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Barbara Watanabe
808-585-8484
barbaraw@goforbroke.org
Speech by General Eric K. Shinseki (Ret.)
Go For Broke Educational Foundation
3rd Annual Evening of Aloha
November 10, 2004
 |
General Eric K. Shinseki
(Ret.) |
Thank you, Judge Okamoto for that generous introduction. It’s great to see so many of you here this evening, and I’m honored to be here with you. Let me congratulate this foundation on its many accomplishments and its several recognitions this year. Christine Sato-Yamazaki and the staff, along with Colonel Kim’s leadership, have done a superb job in telling this important story, showcasing the “Go For Broke” and being its standard bearer. And once again, they’ve put together another first class event this evening. Please join me in thanking them for their leadership and dedication on our behalf.
While we are here to celebrate the “Go For Broke” legacy and honor its original members, there are others here this evening, who have also worn the uniforms of our nation, both in peace and in war. I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge the service of all of our veterans. I will identify them by period of service and would ask them to stand. First, let me begin with the veterans of World War II—the 100th Infantry Battalion, 442nd Regimental Combat Team, 522nd Field Artillery Battalion, 1399th Combat Engineer Company, Military Intelligence Service, Filipino Scouts, and all the other heralded units, regardless of service. Next, those who served during the Korean conflict—Dominican Republic—Vietnam—Grenada—Panama—Haiti—Somalia—the Balkans—Operation Desert Storm, Kuwait 1991—East Timor—finally, Afghanistan (Operation Enduring Freedom) and Iraq (Operation Iraqi Freedom), both ongoing. Thank you for your sacrifice and your service. Let’s give them all a hand.
Some of my earliest and fondest personal memories of family are of young men, strangers mostly, sitting around a crowded table in our small family kitchen, and of beer— lots of it, of favorite local dishes, and of loud talk and even louder laughter. These were vibrant men—young, robust, full of life, confidence, and camaraderie. And they had a right to be. They had done something grand and wonderful—they had fought and won World War II and, in doing so, had salvaged our pride and our honor as a community. And though it would be years before I would fully understand the magnificence of their accomplishments, I remember to this day their cameraderie, their pride, their self-assurance, and their eagerness to get on with their lives. Though they rarely talked about their battles, they talked about their friends and where they had been—places well beyond the shores of Kaua’i and included the great cities of Europe.
In time, I would also come to understand that not all them had returned. In fact, the price for winning World War II was enormous—half a million Americans alone, 52 million lives lost from all nations. And from one of my earliest and dearest childhood friends, Steve Sato, who’s here this evening, I grew up learning about the cost of war. Steve never met his dad, who was killed in combat in Italy, 61 years ago, this past Wednesday. His mom remains one of the memorable figures in my life—strong, determined, confident, positive, and so proud of her son. She’s gone, too, now. I know that there are others who have had to grow up in similar circumstances, but Steve was always the face of sacrifice for me. And now nearly 60 years later, here we all are again, gathered around dinner tables—different ones, but we’re all here—Steve, me, and all of you, who fought and won World War II. There is a bit of circularity in all this, even though we have all changed over the past 60 years.
You are not the actual men who sat at my mom’s kitchen table—but you represent who they were. I’m no longer the pre-adolescent, wide-eyed admirer, who hung onto every word, even stealing sips of beer every now and then. I’ve grown up, followed in your footsteps, had my own turn as a combat veteran at my mom’s kitchen table with my friends—the same bottles of beer, pupus, and loud talk and louder laughter. You’ve aged; you don’t drink beer the way you used to; and you now have women and children around you, who were not there 60 years ago. But the pride and self-confidence I sensed back then, has not diminished. We all now know just how magnificent your accomplishments were on those battlefields of Europe and the Pacific in the early 1940’s, thanks to the efforts of the “Go For Broke Educational Foundation,” and others, to collect, document, and teach us your lessons. And those of us, who came after you, who lived with your examples of courage and dedication, and who stood on your shoulders in making our own way in this country, we are here tonight to salute you, once again, and to express our thanks in the presence of your families, who also served and sacrificed so much.
Though I grew up around that dinner table, I never really knew the details of your exploits in battle. That awareness came to me over time. Thats, in part, because your battle history didn’t really exist in public, and you didn’t much discuss it. Your legendary modesty denied many of us the full appreciation of your courage and heroism under fire. Interestingly enough, in 1959, I spent eight months as an exchange student in Flemington, NJ. Hawai’i was on the verge of statehood, and I had been invited to provide a personal example of Hawai’i to the good folks of central New Jersey. I received numerous invitations from surrounding schools, colleges, and Kiwanis and Rotary Clubs to speak over the period of my stay. Some were surprised then that I spoke English, that I could use a knife and fork, that I was familiar with U.S. currency, and that I could play a decent game of basketball. But it was not until a World War II veteran stood up during one of those speeches and asked me to tell everyone in the audience about the valor of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team that I realized how little I really knew about our Nisei combat veterans. On another occasion, several years later when I was a cadet at West Point, a senior infantry tactical officer, who had served in both the European and the Pacific Theaters, remarked to me and a group of my classmates, who had gathered around him, “If we had regiments like the all-Japanese outfits that fought with us in Europe, the War in the Pacific would have gone faster.” I was reminded again how little I really knew about the specific battles of the “Go For Broke” or why its prowess in battle kept being extolled by others who had fought with them. It wasn’t until I had gone to war myself and experienced what it was all about that I understood why the men, who won World War II, never spent much time talking about their battles.
