My name is David Maeda. In January, I was given the dream opportunity of being appointed Minnesota’s director of elections by Secretary of State Steve Simon. I’ve been involved with election administration at the county and city level off and on for the past 23 years. In a way this is what I’ve been working toward my entire career. I’m proud to be the first Asian American to serve as the state’s Director of Elections. The job comes with such a humbling amount of responsibility. I’ll touch on why I feel it’s such an important milestone a bit later on.
I began my government career many years ago when I was hired as a clerk typist 1 job with the Secretary of State’s office. As you probably know that is an entry level job. I had taken a typing test and that led to an interview. I didn’t get the first job I interviewed for but did well enough to get another interview for another open clerk typist 1 position. To come back to the same organization at a much higher level feels like completing my career circle. It feels a little like coming home.
It’s great to have this honor to speak to you today as we celebrate another Asian Pacific Islander Heritage Month. I’ve been given an hour to talk to you today. That’s a lifetime of speaking for me. I’m known as the quiet one both professionally and personally. It’s rare I’ll say much if anything at all at family events. This past winter I had the privilege of being the emcee at the Council on Asian Pacific Minnesotans’ Day at the Capitol rally in the rotunda. My niece brought her three year old daughter to the event. My job was to introduce the speakers at the rally. So when one person was finished I got on stage to do a short introduction of the next person. On the drive home, my great niece Imogene asked her mother, “Why does Uncle David talk so much?” That’s literally the only time anyone has ever said that about me.
A little history about how API Heritage Month came to be. It actually began as API Heritage Week and was established back in 1978 with the passage of a congressional resolution. Twelve years later Congress expanded the observance from a week to a month. In 1992 another resolution was passed designating May as the month to celebrate API Month. May was chosen because the very first Japanese immigrants arrived in the United States on May 7, 1843. Also, the transcontinental railroad was completed on May 10, 1869. The majority of workers who laid the tracks were Chinese.
I have served on the Council on Asian Pacific Minnesotans since 2014. I’ve been the board chair for the past three years. The council is a state agency charged with being the bridge between our communities and state government, both the legislature and the governor. We are one of three state ethnic councils along with the Council for Minnesotans of African Heritage and the Minnesota Council on Latino Affairs. My work on the council has been incredibly rewarding. Hafiz Munir, who works for your department also serves on our council and has really been a great advocate for his community. I have really been impressed with his insights.
Minnesota is the home to over 316,000 Asian Pacific Minnesotans. By far, the Hmong are our largest community followed by the Asian Indian, Chinese and Vietnamese communities. Ours is the fastest growing minority community and the most diverse. Our state is the home to people from over 45 different Asian countries.
Minnesota’s Asian Pacific community has changed over the years due to many variables, the most obvious being the makeup of the community. Prior to the late 1970’s, Asian Pacific Minnesotans consisted of mainly those who came for educational degrees and work opportunities. After 1975, Minnesota experienced an influx of Southeast Asian refugee groups – the Hmong, Vietnamese, Lao, and Cambodians. Between 2000 and 2010, Minnesota saw a dramatic increase in its Asian Indian community because people came from India seeking opportunities in the tech and science sectors.
I grew up in Roseville, one of two Asian Americans in my grade school class. The other was also Japanese American, Sally Murakami. Our classmates just assumed the two of us would get married. By the time Sally and I reached high school we had a few Vietnamese classmates too. Someone told me not too long ago that the Roseville School District now has over 50 percent of its students being students of color.
Growing up in such a white community, I always felt separate from my classmates. Sally and I looked different from our white classmates and I always sensed, knew this difference was significant. At some point I matured enough to see that it wasn’t a weakness feeling I was always going to be different from my classmates just because of my race. In a way it was a blessing to feel the freedom that comes from being different and not needing to find a way to try and differentiate myself, I could just be me. I’m sure there are many in this room that have faced this interesting duality.
My favorite song as a kid was Sammy Davis Jr.’s “I’ve Gotta Be Me.” Many of you in this room are too young to know who Sammy was but I would regale my family with my version of his song... “
Whether I’m right, or whether I’m wrong/Whether I find my place in this world or never belong/I’ve gotta be me...”
I’ve been to Japan once in my life. I visited there in 1998. My most vivid memory of my trip was standing in the busiest subway station in downtown Tokyo during rush hour with waves of people rushing all around me. Usually being in that type of environment would cause anxiety within me so it was weird to feel so calm. And reflecting up on it I realized the reason why: for the first time in my life I really felt like I blended in with those around me. I truly was different being an American among the Japanese, but it wasn’t evident just by appearances. I had never experienced that before. Looking the same as everyone else made it easier to judge how I fit in. I was a bit taller than many. I had wavy hair where most of the people I saw had straight hair.
