1869- the First Japanese Settle Near Sacramento, California

BACKGROUND- The author is of Japanese descent. Manzanar is a story about the relocation of American Japanese people, based on undocumented fear of this nationality.

Chronology

1869- The first Japanese settle near Sacramento, California.

1870- US Congress grants naturalization to free whites and people of African descent. They do not mention people that are Asian.

1886- Japan lifts its ban on emigration- allowing people the first time ever to leave their country to live in another country.

1911- US Bureau of Immigration and Naturalization allow citizenship for white people and people of African descent. This allows the courts to refuse naturalization to the Japanese.

1913- Alien Land Bill passes and prevents Japanese people from owning land in California.

1924- Congress passes an Immigration Act that stops immigration from Japan.

12/7/41 (75 years ago) Surprise attack on Pearl Harbor- Hawaii by the Japanese.

2/19/42 President Roosevelt gives the War Department permission to identify military areas in the western states.

3/25/1942- Evacuees begin to arrive at Manzanar Camp, in Owens Valley, California. This is the first camp to open for Japanese people.

8/12/1942- 110,000 people of Japanese ancestry removed from the West Coast and place in one of ten inland camps.

12/18/44- US Supreme Court rules that loyal citizens can’t be held in camps against their will. This is the first step made in closing the camps.

8/14/1945- Japanese surrenders, ending World War II.

11/21/1945 Manzanar Camp closes.

6/1952- Congress passed law allowing Japanese aliens the right to become naturalized US citizens.

Key Vocabulary

Issei- first generation- born in Japan and moved to the United States between 1890- 1915

Nisei- second generation- children of Issei- born in United States- born before the second WWII

Sansei- 3rd generation- Japanese ancestry- most born during and/or after WWII

Chapter 1- What is Pearl Harbor?

On that day in December, there were about 2025 boats getting ready to leave. I had just turned seven. I remember it was a Sunday, because I was out of school. On Sundays, I normally went to the wharf (docks) and watch the boats. In those days, 1941- there was no smog around Long Beach, which meant you could see far distances. The water was clear. The sky was a deep blue. I could see Papa’s boat. Papa liked to yell and give orders. Papa attended military school in Japan until the age of 17, and part of him never got over that. My brothers, Bill and Woody were his crew. They would have to check the nets and check the fuel tanks. When they were done, they would have to go to the grocery store, and after everything was done, would join the other boats and head out past the light house, into the harbor.

Papa’s boat was called The Nereid. It was long, white, and had a wheel cabin. Papa had a second boat, called the Waka (a short version of our name)which Papa kept in Santa Monica, California, where we lived. The Nereid was Papa’s pride and joy. It was worth about $25,000 before the war. When Papa was steering the boat in the open water, he was very proud.

Papa had a mustache back then. He wore knee-high rubber boots, and a rust colored turtleneck Mama had knitted him. He liked when people called him “Skipper.”

Papa had borrowed money. He wanted to pay off the boat. Papa did not like having to work for someone else. A lot of other Japanese sailors had contracts with the canneries. The canneries were placed that processed the fish that they caught. Even thought Papa owned his own boat, he fished with other Japanese fisherman. They each helped each other find and catch the sardines. They shared nets, radios too.

Sometimes Papa would be gone for a couple of days, and sometimes gone for a month. From the wharf, we (Myself, Mama, Bill’s wife, Woody’s wife) waved good bye to Papa, Bill and Woody. We shouted and wished them a good trip.

To our surprise, the ships were coming back. All of the people on the wharf wondered what was happening. Never had Papa or the other boats had returned shortly after they left.

When Papa got off the boat, he yelled like Paul Revere that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. I did not know what Pearl Harbor was, or where it was located and neither did my mother.

That night, Papa burned the flag that he had so proudly took with him from Hiroshima 35 years earlier. Papa also burned a lot of other papers too. I could not believe what Papa was doing. He burnt anything that made related to Japan. This did nothing to protect us.

Father and mother were aliens. They were not allowed to become citizens, even though we lived in the United States. Papa had a commercial fishing license. The FBI were fearful that Japanese people living in the United States might try to help Japan wage war with America.

The FBI found Papa two weeks later when we were staying at Woody’s place on Terminal Island. 500 Japanese families that lived there were questioned. Their homes were ransacked. Most Japanese families had short wave radios so that their wives could contact them when they were on the fishing boat. Any Japanese person that owned a short wave radio was considered a threat. They took the radios, flashlights, kitchen knives, cameras, swords, lanterns and any other item that they thought could be used to help the Japanese.

The next day, two men came to the door and took Papa away. Papa did not struggle. Papa was a man without a country. The land of his birth was at war with America; yet after 35 years in America he was prevented by law from becoming an American citizen. He was suddenly a man with no rights who looked exactly like the enemy.

All that Papa appeared to have was his dignity. He was tall for a Japanese man, nearly 6 feet tall. He was thin. He was over 50 years old. He had ten children.

At first Mama was not too worried. They had questioned many other Japanese men, and let them return to their family. But when it got dark and Papa did not return, she began to worry. After a few days, we learned that he was taken into custody and shipped away. No one knew where he was, or where he was taken.

The next day, the Santa Monica newspaper had published that my father was arrested for delivering oil to Japanese submarines, offshore.

These were all lies. My mother cried all the time now. This was the beginning on a terrible, frantic time for all of my family. I did not cry about Papa, nor did I understand was a happening. I was almost a year later, when I saw my father again.

SHUKATA GA NAI- (IT CAN N:T BE HELPED. IT MUST BE DONE) Chapter 2

In December of 1941, Papa’s disappearance did not bother me nearly so much as the world I now found myself in.

