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Introduction

This book illuminates various aspects of a central but unexplored area of American history: the midcentury Japanese American experience. A vast and ever-growing literature exists, first on the entry and settlement of Japanese immigrants in the United States at the turn of the twentieth century, then on the experience of the immigrants and their American-born children during World War II.¹ Indeed, the official roundup of some 120,000 American citizens and permanent residents of Japanese ancestry on the West Coast and their subsequent confinement in government camps (often, if imprecisely, called the “Japanese American internment”) represents the single most-documented subject in Asian American studies and a vital theme of popular debate. Yet the essential question “What happened afterwards?” remains all but unanswered in historical literature.² Such neglect is unjust, as the postwar evolution of Japanese American communities deserves extended and careful study. Excluded from the wartime economic boom and scarred psychologically by their wartime ordeal, the former camp inmates struggled to remake their lives in the years that followed, and to build new social ties and community structures. If the generation of resettlement and renewal that followed the release of inmates from camp lacks the massive drama and conflict of the wartime events, it must be accounted equally important, if not more so, in setting the course of mainland Japanese American life.³

This volume consists of a series of case studies, in the form of essays. They shed light on various developments relating to Japanese Americans in the aftermath of their wartime confinement, including resettlement nationwide, the mental and physical readjustment of the former inmates, and their political engagement, most notably in concert with other racialized and ethnic minority groups. In the process, I explore and test various conclusions about the nature and particularity of the postwar Japanese American experience. The bulk of the material in the collection is previously unpublished, or in a few cases has appeared only in French-language editions—the latter element a product of the author's life in Montreal, a North American city at the crossroads of anglophone and francophone scholarship. Even the fraction that has already seen print in some form has been expanded and updated to take account of new research and scholarship. The text, it will be noted, does not follow a strict chronology, but takes up in turn a set of key themes that shaped Japanese communities during the midcentury period. While the focus is on postwar events, some of the chapters begin chronologically in the prewar or wartime period in order to provide proper background and context for understanding what occurred thereafter.

This collection is not intended to be either definitive or comprehensive. Rather, the work represents something of a new departure, a broad-based investigation of a complex and largely uncovered subject, designed to provide an opening for further inquiry and more extended discussion. Like all generalizations, my exposition is limited and admits of exceptions. It is my fervent hope that the volume will help move scholars in history, political science, law, ethnic studies, and other fields to engage the primary material available on postwar Japanese Americans and fill the sizable gaps that exist in the literature.⁴ My case studies are limited, and my conclusions are thus necessarily tentative. As the late historian Winthrop Jordan remarked about his audacious findings on the origins of racism, “I shall be enormously surprised—and greatly disappointed—if I am not shown to be wrong on some matters.…Some, but not too many.”⁵ I certainly make no greater claim to infallibility.

I wish here to outline the direction of the work that follows by describing briefly its central themes. The first theme that I discuss is the generational shift in the structure of group leadership, as the Issei leaders who had dominated Japanese communities in the prewar years were displaced from authority by the Nisei. The plight of the Issei after 1941 was poignant. Barred from citizenship by their adopted land, the immigrants were thereby transformed at a stroke into “enemy aliens” by the outbreak of war between the United States and Japan, and exposed to arbitrary restrictions. Virtually all community leaders were interned by the Justice Department for indeterminate periods, while the rest were confined in government camps with their families or fellow bachelors, then further humiliated by official directives barring noncitizens from community government positions. Forced to dispose of the bulk of their property at the time of removal, the Issei were generally unable to reestablish their prewar businesses and farms and were relegated to menial labor or dependent on economic support from their children. Although the 1952 McCarran-Walter Immigration Act permitted Japanese immigrants for the first time to become naturalized U.S. citizens and to vote, the Issei men who had dominated prewar group life were largely sidelined from community affairs. Conversely, the Nisei came of age in this period. Assuming community leadership posts, they worked to establish themselves in mainstream society, to acquire education and economic opportunity, and to win recognition of the group's civil rights. Nisei also concentrated on family life, marrying other Nisei (or, increasingly, taking non-Japanese spouses) and sharing in the nationwide baby boom.

