They Called Us Enemy: They Called Us Enemy Summary & Analysis

Two little boys, George and Henry, sleep peacefully in their bedroom—but suddenly, Daddy rushes in, turns on the light, and tells them to get up. As he gets Henry dressed, he tells George there’s no time to explain. He sends the boys to wait in the living room while he finishes packing. In the living room, the boys look outside and see armed soldiers. The soldiers pound at the door and Daddy comes to answer it. They ask for Daddy by his full name—Takekuma Norman Takei—and inform him that under Executive Order 9066, he and his family must immediately leave their home. The soldiers give Daddy 10 minutes to be ready.

Daddy turns away from the soldiers, who remain in the open doorway. He crouches down to George and Henry and tells them to wait while he helps Mama and their sister—then they’ll take their bags to the driveway. Minutes later, out in the driveway, Henry asks George what’s going on and where they’re going. George says he doesn’t know and turns around when he hears the door close. Mama stands on the doorstep, holding a baby, crying.

Jumping forward to a 2014 Ted Talk in Kyoto, George Takei tells the audience he’ll never forget that moment. He explains that he’s a veteran of the starship Enterprise (a reference to Star Trek, the TV show that made Takei famous). On Enterprise, he traveled through the galaxy with a crew comprised of people from around the globe to explore new worlds and find new life. They went “where no one has gone before.” Takei is also the grandson of Japanese immigrants who traveled to America. Like those on Enterprise, his grandparents sought opportunity in a new world.

George’s parents met in Los Angeles, California, in 1935. His father, Takekuma Norman Takei, was born in Japan. He immigrated to America as a teen and attended school in California’s Bay Area. Later, he started a successful dry-cleaning business. George’s mother, Fumiko Emily Nakamura, was born in California, but her parents raised her in a traditional Japanese way—and even sent her to Japan to save her from experiencing the segregated schools in Sacramento. George’s parents married in the brand new Los Angeles city hall and celebrated with friends and family.

The narrative shifts to Los Angeles in 1937; Mama has just given birth to a baby boy. He’s Mama and Daddy’s second child, but their first died at only three months old. This baby seems even more precious after the loss of their first, and Daddy—an anglophile—decides to call the baby George after King George VI of England. Baby George is, to Daddy, “as great as a prime minister, even a king.” Later, George’s brother Henry (named after Henry VIII) arrives, and finally, Mama gives birth to a daughter, Nancy Reiko. She’s named Nancy for a beautiful friend of Mama and Daddy, and Reiko is Japanese for “gracious child.”

It’s Sunday, December 7, 1941. As “Silent Night” plays on the radio, George helps Daddy put lights on the Christmas tree while Henry plays with a train set. Mama feeds Nancy Reiko a bottle. The evening is calm and peaceful. Suddenly, “Silent Night” cuts out and a voice announces a special news bulletin: the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. A journalist in Washington says the details will be available in a few minutes—but the attack will mean war. There will have to be a counter-attack, and the president will certainly ask Congress for a declaration of war. Congress will, no doubt, grant that request. The voice says officials believe that Japan “has now cast the die.” As the radio urges citizens to stay calm and avoid hysteria, Daddy and Mama exchange worried looks.

Later, Eleanor Roosevelt addresses the nation. On her Sunday radio program, she acknowledges the gravity of the situation, explaining that the cabinet and congress are meeting with the president. In the meantime, “we the people” are already preparing to act. Later that day, President Roosevelt signs a proclamation declaring that all adult Japanese citizens in the U.S. are now “alien enemies” and will be subject to strict regulations.

Daddy loves the United States, and by this time, he’s been in the country for 25 years. But the U.S. never allowed him to apply for citizenship—and now, they think of him as an enemy. War hasn’t even been declared yet.

The following afternoon, everyone in the U.S. listens to President Roosevelt address Congress. He says that yesterday—December 7, 1941—will live in infamy. The Empire of Japan attacked the Hawaiian Islands yesterday, damaging the American military and taking many lives. As he speaks, white Americans destroy a Japanese couple’s car, writing “Get Out” and the slur “Jap” on it. FDR continues that yesterday’s events speak for themselves, and people have already made up their minds about what’s going on. The country will always remember this attack.

As President Roosevelt speaks, a barber sets out a sign offering free buzzcuts for enlisting soldiers and hangs an American flag. Several white Americans look threateningly at Daddy. FDR insists that Americans will win; it’s impossible to deny that the U.S. and its people are in grave danger, but with the military and a determined attitude, the U.S. will undoubtedly win. Finally, he asks that Congress authorize a declaration of war on the Japanese Empire. Within 33 minutes, Congress does just that.

The most popular political position in California at this time is “lock up the Japs.” The state’s attorney general, Earl Warren, decides to promote this position. He dreams of becoming governor and is willing to do anything to achieve this goal—so he tells reporters that the country must do something about “the Japanese situation” in order to prevent another Pearl Harbor. His words sow division and discord. Warren knows that he’s talking about 100,000 innocent people, but that doesn’t matter to him.

Earl Warren insists that the state has reports of Japanese Americans spying, committing sabotage, or engaging in fifth column activities. To top it all off, he insists that Japanese people are “inscrutable”—it’s impossible to know what they’re thinking, so it’s essential to lock them up before they do anything bad. Thanks to the popularity he gained as a result of his rhetoric, Earl Warren ultimately became a three-term governor of California. He eventually became Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

Meanwhile, the mayor of Los Angeles, Fletcher Bowron, testifies in front of Congress. He insists that the Japanese are “nonassimilable.” In his testimony, he says that no matter how many generations have been born in the U.S., Japanese Americans are still Japanese. Many of them may want to be loyal, he says, but when push comes to shove, he believes “blood will tell.” He reminds Congress that they can’t risk letting Pearl Harbor happen again.

Eventually, pressure in the U.S. grows and President Roosevelt has to do something. On February 19, 1942—74 days after Pearl Harbor—he signs Executive Order 9066. This order conspicuously avoids using the words “Japanese” and “camps.” Instead, it authorizes the military to declare areas from which to then exclude people. Then, it asks the military to give those excluded people food, shelter, and transportation. Within 10 days, the entire West Coast and Arizona are declared a “military area,” and it’s obvious who will be excluded: anyone of Japanese ancestry.

During the spring of 1942, more than 100 civilian exclusion orders are issued. Each one orders Japanese Americans living in a certain area to report to a local spot “for processing and removal.” Soldiers load Japanese families onto buses and trains with only what they can carry. It’s unclear where these families are headed.

By this point, many Japanese families have already lost many of their assets and possessions. Following Pearl Harbor, the government froze bank accounts belonging to anyone they suspected of “enemy activity”—and “enemy activity” even included traveling internationally after June 1940. Then, following Executive Order 9066, the government seized all financial assets, property, and businesses held by Japanese Americans. Japanese business owners were forced to accept ridiculously small amounts of money for their goods, and some people broke their possessions rather than selling them to white Americans. To stay afloat, they had to sell everything—from trinkets to their homes—for next to nothing.

