Japanese American Internment, No-No Boy, and War Atrocities

Identity and Loyalty in No-No Boy

How did wartime responses and the subjective feelings of interned Japanese Americans shape the demand that they prove their loyalty to the United States? This paper addresses that question by drawing primarily on John Okada's novel No-No Boy, relevant course lectures, and the documentary Conscience and the Constitution.

No-No Boy approaches the question of identity from the perspective of an outsider, in contrast to the internal entrapment feelings associated with suburbia explored elsewhere. The novel follows Ichiro, who emerges from prison feeling confused and insecure about his place in the postwar world. He did not serve in the war, and his survival functions as a commentary on what it means to be a non-white American living within suburban America. He remains in the city, longing to be part of the American Dream unfolding around him. Yet he cannot find his place, and he spends much of the novel persecuting and blaming himself. Ichiro's desperation to belong to America is so intense that he is willing to take Kenji's place. This elusive ideal demonstrates both the isolation and sadness Ichiro feels and the crippling pretense underlying the entire situation.

The novel addresses two important issues: loyalty to the Japanese emperor and service in the U.S. military. Ichiro, the novel's protagonist, is a "no-no boy," and most of his internal anguish stems directly from that identity. He constantly questions the government, himself, his country, and his friends, which produces an ongoing state of emotional turmoil. The following passage captures this experience:

"Surprisingly, Ichiro felt relieved. Eto's anger seemed to serve as a release to his own naked tensions. As he stooped to lift the suitcase, a wet wad splattered over his hand and dripped onto the black leather. The legs of his accuser were in front of him. God in a pair of green fatigues, U.S. Army style. They were the legs of the jury that had passed sentence upon him. Beseech me, they seemed to say, throw your arms about me and bury your head between my knees and seek pardon for your great sin."

This passage represents the universal feelings of confusion, shame, and guilt that incarcerated Japanese Americans faced at the time. After being spat on, Ichiro registers an unexpected reaction of relief, and the reason he felt relieved is that he shamefully believed he deserved such treatment. Given Ichiro's complete focus on shame — a preoccupation characteristic of Japanese Americans during that era — it is understandable that some critics would argue Ichiro functions only within the "dominant discourse." Nevertheless, grounding the character's argument in a conflicted and self-hating persona accurately reflects the experience of a Japanese American whose wartime position placed him on the most conflicted side of the spectrum. Okada himself was a "yes-yes boy" who served in the U.S. military and likely did not experience the identity crisis that Ichiro endures.

Characters and the Ambiguity of the American Dream

Okada therefore had to be deliberate in portraying his characters in order to convey the lack of such experience in his central character. His characters had to replicate things familiar to a person like Ichiro, and Okada intentionally highlighted only accurate features of Ichiro's psychology. This strategy worked in Okada's favor: readers became thoroughly identifiable with Ichiro. Although this may constitute a "dominant discourse," it was essential for Okada to ground his character in the feelings that Japanese Americans actually held at the time. Ichiro's initial narrow-mindedness is deliberate, just as each character in the novel embodies different feelings held by different members of the Japanese American community — confusion like Ichiro's, weakness like Papa's, or the seemingly helpless hurt of Emi. Kenji is equally important as a character who represents another segment of that community entirely.

Kenji represents the portion of the Japanese American population that had become identified with the American Dream. He is accepting and quietly contemplative — a symbol of those who have achieved the ideal that Ichiro and many other characters desire. Kenji's achievements allow Okada to reveal to the reader the ambiguous nature of being American. This is evident during a family gathering:

"No one said much during the first part of the dinner. Tom ate ravenously. Hanako seemed about to say something several times but could not bring herself to speak. The father kept looking at Kenji without having to say what it was that he felt for his son. Surprisingly, it was Tom who broached the subject which was on all their minds."

The surrounding context — references to basketball, pie, and domestic comfort — reinforces this atmosphere while simultaneously revealing a high level of hidden dissatisfaction beneath the surface of the achieved American Dream. The author appears to view this disappointment as cultural in nature.

The greatest source of tension at the family gathering is Kenji's illness, but the author contextualizes it in precisely this way in order to make the reader question what being American truly means. Kenji's character communicates the message that the American Dream is different for everyone — not a rigid value but a fluid, perpetually shifting ideal, particularly for Japanese Americans of that era. Okada uses this idea to juxtapose with Ichiro's narrow-minded beliefs. Those beliefs shape much of the novel, and Okada does not define Japanese American experience exclusively through "acts" — as some critics generalize when discussing Asian Americans in literature — but also through inactions. One might argue that inactions are themselves acts, but in the context of No-No Boy, Ichiro's decision not to join the army can reasonably be read as an "inaction" rather than an "act."

Conscience and the Constitution: Draft Resistance and Masculinity

The distinction may seem inconsequential, but how one views the issue changes one's perspective entirely. Viewing it through the lens of "action" implies that Ichiro's choice not to enlist was premeditated and conscious, when in fact it was not entirely intentional. Ultimately, both elements — the slice of Japanese American experience that each character represents and the inaction of Ichiro — converge under the theme of deliberation. Whether the deliberateness belongs to Ichiro within the story or to Okada as the author in his measured depiction of Japanese Americans, his choices are always apparent. Ichiro stands simultaneously as a young man who struggles to see through the haze of Americana stereotyping and as a young man who has no idea what to do about those struggles.

The documentary Conscience and the Constitution explores Japanese Americans who resisted the U.S. government's attempts to draft them into military service even while they were imprisoned. The film seeks to redefine these men not as traitors but as heroic, loyal individuals whose courage and masculinity directly contradict the emasculating narratives that have historically surrounded draft resistance. The documentary provides a broad picture of the Japanese American incarceration experience and reframes the draft resisters as powerful, courageous, and heroic figures. It tells the story of men who persisted in challenging the incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II despite enormous personal cost. The lone heroes in this narrative possessed the moral courage to fight for unpopular principles in the face of overwhelming opposition and obstacles. The film addresses the experiences of those who resisted incarceration by refusing to serve the military.

The emergence of Frank Emi as the film's primary hero is consistent with this narrative of the individual who stands up to the system despite all obstacles. The first conversation between Frank Emi and Mits Koshiyama draws attention to the humiliating experiences both men faced: scenes of police patting down the men, government functionaries inspecting them, and military personnel dragging protesters away. There are courtroom photographs of young men, some wearing high school letterman jackets. The film's central message is that incarceration was degrading and humiliating to Japanese American masculinity, but that the acts of draft resisters like Frank Emi offered a measure of redemption and hope to the community.