At first, I almost didn’t apply to the Reischauer Scholars Program (RSP). As someone with primarily Eastern European heritage, I doubted that I had a unique perspective to add to a coalition of students dedicated to learning more about Japan’s rich culture, economics, history, and society. In my mind, my personal experience couldn’t have been further from the course’s content. However, as a recent graduate of the RSP, my experience has completely shattered my previous misconceptions. Stanford’s RSP isn’t just an online program that gives students a comprehensive, in-depth view of Japan—it brings together a community of academically and socially diverse individuals from across the United States, along with their manifold perspectives, to build future leaders in the U.S.–Japan relationship. 

My path to the RSP began in Model United Nations (MUN) and my tenth-grade world history class that encouraged me to delve deeper into the political and ideological theories that govern and shape our society. Japan was a major focus for multiple of my MUN conferences, where I descended into multiple Wikipedia rabbit-holes on a wide range of topics, from Japan’s stance on sustainable development to socio-political effects on Japanese gender equality quotas. Furthermore, throughout my dual enrollment in a MicroMasters program in international jurisprudence and a course on East Asian culture and law, I learned more about the intricacies of Japan’s Eurocentric depiction in the geo-political sphere. In the international law resources I was exposed to, Japan was often portrayed as “lawless,” while the Western legal system was presented as the “key” to maintaining a proper rule of law in East Asia. Through the latter course which focused on the intersection between Japanese culture and law, Japanese law was accurately shown as an extension of the rich Japanese culture I had learned about in my history classes; in this regard, each cultural facet needed to be taken into account with the legal theory of the state. Since then, I’ve been hooked on understanding the role of implicit motives in shaping international policy and cultural precedent in jurisprudence. At the RSP, I have been able to pursue my passions alongside like-minded peers.

From the first week of the RSP, the diversity of students was evident. Each of my fellow peers offered their own outlook on topics ranging from “Religions in Japan” to “The Power of Popular Culture.” Across online forums and virtual classrooms, complex concepts were thoroughly discussed through witty back-and-forth banter, new ideas were buttressed by comprehensive research, and interconnected themes were explored via collaboration. The RSP’s inclusive and dynamic environment was one of my favorite aspects of the program. Weekly Zoom meetings with our instructor, Ms. Naomi Funahashi, and my peers allowed me to grasp unfamiliar concepts and take a deep dive into the things I didn’t previously know through active engagement. Moreover, at each virtual classroom, we had the opportunity to meet government officials, business leaders, and scholars at the forefront of U.S.–Japan relations. Each speaker’s ideas will forever retain importance to my understanding of the Japanese American experience, which remains equally relevant in the modern day.

The RSP’s commitment to educating the future leaders of the U.S.–Japan relationship is shown in its culmination. Near the final months of the 20-week RSP, students are given the opportunity to explore a topic of their choosing related to Japan or the U.S.–Japan dynamic. In my final paper, titled “The Rite of Rights: An Examination of Socio-Cultural Precedent in Japanese Law,” I coalesced my RSP education with my interest in international and Japanese jurisprudence. Even after its conclusion, the RSP continues the discussion on U.S.–Japan relations for the years to come by compiling and sharing all the research papers written within that year’s program. 

Ultimately, I am grateful to the Reischauer Scholars Program for creating a mosaic of different experiences and cultures by bringing together my peers. Throughout my involvement in the RSP, I have strengthened my belief in the cross-cultural intersections that bind us all together. It is through these bonds, along with empathy and compassion, that the RSP helps students weave themselves into the U.S.–Japan international tapestry, shaping the world. 

The next session of the Reischauer Scholars Program will run from February to June 2022. The application will open September 6, 2021.

On December 10, 2020, 44 educators from across the United States joined a webinar titled “Global Human Rights and Minority Social Movements in Japan.” The webinar was offered on Human Rights Day, 72 years after the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) was adopted. The featured speaker was Dr. Kiyoteru Tsutsui, who is the Henri H. and Tomoye Takahashi Professor and Senior Fellow in Japanese Studies at the Shorenstein APARC at Stanford University. He is also Director of the Japan Program, a Senior Fellow of FSI, and a Professor of Sociology.