The government issues warnings, saying that any Japanese American farmers who stop tending their crops will be considered “wartime saboteurs.” When the crops are ready for harvest, private entities seize them. Later, in 1943, California passes a law allowing the state to take any abandoned farm equipment. Earl Warren doesn’t seem to care about the devastating effects of these policies. He tells curious reporters that he’s aware of what’s going on but hasn’t investigated anything. Eventually, Mama discovers that the Takeis’ bank account has been frozen, too.

By the middle of March, the Army begins evacuating districts and the government issues a curfew for all of the West Coast. Everyone of Japanese descent must stay at home between 8:00pm and 6:00am. According to Lt. General John L. DeWitt, the leader of the Western Defense Command, this is supposed to stop any attempts at sabotage or fifth column activity. Lt. General DeWitt is one of the men who holds the most responsibility for creating hysteria after Pearl Harbor.

Lt. General DeWitt tells reporters that the curfew is necessary because it’s impossible to separate loyal Japanese from those who are disloyal. This is due to “racial traits.” He insists that all of these measures are a military necessity, that the curfew will be strictly enforced, and that patriotic citizens must report violators to the authorities. President Roosevelt approves a law allowing police to arrest violators. Some people break the curfew on purpose to protest the unconstitutional regulations, even though the punishment is prison for a year, a $5,000 fine, or even both. Soon, the government creates more restrictions. Japanese Americans can’t travel more than five miles from home or work. Soon, relocation notices go up in the Takeis’ neighborhood. At this point, the soldiers come to the door.

It’s February 19, 2017. George Takei has been invited to speak at the FDR museum and presidential library in Hyde Park, New York. This is where President Roosevelt was born, lived, and now rests. It’s the 75th anniversary of Executive Order 9066—Japanese Americans observe this day as the Day of Remembrance. Entering the building on this date is a powerful experience. George takes his seat in front of the audience after one of President Roosevelt’s descendants introduces him. Addressing the audience, George says it’s an honor to speak here, and admits that he experienced many conflicting emotions on the drive (he took the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Parkway to get here). This place is “steeped in lore.” He’s familiar with the story of President Roosevelt’s presidency—and, in a lot of ways, George’s story starts here, too.

It’s the spring of 1942, and George and his family get off the train at the Santa Anita Racetrack. Every family is assigned a stall in the stables—and the stalls still smell like manure. George, at only five years old, doesn’t understand how unjust the situation is. He’s just excited to get to sleep in a horse stall. For his parents, though, this is devastating and humiliating. They worked so hard to buy a house in Los Angeles—and now they have to sleep in a barn.

Mama and Daddy do whatever they can to battle the unsanitary conditions. They take George, Henry, and Nancy Reiko to shower every day. But Nancy Reiko still comes down with a high fever. Mama takes the children to a stand in the middle of the stables, where people can get medicine. Eventually, George comes down with a cough too. He stays in bed and the lady in the next stall checks on him regularly. 

George and his family settle into life at the stables and attempt to create some semblance of normalcy. Some other people start a garden, for instance. Despite these attempts, though, many people are angry and confront the soldiers guarding the camp. George starts school under the grandstands at Santa Anita.

Several months after their arrival, the guards order the Japanese Americans to pack up and prepare to leave. Those who arrived at the racetrack after George’s family had the supposed luxury of getting to live in barracks constructed in the parking lot. To young George, they were lucky to live in houses. But for George’s family, there’s a long journey ahead of them before they’ll reach a more permanent home.

On the platform at the train station, guards shout at the Japanese Americans to line up quickly. Before people board, soldiers give each person an identification tag that they’re supposed to wear all the time. To Mama and Daddy, this is dehumanizing—but George thinks it’s just his train ticket.

On the train, there are guards at each end of every car, as though the passengers are criminals. Many people are sick and coughing. George finally asks Daddy where they’re headed. Daddy looks out the window at the passing desert and then says that they’re going on a vacation somewhere called Arkansas. George is enchanted; he wants to know what it’s like there. Daddy doesn’t know, but George remains excited. He doesn’t understand why people are crying—to him, it’s normal to go on vacation by train, with guards posted in the cars. All of this is an adventure.

Whenever the train approaches a town, the guards force the passengers to close the shades. Being so young, George and Henry don’t understand. They think this is just the way things are. On the second day, the train screeches to a halt and guards shout for everyone to get off the train. People begin to panic; the train is stopped in the middle of nowhere, so people fear that the guards are going to kill them. A guard shouts that this is the passengers’ opportunity to exercise, and some younger passengers translate the instructions into Japanese for older passengers who don’t speak much English.

Daddy leads George and Henry off the train. George promptly picks up a handful of dry dirt and throws it in Henry’s face, causing his little brother to chase him. Another man finally catches George, ending the game, and compliments Daddy on his “lively boys.” Daddy thanks the man and looks at his sons sadly. The boys continue to grin, and George believes that his father is in control. Now, he can only imagine what he was thinking during that journey, as they were forced to travel into an unknown future and leave everything behind.

Back in his 2017 talk at the FDR museum, George Takei tells the audience that his father took the brunt of the pain and anguish for his family. He says that when he was a teenager, he used to talk to his father after dinner about politics and the forced incarceration (internment) of Japanese Americans. During those conversations, Daddy taught George about “the power of American democracy.” He insisted that people can come up with wonderful ideals and do great things—but people, he warned, are also fallible. He knows that during World War II, people made horrible mistakes.

Jumping back to the exercise break, people mill around while soldiers lean against the train whistling. Henry and George giggle as one man urinates, and then a soldier shouts for everyone to get back on the train. George watches a soldier help a woman onto the train—and then he reaches out to touch the soldier’s gun. The gun is hot from the sun and it burns George, so he shouts and jumps. The soldier tells George not to do that again and then lifts him onto the train. Daddy follows behind with Henry and they rejoin Mama and Nancy Reiko.

Mama offers Henry and George their own water canteens. To George, this isn’t anything exciting or worth remembering. But later, he learns that Mama packed the canteens because she was concerned for her sons and was worried about the water supply on the trip. In addition, Mama goes to great lengths to stave off boredom. She has a bag of goodies filled with candy and snacks. This bag turns George and Henry’s journey into “an adventure of discovery” and makes it unforgettable. But for Mama and Daddy, the trip is anxious and frightening. Mama stays busy all the time so she doesn’t have to think about what she can’t control. She feeds Nancy Reiko and cleans Henry up when he gets motion sickness. She’s unwilling to let anything hurt her family.

