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Back in the late 1930s and early 1940s, when it was still relatively novel to use photographs in the press to inform and influence public opinion and policy, Marion Post Wolcott captured images of life in rural America to galvanize support for the New Deal. She was hired as a photographer for the Farm Security Administration (FSA), a federal agency dedicated to improving the lives of America’s most impoverished farmers. Her images vividly exposed the social and economic conditions wrought by the Great Depression and Dust Bowl, and included tenant farmers, migrant workers, cotton pickers, among others, all living in poverty and racially divided communities.

Only the second woman hired on the project, Marion traveled backroads for weeks on end alone—a brave and determined assignment for a young, white woman at that time. She was influenced early by a traveling mother who pioneered birth control clinics with Margaret Sanger and a loving relationship with her Black caregiver, and was later exposed to progressive ideas, art, and education in New York City and Austria as Hitler rose to power. These experiences helped Marion view inequity and injustice through the lens of race, class, and gender, and her interest in photography deepened as a way to illuminate complex issues and influence social change.

As she traversed the states, hauling her heavy camera, film, light meters, tripods, and flash bulbs, she connected with women and children, entered homes and fields, changed flat tires on creekbed roads, finding creative ways to earn the trust of the people she photographed. In addition to scenes depicting specific, candid moments in U.S. history, her images also captured enduring racial tensions, class discrepancies, and reflections of shared humanity.

At the height of her photographic career, Marion’s professional life suddenly ended in 1942, after she met her husband Lee Wolcott, an assistant to Secretary of Agriculture Henry Wallace and recent widower with two young children. Amid the frenzy of McCarthyism, the Wolcotts opted to leave D.C. and try their hand at farming. Marion put down her camera to focus on the demanding roles of farm wife and mother to her growing family.

Years later, leaving the farm for her husband’s USAID posts in Iran, Egypt, Pakistan, and India, Marion picked up her camera again to capture social and political images. Upon retirement back in the United States, she continued photographing people and activities of personal interest such as anti-war protests and other social movements. Some of these images have been included in exhibits and media as FSA photographs became increasingly featured in present-day discussions. Her FSA film negatives remain archived in the U.S. Library of Congress and her prints are included in major collections including the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Smithsonian Institute.

Despite late recognition, Marion often reflected on and grappled with the hard choices women of her generation faced as they tried to balance raising a family with a professional career. A few years before her death in 1990, as a keynote speaker at a Women in Photography Conference, Marion said to her audience:

Marion Post Wolcott is my grandmother and her photographs have been the wallpaper of my life. A tenant farmer’s child with bowed legs from rickets walking down a path of parched earth, migrant vegetable pickers and coal miners, African Americans in fields of cotton and jitterbugging in a juke joint, bountiful landscapes of America the Beautiful (officially requested to reassure and inspire the public), and shots taken for contrast of wealthy patrons at the horseraces and private beach clubs—these are just a few of her images creating a gallery in my home. Marion’s great-granddaughters now ask questions about the scenes and I hear my grandmother’s voice, sense of adventure, humor and deep care as I relate her stories. Despite her compromises and even some regrets, her example of a bold, engaged, and independent woman helped pave the way for generations to come.

91�Թ� will feature a selection of Marion Post Wolcott’s photographs in an ongoing series along with organizing questions for educators. The themes will relate to those prefaced here—the challenging conditions that spurred the dynamic and far-reaching programs of the New Deal including significant investments in national infrastructure, social security, and public welfare, as well as efforts to change attitudes and inspire compassion toward fellow Americans. The photographs also raise discussions about the influence of an historian’s perspective. For the featured photo in this article, the following questions are recommended:
 

1. This photo was taken when Jim Crow laws were being enforced in the South after the Civil War. What were Jim Crow Laws? What did you first notice in the photo? How does the caption help you understand what was happening at this time in U.S. history? What do you think Marion Post Wolcott was trying to capture in the photograph? How does the photograph help to increase your understanding of written descriptions of Jim Crow laws in your U.S. history textbook?
2. What is the significance of the Plessy v. Ferguson (1896) landmark decision of the U.S. Supreme Court?
3. What is the significance of the Brown v. Board of Education (1954) landmark decision of the U.S. Supreme Court? 
4. What acts brought Jim Crow laws to an end?
5. What has been the role of the Supreme Court in shaping the history of segregation in the United States?
6. Do you think the photo relates to African American lives today and/or to related social movements? Why or why not?