The webinar can be viewed below:

Tsutsui has written extensively about human rights, including his latest book Rights Make Might: Global Human Rights and Minority Social Movements in Japan. In his talk, Tsutsui introduced the three most salient minority groups in Japan—the Ainu, an indigenous people in the northern part of Japan whose numbers range from 25,000 to 30,000; resident Koreans (Zainichi), a colonial legacy whose numbers have hovered around a half million; and the Burakumin, a former outcaste group whose numbers are approximately three million.

Tsutsui set the context for his talk by providing an overview of the global expansion of human rights dating from the UDHR in 1948 to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights—both adopted by the UN General Assembly in 1966 and came into force from 1976. Human rights are now established as one of the key principles in the international community. He noted that despite the wide recognition of human rights as an important international norm, whether the institutionalization of human rights in international society has done what it was intended to do still remains debatable.

Concerning the era of global human rights in Japan, Japan ratified the two International Covenants noted above in 1979 and has been a member of the UN Commission on Human Rights since 1982 and the UN Sub-Commission on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights since 1984. These as well as participation in other forums have impacted ethnic minorities in Japan.

Tsutsui shared the historical backgrounds and key issues concerning the Ainu and resident Koreans. Concerning the Ainu, he underscored their lack of ethnic/indigenous pride—much less political activism—prior to the 1970s. This was largely because of their dependence on government welfare and strong pressure for assimilation. He then highlighted how Ainus’ self-perception changed after the 1970s as a result of their exposure to the Global Indigenous Rights Movement, which led to a reawakening of indigenous pride and the rise of Ainu activism.

Concerning resident Koreans, Tsutsui introduced their history prior to the 1970s as Japanese colonial era immigrants and their descendants who came to Japan or were brought to Japan by increasingly forceful means towards the end of World War II. He discussed issues concerning their loss of Japanese citizenship after World War II, resulting practices such as the fingerprinting of resident Koreans, and hurdles to mobilize for civil and human rights due to their non-citizen status and divided identities. Like the Ainu, things began to change from the 1970s with the beginning of the human rights era in Japan. For example, from the 1980s, encouraged by universal human rights principles, some resident Koreans refused to be fingerprinted, a practice they had previously resented but reluctantly complied with, and by 1985, over 10,000 resident Koreans joined in refusal. Resident Koreans made appeals to the UN Commission on Human Rights and other international forums to pressure the Japanese government. Amid mounting pressure domestically and internationally, the government terminated the fingerprinting practice for permanent residents in Japan (largely resident Koreans) in 1993, and for all alien residents by 2000.

Tsutsui summarized his talk by noting that global human rights galvanized minority social movements in Japan in four ways: (1) they empowered local actors with a new understanding about rights; (2) they provided political opportunities at the global level; (3) they increased international flows of mobilization resources; and (4) they provided vocabulary to frame their causes effectively. He closed his talk with a question, “Should we have hope or despair in terms of the future of human rights in the world?” and noted that the empowering capacity of global human rights is often overlooked, that reform takes time, that it is important to identify conditions conducive to improvement, and that contemporary backlash poses serious challenges.

In reflecting on the webinar with the educators, Tsutsui noted, “I was honored to present my work to the educators who can teach students in their formative years how important it is to continuously work to support human rights and how these efforts in the local context can change human rights practices not just locally but globally. This is a particularly important moment in the United States and in the world to reinforce the importance of human rights and democracy, as fundamental principles of democratic governance are challenged and protection of basic rights is in jeopardy. In these challenging times, I’d like to emphasize the importance of continuing grassroots-level work to support the principles of human rights and democracy. Ideas matter, and education shapes the future of our world.”

