Desaparecidos Nikkei
Reappeared in the Argentinian conscience.
The night of April 21, 1977, fourteen armed men wearing civilian clothes went to my dad's office and took him and another lawyer. They put him in the back of a Ford Falcon (the chosen cars the military/cops would use) and they sped off.
That evening my mom, little brother and me were in our apartment on the eighth floor on Acoyte avenue.
Something was boiling on the stove, the table was set but I don't remember having dinner that night. There was something going on, my mother was nervous and she was not saying much, which was strange since she liked talking to me a lot.
I was sitting on the couch wrapped on a blanket watching television. I just knew even though my mother didn't say a word that we were waiting for my dad. She kept looking at the clock and I kept staring at the white door hoping to hear the key turn. We heard the elevator stop and the squeaky noise of its metal door opening, we ran for the front door, slammed the door open to see that it was just our neighbor. We said hello to him and went back inside. I was falling asleep, so "Beba", my mom told me to go to bed.
Suddenly my mom woke us up in the middle of the night, we left in a hurry to my Italian grandparents' house, I was five years old and my brother Leo was two, I knew right away something was very wrong, my mother was crying and I have never seen her cry before, my granddad Juán was trying to calm her down, he told her that they were going to go look for my dad.
After a while they came back empty handed, we moved to my grandparents house so my mom would start looking for my dad.
You might not know about the "desaparecidos" the disappeared during one of the darkest and vicious periods in Argentinian history. Especially if you were not living there in the seventies. Even if you did everything was done silently and citizens didn't know about how bloodthirsty the government was until it was too late, until you were caught, tortured, killed and your body was never found for your loved ones to grieve you. But you were not alive, nor dead since you were made disappeared forever. No remains meant not crime, you were silenced, your voice and thoughts taken away in a blink of an eye.
During the 1900's Argentina suffered six coupes d'état but the last one on March 24, 1976 was the
one that is remembered as the worst dictatorship, human rights were violated, the Peronist
government overthrown which was voted by the people. The military dictatorship appointed its
"President" with executive and legislative powers. They would pass all laws by decree and the
Constitution was a thing of the past. Now think about United States first amendment on the Bill
of Rights, reverse it with the complete opposite and you'll have an idea of what people's rights
were.
Some of the things the Argentinian citizens lost; freedom of speech, freedom of expression, freedom to petition to the government, freedom of assembly, freedom to join a party, freedom of the press and the most important, over 30000 lost their lives in very tragic ways.
All workers rights were suspended, "dangerous" books were burnt, the Supreme Court and Congress dissolved. This can sound out of your world, but there's a fine line between reality and hypothesis, and since the man per se is similar everywhere, it could happen somewhere else if we don't look at someone else's mistakes in other countries. It is part of recent collective history as human beings.
The dictatorship's way was to eliminate any opposition using State Terrorism. The violence was a recurrence, not the exception but the rule in every day life to keep its power over the citizens. There were many methods used to keep the "social discipline" as they used to call it, it was mainly fear, censorship, surveillance, exile, incarceration without trials. Which escalated in having secret detention centers throughout the Argentinian territory, where citizens were taken against their will, interrogated, tortured, killed and either buried in mass graves or thrown out of an airplane to the "Río de la Plata" river.
The "disappeared" or "desaparecido" was the military dictatorship's "effort" to erase the people's identities, what they stood for and their history. You might think political events won't touch you, but they do, they have a huge impact on all our lives. And you can become the protagonist, not just a spectator overnight like it happened to my family.
Oscar Takashi Oshiro, you probably don't recognize the name, and he doesn't mean much to you, but for me and my family he meant the world. He was my father, married to Edvige, had two kids Leonardo and Gabriela Oshiro, he was 36 years old when he was abducted on April 21, 1977.
We were a typical family, surrounded by relatives, work, vacations on the beach each Summer, convictions and dreams.
Looking back maybe not that typical but I didn't notice at the time, we were a mixed race family, and it was something not that typical in the Japanese community in the 70's. But my dad like the other 16 desaparecidos nikkei, was odd. He was not the typical nikkei, even though he had a huge knowledge for Japanese history, language and customs. He embraced Argentina to the fullest, he played soccer in the minor league of "Huracán" soccer club. He loved tango music, he was writing a book about its early history when he was abducted.
