On this day in 1970, a spontaneous uprising against U.S. military occupation broke out in Koza, Okinawa, Japan after an American drunk driver struck a local pedestrian. Approximately 60 Americans and 27 Okinawans were injured, and dozens of cars with American license plates were torched.
Following Japan’s defeat in World War II, the country was occupied by Allied forces and governed under martial law. While most of Japan regained its independence in April 1952, the Okinawa Prefecture was to remain under U.S. military occupation for another twenty years.
Prior to the events of December 20th, three Americans had been acquitted via court martial after striking and killing an Okinawa civilian. This incident fueled the growing discontent of Okinawans with the standard status of forces that exempted U.S. servicemen from Okinawan justice.
On December 20th, 1970, a drunk U.S. serviceman struck an Okinawan pedestrian in the city of Koza. A crowd quickly surrounded the car and the policemen who had arrived, demanding that this incident not also be swept under the rug.
When American MPs arrived and attempted to pull the driver away, the protest turned violent, with thousands gathering to try to prevent the driver from leaving. By the end of the night, dozens of cars with American license plates had been torched and approximately 60 Americans and 27 Okinawans had been injured.
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I can’t remember if I’ve brought it up before now, but guys, my father died earlier this year, and I’m still having a hard time dealing with it. I feel like such shit about the way that I cared for him in the end. He didn’t have anybody else but me, and I feel like I was so inadequate. He was a mean old son of a bitch who did a tour during Vietnam and impregnated an 18 year old girl at age 59. He wasn’t a good man, and as much as old habits want me to say that I’m being dramatic when I tell you this, I don’t think it’s unfair to say that he emotionally and psychologically abused me for years. But he held me and loved me and drove me to school, took me to museums and helped me learn to read and to drive and to conduct myself in life. His retirement pay certainly helped me out of a few jams as well, I’m not too proud to admit that. He was my rock in a lot of ways, as much as he was a burden on me emotionally. Damn me, but I don’t blame him for any of it, and I just start weeping any time I dedicate more than a moment’s thought to the situation. I already lost my mom when I was 16, and now I’ve lost him too, and I’m not even out of my twenties. The whole thing just makes me deeply sad.
You all aren’t my therapists, and I don’t expect sympathy, or even a response, I’m just drunk and emotional and needed to get that off my chest, and I thank you profusely for allowing me to do that.
Losing both your parents at a young age is really tough, especially if one of them wasn’t that great to begin with. Thanks for sharing though, sending digital love.
I’m a little embarassed about it honestly, I really was quite drunk when I wrote that. But, in vino veritas and all that. I did love the old prick, despite everything.
I appreciate when people share their feelings on here, makes me feel better about sharing mine.
Handy that, seeing as I’m apparently too good at it lol
I’m sorry, man. The world changes when you lose family. Trying to figure out who they were, and who they were to you, when they’re not present anymore to ask and to talk with, is a very heavy thing. I wish I had some solid advice or something cool to say, but all I’ve got is that I’m sorry your dad passed, and I hope your memories of him will be a comfort in your life.
Ah, don’t feel bad about that, what advice can someone even give to a person in this situation? I’ve been through this twice now, and I still feel like I wouldn’t know the right thing to say to somebody experiencing loss. At any rate, you hit the nail on the head. I’ve spent a lot of time reevaluating who my parents were, what my life with them was like. Not having them here to talk to makes that difficult, yet at the same time their absence affords me a certain clarity that I find difficult to explain.
It’s such a difficult thing to process a parent that both abused you and did good things for you. My Dad is still here, but I have a similar dynamic as what you described. I did at one point write and then later gave him a letter describing my experience of his abuse. Both actions felt good, but I’d say just writing it and not sending it was 90% of the catharsis, so it may be worth doing for your benefit even after he’s gone.
Anyway, thanks for sharing and I hope you feel better soon.
I think I might do that. Might even be the start of the journal I keep telling myself I’m going to write. I wish you well with your own father, I understand only too well what you’re going through.