America was once invaded. But nobody cared to remember.
June 7, 1942: Japanese forces invaded Attu, Alaska, which led to the second deadliest and the only land battle fought on U.S. soil during WWII.
On June 7, 1942, Japanese forces landed on the remote Aleutian island of Attu, part of the U.S. territory of Alaska. This marked the only land battle of World War II fought on American soil. And yet, it remains one of the least remembered.
The battle would last nearly three weeks. Close to 4,000 people would die — most of them Japanese soldiers, but nearly 550 American troops as well. It was the second bloodiest battle in the Pacific theater, surpassed only by Iwo Jima. But unlike Iwo Jima, Attu never made it into the national memory.
Maybe because it was so far away. Maybe because the people involved didn’t look “American” enough.
Before the battle, Attu was home to a small community of 42 Aleut villagers — American citizens living on American soil. They were captured and taken by the Japanese to Otaru, Hokkaido, as prisoners of war. Nearly half of them died in captivity. Their story, like the battle itself, is rarely told.
Also missing from most textbooks: the critical role Japanese Americans played in reclaiming Attu.
While more than 100,000 Japanese Americans were being incarcerated by their own country, many volunteered for the Military Intelligence Service (MIS). Fluent in Japanese and loyal to the U.S., they were deployed to the frontlines of the Pacific war, including the frozen battlegrounds of the Aleutians.
At Attu, these Nisei soldiers translated captured documents, interrogated prisoners, and in some cases, crawled into dark caves to persuade Japanese soldiers to surrender. Their efforts saved lives. Their bravery helped shift the tide of the war. And their sacrifice was made while their families remained behind barbed wire.
The story of Attu is complex.
It is a story of invasion, but also of erasure.
It is a story of American loss, but also of American indifference.
And it is a story that reminds us who gets remembered — and who gets forgotten — when we write history.