America’s “Enemy Aliens”

America’s fraught relationship with Islam has a recent history. After decades filled with embattled rhetoric and devastating wars, America has arrived at a juncture where refugees and fear are the tragic results. This cru­cible is where Presidential candidate Donald Trump stands, talking about tracking Muslims, stopping Muslim immigration, and surveil­ling Muslim communities. In November 2015, Trump called for a database of Syrian refugees and surveillance of mosques. In June 2016, he encouraged a ban on all Muslim immigration to America. Although Trump cannot settle on a specific immigration policy, he endorses the “ex­treme vetting” of immigrants. He has advocated an “expansion” of his ban, calling for restrictions on immigration from countries compromised by terrorism, including America’s allies in Europe.

This goes on to include Identification measures, surveillance, and immigration bans solely on the basis of religion and national origin—all in the name of preventing subversive activity. This pat­tern of discrimination is not new; it has happened before. When asked if he supported America’s decision to intern Japanese-Americans during World War II, Trump said he “would have had to be there at the time” to decide. Trump doesn’t have to go back in time. He’s recreating history. When a political candidate who resorts to dem­agoguery says all Muslims should be kept out, identified, and surveilled because of hysteria fu­eled by 24/7 news cycles, it is only a step away from one of the largest infringements of con­stitutional rights and individual freedom in U.S. history: the Japanese-American internment in concentration camps.

In February 1942, FDR issued Executive Order 9066 that called for the detainment of Japanese-American citizens. Labeled “en­emy aliens,” these Americans were denied due process to determine their loyalty to the United States. Systematically uprooting people from their homes, the internment resulted in the widespread disruption of nearly 120,000 people’s lives, almost 70,000 of whom were American citizens. They were identified, placed under strict curfew, taken to assembly centers, relocated to desolate regions, and detained by the American military. They lost their homes, communities, personal property, and business­es; their lives and livelihoods were destroyed, all because of their Japanese ancestry.

And yet, in the 1944 decision of Korematsu v. United States, the Supreme Court upheld the in­ternment’s inherent racism. The Supreme Court, usually the last bastion of protecting individual rights, completely failed Japanese-Americans. The decision framed the constitutionality of FDR’s executive order in terms of national se­curity and ensuring “every possible protection” for the country. It was “judged in the context of war,” influenced by fear of invasion and suspect­ed espionage. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the nation feared further attacks by an elusive “Oriental” empire; the Supreme Court used that newspaper-driven image and hysteria to justify the internment and thereby deny the constitu­tional rights of American citizens. In its broad­est terms, the racial hysteria of that era parallels America’s current political discourse regarding Muslim Americans and their families.

In rendering its decision, the Supreme Court was “not unmindful of the hardships imposed upon a large group of American citizens,” if one can call the identification, relocation, and deten­tion of an entire racial demographic a “hardship.” The ruling reasoned that “hardships are part of war, and war is an aggregation of hardships. All citizens alike, both in and out of uniform, feel the impact of war in greater or lesser mea­sure.” No, not greater or lesser, and not all citi­zens. Aside from the few Italian-Americans and German-Americans who were also interned, no other American citizens had to surrender their constitutional rights as a wartime sacrifice. Only the entire population of suspect “enemy aliens” of Japanese ancestry did so.

The rhetoric of World War II-era prejudice per­sists in today’s political discourse on Muslim Americans. A Commanding General in the U.S. Army gave testimony in 1943 in which he assert­ed, “I don’t want any of them [persons of Japanese ancestry] here. They are a dangerous element. There is no way to determine their loyalty. […] It makes no difference whether he is an American citizen, he is still a Japanese. American citizenship does not necessarily determine loyalty.” In June 2016—73 years later—Trump echoed this senti­ment, claiming, “there’s no real assimilation” of Muslim immigrants, even in “the second or third generation.” When officials and political figures advocate this narrow-minded thinking, the result is the wholesale denial of constitutional rights; when America forgets its past disgrace, it is likely to commit the same mistake again.