Teachers might consider some of the following as essential questions to raise with their students after viewing the lecture by Professor Tsutsui:

• How does the Ainu experience compare to the experience of Native Americans?
• How do textbooks in Japan cover ethnic minorities, and how is this similar and different to how ethnic minorities in the United States are covered in textbooks?
• How was ethnic minority participation in the Japanese military during World War II similar and different to ethnic minority participation in the U.S. military during World War II?
• What role can museums that focus on ethnic minorities play in educating the public, e.g., National Ainu Museum, National Museum of African American History and Culture?
• How is the backlash against ethnic minorities in Japan, e.g., being perceived as receiving special benefits, similar or different to that of ethnic minorities in the United States?
• Why is it important for young students to understand the significance of universal human rights?

The webinar was made possible through the support of the Freeman Foundation’s National Consortium for Teaching about Asia initiative. The webinar was a joint collaboration between SPICE and Stanford’s Center for East Asian Studies, and the Shorenstein Asia-Pacific Research Center. Special thanks to Dr. Dafna Zur, CEAS Director, and John Groschwitz, CEAS Associate Director, for their support; to Dr. Gi-Wook Shin, APARC Director, and Dr. Karen Eggleston, APARC Deputy Director, for their support; and to SPICE’s Naomi Funahashi for facilitating the webinar and Sabrina Ishimatsu for planning the webinar.

For several years, I had been anticipating September 2, 2020—the 75th anniversary of the end of World War II—to be a momentous day. And, with the approach of the 75th anniversary of the permanent closing on November 28, 1945 of the Poston Relocation Center, the concentration camp that detained my family during World War II, I also anticipated that 2020 would be a time of reflection on the question, “What does it mean to be an American?”

In 1942, approximately 120,000 people of Japanese descent—approximately two-thirds of whom were U.S. citizens—primarily along the West Coast were incarcerated by their country, the United States. My grandparents and parents were among them. They were sharecroppers in Salinas, California, prior to the Pearl Harbor attack and following Executive Order 9066, which was signed by President Franklin D. Roosevelt on February 19, 1942, they were forced to leave their homes and move to the Salinas Assembly Center, which was hastily built on the Salinas fairgrounds and racetracks. A few months later on the Fourth of July, they were sent to the Poston Relocation Center, Arizona, one of the ten permanent concentration camps for Japanese Americans.

This month, in addition to reading about solemn ceremonies marking the 75th anniversary of the end of World War II, I read “Trump: Americans Who Died in War Are ‘Losers’ and ‘Suckers’,” in The Atlantic, September 3, 2020, with difficulty as I thought about Hachiro and others who had given the ultimate sacrifice and their Gold Star Families. Through Shinichi, I know that Hachiro and the other Japanese American soldiers wanted to prove that they were every bit as American as anyone else. As a high school student from 1968 to 1972, I struggled with accepting what my family had endured during World War II in part because my high school U.S. history textbook mentioned nothing of their experience, as my family was not part of the “master narrative” of U.S. history.

I had anticipated that the 75th anniversary of the end of the war would prompt unity and reflections on how far we have come as a nation in terms of embracing diversity. Instead, I will remember 2020 as one of the most divisive years in my lifetime. My hope is that the free educational web-based curriculum toolkit—“What Does It Mean to Be an American?”—will help us in a modest way to move toward “a more perfect Union.” Authored by SPICE’s Rylan Sekiguchi for use at the high school and college levels, the curriculum examines what it means to be American. The website was developed by the Mineta Legacy Project’s Dianne Fukami, Debra Nakatomi, and Amy Watanabe in partnership with SPICE. Inspired by the life and career of Secretary Norman Y. Mineta, the six themed lessons are: Immigration, Civil Liberties & Equity, Civic Engagement, Justice & Reconciliation, Leadership, and U.S.–Japan Relations. Mineta, as a 10-year-old boy, was incarcerated with his family at the Heart Mountain Relocation Center, Wyoming, one of the ten permanent concentration camps. In the video “Bridging Two Countries: Norman Y. Mineta,” Mineta notes the following when asked why he wears an American flag pin on his lapel.