George remembers Mama’s concern and Daddy sitting by the window, looking melancholy. But those memories are vague compared to his “bright, sharp memories” of discovering, playing games, and happiness. He acknowledges, though, that memory can be tricky. It’s dependable, but sometimes, it can play tricks—and childhood memories can be especially “slippery.” They can be joyful and sweet, but it’s also possible that those memories don’t fully get at the truth. To illustrate this, George shows how a game of hiding under the train seats came to an abrupt and—for his parents—frightening halt when a soldier hauled George out by his arms. As a kid, these memories were sweet, and these memories are real. But now, as an adult, George feels he’ll always be haunted by the reality of what was happening, which he barely understood at the time.

The train finally leaves the desert on the third day. In a town in Texas, Daddy pulls the shade down as the train screeches to a halt. George surreptitiously peeks under the shade and sees a group of old, weathered Black men sitting on a bench. He and Henry are awed, but Mama snaps the shade closed before a soldier notices.

On October 7, 1942, the train passes the border into Arkansas. Soldiers begin to shout, “Roar,” confusing George and Henry—they imagine lions dressed as soldiers. But the soldiers are actually shouting “Rohwer,” the name of the easternmost internment site. The passengers get off the train and line up alongside it, sweating in the sun. Finally, a guard calls for the Takei family. On the back of Daddy’s identification tag, without taking it off of Daddy’s shirt, the soldier writes their housing assignment—Block 6, Barrack 2, Unit F. A driver will take them there.

Daddy leads the family to a pickup truck. They load their things into the back and then climb in with a few other people—George is thrilled to be able to ride in the truck. As they drive, Japanese families wave to them. George explains to readers that Camp Rohwer was comprised of 33 blocks, each able to house 250 people. At its highest capacity, 8,500 Japanese Americans lived in the camp.

The truck stops at Block 6 and everyone helps unload. Daddy leaves Mama with the children while he goes to find their lodging. George and Henry look past the barbed wire fence into the foreboding woods. They hear something making a scary “ca-caw” noise in the trees. A slightly older boy sitting nearby whispers conspiratorially that it’s a dinosaur. George and Henry have never heard of dinosaurs, but they sense they should be afraid. The boy explains that dinosaurs were monsters who lived—and died—millions of years ago. He gets nervous when George asks why they can hear dinosaurs if they’re dead, but he quickly adds that the only place they didn’t die was in Arkansas. The boy insists that the fence is to keep the dinosaurs trapped.

When Daddy returns after finding their unit, George and Henry are still peering into the woods. Some young men arrive to help the Takei family move. One reaches for a heavy-looking bag that Mama always carries, but Mama pulls it away from him. She never lets anyone carry it for her, not even Daddy. The family trudges through the heat to Unit F and Daddy opens the door. A wall of heat rushes out; it’s as hot as a furnace inside. Daddy thanks the young men for their help and stands, staring at the cabin. He finally tells Mama to wait while he opens the windows to air it out. Mama worriedly wipes sweat off his face when he comes back out, and they decide to wait for a bit before they go in.

When the family does go inside, the cabin is still boiling hot. Daddy stops George from touching the potbelly stove, which must be hot enough to burn him. He then tells Mama that they’re handing out army cots at the end of the block; he’ll head out to grab some. As he turns to leave, though, Mama and Daddy hear their neighbors through the thin wall; they’re complaining about the heat. Mama whispers that they don’t have any privacy. In Japanese, Daddy murmurs that they can’t do anything about it. Soon after, he returns with the army cots.

Finally, it’s time for Mama to open her secret, heavy bag. George and Henry are excited—they assume it contains some massive treat for them. Instead, Mama pulls out her sewing machine. George, Henry, and Daddy are shocked and confused. Mama explains to Daddy that she couldn’t leave it, and the children will need new clothes. They stare at each other for a minute, and then Daddy reminds Mama that sewing machines aren’t allowed. She repeats that the children will need new clothes. After a minute, Daddy snorts and he and Mama break down into raucous laughter. George doesn’t understand what’s funny. To him and Henry, the sewing machine is a huge disappointment.

Mama and Daddy throw themselves into setting up their new lives. Mama turns their single room into a home by sewing curtains and braiding rugs—and before long, Nancy Reiko is taking her first steps. The only thing Mama doesn’t have to do is cook, but this doesn’t make her happy. Instead, not being able to feed her family is just another loss. Now, George wonders if everything Mama did in the camp was an act of defiance. Daddy, meanwhile, throws himself into the community. He leaves behind the anguish he felt on the train and volunteers wherever he’s needed. He also gets to know the people in Block 6.

Daddy meets Mrs. Takahashi, a mother of four whose husband was arrested for being a Buddhist minister. He also meets the Yasuda family. Federal agents arrested Mr. Yasuda for the supposed crime of teaching the Japanese language to schoolchildren. Both men’s only crimes were being highly visible in the Japanese American community, and for these crimes their wives are now on their own. 

In the camp, there are people from all over California and even some from Hawaii. There are Issei (immigrants from Japan), Nisei (second-generation immigrants), and some Sansei (children of Nisei). People in the camp held all sorts of professions before being incarcerated; the community is wildly different, but they’re the same in that they’re Japanese Americans in Block 6 of Camp Rohwer. Daddy feels strongly that they need to create a sense of community.

The land where Rohwer sits used to be swamp, and this becomes painfully obvious when the rains arrive. There’s mud everywhere and George doesn’t want to leave the cabin to use the latrine. George isn’t sure whose idea it is, but soon, men gather to build a sort of boardwalk above the muck. It makes traversing the muddy roads bearable. Problems continue to crop up, though, from the latrines not having any privacy dividers between toilets to disgusting meals consisting of animal intestine. Daddy sees all of this and realizes that someone needs to represent the community.

Daddy doesn’t think of himself as a leader, but he knows he’s qualified to lead. He speaks fluent Japanese and English, he’s only 39 (so he can relate to both the elders and the youth), and he’s experienced enough to seem credible but not out of touch. He willingly and proudly agrees to serve as block manager. This means he immerses himself in government bureaucracy, filling out forms and attending meetings. Daddy has so much to do in this capacity that he asks a young woman named Florence to be his secretary. She taps away on her typewriter and playfully scolds George when he touches it while her back is turned.

At the same time, George and Henry have the whole of the camp to explore. They amuse themselves catching beautiful butterflies, but they are startled into letting them go when older boys run past playing a loud game. Older boys play “war,” which is a lot like cowboys and Indians—but instead, it’s with Japanese and Americans. They shoot each other with sticks and argue over who has to be Japanese and who gets to be American. George is too young to want to play, so he and Henry continue to stalk insects.

One day, two older brothers named Ford and Chevy approach George and Henry. Ford asks George if he wants to learn a magic word that will give him power over the guards in the tower. George is thrilled that such a magic word exists, especially when Ford insists that the magic word will make the guards give him anything he wants. As Chevy smirks, Ford tells George to first shout everything he wants at the guard. Then, he must shout the magic word at the guards and they’ll give him everything he shouted for.