I was well into my professional life as an army officer before I came to a full appreciation of those contributions. I came of age as a young officer in Vietnam. And following Vietnam, I went on to serve in Cold War and post-Cold War Europe, to command in Bosnia-Herzegovina during the break-up of the Balkans, and to serve as both the Army’s last Chief of Staff of the 20th century as well as its first Chief of Staff in the 21st, and who, as a result of September 11, 2001, had to deal with the aftermath of the first attack on the American homeland in the 21st century and preparing the army for the wars which resulted.
My growth in awareness over time about the heroism and sacrifice of the units associated with “Go For Broke” came full circle for me when I witnessed the presentation of 22 Medals of Honor in June 2000, most of them to soldiers associated with that single regiment of the hundreds of regiments that fought in World War II.
“Go For Broke” was not the only unit with Asian Pacific Islander soldiers in it. 20,000 Chinese Americans fought in World War II. In New York city alone, 40% of the Chinese male population was inducted into the various services, the vast majority of them into the army. Most of these men did not have families stateside—their wives and children were, for the most part, still in China. They had little personal stake in the war, and yet, they volunteered to wear the uniform and demonstrate their allegiance to America.
14,000 Filipino guerrilla fighters fought with U.S. forces for
three years to defend their homeland by providing critical intelligence
from behind enemy lines. In addition, a thousand Filipino Americans
joined them in conducting clandestine operations.
But the community most directly affected were Americans of Japanese
ancestry. They, more than most, suffered in the aftermath of Pearl
Harbor. Early distrust and suspicion turned into discrimination
and hatred against which the AJA community could do little to
buoy itself. In response to the mistrust and discrimination, the
men of all these communities stood and demanded the right to bear
arms as American citizens. Out of such patriotism came the legendary
units we honor tonight.
We are once again a nation at war. 38 months have passed since the attacks against New York City and Washington, D.C. on September 11, 2001. Comparing this timeline with the victories you leveraged during World War II, we would now be about where we were in early-February 1945, 38 months following the attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941. By this point, North Africa had been taken; Sicily had been captured; Anzio, Monte Cassino, Rome had fallen; the Normandy landings would had occurred 8 months ago; Paris had been liberated; the Battles of the Bulge and Bastogne had been fought and won; Roosevelt – Churchill – Stalin would be meeting at Yalta; and we would be a month from seizing crossings on the Rhine river at Remagen, three months from unconditional surrender in Europe, and six months from the drop of atomic weapons on Japan, followed by unconditional surrender there, as well. In less than a year, those dinners I described around our kitchen table would have begun to take place, and Steve Sato and I and others our age would be beginning our journies in the post-World War II environment.
As we measure where we are today in Afghanistan and Iraq, 38 months after September 11, 2001, we cannot help but renew our respect for the intensity with which you fought, the decisiveness of your accomplishments, and the terrible price you paid in blood. Your examples of honor and sacrifice have been wonderful models to emulate. I am personally indebted to you for the opportunity you gave me to serve in my chosen profession, to compete, and to earn my own measure of success. To the many families who endured the indignities of relocation and suspicion—with such grace, such quiet dignity, and such strength—we are indebted to you, as well, for the example you gave us on how to live our lives. Again, from my generation to yours, we thank you.
One day soon, the portrait of the 34th Chief of Staff of the Army will be hung in the halls of the Pentagon to take its place alongside the portraits of the 33 other chiefs, who have helped lead the U.S. Army in peace and in war for the past 229 years. There will be no ceremony to mark its hanging. It’s my choice.
But if you were to visit the pentagon after that portrait was hung, I think you would note the following items of interest. He wears the Army bdu field uniform, not the dress blues of an army general. He sits on a corner of the tradtional desk of the Army chief and holds in his hand a folded black beret, which provided such color and grist during his tenure. On the desktop next to him is a small photo of his much beloved family—his beautiful wife of then-38 years, who has as much beauty and grace today as when they first stood at the altar; a daughter, who is too much like him in temperament to ever make for quiet family dinners; a son, who has his mother’s grace and easygoing nature; both of their wonderful spouses who make him proud everyday to have them in the family; and five grandchildren, who make everyday bright, silly, goofy, and heroic—almost all at the same time – the things their grandfather could never be in uniform. As a mural, in the background to the portrait is captured an army artist’s painting of “the saving of the Lost Battalion,” that epic battle in which “Go For Broke” suffered more than 800 casualties saving some 250 soldiers of the 1st battalion, 141st infantry. The heroism of all their battles is symbolized by this one painting, and I wanted to be sure that you would have a permanent place in the headquarters, department of the army for all to see. It is my thanks to you collectively—the 100th, 442nd, 522nd, 1399th, the MIS—for what you did for me and my generation, my children, and now their children. It is my personal thanks to my Uncles Herbert and Chica Ishii and Mike Tokunaga, to Roscoe Haruki, Larry Inagaki, Turk Tokita, Maxie Mukai, Motomi Shigeta, Yoshimi Hayashi, and the numerous other young men, who came home to sit at my mother’s kitchen table. It is also my small debt of gratitutde to my friend, Steve Sato, and others like him, for the Dad neither one of us got to meet. He would have been so proud of both of us, but especially at how Mrs. Sato’s son turned out.
I don’t know how my course on earth will end or when, but a patriot once proclaimed, “When I die, I will die a free man—on my feet, not on my knees, with my head up, not bowed in submission to any man.” For the opportunity to utter the same words, I am eternally grateful to the young men of the “Go For Broke” and all their comrades of the World War II generation.
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