The six standards-aligned lessons use primary source materials, interactive exercises, and personal videos that connect to students’ lives and showcase a diverse range of American voices—from young adults to former U.S. Presidents Bill Clinton and George W. Bush whose replies to “What does it mean to be an American?” are highlighted here.

The curriculum is designed to encourage critical thinking through class activities and discussions and introduce new voices and perspectives on issues that are as relevant today as they have been for much of America’s past. One of the most compelling videos focuses on “What Does It Mean to Be a Young Black Man in America?,” which prompted me to reflect on Shinichi’s encounter in Europe with the segregated 92nd Infantry Division, composed of African Americans, who along with the 442nd helped to break through the Gothic Line, the final main German defensive line in northern Italy. My hope is that young students today—when considering civil liberties-related issues—will also remember the sacrifices of those before them.

There are three objectives of the curriculum. The first is to empower educators to foster student inquiry around the question “What does it mean to be an American?” The second is to help educators discover how best to leverage the resource for their own classrooms. We hope that teachers will reflect on the toolkit vis-à-vis specific curricular needs and assess its optimal integration into their existing practice. The third is to have students consider the importance of the six themes in their lives and to know that they too have important voices in the shaping of what it means to be an American.

I wish that my high school U.S. history teacher had introduced curriculum like this to me. To learn, for example, that the 442nd Infantry Regiment had become the most decorated unit in U.S. military history for its size and length of service—including 21 Medals of Honor and eight Presidential Unit Citations—would have given Hachiro a voice in the curriculum. Many Americans like Hachiro remain buried in Europe. Each year, French people, whose towns were liberated by the 442nd, kindly pay their respects at Hachiro’s grave. I hope that future U.S. presidents will visit cemeteries like the Epinal American Cemetery as well.

The Stanford Program on International and Cross-Cultural Education (SPICE) unequivocally condemns the systemic racism that permeates U.S. society and fully supports the recent calls for social justice and equity. I have been so moved and inspired by the protests across the United States that have brought world-wide attention to the systemic racism in the United States. Because of my age and the stay-at-home orders, I regret that I have not been able to participate in the protests. It is not due to my indifference. My family—in particular in late 1941 and 1942—also suffered from what would be called “racial profiling” today.

After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, my grandparents, who were immigrants from Japan, and my U.S.-born parents were forcibly removed by Executive Order 9066 from their homes in Salinas, California, in 1942 and detained initially in the Salinas Assembly Center, one of 15 temporary detention facilities along the West Coast for Japanese immigrants and Japanese Americans. They were later transported to Poston War Relocation Center, which was built on the Colorado River Indian Reservation in the Arizona desert, and was one of ten more permanent detention camps that the U.S. government had initially referred to as concentration camps. They remained there until the end of World War II.

My father, as a high school student in Poston, became fully aware of not only the painful sting of scorpions but more importantly of the sting of indifference from Americans concerning their plight; and my mother, as an elementary school student, simply assumed that they had done something wrong because her family was surrounded by barbed wire and guard towers manned by U.S. soldiers with guns. During World War II, very few people spoke out as the constitutional rights of 120,000 people of Japanese ancestry—more than two-thirds of whom were U.S. citizens—were violated.

As I listened to President Donald Trump’s June 13th remarks at the 2020 United States Military Academy at West Point graduation ceremony, I was hoping that he would—especially given the times—specifically mention Henry Ossian Flipper, a former slave, who in 1877 became the first African American to graduate from the United States Military Academy at West Point; as well as others like the African American Tuskegee Airmen who served valiantly in World War II. One of my uncles, who was drafted into the U.S. Army from Poston, trained with other Japanese American soldiers in the 442nd Regimental Combat Team in Camp Shelby, Mississippi. Around town, he saw the segregated entrances—“Whites Only” and “Colored Only”—and didn’t know which one to enter. He went to Europe to fight bigotry.

