Under Occupation: Resistance and Struggle in a Militarised Asia-Pacific 144384750X, 9781443847506

Table of contents :
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FOREWORD
INTRODUCTION
PART I
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
PART II
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
POSTSCRIPT
AFTERWORD
CONTRIBUTORS
INDEX

Nappy routes and tangled tales: critical ethnography in a militarised Okinawa / Mitzi Uehara-Carter --
Romancing the occupation: concepts of 'internationalisation' among female university students in Okinawa / Makoto Arakaki --
What's going on behind those blue eyes? The military man and his many (mis)perceptions / Nika Nashiro --
The ethics of long-standing conditions: complicity and innocence examined in a militarised Okinawa / Christopher Daniel Melley --
Naming and framing in (post)colonial Okinawa / Daniel Broudy and Peter Simpson --
Complicit amnesia or willful blindness? Untold stories in US and Japanese media / Kiyomi Maedomari-Tokuyama --
Moananuiākea or 'American lake'? Contested histories of the US 'Pacific pivot' / Kyle Kajihiro --
Japanese wartime occupation, war reparation and Guam's Camorro self-determination / Miyume Tanji --
Resisting the proposed military buildup on Guam / Leevin Camacho --
Collective traumatic memory in a jointly-colonised Okinawa / Yukinori Tokyuama --
This sky and earth belong to us / Chinin Usii --
A base for (in)security? The Jeju Naval base and competing visions of peace on the Korean Peninsula / Andrew Yeo --
Remembering 4/3 and resisting the remilitarisation of Jeju: Building on an international peace movement / Gwisook Gwon.

Citation preview

Under Occupation

Under Occupation: Resistance and Struggle in a Militarised Asia-Pacific

Edited by

Daniel Broudy, Peter Simpson and Makoto Arakaki

Under Occupation: Resistance and Struggle in a Militarised Asia-Pacific, Edited by Daniel Broudy, Peter Simpson and Makoto Arakaki This book first published 2013 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2013 by Daniel Broudy, Peter Simpson and Makoto Arakaki and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-4750-X, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-4750-6



CONTENTS

Acknowledgments .................................................................................... viii Foreword .................................................................................................... ix David Vine Introduction ................................................................................................. 1 Daniel Broudy, Peter Simpson, and Makoto Arakaki Part I. Occupation and its Defenders Chapter One ................................................................................................. 8 Nappy Routes and Tangled Tales: Critical Ethnography in a Militarised Okinawa Mitzi Uehara-Carter Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 29 Romancing the Occupation: Concepts of ‘Internationalisation’ Among Female University Students in Okinawa Makoto Arakaki Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 49 What’s Going on Behind Those Blue Eyes? The Military Man and his Many (Mis)perceptions Nika Nashiro Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 66 The Ethics of Long-standing Conditions: Complicity and Innocence Examined in a Militarised Okinawa Christopher Daniel Melley Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 78 Naming and Framing in (Post)Colonial Okinawa Daniel Broudy and Peter Simpson



vi

Contents

Chapter Six ................................................................................................ 98 Complicit Amnesia or Willful Blindness? Untold Stories in US and Japanese Media Kiyomi Maedomari-Tokuyama Part II. Occupation and its Resistors Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 126 MoananuiƗkea or ‘American Lake’? Contested Histories of the US ‘Pacific Pivot’ Kyle Kajihiro Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 161 Japanese Wartime Occupation, War Reparation and Guam’s Chamorro Self-Determination Miyume Tanji Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 183 Resisting the Proposed Military Buildup on Guam Leevin Camacho Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 191 Collective Traumatic Memory in a Jointly-Colonised Okinawa Yukinori Tokyuama Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 203 This Sky and Earth Belong to Us Chinin Usii Chapter Twelve ....................................................................................... 224 A Base for (In)Security? The Jeju Naval Base and Competing Visions of Peace on the Korean Peninsula Andrew Yeo Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 238 Remembering 4/3 and Resisting the Remilitarisation of Jeju: Building an International Peace Movement Gwisook Gwon Postscript ................................................................................................. 271 Chie Miyagi



Under Occupation: Resistance and Struggle in a Militarised Asia-Pacific

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Afterword ............................................................................................... 273 Douglas Lummis Contributors ............................................................................................ 285 Index ....................................................................................................... 288





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The Editors and Authors wish to acknowledge the following individuals and organisations for critical feedback on their work, as well as their patience, support, and commitment to scholarship and action toward social justice and demilitarisation: Julian Aguon, Arakaki Tomoko, Arasaki Moriteru, Kinuye Avery, Robert Avery, Olivier Bancoult, Lawrence Berlin, Paco Booyah, Mark Caprio, Choi Sung-Hee, Christine de Matos, Thomas Fazi, Kathy Ferguson, Philip Fiadino, Fija Byron, Curtis Gayle, Nelson Graburn, Iha Yoichi, Ikue Kina, Jon Mitchell, Oshiro Nariko, Enrico Parenti, Park Kyung-Soo, Park Yune, Toyoda Maho, Masami Mel Kawamura, Terri Keko‘olani, Nakachi Kiyoshi, Miyagi Michiko, Igor Saveliev, Shimabukuro Jun, Shimamura Lei, Shimizu Fumihiko, Sunagawa Kaori, Noenoe Silva, Takuma Sminkey, Randolph Thrasher, Tobaru Sunao, Wesley Uenten, David Ulvog, Urasaki Akiko, Christopher Valvona, Weston Watts, Yamazato Katsunori, Yonaha Keiko, Yoshida Kensei, Yoshikawa Hedeki, Yoshikazu Makishi, Chagos Refugees Group, the Citizens’ Network for Biodiversity in Okinawa, Dialogue Under Occupation, the Academy of Korean Studies (AKS-2010-DZZ-3104), Hawai‫ދ‬i Peace and Justice, DMZ-Hawai‫ދ‬i / Aloha ‫ދ‬Ɩina network, Okinawa Outreach, Kamaduu gwa tachi no tsudoi, Korea Foundation / Northeast Council Korea Travel Grant, Grant-in-Aid from the Catholic University of America, the International Institute of Okinawan Studies (IIOS) at the University of the Ryukyus, the Japan Society for the Promotion of Science, Silk Dragon Productions.





FOREWORD DAVID VINE

I feel honoured and proud to have been asked to write the foreword to this remarkable book. I also feel a heavy responsibility to do justice not just to the impressive work of the volume’s authors and editors but also to the remarkable conference that inspired this book. For the fifth (V) iteration of Dialogue Under Occupation (DUO) conference, held in August 2011, in Okinawa, Japan, was no ordinary conference. DUO-V created an all-too-rare space for dialogue by gathering some of the occupied and some of the occupiers from Okinawa and mainland Japan, Guam, Hawai‘i, and the rest of the United States, Korea, Britain, and even the Indian Ocean’s Chagos Archipelago (home to the US military base on Diego Garcia). Most importantly, the conference gave voice to the experiences of the occupied—people so often ignored in debates about international relations, military policy, and national security. At DUO-V, those living under occupation spoke powerfully about their experiences. And they brought tears to many eyes as they detailed some of occupation’s painful effects— displacement, dispossession, damaged health, and crime to name a few— caused by US military bases in Okinawa, by the US military presence throughout the Asia-Pacific region, and by centuries of occupation by a succession of Asian powers. Olivier Bancoult, Chair of the Chagos Refugees Group representing the people of Diego Garcia, spoke to the experiences of many when he said, “We are part of the remains of a nation that was evicted from a small island . . . . We have not forgotten, and we hope that more and more people will remember the injustice that was done to us and will help [and] support us.” This book represents a testament to the conference. It represents a deepening of the conference’s intellectual contributions and a broadening of its impact beyond attendees alone. It represents an important collection of original, innovative, and authoritative scholarship that should be required reading for academics, journalists, politicians, and anyone trying to understand the presence of US bases and military forces in Okinawa, in Japan, and in the Asia-Pacific region more broadly.



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Foreword

Unfortunately, the need for the analytic contributions presented here could not be more timely given growing tensions in the region and the United States’ recent “Asia pivot” (although several of the book’s chapters remind us that the United States has long been pivoted toward Asia, maintaining hundreds of bases in the Pacific since World War II as part of a global network of more than 1,000 foreign bases). In this context, the book’s chapters help us to question this decades-old status quo. The book’s chapters help us to question the assumed normalcy of the ongoing presence of tens of thousands of US troops and family members thousands of miles from the borders of the United States. The chapters make visible this continuing US occupation, which has long been seen as part of the natural order of things, while also addressing themes of war, colonisation, imperialism, the gendered impacts of occupation, cultural identity, collective psychology and memory, the role of language and the media in legitimating occupation, as well as resistance and peace. Among these themes, resistance is particularly important. In the conference’s final moments, speakers and audience members stood in a moment of passionate applause. They stood to applaud the conference organisers and a group of some 40 unpaid Okinawan volunteers who worked nearly non-stop over most of a typhoon-interrupted week, coordinating panels across two venues, providing simultaneous translation, feeding and entertaining international visitors, shuttling speakers around Okinawa, and attending to conference attendees’ most every need. Soon, side-by-side, speakers, audience members, organisers, and volunteers were standing and applauding one another’s work. They shared a moment reflecting both the joy of a week spent working to build new connections—intellectual, political, and personal—and the painful experiences that gave birth to those connections—occupation and longstanding struggles opposing occupation. So many had worked so hard because the conference was, itself, an act of resistance. This book is too. It will be an inspiration for resistance movements across the Asia-Pacific region and globally, and it will offer much-needed fresh perspective for anyone seeking to understand the area, occupation, US military presence in the region, and brave struggles to finally bring unjust occupation to an end.



INTRODUCTION

. . . there are no tribes beyond us, nothing indeed but waves and rocks, and yet more terrible Romans, from whose oppression escape is vainly sought by obedience and submission. These robbers of the world, having by their imperialism exhausted the land, they now raid the deep. If the enemy be rich, they seek to plunder; if he be poor, they lust for power and control; neither the East nor the West has been able to satisfy them. Alone among men they covet with equal eagerness poverty and riches. To robbery, slaughter, plunder, they give the lying name of empire; they make a wasteland and call it peace. —Tacitus (30 C.E.) imagining the words of Celtic general Calgacus resisting Roman conquest We have pacified some thousands of the islanders and buried them; destroyed their fields, burned their villages, and turned their widows and orphans out-of-doors . . . And so, by these Providences of God—the phrase is the government’s, not mine—we are a World Power. —Mark Twain (March 8, 1906) reflecting on the massacre of 600 Moro islanders

Every language has a term for peace, but few have found so many ways as the language of the Roman empire and its linguistic descendants to reverse its meaning to justify war. Such is the case with peace and pacific. The Oxford English Dictionary dates pacific to the 15th century. The term derives from the Latin pacificus, which from its inception applied to settlements with vanquished populations based upon slavery and colonialism, as opposed to tranquil relations based upon notions of equal rights and justice. With reference to the broad body of water between Asia and the Americas, the term found its way coincidentally into European languages as a result of Magellan’s fairly unhampered circumnavigation of the ocean in 1521. This was less than half a century after

2

Introduction

Columbus’ arrival in the Caribbean, which ushered in a centuries-long genocide throughout the Americas. Viewed from the perspective of the contributors to this volume, the name that Magellan’s expedition gave to this largest expanse of ocean seems little more than an extension of its earlier meaning. It is hardly surprising that the name Pacific would serve as the root of pacification, a term with a long contested history. Perhaps echoing Mark Twain’s 1906 observation regarding the military process of pacification, George Orwell noted in 1949 how cynically the term had come to be deployed in the military’s defence and description of this practice: Defenceless villages are bombarded from the air, the inhabitants driven out into the countryside, the cattle machine-gunned, the huts set on fire with incendiary bullets: this is called pacification.1

The process of pacification played out in the Pacific during late 19th and 20th century state formation did much to destroy what was left of the fractured independence of relatively self-sustaining communities throughout the region, efforts that have only intensified over the span of 20th century wars and ongoing conflicts. This book aims to give voice to island communities throughout this region which have experienced these deviant forms of pacification. From Hawai‘i’s usurpation, Guam’s enduring legacy of occupation, to Okinawa, and Korea, these essays deconstruct practices of pacification and resistance to military occupation and the language long used to either accept or reject them. The chapters take readers on a tour of American frontier activities that move across the Pacific from Hawai‘i to Guam then northward toward Okinawa and Korea. The first part of the book examines interpersonal perceptions and preconceptions held by occupier and occupied alike which underpin and seek to normalise today’s dominant US military dispensation. In the first chapter, Mitzi Uehara Carter draws upon her own complex relationship with Okinawa and the US military to examine how postwar circumstances have created intricate and, at times, conflicting attitudes and identities that should be recognised (both celebrated and lamented) as well as recorded as important portions of Okinawa’s postwar chronicle. In contrast to the overt and covert discriminations of the past, Makoto Arakaki takes a descriptive approach to today’s occupation narrative, which focuses on the positive and negative perceptions that Okinawan people still hold of American military men and of the local women who seek their company. In a complementary chapter, Nika Nashiro deconstructs the field notes she gathered in a series of informal interviews of military men at a popular

Under Occupation: Resistance and Struggle in a Militarised Asia-Pacific

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Starbucks who hunt out yet who voice a thinly veiled condescension towards local women. For Nashiro, this discourse fits within a larger neocolonial context wherein white men, burdened by their self-perceived superiorities, see themselves as protectors and liberators of brown women. As a teacher of some of these same young men, Christopher Melley, professor of philosophy, explores his own long history connected to the US overseas military experience, its ethical implications, at the interpersonal and structural levels, and his sense of complicity in the foregoing relationships. Daniel Broudy and Peter Simpson survey Okinawa’s postwar history, the concepts of American exceptionalism necessary to achieve and sustain occupation, and the creative uses of language, with their curious internal contradictions, which mirror the purported need to preserve the status quo. Kiyomi Maedomari-Tokuyama undertakes a close study of mass media performance and the sort of structural violence enacted in the reporting practices of three major news outlets. Hers is an examination of how American and Japanese corporate media effectively marginalise views that depart from the received wisdom emanating from the US-Japan alliance. In the second part of the book, Kyle Kajihiro revisits Hawai‘i’s painful past during its annexation to contexualise a critical discussion of some pressing issues that face contemporary movements now resisting the Obama Administration’s aim to make the Asia-Pacific region a “top priority” in its military planning. Exploring a more distant and even more detached outpost of US military hegemony, Miyume Tanji examines how Guam, during the Japanese occupation, came to identify itself as an island of resistance to the Japanese and at the same time as an ally of the US presence in the Pacific. Neither Hawaii nor Guam under occupation can succeed alone in liberating itself. Leevin Camacho examines both the language of resistance to and the current unfolding of US military plans to expand its presence and operations across Guam in the wake of calls to reduce the US Marine footprint on Okinawa. Yukinori Tokuyama retraces the history of the 1609 Satsuma invasion of the Ryukyu kingdom, the ensuing long process of Japanising Okinawan people, and the post-Pacific War conditions which, in the name of USJapan security, presently wield control over local decision-making and other democratic processes. chinin usii presents a narrative description in her chronicle of the resistance efforts in Okinawa challenging the status quo and the myth that Okinawa is an equal player in the larger Japanese society where decisions are made on Okinawa’s behalf. In revisiting the traumatic memories of the April 3 incident, “a campaign to cleanse the island of supposed Communist agitators,”2 Andrew Yeo and

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Introduction

Gwisook Gwon recount the past to contextualise the contradictions of the present and how, in the name of regional security and economic development, government plans to militarise ‘the island of peace’ have divided Jeju citizens, galvinising some into active resistance and others into a pacified acceptance of Korean military plans. From an Okinawan vantage point, pacification comes in the form of the US military’s forced deployment of the notorious MV-22 Osprey, which has already been deemed too dangerous or too damaging to fly over communities in the United States.3 As we write, a concerted effort to reject the Osprey and close the Futenma base continues with a constant vigil at the Nodake Gate in close proximity to where we live and to the universities where we work, one of which suffered the impact of a helicopter crash in the summer of 2004. Prior to this ‘mishap’4 and a host of other assorted outrages, two Marines and a sailor raped a twelve-year-old schoolgirl in 1995, a crime that resulted in the formation of the so-called Special Action Committee on Okinawa (SACO). As Funabashi Yoichi’s fawning account (paradoxically entitled Alliance Adrift) unintentionally reveals, SACO was a committee that was, from its inception to its conclusion, an entity designed to cement the USJapan military relationship, to the exclusion of Okinawan opinion. In keeping with the long-established joint colonial protocol (see Tokuyama this volume), the US-Japan committee included not a single Okinawan representative, elected or otherwise, but instead was composed of Tokyo and Washington bureaucrats and the commander of US Forces Japan.5 Charged with the task of forming “recommendations . . . on ways to consolidate, realign and reduce US facilities and areas, and adjust operational procedures of US forces in Okinawa . . . ,”6 SACO proposed four central measures to achieve its goals—the return of land, adjustment of operational procedures, implementation of noise reduction initiatives, and improvement of the SOFA. Crucially among the results was the April 1996 agreement to return MCAS Futenma to Okinawa—after a suitable replacement facility had been built. Seventeen years on, the base remains in place, caught between opportunistic and contradictory statements made by American leaders—one suggesting Futenma is the most dangerous airbase in the world and the other attempting to reassure the local population of its safety.7 While direct US military rule over Okinawa ended in 1972, another kind of rule has replaced it. It is the rule of objectification, a way of pacifying resistance to change while maintaining theoretical power over people and places perceived to be mere objects. For many years after

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reversion, Okinawan people have fought shy of expressions such as ‘occupation’ and ‘colonialism’, but this volume confronts the collective historical amnesia that renders terms such as these in the Asia-Pacific context less than self-evident. Reimagining another world in which peace can be achieved on equal terms is a shared aspiration of all contributors to this volume, and we all share the belief that demilitarisation is an essential first step in reaching that objective. We opened this introduction with the aim of locating this volume in historical concepts of pacification and Pacific and close with references to geographical spaces. An edited volume such as this one can only offer a selective and partial redress. In a similar way, maps like the one featured below are anchored and oriented in ways that can either reinforce or challenge conventional narratives. 8 However, since even seemingly progressive institutions, such as the British Museum or the New Internationalist, 9 either erase some of the islands and archipelagos featured in this volume or otherwise declare them the ‘possessions’ of nation states, we hope the following illustration will offer some crude redress. At the same time, the authors of this volume intend to make common cause with those inhabitating the myriad other, more or less, occupied spaces on this map and beyond.





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Introduction

Notes 

George Orwell. “Politics and the English Language,” 1949. Howard French. “South Koreans Seek Truth About ‘48 Massacre” The New York Times (Oct. 24, 2001). 3 See Aspen Times (Jun. 7, 2012) “Training Plans influx for New Mexico Airbase,” AP (Jun. 8, 2012) “US Air Force Delays Low-altitude Flying,” West Hawaii Today, “Military to Limit Use of Upolu” (Jun. 13, 2012). 4 In his article titled, “Copter Incident Report Cites Confusion, Fatigue on Futenma Flight Line,” Stars & Stripes reporter David Allen chronicles the US Marine Corps Command Investigation of the crash and the military’s conspicuous use of the term ‘mishap’ in its response to the public. The editors of this volume consider the term ‘mishap’ as a somewhat flimsy euphemism for ‘crash.’ ‘Mishaps’ have been subdivided into various categories, but they have also been subject to scrutiny, and in many cases, the results of close scrutiny have gone unresolved. For further details about a higher level of open scrutiny into causes of military helicopter crashes, please visit http://www.g2mil.com . 5 SACO composition: Japan’s North American Affairs Bureau Chief of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Defence Policy Bureau Chief of the Ministry of Defence, and the Director of the Defence Facilities Administration Agency. America’s Assistant Secretary of State, and Assistant Secretary of Defense and the Commander of US Forces Japan. Apr. 15, 1996. 6 Ministry of Foreign Affairs, The Japan-U.S. Special Action Committee (SACO) Interim Report, Apr. 15, 1996. 7 While flying over Futenma in November 2003, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, is reported to have said that it is ‘the world’s most dangerous base’” (Fogarty 2010). Yet, less than a year later, when a certain degree of evidence for this assertion was provided by the crash of a heavy-lift helicopter onto the campus of Okinawa International University, Secretary of State Colin Powell still felt able to provide safety assurances of air operations at the base (Fuji TV interview Aug. 13, 2004). 8 Denise Newfield. Words and Pictures (Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press, 1993). 9 The Peters World Atlas (Oxford: New Internationalist Publications). 1 2

PART I OCCUPATION AND ITS DEFENDERS

CHAPTER ONE NAPPY ROUTES AND TANGLED TALES: CRITICAL ETHNOGRAPHY IN A MILITARISED OKINAWA MITZI UEHARA CARTER

Introduction: Trespassing Blurred Borders “Do you see this fence? It’s the old fence, the old boundary of US military land. Just a little farther back is the new military fence. That land in between has been reverted back to Japan, but they kept this old fence for some reason.” O-san, a Yomitan resident I had just interviewed, wanted to show this to me because I had explained to him that I was interested in how people make sense of militarised spaces, live with detour mentalities and checkpoint cultures, and how these shape imaginaries of Okinawa in particular ways. He was eager to show the boundary to me as it illustrated how material demarcations persist in limbo states in Okinawa and how residents are sometimes unclear if they are trespassing, physically but also culturally.

Fig. 1-1 Typical sign reinforcing physical US military barriers throughout Okinawa. Source: Photograph by author

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“The maps say this is now Japan,” he said with some hesitation as he inspected the newly mended fence. ‘Keep out - US Army Facility’ and ‘Restricted Area’ signs were posted ominously on the fence. He looked concerned. “I was just here a few months ago and there used to be an opening here—the fence was open here, a hole right here so us residents could pass through it easily. I’ve been going through this area for years.” Although the fence had been repaired, there was an opening to the space in-between on the other side. “I wonder what they are trying to do?” His eyebrows furrowed. The weeds on the fence curled around the wires. An elderly woman slowly jogged by on the narrow strip of land between the fences, passing a plot of newly tilled crops growing on what looked like an old military airstrip. O-san, a self-made historian and avid researcher of all things Okinawan was brimming with curiosity, so I was not surprised when he called me the next day and said he went to the Japanese Self Defense office in Kadena to unearth some answers. He had taken with him some of his maps and asked some officials directly (after passing through several checkpoints and had obtained the many passes necessary to get answers) whether that particular area belonged to the US or to Japan. He said they hesitated with their answers, looked him up and down with suspicion, but he eventually learned, after much persistence on his part, that the maps in his possession were wrong. Yes, the land had been “returned,” but these tracts were still not officially signed off as being Japanese. They were in a limbo existence awaiting signatures for their final return. He explained to me, “It’s like when a married couple file for divorce and they live separate lives while they await the judge’s signature to officially declare the end of the contract. The paperwork is in that weird limbo state for some reason.” When he asked the officials if this meant he was trespassing on that land, they indicated that technically yes he was, but no one minded if it was just being used for everyday causal use—like farming or jogging on but not for devious matters. This resident then proceeded to tell me about all the areas he knew of off the top of his head that were like that—areas in the north where “jungle warfare training”1 occurs and roads are open to local civilians but where military priorities could trump civilian use in an instant for whatever the military deems a security issue. The roads can be closed down suddenly without notice, so residents are then required to take rather inconvenient detours.2

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Chapter One

Fig. 1-2 Ambiguous spaces not clearly signified as public or militarised. Source: Photograph by author

It is these kinds of everyday detours, the ones not officially marked, which are also a part of the intricate process of US militarisation. They are typically not included in ethnographic research as much as they are inscribed in local literature, poetry, or art. I suggest that those who study militarisation, especially those from outside Okinawa whose ultimate goal is to support, or be an ally of, Okinawans struggling against intense forms of militarisation, should be attuned to how the various narratives of Okinawa are entangled, not just locally but also in the Okinawan diaspora and in the “military diaspora.”3 Our ethnographies of militarised spaces must include the intricate stories—the ones about weeds growing rampantly around ambiguously porous fences which then become a naturalised part of the landscape, the ones about how gates and openings can morph back into closed fences, and those that show how the extralegal becomes a normative cultural practice in militarised spaces in Okinawa. As a mixed Black American/Okinawan who occupies fluctuating states of being, the blurry boke 4 world of transnational racial figuring and/or disfiguring, I am sensitive to concepts of trespassing on a visceral level. I am sensitive to the gazes along the fence-line and how double or, in some cases, triple consciousness is strikingly absent from ethnographies of Okinawa, trivialised, or dismissed to stale economic reductionist binaries of understanding. I offer a few tangled tales from my family and those with whom I engaged during my fieldwork as a way to rethink certain ethnographic approaches to writing about militarisation. How can scholars analyse and write about militarisation in places like Okinawa without depending on an overly structuralist or functionalist framework to make arguments about the US military presence in Okinawa? How can we approach the taken-

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for-granted stories and the hushed intimate ones about the nappy routes of everyday belonging in militarised Okinawa while also remaining critically engaged with how the circulation of these types of narratives can inadvertently neutralise any impetus for change?

Criticism and Recovery In his book Violent Cartographies5 Michael Shapiro remarks poignantly why he favours ethnography over other forms in studies of militarisation: While strategic approaches to warfare tend to be explanatory in emphasis (and indeed tend to suppress their interpretative predicates), an ethnographic focus is more concerned with the interpretive practices that sustain the antagonistic predicates of war. Moreover, a critical ethnography attempts to disrupt dominating interpretations by locating the silenced remainders of various discourses. Rather than naturalising the boundaries by which states maintain their control over the representations of global issues, the focus involves both criticism and recovery. It is aimed first at disclosing how representations of alterity (dangerous Others) reproduce the identities and spaces that give nation-states and nations in general their coherence, and second at disclosing other forms of affiliation uncoded in state-oriented interpretations.6

Okinawa has been at the centre of numerous studies highlighting strategic approaches to war and peace, from military history to political science, and many of these tend to naturalise nation-state boundaries. As Shapiro urges, a focus on the excess of various dominant discourses in these militarised spaces would render a different type of knowledge visible. For example, anthropologist Inoue Masamichi7 expresses his wariness of past dominant studies on Okinawa, especially in fields such as anthropology. He argues that while they have been able to better address power and social justice issues within a postmodern (Foucauldian) paradigm as well as examine ideas of appropriation (specifically how the oppressed appropriate the cultural practices of the dominant forces of power), these studies still tend to be too fixed in a Self/Other dialectic. His method of critical ethnography and activism in Henoko allowed him to explore movements of opinion along these lines of differences so as to reconceptualise two former dominant interpretations of Okinawan resistance and, thus, to better explain the “third space” between Washington D.C. and Tokyo. Through his ethnographic work, Inoue also offers an interesting theoretical perspective that can frame alternative ways of thinking about

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Chapter One

militarisation in Okinawa. His findings did not fit into what he considers to be over-used “life politics” to describe resistance by citizens8 nor the more traditional, structural Marxist models of resistance. Instead, Inoue puts aspects of both sets of theoretical perspectives into tension with each other to produce a “globally structural perspective” to better explain contemporary transformations of class relations and the new poor. To help explain what may seem like confusing contradictory messages of some residents in base towns whom he interviewed and with whom he worked and interacted on a regular basis, Inoue leans on Emmanuel Levinas’ critique of the “intimate society” and his conceptualisation of the third person, to help set the predicaments of Okinawan identity against global and local militarisation. He argues that in the Foucauldian-postmodern model of power, Japan and the US are recognised in the dialectic “game” of power and pleasure, but the third party, Okinawa, is not. The island is considered to be an excess. Therefore, the voices of Okinawan people and their acts of resistance, or appropriation of the lifestyle made possible by Japanese “political compensation” for living alongside military bases, often go unexplained or are too hastily analysed and described in terms of simple economic reductionism. The notion of the “third person” allows Inoue to discuss “oppositional appropriation.” The stronger ethnographic works on militarisation are not neat, compact stories but are dense and rely heavily on sprawling narratives of people who imagine themselves and their surroundings within multiple regimes of knowledge, with multiple discursive processes at work to highlight Otherness and sanitise violence. This is partly because the “third person,” or the “third space,” and the ways in which in-betweeness are articulated require extensive description. It is not a surprise, then, that many of these authors tend to apologise to their readers for a book that may not deliver bullet point answers or models. Anthropologist Joesph Masco, for example, explains to his readers in the introduction to his book on nuclear militarisation, “Those expecting a linear narrative will be disappointed. The text that follows pursues a multisited approach, . . . one that necessarily produces moments of contradiction, repetition, and temporal flux.” He then asks, “For how could one approach a project on the scale of the US nuclear complex without recognising complexity, if not contradiction, at each turn?”9 The necessary work involved in critiquing previous or dominant areas of knowledge about militarisation and recovering alternative forms is a long and messy process, so readers should be wary of simple models offered up with neat conclusions.

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My own ethnographic work in Okinawa involves highlighting the dislocations that abound in the racial and cultural fence-line landscapes, and so some of the critiquing and recovering in which I have engaged have produced more ambivalence and anxiety about the role of traditional academic frameworks to disclose the necessary analysis to the questions I pose in my fieldwork. I too may have to apologise to readers for a return to the “thick ethnography.”10

Critical Directions, Critical Essentialism, and Critical Listeners I was still an undergraduate student in the US when the explosive 1995 rape incident occurred in Okinawa. Three US servicemembers planned and carried out the brutal gang rape of a young schoolgirl. As the crime triggered a renewed social movement against US bases in Okinawa, the island was suddenly on the mainstream news radar in the United States. Members of the military’s public relations unit were more robotic than ever in what they said; movement on SOFA status individuals within Okinawa was restricted; and prevailing definitions of ‘security’ were being directly challenged by Okinawans who lived on the island and in the largescale diaspora as well. It was during this time when a scholar at my university approached me to see if my mother might want to be interviewed about Okinawa and the US bases. I called her in Texas, and she initially and resolutely declined. She had never been formally interviewed and was hesitant for three good reasons: (1) the interviewer was not Okinawan but from mainland Japan, (2) he was a man, and (3) he was a scholar. Given the weight of his privilege and social capital, she questioned (in her own way) whether he could hear, know, and transmit what she would communicate to him (and for whom?) She later reluctantly did the interview but was baffled by why a Japanese person wanted to know her opinion about the bases in Okinawa even when she was living in the US. She later told me about the interview, and based on what she said to this researcher, her answers may have appeared much more sympathetic to the bases than how she actually felt then and still feels. I believe she became a politicised subject in the moment of the interview. Her remarks about the ongoing military violence in Okinawa in its fluctuating postcolonial state drew upon narratives that most likely crossed several scales, bouncing about the many subject positions she likely assumed with the posing of different questions. Trying to get him to see why “his people” (mainlanders) are responsible for what is happening

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too, she made the US military less of a target in her responses. I saw her a few weeks after her interview and asked her why she answered him in this way. With a simple wave of her hand to shoo away my persistent questioning, she responded that he’d never “get it.” Not a woman with long-suffering patience during those difficult years, it is easy for me to visualise her giving up on trying to help him see, to help him “get it.” “I mostly just tell him what he wanna hear.” I always wondered how that interview and possibly others like it were transformed into his ethnographic text. Was he sensitive and perceptive enough to read into her responses in that communicative site of the interview? Would it be taken as evidence that some Okinawan women living abroad have absorbed and accepted a heavily militarised vision of their homeland? Was he reflexive enough to take into account how he himself was being positioned and, if so, how would this experience and possibly others like it be translated into the greater ethnographic practice? What can critical ethnography do to change the way we understand militarisation and the transnational spaces in which they exist in places such as Okinawa? As someone who grew up within circulating and often competing discourses of sacrifice, I understood that there was more than a simplistic economic reductionist explanation of Okinawa along the fence-line. In Okinawa, fence-lines are constantly in flux as are the cultural practices that occur in these borderlands. There are guilty desires, longings, and diverse practices within and outside the contractual agreements of the SOFA, and there are spaces where certain narratives of militarisation thrive more so than others do. The criticism process that Shapiro speaks of in militarised landscapes is in a constant state of change, but recently its course has taken a new direction. A growing group of scholars is emerging and redefining how militarisation has been routed in the transnational spaces of Okinawa through our own transnational experiences. Many of us have been in conversation with each other for many years, critically engaging in a dialog about that which is silenced from the current literature. It is no coincidence that many of us are Okinawans who have spent a significant amount of time in both the United States and in Okinawa, especially at the University of Hawaii, or are mixed Okinawans invested not just in the politics of belonging but also in militarisation in the most intimate spaces along the fence-lines. We are attempting to reshape how understandings of the postcolonial conditions/moment have been described in Okinawa, taking direction from scholars in the indigenous movement in Hawaii who

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have keen perspectives on the spatial configurations of violence and those hushed cultural practices such as settler occupation.11 Under the direction of Okinawan professors such as Yamazato Katsunori (Literature and American Studies), Ishihara Masahide (Linguistics), Arakaki Makoto (Cultural Studies), Tomochi Masaki (Statistics/Math), Kina Ikue (Literature) and several others not named here and their graduate students and mentees, the momentum in the academic movement is growing exponentially to create new frameworks to challenge former interpretations of difference and violence in Okinawa in a more organic way. This is happening during a critical moment as a growing influx of faculty and graduate student slots at top universities in Okinawa are being filled by those who grew up outside Okinawa, primarily mainland Japanese scholars. The specific type of criticism being launched by this group of Okinawan scholars in the cartographic re-routing process is significant because their impetus is urgent, and they are re-educating various communities in English, Uchinaaguchi, Uchinaa-yamato-guchi and Japanese. On her popular blog geared toward doctoral students in the social sciences, anthropologist Karen Kelsky wrote that for many graduate students of colour, “scholarship starts and ends with the question, ‘does this help or hurt my people?’”12 Kelsky continues: Sure, white people can feel a sense of belonging to an ethnic group, or to a class. Working class white people in the academy do, indeed, feel systematically excluded from the in-groups and from classroom debates. I am not denying that. But it is different, because the stakes are different. When your people are dying, literally dying, from forms of cultural genocide, your approach to academia is going to be different. It’s going to be urgent. It’s going to be impatient. It’s going to be angry. You’re going to ask questions about why their stories are not being told, and why scholars aren’t asking how the discipline helps or hurts a group of people, your people, who are already suffering from so many histories of neglect and disregard.

While I argue for the necessity of carefully accepting a more “strategic essentialism” as construed by several South Asian postcolonial theorists (most notably Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak) in our scholarship in Okinawa, I also acknowledge that many true allies who are not ethnically Okinawan nor have long-term familial roots on the island (outside of marriage) have also worked toward radical change. Many who have done far-reaching work already in various grassroots activist organisations to raise awareness also remain sensitive in their approach. For example, Welsh journalist and poet Jon Mitchell has written extensively about Okinawan environmental

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politics, militarisation, and its various cultural manifestations all with his particular understanding of power, from his particular perspective, and with the support of local activist groups and individuals who find his words transformative for mainstream readers of The Japan Times and progressive scholars who follow the Asia-Pacific Journal.13 In the past, however, works that have been produced as a result of the transnational, diasporic communication between Okinawan scholars of many generations appear not to be as broadly recognised nor properly credited. This emerging, vocal group of scholars treats the salient complexities in their stories about the effects of militarisation that require the rough “in-house” candour of casual conversations that cannot be told by outsiders (without extensive uses of hedges or qualifiers) along with the delicate handling needed for teachable moments to more mainstream listeners/readers. Their stories also tend to be much less concerned about fitting into an academic register and discourse style typical of inaccessible scholarly conferences, but more about reaching affected communities with more widely accessible language in venues frequented by people of all walks of life. These new scholars are just as much activists as they are researchers. Two entire panels at the Critical Ethnic Studies Conference in Chicago in 2013 have been approved and will be fully moderated and comprised of all Okinawans and Okinawan-Americans, all of whom have been vocal and actively involved, in some form or another, with activist work against militarisation.14 In 2012, at the International Symposium of Okinawan Studies held at Waseda University, a thought-provoking panel entitled, “Struggle for Our ‘Okinawan Studies’: Viewed from Uchinaa Unai (Okinawan Women) Today” laid the foundation for future scholarship and critical recovery of knowledge. These women, Sakihara Chihiro, Kayatani Yamashiro Rinda, Chibana Megumi, Akamine Yukari, and Oyakawa Shinako along with discussant Professor Kina Ikue, challenged conference attendees to rethink dominant knowledge about Okinawa in a more radical, feminist way—by being more cautious about how scholars name and define parameters of violence, by not being dismissive of anecdotal information, and by making knowledge more accessible. They acted on their words and brought their papers back to Okinawa and presented their work in a community forum in a more local, multigenerational, non-academic setting in Naha a few months after the conference. 15 All of these women panelists effectively merged their activism with their academic work. These are just a few people in a larger and growing group moving in between transnational spaces, drawing upon

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their own experiences of growing up Okinawan, or with Okinawan parents, and rethinking the micro-practices of living in these complex social systems of bases to recover and re-route their/our tales.16 In spaces such as Okinawa, critical ethnographic work from these diasporic activist scholars also tends to emphasise and accept fractures and repetitions in their findings, drawing upon their lived experiences in confronting the varied displacements they or their family members have encountered in a militarised culture. In her book Haunting the Korean Diaspora: Shame, Secrecy, and the Forgotten War,17 Grace Cho explains that research projects on trauma and warscapes, where silences and hauntings endure painfully across generations of diasporic movement, require not only a variety of methods to be employed but also ‘multiple drafts.’ 18 Cho, like some of these Okinawan scholars, allows for interruptions in the text. She breaks sections of the text with unexpected, multiple voices and allows them to co-exist in patchwork layers—some academic, some quiet thoughts resonating from tales in her families, some rumours from the streets, hard statistics, communal life stories that emerge through poetry, and some simply angry and seemingly irrational.19 This ethnographic methodology challenges the authority of a singular voice. For many of us who are attempting to move the direction of critical ethnography to include more of our “drafts” and speaking ancestors, we start then with our plural, communal stories—fractured, repeated from multiple angles and borderlands, and in flux. Kina Ikue has called attention to some of the inherent problems of reading and writing about Okinawa, and her cautions echo Cho’s desire to actively reengage with the need for writing with multiple voices and from multiple spaces and laments that this is still missing from contemporary theory-based scholarship on Okinawa. “What is missing” she argues “is a physical sense of place or homeland which deeply ingrains people to their living reality, and enables them to constantly give rise to their stories not only from individual sensory experience but also from an awareness of communal responsibility.”20 This responsibility emerges in various forms for those of us who have long been connected to transnational Okinawa. Kina notes that even in the face of extreme difficulties such as language loss, “the desire to remember is so strong and deep that the memories cannot be lost so easily” and the “inherited memories constantly beckon Okinawans to look for or to invent the right words so as to articulate both who they are and what their cultural values are.”21 This is where critical ethnography begins for many of us with families in these militarised spaces on the edge of these borderlands.

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Interviewing, Yuntaku-kai, and Co-creating Cultural Forms Criticism and recovery in ethnographic practices in “the field” involve active listening outside the traditional structure of the formal academic interview. In militarised zones, the practice also requires learning how to recognise the narratives that activate powerful ideologies and how violence becomes imbricated into everyday practices. For many of the people mentioned above, we lean on our lifelong experiences of hearing and reflecting on the tales passed down by our family members—stories about hushed labour or sexual exploitations, intermarriages which brought shame or sometimes boastful pride, jokes about how a military employer was skillfully and heedlessly duped. We know that when one celebrates the news that a relative received a job on base, it does not necessarily translate into that person’s tacit acceptance of the military presence in Okinawa, and we write that up with all its complexities. The fine line between economic survival and tolerance is not locatable in words but is over a series of practices that are still difficult to document without more experiential ethnographies, without knowing how to listen, or knowing how to ask in “communicative events.”22 Anthropologist Charles Briggs has written extensively about how researchers need to take more caution in using interviews without thinking carefully about how they are based on ideological presuppositions, especially in terms of how publics are hailed through them. He argues that the communicative practice in the form of the interview has been a significant method for extracting and later analysing and producing knowledge but has been largely taken for granted and, thus, not widely understood as a technique of power, capable of normalising certain subject positions and also racialising and naturalising differences. Here, I ask how we can take some of the questions he posed and analyses he put forward and employ them in a critical way in Okinawa studies. Briggs uses the term communicability to “point to the way that texts project specific, unique cartographies of their own locations in the movement of discourse”23 and suggests that communicable cartographies can allow symbolic domination to persist by “projecting a small set of shared and predictable circuits, creating subject positions . . . and making only a very limited range of responses thinkable.”24 He also warns that the unexamined interview may also help to circulate social imaginaries with or without their referents.

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This issue underscores precisely why treating the interview as some “tightly bounded event”25 can be highly problematic, especially if a space allowing for the unpredictable and ambiguous is closed off. In her discussion of open and effective ethnographic practices, Marilyn Strathern argues, “ambiguity signals the way in which claims elicit counter-claims, open themselves up to explanation by third parties, and so forth.”26 An ideologically construed interview not open to the contingent, then, could potentially “restage” the injurious effects of speech acts27 that are beyond the body of the speaker and which minimise the “possibility of agency”28 on the part of the speaker, giving the interviewer and interviewee movement to shift the terrain of power via resignification of subject positions. Scholars still tend to see the interview as static temporally and spatially, Briggs argues, as well as being a path to “traverse geographies and genres without losing authority or shifting meanings.” 29 “Good ethnography requires determining the relationship between things said in interviews and the circumstances of their production and projected circulation.”30 Ethnographers in militarised spaces should, thus, be even more aware of this fact, especially when they are positioned as journalists or when they practice more interdisciplinary approaches to public anthropology.31 The observations and results that come out of our research can unexpectedly appear in the public sphere instantly through our current, largely mediatised culture. Briggs suggests that anthropologists need to attend to how our own “reifying communicative ideologies . . . [can] blind us to the fact that we co-create cultural forms that . . . embody our own communicable preconceptions.” 32 In transnational, militarised landscapes like Okinawa, where rumour and gossip can travel at lightening speed (both on and off base), this is an especially dire warning. The cultural forms that emerge in countless interviews may come into the State’s purview for consumption and so the problem is further complicated by the fact that these forms, then, too easily morph into sound-bites for the State.33 The communal yuntaku then, much like “talk story” in Hawai‘i, requires active forms of listening, the development of trust, and open exchange. Its participants may not expect the details of their stories to circulate the way they do in a traditional interview and, therefore, may offer different angles of their tales and experiences. There is a danger, however, in romanticising this form of knowledge over others, but ethnographers in Okinawa must be able to comfortably engage in this form over others in the co-creation of cultural forms, which cannot be taken hostage to the hegemony of State values or placed into the clichéd

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category of “Okinawa-US friendship” discourses. The yuntaku expects participants to take the vulnerable risk of sharing their own stories, disclosing their own understandings of public spheres, and being understanding of temporal and spatial jumping about. I discovered that many people whom I spoke with accessed the communicative site of our yuntaku/interview to communicate to others what they felt was more difficult to do outside of that event. Sometimes their words seemed to be directed at loved ones or at others in a less coherent “public.” It was as if they had imagined their words circulating through text back to their target audience but in a mixed form of testimony, which has become well used in Okinawa and in other parts of Japan such as Hiroshima. 34 In some instances, it seemed that my own mixed outward appearance served as a signal to some ‘informants’ to use the site of the interview to gather only “rational” facts, answering in ways that seemed fill-in-the-blankish, and yet also switching into yuntaku form where the power of questioning became more egalitarian and the information less subject to traveling along a linear path, where stories took the form of a gift with a more communal, reciprocal value. 35 The knowledge gained from a yuntaku comes not solely from direct answers to questions but, rather, from instructive advice, the questions themselves, the silences and shared values of the unspoken. I decided to toy with these expectations, experimenting with three public gatherings,36 which brought mainly US military members, soldiers, DoDDS 37 teachers, Marines, and Airwo/men along with Okinawan activists, and community members from various walks of life to hold a yuntaku about “fenceline culture,” race, and “security.” The gathering proved to be a productive site for sharing tales in the midst of tension and to learn from each other how people experience militarisation, how we name their various processes, and how we live with and resist it. The peripheral conversations that took hold and the production of the events became even more interesting and revealing than the public ones themselves. 38 The sorts of questions that emerged by email and the tensions and politics that arose, based on questions and responses, were revealing in many ways and will be detailed in a later publication. For the purpose of this chapter, however, what is important to note is that tensions between that which was expected in a yuntaku and that which was expected in a more traditional interview highlighted the apparently clashing “security imaginaries,”39 which may have given more license to circulate in these different communicative sites. Some military members, and even long-term expatriates, called me later to explain that they had not been able to effectively frame the logic of the US friendship and protector-

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ship in this space. In the same way, some Okinawan residents were frustrated even more with incessant American attempts to articulate that logic while they (Okinawans) had no means of returning to frame their disavowals, their own rejections of not only the US security imaginary, but also the postcolonial Tokyo security imaginary. Still, for others, the gathering signaled the first time they were able to pose their hard lingering questions to people in a public forum, and merely doing so became a transformative event, which provided the right kind of impetus for productive post-event discussion groups.

A Tangled Tale: My Critical Ethnography Beginnings I was in high school the first time I peeked into and explored my dad’s old grey filing cabinet in his muggy garage office in Texas. Somewhat inspired by the Blood Hound Gang on the PBS after-school show in my youth, I was a self-appointed detective rummaging for clues about my father’s life. He didn’t talk much about his military life in Okinawa, nor of his time in Vietnam, Korea, or Thailand. Every now and then, his retired military friends and their mostly mixed families would spread into our backyard and there in the suffocating Houston humidity, between the servings of sweet iced tea, ribs, tempura, stir-fry, and wise cracking jokes, I gathered glimpses of a world that was so culturally close and familiar and yet temporally distant and foreign. My mother frequently passed on stories about Okinawa to her children. What it was like to survive the Battle of Okinawa, to hustle to make ends meet in the postwar period jockeying for the best base and off-base jobs, to watch new Hollywood films with white-gloved women hugged tightly by chivalrous men home from a hard day’s work, to hear stories about this far-off land of plenty in the West, to witness much of the Okinawan seaand landscape morph into military garrisons and bases—everyday conversations. They were jokes, tales of ghosts, stories about her old base job, accounts of what mainland Japanese soldiers would say and do in the caves they hid in during the war and how she despised them for this, tales of how sometimes the well water tasted salty, the well at her old home in Naha right on the ocean—the one the American bombs destroyed along with the rest of her village at the outset of the Battle. I absorbed these tales. My mother’s Okinawa never matched my father’s. His was more gridlike and linear, clean up front, dirty in the back. In our home hung military souvenirs of various “stations”—a black lacquered plate with a representation of Okinawa etched into it, base names mapping the island,

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military plaques with achievements stamped onto golden tags. USAF (US Air Force) stenciled onto the bodies of cute kokeshi dolls with bobbing heads. My father’s Okinawa was a stopover with powerful nostalgic routes. He described Okinawa within the militarised lexicon as a “station” or “tour.” His Okinawa was a temporary stopping point, verging on a visitation from a distant land, a site of deployment in a broader “theatre of operations” where the already circulating Orientalist images abounded. It was not a place where the layering of faded signs was a reflection of the complex palimpsest, the cultural “make-do with what we have to survive” practices. Nor was it a place where simple actions such as a request for some items from the base commissary might be registered as being more complex than a one-dimensional acceptance, or even tolerance, of the burdensome company of such a heavy base presence in Okinawa. At the same time, however, he was not a flag-waving nationalist who had enlisted for purely patriotic reasons. He had taken in the knowledge about Okinawa as a base, which he said was passed down through the generations in circulating stories about these sites. He had also mapped his own particular understandings about race and oppression onto these places. His thinking did not upset the military establishment enough to become an issue as it did for others who did speak up, especially those black troops who were active organisers within the Black Power Movement in Okinawa, “unruly spouses” of active duty servicemen who were kicked off the island, 40 or dissenting soldiers who met with base labour union leaders and activists.41

Postcolonial Displacements: Capturing Flux in Text My father was raised in the American South. “He is so black—like burnt charcoal,” I remember my mother describing his colour and possibly his temper as well. He was poor when he was born and poor at eighteen when he enlisted. As an adult, I asked him finally why he had joined voluntarily, and he said bluntly “’cause I didn’t want to shine no white man’s shoes or sell newspapers the rest of my life—that’s about the only thing a black man like me could do at the time.” Just before he enlisted, my father, as a black man, was not allowed to sit at a white restaurant nor be picked up by a white ambulance if he were bleeding in the streets. The Woolworth lunch counter sit-in that helped precipitate larger acts of civil disobedience across the country would happen the year he joined the military. His move to Okinawa was liberating in some respects. But, he also recognised that Okinawans were in some ways “like Japan’s black

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people.” He felt a kinship and, perhaps, a sense of superiority that he wasn’t afforded before in America. My mother used to say that my father was a troublemaker—always quick to complain about racial discrimination as an enlisted man and also as a civilian. Whenever I rummaged through that damp and cluttered garage, I would pause at my new finds in the filing cabinet—two official letters he had written to his commanding officers, a porno lurking behind two folders, and a book on proper parenting. The language in the military letters seemed foreign—the acronyms and formal structure were hard and cold. The letters stood at attention. On the back of long-yellowed papers they were braille-like, as if the typewriter he had used also felt embittered by the humiliating experiences of being treated as a second-class citizen. My father was a mystery to me, so I would continue returning to these files secretly over the years, trying to find out more about this foreign military world, more about an Okinawa that never matched the images in encyclopedias my mom would order from the door-to-door salesmen, more about my father and his life as a black man in transnational flux. Slowly, I would come to learn that for certain people like my father, a “tour of duty” in Okinawa, somewhere between the “off-limits” signs and the ohakas42 facing the ocean, was more a detour—a movement around mental fragmentation (at the risk of being physically fragmented in war). His detour placed him in an occupied territory. The schismatic cultural productions that happen as a result of these types of displaced encounters partly shape the fields of meaning on the ground in militarised spaces as they intersect with the global circulation of signs and imaginaries generated in the military diaspora. So when I arrived in Okinawa for my yearlong fieldwork for my PhD dissertation, I was still hunting, to some degree, for more clues about my father’s life. I knew, at the centre of my inquires, that I would implement ethnographic techniques alongside memories of my mother’s experiences growing up as a survivor of the war and the extreme difficulties she endured coming of age in the difficult postwar period. I knew I would remain committed to theorising about militarisation in its multiple seductive languages and practices. But it was my father’s tour that led me to the types of questions and complexities I had been refusing to confront for many years during my activist work. I had been ignoring the entanglements, the transnational akou-kurou 43 twilight borders between nation-states and the chaotic movements of people between them. It is much easier to dismiss the military bases as some broad oppressive

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colonial network than to address the postcolonial entanglements and techniques that still sustain and/or disrupt them in the in-between spaces. When practicing critical ethnography with a heightened consciousness about these limbo spaces, those sites which have the ability to dodge the techniques of the State, I could see some possibilities for radical change. Inoue once argued that . . . what the US-Japan alliance . . . is afraid of is not a contemporary multiplicity of opinions fragmented along the axes of class, gender, race, age, [and] nationality, . . . but the revolt of the public sphere—that is, the multiplicity of global citizenship . . . grounded in . . . a collectivity of cultural sensibilities and historical experiences within Okinawa, Japan, and beyond.44

It is precisely this type of multiplicity that needs to be highlighted in our ethnographies. One young US Marine based at Futenma told me he did not like to leave the base not because he did not like Okinawans but because he was especially aware of what his presence meant to older people on the island. He said, “I feel disrespectful.” As a black man raised by his grandmother in a racially divided town in the American South, where the hauntings of racialised violence still exist, he referenced his grandmother and said that he imagined what she would feel with someone who represented oppressive violence in “her space.” He discussed how he went on one military tour to the Peace Memorial Museum and felt that just simply being there was uneasy. “I already know, I already can feel it without them saying anything. I saw an older lady there and thought of my grandmother. I’m more than this.” His personal security imaginary was painfully contradictory. The articulation of Okinawa as a “necessary site” harkened back to his own communal pains and the multi-generational memories he carried with him daily. Then, when our conversation moved to the more formal idea of “national security,” these contradictions were pushed aside to be replaced by the more dominant articulations of “but we’re here to protect them.” Perhaps, he remembered that he was in an interview. He glanced about the café that most Americans living in Okinawa rarely venture into, and he suddenly fell silent. He must have remembered that his words might be circulated. He may also have become cautious, falling onto a readily available discourse that had been hammered into his mind during his period of intense military training. This was the point at which the more empathetic narrative was lost as was the chance to challenge Orientalist understandings of Okinawa that become crystalised in the minds of

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policymakers in backroom discussions or circulated as taken-for-granted anecdotes brought by visitors to the island.45 In our efforts to understand the rich field of meanings and to make sense of detour mentalities, a critical ethnography takes these tales and exposes all the possible routes for strengthening and disrupting powerful intersecting discourses. They work so that local and global networking activists can then use the contradictions that create better strategies for transforming public opinion and dominant imaginaries and to help push the revolt of the public sphere.

Notes 

1 The Marine Corps’ Jungle Warfare Training Center (JWTC) is also known as Camp Gonsalves or the Northern Training Area (NTA) and was established in 1958. It is on more than 17,500 acres of land as noted here: Dan Lamothe, “Thousands of Marines to Push Beyond Hawaii, Marine Corps Times, http://www.marinecorpstimes.com/news/2012/09/PRIME-marine-pacifichpresence-push-beyond-hawaii-0909121 2 See this flickr user’s explanation of confusing military/civilian boundaries: http://www.flickr.com/photos/24443965@N08/7554188804/in/photostream 3 Mark Gillem, American Town: Building the Outposts of Empire (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007). 4 The Japanese term boke ( ࡰ ࡅ ) has several meanings, but the one being implemented here builds upon the meaning used in photography for the aesthetically blurred area outside of the depth of field. 5 Michael J. Shapiro, Violent Cartographies: Mapping Cultures of War (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997). 6 Shapiro, 31. 7 Masamichi S. Inoue, Okinawa and the U.S. Military: Identity Making in the Age of Globalization (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007). 8 Inoue is wary of the dismissal of the structuralist, more Marxist informed and class-focused “emancipatory” social movement literature which he suggests can over emphasise the oppressed overcoming or resisting the oppressor arguing. The theoretical shift to “life politics” tended to all too readily emphasise “everyday resistance by autonomous citizens and assumed the presumed death of collective insurrections structural questions concerning class and exploitation—by privileging ‘new’ questions of identities, meanings, symbols, communities, networks, and selfactualizations.” Inoue, 21. 9 Joseph Masco, The Nuclear Borderlands: The Manhattan Project in Post-Cold War New Mexico, (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2006), 37. 10 See Clifford. 11 Candace Fujikane and Jonathan Y. Okamura, Asian Settler Colonialism: From Local Governance to the Habits of Everyday Life in Hawai’i (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008).

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12 Karen Kelsky, “Challenges for Graduate Students of Color in the Academy,” http://theprofessorisin.com/2011/08/09/challenges-for-graduate-students-of-colorin-the-academy/ August 9, 2011. 13 See Jon Mitchell’s website for list of publications and projects on Okinawa: http://www.jonmitchellinajapn.com 14 These two panels were organised by Rinda Yamashiro and Chihiro Sakihara, both Okinawan PhD candidates at the University of Hawai‘i. 15 Held on August 4, 2012 at the Naha Women’s Center in Okinawa. 16 The list of these new emerging transnational scholars is too long but I would like to make a special mention of the following: Wesley Uenten, a professor at San Francisco State University remains committed to organising on the ground. Among his many engagements, he connects diverse groups of people from across the world to participate in “talk story”—a more rooted ethnographic process for criticising and recovering knowledge and connecting scholars to community groups. Ikehara Ariko, whose work with Women for Genuine Security and who has organised community education workshops in Koza, Okinawa (Okinawa City) and has a long history of writing newspaper articles about mixed race historiagraphy from her personal experiences is a rising scholar in the field of Okinawan Studies, practicing critical ethnography. Shimabuku Annmaria, a professor at UC Riverside has been writing about mixed Okinawans for many years now, documenting the messy biopolitics of “security” and the challenges of writing about Okinawa’s movement to transfer bases to mainland Japan. Her work is theoretically striking and her strong message arises from her long years in activism. Professor Tomochi Masaki looks at statistics from the Defense Departments of the US and Japan and is doing the important work of critical ethnography of statistics to make sense of military housing and off-base spaces/land usage. The Institute of International Okinawan Studies at the University of the Ryukyus led by Professor Gabe Masaki and the various town halls and museums with their own local historians (especially Taira Tsugiko of the Haebaru Town Cultural Museum, Ishiki Katsumi of the Okinawa City History Compilation Sub-Section) have long supported this type of scholarship and along with their colleagues have encouraged this emerging group. 17 Grace M. Cho, Haunting the Korean Diaspora: Shame, Secrecy, and the Forgotten War (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008). 18 Cho, 47. Cho draws from the work of John Johnston, Information Multiplicity: American Fiction in the Age of Media Saturation (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998. 19 Cho, 47. 20 Ikue Kina, “Locating Tami Sakiayama’s Literary Voice in Globalizing Okinawan Literature,” International Journal of Okinawan Studies: Special Issue on Women and Globalization 2, no. 2 (2011): 12. 21 Kina, 13. 22 See Charles L. Briggs, Learning How to Ask: A Sociolinguistic Appraisal of the Role of the Interview in Social Science Research (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986).

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 23

Charles L. Briggs, “Mediating Infanticide: Theorizing Relations between Narratives and Violence,” Cultural Anthropology 22, no. 3 (2007): 332 24 Briggs, 338. 25 see Charles L. Briggs, “Anthropology, Interviewing, and Communicability in Contemporary Society,” Current Anthropology 48, no. 4 (2007): 551-80. 26 In his work, Briggs cites Marilyn Strathern, “Accountabilty and Ethnography,” in Audit Cultures: Anthropological Studies in Accountability, Ethics, and the Academy, ed. Marilyn Strathern (New York: Routledge, 2000), 287. 27 Judith Butler, Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative (New York: Routledge, 1997). 28 Butler, 15. 29 Charles L. Briggs, “Anthropology, Interviewing, and Communicability in Contemporary Society,” Current Anthropology 48, no. 4 (2007), 565. 30 Briggs, 565. 31 See for example Anthropologist David Vine’s discussion of his embroilment with communicability and mediatisation in Okinawa in “Smearing Japan,” Foreign Policy in Focus, April 20, 2011, http://www.fpif.org/articles/smearing_japan 32 Briggs, 564. 33 See for example, Linda Isako Angst, “In a Dark Time: Community, Memory and the Making of Ethnic Selves in Okinawan Women’s Narratives,” (PhD diss., Yale University, 2001), 166. Angst explores at great length the way in which some Okinawan women survivors of the elite Himeyuri Nurse Corps (most of their classmates were killed serving the Japanese military during WWII) strategically locate themselves in the interview while being positioned by the agendas of nationalists who attempt to “glorify Okinawan wartime participation as an act of sacrifice” (33) and that of ever shifting local masculinist Okinawan identity politics that position these survivors as representative of all Okinawan suffering, despite major class differences with other women killed in the war. She spends time discussing why the women she interviewed may have wanted to shift the shape of the interview to protect themselves from further unwarranted positioning by the state and various interest groups. 34 See discussions of postwar testimonial narratives Lisa Yoneyama, Hiroshima Traces: Time, Space, and the Dialectics of Memory (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). 35 The concept of this type of exchange here is being drawn from Marcel Mauss, The Gift; Forms and Functions of Exchange in Archaic Societies (Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1954). 36 These were ethnographic projects I conducted during my fieldwork period in Okinawa. All three took place in two separate public locations in Central Okinawa in the Spring and Summer of 2012. 37 Department of Defense Dependent Schools 38 With the help of a professional video production crew, and a fieldwork assistant, participants were able to generate their own questions to others who would be at the event. These questions and responses were filmed. A public website was also set up where participants could email their questions and responses.

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39 Himadeep Muppidi, “Postcoloniality and the Production of International Insecurity: The Persistent Puzzle of US-Indian Relations,” in Cultures of Insecurity: States, Communities, and the Production of Danger, ed. Mark Laffey, Jutta Weldes, Hugh Gusterson, Raymond Duvall (Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press, 1999). Muppidi explains that security imaginaries are “distinctive fields of meanings and powers” which are dynamic and in need of constant reproduction for state and non-state centric conceptualisations of rationality and ‘natural realities,’ (125). According to Muppidi’s analyses of “security imaginaries” in India, the disconnect between the articulatory process and the interpellative ones were sharp and were “ineffective in transforming themselves into interpellations within the Indian security imaginary” and therefore “the Indian state either did not recognize itself well in the ways in which it was addressed by the US security imaginary or saw a representation of itself that negated its dominant self-understandings” (143). 40 In an interview I conducted with the wife of a serviceman based in Okinawa in the late 1960s, she explained that she was called into the base commander’s office for being “unruly” and getting involved in activities like the growing women’s movement and supporting, among other activities, the black power movement on base. 41 At an event I organised in Chatan, Okinawa on May 4, 2012, Professor Douglas Lummis, spoke about his involvement translating between Okinawan base workers and dissenting black soldiers. 42 Literally, “family tomb.” 43 See Kina’s discussion of Tami Sakiyama’s work, which raises the Okinawan phrase “Akou-kurou,” which Kina translates to “the state in between light and darkness.” 44 Inoue, 220 45 David Vine, “Smearing Japan,” Foreign Policy in Focus, April 20, 2011, http://www.fpif.org/articles/smearing_japan

CHAPTER TWO ROMANCING THE OCCUPATION: CONCEPTS OF ‘INTERNATIONALISATION’ AMONG FEMALE UNIVERSITY STUDENTS IN OKINAWA MAKOTO ARAKAKI

Introduction As Japan’s fast-growing economy began marching in the 1960s and ’70s toward its postwar peak, the international community began critically questioning Japan’s role in the world as a highly developed nation. The central government responded, in turn, by promoting received notions of ‘internationalisation’ in a range of policy-making procedures, which also included education. Joining in the process of internationalisation was widely seen as imperative to maintaining Japan’s economic progress and status. Of course, with reformed thinking about concepts of economic internationalisation there came a natural reflection on the meaning of Japanese culture. What was to become of ancient traditions and values? Okinawan culture is often described as “champuru,” an Okinawan word roughly translated to mean “mixed” or “blended.” Compared to other prefectures in Japan, Okinawa is multicultural with Chinese, American, Korean, mainland-Japanese, and various other cultural and ethnic influences. The term carries positive connotations among local people, and has become an important quality of Okinawan cultural identity. Okinawans often claim that when Japan was closing its doors to foreigners from the 1600s to the 1800s, Okinawa remained wide open and prosperously traded with other Asian countries. Discourse illustrating Okinawan ethnic traits such as “friendly to foreigners,” “full of frontier spirit,” and “more international” are said to be characteristic of this period in Okinawan history.

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In modern postwar, post-reversion Okinawa, the Japanese government appointed Okinawa as “the southern gate of Japan’s internationalisation.” Okinawa was historically as well as geographically situated in a desirable, if ambiguous, position bridging Japan and the war-victimised Southeast Asian countries: Okinawa was a part of Japan yet a part of Southeast Asia. Okinawa’s unique historical identity has also been revitalised by the restoration of Shuri Castle and other historical monuments. The restoration of cultural artifacts obliterated by the war has served university cultural studies as well as a burgeoning tourism industry. Popular grassroots efforts to maintain traditional dance and Okinawa’s indigenous languages have been successful campaigns begun by the postwar prefectural government. Because of these ongoing efforts, young Okinawan people have become increasingly aware of the vital importance of their ethnic identity. How does this growing sense of the Okinawan ‘self’ figure into a growing awareness of internationalisation?

Internationalisation and Young Okinawan Women “Internationalisation is in our blood,” 22-year-old Sakura said. For many young people, openness to foreigners is a part of Okinawan ethnic heritage and pride. Consequently, young people criticise their parents and grandparents as “close-minded” and “discriminatory.” “How can they be so racist?” They sadden me,” Sakura said. In their young minds, they are open and objectively righteous, but believe their older family members are close-minded and self-righteous. Young people’s accusations against older members of the family frustrate the family. “It is not that we hate Americans. It is the memories we hate.” A previous bar owner, Chiyoko Kinjo is in her 80s and has two daughters and one granddaughter who married an American military man. She still vividly remembers the 1940s war era. She witnessed firsthand her friend sexually victimised in a POW camp. Her most striking memories, though, are from the Vietnam War when young self-destructive soldiers acted violently toward civilians on the streets of Koza (now Okinawa City). Seiyu Agarie, 78, felt frightened when his daughter decided to marry an American man. He recalls earlier times and says, “I thought American men had abnormally strong sexual drive.” He remembers the time when he and his family were detained in a refugee camp after the war. His mother had been raped multiple times by American soldiers and even became pregnant. She had an abortion after the family was released and returned to their hometown in Naha. His traumatic memories of those events return to him as he ‘sees’ images of his mother in his own daughter. He says, “I had

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many sleepless nights and cried when my daughter wanted to marry an American guy.” These wartime experiences have profoundly shaped the negative views that older Okinawan people have developed of American servicemen. Even people in their 50s and 60s recall the Vietnam War and the countless serious and petty crimes committed against local civilians by the servicemen. In stark contrast stands the younger generation that sees the American military presence in Okinawa as a valuable resource of internationalisation rather than a potentially life-threatening source of violence. Despite these perceptions, there have been a number of sexual assaults committed by American servicemen against local women. Nevertheless, some women still seek romantic relationships with US servicemen. This chapter, thus, introduces the raw details of in-depth interviews in Japanese (reinterpreted in English) covering the brief life histories of young Okinawan women as a way of examining the perceptions that inform their ideas and actions in seeking out these relationships.

Sakura Yonamine “Growing up in Okinawa City, the presence of American military men was just a part of everyday life.” Sakura was born in close proximity to Kadena Airbase in an area known today as BC Street. Sakura noted that even her grandfather had had many close encounters with American servicemen just after WWII. Many Okinawans from Okinawa City have made their living on the base economy, and Sakura’s family was not exception. My grandpa used to be a barber at the Gate Street. Because his barbershop was close to Kadena Airbase, he had many American GI customers. The GIs would visit the barbershop with bags full of candies for my mother and other children. My mother would find a dollar bill stuck in the chair, and she would go to buy ice cream with it. One dollar was worth 360 yen back then. My grandpa and my mother had many chances to mingle with Americans. She grew up in the typical base-town environment. She herself was the product of much American influence.

Sakura feels that her mother had raised her to be a more internationally-minded person, the sort of citizen of the world that her mother had wanted to become herself. My mother is a firstborn child in her family, and my family was not exactly a rich one. She might have wanted to go to college, but had to get a

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Chapter Two job after high school. My mother got married when she was 22 years old and had me at 23. She could not see many of her dreams come true. Becoming an international person and fluent in English was one of them. I was the firstborn child, and she adored me and wanted to raise me as someone she had wanted to become.

Sakura reflected on her mother’s ideas and methods in raising a daughter with an international sense of awareness and intelligence. When I was little, my mother used to routinely take me onto Kadena Airbase to visit the flea markets and festivals. She wanted to be such an international person. She wanted to study abroad and use English for her job, but she couldn’t because of her family’s financial situation. I feel that she wanted me to live that life for her. As a result, she even took me to my first English lesson when I was quite small.

Sakura observes that her closeness to American people and culture comes from her mother’s own attitude toward the US military bases. My mother appeared at many events on base when she was pregnant with me. She took me to American events when I was in a stroller. People used to tell her that she should not take her baby to places like flea markets where streets are dusty and old clothes are moldy. She really loved American culture. I was born into this culture and exposed to it even before I knew it. I grew up under the strong influence of American culture and the English language. That is why I feel so close to Americans.

Sakura reflected on the ways in which she came to think and act today. My mother would take me for drives when I was 3 or 4 years old. She drove down Highway 58 (the island’s main artery) with reggae music at full blast. Now, I dress like a typical American, look American, and even think like an American because of the environment in which my mother raised me.

She also discussed her memories of what she thought her mother had believed about American men. I think she had a chance to go out with American men, but she did not. She told me there were good men as well as bad ones, but it was a different story if you fell in love with them. Even though she had grown up surrounded by American people and culture, I think she still had some xenophobic feelings that conflicted with her fascination with Americans. At the same time, she was drawn to America and its culture. It was her

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dream to visit the United States, and she actually threatened my father that they go there for their honeymoon or else she would not marry him. Her desire to speak English well is still strong. She still goes to flea markets on base. She told me she could not escape from the allure of an American flea market. It is a part of her life she cannot live without. She really loves to talk to Americans at the markets. My mother sometimes asks me if I know any American women her age with whom she can become friends.

Sakura also talked about the first time she introduced her boyfriend to her mother. When I tried to introduce my American boyfriend to her, she did not even roll down her car window, as we approached her. My mother was panicking in her car, mouthing a scream at me about who this guy was standing next to me. Apparently, despite her long interest in Americana, his presence was quite shocking to her.

With memories of this experience with her mom still fresh in her mind, she reflected on the reasons that led her to study English so intensely. Before I entered Okinawa Christian University, I felt a yearning for American culture and English, just like my mother. I came to this school because I wanted to speak English fluently. I thought speaking English was totally cool, and everybody had fun studying in an international atmosphere.

She continued to discuss her earliest experiences in socialising with American men. A friend of mine who is a quarter American (if ethnicity can be quantified in that way) has a base pass. For years, I often heard her talking about night clubbing on base. I slowly became curious and finally wanted to go. One day, she asked me if I wanted to join her at one of the nightclubs on Kadena. At first, I was so excited to go, but on the very night we planned our venture, I began to feel a bit anxious as if I were violating some unspoken social taboo. For two hours, I fretted over whether I should cancel the appointment. I was really worried if I could return home safely. My friend warned me strictly not to dress like a ‘bitch’ (a standard prostitute) and to avoid heavy ‘war paint’ (makeup). She told me that if men thought I was a ‘bitch’, then I would become an open target for sexual investigations. Her warnings seriously heightened my sense of vulnerability. Nevertheless, at the club, I noticed a particular man stealing glances at me throughout the evening. Many men approached me and asked for a dance. They were really aggressive, but I was just as aggressive in successfully moving away from them.

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Sakura recalls her experience in meeting and allowing herself, despite the social pressures, to create a relationship with a young man. It took three months before he officially became my boyfriend, the one from the club who glued his gaze on me that evening. He took considerable time and really took care of me before we became intimate. By that time, I was, of course, convinced that he was a good person. We took care of each other very well. We discussed all the issues and ideas we had until we felt okay with each other. Even when we decided ultimately to break up, we could forgive each other.

She relayed some interesting details about certain experiences in trying to understand one another and some of the shock she felt when observing some of his behaviours. I would yell at him pretty routinely when he would absent-mindedly spit out his chewing gum on the sidewalk. Incensed, I would remind him that this is Okinawa—my island. Even if he did it on base and challenged me on this view of mine, I would say that I didn’t care if it was on or off base, that I didn’t want him to throw any garbage on this island.

She talked about her friends’ perspectives on dating American men and what happens to the minds of those who dare to do so. My girlfriends often tell me once they go out with an American man, they can never go back to a Japanese man. When they saw me going out with my boyfriend, they told me I would never be able to date another Japanese guy and that I was destined to marry an American. It reminded me of that funny American saying that ‘once you go black, you never go back.’

Sakura thought back to the time when her mom first saw her boyfriend. My going out with an American man broke my mother’s heart. I introduced him only to her. My mom didn’t have the strength to broach the subject with my dad. She kept it top secret, likely because she was also very ashamed. One day, she could not take it any more and told her mother, my grandma, about it. I heard that Grandma responded with more tears. She was crying not only because my boyfriend was a foreigner, but he was also black. I simply did not understand what was wrong with a person who wore a shade of skin somewhat darker than my own. A guy I fell in love with happened to be black. So f--king what? That’s all. I became so angry that I cried and shouted at my mother. Was it better if I had gone out with some white guy? I could not endure such ignorance and irrational thinking.

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She remembered the time when her boyfriend encountered her mother. I remember that my boyfriend was very happy to meet my mother. Despite our obvious differences, my mother and I are still best friends. She finally understood my feelings. Deep down, she knew my boyfriend was a good guy, but she still told me that others would look at me sideways with prejudice in their eyes. I knew, too, that the rumours would fly around and that my mother feared whether her own friends or our neighbours would notice that her daughter was going out with a black American guy. I introduced him to her, nonetheless, because I trusted my boyfriend. I am not stupid. I wanted her to trust my judgment.

She talked about their perceptions of her choices. In Okinawa City, we often hear about so many international marriages, but my mother and grandmother have always thought that an international relationship could never develop for their precious (grand)child. They had heard way too many horror stories about American men impregnating Okinawan women and mysteriously PCSing (permanently changing duty assignments) to the United States, or even if they did commit to each other, the young woman was likely divorced and stranded in a strange land in dire straits.

Sakura critically reflected on her interests and her choices. When I think about my parents and relatives, I sometimes think I should marry a local guy. It’s not that I feel I need to marry some American. After I broke up with my American boyfriend, I found a Japanese boyfriend. He treated me as though I were a ‘bitch’. I honestly wondered why he even decided to go out with me if thought I was some sort of ‘bitch’. Whenever I told him I was going to a nightclub, he would say, “There you go, Bitch! You just want to fool around with men.” It also really bothered him that I used to have an American boyfriend. Even his parents and relatives weighed in and felt compelled to label me as a barbaric Amazon. They almost treated me as if I were filthy. This idea of dirt applied not just me, but my girlfriends who had also dated Americans. They were stigmatised in the same way by other Japanese men. The Japanese guys around me say, “No matter how much I love her, I stop and think twice about her if she had been out with an American guy.” Because of this sort of thinking, some girls are treated like kryptonite by Japanese guys.

She tried to imagine what some of the Japanese guys she knew may have been thinking or feeling about American men.

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Chapter Two So many Japanese men seem to have some major inferiority complex toward American men. They seem to think American men look better, treat women nicer, or come equipped with bigger packages in their trousers. Of course, these things are not necessarily true, but Japanese men are just wrong-headed in thinking this way.

Sakura’s views seemed to reflect many of those I encountered in other interviews.

Hanna Enobi “My grandmother used to work on base and had many American customers. Sometimes we greeted each other in English.” Many of Hanna’s perceptions and experiences reflected those of Sakura’s. Even as a young standout scholar at university, she sensed immense pressure from family and friends to keep her love life entirely under wraps. I knew it was impossible to marry my boyfriend. My mother has told me so many times to stay away from foreigners. I have friends from Indonesia, and my mother reminds me fairly frequently not to get involved even with them. Her impression of foreigners has been pretty much shaped by the US military men she has dodged over the years. Military men give all foreigners a bad name here in Okinawa. I have a friend who married a military man and had a child. My mother often says to me, “Oh, I can never think of my grandchild as half GI Joe.” My mother claims that the language barrier is the main reason to reject any ideas about international marriage, but I don’t think so. She thinks American men in Okinawa are just plain dangerous. My mom sometimes brings up the rape of a local junior high school girl who had been assaulted by an American military man living just down the alleyway from us. That happened four years ago, but my mom still talks about it because she still feels some palpable anxiety. This is why she has no idea about my experiences.