George’s eyes grow huge. As Ford and Chevy giggle, he imagines candy raining down around him. He asks again for the magic word, and Ford reminds George that he has to say it right. George promises. Very slowly and clearly, Ford says the word: sakana beach. George is perplexed; sakana means fish and this doesn’t seem very magical to him. He and Henry exchange a confused look as Ford says again that George has to say it just right. Ford explains that to say it right, he has to say it very fast and loud.

George turns toward the guard tower and confirms that he has to shout for everything he wants and then say “sakana beach” quickly. Henry asks him to get bubble gum, and Ford warns him that if he says it wrong, the guards will get angry and might shoot. This prospect is terrifying, but George tells himself he’s not a coward. He gets within 10 feet of the tower and starts yelling sweet treats at the confused guards. After yelling “tricycle,” George gathers his strength and hollers “sakana beach” at them. He keeps yelling it as one soldier picks up a rock and tosses at him. It bounces off of George’s head. George retreats, figuring he didn’t say it right. He grabs Henry and runs away while Chevy and Ford laugh uproariously.

Later, George asks Mama what’s so magical about sakana beach. She translates the words from Japanese to English and insists there’s no magic there; it’s just mixed-up words. George finally asks Daddy to help him figure it out. He recounts yelling for bubble gum and popsicles and finally yelling, “sakana beach.” Daddy thinks it over for a minute and then laughs, putting his head in his hands. He explains to his confused sons that the words sound like bad words in English, words that George and Henry should never use. He says that Ford and Chevy are bad for teaching them the words and they should be avoided. George agrees happily, but it’s not until much later that he understands that with the right inflection, sakana beach sounds like “son of a bitch.”

One day at breakfast, Daddy asks George and Henry if they’d like to go on a special outing outside the fence. He’s arranged to borrow a Jeep. George and Henry are ecstatic and can’t wait for tomorrow afternoon. The next 24 hours pass slowly. George tells all the boys he knows about their special trip. The boys insist that George is lucky, but George knows they get this privilege only because Daddy is the block manager.

Finally, Daddy pulls up in the jeep and honks the horn. George and Henry climb into the jeep and honk the horn, yelling for Mama to hurry up. Mama ties headscarves onto herself and Nancy Reiko and then climbs into the front seat. After Daddy signs a form at the gate, guards let him through. Daddy drives as fast as he can to thrill his sons and make Mama smile. They finally stop at a farm with chickens—and a terrifying creature that George thinks must be a dinosaur. But a farmer appears and explains that the creature is just a hog. Daddy says that the spam in the mess hall comes from hogs, and the farmer tells the boys to eat it so they grow big and strong.

As dusk arrives, Daddy speeds back to the camp. Mama turns around to see Henry asleep on George’s shoulder. She motions for George to not wake Henry up, and he silently agrees. George is getting sleepy too, but he vows to stay awake the entire time. Mama gazes at Nancy Reiko, also asleep, as she holds Daddy’s hand. Now, George thinks that childhood memories are so full of sounds, colors, smells, and temperatures. That afternoon trip in the jeep is still a fond memory that seems to “glow[] radiantly with warmth.”

Winter arrives with snow. George has never seen snow and he’s excited. It seems like magic to him. On the day of the first snow, George and Henry are the first ones out of the house and they immediately pelt Mama and Daddy with snowballs when they step outside. Daddy wastes no time in joining in the fun and helping the boys roll a massive snowball. This winter remains in George’s mind as a warm, happy time, despite the cold.

It’s soon Christmastime. The rumor spreads that Santa is coming to visit them, but it’s not clear when. George asks Daddy when Santa will come, but Daddy’s answer isn’t satisfactory: he’ll come sometime on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning. George is distraught. With a sob, he asks if Santa can get here any faster. Daddy reminds George that Santa has to visit kids in all 33 blocks, and he wants to spend time with each child. George is looking forward to it.

Dinner on Christmas Eve is a special meal of roast chicken, sweet potatoes, and even chocolate cake. George wolfs his food down, reasoning that if he finishes sooner, Santa will arrive sooner. But as time goes on, Santa still hasn’t come. George puts his head down and pokes at his chicken bones as a choir sings Christmas carols. Just when George is about to give up, he hears jingle bells. Santa bursts into the mess hall and asks each child—including Ford and Chevy—if they’ve been good. Henry and Nancy Reiko stare up at Santa with big eyes and accept their gifts.

Then, Santa turns to George and asks if he’s been good. George has, but something seems off. As he accepts his gift from Santa, he makes sure to poke the belly. It’s obviously fake, and upon closer inspection, this Santa is clearly Japanese. This isn’t the real Santa. George knows because last year, he got to sit on the real Santa’s lap. But George chooses not to spoil it for Henry and Nancy Reiko, so he stays quiet. He figures the real Santa couldn’t get past the barbed wire. Regardless, the fake Santa does make everyone’s Christmas a little brighter.

Not all of George’s memories are as happy as these. In January 1943, he wakes up to his parents talking about something “outrageous” having to do with allegiance to the emperor. Mama is crying, so George sits up and tells her not to cry. Mama and Daddy smile, tell George everything is fine, and say they’re just talking about adult things. George goes back to sleep.

For the reader, George explains that white Americans began to call Japanese Americans’ loyalty into question as soon as the war started. Lt. General DeWitt insisted that a Japanese person was still Japanese—even if they were technically an American citizen. Meanwhile, Senator Tom Stewart declared that it was impossible for Japanese people—and even for Japanese Americans—to assimilate into American society.

To make things even worse, young Japanese-American men tried to sign up for the military in droves early in in the war. But recruiters denied them and declared them “enemy aliens.” Any Japanese-Americans in the armed forces by the time of Pearl Harbor had their weapons taken, even though most of them had never even been to Japan and considered themselves entirely American. It’s insulting and ridiculous that the government believed they had “racial loyalty” to the Japanese emperor.

Early in February of 1943, President Roosevelt declares that any loyal citizen should be able to serve in the military, no matter where in the world their ancestors came from. Essentially, as the war drags on and the need for soldiers increases, the government has come around to allowing Japanese Americans can serve—as long as they’re “loyal citizens.” To judge whether Japanese Americans are loyal or not, the government and the army distribute questionnaires to all adults in the camps and ask everyone over the age of 17 to fill them out. The questionnaires want to know about any relatives in Japan, a person’s criminal records, and even what magazines they read.

But two questions, questions 27 and 28, become infamous. Question 27 asks if the respondent is willing to serve in the military on combat duty. Question 28 asks respondents if they’re willing to swear “unqualified allegiance” to the U.S. and defend the country from attacks—as well as give up any loyalty or obedience to the Japanese emperor, foreign governments, and foreign organizations. These two questions spark outrage in all the camps.

