Okubo, Mine

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Mine Okubo

Excerpt from Citizen 13660

Written and illustrated by Mine Okubo

Published in 1946

Following the surprise Japanese attack on the U.S. military shipyards and airfields at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, resulting in the U.S. entry into World War II, fears ran high in the United States that the Japanese would attempt an attack on the western U.S. mainland. Americans were convinced there were spies within the Japanese American communities. About 127,000 Japanese Americans lived in the United States, the majority on the West Coast—93,000 in California and 19,000 in Oregon and Washington.

FBI agents moved through Japanese communities within hours of the Pearl Harbor attack and arrested prominent leaders. The cause for arrest was nothing more than the possibility that these citizens of Japanese descent maintained sympathy with Japan. Japanese banks were closed, accounts frozen (could not withdraw the money), and homes searched for any item, such as short-wave radios, that could be used to send signals to Japanese ships should they come to the U.S. west coastline. The situation in 1941 was much like the situation following the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, when the U.S. government took similar actions against Arab Americans.

"The woman in charge asked me many questions and filled in several printed forms as I answered. As a result of the interview, my family name was reduced to No. 13660. I was given several tags bearing the family number…."

U.S. president Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882–1945; served 1933–45), under heavy pressure from politicians, the military, and public, issued Executive Order 9066 on February 19, 1942. The order required removal of all persons of Japanese ancestry from California, Washington, Oregon, and Arizona to staging or gathering areas for transportation to assembly centers. The government quickly established assembly centers at fairgrounds, racetracks, and stockyards.

Japanese Americans were given only a few weeks to take care of business including selling houses, stores, and cars, and packing only what they could carry. Pets and other valuables too big to carry had to be left behind if provisions for them had not been made. Mine Okubo (1912–2001), who held bachelor's and master's degrees in fine arts from the University of California at Berkeley, and her brother were caught up in the internment process. They were given family unit number 13660, which became the name of Okubo's book. They were taken to Tanforan race track in California, where they lived in a stable until moved to an internment camp in central Utah called Topaz. The following excerpt from Citizen 13660 describes the shock of evacuation to an assembly center and what they found when they arrived.

Things to remember while reading excerpts from Citizen 13660:

About 70 percent of Japanese Americans were U.S. citizens, having been born in the United States.
In all, there were ten hastily constructed internment camps in remote areas: two in California, two in Arizona, two in Arkansas, and one each in Utah, Wyoming, Colorado, and Idaho. These heavily guarded camps were home to about 110,000 Japanese Americans for two to three years during World War II.
Prejudice against Asian Americans, overwhelmingly of Japanese and Chinese ancestry, was long-standing since the mid-nineteenth century when they began arriving in the United States. Laws, solely based on ethnicity, restricted Japanese and Chinese immigration, landownership, and U.S. citizenship.

