Because British people in colonial America struggled with conflicting emotions of affection for their mother country and self-interest of their colonial adopted country, their Anglo-American identity fluctuated in the days of Benjamin Franklin, especially at the time of the crisis caused by the Stamp Act in 1765-66. This thesis explicates, through examination of documents exchanged with Franklin, the fragile sense of nationality and the futility of his affection for the British Empire.

After achieving victory in the French and Indian War, the British colony on the North American continent rapidly expanded. This expansion of overseas territory, however, constituted a menace to the Old World British: their new outlying territory was so extensive that, in their state of post-conflict exhaustion, they could not govern it effectively. Another problem was that the British colony in America threatened to become independent. Before the Stamp Act, British people in colonial America had remained loyal to the English crown, and some people, as Franklin did, entertained the lofty ambition of establishing an Anglo-American empire. The situation changed when the British government broke the fraternal ties between the British and the colonists by imposing a series of taxes on the Americans.

At a critical moment, in the furtherance of his diplomatic and political ambitions, Benjamin Franklin, still in his belief a royalist, went overseas to London, taking up the mission of overthrowing the over-powerful proprietary government in Philadelphia, and instead placing the colony under the direct control of the British Crown. As Gordon Wood dubbed him, Franklin was once “a British imperialist,” differing from his later popular image as a Founding Father. Privately as well as publicly, he developed an Anglo-American dream of becoming a prominent royalist who would overarch England and America.

Franklin’s sense of nationality was typical in colonial America before the crisis caused by the Stamp Act; after the Act, colonists abruptly began to foster a new nationalism as Americans. During the turmoil, Franklin, staying in London, did not realize the enormity of his miscalculation about American sentiment toward the English government, and remained a belated royalist. Against the background of the conflict, Franklin’s dream of an Anglo-American Empire was actually futile. He still clung to his dream because his sense of Anglo-American nationality was based on his affection toward the royal family, and his cultural life in London.

Franklin had, before leaving for England, established several printing offices and paper mills which brought him a great amount of annual income, almost ten times larger than that of the Pennsylvania governor. This income allowed him to lead a full life as a politician and scientist. While he was absent from America, the business was entirely left to his wife, Deborah, and his two business partners. Thus Franklin’s life in London was almost completely supported by their management of his business interests.

Financially as well as in spirit, his dream of an Anglo-American Empire was supported by his “a feckshonet” [sic] wife, who continued sending him, in spite of being illiterate, letters that always kept him in touch with American affairs day by day. Franklin’s dream was sustained by his wife’s affection toward him and rejected by the self-interest of British citizens and American colonists. His political frustration soured further when his son, William, proved to be a rebel against his father and America during the American Revolution. But William’s behavior proves that his life realized his father’s dream: the ambition of Franklin, the British Imperialist. William was, in a sense, a relic and a victim of his father’s dream.

The primary purpose of this essay is to discuss the ways in which the representations of the UK in Mark Twain’s three novels, The Prince and the Pauper (1881), The Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court (1889), and The American Claimant (1892), reflect his critical views on the America of the time and particularly on the deceptive nature of its democracy.

First, in the introduction, the paper provides a brief biographical overview of Twain’s connections with the UK, particularly his genuine interest in English history and historians; his magnificent reputation in Great Britain; and his Anglophile perspectives, which went hand-in-hand with the shifting Anglo-American relationships in the late 19th century.

Then, the paper discusses The Prince and the Pauper, a novel situated in 16th century England. Various historical elements of American injustices are explored and contextualized in the novel. The work can be interpreted, on the basis of the protagonist Prince Edward’s great attraction to democratic values and lifestyles symbolic of the freedom offered by American society, as the story of a British hero’s attempts to become an “American.” At the same time, the essay suggests that the optimistic representations of (American) democracy are undermined by the depictions of the ignorant and violent masses and Edward’s acceptance of the strict social hierarchy of royal rule, in which reform is always made from the top to the bottom.

The second novel examined in this paper is Twain’s best-known science fiction work, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, in which an ingenious 19th century Yankee mechanic time travels to 6th century Arthurian England. Although the essay agrees that the novel somewhat reflects the author’s anti-British feelings at the time, it claims that the novel should be recognized as an essential critique of the “Northernization” of contemporary America. The Connecticut Yankee, Hank Morgan, who epitomizes the North, is viewed as a dictator who embodies the aggressive nature of American democracy―in particular, the elements of violence inherent in modern US history and technology.