Mama and Daddy answer no to both questions, which gets them labeled “no-nos.” George explains that question 27 asks them to give their lives to a country that imprisoned them. Question 28, meanwhile, rests on the false pretense that all Japanese Americans feel a “racial allegiance” to Japan’s emperor. Answering affirmatively would mean agreeing that the respondent had any loyalty to give up. But whatever people answer, Japanese Americans realize that the government will use their responses to justify imprisonment. Either way, the U.S. government will feel they were right to lock up Japanese Americans and call them “enemy aliens.”

Daddy was raised in America, though he was born in Japan—and like all Asian immigrants, he couldn’t apply for U.S. citizenship. Question 27 asks him to agree to serve a country that denies him rights and then imprisons him for being Japanese. Being middle-aged, with a wife and three kids, serving also seems risky. Question 28 wants him to give up all his memories and heritage for a country that doesn’t want him anyway. For Mama, question 27 is just absurd, but question 28 frustrates her. She’s an American citizen, as are her three children. Her country, though, rejects her husband and has taken everything. The question asks her to prioritize her country over her family.

Other people, mostly Nisei, answer yes-yes. Although they find the questions ridiculous, they want to fight for their country and prove that they’re true patriots. So in early 1943, the army creates the 442nd regimental combat team, which is an all-Nisei unit consisting of thousands of Japanese Americans from the internment camps. When the Germans surround the 1st battalion, 141st regiment of the 36th Texas division in France, all hope seems lost. Two missions to save the battalion fail and finally, in the fall of 1944, commanders send in soldiers from the 442nd. After four days, the 442nd prevails and rescues 211 men. It suffers more than 800 casualties, and 42 soldiers are sent to Bavaria to a P.O.W. camp. By the end of the war, the 442nd is the most decorated unit of its size.

President Truman honors many soldiers from the 442nd with the Distinguished Service Cross in the summer of 1946. This is the second-highest honor possible. More than 50 years later, in 2000, the government upgrades the cross to the Congressional Medal of Honor. At this time, President Bill Clinton had already asked George to serve on the Japan-U.S. Friendship Commission, and George watches the surviving members of the 442nd receive the award.

The most famous soldier to receive the medal is Senator Daniel K. Inouye, a senator from Hawaii. (Years after this, he helps George found the Japanese American National Museum.) Several years before, another senator from Hawaii, Daniel Akaka, pushed the Army and Navy to review whether they had unfairly denied Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders who served in World War II the Medal of Honor. President Clinton said that day that “Rarely has a nation been so well-served by a people it has so ill-treated.”

Other young men see things differently. Some are willing to fight, but only if they can sign up in their hometowns, like all other Americans. They refuse to leave their families in the camps so they can wear the same uniforms as the sentries who guard the camps. In 1944, several dozen men who resisted in this way are taken to Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary in Kansas. George is proud of them; he thinks they’re as heroic as the Japanese Americans who fought in Europe. Through their different responses—caring for families, fighting, or going to jail—Japanese Americans demonstrate their courage. They prove that “being American is not just for some people.” Their choices are difficult, but they all demonstrate their patriotism.

On May 9, 1944, George’s family prepares for another relocation, this time to Tule Lake. They’re being relocated because of their answers to the survey questions. On the platform, George asks Mama why everyone is crying. She explains gently that people might not see their friends again. George looks out the window at his friends’ and neighbors’ faces. The barracks were his home—and the guard towers, once terrifying, are just part of the landscape. Nancy Reiko screams as the train pulls out. They’re all scared of what might come next.

Five days later, the train pulls into Camp Tule Lake in northern California. It’s very different from Rohwer. There are three layers of barbed wire fences, and it’s a maximum-security “segregation camp for disloyals.” Guarding the camp are battle-ready troops, machine gun towers, and tanks. When Henry asks George why they’re at Camp Tule Lake, George says it’s because Mama and Daddy are no-nos. Henry doesn’t know what this means.

George Takei explains to readers that many Japanese Americans responded no-no on the questionnaire. Though a few applied for repatriation, most people didn’t want to go to Japan, which at this time was war-torn. Those who didn’t apply for repatriation ended up at Camp Tule Lake. This camp was the cruelest, most notorious, and the biggest of the internment camps. At its height, it held 18,000 prisoners—almost half of them children.

At Camp Tule Lake, George loves living across from the mess hall, but Mama hates it. The clang of the bell annoys her every morning. However, Daddy points out that this spot means they get two rooms, which is better for their family of five. They finally have an actual living room. In addition to the constant noise, Mama complains often about the smells from the cleanup crews. The other downside is that their unit is far away from the latrines. One night, when Henry has to use the toilet, George races with him across the camp. They return when Henry wets himself. After this night, Mama starts to save coffee cans to keep in the bedroom, just in case.

Since the family lives so close to the mess hall, George is able to get front-row seats for movie nights. Here he discovers what power movies can have. He vividly remembers The Hunchback of Notre Dame starring Charles Laughton and empathizes with his character. Some nights, the camp shows Japanese movies without the audio track. But instead of showing them silent, the camp employs a benshi to provide the soundtrack. Daddy explains what benshi do: when movies were silent, benshi were considered artists and could create many voices and sounds. George is fascinated.

Once again, Daddy becomes a block manager. He works hard and because of this, he doesn’t spend as much time with Mama and his children. This is hard for George—and for Mama.

One morning, George wakes up to discover young men marching and chanting “wah shoi!” They all wear headbands featuring the Japanese Empire’s flag. They’re disillusioned and feel betrayed by the U.S. after suffering years of abuse, so they’ve decided that if the government is going to treat them like enemies, they might as well act like it. They’ve become radicalized—or, at least, that’s how the camp’s sentries, who are U.S. soldiers, view them. To the sentries, the entire camp is filled with “disloyal Japs.”

George explains that anyone who answered no-no on the questionnaire, even in protest like Mama and Daddy, is lumped in with real radicals. Soldiers raid barracks at night to arrest radical leaders, but they often arrest the wrong people. They bar people from working if they suspect them of being radicalized, which disrupts food and fuel deliveries and hurts the entire camp. Even worse, though, is that internees turn on each other. Some men accuse their fellows of being informants and sometimes the fights escalate to include insults and punches. George and Henry watch a fight wide-eyed and don’t understand why one man called another “inu,” which means dog. The camp command sends the boys home.

Since Daddy knows everything, George and Henry ask him about what they saw and heard. Daddy explains that the man called the other man a dog because he’s upset, and perhaps he thinks the other man did something bad to the Japanese to curry favor with the guards. When George asks if people have done stuff to the Japanese, Daddy says he doesn’t know—but they shouldn’t guess about that sort of thing and fuel rumors and division. Finally, George asks what “ketoh” means; both men shouted that at the guards. Daddy says it’s another word that hurts people, but the guards weren’t hurt because they don’t know what it means. It means “hairy breed.” George muses that white people are very hairy, but Daddy says it’s still a bad word.