Excerpt from Citizen 13660

I had a good home and many friends. Everything was going along fine.
Then on December 7, 1941, while my brother and I were having late breakfast I turned on the radio and heard the flash—"Pearl Harbor bombed by the Japanese!"Wewere shocked. We wondered what this would mean to us and the other people of Japanese descent in the United States.
Our fears came true with the declaration of war against Japan. Radios started blasting, newspapers flaunted scare headlines.
On December 11 the United States declared war on Germany and Italy. On the West Coast there was talk of possible sabotage and invasion by the enemy. It was "Jap" this and "Jap" that. Restricted areas were prescribed and many arrests and detentions of enemy aliens took place. All enemy aliens were required to have certificates of identification. Contraband, such as cameras, binoculars, short-wave radios, and firearms had to be turned over to the local police.
At this time I was working on mosaics for Fort Ord and for the Servicemen's Hospitality House in Oakland, California. I was too busy to bother about the reports of possible evacuation.
However, it was not long before I realized my predicament. My fellow workers were feeling sorry for me; my Caucasian friends were suggesting that I go east; my Japanese American friends were asking me what I would do if all American citizens and aliens of Japanese ancestry were evacuated. Letters from a sister in Southern California informed me that Father had been whisked away to an internment camp….
The people looked at all of us, both citizens and aliens, with suspicion and mistrust.
On February 19, 1942, by executive order of the President, the enemy alien problem was transferred from the Department of Justice to the War Department. Restriction of German and Italian enemy aliens and evacuation of all American citizens and aliens of Japanese ancestry was ordered.
Public Proclamation Nos. 1 and 2 appeared in the newspapers. Three military areas were designated, including practically all of the coastal states of Washington, Oregon, and California, and the inland states of Arizona, Idaho, Montana, Nevada, and Utah.
Evacuation was voluntary; people of Japanese ancestry were instructed to move out of the region on their own. Several thousand moved out of the vital coast areas but growing suspicion and general public antagonism caused unforeseen difficulties. On March 27, 1942, voluntary evacuation was halted and the army took over, to bring about a forced and orderly evacuation.
On March 24, Public Proclamation No. 3 established the curfew. All American citizens and aliens of Japanese ancestry and other enemy aliens had to be home between the hours of 8 p.m. and 6 a.m. I had to have a special permit to travel to Oakland where I was employed because it was outside a five-mile radius of my home. Violation of any of the regulations meant fines and imprisonment.
The Federal Reserve Banks took charge of property owned by the evacuees, while the Farm Security Administration took over the agricultural property. This was necessary because of the social and economic vultures preying upon the unfortunates expecting to be evacuated.
"Be prepared for the Relocation Centers. Bring work clothes suited to pioneer life," was, in effect, one of the instructions. We made all kinds of hurried preparations. I had no difficulty finding boots and jeans but had to get friends to help find duffel bags, as most of the stores were sold out of them.
Shelter for 100,000 evacuees was constructed by the army within a space of three weeks. Race tracks and county fair grounds were changed overnight into assembly centers surrounded by military police and barbed wire. Fifteen centers were established, Manzanar in southern California being the first. Exclusion orders followed in rapid succession and the first formal mass evacuation started on March 31. Thousands were evacuated every day from the designated areas, and soon all American citizens and aliens of Japanese ancestry were moved from the entire state of California, the western half of Oregon and Washington, and the southern third of Arizona. In all, 110,000 were moved out; two thirds of them were native American citizens.
On April 24, 1942, Civilian Exclusion order No. 19 was issued and posted everywhere in Berkeley. Our turn had come.
We had not believed at first that evacuation would affect the Nisei, American citizens of Japanese ancestry, but thought perhaps the Issei, Japanese-born mothers and fathers who were denied naturalization by American law, would be interned in case of war between Japan and the United States. It was a real blow when everyone, regardless of citizenship, was ordered to evacuate.
Civil Control Stations were established by the Wartime Civil Control Administration in each of the designated areas. One member of each family was asked to register for the family; people without families registered individually. On Sunday, April 26, 1942, I reported to Pilgrim Hall of the First Congregational Church in Berkeley to register for my brother and myself—a family unit of two. Soldiers were standing guard at the entrance and around the buildings.
A woman seated near the entrance gave me a card with No. 7 printed on it and told me to go inside and wait. I read the "funnies" [comics] until my number was called and I was interviewed. The woman in charge asked me many questions and filled in several printed forms as I answered. As a result of the interview, my family name was reduced to No. 13660. I was given several tags bearing the family number, and was then dismissed. At another desk I made the necessary arrangements to have my household property stored by the government.
On Tuesday when I returned to the Civil Control Station, I found our names posted on the board along with the family number. My family unit of two was scheduled to leave with the next to the last group at 11:30 a.m. on Friday, May 1, 1942. Our destination was Tanforan Assembly Center, which was at the Tanforan Race Track in San Bruno, a few miles south of San Francisco.
We had three days and three nights to pack and get ready. My brother was excused from the University with a promise that he would receive his B.A. degree in June.
Our friends came to cheer us up and to wish us luck. It was like old home week but we were exhausted from work and worry. On the last morning the main part of the packing was finished but there was still plenty to be done. I asked different friends to take care of some of my cherished possessions. In the last hour I dashed to the bank to get some money, picked up my laundry, and paid my household bills.
We tagged our baggage with the family number, 13660, and pinned the personal tags on ourselves; we were ready at last.
Our friends came to take us to the Civil Control Station. We took one last look at our happy home.
The entire city block around the Civil Control Station was guarded by military police. Baggage was piled on the sidewalk the full length of the block. Greyhound buses were lined alongside the curb.
We said good-bye to our friends and entered the Civil Control Station. Hundreds of evacuees were already there. A guide directed us to Group No. 4 to which we were assigned. Sandwiches and fruit were served by the church people.
At 11:00 a.m. Group 4 was called. We picked up our hand luggage and fell into line.
The military police opened the bus door and we stepped into the bus as our family number was called. Many spectators stood around. At that moment I recalled some of the stories told on shipboard by European refugees bound for America.
We were silent on the trip except for a group of four University of California boys who were singing college songs. The bus crossed the Bay Bridge. Everyone stared at the beautiful view as if for the last time. The singing stopped.
At about 12:30 we arrived at Tanforan Assembly Center. The gates were opened by military guards and the bus drove into the Tanforan Race Track grounds.
Baggage of all sizes and shapes was piled high along the driveway in back of the grandstand, and earlier arrivals were searching among the stacks for their possessions. We waited in the parked bus for fifteen minutes; then the bus was driven around to the front of the grandstand.