The efforts of the Nisei, in turn, were shaped by a number of contingent factors. One was spatial. The mass movement of inmates out of the camps and the question of where and how they should resettle raised practical and ideological concerns among Japanese community leaders, as well as among those outside. Government leaders, anxious to avert potential racial violence by hostile West Coast whites, actively discouraged Japanese Americans from returning to their prewar homes. On the contrary, following the simplistic theory that the concentration of minorities in populated regions catalyzed prejudice, officials from President Roosevelt on down launched plans to disperse the inmates in small groups throughout the country in order to dissolve their distinctive ethnic characteristics and promote their integration. Many Japanese Americans and their sympathizers agreed that Issei and Nisei, once relocated outside the West Coast and its endemic anti-Japanese prejudice, would be accepted as equal citizens and become absorbed into the larger population.

While there was some regional variation, most visibly in the presence of official exclusion and discriminatory legislation in West Coast states and its absence elsewhere, in actual fact the experiences of those who returned to the West Coast and those who resettled elsewhere—whether in areas with existing Japanese communities or in those without—were not so dissimilar. All faced housing shortages, made worse by restrictive covenants and other exclusionary devices. As a result, Issei and Nisei were forced to crowd together into temporary lodgings or take substandard housing, often in or next to slum areas, where they came into broad contact with other nonwhite neighbors (a fact that would ultimately be of capital importance in fostering interracial contact and the formation of alliances). Meanwhile, resettlers nationwide were victimized by underemployment and job discrimination. Excluded from capital and bank loans to start businesses, they were forced to take jobs with requirements well below their educational level. As a result, both by choice and by necessity, Japanese communities were forced to band together to ensure necessary services and to work together for common goals.

In sum, the variations in the status of the community had less to do with the region of settlement than with the particular characteristics of the local community and the nature of the resettlers themselves. There was thus no inherent advantage for Issei and Nisei to resettling outside the West Coast, and the truth of this point was demonstrated by the steady reflux of Issei and Nisei to the West Coast, which by mid-1947 was once again home to the majority of the mainland ethnic population. (In marked contrast, Japanese Canadians were forbidden to resettle on the Pacific Coast until 1949, and few cared to return even after the ban was lifted.)

Part I of this volume centers on the questions of resettlement and dispersal. It opens with an essay, “Political Science?” that places the government's scheme to “distribute” Japanese Americans throughout the country in larger context by looking at the policy alongside President Franklin D. Roosevelt's parallel plans for mass postwar transportation and resettlement of Jews and other European ethnic minorities throughout the Western Hemisphere. The existence of such plans, and the president's establishment of the M Project, a secret team of social scientists, to facilitate it, underlines the eugenicist thinking that underlay the official actions in both cases.

A related chapter, this time covering the semiofficial realm, discusses the views of the sociologist Forrest LaViolette and his contribution to debates over resettlement and absorption. LaViolette, a rare non-Japanese scholar of Nikkei in both the United States and Canada who served as a “social analyst” at the Heart Mountain camp, is a paradox. On one hand, he bravely supported equal rights for Nisei and quietly organized assistance for resettlers. At the same time, he remained so heavily fixated on the urgent need to dismantle separate minority communities in order to foster equality that he hailed forcible dispersion of ethnic Japanese in both countries as a positive step for civil rights, and mass confinement as a providential means to that end. The following essay, “Japantown Born and Reborn,” offers a comparative study of the experience of Japanese Americans in New York and Detroit, two cities outside the West Coast where vital Japanese resettler colonies formed, with the conditions faced by those who returned to Los Angeles, the main prewar Japanese population center. It thereby tests the official theory that Issei and Nisei, once dispersed outside the West Coast, would naturally face better conditions.

Connected with the spatial question of resettlement was the issue of assimilation and its meaning. This was not only a central social and cultural question for the Nisei but a deeply poitical and indeed existential matter as well. Before the war, as John Modell and others have demonstrated, Japanese communities practiced a political and economic strategy of racial accommodation.⁶ Rather than directly challenging race-based exclusion, Japanese immigrant communities developed a segregated niche economy, centered on the agricultural and fishing sectors, in which ethnicowned businesses employed the large majority of community members. At the same time, Japanese communities maintained their closest ties with Japan, through networks of consulates, business groups, and media, while large numbers of Nisei were sent to Japanese school to learn the ancestral language and culture. A significant fraction of Nisei—as many as 25 percent of the total by some estimates—were sent back to Japan for schooling. (Because of cultural differences and their lesser fluency in English, many of the Japanese-educated Nisei, the so-called Kibei, remained at a certain distance from the American-educated majority.)