The essay also deals with one of Twain’s least admired works, The American Claimant, and argues that in contrast with A Connecticut Yankee, the novel is an extreme satire on the “Southernization” of America from a British viewpoint. The paper suggests that in this work, Twain attacked the South on a national scale, furthering his criticism of enthusiastic American democrats’ frivolous fascination with the British aristocracy. The essay also examines the significant differences in the endings of A Connecticut Yankee and The American Claimant in terms of their literary genres and their protagonists’ relationships with society and politics.

Finally, in explaining that Twain’s critical self-representations of America in these three novels were in fact greatly stimulated by his keen interest in Great Britain, the essay concludes that Twain eventually arrived at an ironic image of both countries. This is witnessed in the following words, which are part of an introductory speech he once wrote for a young Winston Churchill: “We are kin in sin.“

With his image as a central figure of High Modernism, Pound might appear to be the last person with the sense of America’s cultural inferiority. However, in his London years (1908-1920), at least, it appears that he shared the opposition of England as a center of civilization and America as its fringe area, as demonstrated in his articles published in the 1910s. In “Patria Mia,” for example, Pound enumerates anecdotes showing the deplorable state of American culture at the time, though he also mentions its budding new art observed in New York City’s architectures.

At the same time, Pound also made a case that it was possible for the latecomer America to exceed the front-runner England, as seen in a letter written in 1913 to Harriet Monroe, the editor of the Poetry magazine. In this letter, he claims that if America discarded what he calls “provincialism,” it would achieve “a universal standard,” which would invalidate the very opposition of the advanced England and the backward America.

Pound defines “provincialism,” in his essay “Provincialism the Enemy,” published in 1917, as “ignorance of the customs of other peoples” and as “a desire to control the acts of other people.” He sees provincialism in the second sense in such examples as the coercion of the Christian “Orthodox” and the German “Kultur,” in which men are habituated to “consider themselves as bits of mechanism” for a certain use. He also claims that England shows the symptom of provincialism in the first sense, referring to the Channel Tunnel, whose construction stopped in 1883, arguing that the English have “forgotten a number of bonds with France” and secluded themselves within the national borders. Warning against this tendency of provincialism in the first sense, Pound emphasizes the importance of “transportation” and “traffic,” the concepts he opposes to provincialism.

As his discussion in this essay demonstrates, Pound associates provincialism with the idea of “nationality,” which he contrasts with “civilization“; for him, “traffic” across national borders is essential to civilization. The message in his 1913 letter to Monroe is thus a reflection of his criticism of “the national,” because what he emphasizes in it ― aiming at a “universal standard” ― would mean abolishing “national” standards.

Pound’s attack on provincialism and “the national,” as opposed to civilization and the “universal standard,” is based on his belief that great arts and literature, as seen in the Italian Renaissance, are fostered in a civilization in which “serious artists” gather and interact with each other in its center. Pound’s efforts in his London years to promote new arts, including his conception of “the College of Arts,” can be viewed as part of his project for having another Renaissance. Though he showed favor to American culture occasionally, comparison and competition between England and America were not as important as achieving his ultimate purpose.

This article suggests that the colonial agent in Britain was important for North American colonies to negotiate their position in the British Atlantic Empire, by analyzing the political activity of a New England colonial agent named Jeremiah Dummer. Dummer is well-known as the author of political pamphlet “A Defense of the New-England Charter” (1715). But not enough attension has been paid to his career as an colonial agent. Analyzing materials concerning Dummer’s political activity, this article shows that Dummer thought it important for the interest of New England colonies to perform two lines of duties as colonial agent.

First, he attempted to influence the colonial policy of the British government. In the early eighteeth century, New England colonies requested to the British government to engage in the military and economic affairs of North America, keeping the status quo of their self-government. Dummer played a crucial role in fulfilling those requests. The complex identity of Dummer, being both a New England colonist and a metropolitan gentleman, was very helpful for his work, because the knowledge of the British political culture and his political connection was necessary for the activities in the intricate British political system.

Second, Dummer worked hard to check criticism for New England colonies. Even in the eighteenth century, the colonial charters were frequently threatened to revocate by the British government to improve the governance and defense of it’s North American possession. It was believed among colonists that criticism for colonies might affect the colonial policy of the British government. To avoid the spread of New England’s bad reputation, Dummer published some pamphlets, searched for publications referring to New England, and exhorted to New England not to circulate their inaccurate information to Britain.