The solider got out and opened the door and we filed out past him.
My brother and I were separated at this point. I was asked to sit on the bench with the women and wait while my brother lined up with the men as was searched from head to toe for contraband. Straight-edged razors, knives more than four inches long, and liquor were considered contraband.
Medical examination followed. I was asked to enter one of the slightly partitioned and curtained compartments and was ordered to undress. A nurse looked into my mouth with a flashlight and checked my arms to see if I had been vaccinated for smallpox….
A guide was called to take us to our home, Barrack 16, Room 50. We went practically halfway around the race track and then diagonally across the center field through sticky mud and tall weeds. The ground was wet from the downpour of the day before. Those who had come on that day were drenched and their baggage was soaked. Friends who had entered the camp the previous week had warned us what camp was like so we came prepared with boots. When we arrived it was not raining, but now it started to sprinkle.
We followed the guide past the race track to the other side where the horse stables were. We passed many stables before Stable 16 was pointed out to us. It was an isolated building surrounded by tall weeds and standing high above the ground. It was the only barrack with a raised walk and railing.
The guide left us at the door of Stall 50. We walked in and dropped our things inside the entrance. The place was in semidarkness; light barely came through the dirty window on either side of the entrance. A swinging half-door divided the 20 by 9 ft. stall into two rooms. The roof sloped down from a height of twelve feet in the rear room to seven feet in the front room; below the rafters an open space extended the full length of the stable. The rear room had housed the horse and the front room the fodder. Both rooms showed signs of a hurried whitewashing. Spider webs, horse hair, and hay had been whitewashed with the walls. Huge spikes and mails stuck out all over the walls. A two-inch layer of dust covered the floor, but on removing it we discovered that linoleum the color of redwood had been placed over the rough manure-covered boards.
We opened the folded spring cots lying on the floor of the rear room and sat on them in semidarkness. We heard someone crying in the next stall.
It was no use just sitting there, so we went to work cleaning the stall. We took turns sweeping the floor with a whisk broom. It was the only practical thing we had brought with us.
By this time it was four o'clock and suppertime in camp. We rushed back to the huge grandstand. The ground floor served as the mess hall for the 5,000 evacuees then in the center; later it would serve 8,000. When we arrived, four lines, each a block long, waited outside the mess-hall doors. It was very windy and cold. An hour passed and we finally reached the door only to learn that the line did not lead anywhere. The thought of starting over again left us when we saw the length of the other lines. We decided to crowd ourselves in, as so many others were trying to do, but it was impossible. Everyone was hugging the person ahead. Fortunately we discovered a friend who made room for us. People glared at us as we squeezed into line.
At the dishware and the silverware counter I picked up a plate, a knife, and a fork. I wiped my plate clean with my handkerchief and held it out to the first of the cooks, who was serving boiled potatoes with his hands. The second cook had just dished out the last of the canned Vienna sausages, the main part of the dinner, so I passed by him and received two slices of bread from a girl at the end of the food counter.
We were pushed into the mess hall, where the entire space was filled with long tables and backless benches. Each table was supposed to accommodate eight persons, but right now each was a bedlam of hungry people. We looked for an empty place but could find none. The air was stuffy and, having temporarily lost our appetites, we decided to forget about eating.
We went in search of our belongings. Some of the baggage had been piled in the driveway at the entrance to the gates but most of it had been dumped in front of the grandstand. We climbed and fought our way through hundreds of crates, trunks, duffel bags, and cartons, but could not find our baggage. Truckloads were arriving about every two hours, so we decided our belongings would turn up later.
By this time the mess-hall line was short and we decided to try again. We managed to get some canned hash besides the potato and the two slices of bread. The mess hall had cleared to a great extent and the atmosphere was more pleasant. A pitcher of tea and a number of cups were on each table. We sat down to eat our first meal in the center.
We carried our dirty dishes to the dishwashing counter. Groups of young fellows were removing the garbage with one hand and dipping the plates into a soapy mess with the other at a mass-production rate of speed. The cups and plates were thrown on racklike shelves to drain and dry.
An enormous two-trailer Bekins Truck drove up as we left the mess hall. Lads who looked about sixteen years old were in charge of the unloading, and when the truck stopped they went to work. Packages and boxes came hurtling out; some of them split open as they hit the ground. My brother ran to the other side of the truck to watch for ours to appear. I was about to give up my vigil when suddenly he shouted, "Here they come!" I ran to join him just as he caught one of our suitcases. It was a cheap wooden one and could not take the beating; the cover was torn loose from the hinges.
We collected our baggage and hailed a truck to have it delivered to our barrack. The truck was already bulging, but our belongings were tossed in, too, and we climbed on top and held on. On the long, bouncing ride back to the barrack we stopped to make several deliveries. At Barrack 16 we were unloaded with our goods. We dragged our stuff to our stall.
It was now getting late in the evening, so we started on the half-mile walk back around the race track to get our mattresses. The mattress department was a stable filled with straw. We were given bags of ticking and were told to help ourselves to the straw. The few cotton mattresses available were reserved for the sick and the old.
When we had finished filling the bags, the openings were sewed roughly together and we carried the bags away. It was very windy and dusty on the way back and we had some difficulty managing the awkward load.
Friends who were there before us had advised us to bring some foodstuffs, so we opened a can of peaches and ate them with crackers.
We shook the mattresses and flattened them out and made our beds with the sheets and blankets we had brought along. We "hit the hay" around ten that night, but learned very quickly that sleep was not to be easily won. Because the partitions were low and there were many holes in the boards they were made of, the crackling of the straw and the noises from the other stalls were incessant. Loud snores, the grinding of teeth, the wail of babies, the murmur of conversations—these could be heard the full length of the stable. Moreover, it was very cold and we were shivering. One blanket was not enough to keep us warm. We got up and opened the duffel bags and the suitcases and spread everything over our beds. Sleep finally overtook us around midnight. Thus ended our first day in the Tanforan Assembly Center.
The first month was the hardest because adjustments had to be made to the new mode of life. The naked barracks and whitewashed stalls had to be fixed up into living quarters, and we had to get used to the lack of privacy of camp life….
The weather in Tanforan was fair. It was sunny on most days but always windy and dusty. My stall faced north and the sun never reached it. It was uncomfortable. I had a cold most of the time.
Every person leaving or entering the center was searched. No evacuee was permitted to leave the center except incase of emergency or death. Rules were very strict.