(MBA, Harvard), former Visiting Lecturer, Hitotsubashi University Graduate School of International Corporate Strategy, is an advisor to Stanford e-Hiroshima. His parents, Ryuji and Nanako, are supporters of Stanford e-Hiroshima, which is an online course that 91�Թ� offers to high school students in Hiroshima. Taught by Rylan Sekiguchi, Stanford e-Hiroshima was launched in 2019 with the support of the Hiroshima Prefectural Board of Education. 91�Թ� is grateful to Governor Hidehiko Yuzaki for his vision and leadership and Superintendent Rie Hirakawa for her unwavering support.

Ryuji Yamada adjusts the window shades to savor the view that grows elusive to his aging eyes. If you gaze towards Diamond Head from the Yamadas’ condominium, kite surfers glide in and out of your perspective in some random Brownian motion; their paths, pace, and direction seem chaotic. They all share the same wind, waves, and current, but the skill of the rider to look ahead and channel the energies around them sends them on very different and wonderful journeys. 

“I was just 14 living in Hiroshima and still a minor when the bomb dropped. My brother was only one year older but considered an adult and was sent on work detail for defense preparations. He had to walk through ground zero to come home. My father had a meeting at City Hall, but the ferry was cancelled. We all survived, but the blast sent us in very different directions.

“They rebuilt the community with their personality, spirit, and bare hands, but I was pushed inward to my studies. I needed to comprehend the natural force that had wrought so much destruction.

“In the sixties, foreign exchange was scarce, and I was one of the first scientists that the Japanese government sponsored to do research abroad. At Cornell, Robert Wilson guided my career and brought me along to establish what became Fermilab in 1967. We built Fermilab as an oasis of fundamental research in the Illinois prairie. We thought that the pursuit of knowledge would unite us. Wilson’s famous defense in April 1969 of Fermilab to Congress seems even more relevant today.

‘Are we good painters, good sculptors, great poets? I mean all the things that we really venerate and honor in our country and are patriotic about. In that sense, this new knowledge has all to do with honor and country, but it has nothing to do directly with defending our country except to help make it worth defending.’”[1]

The following is Part 7 of a multiple-part series. To read previous installments in this series, please visit the following articles: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, and Part 6.

Since December 8, 2020, 91�Թ� has posted six articles that highlight reflections from 49 students on the question, “What does it mean to be an American?” Part 7 features eight additional reflections.

The free educational website “” offers six lessons on immigration, civic engagement, leadership, civil liberties & equity, justice & reconciliation, and U.S.–Japan relations. The lessons encourage critical thinking through class activities and discussions. On March 24, 2021, 91�Թ�’s Rylan Sekiguchi was honored by the Association for Asian Studies for his authorship of the lessons that are featured on the website, which was developed by the Mineta Legacy Project in partnership with 91�Թ�.

Since the website launched in September 2020, 91�Թ� has invited students to review and share their reflections on the lessons. Below are the reflections of eight students. I am grateful to Dr. Ignacio Ornelas, Teacher, Willow Glen High School, San Jose, California; Mineko Todd, Teacher, Waiakea High School, Hawaii; Aya Shehata, Hilo High School, Hawaii; and Kathryn Tolbert, a former editor and reporter at The Washington Post for their support with this edition. The reflections below do not necessarily reflect those of the 91�Թ� staff.

Kylie Copeland, California
What makes one an American is not based on their ethnicity or the color of their skin, but rather their devotion to life, liberty, freedom, and the pursuit of happiness. These unalienable rights and their importance have been repeated in many pieces of American literature. These rights have shown to not hold as much value when concerning race. As a White-Vietnamese woman, I have endured experiences where I have been treated like I don’t fit an American profile, even though my morals are those that align with the unalienable rights. It is important to understand that one who is American is one who is determined to fight for liberty, and fight for freedom, and fight for those who are affected daily by these important rights.

Janessa Dillion, California
American ideals are among of the most falsely advertised concepts I have had to face growing up. I was taught that there is pride in being an American and what the country stood for. “Liberty and justice for all” is a lie when our own justice system would condone slavery and police brutality. Our founding fathers constructed a country benefiting only the people that they thought mattered. America is not broken; it is how it was intended to be and now it’s up to the youth (the leaders of the future) that recognize this to not “fix” it but to deconstruct what we currently have in place. I am proud to be an American because I get to create a better future and that’s where my patriotism lies.

Evan Ingerick, Pennsylvania
I take being American for granted. I’m a third generation Japanese American. My great-grandmother is a war bride from Japan. I live in rural Pennsylvania. I have heard stories from my grandpa about being bullied about his skin and race. To me, times have changed where kids aren’t as prejudiced. When I think of being American, I think of all the “freedoms” we have. For me, it is freedom of speech, religion, the ability to choose courses for my choice of a career. I can play all sports. I can do anything anyone else can. If I question what being an American is, I wonder if our democracy is eroding because of all race-related riots, immigration problems, voting systems problems in the news today. These things concern me.