Some of the things the Argentinian citizens lost; freedom of speech, freedom of expression, freedom to petition to the government, freedom of assembly, freedom to join a party, freedom of the press and the most important, over 30000 lost their lives in very tragic ways.
All workers rights were suspended, "dangerous" books were burnt, the Supreme Court and Congress dissolved. This can sound out of your world, but there's a fine line between reality and hypothesis, and since the man per se is similar everywhere, it could happen somewhere else if we don't look at someone else's mistakes in other countries. It is part of recent collective history as human beings.
The dictatorship's way was to eliminate any opposition using State Terrorism. The violence was a recurrence, not the exception but the rule in every day life to keep its power over the citizens. There were many methods used to keep the "social discipline" as they used to call it, it was mainly fear, censorship, surveillance, exile, incarceration without trials. Which escalated in having secret detention centers throughout the Argentinian territory, where citizens were taken against their will, interrogated, tortured, killed and either buried in mass graves or thrown out of an airplane to the "Río de la Plata" river.
The "disappeared" or "desaparecido" was the military dictatorship's "effort" to erase the people's identities, what they stood for and their history. You might think political events won't touch you, but they do, they have a huge impact on all our lives. And you can become the protagonist, not just a spectator overnight like it happened to my family.
Oscar Takashi Oshiro, you probably don't recognize the name, and he doesn't mean much to you, but for me and my family he meant the world. He was my father, married to Edvige, had two kids Leonardo and Gabriela Oshiro, he was 36 years old when he was abducted on April 21, 1977.
We were a typical family, surrounded by relatives, work, vacations on the beach each Summer, convictions and dreams.
Looking back maybe not that typical but I didn't notice at the time, we were a mixed race family, and it was something not that typical in the Japanese community in the 70's. But my dad like the other 16 desaparecidos nikkei, was odd. He was not the typical nikkei, even though he had a huge knowledge for Japanese history, language and customs. He embraced Argentina to the fullest, he played soccer in the minor league of "Huracán" soccer club. He loved tango music, he was writing a book about its early history when he was abducted.
I am not sure how the Japanese communities are in other parts of the world, but in the first part
of twentieth century in Argentina, Japanese people went for economic opportunities, the main
idea was returning to Japan once they had the resources. After Japan's defeat in WWII, most of
Japanese citizens decided to stay and make Argentina their home.
They kept a tight grip to their roots, forming a close bind to the nikkei community, my dad with his sister Yoko attended Japanese language school and events just like I did with my brother when we were living in Buenos Aires. But the Japanese people there considered themselves visitors, so they wouldn't take part in politics, they kept to themselves, married among themselves,
Many years later my grandmother Ikuko told me that my parents took longer to get married because my grandfather Katsu was against it, not because my mom wasn't good enough for him, but she was of Italian heritage and there was the unwritten rule and tradition that marrying another nikkei was the way to go.
But I remember my mother telling me when she was dating my dad, my grandfather would take them to see boxing matches all the time, they even saw Kassius Kley aka Muhammad Ali vs. Oscar Bonavena.
My father didn't care for that mind set, he wanted to change the status quo in every way, I don't think he did it deliberately falling in love with an Italian, but he had that idealistic enthusiasm that he was going to leave a mark in the world. I didn't really understand his drive, I was little, today I can relate and understand my dad's passion if I translate it to my passion for art and music. But I didn't see it before, I couldn't understand why politics and the world surrounding him was so important.
You can call my dad a "hybrid", he loved both cultures and countries equally. He was an avid reader, his thirst for knowledge made him take speed reading classes so he could read and comprehend more books. He spoke Japanese, Italian, Spanish of course and was learning French.
He wasn't the kind of person to do things half way, what he preached was what he did.
One of his causes was workers' rights, as you can imagine since the citizens in general didn't have many rights left, workers didn't have many rights either. When my dad was in his second year of Law School, he decided to drop out and get a job at a steel factory, so he could work side by side with workers and understand better their struggles and needs. He became the union delegate but later on he was let go when the workers went on strike. At that time since he wasn't able to do much to improve the workers' lives he had a talk with my mother and she convinced him to go back to Law school, which was the best way to help and give the workers the voice that they deserved, so he finished his degree in record time, he became a notary and a labor lawyer, while he was still in school he got a job in one of the three major labor law firms in Buenos Aires and became partner once he graduated.