If the Nisei were made conscious of their Japanese identity, they likewise attended public schools and absorbed mainstream values and popular culture, like other young Americans. What is more, the group was splintered into various cliques and factions. The Japanese American Citizens League (JACL), the largest and most visible single group of second-generations, was composed largely of young professionals who were heavily Republican in political sympathies and assimilationist in temper. The JACL restricted its membership to U.S. citizens and stressed the Americanism of the group. Liberal and intellectual Nisei were visible in Young Democrat clubs and the vernacular press. They too trumpeted their Americanism, but favored more radical political reform and nonconformity in cultural terms, embracing jazz music and modern art and literature.

The exigencies of war and mass confinement washed away prewar alignments. First, following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, the Japanese consulates and schools shut their doors, and they remained closed long after the end of the conflict. Nisei found themselves in a kind of limbo, and in the altered and unfamiliar circumstances of wartime and postwar life, activists and intellectuals were impelled to rethink their group identity. Because attachment to Japan had become heavily stigmatized—all things Japanese were “rat poison,” in Miné Okubo's piquant phrase—the Nisei had to define themselves, and justify their collective existence, in exclusively American terms. Nisei were warned by government officials, and by each other, that they needed to manage carefully their self-presentation to avoid seeming different or threatening. Many Nisei Americanized their names and took to heart the official instructions they received to avoid other Japanese Americans and to “assimilate” to mainstream (middle-class Anglo-American) values.

Yet the old accommodationist strategy of seeking equality solely through good citizenship had evolved. Many Nisei, as they left camp and resettled outside, were inspired both by outrage over the wartime violation of their citizenship rights and by their new acquaintance with other racialized groups to perceive themselves as a minority among other minorities. Even the reconstituted JACL, though it retained its platform of Americanization, engaged in multiethnic coalition building. In an ironic turn, the wartime events not only opened mainstream media outlets to progressive Nisei, bringing them to the fore as community spokespeople, but also placed activists such as Larry Tajiri, Mary Oyama Mittwer, and Joe Grant Masaoka into positions of community influence. They advocated “assimilation” through political action in the public sphere and pressed Nisei to speak out against white supremacy, both for themselves and for other groups, as the sign of their adaptation.

A pair of pieces in Part II define some of the contours of the debate over assimilation and identity. “Birth of a Citizen” describes the evolution of Miné Okubo's 1946 graphic memoir Citizen 13660, the first and arguably most incisive study of the camp experience. The text reveals how the particul ar context of the resettlement era shaped Okubo's narrative. In the interest of ensuring continued government support for Japanese American resettlement and their social acceptance, not only did the author shy away from direct criticism of federal government policy in her text (as against her drawings) and associated publicity material, but she and her supporters collaborated with official pro-Nisei propaganda efforts.

The second piece, “The ‘New Nisei' and Identity Politics,” describes the efforts of various Nisei intellectuals to set a community agenda by calling on Nisei to “assimilate.” They not only failed to reach consensus on the meaning of such “assimilation” but offered widely varying understandings of their group identity and life. For Nisei writers Larry Tajiri and Ina Sugihara, assimilation meant participating as citizens in the public sphere in support of equal rights for all, and joining forces with other racial and ethnic minority groups—especially black Americans, who could provide an example of minority group cohesion and democratic struggle. Conversely, for the Canadian-born semanticist S. I. Hayakawa, himself a columnist for an African American newspaper and a devotee of jazz and black culture, assimilation meant above all acting like other Americans, eschewing all ethnic particularism, and consciously downplaying racial difference by organizing political action on an integrated basis. Thus, despite his genuine interest in promoting African Americans and his support for Japanese American relief and resettlement efforts, Hayakawa denounced the existence of separate Nisei social groups as a needless crutch.

Yet even when Nisei wished to expand beyond their own group, finding common ground with most other minorities proved an uncertain task. Despite their common history of prejudice, their coming together was by no means a straightforward or untroubled process. Part III details in particular the shifting relations of West Coast Japanese communities with their Mexican American and Jewish counterparts: their prewar background, the impact of war and incarceration on their attitudes, and their connections in the postwar years. In both cases, the evidence vividly demonstrates that if solidarity among victims of discrimination is possible, it is neither automatic nor easy to maintain. In the interaction between Japanese Americans and Mexican Americans, the social and economic strains that dominated prewar relations between the two groups on the West Coast were exacerbated by the war. Even as the Mexican government displaced its own ethnic Japanese population, the most visible representatives and media of Southern California's Mexican communities supported mass removal—in contradistinction to the position taken by representatives of the very same media chain outside the West Coast. Even the two groups' common efforts against educational segregation in the postwar years were limited by their opposing views on race and culture. Mexican American elites agreed that they had a separate group culture, based on the Spanish language, but hotly denied any racial or biological difference from whites. Japanese Americans, conversely, considered themselves a nonwhite racial group, but rejected any suggestion that they were culturally or religiously distinct. This disagreement limited the field of common action.