Justin Katayama, New York
While the Japanese tend to be bound to their idea of peace, Americans tend to believe that they are the ones who can bring about justice by raising their voice. While the Japanese believe the same thing, they don’t speak out because they prioritize harmony. Because Japan is very conservative, there is not as much conflict. While I am of Japanese ancestry, I was born and raised in America. I was raised to have the mentality that my opinion matters and that I should speak out when I believe I should. Being an American means that my voice isn’t bound by anything and that it will always be heard by someone.

Mailiokawailelenani Mckeague, Hawaii
Living around 2,000 miles away from what I think is the true America, the term “American” has never been more than the title of the country I live in. I say the Pledge of Allegiance every morning and watch the news every night, yet there is rarely any mainstream media on Hawaii, where I live. There is a big debate on whether Hawaii is a part of America since it was illegally overthrown. With my father being Japanese and Hawaiian and my mother being from Brazil, there seems to be a big gap between where I fit into this idea of being an American. Yet to me, that seems exactly what it means to be American. To be American means to live in a diverse community of people who may not feel like they fit in but they call America home nonetheless. 

Daniela Muñoz, California
Even though we live in a land of freedom, oftentimes being American means having the necessity to fight for equality and justice. People see America as such a perfect country. In reality, a lot of people have had to fight hard to have the opportunities that they have today. My parents are immigrants who came to the United States for better opportunities. They followed their American dream to accomplish things that they wouldn’t have been able to accomplish in their home country. I have Mexican roots and I sometimes think that I will never truly feel the full experience as an American, but I will contribute to traditions and help better the community. It is the significance of maintaining our traditional culture regardless that is important to me.

Nyla Gaeta Nedrow, California
Since its foundation, the United States has been recognized as a pioneer for change. As Americans, I think it’s our duty to keep pushing for progress in areas such as equity and fairness. Our country is far from perfect but when we stand united towards a common goal, anything is possible. From the American Revolution to our most recent election, the American people have proven again and again that we can be agents for change. Being an American means having a nuanced understanding of our country’s past and present. Just because we are asking for improvement does not mean we love our country any less. If anything, I think it means quite the opposite. We ask for improvement because we want the best for our country and for its people.

Hokulani Thomas, Hawaii
When I think about what it means to be an American, I think about diversity. Our country is made up of all different kinds of people from all over the world. From where I am from, which is Hawaii, being mixed race is completely the norm. You could take a walk around town and meet and see people of all different backgrounds. And while to this day there is still prejudice and hate over some cultures and races, in Hawaii we have love and aloha for one another, and we celebrate and support one another’s cultures. So when I think about what it means to be an American, I think about diversity, and how we are getting more and more accepting of different cultures every year.

 

Rylan Sekiguchi has been selected as a cohort fellow for the program (M&S)—an initiative to attract remote workers, especially returning kamaʻāina (�Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ�� residents), to create a more innovative, resilient, and sustainable �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ��. The rationale for the establishment of M&S is based on the following.

“Brain drain” is an enduring challenge for �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ�� as we lose key talent and family members to economic opportunities on the continent. M&S focuses on “brain gain” to grow and diversify �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ��’s economy so that local folks can come home and never have to leave in the first place.

A recent , “�Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ��’s Population Drain Outpaces Most States—Again,” in Honolulu Civil Beat features comments by M&S Director Nicole Lim. In the article, she notes, “The overall goal is really brain gain. How to tie people into �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ�� for the good of �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ��.”

Selected from thousands of applicants, Sekiguchi is one of 50 in the second M&S cohort contributing to the community through volunteer projects and developing personal and professional relationships with people from diverse backgrounds. Sekiguchi is working primarily with the , which is led by Executive Director Vicky Holt Takamine, a respected kumu hula (master teacher of hula), well-known Native Hawaiian advocate, and valuable proponent of M&S in the local community.

The Movers and Shakas program is based on three key pillars.

• Learn: Cultural education helps cohort fellows understand the historical and current context of �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ��, allowing them to build stronger personal relationships and connect more deeply with �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ��.
• Contribute: Volunteering allows cohort fellows to contribute their unique professional skillsets and experiences to local nonprofits and startups while learning about �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ�� from community leaders in a reciprocal relationship.
• Connect: Community building centers around the two-way sharing of knowledge, ideas, and culture to foster strong bonds between individuals, within the cohort, with volunteer partner orgs, and with the general public.
   

