A Day of Infamy

This hasn’t slipped my mind over the passed few days. I have just been trying to find the proper words. It’s a subject and story that is very dear to my heart and has deep meaning in my family.

It’s February. This month may have different meanings for different people. For some they think of Valentine’s Day or the last weeks of winter breaking into warmer weather. For me I often think of February 19^th. This day probably means very little to most people. It reminds me of a particular February 19^th in history. The year is 1942.

It was on this day that the much-celebrated FDR put his signature of approval on Executive Order 9066. Most people probably have forgotten what this Order was. It is something that American history books still try to only briefly mention. It was on this day my grandfather, a young boy back then, learned that he was not like other Americans. A day where the American dream was painted as a façade. The dream was not for everyone is what this Order was saying. That freedom is not for everyone.

Executive Order 9066 declared that all people of Japanese ancestry on the West Coast, dubbed District 1 were to be “relocated” from their homes to assembly and relocation centers. If you were so much as 1/16 Japanese you would be required to relocate inland. This was all in the prevention of sabotage by these people of Japanese descent. By May of that year 110,000 people would be forced on an exodus to relocation camps. Before arriving to the haphazardly built camps they would be herded into assembly centers like cattle. My grandfather lived in a horse stall at the Santa Anita Racetrack. Many others were gathered in warehouses, stables, and camps. Then it was off to the actual relocation centers. There were ten camps altogether scattered across the interior. My grandpa was relocated to Heart Mountain, Wyoming along with his family. Most camps were located in harsh climates, freezing in the winter and scorching in the summer, miles away from any towns or cities. Until the end of the war this was home, a tarpaper barrack community in the middle of nowhere.

The argument that this was done for American safety rubs me the wrong way. Before and during the WWII there was not a single confirmed case of sabotage by Japanese-Americans. Prejudice was rampant against people of Asian descent. The Progressive Era stirred a pot of hatred against foreigners. The Yellow Scare poisoned the hearts of many Western Americans. If it was February 19, 1942 and I was alive I would fall under the umbrella of relocation. Me, my children and grandchildren would be deemed unfit to live and work in the West. Is it America’s fault? No. It was more poison in the well of politics. General De Witt was the brain behind relocation and open racist who had too much influence on the matter. The dust hasn't settled in many people's hearts.

Grudges in history aren't the answer. However, forgiving isn't always forgetting.Therefore, we can only hope to learn from the past for the better