Meanwhile, “From Kuichi to Comrades,” which explores Japanese American views of Jews, demonstrates how slow and painful the development of empathy can be. Jews and Buddhists formed the nation's two largest non-Christian religious populations, while the Jewish and Japanese ethnic communities shared numerous cultural similarities, including a common emphasis on education and entrepreneurship. Yet, despite lasting friendships among individuals, Japanese Americans and Jews largely failed to achieve lasting rapport on a group basis in the first half of the twentieth century. Instead, the two were competitors and freres ennemis of a sort: businessmen, scholars, and others from each group seemed to express envy and rivalry as much as amity for those of the other. Indeed, members of prewar West Coast Japanese communities—in an ironic reflection of their success in absorbing mainstream cultural values—gave voice to a nasty streak of anti-Semitism, and one that was quite open in comparison to their recorded opinion of other minority groups. Nisei began to change their views over time, especially as they resettled outside the West Coast, yet the two groups did not form the same community of interest with each other that both, in their different ways, managed to achieve with African American groups.

The last part of the book, in turn, is devoted to exploring various aspects of the historically consequential and complex matter of relations between Japanese Americans and African Americans. Whereas the two groups had little contact overall before the war, the spatial and socioeconomic convergence between the two groups caused by the involuntary migration of Japanese Americans, followed by the voluntary migration of African Americans and resettlement of Issei and Nisei from the camps, laid the foundation for an entente between members of the two groups. Meanwhile, the wartime confinement of Issei and Nisei caused a disproportionate number of African American thinkers and activists to draw parallels between the condition of Japanese Americans and their own treatment, and to speak out in favor of equal rights. Such expressions of solidarity by blacks (who were placed in the unaccustomed position of supporters rather than beneficiaries of support) deeply touched Nisei activists and ushered in a series of collaborations between members of the two groups in different fields. Part IV forms a prequel in a certain sense, in that it deals with the wartime period and the special circumstances that led to intergroup alliances between blacks and Nisei. A first piece, “African American Responses to the Wartime Confinement of Japanese Americans,” presents an overview of African American dissent to Executive Order 9066, outlining in the process some directions for further study. Meanwhile, “The Los Angeles Defender” (a play on the title of Chicago's African American newspaper) uncovers the outstanding, unsung efforts of Hugh E. Macbeth, a maverick Los Angeles attorney who devoted himself to defending Japanese Americans amid wartime hysteria. Macbeth's crusade combined abstract feelings of democratic principle with his personal regard for Nisei friends. Meanwhile, a short essay, “Crusaders in Gotham,” traces the ways in which Japanese Americans began to respond to the sympathy and support offered by their black colleagues. What it also demonstrates is that, in spite of the goodwill between the two groups, the path to collaboration was not easy, and it suggests that a balance of social power between the two played into the success or failure of coalitions.

The two essays in Part V, taking off from the preceding part, deal with the postwar relations between Japanese Americans and African Americans, through the lens of both groups' participation in legal and political struggles for civil rights. For politics, arguably more than ideology, played a central role in the attitude of the Nisei. In Hawaii, Japanese Americans represented a significant fraction of the population and threw themselves into electoral politics following the end of the war. (As a result of Democratic Party electoral coalitions with liberals and labor unionists brokered by war veterans such as Daniel Inouye, Hawaii achieved statehood and Nisei were elected to both houses of Congress by 1962.) Mainland Japanese Americans, conversely, long lacked the voter base and political clout to seek elected office. Instead, organizations such as the JACL were forced to pursue reform goals through lobbying efforts and lawsuits.