They kept a tight grip to their roots, forming a close bind to the nikkei community, my dad with his sister Yoko attended Japanese language school and events just like I did with my brother when we were living in Buenos Aires. But the Japanese people there considered themselves visitors, so they wouldn't take part in politics, they kept to themselves, married among themselves,
Many years later my grandmother Ikuko told me that my parents took longer to get married because my grandfather Katsu was against it, not because my mom wasn't good enough for him, but she was of Italian heritage and there was the unwritten rule and tradition that marrying another nikkei was the way to go.
But I remember my mother telling me when she was dating my dad, my grandfather would take them to see boxing matches all the time, they even saw Kassius Kley aka Muhammad Ali vs. Oscar Bonavena.
My father didn't care for that mind set, he wanted to change the status quo in every way, I don't think he did it deliberately falling in love with an Italian, but he had that idealistic enthusiasm that he was going to leave a mark in the world. I didn't really understand his drive, I was little, today I can relate and understand my dad's passion if I translate it to my passion for art and music. But I didn't see it before, I couldn't understand why politics and the world surrounding him was so important.
You can call my dad a "hybrid", he loved both cultures and countries equally. He was an avid reader, his thirst for knowledge made him take speed reading classes so he could read and comprehend more books. He spoke Japanese, Italian, Spanish of course and was learning French.
He wasn't the kind of person to do things half way, what he preached was what he did.
One of his causes was workers' rights, as you can imagine since the citizens in general didn't have many rights left, workers didn't have many rights either. When my dad was in his second year of Law School, he decided to drop out and get a job at a steel factory, so he could work side by side with workers and understand better their struggles and needs. He became the union delegate but later on he was let go when the workers went on strike. At that time since he wasn't able to do much to improve the workers' lives he had a talk with my mother and she convinced him to go back to Law school, which was the best way to help and give the workers the voice that they deserved, so he finished his degree in record time, he became a notary and a labor lawyer, while he was still in school he got a job in one of the three major labor law firms in Buenos Aires and became partner once he graduated.
His partner lawyers became also his best friends. They saw 30-40 workers looking for help a day,
their factory working conditions were unbearable. My mother told me that the Minister of
Economy put in place by the dictatorship was also the owner of the factory that my father was
fighting against and since he was about to win, abducting him was the easier way to silence and
delay the verdict.
My dad suffered threats and attempts to his life. We lived for a month at the Mexican Embassy where my dad was going to get political asylum but a judge issued an habeas corpus, so he couldn't go on exile. That was pretty much a death sentence. I always wondered what if we were able to get on that plane and start fresh in Mexico. Some events happen in our lives, that was a key moment, in reality my dad didn't really want to leave, he always said that Argentina was his country. None of my grandparents wanted to live far away from my parents and us. We were very close family, and I don't think anyone had an idea about how ruthless and sadistic the military dictatorship and their followers were.
I noticed that many of the other disappeared nikkei uttered the same words; "This is my country, I am not going anywhere" Jorge Oshiro (no blood relation with him or his family, we only share last names), another desaparecido, 18 years old high school student at the time, thought that the most the military was going to do with him was slapping him on the face and send him home to his parents and brothers and sister. The military dictatorship didn't look anyone on the face, they didn't care if the one they were killing was a pregnant woman, a man, teenager, they would put a hood on people's heads, take away their identity and give them a number. Many babies were born while their moms were in captivity. Their captors would take away the babies and give them on adoption to someone connected to the "cleansing operation". They thought that being "subversive" ( that is what they call anyone who didn't think like them) was hereditary, they were afraid these kids would come back for revenge. They would forge the birth certificates and someone, somewhere would have a newborn in their household overnight. Out of the 400 missing babies, 119 have been recovered by the Abuelas de *Plaza de Mayo. (Grandmothers of May Square, for almost 40 years they made their cause to look for the desaparecidos children born in the secret detention centers, the parents have been killed so the grandparents and their families search for them, they also have DNA bank to verify the identities) Of course they are not babies anymore, and it's a shock to say at least that all their lives were based on lies, and the adopted parents or "snatchers" as they call them, were the ones involved with their biological parents deaths. As you can see in Argentina we are still dealing with the aftermath of the horrific actions that the dictatorship have done. I include myself on this statement, because no matter where you are, who you are and what you are escaping from, until you deal with it face-on is still going to be there.