I moved out of my parents’ house for good when I graduated from Macalester College. I was 23. My parents bought the house when my mom was pregnant with me. They thought they needed a bigger house when I joined my four siblings.
I was almost born at a Chinese restaurant. On their way home from somewhere, my mom went into labor so dad called the doctor to determine how much time they had. The doctor apparently told my parents they had time to stop at home first. Mom and Dad decided to pick up dinner for my siblings at a Chinese restaurant at the corner of Snelling and Larpenteur Avenues in Roseville, about ten minutes from their new house. While ordering, mom told dad that he had better get her to the hospital. He did and I was born a short time later. There’s a joke about Chinese food delivery somewhere in that story but I’m haven’t figured that out yet.
After graduating from Macalester College, I bounced from apartment to apartment, I bought my own house when my career finally seemed to be on track. It seemed like a good investment not to be throwing away rent money every month but instead to be paying down a mortgage.
My own house is a few minutes away from that corner of Snelling and Larpenteur. After I moved in, and after my mom passed away in 1999, I made it a point to celebrate my birthday at Chins’ Kitchen until they closed down.
I saw a lot of pride in my parents’ eyes when I told them I was buying a house. They knew how much I struggled after college and I think for them the American Dream milestone of being able to afford a house meant I had found my way. I think I frustrated my realtor because I had expected to finally walk into one of the places we looked at and feeling this was my new home. None of the many places we looked at caused me to feel that way. I ended up buying a house because I liked the location. I remember before I closed on the house I was allowed to go in and remove the carpeting because I planned on having the hardwood floors sanded. My mom joined me in the arduous task of using needle nose pliers to remove the carpet staples. This strange house didn’t feel like home to me but I pictured the possibility of owning something I could make my own.
I now have 23 years’ worth of great memories in my own house meaning I have now lived as long in my own house as I did in my parents house.. Hitting this mystical milestone has made me philosophical about the concept of what “home” really is.
There’s the obvious answer of home being the place you feel safe and secure and are currently returning to every night. But home can be about nostalgia. It can be about those vivid memories of a time of true happiness.
My late father had to sell our family house when his Alzheimer’s/Dementia forced a move to an assisted living facility. That was over five years ago and it still seems really strange that there is someone else living in our house and I just can’t go waltzing into what was my home for so many years. There are so many vivid memories that happened in that house, times that established my personal foundation.
Growing up, I fell in love with the game of baseball. That’s all my brother and I played summer day after summer day. We literally wore out the grass in our backyard into base paths, a pitching mound and a batter’s box. In order to talk with me my sisters had to learn about baseball. Remarking about how many baseball statistics I had memorized my sister Donna once said if I had only devoted my attention to something important, I could have really made something of myself. There’s something very comforting in the ultimate goal in baseball: in order to score you have to go home.
I never asked dad what he thought was his true home. Dad grew up with his parents and his sister Jane and new born brother Larry, in Seattle, Washington. Dad often spoke fondly of Seattle, and we took a couple of family vacations there when I was young. Dad proudly showed us where he grew up.
On December 7, 1941, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. On February 19, 1942, President Franklin Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 that authorized the Army to evacuate any persons they considered a threat to national security. As a result, over 120,000 Japanese people were forced to relocate to one of ten different internment camps around the United States. Dad’s family was among the 120,000 Japanese Americans that were incarcerated by the American government. Dad’s family ended up in Minidoka located in Hunt, Idaho.
Growing up, my dad seldom spoke about this time in Minidoka. He was 18 years old and he said many of his friends were in the internment camp as well. He was on the coal crew that would deliver coal to the many barracks. Dad had a lifelong love of driving so getting to drive the truck was one of the memories he spoke about.
The other was also driving related. Right before Pearl Harbor was attacked, Dad bought his first car. When his family was ordered to the internment camp, Dad had to give up his car to his white friend. His friend would visit Dad at the internment camp but would have to park the car, Dad’s car, outside the barbed wire fence. Dad said it was really hard seeing his car parked where he was not allowed to go.
My dad’s family left the Minidoka when World War II was coming to an end. They ended up in Minnesota because Dad’s sister, Jane got a scholarship from Hamline University. Both Hamline and Macalester College were very progressive and welcoming in extending scholarship offers to Japanese Americans.