Following a recent visit to the Bishop Museum, designated as the �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ�� State Museum of Natural and Cultural History, Sekiguchi reflected on his experience. “Though I was born and raised in �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ��, it wasn’t until I moved to the continent as a student at 91�Թ� that I began to truly recognize my connection to this place. After being away for 19 years, M&S has been an incredibly meaningful experience for me and an extraordinary opportunity to reconnect with �Ჹ�ɲ���ʻ��. It’s also been inspiring to connect with my M&S cohort mates, many of whom also have personal connections to the state. Someday, I hope to connect my 91�Թ� work more closely with the M&S community.”

December 7, 2021 marked the 80th anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. On the occasion of the anniversary, , Graduate School of Interdisciplinary Information Studies, University of Tokyo, gave a lecture on Pearl Harbor to high school students enrolled in 91�Թ�’s Stanford e-Japan, which is taught by Instructor Meiko Kotani. Yaguchi has been an advisor to both Stanford e-Japan and 91�Թ�’s Reischauer Scholars Program (RSP), an online course about Japan and U.S.–Japan relations that is offered to high school students in the United States and is taught by Instructor Naomi Funahashi. From 2004 to 2009, I worked with Yaguchi during the “Pearl Harbor: History, Memory, and Memorial” summer institutes for American and Japanese teachers that were hosted by the AsiaPacificEd Program for Schools, East-West Center, Honolulu.

Prior to Yaguchi’s lecture, Kotani compiled questions from her students to share with Yaguchi, and he used them to conceptualize his lecture. The students were also required to view a lecture by Stanford Emeritus Professor Peter Duus on the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Yaguchi informed the students that he would be introducing diverse perspectives on the Pearl Harbor attack and also encouraged students to think about the questions that they had written while he delivered his lecture. He encouraged them to consider two questions that he devised based on the students’ questions: “Why do you ask such questions?” and “What do the questions tell you about how you think of the past and today?” Yaguchi noted, “I am kind of spinning the table around.”

Yaguchi set the context for his talk by giving a brief geographic and historical background of Pearl Harbor. He pointed out that for ancient Hawaiians, the name of the harbor now known as Pearl Harbor was Puʻuloa, regarded as the home of the shark goddess, Kaʻahupāhau. Following the overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom, the U.S. Navy established a base on the island in 1899. Over the years, Pearl Harbor, along with the Naval Base San Diego, remained a main base for the U.S. Pacific Fleet after World War II. He also noted that Pearl Harbor is the most popular destination in Hawaii for American visitors.

Yaguchi pointed out that the excellent questions from the students were primarily about the United States and Japan. He posed the question, “But is Pearl Harbor really only about the U.S. and Japan?” and encouraged students to critically consider the following points, which were the five key points of his lecture.

1. We need to see history in a longer and wider perspective.
2. History is not only about powerful nation states.
3. History is not only about (mostly male) politicians and leaders making decisions.
4. Pearl Harbor means different things to many people.
5. We need to see Pearl Harbor from multiple angles—especially from the perspectives of race and gender (non-white, non-Japanese, non-male)—those who have been making/writing history.
    

He followed up each point with specific questions. For example, “What does Pearl Harbor mean to the indigenous people of Hawaii or the Native Hawaiians?”; and “Was Pearl Harbor an attack on the United States” or “Was Pearl Harbor an attack on Native Hawaiians as well?” were follow-up questions to point number four. Yaguchi pointed out that he was born and raised in Hokkaido, the northern-most main island of Japan, and to his surprise one of the students mentioned that he lives in Kushiro, a city in Hokkaido that is Yaguchi’s ancestral hometown. Since the Ainu are an indigenous people from the northern region of Japan, particularly Hokkaido, Yaguchi’s questions prompted some students to think about parallels between the Ainu and Native Hawaiians.

The five key points of his lecture led to many questions during the question-and-answer period. One student asked, “Is there anything that you keep in mind when teaching Japanese about American history or specific events such as Pearl Harbor?” Yaguchi replied, “At the University of Tokyo, I really encourage students to think about why you learn history in specific ways. Who decides what you need to study? I also encourage students to be critical of the education that you receive. University years are a time for you to reassess what you learn… We living in Japan or educating in Japan tend to connect Pearl Harbor as the beginning and the atomic bombs as the ending… or the cause and the effect. And this is a very common way of framing history. People in the United States do not necessarily think so.”

