Read Online The Compass by Deborah Radwan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Deborah Radwan
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experience in the South, there was much discrimination against the Japanese in the early part of the century, especially on the West Coast. In 1905, California passed a law that prohibited marriage between Caucasians and Mongolians, which is a name used to describe Japanese and other East Asians. In San Francisco, they segregated schools in 1906. Ninety-three students were affected and sent to Chinatown to learn. Of those, twenty-five were American citizens. You can see there was much fear and ignorance. It didn’t matter that those children were Americans.
“So when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, it was as if we had attacked Pearl Harbor. My father understood right away that there would be trouble. I remember him listening to the radio and telling my mother that we would pay for Japan’s actions. My mother did not understand, and neither did I as I sat on the floor playing, listening to them talk. Two months later, on February 19, 1942, the President of the United States, Franklin Roosevelt, authorized the internment of Japanese Americans. Do you understand the term ‘internment,’ Rudy?”
Rudy had a vague idea of what he was talking about but couldn’t articulate it. So he shook his head, almost afraid to hear the words. Yoshito continued.
“The order authorized the military to gather Japanese Americans and hold them in a camp together. While it was frightening and terrible, I think my father was almost relieved that something had happened. We had been waiting for the shoe to drop, and now it had. There had also been reported violence against the Japanese, and now at least we would be together as a family and in a protected area, my father said. There was fear in his voice though. I heard it, and it frightened me a bit as a little boy. I tried to follow my father’s lead. If he told us not to worry, that is what I would say to my brother and sister to reassure them when they became scared. ‘Just follow directions and nothing bad will happen,’ my father would say. We left the care of our farm to our neighbors and friends who were sympathetic and saw the injustice toward our family, toward our race. We also left them our most prized belongings, items handed down through the family. We were afraid looters would come into our home in our absence. Of course, we did not know how long we would be away. Surely this madness was only temporary. Little did we know, we would be gone for three years.”
“Three years?! What was it like being forced to move into the camp?” Rudy asked incredulously.
“In April, we were ordered to bring the barest of belongings to the school auditorium. We showed up in our best clothes with one suitcase each, containing clothes, maybe a blanket or some special item. My parents allowed each of us children to take one small toy or something that would give us comfort. My sister took a stuffed bear that she slept with every night. My brother took a deck of cards that we could play with. I took some drawing paper and colored pencils, but in between the pages, I hid a map of California. I had always loved geography, but now, more than ever, I wanted to know where I was going and how far away it was from home. Sometimes I would sit for hours looking at the map, and by the end of the war, it barely held together. It had been handled and opened and closed so many times that there were tears along the folds. I would trace the progress of our trip to the camp, plan our trip home, look for escape routes, and check to see how far we were from the closest town or mountain range. I needed a sense of my space in the world and measured the miles to home.” Rudy could feel the emotion and isolation in every word Yoshito said.
“That must have been really hard for a ten-year-old boy,” Rudy offered.
Yoshito looked at him. “Yes, it was. It was difficult for all of us. My poor mother worried about us children day and night, and my father worried about what would become of our lives—our
“So when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, it was as if we had attacked Pearl Harbor. My father understood right away that there would be trouble. I remember him listening to the radio and telling my mother that we would pay for Japan’s actions. My mother did not understand, and neither did I as I sat on the floor playing, listening to them talk. Two months later, on February 19, 1942, the President of the United States, Franklin Roosevelt, authorized the internment of Japanese Americans. Do you understand the term ‘internment,’ Rudy?”
Rudy had a vague idea of what he was talking about but couldn’t articulate it. So he shook his head, almost afraid to hear the words. Yoshito continued.
“The order authorized the military to gather Japanese Americans and hold them in a camp together. While it was frightening and terrible, I think my father was almost relieved that something had happened. We had been waiting for the shoe to drop, and now it had. There had also been reported violence against the Japanese, and now at least we would be together as a family and in a protected area, my father said. There was fear in his voice though. I heard it, and it frightened me a bit as a little boy. I tried to follow my father’s lead. If he told us not to worry, that is what I would say to my brother and sister to reassure them when they became scared. ‘Just follow directions and nothing bad will happen,’ my father would say. We left the care of our farm to our neighbors and friends who were sympathetic and saw the injustice toward our family, toward our race. We also left them our most prized belongings, items handed down through the family. We were afraid looters would come into our home in our absence. Of course, we did not know how long we would be away. Surely this madness was only temporary. Little did we know, we would be gone for three years.”
“Three years?! What was it like being forced to move into the camp?” Rudy asked incredulously.
“In April, we were ordered to bring the barest of belongings to the school auditorium. We showed up in our best clothes with one suitcase each, containing clothes, maybe a blanket or some special item. My parents allowed each of us children to take one small toy or something that would give us comfort. My sister took a stuffed bear that she slept with every night. My brother took a deck of cards that we could play with. I took some drawing paper and colored pencils, but in between the pages, I hid a map of California. I had always loved geography, but now, more than ever, I wanted to know where I was going and how far away it was from home. Sometimes I would sit for hours looking at the map, and by the end of the war, it barely held together. It had been handled and opened and closed so many times that there were tears along the folds. I would trace the progress of our trip to the camp, plan our trip home, look for escape routes, and check to see how far we were from the closest town or mountain range. I needed a sense of my space in the world and measured the miles to home.” Rudy could feel the emotion and isolation in every word Yoshito said.
“That must have been really hard for a ten-year-old boy,” Rudy offered.
Yoshito looked at him. “Yes, it was. It was difficult for all of us. My poor mother worried about us children day and night, and my father worried about what would become of our lives—our
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