Dummer was discharged twice (1715, 1721) by the Massachusetts General Assembly. The reason was the antagonism between him and “Popular Party” headed by Dr. Elisha Cook. Dummer frequently warned the colony that it should be obedient to the norm and the order of the home government to defend their cherished charter. But the colonists of “Popular Party” did not accept his warning as harm to the colony. Amid a harsh debate between Governor Shute and the lower house in 1721, Dummer exhorted to the colony to be obedient to the Governor, but the house resolved his discharge from agent. This discordance represents the difficulty for North American colonies to accomodate to the British Empire, and even the ardent efforts of Dummer could not overcome it.

The Southeast Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO), established in February 1955, was a Western defense organization designed to contain the spread of communism in Southeast Asia. Following the Laotian civil war in the early 1960s, the Vietnam War provided another occasion to evaluate SEATO’s workability as a collective defense organization. As the United States deepened its commitment to the defense of South Vietnam in the mid-1960s, President Lyndon Johnson and his Secretary of State Dean Rusk actively sought to enlist SEATO’s military support for the Saigon regime. As it turned out, however, SEATO failed to demonstrate its unity of purpose, instead symbolizing Western division and “America’s international isolation” there.

Precedent studies point toward French and Pakistani objections as obstacles to SEATO’s action in South Vietnam. In the 1960s, both countries began to gradually tilt toward Communist China, worsening relations with Washington over policies toward Southeast Asia. In addition to these dissents, the Johnson administration continued to perceive Harold Wilson’s British government as a primary impediment to SEATO’s action. The US administration initially expected the United Kingdom, the biggest non-regional military power in Southeast Asia, to make significant contributions, but soon realized its steadfast refusal to provide Saigon any military assistance, either bilaterally or through SEATO. For Johnson and Rusk, Britain’s active support was indispensable in convincing the American and international public of the legitimacy of the US intervention in Indochina. Lacking London’s participation, they feared that the United States would appear to be fighting a war in Asia unilaterally and without any cause. Therefore, the Johnson administration was deeply disappointed at Wilson’s refusal to provide any substantial support.

In this article, we examine the Anglo-American disagreement with respect to SEATO by focusing on SEATO’s annual Council meetings and the US-UK bilateral top-level meetings from 1965 to 1968. The US administration attempted to involve Britain in the collective action against communist threats first in South Vietnam and then in Thailand. To such US attempts, however, the British government consistently objected: it rejected the US’s call for “concerted” action in South Vietnam at the 1965 Council meeting in London, rejected Rusk’s request for providing military helicopters to Thailand to combat communist insurgents in the northeastern region of the country, and finally indicated its effective exit from SEA TO by announcing military withdrawal from the East of Suez to be completed by the end of 1971.

From the facts above, it can be argued that the Anglo-American discord was largely responsible for the failure of SEATO’s collective defense and its eventual disbandment in 1977.

Geir Lundestad proposed the view that the United States became an “Empire by Invitation.” According to Lundestad, the U.S. only became an empire through its involvement in the defense of Western Europe in the early days of the Cold War. This article argues that the U.S. had already been invited to share “Empire” in the era of World War I through the “personal” relationship of two policymakers at opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean. Indeed it might be said that the uniqueness of the Anglo-American relationship was forged by these two men. This article examines this uniqueness by analyzing the relationship between Edward Mandell House, a close friend of then-U.S. President Woodrow Wilson, and Sir Edward Grey, the British Foreign Minister when U.S. participation in World War I was a “hot-button issue.” House had earned the trust of Woodrow Wilson during the 1912 presidential election and subsequently acted as political advisor to Wilson. House and Grey laid the foundation of their solid relationship during the Mexican revolution (i.e., beginning in 1910). At the outbreak of World War I, House visited Britain to meet with Prime Minister Herbert Henry Asquith. On 17 February 1916, House and Grey produced a memorandum that stipulated that U.S. participation in World War I would be on the British side. When House returned to the U.S. at the end of his mission, Wilson was surprised at what he read and therefore amended the crucial sentence in the memorandum by adding the word “probably.” Wilson’s minor revision to the memorandum caused U.S. participation in World War I on the side of Britain to be significantly delayed. Nevertheless, the memorandum did signal the forging of a special relationship between Britain and the United States because it stipulated that, in World War I, the United States would stand on the side of Britain. Because Grey wanted to secure the imminent support of the U.S., he sought out U.S. Representatives who felt a sense of kinship with Britain. House, by contrast, pushed the idea of achieving world peace via the support of Anglo-American cooperation. Yet even before the end of World War I, following the defeat of the Axis powers, House began to imagine a new world order. He thus organized a project he named “The Inquiry.” For this project, which was conducted during the winter of 1917-1918, brilliant young scholars researched a vision of a post-World War I world. The first epoch in which the U.S. became a world power was not during the early days of Cold War, as scholars such as Geir Lundestad contend. Rather, the U.S. was already involved in Empire building through its participation in World War I and the close “personal” relationship forged between Edward Mandell House, a close friend of then U.S. President Woodrow Wilson, and Sir Edward Grey, the British Foreign Minister at the time. The personal relationship of these two men opened an Anglo-American intellectual world-visionary communication interface and led to the establishment of major think tanks, both in Britain and the United States, that focused on international relations on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean.

