Nobuko Miyamoto (4:37)
We wanted to convince the Japanese American Citizens League to take a stand against the Vietnam War. So we went back to the church, the Japanese church that we were sleeping on the floors. We had dinner there. People were cleaning up. And Chris brings out a guitar. Now, I didn't know he played music. And he starts doodling around and he starts singing. And I'm going like, ho, shit, this guy can sing. And he was starting to get into a groove. And he was using the phrase that Fred Hampton often said, the people's beat. Every day I can hear it like a heart that beats. It's the people spirit every day. And I just started singing with him, and it felt good. And before the night was over, we had a song. So at the big convention that we were addressing, we sang this song. And the young people start clapping. And somehow the whole place started rocking with us. To see people that look like us, see us reflected in this audience. It was a moment. A song does something to your body, it does something to your spirit. And we knew that we hit on something powerful that you couldn't do in a speech that you couldn't do in a book. We had a song. Yeah, it was the song of the moment. And there were more songs to come, but this song was really waiting to come. In a sense. We didn't have our own song. We had helped to build this country. We had not had our own song. We have been here. People looked at us as foreigners. We have not had our own song. Now we had it. Mike makes your day. He brings you the world, the stars and the songs. Mike. For the American housewife and people that watch television in the middle of the day. Mike Douglas was the bread that they ate every afternoon. You know, that was the cup of coffee. John and Yoko were going to be a host for the entire week. I think we were a little bit wary of whether we would want to do something like this. You know, we were against this kind of major media thing. We weren't just open, hey, this is a great opportunity. Hey, we weren't like that. We were going into it thinking, all right, let's see what this is going to be about. Let's keep our eyes open. Let's be aware what happened before to people like us on television. Most of the things, if we saw an Asian on television, it was the enemy, it was the waiter or the houseboy, it was the spy, you know, the guy people wanted to kill for Asian women, you know, the Houlihans, the South Islander or the geisha. But those are actually roles that I had played when I was in show business, and I wasn't going to repeat myself. I think, you know, one thing that helped convince us that it was safe to do this was that they were going to have Bobby Seale on there, that they were going to have Jerry Rubin. These were characters in the movement who were very strong, who were very clear about who they were. And we were representing another element of that radical left. And so we said, yes. We go to their apartment in the Village. Their bed was on a platform and there was a TV hanging from the ceiling. And it was like walking into a movie, in a sense. They're here, John. Yellow Pearl's here. Every time Yoko referred to us in their house, they kept calling us Yellow Pearl. And we kept saying, no, no, we're not Yellow Pearl. We're Chris and Joanne. And we were very clear about that. But it was like she wasn't listening. Media used to call us the Yellow Peril and made caricatures of Asian people as these sort of monstrous invaders. So Chris took that phrase and turned it into the Yellow Pearl, making the imagery of thinking about this little irritant in the muscle or whatever it is, clam and. And layers and layers of oppression, et cetera, and building up until you create this beautiful pearl. So it was a way of turning a negative into a positive. In her mind, she thought Yellow Pearl was a good title for us. Even though we weren't Yellow Pearl, we were Gris and Joanne. You might say I'm just a dreamer Pearls like you just don't appear. When we walked in the room, John Lennon was talking on the phone to the Mike Douglas people, and he was arguing like hell to have us on the show and saying, I don't care, blah, blah, blah. And then he said, fuck you, and slammed down the phone. And Yoko said, oh, don't worry, John. They can't do the show without us. They'll call back. And we're, like, looking at each other like, what's going on? And they were going to have to push a black singer off in order to make space for us to come on. We said to them, no, you don't have to do that. It's okay. We don't have to do the show. We clearly said that because we felt bad that somebody who would get national exposure, who really wanted it, would get bumped because of us. But it wasn't about us. It was about John and Yoko getting their say and getting their way. And finally, yes, they did call back. The network called back and they said, okay. We couldn't get out of it at that point. There was no pulling out for us. We load up into this limousine with John and Yoko, and there in the front with Bobby Sealed and Jerry Rubin. And we were sitting on the back of the limo looking at this scene in front of us, looking at each other like, nobody's going to believe this. This is like a movie. We're driving to Philadelphia and we're already late. And Chris and I are looking at each other like, what are we going to sing if we have one song to sing? One chance, three and a half minutes, how do we want to present ourselves? What is the song we want to sing? And they said, well, if we only get to sing one song, we're going to sing We Are the Children. It wasn't one of our favorite songs, but we just felt it was emblematic of who we were. We are the