Hanna talks about her past introduction to her previous boyfriend. I met him at the NCO Club on Kadena. Because he came up to talk to me at a bar, I thought he was just playing around. He was really persistent, though, so I finally gave in and gave him my phone number. He called me and sent me text messages, but I ignored him for a couple of months. I thought he was ‘playing me’. After three or four months, we finally met. We talked about our families, and I thought he was not such a bad person after all. He took care of his family, did not drink much, and had a few very close friends. I thought we shared some values in life. He knew I was at university, so he would help me out with my English homework. I had

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imagined that military guys just wanted to sleep with me, but he was not like that, at least this was my perception.

Hanna thought about how her studies led to her thinking about foreigners. When I came back from a study abroad program in Canada, I felt less prejudice toward foreigners. I thought even if the person was in the military, he was not necessarily some wanton individual. But I still held up my guard fairly high against them. When they came to talk to me, and usually it was in a bar situation, I felt very suspicious of them. Nonetheless, I wanted to continue improving my English skills in an international environment after my return to Okinawa. This is largely why I decided to work part time on base. My parents are still strongly against it and keep asking me to quit. But, I am still successful in avoiding talk about my private life and feelings. I don’t think we can ever understand each other.

She conveyed the thoughts of her older co-workers . . . At the NCO Club where I work, other senior workers routinely warn me to keep military men at a distance. They tell me those young men are nice to me only to fool around with me, and eventually leave me broken-hearted.

. . . as well as her own perceptions about what these young men are really looking for. Seems to me that most American military men feel that Okinawan women are just easy. They abide by this strange mythology that local girls love American culture and simply can’t resist American men and interacting with them in English. But, I know many girls who also want to just fool around with them, to use these guys like toys. Basically, those girls who want to work on base are after the military men. But, we aren’t all from the same lot. If you work on base, you naturally get a pass. So what! If you have a pass, you can play around on base and have more chances to meet these guys. You can even go and pick them up on base. You can use the facilities on base, such as the gymnasium or the restaurants where they serve up some nice salty, deep-fried fare. These girls go to those places to meet men. They are quite determined. I suppose for them it’s okay to seek out simply romantic relationships with American men.

Like Sakura, Hanna described her impressions of the American GIs and the young women interested in them with a measured lack of regard.

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Yuri Yohnaha Yuri is a shy 22-year-old who admits that she has led a fairly sheltered life growing up in Okinawa City. She says that she never could have imagined that she would go out with an American man, having avoided interaction with them for the first twenty-one years of her life. She is a very hardworking student who manages to pass her classes and work parttime to make ends meet. Yuri reflects on the impressions that her parents have of US military men. As long as I can remember, my mother has always thought that all American men are just ‘players’. When I introduced my fiancé (then just my boyfriend) to my parents, they were quite skeptical of his intentions toward me. Over the months that passed by, though, they became convinced that he was an upstanding and trustworthy individual. My father had worked for the Japanese Defense Forces for two years and had some experience in doing business with American servicemen. Of course, my father was more accepting of foreigners than my mother was. Usually, fathers are the really difficult ones to convince.

She talked about the concerns that the extended family had developed after they discovered my relationship. My relatives are worried about my impending marriage. My aunt thinks all American military men are violent. My grandma told me she knew so many Okinawan women who had gotten married to American men, were divorced, and are now having a very hard time in the US. Only my parents know about my engagement.

She reflected on the time that they both met. I had a part-time job at a local bakery when I was 19. My fiancé used to come in and buy some bread. I asked him one day (with my very limited English) if he played basketball, and after that question, I noticed that he came to see me everyday. He talked to me across the counter even as I bagged his bread and didn’t really understand most of what he was saying. He slipped his phone number to me with the money he owed for his muffins, which I immediately threw in the rubbish. I thought then that he was such a typical American guy, coming on strong with this brute force. He still continued visiting, but I knew that I was going to quit that job soon. I wanted to tell him so, but I didn’t really know how to explain it back then.

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Yuri talked about the months that followed and how her ideas about him began to change. One day, he asked me join him for coffee or something. I told him that I had a boyfriend, which was a lie. He showed me respect by apologising for bothering me. After that, I thought that he was a decent guy. After several months, we somehow met again, but through a common friend of ours. I felt embarrassed for having lied to him, so I also apologised and told him that I was actually single. I thought he would be angry, but he thanked me for being honest. He said that not so many people open up to foreigners like him and communicate honestly. I had some more respect for him after that, but it took me another year before I went out with him. I suppose I was very cautious.

She talked about how strangely things had turned out for her, as she could never have imagined being interested in a foreigner, let alone one in the US military. I played basketball in high school and liked many NBA players, but I thought Americans were too different from me. I had built up a big conceptual wall to block them out. But, once I developed friendships with Americans, I realised that they are just like me, and that we share many values.

She discussed her perceptions of what her friends feel about girls like her. If you have a foreigner as your boyfriend, your friends look up to you and think you are such a ‘global’ god(dess). At the same time, if you dress like a prostitute and walk around with an American guy on your arm, everyone will look at you sideways and probably think that you are just ‘Ame-jo,’ a sex hungry military-man-eating machine. People tell me that I have become ‘Ame-jo.’ I resent that term deep down inside, but it seems that most of my friends are just kidding around with me and use it lightly. I still don’t want people to see me as some promiscuous young ‘lady of the night’. When I walk along the pavement with my fiancé, I feel the cold stares of old folks looking through me and sense their prejudices. As for other young people, like high school and college girls, they seem envious of those with foreign boyfriends. My male classmates have told me before that American guys are nicotine, once a girl smokes one, whatever that means, she’ll be hooked on Americans and would never consider a local man. Maybe Okinawan men feel that American guys steal their women. My dad has always said that no one owns me. Are local guys jealous? I just don’t know.

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She talked about her boyfriend’s perceptions of island people, himself having grown up in Jamaica, and the various kinds of struggles that island people have faced. My fiancé is sympathetic to the plight of Okinawan people. He tells me that he can understand the anger he sees. The older women in Okinawa, he has noticed, have the same kind of wise and penetrating eyes that the older women in Jamaica have. Because he had come from an island nation, he could completely empathise with the local people here and feel comfortable. In contrast to my fiancé’s attitudes, my best friend challenged her ignorant and conceited American boyfriend one time over his knee-jerk contempt for local anger about the recent Osprey deployment. He tried to justify his arrogance by saying that the Japanese deserved what they got during WWII. He even tried to present evidence for this view from the melodramatic mythologies manufactured in Hollywood’s version of history in the film Pearl Harbor. She was incredulous. What could she say to a grown man who chooses cinema to support a perspective on history?

Yuri admitted that there was simply no way that she could have gone out with the handsome but “conceited redneck from Texas,” but even she, as close-minded as she was, opened up and learned some valuable things about other people from other parts of the world.

Nari Maeshiro Nari is an extremely hard-working self-reliant and mature 20-year-old who appears to have recognised very early on that language skills, whatever language they may be, will take her very far in the world. Besides maintaining the demands of a full academic scholarship, she speaks three languages, and is an accomplished dancer. She is a very open and bright role model for her younger classmates. Despite her great promise to excel autonomously in the business world and her relatively young age, she made what she felt was a life decision and married. Since I was a freshman in college, I have been working at a fast-food restaurant on base to help offset my spending beyond the scholarship and, of course, to not be such a burden to my mom. At Subway, I would often (almost daily) have a particular American male customer who would come to my register with a banana in his hand. I honestly didn’t notice the connection, at first, between his rubbing the banana and his smirking and winking at me. What was the underlying meaning in this foreign form of communication? Undeterred by my inability to grasp his messages, he turned to more explicit forms. Days went by, and he began soliciting sex. I

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mean, God, I am at Subway serving meat and cheese sandwiches. One afternoon, I am so glad that another more sensible human being was standing in line and overheard this young man’s abusive talk. The ensuing argument between them almost led to a fistfight. He was like a hero to me, because I was really feeling distressed and a bit frightened. After that incident, this brave individual visited Subway more often, maybe I hadn’t even noticed him before, but he really impressed me. Soon, we started talking, and the more we talked the more comfortable I felt. He was a gentleman, to be sure. Ultimately, we exchanged numbers and began to meet. We were just good friends then.

Nari talked a bit about her life when she was growing up. When I was in high school, I knew I wanted to study abroad in college, but I was raised in a single-parent home, and my mother was on social welfare. I have three younger siblings, so as the eldest, I knew I had to take up some more responsibilities. In fact, the only condition for my going off to college was getting a full scholarship. My high school English teacher had a boyfriend who was in the US Air Force, and he suggested that I try to get a part-time job on base. He told me that I would have many chances to converse with native English speakers without spending any extra money to go abroad. He even searched for an agency for me and helped me find work on base. So, I took that chance because I wanted to speak English fluently.

She also shared a story about her grandfather’s experiences after the war. From as far back as I can recall, I always wanted to speak English. I live right next to White Beach Naval Facility, and my grandfather used to work for the American military. Maybe, it was the Navy. He was the first Okinawan, in fact, to get a driver’s license. This was truly significant. So, what did he do? He became a truck driver on base. He could speak fluent English, and his friends in the US military used to visit his house for parties before they were shipped off to Vietnam. The soldiers even brought my mother MREs (Meals Ready-to-Eat), though they were C-rations back then. We also received lots of candies. My family and I were and are still very close to the military base.

Nari talked about her husband’s thoughts about military life. Juan hates the military. He wants to quit and move on to the next stage of his life. As soon as he gets out, he will find work off base here in Okinawa. He wants to go to university and become an architect. He is an E5 (noncommissioned officer). Since he served in the military over so many years,

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She talked about some of the attitudes that Okinawans seem to have of American military men. I think it depends on the family whether or not the members will accept Americans. I have an aunt who is ‘half’ American and Okinawan. She came into the world after an American military man raped her mother. This particular aunt was not very happy about my marriage to Juan, and I can understand her feelings. Some of my girlfriends who go out with American men are treated quite badly by their parents. When the mother of one of my good friends discovered that her daughter had a military boyfriend, her mom started washing her clothes separately from her daughter’s. In fact, she saw to it that the entire family’s laundry was effectively separated at wash time from my friend’s. Of course, the message was that my friend was now filthy and obviously contaminated by some unpleasant foreign infestation. I think that Okinawans living around the bases have two very strong but conflicting feelings. Some of them are close to Americans and have had positive experiences. The others seem to have had very negative experiences and develop a strong distaste, not to mention distrust.

Nari shared her thoughts about the US military on Okinawa. She also had some interesting insights into the feelings that some American military men hold about their presence here and about the people whose lives are affected by it. I am strongly against the military bases in Okinawa. My husband and I openly talk about the issue quite a lot. It is nice because our talk hardly ever causes any real friction between us. My husband and his friends often gather at our place, and we discuss these issues too. They are aware of Okinawan people’s feelings toward them in light of the violence and other crimes committed by so many military men. They are quite sympathetic to the local people, and they dream about the day when they can finish their duty and move on with their lives. They feel that the military is not really a place for them. I openly criticise my husband and his friends from my Okinawan perspective, and they patiently listen to me. This is nice because I can see that some people can be reasoned with.

Nari provided another perspective on her perceptions of what the Ame-jo are looking for in the foreign guys.

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I don’t think that most of the girls who go on these hunting expeditions for American men at the clubs actually know about the guys they bag. They are not really serious about these relationships and just to want to have fun. What’s that song from the 1970s or ’80s? These girls don’t even speak enough English to understand their boyfriends’ names, let alone their background. I mean, do they really know anything about their family, hometown or their high school? Maybe they are not even interested. I suppose so much depends upon where they meet. I don’t go to clubs, but I know some girls who meet their boyfriends at bars or dance clubs. Like most American men who come to Okinawa, those relationships are just temporary and superficial. Some of these girls go out with American guys just to shop on base. Is the PX really that novel? I can buy a Gucci bag across the street. I am a bit worried about them. Some of these girls say they just want to enjoy speaking English or, alternatively, enjoy the same bed. Oddly, they think that doing so boosts their ego. Is it some sort of trophy they’ve won? I don’t know. I don’t care about the small-minded local people who whisper behind my back and call me ‘Ame-jo’. I know who I am, and I know that I am doing something positive for my family and for me and my husband.

She also talked about the recently changing attitudes toward women who date American men. Nowadays, our society strongly values “internationalism.” So, going out with an American man is often viewed as a positive, especially by other young women. So, the expression ‘Ame-jo’ has new meanings, more positive feelings connected to it. Some girls respect ‘Ame-jo’.

Ame-jo The term ‘Ame-jo’ contains two key parts: quite simply ‘Ame’ and ‘jo.’ ‘Ame’ indicates American, and ‘jo’ comes from the indigenous Okinawan language, an abbreviation of jo-guu which means ‘hungry for’ or ‘. . . lover of.’ Together the term means ‘hungry for Americans,’ or ‘American lovers.’ ‘Jo-guu’ normally refers to one’s food preference, and when the term refers to people, it carries strong sexual connotations. Therefore, ‘Ame-jo’ literally means a woman who favours an American man to whet her sexual appetite. In postwar Okinawa, one way to escape from poverty was to marry an American man. Women who engaged in prostitution or who served military men in bars reportedly dreamed that these men liked them and would take them away to the US for a better life. At the time, these women were known as ‘Honey-san’, and as they climbed the social ladder by

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marrying American men, people glanced at them sideways with a mix of envy and scorn. If Okinawan men use the term ‘Ame-jo’, it sounds extremely derogatory. As the young women whom I interviewed reported, the term describes a promiscuous, sleazy, and even sexually perverted woman. From an Okinawan man’s perspective, these women who threaten their own masculinity should be punished and, thus, socially excluded. Use of this term among men represents their ongoing battle for domination and their inherent sense of possession of ‘their’ women. Despite its strong negative connotations, the term is popular and is used casually among young people. Even young women are taking control of it by re-appropriating the label on their own terms to refer affectionately to one another or to themselves. They say with a cute sense of irony and self-deprecation, “I have become ‘Ame-jo’” (as a result of dating an American man). The term also reflects the attitude that a young woman may develop after dating an American guy. The connotation suggests that she has lost her sense of identity in the search of a status rather than a real human being with whom to share a life. It represents a kind of irrational arrogance.

English Education at Okinawa Christian University All of the interviewees were drawn among students at Okinawa Christian University. Chosho Nakazato had established Okinawa Christian Institute, the antecedent of the university, in the postwar era. Nakazato was once a teacher employed under the direction of the Japanese Imperial compulsory education system, and he taught his students to go to war and to die for the Emperor. Many of his students listened to his teachings, complied, and, of course, lost their lives in the war. When the war came to an end, he was profoundly grieved and lamented deeply. He resolved to completely rethink concepts of education and sought to restart education not for war-making, but for peace-making. He concluded that Christian principles of self-sacrifice and peace set against Okinawa’s wartime horrors were central to reconstructing war-torn Okinawa and re-educating young people to go into the world as both highly-informed and genuine makers of peace. The school (which began as a two-year college) soon became famous for its English education. Graduates from the English Department conspicuously served in newly emerging industries developed, ironically enough, by the US military. Under US-occupied Okinawa, effective

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English language skills were critical in any climb up the socioeconomic ladder. Many young Okinawan citizens invested heavily in English education, and they became rich colonial elites conspiring to maintain the local conditions. The US military government was only too happy to provide various scholarships for local people to study in the United States. The highly educated students would return to Okinawa programmed by pro-American policies and Anglo-American conceptions of East Asia. The result was often further support for the status quo. In time, they became influential leaders in the military, in local public offices, and even in the universities. Since our university began as a two-year college, it initially attracted considerably more young women than men. Although the school was established as a co-educational institution, the large proportion of students was and still is female. Parents in the postwar period hesitated to support their daughters interested in a four-year education under patriarchal Okinawan society. But, lucky young women who could get a four-year university education typically turned to work as flight attendants, office clerks, or public school teachers with their English skills. Soon, the college developed a good reputation for the English language bridge it built to concepts of internationalisation and sophistication. It became popular among young local women. At the same time, the school also developed a negative reputation and has been disgracefully known as an “Ame-jo school.” Indeed, many students have sought relationships with American men and many of those have developed into marriages. Local people look-on and see the American boyfriends waiting around for their young local ladies to leave classes. Some students even drive their boyfriends’ cars with military license plates to commute to school. Some parents, of course, have reservations about sending their daughters to the university, thinking that their own daughters may eventually be swept up in the perceived on campus search for new American men. Many students think that the fastest way of improving their English skills is to go out with Americans. Rather than letting themselves be mesmerised by the plays of Shakespeare or the stories of Steinbeck, many of them are inspired by their favourite film stars or western musicians and simply want to speak like them. They prefer studies in the US to everyday classroom learning and mistakenly believe if they go to the US, work on the bases, or acquire an American boyfriend that they can instantaneously master the English language. A loose but effective network of support between present students and alumni, in fact, provides ways of finding part-time work for interested people, and for introducing American males to other students on campus.

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The students routinely utilise this network to find jobs on base and believe that this sort of work is the best route to English language learning. Some students claim that their acquisition of English skills has nothing to do with the education, but it is a result of their study abroad experience and intercourse with military bases. One male student asserted, “This school can stay in business because of the US bases in Okinawa. We want to work on base and that is why we come to this school.” In his mind, the university and the military bases have a symbiotic relationship. He fails to see or chooses to ignore, though, that the military bases are doing most of the consuming. Administrators and faculty are fully aware of this situation and see it as problematic. From the school’s perspective, the institution itself was established in postwar Okinawa to work toward and achieve a greater peace, and was supposed to challenge violations of human rights globally and creeping militarisation. When the school added a four-year program, the Department of English Communication, its mission was to produce “English-speaking internationalists who can compete in the global age.” To date, no attempts have been made to examine critically the history of English education, or the relationship between the language and the ongoing occupation of Okinawa. Honest historical perspectives on occupation and/or more realistic and positive role models of Englishspeaking internationalists are necessary than the narrow ones presently provided by the bases. As revealed in its slogan, the school aims to be a “peace-maker.” Perhaps the problem lies in the university’s unwillingness, or inability, to take a hard stand and put peace into action. An unambiguous antimilitary stand that rejects any programs of study that tie the school to the occupation forces would be a positive start. “Loving thy neighbour” (as Christ commanded) means resisting violent forces in society, no matter what those forces are. Such a stand would signal to the community and to students that the school is serious about making a peaceful world in which human beings are valued more than systems of domination and power.

‘Americanisation’ as ‘Internationalisation’ After WWII, Japan’s transformation from Imperialism to International(ism) was actually code for American(ism). During my 30 years of anecdotal observations from California to Okinawa, at close range to American civilians and military members, I have noticed one seamless trend—an almost complete inability (or unwillingness) for otherwise reasonable people to recognise that the hundreds of military garrisons that populate

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the globe are an obvious reflection of American military empire. When bureaucrats and common taxpayers talk of the need to continue internationalising, or globalising, they invariably mean Americanising. Yuri’s words also reflect the trend: Going out with an American guy is, like, a really cool thing to do. It’s just like wearing Nike shoes or an Adidas trainer. If you are dating an American dude, other people, especially young ladies my age, think I am an English-speaking, international, socialite. They either look up to me or envy me.

All of the young women who participated in the interviews indicated that they had grown up under the strong intoxicating influence of Americana in movies, TV shows, and music. Americana pervades the Okinawan cultural and media landscape.1 Young people come to feel that American culture is superior to Japanese or Okinawan cultures, and assimilation to this foreign culture is a positive and desirable step forward. It should be noted, though, that the “American culture” they are fed comes sifted through a Hollywood-produced media filter. Consumption of these illusions begins from their earliest years of exposure. Perhaps these young people in Okinawa see their favourite film stars, the sexy sirens and macho hunks, or hip-hop gangstas in every American soldier walking the streets of Okinawa. Sakura notes I think most of them (the young girls go after American men) love American sitcoms and cinema, and we want to be like the leading ladies in the shows.

Many of my other interviewees, whose observations don’t appear herein, claimed that they themselves as well as many of their classmates began dating American soldiers when they were still in high school. Their ability to do so, no doubt, comes from the very close proximity that the bases have to local communities. The girls from these communities tended to seek out these relationships. Sakura and Nari said that their high school was situated adjacent to Kadena Airbase, a small community where everyone on base, and off, shared coffee shops, restaurants, and shopping areas and, of course, the deafening screams of fighter aircraft overhead. The prospect of meeting American military men, exchanging phone numbers or email addresses, and practicing English were all a part of common, routine experience.

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Part of that experience was the thrill of breaking local taboos on meeting or dating American soldiers. Sakura noted the potential excitement in “breaking a fairly rigid social code.” She said that all of her friends know their parents would lose their minds, but it’s fun. In this age of globalisation, Japan’s national-level educational policies strongly encourage young people to master English and to become more internationally-minded citizens. Okinawa is certainly no exception. Perhaps, because of the overwhelming presence of the US military bases in Okinawa, young people seem to simply map their sense of internationalisation onto their limited experiences with American base culture. Their perspectives on the rest of the globe are, thus, severely restricted by this narrow frame of Americana. For local people, the struggle against the US occupation seems inevitably cultural as well as political. To change the status quo, they must fight the forces of Americanisation—the cultural influences that effectively function to maintain the US occupation and domination in Okinawa. Young local women who are drawn by these forces and who seek to Americanise themselves are often viscously castigated and condemned by the norm. It must be noted, however, that the power to create and define ‘normal’ ideas and behaviour rests largely with males in society who, like Ame-jo, remain hungry themselves for the socioeconomic and political power that the US bases bring to them. This ongoing US-Japan homosociality,2 which enables the current arrangements for continued male dominance, helps keep the forces of occupation intact, but scarcely conceals its complicity in scapegoating local women. If we don’t pause at some point and seriously question where internationalisation has brought us, our twisted values and misplaced priorities on the preservation of male power and dominance— whether American conceptions or Japanese—will likely imperil us.

Notes  1 2

These facts are explicated in Broudy and Simpson, this volume. Harriet Bradley, Gender (Cambridge: Polity, 2007), 103-4.

CHAPTER THREE WHAT’S GOING ON BEHIND THOSE BLUE EYES? THE MILITARY MAN AND HIS MANY (MIS)PERCEPTIONS NIKA NASHIRO

Introduction While race and eye color may not hold any apparent meaning in contemporary interpersonal relations between the Okinawan population and the US military, these physical features do have a certain historical resonance, which informs the title of this chapter. During the period of direct US military administration (1945-1972), ‘blue eyes’ came to signify the occupier from the point of view of the Okinawan population, especially from the point of view of those who had survived the war and who had subsequent contact with the Americans. Thus, during that era, the commonly heard expression hwiijaamii (goat’s eyes) was used as a metonym/signifier for the alien, a term meant to express a contemptuous view of the outsider. In contrast to the immediate postwar period, relatively few Okinawan women nowadays have any personal contact with members of the US military and even fewer work on the bases themselves. Yet, in the summer of 2010, I found myself among this dwindling number of on-base female employees, working as a sales assistant in a home improvements store catering to military members and their families. One morning, a uniformed Gunnery Sergeant (senior enlisted NCO) entered the store, apparently seeking out hardware, and greeted me, “Hi Sexy! Is that your club clothes? [sic] Why are you so sexified?” At the time, I was wearing the standardissue uniform. As I reflected on this interaction as a native Okinawan woman, I began to feel like an inanimate object marginalised by an old occupying colonial

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power. With this lingering perception lodged in my memory, my aim in this chapter is to attempt to make sense of the attitudes that engendered his greeting. Circumstances in Okinawa make conventional field research difficult, given the pressure on US military personnel to maintain operations security (OPSEC). This chapter discusses the political geography of Okinawa, considers Edward Said’s Orientalism as a way of examining perceptions, introduces Gayatri Spivak’s concept of “white men saving brown women from brown men,” and analyses the US military in this regard as both a liberator and a protector. The final section further investigates GIs’ current perceptions of local Okinawan women.

Data Collection While many Okinawans are willing to express strongly held views about the presence of US bases, collecting data from US military personnel is a much more challenging task, both because gaining access to bases is almost impossible for those who lack the proper ID cards. To undertake this research, I synthesised my studies of postcolonial and gender literature with insights drawn from interviews with GIs in Okinawa. I interviewed a total of thirty-seven GIs1 during the summer of 2010 and 2012 mainly in Mihama, Chatan—a city in the central part of southern Okinawa five minutes drive from Kadena Air Base and Camp Foster. My initial approach to data collection came from snowball sampling, a method used when the target population appeared uncooperative, exhibited elusiveness, or when only limited access to the population was available. The first contact was asked to name or introduce a future contact who could be interviewed and who could introduce other participants. The population of interviewees was supposed to grow in size as though one were rolling a snowball into a snowman. Due to confidentiality issues (OPSEC), the approach was only partially fruitful. More effective were the interviews I was able to conduct at a local café in close proximity to Camp Foster every other day after 8:00PM, a time when GIs were largely inclined to relax off base. The many dialogues developed over coffee at Starbucks became a primary area for interviews, for it was a centre of social activity where GIs appeared to feel free to talk more openly. Beyond conducting interviews for primary data collection, I also engaged as a participant observer. Assuming the additional role of a local woman as an apparent object of interest, I was able to observe actions and participate in conversations that exposed me to greater levels of honest

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feedback. Observing “in the moment” allowed for valuable firsthand experiences and access to informal interactions with GIs in visits to social gatherings with opportunities for developing more fruitful dialogues.

Rationale Providing alternative perspectives to local citizens will enhance understanding and knowledge available to them, especially to local women. As many Okinawan women might lack sufficient knowledge of the US military and of GIs’ views of them, these women tend to put themselves in potentially dangerous situations. This chapter underscores the fundamental importance of knowledge in the interest of averting crosscultural conflicts, which can sometimes easily escalate to international incidents. Also of particular benefit to the US military in Okinawa, and elsewhere in the world, are detailed descriptions that illustrate underlying attitudes and perceptions, which I believe can serve as mirrors that inform local citizens of the ways in which power can influence behaviour and decision-making. Numerous sources of information offer Okinawan perspectives on the enduring presence of US forces, especially when compared to the limited source material that presents the American GI perspective. Much has been written about the ongoing protests against US military bases, especially in the northern part of the island where the long-planned relocation of Futenma Marine Corps Air Station lies dormant but will, like a vampire, likely reawaken, and where the forced deployment of the MV-22 Osprey has recently nested down. Additional media coverage of the recent rape of a local woman at the hands of two Navy sailors on temporary assignment here has galvanised local feminist groups, such as Okinawan Women Act Against Military Violence (OWAAMV), into action and has enabled the media again to call attention to the unceasing injustice of rape and assault. In sum, this chapter provides another window that allows us to survey the major gaps in our knowledge of how many American GIs tend to view Okinawans.

The Political Geography of Okinawa Feminisation is a process of superimposing feminine traits onto people, objects, ideas, activities, or geographical spaces. It is a process that must be challenged when labels debase the physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional power of women. Such feminising traits have typically included passive, soft, small, vulnerable, naïve, irrational, inferior, easy, and

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opportunistic. Feminine metaphors appear at the level of social and linguistic codes, associating people, places or things with some long-held stereotypes about females. Perceived as peaceful, meek, warm, and friendly, Okinawa has been feminsied as well.2 The island can be seen as “a soft, smiling, tender place that waits to be shared, enjoyed, [and] consumed. Both versions of femininity—as lacking something and yet available—configure the representers [sic] as entitled to what they see.”3 The majority of the GIs whom I interviewed described Okinawa as “beautiful,” as a “heavilycultured place,” as a place they “love,” and a place for “relaxation.” Such descriptions can also be seen as gendered. The word beautiful is not typically a word to describe something masculine or manly; at the same time, heavily-cultured place connotes an exoticness of the island that longs to be explored. Additionally, love is an expression used to embody sexual passion or desire while relaxation often connotes rest and recreation. In military parlance, R&R usually suggests a time when the promise of sexual pleasures can be found by men seeking “relaxation.” Okinawa’s gentleness and kindness toward visitors welcome ambitious men to the tropical island. Her meekness and mildness tolerate the presence of US occupation and the foreign warriors. Her beauty and elegance supply GIs with “eye candy” whose sweetness they can often sample during their R&R. Perhaps her perceived weakness is construed as a message that invites the manly military force to come partake and take charge. From a feminist perspective, Okinawa is often construed as a daughter of Japan who as a father figure failed to protect the land from US military assault and rape.4 Linda Angst makes the further argument that rape is a “metaphorical violation of Okinawan property rights”: her rich fertile virgin land being raped by the US military bases. Correspondingly, untouched lands are desirable to conquerors like virginity is desirable to men. In the postwar world, this young innocent Okinawa was desirable to US war planners, who saw themselves as strong father figures and who felt it was their duty to civilise, protect, develop, and democratise the world’s underdeveloped regions and countries. Prostitution provides another metaphor for local power holders (i.e. the small minority of landowners) who help perpetuate the present system of occupation. Gradually over the decades of contending with occupation, the wider population of Okinawa has become caught in a system of dependence in which it can scarcely support itself without yielding in some way to US military plans. This kind of dependency frustrates the people’s efforts to liberate themselves from the system. Moon calls this

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the “debt-bondage system” that keeps women in prostitution by increasing their debts whenever they ask for financial assistance from their pimps and exploiters. 5 Normura Koya elaborates on the economic implications, arguing that “if Okinawa cooperates and continues to welcome the US bases on its soil, economic aid will be extended. Cooperation and unemployment are intertwined.”6 While she guarantees the security for her fatherland, her own security is ceded, realising she is caught in a system of dependency planned by the US. For Hein and Selden, there is no easy and obvious economic alternative to Okinawa’s continued reliance on hosting US military bases and depending on Omoiyari Yosan (Host Nation Support). 7 The very fact that Okinawa must continue relying on this budget is like a woman depending on a man for her very survival. Rejecting her service as a host to US military bases undermines her ability sustain herself economically. Many American GIs stationed in Okinawa have long been known to exude a sense of self-apparent superiority toward Okinawans. From where does this self-confidence emerge in their attitudes and actions? As an island of peace, Okinawa is without a doubt “powerless” compared to the continental United States who has engaged in many military conflicts over centuries. In terms of its influence on Okinawan society, the US military reigns. Caring for the meek and the mild is a feminising notion, which accompanies political and economic subordination. This view squares with the imperial model where the feminist perceives the US as the protector and Okinawa as the object of this protection. Sexualisation illustrates a body being erotically objectified by the male gaze.8 In this context, Okinawa is, in a sense, sexualised by the military. From the gaze of masculine countries, Okinawa is the centre of attention. Okinawa’s availability, accessibility, virgin lands (especially in the Northern Training Area), tropical climate, and strategic location attract every masculine eye. To explain why Okinawa was chosen as an object of attention lies in its physical location; it plays an essential role for US military planners in exploiting its geographical advantages. Okinawa is located approximately 1500 kilometres from Tokyo and from Manila City; Seoul and Pyongyang can be reached within 1500 kilometres.9 Okinawa’s prime location reduces time and distance necessary for the military to engage directly in international affairs in the East. One Asian-American Marine from Hawai‘i whom I interviewed described Okinawa’s strategic location as a “great place for humanitarian relief. It’s too late if we’re coming from Hawai‘i.”10 Much like a prostitute in a brothel, Okinawa is available and easily accessed whenever and wherever necessity warrants: the island

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supplies the US military in Asia with a competitive advantage in giving relief and seeking relief. From the US military perspective, Okinawa is also considered as a rest and relaxation (R&R) centre, which is one of the major features for overseas US military hosting countries. In the postwar era, it was, in fact, once openly acknowledged by the US military and local business owners that routine access to native women’s bodies [was] necessary, 11 an occupation era idea and practice whose conceptual remnants may still remain today. As brothels are considered to be an essential feature of military morale, welfare and recreation, the local government and the US military made direct or indirect agreements to legalise them and the accompanying systems of prostitution.12 Until 1972, GIs were only allowed to enter establishments with particular signs displayed outside their front entrances. This sign, known as an ‘A-sign’, signified to potential patrons that a particular bar or club had already passed a US military inspection and was approved by the US military.13 The letter ‘A’ stands for “Army approved,” which also licensed access for GIs of other branches, and these unmistakable signifiers were stamped on signs hung near the entrances of bars located just outside the perimeter of the military bases. Along with the A-sign bars, dance clubs, striptease bars, brothels, and love hotels14 also remain located within these areas. While the practice of posting A-signs is no longer mandated by city ordinance, the practice of segregation is still commonly enforced by many local businesses.15 A-sign bars are also unique places where GIs’ anxieties toward war can be found on display. Such bars often have one or two walls papered with one-dollar bills signed by GIs ordered to undertake tours of Afghanistan or Iraq, a current reinterpretation of a Korean War and Vietnam War practice. This, I believe, is when a GI’s sense of humanity and vulnerability emerge. As one Caucasian Marine commented, “We are not [the] inhumane, emotionless killing machine[s] that everyone expects us to be. We smile and have human emotions. We are just human being[s] like you guys are.” 16 GIs, especially the young and inexperienced, feel alone on their first military tour away from home. As one seasoned Marine described it, the younger ones are “naïve, lonely, and isolated. They just want their normal life back. Some of them date local girls to fill in that emptiness. ‘New’ is always fun which may be dating Asian women.”17 The GIs live their lives to their fullest treasuring each moment, and seeking relief by reaching out to the local women in fear that the next day might present orders to the battlefield. One GI, leaving Okinawa for Iraq, talked to a snack bar18 Mama-san and expressed

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his anxiety as he inscribed the words “One Shot One Kill” on a dollar bill and posted it on the wall, parting with his final words: “I’ll be back.”19 Molasky describes the connection between base towns20 and the military as an intimate relationship: The perception of Koza’s illegitimacy derives not just from the town’s occupation origins and hybrid name but also from its intimate relationship with the nearby military bases. ‘Intimate’ must be understood in both its economic and erotic sense, since it is the fusion of these two realms that underlies Koza’s complex relations with the American occupiers.21

Through GIs, the surrounding base town economy flourishes as if the US military and the base town were a great couple. The x-factor figuring into this sort of economic equation could be the sex trade—the availability and accessibility of the bodies of native women and foreign prostitutes in the base towns themselves.22 From my observations, snack bars and clubs are, in some ways, seen as female figures; snack bars offer a sense of serenity, much in the way one might seek a consoling mother figure in times of homesickness or heightened anxiety that comes from work in a grueling occupation. Alternatively, clubs are like young females that can serve to massage or enhance GIs’ masculinity and ego. This view of the relationship was reciprocated when I interviewed a local tailor23 who was in the business of altering GIs’ uniforms. As she stitched red marks 24 on combat uniforms for the GIs returning to Afghanistan and Iraq, she hoped for their safety there and eventual return from the tours. When returning the altered combat uniform to GIs, she always saw the anxiety in each of their faces and worried for them as if they were her own children being sent off to battle. There were, of course, significant differences between the women in the bars and clubs compared to the local tailor, who was like a maternal figure engaged in domestic work. Nevertheless, their roles are both feminised. The notion of women offering some relief during these difficult times has existed, at least, since WWII. For example, nose art of pin-up girls during the war effort created some comfort and a sense of home during hard times on the battlefield. At the same time, these pin-up girls boosted their ego and morale.25 Today, GIs maintain casual assumptions that they are entitled to easy sexual access to local women, perhaps as a form of reflection from the great anxieties they contend with in going to war or as a reward for surviving battle. The notion that they are endangering their lives for freedom and liberty for their people and for the free world animates this

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sense of entitlement to R&R before they deploy to battle. For example, I encountered a Hispanic GI who had just returned from Iraq. His perspective on Okinawa suggested that he believed he fully deserved Okinawan “relaxation” and stated that “Young ones, especially the Marines, should not be in Okinawa, but rather should be in places where we were [Iraq and Afghanistan] and experience more.” 26 GIs may not realise that these attitudes and the actions they engender are entirely condescending. Perceiving Okinawa as an R&R site diminishes the value of Okinawan women. Okinawa’s subtropical location is sexualised by the US. From the male gaze, Okinawa is perceived to be a woman ever available and accessible. Her virginity, especially after WWII, has been highly valued as she has been symbolically stripped, for military purposes, and redressed in American military fashions, such as the barbed wire fences that lace various choice parts of the island. The US has fashioned Okinawa into its own strategic location in the Pacific available for future interventions between countries whenever it is needed. Additionally, Okinawa has provided a useful location away from the battlefield to provide both shortterm training27 and R&R. Okinawa today remains an R&R site for young GIs who visit the island on orders for their short-term training. Brothels and bars are still located at convenient distances from bases whose close proximity conveys availability and accessibility to women’s bodies.28 Geographic distances can create significant distortions in perception. This sort of ongoing sexualisation of Okinawa, its structures, landmarks, and its female inhabitants, was illustrated powerfully once again in the most recent rape case as two US Navy sailors brutalised a local woman. Distorted perceptions can evidently move some servicemen to pre-meditated acts of aggression: Assigned to a naval air base in the U.S. mainland, the sailors arrived in Japan on Oct. 3 [2012], moved on to Okinawa on Oct. 14 and were scheduled to leave for Guam on Oct. 16. The rape took place a few hours before their departure, which raises the suspicion that they [had] timed the attack to minimize their chance of getting caught.29

The male gaze as a concept of sexualisation becomes concrete through action: the mere thought that native bodies are available and easily accessible engenders the perception that the subject who gazes assumes a superior position while the object, the Other, assumes an inferior position. Following Japan’s defeat in World War II, the US military set about occupying Okinawa. General Douglas MacArthur must have surveyed the

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destruction, gazing upon the ravaged island, and contemplated deeply its future possibilities as he saw to it that the occupation, in one form or another, would go on without end. When the cadre of lawyers he deployed hammered out the Constitution of Japan and enacted Article 9, 30 the possibilities for setting up a long-term dependency likely seemed inevitable with the signing of The Treaty of San Francisco in 1952 and the subsequent signing of Japan-US Security Treaty31 in January 1960. As the contours of the Cold War took shape, Japan’s dependency on the US for national security grew, as well as Okinawa’s importance as a “keystone” from which to check the USSR. With the Korean War and the Vietnam Conflict came a continued reliance on Okinawa as a location to serve the various theatres of combat operations and to serve the warriors who entered into these theatres and returned from them. Okinawa, thus, served as a platform from which to launch aggression and, oddly, as an oasis in which to seek R&R. [W]hen the Korean War began, Japan was still under our military occupation and served as the main staging area and privileged sanctuary for our forces. This pattern was repeated during the Vietnam War, when Okinawa was still an American colony and could be used as a bomber base and supply center, despite considerable opposition.32

Though the irony seems to escape the notice of many that Okinawa continues to be perceived as a place of peace and relaxation from which to launch military strikes on nearby nations, equally ironic is William Perry’s speech delivered to the National Press Club in Tokyo, shortly after the 1995 rape incident. As a direct descendent of Commodore Matthew C. Perry, a military leader and diplomat who responded in 1853 to Okinawan outrage over a rape committed by a sailor in his charge, Secretary Defense William Perry responded in 1995 by defending the necessity of military bases: “The bases are here for your good more than ours; without the troops, Japan would be vulnerable.”33 Many Okinawans, nevertheless, continue to wonder openly about who the US-Japan Security Treaty is really meant to protect. The great majority of US military bases, after all, were established in Okinawa—a distance from the national seat of power in Tokyo nearly equal to the distance from Seoul, Korea. Does “her” geographic position play a significant role in answers to enduring questions about why scarcely anyone in the mainland of Japan wants US military bases in their backyard? Does Okinawa serve simply as the distant “‘garbage dump’ of the [US-Japan] Security Treaty,”34 where the civilised centres of power can dispose of their cares about security? After the attacks of 9/11 on US soil, US military bases in

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Okinawa were swarmed with Japanese riot squads ostensibly to protect the protectors while Japanese tour parties traveled in the opposite direction and stayed away for months. This spectacle alone laid bare the falsehood that US bases are in Okinawa to protect the island’s residents, and it did much to reveal the hidden costs to the local economy.

‘Thai People’: Dirty but Nice From Hello Kitty to hardcore pornography, East Asian women are typically caricatured as voiceless and parentless objects of fantasy and fact. Drawing on this stereotype, interviewees made recurrent references to ‘Thai’ people, a resonant metonym for Asian women they encountered during their tours of duty in southeast Asia. The GIs whom I interviewed seemed to embrace this notion. When asked, “How do you see Okinawans?” the majority of the interviewees observed: “They are very nice,” while one young Marine, echoing others, remarked: “they are very nice, mainly the Asian people [are] like Filipinos, Chinese, and Japanese. We call it [sic] the Thai People. They are nice and they treat us nice.”35 This particular respondent’s use of ‘nice’ may represent a conflation of his earlier Thai experience with what may now be an expectation that carried two connotations into Okinawa, as in “friendly” and “sexually accessible.” In this context, the encounters between transient American military personnel and Okinawan women seem eerily similar to those described by Jeremy Seabrook in the Thai context, in which sexual intimacy paradoxically creates division rather than unity when talk of extended family networks and difficult economic circumstances intrude on the ‘relationship.’36 It may, thus, be reasonable to infer that many GIs coming to Okinawa presuppose that Okinawan women are simply another variety of the particular Thai women whom they encounter and whose bodies they enlist for transient entertainment. In their book, Let the Good Times Roll, Sturdevant and Stoltzfus also discuss the effects that prostitution in the Philippines, Korea, and in Okinawa have had on the perceptions of the US military. Perhaps, prostitution in general creates the kind of confusion that warrants no compunction in naming these areas as “dirty countries.” Some interviewees suggested that Thai people (women) are considerably nice, but dirty. Do these sexually nuanced terms turn Thai women into “bad girls?” In Gender and Globalization in Asia and the Pacific, Yau Ching argues two types of girls exist in society: the “good

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girl” and the “bad girl.” Good girls are those who are chaste, innocent, dependent and vulnerable, whereas the bad girls are those who are savagelike, promiscuous, disgracing their families, and are unwanted by the larger society.37 If Thai women are ‘bad girls,’ then who are the ‘good girls?’ Are the wives of GIs considered good? Other interviewees, a US Marine of Asian descent, for example, suggested that the habit of engaging with prostitutes was sometimes the result of intense peer pressure. Routine invitations such as “hey dude, I’ll buy you a girl” or “let’s grab some babes” were often hard to resist. So, a “culture” of grabbing, buying, and utilising prostitutes developed as a kind of convenient relief from the rigors of hard military training.38 Through these challenging environmental shifts and adjustments, many GIs witness and participate in the commodification of female bodies. Turning once again to 1945, the Japanese Government created the Recreation and Amusement Association (RAA) (a euphemism for regulated prostitution) to accommodate American GIs who were serving as occupying forces throughout Japan. The principal objective of RAA was to protect the ‘pure’ middle- and upper-class Japanese women from the system by enlisting help from women of the lower-classes, as a sort of dike of protection from the GIs who might otherwise rape the pure women of Japan.39 While the policy has been abolished, its ideological vestiges appear to remain intact.

‘It’s an Asian Thing’ In Sex among Allies: Military Prostitution in U.S.-Korea Relations, Kathy Moon reflects on the prevailing misconceptions that American GIs had formed over the decades about Koreans and Korean prostitution: “aw, it’s the culture.” Reinforcing these myths were the officers who would tell their men, “prostitution is a way of life for Asians, and the Asians like prostitution.”40 How are American GIs’ perceptions today largely constructed, and what is their definition of Asian Culture? The interviews revealed some interesting insights into the preconceptions that many GIs had developed before arriving in Okinawa. The majority who were told that their next duty assignment would take them to Okinawa reported having certain expectations: access to cheap electronics, fast cars, and beautiful beaches. They expected to see historical sites, samurai swords, tatami mats, shǀji (Japanese sliding doors made with bamboos and washi papers), bright neon lights, red light districts, nice and kind girls, and other leisure destinations.

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Curious about the reasons behind these stereotypical aspects of culture, I asked whether they had searched for any recent information pertaining to Okinawa. The overwhelming majority admitted that they hadn’t, since most of them were ordered to come directly to Okinawa from Boot Camp. All of their pre-fabricated expectations derived from media and their informal conversations with other GIs. Cinema, documentary films, magazines, and other forms of western media figured into the construction of images that they had developed. Adding to these expectations, engendered by profound misconceptions, are the initial interactions that GIs have with local women. Patti Duncan points out that GIs’ stereotypes are formed largely through their “first contact with women of that country.” 41 Consequently, if that contact comes exclusively from trips to local bars or brothels, images of passivity, sex, and helplessness are formed. They, therefore, feel obliged to help those who appear to be in such a helpless state of affairs.

‘Girls Here Need Our Help!’ In her book Can the Subaltern Speak? Spivak discusses the Colonial and the Western Subject. She poses two simple questions: “Who gets to speak and what is said?” Status, race, ethnicity, and gender serve as the major determinants of how one becomes either the speaker or the spoken for. Spivak blends cultural understandings with her study of discourse, claiming that the West does not have the ability to understand the culture of the East. Therefore, Eastern cultures are interpreted principally from a Western perspective, which too often excludes voices from the East. A Hispanic GI reflected this kind of interpretation: “they [local women] like to go to American clubs because they know they can flirt with Americans. They like [the attention] and want it. The girls here need help [from us to accommodate their needs].” 42 Some GIs even went beyond speaking for females and moved onto local males. Speaking on behalf of them, more than two-thirds of the interviewees suggested that local men do not treat Okinawan women equally. They contended that American men know how to treat women, expressing the long underlying belief that the brown women must “be rescued not because they are more ‘ours’ than ‘theirs’ but rather because they will have become more ‘ours’ through the rescue mission.”43 These entirely puzzling misperceptions that many GIs maintain can be further investigated. How, for example, could so many GIs claim a reputation for saving Okinawan women, when so many of them have abandoned pregnant lovers, wives and children in the decades since US

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occupation began? 44 Key to this belief may be the lingering legacy of colonialism, which inevitably colours the perceptions that military members bring to Okinawa and the ideas they enact on the bodies of Okinawan women. This belief also underlies their perceptions of Okinawan men whom they feel so empowered to speak for. These views appear to develop from a sense of superiority that seems inherent, especially given the relatively powerful positions the GIs assume in the community both within the confines of the bases where they work and outside their fence lines in the many towns that border the perimeters. This level of power appears to intoxicate the minds and distort the perceptions of many young men emboldened to speak in these ways about people and for people whom they scarcely know as well as the history of the rich culture from which these people, like me, come.

Conclusion Okinawa’s existence to the US military is purported to be essential in many ways. In the postwar era, the main island itself and its surrounding islets were thought of as one massive fortress of American military power. At the time, it garrisoned nearly 100,000 troops and support staff. It once served as a nuclear-armed ‘deterrent’ with silos on a hilltop in Onna Village.45 It was America remade in the Pacific. Since reversion from the American military government to a local civilian government in 1972, it remains militarised, in terms of the obvious and ubiquitous presence of US forces. The island has been defined as the Rock (a likely reference to the misperceived permanence of its delicate and endangered coral reef system), as the Keystone of the Pacific (a geo-strategic position on American military maps), and, less formally, as O-town or Oki-ville (a probable reference to the perception that Okinawa is a small town that time forgot). The island’s people are often characterised as warm, nice, inviting, largely compliant and docile, and/or mildly interested in bigger, better and faster things. This is reportedly why so many young Okinawan women, in particular, are so in ‘need’ of American men. US forces repeatedly attempt to reinforce the notion that Okinawans are friends, neighbours, or landlords, just as the military maintains the belief in its status as a longtime tenant. In light of the many names assigned to Okinawa that form the myriad perceptions, the continued presence of US forces compromises the island’s security. As discussed throughout this chapter, on the interpersonal level,

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striking misconceptions, threatening actions, and a range of crimes born of widespread derisive attitudes all figure into the underlying sense of mistrust that many local people have formed about the US military. Kipling’s famous work The White Man’s Burden still proves instructive. The story shines a light on the thoughts and motives that inform some of the underlying attitudes and actions taken by the occupying powers, which are to educate, civilise, and save the people of colour from themselves. Also discussed, this sense of compromise in security is, on the international level, entirely real. The events of 9/11 have shown that the foreign military represents a considerably large target from other foreign forces seeking to assert their power within the region. The strategic advantage that American forces enjoy is certainly not lost on the war planners of other nations plotting their own strategies. As the legacy of WWII shows, this configuration of military force proved virtually fatal to the Okinawan people and to Okinawa’s rich cultural and linguistic history. As Moon observed, “the women of the weaker nation are always oppressed and exploited by the men of the stronger nation.”46 Is it time to challenge this particular adverb (always), which suggests the inevitable? In other words, is Okinawa’s presumed position of weakness and dependence inescapable? Women have long had a special power over big, strong, independent, aggressive, and egocentric men. I don’t think we have ever lain down and accepted the conditions of always or never without challenging what they really mean to us.

Notes 

1 The racial and ethnic breakdowns of the GIs are: 15 African-American, 12 Caucasians, 7 Hispanics and 3 Asians. 2 Laura Hein and Mark Selden, eds., Islands of Discontent: Okinawa Responses to Japanese and American Power (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. 2003), 10. Wesley I. Uenten. “Rising Up from a Sea of Discontent: 1970 Koza Uprising in U.S.-Occupied Okinawa,” in Militarized Currents: Toward a Decolonized Future in Asia and the Pacific, eds. Setsu Shigematsu & Keith. L. Camacho (Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press. 2010), 119. 3 Kathy E. Ferguson and Phyllis Turnbull, Oh, Say, Can You See?: Semiotics of the Military in Hawai’i (Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1999), 7. 4 Hein and Selden, Island of Discontent, 22. 5 Katherine H.S. Moon, Sex Among Allies: Military Prostitution in U.S.-Korea Relations (New York: Colombia University Press, 1997), 21. 6 Normura Koya, “Colonialism and Nationalism: The View from Okinawa,” in Okinawan Diaspora, ed. Ronald Y. Nakasone (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2002), 116-7.

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 7

Omoiyari Yosan refers to the considerable amount of financial aid provided by the Japanese government (Hein and Selden, Island of Discontent, 8; Catherine Lutz, The Bases of Empire, 246). This budget covers utilities, construction of onbase housings, recreational facilities and civilian workers’ salaries (263). 8 The concept of gaze deals with analysing the object that is presented. Through this analysis, the relationship between the gazed and the gazer is established which illustrates the unequal power relationship. See Jacque Lacan’s (1981) Of the Gaze as Objet Petit a from The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis and Michel Foucault’s (1995) Discipline and Punish for further discussion. The concept of gaze is carried over to feminist theory analysing how erotically and sexually female/passive are viewed and displayed by the male/active, projecting their gaze of fantasy, pleasure, and desire (Laura Mulvey, Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema, 1975). 9 Suzuyo Takazato, Okinawa no Joseitachi: Josei no Jinken to Kichi to Guntai (Tokyo: Akashi Shoten, 1996), 16. 10 E-4 Asian American Marine. Interview with author, Okinawa Japan. Jul. 5, 2010 11 Saundra Pollock Sturdevant and Brenda Stoltzfus, Let the Good Times Roll: Prostitution and the U.S. Military in Asia (New York: The New Press, 1993), 305. 12 Sturdevant and Stoltzfus, 308; Gwyn Kirk et al., “Women and the U.S. Military in East Asia,” Foreign Policy in Focus, 4, no.10 (1999): 2. 13 The purpose of A-sign was to protect the health and the wellbeing of the GIs as one of the criteria of passing the inspection included venereal disease clearance. 14 Short-stay hotels, first founded by Japan, are widely located in East Asia, targeting towards those who are solely interested in having sexual intercourse. The hotel accommodations frequently include condoms, personal lubricants, adult toys, et cetera. 15 David R. Crew, “A Wild Start: Okinawa in the 1970s,” JPRI Occasional Paper 36 (2006). http://www.jpri.org/publications/occasionalpapers/op36.html (accessed Oct. 18, 2010); Takashi Yamazaki, “The ‘A’ Sign Program and the Control of Prostitution and Venereal Disease Described in USCAR Documents: an examination of the AFDCB minutes compiled around 1970.” Okinawa-ken kobunsyokan kenkyu kiyo (Research Bulletin of the Okinawa Prefecture Archives). 10 (2008): 40 16 E-4 Marine. Interview with author, Okinawa Japan. July 14, 2010. 17 E-5 Hispanic Air Force. Interview with author, Okinawa Japan. Jun. 28, 2012. 18 The term snack bar is unique to Japan with its staff solely consisting of women. The head figure that manages the bar, also female, is referred to as Mama-san. 19 Takao Yoshifumi et al. (producers), Jǀhǀ 7 days Newscaster. (Tokyo: Tokyo Broadcasting System Television, May 29, 2010), Television Broadcast. 20 Base town is not so much a geographical area in a country but, rather, an imagined space frequently adjacent to US military bases and which has come to tacitly accept or even explicitly welcome US military personnel. Commonly conducted businesses include: brothels, bars, dance clubs, striptease clubs, tailors, and tattoo parlours.

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21 Michael S. Molasky, The American Occupation of Japan and Okinawa: Literature and Memory (New York: Routledge, 1999), 55. 22 Molasky, 55 23 A. Nashiro. Interview with author Okinawa, Japan. August 12, 2012. 24 Combat stripes 25 Gary M. Valant, Vintage Aircraft Nose Art (Osceola: Mortorbooks International Publishers, 1987), 7. 26 African American Army. Interview with author, Okinawa Japan. June 28, 2010. 27 Generally, young enlisted GIs who are stationed in East Asian military bases are members of Rapid Deployment Forces (RDF). These personnel go on arduous training for straight two to three weeks in the field. In Okinawa, the RDF practice parachuting, amphibious landings, entering jungles to train in high humidity and temperature, among other related intense exercises. The RDP reveal that such training requires great effort and physical work compared to stateside training. It is during these periods when sexual labours are frequently purchased (Sturdevant and Stoltzfus, 1992, 323). 28 This close proximity figures into the rape travel practiced most recently in Okinawa by US Navy personnel, Petty Officer 3rd Class Skyler Dozierwalker and Seaman Christopher Browning. 29 “All of Japan Must Share Okinawa’s Pain, Frustration Over U.S. Bases,” Asahi Shimbun, October 19, 2012, sec. Vox Populi, Vox Dei. http://ajw.asahi.com/article /views/vox/AJ201210190035 (accessed Oct. 19, 2012). 30 ARTICLE 9. Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as means of settling international disputes. 31 Formally known as the “Treaty of Mutual Cooperation and Security between the United States and Japan” 32 Chalmers Johnson, The Sorrows of Empire: Militarism, Secrecy, and the End of the Republic (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2004), 202. 33 Chalmers Johnson, Blowback: The Cost and Consequences of American Empire (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2000), 39. 34 Johnson, 41. 35 African American Marine. Interview with author, Okinawa Japan. Jul. 5, 2010. 36 Jeremy Seabrook, Travels in the Skin Trade: Tourism and the Sex Industry (London: Pluto Press, 2001). 37 Yau Ching, Performing Contradictions, Performing Bad-Girlness in Japan, eds. Kathy E. Ferguson and Monique Mironesco (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008), 139-156. 38 E-4 Asian American Marine. Interview with author, Okinawa Japan. Jul. 5, 2010. 39 Cynthia Enloe, Maneuvers: The International Politics of Militarizing Women’s Lives (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 85. 40 Katherine H. S. Moon, Sex among Allies: Military Prostitution in U.S.-Korea Relations (New York: Colombia University Press, 1997), 37.

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41 Patti Duncan, “Genealogies of Unbelonging: Amerasians and Transnational Adoptees as Legacies of U.S. Militarism in South Korea,” in Militarized Currents: Toward a Decolonized Future in Asia and the Pacific, ed. Setsu Shigematsu and Keith L. Camacho, 277-307. (Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 2010). 42 Hispanic Army. Interview with author. Okinawa Japan. June 28, 2010. 43 Cooke, Miriam. “Saving Brown Women.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 29, no. 1 (2002): 268-270. 44 EDITORIAL NOTE: The author’s view is not restricted to the interviewees in her field study. The editors’ anecdotal observations collectively (70 years) in Okinawa confirm the pervasive GI self-perception of saviour that clashes with the GI reality of widespread abandonment, a view which has even come to be shared by Okinawan women themselves. (see Arakaki, this volume) 45 Jon Mitchell, “‘Seconds Away From Midnight’: U.S. Nuclear Missile Pioneers on Okinawa Break Fifty Year Silence on a Hidden Nuclear Crisis of 1962,” The Asia-Pacific Journal, Vol 10, Issue 29, No. 1. July 16, 2012. 46 Moon, 52.

CHAPTER FOUR THE ETHICS OF LONG-STANDING CONDITIONS: COMPLICITY AND INNOCENCE EXAMINED IN A MILITARISED OKINAWA CHRISTOPHER DANIEL MELLEY

Introduction This chapter examines the concept of moral complicity by considering Okinawa’s somewhat peculiar situation of housing US military forces currently numbering 28,000 military personnel.1 Along with support staff and contractors, military dependent spouses and children, it is estimated that the full US population in Okinawa represents over 47,000, or about 3% of the 1.4 million total population in the prefecture.2 American bases occupy nearly 20% of Okinawa prefectural land. The process of American militarisation began in 1945 accompanying the invasion of the islands by the United States and its allies, and Okinawa since then has become a second home to the US military, the only region outside the United States where the Marine Corps maintains a division. The Pentagon boasts of “a worldwide real property portfolio [i.e. military bases] that spans all fifty states, seven US territories, and thirtynine foreign countries.” 3 It also acknowledges an additional military presence spanning over 150 countries worldwide, including, by some estimates, over a thousand bases, some small, some vast.4 A large number of these remain shrouded in secrecy, but even the Pentagon itself admits to the existence of 698. Familiarity may breed contempt, as the old adage goes, but when it is applied to long-standing conditions, familiarity, along with routine, habit, and complacency may be one of the leading causes of moral blindness. Routine, static conditions attain enormous stature and perhaps because of the enduring presence, simply meld with the social architecture of society and help produce a prevailing condition, with a sense of permanence

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counted in years and decades, even centuries, such that, the very longevity of a situation becomes, in large part, its own moral justification. Institutionalised slavery in the US, apartheid in South Africa and the West Bank, exploitation and disenfranchisement of women and children offer a wealth of precedents. Enduring conditions, however, can be neutral or pernicious. Having become the static backdrop of contemporary life, enduring conditions imply a silent logic, where enthymemes are more numerous than statements, where every element of the enduring condition has its appointed place in a four-dimensional still life that admits no change. However, the argumentative weight of routine, habit, or tradition is automatically suspect, for the presence and longevity of something does not make for a moral fait accompli, nor does the duration or durability of a practice or situation allow participants or bystanders to assume a mantel of moral innocence and thus avoid moral complicity. This kind of quietness comes at a real cost. Perhaps Isaiah Berlin put it best when he observed more explicitly about some Western elites: What troubles the consciences of . . . liberals is . . . the belief, not that the freedom that men seek differs according to their social or economic conditions, but that the minority who possess it have gained it by exploiting, or, at least, averting their gaze from the vast majority who do not [emphasis added].5

Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko’s reflection echoes Berlin’s latter sentiment: “When truth is replaced by silence, the silence is a lie.”6 So, let us consider the following analogy, a world writ small, to gather a better sense of how moral complicity can be viewed in high relief.

At the Party Imagine attending a party in a large structure; it is a very large party and the structure vast, with many rooms, some cavernous, others small; some open, while others are nearly walled shut; some doors are golden and reach to lofty heights, while others have no door but offer a simple dirt floor. The party-goers are so many in some places that it would take several lifetimes just to see each guest; some rooms are so large and unpeopled that it would take months of trekking, just to traverse them; in fact, it would be impossible to do either. Still, by and by, we make our way to this or that enclave of those who have gathered to talk, dance, fight, love, eat, work, play, or warm themselves by the fireplace, even sleep. Some travel; others stay in one place or hover about in one particular

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region. While at the party, we read or listen to accounts, stories, and rumours spread by travelers who have come from other distant rooms. With drinks in hand, we slip out of that room and into another, replete with enough military equipment and personnel to challenge any contender in most any part of the party; most of the guests in this particular room do not speak the language of the original partygoers whose ancestors have been here for several thousand years. These military personnel owe allegiance to another, far-off nation and serve the interests of that far-off nation. They often travel without passports, do not require visa status, are free from local taxes, enjoy all the facilities in enclave areas privy only to the military personnel and retinue of the far-off land, and are protected by a certain status agreement with the host of this part of the party, such that many crimes are in fact not tried in the host country, but instead are dealt with either by tribunals of the military personnel or courts in the far-off country. Since there are so many in this part of the party, it is difficult moving around all the loud crowd that seems oblivious to those whose families have always lived and worked in this particular room. We bump into one or two, and after conversation, we find that they too are only here to fulfil their contract; some are even empathetic with the staff members who serve their every need and whim with a smile. The card-carriers from another nation are often not outright pernicious, but they appear benignly innocent of any imposition that would require them to rethink, in a fundamental manner, their position in this foreign appointment. We learn after a conversation with the serving staff that this condition has persisted for over 65 years. We are surprised, but vaguely remember reading accounts of a big fight in this part of the building; people from all sides of the fight still talk about it. This party would win a record for longevity, if it were a party at all; in fact, the foregoing is a moral metaphor of life in the human community, representing the edifice of our social realities at the moment, although the structure has been here for millennia and will remain after we have left. However, the seemingly innocuous scenario sketched above is really a thinly veiled illustration of the US military presence in scores of countries, including Japan, and especially Okinawa. The partygoers ‘with drinks in hand’ are the ubiquitous, educated, and informed elites who know of and understand the structure and historical sub-layers of the US military presence around the world, but remain quiet; this group is blissful, but not ignorant. We shall return to this part of the party, but let us first examine some concepts needed for an analysis of pernicious standing situations.

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Moral Implications of Maturing in an Information Age When young, we enter life naïve and unaware of the situation in which we find ourselves, let alone the situation of others. The process of maturing involves the inevitable loss of this naiveté and innocence; we eventually learn about our situation and the situation of others; some we read about; others, we meet face-to-face in our travels. Today, some of us have disposable income, travel widely, draw monies from electronic sources, have high-speed internet access through hand-held devices, and are, through no fault or effort of our own, what American philosopher John Rawls calls the happy and lucky recipients of the “natural lottery”7 or accident of birth. However, sitting in the catbird seat comes with a price: a greater moral responsibility.

Knowledge and Power Today, it is common to hear bragging and bluster about how easy it is to conjure up galaxies of data, raw and summarised, receive up-to-theminute reports, real-time webcam images, and video-streaming of situations far from the computer screen and coffee house or library from which they are viewed. In short, we have both the possibility of knowledge and power, through ultra-fast methods of delivery. If processed, such information can produce substantive knowledge. Power can manifest itself in economy, ubiquity, intellect, and, finally, ethics. One of the effects of increased knowledge and power as described is the proportional increase in moral responsibility and culpability; in short, the more power, the more knowledge, the greater moral responsibility accrues. As with the liberated slave in Plato’s celebrated “Allegory of the Cave,” in Chapter VII of The Republic, the more enlightened and informed one becomes, the greater the moral responsibility to act on that increased awareness, despite critique and ridicule, even from those one intends to assist.8 Within this intellectual tradition, Noam Chomsky emphasises the capacity to effect change, particularly change or influence a situation or condition where moral agency resides in the individual person. As he states, It may be nice to criticize the crimes of Genghis Khan, but you can’t do much about it, and the same is true of crimes carried out by somebody else. You can say how awful it is, but there is nothing much you can do. On the other hand, crimes in which you were involved, you can do quite a lot. The closer you are to agency, the more you can do. That should be the focus.9

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Chomsky’s point is not original, but his reference is a contemporary illustration of the relationship between moral responsibility and its connections to knowledge and power, two preconditions for moral praise or blame. Concerning pervasive, enduring situations, our ability to sense and appreciate what does not change, what does not move, is just as important in moral analysis as what does. How pernicious is an enduring situation, and how easy it is to see a wall (e.g. Berlin Wall) or barbed wire fences (barriers separating one from another in any number of nations) as commonplace and as permanent as ancient mountains or the sea. To use the term Chomsky uses, we could phrase the question thus: ‘To what extent if any does an inherited situation increase or decrease moral agency?’ Humans are quite adept at noticing movement, change, development, but what does not change noticeably, relative to our life-span, is much more of a challenge for our species. We are used to abrupt change, sudden peripheral developments and sounds, and put most all else aside in favour of what is immediately stimulating our attention; however, social landscapes that endure, with little change, are often overlooked, as in Kafka’s “The Hunger Artist,” who became virtually invisible for lack of movement or noticeable change. Still, a standing condition too can be morally qualified for those who, through no real fault of their own, find themselves in a morally questionable social construct or situation. Reviewing what is meant by individual and group complicity will bring us closer to our Okinawan example.

Individual and Group Complicity Individual complicity forms the basis of much law, the doctrine of major religions, and also figures prominently in major ethical theories. Individual actions or inactions can often be observed. A person is caught on tape robbing a convenience store or another resists pressure from peers and protects a bullied pupil. A parent beats his or her child. A man jumps onto the tracks of a subway to save someone who has fallen into the path of an oncoming train. In such cases, the actions can be dissected and parts can be enlarged and reviewed for commentary. Positive moral action can be seen and easily described. Negative action or inaction is less discernible but does have verbs to express the meanings in this category, such as ‘to refrain from’, ‘to decline’, ‘to refuse’, ‘to omit’, ‘to neglect’, ‘to discontinue’, to name a few. To be sure, absence of action can be qualified in the moral sense as can positive action. In both categories, the actions or

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absences are highlighted; individuals are praised or blamed in the moral sense. Group or collective moral complicity is also widely featured in ethical analysis of corporations, nation states, and ethnic groups. For example, Exxon’s muffled reaction to the grounding of the Exxon Valdez, on March 24, 1989, in Prince William Sound, off the coast of Alaska led both to corporate fines and criminal indictment of the captain, after spilling 11 million gallons of crude oil, hurting commercial fishing as well as several species of bird, seal, and whale. 10 British Petroleum’s more recent handling of the oil leak debacle, on April 20, 2010, in the Gulf of Mexico, has lead to both fines and criminal indictments against specific individuals. 11 Corporations can and do fall under the scrutiny of moral analysis. Collective moral complicity can refer to nation states as well. The former Soviet Union’s invasion of Afghanistan, the American military presence in Vietnam, second invasion and occupation of Iraq, and more recent military operations in Afghanistan, Nazi Germany’s invasion of several nations, China’s invasion and occupation of Tibet—all have come under the close scrutiny of moral analysis. As well, Israel’s current hold on occupied territories of Palestinians, since 1967, struggles for a sense of permanence in the now four-generation struggle for land. All the examples are iconic. In passing, one could speculate that the amount of power held by a group or individual is in inverse proportion to its or his/her willingness to accept moral complicity.

Moral innocence Moral innocence is a state or condition wherein the person or group feels free of complicity for an action or situation. The process of growing up leads inevitably to one or several epiphanies about the world we have inherited. This trajectory of growth may more perfectly describe those in more privileged than in less privileged positions, in terms of knowledge and power. However the distribution might be, the question for us is, ‘Can a person maintain moral innocence after having entered or having grown up in a morally indefensible situation?’ May we take moral refuge under the heading ‘hapless bystander’ or ‘onlooker’?

Bystanders/Onlookers At the scene of a moral accident Bystanders or onlookers are those who simply find themselves in a situation or condition. Through no fault of their own, the quiet bystanders

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are hapless or captive witnesses to an event or situation. An accident, crime, or fire often appears suddenly from causes not immediately known. Bystanders are caught unaware and can also easily become victims themselves; onlookers, though, a particular sort of bystander, go out of their way, in voyeuristic fashion, to feast visually on the scene of an accident, crime, or fire. We may, at first, say that bystanders are morally hapless as well as practically incapable. Such example categories highlight short-lived actions or situations. Nevertheless, contrary to the first impressions of a casual observer who see bystanders outside of a given situation, looking in, the circle of moral consideration actually includes them to the extent that the bystanders possess the knowledge and means to, in fact, do something about a situation. Bystanders and onlookers are part of the morally contentious static situation; the situation may predate present participants, giving them a sense of naiveté and innocence. Peter Singer has considered this as well in terms famine relief and distribution of wealth, and we could just as well apply his principle to the situation in Okinawa. He argues that If it is in our power to prevent something bad from happening, without thereby sacrificing anything of comparable moral importance, we ought, morally, to do it.12

Just as lax consumers in affluent societies may be entirely conscious of standing conditions such as widespread poverty, famine or the widening gap between the have’s and have-not’s, and yet lack the will to act on the basis of this knowledge, so too are we standing by and failing to act. A corollary to Singer’s argument is that to do nothing is to do something in the moral sense. In other words, we should strive to aide someone without putting ourselves in the same position as those whom we are trying to aide. People presently living in affluence, for example, enjoying round-the-clock Wi-Fi connectivity and other material accoutrements of modern life are somehow partly complicit in the status quo. Our contemporary forms of instant electronic connectivity reduce the importance of geographic distances; distance is no longer a valid excuse for apathy, a lack of action and attention to ongoing situations far removed from immediate surroundings. Situations are more difficult to discern, since they are often the tentative and complex result of many and diverse causes, some close, others further off in time and origin. As well, some of the situations in which we find ourselves have been in place for decades, even centuries. The faculty of discernment of change may be relative to human longevity;

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we are fairly able to discern changes in a minute or day, or even a month or year. If our life spans were equivalent to Sequoia redwoods, spanning 3,000 or more years, we might consider a situation differently. We are more attuned to swatting mosquitoes and have evolved and succeeded by picking up on momentary distractions. Enduring situations, however, are quite different and may help explain the human capacity for selective sight and insight.

Okinawa and US Military Presence The above general discussion can be applied to many particular situations. The current US military presence in Okinawa, since the end of hostilities between Japan and the US and its allies, offers a symbolically significant instance where moral complicity for a standing situation can be reviewed critically and, thus, better undersood. I have a personal stake in this example, since I live in Okinawa, Japan, and am, in effect, a part of the issue/problem itself. The major parties in this inherited and recurring situation are the Japanese (government and public), the Americans (government and military structures, service personnel, contractors, and the American public) and finally, the Okinawans themselves (the disparate yet influential landowners and construction companies engaged in the military-industrial complex). Since 1945, the US military has maintained a large presence in the Ryukyus. American military facilities and grounds currently occupy approximately 20% of the Okinawan land mass as well as large swathes of Japanese air space and Japanese waters of the Pacific, to host US Marines, Air Force, Navy, and Army personnel as well as a large group of logistically supported staff to meet the needs of the service personnel and their families. After some ambiguous initial moves to return Okinawa to Japan shortly after the war, the US government position has officially emphasised the strategic importance of the archipelago; both in defence of Japan and in the projection of US military might in East Asia. Over the decades, Okinawa has been used as a virtual warehouse, airfield, and port facility for weapons and materiel, from the Korean conflict as well as Vietnam, right up to the present, where perceived threats from North Korea and The People’s Republic of China are often highlighted, in the expressed desire for stability and control of East Asia. Okinawa has also long served as an R&R destination for the American military, from the Korean War to the present.13 Participants in the US military community come and go within

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the conduits of the global military network of bases, ports, posts, and forts, often without the need of a passport. The Japanese government lost control of Okinawa from 1945 to 1972, until Okinawa was officially returned to Japan as its most far-flung prefecture. Under the tutelage and diplomatic guidance of the United States, the various governments of Japan from the end of the war to the present have often expressed ambiguous positions regarding the presence of US military in Okinawa, which today hosts 75% of the US military footprint on less than 1% of Japanese territory. 14 Negotiations in 2012 continue concerning the current configuration, location, and status of US military forces, as well as Japanese Defense Forces, in the Ryukyus. Okinawans themselves, both in their prefectural and city government hierarchies as well as individual citizens, comprise the third major component in this situation. By conservative estimates, Okinawans lost over 30% of their population during the Battle of Okinawa, in April-May 1945 as many civilians were killed in the crossfire. Today, Okinawan demographics show a robust comeback with a current population of just under 1.4 million inhabitants, with another 400,000 living outside the archipelago.15

Americans Operating within the US Military Network Since the establishment of US bases in Okinawa, tens of thousands of military and logistically supported staff have ‘made the circuit’ of the complex of US facilities around the globe. In this global network of US military bases, military and logistical personnel have been shuttled through the island en route to war zones in Vietnam, Korea, Afghanistan, Iraq or to Europe and back to the United States. Feeling empowered as part of this vast military infrastructure and by the official orders that send them to their duties, many military personnel later find themselves rather as bystanders, disempowered by the individual roles assigned to them, the many decisions already made on their behalf, and a detachment from their historical significance. While too few of them seem to have a sense of responsibility for the current situation in which they find themselves, it becomes easier to say that the present conditions have resulted from countless military and diplomatic decisions made by thousands of people over the past six decades. To these sorts of bystanders, the more diffused a decision is through time, the less moral culpability they feel applies to them in the present. Yet, it must be said that present—capable and able—people within the situation still bear the onus of moral responsibility.

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The US military presence splashes on Okinawan culture, as the ocean against the seawalls that abut much of the coastline. The litany of criminal actions from rape to traffic accidents in Okinawa involving US personnel and supported staff is well-documented. Agreements are in place; arrangements have been made. Americans come and go to occupy static positions, arriving and leaving with the same sense of moral innocence as on the first day of arrival. Each group, each person, feels morally innocent and is often oblivious to the historical, political, and economic underpinnings of the present situation.

Personal Epiphany My own entry to Okinawa came in August 2008. I came as an instructor for an American college attached by contract to the US military. I had done the same for many years in Europe, moving easily within the self-contained military universe of posts and airbases from Belgium and Germany to Italy and Greece. In places I taught, whether at the submarine port in La Maddalena, on one of the archipelago’s beautiful northern islands of Sardenia; or Comiso, in Sicily; Souda Bay, on the Greek island of Crete; Brindisi, on the coast of the Italian Agean; or at any of the constellation of bases and posts dotting Germany, I was aware of the foreign military imposition and my role within it. Before I arrived to Okinawa, I was personally aware of the rougher edges that an empire’s physical presence can impose upon communities, regardless of nation mentioned. Before arriving in Okinawa, I had certainly read about the situation of the US military and its various effects on the island and its people. The 1995 conviction of three US personnel for the rape of a 12-year-old school girl started me thinking more deeply about the interpersonal implications of empire.16 It was only when I landed, though, and witnessed for myself the sheer physical enormity of the military presence on this island that I began to reflect more critically on my moral position in relation to what I can only call broadly as ‘the system’. It was when I came to Okinawa that I saw how the presence of nearly 40,000 American military personnel and support staff—myself among them—have created a morally charged situation. A handful of Okinawan landowners and landlords enjoy gross profits from bloated rents afforded them by their American clientele subsidised by Japanese and American taxpayers. Although it is true that some Okinawans do benefit directly from baserelated jobs, the vast proportion of Okinawan society must endure the

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chronic high-pitched whine of fighter aircraft, incessant droning of heavylift helicopters circling overhead, periodic aircraft accidents, injuries, and even deaths on the road from military and civilian motorists. Further, for decades, Okinawans have had to contend with a litany of other crimes and idiocies replicated at places and locales largely frequented by members of the US military. Unwanted sexual overtures, physical assaults, aggressive drivers, assorted fistfights, robberies, and stabbings, stalking, unwanted pregnancies, disappearing dads, to name some categories, are all a part of Okinawan life. My life, at least in this regard, is a significant contradiction; I oppose American military presence abroad, both its military as well as its civilian contingent of technical contractors, educators, entertainers, along with the cocoon-like accoutrements housing liaisons, nanny services, school buses, churches, gyms, golf courses, fast-food, replicated in fine or poor form, throughout the system. Yet I still work within it, am part of it, and profit from it. In effect, I am morally complicit. In my case, the enduring situation is my career or work. The problem with routine situations enduring for decades is that, after a time, one fails any longer to see. If this were the case with me only, there would be little problem; I suggest, though, that moral complicity reaches to the shores of mainland Japan and the United States; neither present government can wear the mantle of moral innocence. Nor can the thousands of American personnel who filter through the military system of bases networking Okinawa to the global security web; each seems a moral innocent, but despite the hapless bystander position, the steady stream of soldiers and military contractors, now a decades-long tradition, has no arguable moral basis.