Cynthia Ozick’s The Shawl consists of a short fiction “The Shawl,” which focuses on a Nazi concentration camp, and a novella “Rosa,” which is a story of a female Holocaust survivor. Many critics have thought the fact that her daughter was killed by a Nazi is the very reason why she has been haunted by motherhood in her post-war life in Miami. This paper insists, however, that her trauma results from her Holocaust experience of sexual assaults by Germans, by giving a careful consideration of the textuality of The Shawl. Firstly, we think about the narrative features of “The Shawl” to investigate undescribability of the Holocaust. Secondly, we examine her really repressed past and its uncanny return. Finally, we consider the last scene of The Shawl in terms of the difference between memory and repetition compulsion so that the significance of this fiction as a Holocaust text will be revealed.

The Shawl describes the undescribability of the Holocaust. It uses unexpected expressions to represent the Holocaust, evades those expressions which might contain it in any given image, but still does not provide proper ones. This manner of narration is important not simply because it could convey the unspeakable pain of the protagonist’s trauma but because it would also prevent the reader from universalizing the Holocaust and grasping it as a fixed knowledge.

In “Rosa” the Holocaust is represented as the uncanny return of the repressed. To take a single instance, the beach in “Rosa” could be a repetition of the “arena” in “The Shawl” where the protagonist’s daughter was killed because the etymological meaning of the word “arena” is “sand.” The beach, or the sand, is an uncanny place where her repressed past is returned. She suspects that she was robbed of her underwear and, when straying on the beach in search of it, shows a strong hatred against homosexuals. This will imply that her really repressed past could be her unspeakable experience of sexual abuse by Germans during the Holocaust.

In The Shawl the protagonist does not only suffer from the uncanny repetition of her traumatic Holocaust experience but also tries to remember her daughter as an irreplaceable precious child. She makes up a ghost of her daughter and protects herself with a shield of motherhood. The ghost, and also her motherhood itself, can be regarded as the defense against her traumatic past and therefore as ambivalent representations of her Holocaust experience. However, the ghost disappears from sight in the last scene of The Shawl, which implies the possibility of changing the repetition compulsion into memory and bears great importance for the discourse of Holocaust remembrance.

The Japanese Quaker Nitobe Inazo (1862-1933) devoted his whole life to fostering mutual understanding between Japan and America as a bridge across the Pacific Ocean. Nitobe became the first Japanese Quaker in 1886 while studying in Baltimore. The central teaching of Quakerism is the belief in each individual’s God-given “inner light” regardless of their race, religion, gender, or social status. Nitobe lived up to Quakerism’s essential tenet of accepting God’s presence within himself, and believed Quakerism to be the right medium for making peace with God and people around him.

Nitobe’s lifework of peacebuilding was full of trials especially in his later years, starting from the Manchurian Incident on September 18, 1931. After the incident, the world community severely criticized the militaristic policies of Japan, and Japan became gradually isolated from the international community. Under these conditions, Nitobe made speech tours in America from 1932 to 1933. Without representing any organizations, Nitobe explained Japan’s position behind the incident and tried to rid American people of anti-Japan sentiment. However, Nitobe’s voice was largely neglected by people in both America and Japan, because they had their own interests in China and fears about national security. This paper focuses on Nitobe’s later years and evaluates his activities all over America in those critical situations.

