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| Pg.1 | Pg.2 A Conversation |
Rice
September 19, 1944
Unloading Army & Navy Rice
San Nicolas Biba Warehouse Tribune: "Army, Navy Donate Rice to P.I." — 3,000 sacks from Saigon delivered to Biba. "Imperial Forces move to help Republic Ease food problem." That's barely enough for one day's lunch for the city. The Editorial is a PEACH: The amount "cannot be considered enough by any stretch of the imagination," but as it's the thought that counts, its worth is "incalculable" because of the "hazards" in bringing it here: Americans have broken through the water defenses of Greater East Asia; American subs are "exceptionally active" in our waters; and the Japanese have a "scarcity of bottoms." Were it not for the power of the Army and Navy to supply all the Filipinos with rice at costs which would put all the profiteers to shame ... we can rest assured that the Army and Navy would have done it for us, although for our own good they should never go that far....(!) So you see, it all comes out in the wash. Of course, it doesn't prove that the Filipinos ended the day with more rice than they began with. For all we know, this is our own rice from the provinces. . . . . |
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| Pg.1 Rice | Pg.2 |
A Conversation
September 19, 1944
Well, well, yesterday at 1730 I had my first talk about the Occupation with a Japanese. As I walked up the bridge on my way home a shower caught me. Reaching Manga Avenue soaked, I ducked into the Garriz house, now occupied by a Japanese working for PIAM, and sheltered under the front stair. A voice went, "Come in." I turned and saw a Japanese with a thin moustache and nervous mien. He indicated the steps so I sat on the fourth step. He sat five steps above mine so I joined him there. "Got an office downtown?" he asked. "Well, no, but I'm doing a little business, nevertheless." "Doing well?" "Enough for these difficult times," I answered. That gave him the opening he desired, so he launched into a well-rehearsed, often used line. "Ah, the war, y'know. I remember 1915, 16, 17...I was in New York then, y'know? Pretty tough." He shook his head meaningfully, smacked his lips and took a puff of his cigarette. I decided not to tell him I spent several years in New York too. "Yes," he went on, "I remember sugar, for instance. Prices went up and up. First they rationed you to three cubes a cup, then two, then a half, ha-ha-ha. I couldn't stand coffee then." I thought about how the Swiss learned to get by without sugar in the last war, and how some still drink coffee without it. And of the Filipinos without any ration, and no sugar at all. He was doubtless using a lot of sugar in his coffee now. The Japanese have a lot of our sugar; only we don't. He was blissfully ignorant of my thoughts, so I sized him up as he went on. "America is all right; good country, but oh, too imperialistic ... and race discrimination. In Brazil it's much better. Yeh, I was in Brazil too. Went there in 1940 with 120 Japanese families. We founded a colony, y'know ... 300 miles in the interior. Previous to that I was in Hollywood. I was an actor, y'know?" — he said proudly. "Good country, Brazil. Good future, South America," I said, but he seemed more interested in comparing people for his propaganda work. "Yeh, Brazilians' all right. Nice country. Materialistic though, just like the Americans, but they practice democracy. In contrast Americans talk democracy but don't practice it. In America they mistreat Negroes, and there's more of them every year. In 100 years there's going to be as many as the whites. In Brazil they treat everybody equal, and there's less Negroes now than before. Ah, the Americans should learn...they can't stop fate so why not take it the right way?" I steered the conversation towards the fertility of its land and climate. We chatted a bit more and eventually he snapped out of it. "Yes, yes, pretty good, Brazil. I'm going there after this war." Just then some Spaniards passed by Manga Avenue, and when a lady saw me talking to him up the stairs, her eyebrows performed a somersault — or was it my imagination? The rain was slackening. I stood up. "Well, thanks," I said. "Not at all, not at all." No doubt a lonely chap, I figured as I trudged home. Bet he'd like to be in Hollywood right now. |