Notes  1

Eric Talmadge, “US Navy Reviews Rules on Japan Bases,” AP, http://bigstory.ap.org/article/apnewsbreak-us-navy-reviews-rules-japan-bases (accessed Oct. 25, 2012). 2 David Allen and Chiyomi Sumida, “Okinawa Police: Fewer SOFA Personnel Arrested,” Stars and Stripes, Feb. 21, 2008. 3 Department of Defense Base Structure Report FY 2011 Baseline 4 Gloria Shur Bilchick, “Military Mystery: How Many Bases Does the US Have, Anyway?” Occasional Planet. http://www.occasionalplanet.org/2011/01/24/military-mystery-how-many-basesdoes-the-us-have-anyway/ (accessed Apr. 17, 2012). 5 Isaiah Berlin, Two Concepts of Liberty. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1958), 4.

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 6

John Pilger. “Words Against War: When Truth is Replaced by Silence.” New Statesman. Oct. 13, 2004. 7 John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), 64. 8 John M. Cooper and D.S. Hutchinson, Plato: Complete Works (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1997), 1135. 9 Chomsky, Noam, “Responsibility and Integrity: The Dilemmas We Face.” Mar. 30, 2011. 10 “Exxon Valdez,” EPA.gov, http://www.epa.gov/osweroe1/content/learning/ exxon.htm (accessed Oct. 1, 2012). 11 Bryan Walsh “BP’s Settlement Is Only the Beginning of the End of the Gulf Oil Spill.” Time (Nov. 16, 2012) http://science.time.com/2012/11/16/bps-settlement-isonly-the-beginning-of-the-end-of-the-gulf-oil-spill/ 12 Peter Singer, “Famine, Affluence, and Morality,” Philosophy and Public Affairs (1)3 (Spring 1972): 231. 13 Chalmers Johnson, Blowback: The Costs and Consequences of American Empire. (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2000), 34-36. 14 Johnson, 34-36. 15 Takeo Kadekaru, “Okinawan Worldwide Network,” Mar. 29, 2012. 16 Johnson, 34-36.

CHAPTER FIVE NAMING AND FRAMING IN (POST)COLONIAL OKINAWA DANIEL BROUDY AND PETER SIMPSON

Introduction Retreading a popular slogan from Bill Clinton’s second inaugural address in January 1997, Barack Obama, both in his 2012 State of the Union speech and the final debate of his second presidential campaign, referred to the United States as “the indispensable nation.” Behind this seemingly banal assertion is the consignment of other nationalities or identities to, more or less, contingent forms of dispensability. For Okinawa, dispensability has been an ongoing condition since the 1609 Satsuma invasion from Kagoshima, in which the latter fiefdom, with the previous approval of its masters in Edo (Tokyo) invaded the Ryukyu Kingdom at least in part to claw back the expenses from its participation in Edo’s ill-fated invasion of the Korean peninsula. The subsequent loss of sovereignty ushered in a period in which the Ryukyu Kingdom became what McCormack and Norimatsu have referred to as a “Theatre State,”1 (a fictional representation of an independent state which had already lost its independence) in which symbols of Okinawan otherness became masks for the former kingdom’s incorporation as a vassal state in the Ryukyu-Satsuma-Edo hierarchy. While plotting out his spectacular disruption of this stagecraft, Commodore William Perry remarked in 1892 that: . . . the occupation of the principal ports of those islands for the accommodation of the ships of war, and for the resort of merchant vessels, of whatever nation, would be a measure not only justified by the strictest rules of moral law, but by what is also to be considered by the laws of stern necessity . . . .2

Two years later, Perry appended this view with a further justification

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based upon what he held to be unparalleled injustices inflicted upon the United States in asserting that: Americans have stronger claims for redress upon the Japanese than any other civilized nation; and though it does not belong to the spirit of our institutions to extend our dominion beyond sea, positive necessity requires that we should protect our commercial interests in this remote part of the world, and in doing so, to resort to measures, however strong, to counteract the schemes of powers less scrupulous than ourselves.

A century later, after Commodore Perry’s plans had finally come to fruition in the bloody wake of WWII, the question of whether US dominion over Okinawa constituted colonialism and military occupation was already creating a degree of discomfort in some official circles. Thus, US Consul General Olcott H. Deming felt compelled to write in a 1958 State Department dispatch that: It may be denied by some who are skilled political scientists that the United States position in Okinawa is a ‘colonial’ one; but in the eyes of the most of the world, our status here is close to colonialism so that label with all its opprobrium will stick and be used.3 . . . . An alternative, and equally distasteful label for our presence here would be ‘military occupation.’

Deming might also have been concerned that the military administration at the time, euphemistically named The United States Civil Administration of the Ryukyus, would be internationally perceived as a less than representative form of government, especially since less than two years earlier, his consular unit had reported to the State Department: The United States Civil Administration of the Ryukyus (USCAR) has recently decreed a fine of B¥ 50,0004 and/or imprisonment up to five years for anyone who injures USCAR’s reputation by publicly alleging facts, regardless of whether such facts are true or false. The same punishment can be imposed on anyone who ‘publicly insults’ USCAR even without alleging fact.5

Of course, Deming’s concerns were based upon a, no doubt, sincerely held belief that the terminology that accompanied the US presence in Okinawa should bear some resemblance to reality. On the other hand, as Herbert Schiller points out, this is frequently unnecessary when news stories of distant events are presented for domestic consumption, as they can often be shaped by what he termed

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“definitional control,” or “having the ability to explain and circulate the governor’s view of reality, local or global.”6 For Schiller, this depends upon pliant systems of education, entertainment and media serving the interests of corporate and/or military power. In the US context, Schiller remarks that: . . . , when the informational infrastructure is in place, . . . it needs no prompting from the top of the social pyramid. Americans absorb the images and messages of the prevailing social order. These [comprise] their frame of reference and perception. With few exceptions, it is this framework which insulates most from ever imagining an alternative social reality.7

This “infrastructure” largely defines the parameters of who or what is more or less dispensable and how the relationships between actors on this social pyramid operate. By examining the roles of the metaphors and frames that characterise life for the occupier and occupied, this chapter, thus, seeks to explore some of the ways in which these relationships are normalised in the Okinawan context.

Framing the Occupation In his attempt to re-evaluate the language mediating the US presence in Okinawa, Deming highlighted the diplomatic, rather than linguistic, aspects of the terms used to describe the situation he found himself in. At the same time, though, his analysis of the conditions that surrounded him can also be reconsidered in the context of later developments in linguistics, namely frame semantics. In this particular case, two senses of the word occupation could be understood and disseminated. The Oxford English Dictionary defines occupation as both (1) an action of seizing or taking possession of a place or of land as by military conquest; and (2) of holding a piece of land as a tenant.8 In advocating fairer rent agreements, and a genuine civilian administration, as well as, in some cases, reversion of US administered Ryukyu to Japanese jurisdiction, John Steeves, Deming’s predecessor, was instrumental in reframing the possible international perception of US military occupation in Okinawa from sense (1) to sense (2). The result had tangible secondary effects. Due in large part to Steeves’ and Deming’s pragmatic efforts to transform the reality on the ground so as to reframe and erase the growing perception that Okinawa was, in fact, occupied, Eisenhower’s stated plans to “maintain indefinitely [American] bases in Okinawa”9 could succeed. Their diplomatic feat managed to move

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the perception of reality from one metaphorical category to another. Sarentakes clarifies why the change in language was needed for a reinvention of the names being ascribed to America’s position in Okinawa: The prosperity Eisenhower saw was a direct result of the investment the United States made in turning the island into an American colony and the key to gaining Okinawa acquiescence to American rule, . . . .10

Eisenhower and his contemporaries in the diplomatic chain of command were clearly well aware of how terms such as ‘occupation’ and ‘colonialism’ could reverberate within and beyond Okinawa, and their efforts to recast the perception of the American military presence in the Ryukyu islands has been of lasting significance. While these thoughtful concerns about reevaluating language would help shape the successes that Eisenhower had sought, these efforts also underscored some fundamental truths about the unassuming power of metaphors to alter perception. In shifting the framing of occupation from sense (1) to sense (2), American diplomats were largely successful in transforming metaphorical perceptions of what constituted the occupation of Okinawa.

Metaphorical Heirs of Occupation While the events described above are relatively remote—and virtually unknown to many of our own students—this shift is still essential to many perceptions of the US military presence in contemporary Okinawa where the word occupation itself has become largely taboo. As an alternative to concepts of occupation, the guest-host metaphor has become deeply entrenched in the common currency, which has created an entirely new metaphorical reality, and which, in the words of Lakoff and Turner, “cannot be easily resisted, in large measure because it is barely even noticed.”11 What, then, are some other metaphors appearing in contemporary military discourse, and in what ways do they possess the right kind of power, however barely noticed, to persuade occupying forces that their mission is a valid and, thus, necessary one? One potential source of this kind of unconscious compliance to the language may have come from the early American experience itself, from the hopes of settlers seeking wider freedoms in a new frontier as well as from the physical, mental, and moral struggles they met to take hold of that frontier. In what ways do these early struggles continue to motivate?

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American military superiority emerging from WWII has since enabled the nation’s power elite to rationalise designs in moulding much of the globe in America’s self-image and that supremacy, animated by assorted self-delusions of empire, has helped their associated images, ideas, and metaphors to filter through media in regions still under the focus of the national interest.12 Perhaps, the most concrete manifestation of that interest today appears in the global spread of military men, women, and weaponry. Historian William Weeks notes that three key themes were usually invoked by advocates of Manifest Destiny: (a) the virtue of the American people and their institutions; (b) the mission to spread these institutions, thereby redeeming and remaking the world in the image of the US; and (c) the destiny under God to accomplish this work.13 Howard Zinn expounded the notion that . . . American exceptionalism—that the United States alone has the right, whether by divine sanction or moral obligation, to bring civilization, or democracy, or liberty to the rest of the world, by violence if necessary—is not new. It started as early as 1630 in the Massachusetts Bay Colony when Governor John Winthrop uttered the words that centuries later would be quoted by Ronald Reagan. Winthrop called the Massachusetts Bay Colony a ‘city upon a hill.’14

The general understanding still holds that freedom and liberty rank above all other societal virtues, and in the minds of those who assert the need to maintain the many occupations across the world, these values are under constant threat. Whether the threats are physical or intellectual, real or perceived, it matters little since these virtues, beyond all others, form the moral bond that binds the nation. Though freedom and liberty are common abstractions referring to complex phenomena, the mission to preserve and disseminate elite conceptions of their meanings is concrete and clear— even at the risk of treading on the freedoms of the powerless. This was one clear sense developed by critics of America’s campaign to force-feed freedom and liberty to Iraq.15 Certainly, it can be said that freedom and liberty are worth defending, but many critics have questioned whether they are worth deploying as offensive weapons aimed at opening wider access to cheap petroleum. So went the self-apparent contradiction: “I just want you to know that, when we talk about war, we’re really talking about peace.”16

Perhaps this internal conflict in Mr. Bush’s speech at The Department of Housing and Urban Development passed at the time as logically consistent

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as the president effectively framed peace-through-war with repetitive appeals to freedom, safety, security, home ownership, and homeland security. That is, in the manufacturing of public consent to war, he could frame his efforts to invade in terms of peace and, of course, the freedom to conduct business and shop.17 But, peace at the cost of war in Iraq is hardly a peace worth buying, especially when one is forced to accept it on conditions not freely chosen but created by others, such as by the decade’s long sanctions imposed by the UN.18 As Isaiah Berlin once observed, . . . it is true that to offer political rights, or safeguards against intervention by the State to men who are half-naked, . . . , underfed and diseased is to mock their condition; they need medical help . . . before they can understand, or make use of, an increase in their freedom. What is freedom to those who cannot make use of it?19

So well connected to elite concepts of Pax Americana are the causes for freedom and liberty that they abound in campaign slogans that distill these lofty abstractions with poetic precision. The metaphor that American politics is an open market of ideas and ideologies we are free to choose from and buy into remains part of the public parlance. The progressive campaign during the 2008 general election, for example, that saw Obama’s historic rise to power focused on framing the candidate as a man of ‘change’—a stark difference, like the one between bombs and butter,20 we could believe in. Of course, connected to popular concepts of ‘change’ is the freedom we enjoy in choosing it.

Mixed Metaphors: Good Neighbour & Tip of the Spear Few images evoked by a strong metaphor weaken over time. Perhaps this is why metaphors tend to burn out rather than fade away. The Good Neighbour is one such expression that appears to retain its core meanings for the overseas military community. Its more immediate associations are grounded in Biblical commands to love thy neighbour and accounts of the Good Samaritan helping the victim of an attack and robbery regain his strength along the road to Jericho. American military forces in Okinawa are reminded through the informational infrastructure of their duty as neighbours to be ever mindful of the needs of their hosts. The command structure enlists AFRTS21 radio and television, the Stars and Stripes,22 and the entire chain of command to fortify the definition in the recurring message that American forces are only guests to their local hosts and, as such, should act always with good neighbourly intentions.

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Themes of abiding friendship also find reinforcement in the military’s efforts to engage with the local public through annual social events. The Futenma Flightline Fair, the Hansen Festival, Kinser Friendship Festival, and Kadena’s Americafest all serve as signs to the local community that the foreign military is little more than a friendly neighbour intent to maintain its self-perceived image as open communicator. Each so-called Friendship Concert,23 staged by the III Marine Expeditionary Force Band in local communities, also invites Okinawans to enjoy interpretations of classical, jazz, swing, and march compositions and to stand shoulder-toshoulder at attention with their American friends when rousing tributes to the Stars and Stripes Forever resound from stage—a curious case of colonised minds “assisting their own colonization.”24 Yet, through the chainlink fences that guard the gated communities and the mediators of official military communication which make a mockery of the term neighbour, US forces can scarcely discern the true nature of the guest-host relationship. Further, the possibility of beholding that real neighbourly nature eludes the occupier as plans to destroy nature in favour of military expansion creep forward in Henoko25 and Takae.26 Unflagging attention American forces focus on enlarging present areas of operation has created conceptual barriers that foil their efforts in recognising the clash in meanings that occupier and occupied assign to these key terms. For what sort of neighbour, the question has been posed, would strive to preserve an occupation and, beyond that, despoil lands and seas that aren’t really his? Such a myopic view of this guest-host relationship may have developed from a sense of superiority27 which enables US forces to feel no compunction in defining those outside the fenced borders as neighbours. Another reading of this friendly relationship appears in Big Circle—a monthly magazine that aims to move the military fence line, theoretically, into the Okinawan community so as “ . . . to inform . . . leaders, educators and concerned organizations and persons about US Marine Corps activities on Okinawa and in the region.” 28 To begin, from the guest’s perspective, the name for the publication itself seems to emerge from significant assumptions—that America’s advanced military machines enclose the region in a great protective circle and that everyone within may have a sense of belonging and enjoy the benefits of protection. Such an interpretation of the relationship between protector, America, and protected, Japan, develops from a common, largely conservative, belief that the weaker has need of support and guidance from the stronger. Another perspective on the notion of necessary guidance and protection for the weaker has a long history that may have roots in the Divine Right of Kings—a King James conception of monarchical power:

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. . . the proper office of a king towards his subjects agrees very well with the office of the head towards the body and all members thereof, for from the head being the seat of judgment proceeds the care and foresight of guiding and preventing all evil that may come to the body or any parts thereof.29

Having come into the hands of American forces as a prize of conquest, Okinawa becomes subsumed as a member of the body, “a powerful base [in the estimation of MacArthur] for US air operations.”30 As kings are also compared to fathers of families, . . . a king is truly parens patriae, the politic father of his people.31 Thus, the “strict-father”32 conception of the United States military in postwar Okinawa evokes images of America’s self-constructed role as benevolent hedge of protection. In recent years, America’s military response to the Tohoku earthquake and tsunami received the moniker Operation Tomodachi,33 an effective tag to reinforce the image of a protective friend. Indeed, Big Circle’s Spring 2011 cover image of the relief effort reflects the underlying intent to frame the foreign force as a friendly protector fully interested in the welfare of its neighbour. As if to embody the feelings of an interested neighbour seeking to express the will of America’s national interest, the language of occupying power must abide by the self-perception. Military men and women see their work as meeting the high obligation they swore to observe. Like the strict-father who abides by his inherent sense of duty to guide, the good neighbour observes his moral sense of obligation to protect. Yet, despite the many positive connotations connected to the Good Neighbour metaphor, consider the contrast of these images set against another widely known metaphor—Tip of the spear. A vigorous search for its origins leads to a mystery, but what remain clear are its connotations, which are almost always related to military units or actions. Air Force Technical Writer Darren Butler suspects that Tip of the Spear comes from the Special Operations community. “As with many military phrases,” he notes, “its definition [broadens] over time. It is almost exclusively used in regards to warfare, but it seems to be catchingon in other arenas.” Since it is still, “ . . . military slang, the phrase should be used with some caution”34 for its lack of precision. According to Butler, the expression can mean (a) At the very center of harm’s way, i.e. “The Bomb Squad is at the Tip of the Spear against the Neo-Nazis; (b) The cutting/deadly edge, i.e. “The new PULVERIZER 3000, will be the Tip of the Spear in Homeland Defense; and

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Other references abound. The Jargon Database has tip of the spear as “the first and most meaningful action in an offensive.” 36 In his Vanity Fair article, “Into the Valley of Death,” Sebastian Junger illustrates this view, observing that “A strategic passage wanted by the Taliban and al-Qaeda, in Afghanistan’s Korengal Valley, is among the deadliest pieces of terrain in the world for U.S. forces. One platoon is considered the tip of the American spear.”37 The only apparent official interpretation of the term appears in a Marine Corps webpage for Okinawa. Okinawa, the largest island in the Ryukyu chain, is home to more than 18,000 Marines, sailors and their families. There are only a few places outside the United States that have more meaning and more history to Marines. As the ‘Tip of the Spear,’ Marines on Okinawa are here in support of the U.S./Japan Security Treaty, providing for the mutual defense of Japan and ensuring regional security. Although home based on Okinawa, units and personnel here may often spend much of their time training in other countries, taking part in the numerous exercises throughout the Pacific.38

In keeping with the self-perception that the garrisons are here to provide protection, it seems reasonable that Marines would select the moniker, tip of the spear. But, at whom is this tip of the spear pointing? That is, how can a literal and figurative spear both defend and offend? Answers to these questions call for reflection on the level of cognitive dissonance that military forces and their diplomatic representatives might experience in perceiving the meaning of their roles and naming themselves and their activities.

The Tip of Kevin Maher’s Tongue The tongue is sometimes seen as a double-edged sword. It can build and destroy, bind and liberate. Such is the case sometimes with diplomatic communications. In his AP article, Eric Talmadge noted that a senior US diplomat was replaced for reportedly making “disparaging comments” about Okinawans—suggesting that they “were lazy and used their hosting of US bases to extort benefits from Tokyo.”39 But, many observers locally

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shot back with questions about whether, in fact, the United States with its low-cost empire maintenance wasn’t actually the extorter. Among the qualifications necessary for work in the American diplomatic corps, a fairly good grasp of law and history rank highly, not to mention the ability to deploy diplomacy and tact. Indeed, the initial qualifying State Department exam effectively winnows out the ignorant and ill-equipped. Kevin Maher’s apparent ignorance, verified by his initial comments and added to his later efforts to distance himself from his remarks effectively gutted his local reputation. Nor does his choice of the label lazy necessarily align with reality, as extorters are, by definition, skilled in designing elaborate schemes and using their power to extract favour or funding (hardly a plan carried off by people who have long been on the sidelines of international political powerplays). Framing Maher’s comments in the historical condescension that various American leaders have over the decades reserved for Okinawans can help clarify some possible reasons why he let his tongue slip, sever communication, and knick his reputation. This level of crude language play among the occupying forces began to emerge in the 1950s when, according to American military authorities, armed soldiers had to be dispatched to the streets to suppress a “communist uprising.”40 The socalled “troublemakers,” according to Otis Bell, were a collection of unarmed farmers “protesting the use of their land by occupation forces without agreement and without payment.”41 As power, position, or plans come under threat, creative labels fabricated and applied to unacceptable persons or actions crusade for validation in the public discourse. Reassessing the meanings of these early labels can help reveal how today’s attitudes and key metaphors stand as direct descendants of the past. Were these citizens actually “communist troublemakers,” or as Kevin Maher may have observed more diplomatically, “extortionists,” or were they local landowners asserting their rights to protest an injustice? In her 1956 article, “Okinawa: Orphan of Conquest,” Helen Mears provided some insight into the politics of the past that has possibly modeled present perceptions of Okinawa as a land of ‘lazy’ extortionists. After WWII, as the Cold War began heating up, President Truman tasked Mr. John Foster Dulles, an apparent archetype for today’s straightshooting diplomat, to hammer out a treaty with Japan that would, according to prevailing assumptions, extend the strategic military advantages of the US rather than lay the foundations for stability, cooperation, and welfare of the people’s of East Asia.42 Growing public hysteria in the US abetted by the agenda-setting press, increasing pressure from Congress and military leaders as well as partisan

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demands from Republicans who saw the rise of communist power in China as a strong campaign issue had created a situation that made continued possession of military bases in Japanese territory seem not only defensible but imperative.43 During ‘negotiations’ over the fate of Okinawa, Dulles’ effort to “leave sovereignty in doubt but to arrange for absolute United States possession for an indefinite period” underscores the great extent to which even the perception of possible tensions can move people to plot extortion. Seigen Miyazato cites Dulles as saying If Japan renounces sovereignty in favor of no one, this would create a chaotic international situation, . . . It might then be claimed that sovereignty was vested in the inhabitants, who could hereafter assert, perhaps with United Nations backing, a right to oust the United States.44

Justification for framing Okinawa as a strategic region of the world, indeed the Keystone of the Pacific, from which the US could “police”45 China, Russia, and Japan itself appeared in the name of “international peace” and “security.” This position hardly seems to have changed in the past number of decades as America’s resolve then to reinforce its selfperception as father figure has lived on. During the 1960s, Okinawa’s High Commissioner General Paul Caraway helped frame the US presence as a sort of strict father intent on policing the ideas and aspirations of the rebellious children in his charge: Currently autonomy is a myth—it doesn’t exist. And until the people of the Ryukyus decide that they once again wish to be a sovereign nation, there will be no autonomy in the future either.46

Other leaders that followed continued to assume the persona of lord and protector. The Cork in the Bottle conception of Okinawa, coined by General Henry Stackpole, cast the continued presence of US forces as a protective barrier against neighbouring nations as well as against the host nation itself. With its massive economic might and potential aspiration for total emancipation from the “special relationship,” Japan could be managed like a teenager testing the limitations of his physical power as well as protected from hurting himself. The so-called cork of American military power could ironically manage to contain the “bottle” and its contents purchased by Japanese taxpayers. The metaphor offends common sense as commentators have since pointed out that “paying for American bases on their own soil as watchdogs is like paying for their own jailers.”47 Not to be outmanoeuvred, at least rhetorically, Admiral Richard Macke, America’s top military official in Okinawa during the early 1990s, had to

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step down for expressing a rather detached ignorance of the context and crime that condemned three servicemen in his command to prison. Suggesting that the accused servicemembers could have paid for the services of a prostitute for the cost of renting a car to commit a rape, Admiral Macke sent mixed signals to Okinawans about his perceptions of the people he was, at least publicly, charged to defend. In this instance, the implied label for the girl they could have had (prostitute) could have arisen from memories of the 1960s when much wider access to prostitution played a greater part in the American military’s institutional superstructure in Okinawa.48 Confused, at times, by the power they hold, those who handle the spear appear to have great difficulty determining whether to defend or offend the people they’re charged to protect. The admiral’s remedy was to ignore the human element, to remove the criminals from the crime and overlook the Core Values that Marines swear to observe. His rhetorical slip, further, revealed a weakness in the ethical problems posed by occupation: namely, the occupier is often incapable of truly empathising with the perspectives and plights of the occupied. The force of the crime having been diluted by cavalier comments about poor economic choices reveals how the political economy that maintains the system can dull critical reflection on the social effects of occupation. Some of the metaphors discussed thus far, which embody the ideas and attitudes of those who hold the power to protect the present system, range between two extremes—the contemptuous and the complimentary. Locally, official US communications representing larger national interests which shape the perceptions of and attitudes toward local people reveal the internal contradictions one must hold were occupation to survive. One cannot speak of friendship in consistently logical ways when one cannot drop the spear. While the tip of the spear prevails as a moniker that US Marines are currently content to wear, it is also a convenient metaphor for the risk that US Marines in Okinawa are willing to assume in defending the national interest. Exploring the public’s interpretations of its meanings locally can uncover some of the reasons why Mr. Maher’s comments about Okinawan people felt so misplaced. The following question and comment posed in a local public Internet forum49 elicited a revealing sample of responses from the dismissive to the venomous: In light of the nearly 1000 US military bases maintained throughout the world, is it safe to say that America is not entirely interested in freedom and liberty than it is in maintaining the empire? I’ve noticed that US Marines still like to refer to themselves as the “tip of the spear.” I wonder

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The first response to the question and comment was a charge that the original post (OP) was the work of a troll.50 Various senior members of the forum, in fact, were quick to reinforce this view and used the name consistently across the thread of 250 responses. A related response, seemingly less irrational, served to support the view that a “troll” was instigating unwarranted disorder: One could also say the US was a major contributor to why Japan is a world power today. A few bases seem a small price to pay considering what other societies have done to their conquests, including the Japanese themselves.

It is unclear why the respondent neglected to specify here that the price is small for Japan, that is, if Okinawa pays for the base presence. Though his response avoids ad hominem attacks, it reflects a key point raised by Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky in Manufacturing Consent. Human effort to wield control over definitions finds elaboration in the ‘Propaganda Model’. In keeping with the model’s fifth filter, “Communism as the ultimate evil has always been the specter haunting property owners, as it threatens the very root of their class position and superior status.”51 The “property” in this case is the Okinawan land still maintained by the American forces that employ him, and the “ultimate evil”—like communism—is the idea that threatens his position. While the Internet forum isn’t necessarily a form of corporate media vested in the local socioeconomic order, and while its members don’t appear publicly to hold the power to influence these conditions, its most boisterous participants do have a stake in keeping the current system in place. Their voices present another dimension to the status quo and the continuing dialogues about its legitimacy. As criticism of the current situation threatens the foundation upon which the present class system is constructed (those with the right status that grants access to the bases and those without), dissenting views must be placed in their proper categories. Decades ago, during the campaign to annex Okinawan land for US military expansion, those who dissented were labeled as communist troublemakers; today, they can be labeled as Internet trolls. Herman and Chomsky note that the “Anticommunism” filter helped media control public discourse in a way that marginalised communist ideology, but, more importantly, “mobilize[d] the populace against an enemy and, because the concept is fuzzy it can be used against anybody advocating policies that threaten property interests or support accommodation

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with Communist states and radicalism.” 52 Today, in the long wake of America’s successful postwar campaign to establish bases on Okinawa in perpetuity, viewpoints that depart from the norm that the bases are necessary for security can be deftly suppressed with name-calling and public castigation. Such is the case with the following departure from conventional wisdom lodged in the same thread: It’s a pity that so many people on the forum here have so much of their lives invested in acting against their own self-interest and have become like turkeys lining up to vote for Thanksgiving. While Cheney and cohorts, as well as the arms company billionaires make their fortunes, what do US service personnel get out of the military apart from a very real chance to screw up their bodies and their minds, or else arrive home in a wooden box?

The observation elicited an immediate and impassioned censure. Working against my own self-interests? I’m making money hand over fist . . . why the f--k would I want the bases gone? So I could work some crappy job as an Engrish teacher [sic]? One that will give me a crappy retirement and lists me as a step lower than [a] salary man in a country that could care less if I were here or not.

Here, the comfortable economic situation created for those employed (directly or indirectly) in support of the US military provides the rationale for challenging all questions that imagine alternative social and economic realities. Can emotional appeals to potential on-base riches legitimise beliefs that the realities of history hold no intrinsic value? If so, such a vision of the past could have formed from a mixture of half-truths reproduced over the decades by the foreign military powers that maintain their garrisons, media outlets, and public affairs personnel which reinforce the narratives of good will and intention toward local people. The continued maintenance of this perspective on history may be aided by the convenient and lucrative economic situation presented to them locally, vis-à-vis their present or previous connection to the US garrisons. This level of access to the gated communities is what may enable people to feel justified in asking contemptuously—“if the Marines are the tip of the spear, then who is the long shaft?”

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A Pathology of Naming Noticeable incongruities in language and behaviour appear in a range of perceptual and psychological dysfunctions. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-IV) 53 describes Dissociative Identity Disorder, for example, as a mental illness distinguished by the emergence of two distinct identities or states of personality that recurrently take control of thought and behaviour. The illness reflects an inability to integrate the key features of identity, memory, and consciousness. While each personality state may be experienced as if it has a distinct history, self-image, and identity, including a separate name,54 occupying military forces invoke paradoxical names for the diverging identities they assume on different occasions. Each conflicting identity emerging throughout the past six decades at various times and represented, for example, as tenant, protector, friend, or tip of the spear includes its own narrative history which makes use of the informational infrastructure in America and in Japan to communicate and reinforce the persuasive messages necessary for continued occupation. While the primary identity carries the individual’s name and exhibits passiveness, dependence and guilt, the alternate identities typically feature different names and characteristics that contrast sharply with the primary one. These alternate personas have been described as hostile, controlling, and self-destructive. 55 Of course, American forces understand foremost that the principal aim of their mission worldwide is military victory, so the names for military actions and exercises tend to coincide with the particular persona adopted for a particular occasion. The only apparent difference from the Dissociative Identity Disorder is that militaries foremost define their success in terms of the level of violent hostility that can be brought to bear in an action as well as the ability to control the opposing force. Notwithstanding the fact that the US military is an institution, separate from the individuals who comprise it, the difference is one of degree as names like Army of One dissolve individual identity and titles like US Marine call to mind the collective efforts of The Few and the Proud.

Conclusion The past 67 years of American diplomatic and military domination in Okinawa have seen a recurring presence of distinct yet often conflicting identities. Words of purported goodwill, honesty and openness about commitments to maintaining regional stability have been betrayed

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consistently through the decades by designs to maintain military dominion in perpetuity. In the face of these words looms the much larger existence of 90956 other US garrisons occupying land acquired by force, coercion, or collusion in communities across the globe.57 As a witness to the “bulldozers and bayonets” 58 campaign to seize Okinawan land during the 1950s, Otis Bell observed that “the soldiers came with machine guns, burp guns, and fixed bayonets. The Okinawans were armed with nothing but the right to stand on their own land.” 59 Earlier questions over who held the long shaft for the tip of the spear are easily answered if one can accept the historical records. Those who held the rifles that the bayonets were fixed to were that long shaft. Today, the system itself is the shaft, the cancerous arms industry, the military and corporate interests that converge and create new weapons and companies with legions of privatised mercenaries. These are the tools that shaft the American public by depleting the country’s coffers to pay for foreign bases and open-ended wars that kill or maim thousands of Americans and millions of civilians across the globe.60 James Carroll observed in his article “A Declaration of Empire” that legislators deliberated over additional meanings being assigned to America’s military mission across the globe: Instead of merely authorizing the president to make war against those who ‘committed or aided’ the 2001 attacks, the proposed National Defense Authorization Act expands the notion of America’s enemy to include forces ‘associated’ with named antagonists like al-Qaida and the Taliban.61

Beyond perpetual wars against fuzzy abstractions, a larger public campaign for control over key words and their meanings continues. Efforts today to redefine the enemy by broadening the frame of knowing precisely who the enemy is marks yet another stab at control over society’s resources in the United States and in nations across the globe where America maintains its forces. If language reflects thought and the act of naming perceived realities reflects the sort of definitional control we seek to wield, we must question the so-called national interests that give the language of occupation its meaning and real-world import. What sort of coherent national interest can define its plans for peace in terms of continued military occupations? The disorganised, incoherent language suggests at once that such an interest is dysfunctional, if not self-defeating.

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Notes  1

Gavan McCormack and Satoko Oka Norimatsu. Resistant Islands (Plymouth, UK: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers Inc., 2012), 3. 2 George Kerr. Okinawa: The History of an Island People (Tokyo: Tuttle Books, 2000), 305. 3 Diplomatic dispatch the American Counselor Unit “The Ryukyus - the Cypress of the United States?” Jan. 30, 1958, Ollcot H. Deming 4 B¥ was the currency used by Okinawans during the USCAR administration. 5 American Consular Unit Okinawa, Dec. 17 1956 6 Herbert Schiller, Living in the Number One Country: Reflections of a Critic on American Empire (New York: Seven Stories Press, 2000), 152. 7 Schiller, 152 8 Oxford English Dictionary Compact Edition, s.v. “occupation.” 9 Dwight Eisenhower. “State of the Union” Jan. 7, 1954 10 Nicholas Evan Sarantakes. Keystone: The American Occupation of Okinawa and U.S.-Japanese Relations (Foreign Relations and the Presidency) College Station, TX: Texas A&M University Press, 2000. 78. 11 George Lakoff and Mark Turner. More Than Cool Reason: A Field Guide to Poetic Metaphor (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1989), 63. 12 George Kerr notes that Commodore Perry felt that, “Japan should be brought into communication with the Western world under American patronage and guidance” Okinawa: The History of an Island People (Clarendon, VT: Tuttle Publishing), 302. 13 William E. Weeks, Building the Continental Empire: American Expansion from the Revolution to the Civil War (Lanham, MD: Ivan R. Dee, 1997), 61-3. 14 Howard Zinn “The Power and the Glory: Myths of American Exceptionalism.” Boston Review (Summer 2005), 1. 15 Marwan Muasher, “A Path to Arab Democracy.” The New York Times. Apr. 26, 2003. 16 “President George W. Bush Speaks to HUD Employees on National Homeownership Month.” Speech, Washington, DC, June 18, 2002. http://archives.hud.gov/remarks/martinez/speeches/presremarks.cfm (accessed Jul. 26, 2011). 17 “President Holds Primetime News Conference,” The White House, http://georgewbush-whitehouse.archives.gov/news/releases/2001/10/200110117.html (accessed Oct. 28, 2011). 18 Chuck Sudetic, “The Betrayal of Basra,” Mother Jones (November/December 2001). http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2001/11/betrayal-basra (accessed Oct. 12, 2011). 19 Isaiah Berlin, “Two Concepts of Liberty,” in Four Essays on Liberty, ed. Henry Hardy. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 171. 20 This is an oblique reference to Luftwaffe Commander Hermann Göring’s speech Guns will make us powerful; butter will only make us fat. George W. Bush

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 symbolised the bombs and Barack Obama (at the time) symbolised the hope for increased domestic production. 21 According to the official AFRTS website, The AFRTS vision is to provide multi-channel broadcast quality radio and television services and expanded internal information products to all DoD members and their families stationed overseas, on contingency operations, and onboard Navy ships around the world. Today, AFRTS uses seven satellites along with digital compression technology to provide multiple television and stereo audio services to over 1,000 outlets in more than 175 countries and U.S. territories, and on board U.S. Navy ships. (date unknown) http://afrts.dodmedia.osd.mil (accessed Dec. 10, 2012)  22 EDITORIAL NOTE: CAMP HANSEN, Okinawa—One thing every Marine hears when he or she first arrives on Okinawa is that being a good neighbour is just as important as being a good Marine. “I enjoy working with and talking to the Okinawans,” Lance Cpl. John F. Vanecek was quoted as saying in the release. “It feels good to help out and make things look nice. The point of us being here is to help the community.” Warren Peace, “Camp Hansen Marines Help Spruce up Kin Town,” Stars and Stripes, Nov. 4, 2005. One wonders why the young Marine empathises enough to care how “things look” in this foreign land and why he “feels good to help out.” If he hadn’t been preprogrammed by the chain of command to develop these feelings, could he have developed them from his upbringing “back in the world” where the governor’s (or government’s) view of reality is to remake the world in America’s image? 23 See full article at http://www.mcipac.marines.mil/New/NewsArticleDisplay/taid/ 1144/Article/8592/friendship-concert-brings-different-cultures-together.aspx 24 Nomura Koya, “Colonialism and Nationalism: The View from Okinawa,” in Okinawan Diaspora, ed. Ronald Nakasone (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2002), 113. 25 Henoko is a region of northern Okinawa known for its coral reef systems and sea grass beds vital for the survival of the dugong where a planned land reclamation project is set to make room for a new U.S. Marine Corps facility. 26 Activists at US for Okinawa: Peace-Action Network, note that, “Takae, situated in Yambaru, is a small village of about 160 residents, including many who moved here for its pristine nature. However, the U.S. Marine Corps has been using the Yambaru Forest for combat training. In 1957, the US military started using the area as ‘Northern Training Area’ (Jungle Warfare Training Center), and currently there are 15 U.S. helicopter takeoff and landing zones (helipads) in Higashi Village. Residents of Takae have constantly suffered from the noise and the risk of helicopter crashes. To make matters worse, the Japanese and US governments decided to build 6 new helipads, surrounding the residential neighborhood of Takae.” (Jan. 3, 2011) 27 See Nashiro in this volume for a fuller discussion of concepts of superiority, subtitled ‘Girls Here Need Our Help!’ 28 “Big Circle,” Marines: The Official Website of the United States Marine Corps, http://www.mcipac.marines.mil/PublicAffairs/BigCircle.aspx (accessed Jul. 25, 2011).

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David Wootton. Divine Right and Democracy: An Anthology of Political Writing in Stuart England (Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin, 1986), 99. 30 Shoichi Koseki and Ray Moore. The Birth of Japan’s Postwar Constitution (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997), 201. 31 Wootton, 107. 32 George Lakoff. The Political Mind: A Cognitive Scientist’s Guide to Your Brain and Its Politics (New York: Penguin, 2009).  33 Literally, Operation Friend 34 “RE: military-industrial complex affiliates - define ‘tip of the spear,’” Tech Whirl Archives, http://www.techwr-l.com/ (accessed May 1, 2011). 35 Butler. 36 Visit http://www.jargondatabase.com/ 37 Sebastian Junger, “Into the Valley of Death,” Vanity Fair. (Jan. 2008). 38 “Living in Okinawa,” Marines: The Official Website of the United States Marine Corps, http://www.mcipac.marines.mil/LivinginOkinawa.aspx (accessed May 10, 2011). 39 Eric Talmadge “U.S. diplomat replaced over Okinawa uproar,” Star Advertiser, Mar. 9, 2011. 40 Otis Bell, “Play Fair with the Okinawans,” Christian Century. (Jan. 20, 1954), 77. 41 Bell, 77. 42 Helen Mears, “Okinawa: Orphan of conquest,” Nation, no.183 (Nov. 3, 1956), 368. 43 Mears, 368. 44 Seigen Miyazato, “Nichibei Kankei to Okinawa, 1945-1972” (Japan-U.S. relations and Okinawa, 1945–1972) The Journal of American History, vol. 90, no. 2 (2003): 715-16. 45 Mears, 396. 46 “Keywords in Postwar Okinawa,” Ryukyu Cultural Archives, http://rca.open.ed.jp/web_e/history/story/epoch5/keyword_3.html (accessed Jun. 17, 2011) 47 Chalmers Johnson, “Okinawa between the United States and Japan.” Japan Policy Research Institute at the University of San Francisco Center for the Pacific Rim, 24 (2002), http://www.jpri.org/publications/occasionalpapers/op24.html (accessed Jun. 20, 2011) 48 Nashiro explores this phenomenon more deeply in this volume. 49 Fortunately, or otherwise, the forum, then managed by a freelancing systems administrator (D.K.) at Japan Update, was closed down in the spring of 2011 shortly after an identity theft issue involving one of its moderators unfolded. According to the newspaper’s chief editor at the time, Kari Valtaoja, its moderators had formed a small of “clique of drinking buddies” who, despite the rising popularity of the forum, were ‘unrepresentative’ of the wider military and local community.  50 Urban Dictionary defines troll as, An obnoxious user or member on a forum that goes out of their way to make pointless, offensive, or annoying posts and

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 messages. Often these users are labeled as spammers and will post random offtopic junk in many sections of a forum. 51 Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky, Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of Mass Media (New York: Pantheon, 1988), 29 52 Herman and Chomsky, 29. 53 DSM-IV, 1994, 477 54 DSM-IV, 484 55 DSM-IV, 484 56 Catherine Lutz, “Bases, Empire, and Global Response,” in The Bases of Empire: The Global Struggle against U.S. Military Posts, ed. Catherine Lutz. (London: Pluto Press, 2009), 1. 57 “In a world of statistics and precision, a world in which ‘accountability’ is now a Washington buzzword, a world where all information is available at the click of a mouse, there’s one number no American knows. Not the president. Not the Pentagon. Not the experts. No one. The man who wrote the definitive book on it didn’t know for sure. The Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times columnist didn’t even come close. Yours truly [Nick Turse] has written numerous articles on U.S. military bases and even part of a book on the subject, but failed like the rest. There are more than 1,000 U.S. military bases dotting the globe. To be specific, the most accurate count is 1,077. Unless it’s 1,088. Or, if you count differently, 1,169. Or even 1,180. Actually, the number might even be higher. Nobody knows for sure.” 58 Masamichi Inoue, Okinawa and the U.S. military: Identity Making in the Age of Globalization (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), 245. 59 Bell, 77. 60 At last count [Feb. 2013], 4,488 US servicemembers have been killed since the beginning of military operations in Iraq (Costofwar.org). The cost includes care for at least 253,300 veterans suffering significant brain injuries and at least 1,700 amputees (Spencer Ackerman, 2013). Documented Iraqi civilian deaths from war violence stand between 122,000 and 132,000 (Costofwar.org). An extensive study of civilian deaths in Iraq from 2003 to 2011 has been published by Neta Crawford at Boston University and can be found at a Watson Institute site for international studies. For details, visit http://costsofwar.org/article/iraqi-civilians#_ftn1.  61 James Carroll. “A declaration of empire: Proposed law would vastly expand boundaries of US military mission,” Boston.com, May 16, 2011.

CHAPTER SIX COMPLICIT AMNESIA OR WILLFUL BLINDNESS? UNTOLD STORIES IN US AND JAPANESE MEDIA KIYOMI MAEDOMARI-TOKUYAMA

Introduction This chapter presents analysis of sixty-six English language and 380 Japanese language newspaper articles related to the issue of the proposed relocation of the Marine Corps Air Station (MCAS-Futenma) in Okinawa, Japan. The articles appeared during the period of September 2009 through June 2010, the months during which Yukio Hatoyama served as Prime Minister of Japan. In September 2009, the Democratic Party of Japan won the national election to end a half-century of control held by the Liberal Democratic Party. It is often said that Hatoyama’s political promise to relocate MCAS Futenma to a location outside of Okinawa contributed largely to his party’s victory. His promise further heightened Okinawans’ hopes and expectations to finally have the most dangerous US military airbase in the world, according to Donald Rumsfeld, removed from their land. To date, Okinawa shoulders 73.9% of the burden of US military presence on 0.6% of total land area of Japan. The US military still occupies 18.9% of the island. The US military presence over the past sixty-seven years has destroyed the lives of many as well as considerable areas of the natural environment across Okinawa’s main island and some of its surrounding ones. The ongoing presence also represents an insurrountable obstacle to the development of a sustainable Okinawan economy. Two US newspapers and a Japanese newspaper were targeted for investigation of coverage of the MCAS-Futenma relocation. Analysis of the structure and content of the articles reveals general uniformity in the presentation of information and views that could be interpreted as

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supportive of US interests and the maintenance of the US-Japan Security Treaty; however, there are also notable gaps in the presentation of relevant information. The absence of information along with the presentation of interpretive views suggests a troubling uniformity of journalistic treatment of the issues that are detrimental to the expressed concerns of Okinawans. The analysis of media frames and results presented herein were drawn from Robert Entman’s theory of framing in political communication. Investigation of the American and Japanese newspaper articles reveals that the journalistic presentation of the issues surrounding the relocation of MCAS-Futenma, and the involvement of Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama in those decisions, fulfilled all four functions of the corporate news framing process, definitions of which follow in ‘Analytical Framework’.

Data Collection Procedures and Criteria for Inclusion Using the key terms Okinawa, Futenma, and military to search Lexis/Nexis, I was able to retrieve a large number of articles. After a preliminary analysis, I narrowed the collection to those US and Japanese newspaper articles relevant only to the issue of the planned relocation, which were published in the WP, NYT, and AS. I retrieved twenty-five articles from the WP and forty-nine from the NYT, but then further restricted the collection by excluding from analysis all editorials, letters to the editor, and commentary columns, resulting in a corpus of twenty-three articles from WP and forty-three from NYT. Similarly, I retrieved 465 articles from AS and then narrowed the collection to 380, excluding editorials, letters to the editor, and commentary columns. The selection of these three newspapers was motivated by (1) the recognition that they are generally considered to be politically influential in the United States and Japan, especially in Washington, D.C. and Tokyo;1 (2) the fact that these newspapers support correspondents in the US and Japan; and (3) the common belief that AS tends to lean politically left, compared to other major papers such as Yomiuri Shimbun, Mainichi Shimbun and Nihon Keizai Shimbun.2 Theoretically, AS is purported to be more sympathetic to the plights of Okinawan people, and this belief was expected to find its voice in print. My main focus in this chapter is to examine whether any change in coverage of the Futenma issue is actually apparent to the Okinawan perspective.

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Analytical Framework: Media Frames & News Framing Journalists frame news in order to simplify complex issues. Gamson and Modigliani defined a media frame as “a central organizing idea or story line that provides meaning to an unfolding strip of events.” 3 However, because issues surrounding the relocation of MCAS-Futenma are interwoven with the process of diplomatic policymaking, I prefer to utilise Robert Entman’s concept of framing in political communication. According to Entman, the verb “to frame” or “framing” refers to the process of selecting and highlighting one or more aspects of a perceived reality and enhancing the salience of an interpretation and evaluation of that reality.4 Basic functions of framing are identified as follows: “defining effects or conditions as problematic, identifying causes, conveying a moral judgment, and endorsing remedies or improvements” [emphasis added for ease of reference]. Entman considered frames that perform at least two of these four functions to be substantive frames.5 Investigation of the coverage of the MCAS-Futenma issue in US and Japanese newspapers indicates that all four functions of framing, as specified above, are present. In all three newspapers, Prime Minister Hatoyama is presented as the central actor. The campaign promise he had made for relocating MCAS-Futenma to mainland Japan, or overseas, was identified as a politically “unrealisable” assurance, and the planned relocation was framed as problematic: the major US and Japanese newspapers claimed that such a relocation, or attempt at a relocation different from the one agreed upon in 2006, would threaten the Japan-US alliance. Interestingly, the second function, identifying the cause of a problem, was presented neither as the existence of MCAS-Futenma itself nor as the Japan-US Security Treaty, but, rather, as the consequence of Hatoyama’s being “inexperienced,” “indecisive,” and “irresponsible,” in his misguided effort to renege on the 2006 agreement between Japan and the United States regarding the relocation. The third function of framing, the conveyance of a moral judgment, could be found in newspapers in both Japan and the United States. The position taken was that the US military air station must be moved to a less populated area as soon as possible. This stance was actually seen as code for moving the base to Henoko, the only purported option still open, since no other prefectures in Japan had accepted the proposition of a major US military base in their backyard. That is, the unamity of reporting, as regards the injustice of keeping MCAS-Futenma in its present place, served to preclude any further investigatory discussion of the reasons for

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relocation. In reporting on Okinawans who were infuriated by Hatoyama’s “indecisiveness” and “inability” to find a relocation site, it was therefore implied that he was the primary cause for delaying the process of relocating MCAS-Futenma. The implication of such framing suggested that unless he agreed to the earlier relocation plan (2006), he would be held responsible for endangering the lives of those presently living near MCAS-Futenma. At last, the fourth function of framing, the introduction of a remedy, was suggested in US and Japanese media: initially it was to relocate MCAS-Futenma to Henoko, a “less-populated area of northern Okinawa,” but ultimately the media in Japan and the US suggested another remedy— capitulation. It was suggested that Hatoyama’s resignation would expedite the remedy initially offered: to expedite the relocation of MCAS-Futenma within Okinawa, to Henoko. In sum, the Futenma issue was framed as problematic, and the script was dominated by criticism against the Hatoyama administration’s mishandling of the relocation. There was, however, only one story each from NYT and WP that would be categorised as scripts presenting the interests of residents in Futenma, reported as interviews with anti-US base activists and educators. Okinawans’ vocalised distrust of Hatoyama was then effectively appropriated to support the newspapers’ having framed his administration as one of the causes of the problem and his resignation as an expedient solution: “The United States doesn’t know if it can trust Hatoyama or not,” said Hiroshi Ashitomi, one of the protesters staging the sit-in in Henoko, “and neither do we Okinawans.”6 The idea embodied in the strategically positioned quotation—at the very end of the article—firmly fixes its meaning in readers’ memories. In the reporting of AS, even as early as November, Hatoyama and his administration were conferred the status of “irresponsible.” On November 8, 2009, when a huge rally of 20,000 people was held against the US military presence, AS denounced Hatoyama and his purported lack of desire to maintain an “equal relationship with the US” by calling him “indecisive” and blaming his administration for taking an “irregular” course or straying off course. The implication here is that the “course” that the Japanese government should take is to follow the one already carved out by the US government and to ignore Okinawan voices when deciding on the relocation site—a code for relocating the air station to Henoko. In the AS, when referring to Hatoyama himself or his administration, the adjectives “wandering” and “weaving” were typically attached up until his resignation, effective metaphors for a crooked, inefficient walk.

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Mass Media Complicit Amnesia or Willful Blindness? Lisa Yoneyama examines how both governments of Japan and the United States, as well as the experts that circulate the official views, cooperate in constructing new versions of history while working to erase or dilute memories of the imperial and colonial past. She coined the term “Complicit Amnesia” to account for various institutional efforts to delete these ‘inconvenient’ truths for the occupiers.7 This concept could also be employed in efforts to analyse and understand the framing of the Futenma issue: the NYT and WP exercised “Complicit Amnesia” in framing the Futenma issue, as did AS. It is, thus, reasonable to conclude that Japanese bureaucrats, as well as the US administration, have also exercised “Complicit Amnesia” and this level of forgetfulness has had an immensely effective impact on how the power brokers of both nations can use mass media to best frame the Futenma issue. The term “willful blindness” is also instructive as a metaphor for the intentional exclusion of Okinawans’ voices and concealment, by individual reporters and newspapers editors, of the persisting colonial aspects of the issue. As mass media articles (as well as associated images and symbols) created with “willful blindness” accumulate like snowflakes falling into the public discourse, the resulting media landscape changes almost entirely into a scene of “Complicit Amnesia” where important, underlying details and facts are blotted out. Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky provide a useful lens through which to examine some general examples. They discuss the differences in the corporate media’s treatment of victims of enemies of the state (i.e. Aung San Suu Kyi against Myanmar’s military regime) and victims of the US and its client states (i.e. Jeju Island’s resistance to Seoul’s planned naval base). In like manner, large agenda-setting media in America and Japan remain willfully blind to the victims of a decades-long US military presence in Okinawa. Herman and Chomsky predict that “the victims of enemy states will be found ‘unworthy’ and will be subject to more intense and indignant coverage than those victimised by the United States or its clients, who are implicitly ‘unworthy.’”8 Reporting on the real plights of such victims could upset the socioeconomic order and be entirely detrimental to US ‘commitments’9 in East Asia, especially to US-Japanese interests. So, what forms of perception and understanding appear in Okinawan discourse? Both forms operate at various levels today. As Japanese bureaucrats and American politicians ignore local inconvenient truths (in order to promote their national interests), they exhibit a profound

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“Complicit Amnesia.” Just the same, Japanese and American corporate media frame the ongoing Futenma issue in support of their higher national interests, they also exhibit a “Complicit Amnesia.”

Analysis This section provides evidence that NYT, WP, and AS are indeed quite similar in their handling of information and in their framing techniques for the presentation of that information. This section begins with a chart of the topics covered and organised according to the media frames used for the presentation of those topics. Following that is a more detailed account of the information presented, with quotations from the newspapers. This section concludes with a discussion on information not presented. The following table features summaries of the functions of frames and the major themes and information presented by the three major papers.

Objective, Factual Presentations of News and the Illusion of Completeness Though newspapers carry a wide range of stories on many diverging subjects, the articles, which are widely recognised as standards of print news, are usually presented with an air of fact and objectivity and are supposed to contain all of the important, or relevant, information. Both NYT and WP are nearly identical in their handling of the MCAS-Futenma relocation issue, but their articles appear to be predicated upon the supposed overriding importance of the US-Japan alliance. Editors frame news of the topics with well-chosen adjectives, especially in superlative forms, to underscore the value of the alliance as if it were an uncontestable presupposition. Thus, in both US papers, the United States is repeatedly described as “Japan’s biggest ally,”10 “Japan’s closest ally,”11 “long time protector,” 12 “military protector,” 13 and so on. So, American journalism tends to cast Japan as “America’s most important Asian ally.”14 A quarter of the selected articles appearing in the WP come from wire services such as Reuters and the Associated Press. Of the remaining seventeen articles, written by WP reporters or staff, half clearly stressed the importance of the Japan-US alliance by positioning the two nations as “the most important allies.” About one third of the NYT articles used the same or similar expressions. Likewise, the AS began placing even more emphasis on the significance of “deepening the Japan-US alliance” in November when, early in the month, Okinawa saw a massive rally against the US military presence. 15 This phrasing of “deepening the Japan-US

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alliance” continued to be used from November to June, until the end of the Hatoyama administration. Table 6-1. (2009-2010) created by the author Focus of Frames on Futenma MCAS Function of Frames

Washington Post

New York Times

Asahi Shimbun

Defining Problematic Effects/ Conditions

Base relocation Hatoyama’s proposal: politically untenable and operationally unworkable Strained Japan-US security alliance

Base relocation disrupts US-Japan ties Damaging dispute to US-Japan relations Hatoyama angered the US

Relocation of MCAS Futenma outside Okinawa Hatoyama’s proposal angered the US and has shaken the JapanUS security alliance to the core “Inexperienced,” “indecisive,” Hatoyama’s politically “unrealizable” promise to move MCAS Futenma off Okinawa Hatoyama administration “wandering” or “straying off course” in deciding the relocation site of MCAS Futenma Hatoyama reneged on the SACO agreement in 2006 between Japan and US to relocate MCAS Futenma within Okinawa. The government should reduce the (military) burden of Okinawa residents MCAS Futenma should be moved to a less crowded area in Okinawa

“Inexperienced” Hatoyama’s politically “unrealizable promise to move MCAS Futenma off Okinawa Identifying Cause / Agent

Conveying Moral Judgment

Hatoyama reneged on the USD26 billion agreement in 2006 between Japan and US to relocate MCAS Futenma within Okinawa, moving 8,000 Marines to Guam

MCAS Futenma should be moved to a less crowded area in Okinawa

Politically toxic issue Politically “unrealizable” promise to move MCAS-Futenma off Okinawa Hatoyama reneged on the 2006 agreement between Japan and US to relocate MCAS Futenma within Okinawa

MCAS Futenma should be moved to a less populated are in Okinawa

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In an effort to emphasise the gravity of the alliance, American press frame Japan as a protected nation under the US nuclear umbrella, and therefore defended from a nuclear-armed North Korea and a fast-rising China. Three times, the WP inserted the line “The US is treaty-bound to defend Japan in case of attack,” first in an article on September 17th (an article that introduced the new leaders of Japan),16 again on November 17th (the only article that reflected Okinawan perspectives), 17 and again on January 24th (which appeared the day after a candidate opposing the presence of US bases won the mayoral election in Nago, the city within which lies Henoko, the site identified in the earlier 2006 agreement).18 Repeatedly, the newspaper articles reminded American and Japanese citizens of the agreed-upon “nuclear-armed protection.” Both newspapers implied that if the Japan-US security alliance were not maintained as it had been for the preceding 61 years—a “nuclear-armed North Korea” would become an imminent threat to Japan. By highlighting the importance of the Japan-US alliance, both NYT and WP assume a political stance that effectively propagandises the national interests of the United States. Reflecting the US administration’s stance, NYT and WP frame Hatoyama’s campaign to move MCASFutenma away from the island of Okinawa as an effort to disrupt USJapan relations. Repeatedly, NYT depicted Japan as having “frustrated and angered the Obama administration” 19 and Hatoyama’s reneging on the 2006 agreement as “raising the ire” of the Obama administration 20 for having “sown confusion and mistrust between the long-time allies.” 21 Nearly half of NYT articles (twenty-one of forty-three) depicted the US administration as being annoyed with the Hatoyama administration, a strong assertion in view of the fact that 80% of NYT articles (thirty-five of forty-three) highlighted the value of US-Japan ties. In the case of the AS, nearly all the articles feature similar expressions, which thus work to reinforce the framework of the status quo previously erected by major American news organisations. As earlier mentioned, half of the WP’s own articles also clearly positioned Japan and the US as the closest allies or the US as Japan’s protector. Further, nearly as many articles featured either one frame presenting China and/or North Korea as a threat or another frame presenting the solution that MCAS-Futenma would be relocated to Henoko. Neither NYT nor WP attempted to critically assess the very presence of the US Marine Corps on Okinawa, but instead persisted in emphasising the significance of the Japan-US alliance, as follows: The US alliance with Japan is the centerpiece of American policy in Asia and has been a foundation of security in the region for decades. As the

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After Hatoyama decided to abandon his own Futenma relocation plan, the NYT described the decision as Japan’s having “dropped its resistance” to a previously negotiated arrangement to relocate MCAS-Futenma to another part of the island of Okinawa, the decision having been “driven in part by fears of hostility in [Japan’s] neighborhood.” 23 This positioning consistently stresses the view of Okinawa’s US military installations as a deterrent to threats from China and North Korea. Yet, throughout the ten-month period of newspaper coverage of the MCAS-Futenma issue, the larger issue—the plight of those adversely affected by the presence of MCAS-Futenma itself—was ignored entirely. It appears as though questioning any presuppositions about the alliance and the US military base that occupies a vast area in the centre of Ginowan City is unacceptable. Amid all the lines of criticism against the Hatoyama administration and even against Hatoyama himself, only one or two sentences were crammed into those brief spaces to describe Futenma and its problems. Herman and Chomsky provide some perspective on this practice and contend that, “ignoring US and client-state victims allows ongoing US policies to proceed more easily, unburdened by the interference of concern over the politically inconvenient victims. 24 This level of concern, or indifference, can be seen in the following media frame of the Futenma issue, with reference to Hatoyama’s political performance: “For voters across Japan, the Okinawa issue is emblematic of Hatoyama’s seeming inability to make up his mind in a timely way on a broad range of issues and campaign promises”25 [emphasis added]. US and Japanese newspapers suggest that the US-Japan alliance will be shaken to its core if a resolution to the Futenma issue is not realised expeditiously. This sort of media pressure reflects America’s national interest in keeping bases at a low-cost as well as Japan’s interest in being under the nuclear umbrella and offering host nation support. Therefore, the political promise of the Hatoyama administration, the relocation of MCAS-Futenma to another prefecture or country, is framed as one that will shake the foundations of the US-Japan alliance. The tone that emphasises US interests aligns with that of AS, which also stresses the importance of the US-Japan alliance. For instance, on December 16, 2009, Yoichi Kato, an editor at the AS, warns in his column titled, “Discuss [the future] Alliance and [revive] trust for Japan and the US” that the US government claims it can’t trust Prime Minister Hatoyama. Kato claims that this distrustful relationship was unheard of in the past, although he

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also states that a clue to a solution lies in the strategic dialogue of the USJapan alliance between US and Japan. AS sees that resolving the Futenma issue is extremely difficult, as “this issue has gotten so entangled that Japan may not be able to resolve the issue by only discussing the relocation site for MCAS Futenma” (translation mine). The paper holds to the vital importance of valuing the US-Japan security alliance at all costs even as it appears to show genuine concern for attempts by the Democratic Party to rectify the negative legacies left from the Liberal Democrats, who were actually the architects of the status quo and its attendant problems. 26 Nevertheless, as expected, the paper also makes clear that the US side does not see these issues as negative legacies.27 The point at issue of the Futenma dispute has been shifted to the discussion of the problems between the Hatoyama cabinet and Liberal Democratic Party, which implies that the AS is merely recasting what the US government had insisted upon all along.28

Illusions of Neutrality and Uses of ‘Experts’ To emphasise the solidarity and reinforce the US-Japan alliance, the NYT often features remarks from “political analysts,” “experts,” and “senior government officials,” and sometimes refers to anonymous sources (i.e. “some say . . .”), a practice perfected by FOX News. The selection of “experts” appears to be neutral at first glance, yet upon closer examination, NYT has effectively employed quotations from professors and researchers who already support the Japan-US alliance, a discourse practice in keeping with the 3rd filter (sourcing) of the Propaganda Model. 29 Support for positions favourable to the US are unbalanced by quotations from American and Japanese professors and researchers who articulate the plight of Okinawa. The Asahi Shimbun has also employed the same approach. Keiichi Katsura, for example, argues that for the purpose of making their reportage appear as neutral as possible, AS employs ‘Japan Handlers’—US academics, experts, government officials and other elites who are familiar with Japanese political matters and who can (re)assert the paper’s own political stance.30 In the article reporting Hatoyama’s resignation, some US “analysts” said that “[Japan] still views Washington as a largely benign protector.”31 The inclusion of the adverb “largely” hints at the existence of views that the “protector” is not always benign, but those views are presented neither by the reporters nor by experts and analysts who, presumably on the basis of their professional expertise, are acquainted with those negative views. An editorial in NYT, appearing on January 28, 2010, is an example

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revealing that even in the context of interpretive, in-depth coverage, this failure or refusal to present a fuller picture of the situation underlies the reporting practices of the newspapers. The editorial appeared after Susumu Inamine, an opponent of the US bases, won the mayoral election in Nago. Before the election, the paper had reported that “this seemingly minor election could, in an indirect way, have major consequences for the United States’ ties with Japan, Washington’s most important ally.” 32 As the following editorial makes clear, NYT promoted the view that simply no other option exists for resolving the Futenma issue than moving MCAS-Futenma to Henoko and that failure to accomplish this relocation would have adverse effects on US relations with Japan: It took the United States and Japan a decade to negotiate a deal that would reduce the number of American troops on Okinawa and reposition those that remain. Japan’s new Prime Minister, Yukio Hatoyama, is refusing, so far, to commit to the agreement, and the Obama administration is being less than patient. Before any serious damage is done to the important alliance, both countries must work hard to find a compromise. The 2006 agreement was designed to decrease tensions between Okinawans and the more than 20,000 American troops they host. The deal included moving 2,000 Marines from Futenma Marine Corps Air Station in Ginowan City to the less populated Nago City on Okinawa’s northeastern coast, and relocating 8,000 other Marines to Guam. We hope the Obama administration shows flexibility and patience when two senior officials visit Japan for security talks this week. They should encourage Mr. Hatoyama to prove his commitment to being an “equal partner” by offering solutions. And the United States must make a more compelling case for stationing troops in Japan. (There are another 20,000 American troops stationed elsewhere in Japan or just off the coast.) The alliance is more important than the basing agreement. But the longer the agreement is in limbo, the more it stirs questions about the future of the alliance. There are worrying signs that many of Japan’s new leaders and its postwar generation don’t understand the full value of the security partnership. A half-century of American protection remains a bargain for the Japanese. In much of Asia, it’s seen as an essential balance against a rising China and a defence, if needed, against North Korea. The United States must respect Mr. Hatoyama’s desire to strike a more independent course, including by seeking improved ties with China. A strong and equal partnership between Tokyo and Washington is in both countries’ overwhelming interest (emphasis added).33

It is clear that the position of the people of Okinawa was not expressed as newsworthy and was generally not even worthy of being alluded to in

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the articles. Instead, it was presented by an authority whose opinion had not even been solicited by NYT reporters. On February 8, 2010, Sarah Kovner, Assistant Professor of History and Asian Studies at the University of Florida, wrote a letter that was published on the editorial page of NYT under the heading “US Bases in Japan,” a title that eliminates a necessary term, ‘Okinawa.’ In her letter, Kovner responds to the editorial quoted above and pointedly critiques it for its missing accounts of the sufferings of the Okinawans: A half-century of protection may seem like a ‘bargain’, but for the men and women who live near the bases that are concentrated in Okinawa, they have been a tremendous burden. Your editorial should have noted why citizens in base communities have opposed the stationing of United States forces in Japan for more than 50 years. Women have endured sexual violence from American servicemen. Homeowners worry about toxic waste left behind at abandoned bases. And everyone must endure the screams of jet engines and inebriated servicemen. All along the United States military has resisted demands to turn over servicemen accused of major crimes to Japanese custody. Any assessment of the United States-Japan alliance must take into account the safety and welfare of the men, women and children who live with American bases, and not just the strategic interests of the two governments.34 (Sarah Kovner, emphasis added)

The inclusion of this letter on the editorial page serves to present NYT as even-handed and neutral in its position on covering complex, problematic issues such as MCAS-Futenma. Nevertheless, it must be said that views such as Kovener’s, which depart quite dramatically from conventional wisdom, have historically scarcely ever appeared in the NYT.35

Information Gaps as a Consequence of Framing Here, I would like to raise three major points that received little or no coverage as a result of effective news framing. The lack of coverage of the following three issues may have influenced readers’ perceptions and judgments concerning US military-related issues in Okinawa, especially the Futenma issue and the role of the Hatoyama administration in aiming to solve it.

SOFA, Military-related Crimes, and Accidents Among the many NYT articles covering issues related to Okinawa, only a few even mention the crimes committed by US military personnel

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and their dependents in Okinawa. Moreover, commentary on the Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA), a document enabling US military personnel to evade Japanese legal prosecution for crimes committed against Japanese and Okinawan people, was nonexistent. Since Okinawa’s reversion to Japan in 1972, the number of criminal cases involving US military personnel and their dependents has “reached nearly 6000.” 36 Criminal cases identified as heinous and violent amounted to 1,588.37 Left unreported by US media are the following facts: under the SOFA, . . . American authorities possessed [sic] the right to hold trials if the cases occurred on duty and the Japanese side possessed [sic] the right if the incidents occurred off duty. However, when a crime or accident occurs, it is a military officer who decides whether the criminal is on or off duty. If the officer signs an official duty sheet, there is nothing the Japanese side can do. Furthermore, the Japanese authorities do not have the right to investigate within the area of the US bases. Therefore, if suspects stay inside the base, the Japanese police cannot arrest them [author’s emphasis].38

I suspect that the above facts are scarcely known to a majority of US citizens, for if they knew, many would very likely call into question the military’s infringement of a victim’s human rights. Only a mere single article out of forty-three NYT pieces concerning Futenma issues even mentions the unfair “agreements” in SOFA, 39 though the focus of the article was neither about the unfair treaty itself nor about the injustices done to the residents of Okinawa. No coverage of any crime or any particulars about the SOFA appeared in the WP. The paucity of reporting on the consequences of this unfair agreement has quite likely contributed to serious misunderstandings in America about the motivations behind Okinawa’s ongoing protest against the US military presence. Within the scope of my research, I was able to uncover two AS articles that only briefly mentioned SOFA issues in November and December, 2009, as part of the Defense Ministry’s attempt to reduce the American military burden on the people in Okinawa, just in case Hatoyama had decided by the end of the year that the Futenma relocation site would be Henoko. The article reveals that the Ministry of Defense would plan to create a special accord with the US government requiring the US military to be responsible for the environmental pollution they caused on the US military bases and restore the polluted land to its original state. Ministry officials said that they “would make such a plan [so] that Okinawan people can have hope.”40 The December piece briefly mentions adding an article to the SOFA regarding environmental cleansing.41 In a subsequent

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editorial of January 14, 2010, the AS only briefly references the SOFA without explaining in detail what problems derive from the “agreements.” In all three papers, scant attention has been given to the SOFA and US military-related crimes. The dearth of journalistic coverage has created a poorly informed readership with insufficient information to evaluate the gravity of the issues and with an inability to empathise with the residents’ fears and concerns about the US military presence.

‘Sympathy Budget’ Virtually Zero Coverage in US Media As the NYT states in a January 28, 2010 editorial,42 “A half-century of American protection remains a bargain for the Japanese.” This insidious fiction about Japan’s taking a “free-ride” on the US-Japan Security Treaty (1960) 43 remains prevalent among journalists and readers of the NYT. However, apart from one New York Times article, in which Harvard Professor Joseph Nye briefly referred to it as Japan’s “generous host nation support,” neither the NYT nor the WP mentions the existence of “host nation support,” a term re-coined in 1978 as the “sympathy budget” by Japanese Defense Bureau Director, Shin Kanemaru. The so-called sympathy budget originally provided benefits for labourers on US bases and gradually extended to the provision of special bonuses, workers’ salaries, electricity, gas, and water for the workers on base and military personnel and civilians. The AS featured an article on the “sympathy budget” on February 25, 2010, reporting on the screening process to trim it. Originally intending to deal with this problem after the Futenma issue was resolved, Japanese Foreign Minister Katsuya Okada decided to tackle the issue to reduce this budget, which in 1996 had soared to 275.6 billion JPY. Due to Japan’s economic decline, the 2011 annual budget proposal was lowered to 191.9 billion JPY. Nevertheless, the AS article saw this budget reduction as difficult to realise because, when Secretary of Defense Robert Gates visited Japan in the fall of 2009, he highlighted the myth that “US military presence in Japan has made it possible for Japan to reduce its defense budget.”44 In terms of journalistic integrity, it is absurd that AS uncritically swallowed Gates’ logic without questioning the essential problematic aspects of host nation support and came to the conclusion that the budget cut is “difficult to realize.” What’s apparent is the tone of the article, which reveals a fairly common postwar presupposition that the US security alliance is indispensable to the defence of Japan. Furthermore, it is also quite possible that this article reflected Japanese bureaucrats’ plans not to

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promote a Futenma relocation to mainland Japan as the following report by the Okinawa Times (OT) suggests—an apparent act of willful blindness practiced by reporters aligned with the larger interests of the Japanese bureaucratic superstructure. Japan paid about 62 billion JPY when the “sympathy budget” began, but it has since tripled to 188.1 billion JPY in 2011. Japan promised to maintain this standard and promised to pay 940.5 billion JPY for five years from 2011. According to the OT, “host nation support” pays for 70% of the expenses of the US military in Japan. Japan pays three times more host nation support than does Germany. Japan pays the highest cost of host nation support for the US military presence in the world. Ukeru Magosaki, former senior official of the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, points out that one possible reason for not accepting relocation of MCASFutenma to mainland Japan is that such a move might substantially increase the amount Japan would need to provide in host nation support.45

Misinformation and the Mythology of Massive Subsidies Prevalent throughout public and political discourse are the various news stories surrounding notions of financial support. In particular, the financial aide that Okinawa prefecture receives through the Okinawa Development Plan for willing to serve as host to the US Military is well known. Though outside the scope of my research, I discovered a WP article that presents misinformation on the subsidies: The race, to be decided Nov. 28, [2010] has left officials on both sides of the alliance with a growing sense of helplessness, as the security interests of two central governments meet the opposition of a small, fed-up island. Okinawa has hosted US troops since World War II, receiving massive subsidies from Tokyo to ease the burden, and residents have voiced antibase sentiments for decades. In the past year or two, though, those sentiments have become near-universal here [emphasis added].46

Contrary to the widely held belief that Okinawa has received generous financial support for the burden of hosting US military forces, this pervasive conviction has been proven mistaken from a recent in-depth study conducted by Hiroshi Miyata, a former official from the Okinawa General Bureau. According to Miyata, Okinawa received 15.8 trillion JPY (roughly 132 billion USD), for nearly thirty-nine years, from 1972 to 2010. This estimate amounts to only 0.6% of 2.5 quadtrillion JPY (roughly 20.6 trillion USD) national budget of the same period (general principal estimate of the national budget). When the US military-related budget of 4

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trillion JPY (roughly 33 billion USD) is excluded, the number drops to 0.4%. A review of the national cost of taxes that are allocated to prefectural governments shows that the total cost is less than the amount of money that Okinawa is supposed to be allocated, considering the total land area (0.6% of the total land area of Japan) and total population of Okinawa (less than 1% of the total population of Japan). That is, if the support were, in fact, generous, Okinawa should have been receiving 8.8 trillion JPY (roughly 73 billion USD). Miyata maintains that, “there are no grounds for the long-time allegation that Okinawa receives ‘massive subsidies than the other prefecture’.” Another conclusion drawn is that the wide discrepancy in the economies of Japan and Okinawa can be traced to the long history of miscalculated subsidies. To support this view, he admits from his calculations that he cannot find a trace of special support for Okinawa prefecture when compared to other prefectures. He cannot see grounds for maintaining the “logic,” as some government officials do, that “Okinawa has been receiving massive subsidies at the expense of the heavy US military presence.” (translation mine).47 The results of such studies do not often appear in Japanese media, not to mention the US media, since they subvert the convenient pretext for maintaining the current system. As a result of pushing these facts out of their news frames, both Japanese and US media successfully perpetuate the many misconceptions that inform the views of elites who are supposed to be experts on affairs in Japan. An alternate reading of this practice has the willful blindness of each individual enabling him or her to offer the following sorts of views in the pursuit of corporate and national interests. Japanese culture is a culture of ‘Wa’ (harmony) that is based on consensus. Consensus building is important in Japanese culture. While the Japanese would call this ‘consensus,’ they mean ‘extortion’ and use this culture of consensus as a means of ‘extortion.’ By pretending to seek consensus, people try to get as much money as possible. Okinawans are masters of ‘manipulation’ and ‘extortion’ of Tokyo.48

Only one AS article unambiguously states that the US presence is not contributing to Okinawa’s economy. Among the 380 AS articles that focus principally on the voices of Okinawans who support the relocation of MCAS Futenma to Henoko for financial reasons, the AS featured only a single article that clearly states: “The US military-related income only amounted to 5% of Gross Prefectural Income in 2006, decreasing from 15% in 1972 when Okinawa was reverted to Japan. The headline read,

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“Unraveling of the Myth of Military Bases.” According to Naha’s AS Bureau Chief Keibun Goto, the fiction of Okinawa’s position in a geographically strategic location or of being the happy benefactor of a generous US military base economy is losing traction across the prefecture.49 Living in such close proximity to US military facilities for some time seems to have apparently helped this journalist see the real impact of the US military on Okinawa. In the same line of thought, the Okinawa Times proposed in an editorial on October 14, 2012 a plan to invite journalists from the US to show them firsthand the plight of Okinawa.