There is significant controversy over the pros and cons of Nitobe’s peacebuilding activities in America after the Manchurian Incident. Many previous studies underestimate Nitobe’s objective of peace. They criticize Nitobe’s approach for his remarks that justified Japan’s role in the incident, which was the very beginning of the Japanese military’s acts of violence throughout World War II. Unquestionably, Nitobe had little understanding of China or the background of the incident. Nevertheless, it is also to be noted that Nitobe envisioned a harmonious society seeking reconciliation between nationalism and internationalism by respecting each person’s “inner light.” In order to fully understand Nitobe’s actions, both negative and positive effects of his speech tours in America should be examined.

Thus, the central theme of this paper is the investigation of why Nitobe defended Japan’s invasion of Manchuria, and what brought him to America. This study primarily takes advantage of the literature reviews of Nitobe’s works, including scripts of his speeches, and historical documents such as diplomatic correspondences.

By doing so, the author aims to explore Nitobe’s belief that every person has a potential to be civilized. Based on this progressive view on civilization, Nitobe tended to judge stages of civilization, and did not regard China as civilized enough to govern Manchuria. The author also attempts to show that Nitobe practiced Quakerism and followed his grave mission of international cooperation to the end. Nitobe’s initiatives for peace were meant to cultivate any opportunity for a dialogue between Japanese and American people.

Through those discussions, this study concludes that both negative and positive aspects of Nitobe’s trip to America can be traced to his own Quakerism. This finding will provide a clue to reassessing the bridge-builder’s efforts in his later years.

Lee De Forrest is well-known in the US as an inventor of Audion, a vacuum tube, and Phonofilm, a kind of talkie system. He is remembered by Japanese scholars as an American inventor who, with Yoshizo Minagawa, De Forest’s agent in Japan, helped Matsutaro Shoriki, the owner of Yomiuri Shinbun to introduce Television to Japan, which has not been noticed by American scholars .

However, so far , little is known what De Forest and Minagawa had been doing before Shoriki became a central figure in the movement of introducing Television to Japan, with the support by Karl Mundt, a US Senetor who planned to bring “Vision of America”, a Television version of VOA to Japan. It was not clear, therefore, what kind of relationship they had with Shoriki, and what kind of contribution they made in the movement.

By using archives I found in Lee De Forest Papers in History San Jose, this article shed light on the endeavours by De Forest and Minagawa to introduce Television before Shoriki emerged as a chief promoter of Television.

It was found from the archives that De Forest and Minagawa wanted to introduce the color Television system De Forest developed in the US after the war and build Television Broadcasting Company and Television Manufacturing Company in Japan.

The archives also show that they tried to have Shoriki as a partner for their venture but SCAP did not allowed that because he was purged as one of wartime leaders. However, Shoriki attracted much attention from CCS (Civil Communications Section) officers who were in charge of telecommunications during the occupation.

It is no wonder that, when Mundt in 1950 wanted to introduce his Vision of America to Japan and ask SCAP for help, CCS officers recommended Shoriki to him because they know that the media mogul would be a perfect person for the plan once the occupation terminated.

From Mundt point of view, De Forest and Minakawa became subordinators to Shoriki even before he was actually de-purged in 1951. According to letters which Shoriki sent to Minagawa in 1951, Shoriki feel guilty for them because they started the movement and picked him up for their support.

When Shoriki founded Nippon Television Network, Japan’s first commercial Television Company in 1952, Shoriki appointed Minagawa one of members of the company’s Board of Directors, but no position was offered to De Forest because he lived in California.

Feeling sorry for De Forest, Minagawa built a memorial in Matsuchiyama Tensho, a temple near Asakusa, Tokyo in 1956 to commemorate De Forest’s achievement as a starter of the movement of introducing television (and Phonofilm) to Japan.

In the course of Japanese history, it turned out that Television was the most powerful medium in fostering and americanising post-war Japanese popular culture. It can be said that De Forest and Minagawa were instrumental in introducing not only Television but post-war American popular culture to Japan.

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s short story, “The Virtuoso’s Collection” (1842), although unpopular among modern critics and readers, was favored by his contemporary readers and the author himself. James T. Fields recollected in his book that Hawthorne had teased sea-sickened James with his advice to take some curiosities from the story’s stocks as remedies. Contemporary publishers also supported this work, as it was selected for the ” Favorite Authors” series published by Ticknor and Fields in 1860. That the compiler bestowed the first place in the volume to the story, and that the book had been reprinted for 25 consecutive years by another publisher show the regard of Hawthorne’s contemporaries.

