Around the table there were various exclamations of awe and approval. Mr. Shimura nodded and said, “To discuss the war effort, no doubt.”
“Yes, that is so. The two countries have much to discuss regarding the best use of our respective forces. But,” he said, pausing, “there are also other pressing matters.” He took a drink from his tea and looked around the table. “While the war has helped form an alliance between the U.S. and Japan, there is still much to be desired in how Japan—and Japanese—are viewed here in America.”
“Indeed,” offered Mr. Shimura. “The Alien Land Law and the Gentlemen’s Agreement have severely limited our ability to forge stable communities.” After a moment of reflective silence, he added in a more cheerful voice, “But that was years ago. We’ve made great strides since then!”
“Tremendous strides!” agreed Mr. Matsui. “And I believe that things will continue to improve. The efforts of the Japanese Association, for example, will help ensure that we put our best foot forward with the Americans. Right now, even as we speak, we’ve been working on a war bond drive in Little Tokyo.”
Dr. Ishii examined his half-eaten manju and then placed it back on his plate. “There is no question, Matsui-san, that the work you do is valuable. Although if the world were as it should be, such efforts wouldn’t be required. Yes, things are better, but the reprieve is temporary. When the war is over, I believe they will get worse again.”
A somber mood fell over the table. No one spoke for several moments before Mr. Shimura asked, “Dr. Ishii, are you aware of something we aren’t?”
“There is a move afoot,” Dr. Ishii answered, “that, if successful, will make things more difficult for the Japanese who live in America. Even,” he added, indicating young Daisuke, “for the ones who were born here. The efforts have been subdued temporarily because of the war, but there are still many men—many very powerful men—who are actively working on legislation that will curtail your standing. And, unfortunately, most of them are centered in the West, right here in California.”
“It is regretfully true,” Matsui concurred, “that many of the state’s most prominent men are unfriendly to our interests.”
“I tried to meet with members of the state legislature in Sacramento,” the foreign minister continued, “but they all refused to see me. They consider you a blight on the face of California, and there is tremendous resentment among them, particularly about the success of Japanese farmers in the Central Valley. They are afraid that the farmers will continue to flourish, and that more Japanese will come.” He paused. “Fortunately, the Americans who live in Washington and New York are generally much more rational. Being, on the whole, a more civilized sort, they do not see you as a national threat.”
“What is there to do?” asked Mrs. Matsui.
“You must be strong,” he said. “You must show the Japanese character. When there is blatant injustice, especially about land, you must stand up to those who would take advantage of you—or else we’re no better than the compliant Chinese. When unfavorable bills come forth in the California legislature, you must rally your friends and allies to defeat them. But—and this is of equal importance— you must also show your willingness to get along here in America, to play by American rules—as you, Matsui-san, have already done so effectively. Above all,” and here he looked significantly at me, “you must not do anything that presents us Japanese in a negative light.”
“It is a difficult balance,” said Mr. Matsui, “to be strong, and yet to try and win over their minds.”
“How can we do it?” asked Mrs. Matsui, almost to herself. “There are so few of us, really, and so many Americans. How can we affect the way they see us?”
Dr. Ishii nodded. “You are correct, there are very few of you, Mrs. Matsui—not even 20,000 in Los Angeles. That is why I’ve never understood why those in prominent positions have not done more to advance our interests.”
And here again he looked directly at me, and I returned his gaze. I could feel my anger rising. I was about to reply to his obvious challenge when Mrs. Ishii interrupted again.
“Politics, always politics,” she said with the air of a wife subjected to one too many tiresome dinners. “You see what I must cope with? We’re invited to a social occasion on my first trip to America, and my husband can’t talk of anything but politics!” She leaned conspiratorially toward Mrs. Matsui, who was looking at her with gratitude. “I don’t know what all these men are complaining about. It’s us who have the truly difficult jobs, dealing every day with the likes of them.”
Mrs. Matsui gave a wide, relieved smile, and the tension began to lift once again. “Indeed!” she concurred, turning toward us men. “Why, if you want to hear about real hardship, you should be here when my husband practices his speeches. He stomps and shouts and rehearses in front of a mirror. Why, it’s enough to drive our cats out of the house!”
It was clear that all serious conversation was over, and after the guests had had one final cup of tea, we collected our coats and began to disperse. When the foreign minister passed me on the way to the door, he stopped and gave a curt farewell. His wife, however, bowed sincerely and smiled.
“I apologize for my husband’s behavior,” she said. “He has a very limited way of seeing the world. And I believe, although he would never admit it, that he envies artistic men.” I detected a glint in her eye. “Especially gentlemen as handsome as yourself.”
As my driver took me home, I thought of Mrs. Ishii and her graciousness, which tempered slightly the unpleasantness of the evening. But the event itself caused a discomfort I still felt, like bad fish that had soured