My dad suffered threats and attempts to his life. We lived for a month at the Mexican Embassy where my dad was going to get political asylum but a judge issued an habeas corpus, so he couldn't go on exile. That was pretty much a death sentence. I always wondered what if we were able to get on that plane and start fresh in Mexico. Some events happen in our lives, that was a key moment, in reality my dad didn't really want to leave, he always said that Argentina was his country. None of my grandparents wanted to live far away from my parents and us. We were very close family, and I don't think anyone had an idea about how ruthless and sadistic the military dictatorship and their followers were.
I noticed that many of the other disappeared nikkei uttered the same words; "This is my country, I am not going anywhere" Jorge Oshiro (no blood relation with him or his family, we only share last names), another desaparecido, 18 years old high school student at the time, thought that the most the military was going to do with him was slapping him on the face and send him home to his parents and brothers and sister. The military dictatorship didn't look anyone on the face, they didn't care if the one they were killing was a pregnant woman, a man, teenager, they would put a hood on people's heads, take away their identity and give them a number. Many babies were born while their moms were in captivity. Their captors would take away the babies and give them on adoption to someone connected to the "cleansing operation". They thought that being "subversive" ( that is what they call anyone who didn't think like them) was hereditary, they were afraid these kids would come back for revenge. They would forge the birth certificates and someone, somewhere would have a newborn in their household overnight. Out of the 400 missing babies, 119 have been recovered by the Abuelas de *Plaza de Mayo. (Grandmothers of May Square, for almost 40 years they made their cause to look for the desaparecidos children born in the secret detention centers, the parents have been killed so the grandparents and their families search for them, they also have DNA bank to verify the identities) Of course they are not babies anymore, and it's a shock to say at least that all their lives were based on lies, and the adopted parents or "snatchers" as they call them, were the ones involved with their biological parents deaths. As you can see in Argentina we are still dealing with the aftermath of the horrific actions that the dictatorship have done. I include myself on this statement, because no matter where you are, who you are and what you are escaping from, until you deal with it face-on is still going to be there.
My family went through a difficult time because it is not like you could go ask for help to the
police and ask them to look for my father, they were part of the State Terrorism. I am not sure
how Beba, my mom did it all but she would find other relatives of desaparecidos, she would leave
during the day and come back late at night, while my grandmother Teresa and I would look
through the window shutters waiting to hear my mom's car so we could go downstairs to help
open the heavy metal garage door for her.
Those days were long and endless, I was living with the fear that the dictatorship would take my mom away as well, many kids were left without both parents. My mom was a tough woman, she wasn't afraid of speaking her mind and she didn't care who was in front of her, my grandma and I knew how she was like so that is why we were fearing for her life in a time that speaking your mind would get you in big trouble.
She met Mary Higa, her brother Juan Carlos Higa was a literature student in college and he was also a journalist for Akoku Nippo and La Plata Hochi, the two main newspapers for the Japanese- Argentinian community. Juan Carlos was also an accomplished poet, his mother was very sick and blind but she wanted to hold on as long as she could because she was sure that her son was coming back. Unfortunately that never happened.
Mary and Edvige "Beba" (my mom) would visit the other nikkei families with abducted relatives they unofficially founded "Familiares de Detenidos y Desaparecidos de la Colectividad Japonesa en la Argentina". (Relatives of the detained and disappeared of the Japanese Community in Argentina) which is still in place today, Jorge's older sister Elsa Oshiro is carrying on the search for justice and demand to know what happened with our family members.
Many desaparecidos had double citizenships with other countries, many lucky ones if their country was fast enough to petition an habeas corpus they would be released the abducted and go on exile.
The Japanese government didn't want to get involved with the desaparecidos and the Argentina's internal affairs. Other countries like Italy would open the door to them, they gave my dad an Italian passport in case he was release we would all go to Italy.
For ten years my mom looked for my dad in any way possible, one time she had a tip from a witness who was released who told my mom that my dad could be, we drove out Buenos Aires city limits, full of hope thinking that was the day we were all longing for but again we went home empty handed. My mother would never lose hope and she always had new ideas to go look for Oscar. For a long time I had the same wishful thinking every time the doorbell would ring I hope to see my dad's face but I always ended up disappointed.