It seems like every day the tensions between the guards and internees increase. One day, Daddy, George, and Henry see guards carry off a man. Another guard yells at the surrounding crowds to go home, otherwise they’ll end up in the stockade with their “radical friend.” Daddy leads the boys away quickly, but George says they need to help the man. Daddy pulls his sons away anyway.

Traumatic experiences like these haunt George for years. He explains that most Japanese Americans of his parents’ generation prefer not to talk about internment with their children. They all live “haunted by shame for something that wasn’t their fault.” Shame, George says, is cruel. Perpetrators should feel shame, but victims tend to feel more of it. However, unlike most parents, Daddy is willing to talk to George. As a teenager, when George asks why Daddy allowed the family to go to the camps when he knew it was wrong, Daddy encourages George to see that everything was stacked against him. He had kids to consider, and they were escorted from their house at gunpoint.

Teenage George angrily accuses his father of consenting to the abuse. Daddy asks what George thinks he should’ve done instead. George shouts that he would’ve protested, organized his friends, and done everything to stop the incarceration. The Japanese, he insists, are too passive—someone needed to speak up. Daddy says that it would’ve made sense for a teenage George to protest, but he had the family to think about. He says George will understand someday. Enraged, George asks if he’ll understand when he grows up, and then he insists he’s already grown up, and he knows that Daddy led them into a prison with barbed wire. Daddy says that perhaps George is right and leaves the room. Today, it pains George to think about what he said to his father. He suffered and understood far more than George will ever understand.

By the time George is a teenager, Rohwer and Tule Lake aren’t history yet. One day, George and Daddy talk about one of George’s most frightening memories: being in a crowd of shouting people, having guards break up the crowd with batons, and being separated from Daddy. George shouted for Daddy as a jeep bore down on him, and Daddy pulled George to safety at the last moment.

Daddy explains to teenage George that the assembly was a demonstration protesting the arrest of a supposed radical. The man wasn’t a radical, but it didn’t matter if he was or not. It was important, he says, to exercise their right to assembly and show the camp command that they opposed the arrest. At this moment, George realizes he’s been participating in democracy since he was a small child. This, he insists, is proof of the strength of the American system: people can organize, speak up, and engage in the democratic process.

George resumes his childhood narration from the camp. He says that, in the moment, some people already know the internment camps are wrong and want to do something about them. Every month, a Quaker missionary named Herbert Nicholson brings books from a local bookstore to the camps. Though the camp director gives him permission to come and go, not everyone is happy about what he does—and once, armed men attack his truck. The people in one of the camps he frequents believe he won’t come back after the attack, but he returns the next month with more books. He continues his work delivering books and once even brings an internee their relative’s cremated remains. He sometimes takes pets to veterinarians outside the camp. After the war, he continues to advocate for Japanese Americans.

On July 1, 1944, George senses something off. He asks Daddy if something is wrong. Daddy says that there are lots of things wrong, but everything’s okay today. In some ways, Daddy is wrong: in Washington, D.C., a few months ago, the House took up a bill that would create one of the most complicated issues to come out of incarcerating Japanese Americans. Attorney General Francis Biddle drafted H.R. 4103, which would give interned Japanese Americans the “right” to give up their rights as citizens. He explained to the House that it would expatriate those who have been openly disloyal to the U.S., despite being born in the country. It passed, 111 to 23.

In June, H.R. 4103 goes before the Senate. Several senators speak in support of the bill, hoping that Japanese Americans will take advantage of it. This will mean that the U.S. can offer them to the Japanese government in exchange for imprisoned American citizens. The bill passes with little debate and no opposition. Days later, on July 1, the president signs the bill into law. Now, Japanese Americans have “the ‘right’ to become ‘enemy aliens.’” The group most likely to be affected is the Nisei, like Mama.

In October of 1944, Mama leads George, Henry, and Nancy Reiko past a man speaking. He shouts that America treats them like garbage, and they shouldn’t take it anymore. Instead, they must take pride in their heritage. Back in the cabin, Mama and Daddy discuss what they should do, since it seems like everyone wants them to go to Japan. Daddy assures her that together, they’ll choose the best path.

On December 18, 1944, headlines run in all the papers announcing that the Supreme Court ruled that it’s illegal to hold “loyal Nisei” in camps. This means the camps will close in six months to a year, and the family will have to leave Tule Lake. This news terrifies and confuses people. People come to Daddy, concerned that they have nowhere to go. They’re aware that anti-Japanese sentiment is as strong as ever outside of the camps, but Daddy assures everyone that he’ll share more information as he gets it.

George stands by the fence that day, listening to young men debate the issue. One of them is excited to go home; the other insists that their homes are gone and white people aren’t going to be kind. George notes that ironically, the barbed wire fences simultaneously imprisoned them and protected them. It was dangerous outside the fences.

Only a few dozen Japanese Americans have renounced their citizenship by this time. Soldiers make rounds through the camps asking people if they’re planning to renounce their citizenship, and they make it clear that if people renounce, they get to stay safely in the camp. It seems clear to Mama and Daddy that in order to keep the family safe and together, they’ll have to renounce citizenship.

Weeks later, Mama stands in line to renounce her citizenship, along with thousands of other Japanese Americans at Tule Lake. To many, it seems worthless. Some protest the U.S. government with the pro-Japanese militants, but others—like Mama—have other concerns. Mama chooses to renounce her citizenship with the hope of being able to force the government into protecting her family. Mere months later, George’s family learns that this was a grave miscalculation.

It’s August 1945, and the news rips through the camp that Hiroshima no longer exists. Japanese Americans fret about family members living in Hiroshima, and many don’t believe the attack actually happened. (Many people also didn’t believe it when they got the news that President Roosevelt died; they figured it was propaganda meant to unsettle them.) But then, three days later, the U.S. bombs Nagasaki. Many families at Tule Lake, including George’s, are devastated. Mama sobs for family members she assumes are dead. Daddy holds and comforts her, encouraging her to go on. The camp grows eerily silent.

Mere days later, on August 14, Daddy comes into the mess hall to announce that Japan surrendered and the war is over. Everyone stares at him silently until one man shouts that it’s a trick. Daddy insists it’s not a trick. Now they have to prepare for the camp to close.

The government cuts services at the camps to encourage people to move out. The people who renounced their citizenship have no choice but to stay, though. Mama and Daddy worry about what they’ll do in Japan. Mama is supposed to depart on the first ship of “enemy aliens” on November 15, 1945. Though she was born in Sacramento, she’s going to be deported to a war-torn country.

