Forced Removal

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.