Inadequate Coverage of Environmental Contamination The perilous environment in Futenma was only briefly touched upon by the NYT and WP (five articles in WP including two from AP, and two from the NYT). However, their coverage does not fully and accurately portray the problems caused by US military activities in terms of noise and pollution to the water and soil, and in terms of dangerous emissions of radiation. In the vicinity of Futenma MCAS, anyone can hear the roar of helicopters and jet fighters from as early as 7:00AM to as late as 11:00PM Near Kadena Air Base, where jet fighters can be heard taking off around 2:00AM or 3:00AM, there is an increasing number of babies born with lower than average weight. Also, extensive epidemiological studies conducted between 1995 and 1998 reveal physical and mental dysfunctions and disorders in infants and young children.50 For example, babies with spinal bifida, hydrocephalus, and various other deformities, have been born around the US bases.51 According to Article IV of the SOFA, US military forces assume no liability in decontaminating the land when they return it to Okinawa even though highly toxic and carcinogenic chemicals such as cadmium, arsenal, PCB, lead, methyl bromide, perchlorate, TCE, PCE, asbestos, and depleted uranium have been, and still are, uncovered in the soil. 52 Jon Mitchell’s long studies of the uses of Agent Orange in Okinawa have yielded a wealth of information about these toxins and their deployment during the Vietnam era. 53 All of these chemicals are highly toxic and carcinogenic, damaging genes and instigating birth defects and other congenital illnesses. These facts, though, were not reported in US and Japanese media in the scope of my research. In glossing over key details, the NYT briefly reports on December 15, 2009 that, “Okinawa residents complain about noise, pollution, and crime caused by the base, and many

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people want the airfield closed and its operations moved off the island entirely.”54 On January 25, 2010, a mayoral election was held in Nago City and Susumu Inamine, a candidate who strongly opposed the MCAS-Futenma relocation to Henoko, was elected. The NYT reported on the voices of Okinawans who were against the relocation plan: “Many Japanese say the move to Nago would cause excessive environmental damage and impose an unfair burden on Okinawa, where almost half of the 50,000 United States military personnel in Japan are located.”55 NYT also reported on March 3, 2010 that: Under the new proposal, the base would be moved to the same location but would be smaller and have a diminished impact on local residents and the environment, according to the reports in major Japanese newspapers . . . . The new base would also be built entirely on land, avoiding the use of landfill in the sea, which was part of the original plan, according to the news reports. Environmentalists had criticized the use of landfill, saying it would destroy pristine coral-filled waters that are one of the last habitats of the endangered dugong, a large sea mammal related to the manatee.”56

Likewise, the WP reported on January 25, 2010 that: Construction of the air station in Nago would require a massive landfill in a picturesque stretch of waters now used by fishermen and snorkelers. It is opposed by environmentalists who have filed a lawsuit saying it would destroy habitat of the rare dugong, a manatee-like sea mammal. A Japanese government environmental assessment has said that dugongs have not been seen in the proposed construction area for many years.57

As seen in the above examples, both US papers report on criticisms leveled by the environmental activists, yet they introduce or conclude (i.e. couch) their pieces with the Japanese government’s perspectives: “environmental impact will be diminished” or “dugongs have not been seen in the proposed construction area.” 58 This approach to framing creates a false reality where groundless assurances serve as counterclaims that the environment concerned would not be harmed as badly as environmentalists had pointed out. Although it seems on surface that these papers are providing a variety of viewpoints, the political purpose of the power elites who pursue national interests remains intact and distorts notions of journalistic “objectivity.” The absence of a critical environmental perspective regarding the Henoko issue could well have contributed to less, or nearly no, interest in a public discussion about the potential environmental damage that would

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be in store for Henoko. It is often felt, therefore, that agenda-setting corporate media practice bounding news reports and critical discussions of environmental issues because not doing so could create a wider public campaign for greater scrutiny of their interlocking economic interests with conglomerates engaged in the business of global or local militarisation.

Conclusion Critical analysis of two US and one Japanese newspaper has yielded insights into how corporate media frame the MCAS-Futenma issue and the extent to which their stories are nearly identical. Prevailing media frames focus on the unparalleled value of the Japan-US security alliance. Framing the Futenma issue in connection with the new, “inexperienced” Hatoyama administration’s “inability” to find a relocation site within Japan incensed many Okinawans. The paucity of reports on the SOFA, details of crimes committed by US military personnel and their dependents, and cases of environmental contamination from the US bases have painted a sadly incomplete picture of Okinawa’s continued plight. As Entman explicates in Projections of Power, incomplete knowledge is a natural consequence of framing: . . . the coverage might neglect to provide explicit evaluations of the related event or issue. The news frequently exhibits such voids in framing, gaps that audiences may fill by using tacit understandings, (that is, their existing schemas) or that they may simply ignore.”59

I would, thus, argue that what enabled the media’s neglect in treating the Okinawan perspective on the Futenma issue was a case of “willful blindness,” which reflects the institution’s ideological stance. In order to avoid the prospect of base removal from Okinawa or even the mainland, the US government and media must insist, as they always have, that “Okinawa and the Futenma issue” is Japan’s domestic problem. One could say that the major media frames of the Futenma issue erected by these three papers have indirectly motivated the Japanese public to demand a new prime minister. Japanese reporters tend to be immensely influenced by powerful US newspapers, such as the NYT and WP. Kensei Yoshida calls these journalists “brainwashed” propagandists of America’s best known ‘Japan Handlers’. 60 When the WP columnist Al Kamen labeled Hatoyama as “a big loser” and “loopy,” 61 Japanese newspapers, in turn, uncritically reported on his comments: 62 some reporters believed that Kamen’s remarks precipitated a further plunge in opinion polls on Hatoyama, which eventually led to his resignation.63 Such

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reporters wrote articles in favour of the US-Japan security alliance, which could well have influenced the Japanese public to accept those views uncritically. Shigenori Kanehira, Tokyo Broadcasting System (TBS) news anchor, also attributes the US-oriented news content to the quality of individual correspondents. Among this select group of correspondents, many were chosen from a pool of reporters who had been stationed at the Foreign Ministry press club or Defense Ministry press club to be deployed to Washington D.C. Naturally, Kenehira points out that “many of those correspondents would interview the popular ‘Japan Handlers’, such as Michael Green or Richard Armitage, so the “basic framework for coverage on the Futenma issue was already pre-designed.” He also argues that these correspondents would never interview intellectuals, such as the late Chalmers Johnson, who have consistently held to their convictions of a necessary withdrawal of the US Marine Corps from Okinawa.64 Johnson’s view, among those of many other intellectuals, has never squared with the national agenda. Yoshifumi Tokosumi, editor of Hokkaido Shimbun, also called attention to the tendency of Japanese reporters to avoid referring to the relocation of MCAS Futenma outside Okinawa. For fear of being isolated from other reporters or news agencies, these reporters chose not to report on the Hatoyama administration’s proposal to relocate the air station outside Okinawa.65 Tokosumi references the evidence of this practice in his own professional journal article where he introduces Karel Van Wolferen, a reporter from Holland, who had questioned Japanese journalists at the Press Club in November 2010: Do Japanese reporters generally know who they are interviewing and what sort of professional backbone their interviewees’ have? Richard Armitage, former Deputy Secretary of State, is a neo-conservative. Most of those who are in charge of Japanese affairs in the US State Department have strong connections to the US Department of Defense. Many of the think tanks receive money from the defense industry. The military-industrial complex has become so gigantic that no one can control its influence. Washington has always claimed that there are [military] threats from others [nations].66 (translation mine)

Of course, Van Wolferen’s underlying point is that the military-industrialcomplex has gained its global power and continues to wield its influence by producing and reproducing the mythology of some enemy that must be resisted by real weapons.

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The three major newspapers, especially the AS, have succeeded in manufacturing public opinion directly or indirectly on the Futenma issue by effectively framing the perspectives of the Japan Handlers. Journalists’ willful blindness and the institutional imperatives to pursue political and corporate interests are manifested in the complicit amnesia exhibhited toward Okinawan history and the ongoing plight of the people. One can say that without this collective loss of historical memory, the corporate media, which are largely influenced by the military-industrial complex, could simply not have framed the Futenma issue successfully. According to Herman and Chomsky, media ownership and revenues from advertisement operate as filters in the selection of stories that are deemed fit to print. 67 In other words, the uncritical pursuit of national interests, intertwined with corporate and industry imperatives, place a kind of unofficial censorship on news reporting. In terms of media performance shown by the AS, editors used their position to reinforce the significance of the US-Japan alliance through repetitive selection and bounding and, thus, effectively marginalised the MCAS-Futenma issue by deselecting any discussions that questioned the US-Japan Security Treaty. As I have shown in this chapter, Japanese corporate media have largely disconnected themselves from open discussions about the meaning of the US-Japan Security Treaty and why, of all other prefectures, only Okinawa is shouldering the greatest burden of the US bases. This detachment reveals something important about the emotional proximity media feel toward the issue. Many members of Okinawa’s general public, as well as social critics, have not failed to notice the gap between this emotional distance (ondo sa) displayed by national media and the physical distance that exists between Okinawa and the mainland. Kensei Yoshida sees these discourse disparities as further clues to discrimination against Okinawa.68 A critical mass, locally, has since developed against this sense of discrimination and is pushing back and becoming more vocal about these disparities. Okinawans comprise less than 1% of the entire Japanese population and less than 1% of the Diet members. If major Japanese media continue to ignore the voices of Okinawans, no other prefecture in Japan will accept the US bases in their own backyard. 69 Yasushi Watanabe observes that a sustained marginlisation of minority voices equates to an autocracy, 70 —an unhealthy ideology that further poisons democracy. Counteracting this autocratic way of informing and managing the masses through media requires a much more conscious understanding of key terms like ‘news’ and ‘objectivity.’ We must regain control over these terms in order for our voices to be heard.

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We must train ourselves to see through the willful blindness practiced by journalists and the complicit amnesia produced by US and Japanese corporate media. We must train ourselves to detect our own internalised willful blindness toward the issues of the US military presence in Okinawa. Learning the history of Okinawa from an Okinawan perspective as well as rediscovering the unpoliticised reality of the US military presence will help us develop the necessary critical perspectives on all practices of willful blindness. These ways can serve us well in evicting the dishonest ideas about security that colonise our minds.

Notes 

1 The Los Angeles Times was excluded from this study since investigation of retrieved articles indicated that they were not relevant to the issue of the MCASFutenma relocation. Wall Street Journal was also excluded from the scope of my research because of largely corporate influence supporting military industrial complex on its coverage of US military issues in Okinawa. 2 Excluded newspapers are considered conservative ones to support the relocation of Futenma air station to Henoko, Nago, within Okinawa. 3 W.A. Gamson & A. Modigliani, “The Changing Culture of Affirmative Action,” in Research in Political Sociology, vol. 3, eds., R.G. Braungart & M. M. Braungart (Greenwich, CT; JAI Press, 1985), 143. 4 Robert M. Entman, Projections of Power, framing News, Public Opinion, and US Foreign Policy. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 26. 5 Entman, 5. 6 Martin Fackler, “Fate of U.S. Base in Japan Is Tied to Mayoral Race,” The New York Times, Jan. 23, 2010. 7 Lisa Yoneyama, “Okinawa toiu Gonngodoudan, aruiwa Sonokatarino Fukanousei: Kokugaku toshiteno Amerika kenyuu to Reisen Asia kenkyu no kyouhanteki Boukyaku” in Gendai Okinawa no Rekishi Keiken: Kibou aruiha Miketsusei nitsuite, eds., Tomiyama Ichirou and Mori Norio (Tokyo: Seikyusha, 2010), 64. 8 Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky, Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media. (New York: Pantheon Books, 2002), xx. 9 In a 2012 speech to the Australian Parliament, President Barack Obama reaffirmed the nation’s strategic plans for Australasia “We will preserve our unique ability to project power and deter threats to peace. We will keep our commitments, including our treaty obligations to allies like Australia. 10 Martin Fackler, “Japan’s New Leader Seeks To Reassure U.S. on Alliance,” The New York Times, Sept. 4, 2009. 11 Martin Fackler, “Japanese Leader Puts Off Base Decision,” The New York Times, Dec. 16, 2009. 12 Martin Fackler, “90,000 Rally on Okinawa, Hoping to Push U.S. Base Out,” The New York Times, April 26, 2010.

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13 Blaine Harden, “Japan’s New Leader Seeks Revision of Relations With U.S. But Major Shift in Alliance Is Unlikely” The Washington Post, Sept.17, 2009. 14 Mark Landler, “Clinton, Starting Trip, Acknowledges Possible Tensions With China,” The New York Times, Jan. 12, 2010. 15 “‘Kennai No’Takamaru OkinawaJiminkei Shichou mo Senmeini Futenma Isetsu Hantai de OkinawaKenmin Taikai,” Asahi Shimbun, Nov. 9, 2009. Evening. Distributed in Western Japan. 16 Blaine Harden. 17 Blaine Harden, “Obama, Japanese Premier at Odds over Air Station Negotiations”; “Hatoyama Says Talks, as Viewed by U.S., are ‘Meaningless’,” The Washington Post, Nov. 17, 2009. 18 Blaine Harden, “Future of Okinawa base strains U.S.-Japanese alliance; densely packed city to thinly populated area on island,” The Washington Post, Jan. 24, 2010. 19 Mark Landler, “Clinton Starting Trip, Acknowledges Possible Tensions With China,” The New York Times, Jan. 12, 2010. 20 Martin Fackler, “With Japan, U.S. May Be Losing Some Diplomatic Ground to China,” The New York Times, Jan. 24, 2010. 21 Martin Fackler, “Japanese Premier Reportedly Capitulates on Removing U.S. Base From Okinawa,” The New York Times, May 21, 2010. 22 John Pomfret, “Japan moves to ease strain with U.S.; Proposal aims to settle the allies’ dispute over Okinawa base relocation,” The Washington Post, April 24, 2010. 23 Mark Landler, “U.S. Stands Beside and Ally, Eager for China to Join the Line, “The New York Times, May 27, 2010. 24 Herman and Chomsky, xx. 25 Blaine Harden, “Party defection adds to Japanese Leader’s woes,” The Washington Post, May 31, 2010. 26 The MCAS Futenma issue, the secret nuclear agreement, SOFA, the sympathy budget (host nation support), Agent Orange, etc.. 27 Yoichi Kato, “Doumeizou katari, Nichibei ni shinnrai wo” Asahi Shimbun, December 16, 2009. 28 Shibata Tetsuji, former Asahi reporter, and Yoshida Kensei, former Okinawa Times, AP, and Newsweek journalist, adamantly criticise Japanese newspapers other than Okinawan local newspapers for reporting the Futenma issue, conforming to the national interests of US and Japanese governments. Shibata Tetsuji, “Nichibeidoumei 50 nen, Nihon Media no Odorokubeki ‘Henshitsu’” in Okinawa to Nichibei Anpo, ed., Shiokawa Yoshinobu (Tokyo: Shakai hyoronsha, 2010), 11-13 and Yoshida Kensei, Senso izonsho kokka America to Nippon (Tokyo: Kobunken, 2010), 90-94. 29 Herman and Chomsky, 13-18. 30 Katsura Keiichi, “Futenma Mondai to Hondo Media” Shuppan News. (Tokyo: Shuppan News sha, 2010), 8. 31 Martin Fackler and Mark Lander, “U.S. Relations Played Major Role in Downfall of Japanese Prime Minister,” The New York Times, Jun.3, 2010.

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 32

Martin Fackler, “Fate of U.S. Base in Japan Is Tied to a Mayoral Race,” The New York Times, Jan. 23, 2010. 33 Editorial, “Japan and the American Bases,” The New York Times, Jan. 28, 2010. 34 Sarah Kovner, “U.S. Bases in Japan,” The New York Times, Feb. 8, 2010. 35 NYT featured editorials that were sympathetic toward the plight of Okinawa in terms of the forced Osprey deployment and the rape of an Okinawan woman by two U.S. sailors in October: “Ospreys in Okinawa,” September 14, 2012, and “Outrage in Okinawa,” November 2, 2012, but historically Okinawan issues have been largely ignored. 36 “Anti-Osprey Rally in Okinawa” The Asia-Pacific Journal: Japan Focus, Sep. 16, 2012. 37 As of 2011, there are 1,607 heinous and violent crimes among 5,747 criminal cases committed by US military personnel. 38 Arasaki Moriteru, ed., Profile of Okinawa. (Tokyo: Techno Publishing, 2000), 121. On November 2, 2012, an intoxicated US airman intruded an Okinawan resident’s home and injured a junior high school student while he was asleep. As of November 16, the airman is not still arrested because of his injuries he suffered, fracture of ribs and rupture of lungs, falling from the veranda of the crime site. The Okinawa Police Department decided not to keep him in custody because the airman was hospitalised in on-base hospital. Consequently, there is a possibility that even after his recovery, the Okinawan Police will not be able to file charges against him because the US military still has the right to refuse the request of custody by the Okinawan police. Kadena Police department said this crime is not considered “heinous” since the airman is willing to cooperate with its investigation, thus, this case does not suffice as requesting the custody of the airman before filing charges decided under SOFA. (11/6/12 The Ryukyu Shimpo. 1 and 25) 39 Helen Cooper, “Japan Cools To America As It Awaits Obama Visit,” The New York Times, November, 12, 2009. 40 Atsushi Matsugawa, and others, “Kekkyoku Kennai? Yuuryo no Okinawa,” Asahi Shimbun, Nov.25, 2009. 41 Keiichi Kaneko and Akira Uchida, “Futenma Isetsu Anshou, Nichibeidoumei ni Kage,” Asahi Shimbun, Dec.9, 2009. 42 Editorial, “Japan and the Amrican Bases,” The New York Times, Jan. 28, 2010. See 33. 43 Martin Fackler, “Japan’s Elder Statesman Is Silent No Longer,” The New York Times, Jan. 30, 2010. 44 Masahiro Tsuruoka, and Hisashi Ishimatsu, “Omoiyari Yosan, Sakugen Shouten, Kyuuyo Minaoshi, Funkyu Hisshi Kyou Kyougi Kaishi,” Asahi Shimbun, Feb. 25, 2010. 45 “Nihon wa Dokohe, Futenma Koushou (11),” The Okinawa Times, May 7, 2011. 46 Chico Harlan, “Okinawa election likely to hinder U.S. Base Plans,” The Washington Post, Nov. 21, 2010.

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“Okinawa Tounyuu Yosan 0.6%/Fukkigo/kunisougakuhi, Okidai/Miyatashi Shisan/Jinnkouhi ni MItazu/ Tagaku de Yuuzuu “Jijitsu nashi,” The Okinawa Times, Dec. 6, 2010. 48 Mr. Kevin Maher, Director of the Office of Japan Affairs United States Department of States briefing, December 3rd, 4:00PM, at the Department of State Participants. Visit the following address: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B6kP2w038jEANGFhZmJkNDUtYzNiYS00ZmU yLWJjYjEtMGUyMWU4ZTYzOWQ2/edit?hl=en&pli=1 (accessed Nov. 18, 2012). 49 Keibun Goto, “Houkai suru Kichi Shinwa,” Asahi Shimbun, Jan. 19, 2010. 50 Miyamoto Kenichi, “‘Okinawa Seisaku’ no Hyoka to Tenbou” in Okinawa Ron, eds. Kawase Mitsuyoshi and Miyamoto Kenichi (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2010), 21. 51 This is a piece of information gained through my personal communication with an Okinawan doctor and a nurse. According to them, birth defects ratio is extremely high in comparison with that of southern part of Okinawa islands where no US bases are located. Many medical authorities suspect that it might have something to do with the US military facilities. 52 The Ryukyu Shimpo sha ed. Gunjikichi to Tatakau Jyumin: Nihon Kaigai no Genba kara. (Tokyo: NHK Publishing, 2003), 1-70. 53 Jon Mitchell has written a series of articles for The Japan Times starting April 12, 2011 that document “Evidence for Agent Orange on Okinawa” through Sep. 15, 2012, “U.S. Agent Orange activist brings message of solidarity to Okinawa.” 54 The Associated Press, “Japan Puts Off Making Choice On U.S. Base, Reports Say,” The New York Times, Dec.15, 2009. 55 Martin Fackler, “Opponent of U.S. Base is Elected On Okinawa,” The New York Times, “Jan. 25, 2010. 56 Martin Fackler, “Japan Offers New Pan in Okinawa Dispute,” The New York Times, March 4, 2010. 57 Blaine Harden, “Election deals new setback to U.S. air base move; Stalled relocation plan on Okinawa further complicated by results” The Washington Post, Jan. 25, 2010. 58 The Washington Post, Jan. 25, 2010. 59 Entman, 22, italics mine. 60 Yoshida, 91 61 Al Kamen, “At the Summit, There are Leaders and There are Leaders,”The Washington Post, April 14, 2010. 62 Muramatsu Shinji, “Futenma Isetsu saki Henokonara Rakudatta, Hatoyama Shusho Toushu Touron de Yowane,”The Asahi Shimbun, April 22, 2010. 63 Al Kamen, “His loopiness is out, but don’t blame us,” The Washington Post, June 5, 2010. 64 Kanehira Shigenori, “Journalism towa Nandattanoka” in Hodo Saisei: Google to Media Hokai, Kawachi Takashi and Kanehira Shigenori (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 2010), 180. 65 Tokosumi Yoshifumi, “Okinawa Mondai wa Kakuchihou no Mondai” Hoso Report, no.228 (January 2011): 13.

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Tokosumi, 13. translation mine. For further details on the postulated first and second filters of the Propaganda Model by Herman and Chomsky, see Herman and Chomsky, 2-17. 68 Yoshida, 98. 69 Yoshida, 104. 70 Watanabe Yasushi, American Democracy no Gyakusetsu. (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2010), 9. 66 67

PART II. OCCUPATION AND ITS RESISTORS

CHAPTER SEVEN MOANANUIƖKEA OR ‘AMERICAN LAKE’? CONTESTED HISTORIES OF THE US ‘PACIFIC PIVOT’1 KYLE KAJIHIRO2

I ka wƗ ma mua, ka wƗ ma hope In the time before (the past), the time behind (the future) —ұǀlelo noұeau (Hawaiian proverb) The past is never dead. It’s not even past. —William Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun

Introduction The rapid and widespread new wave of militarisation underway in Hawai‫ދ‬i and the Pacific can be overwhelming to comprehend. But recent events are rooted in history, geography, and the interests of political actors; their patterns and rhythms become more evident when seen from a wider perspective. In the above proverb, a Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi (Native Hawaiian) “stands firmly in the present, with his back to the future, and his eyes fixed upon the past, seeking historical answers for present-day dilemmas.”3 What sense can we make of the recent events in Oceania / Ka Moana Nui, their impacts in Hawai‘i and consequences beyond its shores, when we shift our orientation to squarely face history and the ancestors?4 What do the winds and currents tell us when we situate ourselves to study the views from within the Pacific rather than simply peer in from its rim or look across to the other side? What are the ghostly traces of past (and future) trauma that “haunt” the present, making themselves known and felt in unexpected ways, and that demand to be addressed?5 What are the potentialities for changing the course of militarisation in Hawai‫ދ‬i? This chapter, through a kind of conversation across the past, present and an imagined future, will provide a brief overview of militarisation in Hawai‫ދ‬i

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within the context of recent developments in the region and sketch some key issues and movements resisting these processes.

The High Tide Rises In 1837, in a letter to the Kuhina Nui (Regent) Princess Kalani KƯna‫ދ‬u “Ka‫ދ‬ahumanu II,” the celebrated ‫ދ‬ƿiwi historian David Malo, facing the past, saw it coming: When the high tide rises, large fish will come from out of the dark ocean, from places you had not seen before, and when they see the small fish of the shallow place, they will eat the small fish, the same is also with the large animals, they will devour the small ones, in the same manner. The ships of the foreigners have come up, and the wise men from other great lands, which you have not seen—they know us, that we are a small nation, living in this small Kingdom, they wish to devour us. Such has always been the case with large countries, the small countries all over this world have been taken away.6

His prophecy has become a tragic reality in Asia and Oceania. Large countries have eaten up small countries. Sometimes, they have competed and clashed with one another, churning Moananuiakea red with a series of bloody wars, competing imperialisms, nuclear catastrophes, and ecological ruin. At other times, the large countries have cooperated to impose imperial (dis)order, drowning local and indigenous cultures and economies under a rising tide of “progress.” Despite his fatalistic tone, Malo was no geopolitical Darwinist. (His letter actually precedes Darwin’s On the Origin of Species by more than twenty years.) On the contrary, Malo was an astute observer of history, politics and culture who evoked the image of big waves and monstrous fishes as a warning and a call to action to confront the dangerous imperialist scramble for Moananuiakea. His dire warning is as urgent and relevant today as it was in his day. As China flexes its growing economic and military muscle, the United States maneuvers to prevent its rise as a potential rival. Big fish posture for dominance. And small fish, once again caught in between, try not to be eaten. In November 2011, US President Barack Obama formally announced the military “pivot” to the Pacific during the APEC summit in Honolulu. Despite a fiscal crisis that has forced the US government to consider trimming the defense budget for the first time in decades, the US policy turn from Europe to Asia and the Pacific will mean that there will likely be

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a net increase, rather than decrease, in the military presence in this region. But this much-touted “pivot” is more a relative change in emphasis than a radical departure from past US policies. Resistance to the US military bases in Asia has also forced the United States to adapt. After the 1995 rape of an Okinawan schoolgirl by US Marines sparked an explosion of anti-base activism, the US and Japanese governments agreed to relocate the dangerous Futenma Marine Corps Air Station from the densely populated Ginowan City to a pristine offshore site in Henoko and move 8,600 Marines and 9,000 dependents to the US colony of Guam, a plan that was rejected by Okinawans from the start. Sustained Okinawan opposition to the Henoko plan, growing Chamorro opposition to the buildup in Guam, and the US fiscal crisis have combined to forestall the plan and draw criticism from several key US lawmakers.7 In April 2012, President Obama announced that the US was postponing action on the Futenma replacement facility while proceeding with the movement of 9,000 Marines out of Okinawa to dispersed locations throughout Asia and Oceania, including 4,700 Marines and their dependents to Guam, 2,500 Marines to Australia, and an additional 2,700 Marines plus their dependents to Hawai‫ދ‬i.8 Additional plans include expanding US naval base access agreements with the Philippines, Thailand, Vietnam, and Singapore, and the establishment of a drone base on Australia’s Cocos Island. 9 More than twenty years after the popular movement in the Philippines ousted US bases, the US recently renegotiated access rights to Subic Bay and Clark Air Station.10 In an age of fiscal austerity and global instability, David Vine writes that we are witnessing the emergence of a new military basing structure based on a globally dispersed network of small, austere military sites, often shared with the host nations and nicknamed “lily pads.”11 However, as Ian Lind argues, “militarization cannot be adequately understood simply as a matter of military policy;” it is produced, in part, by “common interests between the military and certain segments of the civilian community.”12 Following the September 11, 2001 attacks by Al Qaeda, military and civilian interests again converged to exploit the crisis and dramatically expand the military in Hawai‫ދ‬i. As Hawaiian studies professor Haunani-Kay Trask commented, “Whenever the US goes to war, the military takes more of our land.”13 Here we can see at work a version of the neoliberal economic and political “shock therapy” described by Naomi Klein: . . . war and economic recession create a crisis and collective state of shock, which corporate and government elites exploit to rapidly implement policies that might normally spark greater resistance, the taking of more

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territory for military expansion, privatization, deregulation, and the erosion of civil liberties and human rights, . . . . 14

In recent years, Hawai‫ދ‬i has been inundated with military expansion projects. Beginning in 2002, under “Army transformation,” the Army decided to station a Stryker Brigade Combat Team in Hawai‫ދ‬i, which included basing 319 20-tonne armoured Stryker vehicles at Schofield Barracks, increasing troops by 800 plus their dependents, and expanding the Army training footprint by 25,000 acres (23,000 acres on Hawai‫ދ‬i island and 2,000 acres on O‫ދ‬ahu). It was “the biggest Army construction project in Hawai‫ދ‬i since World War II.”15 At Pearl Harbor, the Navy is consolidating and expanding its special forces training and command centre, including 51 million USD in construction in Pearl City Peninsula and Ford Island and an increase in personnel of 500 troops and 700 dependents. 16 At the Pacific Missile Range Facility (PMRF) on Kaua‫ދ‬i, 278 million USD worth of construction is underway for two new “Aegis Ashore” land-based missile defense launch sites, to include a Mark 41 launcher, a four-story building with a SPY-1 radar and three 125-foot test towers. Beginning in the mid-1990s, US Senator Daniel Inouye steadily increased funding for PMRF base improvements. 17 Passage of the National Missile Defense Act of 1999 (Cochran-Inouye bill) opened floodgates for missile defense funding and with it, a military-technological “gold rush” fraught with allegations of greed and corruption.18 Since 2009, the Navy has undertaken an enormous expansion of the Hawaii Range Complex to include 2.1 million square miles of “temporary operating area.” It has also increased the types, scope and frequency of weapon systems used, from amphibious assault craft, sonar, and missiles to laser weapons and air-breathing hypersonic vehicles. 19 In 2012, the Navy proposes to expand its range one-degree westward to the International Date Line and increase sonar activity.20 The Marine Corps is conducting environmental impact studies for a proposed stationing of 24 MV-22 Osprey and 18 attack and utility helicopters at Mǀkapu and an increase of 1,000 active duty Marines and 1,106 dependents. On top of this, there is a proposed increase of 600 troops and 400 dependents under the “grow the force” initiative, including 52.4 million USD construction projects for new housing, a command facility and parking.21 Replacing P-3 Orion aircraft with P-8A Poseidon jets will bring 147.5 million USD in construction and a slight decrease in personnel for this program. 22 No details have been released about the recent announcement to reassign 2,700 additional Marines from Okinawa to Hawai‫ދ‬i.

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He i‫ދ‬a mana nui — The fish of many divided parts23 In 2003, as the US was ramping up to invade Iraq, the 9th Nuclear Free and Independent Pacific (NFIP) conference convened in Tonga. In a speech before the plenary, ‘ƿiwi scholar-activist Kaleikoa Kaeo invoked another Oceanic metaphor to warn about threats to the region. He asked the delegates to imagine the military in Hawai‫ދ‬i as the head of a giant heұe (octopus), with tentacles grasping other islands and peoples across Ka Moana Nui.24 Hawai‫ދ‬i, he suggested, was simultaneously a victim of the US Empire and the unwitting accessory to the crimes of that empire. Kaeo continued: Sensor grids on the sea floor off Kaua‫ދ‬i and radomes, antennae and optical tracking stations on the peaks of Hawai‫ދ‬i’s sacred mountains are the eyes and ears of the he‫ދ‬e. The Pacific Command Headquarters, with its network of supercomputers and fiber optics are its brains and nervous system, and toxic pollution, epitomised by the ecological catastrophe that has befallen Pearl Harbor, its excrement. Established in 1947, the United States Pacific Command (USPACOM) headquartered in Honolulu is the oldest and largest of the unified combatant commands, with an area of responsibility that “encompasses about half the earth’s surface, stretching from the waters off the west coast of the continental US to the western border of India, and from Antarctica to the North Pole.”25 The USPACOM area of responsibility includes 36 nations that are home to more than 50% of the world’s population, three thousand different languages, several of the world’s largest militaries, and five nations allied with the US through mutual defense treaties. 26 Approximately 325,000 total military and civilian personnel are assigned to USPACOM.27 The “head” of the he‫ދ‬e is vast and growing. According to the 2012 Base Structure Report, the Department of Defense occupies 118 sites in Hawai‫ދ‬i (7 large, 3 medium, 108 small or “other” sites), encompassing 230,929 acres.28 In addition, the Hawaii National Guard occupies another 14 sites, encompassing 1,028 acres.29 The military is most concentrated on O‫ދ‬ahu where it occupies approximately 94,000 acres, or 24.6% of the land. However, the military’s largest and fastest growing footprint is on Hawai‫ދ‬i island where it grew from 109,903 acres in 2001 to 131,888 acres in 2012, a 20% expansion, most of which is used for live fire training. The main islands are completely surrounded by military defensive sea areas, and beyond that, 2.1 million square miles of naval operating area surround the main islands, the northwestern Hawaiian Islands and Kalama (Johnston Atoll).30 In 1995, USPACOM reported that the 54% of the military land

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holdings were former government or crown lands of the Hawaiian Kingdom that were seized after the US takeover.31 The conflict over ‫ދ‬Ɨina (land), however, goes much deeper than disputes over land use or ownership; it goes to a fundamental clash between ‫ދ‬ƿiwi and western worldviews. In some versions of the ‫ދ‬ƿiwi cosmology, the ‫ދ‬Ɨina is the physical manifestation of the mating of PapahƗnaumoku, the Earth-mother, and WƗkea, the sky-father, and therefore a living ancestor not to be commoditised or desecrated. As ‫ދ‬ƿiwi are uprooted from and denied access to their ancestral lands, they can become orphaned, “wandering souls.”32 In contrast, military activity resulted in 953 contaminated sites at 130 installations and former installations listed under its Installation Restoration Program and Military Munitions Response Program, making the US military one of the worst environmental polluters in Hawai‫ދ‬i.33 According to the Navy, the Pearl Harbor Naval Complex alone contains approximately 749 contaminated sites.34 In 2010, two of the top ten polluting facilities in Hawai‫ދ‬i were Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam (2nd) and Pohakuloa Training Area (9th). Military installations made up the top four facilities in Hawai‫ދ‬i responsible for releasing persistent, bioaccumulative and toxic (PBT) chemicals such as dioxins and lead.35 Military contamination poses the greatest threat to ‫ދ‬ƿiwi and recent Asian and Oceanic arrivants who tend to live and subsist on resources within the toxic shadow of the bases. According to the 2010 State of Hawai‫ދ‬i Data Book, there were 47,410 active duty military personnel (including Coast Guard) and 66,052 dependents, the total of which comprises approximately 8.3% of the total Hawai‫ދ‬i population of 1,360,301.36 Military-driven population transfer of US nationals to Hawai‫ދ‬i, a form of settler colonialism, has had profound impacts on Hawai‫ދ‬i’s culture and political demographics.37 Between 1900 and 1950, US settlers in the Hawaiian Islands totaled 293,379.38 In 1999, the US military-connected population including dependents and veterans totaled 217,030, or 17% of Hawai‫ދ‬i’s total population, nearly eclipsed the Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi population of 239,655 or 19% of the total population.39 Meanwhile, economic, cultural and political pressures have pushed nearly 40% of Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi into diaspora.40 Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi have become a displaced minority in their own homeland, denied the right of selfdetermination.41 Uprooted from the land and from the means to perpetuate traditional cultural knowledge and practices, many ‫ދ‬ƿiwi bear the marks of social and cultural trauma caused by foreign occupation and colonisation. 42 In 2007, ‫ދ‬ƿiwi had the highest rates of homelessness, poverty and disease, as well as the lowest educational achievement and

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life expectancy.43 In 2010, they represented 24% of the general population but made up 39% of the incarcerated population.44 Hawai‫ދ‬i has grown extremely dependent on the military economy. According to a study by the RAND Corporation, which was requested by the Chamber of Commerce of Hawaii and the Hawaii Institute of Public Affairs, the US military spent up to 12.2 billion USD in Hawaii in 2009— or more than 18% of total spending in the islands.45 Yet, this widely hyped report said nothing really new or remarkable. It indicated which industries profited most from the military spending, but it failed to analyse which communities paid the highest price in the form of lost land, cultural disintegration, violations of human rights to self-determination, environmental damage and other social impacts. In the military economy, some “get paid,” while others “pay the price.” In this regard, the RAND study failed in the same way all other economic reports on the military impact in Hawai‫ދ‬i have failed to consider the high cost of so much military “prosperity.”46

Fulcrum of Empire For more than a century, the US has treated Oceania as an “American Lake”; Oceanic islands were seen as mere stepping-stones for the westward march of “Manifest Destiny” to the Asian prize and world domination. This view is captured in a 1900 quote from Indiana Senator Albert J. Beveridge who said, “The Pacific is our ocean . . . . The power that rules the Pacific . . . is the power that rules the world . . . that power is and will forever be the American Republic.”47 In 1905, US President Theodore Roosevelt, a disciple of Captain Alfred Mahan’s doctrine of sea power wrote, “Our future history will be more determined by our position on the Pacific facing China than by our position on the Atlantic facing Europe.”48 That year, he dispatched the socalled “Imperial Cruise,” the largest diplomatic mission to Asia in US history. Led by US Secretary of War William Taft, this cruise included seven senators, twenty-three members of Congress, numerous military and civilian officials and, for added star power, Roosevelt’s own celebrity daughter, Alice. The cruise sailed from San Francisco to Hawai‫ދ‬i, Japan, the Philippines, China, and Korea, and back to San Francisco. This was no ordinary cruise; it was a debut of the United States’ coming of age as a world power, a geopolitical survey of America’s new imperial domain. As James Bradley chronicled, every stop in their itinerary uncannily foreshadowed earth-shattering wars and revolutions that would wrack the region and continue to haunt it for more than a century later.

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With the presidential election of Barack Obama in 2008, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton embarked on an imperial cruise of her own. Breaking with diplomatic tradition, she made her first official overseas trip to Asia instead of Europe. In an October 2011 article entitled “America’s Pacific Century,” she laid out US imperial ambitions for the region: Asia’s remarkable economic growth over the past decade and its potential for continued growth in the future depend on the security and stability that has long been guaranteed by the US military . . . . The challenges of today’s rapidly changing region . . . require that the United States pursue a more geographically distributed, operationally resilient, and politically sustainable force posture . . . . We are modernizing our basing arrangements with traditional allies in Northeast Asia . . . while enhancing our presence in Southeast Asia and into the Indian Ocean.49

Clinton declared that “the United States stands at a pivot point,” as the centre of gravity of US foreign policy shifted from Europe to Asia and Oceania. The following month, as APEC summit leaders met in Honolulu, President Barack Obama formally announced the ‘pivot’ to Asia and the Pacific to fortify a US-dominated economic and military order in the region. These moves to “re-balance” geopolitics in the Pacific are primarily aimed at containing and countering the rise of China and maintaining dominance of the seas. For its part, China is growing increasingly aggressive, especially in the resource-rich and hotly disputed South China Sea. But China’s primary security concerns are internal (maintaining economic growth and domestic social harmony) and regional in nature. Yet, China’s reassertion of centuries’ old territorial claims is raising tensions with regional neighbours and has been called a “tectonic shift.”50 What are the fault lines and hot spots where geopolitical tectonic plates expand, abrade, or collide? One such line, as conceptualised by both Chinese and US military strategists, runs through the Kurile Islands, Japan, Okinawa, Taiwan, the Philippines, and Indonesia; this “first line of islands” for China’s maritime defense also forms the first line of the US military encirclement of China. US military strategists are concerned that China’s development of “area denial” capabilities, such as “silent” diesel submarines and “carrier killer” missiles, will make US bases and ships vulnerable to this “first line.” The “second line of islands” links Japan’s Ogasawara islands, the Northern Marianas, Guam and Indonesia and Australia, a zone where much US military realignment activity is underway. Hawai‫ދ‬i is the “third line of islands” from China and the centre of the US military network in Oceania.51

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Another way to imagine the geopolitical shifts in Ka Moana Nui is to return to Clinton’s metaphor of the ‘pivot’. In mechanics, a fulcrum is the support or point of rest upon which a lever pivots. This allows the application of a smaller input force on one end of a lever to produce a greater output force on the other end, thus enabling the movement of massive objects. In empire, the small size and relative isolation of islands provide advantageous points of leverage where, at least in theory, the friction of popular resistance and political controversy can be contained or minimised. By stringing islands together in networks of military bases, the “tyranny of distance” can also be mitigated. The US uses the islands of Oceania as fulcra to magnify its projection of force directed at the Asian continent and over large reaches of sea. And Hawai‫ދ‬i was the first, and remains the primary fulcrum of US military power in Oceania. The 3rd century BC Greek mathematician and philosopher Archimedes said, “Give me a place to stand, and I shall move the Earth with a lever.” For US empire-builders, Hawai‫ދ‬i is precisely that “place to stand” to “move the Earth.” But how did Hawai‫ދ‬i, “the most isolated land mass on Earth,” become such a place, and what have been its impacts and consequences?

Large fish will come from the dark ocean. Since the early 1800s, the United States was drawn to Hawai‫ދ‬i primarily because of its strategic geographic location and its magnificent natural harbor Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa (the many bays of Pu‫ދ‬uloa; also known as Pearl Harbor). In 1841, the United States Exploring Expedition led by Lieutenant Charles Wilkes surveyed the Hawaiian Islands. The expedition mapped and took depth soundings of Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa, noting, “it would afford the best and most capacious harbour in the Pacific.”52 In the wake of land privatisation between 1845 and 1850, European haole settlers began growing sugar for export. They sought a trade agreement with the US to lower tariffs on exports to the United States. At the same time, the US was actively probing for opportunities to secure a military foothold in Hawai‫ދ‬i. From 1872 to 1873, General John Schofield led a secret military geographic survey of the Hawaiian Islands masquerading as tourists. Schofield reported that “Pearl lagoon . . . is the key to the Central Pacific Ocean, it is the gem of these islands.”53 In 1873, the Chamber of Commerce of Hawaii formally proposed that Hawai‫ދ‬i cede Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa to the US in partial exchange for dropping tariffs on Hawaiian sugar exports to the United States. 54 But

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Hawaiian nationals were extremely hostile to the idea of opening Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa to the United States. Under pressure from the sugar planters and the US, the newly elected King KalƗkaua agreed to the Treaty of Reciprocity of 1875 (entered into force September 9, 1876) with the US When the treaty came up for renewal in 1884, sugar growers insisted that new language be inserted granting the US “the exclusive right to enter the harbor of the Pearl River in the Island of Oahu, and to establish and maintain there a coaling and repair station.”55 Opposition to the supplemental convention stalled ratification until 1887, when haole settlers staged the first act in a multi-part coup d`état, forcing the King under threat of violence, to enact a new constitution. This constitution, popularly dubbed the “Bayonet Constitution,” dramatically reduced the authority of the monarch, increased the powers of the haolecontrolled cabinet, and created new voter eligibility requirements that restricted voting rights to only male residents of the islands “of Hawaiian, American or European birth or descent” who met exorbitant property or income requirements. These racial and property requirements categorically excluded whole classes of Asian immigrant plantation laborers and, in effect, disenfranchised a large number of Kanaka ‘ƿiwi who did not meet the property requirements. The net result of this new constitution was the significant concentration of power in the hands of the haole minority. One of their first orders of business was seeing to it that the Treaty of Reciprocity was renewed with the US exclusivity clause intact. The Treaty of Reciprocity benefited the haole settler capitalists most and was especially detrimental to the many Kanaka ‘ƿiwi who depended on the rich marine and agricultural resources of Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa. For these maka‫ދ‬Ɨinana (commoners; productive class), the marine and freshwater resources of Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa were critical sources of life, the ‫ދ‬Ɨina momona (abundant land) of central O‫ދ‬ahu. ‫ދ‬ƿiwi protested the cession of Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa, because they understood, correctly, that it would have corrosive effects on Hawaiian sovereignty, culture, and human rights and prove to be a critical turning point in the dismemberment of lƗhui (nation).56

They Wish to Devour Us Upon the untimely death of KalƗkaua, his sister Lydia Lili‫ދ‬uokalani became queen and set out to enact a new constitution that removed the onerous provisions of the Bayonet Constitution. This effort prompted the haole settler clique to conspire with US Minister John Stevens to execute the second act of their takeover: a putsch to seize power. In January 1893,

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US Marines landed in Honolulu and took up positions across from ‫ދ‬Iolani Palace, providing military firepower for a small group of white settlers to seize the government. Thus, the independent Kingdom of Hawai‫ދ‬i became one of the first overseas casualties of US empire and a prototype for the recurring US tactic of “regime change” up to the present.57

“We should take the islands” Despite US backing, the ultimate success of the haole settler coup was not guaranteed. Hawaiians successfully derailed two attempts by the coup leadership to secure annexation treaties. In 1895, US President Grover Cleveland, mindful of Hawaiian opposition to the coup, withdrew the first Treaty of Annexation from consideration. But the election of William McKinley provided another chance for the haole annexationists to seek a treaty of annexation. In a confidential letter to Captain Alfred Mahan in 1897, McKinley’s Assistant Secretary of the Navy Theodore Roosevelt called Cleveland’s rejection of the treaty “a colossal crime” that should be reversed, and opined, “If I had my way we would annex those islands tomorrow . . . . As regards Hawaii, I am delighted to be able to tell you that Secretary Long shares our views. He believes we should take the islands.”58 But by 1897, the organised Hawaiian opposition to annexation was much stronger. Hawaiian patriotic organisations rallied overwhelming opposition to annexation and helped to defeat the ratification of the second Treaty of Annexation in the US Senate.59 However, the outbreak of the Spanish American War in 1898 gave expansionist politicians and military leaders both the justification and the opportunity to unilaterally seize Hawai‫ދ‬i. Jingoes inflamed war passions and turned US popular sentiment in favour of annexation, and Congress “took the islands” by a simple joint resolution.60 Whenever the US goes to war, the military takes more of our land. The military occupation of Hawai‫ދ‬i enabled the US to extend its military reach to the Philippines where it easily defeated the decrepit Spanish fleet in 1898. In doing so, the United States had crossed a threshold to becoming an overseas empire. As spoils of the war, the former Spanish colonies in the Philippines, Guam, Puerto Rico and Cuba entered American “protection” and brought America to China’s doorstep.61 US occupation of Hawai‫ދ‬i ushered in a period of unbridled military expansion. Construction of the naval base in Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa began in 1900, soon followed by the construction of Fort Shafter, Fort Ruger, Fort Armstrong, Fort DeRussy, Fort Kamehameha, Fort Weaver, and

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Schofield Barracks. Brigadier General Montgomery M. Macomb who commanded the US Army, Pacific Hawaiian Department between 1911 and 1914 wrote, “Oahu is to be encircled with a ring of steel.”62 Meanwhile across the Pacific, Japanese leaders at the turn of the 20th century, like their American counterparts, studied Mahan and accelerated their march the imperialist road.63 Initially, the US and Japan struck up an accord of inter-imperialist cooperation. In 1905, during the Imperial Cruise, Taft had a secret meeting with Japanese Prime Minister Katsura, in which they agreed to an “open door policy” regarding China, Japanese “suzerainty” over Korea, and US dominion over the Philippines.64 But this pact contained the seeds of future conflict that eventually erupted into World War II.65

Pua a‫ދ‬e la ka uwahi o ka moe— The smoke seen in the dream now rise66 The outbreak of the Pacific War was a significant milestone in the militarisation of Hawai‫ދ‬i. Much has been written about the history of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, the Pacific War, and Hawai‫ދ‬i during the war years, most of which is beyond the scope of this chapter. What interests me here is how the war transformed relations of power in Hawai‫ދ‬i and helped naturalise the military in local culture. The war broke the tenuous balance of power between the haole oligarchy and the US military and dramatically transformed Hawai‫ދ‬i’s economy and society. 67 During the pre-war years, despite persistent tensions over land and political control between the haole oligarchy and the US military, these two “collaborator-rivals” generally cooperated in the interest of suppressing labor radicalism and maintaining haole control over Hawai‫ދ‬i’s majority non-white population.68 While calls for instituting a military government go as far back as the 1930s, it was the Japanese attack on US military sites in Hawai‫ދ‬i that provided the opportunity and justification for imposing martial law from 1941–1945. 69 Lawrence Fuchs writes, “The kamaaina oligarchy of Hawaii, indestructible for over forty years, was replaced within twenty-four hours of the Pearl Harbor attack by military control.”70 Large tracts of land were seized for the war effort, swelling military land holdings to its peak of 600,000 acres in 1944.71 Rather than interning the entire Japanese population—which in 1940 was 157,000 or 37% of the total population of Hawai‫ދ‬i—military rulers turned the entire archipelago into a concentration camp.72 Except for the 1,466 Hawai‫ދ‬i residents of Japanese ancestry interned in War Relocation Authority Camps and Department of Justice Internment Camps in the

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islands and the 1,875 interned on the continent, the majority of Japanese arrivants in Hawai‫ދ‬i remained “free” to keep the islands running by order of and under the watchful eyes of military authorities.73 As Gary Okihiro explains, anti-Japanese racism drove the Japanese in Hawai‫ދ‬i to “superpatriotism,” which required “subordination to [Hawai‫ދ‬i’s political and military leaders’] will whether that meant quiet acceptance of inequality or complicity in the destruction of things Japanese.”74 Many young Hawai‫ދ‬i Japanese men enlisted in the US military to prove their loyalty to the United States. After the war, the veterans who returned home had heightened expectations of obtaining social equality and economic advancement. Many were educated on the GI Bill, and entered business and government. Ironically, even as the war unleashed intense racism against Hawai‫ދ‬i’s Japanese community, it ushered in dramatic social, economic and political changes that have been described as a “military-industrial revolution.”75 These changes hastened the demise of the haole oligarchy and the transition from an export agricultural economy to a military-tourism economy while creating new opportunities for economic and social advancement for Asians.76 As the second and third generation of Japanese in Hawai‫ދ‬i came of voting age, they became a formidable political force that challenged and eventually overtook haole Republican dominance in island politics.77 The World War II experiences of Hawai‫ދ‬i’s Japanese community, including the legendary valor in battle of the all-Japanese Army units, enhanced the formation of their “Japanese American” subjectivity and led to a push for political equality through unions, the Democratic Party and statehood.78 Military service became a ticket to improved social status and economic mobility. Moreover, in their rise, the land- and capital-poor Asians in Hawai‫ދ‬i forged new partnerships with the military and “embraced defense spending as a welcome alternative” to the plantation economy.79 The cruel irony is that the efforts of Hawai‫ދ‬i’s Japanese to win greater political rights and economic opportunity became yet another layer in the oppression and displacement of Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi.80

Making an ‘American Lake’ The US emerged from World War II in a stronger position economically, politically, and militarily. It inherited British military outposts around the world and assumed control of the “strategic trust” of the Pacific, the former Japanese Mandate Islands in Micronesia. The US then

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set out to reconfigure the global order and remake Moananuiakea as an “American Lake.” While in principle decolonisation began as an emancipatory project, in practice, it became a part of new transnational forms of control over populations, territories, and nation-states alike. This new boundless, network form of global sovereignty operating through the partitioned, administered spaces of nation-states, with the US in the dominant position, has been called “Empire” by Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri.81 While Hardt and Negri see new possibilities for global revolutionary change to occur within (and because of conditions produced by) imperial sovereignty, Terence Wesley-Smith sees limited options and continued oppression for Oceania as long as it remains bounded and partitioned by the frame of the western nation-state system: Decolonization was an essential part of the construction of a new global order, one that consists of nation-states. With no room for radically different models of political and social organization, and little possibility of opting out of the system altogether, the only real “choice” for island societies was to join the “family of nations” on already established terms. Furthermore, membership has its price and the system continues to demand conformity.82

Activists and scholars from Pan-Africanists to indigenous political theorists have vigorously critiqued the modern nation-state system and its settler colonial and postcolonial variants.83 As tainted a “gift” as it was, decolonisation was not even an option for all island peoples. Stewart Firth observes: Generally, the greater the strategic value of an island territory, the less likely that territory has been to proceed to sovereign status. The map of Pacific Islands sovereignty has been drawn largely according to the strategic needs of external states.84

Through decolonisation, the US dismantled the colonies of other empires even as it accrued exceptional powers and territorial prerogatives to itself.85 As Hal Friedman observes, US policies in the post-World War II Pacific were exceptional for several reasons: First, “The Pacific was the only region of the world where the United States deviated from its wartime political pledge not to obtain direct physical control over foreign territory.” Second, “the United States . . . sought to create a closed and unilateral sphere of influence in the Pacific and strove to wring as many military, political, and economic advantages from the area as it could

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secure.” And third, US policy for Oceania entailed “a broadened concept of ‘national security’ or ‘strategic security interests,’” including remaking the region in America’s image 86 politically, culturally, economically as well as militarily. 87 US military planners improvised a “Modified Mahanism” that called for not only mobile forces and a string of island bases, but also the ability to occupy and deny other nations’ access to entire groups of islands.88 The post-World War II remaking of Oceania involved the consolidation and reorganisation of US military forces in the Pacific in order to maintain command of the seas. In US military plans, Hawai‫ދ‬i, once a military outpost for the defense of the West Coast, became the hub of the vast “empire of bases” that grew out of the war.89 From the new 86 million USD Nimitz-MacArthur Pacific Command Center perched atop HƗlawa ridge, the Commander of USPACOM looks down upon the place where the US imperial gaze first locked onto Hawai‫ދ‬i: Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa, the “lei of harbors” at the centre of US power in the Pacific.90 What was once a marvel of sustainable aquaculture and agriculture and an abundant food source for the people of O’ahu, Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa has been disfigured into an ecological disaster and a source of war. A life-giving treasure has become a toxic “Superfund” site.91 As a war memorial and symbol, “Pearl Harbor” valorises and reproduces the national myth of United States’ innocence, victimisation, and exceptionalism, as well as the myth of its redemption through militarisation and war.92 It is a site that produces the emotional valence and the scripted remembering (and forgetting) crucial in the formation of the “imagined community” of the US nation-state. 93 In the physical and discursive production of “Pearl Harbor,” Ke Awalau o Pu‫ދ‬uloa is erased and ‫ދ‬ƿiwi are eliminated. 94 In their place are generated patriotic narratives that demarcate the boundaries of the acceptable story of “Pearl Harbor.” 95 Hawai‫ދ‬i is held hostage to the “Pearl Harbor” myth, and to the extent that this myth shapes the global order, the world is also in its gravitational field. Writing about his country Slovenia, Slavoj Žižek, described a scenario that resonates with the situation in Hawai‫ދ‬i and Oceania: Gilles Deleuze said: “Si vous etes pris dans le reve de l’autre, vous etes foutu”—if you are caught in another's dream, you are lost. In exYugoslavia, we are lost, not because of our primitive dreams and myths preventing us from speaking the enlightened language of Europe but because we pay in flesh the price for being the stuff of others’ dreams.96

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So too, the peoples of Ka Moana Nui are trapped in the imperialistic dreams of others, or more pointedly, the recurring nightmare of war and militarisation. But the corollary is also true: the trauma of Hawai‫ދ‬i, Asia, and Oceania haunts the dreams of empire; it makes itself known and felt as an uncanny presence in unexpected moments and places in US history, in the “ambiguities and contradictions of imperial relations in the formation of a (US) national culture,” in the blurred in-between spaces and “dense transfer points of power” between the domestic and foreign, intimate and public, and in the spread of disciplinary and policing techniques “bred in the tropical hothouse of colonial governance.”97 During World War II, in the viciously racialised propaganda war between Japan and the US in which both sides portrayed the other as inhuman and evil, a favourite US caricature of Japan was a seething, demonic octopus, engulfing islands in the Pacific. 98 This made it particularly ironic and fitting that Kaeo chose to describe the US military presence in Oceania as a monstrous heұe. There is a crucial difference, however, between Kaeo’s he‫ދ‬e and the World War II characterisation of Japan as an octopus. In the World War II version, the entire Japanese nation and race were rendered absolutely alien, abject, and evil. On the other hand, Kaeo’s he‫ދ‬e analogy conveys a more nuanced and complex meaning; it critiques an institution (the US military) and its role (maintaining imperialism in the Pacific). In the ‫ދ‬ƿiwi sensibility, the he‫ދ‬e is neither alien nor intrinsically evil; it is one of a multitude of life forms to have come to populate the ‫ދ‬ƿiwi cosmos. It is, thus, a distant relation, like all living beings, with a potential for both good and evil. The he‫ދ‬e is also a kinolau (multiple body form) of Kanaloa, akua (god, deity) of the sea and one of the four principal akua in the ‫ދ‬ƿiwi pantheon. The he‫ދ‬e is not a “sacred” animal per se, but it possesses unique abilities and qualities that make it suited to being a medium for the power of a benevolent akua or a malevolent kupua (supernatural being, shape-shifter). Kaeo reminded the NFIP assembly that the he‫ދ‬e can regenerate its severed tentacles; after the expulsion of US military bases from the Philippines more than 20 years ago, the “tentacles” of militarisation— special forces and ‘lily-pad’ bases—have once again crept into Mindanao and threaten to reinvade other areas in the Philippines. He concluded his presentation, tapping Pacific fishing folk wisdom, that one way to stop a writhing he‫ދ‬e is with a bite between the eyes. Attaining peace and liberation from the grip of militarisation and imperialism requires neutralising the “head” of the problem in Hawai‫ދ‬i. This is the challenge then for peace and justice, environmental and Hawaiian sovereignty

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movements in Hawai‫ދ‬i as well as for the global justice networks to which these groups are connected.

Mai ka pǀ mai ka ‫ދ‬oiƗ‫ދ‬i‫ދ‬o—Truth comes from the night.99 In the 1996 movie, Star Trek: First Contact, the Borg, the alien cybernetic organism hailed the USS Enterprise: “We are the Borg . . . . We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile.”100 As Ferguson and Turnbull observe, analogous hegemonic narratives are at work to naturalise the military in Hawai‫ދ‬i; “discursive interbreeding between what is natural and what is good results in a tone of inevitability: what is, is good and in any case cannot be changed.”101 But history has demonstrated that countervailing forces also push back from below, outside, and within, and in doing so, invert the Borg slogan into: “Resistance is fertile!” Resistance movements unleash peoples’ creative and productive energies, enabling them to confront authority, overcome fear and despair, and open up new and unforeseen space and possibilities for change. And as Lind suggests, “despite surface appearances, militarism is inherently unstable,” meaning that the structural sources of tensions and conflict present “potential sources of social change which might ultimately lead to reductions in the power and influence of the military.”102 In Hope in the Dark, Rebecca Solnit argues that despite the best scientific application of “revolutionary theory” or “best business practices,” social change often happens in unexpected and nonlinear ways and that this should not discount nor discourage people from taking action: Causes and effects assume history marches forward, but history is not an army. It is a crab scuttling sideways, a drip of soft water wearing away stone, an earthquake breaking centuries of tension. Sometimes one person inspires a movement, or her words do decades later; sometimes a few passionate people change the world; sometimes they start a mass movement and millions do; sometimes those millions are stirred by the same outrage or the same ideal and change comes upon us like a change of weather. All that these transformations have in common is that they begin in the imagination, in hope.103

For Solnit, hope is not a passive thing “like a lottery ticket”; “it is an ax you break down doors with in an emergency.” Neither is hope a simple expectation of outcomes based on predictable patterns. Quoting Alphonso Lingis she writes, “Hope is hope against the evidence. Hope arises in a

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break with the past.”104 She continues, “To hope is to give yourself to the future, and that commitment to the future makes the present inhabitable.”105 Although she seems to contradict the original proposition of this article, in fact, the two positions are mutually supportive. Facing the past is the same point Solnit makes in quoting Virginia Woolf that “The future is dark,” as in inscrutable and emergent. 106 In several ‫ދ‬ƿiwi creation stories, the universe emerges out of Pǀ, the darkness, the primordial night. Darkness is potentiality, sacred, truth; it is not the dualistic symbol of evil or ignorance. One faces history to discern the patterns of events and to make choices that seek to compose the most pono (good, just, balanced) outcomes. To face history, then, is to have hope in the future and its potentiality; it is daring to voyage into the vastness of Moananuiakea to destinations yet unknown, using the heavens, nature, and ancestral wisdom as your map.

KƯpuka of Resistance—Kaho‫ދ‬olawe107 In the 1960s and 1970s, the spirit of revolution and protest that spread across the globe also sparked new resistance movements in Hawai‫ދ‬i. As urban development threatened to destroy many rural communities, waves of land struggles emerged in response. These rural communities that had long withstood the forces of capitalist encroachment were cultural kƯpuka—oases of traditional cultural knowledge and practices that were sources of cultural regeneration as well as political resistance. 108 The formation of cultural-political groups and movements also produced political kƯpuka, openings into alternate political spaces, ideas, and practices. Some of these groups established local educational programs and centres anticipating what some have dubbed the “politics of prefiguration.” People, ideas, and material flow in multiple directions through the filaments of these networks.109 These energies converged on Kaho‫ދ‬olawe, which had been occupied and bombed by the US Navy since World War II. Considered to be a kinolau of the akua Kanaloa, Kaho‫ދ‬olawe holds deep cultural significance for Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi.110 Once a part of the Crown and Government lands of the Hawaiian Kingdom, the Navy seized the island for target practice during World War II. On January 4, 1976, a group of mostly ‫ދ‬ƿiwi young people under the banner of the Protect Kaho‫ދ‬olawe Association (later renamed the Protect Kaho‫ދ‬olawe ‫ދ‬Ohana or PKO) carried out the first in a series of bold land occupations of Kaho‫ދ‬olawe to disrupt scheduled Naval exercises. While the Navy and Coast Guard apprehended most of the 35 protesters who

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attempted to make the first crossing from Maui, nine managed to land on the island.111 As the movement grew, Kaho‫ދ‬olawe became a lens through which to observe the workings of US empire in Hawai‫ދ‬i, and an arena in which to counter it, a classroom for reacquiring cultural knowledge and a temple in which such knowledge could be practiced. The phrase “Aloha ‘Ɩina”— love of the land—became the unofficial slogan of the movement, rekindling an expression used by Hawaiian nationals a century earlier to identify their resistance to annexation. In January 1977 while occupying the island, PKO leader George Helm wrote in his diary: “The occupation of the military reservation is not so much a defiance as it is a responsibility to express our legitimate concern for the land of the Hawaiian . . . . We are against warfare but more so against imperialism.”112 The PKO employed a variety of strategies and tactics, including direct action, demonstrations, legislation, and lawsuits under newly create federal environmental and cultural protection laws. Reviving ‫ދ‬ƿiwi traditional cultural practices such as the Makahiki ceremony, tapped a deep well of spiritual energy and enabled activists to assert traditional practices and genealogy that displaced the military’s claim to the island. Also the movement helped to fuel a Hawaiian cultural renaissance that infused political themes related to land, sovereignty, and cultural rights into popular cultural forms like Hawaiian music and hula. This in turn energised a modern Hawaiian sovereignty movement. Nonviolent direct action and civil resistance were powerful disruptive techniques that also deepened commitment and inspired others. But Kaho‫ދ‬olawe also offers cautionary lessons about co-optation by the state and the fracturing of movements by political reaction. Political differences over what some felt was an over-reliance on US laws and legal remedies caused conflict within the organisation. Incidents of anticommunist reaction resulted in painful splits within their ranks. After the cessation of bombing and the subsidence of protests, PKO focused on education and environmental and cultural restoration efforts. Activists’ energies were diverted into the demands of managing the transfer and restoration of the island and constrained by politics. Nevertheless, the spirit of Kaho‫ދ‬olawe spread and seeded other struggles in Hawai‫ދ‬i.113

MƗlama MƗkua On February 28, 1976, less than two months after the first occupation of Kaho‫ދ‬olawe, a coalition of Hawaiian organisations organised a large rally at MƗkua in solidarity with activists who were then occupying

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Kaho‫ދ‬olawe.114 In 1977, members of the Protect Kaho‫ދ‬olawe ‫ދ‬Ohana and MƗkua activists met to discuss strategy at MƗkua beach. As described by Walter Ritte, they decided: “Once we unite behind Kahoolawe, we can move to the next problem.”115 On the west side of O‫ދ‬ahu, MƗkua has been occupied by the Army for live fire training since 1942. MƗkua, which means “parents” in Hawaiian, is believed by some Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi to be the place where WƗkea (father sky) and PapahƗnaumoku (mother earth) came together to create life on earth. The valley contains many cultural sites, including several heiau (temple) sites and burials that have been damaged by military exercises. The waters offshore are some of O‫ދ‬ahu’s richest fishing grounds. MƗkua also contains critical habitat for more than 40 endangered native species. With the imposition of martial law during World War II, the military took control of the entire western tip of O‫ދ‬ahu including MƗkua. By June 1942, the last residents were evicted, their lands condemned and community destroyed, which left deep psychological and spiritual scars on them.116 Under the executive orders that seized the land, the Army needed to restore the valley and return it to the Territory of Hawai‫ދ‬i six months after the war.117 Instead, after the war, it tightened its grip and intensified its training. The community group MƗlama MƗkua sued the Army under the National Environmental Policy Act. As of July 2012, the Army had not completed all requirements for an environmental impact statement under a court settlement agreement, and as a result, has been legally prohibited from conducting live fire training in MƗkua. In January 2011, the MƗkua movement won an important, but partial victory when Lt. General Benjamin Mixon announced that the Army would end live fire training in MƗkua while continuing to train for counter insurgency maneuvers.118 Other communities have resisted militarisation in a number of sites across the islands. For more than thirty-seven years, activists fought the construction of the H-3 Freeway, a defense highway linking the Marine Corps Base in KƗne‫ދ‬ohe with Pearl Harbor. Despite civil resistance by Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi women seeking to protect a sacred women’s temple, the H3 was completed at a cost of 1.3 billion USD, or 80 million-a-mile, the most expensive roadway ever built. In the mid-1990s, at Nohili, on the west end of Kaua’i, ‫ދ‬ƿiwi and environmentalists protested the expansion of missile defense tests at the Pacific Missile Range Facility (PMRF). At issue was Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi burial sites in the sand dunes, endangered species, contamination and accidents from the missiles.

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Thirty-five protesters were arrested for civil disobedience during the first two missile-launches. In recent years, groups have begun protesting PMRF again. In WaikƗne valley on O‫ދ‬ahu the Marine Corps condemned 187 acres of land it had leased from the Kamaka family instead of cleaning up the unexploded ordnance from its training activities as it had promised. In 2003, the Marine Corps announced plans to conduct “jungle warfare” training in WaikƗne as part of its global war on terror in the southern Philippines. Strong community opposition forced the Marines to cancel their plans and begin munitions cleanup in WaikƗne. In 2002, inspired by powerful anti-base movements in Vieques, Okinawa, and the Philippines, and in response to the announced Army Stryker Brigade expansion, activists from various local anti-base struggles came together to form the DMZ-Hawai’i / Aloha ‘Aina network.119 The network has also been a link with global movements against foreign military bases. Globally the anti-base networks draw on the energy of the parts, each act of resistance causing ripples, which in time can grow into bigger waves of change. While these struggles often coalesce quickly in response to imminent threats, they are most powerful and resilient when they build on long history of methodical education, organising, and contestation. The most successful campaigns addressed local impacts and concerns while situating the struggle in the context of global events and social movements. They have also been able to unite a wide range of ideological positions around the shared goals of the campaign and utilise a diversity of strategies and tactics; in particular direct action has been key to developing new and deeply committed leaders, widening support for their cause and transforming the social and political conditions. Furthermore, these direct action struggles have had the beneficial overflow effect of energising creative, self-determinative initiatives that inspire other lasting positive changes in the community.120 With the US pivot underway, the stage is being set for region-wide collaborations among the anti-bases movements. These collaborations are growing networks of peace and common security based on solidarity, human needs, and environmental sustainability, instead of an imperial order imposed through force. Instead of lines of islands demarcating zones of military defence or power projection,121 different lines could be drawn from Jeju and Okinawa to the Philippines and Australia, from Guahan to the Marshall Islands to Hawai‫ދ‬i—axes of solidarity.

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Moananuiakea or American Lake? President Obama turned the concept of Moananuiakea into a worn-out cliché: “Asia and the United States are not separated by this great ocean; we are bound by it.”122 Not only does he marginalise Ka Moana Nui by rendering it incidental to its rim countries, his word choice also implies the imperial partitioning and “binding” of Oceania into small, separate island states and colonies. This shrinking and binding of Ka Moana Nui is hardly a new idea. In 1898, Senator Beveridge dreamed of shrinking the Pacific Ocean space for imperialist expansion: Distance and oceans are no arguments. The fact that all the territory our fathers bought and seized is contiguous, is no argument . . . . The ocean does not separate us from lands of our duty and desire—the oceans join us, . . . Cuba not contiguous! Puerto Rico not contiguous! Hawaii and the Philippines not contiguous! The oceans make them contiguous. And our navy will make them contiguous.123

Instead, let us look to the great Oceanic scholar Epeli Hau‫ދ‬ofa, who inverted the imperialist shrinking and binding of Moananuiakea and called for a reawakening and liberating of the Oceanic world to its immense potential: Oceania is vast, Oceania is expanding, Oceania is hospitable and generous, Oceania is humanity rising from the depths of brine and regions of fire deeper still, Oceania is us. We are the sea, we are the ocean, we must wake up to this ancient truth and together use it to overturn all hegemonic views that aim ultimately to confine us again, physically and psychologically, in the tiny spaces which we have resisted accepting as our sole appointed place, and from which we have recently liberated ourselves. We must not allow anyone to belittle us again, and to take away our freedom.124

Atwood Makanani, a Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi cultural practitioner, Polynesian voyager and veteran of the Kaho‫ދ‬olawe movement once exhorted MƗkua activists, “You gotta haku (braid or compose).” To build a movement, then, is to compose its mo‫ދ‬olelo (history, legend, tale) through relationships, actions and stories, braiding together different strands into a cord that is stronger than each individual thread. Like the ancestors who braided fragile fibers into strong and pliable cordage capable of moving massive objects and lashing together great structures and voyaging ships, and inspired by heroic deeds such as the Maidens Who Saved Guam from the island-eating monster fish by catching it in a net woven from their hair, so too, the peoples of Moananuiakea and the world must haku our

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individual stories and struggles into ropes and nets big enough and strong enough to restrain the powerful and dangerous fishes that threaten to devour the earth.125

Notes  1

In place of “the Pacific,” I use interchangeably the Hawaiian names “Moananuiakea” meaning “the vast, deep ocean” and “Ka Moana Nui,” “the great ocean,” the latter of which has taken on political meanings of emancipatory struggle and solidarity within contemporary pan-Oceanic social movements. After Tongan scholar Epeli Hau‫ދ‬ofa, I also use the term “Oceania” to refer to the “Pacific Ocean” and “Pacific Islands,” because, as Hau‫ދ‬ofa writes, “‫ދ‬Oceania’ connotes a sea of islands with their inhabitants. The world of our ancestors was a large sea full of places to explore, to make their homes in, to breed generations of seafarers like themselves. People raised in this environment were at home with the sea.” 2 I am a fourth-generation person of Japanese ancestry in Hawai’i, an arrivant in a nation-state that was occupied by the United States of America. I borrow arrivant, a term coined by Caribbean poet Kamau Braithwaite and elaborated by indigenous political theorist Jodi Byrd, to represent those who migrate or are trafficked to a colonised land, voluntarily or involuntarily and under circumstances not of their own choosing or making, as distinct from settlers who are from the occupying state. Living as an arrivant in an occupied indigenous land makes one simultaneously a victim and an accessory to the violence of colonisation by claiming the space of the displaced natives. Out of respect for our own aspirations for justice, arrivants bear a kuleana (responsibility) to challenge the violence of the occupier and to support indigenous efforts to reclaim territory and power. This means working to dis-place the power and hegemonic discourses of the occupier, and participating in projects to critically re-place them with indigenous ones. However, any non-indigenous person attempting to valorise ‫ދ‬ƿiwi concepts and discourses in Hawai‘i’s colonised present, runs the risk of misrepresenting, misappropriating, and “ventriloquizing” Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi. There is no recipe for how to do this; one can only strive to work for liberation with humility, honesty, and the willingness to be held accountable. See Jodi A. Byrd. The Transit of Empire: Indigenous Critiques of Colonialism. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2011. 3 Error! Reference source not found.. Native Land and Foreign Desires (Ko Hawaiұi ұƖina a me NƗ koi Puұumake a ka Poұe Haole): Pehea lƗ e Pono ai? How Shall We Live in Harmony? (Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press, 1992), 22. 4 In a 2009 lecture, “Staying with the Trouble,” Donna Haraway cites Marylin Strathern to remind the audience, “It matters which concepts we use to think other concepts with.” Referring to the work of Australian anthropologist Deborah Bird Rose, she says that in Australian Aboriginal temporality (which is similar to that of Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi), “the job of a full, responsible adult is to face those who come before, rather than to face the future . . . so as to live thickly in the present.” And,

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 suggesting that we use such temporalities to “think western temporalities with,” Haraway asks “What might it mean to inherit the past thickly in the present so as to age the future?” Donna Jeanne Haraway. “Staying with the Trouble.” Speech, California College of the Arts, October 20, 2009. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3F0XdXfVDXw&feature=youtube 5 “Haunting was the language and the experiential modality by which I tried to reach an understanding of the meeting of force and meaning, because haunting is one way in which abusive systems of power make themselves known and their impacts felt in everyday life, especially when they are supposedly over and done with (slavery, for instance) or when their oppressive nature is denied (as in free labor or national security). Haunting is not the same as being exploited, traumatised, or oppressed, although it usually involves these experiences or is produced by them. What’s distinctive about haunting is that it is an animated state in which a repressed or unresolved social violence is making itself known, sometimes very directly, sometimes more obliquely. I used the term haunting to describe those singular yet repetitive instances when home becomes unfamiliar, when your bearings on the world lose direction, when the over-and-done-with comes alive, when what’s been in your blind spot comes into view. Haunting raises specters, and it alters the experience of being in time, the way we separate the past, the present, and the future. These specters or ghosts appear when the trouble they represent and symptomise is no longer being contained or repressed or blocked from view.” Avery F. Gordon. Ghostly Matters: Haunting and the Sociological Imagination (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008), 19. 6 “Eia ke kumu, i na i pii mai ke kai nui, e hoea mai no na ia nui, noloko mai o kamoana eleele, kahi au i ike ole ai, a ike lakou i na ia liilii o ka papau, e ai no kakou i ka ia liilii, pela no na holoholona nui, e ai no i na mea liilii, pela no, ua pii mai na moku haole, a ua hoea mai na kanaka naauao, no na aina nui mai, aua i au i ke ole ai, ua ike lakou ia kakou, he lahui kanaka uuku, e noho ana ma keia aupuni uuku, ua makemake lakou e ai ia kakou, pela wale no a na aupuni nui, ua lawe wale ia na aupuni liilii ma ka honua nei a pau.” Davida Malo. “Auhea oe e Kaahumanu 2, a me Mataio?” (Letter to Ka‫ދ‬ahumanu 2 (KƯna‫ދ‬u) and Mataio), August 18, 1837. Chronological File, 1790 - 1848. 402-4-76; 1837: Aug. 1, 18. Hawaii State Archives. Translation by Henry Enoka Palenapa Kekahuna. 7 Leevin Camacho elaborates in this volume. 8 “Hawaii Must Prepare for Move of up to 2,700 Marines, Inouye Says.” Honolulu Star Advertiser. Honolulu, Hawai‘i, April 24, 2012; Kiley, Gregory T., and Nicholas F. Szechenyi. U.S. Force Posture Strategy in the Asia Pacific Region: An Independent Assessment. Center for Strategic and International Studies, July 27, 2012. 9 Craig Whitlock. “U.S. Eyes Return to Some Southeast Asia Military Bases.” Washington Post, June 22, 2012. 10 Carlos Munoz. “The Philippines Re-opens Military Bases to US Forces.” The Hill, June 6, 2012. http://thehill.com/blogs/defcon-hill/operations/231257-philip pines-re-opens-military-bases-to-us-forces-.