Nisei leaders quickly realized that interracial coalition with the NAACP and other ethnic and racial minority organizations was not only morally admirable but politically wise, since as a small and powerless ethnic group Japanese Americans had little chance to realize their objectives alone. Under the influence of national secretary Mike Masaoka and his brother Joe Grant Masaoka, boss of the West Coast office, the JACL not only formed an Anti-Discrimination Committee in 1946 to press civil rights lawsuits on behalf of diverse racial groups but in 1950 became a founding member of the lobbying and information group Leadership Conference on Civil Rights, among whose members it was the only nonblack racial minority association. The coalition strategy was a success: with support from their partners, the Nisei activists not only succeeded in erasing official discrimination against Japanese aliens but simultaneously played a small though vital role in legal challenges to segregation. “From Korematsu to Brown” draws the connection between the postwar Japanese American cases, notably the 1948 Supreme Court decision Oyama v. California, and the epochal 1954 Supreme Court ruling Brown v. Board of Education.

Yet the entente between the groups never became solidly established, and soon began to peter out. In part, the intergroup coalition was a victim of its own success—within three years after the closing of the camps, the Supreme Court neutralized anti-Asian alien land laws, struck down anti-Asian fishing laws as unconstitutional, and stripped restrictive covenants of enforcement power. Japanese Americans achieved further legislative victories on their own. In 1948, the JACL secured evacuation claims legislation, providing modest reimbursement for actual losses suffered during the war.⁷ Four years later, the McCarran-Walter Act opened US. citizenship for the first time to Japanese immigrants. These victories reinforced an already developing tendency among Japanese Americans to use self-help and accommodationist strategies to overcome discrimination, even as McCarthyism played a palpable role in their retreat from political activism.⁸ Yet the splintering of the fragile black-Nisei entente also reflected the lack of solid understanding between the larger populations of the two groups, and the reality of ethnic bias that remained inside the Japanese community. “An Uneasy Alliance” is a study of the rise and decline of the alliance between Nisei and blacks. In the aftermath of Brown and into the 1960s, even as Nisei achieved greater social acceptance, they revealed increasing ambivalence about interracial alliances. Their hesitation broke out into internal conflict within the JACL and Nisei communities in 1963–64, in the heyday of the mass civil rights movements by African Americans.

I conclude this introduction with a heartfelt, though most inadequate, expression of gratitude to all those who made the book possible. Recently a student of mine, on reading through an acknowledgments section, asked with wonder in his voice whether an author really needed to rely on so many people in order to do a book; my answer is emphatically yes. However, in the present volume the space for such listings is limited. Therefore, since this work is in many respects a continuation of my earlier books By Order of the President and A Tragedy of Democracy, I offer a double helping of thanks to those named (and unnamed) therein, and then add a shorter list of new benefactors.

First, I appreciate greatly the institutional support I have received. A sizable portion of my research is drawn from a project on civil rights and postwar connections between Nisei and blacks that was financed by grants from the Social Science and Humanities Council of Canada, the Fonds Québécois de la Recherche sur la Société et Culture, and the American Council for Learned Societies. The Huntington Library's fellowship program and able staff made possible my research on postwar Los Angeles. The Gerald Ford Presidential Library provided support for useful research there. At Université du Québec a Montréal I received a six-month sabbatical plus a semester of research leave. I am grateful to some talented students who have done research or data entry on this project: Sébastien Bernard, Mathieu Durand, Christopher Plante, Christian Roy, and Maxime Wingender. I received support from some dedicated scholar-activists in Montreal: Dolores Chew, Frédérick Gagnon, Louis Godbout, Junichiro Koji, Paul May, Bruno Ramirez, Dolores Sandoval, Robert Schwartzwald, Shelley Tepperman and Vadney Haynes, Don Watanabe, and Dorothy Williams.

Portions of this book began life as commissioned pieces, and I thank Elena Tajima Creef, Brian Komei Dempster, Ellen Eisenberg, Nicholas De Genova, Scott Kurashige, Russell Leong, Eric Muller, Jacques Portes, Ron Richardson, and Daniel Sabbagh for setting me working—even if sometimes the original publication fell through. Niels Hooper of UC Press wins my gratitude for letting me put it all together, and for his excitement about the project.