While listening to Yaguchi’s lecture, I reflected upon , which is the University of Tokyo President Teruo Fujii’s statement of the guiding principles of the University of Tokyo—the ideals to which the university should aspire and the direction it should take, under the title “Into a Sea of Diversity: Creating the Future through Dialogue.” In his lecture, Yaguchi extended the reach of UTokyo Compass to Stanford e-Japan high school students throughout Japan. Kotani and I were most appreciative the ripple effect of UTokyo Compass that he provided through his lecture. Kotani stated, “I am so grateful to Professor Yaguchi for introducing my students to not only diverse perspectives on Pearl Harbor but also for engaging them in questions related to epistemology.”

UTokyo Compass prompted me think about the importance of one’s “moral compass,” or a person’s ability to judge what is right and wrong and to act accordingly. Through Stanford e-Japan and the RSP, Kotani, Funahashi, and I hope to encourage high school students to remember to navigate their academic and professional careers with their own moral compass. In addition, as a compass always follows true north, I think that leaders should follow a set of unwavering personal values, including integrity. The students in Stanford e-Japan and the RSP are among the best and brightest in Japan and the United States and future leaders. I encourage them to singlehandedly change the world, to be changemakers.

91�Թ� recommends the use of a 13-minute lecture—titled “Civil and Human Rights: The Martin Luther King, Jr. Legacy” by Dr. Clayborne Carson—for use at the high school and college levels. Dr. Carson is the Martin Luther King, Jr. Centennial Professor Emeritus at the Center on Democracy, Development, and the Rule of Law, FSI, at 91�Թ�. In the video lecture, Professor Carson not only discusses Martin Luther King, Jr. as a civil rights leader but also examines his larger vision of seeing the African American struggle as a worldwide struggle for citizenship rights and human rights.

A free classroom-friendly discussion guide for this video is available for download on the website above. The organizing questions that are listed in the guide are:

• What are civil and human rights?
• What were the significant achievements of the Civil Rights Movement?
• What is Martin Luther King, Jr.’s legacy in terms of civil and human rights?
• How are Martin Luther King, Jr.’s vision, ideas, and leadership still relevant today?
• How is the American Civil Rights Movement similar and different from other rights-related movements?

91�Թ� also recommends the resources on the following websites for use in classrooms.

• supports a broad range of educational activities illuminating Dr. King’s life and the movements he inspired. Dr. Carson is the founding director of the Institute.

• works to realize Martin Luther King, Jr.’s vision of the world as a large house in which “we must learn somehow to live with each other in peace.” Dr. Carson is the director of the Project.

Moving from Tokyo to California in second grade, I knew very little about my home country. I may have looked and spoken Japanese, but the more time I spent in the United States, the more I felt like my identity strayed away from my Japanese cultural roots. For most of my life, I was hesitant to proudly call myself a Japanese American simply due to the lack of knowledge I had about my home country.

That was until I stumbled upon Stanford’s Reischauer Scholars Program (RSP), an online program that introduced Japanese history, society, culture, and the U.S.–Japan relationship. With its focus on deepening cross-cultural knowledge, this was the perfect opportunity to reconnect with my cultural roots.

On the first day of the RSP, I was astounded by the diversity of the students that were present. Students in the program were from all around the country, each showing unique individual interests and strengths that they added to the class. Alongside these friendly and committed students led by our brilliant instructor Ms. Naomi Funahashi, the RSP provided a motivated and collaborative environment to learn about my home country. The activities in our virtual classes included not only the review of insightful readings that we were assigned, but also the once-in-a-lifetime opportunities to meet top scholars and experts in U.S.–Japan relations and ambassadors. Having had the chance to converse with these speakers, we were introduced to significant ideas and insights about the U.S.–Japan relationship that developed my diverse perspective on the topic.

Throughout the course of the program, the inclusive environment of the virtual classrooms allowed us to comfortably share and challenge ideas we would bring up. With each of us from very different backgrounds, we were able to have insightful conversations about the cause of isolationism in Japan, the effect of industrialization on the Japanese economy, and many other concepts about Japanese history and culture.

To me, the most memorable days of the RSP were the joint virtual classrooms with the Stanford e-Japan program. Through these joint classrooms, we had the opportunity to converse with Japanese high school students, where we were able to deepen our mutual cross-cultural understanding. From the bunkasai, to the undokai, to juku, these joint classrooms gave us the opportunity to learn more about the exciting Japanese culture and contemporary society from a primary source. With nearly no opportunity to speak with Japanese students outside of my family during my time in the United States, I was able to take away many valuable insights I keep to this day thanks to the unique opportunity given by the RSP. With each meeting with these students, I was given a clearer image of what it truly meant to be “Japanese.”