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 11

David Vine. “The Lily-pad Strategy: How the Pentagon Is Quietly Transforming Its Overseas Base Empire and Creating a Dangerous New Way of War.” Tom DIspatch, July 15, 2012. http://www.tomdispatch.com/archive/175568/ 12 Ian Lind. “Ring of Steel: Notes on the Militarization of Hawaii,” Social Process in Hawaii 31 (1984). 26-27. 13 Haunani-Kay Trask. Personal interview with author. June 2002. 14 Naomi Klein. The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism (London: Allen Lane, 2007). 15 William Cole. “Army to transform on Oahu,” Honolulu Advertiser. April 22, 2002. Other Army expansion projects include the consolidation of the 8th Theater Sustainment Command, the 311th Theater Signal Command and the 94th Army Air and Missile Defense Command under the U.S. Army Pacific at Fort Shafter. From 2001 to 2012, the population of Fort Shafter increased from 1,194 soldiers and a total population of 4,077 (including families and civilian workers) to 6,306 soldiers, with a total population of 13,172. Recently, a 21.5 million USD design contract was awarded for a new 330,000-square-foot command center. William Cole. “Military Projects Run the Gamut.” Honolulu Star Advertiser, September 18, 2012. 16 Cole. 17 Jan TenBruggencate. “Base Generates 930 Jobs on Kaua’i.” Honolulu Advertiser. September 26, 2004. 18 William Cole. “Military Research on Hawaii Campus Opposed.” Honolulu Advertiser, September 26, 2007. 19 U.S. Navy, Pacific Missile Range Facility. Hawaii Range Complex Final Environmental Impact Statement / Overseas Environmental Impact Statement. May 2008. http://www.govsupport.us/navynepahawaii/FEIS.aspx 20 U.S. Navy, Naval Facilities Engineering Command. Hawaii-Southern California Training and Testing Activities Draft Environmental Impact Statement / Overseas Environmental Impact Statement. May 2012. http://hstteis.com/DocumentsandReferences/HSTTDocuments/DraftEISOEISMay 2012.aspx 21 Cole. “Military Projects Run the Gamut.” 22 U.S. Navy, Naval Facilities Engineering Command. Hawaii-Southern California Training and Testing Activities Draft Environmental Impact Statement / Overseas Environmental Impact Statement. May 2012. http://hstteis.com/DocumentsandReferences/HSTTDocuments/DraftEISOEISMay 2012.aspx 23 The proverb refers to the he‫ދ‬e (octopus) with its eight tentacles. Pukui. ‫ދ‬ƿlelo No‫ދ‬eau. No. 1369. 149. “Mana” means branched or divided. It can also mean spiritual or political power, in which case a hidden meaning could suggest “the fish of great power.” Mary Kawena Pukui and Samuel H Elbert. Hawaiian Dictionary (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1986), 235. 24 Personal observations by the author. 25 United States Pacific Command (USPACOM) website. 2012.

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 http://www.pacom.mil/web/Site_Pages/USPACOM/Facts.shtml (accessed Jul. 1, 2012.) 26 USPACOM. 27 USPACOM includes the U.S. Pacific Fleet: six aircraft carrier strike groups, approximately 180 ships, 1,500 aircraft and 100,000 personnel; Marine Corps Forces, Pacific: two-thirds of the Marine Corps combat strength, approximately 85,000 troops; U.S. Pacific Air Forces: 40,000 airmen, more than 300 aircraft, and another 100 additional aircraft assigned to Guam; U.S. Army Pacific: 60,000 personnel, including five Stryker brigades; Civilians and Contractors: 40,000; U.S. Coast Guard: 27,000 personnel in its Pacific Area. 28 U.S. Department of Defense, Office of the Deputy Undersecretary of Defense (Installations and Environment). Base Structure Report Fiscal Year 2012 Baseline (A Summary of DoD’s Real Property Inventory). U.S. Department of Defense, 2011. DoD 52-54. 29 U.S. DoD, 13. 30 U.S. Navy, Naval Facilities Engineering Command. Hawaii-Southern California Training and Testing Activities Draft Environmental Impact Statement / Overseas Environmental Impact Statement. 31 Hawaii Military Land Use Master Plan. U.S. Pacific Command, 1995. I-A-1. 32 On conflicting cultural paradigms, see Jerry Mander, Victoria Tauli-Corpuz, and International Forum on Globalization. Paradigm Wars: Indigenous Peoples’ Resistance to Globalization. San Francisco; Los Angeles, Calif.: Sierra Club Books; Distributed by University of California Press, 2006. Nineteenth century ‫ދ‬ƿiwi historian Samuel Kamakau described the ‫ދ‬ƿiwi belief that if the spirit of deceased persons was not guided by their ancestors to the realm of ancestral spirits, they would become ghosts trapped in the ao ‫ދ‬auwana (realm of wandering souls): “On the plain of Kaupe‫ދ‬a beside Pu‫ދ‬uloa, wandering souls could go to catch moths (pulelehua) and spiders (nanana).” Samuel Manaiakalani Kamakau, Dorothy B Barrère, and Mary Kawena Pukui. Ka Poұe Kahiko: the People of Old. (Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press, 1991), 49. In modern times, the arid ‫ދ‬Ewa plain is also a place where many internally displaced houseless Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi live precariously in makeshift encampments. 33 U.S. Department of Defense, Office of the Under Secretary of Defense for Acquisition, Technology and Logistics. Defense Environmental Programs Annual Report to Congress, Fiscal Year 2010. Military. Department of Defense, July 2011. E-5-14. Military contamination in Hawai’i includes various types of fuels and petroleum products; organic solvents such as perchloroethylene and trichloroethylene; dioxins and PCB; explosives and propellants such as RDX, TNT, HMX and perchlorate; heavy metals such as lead and mercury; napalm, chemical weapons, and radioactive waste from nuclear powered ships. Cobalt 60, a radioactive waste product from nuclear-powered ships, has been found in sediment at Pearl Harbor. Between 1964 and 1978, 4,843,000 gallons of low-level radioactive waste were discharged into Pearl Harbor. 2,189 steel drums containing radioactive waste were dumped in an ocean disposal area 55 miles from Hawai‫ދ‬i. Recently, the military disclosed that approximately 99,223 chemical munitions

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 containing mustard gas, lewisite, cyanogens chloride, and cyanide and weighing more than 5 million pounds were dumped into the seas off O‫ދ‬ahu. 34 Navy Environmental Public Affairs Office, Commander Navy Region Hawaii, Site Summary Evaluation Pearl Harbor Naval Complex, Hawaii, Fact Sheet 6 June 2002. 35 U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, Hawaii Report: 2010 Toxics Release Inventory, October 2011. 36 State of Hawai‫ދ‬i. The State of Hawaiұi Data Book 2010. Table 1.25. 37 Patrick Wolfe. “Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native.” Journal of Genocide Research 8, no. 4 (December 2006): 387–409. Population transfer of U.S. settlers to Hawai‫ދ‬i has had effects similar to Han Chinese settlers in Tibet, Israeli settlers in Palestine, and Javanese in East Timor. 38 David Keanu Sai, “American Occupation of the Hawaiian State: A Century Unchecked,” Hawaiian Journal of Law & Politics 1 (Summer 2004) 63. While some of the military connected population includes Kanaka ‫ދ‬ƿiwi and arrivants, the overall effect has been the transfer of U.S. military personnel and their dependents from the American continent to Hawai‫ދ‬i. 39 Stanford B.C. Yuen, E-mail to undisclosed recipient, Subject: “Revised: Your Military in Hawaii Briefing” U.S. Pacific Command briefing to Neighborhood Boards (November 8, 1999). State of Hawai‘i, Department of Business, Economic Development and Tourism, State of Hawai‘i Data Book (Honolulu: State of Hawai‫ދ‬i, 2000), Tables 10.4, 10.21, 1.03, 1.29. 40 Office of Hawaiian Affairs, State of Hawai‫ދ‬i, 2006 Native Hawaiian Data Book (Honolulu: Office of Hawaiian Affairs, 2006), 19. 41 The 1959 Hawai‫ދ‬i statehood referendum failed to meet international standards for self-determination, which were formally adopted in 1960. Against the basic principle that self-determination is a right reserved for only the colonised people / nation, U.S. settlers were allowed to vote on Hawai‫ދ‬i’s political status. Furthermore, only one option (statehood) was offered. Nevertheless, the U.S. reported that Hawai‫ދ‬i had chosen statehood, and the General Assembly removed Hawai‫ދ‬i from the list of non-self-governing territories. See Julian Aguon. “The Commerce of Recognition: (Buy One Ethos, Get One Free): Toward Curing the Harm of the United States’ International Wrongful Acts in the Hawaiian Islands.” Hawai’i ұOHIA (Forthcoming, 2012). 42 Bud Pomaika‫ދ‬i Cook, Kelley Withy, Lucia Tarallo-Jensen. “Cultural Trauma, Hawaiian Spirituality and Contemporary Health Status,” Californian Journal of Health Promotion 2003, Volume 1, Special Issue: Hawaii, 10-24. 43 Office of Hawaiian Affairs, State of Hawai‫ދ‬i, Native Hawaiian Data Book (Honolulu: Office of Hawaiian Affairs, 2000) Table 5:4. 40% of the homeless or houseless are Kanaka Maoli; 31% of Känaka Maoli receive annual incomes less than 4000 USD; 32% drop out of high school; only 5% have college degrees; and approximately 27% of welfare recipients are Kanaka Maoli. Office of Hawaiian Affairs, State of Hawai Hawai‘i, Native Hawaiian Data Book (Honolulu: Office of Hawaiian Affairs, 2000) Table 5:4. Kekuni Blaisdell, “The Health Status of the Kanaka Maoli,” Asian American and Pacific Islander Journal of Health 1:2

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 (Autumn 1993). Kanaka Maoli have the highest mortality rate, the lowest life expectancy (4 years less than all other groups in Hawai‫ދ‬i), the highest cancer mortality rate, the highest stroke mortality rate, the highest diabetes mortality rate, and the highest infant mortality and suicide rates. Kekuni Blaisdell, “The Health Status of the Kanaka Maoli,” Asian American and Pacific Islander Journal of Health 1:2 (Autumn 1993). “Compared to all other ethnic groups in Hawai’i,Na KƗnaka Maoli have the highest prevalence rates for chronic diseases, such as obesity (69%) and asthma (33%), and when adjusted for age, among the highest rates of cancer, diabetes, hypertension, and heart disease. The rate of deaths due to cancer and heart disease are also highest when compared to other ethnic groups in Hawai’i.” Kalamaoka‫ދ‬aina Niheu, Laurel Mei Turbin and Seiji Yamada, “The Impact of the Military Presence in Hawai‫ދ‬i on the Health of Na KƗnaka Maoli,” Developing Human Resources for Health in the Pacific 14:1 (2007) 207. “Compared to all other ethnic groups in Hawai’i, Na KƗnaka Maoli have the highest prevalence rates for chronic diseases, such as obesity (69%) and asthma (33%), and when adjusted for age, among the highest rates of cancer, diabetes, hypertension, and heart disease. The rate of deaths due to cancer and heart disease are also highest when compared to other ethnic groups in Hawai’i.” 44 Office of Hawaiian Affairs, State of Hawai‫ދ‬i, Justice Policy Institute, University of Hawai‫ދ‬i and the Georgetown University, The Disparate Treatment of Native Hawaiians in the Criminal Justice System (Honolulu: Office of Hawaiian Affairs, 2010), Executive Summary. 45 James Hosek, Aviva Litovitz and Adam C. Resnick. How Much Does Military Spending Add to Hawaii’s Economy? Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2011. http://www.rand.org/pubs/technical_reports/TR996.html 46 “But did it take a RAND study to figure out that defense spending played a significant role in the state’s economy? The study confirms what many economists already suspected. Hawaii received 195.8 million USD in earmarks in the FY2010 Defense bill, according to Taxpayers for Common Sense’s earmark database–and wins more earmark dollars per capita than any other state (no doubt due in part to Hawaii Senator Daniel Inouye sitting on the Senate Appropriations Committee).” Mandy Smithberger. “Aloha! Pentagon Think Tank Uses Taxpayer Funds to Help Hawaii Chamber of Commerce.” Project On Government Oversight, June 2, 2011. http://pogoblog.typepad.com/pogo/2011/06/aloha-pentagon-think-tank-usestaxpayer-funds-to-help-hawaii-chamber-of-commerce.html (accessed Jul. 17, 2012). 47 Albert J. Beveridge. In Support of an American Empire, U.S. Congress. 56 Congress, I Session,1900. 704-712 http://www.TeachingAmericanHistory.org/library/index.asp?documentprint=639 48 Quoted in James Bradley. The imperial cruise: a secret history of empire and war. (New York: Little, Brown and Co., 2009), 3. 49 Hillary Clinton. “America’s Pacific Century.” Foreign Policy (October 11, 2011). 50 “China isn’t making new claims, but it is now enforcing claims from 1919. It’s a tectonic shift.” Joseph Gerson. Quoting U.S. Senate Foreign Relations Committee staffer Frank Januzzi. Speech. Moana Nui Conference. Honolulu. November 2011.

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51 In contrast to the Chinese conception of successive lines of islands as defensive perimeters, to U.S. planners, Hawai‫ދ‬i is “the first link in a transpacific island chain extending westward to East Asia . . . . For Americans, in other words, a Pacific island chain runs east-west. It resembles a bridge when we chart it horizontally on the map.” James Holmes. “Island Chains Everywhere.” The Diplomat, February 16, 2011. http://thediplomat.com/flashpoints-blog/2011/02/16/island-chains-everywhere/ 52 Charles Wilkes, U.S.N. Narrative of the United States Exploring Expedition During the Years 1838, 1839, 1840, 1841, 1842. In Five Volumes and an Atlas. Government. Philadelphia, PA: U.S. Navy, commissioned by the U.S. Congress, Printed by C. Sherman, 1844. Smithsonian. IV: 85. 53 Brian McAllister Linn. Guardians of Empire: The U.S. Army and the Pacific, 1902-1940. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1997. 6. 54 Ian Lind. “Ring of Steel: Notes on the Militarization of Hawaii.” Social Process in Hawaii 31 (1984). 27-28. 55 “Hawaii – United States Convention – 1884,” 1884. http://www.hawaii-nation.org/treaty1884.html 56 Jonathan Kay Kamakawiwo‫ދ‬ole Osorio, Dismembering LƗhui: A History of the Hawaiian Nation to 1887 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2002). 57 Stephen Kinzer. Overthrow: America’s Century of Regime Change from Hawaii to Iraq. (New York, NY: Times Books/Henry Holt), 2006. 58 Theodore Roosevelt. “Obstacles to Immediate Expansion, 1897: A Letter to Mahan,” 1897. Papers of Theodore Roosevelt, Manuscripts Division. Library of Congress. https://www.mtholyoke.edu/acad/intrel/trmahan.htm. 59 Hui Aloha ‫ދ‬Ɩina. “Knj‫ދ‬Ɲ: Hui Aloha ‫ދ‬Ɩina Anti-annexation Petitions,” 1897. http://libweb.hawaii.edu/digicoll/annexation/petition.html. Noenoe K. Silva. Aloha Betrayed Native Hawaiian Resistance to American Colonialism. Durham, NC: Duke Univ. Press, 2004. Miriam Michelson. “Strangling Hands Upon a Nation’s Throat,” San Francisco Call. September 30, 1897. http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85066387/1897-09-30/ed-1/seq-1/ 60 Hawaiian sovereignty groups and legal scholars have challenged the legal force of a domestic law to acquire a foreign sovereign territory without a treaty of annexation. Among these groups, the term “occupation” has come into more frequently usage over “colonized” to describe Hawai‫ދ‬i’s political and legal status and to distinguish its international claims as a formerly recognised sovereign nation-state from those post-World War II rights of colonies to self-determination and decolonisation. See Sai. “American Occupation of the Hawaiian State. 46–81. Recent critical legal scholarship has analysed three international legal regimes–the laws of war and occupation, decolonisation law, and indigenous human rights law– as they apply to Hawai‫ދ‬i’s case. See Aguon. “The Commerce of Recognition”. 61 After defeating Spain, the U.S. fought another bloody war from 1899 to 1902 to suppress the indigenous Filipino liberation movement, before it could claim its spoils. Some Filipino leftists suggest that anti-colonial resistance in the Philippines has never been completely pacified. 62 Lind. Ring of Steel, 25.

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63 Sadao Asada. From Mahan to Pearl Harbor: the Imperial Japanese Navy and the United States. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2006. 64 William Taft. “William Taft Cable to Elihu Root Regarding Memorandum of Agreement with Prime Minister of Japan Katsura,” July 29, 1905. http://www.icasinc.org/history/katsura.pdf. 65 Bradley, The Imperial Cruise. 66 The trouble of which we were forewarned is here. Mary Kawena Pukui. ұƿlelo Noұeau: Hawaiian proverbs & poetical sayings (Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press, 1983), 294. 67 Lawrence Fuchs. Hawaii Pono: An Ethnic and Political History (Honolulu: Bess Press, 1961). Alexander MacDonald. Revolt in Paradise: The Social Revolution in Hawaii After Pearl Harbor. New York: Stephen Daye Press, 1944. 68 Lind, Ring of Steel. Franklin Odo used “collaborator-rival” to describe the military’s relationship to the haole oligarchy in the 1920s. Franklin Odo. No sword to bury: Japanese Americans in Hawaiұi during World War II. Philadelphia, Pa.; London: Temple University Press; Eurospan, 2003. 8. 69 J. Garner Anthony. Hawaii Under Army Rule. (Honolulu: University of Hawai‫ދ‬i Press, 1955). For a discussion of racial tensions in Hawai‫ދ‬i and the importance of the infamous Massie-Kahahawai incident to race and military relations, see: Roland Kotani. The Japanese in Hawaii: A Century of Struggle (Honolulu: Hawaii Hochi, 1985); John P. Rosa. “Local Story: The Massie Case Narrative and the Cultural Production of Local Identity in Hawai‘i.” Amerasia Journal 26, no. 2 (2000): 93-115; David E. Stannard. Honor Killing: How the Infamous “Massie Affair” Transformed Hawaiұi. (New York: Viking, 2005); Theon Wright. Rape in Paradise (Honolulu: Mutual Pub., 1966).  70 Fuchs, Hawaii Pono, 299. 71 Lind, Ring of Steel, 36-37. 72 Martial law in Hawai‫ދ‬i was consistent with a long history of using islands as penal colonies, and it anticipated the current proliferation of offshore military detention facilities. Lauren A. Benton. A search for sovereignty: law and geography in European Empires, 1400-1900. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Mountz, Alison. “The Enforcement Archipelago: Detention, Haunting, and Asylum on Islands.” Political Geography 30, no. 3 (March 2011): 118-128. Since social and economic life in Hawai‫ދ‬i was expected to continue under martial law, the logics of “panopticism” came into play with the general population of Hawai‫ދ‬i under military surveillance and control. On panopticism and the “carceral archipelago” see Michel Foucault. Discipline and punish: the birth of the prison. New York: Vintage Books, 1979. 73 Jonathan Y. Okamura. “Race Relations in Hawai‫ދ‬i During World War II: The Non-internment of Japanese Americans.” Amerasia Journal 26, no. 2 (2000): 117141. 74 Gary Y. Okihiro. Cane Fires: The Anti-Japanese movement in Hawaii, 18651945 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1991), 201. 75 Lind, Ring of Steel, 36-37. 76 Fuchs, Hawaii Pono, 299.

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 77

Tom Coffman. Catch a Wave: A Case Study of Hawai‘i’s New Politics (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1973). 78 Other factors were significant in the “Americanisation” of Hawai‫ދ‬i’s Japansese community, especially the education system, but militarisation was also key part of that socialisation process. Kotani, The Japanese in Hawaii. For a critical discussion of role of Japanese American World War II veterans in the transformation of Hawai‫ދ‬i, see Franklin Odo, No Sword to Bury. 79 Lind, Ring of Steel, 17. 80 “For our Native people, Asian success proves to be but the latest elaboration of foreign hegemony. The history of our colonisation becomes a twice-told tale, first of discovery and settlement by European and American businessmen and missionaries, then of the plantation Japanese, Chinese, and eventually Filipino rise to dominance in the islands. Some Hawaiians, the best-educated and articulate, benefit from the triumph of the Democratic Party over the haole Republican Party. But as a people, Hawaiians remain a politically subordinated group suffering all the legacies of conquest: landlessness, disastrous health, diaspora, institutionalisation in the military and prisons, poor educational attainment, and confinement to the service sector of employment.” Haunani-Kay Trask. “Settlers of Color and “Immigrant” Hegemony: “Locals” in Hawai‫ދ‬i.” Amerasia Journal 26:2 (2000). 23. See also Candace Fujikane and Jonathan Y Okamura, eds. Asian Settler Colonialism: From Local Governance to the Habits of Everyday Life in Hawaiұi (Honolulu: University of Hawai‫ދ‬i Press, 2008); Jonathan Y. Okamura. Ethnicity and inequality in Hawai‫ދ‬i (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2008); George Cooper and Gavan Daws. Land and power in Hawaii: the Democratic years. (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1990). 81 Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri. Empire (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000). 82 Terence Wesley-Smith. “The Limits of Self-Determination in Oceania.” Social and Economic Studies 56, no. 1/2. The Caribbean and Pacific in a New World Order (March 2007), 204. 83 “A redefinition of Pan-African nationalism and the development of the concept of an African world community would have given all of us a bridge where we could stand and communicate with one another. That would have been the common denominator of Pan-African nationalism.” John Henrik Clarke. “Who Betrayed the African World Revolution?” In Who Betrayed the African World Revolution? and Other Speeches (Kent, OH: Institute for African American Affairs, 1994), 66. “To argue on behalf of indigenous nationhood within the dominant Western paradigm is self-defeating. To frame the struggle to achieve justice in terms of indigenous ‘claims’ against the state is implicitly to accept the fiction of state sovereignty.” Taiaiake Alfred, Peace, Power, Righteousness: an Indigenous Manifesto. Don Mills, Ont.: Oxford University Press, 1999. 58. 84 Stewart Firth. “Sovereignty and Independence in the Contemporary Pacific.” Contemporary Pacific 1, no. 1 & 2 (Spring & Fall 1989): 75. 85 Eleanor Lattimore. “Pacific Ocean or American Lake?” Far Eastern Survey 14, no. 22 (November 7, 1945): 313–316.

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Further elaborated in Broudy and Simpson, this volume. Hal M. Friedman. Creating an American Lake: United States Imperialism and Strategic Security in the Pacific Basin, 1945 - 1947. Westport, Conn.; London: Greenwood Press, 2001. xxv-xxvi. 88 Friedman. 2. 89 “Empire of Bases” was coined by Chalmers Johnson. Chalmers Johnson. The Sorrows of Empire: militarism, secrecy, and the end of the Republic (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2004). 90 “Another and more poetic name was Awawa-lei, Garland (lei)-of-harbors.” Craighill Handy, E. S., Elizabeth Green Handy, and Mary Kawena Pukui. Native Planters in Old Hawaii: Their Life, Lore, and Environment (Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press, 1991), 469. 91 U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. Superfund Site Overview Pearl Harbor Naval Complex, Pacific Southwest, US EPA. http://yosemite.epa.gov/r9/sfund/r9sfdocw.nsf/vwsoalphabetic/Pearl+Harbor+Nav al+Complex?OpenDocument (accessed Jul. 25, 2012). 92 John W. Dower. Cultures of War: Pearl Harbor, Hiroshima, 9-11, Iraq. (New York: W.W. Norton, 2010). Richard Slotkin writes: “The first colonists saw in America an opportunity to regenerate their fortunes, their spirits, and the power of their church and nation; but the means to that regeneration ultimately became the means of violence, and the myth of regeneration through violence became the structuring metaphor of the American experience.” Richard Slotkin. Regeneration Through Violence: the Mythology of the American Frontier, 1600-1860 (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 2000). 93 See Emily S. Rosenberg. A Date Which Will Live: Pearl Harbor in American Memory. Durham: Duke University Press, 2005. Benedict R. Anderson. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London; New York: Verso, 2006). 94 Jonathan Kay Kamakawiwo‫ދ‬ole Osorio. “Memorializing Pu‫ދ‬uloa and Remembering Pearl Harbor.” In Shigematsu, Setsu, and Keith L Camacho. Militarized Currents: Toward a Decolonized Future in Asia and the Pacific (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2010), 3-14. Houston Wood calls the rewriting of native place names the “violent rhetoric of names.” Houston Wood. Displacing Natives: the Rhetorical Production of Hawaiұi (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1999). 95 A poignant reminder of how sensitive and crucial the “Pearl Harbor” myth is to the reproduction of U.S. nationalism was the conservative political attack on the workshop series “History and Commemoration: Legacies of the Pacific War,” which was sponsored in 2010 by the East-West Center, the National Park Service, and the Arizona Memorial Museum Association, with funding from the National Endowment for Humanities (NEH). Because the series allowed multiple perspectives on Pearl Harbor to be shared, it sparked an orchestrated political attack on the organisers and the NEH, lighting up veterans’ and right-wing political blogs and even scoring airtime on Fox News. See “2010 NEH College Teacher Workshop (July 25-31 & August 1-7, 2010).”East-West Center, 2010. 86 87

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 http://www.eastwestcenter.org/education/asian-studies-developmentprogram/upcoming-programs/summer-institutes/neh-teachers-workshop; Scott Johnson. “Investigate This.” Political. Power Line, November 1, 2010. http://www.powerlineblog.com/archives/2010/11/027580.php; MOTHAX / American Legion. “Are US Tax Dollars Being Spent to Espouse the Belief That ‘the U.S. Military and Its Veterans Constitute an Imperialistic, Oppressive Force’?” Burn Pit, November 4, 2010. http://www.burnpit.us/2010/11/are-us-tax-dollars-beingspent-espouse-belief-%E2%80%9C-us-military-and-its-veterans-constitute “Veterans Day Outrage.” Hannity Show. Fox News, November 11, 2010. http://video.foxnews.com/v/4415577/. 96 Slavoj Žižek. “Ethnic Dance Macabre.” The Manchester Guardian, August 28, 1992. http://www.lacan.com/zizek-ethnic.htm. 97 See Gordon, Ghostly Matters for a discussion of haunting. “Ambiguities and contradictions of imperial relations . . . . ” helped shape U.S. culture. Amy Kaplan. The Anarchy of Empire in the Making of U.S. Culture (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005), 1. Stoler explores intimate spaces as key to the imperial project. Ann Laura Stoler. Haunted by Empire: Geographies of Intimacy in North American History (Durham: Duke University Press, 2006). Many overt technics of policing and disciplining colonial subjects were developed abroad and used against domestic populations as well. Alfred W. McCoy. Policing America’s Empire: the United States, the Philippines, and the Rise of the Surveillance State (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2009), 17. These are all areas of inquiry that warrant more research as it pertains to the situation in Hawai’i. 98 John Dower. War Without Mercy: Race and Power in the Pacific War (New York: Pantheon Books, 1993), 84. 99 Mary Kawena Pukui. ұƿlelo Noұeau: Hawaiian Proverbs & Poetical Sayings (Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press, 1983), 225. 100 Jonathan Frakes. Star Trek: First Contact, the Borg. Paramount Pictures, 1996. 101 Ferguson and Turnbull, xiii. 102 Lind, Ring of Steel, 27. 103 Rebecca Solnit. Hope in the Dark: Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities (New York: Nation Books, 2006), 4. 104 Solnit, 8. 105 Solnit, 5. 106 Solnit, 1. 107 KƯpuka is a variation or change in form. Mary Kawena Pukui and Samuel H Elbert. Hawaiian dictionary: Hawaiian-English, English-Hawaiian (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1986), 155. It is commonly used to describe oases of forest that survive lava flows and provide the seeds for the regeneration of life after the lava cools. 108 Davianna McGregor writes, “Even as Pele [the volcano deity] claims and reconstructs the forest landscape, she leaves intact whole sections of the forest, with tall old-growth ‫ދ‬ǀhi‫ދ‬a trees, tree ferns, creeping vines, and mosses. These oases are called kƯpuka. The beauty of these natural kƯpuka is not only their ability to resist and withstand destructive forces of change, but also their ability to

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 regenerate life on the barren lava that surrounds them. For from these kƯpuka come the seeds and spores carried by birds and blown by the wind to sprout upon and regenerate the forest on the new lava, sparking a dynamic new cycle of coming into and passing out of life. The rural communities where kua‫ދ‬Ɨina (country folk) have remained are cultural kƯpuka that have been bypassed by major historic forces of economic, political, and social change in Hawai‫ދ‬i. Like the dynamic life forces in a natural kƯpuka, cultural kƯpuka are communities from which Native Hawaiian culture can be regenerated and revitalised in the setting of contemporary Hawa‫ދ‬i. Moreover, from the examination of the lives of kua‫ދ‬Ɨina in Hawaiian cultural kƯpuka emerges a profile of the strongest and most resilient aspects of the Native Hawaiian culture and way of life.” Davianna McGregor. NƗ Kua’Ɨina: Living Hawaiian Culture (Honolulu: University of Hawai‫ދ‬i Press, 2007), 7-9. 109 Deleuze and Guattari described distributed social organisation in Oceania as “rhizome.” However, a better analogy would be “mycelium,” which forms multiple points of connection with multidirectional flows. Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998). 110 As discussed previously, another of Kanaloa’s kinolau is the he‫ދ‬e. So the he‫ދ‬e as metaphor is more complex than the simple demonised Other. 111 Rodney Morales. Hoұihoұi Hou: A Tribute to George Helm and Kimo Mitchell (Honolulu: Bamboo Ridge Press, 1984). 112 Morales, 72. 113 In private conversations, some PKO leaders revealed that Senator Inouye, who controlled the funding for the Kaho‫ދ‬olawe cleanup, warned the group to distance itself from other demilitarisation struggles, including efforts to stop the bombing of Vieques. 114 Vickie Ong, “Hawaiians raise flag over Makua,” Honolulu Advertiser, February 29, 1976. See also photographs by Ian Lind, Photographs of MƗkua. http://www.ilind.net/gallery_old/makua1976/index1.htm. 115 Pam Smith, “Makua: Valley of the Duds,” Hawaii Observer, June 16, 1977, 22. 116 MƗkua elder Walter Kamana said: “I was small, used to run when the plane come in. The plane had no respect for people living in the valley. Only had one small church. You ever seen your church get bombed one Sunday? I seen that, small boy. I seen my church get taken away by a bomb.” Makua Valley Public Meeting Held on January 27, 2001 (Ralph Rosenburg Court Reporters) 59. 117 Ian Lind, “The captive valley of MƗkua: 42 years of military occupation,” Ka Huliau, May - June 1983. 118 William Cole, “Army ends live-fire training at Makua,” Honolulu Star Advertiser (January 13, 2011). 119 Original foundation for the network was laid at the Rethinking Militarism in Hawaiұi Conference sponsored by the American Friends Service Committee Hawai‫ދ‬i Area Program in 2000. See also www.dmzhawaii.org. 120 Rebecca Solnit writes about the “positive side-effects and possibilities” produced by disasters and emergencies and how they reveal “otherwise neglected desires, desires for public life and civil society, for inclusion, purpose and power.”

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 Rebecca Solnit. A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities that Arise in Disaster (New York: Penguin, 2010), 6. 121 Miyume Tanji references the recent shifting lines of Asia Pacific strategy in her Introduction. 122 Jim Garamone. “Obama Lays Out America’s Asia-Pacific Agenda.” American Forces Press Service. Washington, D.C., November 14, 2009. http://www.defense link.mil/news/newsarticle.aspx?id=56699 123 Albert J. Beveridge. “The March of the Flag.” Speech, September 16, 1898. http://www.historytools.org/sources/beveridge.html. 124 Epeli Hau‫ދ‬ofa. “Our Sea of Islands.” In Asia/Pacific as Space of Cultural Production, edited by Rob Wilson and Arif Dirlik. (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), 98. 125 Shannon J. Murphy. “Mythological Depictions of Women.” Guampedia: The Encyclopedia of Guam, June 12, 2012. http://guampedia.com/mythological-depictions-of-women/.

CHAPTER EIGHT JAPANESE WARTIME OCCUPATION, WAR REPARATION, AND GUAM’S CHAMORRO SELF-DETERMINATION MIYUME TANJI

Introduction In late 2005, when US and Japanese state elites began talking about the transfer of 8,000 US Marines from Okinawa to Guam, a direct line was drawn between Okinawa and Guam in a strategic map of the Asia Pacific. The transfer was formally agreed to between the US and Japanese governments in the “Guam Pact” of February 2009. The Guam Pact represented an attempt to stabilise and strengthen the US-Japan bilateral alliance by re-aligning the US armed forces in Japan and the Asia-Pacific region. The rationale, at the time, for moving the troops between these two islands was the perception that, unlike in Okinawa where citizens have outwardly protested against the prolonged US military presence on their island, in Guam, the locals have remained generally supportive. The Chamorro people’s patriotic loyalty and support for the US military has been certainly strong in postwar Guam. The foundation for this support is based upon the indigenous Chamorro people’s gratitude to the US military for ending the brutal wartime Japanese military occupation of Guam in July 1944. The narrative of patriotic loyalty, however, has been politically contentious in postwar Guam. Whilst the US military presence has since continued and currently occupies one-third of the island, Guam remains a non-self-governing, unincorporated US territory without full political representation in the US. The accelerated US military buildup in Guam has awakened many local residents to the colonial condition of Guam in the 21st century emphasising their lack of selfdetermination in events that directly affect them.

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As the US exempted Japan from all war reparations in 1951, Guam’s reality, in the context of the continuity between Japan’s colonial past and present, has been obscured. To this day, Chamorro elders who survived the war have not been compensated for their suffering, while the number of surviving elders is dwindling. On the basis of the rightful recognition of their patriotism and loyalty to the country, Guam’s representatives have demanded compensation from the US government for the wartime suffering of the Chamorros. Nevertheless, US officials have not responded to this request: legislation for war reparations, as of this writing, has yet to be passed in Washington.1 This chapter connects the past and the present in this context: of Japan’s responsibility for the collective suffering of the Chamorros in wartime Guam, and its continuing stake in the military buildup in Guam. These are intertwined historical pathways, and one feeds into the other, informing and shaping the contemporary context of Chamorro political life. In an effort to explicate this relationship, the first section reviews Japanese brutality and Chamorro loyalty to the US during the occupation and war, recorded in the texts written from the perspectives of the conquered Chamorro people. The second section examines the dilemma that arose out of postwar Chamorro patriotic loyalty and self-determination. The third section ties together postwar Japan’s relations with Guam and the Chamorro political predicament: evident in their exemption from war reparation, detachment from the history of Chamorro wartime suffering, and the current investment in the military buildup in Guam. In war claims review processes, the Chamorro people are increasingly seeing that their wartime experience was not just about loyalty to the US, but more importantly about the collective recognition of their survival and resilience as a people. Re-engaging Japan in the process of recognising Chamorro suffering, I suggest, would help Chamorro people gradually move away from the dilemma of patriotic loyalty that has restricted their sense of selfdetermination, as well as clarify the continuity of Japan’s role as a coloniser of Guam in the past and present.

Japanese Wartime Occupation and Survival of Guam Chamorros Guam (Guahan in Chamorro) is located in the southern end of the Mariana Islands, the biggest of fifteen islands at 554 square kilometres, or 214 square miles. Since the 16th century, Guam has been a destination for colonial powers’ missionary and military expansion in the Western

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Pacific: first the Catholic Spanish (16th century), the US (the Navy took over from 1899-1941), the Japanese (1941-1944) and again the US (1944present). In Guam, the Japanese occupation was brief (December 10, 1941 to July 21, 1944), but it lasted for thirty years in other islands of the Northern Marianas and Micronesia. In 1941, Guam was an isolated US naval station surrounded by Japanese occupied territories in Micronesia.2 Throughout the colonisation and occupation by foreign militaries, the Chamorros (traditionally written Chamoru), the native inhabitants of the Mariana Islands, remained the largest identifiable sociocultural group in Guam.3 The initial Japanese air raid on Guam was conducted on an important Chamorro Catholic holiday—the celebration of the Immaculate Conception of Santa Marian Camalin. In the morning of December 8, 1941, in Hagåtña, local Chamorro families were preparing to leave for the special mass, to be followed by a procession across Hagåtña, then the feast prepared days in advance. Ben Blaz, a retired US Marine Corps officer and a former Congressional delegate, who was 13-years-old at the time, recalls his excitement for this special morning as he got dressed in his Sunday best, as other children did. The mass was interrupted by the news of a Japanese air raid: the bishop told the crowd to leave for home; people started running about in panic, unsure of what to do. According to Blaz, “In a moment, we jumped from the dreamy reverie of childhood to the angular reality of adulthood. In that regard, the members of this generation share a common birthday—December 8, 1941.” 4 Japanese wartime occupation in Guam started two days later, as thousands of Japanese Army troops landed, followed by a short battle with the Insular Guard made up of Chamorro troops and the US Marines, and the surrender of the US Naval Commander and Governor. The Japanese enforced a new rule: “You must bow to us.” Those who did not or who did so improperly were punished severely with binta— slapping faces with open hands, or with repeated kicking and clubbing. The islanders were terrified of the Japanese by their military commands shouted in an alien language. The Japanese mostly did not speak English, and thus could not communicate with the locals. Most residents left their homes to be away from the Japanese and left for the rural areas, where they lived on farming and fishing. The Japanese troops appropriated private homes, churches, and properties left vacant by the Chamorros and the members of the US military.5 Hagåtña, a relaxed but thriving Spanishinfluenced town degenerated into a virtual ghost town. Especially well remembered is the traumatic Japanese Army’s public execution of two young Chamorro men, accused (allegedly falsely) of

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spying for the Americans and stealing—shot directly in the grave they were made to dig. One morning in January 1942, some 500 US captives and Chamorros, including the ill and injured, were made to march to the navy yard and were sent away to a POW prison in Japan. The Chamorro people were horrified by the Japanese mistreatment of the POWs, as many of their families, friends and relatives were among them. The incident was thus “particularly painful for them—many wept openly” and ran after [their relatives]. 6 The Japanese invested serious energy and resources searching for the six US soldiers who escaped capture: five of whom were found and executed, leaving US Marine, George Tweed the sole US military survivor. Tony Palomo, a local historian—who would share a birthday with Blaz—emphasises that the Guam Chamorros were very loyal to the US: “The Guamanians strongly believed in the greatness of America, both as a freedom-loving country and as a military power.” 7 The islanders “exchanged very little of their American dollars for Japanese yen, because the exchange rate was set extremely low, and, more importantly, because of their secret expectation of an early return of the American Navy.”8 Many Chamorros brought food and helped the six US soldiers who escaped the Japanese. This was especially true in the case of George Tweed, as his survival symbolised an abiding hope for the return of the US to rescue them from Japanese rule. Many islanders were tortured during Japanese interrogations to find out the hiding places of the US soldiers—including Blaz’s father who returned home after being belted until his back was skinned bare. Despite this brutal torture, the Chamorros seldom cooperated with the Japanese, which is remembered and celebrated as heroism—a sign of strength for their faith in and loyalty to the US. The Chamorro opposition to Japanese occupation (and allegiance to the US) in Guam continued. In March 1942, Minseibu (Department of Civil Affairs), the Japanese Navy’s civil administrative department and a garrison unit took over Guam’s public administration. Chamorro interpreters brought from the Northern Marianas (many of them from Saipan) aided the Japanese, especially in communicating with the islanders. Chamorro inhabitants of the Northern Mariana Islands (such as Saipan, Rota and Tinian) had been under Japan’s naval rule for thirty years: “Islanders’ attitudes toward the Japanese had been shaped by decades of colonial effort to socialise them as loyal members of the empire.” 9 In these occupied territories, the “Japanisation” policy restructured the hierarchy placing everything Japanese at the top, while depriving equal rights and opportunities from those who were regarded

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less than Japanese (Okinawan and Korean migrants and labourers) and the natives, who were placed at the bottom. Although many Chamorros in the Northern Marianas despised the Japanese for their treatment of locals as “third-class nationals,” 10 many strived to prove their loyalty: and spoke fluent Japanese, or even fought for Japan as soldiers. 11 Among them were the interpreters brought to Guam from Northern Mariana islands: “their loyalty . . . was to Japan.”12 In contrast, the Japanese were very unsuccessful in converting the proAmerican Chamorros in Guam: in fact, their intimidation and cruel behaviour have the effect of galvanising Chamorro allegiance to the US. Minseibu attempted Japanese education of the native Chamorros in Guam too with limited success.13 The harsh treatment of Chamorros in Guam by the Japanese continued, enlisting and enforcing slave labour to build ocean trenches, dig underground fortifications, mine manganese and construct airstrips (one of which is still being used as Guam Antonio Won Pat International Airport). The Japanese Navy’s priority was to dedicate the islanders’ labour and resources to the economic needs of its military expansion towards the south, preparing for the imminent war with the US in the Pacific. The Marianas were considered a geopolitically crucial defence zone, as they were within flying range of Tokyo for the then in-development B52s. Able-bodied Chamorro males, including teenagers like Blaz, (fifteen at the time) were conscripted for arduous and dangerous slave labour. They worked with only the most basic tools such as wheelbarrows, picks and shovels and with “constant harassment and physical punishment—kicked, slapped, punched and clubbed by both Japanese and Korean supervisors.”14 Some labourers were even killed after the work was completed to maintain the secrecy of military information.15 Women and children were similarly forced to work on farms, to grow food supplies, mainly rice and vegetables, for the Japanese military members and civilians. Chamorros were expected to find their own food and, thus, had to mind their own farms after the long exhausting hours of working for the Japanese. The locals secretly yearned for a US return. As the US Navy prepared for the re-capture of the island through bombing and strafing campaigns, the Japanese grew increasingly nervous and suspicious of Chamorros cooperating with the US: the animalistic nature of the Japanese soldiers began to emerge.16 To the Japanese, life became meaningless and worthless in Guam, particularly when the American armada began bombarding the island . . . . People were killed without reason . . . . A group of young people found in Agana during the height of the bombardment were forced to dig their own

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In order to fortify the defence of the island from the predicted US attack, in February 1944, about 7,000 Japanese troops landed on Guam, shipped in from Manchuria. Shortly after, in May, Kaikuntai, an agricultural unit in charge of food production, arrived. In the village of Tå’i, Kaikuntai members interrogated and executed the heroic Catholic priest, Father Jesus Baza Duenas.18 The execution was related to the search for Tweed, for which Duenas did not provide any information; he had also bravely resisted the Japanese pressure to cooperate with their propaganda effort, and has since been dearly respected by the Chamorros.19 Mariquita Perez Howard, a Chamorro woman married to a US Navy sailor and the patriotic heroine of a popular war-based novel, Mariquita: A Tragedy of Guam, was repeatedly beaten by the Kaikuntai chief for resisting his sexual advances by threatening to kill herself. Just before the American recapture of Guam, Mariquita was abducted by a Kaikuntai member into the forest in Tå’i, never to be seen again: “That she perished in the same village as Duenas illustrates that many people shared a collective war story of life and death, triumph and tragedy.” 20 Kaikuntai in Guam was composed of 166 young Japanese trainees (mostly under the age of twenty-five), specifically trained for cultivating farms in the colonies, and three of their teachers. Okubo reveals it was Kaikuntai—these allegedly non-combatant Japanese civilians—who conducted some particularly unforgettable atrocities against Chamorro residents. As Saipan fell into US hands and the aerial bombardment of Guam grew more intense,21 the Japanese committed a series of mass murders and rapes of Chamorro residents. Near Fena Reservoir, the commander of the Japanese police assembled “young girls between the ages of sixteen and nineteen” in the village of Hågat. As the bombing approached, twelve girls were taken to the caves and collectively raped, beaten, and killed by the Japanese soldiers. In Merizo, the Japanese forced two groups of about thirty villagers who had been targeted as rebels into caves and threw in hand grenades, murdering forty-nine. A survivor from this cave massacre, Jose Reyes, led several villagers to fight and kill the Japanese guards.22 These and other murders and rapes across the island similarly testify to the brutality of the Japanese occupation and the courage of Chamorro survivors. Finally, on July 12, 1944, the Japanese commander ordered for the internment of all Chamorro residents in several concentration camps. The largest number (some 9,000 of 22,000) was marched to Mañenggon

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Valley in southern Guam. The Japanese did not give reasons for the move, and many believed they were about to be slaughtered in the valley. All had to walk some 20 kilometres in line, prompted by the Japanese soldiers with bayonets: those who could not walk—infants, the sick and the very old—had to be carried by their families; some of them died on the way or were killed by the soldiers and left on the paths. Those who did not obey the Japanese were beaten to death, as was one mother carrying a baby.23 The islanders remember the walk in the rain through slippery mud as the “death march.” The Mañenggon Valley, the campsite, was merely an open space with a river where they washed and drank: there were no buildings, kitchen or sanitation facilities. They all suffered from hunger, fear of starvation, illness and death, and hundreds died. The scope of Japanese brutality is hard to assess, as the exact number of Chamorros who died during the occupation and war is unknown, and this mystery is part of the tragedy. Crucially, however, the Chamorro experience of occupation under the Japanese has particular relevance to contemporary expressions of US patriotism and loyalty in Guam. This has also worked against the pursuit of self-determination for Chamorros within the US political system.

Patriotic loyalty and the erosion of Chamorro self-determination On July 21, 1944, as the Chamorros were interned in concentration camps, the US Marines landed in Guam, fought and defeated the Japanese, who continued organised resistance until August 11th.24 The return of the US and the end of the Japanese occupation is celebrated as the ‘liberation’ of Guam. Liberation Day (July 21st) is commemorated each year, and remains one of the biggest community events in Guam after nearly seven decades. The annual celebration of Liberation Day in Guam originated from a 1945 religious (Catholic) procession. 25 The event was first held to remember the dead and express gratitude to the liberators and, most importantly, to reflect on the spiritual strength of the Chamorro people that made surviving the hardship possible. Since the 1960s, the religious tone of the event has been subsumed by more overt expressions of patriotism. Liberation Day now is a major commercial event and resembles a carnival: military members, along with corporate and village floats parade along the island’s major roadway (named Marine Drive after Guam’s liberators), and the ‘Liberation Queen’ contest and charity fund-raising events are key features. Leading up to Liberation Day each year, Guam’s most important

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newspaper, the Pacific Daily News, features articles highlighting unswerving Chamorro enthusiasm for the event—families sleeping by the road to secure best spots to see the parade, for instance, or the uninterrupted string of ‘Liberation Queen’ pageants since 1946, and the day’s celebrations in Chamorro communities across mainland US. Surviving Chamorro elders’ oral recollections of war and occupation in public events and the media are crucial ingredients of Liberation Day tropes. References to the shocking extent of brutality inflicted by the Japanese—random beatings, beheadings, pillaging, massacre and rape— demonstrate the significance of the sacrifice made by the Chamorros, and their patriotic loyalty to the US. It is impossible, therefore, to discuss Chamorro peoplehood or patriotism without referring to the backdrop of the brutality and massacre meted out during the Japanese occupation.26 On the other hand, as Dalisay, points out, Liberation Day coverage in the Pacific Daily News stresses how patriotism contributed to consolidating Guam as a United States territory.27 The way Chamorro wartime experience is remembered in Guam—collective suffering from the totalitarian and despotic Japanese and consequently liberation—combined with gratitude and patriotism toward the US, is of extreme importance and benefit to US governance of the island, in that it provides social acceptance and stability for its ongoing (and increasing) military presence. Representations of loyal and military-friendly Guam islanders, posited against the pacifist, anti-militaristic Okinawans, for example, have a definite political currency that favours the status quo in a continuing US military presence and its ongoing expansion. Such a representation focuses on the analysis of “base politics” that identifies varying patterns of local responses to overseas US military outposts stationed worldwide.28 In his cross-national study of base politics, Kent Calder points out the local populations in a host country previously ruled by a despotic regime tend to be supportive of the bases of a nation if it has ousted the previous regime. Calder calls this “the Occupation Hypothesis”: “liberating occupations where a non-colonial power displaces a totalitarian, illegitimate regime lead to stable base politics thereafter.”29 Regardless of the question as to whether the US ought to be considered a non-colonial power, representation and understanding of Japan as a totalitarian occupier and the US as a liberator plays a significant role in the stabilising of US rule over Guam. A journalist for the local newspaper Marianas Variety (Guam Edition) wrote in 2012: Guam suffered terribly under the World War II occupation by the Japanese. ‘Uncle Sam, won’t you please come back to Guam’ was their plaintive appeal. Although several generations have since passed, it is

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likely most Guamanians, and therefore most Chamorros, still like being Americans and value those passports, even though they may sometimes complain about being second class citizens . . . .30

“Guamanians” is a label coined after the war, to recognise Guam Chamorros as separate from those in Northern Mariana Islands. In Guam, the Chamorros from the Northern Marianas during the occupation are remembered collectively as “Saipanese” and “Rotanese” working in support of the Japanese occupiers: they were in a position to exert authority over, and often cruelty against, Guam Chamorros. Among the war criminals sentenced—some of them to life imprisonment and death— by the US Navy following its recapture of Guam were Chamorros from Saipan and Rota.31 According to Ben Blaz, . . . they [Northern Mariana Chamorros] should have been our brothers, our allies . . . . Maybe they just thought they had something to prove [loyalty to the Japanese]. Whatever the cause, in most cases, the Saipanese were harsher in their treatment of us than the Japanese. They were more eager to inflict slapping and beating. They were rabid about making arrests. The result was that the people of Guam considered them traitors.32

Long after the war, the lasting hostility has prevented any possible reunification between Guam and the Commonwealth of the Northern Marianas: “The memories of occupation were too strong.” 33 Wartime memory and the idea of loyalty have significant implications for Guam’s isolated political status. The atrocities and inhumanities of the Japanese occupiers, as recorded and remembered by the Chamorro survivors and their descendants, are crucial parts of the dominant narrative that has supported the idea of Chamorro patriotism to Uncle Sam in the postwar period. “This patriotism,” according to Robert Underwood, a former Guam representative in the US Congress and President of the University of Guam, “has emerged and has taken hold only because it has married itself to the essence of Chamorro peoplehood,”34 which was consolidated by their heroism, strength of faith and resilience during the Japanese occupation. Guam’s patriotism is expressed around Liberation Day with remarkable fervour in the community, “ . . . Chamorros appear to exceed even the limits of reason in their hosannas of praise for the US military.”35 Underwood explains Chamorro peoplehood, experienced through survival and resilience during the Japanese occupation, has been “whitewashed” by the Liberation Day narrative that represents it as nothing but evidence of their loyalty to the United States.36 The language of loyalty

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and patriotism has nevertheless been “a powerful way to ensure ‘political progress’ such as citizenship, self-government and other desired institutions or benefits considered rightfully earned and receivable.” 37 Under the pre-war US rule that began in 1899, Guam was regarded primarily as a naval station. Toward the native islanders, the government acted as a benevolent coloniser: it provided social services such as water sanitation and hospitals that they did not have. The naval government instilled in the Chamorros the importance of being loyal to the US flag, to which they were generally deferential and accommodating.38 However, the islanders were not entitled to US citizenship, in spite of their repeated demands. Yet, after being freed from the atrocious ordeal under the Japanese occupation, the islanders chose to communicate their gratitude through expressions of “hyperloyalty to the United States . . . the only political language available to the Chamorros that could be heard and understood by the Americans.”39 The 1950 Organic Act awarded Chamorros US citizenship, and an elected, rather than appointed, governor in 1970. This ended direct US Navy rule and introduced a civilian government. Paradoxically, however, the more Guam is recognised as a “loyal and patriotic American,” the more it is treated as a US military depot first, and an inhabited island last. The Organic Act stipulated that the US Constitution is applied only selectively to the islanders, limiting their political rights as US citizens: with only a non-voting delegate in the Congress, and no voting rights in US Presidential elections. Further, “Washington reserved the power to overturn or undo any laws or actions” of the civilian government of Guam. 40 Today, Guam remains an “unincorporated territory” under the Department of Interior, “a US possession ruled by the US Congress.”41 Immigration into the island is controlled by the federal government, with a resulting decrease in the percentage of Chamorros in the population overall.42 Not an independent nation-state, a federal state, nor commonwealth, Guam is one of the twelve non-self-governing (yet to be de-colonised) territories listed by the United Nations. Thus, Guam is ambiguously American, albeit with limited citizenship and political status, despite its unflinching patriotism: “one big American footnote.”43 The clearest indication of the second-class status of Guam Chamorros is the deprivation of traditional land ownership. Immediately after Guam’s ‘liberation’, the US Navy began constructing military bases and other facilities. In the process, it condemned 52,000 acres of land held by the locals, who did not question it—after more than two and a half years of captivity, local residents were grateful to the US military, and believed

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that the land was necessary to invade Japan. Moreover, because few Chamorros understood English, they “often did not understand the proceeding.”44 Unsurprisingly, the US did not return the land after Japan surrendered. Furthermore, land not even used for specific purposes was kept under military control instead of being returned. Compensation made in 1948 “was based on pre-war values existing in 1941, without any adjustment for the inflated 1948 dollars used to pay the people.”45 To a Chamorro, land is everything, in a sense that it stands for the traditional communal life-giving system, as opposed to private ownership: market-valued compensation is therefore meaningless in that sense, and falls far short of any kind of restitution. More than this, the separation of Chamorros from their land “has had a genocidal effect on a distinct, dynamic cultural group of indigenous Pacific Islanders.”46 At present, a third of the island is under US control. Reasons given for the land appropriation have continually shifted from the war in Korea, through Vietnam, to the Cold War, and even today, the island is referred to as ‘the tip of the spear’47 pointed firmly at China. With substantial arable land and fishing territory surrendered to the military, food in Guam is almost entirely imported, and the people depend on military or related industries for employment. Poverty rates are high: about 40% of the locals are entitled for food stamps.48 ‘Liberation’, for Chamorros, has been paradoxical. In Guam, “liberation is elusive,” argued a 1994 Pacific Daily News article “Irony of Liberation”: “the ideals of freedom, democracy, the right to selfdetermination that brought soldiers to the beaches in 1944 have not been upheld.” 49 Underwood and other Chamorro figures have critiqued how Chamorro expressions of patriotism have, in the long term, worked against the postwar Chamorro struggle for self-determination; “Obligations being a sacred duty, the Chamorros have since been caught in a never-ending cycle of paying back . . . , and so our people gave precious land and continue to offer their sons and daughters to show their appreciation to Uncle Sam.”50 However, an open attack on the narratives of Liberation Day and Guam Chamorro’s patriotism have been difficult, even in the interest of Chamorro self-determination, because of the inextricable association of Chamorro peoplehood with elders’ wartime experience. Chamorro activists and groups such as Nasion Chamoru attempted to question the colonial effects of ‘liberation’: the liberation from the Japanese military could actually be seen as a re-occupation by the US military, pointing out the fact most US navy dependants were evacuated in November 1940 before the invasion, leaving the Chamorros behind to face the Japanese alone. They encountered strong reactions, however, from

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elders who had experienced horrendous violence and witnessed massacres during the Japanese occupation. Out of respect for the elders and the US veterans who selflessly served on the war front, Nasion Chamoru cancelled their protest planned on the Liberation Day in 1994, the 50th anniversary of the ‘liberation’.51 The dominant narratives of Liberation Day, patriotism and obligation to ‘pay back Uncle Sam’, thus remain intimately associated with the idea of Chamorro peoplehood, resilience and religiosity closely connected to the spiritual strength of the Chamorro elders and their faith. Patriotic loyalty and attachment to US military, impossible to sever from Guam Chamorros’ identity, has worked for the sustained militarisation of Guam, making the island less and less theirs.

War Reparation and Military Buildup: Re-engaging with Japan After the Japanese occupation ended, the island had been smashed to pieces by the US raids and bombings: 2,631 of 3,826 buildings on the island were destroyed and 19,000 people were homeless.52 The US federal government paid 8 million USD to cover the loss, damages, injuries and deaths suffered by the local residents during the Japanese occupation and war, under the Guam Meritorious Act legalised in November 1945. However, applications for claims were open only for a year, and because many locals had limited knowledge of English, very few people knew about it or were paid. At the time, locals looked upon the US as “angels of mercy” and focused on rebuilding their lives, “living in shacks and simply trying to survive, there was no radio, no way of communicating . . . .”53 The Meritorious Act also limited payment to property losses and did not include wartime personal injury and death inflicted by the Japanese occupiers. Under the 1951 San Francisco Treaty (Article 14), the Japanese government was exempted from responsibilities of war reparation. This exemption was consistent with the general policy of the US occupation forces, which was driven by a priority to re-construct Japan as a suitable US ally—encouraging Japanese economic growth and re-militarisation. Simultaneously in San Francisco the two former enemies signed the Mutual Security Pact that stipulated Japan’s responsibility to host US armed forces. The issue of Japan’s war reparation was motivated by Cold War alliance politics, as was the exemption of former Emperor Hirohito from the war crimes tribunal. Nevertheless, former victims of wartime Japanese atrocities in many places have continued to request direct

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compensations from the Japanese government well into the 1990s and beyond.54 Guam politicians have pursued war reparation measures from the US government to follow up on the poorly executed Meritorious Act. This pursuit was partly inspired by other wartime reparations made by the federal government in the 1970-80s: for the forced internment of Japanese Americans, the relocation of the Aleutians, and likewise the damages and losses of Micronesians. 55 Guam’s first congressional delegate Antonio Won Pat introduced the war claims bill in 1983, followed by fourteen other bills. The Guam War Reparation Commission (created in 1988) gathered information to accurately re-assess the personal injuries, forced labour, internment, and deaths caused by the Japanese atrocities, from the 9,900 claim forms made by the survivors. Enabled by a law enacted in 2002, the Guam War Claims Review Commission embarked on a formal report and a public campaign to inform the islanders about “its mandated mission to gather war claims evidence” in the local media. 56 In the process of recording survivors’ accounts of their experiences of the Japanese wartime occupation, the significance placed on particular events in the media and public commemoration has subtly, but measurably changed. In early 21st century Guam, there has been increased public awareness about the islanders’ wartime experience under the Japanese atrocities. Among others, the significance of Mañenggon Valley for Chamorros has only been publicly recognised since the first public commemoration of the victims in 1994, fifty years after the internment. The Mañenggon internment was “the singular event bound by space and time that provides insight into collective memory process for the Chamorros in Guam.” 57 Only in retrospect can Ben Blaz fully appreciate the extent to which Mañenggon symbolises “the atrocities, the rapes, the murders, the needless killing of the innocent . . . a culmination of horrors that built over the expanse of the occupation.”58 The occupation period from the invasion of the Japanese to the interment in Mañenggon Valley was the “gestation period for a new Guam and the events leading up to it were “the paroxysms of its birth.”59 The two and a half years of Japanese occupation represented the beginning of the end of an island inhabited entirely by Chamorro people, whose lives centred on church and farming. Because the food and clothing rations provided by the Japanese were insufficient during the occupation, the Chamorros became self-sufficient, producing their own food and other essentials: as in the ancient days, from fruit and vegetables, to tobacco, liquor and vinegar. The traditional Chamorro collective work system

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based on mutual assistance (e.g. building houses, sharing food) reawakened; with the US doctors gone, traditional Chamorro medicinal practice was also revived. Wartime reflections regarding Chamorro peoplehood, thus, connect directly to their sense of loss of self-determination following the ‘liberation’. The struggle of Chamorro activists and politicians to recover it began in the 1970s, in a series of plebiscites and with the introduction of the 1988 Guam Commonwealth Act that would provide for Guam’s selfgovernance with its own constitution.60 Taitano observes that the struggle for a greater Chamorro self-determination during this period coincides with the increased media representation and community commemorations of locals’ perspectives of war, especially of Mañenggon Valley as a site for collective memory.61 Much of what has changed Guam forever can be understood by the postwar fortification of Guam as a US garrison island today. The nearly seamless continuity from the military airfields constructed by the Japanese military and forced Chamorro labour to the manner in which Guam has provided a valuable outpost for the US military remains quite evident. The geostrategic importance attached to Guam grew with the US conflicts in Korea and in Vietnam, and has now expanded as a vital component of US strategy in the Asia Pacific. The fundamental value of Guam to the US military is that it remains a US territory, and this status allows for the arbitrary use of the island without permission or landing rights from the local authorities. 62 Indeed, Guam’s position as a US property with no ultimate self-determination or influence in federal political processes is an invaluable asset to the US military. As the Commonwealth Act has been suspended, due to objection from US presidents and the Congress, decisions regarding the impending realignment of US military forces in Guam have been made without the consent of the people of Guam. The islanders’ demand for US payment of compensation for wartime collective suffering is based on demands for the rightful recognition of Guam residents’ loyalty to the US: Guam was the only US territory to be occupied by a foreign country, and the sacrifice of the Chamorros should be recognised as such. 63 The most recent bill introduced by current delegate Madeline Bordallo in 2005 is entitled the “Guam World War II Loyalty Recognition Act.” Bordallo has adopted a strategy arguing that the war reparation payment would smooth locals’ acceptance of the ongoing US military buildup on Guam: “The people of Guam are going to bear the brunt of the significant impacts because of this realignment of military forces, and it is only right to bring war claims to a conclusion . . . . [T]he resolution of war

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claims on Guam would help rally public support for the military buildup.”64 Bordallo had attempted to integrate the amount of reparations, 126 million USD, into the federal defense budget for 2010, by passing the Loyalty Recognition Act as part of the National Defense Authorization Act in 2009. The linking of war reparations to current US military realignment in the Western Pacific reveals that Chamorro people’s patriotic loyalty has notable significance for US base politics. While crucial for the less than 1000 war survivors, the loyalty-linked compensation essentially supports further US militarism in Guam, including Marines transferred from Okinawa. This future course is likely to further degrade autonomy as well as weaken the economic, cultural and environment resources of the indigenous Chamorros, encouraging locals to migrate to the mainland US.65 In this way, the continued hyperloyalty of the Chamorro people to the United States has produced the paradoxical effect of undermining the potential for future moves toward self-determination for the Chamorro people. The Loyalty Recognition Act, however, was ultimately rejected in the Senate. 66 Tony Palomo, who used to be a strong patriot when writing Island in Agony, now says, “‘I don’t know if we should keep pushing it’: ‘[T]hey don’t care—that’s the attitude we see, and have to accept it’.”67 In the process of reflecting on the past, the people are acknowledging again that the US military deserted Chamorros for thirty-two months under the horrific Japanese occupation, returned primarily out of their strategic selfinterest, shattered the island’s infrastructures with intense bombing campaigns, and seized thousands of acres of their land to build their military garrisons that now occupy one-third of the island. Japan is clearly complicit in the current military buildup in Guam, as demonstrated by its willingness to provide a significant portion of the funding required for housing the Marines from Okinawa. However, the issue of Japan’s responsibility for war reparations has been detached from current commitment to the buildup. In postwar Guam, exemption from war reparations contributed to the disengagement of the Japanese as a responsible party from the collective suffering of the local residents. This is supported by an examination of postwar Japanese historiography, which is constructed around the experiences of being the victim of atomic bombs, deadly air raids, starvation and military repression of Japanese civilians. Popular representations of the Japanese occupation period in Guam, mostly regarding the hardships and sufferings of Japanese soldiers who either died or survived by straggling in the jungle, often overlook the suffering of the local population victimised by the Japanese. In this victim-

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centred narrative of history, the Japanese experience as ‘victimisers’ tends to be silenced. In their memoirs and interviews, Kaikuntai survivors, for example, avoid touching on the subject of atrocities they had committed on the local residents. 68 Chamorro elders and families who remember the war, of course, have not welcomed the newfound economic dependence on Japanese tourists that began in the 1960s. Guam business elites presented Japanese tourists as a now “peaceful people,” and pleaded with the community to “turn away from the thoughts of the bloodshed and the occupation to the better days that lie ahead.” 69 Camacho examines the debate over Japanese tourists in Guam, which produced “another caricature of the Japanese people.” 70 The caricatured image of the Japanese tourists are entirely focused on exploiting the best deals offered by the closest overseas travel destination, indifferent to the existence of the local Chamorros, let alone their past wartime experiences, or the involvement of the Japanese military. In Guam, most Japanese visitors stay inside Tumon—a one-square-kilometre district of hedonism set up for the Japanese tourists to shop, eat and play, using Japanese language only. The result, as Yamaguchi explains, is that the Japanese and the Chamorros in Guam are living completely separate histories.71 One means for the Chamorros and Japanese to recognise a common wartime history from the perspective of the present military buildup is for Guam to demand war reparations from the Japanese government. The amount claimed, 126 million USD, is but a fraction of the 3.1 billion USD that Japan agreed to pay for the costs to refurbish electricity, sewage and water facilities in Guam, necessary to cope with the population increase following the transfer of the US Marines from Okinawa, and for the construction of training grounds for US-Japan joint drills in Tinian and Pagan in Northern Marianas.72 Guam and the Marianas are again being reinforced as garrison islands by external powers: only this time, Japan and the US are not rivals, but conspirators. By shouldering the majority of the costs involved in transferring the US Marines, Japan has revealed its own significant security stake in Guam. At present, the Japan-Okinawa relationship is severely strained due to Tokyo’s insistence on relocating the dangerous US Marine Corps Futenma Air Station in Henoko, another location in Okinawa—not in mainland Japan, despite tenacious local opposition. In Okinawa, amid a groundswell of resistance against the incoming LDP coalition’s plans for development in exchange for further militarisation, one of the consequences of the DUO-V conference of which this paper

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formed a part was to make evident the necessity for Pacific island communities to act together in the interest of regional peace and justice. The stories of brutal Japanese wartime occupation form the backdrop for Guam Chamorros’ postwar political dilemma: these narratives underscore Guam locals’ patriotic loyalty, which in turn facilitates US militarisation and the continued deprivation of Chamorro selfdetermination. Images of brutal Japanese occupiers are very much alive today in Chamorro collective memory: they complement and accompany Chamorro celebration of patriotic loyalty. Further, the juxtaposition of good versus evil, inherent in the Liberation Day narrative, obscures the continuity of Japan’s colonial past and present in Guam: today merging with that of the US. War reparations from Japan—as part of its Guam buildup contribution or separately—would be a more direct recognition of Chamorros’ collective suffering by the victimising state. Though different from the recognition of patriotism demanded by the politicians, direct war reparation by Japan would partly ameliorate the alienation felt by the survivors when the US unilaterally decided to pardon Japan’s responsibility for war reparations for the Chamorros of Guam.73 It would also be a welcome deviation from the Chamorro peoplehood expressed in the form of patriotic loyalty. Today, Guam’s self-determination must be discussed not merely in light of its political status within the US, or within the scope of the “US military empire of bases,” 74 but also within the context of the trans-Pacific (US and Japanese) empire.

Notes 

1 Guam’s non-voting delegates to the Congress have attempted to legalise compensation to the survivors since 1983 in 14 bills. Incumbent delegate Madeline Bordallo (re-elected in November 2012) submitted the Guam World War II Loyalty Recognition Act, which was passed in the Congress as part of the National Defence Authorisation Act in 2009. Senators John McCain and Carl Levin proposed to Bordallo a revised bill that limited the payment to the remaining survivors and direct descendants to those killed during the war. Bordallo refused this proposal as ‘it wouldn’t recognize all those who suffered through the occupation.’ Pacific Daily News 12 March 2012. Consequently, the Senate rejected the bill. Bordallo’s ongoing attempt to resurrect the bill has been unsuccessful. 2 Whereas the US Navy had ruled Guam since 1899 when the Spanish relinquished its control, the Japanese Navy acquired the Micronesian island groups (referred to as the South Sea Islands) from Germany, including the Marshall Islands, Caroline Islands and Northern Mariana Islands.

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3 The island’s population is approximately 159,358 according to the 2010 census. The percentage of the Chamorro in the total population of Guam is counted varyingly between 37% and 42%, followed by the Filipino population (approximately 25-27%), and those from the mainland US (around 11% including fluctuating US military members) then by Micronesians, Chinese, Koreans, and Japanese. Bruce G Karelle, “Geography of Guam,” Guampedia, http://guampedia.com/geography-of-guam/ (accessed 11 Apr. 2012). 4 Ben Blaz, Bisita Guam: Let Us Remember, Nihi Ta Hasso (Mangilao, Guam: Richard F. Taitano Micronesia Research Center, University of Guam, 2008), 5 5 Pedro G. Sanchez, Guahan Guam: the History of our Island (Hagåtña, Guam: Sanchez Publishing House, 1988), 185. 6 Sanchez, 189. 7 Tony Palomo, “Island in Agony: the War in Guam,” in Geoffrey M. White, Remembering the Pacific War (Honolulu: Center for Pacific Islands Studies, School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies, University of Hawaii at Manoa, 1991), 134. 8 Sanchez, 187. 9 Lin Poyer, Suzanne Falgout, and Laurence Marshall Carucci, The Typhoon of War: Micronesian Experiences of the Pacific War (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2001), 27. 10 Mark R. Peattie, Nan’yo: The Rise and Fall of the Japanese in Micronesia, 1885-1915 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1988), 108-112. 11 Yumiko Imaizumi, “Nihongun Ni Yoru Shihai No Jittai to Minshu No Teikou: Mikuronesia (the Reality of Japanese Rule and the People’s Resistance: Micronesia),” Reikishi Hyoron Vol. 508, August, 1992, 49-50. 12 Palomo, 134. 13 Some Chamorro children attended Japanese schools and learned Japanese from the officers and Japanese teachers sent from other parts of Micronesia. The attendance, however, was a fraction (approximately 600 registered) of that of prewar public school system (5,000 registered). Sanchez, 196. In contrast, Higuchi stresses that Japanese language education in Guam was intensively and systematically instigated, in comparison to other Japanese occupied areas such as Indonesia. Wakako Higuchi, “The Japanisation Policy for the Chamorros of Guam, 1941–1944,” The Journal of Pacific History Vol. 36 no. 1, 2001, 23. 14 Sanchez, 215. According to Sanchez, ‘hundreds of Korean men . . . were brought to the island to supplement the local work force. They received the same horrible treatment as their Chamorro counterparts. Most of them died on Guam during the war to liberate the island.’ 15 Makoto Yamaguchi, Guamu to Nihon jin: senso o umetateta rakuen (Guam and the Japanese: a paradise on a landfilled battleground) (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2007), 20 16 Palomo, 140. 17 Palomo, 140. 18 Because of the departure of American and Spanish priests, the religious lives of Chamorros (mass, baptising, marriages and burials) were interrupted when

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 spiritual guidance was most needed. Father Duenas was one of the few ordained local priests. 19 Yuri Okubo, “Danretsu suru Nihon Senryouka no Kioku,” in Kioku no Chisou o Horu - Ajia no Shokuminchi Shihai to Senso no Katarikata” (Digging the layors of memory: narratives of colonial rule in Asia and war), eds. Akio Imai and Minoru Iwasaki (Tokyo: Ochanomizu Shobo, 2010), 214. 20 Keith L. Camacho, Cultures of Commemoration: The Politics of War, Memory, and History of the Mariana Islands (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2011), 172. 21 By early June 1944, ‘the Japanese defensive troops based in the Marianas were left without air cover or the possibility of naval reinforcement.’ Don A. Farrell, The Pictorial History of Guam: Liberation - 1944. (Tamuning, Guam: Micronesian Productions, 1984), 15. 22 Farrell, 39-48. 23 Farrell, 36. 24 In the battle, 19,135 Japanese and 1,769 Americans died. Only 1,304 Japanese survived. Many Japanese soldiers successfully evaded contact in the jungle where they were hunted by the military, the locals, and their dogs until a year later. Okubo, 221. 25 Camacho, 83-90. 26 Camacho, 99. 27 Francis Dalisay, “Social Control in an American Pacific Island: Guam’s Local Newspaper Reports on Liberation,” Journal of Communication Inquiry, July 2009 Vol. 33, no. 3: 239-257. 28 Base politics studies highlight the importance of domestic social, political and economic factors in the hosting nations for the stability of global US military posture. The inquiry incorporates two levels of political dynamics: international alliance (between basing and host nations) and domestic politics. This is a deviation from the traditional approach to issues of international security, which tends to exclusively look at inter-state dynamics referred to ‘high politics’. See, for example, Andrew Yeo, Activists, Alliances and Anti-U.S. Base Protests (Cambridge University Press, 2010); Alexander Cooley, Base Politics: Democratic Change and the US Military Overseas (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2008). 29 Kent E. Calder, Embattled Garrisons: Comparative Base Politics and American Globalism (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2007), 76. 30 “We like being Americans,” Marianas Variety Guam Edition, 1 February 2012. 31 Hiroshi Hayashi, “Guamu Ni Okeru Beikaigun No Senpan Saiban: Jo (Us Navy’s War Crime Trials in Guam: Part 1),” Senso Sekinin Kenkyu Vol. 40, Summer, 2003. 32 Blaz, 53. 33 Blaz, 53. 34 Cited in C. T. Perez, “A Chamorro Re-telling of ‘Liberation’,” in Kinalamten Pulitikat: Sinenten I Chamorro: Issues in Guam’s Political Development: The Chamorro perspective, ed. The Political Status Education Co-Ordinating

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 Commission (Agana, Guam: The Political Status Education Co-ordinating Commission, 2002), 77. 35 Cited in Diaz, Vincent M. 2001. ‘Deliberating Liberation Day: Memory, Culture and History in Guam’, In Perilous Memories: The Asia-Pacific War(s). eds. Geoffrey M. White, Lisa Yoneyama and Takashi Fujitani (Durham: Duke Univeresity Press, 2001), 165. 36 Robert A. Underwood, “Red, Whitewash and Blue: Painting over the Chamorro Experience,” Islander Magazine, Jul. 17, 1977. 37 Diaz, 164-165. 38 Penelope C. Bordallo, “A Campaign for Political Rights on Guam, Mariana Islands, 1899-1950,” (MA diss., University of Hawai‘i, 1992). 39 Diaz, 165. 40 Joseph F. Ada, Leland Bettis, and Vicky Cruz, ‘The Quest for Commonwealth the Quest for Change’ in Kinalamten Pulitikat: Sinenten I Chamorro: Issues in Guam’s Political Development: The Chamorro perspective, ed. The Political Status Education Co-Ordinating Commission (Agana, Guam: The Political Status Education Co-ordinating Commission, 2002), 128. 41 Ada, Bettis and Cruz, 129. 42 Today the Chamorro population is approximately 37% of the island, compared to 90.5% in 1940. 43 Michael Lujan Bevacqua, “My Island Is One Big American Footnote,” in A Marata Tamarira ed. The Space Between: Negotiating Culture, Place and Identity in the Pacific (Honolulu: Center for Pacific Islands Studies, University of Hawai‘i at Manoa, 2009). 44 Barbara Ray. “Land Taking: A Liberation Irony,” Pacific Daily News Liberation, Jul. 21, 1994. 45 Michael Philip. “Land” in Kinalamten Pulitikat: Sinenten I Chamorro: Issues in Guam’s Political Development: The Chamorro Perspective, ed. The Political Status Education Co-Ordinating Commission (Agana, Guam: The Political Status Education Co-ordinating Commission, 2002), 11. 46 Philip, 11. 47 Broudy and Simpson address the shifting meanings in this metaphor in this volume. 48 Lisa Linda Natividad and Gwyn Kirk, “Fortress Guam: Resistance to US Military Mega-Buildup” The Asia-Pacific Journal 1/10 (2010) http://japanfocus.org/-Gwyn-Kirk/3356 (accessed Jun. 3, 2012). 49 See Ray. 50 Laura Souder, “Psyche under Siege: Uncle Sam, Look What You’ve Done to Us,” in Sustainable Devleopment or Malignant Growth? Perspectives of Pacific Island Women, ed. Atu Emberson-Bain (Suva, Fiji: Marama Publications, 1994), 194. 51 Camacho, 106-108. 52 Palomo, 141. 53 Antonio Unpingco, interview, in Melissa, M. G. Taitano, “Archives and Collective Memory: A Case Study of Guam and the Internment of Chamorros in

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 Mennangon During World War II” (PhD diss., University of California Los Angeles, 2007), 83. 54 Masatoshi Uchida, Sengo Hosho O Kangaeru (Re-Considering ‘Postwar Reparation’) (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1994). These include, for example, victims of sexual slavery in Korea, Philippines and other places, former soldiers and civilians from Korea who were forced to serve for Japan, and then imprisoned after the war as ‘B or C-class war criminals’, and former POWs from 6 allied forces (Canada, Australia, USA, etc.). 55 The US enactment of Public Law 92-39 ‘The Micronesian Claims Act’ on 1 July 1971 ‘gave rise to a perception among the people of Guam that the US government was giving more favourable treatment to the people of the Northern Mariana Islands and other islanders within the US Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands, who had never been US nationals, than it had given to the Chamorros of Guam under the Guam Meritorious Claims Act’. Bernard Punzalan, “Guam World War II War Claims: A Legislative History,” Guampedia, http://guampedia.com/guamworld-war-ii-war-claims-legislative-history/ (accessed May 12, 2012). 56 Taitano, 84-86. 57 Taitano, 70. 58 Blaz, 147. 59 Blaz, 127. 60 Robert F. Rogers, Destiny’s Landfall: A Hisory of Guam (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1995), 272-274. 61 Taitano, 185-186. 62 James Brooke, “Looking for Friendly Overseas Base, Pentagon Finds It Already Has One,” 7 April, New York Times, 2004. 63 Frank F Blas Jr. interview, in Vivian Dames, “Episode 46 Guam’s War Reparations Saga: The Final Chapter?” Beyond the Fence, KPRG Public Radio (Mangilao, Guam: KPRG, Dec. 17, 2010). 64 Pacific Daily News, 12 March, 2012. 65 Lisa Linda Natividad and Victoria Lola Leon-Guerrero, “The explosive growth of US Military Power on Guam confronts people power: experience of an island people under Spanish, Japanese and American colonial rule.” The Asia-Pacific Journal: Japan Focus 49/3/10, 2010. http://japanfocus.org/ -Victoria_Lola_LeonGuerrero; James Perez Vierns, “Won’t You Please Come Back to Guam? Media Discourse, Military Buildup, and the Chamorros in the Space Between,” in In The Space Between. 66 See note 1. 67 Jacob Camacho, “Survivor: Congress Doesn’t Care for Us,” Pacific Daily News, Apr. 2, 2012. 68 Okubo, 206. 69 Guam Daily News editors, 21 July 1966, cited in Camacho, 98-99. 70 Camacho, Cultures of Commemoration, 99. 71 Yamaguchi, 135-146; 191. 72 David Jay Morris, ‘US agrees to cancel 3.29 billion USD in Guam loans,’ Marianas Variety Guam Edition, 24 April 2012.

