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TI: While you were talking to your father, did you talk much about how people at Tule Lake talked about your case and what you were doing?

GH: Well, he, he's just an inmate there. And like most people, he could hear some rumors. He knew that there's a circle of people that gave him respect because his son was in jail, fighting quote in, for their case. And so that sort of thing. But others who would say, maybe not to him but among themselves, "Well, maybe his son should have kept quiet. Rocking the boat is not the way to do things." So you had differences there. But it wasn't totally, they, they weren't treated like pariahs because of me. And in some respects, they heard people say, "Thanks for what your son is doing." When I got a letter from them once -- my mother used to write me once a week in about a half-page typewriter-size paper, just a summary of events. She said when she arrived was -- and was unpacking at Tule Lake, a knock came. And she opened the door, and there were two ladies, dusty, shoes dusty and so on. They had walked from the other end of camp. They were one of the first inmates there from, I forgot what the name of that, nickname of that island was in Los Angeles Harbor where a lot of Japanese fishermen --

TI: Terminal Island?

GH: Terminal Island. And they had been the first ones removed. And so they were the first occupants way on the other end of camp. And they walked about a mile and a half through the dusty road to welcome them. They said, "We heard that the family of the boy that's in jail is arriving today. So we came out to welcome you and to say thank you for your son." And when I read that, I experienced a sudden removement of weight on my shoulders, which I didn't realize I was carrying, ever since the time when my mother pled with me to, she said, "I admire what you've done. I agree with you. But if we get separated now, we may never see each other again. If the government could do this sort of thing, it could keep us apart. So please, come with us. It's important to keep together." And I said, "I'd like to, but I'm in, I'm in the hands of others who are looking after me, and you don't have to worry on that part. I just can't go. I wouldn't be the same person if I went now because I, I took a stand, and I can't give it up." And so even tears couldn't change my views.

But it gave me a sense of guilt on failing to respond as a dutiful son. But I didn't realize I was carrying it. When I read that letter saying, that visit gave me a big lift, that weight left. So I realized that I was carrying kind of a guilt feeling as a son, until I read -- because I knew that standing there next to her wouldn't have given her the same kind of lift. So lots, lots of peculiar encouragement came during my experience of taking a stand. And so I've had no occasion to regret the stand, wishing I had done something different. It's just that I wished I could have done it more dynamically than I did. I mainly, well, I guess it wouldn't make any difference. The stand I took was important to the extent that there were people behind, behind me left in Seattle, and also around the country. And as time went on that increased. And when we had our rehearing forty years later, we found Sansei lawyers taking charge.

<End Segment 6> - Copyright © 1999 Densho. All Rights Reserved.