As a young student in the late 1950s and 1960s, I had never learned about these stories in my elementary and secondary school classes. I learned about them informally through my family and formally for the first time as a freshman in fall 1972 at U.C. Berkeley. Here I was taught that what I had learned in elementary and secondary school was the U.S. master narrative of history, in which the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, Henry Ossian Flipper, and Tuskegee Airmen were not included, at least at the time.

SPICE fully supports FSI Director Michael McFaul’s call “to reassess our work and how we can move our local community, nation, and the world to achieve racial justice” in light of the horrific killing of George Floyd and the long, tragic history of racial injustice and police violence targeted at the Black community. SPICE—with roots that date back to 1973—is an educational outreach program of FSI. The goal of making Stanford scholarship accessible to K–12 students (and more recently community college students) has remained as SPICE’s mission since its establishment. Now—perhaps more than ever—I feel the need to do more to help open up the still strictly confined master narrative of U.S. history to include the Black Lives Matter movement and more broadly the contributions of minorities to U.S. society.

Long before terms like culturally relevant (or sensitive) curriculum were being used, SPICE has underscored the importance of helping to raise international and cultural awareness—through curriculum development—geared to students at a young age, when critical attitudes are being formed. SPICE is about to launch a website that is called “What does it mean to be an American?” The website’s lessons focus on topics like immigration, civil liberties & equity, civic engagement, justice & reconciliation, and leadership. It is meant as a starting point for critical discussions, including courageous conversations about race and discrimination. We hope that this is a modest starting point for teachers to encourage youth around the country to discuss topics like the Black Lives Matter movement, being Muslim in America, and LGBTQ issues.

Among SPICE’s offerings are a series of short lectures (Scholars Corner and Multimedia Library) by Stanford scholars with accompanying teacher guides. One focuses on “The Use of Lethal Force by the Police in Rio de Janeiro and the Pacification Process” by Professor Beatriz Magaloni in which she explores the connections between poverty, crime, and police violence—topics just as relevant in the contemporary United States as they are in Brazil. For many years, I have hoped to expand these further with scholars affiliated with the Martin Luther King, Jr. Research and Education Institute, which is directed by Professor Clayborne Carson. Several years ago, SPICE recorded a lecture by Professor Carson titled “Civil and Human Rights: The Martin Luther King, Jr. Legacy,” and I recommend its use in schools as his message is very timely. In addition, SPICE has worked with educators of the Navajo Nation for many years; someday we hope to collaborate on a long-term project. One of the Navajo educators was a Stanford student in the 1960s and he shared his efforts to persuade Stanford to drop the Indian symbol as a mascot in 1972 despite resistance or indifference on the part of many in the Stanford community.

I agree with Professor Michael McFaul that “We must do better.” I definitely need to do better. SPICE needs to do more to highlight BIPOC’s invaluable contributions to U.S. history and society and help to empower youth with a greater voice and platform today to address the systemic racism in the United States that is directly affecting their lives.

My mother, now 87, still vividly recalls the barbed wire that surrounded her as a 9-year-old American girl at the “assembly center” in Salinas in 1942. Reflecting upon the recent protests, she recently shared with me, “I imagine that Blacks feel like they have a fence around them all the time.” She also still nervously remembers the paranoia that her mother felt during World War II, and even after the war when her mother used to sometimes go outside in the middle of the night with a packed suitcase. After being escorted home by neighbors, she would tell her children that “She was going to Poston.” I know how much these stories still hurt me despite the passage of time. I believe that they help me to empathize as best I can with the plight of Black families in the United States today. But empathizing is not enough. We must ask ourselves, what more can we do to help take down the racial fences that still exist?

In SPICE’s curriculum work, we always preface each lesson with organizing questions (essential or overarching questions) that we would like students to consider. I would like to pose three for us to consider during this time: What can we at Stanford University do to move our local community, the United States, and the world to achieve greater racial justice? What can SPICE do to further make FSI/Stanford scholarship accessible to K–12 schools and community colleges ? What are the risks of remaining indifferent especially during times of crisis? These questions will be the driving force of our work in the weeks, months, and years ahead.