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 Taitano, 188. Catherine Lutz, ed. The Bases of Empire: The Global Struggle against U.S. Military Posts (New York: New York University Press, 2009). 73 74

CHAPTER NINE RESISTING THE PROPOSED MILITARY BUILDUP ON GUAM LEEVIN CAMACHO Ginen i mås takhilo gi hinasso-ku I mås takhalom gi kursaon-hu, Yan I mas figo’ na nina’siña-hu, Hu ufresen maisa yu’: Para bai hu prethi yan hu difende I hinengge, I kottura, I lengguåhi, I aire, I hanom yan I tano Chamoru

From the inner-most recesses of my mind, From deep within my heart And with all my might, This I offer: I will protect and defend The beliefs, the culture, the language, the air The water and the land of the Chamorro

Introduction Beyond the obvious destruction and chaos wrought by military operations in times of conflict, day-to-day military operations in times of peace also bring harm, often, where none is intended. This is the case around the world where military might is simply exercised and its externalities spill into areas of the larger society. This is also the case for Guam where US military bases and associated training can impose significant environmental, social, and cultural impacts on neighbouring communities across the island. The force of these impacts is monumental, as communities directly affected by expanding militarisation encounter serious obstacles in producing a narrative that fully explores these impacts while simultaneously maintaining accuracy and objectivity. On Guam, these obstacles often fall into three general categories: (1) a lack of information, (2) a perceived lack of “credibility” amongst activists; and (3) the inability to construct a compelling story.

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This chapter provides an overview of how the community on Guam was recently able to seize upon the benefits of the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA) to overcome—for the most part—all three obstacles. This author hopes that, when viewed in the broader context of regional movements, the experience on Guam will provide a flexible model for use in other communities.

Proposed Military Buildup Background In response to intense local pressure, the Governments of Japan and the United States agreed to reduce the number of US Marines based in Okinawa. A so-called roadmap was, thus, formalised between the two governments in 2006 that called for the United States to relocate 8,600 Marines, approximately half of the total number of Marines authorised to be stationed in Okinawa, from Okinawa to Guam. The roadmap also called for a Marine Corps base multiplication plan requiring the closure of Futenma MCAS in exchange for two brand new Marine Corps bases. One base would be built at Henoko, Okinawa, and the other base would be built in Guam. The roadmap called for 10.2 billion USD in funding for the Marine relocation to Guam. Japan would pay 6 billion USD of this amount, with 2.8 billion USD being cash contributions and the remaining amount being loans. The United States agreed to pay 3.12 billion USD. The remaining 1 billion USD was included for the construction of a road. As a cable from the US Embassy in Tokyo explained, “This road was included during the April 2006 negotiations on cost-sharing as a way to increase the overall cost estimate (i.e., the denominator) and thereby reduce the share of total costs borne by Japan.”1

Future Shock In November 2009, the United States Department of Defense (DoD) released its Draft Environmental Impact Statement (DEIS) regarding the proposed military buildup on Guam. 2 The DEIS outlined three distinct proposals for an increased military presence: (1) an Air and Missile Defense Task Force (AMDTF); (2) the berthing of a nuclear aircraft carrier in Guam; and (3) the movement of 8,600 Marines and their dependents to Guam. The release of the DEIS was the first time any detailed information about the proposed military buildup was made publicly available. Although DoD officially began the NEPA process in 20073 and worked

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with local government officials in Guam in the preparation of the DEIS, it reportedly required all officials assisting in the drafting of the DEIS to sign non-disclosure agreements that were, if breached, punishable by federal penalties.4 The non-disclosure agreements essentially resulted in a gag order on all local officials with expert knowledge and familiarity with the DEIS. The lack of critical expert analysis from any objective parties was particularly significant given the great length of the document, breadth of the topics it covered, and the notably limited time for public review—an antidemocratic method of decision-making explicated further by Gwisook Gwon in her discussion of Gangjeong Village in this volume. The DEIS was comprised of nine volumes and spanned over 10,000 pages. The volume dealing with the Marine Corps relocation to Guam alone consisted of twenty chapters covering topics including geological resources, air quality, noise, airspace, recreational resources, biological resources, cultural resources, socioeconomic impacts, and public health and safety. The DoD allowed only ninety days for public review of the DEIS and the submission of comments. The picture of a post-buildup Guam painted by the DEIS was astonishingly bleak. The DEIS predicted that the population in Guam would increase by up to 79,178 people between 2010 and 2014. 5 This would have constituted a population growth of 45% over a period of four years.6 The population surge would include 18,3747 off-island construction workers, with a majority of these workers expected to come from the Philippines.8 The anticipated population increase would have created up to 6.1 million gallons per day shortfall of water for the civilian community on Guam.9 The shortfall of water could have resulted in the contamination of drinking water and could have also “degrade[d] the basic sanitary needs of the population.”10 The DEIS stated “[i]t is probable that the impacts would fall disproportionally on the low income and poor.”11 While low-income communities on Guam were expected to face the possibility of contaminated drinking water and water rationing, DoD was predicted to have a surplus of 3.7 million gallons per day.12 DoD offered to use its surplus water to mitigate the shortfall for those living outside the fence.13 A shortage of drinking water was not the only anticipated impact that would fall disproportionately on Guam’s low-income families. Guam’s public schools were expected to see up to a 26% increase in students. The only public hospital in Guam was expected to see an increase in demand of 20%. DoD’s proposed mitigation for these impacts was to assist the local government in seeking federal funding. While DoD had already

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secured millions of dollars in funding for new schools and a new hospital within its base, those people living outside the fence lines could only hope that Congress or a federal agency would appropriate funding. This perceived lack of genuine advocacy by the local government on behalf of the people of Guam created a void that would quickly be filled by a loose collection of individuals and already existing grassroots organisations. For example, a group of individuals who formed a reading group for the DEIS began breaking down the information and sharing it electronically. This group became known as “We Are Guåhan”14 and has since played a vital role in community outreach and education as well as advocacy surrounding the proposed military buildup. Over 10,000 comments were submitted in response to the proposals outlined in DEIS during the commenting period of ninety days. The US Environmental Protection Agency submitted its own comment calling the DEIS “environmentally unsatisfactory” and stating that “[t]he military realignment, as proposed in the DEIS, will significantly exacerbate substandard environmental conditions on Guam.”15 Despite significant concerns raised by US federal agencies, local civic leaders, and the community at large, DoD released its Final EIS on July 28, 2010—with no major changes—followed by its Record of Decision (ROD) on September 20, 2010. In its ROD, the DoD stated that “[a]s of this date . . . the DoD has not decided to construct and operate an AMDTF on Guam.” The DoD also deferred a final decision on the site of the proposed destruction of a coral reef, so as to accommodate a nuclear aircraft carrier, until more accurate studies could be done detailing the environmental damage the project would cause. At last, the DoD finalised its plans for the Marine relocation with one exception: its proposal to build a firing range complex on and around Pågat Village, an indigenous burial site and village. Because DoD had failed to obtain Government of Guam approval of another important buildup-related document, known as the “Programmatic Agreement,” the DoD could not formally finalise a site for its firing range complex in the ROD.

The Pågat Village Lawsuit The plan to create a firing range complex at Pågat Village was especially controversial given the history of land seizures on Guam and the indigenous cultural value of the area itself. During World War II, DoD annexed 58% of the island.16 Although some of the land taken has been returned, it is estimated that DoD still controls close to one-third of the

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island. Despite controlling so much of the island, DoD’s proposed firing range complex would have required taking back up to 1,800 acres of land. The fact that DoD was going to build the firing range complex over an indigenous village and burial site was compelling enough to move local and national resistance groups into action. Approximately one month after the issuance of the ROD, three groups filed a lawsuit against DoD in the federal district court in Hawaii: the National Trust for Historic Preservation, the Guam Preservation Trust, and the grassroots organisation We Are Guåhan. The groups claimed that DoD’s elimination of every single potential site for the firing range complex, with the exception of Pågat Village was arbitrary and in violation of US federal law. One form of relief requested by the plaintiffs in the lawsuit was the preparation of a Supplemental Environmental Impact Statement (SEIS) that properly evaluated all reasonable alternatives for the site of the proposed firing range complex. During the course of the lawsuit, our community caught a behind-thescenes glimpse of DoD’s attitude toward any group that was critical of its plans. During one closed informational briefing, Major General David Bice, then-director of the Joint Guam Program Office (JGPO) (i.e. the DoD entity tasked with building community support for the proposed Guam buildup), pointed at several members of the National Trust for Historic Preservation and Guam Preservation Trust and told them that unless DoD got its way with building a firing range complex at Pågat Village, “Your children will die.” Notwithstanding the general’s theatrical appeal to fear and panic, internal discussions among high-ranking DoD officials candidly laid out a two-pronged strategy for dealing with the “Pågat issue.” Buried in the roughly 250,000 pages of documents produced by the DoD in response to the lawsuit was a copy of an e-mail message sent from Major General Bice to other DoD officials one week after the release of the ROD. He noted that: [g]roups opposing Marine relocation are successfully seizing on Pågat as a means to gain legitimacy with public—need to take the issue off the table to isolate them. We can get all of the land eventually, including a [surface danger zone] over Pågat; we need to be patient and build trust with the community first [sic].

Bice concluded the strategy outline by saying that DoD would need to offer local leaders (i.e. Guam’s legislature) “sweeteners” in order to gain their support. Despite the firm resistance of some local lawmakers he

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knew would reject any DoD attempt to acquire land, he turned to the timehonoured tradition of buying out the opposition: —need to give them a deal they can’t refuse.

Less than one month after being sued, the DoD undertook a strategy of divide and conquer by attempting to isolate groups critical of the plans to build a firing range complex at Pågat Village. Consistent with its “just get our foot in the door” strategy, DoD attempted to redefine the area known as “Pågat Village.” Without any significant alterations to the designs of the firing range complex, DoD officials adjusted the Surface Danger Zone (SDZ), or area where a bullet or fragment could land, and declared that Pågat Village was now “off the table.” Prior to the filing of the lawsuit, DoD claimed that walking on the most commonly used trail to Pågat Village was so dangerous that it needed to “acquire” the area and fence it off. Now, DoD claimed that the trail was safe. DoD even agreed to give the general public access to the area it called Pågat Village 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, while Marines and other groups fired .50 caliber machine guns on the bluffs over-head. DoD officials also began to hint at “swapping”—i.e. returning “underutilised” lands that were taken from indigenous families after World War II—to “sweeten” the deal for local government officials. In January 2011, Undersecretary of the Navy Robert Work announced that “at the end of this buildup, there will be less acreage under US government control than there is now.” Work gave no specifics about what year marked the “end” of the buildup or what lands DoD was proposing to return. Work’s comments also did not address the possibility of DoD leasing land from the Government of Guam and private landowners, as opposed to purchasing the land or taking it through eminent domain.17 Despite the DoD’s attempts to divide the island community, supporters of the efforts to save Pågat Village claimed their first legal victory in November 2011 when DoD conceded that additional studies were “appropriate.” DoD agreed to the preparation of an SEIS “to re-evaluate live-fire training range complex alternatives,” as requested by the plaintiffs. Based on DoD’s concession, the federal judge dismissed the case as “moot,” with the option for plaintiffs to file another lawsuit if DoD failed to follow the law in the SEIS process. DoD predicts that it will take a minimum of two years to complete these studies. In April 2012, the governments of Japan and the United States announced adjustments to the 2006 Roadmap. 18 This announcement officially “delinked” the relocation of Marines from Okinawa to Guam, effectively

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removing the requirement for tangible progress toward the closing of MCAS-Futenma as a precondition to the Guam realignment. The governments agreed to reduce the authorised number of Marine Corps forces to be stationed on Guam to 5,000 personnel, while at the same time establishing a “rotational presence” of Marines in Australia in Hawai‘i. The adjustment in the Guam military buildup will also be the subject of an SEIS that is set to be completed along with the firing range complex SEIS sometime in 2014.

Prutehi yan Difendi At of this writing, DoD is still considering Pågat Village as the site of its future firing range complex. Furthermore, DoD has still failed to make any firm commitments to mitigating the anticipated impacts on the civilian community. By most measures, however, the efforts to save Pågat Village and to create a critical and informed dialogue around the proposed military buildup have been successful. Community members mobilised and skillfully analysed an immense volume of information in an extremely short period of time. Community organisations were able to gain credibility and mainstream exposure by using DoD’s own reports and information to illustrate the negative impacts that the proposed military buildup would have on the island in a form that was accessible by the general public. Finally, activists used the planned annexation of an indigenous village and burial site for the construction of a firing range complex to draw local and national attention to the island’s struggle against arbitrary and unilateral military action. Chamorro author and attorney Julian Aguon once wrote that “stories of ordinary people fighting extraordinary battles against military colonialism are to be cherished as much for their pure wealth of information as for their subtle announcements of the presence of beauty where it has survived brutality.”19 In recent years, the struggles on Guam have leaned heavily upon a law that provides “merely” procedural safeguards. Even so, NEPA has proven to be a useful tool that can blunt military manoeuvres toward seizing ground from the Chamorro people. At the same time, we remain committed to protecting and defending the beliefs, the culture, the language, the air, and the water of our cherished land.

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Notes  1

(Dec. 19, 2008) (Cable Reference ID#08TOKYO3457) http://www.cablegatesearch.net/cable.php?id=08TOKYO3457&version=13154885 73 (accessed Sep. 9, 2012). 2 The Draft Environmental Impact Statement is available at: http://www.guambuildupeis.us/documents/ (accessed Sep. 9, 2012). 3 Federal Register vol. 72, no. 44. (Notice of Intent , Mar. 7, 2007) 4 Legislature denied funds to analyse EIS, Marianas Variety (Oct. 20, 2009). Available at http://mvguam.com/local/news/9079-legislature-denied-funds-toanalyze-eis.html (accessed Dec. 15, 2012). 5 DEIS, Executive Summary, p. ES-7. 6 Guam had a reported population of 175,877 people in 2008. DEIS, vol. 2, Chapt. 16, p. 16-3. 7 DEIS, Executive Summary, p. ES-7. After the predicted “peak” of the military buildup in 2014, military buildup related projects would be completed and Guam’s population would shrink by 46,000 people over a two (2) year period. 8 DEIS, vol. 2, chapt. 16, p. 16-51. 9 DEIS, vol. 6, chapt. 3, p. 3-48. 10 DEIS, vol. 6, chapt. 3, p. 3-48. 11 DEIS, vol. 6, chapt. 3, p. 3-48. 12 DEIS, vol. 6, chapt. 3, p. 3-47. 13 DEIS, vol. 6, chapt. 3, p. 3-47. 14 “Guåhan” is the indigenous name for Guam. 15 EPA Cover Letter (February 17, 2010). 16 Final EIS, Vol. 2, Chapt. 16, p. 16-40. 17 At the time of writing, two (2) years have passed and there are still no answers to these questions. 18 For further details, please visit, http://www.defense.gov/Releases/Release.aspx?ReleaseID=15220 19 Catherine Lutz, ed. The Bases of Empire: The Global Struggle against U.S. Military Posts (New York: New York University Press, 2009).

CHAPTER TEN COLLECTIVE TRAUMATIC MEMORY IN A JOINTLY-COLONISED OKINAWA YUKINORI TOKUYAMA

Introduction Until the late 19th century, Okinawa was the centre of power of the Ryukyu Kingdom, existing initially within the Chinese tributary system (1372-1609) and thereafter as a vassal state of the Shimazu clan (16091879) from Kyushu, before its formal annexation into the emerging Japanese nation-state. From the Kingdom’s inception and since its abolition, the islands have maintained a precarious existence as small fish in increasingly predatory waters.1 Understanding this history is necessary in developing an understanding of Okinawa’s situation today. During that era, Ryukyu struggled to retain a degree of sovereignty even as it was increasingly circled and consumed by larger powers. The period between its annexation in 1879 and the catastrophe of the Battle of Okinawa in 1945 marked a period in which Okinawan culture and language were more or less systematically erased by the Japanese state and, at times, with the complicitly of Okinawans themselves. The defeat of the Japanese forces in 1945 and beginning of the US occupation ushered in a new era of colonial rule, and for the next twentyseven years, Okinawa drifted between American military administration and its sense of Japanese identity, as it was governed by the US military which enacted a policy to turn Okinawa into a garrison of American power. A modified form of dual subordination was reestablished when Okinawa was returned to Japan in 1972. Interestingly, even after the administrative power over Okinawa was transferred to the Japanese government in Tokyo, the US military presence remained and has since continued exerting its political and cultural influence on Okinawan

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society. Despite the majority of Okinawans rejecting the US military presence, the international community is inclined to believe that Okinawa, as the southernmost Japanese prefecture, gladly accepts the US military bases on its soil. Yet Okinawans are, as history clearly shows, not Japanese in terms of culture and language but are a minority group like the Ainu in Hokkaido, the northernmost prefecture. Thus, given the apparent differences in culture, language and history, some mainland Japanese align with some Okinawans seeking independence. But, the mere notion of independence or even the recognition of ‘minority group status’ for Okinawa is, in the view of Tokyo’s power brokers, a dangerous myth.2 Both Japan and the US have over the past forty years controlled Okinawa not only politically, but also economically, in order to preserve their respective national interests. As a consequence, it can be argued that Okinawa has been jointly colonised by the two nations even though both are considered modern-day democracies with the ethical presence of mind to provide their own citizens with rights to conduct elections and referenda. My aim in this chapter is twofold: (a) to explicate the intricate geopolitical and socioeconomic situation of Okinawa under joint-colonial dynamics and (b) to explore the psychology of the colonised that unconsciously “invites” the colonial situation despite internal resistance to it. As for the former, the exploration of political agreements between Japan and the US provides a new kind of colonial control/dominance without violating international law. As for the latter, the novel insight into traumatic memory that I will propose could shed light on a new perception of Okinawan collective psychology. Namely, how has the unconscious worked to frustrate long and widespread efforts to eject US military bases from Okinawa for the past sixty-seven years?

Okinawa’s Peculiar Conditions Dependency theories of the previous century provide some means of partially explaining how Okinawa has come to rely upon the foreign bases. Verengo points out, for example, that within . . . the dependency relation between center [the US Military and Tokyo] and periphery [Okinawa] lies the inability of the periphery to develop an autonomous and dynamic process of technological innovation. Technology . . . is at center stage. The center countries controlled technology and the systems for generating [it]. Foreign capital could not solve the problem

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because it only led to limited transmission of technology but not the process of innovation itself.3

The lingering complaint among many observers within and outside Okinawa is that the local economy has not flourished because the systems and processes of economic and technological development are not present. A valid criticism is that the military bases preclude any chance that fundamental economic progress can be designed and generated internally. Beyond hard economics, the larger external systems of politics in Washington and Tokyo that influence internal Okinawan decision-making suggest a new form of coloniality at work in the postwar era. These systems of governance operate under the guise of democracy and allow two superpowers to maintain the long status quo. Because of Okinawa’s unique economic conditions, I would argue that it remains a colony as Washington and Tokyo jointly control Okinawan politics and, thus, economics. It is, in effect, a double colony. To further clarify, with the explicit approval of the Japanese government, the United States is effectively occupying Okinawa for military use as Tokyo pays for America’s vast military expenditures in the form of ‘host nation support’. It has been argued convincingly that Japan is essentially a client of the US. 4 If this were indeed so, Okinawa, by extension, is an internal colony of Japan, which has been a colony of the US since 1945. Imagine three concentric circles with Okinawa at the centre surrounded by Japan and then America. Most Japanese citizens in the mainland, though, appear to be more or less tacitly satisfied with this sort of tributary status, as they believe that the nation as a whole has actually reaped considerable national benefits from the US-Japan Security Treaty. The benefit, however, is considerable only if Okinawan people pay for them in terms of hosting the foreign bases. I would like to suggest that the four following conditions enable this dual colony arrangement to persist: (1) A nation has at least one minority group historically marginalised or discriminated against by the centre of power within the nation itself. (2) The region under (colonial) control ideally should be on the periphery of the nation’s geographic boundaries, desirably at a significant distance from the nation’s capital or other major cities. (3) The region should be underdeveloped to such a degree that the central governing power can maintain control over the minority group’s social structures through economic administration: “a carrot-and-stick

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approach” to governance. (4) A colonised region must be controlled not by the nation that holds sovereign power over such a region, but by an outside influence that has power to manipulate both. Condition (1) enables the rest of the nation to retain self-justification by insisting that it is inevitable that a small number of people must suffer, to some extent, for the sake of national interests. On the basis of this logic, the national conscience ostensibly denies realities that point to racial/ethnic discrimination against the minority group. Many Okinawans have long sensed that the colonisation has influenced the attitudes of mainland Japanese who saw Okinawan people as gai-chi ( እᆅ ), those outside the centre of central power. So, even today common (media) caricatures of Okinawan people have tended to include descriptive terms such as naïve, slow, lazy, uncultured, unmannered, provincial, less civilised, and so forth. Condition (2) illustrates that geographic distances are analogous to political distances, which create information differentials that keep most citizens in the major cities of the nation unaware, or relatively ignorant, of what takes place in the far-off region. At the same time, media can wield much control over the dissemination of information, dismissing, minimising, or deliberately misinterpreting facts about the conditions that most of the nation’s people are not interested in. For these reasons, the majority of Japanese citizens, for example, have limited opportunities to examine the facts and, thus, limited understanding of present conditions. Limited facts create pervasive indifference toward long-standing issues and conditions that feed stereotypes about the minorities that the media have helped create and perpetuate. Okinawa is so far removed from other prefectures that Japanese people neither clearly know nor care much about the problems created by the US military presence: “Out of sight, out of mind.” Condition (3) is the most critical factor to Okinawan people in terms of sheer economics as many people are convinced that Okinawa is not a viable region for economic development without government subsidies. Continual economic stimulation from the central government has been conditioned upon Okinawan acceptance of the presence of US military forces. Condition (4) is inevitable for the foreign country to lawfully colonise a region since the colonising foreign power can evade responsibility to the colonised by suggesting that they first negotiate local problems with their

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own government. In the case of Okinawa during the decades of US military governance, Japan’s holding “residual sovereignty” over the islands allowed the US government to administer Okinawan politics. Under the name of democratisation of East Asia, the US government utilised Okinawa’s islands as military garrisons to limit the spread of communism throughout the region. This system of containment seems much less offensive to the international community, as Stephen Howe describes, since it is less problematic to play the role of the “police” for regional conflicts while serving the national interests of the US and Japan.5 In fact, the US military presence throughout Okinawa prefecture has been supported by Taiwan, Korea, Australia, and so forth, nations that are happy to see a non-militarised Japan. Japanese people, it seems reasonable to conclude, must carry around ambivalent feelings toward the US military forces: on one hand the majority of citizens support the US-Japan Security Treaty, but on the other object to a US military presence in their own communities. As Tetsuo Jimbo keenly observes, the Japanese complex attitude toward nuclear weapons for national defense is acceptable only if the bases that house them are not constructed in their backyard.6 This NIMBY attitude persists today and manifests itself in the language. Koya Nomura calls it “democratic colonialism”7 and Moriteru Arasaki refers to it as “structural discrimination” against Okinawans. 8 It is condition (1) that makes this ‘democratic colonialism’ possible. As a consequence, mainland Japanese have denounced Okinawans for expressing a ‘local egotism’ that rejects the presence of the US military bases but ignores larger national interests. Furthermore, Japanese people must have been convinced of this ‘justifiable’ situation when, in 1979, it was finally revealed that Emperor Hirohito had handed over Okinawa to General Douglas MacArthur in September 1947. 9 This sort of capitulation allowed the US to occupy Okinawa as a protector of the Japanese mainland from potential communist invasions over the decades that followed. In return, Japan could re-emerge as an independent state to maintain the Japanese Imperial system with the US world police to defend Japan.10 The once-classified (Top Secret) memorandum outlining this status leaves no doubt that the Emperor, as well as MacArthur, believed that Okinawan people were not Japanese, especially when the Japanese nation as a whole was expected to support the US military occupation of Okinawa for the sake of national defense. 11 The Emperor’s message meant obedience to the idea that Okinawa would continue to serve as a sacrificed fortress to national security.12 These four conditions reinforce Gayatri Spivak’s notion of the subaltern.

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According to Spivak, simply “being postcolonial or the member of an ethnic minority, [does] not [make us] subaltern.”13 Rather, the subalterns are the “historically muted subject[s]” 14 who are unable to speak for themselves politically, or whose political voices are invariably effaced or misunderstood (intentionally or unintentionally) by voices of the others who interpret them. In this sense, Okinawans are the subalterns whose political voices have never been heard under the double-colony structure even as they appeal for improvements in living and working conditions. When Okinawans question Japanese mainlanders about any suggestion for the relocation of US bases to the mainland, the latter frequently responds with silence. Koya Nomura calls this communication propensity “privileged reticence,” since the latter has the power to impose its will on the former simply through remaining silent.15 What makes this form of discourse possible is the “system of sacrifice” put in place in 1947 that places the emperor system above the needs of the citizens, a view elaborated by Tetsuya Takahashi.16 Furthermore, according to Shinichi Sano, some Japanese see Okinawans as incessant complainers who whine about the US military presence and exhibit a pervasive “persecution complex” that casts them as false victims of a necessary foreign military imposition.17 As Okinawans demand a correction for the decades of unequal treatment, many Japanese reassert a largely mainland belief that Okinawan people are simply suffering from a collective paranoia, or delusion, that has developed over time in their close contact with Americans. Pointing to a purported delusion represents a kind of symbolic violence that mainlanders show when they have no rational response to the petitions for change coming from Okinawa. The long colonial conditions have also created a widespread resignation that many Okinawan people have come to see as their fate. In my view, the colonial history of the small islands has helped construct the present Okinawan character that tends toward a peace that is free from military forces, especially in the long wake of the horrors visited upon the island during WWII. This singular character trait can be tantamount to “an especially burdensome form of inertia”18 that is reluctant to take collective aggressive political actions. To both Japan and the US, this sort of Okinawan inertia has been a consequential factor in persuading Okinawans to bear colonial mistreatments.

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Collective Unconsciousness: Cultural/Social Trauma According to Jeffery C. Alexander, “cultural trauma occurs when members of a collectivity feel they have been subjected to a horrendous event that leaves indelible marks upon their group consciousness, marking their memories forever and changing their future identity in fundamental and irrecoverable way.”19 I would contend that the Battle of Okinawa is just such an event for Okinawans. As has been widely chronicled, the battle obliterated much of the island and killed nearly one-third of its people. According to former Governor Masahide Ota “the fragile mixture of submissiveness, resignation, and pessimism leaked into the formation of modern Okinawa (by its historical experience).” 20 Furthermore, this national/cultural trauma has been reinforced each day by the US military bases whose continued presence serves to remind people in concrete ways of past war experiences. “The notion of cultural trauma” as Ron Eyerman observes, “implies that direct experience is not a necessary condition for the appearance of trauma. It is in time-delayed and negotiated recollection that cultural trauma is experienced, a process that places representation in a key role.”21 Psychologist Mariko Tanaka hypothesises that traumatic memories could fix personal or cultural belief systems in ways that possess traumatised people to unconsciously ‘invite’ future self-destructive experiences or events that would ordinarily conflict with their conscious awareness and choices. She noticed strong relationships between the ‘inviting’ actions and the belief systems that informed the ways in which clients faced their problems and tried to resolve them. Trauma-related belief systems, according to Tanaka, can be rooted in our experiences with or even perceptions of culture, society, religion, family, or gender. Tanaka argues persuasively that it is people’s core belief systems that can ‘invite’ self-destructive ideas and behaviours that would often, otherwise, prevent traumatised people from making conscious healthy decisions. She theorises that our belief systems act as psychological stabilisers that we can’t fully control. The flawed outmoded belief, for example, that men are inherently superior to women once created a cultural belief system that influenced people to unconsciously think or act in ways that reinforced or made implicitly acceptable the idea within this system. This belief system would, thus, interpret the traumatising behaviour of, say, abusive men into acts that are, at least, tacitly condoned within the larger system. Though the behaviour then

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would repel us on the conscious level, it would also unconsciously stablise us psychologically.22 My hypothesis is that Okinawa has unconsciously ‘invited’ the US presence because of its collective traumatic memory. On the conscious level, Okinawans are obviously aware that the US military bases are detrimental to local communities in many respects, yet on the unconscious level, Okinawa continues to carry a ‘collective trauma’ reinforced by a belief system grounded in a very long colonial history. This collective trauma ‘invites’ the external power to defend Okinawa from the very traumas it had already experienced, even though the present traumas of military occupation continue to endanger it. Another belief system in the Okinawan collective consciousness is that the island is incapable of thriving autonomously without economic assistance from the outside. However, recent studies show that financial support for Okinawa is a major factor in Okinawa’s stagnated economy. Since its reversion to Japan, the Japanese government has spent more than 12 trillion JPY (more than 12 billion USD) in subsidies and development and promotion aid for Okinawa because of the burdens placed upon it from the military bases. Nevertheless, despite the governmental spending, Okinawa has remained for the past forty years as the poorest prefecture with the lowest per capita income and with the highest unemployment rate. For instance, per capita income in Okinawa has always remained at about 70% of the national level, and the full unemployment rate in the prefecture stands consistently at 7 or 8%, twice the national average. This is because of the “boomerang economy/spending structure”: most of governmental spending from Japan to Okinawa returns, ultimately, to mainland Japan: significant capital scarcely ever remains in Okinawa. This is also the case with Okinawa’s tourist industry as many tourist companies are based in the mainland. It is ironic that the national government’s financial support to Okinawa has never helped Okinawa to be economically autonomous but instead has intensified Okinawa’s dependence upon financial support from the central government and has increased the unemployment rate.23 This condition also causes people to wonder whether it hadn’t been planned this way by the central government. Okinawa must remain ‘basedependent’ for the sake of national security. It could be concluded that Tokyo has no intention of promoting Okinawa’s economic autonomy since it is clear that with greater economic strength the prefecture would refuse outright to accept the subservient role of hosting US military forces.24 In this context, the central government helps maintain Okinawa’s economic coma, stabilising its situation between life and death so that

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Okinawan people come to believe, erroneously, they need a continual stream of life-giving oxygen from the US military presence. Is it time that Okinawans came into a more conscious awareness of how this oxygen is creating the very conditions that local people want to avoid? It is unreasonable to expect Okinawa to progress without Okinawan people facing the reality of their present collective trauma grounded in the past horrors of WWII and seeking independent ways of overcoming this. To surmount these problems and modify the destructive belief system, it must become self-empowered.

Conclusion For liberation and recovery to come true, David Abernathy argues that destroying the status quo requires not the political and economic capacity to challenge imperial impositions, but the strong will to terminate dependent status.25 Clearly, people must desire to change themselves, their own attitudes and thoughts. Liberation must first begin within the hearts and minds of Okinawan people before any just challenge to this jointcolonial control can move forward. As the long lessons of history show, Okinawa can rely neither on Japan nor on the United States to resolve the US base issue. This means that local people must exercise their democratic freedoms to the fullest extent in ways that compel colonising powers to take notice. Cooperation that creates a desire for mutual understanding within Okinawa and beyond is necessary for changing current conditions. As Robert Young points out, “During the independence struggle, it was . . . imperative to form alliances with all those who were suffering from colonial oppression from whatever source . . . .”26 Seeking common cause with the indigenous Chammoro and Hawaiian people as well as other disenfranchised people is a step forward. If we wish to realise a future of Okinawan self-reliance, we will inevitably require entitlement to our own land, sky, and ocean as well as power to control our lives and our natural claim to human rights. Only an open and honest dialogue which acknowledges the past and which accurately represents the present can lead to a just future wherein selfdetermination is realised. Such a public discussion can transform the false notion that Okinawa remains in a perpetual persecution complex.

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Notes  1

See Kyle Kajihiro this volume for parallels between the case of the Ryukyu Kingdom and its Hawaiian counterpart and the possibilities for Pan-Pacific strategies of resistance. 2 EDITORIAL NOTE: See, however, Hideaki Uemura for an account of ongoing struggles to establish Okinawan indigenous rights at the United Nations and the Japanese government’s continued refusal to acknowledge these efforts. Hideaki Uemura “The Colonial Annexation of Okinawa and the Logic of International Law: The Formation of an ‘Indigenous’ People in East Asia” Japanese Studies. Vol. 23 No. 2 September 2003: 107-124. 3 Matias Vernego. “Technology, Finance, and Dependency: Latin American Radical Political Economy in Retrospect” Jan. 24, 2005 Review of Radical Political Economics. Fall 2006, vol. 38, no. 4, 552-53 4 Hirofumi Uzawa. “Pax-Americana to Nihon no Shokuminchi” in Futenmakichi kara Nanigamietekitaka? ed. by Kenichi Miyamoto, Osamu Nishitani and Endo Seiji, 62-69. (Tokyo: Iwanamishoten, 2010), 64-65; Gavan McCormack. “Zokkokuseishin no Seisan wo” in Futenmakichi kara Nanigamietekitaka? eds. by Kenichi Miyamoto, Osamu Nishitani and Endo Seiji, 47-60. (Tokyo: Iwanamishoten, 2010). 48-50. According to Takahiko Soejima, Japan, Taiwan and South Korea are tributary states of the US From this perspective, it is much easier to account for a number of political problems that Japan has confronted since 1945. Japanese nations expected some political reforms after they saw the election enabling change of Japanese political power from Liberal Democratic Party to Democratic Party occurred in August, 2009. However, the social, economic and political situations of Japan remain the same. In my view, it is absolutely impossible to accomplish radical reforms of Japanese politics unless the Japanese government and a bureaucratic machine cease the subordinate relationships with the US government. Takahiko Soejima. Zokkoku Nihon Ron. Tokyo: Satsukishobo, 2005. For an English literature exploring Japan as a client state for the US, see Gavan McCornack. Client State: Japan in the American Embrace. New York: Verso Books, 2007. 5 Stephen Howe. Empire: A Very Short Introduction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 166. 6 Tetsuo Jimbo and Miyaji Shinji. Okinawa no Shinjitsu, Yamato no Giman (Tokyo: Shunjyusha, 2010), 198-199. 7 Koya Nomura. Muishiki no Shokuminnchisyugi: Nihonjin no Beigunkichi to Okinawajin (Tokyo: Ocyanomizushobou, 2006), 25-28. 8 Moriteru Arasaki. Arasaki Moriteru ga Kataru kouzouteki Okinawa Sabetsu. Tokyo: Koubunken, 2012. 9 For the memorandum from Emperor Hirohito to Gen. MacArthur, visit http://www.archieves.pref.okinawa.jp/collection/2008/03/post-21.html 10 Shinntaro Suda. Hondo no Ningen ha Shiranaiga Okinawa no Ningen ha Minna Shitteirukoto (Tokyo: Shosekijouhousha, 2011), 155-157. 11 Koya Nomura. 28-29.

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12 Emperor Hirohito (his reign period 1926-89) sacrificed Okinawa for mainland, Japan, few times principally because the Emperor conceived Okinawa as gaichi, one of overseas territories. For instance, his denial of the proposal for the termination of the war (1945/02/14) resulted in Okinawa’s role as a ‘sacrificed stone’ in order to delay decisive fighting on the mainland. Furthermore, General Douglas MacArthur received a message from the Emperor Hirohito that he hopes the US to occupy Okinawa islands for military uses for more than 50 years for national interests of both the US and Japan, in particular, in order to prevent Japan from communisation (1947/09/20) even after the enforcement of the Constitution of Japan which declares that Emperor is a ‘symbol of Japanese nation’ who has no right to participate in politics (Takahashi). In August, 1955, the Emperor opposed to a political concept for the complete withdrawal of the US troops, which the then Foreign Minister Mamoru Shigemitsu had conceived (Hayashi; Magosaki). As some argue, it must have been a ‘dual diplomacy’ by the Emperor who was supposed to be deprived of entry in politics under the new constitution. Nevertheless, most Japanese people can justify the military role that Okinawa has been forced to play for Japanese national defense as the Emperor Hirohito wished. It is evident that the Emperor retains so enormous power over the most Japanese citizens that they are prone to think the Emperor must always be right for the nation. Tetsuya Takahashi. Gisei no Shisutemu: Fukushima/Okinawa. (Tokyo: Shueisha, 2012). 168-73; Hirofumi Hayashi. Beigunkichi no Rekishi. (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Koubunkan, 2012). 108; Ukeru Magosaki. Sengoshi no Shoutai 19452012. (Tokyo: Sougensha, 2012), 167. 13 Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. A Critique of Postcolonial Reason: Toward a History of the Vanishing Present (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), 310. 14 Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. “Can the Subaltern Speak?” In Colonial Discourse and Post-colonial Theory: A Reader. eds. by Patrick Williams and Laura Christian, 66-111 (New York: Columbia UP, 1994), 91. 15 Koya Nomura. 144. 16 Tetsuya Takahashi. Gisei no Shisutemu: Fukushima/Okinawa. Tokyo: Shueisha, 2012. 162-216. 17 Shinichi Sano. Okinawa: Darenimo Kakaretakunakatta Okinawa (Tokyo: Shueisha International, 2008), 4. 18 Patrick Smith. “Inertia on Display” in Okinawa: Cold War Island. ed. Chalmers Johnson. 283-99. (Cardiff, CA: Japan Policy Reserch Institute, 1999), 285. 19 Alexander, Jeffrey C. “Toward a Theory of Cultural Trauma” in Cultural Trauma and Collective Identity by Jeffrey C. Alexander and Ron Eyerman et al. 130. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 1. 20 Gavan McCornack. “Okinawa and the Structure of Dependence” in Japan and Okinawa: Structure and Subjectivity, eds. by Glenn D. Hook and Richard Siddle, 93-113. (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003), 107. 21 Ron Eyerman. “Cultural Trauma: Slavery and the Formation of African American Identity” in Cultural Trauma and Collection Identity, by Jeffrey C.

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 Alexander and Ron Eyerman et al. 60-111. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 71. 22 Mariko Tanaka. POMR Riron to Jissen: Torauma no Kaisho to Jikojitsugen no Process (Tokyo: Shunsyusya, 2003). 23 Yasukatsu Matsushima. Ryukyu Dokuritsu eno Michi. Kyoto: Houritsubunnkasya, 2012. 20-34; Hiromori Maedomari. “‘Kichiizon’ no jittai to Dakkyaku no Kanousei.” In Okinawa Jiritsu no Michi wo Motomete: Kichi/Keizai/Jichi no Shitennkara, eds. Seigen Miyazato. Arasaki Moriteru and Gabe Masaaki. 126-40. (Tokyo: Koubunken, 2009), 131-36. 24 Hiromori Maedomari. 130. 25 David Abernathy, The Dynamics of Global Dominance: European Overseas Empires, 1415-1980 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), 332. 26 Robert J. C. Young. “Colonialism and the Desiring Machines,” in Postcolonial Discourses: An Anthology, ed. Gregory Castle, 74-97. (Malden: Blackwell Publishers Inc., 2001), 79.

CHAPTER ELEVEN THIS SKY AND EARTH BELONG TO US CHININ USII

Introduction Kamaduu gwa tachi no tsudoi (hereafter, Kamaduu) is a group of women who live and work near US Marine Corps Futenma Air Station in Ginowan City and who, since 1997, have been advocating and actively working for the removal of that base from Okinawa (=its return to Japan).1 In 1996, when the women who went on to form Kamaduu heard the news that the US Marine Corps Futenma Air Facility was to be returned, they were delighted, but then shocked by the news that immediately followed, that the return was on the condition that the base would be moved to a different location within Okinawa. As moving the base somewhere within Okinawa is not the same as getting the base out of Okinawa, they felt victimised, like other Ginowan City residents, and could no longer remain silent, and that was when their activities initially commenced. Among their first actions (when I was not yet a member) was to go to Nago City where the base was to be moved and go door to door explaining to the people what it is like to live next to a base, and to appeal to them, “You don’t have to accept the base for the sake of the citizens of Ginowan City. Please reject it. Together, let us get it out of Okinawa entirely.” Women from Henoko joined us on these door-to-door visits. The same exchanges between Kamaduu women and the women of Henoko were repeated countless times: “So it’s all right for us to oppose it. I thought we ought to bear it for the sake of Ginowan people.” “No, by all means, please oppose it.” In this way, a deep bond was established between people—especially women—in Ginowan City and Nago City, which can be said to be one of the strengths behind the movement against moving the base to Henoko.

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Every time a prospective location has been suggested over the years for a relocation of the Futenma base, the proposed location always turns out to be inside Okinawa, and we want to know why that is. The legal basis for the location of US military bases in Japan is the US-Japan Mutual Security Treaty. Nowhere in the treaty, though, does it specify explicitly or implicitly that 74% of those bases are to be located in Okinawa. The signing of and continued support for this treaty comes under the principle of popular sovereignty from the Japanese people. Among them, Okinawans comprise 1%. Crucially, though, when the treaty was first signed, Okinawa was still under US military governance and, thus, not able to participate in the decision-making process. Why, then, are 74% of those bases concentrated in Okinawa? The reason is not simply that the US occupation of Okinawa, which began with the Battle of Okinawa, is still continuing. After all, at that time, US forces occupied Japan as well, and in those days, there were many more US bases scattered around Japan. The anti-base movement in the mainland grew strong enough to threaten the government, and so the US and Japanese governments moved many of the bases to Okinawa, and reduced the number of bases in Japan. During that period, there was no popular movement in Japan opposing the relocation of bases to Okinawa. With the bulk of the bases relocated to Okinawa, the US garrisons became less visible from Japan’s perspective, and so the early anti-base movement significantly weakened. Many peace activists say that the right thing to do is to get rid of all the bases in Japan by abrogating the Japan-US Security Treaty. But, the antiSecurity Treaty movement in Japan has, over the years, been growing weaker, not stronger. So our idea is that, as the US bases are here because of the Security Treaty and as that treaty has the overwhelming support of the people of Japan, then it is they who should deal with the bases—accept them where they live or, if they don’t like that, get them out of the country. This is why we take the position: Move the bases out of Okinawa, meaning, move them back to Japan. We hope for the abolition of all bases, and all war, from the world. And we understand that no matter how long Okinawans struggle against the bases only on Okinawa that the movement will not grow. Okinawa is only a very small part of Japan, and the overwhelming majority of the Japanese continue to support the Security Treaty. Public opinion polls show, in fact, that over 70% of the Japanese public support the Treaty, which forms the legal basis for locating US military bases in Japan. Despite this strong support, each community in the mainland strongly opposes hosting bases themselves. If the mainland Japanese accept the

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burden of the bases in the mainland where they themselves live, only then will a fruitful discussion of what security truly means begin among them. Failing that, a public opinion favouring the abolition of the bases is not likely to develop in Japan. Within Okinawa, in every election since 2009, the forces opposing the relocation of MCAS-Futenma within the prefecture have won. Today, even the Governor supports relocation outside the prefecture. However, the popular will, expressed through Okinawan democracy, is simply ignored by the Japanese government and public. The governments of both Japan and the US continue to force bases upon Okinawa and are trying, much like American forces did to rase the Futnema land- and cityscape for an airstrip, to bulldoze through their plans to relocate the Futenma base at Henoko. In this sense, Okinawa is not only under US occupation, but also under the occupation of the Japanese Government and Japanese public opinion, which support these policies. The problem of the Futenma base can be seen as both a concrete manifestation and symbol of Okinawa-under-occupation. In our view, ever since the end of the 19th century, when Japan annexed Ryukyu through military force, Okinawa has been a Japanese colony and has been used as a mere pawn to be sacrificed at the whims of distant powers. After annexation, Okinawa has been subjected to a severe policy of assimilation. And, during World War II, Okinawa became Japan’s “last overseas battleground” in order to protect the Japanese “mainland,” and one in four, some say one in three, Okinawans, caught up in the battle, were killed, both by the US military and by the Japanese military. After the war, Okinawa remained under American occupation, with Japan’s approval. As is now known, Emperor Hirohito sent a message to General McArthur saying he would be happy if the US military stayed in Okinawa fifty years or more. After the “reversion” of Okinawa to Japan in 1972, Japan and the US have cooperated in the US’s military-base-first policy, to which the Japanese Self Defense Forces have been added, and thus the US-Japan military use of Okinawa continues. In this present situation, we who live in Okinawa wish to act in such a way as to give expression to our responsibility and subjectivity. And we expect the same of Japanese. US bases are in Japan because the great majority of Japanese want them to be, so it is only natural that the burden of hosting these enterprises of war should be taken up by them. Alternatively, if they are against having bases, they should first take responsibility for them and then work to create the public opinion to get rid of them by themselves.

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Japanese want US bases, but not where they live, and thus support the US-Japan policy of forcing the bases upon Okinawa. Those who oppose the bases have not succeeded in creating an anti-base public opinion in Japan. Given this lack of success, they should agree to locate the bases in Japan. Japan depends on Okinawa both for the bases and for the anti-base movement. Is this present condition not what could be called, “The JapanUS joint occupation of Okinawa”?2 As mentioned earlier, during the 1950s in Japan, the anti-base movement was strong, and when many of those bases were moved to Okinawa, that movement seemed to have scored a victory, but (as Japanese activists often lecture us today) moving the bases from one place to another is not a fundamental solution. Despite this belief, there was no movement in Japan in the 1950s that opposed moving the bases to Okinawa. At that time, Okinawa was still under direct US military governance. After 1972, when the administration of Okinawa was handed to Japan, Japanese feared that Okinawa’s US bases might be spread all over Japan. They referred to this as “the Okinawanisation of Japan.” From the perspective of Okinawa, it is clear that those Japanese who really want to get rid of the bases out of “Japan” and complete their yet-incomplete anti-base movement should first accept the transfer of Okinawa’s bases back to Japan, and then work to persuade Japanese society to get rid of them. Such a transfer would be a step in the direction of ending their occupation of and colonialist policy toward Okinawa. It would also be a step toward the realisation of the yetunrealised Peace Clause of the Japanese Constitution.

Our Activities The Japanese people’s colonialism will end only when they themselves end it. However, Okinawans as a colonised people can work toward recovering themselves by refusing to cooperate in this system, refusing to be complicit, through a decolonisation of the mind and spirit. I will, thus, describe some of Kamaduu’s actions aimed at achieving this sort of decolonisation.

Workshops In order to help others better understand Japan’s enforcement of foreign bases on the people of Okinawa, beyond mere abstractions and exercises in the intellect, we carry out the following kinds of role-plays. What follows is a report from the Unai Festival held at the Naha Women’s Center in 2011.

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UNAI FESTIVAL A group of six or seven people was formed. The person in the middle was “Okinawa”; the others who were “Japan” dangled themselves from her arms, shoulders, legs. The person playing “Okinawa” reported, “It’s hard, it hurts, it’s frightening—I’ll fall.” The people playing “Japan” reported, “It also requires strength to dangle.” Next the people playing “Japan,” instead of dangling, leaned on the person. A different person played “Okinawa,” and experienced standing and sitting with everyone leaning on her. Someone called out, “Don’t give up, Okinawa! (Japanese people often say things like that to us) One person playing “Japan” said, “It was easy. Especially if you put another person in between, you are not aware of “Okinawa” at all.” The person playing “Okinawa” said, “It was hard to breathe. It was frightening. I wanted to get out of there. When somebody said ‘Don’t give up’, I got really mad.” How to escape? Somebody said, “Maybe you could do it if you were with someone else and not alone.” So this was tried. And the two “Okinawas,” talking to each other, worked out a strategy, and escaped. Next all the participants (about 20 people) did the same roleplaying, exchanging roles. Comments were, “It was good I could feel our situation with my body”; “Any situation always leaves an opening. That’s the thing to aim for. Especially right now is an opening.” “If we form a scrum and talk loud in Ryukyu language, they’ll back off and that will be our chance.” On the other side were the comments, “It’s not right just for us to escape; what we need to do is to get the colonialists off. How do we do that?

Shimabiraki Kuduchi The Song of the Opening of the Islands We strive to carry on our discussions in the Ryukyu language (Uchinaaguchi), which has been largely taken away from us through Japan’s assimilation education. This language is a rich storehouse of wisdom and ways of seeing the world, and it is important to use as the medium for grasping the problems of today. Out of these efforts, a song was born, the lyrics of which we composed together. The original melody was borrowed from the famous Ryukyu song Nubuikuduchi. But then Hokama Eiji, the former bassist of the famous Koza rock band Condition Green wrote a new melody for it. The lyrics are as follows:

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Futima nu sura ya wattaa mun futimaa nu sura ya wattaa mundoo nama yasa suriti shimabiraki Nam ya kanaami hidatooshiga shima nu kurashi nu aibitan nama yasa suriti shimabiraki Kichi ya aran shima du yu Jinon, Kanjyan, Aragushiku Samashicha, Nakabaru yaibiin Awari ikusa ya uwatashiga nachikashi shima ya kichi ni turari kanaami suba ni kurachooibiin Washite uran saa shima nu kutu. Washiri rariimi shima nu kutu. Kwa umagwan kwai shirashimira Ikusa ya naran ushie mamuti. Tatakati chaabitan kichi hantai. Yashiga kunu kichi ya taamun yaga Kenpoo mutumiti hukki shicha shiiga. Anpo ushichikiratti nanajyuyonpaa sentoo. Ubusanu nagasanu katami raran. Kichee hikituri yoo Yamatunchuu. Ittaa mun yasa kunu kichi yaa. Duu kuru saani kata miriyo. Mangatami sunayooyaa wakamunu chaa. Shiwa yaa sunayooyaa warabinchaa. Uchinaa nu chikara shinjiriyoo. Uchinaa nu sura ya wattaa mun. Uchinaa nu daichi ya wattaa mun doo. Nama yasa suritoti shimabiraki.

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The first time we sang this song on the perimeter of Futenma base was June 24, 2010, the day following Irei no hi, which is the annual day of prayer for those who perished during the Battle of Okinawa. At the same time, we passed out leaflets in English and Japanese to GIs. Those returning to their off-base homes would stop at the traffic light, and we would knock on their windows and say, “Hello, please read this,” in either Japanese or Ryukyuan, with a smile, and hand it to them. Most of them received it politely, but a few threw it away as if it were a repulsive insect. Someone who had read the leaflet contacted the base, and soon the military police appeared on the scene. So, we gave them some leaflets too. The MPs diligently read them. It was a great success. GIs exhausted from the Afghan and Iraqi wars know nothing of what people outside the base think of them, and if even one GI receives some information, surely it will be passed around inside the base. If even 1% of the GIs begin to doubt, the military’s will to fight will decline. The content of the leaflet is as follows: To the US Marines in Futenma Air Station: We are a group of women from Ginowan City. We have been campaigning for the removal of this base from our city for years. We are tired of the noise, the danger, the humiliation it brings. And, we do not believe that you are here to protect us (probably you don’t believe it, either.). This and other US bases in Japan are authorized under the Japan-US Security Treaty. Okinawa has never signed such a treaty. Tokyo has signed it. In Okinawa, only 7% of the people support this treaty. In mainland Japan, it is supported by 75% of the people. Futenma base will be closed—that is already decided. It will not be moved to Henoko—the Okinawan people have made that impossible. Are you happy for being sent to the place where the people want you to go away? Don’t you want to move to the place where you are supported? Yes, of course you do. That place is MAINLAND JAPAN. Tokyo maybe? Osaka? Saga? Ibaragi? Iwakuni? Atsugi? Think about it, Kamaduu

Balloon Strategy On August 10, 2011 we raised balloons from parks and homes around MCAS-Futenma. On that day, we launched twenty-seven balloons of 80cm in diameter, twenty of 30cm in diameter, and twenty-seven small aluminum foil balloons. We also received word that another twenty were sent up from people’s homes, so the total was ninety-four balloons, filled with helium and attached to twenty to 40m of string.

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Our first balloon action was on April 13th of that year—the 15th anniversary of the day the US and Japan announced that they would return Futenma base to us. The demonstration was meant to show that we hadn’t forgotten that agreement. On that day, the US military contacted the Japanese Defense Agency office, and soon Defense Agency officials, police, and Ginowan City park officials appeared. Initially, the Defense Agency people said, “This is dangerous. If a US plane flies into a balloon, or into a string, and crashes, can you take responsibility?” But we kept on with it, and they soon fell silent, and merely milled around in our vicinity. Three police cars and about twenty uniformed policemen came, but they said nothing and just stood by. (As it happens, there is no law on the books that prohibits raising balloons or flying kites near the bases.) By mid-morning, the US planes stopped flying. When this action was reported in a local newspaper, the newspaper began receiving angry phone calls and homepage messages saying essentially the same thing that the Defense Agency men had said to us. In just two hours in the morning, more than 2000 messages had come in. Most of them were from Japan. At that time, the US military’s “aid” after the Great Northeastern Earthquake was being widely covered in the news, so many of the callers said, “This is rude to our friends.” In the Japanese Diet, Defense Minister Kitazawa said that this action was “punishable.” The August 10th action was just three days before the 7th anniversary of the day (Friday, August 13, 2004) that a USMC CH-53 Sea Stallion helicopter crashed and burned inside the campus of Okinawa International University. And the USMC MV-22 Osprey helicopter, which had crashed so often while being developed, was scheduled to be deployed to Okinawa in the following autumn. We thought at the time, the US and Japanese governments were not going to protect us. On the contrary, they are bringing us danger after danger. It is up to us to protect ourselves, and the next generation of children. This was why we began the balloon action. (But we didn’t do it exactly on the 13th because the three-day Okinawa Obon festival was to begin on the 12th.) When planning the action for the 10th, we decided that given the responses to the previous action (government officials swarming around, angry telephone calls, etc.), this time we would carry it out even more openly. We prepared several statements of our intentions and held a press conference at the Press Club in the Okinawa Prefectural office building. We faxed a statement to the (GI newspaper) The Pacific Stars and Stripes twice, but they sent no reporters. The statements were as follows:

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The Sky and the Earth of Futenma Belong to Us Let’s Raise Balloons! We, Kamaduu gwa tachi no Tsudoi, are a group of women who demand that the military bases on Okinawa should be moved out of Okinawa Prefecture. We have decided to initiate a balloon action for the following reasons. Fifteen years have passed since the U.S. and Japanese governments agreed in 1996 to return Futenma base to us. During those years (and of course, before as well) Okinawans have made countless efforts of every sort to make the relocation of Futenma base within Okinawa impossible. And as it became clear that the forcing of U.S. bases on Okinawa is a form of discrimination, we raised our voices louder against it. And 2010 saw the election of a Prefectural Governor who had made the removal of Futenma base from Okinawa a public promise. However, the sky and the earth of Futenma base have not yet been returned to the people of Okinawa. Helicopters and other military aircraft roar overhead, disrupting our livelihood and threatening our lives. On top of that, they say they are going to station the notoriously dangerous MV-22 Osprey vertical landing and takeoff aircraft on Futenma base in 2012. We cannot be silent. The governments of Japan and the U.S. do not protect the dignity, the living, or the lives of Okinawans. Rather, they mean to burden us with greater and greater danger. As a result, we have no choice but to protect ourselves and our children, the next generation, by our own efforts. For these reasons we have decided to raise balloons as an expression of our will: “Do not endanger our lives!”; “This sky and earth belong to us!”; “Move the bases out of the prefecture!” People of Okinawa, citizens of Ginowan! If you agree with this purpose, then join us in this balloon action. It is not prohibited by any law. Let us confirm that this is our sky by raising balloons into it. *** 1) Time: Wednesday, 10 August, 2011, 9:00 PM to 3:00 PM. (The seventh summer after the crash of the U.S. military’s CH-53 helicopter) 2) Place; around Futenma Airbase (Kakazu Takadai Park, and other locations) 3) Concerning the balloons: *Diameter: 50-90cm. *Secured by 30-40m of fishing line, so they will not come loose. *Filled with helium (no bad effect on the environment). *When the event is over, balloons will be removed. *Sangwaa [a traditional Okinawan amulet, that drives away evil spirits] will be attached to the balloons.

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㸺㸺To the People Related to the U.S. Military㸼㸼 We do not fly balloons to put you in danger. On the contrary, to us Okinawans your presence here is dangerous. Here, on our own islands, we are insulted by you, and our livelihood and our lives are threatened by you. You who occupy 20% of Okinawa Island for your bases must surely understand this well. We Okinawans have never given you permission to be here. Tenaciously and by means of all sorts of actions, we have appealed to you: Return our land! Don't violate our human rights! Treat us with respect! The land you have occupied for your bases is where our Ryukyu/Okinawan ancestors lived their lives, and is precious to us. Return it! Do not try to evade your responsibility by calling this a ‘Japanese domestic issue.’ Prove to us that your talk of ‘democracy’ and ‘respect for human rights’ is not just lip service. If you still insist that the only way to return the Futenma land to us is to relocate the base, then relocate it to Japan. Because while it was the Japanese (mainland Japanese) who entered into the Japan-U.S. Security Treaty, which allows U.S. bases on Japanese land, they have mainly avoided bearing the burden of their treaty obligation by offering up Okinawan land instead. We repeat, we do not send up these balloons to endanger you. But if you do think them dangerous, then please refrain from flying any helicopters or other military aircraft.

㸺㸺To the People of Japan (Yamatu/Mainland Japan)㸼㸼 What we ask of you Japanese people (mainland Japanese) is neither that you raise balloons with us in Okinawa, nor that you raise funds for us. What we ask is that you take back the U.S. bases from Okinawa as soon as possible. Looking only at Japan’s postwar history, we can see how, with the 1952 San Francisco Peace Treaty, Japan got its independence in exchange for agreeing to the continued U.S. rule of Okinawa. And by moving U.S. bases to Okinawa, Japan was largely able to escape the damage that comes with them. And then with the 1972 reversion of Okinawa to Japan, the situation was redefined as “US bases authorized under the Japan-U.S. Security Treaty,” and the myth of “peaceful, almost base-free mainland Japan” was born. We Okinawans, as the party upon whom these bases are imposed, valuing the words “ikusa ya narando” (no war), have long struggled against these bases. This struggle does not simply mean sit-ins, rallies and demonstrations; it means our daily life itself, from the end of the war to the present day. You are the party who forced these bases upon us. Be conscious of that fact, and appeal to those around you: “We should take back the bases we forced on Okinawa.” Give up this dependency you (including the anti-base movement) have on Okinawa, and begin to take responsibility yourselves. Only by doing this will you be able to take the first steps toward building a society, a history, free from dependency on Okinawa. August, 2011 Kamaduu

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In the August 10th action, we were joined by a number of other antibase groups and individuals. Especially significant was the fact that we were joined by a group from Nago, the northern city where the US and Japan plan to relocate the Futenma base. People from the southern part of the island often go north to support their movement against that relocation; this time they came south to support the movement to shut down Futenma. On the day of the action, the police only watched from afar, while people from the Ginowan City Park Bureau told us over and over, “This is dangerous.” They must have been under a lot of pressure from the Japanese Government. For those of us who live in cities over which these low-flying warplanes are passing all the time, and into which they are sometimes crashing, it felt strange to be told our balloons were dangerous. In the morning there were few flights; in the afternoon, they began taking alternate flight paths. The day before there had been more flights than usual, so perhaps the Marines, anticipating our action, had rescheduled their training flights a day earlier. On an elevated spot inside the base a tent was set up, where some seven Marines, who seemed to be treating the underlings around them with arrogance, sat in chairs and watched our action through binoculars. Balloons were sent up from ten locations around the base. In the morning, before dispersing to our several locations, we gathered at Kakazu Heights Park, next to the base, to take a commemorative photograph. As it happened, a group of some thirty Marines turned up at the same park. The park was the site of a major battle during the war; apparently they were getting a tour. Peter Simpson, a professor at Okinawa International University and also an editor of this volume, approached them and began reading aloud the statement in English that we had prepared. Five or six of us came and stood around the Marines, and sent up balloons that the wind carried over their heads. The Marines, looking discouraged, began to leave the park. One said, “We’re here to help the Japanese.” To which we responded, in English, “We are not Japanese. We are Okinawan!” “This is Okinawa!” “Okinawa belongs to us!” “Go back to your own country!” “Go home to your mother!” “You are not heroes. To us you are invaders!” It was a small but important victory for us. Watching the backs of the Marines as they straggled despondently out of the park gave us a concrete image of what it might look like to drive the Marines out of Okinawa altogether. Just four days previously, Kamaduu had made a presentation at the Dialogue Under Occupation conference, of which Professor Simpson was one of the organisers and which became the basis of this book. At the end

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of our presentation, one of our members said, “What matters is not whether from this conference you have gained some knowledge about Okinawa, but what you do after it is over,” to which Professor Simpson responded, “That’s exactly right.” So, there it was—an organic connection between the knowledge shared in the conference and the actions taken in Kakazu Park. At 3:00PM, we ended the balloon action and moved to Gate 3 of the Futenma base, where we held up banners and placards written in English, and called out in English to the GIs driving out to their off-base homes. The number of GIs who looked with serious faces at our placards, and who even bowed politely, seemed to have increased. For a GI to bow in the East Asian manner is not something you often see. We had the feeling that a change had begun in the relations between Okinawan citizens and ordinary GIs. After so many of our ancestors were killed by the American military during the Battle of Okinawa and then occupied after the Battle came to a close, many Okinawans have since developed an unconscious fear or suspicion of US military members. It is a natural response. However much we may try to understand our own internal reactions, separated from their work, GIs may appear as genial as good old country boys, when we encounter them in our local towns, with their steroid-bloated bodies, but when we recall that they are being sent to Afghanistan or Iraq as programmed robots for war, and think about the many Okinawan women they have raped over the decades, we natually feel tense. So it has been difficult for us to address them in English. But this time, by preparing a leaflet in English and handing it to them, and by calling to them in simple phrases, we were able to do it. And sending up the balloons helped us to develop a feeling that this sky, which had seemed so long to belong to the bases, now belonged to us. So we were able to look at these GIs, who had seemed to be, as occupiers, stronger than us, and say, “No, this is not your place.” And this change in us seems to have had some effect on them, so that the manner of our encounter has slightly changed. Another difference is that this time there was no backlash as the one that followed the first action. We had made a contact phone number available to the public, but no concerned calls came in. Three days later, a letter appeared in a local paper from a college student, titled “Balloon Protest: A Thanks for Bravery.” About six months later, an email arrived. It had originated from MCAS-Futenma and had presumably traveled a long and circuitous route through many military and public offices before it finally appeared in my

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inbox. The content of the email reveals how the encounter at Kakazu Park appeared to base officials. This is an addition. Please pass out to your folks and be watchful. ---------------------------------------------------------UNCLASSIFIED/FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY --------------------------------------------------------Marines were recently harassed and provoked by ‘Caucasian’ Anti-Base Protestors while on a tour of Kakazu Ridge. Personnel should be aware that there are American, Australian, and British citizens in Okinawa, living here and visiting, that participate in Anti-Base activities. These personnel are sometimes more aggressive towards SOFA personnel than the average Japanese citizen and are usually members of a broader, international so-called Peace Movement. In this case, these Anti-Base personnel seemed to be trying to provoke a physical incident with the Marines—and—they had a camera crew hiding nearby in case they were successful. This could have become a serious incident but the 60 Marines all maintained their professionalism, avoided a conflict, and departed the area. If you find yourself in a similar situation while off-base, attempt to leave the area. If you are obstructed from departing the area, use your mobile telephone to call the Okinawa Police by dialing 110; Ambulance/Fire: 119; or call the Military Police by dialing 098-9111-911 (program this number into your cell phone now under [EMERGENCY], before you actually need it). Whenever you travel to an unfamiliar area in Okinawa, learn the name of the city, town, section, nearest lighted-named intersection (small rectangular white sign with blue letters), and street numbers for the area you will travel to so that you can describe your location over the telephone in an emergency. Additionally, for several days, two individuals conducted video surveillance of US Army Torii Station from atop the Royal Hotel, across the street from the main gate. Personnel conducting surveillance against US military installations in Japan may be Anti-Base Groups, criminals, espionage agents, or even terrorists. If you observe surveillance being conducted against Camps Courtney-McTureous, report your observations to Camp Courtney’s Military Police at DSN: 622-9690 or via your mobile telephone dial 098-954-9690 US military law enforcement are working with host nation police to address both of these incidences.

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Along with this textual email warning came attached a ‘wanted poster’ in PDF of the aggressive protestors of ‘Caucasian’ descent.

The above warnings and announcements were supplemented with an account of the incident from the tour guide himself, which was also circulated throughout the military community as regards the morning incident at Kakazu Takadai. Summary of Report #1: Harassment of Marines by Anti-Base Protestors ---------------------------------------------------------UNCLASSIFIED/FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY --------------------------------------------------------Account of incident from tour guide, [name deleted]: On 10 AUG 2011, I conducted a battle sites tour for 60 Marines from Camp Kinser. We went to Kakazu Ridge arriving at approximately 0850. I took the Marines up to the park and began my standard brief regarding the lead up to the battle. As I was conducting the brief I observed a Caucasian man approach the group and begin taking pictures with his cell phone of the group. He stood nearby and was listening to the brief when he began making comments challenging me on the validity of my statements. He did this in a loud voice and began shouting over me. At this point one of the Marines approached him and asked him to keep it down as I was conducting a PME for his unit. The man was quiet for a little while and then

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started up again calling me a liar and a warmonger he then accused me of brain washing the Marines. At this time he was approached a second time and asked to keep it down or please leave them alone. The man then left and went to the top of the ridgeline. I continued the brief until several minutes later a grounds keeper from Urasoe city came down and told me not to go to the top of the hill. After he left I noticed several people come down from the top of the hill including a TV crew and a still photographer. They began sitting up their equipment as I continued the brief. Several minutes later the man and approximately 15 other people came down to the bottom of the hill and began yelling over me calling us baby killers, murders [sic], cowards and that we were all brain washed. At this time I began to get the unit to leave the area. As we were attempting to leave the man became even more agitated and began getting in the Marines faces. I continued to move the group and tried to put myself between the angry group and the Marines. We were followed almost all the way back to the bus with the TV crew trying to interview the Marines and the man and others yelling derogatory comments at the Marines. I was able to keep the Marines away from the other group. During the entire event at no time did the Marines make comments back to the group or come into physical contact with the man’s group. The man was attempting, in my opinion to try to get one of us to say something towards the group or to physically assault one of the members of his group. The Marines displayed great personal restraint and professionalism in their actions. We then re-boarded the bus leaving the area at approximately 0920.

---------------------------------------------------------UNCLASSIFIED/FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY --------------------------------------------------------It is easy to see from this account that the incident was quite a shock to those in attendance. It is also interesting to learn the extent to which they fear Okinawan public opinion. On the other hand, they are also, evidently, quite concerned about the appearance of a single “Caucasian,” given the reference to the exaggerated number. It seems that among the people there, Simpson was the only one they saw as a “human like us.” Also, as none of us referred to the tour group as “baby killers” (the colloquial English expression isn’t included in our vocabulary), the fact that they heard our message in that way must have come deep from within their own unconscious fears. Was the tour guide’s use of this expression an example of psychological projection? At last, it is certainly worth noting that while the military community generally uses the Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) as an excuse to refuse cooperation with the Okinawan Police in most other matters, now when they sense trouble they encourage GIs to call 110, the police number, to provide full disclosure.

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Entering Futenma Base On June 30, 2012, taking advantage of the annual Futenma Flight Line Fair, Kamaduu entered the base. I had never participated in any of the base festivals before. I had been curious about what it would be like inside, but the notion of being “permitted” to enter land that had been forcibly taken from us was repugnant. Nevertheless, one of our members who lives close to the base told us that in recent years as the anti-base movement has been growing stronger, the base festivals have been scaled down, and possibly after this year, they might not let the public in. So, with reason winning out, we decided to explore the spaces and land that would soon be returned to us. We were joined by a new group of young men in their 30s and 40s, Uumaku Kamadee [hereafter Kamadee]. But instead of participating in the base festivities, we decided to carry out a ceremony for the dead. In 2004, Kamaduu carried out a funeral ceremony for Futenma base, since the US and Japanese governments had already declared that the land would be returned. So the base was dead in our minds, and we held a fitting burial ceremony to send it off. First, we prayed for all the lives taken from us during the Battle of Okinawa—many whose remains are still locked beneath the base’s concrete and asphalt tarmac: Okinawans, forced laborers, male and female, from Korea, American GIs, Japanese soldiers. And we prayed for all those people in other lands whose lives had been taken by GIs from this base. For all of them, we set up outside the fence hijuruukoo, black Okinawan incense that you do not burn, and put our hands together and prayed. We decided this time to do the same inside the base. On that day, Defense Minister Morimoto came to the Ginowan City Municipal Building to try to persuade the Mayor to accept the stationing of Osprey aircraft at the base, so we went to that protest first, and then to the Futenma base. We made it through the many checkpoints safely, and got our cars parked. The festival was held on the airstrip itself. Nearly a quarter of the runway was bedecked with military equipment and trucks on display, another quarter featured the equipment of a travelling carnival, a third quarter was for booths selling food (hot dogs and barbecue), and the rest for parking. My first impression was that it was like an American county fair. In the middle of this vast empty space, surrounded by what appeared to be a superhighway, there played a travelling carnival. But among the Americans there were no old people, and there were no displays of farm

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products from the local area, no farm animals on display or for sale, and no strange looking hippy types slinking about. As we stood there looking, some of the members started to feel agitated. Somebody said, “Hurry up, let’s get started.” We found the Kamadee members occupying half of the base Fire Department tent. When the Marine helicopter crashed onto the campus of Okinawa International University, the base firemen drove their trucks onto the campus (which Okinawans were being kept away from) and doused the blaze with water. We decided to conduct our ceremony near the tent. We sat in a circle and laid out trays of food. [In Okinawan ceremonies for the spirits of the dead, first they are offered a banquet. After prayers, the burning of incense, and an appropriate pause for reflection, the banquet is given back to the people who had offered the food as a gift from the dead.] Praying for the spirits of the dead is nothing special in Okinawa. From childhood, it is an ordinary practice to put our hands together and pray to our ancestors. We began our ceremony in the afternoon, just as a full white moon was appearing in the eastern part of the clear blue sky. We prayed to tell of our pain in thinking of those whose lives were taken by war, and we prayed for their spirits to guard us as we worked to win back this land that was being used as a means of furthering war. One Kamaduu member pushed on the concrete with both hands saying, “Come back, come back, come back to us!” We ate the food the spirits of the dead gave back to us in gratitude. Rice balls never tasted better.

