"Am I an American or am I not?" - Fred Korematsu

Just over 80 years ago – in our parents’ and grandparents’ lifetimes – the U.S. government incarcerated 125,000 American citizens and legal residents without a trial simply because their family came from another country.

Following Japan’s bombing of Pearl Harbor in Hawai‘i on December 7, 1941, the U.S. entered World War II. On February 19, 1942, President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066, declaring the state of California and parts of Washington, Oregon, and Arizona as military zones. The U.S. government forced the removal of all people of Japanese ancestry in those areas (including over 70,000 U.S. citizens).

Though accused of no crime, they were sent to hastily-built camps in remote locations, where most remained for the duration of World War II. The nation’s swift acceptance and implementation of EO 9066 followed many years of anti-Asian sentiment and racist immigration laws.

The Japanese American Incarceration represents a moment when we collectively turned our backs on the great promise and responsibility of our Constitution. We denied equal protection under the law to fellow Americans and legal residents because of their ancestry alone. Despite clear evidence to the contrary, the loyalties of all Japanese Americans and their families were questioned, and they were punished simply for looking like the enemy. As 23-year-old Fred Korematsu asked after his arrest for defying these unjust incarceration orders: “Am I an American, or am I not?”

We share this story because we love our country, and believe it can do better. We care deeply about its past, present and future. We know that America is better than the fear and racism that triggered the events explored in this exhibition. Proof of America’s greatness is the very fact that we can examine this past. We must try to understand how and why it happened to prevent it from happening again. This is what our shared country demands of us: to be fairer, more just, and more humane. In short, to be better Americans.

In September 1942, Fred Korematsu and his family were transferred to this incarceration camp, known as Topaz. He wrote, “It’s terribly dusty here; the top soil here is like flour. Just a little wind and the dust rises like fog all over...You can’t see ten feet in front of you.”

< Introduction When the Constitution Doesn't Count >