Those days were long and endless, I was living with the fear that the dictatorship would take my mom away as well, many kids were left without both parents. My mom was a tough woman, she wasn't afraid of speaking her mind and she didn't care who was in front of her, my grandma and I knew how she was like so that is why we were fearing for her life in a time that speaking your mind would get you in big trouble.
She met Mary Higa, her brother Juan Carlos Higa was a literature student in college and he was also a journalist for Akoku Nippo and La Plata Hochi, the two main newspapers for the Japanese- Argentinian community. Juan Carlos was also an accomplished poet, his mother was very sick and blind but she wanted to hold on as long as she could because she was sure that her son was coming back. Unfortunately that never happened.
Mary and Edvige "Beba" (my mom) would visit the other nikkei families with abducted relatives they unofficially founded "Familiares de Detenidos y Desaparecidos de la Colectividad Japonesa en la Argentina". (Relatives of the detained and disappeared of the Japanese Community in Argentina) which is still in place today, Jorge's older sister Elsa Oshiro is carrying on the search for justice and demand to know what happened with our family members.
Many desaparecidos had double citizenships with other countries, many lucky ones if their country was fast enough to petition an habeas corpus they would be released the abducted and go on exile.
The Japanese government didn't want to get involved with the desaparecidos and the Argentina's internal affairs. Other countries like Italy would open the door to them, they gave my dad an Italian passport in case he was release we would all go to Italy.
For ten years my mom looked for my dad in any way possible, one time she had a tip from a witness who was released who told my mom that my dad could be, we drove out Buenos Aires city limits, full of hope thinking that was the day we were all longing for but again we went home empty handed. My mother would never lose hope and she always had new ideas to go look for Oscar. For a long time I had the same wishful thinking every time the doorbell would ring I hope to see my dad's face but I always ended up disappointed.
In 1983, Raúl Alfonsín was the new President voted by the people, it was the return to
democracy, once again my mother and I with all the other people thought that many of the
desaparecidos who survived in the detention camps were going to be released. During his campaign
he promised voters that there wasn't going to be impunity among the crimes committed during
the State terrorism years 1976-1983.
In 1986 President Alfonsín, signed the controversial law of "Punto Final", (Full Stop law), which stopped the prosecution of all those members of the military and civilians involved in State terrorism. Congress repealed these laws in 2003 but my mother didn't get to see this event, she only saw that justice wasn't being served and those murderers were walking free in the city among us.
Realizing that my father was no returning to us, my mother decided to leave the country with us, lots of problems emerged back then, since my father was disappeared, the law still considered him alive, to be able to leave the country required a valid passport and my father's permission since we were still underage, my mother was able to get permission from a judge like we were going to take a vacation and come back. For us was a permanent vacation, I couldn't return to Argentina until I was 18 years old.
Moving to Italy was like a whole brand new day for my mom, my brother Leonardo and me.
We never forgot my dad, he was always there in the back of our minds, my mom never remarried even after she got his death certificate. She told me he was the love of her life and there was no point in replacing him with someone lesser since no-one could compare to him.
We never talked about my dad anymore, we mourned him in silence. I think she was sorry that she couldn't save him. Every so often she would say a sentence about my father, a few words with deep meaning. Like when she told one of my friends that my dad was tired of running and upset that he tried helping people and it all was coming back to haunt him like a curse. The military kept chasing until they got him.
My mom bought an industrial photo lab in Treviso province, in the Veneto region. I was attending a scientific school but I begged my mom to let me choose my path and she agreed.
I took several tests and got into a fine arts school. That period to me was like being reborn, it was my place in the world, I felt I belonged and made friends that even now after twenty years I call them my family.
I could finally express myself freely, without being afraid of who was in front of me. While I was in Argentina we couldn't just tell anyone that my dad was missing. I would lie to strangers telling them my dad was at work if they asked. With so many informers to the dictatorship you couldn't just say whatever you wanted. We live always on guard, looking over our shoulders to make sure no-one was following us.
In 1986 President Alfonsín, signed the controversial law of "Punto Final", (Full Stop law), which stopped the prosecution of all those members of the military and civilians involved in State terrorism. Congress repealed these laws in 2003 but my mother didn't get to see this event, she only saw that justice wasn't being served and those murderers were walking free in the city among us.
