past, it can be profoundly damaging for future generations. As a teen, he goes looking for information about internment during World War II in his history and civics textbooks, but he finds no mention of the camps. At the time, this makes George angry—it makes it seem as though something important and horrible that he and his family experienced never actually happened. But George also notes that many Japanese Americans of his parents’ generation also refuse to speak openly to their children about internment. This is because they’re ashamed of what happened, even though the memoir makes it clear that the victims of internment have nothing to be ashamed of. While George, fortunately, doesn’t suffer in this way (Daddy is more than willing to talk to teenage George about the camps and fill him in on what he didn’t understand as a child), those who stay silent contribute to the sense that internment is something to be ashamed of that is best forgotten. And while the memoir insists that this outlook is understandable, it also suggests that ignoring the history of internment has dire consequences.
Indeed, one of They Called Us Enemy’s greatest takeaways is that it’s essential to remember the past in order to avoid repeating it. The memoir, for instance, draws a direct line from Japanese internment during World War II to the 2018 immigration policy of separating immigrant families at the U.S.-Mexico border. Though more than 70 years separate Japanese internment and these family separations, the memoir shows that both policies rest on the same flawed logic: that it’s acceptable to imprison someone based solely on their nationality or heritage. Essentially, the memoir proposes that family separations could have been avoided had people remembered the lessons from Japanese internment.
More than simply knowing about past events in broad strokes, the memoir insists that it’s necessary to have a nuanced understanding of exactly what happened They Called Us Enemy does this by telling several intertwined stories about internment: George’s happy childhood memories, his parents’ significantly less happy memories, and the legal and bureaucratic aspects of internment. It’s essential, the memoir insists, to not focus on just one of these versions of events at the exclusion of all the others. To look only at the legal and legislative aspects of internment, for instance, would mean ignoring the major emotional toll on the people affected by those policies. And focusing only on personal experiences, like those of George and his parents, divorces the history of internment from important context. History, this shows, is impossible to distill down to one singular narrative—it does the past a disservice to package history into a simple, neat story.
Finally, They Called Us Enemy offers several methods of ensuring that future generations learn about and remember the past. In addition to implying that more information about internment should be in school textbooks, George Takei positions the memoir itself as a way to make the history of internment feel real and personal for modern readers. As a beloved public figure with a massive following, Takei has a unique opportunity to demonstrate that internment affected real people who had families, histories, and dreams for the future. In addition, Takei mentions his work on the Japanese American National Museum at several points and ends his memoir with an image of a commemorative monument to internment victims at the site where Camp Rohwer once stood. These perhaps offer a more long-term method of ensuring that future generations don’t forget the horrors of internment and take steps to avoid repeating history. Monuments and museums will help advance Takei’s goal of spreading awareness about internment camps long after Takei himself is gone.
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History and Education ThemeTracker
History and Education Quotes in They Called Us Enemy
In California at that time, the single most popular political position was “lock up the Japs.” The attorney general of California, Earl Warren, decided to get in front of that issue.
He wanted to run for governor... and would do anything to get that office. He saw the division his rhetoric caused.
He knew that he was talking about a hundred thousand people who had not been charged with any crime. But he made an amazing statement for not just any lawyer... but the top lawyer of the state.
On February 19, 1942, seventy-four days after Pearl Harbor... he issued Executive Order 9066.
The order never used the words “Japanese” or “camps”—it authorized the military to declare areas “from which any or all persons may be excluded,” and to provide “transportation, food, shelter, and other accommodations” from persons excluded from these areas.
As a teenager, I had many after-dinner discussions with my father... discussing everything from the government’s forced incarcerations of Japanese Americans... to politics.
He taught me the power of American democracy—the people’s democracy.
“People can do great things, George. They can come up with noble, shining ideals.
“But people are also fallible human beings, and we know they made a terrible mistake.”
Childhood memories come rich with sensations...
... Fragrances, sounds, colors, and especially temperatures. That golden afternoon when Daddy took the family on that wonderful jeep ride...
... Is a fond memory that glows radiantly with warmth.
Though they responded in different ways—caring for their families...
Fighting on the battlefield...
Or serving time for their principles—all these Japanese Americans showed incredible courage and heroism.
They proved that being American is not just for some people. They all made difficult choices to demonstrate their patriotism to this country even when it rejected them.
It was there I discovered the power of movies. I remember Charles Laughton in The Hunchback of Notre Dame most vividly.
I empathized with this love-starved character whom people scorned.
That movie was a transporting experience. Old Paris was fascinating.
Other nights the movies were Japanese, and often missing the audio track.
Daddy explained to me how a benshi provided the soundtrack for the film.
I was mesmerized by the benshi—how he could be so many voices from one.
In the days of silent movies, Daddy said, benshi were considered artists, similar to actors.
During out after-dinner discussions, Daddy would reveal more details about that time in our lives... filling in some of the gaps that escaped me.
“It was a demonstration in protest of the arrest of a man accused of being a radical.”
“Was he?”
“No! But regardless of whether he was or not... it was important to exercise our right to assemble. Send a message that we were united as a group and opposed to their actions.”
It dawned on me in that moment... I had been participating in democracy as far back as I can remember. That is the strength of our system. Good people organized, speaking loudly and clearly. Engaged in the democratic process.
I had an unsettling feeling...
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America...”
That her calling me “Jap boy” had something to do with our time in camp.
“...and to the republic for which it stands...”
I was old enough by then to understand that camp was something like jail...but could not fully grasp what we had done to be sent there.
The guilt which surrounded our internment made me feel like I deserved to be called that nasty epithet.
“One nation, indivisible...
“with liberty and justice for all.”
I had to learn about the internment from my father, during out after-dinner conversations. That remains part of the problem—that we don’t know the unpleasant aspects of American history...and therefore we don’t learn the lesson those chapters have to teach us. So we repeat them over and over again.
Of course, I did get that role.
As Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, I had the chance to represent my Asian heritage with honor...to millions of viewers on television...
And six times on the silver screen as (Lt.) Commander Sulu, eventually reaching the rank of captain.
But most importantly, my unexpected notoriety has allowed me a platform from which to address many social causes that need attention.
It was not until 1991 that I received a letter of apology...with a check for $20,000 signed by George H.W. Bush. As my father would say, “the wheels of democracy turn slowly.”
That makes an amazing statement about this country.
It took a while, but it did apologize. That apology came too late for my father. He passed in 1979, never to know that this government would admit wrongdoing.
It was a disastrous depression that Roosevelt pulled us out of.
It took that man, and his determination and creative energy...
To establish all those programs, and lift the fortunes of our great country.
But as we were driving here today, I thought, “I’m going to the home of the man who imprisoned me.”
And now I’m here in his home...
Only in America could that happen.