A lawyer from San Francisco, Wayne Collins, has challenged Order 9066 to the Supreme Court. Now, he dedicates himself to helping with what becomes known as the renunciation crisis. Thousands of prisoners renounced their citizenship to protect their families, but now that the war has ended, everything is different. Mr. Collins insists that he’ll keep fighting—and that it’s ridiculous to think that people can renounce their citizenship. In September, about 1,000 people who renounced citizenship form the Tule Lake Defense Committee, with Wayne Collins as their representative. He argues in court that people renounced because they were forced to do so as a result of their internment and the poor conditions at Tule Lake—and that the government is responsible.

Two days before the ship is supposed to depart, Wayne Collins files habeas corpus suits for almost 1000 plaintiffs. The next day, a Japanese American attorney, Ted Tamba, delivers the news that it worked. He explains that they’re scheduling mitigation hearings, and Mama’s will take place right away. Mr. Collins and the San Francisco branch of the ACLU lead the legal defense—but the San Francisco ACLU is the only branch of the organization to stand up for the rights of Japanese Americans.

The ship leaves on schedule, but George’s family isn’t on it. Nearly 90% of the people who received hearings are released. It takes years to get Mama’s citizenship back, but in 1945, being freed from deportation means that the family can move anywhere in the U.S. George believes that Wayne Collins determined his destiny, as well as that of many other Japanese Americans.

Internees will receive a one-way ticket to anywhere in the U.S., so now the family has to decide where to go. Daddy wants to go back to Los Angeles, but Mama is concerned it won’t be safe anymore. She suggests Salt Lake City, where Daddy’s brother lives. Daddy won’t have it, though—they have so many happy memories in Los Angeles. Finally, they decide that Daddy will go ahead to Los Angeles and see if it’s safe. If it is, Mama, George, Henry, and Nancy Reiko will follow. Daddy leaves the week before Christmas. Though George remembers every Christmas in the camp, he doesn’t remember this one without Daddy.

On March 6, 1946, it’s finally time for George’s family to leave. He walks around the camp until the car arrives to take them to the train station. Finally, he and his family don’t have to live behind barbed wire anymore. As the train approaches Los Angeles, George watches the glistening city. Mama points out city hall and other landmarks. George doesn’t recognize them, but he feels an instant connection to the city of his birth. He and Henry race to Daddy as soon as they catch sight of him.

The family’s first home is on skid row, where “derelicts and drunkards” live. George smells urine everywhere, and the people drinking and vomiting traumatize him. Nancy Reiko begs to go back home to the camps. Daddy leads the family to the Alta Hotel. George tells the reader that none of this was normal, but children are adaptable, and they survive. The most challenging part of this new chapter for the children is climbing stairs for the first time.

Daddy takes a job as a dishwasher and also opens a small employment agency in the Little Tokyo district. The Japanese Americans starting over turn to their former block manager to help them, and Daddy is happy to help. But this doesn’t last long, since Daddy can’t bring himself to accept payment. Finally, Mama asks him to stop. She says it’s time to take care of the family, not everyone else. So after six weeks, the family packs up for a new job and a new life. They move into a Mexican American barrio in East Los Angeles.

While in the camps, news traveled slowly. It’s not until the family is in East L.A. that Mama receives a letter from her mother, saying that she and Mama’s father survived the bombing of Hiroshima. But weeks later, Mama gets another letter informing her that her sister and nephew died in the bombing. Their bodies were found in a canal, and it appears that they’d caught fire and thrown themselves into the canal. Mama holds George and cries. Their lives are normalizing, but the war continues to devastate them.

George starts elementary school and feels like “just your average American kid.” But his fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Rugen, treats him rudely. She ignores him whenever he raises his hand and punishes him for every little thing on the playground. One day, George overhears her talking to someone else about “that little Jap boy.” The slur cuts George open and makes him feel ashamed. George doesn’t understand why Mrs. Rugen hates him so much, but he hates her in return.

As George and his classmates stand and recite the Pledge of Allegiance, George understands on some level that Mrs. Rugen’s use of the slur is connected to the fact that he spent time in the camp. He knows by now that the camp was a bit like jail, but he doesn’t understand what he did to end up there. He feels guilty about his internment, and he feels like he deserves to be called nasty names.

When George is a teenager, he grows curious about the internment camps. He flips through civics and history books, but he finds nothing about the forced incarceration of Japanese Americans. Over the course of his civics and government classes in school, George starts to see internment as an assault on Japanese Americans—but also on the constitution. The constitution guarantees due process and equal protection, but fear, prejudice, and “unscrupulous politicians” won out. George can’t reconcile the “shining ideals of democracy” he reads about in those books with his memories of imprisonment.

Now, as an adult, he believes that this is emblematic of a larger problem: Americans don’t learn about the worst moments in American history, so they don’t learn the lessons those moments should teach. As a result, Americans repeat those moments over and over again.

As George gets older, he wonders why Mrs. Rugen hated him so much. He thinks that perhaps her husband or a son served in the Pacific theater and George looked like their enemies. But this speaks to another problem—Japanese Americans are Americans, but they were still seen as enemies.

Several years later, George begins to study acting at U.C.L.A. When he sees the posters looking for actors to act in an original musical—Fly Blackbird!—about the issue of Japanese internment in World War II, George knows it’s too important not to audition. The musical opens to rave reviews and over the course of its run, it touches many audience members. Most importantly, it champions “positive change and hope for a common future.” Over the course of the show, George meets many people who become very important to him. One of these people is Nichelle Nichols, whom he meets backstage one night. She’s an actor, too, and eventually, she and George will become “permanently linked.”

On June 18, 1961, George and the cast of Fly Blackbird! perform at the Los Angeles sports arena. This isn’t unusual; the cast often performs songs from the show at rallies. But this one is special: the speaker is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. When the cast finishes their number, Dr. King takes the podium and speaks about the American Dream. He defines it as a dream unique to the U.S., in which people—no matter their race, nationality, or faith—can live as brothers. Dr. King notes that the U.S. often talks about democracy, but it sometimes fails to uphold the principles of democracy. It’s important now, he says, that people challenge America to make its dream a reality. The people working to make the American Dream a reality, moreover, are the “true saviors of democracy.”

George is spellbound. Dr. King’s words resonate with him, both as an American and as a performer. He loves that Dr. King was able to connect with the whole arena with just his voice. After the rally, the cast of Fly Blackbird! gets to meet Dr. King backstage. Though George only gets to speak with Dr. King for a moment, Dr. King’s words stick with him even today: he thanked George for his contribution to the rally and complimented his performance. Not long after, George marches with Dr. King in Los Angeles, another experience he can’t forget.

However, George acknowledges that Daddy inspired him to become an activist much earlier. Jumping back in time to an after-dinner talk during George’s teenage years, Daddy tells George about American democracy. He insists that American democracy is a participatory democracy that depends on people who truly believe in its ideals—and, as a result of that belief, who engage in politics. To show George how this works, Daddy takes him to volunteer for Adlai Stevenson’s 1952 presidential campaign. This, Daddy insists, is democracy in action. They see Adlai Stevenson speak; he notes that in the U.S., anyone can be president. This, Daddy suggests, is one of the big risks of the system.