Realizing that my father was no returning to us, my mother decided to leave the country with us, lots of problems emerged back then, since my father was disappeared, the law still considered him alive, to be able to leave the country required a valid passport and my father's permission since we were still underage, my mother was able to get permission from a judge like we were going to take a vacation and come back. For us was a permanent vacation, I couldn't return to Argentina until I was 18 years old.
Moving to Italy was like a whole brand new day for my mom, my brother Leonardo and me.
We never forgot my dad, he was always there in the back of our minds, my mom never remarried even after she got his death certificate. She told me he was the love of her life and there was no point in replacing him with someone lesser since no-one could compare to him.
We never talked about my dad anymore, we mourned him in silence. I think she was sorry that she couldn't save him. Every so often she would say a sentence about my father, a few words with deep meaning. Like when she told one of my friends that my dad was tired of running and upset that he tried helping people and it all was coming back to haunt him like a curse. The military kept chasing until they got him.
My mom bought an industrial photo lab in Treviso province, in the Veneto region. I was attending a scientific school but I begged my mom to let me choose my path and she agreed.
I took several tests and got into a fine arts school. That period to me was like being reborn, it was my place in the world, I felt I belonged and made friends that even now after twenty years I call them my family.
I could finally express myself freely, without being afraid of who was in front of me. While I was in Argentina we couldn't just tell anyone that my dad was missing. I would lie to strangers telling them my dad was at work if they asked. With so many informers to the dictatorship you couldn't just say whatever you wanted. We live always on guard, looking over our shoulders to make sure no-one was following us.
When I was walking on the streets of Treviso I felt safe, I was able to be that carefree kid that I
should have been, with normal problems like studying for tests and getting the sketches for
drawing class. Treviso in the 80's-90's didn't have a Japanese community or any Asians, I was the
only nikkei in school, in town, except for some Japanese tourists that would visit. My teachers
would remember my name the first week of school which meant I was always singled out but I
didn't care, I found it funny, my classmates were curious about me, as I was about them. We just
clicked, it didn't happen in scientific school but in art school we were all kind of odd in the eyes
of other schools' kids so I fit right in.
After I finished art school in '91 my mother decided to send my brother Leo to live with my
grandparents in Argentina, in the meantime she would sell the photo lab where I was helping out
after school, pack everything up and move back to Argentina. Back then I couldn't understand
her motives.
It didn't take long, she was sick but hid it from us until almost the end. The first thing she did when she was back in Buenos Aires was meeting with Mary Higa, she went back to her old ways, trying to find answers about my dad. At the time Italian judges where looking for desaparecidos survivors to be put as witnesses to process members of the military dictatorship. Something the corrupt government of President Carlos Menem didn't do so other countries stepped in looking for justice for their desaparecidos, Menem freed and pardoned all the murderers during the dictatorship. That was a kick on the face not only for my mother but for all the families of the disappeared.
On February 28, 1995 Edvige "Beba" Oshiro, my mom passed away in Buenos Aires, she was still thinking about my dad, calling his name.
Not being able to have closure, to know what happened, how it happened, what was my dad thinking about, where is he buried, these are the questions that keep lingering on. Would I even get any answers? I really hope so, but since I can't seem to find the answers outside, I took the introspective road, it all started by helping a nikkei journalist Andrés Asato find pieces and memories about my father for a book that he's been writing about the 16 desaparecidos nikkei. At first I didn't want to dig into those painful memories, but I read my dad's chapter and it was almost empty, that pushed me to talk about how my dad was like as a person.
Circumstances or coincidences put this journalist on my path, I wasn't expecting a person that I only spoke on a chat to have such impact. By helping Asato find my dad at least on paper, made me realize what I needed to do not only for me but for my family and especially to honor my parents. To give my father that identity and that voice that the military dictatorship tried to take away.
My dad like the other 30.000 desaparecidos weren't N.N. (nomen nescio) as the cruel dictatorship wrote in cemeteries tombs, they weren't numbers either. The desaparecidos were killed because
It didn't take long, she was sick but hid it from us until almost the end. The first thing she did when she was back in Buenos Aires was meeting with Mary Higa, she went back to her old ways, trying to find answers about my dad. At the time Italian judges where looking for desaparecidos survivors to be put as witnesses to process members of the military dictatorship. Something the corrupt government of President Carlos Menem didn't do so other countries stepped in looking for justice for their desaparecidos, Menem freed and pardoned all the murderers during the dictatorship. That was a kick on the face not only for my mother but for all the families of the disappeared.