Part of the reason for our indifference these days lies in a discrepancy in the image of museums. The middle of the nineteenth century saw many museums established in east coast cities of the United States. These museums totally differed from modernized ones in that their collections were “miscellaneous”; a lot of the objects were “brought together with no purpose” (Stephen Conn) and they rather resembled “cabinets of wonder.” Hawthorne intends this story to be about a museum, but we cannot understand why Hawthorne scraps together these curious items “whose importance to Hawthorne, if it was ever importance,” according to Mark Van Doren, “can no longer be comprehended.” They are important and meaningful, however, if we perceive the significance of the contemporary museums and how Hawthorne tried to trace them.

This essay explores “The Virtuoso’s Collection” in the context of an emerging museum culture, and considers Hawthorne’s attempt to remap nineteenth-century American culture in relation to European cultural heritage. Museums flourished as pedagogical entertainment for the working and middle classes and as showcases to display curiosities from international trades and expeditions of those making territorial claims in Oregon. They were also academic institutes to lead the domestic study of natural history and to become independent from the cultural hegemony of Britain. In short, the museum in those days was a site where the interests of U. S. affairs were involved in a complicated manner, and was linked to a move to reconstruct the modern world system. My reading shows how similar the arrangement of space within Hawthorne’s museum is to that of real museum in those days. This indicates Hawthorne’s intention to participate in the move to reconstruct the modern world system we see in the museums. In his case, to reconstruct the cultural hegemony of European classics is the answer. There is no authoritative order in Hawthorne’s museum where miscellaneous collections of curiosities from American monuments and European history are displayed all together. The wandering Jew in the story also plays a role to remap American culture. The legend of the wandering Jew originates in the Middle Ages of Europe, but from the 1830s to the 1860s, there appeared Americanized wandering Jew legends in articles in American newspapers and magazines. Hawthorne’s museum lets us grasp a view of the then current urge to reframe the bourgeoning world system.

This article analyzes the politics of memory of the 1889 lynching of Katsu Goto, from the 1960s to 1994, when a memorial to the Japanese immigrant was erected in Honokaa on the Island of Hawaii. Why was this memorial constructed more than 100 years after the lynching? Some scholarly works have portrayed Goto’s hanging as a physical sanction to maintain white supremacy in the late 19th century; however, little attention has been paid to public attitudes toward this violent incident during the commemoration. This study explores the retrospective interpretations of individuals and communities.

Katsu Goto immigrated to Hawaii in 1885 with other kanyaku imin, government-contract laborers, hired for the growing sugar industry. After fulfilling his labor contract, Goto opened his own general store in Honokaa, a sugar plantation town. Many Japanese plantation workers sought Goto’s advice on fostering better working conditions; his guidance enraged Caucasian plantation managers, who wanted to maintain the status quo. Subsequently, Goto was found dead, hanging from a telephone pole in 1889.

By the mid-20th century, the memory of the incident had faded even in Honokaa, since those who knew it kept silent. In the 1960s, however, the silence was broken under the influence of changing racial relations and an ethnic revival. The Japanese community in Honokaa erected a marble gravestone to honor Goto at a Japanese Buddhist temple. A Japanese-American labor activist in California advocated the creation of a pilgrimage committee to visit the gravestone so as to shed light on Goto as a folk hero for Japanese and Asian Americans in the context of identity politics on the U.S. mainland. Moreover, a memorial service was held for Goto in Honokaa; politicians and labor union leaders participated in the event. The blue roof tile, Japanese-style memorial, which was unveiled in 1994, holds a bronze plaque that honors Goto, referring to him as “a pioneer labor leader” whose vision extended beyond an ethnic framework.

It should be noted that here the ethnic historical memories of Goto, as part of the rediscovered Japanese immigrant heritage of the 1960s, has been intertwined with local collective historical remembrances, based on the nexus of race and class in the sugar plantations. Furthermore, the memorial does not emphasize past protests against racial oppression, although it memorializes the lynching; rather, it inscribes the collective memories of the local people, who had suffered from the closing of the sugar industry and represents Goto as a pioneer regional labor leader.