The Movement against the Osprey On October 1, 2012, the US Marines’ tilt-rotor aircraft MV-22 Osprey came to Okinawa. The US and Japanese governments had simply decided to ignore the overwhelming opposition of virtually all Okinawans. The opposition movement has since continued, but with some changes. While it remains non-violent, it has turned more toward direct action. For example, at the end of September, the sit-ins conducted by so many ordinary citizens succeeded for the first time in closing all the gates of Futenma base. And by flying kites and raising balloons into the sky where the Osprey flies, we have been directly reclaiming that sky as our own. Further, we have been tying red and black ribbons to the chain-link fences (As the GIs know, red symbolises the Red Card, and black is the color of the funeral of the base). We have been attaching English language message boards and red flags on bamboo poles to the fences. We have been using red sticky

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tape to mark big X’s on the fences. And we have been addressing individual GIs in English, and handing them English leaflets. We have been slowing the pace of military life by interfering with traffic going in and coming out of the gates, moving our vehicles across key intersections at ultra-slow speeds. Additionally, besides direct action, our language has also changed. It is becoming increasingly common for people now to use the formerly taboo words “colony” and “discrimination” to talk about the realities of our situation. After the Osprey arrived, followed shortly by yet another GI rape incident (about which a Japanese government official remarked, “it was badly timed” (if rapes can ever be well-timed)), followed by an incident of GI violence against a local middle school student, even local conservative leaders began thinking about these discriminations and began demanding the removal of all bases from Okinawa. Why is it that Okinawa’s government officials, in overcoming their conservative and progressive political differences, have joined forces in opposing the Osprey? It is not only because it is so dangerous. It is because, year after year, our lives and general welfare have been seen as having so little value, so little to respect. The natural rights of our democracy have been denied us, and our anger over this kind of discrimination can no longer be contained. If we continue to accept this present condition, we become the oppressors of our own children and grandchildren. And that is an absolutely intolerable thought. In a Ryukyu Shimpo editorial of November 2, 2012, the editor observes that the forced stationing of the Osprey in Okinawa was “a tactic to make the Okinawans feel powerless, and to give up resisting.” I feel that this assault on our collective will has emboldened us to never give up resisting. Kamaduu has since produced English language leaflets calling on GIs to join us by refusing to fly in the Osprey, and to boycott its use. This leaflet has been put on the Internet, printed out, and distributed to GIs directly, the content of which follows.

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Osprey Leaflet #1 To our Brothers and Sisters in the US Marines, When you joined the Marines, maybe you thought you could help propagate, or protect, democracy in the world. On the question of whether to bring the Osprey to Okinawa, do we Okinawans have a right to participate in that decision? After all, this is our island, and the sky over it, through which the Osprey will be flying, also belongs to us. Would it be democratic for the US and Japan to decide to bring it in, ignoring the Okinawans? Of course, it would not. We Okinawans have expressed our opposition in every peaceful way possible. On September 9, 100,000 people gathered at an anti-Osprey rally (out of a population of 1,400,000). The conservative Governor of the prefecture is against it. The Prefectural Assembly is against it. The conservative Mayors of both Naha City and Ginowan City are against it. The local government of every other city, town, and village in Okinawa is against it. Both local newspapers are against it. Even the PTA is against it. To ignore all this and bring it in anyway would be to insult the Okinawan people in a way that would never be forgotten. Why do we oppose it? Because it is dangerous. It crashes too often. It has killed far too many Marines. Everybody knows this; the Osprey is notoriously a flawed aircraft. It was not we who named it Widow Maker. Yes, it is sometimes an airplane and sometimes a helicopter. That’s very clever. But sometimes it is neither. Then it becomes a big blob of metal in the sky, which can only fall to the ground. Not clever at all. We don’t want it falling on us, and we don’t want it falling with you in it. As for the danger of the Osprey, we suppose you know all about that. And we think, perhaps, on this issue we can join forces. And so we ask you, in the name of democracy, in the name of our dignity and yours, in the name of our safety and yours: join us in opposing the Osprey. Don’t get in it, don’t fly it, don’t service it, don’t go near it. Treat it like the death trap that it is. When you joined the Marines, you probably wanted to do something for democracy and for the dignity of human life. Now’s your chance. Your Brothers and Sisters in Okinawa.

And we have been appealing to GIs directly. When we do this, we can see that many of them are wavering. We prepared a basic list of English language phrases for the people sitting in at the gates to use.

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Basic English Expressions No Osprey! We never give up. This is Okinawa. This is not Japan. This is not US. Respect Okinawan democracy, please. Respect Okinawan dignity, please. Respect Okinawan human rights please. This is Okinawan land. This is Okinawan sky. Osprey is dangerous. Osprey is dangerous to you, too. Osprey kills Marines. We are worried about you, too. Don’t get in it. Don’t fly it. Don’t service it. Don’t go near it. Refuse it. Oppose Osprey with us. USA is not justice, You are not just. You are surrounded by our anger. Outrage.

When we call out, “Hey, listen Marines!” and start to appeal to them using the slogans shown above, they generally develop pained expressions on their faces and escape to the rear. So the Okinawan police are put in front, and the US military are behind them. This is an old tactic, arranging for Okinawans to fight against each other. To counter this, Kamaduu has been appealing to the Okinawan riot police in the Ryukyu language (in this case, the Itoman dialect), such as the following.

This Sky and Earth Belong to Us Don’t protect the bases. Protect Okinawans. It’s because the police can’t protect Okinawans that there are so many GI crimes. We will protect Okinawans. When you act like this, you send the US military a message: In Okinawa you are protected. You can do anything you wish to Okinawans. You are here because it’s your job. If it’s your job, then just stand there. But don’t say anything. Is even this amount of protest wrong? Are we forbidden from saying anything at all to the US military? We will protect Okinawans. We will protect you, too. We will protect your children, too.

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Kichi ya mamuranndoo. Uchinaanchu mamuti kwimisooriyoo. Keesatu ga Uchinaanchu mamuiuusangutu unneeru jiken madi ukuteessa. Wattaa ga Uchinaa mamuisa. Ittaa ga unneeru shiiyooyaa, beehee nkai Uchiaa uti mamurattoon, nuun sattin yurussattoon, Uchinaanchu takkurucchin shimun diru messeeji ukutoon doo. Ittaa ga umankai ishee shigutu yarayaa. Yaree umankai tacchookee.Nuun abiran kee. Upppi guree kougi cchin naran dusurui? Amirikaa nkai nuun icchin naran dusurui? Wattaa ga Uchinaanchu mamuisa. Ittaan wattaa ga mamuin doo. Ittaan warabinnchaan wattaa ga mamuisa.

When we spoke in this way, a Japanese person shouted, as if to chide us, “Young Okinawans today don’t understand dialect!” This gut reaction to our language is of great political and scholarly interest, as it reveals that colonialism has infected the minds of even Japanese engaged in the antibase movement. As we continued putting forward our appeals in the local dialect, some of the faces of the Okinawan riot police reddened, and we could see quite clearly that they, too, were on the verge of tears.

Notes  1

Legally and formally, Okinawa is a prefecture of Japan. But, as it was once Ryukyu, an independent country, and was originally made into a prefecture by force, and as to this day, it is treated as a colony, in this essay, I refer to it as “Okinawa.” By “Japan,” I mean so-called “mainland Japan.” 2 For more on the concept of joint occupation, see Tokuyama in this volume.

CHAPTER TWELVE A BASE FOR (IN)SECURITY? THE JEJU NAVAL BASE AND COMPETING VISIONS OF PEACE ON THE KOREAN PENINSULA ANDREW YEO

Introduction Since early 2011, local resident and transnational activists on Jeju Island (Jeju-do) have put up a vigorous fight against the South Korean government and the Republic of Korea (ROK) Navy to prevent the construction of a sprawling new naval base. The ongoing drama over the past few years has brought several twists and turns as residents, activists, policymakers, and politicians have entered the arena of military base politics. Residents and activists have resisted base construction on numerous grounds. These include ecological destruction stemming from the blasting along Jeju’s coastline, the potential for increased militarisation throughout the region, and the trampling of democratic rights and processes by the central government. Those in favour of base construction, with stronger claims coming from the mainland than Jeju Island itself, cite reasons for national security and economic and business development in Jeju as justification for supporting the government’s plans. Rather than focusing on the movement mobilisation aspects of the Jeju anti-base campaign, a fascinating development in its own right, I take a step back and examine anti-base protests on Jeju Island as an avenue for understanding the politics of peace and national security on the Korean Peninsula as well as in Northeast Asia. Peace activists argue that the construction of the naval base will only further militarise the region leading to greater mistrust with neighbours such as North Korea and

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China. The South Korean government claims that the naval base will serve its national interests by protecting shipping lanes and enhancing regional stability. Is the new naval base an instrument of war or a source of stability? How have activists challenged the dominant security discourse presented by the state? Who commands legitimate claims to human and national security 1 as South Korean activists and the South Korean government collide on an issue central to the question of peace on the Korean Peninsula? Ironically, both South Korean civic groups (and their transnational supporters) and the South Korean government adopt a similar realist perspective when explaining the impact of the naval base on national and regional security. That is, the debate over bases is framed in the language of power, threats, security dilemmas, and the national interest. But where the former views the base as offensive, the latter sees bases as primarily defensive in nature. The chasm separating the views between peace activists and the government does not lie in the “facts” regarding base construction, but rather in the meaning and purpose of the naval base itself. This discordance, in turn, rests upon fundamental differences in beliefs about (1) the nature international security and (2) the role of the state as a guarantor of human security. The first section of this chapter provides some brief background behind the Jeju naval base issue and ongoing anti-base protests (for a more extensive overview, see the chapter by Gwisook Gwon). The second section unpacks the claims and counterclaims made by the South Korean government and international activists, respectively, on the purpose, costs, and benefits of the Jeju naval base in relation to peace and security on the Korean Peninsula. The third section draws insight from international relations theory to analyse the different claims of actors regarding the politics of peace and security. I conclude by weighing in on the debate, arguing that tensions arising at the intersection of national security and local rights are better understood through the lens of human rather than international security.

The Rise of Jeju Bases In March 2012, former prime minister and Democratic United Party (DUP) leader Han Myeong-sook received considerable flak from political conservatives for opposing the construction of the Jeju naval base off the coastal waters of Gangjeong Village. The conservative media chided her and the DUP for flip-flopping on an issue she and her party (formerly the Uri Party) supported under the Roh Moo-hyun administration in 2007.2

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With the DUP and ruling Saenuri Party tying the Jeju base to upcoming elections, base politics had once again reached the level of national debate. Many South Koreans mistakenly believe that the current base project was first proposed in 2007. However, construction plans were in place as early as 2002 when the ROK Navy first proposed building a base in Hwasun Village on the western coast of Jeju. 3 Local anti-base protests prevented the government from moving forward with base plans. Facing opposition, discussions regarding the proposed site shifted from Hwasun to Wimi Village, and finally to Gangjeong Village in May 2007. The Jeju and central government’s hasty decision in selecting Gangjeong as the future base site has since marred the legitimacy of the base project in the eyes of the local community. Although the base project is purported to address an issue of national security, the project has had a more acute effect of dividing residents and changing the environmental landscape.4 Until late 2010, the anti-base movement was limited largely to Jejudo.5 Local residents, angered by the Jeju government’s failure to follow democratic procedures in the base site selection process, organised their own anti-base movement. Environmental concerns also figured prominently in the arguments of opposing residents. By early 2011, however, the base issue had escalated to a national, and shortly thereafter, transnational level. A hunger strike initiated by Yang Yoon-mo, a notable South Korean film critic originally from Jeju-do, brought wider attention to the proposed base on the mainland. Local residents were also supported by a growing number of South Korean Catholics with a strong endorsement from Bishop Kang Woo-il, the head of the Jeju Diocese and chairman of the Korean Catholic Bishops’ Conference. Through the Catholic Justice and Peace Committee, clerics and priests nationwide formed the Catholic’s Solidarity to Realize the Jeju Peace Island.6 International peace activists in the United States and Europe also raised awareness about Gangjeong’s plight within their respective networks and sent urgent appeals regarding Yang Yoon-mo’s health. The emerging transnational movement received a boost when author and activist Gloria Steinem’s op-ed appeared on August 6, 2011 in the New York Times describing the militarisation of Jeju Island. 7 A handful of activists from abroad and the mainland moved to Gangjeong Village in solidarity with the local resistance movement. As protests grew stronger, the South Korean government dispatched hundreds and later thousands of riot police to prevent activists from interfering with construction plans. The ROK Navy set up a large enclosed perimeter fortified by barbed wire and barricades to prevent activists from entering the construction site.

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For the next six months, anti-base activists followed a routine of daily protests, vigils, and sit-ins, periodically broken by the occasional clash with riot police and the arrest and release of various protestors which included Catholic priests, village leaders, anti-base residents, and activists. However, in early March 2012, the Jeju base issue escalated once again with the ruling and main opposition party turning the base construction proposal into a national election issue. Previously, five opposition parties including the main opposition DUP had requested that the government suspend construction until further review of residents’ concerns.8 This was followed by the blasting of the Gureombi rock formations9 along the Jeju coastline to put in place foundational structures for the base. The government also took more coercive action to undermine resistance, arresting South Korean movement leaders and activists while deporting international activists or refusing them port of entry into Jeju-do.

Claims and Counterclaims As mentioned above, activists and residents have framed the Jeju base issue in various ways. For base opponents, Jeju base construction is simultaneously an issue about democratic rights and representation, ecological and environmental destruction, economic livelihood, and peace. Meanwhile, base supporters have rallied around two major points in support of naval base construction, protection of the national interest and the potential for regional economic development. While recognising the various claims and counterclaims offered by base supporters and detractors alike, I focus on the claims and arguments presented pertaining to peace and security.

A Basis for Security The South Korean government insists that the Jeju base is designed to enhance South Korean national security. South Korean government officials have repeatedly denied activist claims that the base is part of a larger design to support US strategic plans in the Asia-Pacific. For the South Korean government, the base project has always been linked to national and economic interests. According to South Korean defense officials, the primary reason for the naval base is maritime security. As the seventh largest global exporter of goods, South Korea relies heavily on trade. Approximately 400,000 ships pass by Jeju Island annually.10 Government officials have therefore justified the base, located 90 kilometres from the mainland, on the grounds

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of maintaining secure maritime transportation routes in the southern sea lanes. According to the Ministry of National Defense, if those lanes were blocked for over fifteen days, “basic industry would be paralyzed.”11 Support for this argument became even more persuasive following comments from the head of China’s State Oceanic Administration claiming Chinese control over Ieodo, a submerged rock formation located in an overlapping economic zone between South Korea and China. 12 Situated closer to South Korea, South Koreans claim Ieodo falls under its territorial control. More generally, China’s recent assertiveness regarding its expanded sphere of influence in the Pacific and territorial claims in the South China Sea has increased the salience of maritime security for the ROK Navy. Furthermore, the South Korean government has been pressed to enhance its own capabilities following the sinking of the Cheonan, allegedly by a North Korean torpedo in 2009, which resulted in the deaths of forty-six sailors. The Ministry of National Defense (MND) has also stated that a base on Jeju-do would enable the Korean navy to better respond to any situation involving North Korea east or west of the Peninsula. 13 Without a modern base, expansion and modernisation of South Korea’s navy remains limited. To this end, the ROK Navy hopes to complete construction of the dual use military base by 2014.

A Base for Insecurity Although the South Korean government has adamantly denied that the naval base exists as a front for US forces, local and international activists continue to raise suspicion about the intended use of the base. The naval base will host up to twenty warships, including three Aegis destroyers, as well as an aircraft carrier. Given Washington’s renewed attention toward the Asia-Pacific, the South Korean government’s desire to tighten the USROK alliance, and the mutual interest in developing missile defense capabilities, activists contend that the base is designed to meet the needs of US strategic requirements in the region.14 The close coordination, its long history, and the strong institutional ties between the US and South Korean militaries suggest that the US military will at least enjoy some level of presence on the future base. Anti-base activists fear that base construction will escalate tensions between South Korea and China while fueling a broader arms race between China and the United States. Peace activists argue that the new base will equip South Korea, and by extension the US military, with longrange ballistic missile capabilities targeting southeast China.15 China will

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certainly view a base equipped with missile defense capabilities with suspicion, especially given Jeju-do’s close geographic proximity to China. Some Chinese defense officials already perceive the base as a challenge to their own maritime ambitions. Maritime security remains near the top of China’s list of strategic priorities.16 If Beijing perceives the naval base as a threat to its maritime ambitions, the base may provoke China to push its naval modernisation program even further. What activists fear most is a naval arms race spiraling out of control between two countries, which remain suspicious of the other. Moreover, from the perspective of South Korean national security, the naval base would make Jeju-do a potential target for attack in an armed conflict between the two great powers. As peace activist Christine Ahn succinctly summarised in a New York Times op-ed, “Instead of protecting South Koreans, the militarization of Jeju Island will introduce new security threats to the country by fueling an arms race in an increasingly tense region of unresolved conflicts.”17

International Relations Theory and Concepts of Peace and Security: National Security or Human Security? On the surface, both activists and the current South Korean government adopt a realist framework when discussing the Jeju naval base as a basis for security or insecurity.18 Realism highlights the constraints on politics driven by the egotistical nature of humans and the absence of international government. 19 These two conditions make international politics largely a contest about power and interests. For the South Korean government, the naval base has been built with the intention of increasing security. In an international system, which lacks central authority (i.e. no world government), states can never fully trust the intentions of other states. States are, therefore, motivated to increase their own power to ensure their security and survival. This is done by either strengthening one’s own military capabilities (i.e. national defense) or forming alliances with other states. The Lee Myung-bak administration has followed this realist logic for much of its tenure. Taking a defensive posture, the South Korean government tightened its alliance with the United States in the wake of the Cheonan incident and the shelling of Yeonpyeong Island by North Korea in 2010. At the same time, the close economic relationship between South Korea and China has been tempered by China’s increasing assertiveness over its maritime jurisdiction and its inability (or unwillingness) to restrain its North Korean ally. From this realist outlook, the South Korean

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government has promoted the Jeju naval base issue as a project linked directly to its national interest: securing trade routes, patrolling the high seas, and protecting fishing rights. Activists extend this realist logic by evoking the security dilemma as a basis for insecurity. A security dilemma presents a paradoxical situation in which an increase in the security of one state decreases the security of another state. The South Korean government may claim that the naval base is being constructed for largely defensive purposes. Unfortunately, not all states may perceive South Korean and, by extension, American intentions benignly. Close neighbours such as China and even North Korea may see the base as a direct threat to their own security. To boost their own defense, threatened states may respond to South Korea’s naval base by increasing their own power. China, for example, may decide to accelerate its own naval modernisation or seek wider access to strategic ports, which in turn would reduce the security of neighbouring states. As one international supporter of the Gangjeong residents states, “There can hardly be any doubt that this new 953 billion KRW naval base will serve as a strategic offensive outpost for South Korea and its allies. In this context, it is difficult to understand how a base in Gangjeong will increase security for Jeju residents. In a potential military conflict with China, Gangjeong will be an important strategic target.”20 What activists fear most, then, is further militarisation of the region and a potential arms race spiraling out of control. Rather than providing security for South Korea, the base may prove to be destabilising for the region. Activists challenge Seoul’s assertion that the base is primarily intended for defensive purposes. After all, one cannot always easily distinguish between offensive and defensive capabilities. In fact, plenty of defenses have been erected in recent years to launch offensive military operations.21 Moreover, if Chinese leaders assume a realist outlook on the region, they too would act cautiously and consider whether the Jeju naval base challenges its own maritime interests, motivating Beijing to further fortify its own defenses. Thus, both government and activist claims extend, paradoxically, from the principles of realism. Yet, even though both sides see the base in the context of power politics, there remains a fundamental difference in the interpretation of power and the meaning and context behind the naval base. The South Korean government and anti-base activists have constructed two different and competing narratives to peace and security based on the purpose of power (defensive or offensive) and the nature of security (state/national or human security). Moreover, whereas the South Korean government takes political structures as a given, activists

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commonly call attention to the ideological elements of political structures which “subjugate and threaten human reason, freedom, and equality.”22 Activist claims are, therefore, much more in tune with critical international relations scholars in that they interpret “social forces of world order in terms of ethics and mutability.”23 For the South Korean state, much like true realists, policymakers place a high premium on national security, focusing on military threats directed at the state.24 States seek security in a balance of forces rather than a crafted perfect order—an order that produces a Kantian form of perpetual peace, and an order that places equal value on national security imperatives and human security interests. 25 Anti-base activists, like critical IR theorists, challenge the dominant consensus. They provide an alternative route to peace and security, which leaves the possibility (or hope) of change.26 In pushing forward with naval base construction, the South Korean government, like true realists, views the security environment as relatively static.27 Hence, it seeks security and stability through the existing, dominant political structures.

Dominant Security Structures Gwisook Gwon notes that national security in South Korea is, in part, an ideology.28 South Korean national security is, indeed, deeply embedded in the historical legacies of the past as well as in its domestic institutions. Koreans argue that their existence has been that of a shrimp among whales: historically, Korea has often been caught in the middle of conflict between great powers. This was especially true in the late 20th century as Russia, Japan, and China all vied for influence over the Korean Peninsula. Subjugated under Japan’s brutal colonial rule, and then divided between the Soviet Union and the United States, both North and South Korea have gone to great lengths to ensure their security. For South Korea, this meant purging all communists while aligning closely to their American patron. In this respect, South Korean national security is still tied to anti-communist ideology. This ideology is closely connected to the national security laws which exist to “restrict anti-state acts that endanger national security and to protect the nation’s safety and its people’s life and freedom.” In the past, the national security laws have been used to clamp down on anything from pro-North Korea speech, leftist gatherings, criticism against the South Korean government, and anti-American activity. In addition to strong domestic security institutions, Seoul has relied extensively upon the US security umbrella to enhance its national security

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posture. The US-ROK alliance plays a fundamental role for South Korean national defense. Although South Korea has increased its burden of the share of this alliance over the past few years, the South Korean military continues to depend on the US military for support against external threats, including its enemy, North Korea.29 A strong security consensus has developed over time among South Korean elites favouring a close alliance with the United States. 30 Activist-scholar Jung Wook-Shik observes that South Korean political elites either blindly acquiesce to the demands of their patron, or because of fears of abandonment, dare not pursue policies that counter US policy preferences.31 The South Korean government denies that the Jeju naval base is being built under the auspices of a US military base. At face value, the South Korean government is likely stating the truth. The base was not built at the request of the United States. Its primary function is to serve South Korean national interests. But activists, evoking the US-ROK Mutual Defense Treaty, have good reason to believe that the Jeju base could be used to project US power even more thoroughly throughout the region. 32 The South Korean government has not denied the future possibility of joint use of the naval base, and in fact has stated that the US would have visitation rights.33 National security is one of many public goods provided by the state for the benefit of its citizens. In a region marred by a lack of trust and historical animosities, the South Korean government believes that the Jeju base enhances its security. The majority of South Koreans accept this dominant view of security.34 Thus by “accepting” the dominant discourse of the state, South Koreans tacitly acknowledge the state’s arguments for naval base construction as legitimate. Only those on the far left in South Korean politics question this legitimacy.35 Base construction obviously creates unwanted, and often painful costs at the local level. However, the state often sacrifices human security—a people-centred view of security—at the expense of national security. In an effort to placate anti-base opposition and to compensate for externalities associated with Jeju’s base burden, the central government has offered to build a dual-use port for both military and commercial ships. 36 Other developmental incentives discussed between the central and provincial governments include a shopping district, a marine sports park, and entertainment facilities to entice islanders opposed to bases.37

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An Alternative Security Discourse To stop base construction, activists have challenged the dominant security discourse presented by the South Korean government. First, activists have questioned whether the naval base is necessary for national security. To what extent does the new naval base improve South Korea’s coastal and maritime defenses? Because activists do not see the naval base being built out of necessity for South Korean national security, they assume that the base is being built for other purposes, which are more offensive in nature. Second, activists question why the base had to be built on Jeju Island, designated as an “island of peace.” That the base is being built along the coastal waters of Gangjeong Village, named a UNESCO-designated biosphere reserve, strikes activists and many residents as entirely absurd. Finally, they claim that the base site selection process was not conducted in an open, democratic process.

Conclusion Two issues are at stake that make mutual understanding between activists and the government difficult. The first stems from rather diverging understandings of international relations. The second is rooted in quite different definitions of security. The South Korean government and particularly the ROK Navy see the region through a Hobbesian lens. Citing the late President Roh Moo-hyun’s effort to bring a naval base onto the island of peace, an MND spokesperson stated, “peace without armament cannot exist.” 38 An August 2011 MND report stated, “The project is not aimed at building a military-only base for war. It is targeted at preventing war by strengthening maritime sovereignty, realizing peace and supporting other naval warships of South Korea.”39 On one hand, anti-base activists recognise this Hobbesian logic and use it to support the dangers of militarisation associated with the proliferation of military bases. On the other, they also envision peace in a postHobbesian world where security is no longer defined by or centred around the state, but rather centred on society and individuals.40 In such a world, the need for military bases is reduced (if needed at all). Military bases presently drain significant resources that could otherwise be allocated for other programs to improve the welfare of individuals and to address transnational problems such as climate change, poverty, and hunger. In the process of building the Jeju naval base, residents and activists believe the state has circumvented normal

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democratic procedures, used excessive force to clamp down on rightful resistance, and embarked on a path of environmental destruction. From a human security standpoint, peace has been broken.41 The South Korean government and peace activists have constructed two opposing narratives to peace and security on the Korean Peninsula and in Northeast Asia. The state has laid out a dominant narrative regarding the Jeju base, accepted by the majority of South Koreans. But the anti-base campaign in Jeju will continue to challenge the dominant security discourse presented by the South Korean government. Penetrating this ideological consensus is difficult. But by transforming a local issue into a national and transnational one, activists have at least opened a space for South Koreans to question and reconsider the need for a naval base on Jeju Island.

Notes  1

National security commonly refers to “traditional” security issues such as the security of territory from external aggression or the protection of national interests. Human security takes into account the security of the individual and the community. It encompasses a broader range of issues including access to healthcare, the environment, social and economic rights, personal safety, and education. Roland Paris. “Human Security: Paradigm Shift or Hot Air?” International Security, no. 26 (2001): 87-102. 2 Jung-wook Kim and Gwang-lim Moon, “DUP Vows to Stop Jeju Naval Base,” Joongang Daily, Mar. 8, 2012. 3 Gwisook Gwon, “Toward an International Peace Movement: Challenging the Naval Base Construction on Jeju Island, South Korea,” Unpublished manuscript, April 2012. 4 Editorial, “Abortive Recall Drive,” Korea Times, Aug. 27, 2009; Daewoong Jin, “Residents’ Opposition Stalls Naval Base Plan in Jeju,” Sept. 17, 2007; Also see Gwisook Gwon, “Protests Challenge Naval Base Construction on Jeju Island, South Korea: Hunger Strike Precipitates a National and International Movement,” The Asia-Pacific Journal, no. 9 (2011), http://japanfocus.org/-Gwisook-Gwon/3560 (accessed May 23, 2012). 5 “Jeju-do” is the Korean translation of “Jeju Island.” 6 Hyung-jin Han, “Koyo hajiman gypgae, cheonjugyo-ga umjikinda,” (The Catholic Church moves silently but deeply), Seogwipo News, Oct. 10, 2011. http://www.seogwipo.co.kr/news/articleView.html?idxno=73151 (accessed Oct. 31, 2012). 7 Gloria Steinem, “The Arms Race Intrudes on Paradise,” New York Times, Aug. 6, 2012. 8 So-hyun Kim, “Standoff escalates over Jeju naval base,” Korea Herald, Sept. 1, 2011.

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Guremobi is a unique lava rock formation along Jeju’s coastline. The formations include many coves and fresh water tidal pools which provide habitat to marine and plant life including endangered soft coral reefs. 10 Young-mok Kim, “Paradise Jeju Island: A Tahiti in the South Pacific?” Huffington Post, March 14, 2012. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/youngmokkim/jeju-island_b_1336163.html (accessed May 23, 2012). 11 Jon Rabiroff and Yoo Kyong Chang, “Naval Base Puts South Korea’s ‘Island of World Peace’ in Hot Spot,” Stars and Stripes, October 3, 2011. 12 Editorial, “Sitting on Fence,” Korea Times. March 12, 2012. 13 Jon Rabiroff and Yoo Kyong Chang, “Naval Base Puts South Korea’s ‘island of world peace’ in hot spot.” Stars and Stripes. October 3, 2011. 14 Wooksik Cheong, “Jeju Naval Base and Security Dilemma,” Peace Network, Aug. 24, 2011. Also, see Matthew Hoey, “Popping the Jeju Bubble,” Foreign Policy in Focus, December 14, 2011, http://www.fpif.org/articles/popping_the_jeju_bubble (accessed May 23, 2012). 15 Christine Ahn, “Unwanted Missiles for a Korean Island,” New York Times, Aug. 5, 2011. 16 Michael A. Glosny, Phillip C. Saunders, and Robert S. Ross, “Debating China’s Naval Nationalism,” International Security, no. 35 (2010): 161-75. 17 Ahn, “Unwanted Missiles for a Korean Island.” 18 Emphasising the role of power and interests in international politics, realism remains the dominant paradigm in international relations. For seminal works on realism in international relations, see Hans J. Morgenthau, Politics among Nations; the Struggle for Power and Peace. 4th ed. (New York: Knopf, 1967); Kenneth Waltz, Theory of International Politics (Reading: Addison-Wesley Publishing Co., 1979). 19 Jack Donnelly, Realism and International Relations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 9. 20 Anders Riel Müller, “One Island Village’s Struggle for Land, Life and Peace,” April 11, 2012. http://www.kpolicy.org/documents/interviews-oped/110419anders mulleroneislandvillagesstruggle.html 21 For instance, the deployment of U.S. troops to Saudi Arabia for defensive purposes under Operation Desert Shield in 1990 gave way to the offensive Operation Desert Storm into Iraq. 22 Steven Roach, Critical Theory and International Relations: A Reader (London: Routledge, 2008), xix. 23 Roach, xix. 24 Paris, 98. 25 This is not to argue that national and human security do not overlap. If national security hinges on state survival, then many “human security” issues such as access to food, natural disasters, or climate change will also relate to national security. At stake here is putting state interests ahead of individual or societal interests. To the extent that these two interests diverge, or unless policymakers can draw an explicit link between state and individual/societal interests, the state will continue to privilege national over human security.

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26 Structural realism accounts for change within the system, but not a change in the system itself. Anarchy continues to produce self-help behaviour. For more on this point see Mark Hoffman, “Critical Theory and the Inter-Paradigm Debate.” Millennium - Journal of International Studies, no. 16 (1987): 231-50; Alexander Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). Just as critical international relations (IR) theorists seek to challenge dominant IR paradigms such as realism, anti-base activists are in many ways the practitioners of critical IR theory in their effort to challenge dominant political practices. 27 Waltz. 28 Gwon, “Protests Challenge Naval Base Construction on Jeju Island.” 29 The latest ROK Defense White Paper published by the MND reinstated North Korea as the “enemy.” 30 Andrew Yeo, Activists, Alliances, and Anti-U.S. Base Protests (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 31 Jung Wook-Shik, Dongmaeng-ae dut (Alliance Trap) (Seoul, South Korea: Samin Press 2005), 15. 32 The 1953 Mutual Defense Treaty Republic of Korea “grants, and the United States of America accepts, the right to dispose United States land, air and sea forces in and about the territory of the Republic of Korea as determined by mutual agreement.” http://www.usfk.mil/usfk/sofa.1953.mutual.defense.treaty.76 (accessed May 23, 2012). 33 John Rabiroff, “South Korea: Jeju Island Naval Base Not Built for U.S.,” Stars and Stripes. October 5, 2011. 34 More accurately, most South Koreans take national security for granted and do not consider whether the naval project is just or unjust. 35 Some moderates have also questioned the need for the naval base, although it is difficult to discern whether this opposition is politically motivated (a veiled threat against the ruling party) as opposed to genuine opposition against the base project. I suspect that even if the center-left opposition were to eventually control the National Assembly or the Blue House, the project would still move forward, even if on a smaller scale. 36 The dual-use plan included a dock to accommodate tourist cruise ships. However, much to the chagrin of local residents, the ROK Navy later reported that the technical requirements to dock such ships could not be met without making substantial modifications to the initial design. 37 The Japanese central government has also used economic incentives and subsidies to compensate for Okinawa’s base burden share. The central government’s incentives have resulted in deeper politicisation of base politics in both Okinawa and Jeju. On Okinawa, see Miyume Tanji, Myth, Protest and Struggle in Okinawa (London: Routledge, 2006); Julia Yonetani, “Playing Base Politics in a Global Strategic Theater,” Critical Asian Studies, no. 33 (2001): 70-95. 38 Jon Rabiroff and Yoo Kyong Chang, “Naval Base Puts South Korea’s ‘Island of World Peace’ in Hot Spot.” Stars and Stripes, October 3, 2011.

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Rabiroff and Chang. Here lies the tension in the argument of anti-base activists regarding the use of realism to explain the “is” and their embracement of a more critical international relations approach when presenting the “ought.” 41 See websites of South Korean anti-base campaign, http://cafe.daum.net/peacekj (accessed Nov. 1, 2012), and the international Save Jeju campaign, http://savejejunow.org/history/ (accessed Nov. 1, 2012). 39 40

CHAPTER THIRTEEN REMEMBERING 4/3 AND RESISTING THE REMILITARISATION OF JEJU: BUILDING AN INTERNATIONAL PEACE MOVEMENT GWISOOK GWON

Introduction In the latter half of the 20th century, massacres at Sharpeville, Mӻ Lai, and Srebrenica were well documented, even though their perpetrators were rarely brought to justice. In contrast, the 1948 massacre, which began on our island on the 3rd of April and lead to the killing of between 14,000 to 60,000 people, seems to have disappeared down the international memory hole. As a result, the forgotten nightmare we and our parents experienced has made us determined to make sure that Jeju becomes for the indefinite future an island of peace. Until the turn of the century, we were convinced that we could make this wish a reality, but we now find ourselves struggling against a divisive militarisation of the island. At first, the struggle to protect Gangjeong Village on our island, 130 kilometres south of the Korean Peninsula, felt like a lonely one. At the time, most Korean mainlanders were scarcely even aware of the villagers’ four-year protest against the militarisation of the village (and a total of ten years targeting other parts of the island). The national media reinforced this vague understanding of the resistance by only occasionally reporting on the project. Things only began to change when the well-known US activist Gloria Steinem exposed some of the most controversial aspects of the proposed base. As a result, protestors have her to thank for her intervention in an August 6, 2011 New York Times article. Ten days later, Noam Chomsky

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followed suit by also expressing his solidarity with the people of Gangjeong Village. During the days that followed, CNN (August 12), Al Jazeera (August 14), BBC (September 3), the People’s Daily (September 14), Asia Times (October 8), and Le Monde (October 13) also broadcast reports about the issue worldwide. They all addressed the real possibilities of a new cold war taking shape between China and the United States, due in large part to the proposed US strategic plan for the Asia-Pacific region. In light of these larger geopolitical developments, this chapter examines how the movement in Gangjeong Village began to resonate nationally and then internationally. Why has it received national and international attention? Although mass media cover the major issues, such as those related to concepts of Asia-Pacific peace and the environmental degradation, there remains a pressing need to understand and explain how these public discourses have developed from the field of collective struggle as well as how the protest has survived for such a long period given the overriding issue of national security in South Korea. With this in mind, this chapter explores possible answers to these questions through cultural analysis, an ethnographic, anthropologic, and sociological approach to cultural studies that combines symbolic elements with cultural determinants.1 Specifically, I will identify the major actors in the struggle against militarisation, and uncover the shared ideas and beliefs that relate to the development of the movement. Critical discussions draw upon analysis of the rituals, narratives, symbols, and values that shape and validate collective identity within and beyond social movements, and which are a pre-condition to connecting a local issue with an international agenda so that people can draw wider support for direct action. International media began to report on the current protest movement in Gangjeong Village in 2011, but the protest, at the time of this writing, has a history of over 10 years on Jeju Island. The citizen movement against construction of a military base on Jeju Island actually began in 2002 shortly after the Korean Navy announced plans to pursue an ‘ocean navy strategy’ to buildup military strength at sea through the deployment of large warships. 2 At that time, the Korean Navy proposed Hwasun Village (in western Jeju) as the site of the base. However, the proposed site was switched from Hwasun (2002-2005), to Wimi (2005-2007) and then to Gangjeong (2007-present). The following figure illustrates the locations of these areas and their proximity to one another. Along with changes to the proposed sites have also come changes to the major actors as well as transformations of the cultural factors that influence the larger resistance. Even the discourse and the sense of

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collective identities within Gangjeong that have been articulated through the years have undergone changes.

Fig. 13-1 A map of the region showing relative distances among Hwasun Village, Gangjeong Village, Seogwipo City, and Wimi Village. Source: Google Maps, 2013

From the early years of the protest movement in Gangjeong, this local issue has widened significantly into a global one through national and, then, international media attention. Further, it has evolved from a regional protest for self-determination into a broader peace movement that now challenges South Korea’s national security paradigm. At the same time, as the struggle to save this environment has gained increased support outside of Jeju Island, a schism has emerged between Jeju residents who oppose the scheme, and those who support it for economic reasons. Thus, the present situation has come to resemble that in Henoko, Okinawa, where surrounding communities are similarly divided.3 Not only have staunch proponents of national security supported construction, various other interest groups have also come out strongly in favour. Construction companies, the tourism industry, and various other commercial interests in Jeju have expressed their approval from the beginning, largely because of expecations that militarisation will likely produce some positive economic ripples in the local economy.4

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Despite these perceived promises of growth, anti-base residents and progressive civic organisations hold resolutely to their doubts about the long-term economic benefits of the project, as they consistently draw attention to the inevitable negative impacts on the local environment. After all, they maintain, this sort of development spells widespread destruction. Equally significant for the protestors is the apparent incongruity between the proposed military development and former president Rho Moo-Hyun’s public pronouncement and promotion of Jeju as an “Island of Peace”—an acknowledgement and apology put forward in 2005 for the 1948 brutal suppression of the Jeju Uprising.5 This rift is ongoing, but, according to recent public opinion polls, an increasingly large majority of islanders agree with the claims expressed by the protestors.6 Even though the protests against the naval base in Jeju have a long history, the movements have received relatively little attention from collective action theorists until very recently. The few scholarly works, which have appeared on the subject, have been written from a cultural analysis perspective. Lee Bo-ra explored the effects of everyday experiences and perceptions on self-identity of residents. 7 In an earlier paper, I briefly summarised the processes of collective action in Gangjeong through an analysis of discourse. 8 Yeo proposed three types of frames through which protestors understood their actions: one opposing the base construction on peace/anti-military grounds, a second emphasising the island’s natural environment and beauty, and a third constructed around the campaign for democratic rights and justice.9 Lee Young-yun analysed the development and change of discourses generated by local media.10 These works are insightful, but further work is needed to fully understand and explain ongoing processes developing both from the field of study and the field of experience. Through participant observations of the movement, close examinations of public speech, and interviews with the protestors gathered since 2007, this chapter assesses the framing processes at work in the public discourse. Before I focus on the Gangjeong protest movement, I shall first define key concepts of cultural analysis in this evolving context.

Cultural Analysis in Social Movement Theory In recent decades, emergent approaches to the study of social movements have challenged earlier assumptions that they succeed or fail as a result of their ability to recognise and act at opportune moments, generate resources, and mobilise support. Reconsidering social movements in the context of post-1970s struggles such as those for gay or animal

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rights, as well as anti-base protests, new approaches have instead stressed the importance of culture and identity as elemental to their dynamics. Drawing on Taylor and Whittier’s studies of feminist collective action in the United States, Charles Tilly (1998), for example, emphasised the importance of social networks, collective identities, and frames in directing collective action.11 My discussion here draws upon these earlier studies to examine in particular how frame, discourse, ritual, and collective identity have been constructed from interactions of the major actors and, in turn, how they have affected the development of the protest movement in Gangjeong. Frame, as a model of meaning construction, justifies, dignifies and guides collective action.12 Frames function as ways of “calling attention to the injustice,” “explaining the causes of and proposed remedies for the injustice,” or “connecting diverse experiences into a coherent outlook.”13 Movement leaders often incorporate pre-conceived internationally resonant claims to extend support for their movements, but new frames can also emerge as local struggles develop. As the movement shifts its scale from the local to the trans-local, new frames, additional ones or modified existing ones are constructed through transforming, bridging, or amplifying existing ones. 14 The movement in Gangjeong mobilised national and international supporters when a frame of ‘peace and life’ was constructed through the development of earlier frames. Framing also creates a deictic “us” and “them” relationship in shaping collective identity,15 in that it contributes to defining common and opposing interests, highlighting shared experiences, and creating community-based forms of solidarity.16 Collective identity is also constructed by narratives, stories, speeches, symbols, and conversations created by discourse participants. 17 These, in turn, can help create a more or less inclusive community of protest. Such inclusivities are then able to draw upon multiple identities to initiate new forms of collective action, especially as a wider range of actors becomes involved or a local movement spreads to a global level. In the development of the Gangjeong movement, previously disconnected groups such as labour unions in Korea and global peace NGOs began to develop a sense of ‘togetherness’ by re-interpreting frames of meaning. Discourse has been defined in various ways, but Johnston refines its meaning as “the summation of symbolic interchange of what is being [discussed] and written about, of the interrelations of symbols and their systematic occurrence”18 Discourse can, thus, affect the construction of a collective identity. Hence, discourse analysts focus attention on public speech, symbols, textual materials, visual materials, and songs and chants

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to understand the social meanings of collective action.19 The discourse of a second “Jeju 4/3” in the movement of Gangjeong gives greater emphasis to human rights and peace issues in what is promoted as an “Island of Peace.”20 Wuthnow defines rituals as “symbolic expressive events that communicate something about social relations in a relatively dramatic way.” 21 Through rituals, actors express emotion, mobilise solidarity, or demonstrate their power. Rituals function as a means of sustaining the solidarity of participants by evoking shared emotion. Marches, rallies, songs, chants, or candlelight vigils are examples of ritual. Over five years the protestors in Gangjeong have developed rituals from the local tradition and wider culture, and they have also created new rituals to express their solidarity, anger, resolve, or strength. While Gangjeong song and dance,22 for example, have become new rituals of the protest, the hunger strike, the human shield, and the self-imposed chaining of participants to gates or fences have also taken on many aspects of ritual.

The Military Ideology: National Security and Local Economic Development Morris describes ‘ideologies’ as “normative claims” that are “organized around systematic ideas.” In the context of South Korea, these systems of belief often go unquestioned by their victims as well as their beneficiaries. 23 As a result, few people initially questioned the national security rationale that framed the Jeju base construction project. In such a situation, as Yeo points out, constructing alternative frames against the national security paradigm proves highly challenging. A second frame that has been used to promote the project is its purported contributions to economic development. According to the Ministry of Defence, the expenditure on construction, the arrival of 3,000 soldiers and their families, and the related investment in regional development will provide a major boost to the local economic prosperity of Jeju Island.24 In response to the above claims, Jeju protestors have emphasised the inconsistency of the base project with the central government’s promotion of Jeju as an island of peace. Additional frames of protest have been based upon the right to local security for those living in close proximity to the base: a successful discourse strategy in an earlier campaign against a proposed air base at Moselpo (in western Jeju) in 1988.25

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Jeju Society: The Vision of an Island for Peace and Human Rights When the anti-base movement in Hwasun grew stronger in 2002, governor Woo Keun-min, during his second term in power, asked the Maritime Affairs Ministry to halt planned construction as a result of overwhelming opposition on the part of Jeju residents. The conflict between the Navy and Jeju’s anti-base protestors resumed when the military again proposed to construct its base at Hwasun in 2005. The new plan called for a base with a land area of about 400,000 square metres (about fifty-six football pitches), at a cost of 8 trillion KRW. The base was to moor twenty sophisticated warships, including 7,600-tonne Aegis-equipped KDX-III destroyers. This time, the Jeju government became involved. New governor, Kim Tae-whan, who was elected in 2006, established a task force to analyse the potential effects of the construction of the naval base on various aspects of Jeju society. The official military response was again framed around the issue of national security. The base would serve to protect the oil transport route near Jeju and deter potential threats from China or Japan. Military officials also emphasised the economic advantages that came with the construction of the base.26 The Jeju government, by contrast, emphasised the necessity of securing the approval of its residents, the promotion of regional development, and compatibility with Roh’s concept of an “Island of Peace.”27 Once again, regarding construction, Jeju society divided into pro- and anti-base residents. The pro-base residents adopted the same discourses as the military had deployed. Among them, construction companies, the tourism industry, and other commercial interests publically expressed their support, expecting inflows of outside investment and increased revenues from growing consumer demand in Jeju. Nevertheless, anti-base residents and progressive organisations again reasserted concerns over the obvious and uneasy contradictions that the plan revealed in the face of Jeju as an “Island of Peace.” This time, some protestors criticised the naval base in connection with its role in implementing a US missile defence system perceived as hostile to China on the grounds that it would deepen suspicions and ignite possible hostilities. However, this aspect of the issue did not develop into a major point of contention because most residents lacked sufficient information about the issue. Moreover, the ROK Navy strongly denied the possibility that the US military would even make use of the proposed base.

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The main objections in conferences and local media were, therefore, those raised by the Jeju government. While the Navy was struggling to gain the consent of the residents of Hwasun, in August 2005 some Wimi villagers (in southeastern Jeju) asked the military to bring the base to their area to promote local development. After examining the feasibility of the location as a naval base, the military confirmed Wimi as another proposed site in June 2006. However, within months, the villagers of Wimi reversed course and decided to oppose this plan through a referendum. As a result, the military fell back to its familiar position that peace could best be achieved through military strength. According to its briefing, peace does not necessarily endorse demilitarisation in the region, and it should rather be protected by military strength.28 This stipulated definition of peace as an armed truce has constantly been repeated by pro-base residents, conservative organisations, and ruling parties. Countering this view, protestors advocate maintaining peace by peaceful means. Since then, this alternative conception has also become a major frame by which opponents of the base understand the purpose of their protest, alongside emphasising the importance of villagers’ future livelihoods, their consent for the project, and its likely detrimental environmental impacts. In response, the Jeju government took an ostensibly neutral position by convening a number of public conferences to listen to opinions from both sides, but the protestors in Wimi began to accuse the local government of simultaneously holding meetings with military representatives behind closed doors and of ignoring the voices of the villagers.29 Fierce protests continued in Wimi until a public opinion poll in May 2007 revealed that a decisive majority of Wimi residents opposed the base.

Jeju Government: Regional Development As mentioned earlier, the former Jeju governor, Kim Tae-whan, became an important actor in this dispute. The official authority of the governorship has widened and strengthened since July 2005 with the integration of administrative districts in Jeju. The governor has a right to sign memoranda of understanding with the national government and to order legal enforcement of regulations approving national projects. Therefore, the role of the governor has often been crucial. The Jeju government, according to Lee and Kim, saw base construction as an important economic investment from outside.30 Because its policy had been to invite investment capital from outside Jeju, this

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national project was regarded as a natural extension of its existing policy. So, the Jeju government attempted to secure sufficient procedural grounds for the construction by garnering the public’s consent. The Jeju government task force charged to analyse issues regarding the construction had already concluded in December 2006 that Roh’s “Island of Peace” label would be compatible with the naval base if its underlying concept were framed as a hub for the promotion of mutual cooperation toward peace in Northeast Asia. Amid much controversy, the Jeju governor finally outlined a roadmap on April 10, 2007 for site selection based upon a public opinion poll. The construction was taken for granted, and one of two villages, Hwasun or Wimi, was proposed as the final site. However, media attention focused on how the survey had been conducted, rather than on why the construction was even necessary. When about 120 (eight-seven registered) villagers in Gangjeong (in southern Jeju) asked to be the third candidate during a town meeting on April 27, 2007, the construction of the base became splintered into an issue for particular villages rather than for the whole society of Jeju.31 For non-residents of those villages, the proposed construction had emerged as a NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) issue. Yet, before the rest of the villagers in Gangjeong could address the situation, the first of two surveys was done in a single week. The governor then announced on May 14, 2007 that Gangjeong Village had been selected. This announcement signalled that the Jeju government had decided to accept the plan for the naval base and then moved to select the site on the grounds of expedience. On the day of the announcement, the governor encouraged the central government to accept the local plan.32

From Solidarity of Grievances to Democratic Procedure at Gangjeong After a decision was made on the specific site, Gangjeong Anti-Base Committee, a committee focused on measures to oppose base construction in Gangjeong, was formed on May 18th, with the aim of pointing to problems in the selection of the site and in the method of the survey. From then until now, the opposing residents have raised those concerns whenever they had the chance to speak formally or informally. According to them, only eighty-seven out of 1,050 residents were present in the town meeting because the announcement did not give sufficient information on the purpose of the meeting.33 Not only were small numbers present, but nearly half of those were haenyo (female sea divers) who had rarely

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participated in such meetings before. 34 According to the unspoken suspicions of many villagers, some of the haenyo had been effectively bribed by the military. 35 These suspicions may have developed from reports of a purportedly well-dressed gentleman in years past who had offered some residents large sums of compensation for their consent. Further, the decision to approve the base construction plan was made after scant discussion, and on the basis of a round of applause, rather than a free vote.36 The villagers argued that they had even held meetings eight times to decide on the construction of a condominium near the village twelve years previously. Successful resistance had been achieved in the past through forthright expressions of opposition to the undemocratic ways in which higher decisions were being forced upon local residents. The residents also challenged the validity of the survey, which was designed to poll the opinions of 1,000 residents living in each administrative district to which the candidate village belonged. The village of Gangjeong and the next four adjacent villages form one administrative district, Daechun-dong. The population of Daechun-dong was about 7,000 while that of Gangjeong was about 1,900 as of 2007. As a result of the disproportionate numbers, the opinions of Gangjeong were largely ignored. Another problem was the partiality of the survey, as the Jeju Council pointed out. The Navy had held briefings with the residents of Daechun-dong just before the telephone survey. 37 Taken together, the residents of Gangjeong called this selection of a site as “wrong from the beginning” and demanded it be immediately reversed. The first step of the opposing residents, then, was to ascertain the opinions of fellow villagers. After receiving harsh sudden critcisms from pro-base haenyo, the new village mayor, Kang Dong-kyun, held a plebiscite on August 20, 2007, despite a boycott by pro-construction villagers.38 The pro-base villagers were laregly from a circle of concerned fisheries expecting investment in various facilities such as a marine-park in Gangjeong and/or personal benefits such as monetary compensation for damages to their livelihood.39 The anti-base villagers were mostly farmers who feared the destruction of their productive land and hometown. The result of the vote was 36 for and 680 against the construction. This figure shows that approximately 94% of voters were opposed to the construction. Afterwards, 94% became a strong symbol of villagers’ resistance to base construction and the value of democratic action. The collective identity of the anti-base protestors was at first based on their anger toward the pro-construction villagers and former Jeju governor, Kim Tae-whan. The residents whom I interviewed accused those villagers of selling out their hometown with its 400-year history and the governor of

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betraying their support in the 2006 election. 40 They emphasised their moral superiority over the pro-base villagers, and turned, as if by reflex, to two slogans to express their anger, “Withdraw Kim Tae-whan” and “No naval base.” At the same time, the protestors evoked a proud collective memory of the village. Gangjeong had been known as ‘the number one village’ because it was a rare place for cultivating rice and for obtaining clean water along the seaside. With their pride, they had resolved to preserve the village and showed strong trust of the leaders. The leaders and their organisations during this period were Kang Dong-kyun (the village mayor and representative of Gangjeong Village Association), Yang Hong-chan (a representative of Gangjeong Anti-base Committee), Jung Young-hee (a female representative of Gangjeong Anti-base Committee), and Ko You-ki (the Director of Jeju Pan-Island Committee for Stopping the Military Base and Realizing a Peaceful Island (JPIC). Their grievances developed into a frame of procedural justification when they confirmed the blatant lack of transparency and of mutual understanding. They criticised numerous administrative procedures as formal acts. Even in a public hearing on the environmental impact assessment on June 24, 2009, the village mayor raised the issue of procedural justification by questioning, “Is this another formal act? Are we just an instrument for your event?”41 Throughout the movement, the frame of democratic procedure has been consistently emphasised. To further legitimate their cause, the villagers created nonviolent rituals such as an art festival, a movement to collect signatures, a one-man relay protest, presentation of petitions, candlelight vigils, and the shaving of heads. In particular, they twice organised a peace festival to send messages of peace to everyone concerned and to energise themselves with various performances. They also wore tee-shirts with messages that read, “No naval base” or “Withdraw Kim Tae-whan,” and erected yellow flags in the streets of Gangjeong. In turn, these experiences strengthened their collective identity and a sense of pride in being responsible custodians of their villages as well as advocating for peace through direct democratic action. In May 2008, the national assembly proposed building a combined port for both cruise vessels and naval vessels as a conflict resolution policy, and the central government confirmed it in September. According to the new plan, a port to moor two cruise ships of 150,000 tonnes would be built next to the Naval base. The residents called on the Jeju governor to reexamine the best site through the democratic process on the basis of the new plan, but the governor simply modified the name from the naval base

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to “a beautiful tourism port for mixed civilian-military use.”42 In spite of strong protests, on April 27, 2009, the central government and the Jeju government signed a memorandum of understanding (MOU) for the construction of a combined port for cruise and naval vessels. Following this MOU, the Navy pushed forward with the plan of construction. The residents and civic organisations in Jeju, then, demanded a recall of the Island governor by vote in August 2009. The governor responded to the recall effort by arguing in favour of the national project. The recall was not realised because of lower voter turnout than the legal requirement. Yang Kil-hyun explained this result in terms of unequal power and institutional constraints.43

The Breakdown of Community Another issue related to democratic procedure was the problem of the social breakdown of community. Jeju society, especially farming villages, greatly values its face-to-face social networks and the strong sense of kinship that develops in informal groups. Along with the division of opinions about base construction, these close relationships were severely disrupted. Some family members even refused to join together to offer memorial services for their ancestors, perhaps the most important ritual for family cohesion in Jeju society. And, according to the residents, approximately 80% of 200 informal social groups as well as private village funds disintegrated. As shown in the documentary “Jam docu Gangjeong,” brothers came to dissociate themselves from one another and local citizens, divided over the base issue, followed suit, dividing themselves from others in public, in stores, and in restaurants.44 Two small markets facing each other in the street have since become symbols of this division. The residents have reported that the most painful experience during the movement has been the disintegration of personal relationships. According to a survey of mental health, the level of mental damage of ninety-eight respondents was seriously high. 45 Over 50% of them showed symptoms of hostility, depression, and unrest, and 34.7% reported having planned or attempted suicide. The reasons for this suicidal impulse, according to their responses, were “the attitudes of the central and local government” (38%) or “the conflicts among villagers” (36.7%). The villagers referred to this as the second 4/3, alluding to the disaster that had left a tremendous emotional chasm between relatives and neighbours. The protestors attributed this tragedy to the violation of local democracy and the customary strategy of divide and rule employed by the central government. On the other hand, pro-construction villagers blamed

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divisions on left-wing agitators from outside Gangjeong. Whatever the outcome of the current struggles, these divisions are likely to prove longlasting.

Environmental Conservation The Navy from the outset had promised to build the base in accordance with environmentally-friendly principles. However, opposition residents raised an environmental issue that directly challenged the selection of the site. At first, they had highlighted the fact that the coastline in Gangjeong Village is already a nationally protected coastal area and its sea is the only area in Korea where UNESCO-designated soft corals exist.46 Further, the red-foot crabs, a government-designated endangered species, make their home there. In addition, the area features unique rock formations known as ‘Gureombi’. They have asked why the Navy purports to need this protected area for a naval base. As a strategy, they called attention to the beauty and uniqueness of those living things by posting pictures in a street-photo gallery, publicising in banners, and passing out fliers to tourists. Artists created symbolic sculptures in support of environmental conservation efforts all along the seaside. The environmental issue further escalated during a feasibility study of environmental effects. The protestors responded by pointing to problems with the reliability of the study, and even members of the deliberating council agreed with objections such as an omission of the study on soft corals. 47 Despite these voiced reasonable contentions, the deliberating council approved the results of the study of environmental impacts in a second meeting with a condition of complementary measures. Even though the local government immediately announced plans to protect the environment with maximum effort, it revised its own regulations regarding the protected area within just three months.48 The Jeju government also passed “the plan of reclamation of the surface,” allowing the scale of 369,605 square metres of the seaside of Gangjeong for the construction site.49 Thus, the Navy and the Jeju government solidified all of the administrative steps to start building the naval base. During this process, the Navy again emphasised its intention to move forward with base construction while stating its firm commitment to protecting the environment by announcing that it would transplant the rare species to another area and that it would also fulfill its agreements to finish environmental impact studies.

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Although the obvious environmental issues failed to give pro-base opponents pause, the irrational rush to construction affected opposition villagers’ collective identity. They re-discovered the immense natural beauty of their own hometown, and came to identify themselves as guardians of their local environment.50 The villagers designed banners and placards saying “Do not touch one stone: Do not touch one flower.” The frame of the environment was further reinforced when Gloria Steinem described Jeju as “a paradise in the world” in her article.51

Power Holders: The Strategy of Crackdown On January 18, 2010, the Navy asked the police to commit to clearing away protestors’ tents in the planned site of the groundbreaking ceremony.52 The police, about 600 officers, subsequently arrested 53 protestors, including village leaders. The Navy warned it would take strong measures against obstruction of business and illegal occupation of the land of the Ministry of Defence. Here, business concerns trump wider concerns for the environment. Evidence of collusion among the power brokers was found in the contents of the minutes of the agencies concerned. 53 In this record of September 2008, the police suggested that the local government sue the protestors, and the National Intelligence Service outlined its strategy for excluding outside supporters. Even the local vice governor asked the police for a strong enforcement of the law. After news of this government effort was broadcast, Gangjeong Village Association and its supporting organisations criticised those involved for mobilisation of public power.54 According to residents, the number being sued or accused was thirty-two as of May 5, 2009.55 The sheer repetition of levied fines, all manner of accusations, and arrests over four years created among protestors a deeply felt fatigue for the popular movement. One protestor whom I met was so frustrated that he even mentioned abandoning his hometown, Gangjeong. He said that, “the situation is worse than the dictatorship of the early 1980s. We simply cannot trust outside parties like the media, the courts and the Jeju Council.” Having reached the limit of their resource mobilisation, the villagers concluded that the only possible way to stop the construction was to sacrifice their own bodies.

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The New Jeju Government of 2010: Win-Win Solution As part of his efforts in conflict resolution, the new governor of 2010, Woo Keun-min, suggested a so-called “win-win policy” following his inauguration in July.56 He proposed a special law to support development of the region in the vicinity of the naval base on the basis of the opinions of the residents.57 According to villagers, the win-win policy divided the opposition into hard liners and the reasonable, the latter being prepared to accept the incentives offered by the state. 58 A clash of opinion further developed after their failed attempt to reconsider the site.59 After holding three extraordinary general town meetings, eight-seven out of 106 residents voted in favour of stronger protest action, but the number of protestors in the construction area decreased.60 When the Navy and the contracting companies such as Samsung C&T and Daerim Industry commenced to build the naval base in earnest, the hardliners tried to block concrete mixers with their own bodies.61 While the Jeju Government again attempted to persuade the villagers to accept the incentives, public officials of Jeju-si (Jeju City) were even mobilised to remove the tents of the protestors in front of the local Council.62 The villagers blamed the governor for his duplicity.63

Expansion of Frame: Peace and Life After the Navy held an opening ceremony for the field office at the planned construction site on February 9, 2011, the Navy accelerated its work on the base. However, about ten residents showed up with an emergency siren from the village. According to Ko Gwon-il, a new representative of Gangjeong Anti-base Committee, people now felt it was necessary to solicit help from outside supporters.64 With this request, A Mission for Life and Peace visited Gangjeong on March 1, 2011, and other organisations such as Frontiers, and Solidarity for Peace and Unification of Korea joined the protest within two months. Father Moon Jung-hyun, a leading figure of peace movements in Korea, also moved to Gangjeong. These organisations and individual activists have since become major actors alongside the villagers and Jeju Pan-Island Committee (JPIC). With the participation of outside organisations, a hunger strike by Yang Yoon-mo, a well-known film critic, developed the momentum for national and international solidarity. After his arrest on April 6, 2011, he undertook a hunger strike for seventy-one days including fifty-seven days in prison. Through Vimeo and YouTube, he has spread word of the justification for protest, triggering a movement opposing the naval base.65

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As a consequence, the issue of a potential arms race in Northeast Asia has since re-emerged as a major concern in the nation and across the globe. National media have called attention to the pervasive belief that the US military would also likely make use of the Jeju naval base for its Aegis Class ships and aircraft carriers in order to check China’s rising military might, since bases in Okinawa could not possibly accommodate those massive ships. With a newly formed US strategy that concentrates military strength in the Asia-Pacific region, an arms race between the two superpowers would escalate tensions even on a global scale.66 Soon, international media began conveying the views of anti-base forces, disseminating details of the issue worldwide. Initially, Gloria Steinem raised the issues of “the militarization of Jeju Island in the service of the arms race” and “an environmental disaster” in “the most beautiful place on earth,” and called for solidarity with the protest.67 Other writers underscored the issues in the same media or in other influential media as mentioned earlier. Even twenty-five public intellectuals worldwide, including Noam Chomsky, expressed support for the villagers, condemned the Korean government’s approval of the violent suppression of protestors, and of building an advanced base for the US.68 Peace activists from all circles of the mainland have begun organising networking services for a sympathetic audience. They helped create Gangjeong Internet Café, a Facebook group, No Naval Base on Jeju, a Twitter account of Gangjeong, the homepages for national and international networkers, and other services to deliver near real-time news of the movement, and to collect and coordinate various resources. With the help of social networking services, Yang Yoon-mo’s courageous life-risking struggle and its context has received stronger national and international support. A news reporter told me that, “it is a revolution of SNS, like the Arab Spring.” In keeping with the usual dynamics of evolving protest movements, many anti-base and environmental activists have visited the village to help out, and growing numbers of national and international organisations have issued public statements of solidarity.69 On June 8, two months after Yang’s arrest, the “National Network of Korean Civil Society for Opposing the Naval Base on Jeju Island” was formed by 140 organisations and 440 individuals.70 This network seeks, on a national scale, to coordinate opposition to planned base construction. Even overseas organisations and 101 international peace organisations issued public statements objecting to the construction as a threat to peace in the Asia-Pacific region. An international petition through Avaaz, the world political activist organisation, was drawn up on July 27.

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Religious groups also expressed their solidarity. Catholic priests in the Jeju parish have remained in the tents of Jungdeok, the intended naval base site and home of protesting villagers, to help block any suspected sudden police actions since July 25th. The Jeju parish also held mass for peace in Jungdeok. Moreover, the Gwangju parish, the Korean YMCA, the Christian Conference of Asia, and others joined the protest. While the movement was shifting from a local to a national and then to an international one, a master frame, “peace and life,” was erected from existing discourses—such as the trauma of Jeju 4/3 and the hope to maintain environmental preservation and peace in the Asia-Pacific region. This new frame has been re-emphasised through key public speeches. Kang Dong-kyun, the village mayor, during a press interview, addressed the necessary value of peace and life in Jeju since the island had a gifted environment and a tragic history at the same time. 71 On May 28th, he declared in a concert to support residents that, “this is just the beginning of peace.” This proclamation illustrated the symbolic transition of the frame for the movement. With this shift, the construction of the naval base in Gangjeong was now no longer just a local issue. With the help of the frame transition, some 1,000 supporters from various sectors of society gathered on July 2nd in Jeju for a day of “revoking the plan for the construction of the naval base on Jeju Island.” It was the first time that the movement saw such a large-scale event since the very beginning of the protest. Kim Se-ri, the initiator of the Twitter campaign, was convinced that Yang Yoon-mo’s hunger strike would provide some critical momentum for this gathering of supporters.72 On this day, the village mayor again declared a victory for peace. Thus, “peace and life,” a broader framework, has since been constructed through the course of the movement, and, in turn, the new frame has helped shift the scale of coordinated action in terms of number, intensity, and scope— directly challenging the ideology of national security. With the noticeable expansion of the scale of the movement, the collective identity and rituals of the protestors have changed. The villagers have developed a renewed and stronger sense of citizenship and responsibility to their hometown. When the judges asked the arrested the reasons for their protest, they simply replied “I did nothing wrong except to guard our village.”73 Kim Mi-ryang, a young female villager, reported to me during her imprisonment in September that “it is just my turn to be imprisoned among the villagers.” The new leading actors, the activists, have become committed to more abstract values, peace and environment.74 Together with outside support, the rituals of the anti-construction groups have become more diversified. As seen in the second rally on

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August 6th, songs and dances constituted a large part of the demonstration. New chants and Gangjeong songs with dances were created. Slogans chanted about hope and love, ‘the persistent people win’ and ‘I love Gangjeong’ as well as the daily song and dance of protestors have become ritual parts of the demonstrations along with nightly candlelight vigils. The visitors and supporters have been creating a softer, life-affirming means to reinvigorate and maintain the movement.

The Navy and Samsung C&T: Re-enforcement of the Law Meanwhile, the Navy increased the scale and the budget for the construction on the basis of a new plan that called for a mixed-use port for civilian and military use. The proposed land area allocation for construction grew to 530,000 square metres (expanding by 18 football pitches), and the government’s investment increased to 9.8 trillion KRW.75 In response to the sheer growth of the construction project, the protests increased in intensity, and, thus, Samsung C&T and Daelim Industries needed to respond as major actors in the courts to block the movement. Outside support for the protest has since expanded even while a crackdown by law enforcement combined with new strategies from the corporate elite have taken hold. On July 14, 2011, just two weeks after the July 2nd rally, the Navy and Samsung C&T demanded 290 million KRW in compensation for damages caused by fourteen protestors, and applied for an injunction against seventy-seven other protestors trespassing on the construction site. On July 21st, the national police chief visited Jeju Island and ordered rigorous enforcement in the event that construction is obstructed.76 Since this order, about 300 policemen have been permanently stationed at the entrance to Jungdeok. 77 Within a week of the first order, the national maritime police chief echoed the same order.78 Conservative media supported law enforcement’s attempt to reframe the peace activists as “pro-North Korea leftists.”79 A leader of the Grand National Party used the same words in the national assembly, demanding strict enforcement by the authorities.80 Pro-construction organisations in the August 5th rally, likewise, publicly castigated the peace activists as “pro-North Korea forces.”81 The divide and conquer strategy that isolates the peace activists from the villagers has served as a leading narrative for pro-base supporters. As a consequence, protestors and their supporting organisations criticised the abuse of public power and announced an all-out fight to protect the village and the peace. 82 Since then, chained protestors,

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including Hyun Ae-ja, an ex-member of national assembly from Seogwipo (in southern area of Jeju), have guarded the entrance to Jungdeok, and other protestors have taken up lodging in the protestors’ tents through the night.83 After the mayor of Segwipo City accepted a government order to block the only path to enter Jungdeok on July 29th, the area where the chain protest unfolded has become a symbolic site for the defence of the area.

The Discourse of a Second Jeju 4/3 An order for the enforcement of the law issued by the national police chief materialised when 500-600 policemen, sixteen police buses, and ten vehicles equipped with riot gear including three water cannons were dispatched from the mainland on August 14, 2011. This date marked the first time that Jeju saw such a huge deployment of force from the mainland since 4/3, as tensions grew not only in the village, but also throughout the entire island. In response, Jeju Islanders, the Jeju Council, opposition political parties, national and international civic, religious organisations, and others sharply criticised the show of force, connecting it with the trauma of Jeju 4/3. While conservative media and civic organisations suggested a rapid enforcement of law for the sake of national security and the Jeju economy,84 sympathetic but silent supporters in Jeju began to support the villagers more actively by creating so-called “peace-buses” or “peaceplanes.” In spite of the long and largely localised protest, Jeju people themselves, throughout the entire island, were the last supporters to join in the movement, mostly because of the island’s unique kinship system and the power structure. This time, however, their memory of April 3, 1948 lead them to change their attitudes, and then they took the problem of Gangjeong as “the future of the entire Island.”85 Nevertheless, the Supreme Public Prosecutor’s Office convened a public safety meeting on August 26th, its first in two years, and called for the strict enforcement of the law against protestors obstructing business and conducting other ‘illegal’ activities. Three days later, it reached a decision on the construction companies’ application for an injunction seeking to prohibit thirty-seven protestors and five leading anti-base organisations from approaching several areas around the construction site. Trespassers would have to pay a fine of two-million KRW to the Navy per each violation. The villagers described this situation as a virtual reenactment of the 4/3 massacre of 1948: “but this time, instead of guns, we are being killed by all manner of complaints, accusations, and fines.”

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On September 2nd, over 1,000 riot police committed to the removal of protestors who had blocked the road to the sea, and arrested thirty-seven protestors after clashes between both sides. While the villagers and women who had chained themselves to the gates cried out, prayed, or protested with their own bodies, the fence around the planned site of the base was still erected under the protection of the police. Ko Gwon-il, a leader of the anti-base movement, protested in a five-metre-high watchtower all day long. According to an interview of villagers by the media, “Look at the riot police from the mainland! This is a second 4/3.”86 An elderly woman reported to me that every villager carried the burden of great mental anguish and feelings of dread in their lungs. After the police were dispatched from the mainland, the discourse of 4/3 widely appealed to Jeju Islanders and also to international media. The leaders of the movement used this opportunity as a strategic tool. From the October 31st rally, the ritual began with a minute of silence for the victims of 4/3, unlike in the previous rallies.

A Symbol of Collective Identity and of World Peace: ‘Gureombi’ After the erection of the perimeter fence, Gureombi emerged as a symbolic site of the protest. Gureombi, by the village seaside, is a unique formation of rock with a length of 1.2 kilometres and a width of 150 metres. It was a protected area as the only rock-wetland in the nation before the regulation was revised in 2010. The villagers have used it to collect spring water or to pray for their wishes for centuries. For villagers, the place became a code for the loss of their hometown and for the goal of restoring its original form before its complete demolition. Residents shed tears whenever they heard the word, Gureombi. When the Navy tested demolition explosives at Gureombi on October 6th, residents said they could not fall asleep because of “the sound of its cry.” Gureombi has been not only an emotional symbol of the collective identity of villagers, but it has also been a code for preserving the environment, life, and peace. According to the protestors, “leaving it as it is” means protecting the unique nature and protecting all living things in the sea. It also communicates the great value of peace. Keeping Gureombi stands for “no naval base” in the future, and that leads to a peace with no potential tension around this area. This symbolic code has been reproduced in pictures on fliers and in the Internet café of Gangjeong. The name was given to a concert in efforts to raise awareness and also appeared in an October 1st Post headline, “Don’t

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cry Gureombi. Cheer up Gangjeong,” detailing a rally. During daily vigils, concerns were mostly focused on the preservation of Gureombi. For the villagers, the meaning of peace coexists with nature while the international activists are concerned more with an arms race. While the struggle has deepened, two pressing issues have emerged; a preservation of remains around the construction site and irregularities in base-planning procedures. From early September, a diversity of ancient ruins including round dwellings presumed to be from the Bronze period and the early Iron Age were found near the fence and the main gate of the construction site during an excavation. The protestors had asked for a halt to construction in the interest of protecting the ruins, at least until an investigation could be completed into regulations regarding the preservation of historical cultural assets. Despite this reasonable plea, the Cultural Heritage Administration approved continuing construction in areas where ruins had not been found yet. The Jeju Council, Catholics, opposition parties, and others asked for the designation of Gureombi as a cultural asset, but their request was not granted. During this conflict of opinions, as the issue blended into a discourse of environmental preservation, the struggle and call to ‘Save Gureombi’ was strengthened. The Jeju Government soon called attention to another issue that was believed to maintain a win-win strategy. It was discovered that 150,000tonne cruise ships (or larger ships) would not be able to pass each other or dock safely at the port due to certain technical miscalculations concerning wind speeds, currents, and sea route alignment. So, on September 8, 2011, Jeju officials asked the Office of the Prime Minister in Seoul to re-assess the base-planning designs. After meeting only four times, the technical committee, appointed by the Prime Minister’s Office, acknowledged the problems but in February suggested merely simulating ship control and making some modifications but not a wholesale re-design to the plans.87 This issue, however, broke the promise made by both the Navy and the Jeju government to construct a “beautiful tourism port.” Above all, it affected decisions on the key policies of opposition parties that were soon facing two elections—a general election in the following April, and a presidential election in December of 2012. Those parties played a decisive role in cutting 96% of the base construction budget, 128.1 billion KRW out of 132.7 billion KRW, on the basis of the Navy’s violation of its collateral agreement on December 30, 2011. They also cut the entire budget for regional development that had been requested by the Jeju Government.

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One peace activist reported that they all cried tears of joy at that news. Despite this, the Navy had already had the construction budget transferred in funding from the previous year, 108.4 billion KRW. Since erecting the fence, they have expedited construction, and after the national assembly’s decision, they accelerated the speed of moving construction forward, causing further conflicts with the protestors. During the struggle around these issues, Catholics often took the lead in protesting. On October 10th, Catholics organised a national union to realise the peace of the Island. Besides holding periodic large-scale masses, the priests have held daily masses just across the street from the main gate, and sit-in protests to prevent construction trucks from hauling in building materials. Arrests have been ongoing. More than ever, the role of the Catholic faithful, though, has become increasingly influential in maintaining the movement and justifying the discourse of peace. A particular sermon delivered by Kang Woo-ill, the head of the Jeju parish, effectively expanded the frame of peace. He preached that “You may be the smallest village in Korea, Gangjeong, but the peace that starts with you will reach the whole country” on September 8th. According to peace activists, his sermon addressed the direction of the movement. The slogan of the protests immediately drew upon his words, “World peace out of Gangjeong!” Thus, their justification for the struggle has expanded into world peace that, in turn, strengthens the pride of the protestors.

Human Rights Since base construction has resumed, civil police powers have been intensively exercised to prevent popular protests. When the construction budget was curtailed, the situation escalated into “a war,” according to residents. Eighty-seven protestors were taken into custody in 2010, but 133 in 2011, and 109 in just two months of 2012 were arrested.88 Over 200 villagers became offenders, and the amount of fines levied against them reached over 300 million KRW as of early 2012. According to villagers, the Navy and the construction companies did not abide by construction regulations that the Jeju Government had ordered them to follow.89 Furthermore, the residents alleged that the police had committed violent acts, sexual harassment, and illegal photographing as they exercised their civil power of law enforcement. 90 Amnesty International came to investigate violations of human rights in Gangjeong.91 According to the protestors, Gangjeong is an extraterritorial region, and so the villagers feel they are not treated as legitimate citizens. During a particular protest, a village man cried out, “we are not treated as people,

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so take us away!” 92 A Twitter message supporting the protestors also raised the question of ‘what is the state?’ The village mayor has argued in his speeches that ordinary people’s human rights are equally important to national security. Human rights became a major discourse a second time since the construction plan was initiated on Jeju Island in 2002. Further, this discourse directly challenged the frame of national security in terms of the purported necessity of national security in protecting citizens. Along with the frame of “peace and life,” the frame of “human rights” created solidarity with more national and international groups. Among those, over 500 members of the Writers Association of Korea participated in a peace-relay, trekking near the DMZ for 528 kilometres, during the period of December 26, 2011 to January 20, 2012. Further, twenty-eight international human rights organisations expressed their concern over violations of human rights at Gangjeong including the deportation of Angie Zelter, a nominee for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2012. 93 Various groups and individuals in Okinawa also issued a statement of solidarity for human rights, environment, and anti-militarisation on April 7, 2012. However, the villagers said that they felt separated from the protection of their own human rights. They believe that the police acted on behalf of the repressive forces of the military and the government. An elderly woman reported that her daughter had been hurt by the police, but there was nothing the woman could do except to blame them. Protestors’ strategies this time were focused on approaching Gureombi by sea kayak, in addition to the sit-in protests, posting film clips to YouTube, publishing newsletters in Korean and English, and undertaking other means of communication. The villagers and peace activists I met in the candlelight vigils showed a strong determination to protect Gureombi. Enraged by “the disappearance of law and justice,” and by seeing villagers “suffering at the hands of state authorities,”94 some visitors even became activists.