On February 28, 1995 Edvige "Beba" Oshiro, my mom passed away in Buenos Aires, she was still thinking about my dad, calling his name.
Not being able to have closure, to know what happened, how it happened, what was my dad thinking about, where is he buried, these are the questions that keep lingering on. Would I even get any answers? I really hope so, but since I can't seem to find the answers outside, I took the introspective road, it all started by helping a nikkei journalist Andrés Asato find pieces and memories about my father for a book that he's been writing about the 16 desaparecidos nikkei. At first I didn't want to dig into those painful memories, but I read my dad's chapter and it was almost empty, that pushed me to talk about how my dad was like as a person.
Circumstances or coincidences put this journalist on my path, I wasn't expecting a person that I only spoke on a chat to have such impact. By helping Asato find my dad at least on paper, made me realize what I needed to do not only for me but for my family and especially to honor my parents. To give my father that identity and that voice that the military dictatorship tried to take away.
My dad like the other 30.000 desaparecidos weren't N.N. (nomen nescio) as the cruel dictatorship wrote in cemeteries tombs, they weren't numbers either. The desaparecidos were killed because
the military was afraid of them, they were afraid of their ideas, their values, convictions, and
overall they were afraid of their humanity, something that they could never comprehend.
The sadistic torture and killing techniques in the detention centers and the conditions that the
desaparecidos were kept are proof that the people in the dictatorship had no humanity, that they
are called people just because they looked and had the genetical material but they lack of what
make people human, and that is having feelings, compassion, having a conscience to recognize
right from wrong, if you talk to the ones that are incarcerated they feel no remorse and they
justify their actions, there is no redemption for them and I really feel sorry for them. Luckily I
don't lose any sleep thinking about them. I'd rather think about creating an artistic outlet.
I decided after 38 years to open up and share my family story doing it the way I know best through music and painting. Hopefully next year I will be able to find a space and a sponsor to do an art installation in Buenos Aires for the one hundred years anniversary of the Japanese Association in Argentina (AJA) and I would close the circle. Maybe find some closure after all.
On September 24, 2015, the only lawyer who is still alive from my dad's circle of friends sent me a message to let me know that the mayor and the city of Avellaneda where my father worked was hosting an homage to remember the four lawyers desaparecidos, naming each corner after them.
It is a small gesture but now my dad's name is on the street sign for everybody to remember him and the others, I find it ironic and I take it as a slap on the faces of all the people involved in the dictatorship that tried to erase from the surface of the Earth Argentina's best citizens.
We the People of Argentina will never forget those who are not here physically but live forever inside our hearts and memories.
Generations to come will hear the voices that dictatorship tried in vain to silence.
*Plaza de Mayo, is the square across the street from the "Pink House" where Argentina's President resides, during the seventies/eighties the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo would protest in silence walking around a monument wearing a white handkerchief on their heads with the names of the disappeared.
I decided after 38 years to open up and share my family story doing it the way I know best through music and painting. Hopefully next year I will be able to find a space and a sponsor to do an art installation in Buenos Aires for the one hundred years anniversary of the Japanese Association in Argentina (AJA) and I would close the circle. Maybe find some closure after all.
On September 24, 2015, the only lawyer who is still alive from my dad's circle of friends sent me a message to let me know that the mayor and the city of Avellaneda where my father worked was hosting an homage to remember the four lawyers desaparecidos, naming each corner after them.
It is a small gesture but now my dad's name is on the street sign for everybody to remember him and the others, I find it ironic and I take it as a slap on the faces of all the people involved in the dictatorship that tried to erase from the surface of the Earth Argentina's best citizens.
We the People of Argentina will never forget those who are not here physically but live forever inside our hearts and memories.
Generations to come will hear the voices that dictatorship tried in vain to silence.
*Plaza de Mayo, is the square across the street from the "Pink House" where Argentina's President resides, during the seventies/eighties the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo would protest in silence walking around a monument wearing a white handkerchief on their heads with the names of the disappeared.
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