What happened next …

At the end of the war, a great deal of hatred for people of Japanese heritage still existed in the United States. Reports of cruelty and inhumane acts by Japanese military during the war overshadowed the bravery of the Japanese Americans fighting for the United States.

General hostility made some Japanese Americans fearful of leaving the camps and reentering U.S. society. Community leaders, especially in the Pacific Coast states, resisted Japanese settling in their communities. Graffiti of racial slurs and threatening physical harm appeared on buildings. Hostile signs placed in store and café windows announced Japanese would not be served. In addition to anger over the war, hostilities were rooted in fear of Japanese American competition for jobs.

Those Japanese Americans returning to their previous homes found they had lost their property and had no income or money with which to start their lives. Japanese Americans lost hundred of millions of dollars of income they would have made if they had not been taken to the camps and property they had owned before the war. The U.S. government offered no assistance. Housing was in critically short supply for all Americans, and Japanese Americans were turned away from every door. Japanese American churches organized hostels for those returning from camps, other settled into old army barracks. For years after the war, Japanese Americans were judged only by their ancestry and endured severe prejudice.

Okubo mailed detention camp sketches she made to a San Francisco art show where they won awards. Her artistic talent led to a job in New York City with Fortune magazine. Because she had found employment, she was allowed to leave Topaz in January 1944. Okubo exhibited her work from California to the Northeast for the next fifty years and was published in leading American magazines, such as Time and Life.

Did you know …

The detention of Japanese Americans was challenged in the courts and made it all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. In the 1944 case of Korematsu v. United States, the Court upheld the detentions as a military necessity, just as the U.S. government had claimed.
Thousands of Japanese Americans served with distinction in the U.S. armed forces overseas. The Japanese American 442nd Regimental Combat team became the most decorated army unit of World War II. The 100th Battalion made up of Nisei (Japanese Americans born in the United States to immigrant parents) recruits who volunteered while living in the internment camps and Hawaiian soldiers compiled such an impressive war record that they earned the nickname Purple Heart Battalion for their aggressive combat style. The term Purple Heart refers to the U.S. medal awarded to military personnel who are wounded or killed in combat.
Citizen 13660 won the 1984 American Book Award and was still used in classrooms in the early twenty-first century.

Consider the following …

Following the September 11, 2001, terrorist attack on the United States, Arab and Muslim Americans feared they might be rounded up and sent to internment camps just as Japanese Americans had been after the attack on Pearl Harbor. However, internment camps were not established for those living in the United States. Why do you think such camps were not created? Did the U.S. government and American public learn from the World War II experience?
Even though you have had the advantage of discussing and better understanding the dangers of racial prejudice, put yourself in the place of Americans on Sunday, December 7, 1941, as they listened on the radio to accounts of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Honestly assess what your feelings would have been toward those of Japanese descent.
Put yourself in the place of a young Japanese American sent to an internment camp during World War II. What would your feelings be toward the U.S. government? Once released after several years of detention, would you forgive or would you be bitter?