One day while George and Daddy are volunteering, excited whispers whip through the campaign office. One volunteer lines everyone up for a special guest: Eleanor Roosevelt. She shakes hands with everyone in line, including George, and even thanks George by name for his help. George is ecstatic that she knows his name—and then he remembers he’s wearing a nametag. The only thing missing in that happy moment is George’s father. Earlier that day, when the rumors had started to circulate of Mrs. Roosevelt’s visit, Daddy began to feel unwell and went home early. Only later did George realize that Daddy wasn’t sick. He just didn’t want to shake hands with the spouse of the man who locked his family up.

Following his role in Fly Blackbird!, George takes more guest roles in various Hollywood productions, such as Playhouse 90, The Twilight Zone, and Mission: Impossible. In many of them, George’s nationality was a big factor in being cast. In these three shows in particular, George’s lines had him speak about being American, despite his Japanese heritage.

But the show that changes George’s life begins with a meeting at R.K.O Studios, now known as Desilu Studios. Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, both former actors, own the studio—and even better, Arnaz is a Cuban immigrant. George’s agent, Fred Ishimoto, arranges for George to meet with someone about filming a series pilot. This would mean steady work. George struggles to read the scribbled name on the note from Fred and hopes everything works out as he enters the office. Embarrassingly, George doesn’t read the name correctly and tells the secretary he’s here to meet with Mr. Rosenbury. The name, she explains, is Mr. Roddenberry, but she asks him to have a seat. George is mortified and hopes he didn’t blow his opportunity. He gets increasingly nervous as he waits.

Finally, the secretary sends George into Mr. Roddenberry’s office. The man is genial, spontaneous, and immediately makes George comfortable. They chat for a bit and discuss how to properly pronounce George’s last name (it rhymes with okay). Finally, Mr. Roddenberry tells George about the TV pilot. It takes place in the 23rd century aboard a spaceship, and the character’s name is Sulu. Sulu is a young science officer, and he must be Asian to represent that part of the world. Mr. Roddenberry assures George that Sulu will be “strong, sharp, and likeable.” This is a major departure from how Hollywood usually depicts Asian men as menaces or unintelligent. But Mr. Roddenberry even apologizes for this history and says that Sulu will be a real officer.

After the meeting, at lunch with Fred, George finally thinks to ask what the title of the show is. It’s going to be called Star Trek. Fred admits the title is good, but he reminds George that they still have to sell the pilot—a tough job. As they leave the restaurant, George says very seriously that he must have this role. Fred says, without much hope, that it’s a long shot to believe that something about outer space is going to sell. But as George goes on with his life, he hopes constantly that he’ll get it.

George does get the role. As Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, George is able to give an honorable representation of his Asian heritage to millions of television viewers. Later, he even acts in six films as Lt. Commander Sulu—and Sulu eventually becomes the captain. Most importantly, though, George’s fame gives him a platform. From his platform, he can address social causes important to him.

In 2015, George stars in the Broadway musical Allegiance. The talented cast is made up of mostly Asian American performers, and the musical tells the story of the Japanese internment. Over 120,000 people see the show—which is about the same number of Japanese Americans as were interned in the camps. One evening, George receives a special visitor in his dressing room: Florence, Daddy’s secretary from Rohwer, who is now an old lady. George is able to introduce her to his husband, Brad.

Jumping then to his 2017 talk at the FDR museum, George says that in 1988, President Ronald Reagan apologized on behalf of the U.S. government for interning Japanese Americans. He signed an act granting former internees $20,000. Years earlier, George had testified before the Commission on Wartime Relocation and Internment of Civilians, telling the commission about his experience in the camps. By 1988, when President Reagan gives a speech explaining what happened, it’s been more than 40 years since internment. In those 40 years, Japanese Americans had been elected to serve in Congress and other important offices. President Reagan insists in his speech that it’s impossible to make up for the years Japanese Americans lost in the camps, but it’s important to admit wrongdoing and commit to championing equal justice under the law.

George doesn’t receive his letter of apology and a check for $20,000 until several years later, in 1991. George H.W. Bush, now president, signed the check. George remembers his father saying, “the wheels of democracy turn slowly.” Though this turn of events says amazing things about the U.S., the apology was too late for Daddy. Daddy died in 1979 and never knew that the government would later apologize.

In his talk at the F.D.R. museum, George says he doesn’t know if something like that could happen elsewhere in the world. It reminds him of something Daddy used to say, though: that American democracy is the best. As a teenager, George couldn’t understand how he could say this when the U.S. government took everything away from him and Mama. Daddy replied that President Roosevelt pulled the country out of the Depression and did other great things. Nonetheless, Roosevelt was also fallible and human, and he made an awful mistake with internment. Despite this, Daddy still thinks American democracy is the best in the world because “it’s a people’s democracy,” and people can do amazing things.

When George thinks about it now, he realizes that those talks with Daddy informed his worldview and made him want to share his family’s story with as many people as he could. Because of this desire, George shares his story with Scott Simon on NPR’s Weekend Edition. Over the course of George’s lifetime, he’s seen people embrace Daddy’s ideals wholeheartedly, as when President Barack Obama was elected president in 2008. But at times, he’s also seen the same story play out again, as in the 2018 policy of separating immigrant families at the U.S.-Mexico border.

George jumps back to 1942 to tell Fred Korematsu’s story. He was born and raised in Oakland, California, and initially refused to relocate, but he ended up in the Topaz Relocation Center in 1942. While he and the ACLU sued to try to overturn the executive order mandating internment, he lost his court case and began the appeals process in 1942. Eventually, his case made it to the Supreme Court—and he lost again. According to Justice Hugo Black, Korematsu was excluded from the military area not because of racism or anything personal—he was excluded because the country was at war with Japan. This case found Executive Order 9066 constitutional, and the Supreme Court didn’t overturn it until June 26, 2018. But this is no cause for celebration. The Supreme Court struck down Korematsu in a side note in Trump V. Hawaii, the case that upheld President Trump’s ban on immigration from Muslim-majority countries.

As an effect of Trump v. Hawaii, many Muslims are denied entry to the U.S. In her dissent, Justice Sonia Sotomayor acknowledges that overruling Korematsu is an important step. But she also insists that the court’s ruling in Trump v. Hawaii uses the exact same logic that Korematsu did. She insists the rulings “replace[] one ‘gravely wrong’ decision with another.”

In 1986, George received his star in Hollywood. He tells readers that over the years, he’s had the opportunity to tell his story all over the world. Today, he can connect with people in new ways, such as on Twitter—in addition to acting and sharing his story through exhibits at the Japanese American National Museum. Everything he’s accomplished, he believes, is because of Daddy.