They Couldn’t Bury the War Hero, Because He Wasn’t White
August 27, 1944: Staff Sergeant Kazuo Masuda of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team was killed by enemy fire near the Arno River in Italy. He was only 25.
Masuda’s heroism as a member of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team was unquestionable. In early July, during fierce fighting near the town of Pastina, Italy, his observation post came under relentless German attack. Crawling 200 yards under fire, he secured a mortar tube and twenty rounds of ammunition. Using his dirt-filled helmet as a base, he fought back for twelve straight hours, turning back two German counteroffensives and inflicting heavy casualties.
Later, near the Arno, he stayed behind to cover his men’s retreat, sacrificing himself so they could live.
Masuda’s family had already endured years of injustice. Kazuo’s parents and siblings were incarcerated first at Jerome War Relocation Center in Arkansas, then at Gila River in Arizona, part of the more than 120,000 Japanese Americans forced from their homes during the war.
Despite that, Kazuo and three of his brothers volunteered to serve.
A Ceremony Meant to Change Minds
In early 1945, Kazuo’s sister Mary left Gila River to check on the family farm ahead of the rest of the family’s return. In May, she reported being approached by a group of men who threatened her with “bodily harm” unless she left the county. Even after the Masudas had sent four sons to fight for America, one of whom had given his life, they were still treated as “the enemy” by many of their neighbors. It was one of dozens of similar incidents facing Japanese American families returning to the West Coast that year.
Faced with mounting hostility toward returning families, the War Department and War Relocation Authority saw an opportunity in Masuda’s story: a decorated soldier whose family sat in a camp while he fought and died for the country that imprisoned them. In December 1945, General Joseph Stilwell flew from Washington to the Masuda family farmhouse in Fountain Valley to personally pin Kazuo’s Distinguished Service Cross on his sister, Mary. Newsreel cameras rolled as Stilwell praised Kazuo’s sacrifice.
Buried at Last
At a rally following the ceremony, a young Army captain named Ronald Reagan spoke:
“Blood that has soaked into the sands of a beach is all of one color. America stands unique in the world, the only country not founded on race, but on a way, an ideal.”
It was meant to shift public opinion. It didn’t shift fast enough.
Kazuo Masuda’s body wasn’t brought home until 1948, four years after his death. When it finally arrived in Orange County for burial, the manager of Westminster Memorial Park refused. The cemetery was racially restricted, and Masuda wasn’t white.
The decision sparked public outrage. Under pressure, the cemetery reversed course. Masuda was laid to rest with full military honors: funeral services at Wintersburg Japanese Church, a procession down Beach Boulevard, and a 21-gun salute fired by Marines from El Toro Marine Corps Air Station.
A Story That Refused to Be Forgotten
Decades later, Reagan signed the Civil Liberties Act of 1988, granting a formal apology and reparations to Japanese Americans who had been unjustly incarcerated. In his signing remarks, he recalled the farmhouse ceremony and the young actor who had spoken that day:
“The name of that young actor, I hope I pronounce this right, was Ronald Reagan.”
Historians Mitchell Maki, Harry Kitano, and S. Megan Berthold later wrote that the use of Kazuo Masuda’s story accomplished a great deal. It humanized the injustice, showing that even a decorated war hero could be denied dignity at home, and helped build the moral momentum that led to redress.
Kazuo Masuda died fighting for a country that, for years, wouldn’t even let him rest in its ground. The men who finally buried him made sure that changed.