On April 11, 1943, a man left his barracks to walk his dog.
He had just finished dinner, and likely wished to enjoy the evening air before retiring for the night. His furry companion probably sniffed here and there amongst greasewood bushes and cracks in the white, alkaline soil.
Perhaps the sun was close to setting, painting a pretty sunset across a Millard County sky. Perhaps it was cloudy.
What peace potentially known that night was soon shattered, however. Gunshots rose above whatever noise drifted between tar-papered walls of the Central Utah Relocation Project, commonly known as the Topaz Internment Camp outside Delta.
The man’s walk had ended. And so had his life.
His name was James Hatsuaki Wakasa. He was 63 years old.
Wakasa’s funeral was held half a mile away from the spot of his death, in the center of the camp to “prevent hysteria.” More than 2,000 of the nearly 9,000 Japanese-Americans incarcerated attended.
His fellow prisoners, enraged at the shooting, later erected a monument in his honor near the spot where he was killed, using cement and native stone.
They were later ordered by the United States military to take down the memorial, fearing a rebellion within the camp.
The architects of the memorial instead buried it, with part of the stone peeking just above the soil. It appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be eradicated.
It would be discovered 77 years later by researchers and archaeologists, who published their findings. Fearing vandalism, it was ordered excavated by the Topaz Museum Board, an effort to protect it, where it was the center of back-andforth discussions between the board and the Wakasa Memorial Committee dedicated to memorializing their namesake’s memory and the protection of his monument.
On Saturday, 80 years after his death, the site where Wakasa took his final breath and the monument were blessed and purified during multiple ceremonies. It was the second day of events to bring recognition to Wakasa’s life and death.
Survivors of Topaz and other internment camps, descendants, and others traveled for the special occasion.
Attendees first laid flowers at the site of Wakasa’s barracks in Block 36, only a quarter-mile from where he was killed, following a marked path meant to retrace his final steps.
It was there representatives of multiple faiths each performed rituals to sanctify the ground and dispel negative emotions and energies, an effort to bring peace to a tumultuous chapter of Topaz’s history.
“Attention is love,” said Rev. Duncan Ryuke Williams, of Zoto Zen Buddhist Church, to attendees. “To love someone, even if we have never met them is to pay attention. None of us gathered here today ever met James Hatsuaki Wakasa. He left no family, no descendants to remember him. So, it is up to us in this moment, in this place, who have the responsibility to pay attention to his life and death.”
Williams cited layers of hurt years before and after the World War II incarceration of Japanese-Americans, and other racial-based prejudices needed the attention and love shown at the site.
“Those layers of karma extend forward into the present,” he said.
Erick Pikyavit, spiritual leader among the Kanosh Band of Paiute Indians, performed a blessing and urged participants to let go of hate and anger.
“I know it is hard, I know it hurts. I know the pain…try not to hate. We all have an understanding, and we all need to learn from everybody,” said Pikyavit. “I ask the people to forgive, but never forget what happened here.”
Rev. Amy Uzunoe of the Konkoyo Church of Portland, purified the site through a sacred ceremony, including scattering sacred salt on the site.
“I am a second-generation Japanese-American. I have never experienced war nor been in an internment camp, but this is personal and an honor to be here,” Uzunoe said prior to her ceremony. “We give thanks for the love and care shown by so many people and groups, even from abroad, who share the same desire to bring recognition and healing to those who have suffered,” Uzuone said.
Rev. Michael Yoshii, Buena Vista Methodist Church, delivered a sermon. Yoshii’s presence was personal as his father and grandfather had been inmates in Topaz. “
Today’s gathering is significant in the sense where we return to Topaz to the site of where the murder of Wakasa took place, and we assemble on what we can call sacred and holy ground,” Yoshii said. “This land is specifically sacred for us in terms of the specific memories we have here. It is important for us to remember the land is alive. It is a living witness to the events that took place around Wakasa’s life and death.”
Yoshii asked attendees to reflect on the meditation he asked them to hold as they walked to the site earlier.
“As we assemble today we form what I call a community of memory for the life of James Wakasa. Be mindful of those throngs of people who gathered for his funeral 80 years ago…we also gather in solidarity with those ancestors,” he said. “I invite you to meditate on what our ancestors are saying to us. What is the message they give to us to receive on this sacred day?”
Yoshii spoke on the Christian concept of grace, and how it integrated many of the Topaz internees, and how it brought those attending back.
“It is ironic to me that there is very little known about Wakasa’s life,” Yoshii said. “He has no living family members that we know of. He lived in somewhat relative obscurity. Perhaps his obscurity belies the power of our remembrance for his life and legacy.”
Yoshii quoted the original WRA report, stating Wakasa’s death, which had been called “The Wakasa Incident,” had “been closed.”
“It is amazing that something had been ‘closed,’ has been reopened for a new generation, because of the work people had done to lead us here today,” Yoshii said.
The mourning ceremony was closed with an English and Japanese rendition of the hymn Rock of Ages, along with a Buddhist chant and offering of paper flowers for Wakasa’s memory. His monument was later blessed at the Topaz Museum courtyard.
It is the hopeful closing of an emotionally-charged chapter of history.
“The purpose of the events were for healing,” said Scott Bassett, secretary of the Topaz Museum board. “The ceremonies at the site and the museum were wonderful.”
Bassett held high praise for Pikyavit’s appearance.
“I felt touched by Erick’s emotion,” he said. “He was very moved, and there was emotion in his voice. He rose to a level, especially after having little previous knowledge of what took place 80 years ago.”
Forward is the direction the museum and its board hope to take.
“It was a time to heal. Now, it’s time to forget about past history and move forward,” Bassett said, subtly hinting at the previous controversy surrounding the Wakasa memorial.