children of the migrant worker we are the offspring of the concentration camp Sons and daughters of the railroad builder who leave their stamp on America we are the children of the Chinese waiter Born and raised in the laundry room we are the offspring of the Japanese gardener that's me. Who leave their stamp on America I was about two years old when my whole family was uprooted and forcefully relocated in a concentration camp. We were considered a threat to US Internal security since we were on the Pacific Ocean. And before they put us into the normal concentration camp, they put us in a racetrack. Santa Anita racetrack was a place that had horse stalls and barracks. You have to understand, most of these places were dirty, windy, sandy places. Also. There was this sort of hum of people's voices. English and Japanese people who were worried and mumbling. And when we went to mess hall, it was a clatter of dishes of tin because we were eating on what soldiers ate on these tin platters. It was horrible food, and there wasn't food that was normal to us. There was no soy sauce, there was no rice. This was, you know, what white people ate. So the car, the limousine pulls up at the television station in Philadelphia, everybody's waiting. And there's a huge crowd of fans in front of the studio, blocking the doors, waiting for the car to arrive. And so Yoko and John were used to this routine. Yoko turns to John and said, john, are you ready? And so it's ready. Get set. Okay, let's go. And they go out and, you know, as much as possible, they're pushing through, and people are trying to protect them, to get them through the door. And we're sort of in their shadow, sort of pushing ourselves through as well, you know, okay, you got your guitar. Okay, we're getting through. And we get in the studio. And of course, when the door closes, ooh, it's another world. If you've ever been in a TV station, there's nothing more unreal. It's not even like a real stage because the lights are really loud, they're really bright. Everything is made for the camera. You as a person up there really don't have that much power once you're on there. And the cameras are rolling and this is live television. So they're rushing us up because we're the unknown. Chris and I are the unknown. They want to hear the song that we're going to sing. They were anxious about it, and they have two seats up there and the lights on us. And as gracefully as possible, after all that fuss, he pulls out his guitar and he starts playing. And we go into the song. We are the children of the migrant worker we are the offspring of the concentration camp. And we get to this line, watching war movies with the next door neighbor. We're secretly rooting for the other side. And the director is coming up and very nervously saying, what else do you have to sing? Well, how many songs do we get to sing? Just one. So Chris and I look at each other, and that's when I said, if we're only singing one song, we're gonna sing this one. Well, you know, there's the housewives of the Midwest. You know, they might think this watching war movies, rooting for the other side. They might think it's, you know, subversive. And I'm thinking, subversive. They've got Jerry Rubin up there. They've got Bobby Seale over there. They're worried about us being subversive. That was crazy. And so we stood our ground and. And now we want to sing this song. And then it didn't stop. He kept pressing us, well, what else do we have to sing? Well, you know, and it was getting very uncomfortable. And then John Lennon comes up. Can't you just fudge the words a bit? Wait a minute. John Lennon is asking us to change our words. Would he change his words from revolution to evolution or strawberry to raspberry? Because somebody wanted him to? You know, I think he would have said, screw you, and I don't need to do this. And then the director again comes at us. What else can you sing? Pushing, pushing, pushing. And all of a sudden, I just. I just felt red. Red, like, you know, a thermometer just filled me up. And something took over me. And I heard this voice saying, you. You put us in concentration camps, and you're saying we can't sing this song. And I see my finger pointing out in front of me, and I'm looking around and I see Chris looking at me, like, in shock. And I went, oh, my God, that was me. John and Yoko were frozen, too. Who are these people that we brought here? They didn't know what to do, but they knew. They had to know that I was right. I was going to cry. I didn't want them to see me cry. That's the last thing I wanted them to see. And I just turned around and started walking for the door, fingers still pointed in the air, still wondering what I was going to do. And before I could reach the door, the director's coming at me from behind. No, no, it's okay. It's okay. You can sing anything you want. I didn't do it. I didn't put you in a concentration camp. You can sing anything you want. It's okay. I never lose my temper like that. Never. I don't even know if I lost my temper. I just lost it. We have heard. You can't sing that song. You can't be here. We don't want you. You have to be quiet. You are the good, quiet Americans. All of those things. We have been stuffed down our throat for a century. So everything melted down and came back into real time. And then John Lennon, after, you know, this whole incident with the director happened, he was very tentative about how he introduced us. These are two young people that. They call themselves Yellow Pearl. Their grandparents were Japanese, I guess, and they're young singers called Chris and Joanna, and beautiful singers, and they have a story to tell.