In 1980, Congress established a commission to investigate the legacy of the Japanese American concentration camps. After extensive interviews and personal testimonies from victims, the commission issued its final report, calling the incarceration a "grave injustice" motivated by "racial prejudice, war hysteria and the failure of political leadership." In 1988 Congress approved reparations to the Japanese Americans who had been incarcerated along with an official apology. My dad, along with others in the community received a check for $20,000.
There’s a poetic ending to this story. Dad used his check to buy a brand new Honda Accord. I’m guessing it was a much better car than the one his friend parked outside the barbed wire fence.
Another significant thing about my family’s story is my dad lived through a nightmare of having a government and country who didn’t see him as a true American and deemed it in the national interest to take away his freedom. It’s obviously a significant step forward that his youngest son, is now in a position, as the Election Director, a job that is responsible for ensuring and protecting one of our democracy’s most important rights, the right to vote. I know both Dad and Mom would be impressed that their son got an important enough job that was reported by the Star Tribune.
Here’s the reason this is a special API Heritage Month. Last November five members of our Hmong community were elected to the Minnesota House of Representatives. They joined Sen. Foung Hawj for a record number of Asian Americans serving in our Legislature. This is a true example of how our state is moving forward.
We also have a record number of Asian Americans serving as judges in our court system.
Still, when we think about our current events there is no doubt we still have a long way to go. If you have the time I would highly encourage you to read the book, “The History of Asian America” by the Minnesota author, Erika Lee. It really is a good history of how those from different countries ended up in America. There are a lot of common experiences, those who are new to this country have always faced so many challenges in being accepted. But there are always differences. Serving on the Council on Asian Pacific Minnesotans has shown me that there are huge differences in the immigrant experience and the refugee experience. The most interesting thing I learned from Lee’s book centered around the Chinese exclusion law that eventually led to the exclusion of all Asian immigrants to our country in 1924. Because the Chinese and Japanese could not enter this country legally they eventually began to enter the country “illegally” across the Mexican and Canadian borders. Asians were literally the first “illegal immigrants” in our country. The attempts of the government to secure the borders way back in the early 1900’s is eerily similar to today’s news.
There is a common human need to find a safe and secure place to raise your family. We all want that. We all want a place that feels like home. Often, where we come from is less important than where we are going.
The most eye opening and heartbreaking thing I’ve learned as the Chair of the Council on Asian Pacific Minnesotans has come from hearing from members our our newest refugee communities many who can never return to their home countries because of war, oppression, and political circumstances. I’ve spoken with parents in their 30’s and 40’s who know they have little chance of succeeding in their new country due to the language and cultural differences. What they have told me is all they want is a better life for their children. Again the concept of “home” takes on so many different meanings depending on your life experience.
Thinking of my Dad, I think his true home was his love of cars. To him his car represented freedom. Freedom to go anywhere he pleased. One of the great things about my new job is every year Secretary Simon tries to visit all 87 counties in the state and this year he has included me in many of these visits. It has been inspiring to see different parts of our state. And it has somehow made me feel closer to late parents, who spent many weekends just driving around Minnesota and seeing different sites. It was what Dad and Mom loved to do. For the first time, I really understand that love.
For me personally, I don’t think I consider my true home either the house I grew up in or the house I now live in. Looking at the many different phases of my life, it is music that has often been my true home. Great songs mix thoughts, feelings, memories, hope and inspiration all together in a magical way. A song can transport me to another time and another place. Music is my lexicon, my inspiration and my comfort. It is my true home.
One of my favorite contemporary songwriters is Josh Ritter, a folk rock singer. He recently came out with a new album that has one extraordinary song called “All Some Kind of Dream.” In the best American folk tradition, the song is an incredibly astute commentary on our current times, specifically about how there are those vilifying all immigrants, refugees, and asylum seekers. Ritter sings:
I saw my country in the hungry eyes
Of a million refugees
Between the rocks and the rising tide
As they were tossed across the sea
There was a time when we were them
Just as now they are we
Was there an hour when we took them in?
Or was it all some kind of dream?
It’s a great song.
I’ll finish with this. I am so proud to be speaking to you today because it shows how far Minnesota has come during my career in government. You are all to be commended for your finding your way to a career in public service. I’m convinced there is no greater calling. It’s not always easy with the demands of our customers and the expectation of taxpayer dollars paying our salaries. I really respect that MnDOT takes diversifying its workforce so seriously. Hopefully you feel a sense of home from your work and career accomplishments. There’s a great quote from the British writer, Pico Iyer, that finally made me realize the true meaning of “home.”
“Home is not the place you are born, it’s the place you become yourself.”