Among the friends, witnesses, and fellow scholars who invited me to present my research to audiences, granted interviews, or shared information, I wish to recognize particularly Konomi Ara, Taunya Lovell Banks, Jane Beckwith, Ben Carton, Robert Chang, Theo Chino, Margaret Chon, Frank Chuman, Michi De Sola, Emory Elliott, Mark Elliott, Frank Emi, Peter Eisenstadt, Kathy Ferguson, Shelley Fisher Fishkin, Robert Frase, Max Friedman, Ben Hamamoto, Gerald Haslam, Alan Hayakawa, Wynne Hayakawa, Robert Hayashi, Ike Hatchimonji, Lane Ryo Hirabayashi, William Hohri, Lei Hong, Kazu Iijima, Ernest and Chizu Iiyama, Tamio IkedaSpiegel and Julie Azuma, Jerry Kang, Tetsuden Kashima, Nori Komorita, Lon Kurashige, Yosh and Irene Kuromiya, Emory and Ayleen Ito Lee, Cherstin Lyon, Hugh Macbeth Jr., Daryl Maeda, John M. Maki, John M. Maki Jr., Greg Marutani, Marie Masumoto, Valerie Matsumoto, Yanek Mieczkowski, Dale Minami, John Mirikitani, Frank Miyamoto, Gerri Miyazaki, Marge and Aki Morimoto, Andrew Morris, Hiroshi Motomura, Philip Tajitsu Nash, Setsuko M. Nishi, Franklin Odo, Gene Oishi, Paul Okimoto, Chizu Omori, Peggy L. Powell, Cyril Powles, Toru Saito, Yasuo and Lily Sasaki, Naoko Shibusawa, Cedrick Shimo, Amy K. Stillman, Ina Sugihara Jones, Lewis Suzuki, Guyo Tajiri, Yoshiko Tajiri, Paul Takagi, Barbara Takei, Jim and Yoshie Tanabe, Russ Tremayne, Andrew Wertheimer, Duncan R. Williams, Paul Yamada, Eric Yamamoto, Hisaye Yamamoto, Traise Yamamoto, and Marian Yoshiki Kovinick.

Kenji Taguma, editor of the Nichi Bei Times (now Nichi Bei Weekly), hired me in 2007 to serve as columnist for that historic journal. In the process my work has reached an entirely new audience and I have been able to form enduring bonds with readers and community members. I have benefited in countless ways from Kenji's warm friendship and kindness. Both Kenji and J. K. Yamamoto of the now-defunct Hokubei Mainichi generously permitted me access to their respective journals' back files. DENSHO, led by the magnificent Tom Ikeda, has been an exceptional force in preserving Japanese American memory, and its online archives are a primary source of material. The staff at the Japanese American National Museum have been exceedingly friendly and helpful.

Numerous kindly relatives and friends provided logistical (as well as moral) support and/or put me up during research trips: Janet Baba, Judy Baker, Ken Feinour and Shin Yamamoto, Ed Robinson and Ellen Fine, Sheila Hamanaka, Craig Howes, Kwong-Liem Karl Kwan, Christopher Legge, Michael Massing, Martha Nakagawa, Heng Gun Ngo, Paul Okimoto, Chizu Omori, Neal Plotkin and Deborah Malamud, Rick and Maki Pakola, Sydelle Postman, Katherine Quittner, Jaime Restrepo, Ian Robinson, Jocelyn Robinson, the late Lillian Robinson, Tracy Robinson, Mitziko Sawada, Rob and Louisa Snyder, Bruce and Sondra Stave, Frank Wu and Carol Izumi, Terry Yoshikawa, and Fidel Zavala and Mark Williams.

In addition to assisting with document research, Thanapat Porjit has brought sunshine into my life.

Finally, this book would not have been possible without the contributions of my beloved mother, the late Toni Robinson. In 1998, after retiring for health reasons from her law practice, in which I had worked as her legal assistant, Toni grew absorbed in my evolving research on Nisei, interminority relations, and civil rights, and eagerly read through the material I uncovered. Intrigued by her insights, I invited her to collaborate with me. She accepted on condition that our blood relationship not be publicly identified, as she did not wish to seem a scholarly interloper. We started writing together, presented as a team at academic conferences, and completed a pair of law journal articles together. In July 2002, shortly before Toni left on a vacation trip to Europe, we finished revising one of these articles for publication, and we discussed expanding the other one into a book once she returned. Sadly, Toni collapsed during the trip and died a few weeks later. The two works subsequently appeared in print and remain my most-cited articles. While I have done considerable work on my own in more recent years, this collection represents in a larger sense the book we did not get to write together; not only do its contents incorporate our two joint pieces, but the rest is equally inspired by our discussions and by Toni's generous, lively spirit.