The Central Government: A Counter Frame of Regional Development On March 7th, the first explosive demolition of Gureombi sounded under the protection of about 1,000 police officers throughout the village. In order to create an assembly shop for caissons,95 the Navy planned to rase parts of Gureombi using forty-four tonnes of dynamite over a period of about two months.96 Despite appeals from both the local governor and the opposition parties, the Navy pushed ahead with the demolition. As this

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valued symbol of the struggle collapsed, the protestors wept with great frustration and anger over the abuse of public power. News of the explosions at Gangjoeng headlined in national media and were framed as ‘South Korean news’ in international media.97 Gureombi became the most searched keyword on the Internet in Korea. “Don’t kill Kangjeong Kureombi” (DKKK) has since emerged as a new slogan. The following day, pro-base supporters held a big rally, proclaiming the importance of developing a self-supporting defence. Anti-base supporters responded with demands to halt demolitions and also mobilised resources for the villagers. Just after the first explosion sounded, Gangjeong Village started receiving over a tonne of everyday goods per day, and donations from nearly 2,500 supporters within ten days.98 The number of SNS users supporting Gangjeong also grew sharply. Despite this growing support to save Gureombi, the results of the general election on April 11, 2012 swung to the Navy’s favour. As the ruling party succeeded in its quest to occupy a majority of the seats in the coming assembly, the Navy accelerated dynamiting and installing caissons with the full support of the central government. In early May, the Navy finished annihilating Gureombi, and moved to finish positioning caissons into the sea. 99 In response, the protestors attempted to obstruct this construction rush by all means possible, but authorities were quick to strictly enforce the law. According to an inspection of the government offices, over 130,000 mainland police were stationed in Gangjeong from August, 2011 to August, 2012. Five-hundred eighty-six protestors were arrested or detained over this same period.100 As of this writing, routine clashes between protestors and the police have erupted around the construction area during the day while daily vigils have been kept during the evening. The residents of Gangjeong Village filed suit to block the ROK Navy’s planned construction on the grounds that an environmental impact assessment had yet to be completed. On July 5th, though, the Korean Supreme Court ruled in favour of the legal justification of the Ministry of Defense to build the port, effectively overturning the lower court’s decision. On the same day, the Jeju Government rejected an application from the Gangjeong Village Association to open a new bank account in which to receive support funds. The purported reasons were that a new account violated the law and would likely hamper ongoing police investigations of the Association’s existing bank account. 101 The ROK Navy was, thus, able to secure permission to continue construction on one hand, and, on the other, it was able to successfully block any legal streams of financial support to the protestors.

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While the Navy and the central government succeeded in providing favourable conditions for the construction, they refocused on their existing frame of regional development and were able to actively promote the promised effects of ‘the mixed civilian port and military base’ through pamphlets and mass media. According to pamphlets maintained in every public office in Jeju, the construction of the cruise port and associated projects would generate massive industrial production, wages worth approximately 1.55 trillion KRW, and precisely 18,042 new jobs. Such concrete numbers illustrate the utility of the Navy’s counter frame, which directly challenges the protestors’ calls for more democratic procedures, environmental preservation, and respect for human rights. 102 Economic imperatives, thus, trump ethical forms of governance. In response to the central government’s counter frame, the leading actors of the protest have focused on circulating the idea of “the great lie”—the notion that the government’s plans are no more than an elaborate deception. According to their pamphlets, the base is being built not for mixed use, but for military use first and foremost. Far from strengthening the regional economy, they feel that this plan would ultimately weaken it. The protest leaders have further suggested the building of a peace park around Gureombi as an alternative to the naval base. The major events they have organised have been a relay candlelight festival in twenty-one cities throughout Korea, a joint action with other groups in the struggle, a grand march for six days in Jeju, an appeal to the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), and promotions in international cities such as London, New York, Paris, and others. Although “World Appeal to Protect the People, Nature, Culture and Heritage of Gangjeong Village” was voted down in a general meeting of the IUCN on September 15, 2012, controversies over the appeal paved the way to cast the local struggle as an international peace movement. As of autumn 2012, according to the anti-base villagers, approximately 80% of the citizens still oppose naval base construction. The villagers remain very open to communicating the many reasons behind their ongoing struggle, calling attention to the undemocratic procedures of decision-making, the destruction of valuable agricultural land, the violent behaviour of the police, and the inherently flawed base designs. Nearly thirty long-term committed activists have presently remained, identifying themselves as “keepers of peace” in the village and in the Asia Pacific region.103 Supporters’ own reports on their involvement reveal a wider range of discourses that deepen in them a greater a sense of solidarity, a phenomenon that Tarrow and Della Porta introduced as “flexible identities.” 104 About

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7,000 participants in the grand march, for example, expressed a variety of reasons for their actions, such as wanting to share in the villagers’ suffering, desiring to maintain the natural beauty of Jeju, protecting common sense and reasoned principles, and creating a world absent of war-making machines, but they marched together wearing the same teeshirts printed with the slogan of “Peace is the Way.” The construction of a collective identity through frames, discourses, or rituals is, thus, a vital factor in sustaining the movement at the national and international level.

Towards an International Peace Movement The anti-base movement in Gangjeong has persisted for over five and a half years, transforming itself into part of a larger international protest movement. In this chapter, I have tried to describe the dynamics of the local, national, and international processes that sustain this protest through analysis of the various cultural factors involved. In doing so, I hope to have illustrated how long-term interactions among major actors have restructured the discourses, collective identities, and frames, which have had reciprocal positive effects on the movement’s development. As was predicted by many observers and critics, the ROK Navy had put forward an ideology of national security and economic advantage in the building of a new base on Jeju Island in 2002. Initially, the citizens of Jeju interpreted the Navy’s plans as an issue that the entire island should face and critically examine in light of the island’s well-known image as one of peace, a vision asserted and reaffirmed over the decades after 4/3. When the former Jeju government announced the roadmap on the selection of the site through a poll in 2007, the island issue became a particular village issue and surfaced in the discourse as a NIMBY. Since then, opponents within the village have aligned with the frames of legitimate procedure, community solidarity, and environment, directly challenging the ideology of national security. With the pride of their hometown and their collective anger, the villagers attempted to reverse the decision by using every peaceful means at their disposal for four years. However, the mobilisation of support resources and recruitment reached its limit in 2011. Even the villagers who acted together to oppose the plans separated into two factions after the current local government suggested accepting the regional development project. The opposition leadership in Gangjeong and the emotional solidarity among protestors had been major factors in sustaining the movement, an observation verified earlier by other social science researchers.105

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Yang Yoon-mo’s life-risking hunger strikes have been pivotal in garnering national and international support. The support from outside organisations with SNS have helped spread news of the base issue into the global community. The issue of maintaining peace in the Asia-Pacific region was re-ignited, and the frame was extended toward peace and life, connecting the discourses of democratic procedure, Jeju 4/3, the environment, and peace. As Snow and Benford maintain, widely adopted master frames make it possible to align the experiences of sympathisers and integrate prevalent beliefs and symbols on a scale that extends from the local community to the global.106 The transition from a local to an international movement has had an effect on the level of policing power brought to bear against the protestors. The local crackdown and subsequent global spread of news stories about Gangjeong has also had an effect on politics, both local and national. Hence, the opposition parties cut 96% of the construction budget for 2012, and plan to cut the budget for 2013, as of this writing. During the mad rush toward base construction, discourses of human rights and of a second 4/3 re-emerged as police stepped in to physically enforce the laws. While Gureombi emerged as a local symbol of emotional identity, environmental preservation, peace, and life, a resulting frame of peace and life ascended into the realm of a wider global peace. Thus, the frames for five and a half years were bridged, articulated, or expanded—attracting much wider support and challenging the long-held ideologies of national security and local economic development. Along with this development, the collective identity frame has expanded from that of the guardian of the village, to the protector of the environment, to activist for world peace. The construction of a collective identity among a variety of supporters, in turn, has helped the movement continue even to the present. In the course of the movement’s development, protestors have cultivated rituals through softer and more vivid performances such as song and dance. As of this writing, the ROK Navy continues rushing construction after the demolition of Gureombi. The outcome of the general election and the recent ruling made by the Supreme Court have likely contributed to the accelerated pace of base construction. Nevertheless, the stronger protestors continue their efforts in frustrating construction backed by broader national- and international-level support. It remains unclear whether this movement will succeed in overcoming its immediate challenges. Still, the local solidarity it has engendered and consolidated with global peace movements offer hope for challenging the

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excuse and misuse of ‘national security’ as a means of bulldozing the common desire to construct a peaceful, demilitarised Asia Pacific.

Notes  1

Verta Taylor and Nancy Whittier, “Analytical Approaches to Social Movement Culture,” in Social Movements and Culture, eds. Hank Johnston and Bert Klandermans. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1995), 163-187. 2 Chosun.com, May 27, 2007. 3 For a detailed discussion of the divisions within the Henoko community, see Masamichi S. Inoue in Okinawa and the US Military: Identity Making in the Age of Globalization (2007). 4 Jeju Sori, January 30, 2007; Jemin Ilbo, July 19, 2007. 5 Jemin Ilbo, August 1, 2006; Jemin Ilbo March 3, 2007. 6 According to a survey conducted by Jemin Ilbo (a local newspaper) on December 13, 2006, 48.9% of men and 34% of women in Jeju were for the construction, and 41.6% of men and 51.8% of women were against. A public opinion poll conducted by the Jeju Government for the final selection on May 14, 2007 showed that 54.3% of Jeju residents were favourable to the construction. In a survey done by Jeju MBC in January 2009, however, 59% of Jeju residents referred to problems in procedures on the construction while 29% supported the procedures. A more recent public opinion poll conducted by Jeju CBS on March 27, 2012 found similar results. Fifty-six percent of residents pointed to problems in the procedures for site selection while 22.3% approved the procedures. Thus, the survey showed that Jeju Islanders have remained split in their opinions on the construction, but more residents recognised and called attention to the government’s fundamental procedural problems. 7 Bora Lee, “The Peace-making Politics in Contestations of Discourses on the Military Base on Jeju Island.” (MA thesis, Department of Women Studies of Ewha Women University, 2010). 8 Gwisook Gwon, “Protests Challenge Naval Base Construction on Jeju Island, South Korea,” The Asia-Pacific Journal, Vol. 9, Issue 28 no. 2 (July 11, 2011); Gwisook Gwon, “National and International Protests Challenge Naval Base Construction on Jeju Island, South Korea,” The Asia-Pacific Journal, Vol. 9, Issue 33 no. 2 (August 15, 2011). 9 Andrew Yeo, “Back to the Future: Korean Anti-Base Resistance from Jeju Island to Pyeongtaek,” The Asia-Pacific Journal, Vol. 9, Issue 32 no. 3 (August 8, 2011). 10 Young-yun Lee, “Analysis of the Structure of Discourses generated by Local Newspapers.” (MA thesis, Department of Sociology of Jeju National University, 2011). 11 Charles Tilly, “Social Movements and (all sorts of) Other Political InteractionsLocal, National, and International- including Identities,” Theory and Society, no. 27 (1998): 453-480.

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David Snow, Burke Rochford, Steven Worden, and Robert Benford, “Frame Alignment Processes, Micromobilization and Movement Participation,” American Sociological Review no. 51 (1986. 13 Taylor and Whittier, 168. 14 David Snow and Robert Benford, “Master Frames and Cycles of Protest,” in Frontiers in Social Movement Theory, eds. Aldon D. Morris and Carol McClurg Mueller. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992), 133-155. 15 Sidney Tarrow, Power in Movement: Social Movements and Contentious Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 21. See also Michael Billig’s Banal Nationalism (1995) London: Sage Publications Ltd. 16 Taylor and Whittier, 172. 17 Alberto Melucci, “The Process of Collective Identity,” eds. Johnston and Klandermans, 43-45. 18 Hank Johnston, “A Methodology for Frame Analysis,” eds. Johnston and Klandermans, 218. 19 Taylor and Whittier, 180-185. 20 The Jeju April 3 Incident (known locally as ‘4/3’) for a period of 1948-1954 represented the worst case of mass murder of civilians in modern Korean history. To build a separate state in South Korea, the national government violently suppressed the Jeju Islanders who had boycotted the election for a single state in 1948. About 350 members of the People’s Army began resisting governmental oppression by attacking police stations and Rightists on April 3, 1948. In response, the police and army were dispatched from the mainland and indiscriminately killed innocent people, not only Leftists but also suspected sympathisers. The systematic hunting and persecution spanned a period of seven years. About 30,000 citizens in total, over 10% of the population, were killed, and 39,285 houses were destroyed (The National Committee for Investigation for Truth about the Jeju April 3 Incident, 2003, Final Report of the Investigation of the Jeju April 3 Incident, Jejudo). The community system was also destroyed, and families of the victims suffered from governmental sanctions until the mid-1980s. The uprising was 65 years ago (as of 2013), but vivid memories of the massive trauma remain everywhere in Jeju even today. After democratisation near the end of the 1980s, the official history of April 3 was later re-written in 2003, and the victims’ honour was restored. Most significantly, President Roh Moo-hyun publicly apologised for state violence and designated Jeju Island as an “Island of World Peace” in 2005. This is why, from the very beginning, Jeju residents have consistently called attention to the unsettling contradiction between the peaceful vision of Jeju and naval base construction. 21 Robert Wuthnow, Meaning and Moral Order: Explanations in Cultural Analysis (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), quoted from Taylor and Whittier, 176. 22 It is worth noting that participants in the protest even travelled to Paris to perform the ritual at the Eiffel Tower in order to throw further international attention on the movement.

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23 Aldon Morris, “Charting Futures for Sociology: Social Organization,” Contemporary Sociology vol. 29 no. 3 (2000): 445-462. 24 Jeju Sori, May 14, 2007. 25 See Sung-youn Cho and Hyoung-mahn Moon, “The Development Process and Characteristics of Regional Movement in Jeju,” Social Development Study, no. 16 (2000). 26 Jeju Sori, May 31, 2007. 27 Jeju Sori, May 14, 2007. 28 Jeju Sori, December 14, 2006. 29 Jeju Sori, April 13, 2007. 30 Kyung-won Lee and Joung-wha Kim, “Public Conflict and Reexamination of Public Interest: The Case of the Jeju Naval Project,” Economy and Society, no. 89 (2011). 31 According to the pro-base villagers, the registered numbers at the town meeting were 87, but about 120 appeared in the meeting (Hankyoreh 21, June 14, 2007). The protestors or their supportive media have usually quoted the numbers of registered voters while the pro-base villagers or the conservative media have recorded the total participants. 32 Jeju Sori, May 14, 2007. 33 The population of Gangjeong village was about 1,900, and eligible voters were about 1,400 according to resident registration as of 2007. However, the expected total number of votes was about 1, 050 since about 350 voters were not in the area at the time (Oh My News, November 13, 2007). 34 In Gangjeong, about 100 haenyo are registered. Almost all of them are over 60 years old. According to villagers, about 70% of them are the pro-base supporters. 35 See Christine Ahn (2011) for details about the selection of the site. Christine Ahn, “Naval Base Tears Apart Korean Village,” Foreign Policy in Focus, August 19, 2011. A Korean broadcast program, ‘In Depth 60 minutes’ also showed the process of the site selection through interviews with residents (KBS, September 7, 2011). A haenyo also reported the same story in a press interview (Oh My News, October 1, 2012). 36 See the above TV program for details. 37 Newscham, June 20, 2007. 38 A group of haenyo took a ballot box away by using a motorcycle on June 19, 2007 (See the above TV program). Nevertheless, another group of women asked to vote again, and the rest of the residents joined in minutes. In my observation, that was a moment of confirming opinions of residents with each other. 39 Pressian, June 1, 2007. 40 The anti-base villagers have still thought that the ex-governor, Kim Tae-whan, hurriedly selected Gangjeong as the site in order to preserve his political life when he could not defend the case of his violation of the election law (Jeju Sori, July 31, 2012). 41 The hearing took seven hours because of lots of questions by the villagers. However, the navy side reiterated the same replies such as “it is a national project”

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 or “we will examine it.” Even with the question of the village mayor, the reply was the same, evoking the anger of the villagers. 42 Jeju Sori, September 19, 2008; Broudy and Simpson examine the discourse of the powerful and their ability to frame concepts and ‘truths’ by naming and renaming. 43 See Kil-hyun Yang, “The Political Dynamics of the 2009 Jeju Recall Movement,” Democracy and Human Rights, no. 11 (2011): 79-114. 44 This documentary was made by eight independent filmmakers in summer, 2011. See the film critic in Jeju Weekly, January 20, 2012. 45 Segwipo Shinmun, September 17, 2009. 46 Jeju Island has been known as the best honeymoon place in Korea for its pristine natural beauty. In 2002, UNESCO designated six regions of Jeju, including the sea near Gangjeong, as a biosphere reserve. In 2007, UNESCO declared Jeju Island a natural world heritage site. In addition, Jeju was recently named one of the Seven Wonders of the World in 2011. 47 Oh My News, September, 25, 2009. 48 Segwipo Shinmun, December 1, 2009. 49 Segwipo Shinmun, December 22, 2009. 50 Young-ja Lee, “Gangjeong Must Get Lighthearted Again,” in Don’t Cry Gureombi! Cheer Up Gangjeong, ed. A National Network for Reviving Gureombi. (Seoul: Narum Books, 2011). 51 New York Times, August 6, 2011. 52 Jeju Sori, January 18, 2010. 53 Jeju KBS, January 19, 2009. 54 Jeju Sori, January 22, 2009. 55 MBC TV, ‘PD Notebook’, May 5, 2009. 56 He is the same governor who asked to halt the air force base in 1988. 57 Seogwipo Shinmun, November 29, 2010. 58 The hardliners of the village are a relatively older generation, over 55 years old, according to villagers. 59 The villagers suggested for the local governor to re-select the site among formal candidates by the democratic procedure. However, Hwasun and Wimi villages rejected the suggestion through the meeting of village leaders. 60 Jeju Sori, December 22, 2010. 61 Jeju Sori, December 27, 2010. 62 Jeju Sori, December 29, 2010. 63 The Jeju Governor has often been compared with Nakaima, the Okinawa Governor who has definitely opposed the US base in Okinawa. 64 Headline Jeju, July 8, 2011. 65 Vimeo and YouTube posted a film interview with Yang Yoon-mo. This film was made by Jane Jin Kaisen and Guston Sondin-Kung. Kim Min-Su (a young Gangjeong villager) filmed the footage of Yang’s arrest. The film was posted on Vimeo May 21, and on YouTube May 24, 2011. 66 Pressian, July 29, 2011; Hankyoreh 21, August 5, 2011. 67 New York Times, August 6, 2011.

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Kyunghyang Shinmun, July 12, 2011. Sisa Jeju, June 3, 2011; Oh My News, June 8, 2011; Jeju Sori, July 5, 2011. 70 NAPRI, June 8, 2011. 71 Sisa Jeju, May 3, 2011. 72 On June 1, Yang Yoon-mo was sentenced to one and a half years in prison, with a stay of execution of two years. 73 Internet Café for Gangjeong, November 13, 2011. 74 Internet Café for Gangjeong, July 24, 2011; Al Jazeera, November 9, 2011. 75 Yonhapnews, August 4, 2011. 76 Jeju Sori, July 21, 2011. 77 Jeju Sori, July 25, 2011. 78 Headline Jeju, July 27, 2011 79 Chosun Ilbo, July 20, 2011. 80 Sisa Jeju, July 27, 2011. 81 The pro-base villagers are not well-organised, according to the former village mayor (Chosen Ilbo, January 9, 2012). Their supportive organisations were the Korea Veterans Association, the Navy Veterans Association and other conservative associations. They have issued public statements or held demonstrations in the course of the movement, copying the same discourses as the Navy. 82 Jeju Sori, July 25, 2011. 83 Hyun Ae-ja had stayed there for 76 days since July 25, 2011. 84 Jungang Ilbo, August 27, 2011. 85 Headline Jeju, August, 18, 2011. 86 The Hankyoreh, September 2, 2011. 87 Pressian, February 17, 2012. 88 Newsis, February 29, 2012. Among them, Father Moon Jung-hyun was sentenced to 8 months in prison with two years’ suspension of sentence. Yang Yoon-mo was again arrested on February 7, 2012, and released on bail after 42 days. 89 Headline News, November 4, 2011. 90 Oh My News, November 9, 2011. 91 Jeju Sori, December 3, 2011. See Newstapa, a podcast in Korea, on March 3, 2012 for details about human rights at Gangjeong. 92 See the film posted in the Internet café of Gangjeong on January 30, 2012. 93 Jeju Sori, March 21, 2012. 94 Al Jazeera, March 9, 2012. 95 Caisson is a concrete block of roughly 8,000-tonne weight for building the breakwater. 96 Jeju Sori, March 7, 2012. 97 Global Voices, March 9, 2012; Korea Real Time, March 27, 2012. 98 Oh My News, March 20, 2012. 99 Oh My News, May 12, 2012. 100 Jeju Sori, October, 15, 2012. 68 69

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According to the police, the donations reached up to 400 million KRW in June (Headline Jeju, June 27, 2012). 102 See the details about ‘counter frame’ in Dawn McCaffrey and Jennifer Keys, 2000, “Competitive Framing Processes in the Abortion Debate: PolarizationVilification, Frame Saving, and Frame Debunking,” The Sociological Quarterly, 41(1): 41-61. 103 The number of activists fluctuates over the course of the movement. The number reached up to 300 just after the first explosion of Gureombi. However, the outcome of the generation election and the rush of the construction after all lowered their morale (Oh My News, May 12, 2012). See press interviews with activists (Oh My News, September 21, 2012; Pressian, Oct 1, 2012). 104 Sidney Tarrow and Donatella Della Porta, eds., Transnational Protest & Global Activism (Lanham: Rowan and Littlefield Publishers, 2005), 239-240. 105 Morris, 451. 106 Snow and Benford, 138-41.

POSTSCRIPT DUO-V’S LEGACIES CHIE MIYAGI

As someone who was born and brought up in Okinawa, I can say that the Dialogue Under Occupation (DUO) conference, the precursor and an impetus to this volume of papers, was a breakthrough in many ways. Usually academic conferences, and especially international ones, are closed to the public and often too academic for laypeople to relate to or connect with in any meaningful way. DUO-V, however, was open to the public, with speakers who were humble and friendly and with sessions that were approachable, where anybody attending felt free to engage, ask questions, and speak out. It was truly a DIALOGUE Under Occupation. DUO-V was also fresh. All the sessions were focused on hot, important topics in the world. Speakers provided urgent reports about the impending US deployment of crash-prone Osprey aircraft to Okinawa, the Yogi Koki case, and the resistance of Jeju Island’s Gangjeong Village to the South Korean government’s attempts to create a military base on their sacred coastline. When DUO-V commenced in the late summer of 2011, few people had paid scant attention to the Osprey issue; now everybody in Okinawa knows about it, and it has even gotten attention from mainland Japan. The same is true for Yogi Koki’s case, with the Japanese government now saying it will do its best to have the case carried out fairly. Having heard firsthand reports from Gangjeong Village and learned about the struggles that the local people face there, I now want to support them very much. They are our sisters and brothers with whom we struggle together against creeping militarism. The conference became the starting point for many feelings of sisterhood and brotherhood across regions and countries. It became a starting point for solidarity among the occupied of many lands and islands—from Okinawa and Gangjeong to Guam and Diego Garcia and beyond—and even for solidarity between the occupied and the occupiers. We, Ryukyuans, realised how important it is for us to walk hand-in-hand

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with all people who struggle against those who love war and who profit from the massive network of military bases around the world (which the great Professor Yoshida Kensei opened our eyes to in an impressive lecture in memory of Chalmers Johnson and his brave work that criticised this complex of global bases). Faced with so many bases occupying our home, we have been seeking out peace, but the US and Japanese governments have not listened. As a high school teacher, I have encouraged my students through the years to send letters to US presidents and Japanese prime ministers to relocate US bases outside of Okinawa. However, these powerful people have long treated us as sub-human. To them, we are mere muted objects whom they can ignore. The DUO-V conference helped us see who our real friends are in the world. No matter what happens, we now know that we shouldn’t be afraid. We are small, yet we are not alone. In this way, DUO-V encouraged us. DUO-V was a conference whose topics weren’t hidden by scholarly jargon inside academic laboratories. DUO-V was a conference directly connected to real things and people in real societies. DUO-V was linked to the world—a real world made more complicated and difficult by a growing love and worship of military power. A world in which US servicemen are still ‘servicing’ targets, some foreign military and others innocent civilians, all in the service of the global military empire. A world in which so many Okinawan people were killed on our island during World War II, and where US fighter jets and bombers later flew to Korea, Vietnam, and the Middle East to kill so many more. Because of these complexities of war, because even the occupier is a victim, we must work to stress to people on the other side that no one wins in war. We must keep the dialogues going. There is an Okinawan proverb, Ichaliba chode, that means, Once we meet by chance, we are brothers and sisters. In this day and age of evergrowing militarism, I believe the world needs to turn to dialogue to feel this spirit of Ichaliba chode. DUO-V helped begin the spread of this feeling, this sense of deep friendship among speakers and participants who went on to create a strong network of shared interest in peace across the globe. I hope that this book has, at least in some small way, touched off this same feeling in its audience.

AFTERWORD DEFINING THE SITUATION C. DOUGLAS LUMMIS

The people’s movements against military bases in Hawai‘i, South Korea, Guam, and Okinawa all have different histories, different cultural contexts and are argued out in different languages, but one thing they have in common, judging from these papers, is the struggle for what Herbert Schiller, quoted by Daniel Broudy and Peter Simpson, called “definitional control.” Before you can know how a situation should be responded to, you need to know what the situation is. And this can be put the other way around: controlling that definition is one way of controlling people’s behaviours. Thus, Broudy and Simpson describe some of the efforts of the US diplomatic and military establishment to attach beneficent labels to their presence in the Western Pacific, especially in Okinawa. If the local people would only accept those words—“good neighbours,” “tip of the spear,” etc.—as accurate, the anti-base movement ought to evaporate. Broudy and Simpson call this “naming and framing.” Several of the other authors use the term “framing” (or sometimes the less jargony “framework” or “frame of reference”). Maedomari refers to Robert M. Entman’s definition, which in its complete form is, “selecting and highlighting some facets of events or issues, and making connections among them so as to promote a particular interpretation, evaluation and/or solution.” (1) This is not a very good definition, not least because it partly mixes the metaphor: putting a frame around something does not generate light. But more importantly, it doesn’t quite capture the point that selecting some elements means deselecting others, positively leaving them out, or even rendering them invisible. Not only that, by controlling the definitions of those aspects, it can transform them into something else. Thus, to use Broudy and Simpson’s example, if the GIs in the Western Pacific are “neighbours” then they are not “occupiers,” and this entire book, and the conference on which it was based, are a waste of words.

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Broudy, Simpson, and Maedomari discuss framing as a tactic of those in power, but as Andrew Yeo and Gwisook Gwon point out, challenging the dominant frame and seeking to replace it is also a big part of what people’s movements do. For both of them, framing is a key term in their analysis of the anti-base movement on Jeju Island. The debate over how to frame the situation is a big part of what “dialogues under occupation” are all about. “Framing” is a relatively new term, but it is not a new idea. Gwon also uses the term “paradigm.” (“Paradigm” is a richer concept than “frame,” in that, as Thomas Kuhn, taught us, a paradigm shift not only leads to a different selection, deselection, and emphasis of facts; the facts themselves change). Kyle Kajihiro writes about “contested histories,” “worldviews” and even “cosmologies.” Earlier terms such as “false consciousness,” “unmasking” and Gramsci’s “dominant discourse” might be seen as aiming to describe the same phenomenon. But in order to understand what the people described in these papers are doing, I think it is better to begin with the Thomas Theorem, formulated by the sociologist W.I. Thomas in 1928: “If men define situations as real, they are real in their consequences.”1 For this to fit our present purposes, we need to draw from it two corollaries.

Corollary 1 When people redefine the social situation they are in, they change that situation. That is, unlike a paradigm shift in scientific theory, it is not just a question of looking at a given phenomenon or set of facts in a different way. When people redefine their social situation, this will have, as Thomas stated, real consequences. People’s behaviour will change. But people’s behaviour is a large part of any social situation; it is one of the “facts” that make up the situation. When their behaviour changes, the situation changes. If Guamanians see the return of the US military to their island in 1945 as “reoccupation” rather than “liberation”; if they begin to see Japan not only as an old enemy of the past but also as one of the big powers behind their present militarisation; if the people of Jeju Island see the US military in the Western Pacific as having not only defensive, but also aggressive intent; if they see Gurecombi not as a pile of rock but as a sacred site; if Okinawans see Okinawa as still a colony of Japan rather than as just another prefecture; if Hawai‘ians come to see their islands not as having been “granted statehood” but as occupied, the behaviour of all these people will change. And, as these papers make clear, all these

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changes in perception (in some cases, recapturing an earlier perception) and the consequent changes in behaviour are, in fact, going on now. To gain a clearer understanding of how these changes matter I want to borrow from the wisdom of another sociologist of an earlier era. In 1959, C. Wright Mills wrote that it was the task of the social scientist “to translate personal troubles into public issues”; the ability to do this he called the “sociological imagination.”2 For example, not having a job is a personal trouble that has only a personal solution (job hunting), whereas a 10% unemployment rate is, or ought to be, a public issue, which must be solved by public policy. Similarly, when an Asian woman from an occupied country is dumped by her American GI boyfriend (or husband), that’s a personal trouble; when the GIs’ “use and discard” attitude toward Asian women is understood as a characteristic of occupying troops, it becomes a public issue. In other words, the first step in “redefining the situation” is establishing that this is a situation, that is, not just a private trouble but a public matter. Only then can the situation be defined, and changed. Mills saw this as something social scientists should do, but much more importantly, it is something that grassroots movements also do, as these papers show. Which leads to the second corollary.

Corollary 2 When people collectively and publicly redefine the situation they are in, thereby changing that situation, they also change themselves. They cease to be what Yukinori Tokuyama, quoting Gayatri Dhakravorty Spivak, calls “subalterns”: those “unable to speak for themselves politically.” Having successfully redefined the situation, they have effectively redefined themselves as definers of the situation. To borrow Hannah Arendt’s terms, they have begun the shift from the level of “behaviour” to the level of “action.” Of course, the very title of the DUO conference is a definition of the situation that challenges the mainstream. To suggest that Hawai‘i is “occupied” is to challenge its self-image of patriotic statehood. To say that Okinawa is “occupied” is to say that it is not engaged in an “equal partnership” with the US. The same is true of Guam and Jeju Island (and South Korea and Japan as a whole). The conference in Okinawa was open to anyone, but despite the fact that there were and still are lots of GIs taking university classes on the bases, none showed up, presumably because they were not ready to define themselves as “occupiers.”

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But among those who do accept the term “occupation” there remains the question, “occupation by whom?” On Jeju Island, the government promises that the proposed new base will be used only by the ROK military, but the Islanders know better: wherever there is a useful base, the US military will use it. (After all, it is still true, after all these years since the Korean War, that the ROK military is under the operational control of the Combined Forces Command (CFC), whose Commander in Chief is, by law, a US general.) Moreover, given the horrific history of the relationship between the ROK and Jeju Island from the April 3 (1948) Incident to the present day, it is difficult to avoid the impression that Jeju is in some sense “occupied” by South Korea. In Okinawa, as chinin usii’s article shows, there has been a gradual shift over the last decade from seeing the anti-base movement as fundamentally an anti-war, anti-US military movement, to seeing it as simultaneously a protest against Japan’s colonialist treatment of Okinawa. This has created an unfortunate but unavoidable conflict between the Okinawan and Japanese anti-war and anti-base movements. The latter continue to insist that the only purely anti-war way to get rid of the US bases in Okinawa is by getting rid of the Japan-US Security Treaty. The former point out that half a century has passed since the high point of the anti-Security Treaty movement in 1960, and in that time anti-Treaty sentiment in Japan has been steadily declining, which means that telling Okinawa to wait until the Security Treaty is abrogated is equivalent to saying, for the foreseeable future, the bases stay in Okinawa. Thus, when the situation is seen through the anti-colonialist frame, the anti-war Japanese activists are seen to be acting (perhaps unconsciously) as colonials.

Power as an Aphrodisiac In the case of the young women interviewed by Makoto Arakaki, who prefer American GIs to Okinawan men (readers should understand that this is a very small minority in the population), while the term “framing” is not in their vocabulary, the practice of it is important to them. First of all, they would like to frame their activities as “internationalisation,” thus attaching the concept to what is seen as a progressive trend in society, and allowing them to criticise those who disapprove of them as “narrowminded,” “exclusionary,” or “prejudiced.” What is not accounted for with this framing is the fact that, while there are quite a few Taiwanese, Korean, Filipino and other foreign men in Okinawa, they are not typically pursued by these “internationalising” women. Secondly, when they do

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identify more specifically the men they like, they frame them as “Americans,” explaining that they like “American culture.” And what is not accounted for with this framing is 1) while there are American men in Okinawa studying or working at jobs with no particular connection to the bases, these women don’t show them the same attention, and 2) while they could learn as much or more about American culture from the women on the bases, that subject never seems to come up. Moreover, to use Mills’ terminology, they would like very much to frame what they do as a personal matter, rather than as part of a public issue. This desire is understandable. If what they do is framed as a public issue, it takes on an unpleasant tone. That is, if it is framed as behaviour taking place “under occupation,” then it becomes clear that the men they are interested in are not just “international people” or “Americans”; they are “occupying troops.” And it is a general characteristic of occupying troops that they tend to feel themselves, as Niko Nashiro put it, “entitled to easy sexual access to local women.” This “entitlement” is an aspect of the “right of conquest,” as it has existed from ancient times. Sometimes this perceived right takes the form of rape, sometimes of buying prostitutes, and sometimes of relying on the awesome power of their military organisation, which seems to reside in their individual being as personal (and erotic) power, to charm such local women as are charmed by such things. Power can be an aphrodisiac both to the man who has it (or imagines he does) and to the woman who is attracted to the man who she thinks (or imagines) is a man of power. Most American GIs are recruited from (in US society, relatively powerless) working class or farm families; being a member of an occupying military will for many of them be their first experience of domination. (Of course this is mostly an illusion: men in the lower ranks of a military organisation are far more dominated than dominating.) As Nashiro says, “This level of power appears to intoxicate the minds and distort the perceptions of many young men . . . .” It can also be very exciting when it can be manifested concretely in a successful sexual conquest—again, for some of them, their first. For the women, I suppose it can be thrilling to feel that they are being physically “occupied” by the most formidable military organisation in the history of the world (the very tip of the spear?). Trouble is, even when it is not a “use and discard” relationship and the two propose to form a family, at some point, especially if the boy leaves the military, the magic is shut down, and each of them will wake up and find themselves living with a stranger. Sometimes the two will bravely work it out, but often not: as the mothers and grandmothers of these girls

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continually warn them, the divorce rate—worse, the abandonment rate—is high. The fact that there are in Okinawa (and in other occupied countries) lots of “mixed-blood” children (and adults) who have never met their fathers is both a personal tragedy and a public issue. It is a general characteristic of military bases that they are surrounded by women who are not recognised as members of the military, but who service the troops in a variety of ways. In her brilliant 1983 study, Does Khaki Become You, Cynthia Enloe argues that military organisations have a dual attitude toward women. As the epitome of macho-male-dominated organisations, they exclude (or claim to exclude) women, especially from their most purely military activity: combat. (Since Enloe’s writing, some military organisations have allowed women a greater role, but on the whole her analysis still holds.) However, a human community without women can’t function, so from ancient times standing armies in camps and armies on the move have been accompanied by large numbers of women serving their various needs. The traditional name for them is camp followers. In her chapter entitled “Militaries Need Camp Followers,” Enloe writes, [T]hese thousands of women were soldiers’ wives, cooks, provisioners, laundresses, and nurses. Sometimes they served in all of these roles simultaneously. When they weren’t reduced verbally or physically to the status of prostitutes, camp followers were performing tasks that any large military force needs but wants to keep ideologically peripheral to its combat function and often tries to avoid paying for directly.3

In the 20th century many of these functions have been professionalised and moved on base. But some cannot be. As Enloe says, “many men will not stay in the military if they cannot marry and/or otherwise have ready sexual access to women.” 4 Moreover, war being a stressful business, soldiers, sex aside, need comfort and emotional support. “If women can be made to play the role of wives, daughters, mothers, and ‘sweethearts’, waving their men off to war, writing them letters of encouragement and devotion in the field, . . . then women can be an invaluable resource to commanders.” 5 Thus women who do these things are, objectively considered, serving the military. They are part of the informal sector of the military organisation; they have been, in Enloe’s words, “militarised.” “Camp follower” is a cruel expression, indicating a class of outcastes who, while serving an important function, are generally not respected in their societies. The term may not be in the vocabularies of Arakaki’s interviewees, but each is aware that such people exist and each is ready to

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express contempt for them, while insisting that she herself is not one of them. Sakura Yonamine: When she first went to a GI-frequented club, she was careful “not to dress like a “bitch.”’ Hanna Enobi: “Basically, those girls who want to work on base are after the military men. But, we aren’t all from the same lot.” Yuri Yohnaha: If you walk with your boyfriend and dress wrong, people will “think that you are just ‘Ame-jo’, a sex-hungry military-man-eating machine. I resent that term deep down inside . . . .” Nari Maeshiro: “Some of these girls say they just want to speak English or, alternatively, enjoy the same bed. Is it some sort of trophy they’ve won? . . . I don’t mind the small-minded local people who call me ‘Amejo’. I know who I am . . . .” Of course there is no reason not to accept each of these young women’s claims that she and her man are exceptional cases, and to wish each of them the best of luck. What matters here is that each of them, as a first-hand witness, has testified that the social phenomenon to which she claims to be an exception does exist, and is one aspect of the experience of a society “under occupation.”

Structural Humiliation Andrew Yeo writes, “Ironically,” both pro- and anti-base groups in South Korea “adopt a similar realist perspective . . . . That is, the debate over bases is framed in the language of power, threats, security dilemmas, and the national interest.” “Realism” of course is the very name of promilitary discourse, and it is natural that anti-base, anti-military groups should adopt it, at least partly. It is difficult to refute an argument without using the language in which it is presented, especially when that is the only language to which the other side attributes any weight. Not only that, people who oppose war are also natural realists; they oppose war not as an abstraction, not as a mere intellectual exercise in ethics, but in reality. They really do not want it to happen, especially where they live. Yeo’s discussion of the two sides’ different framing of the realist discourse is interesting, especially where he points out that the Jeju antibase activists, no less than the professional International Relations theorists in academe, “are in many ways the practitioners of critical IR theory . . . .” But, he also points out that the realist frame is not the only frame they use. In addition he mentions democracy, environment, and the economy. But as Gwon’s paper and the papers on Hawai‘i, Guam and Okinawa make clear, issues such as these, when addressed by native peoples, are

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not framed only in the language of rational choice theory. As Gwon tells us, the blasting of the rock formation they call Gureombi is not something that, to the locals, can be justified with a cost-benefit analysis. They see it as a sacred place, and their objections can’t be answered by saying there are a lot of other rock formations that look about like that. Kajihiro’s paper is rich in examples of differences, not merely in frames but differences in notions of what land is, what the sea is, how time passes (cf. his epigraph “In the time before, the time behind”), what a people is. Particularly striking is his statement that in the native Hawai‘ian cosmology, the land, far from being “real estate,” is “a living ancestor, not to be commoditized or desecrated.” Thus, when native people are “uprooted from and denied access to their ancestral lands, they can become orphaned, ‘wandering souls’.” Similarly, Tanji writes of Guam, “To a Chamorro land is everything, in a sense that it stands for the traditional communal life-giving system, as opposed to private ownership . . . .” She continues, quoting Michael Philip, “[T]he separation of Chamorros from their land ‘has had a genocidal effect . . . .’” (One-third of the Island is occupied by the US military.) And chinin’s Kamaduu group, while they don’t talk about framing, were clearly acting from within a different frame when they entered Futenma base on its festival day and quietly carried out a traditional Okinawan ceremony in honour of the dead (presumably the GIs who saw them thought they were having a picnic). There is however one issue which, while it never appears in the lists of frames and is seldom addressed directly in appeals to governments or publics, is clearly a concern of all of these peoples. It is addressed indirectly, as a kind of background or assumed understanding, in their descriptions of what it is like to be occupied. To be occupied is to be dominated. And what, I ask (because sometimes it is useful to ask a really stupid question) is wrong with being dominated? In particular, what is wrong with being dominated by a military organisation? There are many excellent answers: They take away our land. Their aeroplanes are noisy, and sometimes crash. They destroy and pollute the environment. Their troops commit crimes, and are (at least partly) protected from punishment by Status of Forces Agreements. And most importantly, far from protecting us from war, their presence may be the very magnet that draws war to our land (as was true of the Japanese military presence in Guam and Okinawa in World War II). All of these matter. But if the occupying military were to pay generous rent for the land (as it sometimes does), invent dead-silent aircraft, refrain entirely from damaging the environment,

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reduce its crime rate to zero, and succeed in keeping war out of the occupied land, would that end the problem? And if not, why not? One way to find an answer to this question would be to ask any American if he or she would be willing to accept foreign military bases (Korean, say, or Japanese or Philippine) inside the US, and if not, why not? The answer would surely be No, and the Why not? would not be explained in terms of noise pollution or environmental damage or crime rates (The US already has plenty of those). Rather, you would be told that this would be an insult. Insult is hard to talk about in political discourse. You can’t measure it, subject it to statistical analysis, put a price to it, or in any way give it a number value. Unlike noise pollution or environmental destruction, it has no physical manifestation that can be investigated with the methodology of natural science. Unlike trauma, it is not something that can be diagnosed and treated by doctors or therapists. Unlike crime, you cannot reduce it with police power. It is hard to talk about for other reasons. To be insulted is to be humiliated, and to admit that you have been humiliated is itself humiliating. It took Okinawans years to be able to say publicly that for Japan and the US to force 74% of Japan’s US bases on their tiny island is discrimination—that is, an insult and a humiliation. For many citizens of Guam, super-patriotism may be a way of concealing their humiliation at the fact that their “liberation” in 1945 turned into a re-occupation, and that their present legal status is that of second-class citizens, whereas those opposing the occupation and demanding equal treatment find their pride restored. The papers on Jeju Island tell us that one of the objections the Islanders have to the base plan is that the decision did not follow the democratic process—they were not consulted—which reminded them of the treatment they have received from the mainland dating back to the April 3 Incident. Gwon wrote that when in 2003 the Korean Government’s official history of that incident was rewritten “the victims’ honour was restored,” but now the base construction plan renews the insult. Military occupation is structural humiliation. It is not simply a series of individual humiliating incidents—a low-flying aircraft drowning out the voices of teachers in a school, a hit-and-run accident, a gang rape, a plane crash which the local police are prevented from investigating, a construction project that pollutes the sea and kills the coral, the contamination of soil, etc. Each of these is terrible in itself, but each is also understood as an instance of a general condition, a symbol of the fact that the island (for each of the case studies in this book is of an island) is, structurally, under occupation.

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Humiliation, insult, dishonour are ephemeral things, but they matter. The powerful take questions of honour and dishonour very seriously. Insult to a country’s flag or to its ambassador used to be considered just reasons for going to war. The US Marine Corps has “honour” as one of its slogans, and the highest military medal in the US is the Medal of Honor. Military occupation is, among other things, an attempt to establish a “monopoly of honour.” It seeks to redefine the occupied as a people without honour, a people for whom honour is not an issue. This can take the vicious and vulgar form shown by the words of former Okinawa Consul Kevin Maher, described in Broudy and Simpson’s article, it can take the form of a kind of bullying described in Leevin Camacho’s article, or it can take the superficially “friendly” form shown in the words of Nashiro’s interviewees (“Okinawa is beautiful, exotic, erotic, welcoming, etc.”). It can also take the form of the demeaning solutions proposed for the problems people complain of: Lost your land? We’ll pay you money (that’s what you really want, isn’t it?). Too noisy? Soundproof your houses. Lost your job? You can work on base, cutting grass, or frying hot dogs. Afraid to walk the streets at night? Well, come on, you can’t expect to have a whole base full of young, healthy boys and not have an occasional rape incident. (Okay, this is never said openly, but the attitude is there.) But the biggest insult becomes visible when you ask the question, Why are all these bases being put on small islands? There are many reasons, historical and otherwise, but the claim that they are in strategic geographic locations is a myth. (One fellow told me that the bases were in Okinawa— rather than mainland Japan—because Okinawa is “closer.” “Closer to where?” I asked. He fell silent.) One of the most important answers has to do with the way the nature of war was changed by World War II. Of course since 1945 only “limited wars” (wars not using nuclear weapons or intercontinental ballistic missiles) have been fought, but the big powers have strategies for, and remain prepared for, the big war. In his 1947 seminal work, Men Against Fire: The Problem of Battle Command, Army historian S.L.A. Marshall described in his blunt and honest manner what the big war of the future must look like. In the past, military organisations have been thought of as shields protecting the civilian population, but this is no longer true. The new weapons developed in World War II, big bombers, rockets and nuclear weapons are designed to attack not just the enemy’s armies but the enemy’s cities, and there is no way any military can prevent that.

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The cities are a profitable target, first, because they produce for war, second, because they are the transport and supply bottlenecks of a national system and third, because more people can be killed there . . . .6

Thus, according to Marshall, rather than the military shielding the civilians, it is now the other way around. We see here, already in process, a curious transposition whereby the civil mass becomes the shield covering the body of the military . . . . 7

It’s not clear exactly what Marshall means by “shield.” The first image that comes to mind is that of Hollywood gangster movie, where the man with the gun grabs an innocent woman and holds her in front of his body so that the police can’t shoot him. But Marshall never suggests that any military will hesitate to send off those missiles merely because the civilians are innocent. I suppose he means that each rocket aimed at a city will be a rocket not aimed at the military, which may allow the military to survive well enough eventually to win the war. In the context of the Pacific islands, it is understandable that countries that have missiles aimed at them would prefer to have as many of those missiles as possible explode in places far removed from their big cities. Thus every missile that explodes in Hawai‘i or Guam is a missile that does not explode in San Francisco or Los Angeles; every missile that explodes in Jeju Island is a missile that does not explode in Seoul; and every missile that explodes in Okinawa is a missile that does not explode in Tokyo or Osaka. Seen in this way, the bases on these islands are missile bait. Behind this thinking one can sense the judgment—unconscious, perhaps, but effective—that the lives of the people living on these islands have a lesser value than the lives of those living on the mainland: the ultimate insult. (Of course this analysis will not apply to Diego Garcia, where the entire local population has been removed. For details covering this situation, recall David Vine’s Foreword in this volume.) To this one might object, aren’t these missiles aimed mainly at the US bases rather than the civilian cities outside? Yes, that’s probably right, though where they actually land is another matter. But more importantly, we can be sure that each base has deep, sturdy and spacious bomb shelters for its personnel, whereas there are no bomb shelters in the towns and villages outside them. And we can be sure that (God forbid!) should those missiles actually start coming, local residents will not be allowed in the military bomb shelters. Surely that is one of the most important reasons for the barbed wire fences that encircle the bases.

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Notes  1

W. I. Thomas and Dorothy Swaine Thomas, The Child in America: Behavior Problems and Programs (New York: Knopf, 1928), 572.  2 C. Wright Mills, The Sociological Imagination (40th Anniversay Edition) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 187. 3 Cynthia Enloe, Maneuvers: The International Politics of Militarizing Women’s Lives (Berkley: University of California Press, 2000), 40. 4 Cynthia Enloe, Does Khaki Become You? The Militarization of Women’s Lives (London: Pluto Press, 1983). 5 Enloe, 1983. 6 S.L.A. Marshall, Men Against Fire: The Problem of Battle Command (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1947), 31. 7 Marshall, 31.

CONTRIBUTORS

MAKOTO ARAKAKI is Associate Professor of Peace Studies at Okinawa Christian University. His research includes international political economy, Okinawan diaspora, and community organising. Most recently, he is involved in revitalisation efforts of Okinawan culture and language, NGO activities in Asia, and documentary photography. DANIEL BROUDY is Professor of Rhetoric and Applied Linguistics at Okinawa Christian University. He has taught in the United States, Korea, and Japan. His research includes the critical analysis of media discourse, signs, and symbols. He is co-author of Rhetorical Rape: The Verbal Violations of the Punditocracy (2010), serves as a managing editor for Synaesthesia communications journal, and writes about current discourse practices that shape the public mind. LEEVIN CAMACHO is a practicing attorney in Guam and active member of WeAreGuåhan—a collective of concerned individuals engaged in the preservation of native Chamorro culture, environment and resources. His research and work are focused on social and domestic issues. GWISOOK GWON is Lecturer in the Department of Sociology at Jeju National University on Jeju Island. Her research includes state violence, social memory, and peace movements. Her most recent research interest is Jeju women’s lives and the Korean War. KYLE KAJIHIRO is the former Program Director for the American Friends Service Committee Hawai‫ދ‬i Area Program and a board member of Hawai‫ދ‬i Peace and Justice. He helps coordinate the DMZ-Hawai‫ދ‬i / Aloha ‫ދ‬Ɩina network and is active in local demilitarisation campaigns in Hawai‫ދ‬i. He is author of “Resisting Militarization in Hawai‫ދ‬i” in The Bases of Empire, edited by Catherine Lutz (Pluto 2009). C. DOUGLAS LUMMIS spent the year 1960-61 as part of the US Marine forces occupying Okinawa. After leaving the Marines and reeducating himself, he taught at Fairhaven College in Bellingham, Washington and Tsuda College, Tokyo; presently he teaches occasional classes at Okinawa

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Contributors

International University. He is the author of Radical Democracy (Cornell, 1997). His latest book in Japanese is Kanameishi; Okinawa to Kempo Kyujo (Keystone; Okinawa and the Constitution’s Article 9) (Shobunsha, 2010). KIYOMI MAEDOMARI-TOKUYAMA is Lecturer in the Department of Human Sciences at the University of the Ryukyus in Okinawa, Japan. Her writing and research interests include ecofeminism and mass media studies. CHIE MIYAGI is a high school teacher in Okinawa and a member of board of directors of Okinawa Historical Film Society (1 feet Undou no kai) She is a representative of Treasures of Ryukyu, a singer-songwriter, and author of the picture book A Letter from Okinawa and the Okinawan song of Tida nu fa (Children of the Sun). Her research includes peace education, Ryukyu independence, and the Student Corps of Okinawa during the Battle of Okinawa. CHRISTOPHER DANIEL MELLEY is Professor of Philosophy at University of Maryland University College, in Okinawa, Japan. With a background in philosophy, his writing and research focus on themes within applied ethics. NIKA NASHIRO is a graduate student in the Political Science Department at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. She is the recipient of 2012 Obuchi Student Scholarship from the East-West Center. Her research interests include militarism, gender studies, and political geography. PETER SIMPSON is Associate Professor of Applied Linguistics at Okinawa International University. He has taught in Britain, Africa, and Japan. His research includes media literacy and criticism, democracy, social justice, and human rights. Most recently, his activities have been directed toward independent media and direct action in opposition to American militarisation. MIYUME TANJI is a visiting research fellow at the College of Asia & Pacific at the Australian National University, and has taught in Australia. Miyume’s publications include Myth, Protest and Struggle in Okinawa (Routledge, 2006).

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YUKINORI TOKUYAMA is an independent scholar who teaches American literature courses at universities in Okinawa, Japan. His current research project explores colonialist/imperialist aspects in the works of James Joyce, William Faulkner, Vern Sneider, and Paul Simon. MITZI UEHARA CARTER is a PhD candidate in the Department of Anthropology at UC Berkeley. Her research focuses on US militarisation in Okinawa and race in transnational spaces. She has focused her personal and academic writing on mixed race Okinawans and blackness in Japan. CHININ USII is a munukachaa (writer), psychotherapist, and anti-base activist with the group Kamaduu gwa tachi no tsudoi. Active in the movement to revive the Ryukyu languages. Lecturer at Okinawa International University. Her research interests focus on how social and psychological wounds inflicted by colonialism affect daily life and how the colonised can heal these wounds and bring down colonisation. Published works: “Ushi ga Yuku” (Usii’s Travels - exploring colonialism to find myself) (Okinawa Times, 2010), Shiranfuunaa (Shiranfuri) no Bouryoku (The Violence of Pretended Ignorance) (Miraisha, forthcoming 2013). Co-author: Shokuminsha The Challenge of Postcolonialism (Shoraisha, 2007).

DAVID VINE is Assistant Professor of Anthropology at American University (Washington, DC). He is author of Island of Shame: The Secret History of the U.S. Military Base on Diego Garcia (Princeton 2009), and co-author of the Counter-Counterinsurgency Manual, or Notes on Demilitarizing American Society (Prickly Paradigm 2009). David is completing a book about US military bases abroad. ANDREW YEO is Assistant Professor of Politics at the Catholic University of America. He is the author of Activists, Alliances, and Anti-U.S. Base Protest (Cambridge University Press 2011). His current research project examines the evolution of institutional order in East Asia. His other research interests include social movements in world politics, the politics of peace, and North Korean human rights.

 

INDEX

A abandoned bases 109 relocation plans 106 abandon(ment) 60, 65, 232, 251, 278 Agent Orange 114, 120, 122 Air and Missile Defense Task Force (AMDTF) 184, 186 Allegory of the Cave 69 alliance US-Japan … 100, 103-9, 111, 112, 116-8, 161 US-ROK … 228, 229, 232 Ame-jo 39, 42-5, 48, 279 American exceptionalism 3, 82, 96, 140 Americanisation 46, 48, 156 Angst, Linda 27, 52 annexation(s) of land 3, 136, 186, 191, 200, 205 plans for … 90, 136, 189 resistance to … 144, 154 anti-base activists 128, 227, 228, 230-4, 236, 237, 241, 253 groups and individuals 213, 215, 216, 247, 256 movements in Gangeong 226, 227, 241, 244, 262, 263, 267 movements in Hwasun 244 movements in Japan 204, 206, 223 movements in Okinawa 146, 212, 218 movements in the Philippines 146

movements in Vieques 146 resistance in Korea 265 sentiments in Okinawa 112 April 3 (4/3) Final Report of the Investigation of … 262 Incident 3, 238, 243, 249, 254, 256, 257, 264, 266, 276, 281 Arasaki, Moriteru 121, 195, 200, 202 arrivant (see indigenous identity) Article 9 (anti-war clause) 64, 57, 286 Australia(n) concern over US security role 106 planned drone base in … 128 US Marine plans in … 128, 189 US military realignment in … 133 US treaty obligations to … 119 B BC Street 31 Bell, Otis 87, 93, 96, 97 Berlin, Isaiah 67, 67, 83, 94 Berlin Wall 70 Bice, David (Major General) 187 birth defects 114 boundaries 8, 11, 25, 140, 193 Briggs, Charles 18, 19, 26, 27 brothel(s) 53, 54, 56, 60, 63 bulldozers and bayonets 93 Bush, George W. 82, 94

Under Occupation: Resistance and Struggle in a Militarised Asia-Pacific 289 C Caraway, Paul (High Commissioner General) 88 Carroll, James 93, 97 Chagos Islands (see Diego Garcia) China arms race between … and the U.S. 228, 239 enforcing claims from 1919 153 increasingly aggressive … 133, 229 influence over Korean Peninsula 231 naval modernization 229 South … Sea 133, 228 threats from … 244 threats to … 230, 244 Ching, Yau 58 Chamorro(s) allegiance to the US 165 conscripted … 165, 176 gratitude 161 indigenous people 163, 175 in the Northern Marianas 165, 169 land deprivation 171, 189, 280 opposition to Japanese occupation 164 opposition to the proposed buildup 171 political life 163 public execution of … men 163 self-determination 167, 171, 174, 177 survivors 166, 167, 176 wartime suffering 162, 163, 174 CH-53 (see Sea Stallion) Cho, Grace 17, 26 Chomsky, Noam 69, 70, 77, 90, 97, 102, 106, 118-20, 123, 238, 253 Clinton, Bill 78 Clinton, Hillary 120, 133, 134, 153

colonialism 1, 5, 61, 79, 81, 131, 181, 195, 206, 223, 287 colony American … 57, 81, 193, 223 double … 193, 196 dual … 193 internal … 193 Japanese … 205, 275 Massachusetts Bay … 82 US … of Guam 128 Columbus, Christopher 2 coral(s) 61, 95, 115, 186, 235, 250, 281 crime(s) committed by military 42, 62, 76, 109, 111, 114, 116, 223, 280 committed on or off duty 110 heinous and violent 121 not tried in host country 68 petty 31 rate(s) 281 scene 72 war … trials 172, 179 D Daelim Industries 255 Diego Garcia 271, 283, 287 demilitarisation 5, 245 Deming, Olcott 79, 80, 94 Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) 73, 105, 106, 108, 224, 228-32, 255, 287 disorder(s) physical and mental 114 social 90 Dissociative Identity Disorder 92-4 dugong 95, 115 Dulles, John Foster 87, 88 E Edo 78 Eisenhower, Dwight D. 80, 81, 94 empire American … 25, 63, 64, 75-7, 82, 87-9, 93-7, 130-41,

290 144, 148-50, 153-58, 182, 190, 285 global military … 47, 177, 272 Japanese … 164, 177 Roman … 1 Enloe, Cynthia 64, 278, 284 Entman, Robert 119, 122 environment(al) activist(s) 115, 145, 253 assessment 115 cleansing 111 concerns 226 conditions 186 conservation 250 contamination 114, 116 critical … perspective 116 damage 115, 116, 132, 186, 281 degradation 239 destruction 227, 234, 281 disaster 253 Defense … Programs Annual Report to Congress 151 Draft … Impact Statement 150, 184, 190 Final … Impact Statement 150 impact assessment 248, 250, 261 impact(s) 115, 129, 145, 183, 245, 250 issue(s) 116, 250, 251 National … Policy Act 145, 184 Navy … Public Affairs Office 152 Overseas … Impact Statement 150, 151 politics 15 polluters 131 pollution 110, 131 potential … damage 116 preservation 254, 262, 264 Protection Agency (EPA) 145, 186, 252 protection laws 144, 145, 184 restoration 144

Index studies 129, 184, 187, 250 Supplemental … Impact Statement (SEIS) 187, 181, 189 sustainability 146 erase(d) culture and language 191 geographic regions 5 memories of colonial past 102, 140 the perception of occupation 80 F Feminist groups 51, 242 perspective 16, 52, 53, 61 theory 63 feminising 51-3, 55 fence(line) as a communication medium 219, 220, 243 as a symbol of dispossession 8, 188, 208, 257, 259 barbed wire … 56, 70, 84, 283 military … 8 porous … 9, 10 outside the … 84, 185, 186, 218 shifting … 14, 84 filter(ing) anticommunism 90 Hollywood-produced media 47 of official military communication 84 media ownership 118 sourcing 107 footprint 3, 74, 129, 130 Foucault, Michel 63, 155 framing basic functions of … 100 concept of … 100 corporate news 99, 100, 109 creates a false reality 115 fourth function of … 101

Under Occupation: Resistance and Struggle in a Militarised Asia-Pacific 291 incomplete knowledge as a consequence of … 109, 116, 242 Maher’s comments 87 naming and … 78, 273 news 100, 109, 119 of the Futenma issue 100, 102, 116, 118 Okinawa as a keystone 88 political communication 100, 115 process(es) 99, 100, 241, 270 techniques 103 the occupation 80, 81 theory of … 99 third function of … 100 French, Howard 6 Funabashi, Yoichi 4 Futenma agreement to return 4, 210 base funeral ceremony 218 entering … 218, 280 Flightline Fair 84, 218 framed as problematic 101, 104, 109, 116, 117, 118 Gate 3 213 issue 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 107, 111, 121, 205 leaflets 209 Nodake Gate 4, 51 noise 114 outside of Okinawa 105, 117 protest(s) 209, 211, 212, 218, 219 relocation 98, 99, 100, 106, 119, 203, 204, 213 replacement facility 128 reporting on the … issue 100, 120 ‘the world’s most dangerous base’ 4, 6 to Guam 189 to Henoko 108, 110, 114, 115, 176, 184, 205 to mainland Japan 112, 203

G gate(d) as a site of communication 221 as a site of protest 243, 257, 259 closure 219 communities 91 interference 220 southern … of Japan’s internationalisation 30 gaze as a concept 10, 34, 63, 67 as a practice 53, 56, 140 Gangjeong Naval Base 226, 230, 250, 254 protest movement 241-3, 2468, 252, 263 Village 185, 225, 226, 230, 233, 238-40, 246-8, 2502, 259, 261, 262, 264, 267-9, 271 Göring, Hermann 94 Gureombi as a symbol 257, 264 as a cultural asset 258 destruction of … 257, 260, 262 rock formations 227, 260, 261, 280 global order 139, 140 war on terror 146 globalisation 25, 26, 58, 97, 265 H haenyo 246, 247, 267 Hardt, Michael 139, 156 Hatoyama, Yukio 98-101, 104-9, 116, 117, 120, 122 Hawaii(an) cultural renaissance 144 indigenous … people 199 Islands 130, 131, 134 Kingdom 127, 131, 138, 143 names 148

292 nationals 135, 144 native … culture 159 opposition to the annexation 136 opposition to the coup 136 sovereignity 135, 141, 144 studies 128 Hein, Laura 53, 62, 63 Henoko activism 11, 101, 203 community internal divisions 265 environment 95, 115, 116 plans to destroy nature 84 relocation plans 100, 101, 105, 108, 110-15, 128, 176, 184, 205, 209 similarities to Jeju 240 Herman, Edward 90, 97, 102, 106, 118-20, 123 Himeyuri Nurse Corps 27 Hirohito, Emperor 172, 195, 200, 201, 205 honour 266, 280, 281, 282 host nation support 53, 106, 111, 112, 120, 193 humiliation 209, 279, 281, 282 hunger strike 226, 234, 243, 252, 254, 264 I indigenous Chamorros 161, 175, 199 claims against the state 156 Critiques of Colonialism 148 drowning local and … cultures and economies 127 efforts to reclaim territory 148 firing range complex in … village 185, 187, 189 Filipino Liberation Movement 151 Hawaiians 199 identity 148 land rights 154, 188 movement in Hawai‘i

Index Okinawa … rights 200 Okinawa’s … languages 30, 43 Pacific Islanders 171 Peoples’ Resistance to Globalisation 151 political theorists 139 indispensable alliance 111 nation 78 Inoue, Masamichi 11, 12, 24, 25, 28, 97, 265 internationalisation 29, 30, 31, 45, 46, 48, 276 Island(s) Caroline … 177 Chagos … (see Diego Garcia) Hawaiian (see Hawaii) Mariana … 162, 179, 180 Marshall … 146, 177 Northern Mariana … 133, 163-5, 169, 176, 177 J Japanese Self-Defense Force(s) 38, 74, 205 Jeju Island 102, 146, 224, 226, 227, 229, 233, 234, 238-40, 243, 244, 251, 253, 254, 257, 260, 263, 274-76, 281, 283 Johnson, Chalmers 64, 77, 96, 117, 157, 158, 201, 272 Junger, Sebastian 86, 96 K Kakazu Takadai Park 211, 213-6 Kamaduu 203, 211, 213, 218, 219, 222, 280, 287 KDX-III destroyers 244 Kerr, George 94 Klein, Naomi 128, 150 Kovner, Sarah 109, 121 Koza 26, 55, 62, 207 Kuhn, Thomas 274

Under Occupation: Resistance and Struggle in a Militarised Asia-Pacific 293 L Lakoff, George 81, 94, 96 land (see annexation, seizure, or struggle) lily-pad strategy 128, 141, 150 M Macke, Richard (Admiral) 88, 89 Magellan, Ferdinand 1, 2 Maher, Kevin 86, 87, 89, 122, 282 mama-san 54, 63 Mañenggon Valley 166, 167, 173, 174 Manifest Destiny 82, 132 Marshall, S.L.A. 282, 283 Masco, Joseph 12, 25 massacre (see April 3 (4/3) Incident) McArthur, Douglas (General) 205 McCormack, Gavan 78, 94, 200 Mears, Helen 87, 96 metaphor(ical) feminine 52 friend(ship) 20, 21, 29, 30, 61, 84, 85, 89, 92-6, 159, 282 good neighbour 46, 61, 83-5, 95, 273 guest 67, 68, 81-4 host 53, 68, 73, 81, 84, 88, 112, 168, 172, 228 masculine 27, 44, 52-5 protector 3, 20, 50, 53, 58, 84, 88, 92, 105, 107, 195, 264 tenant 61, 80, 92 violation of Okinawan property rights 53 Micronesia 138, 163, 173, 177, 178 militarisation and national budget(s) 112, 113 global movements against … 25, 146 local movements against … 25 Mills, C. Wright 275 Miyazato, Seigen 88, 96, 202

MoananuiƗkea (see Pacific Ocean) Molasky, Michael 55, 64 Moro Crater Massacre 1 Mutual Security Treaty 172, 204 MV-22 (see Osprey) Mӻ Lai Massacre 238 N Nakazato, Chosho 44 Negri, Antonio 139, 156 New Internationalist 5, 6 NIMBY 195, 246, 263 noise 4, 95, 114, 185, 209, 281 Nomura, Koya 53, 62, 95, 195, 196, 200 Norimatsu, Satoko Oka 78, 94 North Korea (see Democratic People’s Republic of Korea) nuclear aircraft carrier 184, 186 -armed deterent 61 -armed protection 105 catastrophes 127 umbrella 105, 106 weapons 195, 282 O Obama, Barack 3, 78, 83, 95, 105, 108, 119-121, 127, 128, 133, 147, 160 occupation and ethical implications of 89 as a social phenomenon 89, 131, 279, 282 as a linguistic concept 80, 81, 89, 93, 276, 277 contending with … 52, 198, 204, 205 Dialogue Under … 87, 143, 144, 251 historical perspectives on … 46, 54, 57, 78, 79, 82 invasion and … of 71, 191 Japanese … of 3, 161-64, 16670, 172, 173, 175, 177 legacy of … 2, 61, 169

294 military … 52, 79, 93 136, 195, 281 opposing the … 2, 281, 282 rejection of the term 5, 276 re- … 171, 274, 282 sustaining the … 3, 48, 92 today’s … narrative 2 US … of Guam 162, 168, 172, 274 octopus 130, 141, 150 Okinawa(n) base workers 28 Christian University 33, 44, 285 Diaspora 62, 95 identity 25, 27, 97 International University 6, 210, 213, 219, 286, 287 independence 192 indigenous rights in … 200 keywords in postwar … 96 mass media coverage of military issues in … 11921 minority group status 192 pain, frustration over US bases 64 sacrificed … for mainland Japan 201 studies 26 the American occupation of … 85, 94 US Nuclear Missile Pioneers on … 65 wartime participation 27 one shot one kill 55 Orientalist images 22 understandings 24 Orwell, George 2, 6 Osprey (MV-22) 4, 40, 51, 121, 129, 210, 211, 218-23, 271 Ota, Masahide 197

Index P Pacific “America’s … Century” 133, 153 as strategic location 56, 61, 86, 126, 138, 140, 174, 175, 227, 238, 253, 273, 274 Asia- … Agenda 160 Center for … Island Studies 180 Daily News 168, 171, 177 demilitarised 265 geo-politics 133 in a new world order 156 indigenous … Islanders 171 island chain 154 island communities 177, 283 Keystone of the … 61, 88 Nuclear Free and Independent … (NFIP) 130, 141 Ocean 2, 3, 5, 73, 132, 147, 148, 149 Pan-… strategies of resistance 200 Pivot 126, 127, 133, 226 post-… War 3 region 126, 127, 137, 139, 140, 141, 165, 254, 262, 264 sphere of influence 139, 141, 228 strategic map(s) … 61, 161 The Asia-… Journal 16, 65, 121, 180, 181, 234, 265 The … Stars and Stripes 211 U.S. Air Forces … 151 U.S. Army … Hawaiian Department 137 U.S. Army … 151 U.S. Army Missile Defense Command … 150 U.S. … Command (USPACOM) 130, 140, 150, 151, 152 U.S. … Fleet 151

Under Occupation: Resistance and Struggle in a Militarised Asia-Pacific 295 U.S. Navy … Missile Range Facility (PMRF) 129, 145, 150 U.S. Trust Territory of the … Islands 181 War 137 war legacies 128, 157, 158 Pågat firing-range complex 186-189 Village 186-189 parens patriae 85 Pax Americana 83, 200 Pearl Harbor as Hollywood mythology 40 as military base 129, 134 as site of attack 137 as site of radioactive waste 130, 131, 151 as symbol of nationalism 157 as war memorial 140 Pentagon global bases 97 global base transformation 150 Worldwide Real Property Portfolio 66 Perry, Matthew C. (Commodore) 57, 78, 79, 94 Perry, William (Secretary of Defense) 57 police crackdown 251, 255, 264 post-colonial(ism) 13-15, 21-4, 28, 50, 139, 196, 201, 202, 287 POW camp 30 prison 164 propaganda 141, 166 and brainwashed journalists 116 Big Circle 84, 85, 95 efforts 166 through corporate media 105 Propaganda Model, The 90, 107, 123 prostitution 43, 52, 53, 54, 58, 59, 62, 63, 64, 89 protest(ers)

aggressive 216 anti-base 215, 216, 238, 241-7, 250-62, 264, 267 Ballon 214 anti-Osprey 218 R rape 4, 13, 30, 36, 42, 51, 52, 56-9, 64, 75, 89, 121, 128, 155, 1668, 173, 214, 220, 277, 281, 282 R&R 52, 54, 56, 57, 74 Rawls, John 69, 77 Reagan, Ronald 82 Recreation and Amusement Association (RAA) 59 redemption through militarisation and war 140, 157 resistance Anti-base … from Jeju 265 in the Philippines 154 to American colonialism 154 to globalization 151 to US military buildup 180 Strategies 200 restricted area(s) 9, 13 information 99 perspectives 48 voting rights 135 Republic of Korea (ROK) Defense White Paper 236 Navy 226, 228, 233, 236, 244, 261-64 military 276 reversion 5, 16, 80, 110, 198, 205, 212 Rose, Deborah Bird 148 Ryukyu(s) Civil Administration of the … 79 Islands 73, 74, 81, 84 Kingdom 3, 78, 191, 200 the people of … 88 University of the … 26

296 S Said, Edward 50 Samsung C&T 252, 255 San Francisco State University 26 Treaty of … 57, 172, 212 University of … Center for the Pacific Rim 96 Satsuma 3, 78 Schiller, Herbert 79, 94, 80, 273 Seabrook, Jeremy 58, 64 Sea Stallion 210, 211 sea women (see haenyo) Security Treaty, US-Japan 57, 86, 99, 100, 104, 105, 107, 111, 116-18, 193, 195, 204, 208, 209, 212, 276 Security Treaty, US-ROK 228, 232 seizure(s) land 93, 131, 136, 137, 143, 145, 147, 175 power 135, 136 Selden, Mark 53, 62, 63 self-determination 131, 132, 152, 154, 156, 161, 162, 167, 171, 174, 177, 199, 240 serve as a dumping ground 57 as a host to US bases 53, 68 as a nuclear deterrent 61 as a platform from which to launch aggression 57 in emerging industries 44 service(s) AFRTS … 95 lip … 212 targets 272 to the Japanese military 27, 181 sex(ual) access 55, 58, 277, 278 appetite 43 assault 31, 109 connotation(s) 43, 58, 60, 63 conquest 277 exploitation 18, 33

Index pleasure(s) 52, 63 slavery 181 solicitation 40, 49, 76, 166 trade 55, 64 victimisation 30, 259 Sharpeville Massacre 238 Singer, Peter 72, 77 Special Action Committee on Okinawa (SACO) 4 Spivak, Gayatri 15, 50, 60, 195, 196, 201, 275 Srebrenica Massacre 238 Stackpole, Henry (General) 88 Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) and custody issues 121 and military-related crimes 111, 116 and no liability in decontaminating land 114 as an excuse to refuse cooperation with police 217 contractual agreements 110, 111 enabling personnel to evade prosecution 110 fewer … personnel arrested 76 improving the … 4 restrictions on movement of … individuals within Okinawa 13, 14 unfair agreements 110, 111 Steeves, John 80 Steinem, Gloria 251 struggle a century of … 155 against US military posts 97, 182, 190 demilitarisation 159 for land, life and peace 235 for power and peace 235 Myth, Protest and … in Okinawa 236 to achieve justice 156

Under Occupation: Resistance and Struggle in a Militarised Asia-Pacific 297 to establish Okinawan indigenous rights 200 Sturdevant, Saundra Pollock 58, 63, 64 sweeteners 187, 188 sympathy budget (see host nation support) T Tacitus 1 Takae 84, 95 Talmadge, Eric 76, 86, 96 Taylor, Verta 242, 265, 266 Theatre State 78 Thomas, W. I. 274, 284 Tilly, Charles 242, 265 tip of the spear 83, 85, 86, 89, 91-3, 96, 171, 273, 277 Tumon 176 Turner, Mark 81, 94 Twain, Mark 1 U Uchinaaguchi 15, 207 Uchinaa Unai 16 Uchinaa-yamato-guchi 15 V valuable agricultural land 262 asset to the US military 174 outpost 174 symbol of the struggle 261 value(s) core … 89 indigenous cultural … 186 internationalism 43 its face-to-face social networks 249 of the security alliance 103, 105, 107, 108, 116 peace and environment 254, 257 

twisted … and misplaced priorities 48 vampire 51 vanquished populations 1 vassal state 78, 191 Vietnam 30, 31, 41, 54, 57, 71-4, 114, 171, 174, 272 vital security alliance 107 W war(s) claims 181 criminals 181 Iraq 97 laws of … and occupation 154 on terror 146 renouncing 64 reparation(s) 162, 172-7, 181 Waseda University 16 Whittier, Nancy 242, 265, 266 Wuthnow, Robert 243, 266 X xenophobia 33 Y Yang Yoon-mo 226, 252-54, 264, 268, 269 Yevtushenko, Yevgeny 67 Yoshida, Kensei 116, 118, 120, 122, 123, 272 yuntaku 19, 20 Z Zinn, Howard 82, 94 Žižek, Slavoj 140, 158 zone(s) danger 187, 188 defence 165 economic 228 landing 95 militarised 18, 133, 146 war 74