December 7, 1941, the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, drastically altered our well-ordered lives. The phone kept ringing all day long–either brothers or relatives and friends voicing their shock, dismay and concern. People came in and out excited, contemplative, and wondering what the future held in store for them. The radios blasted forth news of the FBI’s seizure and search of Japanese aliens up and down the coast.
On Monday, December 8, I was at my desk at 8 am at the Immigration and Naturalization Service on Silver Avenue in San Francisco, and I was greeted with a tirade by an employee whom I thought was a good friend of mine, who shouted that I must’ve known the Japs were going to bomb Pearl Harbor, and the nerve I had in coming to work. Outside the office, Japanese men with gnarled hands, bent shoulders and empty hands were being marched into detention and among them was our scholarly relative who was guilty of teaching the Japanese language.
A fellow worker of German descent came in and stood in front of my desk, visibly disturbed and trembling, and whimpered, wondering what was going to happen to her as a friend of hers was picked up. To allay her fears, I assured her nothing would happen to her as she was white.
The air was thick with suspicion and distrust and only a few remained loyal friends. The inspector in charge and the district director had a lot on their plate given the situation, but for one reason or another, in a kindly fashion, they gave me advice and reassurance, which bolstered my courage.
Christmas came and went with gloom and we greeted the new year of 1942 modestly as banks put liens on accounts and credit stopped. On February 15, after being engaged for months, I was married to Toshi Minamoto at his home at 1378 61st Avenue, Eastside, in Oakland. It was a sad, weepy affair. A curfew had been placed on all Japanese and we were not allowed to travel more than 10 miles, and more than 10 persons could not congregate under one roof as that would constitute a mob.
The news media fanned anti-Japanese sentiment, and the Native Sons and Daughters of the Golden West and the powerful American Legion added pressure by demanding the deportation of all Japanese aliens and depriving those born in the United States of citizenship.
The military decided that aliens were a threat to national security. On February 19, 1942, President Franklin D Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, which authorized the eventual expulsion of all persons of Japanese ancestry from designated military zones along the West Coast, and the disintegration of our family unit began. General John L. DeWitt, military commander of the Western Defense command, had the job of implementing the order in California, and his views were “a Jap is a Jap, whether a U.S. citizen or not.“
As we lived on Sixth Street, which was close to the Oakland estuary, my parents were ordered to leave the area and move beyond Eighth Street. With two suitcases each they moved in with relatives on Athens Street, leaving behind all worldly goods and a well-kept home they had striven so hard for. We remained behind, maintaining the house and garden and commuting to work.
DeWitt then ordered persons of Japanese ancestry to voluntarily leave their homes from the western half of California, Oregon and Washington and move to the eastern half of the West Coast, so my parents and their relatives, my brothers and their wives, my husband’s widowed mother, sisters and brother decided to move to Del Rey in central California, where a relative by marriage offered sanctuary and employment as he had an orchard to be harvested. In this one house they all crowded in, eking out a bare existence. My father fell ill with valley fever and bore the scars to his grave.
My husband and I tried to clear up his business, which he had just started, and I requested a leave of absence from my job as of April 1942. We were busy packing and putting away things, assuming we were to be joining our families in Del Rey. Later, notices were posted on buildings and telephone poles and the newspapers and radios came out with the news that DeWitt was now ordering the expulsion of all Japanese from the Pacific coast states and parts of Arizona.
Civil control stations were established at 1117 Oak St. and at 530 18th St. for Oakland Japanese, and there we were instructed to take two suitcases as a person, one duffel bag a person, no knives over 8 inches and no radios with shortwave. On short notice we were forced to sell many of our household goods at a low price, for people were taking advantage of our situation. We stored as much as we could in the upper flat and padlocked every door. Trunks and boxes were stored in the dirt basement.
110,000* Japanese, two-thirds American born, were all herded into the so-called “assembly centers,” which consisted of fair grounds, racetracks and livestock exhibition halls. Our destination was the Tanforan racetrack in San Bruno. On May 6, 1942, with MPs giving us the eye, we boarded the bus on Oak Street looking longingly at our town, the Bay Bridge and Treasure Island.
* The number has, since the time Harue wrote her memoir, been upgraded to over 120,000, not including those incarcerated from Hawaii and other countries.
Note: This is the first part of Harue Minamoto’s memoir, with minor edits. Continue reading Harue’s memoir:
Part 2: Tanforan
Part 3: First Winter in Topaz
Part 4: Dust-up in the Desert
Part 5: The Aftermath
About the contributor: Harue Hirai Minamoto was born in Oakland, CA in 1916. A graduate of Oakland Technical High School, she completed bookkeeping and secretarial courses at Merritt Business School and was hired by the U.S. Department of Immigration and Naturalization Services in 1937. After Executive Order 9066 was issued, she was forced to resign. She married Toshiro Minamoto in February 1942, shortly before they were incarcerated in Tanforan. Two of her three children were born in Topaz. Sponsored by a Quaker family, the Minamotos resettled in Philadelphia in 1944; but when Tosh was drafted in 1945, Harue and the children returned to Oakland. Harue often spoke of the injustices of incarceration to her children and grandchildren and never hesitated to inform others of what EO 9066 did to American citizens. She passed away in 1999. Her story was shared with us by her family: Melyssa Minamoto, Gay Kaplan, John Minamoto, Ed Minamoto and their children.
Copyright 1999, Harue Minamoto. All rights reserved.
Thank you for this sad but true story. This happened to us in the USA. The US Constitution did not save or protect us. Unfortunately it can happen again. Pity!
Paul H. Tomita, Survivor, Puyallup Assembly Center and Minidoka/Hunt Concentration Camp