Papa had been a jack- of -all-trades, which meant he could do almost anything. When I was born, Papa had been a farmer. He later became a fisherman, and we lived in a big house with a brick fireplace a block from the beach. We were the only Japanese family living in that neighborhood. Papa liked it. We did not live by labels. After Papa was arrested we moved to Terminal Island, where Woody lived. One of my sister’s also lived there. Mama wanted her family to be all together, and once the war started, she felt safer. To me, the island was very different. Japanese people lived here. I felt terrified all the time.

I believed that it was Papa’s fault for my worries. He used to tell us that he would sell us to a Chinaman, when we were not behaving. When I was in kindergarten, I sat next to a white girl who had slanted eyes. I looked at the girl and screamed. I thought my father had sold me to a Chinaman. The teacher had to move my desk to the other side of the room, so that I would not be so afraid.

In the 1940’s this island was owned by the canneries. It was a ghetto. Women would be called into work regardless of the time to can today’s catch. The housing in which we lived was poorly made. It was the cheapest migrant worker’s housing. The people were hardworking and proud of their nickname- yo-go-re- which meant roughneck or dead-end kid.

The people on the island did not speak English. They spoke Japanese. They did not talk nicely to each other. They called each other “stupid”. They picked on other people that did not talk like them. They were tough and mean. I had never spoken anything other than English, and the other kids hated me for that.

In February the navy decided that it was too dangerous and decided to clear Terminal Island. They thought it was too dangerous to have so many Asians living so close to the Long Beach Naval Station, which was on the opposite side of the island.

In total there were four kids that were still living with Mama, plus Granny who spoke no English and was nearly blind. We were given 48 hours to leave the island. The secondhand dealers were offering pennies to people for very expensive items. They figured that we would have to sell it sooner then later. Mama decided to sell Japanese china. One man offered her $15.00 although it was worth about $200.00. Mama stared at the man. She stared and stared. Eventually he offered her $17.00 for all of the china. Mama took one of the plates out of its velvet bag and threw it on the ground in front of the man. He yelled at her, “Hey, don’t do that! Those are valuable dishes!”

Mama threw another plate on the floor, and another and another with tears streaming down her face. She finally stopped and turned away. When he was gone, she broke all of the remaining china plates and cups.

The American Friends Service helped them find a small house in Boyle Heights, another minority ghetto in Los Angeles. President Roosevelt signed the Executive Order 9066 which gave the military permission to exclude anyone who might threaten the war effort.

Before we moved, Mama got a letter from Papa. He was imprisoned at Fort Lincoln in Bismarck, North Dakota. He was in a all-male jail for enemy aliens.

With my father in jail, my brothers worried. They talked about the internment camps.

Mama and Woody went to work packing celery for a Japanese produce dealer.

Kiyo (brother), May (sister) and I enrolled in the local school. This teacher was cold and distant. My teacher would have nothing to do with me. I was now treated poorly by white or Caucasian people. People did not trust Asians. They did not trust Japanese Americans. Again we were told that we had to move. This was our third and final move.

The name Manzanar meant nothing to us. We went because we were order to leave by the government. My brothers and sisters were happy to move. The Caucasians were attacking Japanese people. They destroyed their homes. There were beating by Caucasians in the streets. Moving sounded like a safer idea.

Our pickup was at a Buddist church in Los Angeles. Mama took with her warm coats. I was proud of my new coat. I tried to smile at the bus driver, but he did not smile back. Someone tied a number tag to my collar, and to the duffel bag. Someone passed out bagged lunches.

I was full of excitement. I had never been on bus before. I had never traveled more than ten miles from the coast. I wanted to look out the window, but the shaded were closed. The bus seemed very safe. I fell asleep.

We were fortunate. My family was all together. I had no idea how rare and lucky we were.

We rode all day. By the time we reached our destination, the shades were up. It sounded like ran, but it was dust and sand from the road. We drove past a barbed-wire fence, though a gate, and into an open space. I could see a couple of tents and miles of barracks. I was silent. People just stood still and stared. I happily opened my window and yelled, “Hey! This bus is full of Wakatskis!”

Outside, the greeters smiled. Inside the bus, everyone just laughed. It was time for dinner. The mess halls or dining hall was not yet finished. They issued all of us army mess kits. They put globs of food on our plates. The food was horrible.

After dinner we were taken to Block 16. These barracks were shacks. Each barracks was divided into 6 units, about half the size of our WMS classroom. Each room had one light bulb and an oil stove for heat. We were assigned two barracks. Each perosn got an army cot to sleep on. They each got two brown blankets.

We divided the room with one of the blankets. Woody, his wife and their baby had the stove. This way they could heat up the formula for the baby. It was bitter cold when we arrived.

Eventually, my sister and her husband left their barracks (they were not with us) and headed to Idaho to harvest beets. It was hard work, but better than their life at Manzanar.

The first night in Block 16, the rest of us squeezed in together. Granny, Lillian -14, Ray-13, May-11, Kiyo-10, Mama and Me. Being the youngest meant that I slept with Mama. I slept with her every night until Papa came home.

CHAPTER 3- A DIFFERENT KIND OF SAND

We woke early in the morning. It was cold, The room was coated with dust that had blown up through the knotholes and through the slits around the doorway. My brother’s eyebrows were gray with the dust. Pretty soon I was giggling. Woody tells everyone to get up. With Papa in jail, Woody is now the man of the barracks. He carried in a broom, sack of tin cans and a hammer. He told Mama that he was going to cover the holes. When his Kiyo asked about the sand that came up through the floor boards, Woody said, “Don’t worry about the cracks, that is a different type of sand that comes in through the cracks.”

May and I started cleaning up. I helped Mama fold the blankets. Mama was very sad. Mama thought the barracks was too cold and too dirty. Woody promised he would make it “tight as a barrel.”