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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.