The viewpoints of political thought leaders often become widespread public opinion. In a 1942 ed­itorial titled “The Best Way to Show Loyalty” pub­lished in The San Francisco News, a writer opined that Japanese relocation and detention “may in­convenience them somewhat.” To prevent espio­nage, “the only course left is to remove all persons of that race for the duration of the war.” Today, Trump justifies the marginalization of “them” by stoking fear of national security threats. This fear resonates today as a Reuter’s survey reports that 50 percent of voters agree with Trump’s ban on Muslims. So when Trump says, “We will have no way to screen them, pay for them, or prevent the second generation from radicalizing,” oth­ering Muslims into “them,” his rhetoric ignores the shameful lesson of the Japanese-American internment. Trump says America “can’t afford to be politically correct.” His comments, how­ever, go beyond being unfiltered and intemper­ate. They are broad, unsubstantiated, and mis­informed. They are not only politically incorrect, but irresponsible. His rhetoric and viewpoints reject a fundamental teaching of America’s pre­vious mistreatment of a marginalized people, steering the country toward another potential grievous injustice.

Trump’s recent controversy with the Gold Star family of Captain Humayun Khan, a Muslim American who was killed in action during 2004 in Iraq, is telling. As with the Khan family, there were numerous Japanese-American families who made the ultimate sacrifice—the deaths of their family members while serving in the U.S. military—while their constitutional rights were under siege in political discourse. The ser­vice record of the Japanese-American 442nd Regimental Combat Team, a segregated unit in the U.S. Army, is unparalleled; it was the most decorated unit for its size and length of service. Trump says that he has “made a lot of sacrific­es,” but they pale in comparison.

Although FDR, Congress, the majority of the Supreme Court, and military leaders succumbed to racial prejudice in 1944, three Justices of the Supreme Court dissented from the Korematsu majority opinion. Justice Owen Roberts called the ruling a “clear violation of Constitutional rights.” Justice Frank Murphy harshly dissent­ed, stating, “Such exclusion goes over ‘the very brink of constitutional power,’ and falls into the ugly abyss of racism.” Justice Robert Jackson acknowledged that temporary measures—like Trump’s “temporary ban” —rarely are so: “We did validate a discrimination on the basis of an­cestry for mild and temporary deprivation of liberty. Now the principle of racial discrimina­tion is pushed from support of mild measures to very harsh ones, and from temporary depri­vations to indeterminate ones.” Once discrimi­nation is judicially upheld, it will be rationalized and implemented to its limits as long as it re­mains convenient or unchallenged. Today, the Korematsu decision still stands as legal prece­dent as it has not been overruled. The concept of temporary-turned-indeterminate deprivation remains increasingly relevant when Trump vac­illates in defining the scope of his proposed ban on Muslims.

Almost 50 years after Korematsu, the Civil Liberties Act of 1988, which awarded repara­tions to Japanese-American internees, con­curred with the dissenting Supreme Court Justices. The legislation was signed into law by President Ronald Reagan and implemented by President George H. W. Bush, confirming that previous Republican administrations regarded the internment’s racial discrimination as both disgraceful and unacceptable. It acknowledged the Japanese-American internment as “a grave injustice” that was “motivated by racial preju­dice, wartime hysteria, and a failure of political leadership.” In his apology to the reparations recipients, President Bush said, “We can nev­er fully right the wrongs of the past. But we can take a clear stand for justice and recognize that serious injustices were done to Japanese Americans during World War II.” The opportu­nity for America to take that clear stand today presents itself through the nation’s treatment of Muslim Americans.

Trump’s proposed measures against Muslim Americans and their families have been central to rallying his campaign supporters. To his sup­porters, he is not “a failure of political leadership,” but the answer those who are fearful want; he is what those who are uninformed want. Failing to acknowledge America’s proximate past and dis­honor in its handling of the Japanese-American internment is to ignore an ugly chapter of histo­ry. The disaster of internment happened only de­cades ago, and reparations were made a mere 25 years ago; yet Americans today are seemingly so quick to forget the nation’s disgrace. Even in the face of recent tragedies, America cannot allow fear to rationalize prejudice and bigotry. It cannot ostracize Muslim Americans, subjecting them to a suspension of constitutional rights without due process and thereby validating discrimination. America cannot allow such infringement of indi­vidual liberties to happen again.