Tsuyako “Sox” Kitashima

Tsuyako “Sox” Kitashima was a well-known and longtime activist for redress and reparations in her retired life, helping to lead the charge and lobby Congress for this significant effort. Sox passed away in December of 2005. In this brief interview with Sox conducted in San Francisco, she shares some poignant memories, from recalling the moment when she knew that “no bomb would be dropped on us” after they entered the camps, to the heartbreaking moment when she witnessed the oldest living Isseis receive their redress checks and apology letters. “There were people from all over the nation but they were in wheelchairs, and you could tell they just didn't know what was going on. The attorney general, Thornberg at the time, knelt to give them the check and the letter of apology, but there was no reaction. He said, ‘I'm sorry it took so long.’”

It's July 24th, 2001, and we are in the Japanese Cultural Center of Northern California. You're known as Sox Kitashima. Can you tell me when and where you were born?

I was born in Hayward, California, on July 14, 1918. 

Can you briefly describe your family's history here in the US?

My father came here in 1905. He started an American style restaurant on Eddie and Fillmore. He ran into some problems with men who wanted to sell him protection. My father refused them, so they roughed him up. Blackened his eyes. Together with the 1918 Earthquake, that forced them to leave the city. They moved to Hayward, where they grew strawberries for many years. 

Tell me about World War II, do you remember when you were evacuated?

We were evacuated on May 9th, 1942.

How did your family react?

Well, my mother's reaction was that oh, this is a terrible thing. She was terrified when we heard that Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor. My mother's main concern was that our family would be broken up. She was Issei and didn't want to be separated from her family. Ultimately, she went everywhere we went. 

I know you were taken to Tanforan Racetrack Assembly Center, can you tell me about that process?

American citizens and Isseis were sometimes separated into two groups, but my mother was relieved when we were not separated. So when we got to the racetrack, we were physically searched by military police. It was scary and humiliating. We had been told that we could only take what we could carry with two hands. So our suitcases were packed to the brim. They turned them upside down, looking for knives, scissors, anything. It was devastating to me, to see the kind of treatment we got. We had never been around that kind of situation––the surveillance, the MPs with their bayonets, guns pointed at us. 

What is your first memory of the camp, after being brought in?

Well, they let us sit on the grandstand and have lunch. I could see the newly built barracks on the stadium and thought, well maybe this isn't so bad. I didn't know they were going to put us in the horse stalls. They gave us lunch on the grandstand but I refused to eat, the food was so terrible. Discolored cold cuts, overcooked mushy Swiss chard and stale bread. It didn't make any difference to me when I was going to get my next meal. Every step I took was traumatic. Horses don't need steps, so they escorted us to the barracks, and we had to kind of step up into the horse stall. We could smell the manure, and see that they had only very quickly whitewashed the walls. My three brothers, my mother and I were each given a sack and some straw to fill it for our mattresses. 

What were your parents leaving behind back in Hayward?

Well, we had taken a wasteland and made it rich. The Italian community took it over. I think they had been eyeing our land and pushing the evacuation to get rid of us.

I have heard about the way the Isseis reclaimed deserts, but I didn't know that about the Italian Americans. 

The Italians were farming people too.

So you remember the process of moving to Tanforan being quite terrifying. They were treating you like a criminal.

Well, we didn't know what we were in for you know, because the papers kept saying they're putting us into camps for our own protections, but we were living in fear. There were rumors that they were going to take the Japs inland and bomb them. There were a lot of unnecessary things they did. Before evacuation, they would show up at houses near the main highway and inquire about so and so. A leader in the JACL or a reverend or something, anyone they thought was likely to organize or speak out. They were the first to be rounded up.

A lot of people I have interviewed don't remember all the particulars. Do you remember getting rid of so-called incriminating evidence, such as Buddhist shrines?

Well, my mother, she had a bonfire in the backyard. She burned everything that was written in Japanese.

Oh, my gosh. She must have been terrified.

If you had a kimono or something like that, they would attach it to Japan. So my mother burned everything. I can't know what she burned––some pictures as well of her brother. We had this very nice life my father built. A four-story house he built, but we lost it. We burned everything, we could take only the necessities. 

I have a question for you because I know there was an FBI investigation and a special report before Pearl Harbor. And the results were that most Japanese were almost loyal to a fault. So what do you think the government was so afraid of?

I don't know that they had a reason. I would say racism. They wanted to get rid of the "Yellow Peril."

Getting back to Tanforan, did you ever accept what was going on? It's a strange way of saying it––here you are with the guns on the towers, pointing in––but did you ever settle down?

Well, we didn't know how long we were going to be in camp for, so we were trying to do our best to live comfortably. Of course, we didn't stay in the stall during the day. We only came back to sleep because the stench was so horrible. I didn't tell my mother the rumors about the bomb. And so, it was like this that we made it to the next step, which was the internment camp at Topaz. They had built new barracks, and when we arrived, there were men working on the roof. That's how I knew there would be no bomb dropped on us. That was a relief, but that's also how I knew that the program would be long.

What did you do when you found that out?

I decided I better start looking for a job, so I got a job as assistant block manager. I think that kind of gave me a grip, because I had to take care of a couple hundred people. I had to make sure they had enough coal and enough food to get them through. I grew up.

I know there was sometimes conflict within the camps, specifically on the subject of loyalty. Are your memories of camp peaceful?

Well, the mothers didn't want their children to go off to war, especially those who were pro-Japanese. But that was one way to get out of camp. One woman got up at a meeting and said, whatever decision these men make, it's not just for now but also for what's going to happen after the war, she was young. The pro-Japanese were very hostile, they would come into a barrack and beat pro-American types with sticks and stuff.

What happened after the camps?

Well, I had married a month before they closed, it was hard. We lived in a projection room for a little while, then we moved to a Buddhist gymnasium in San Francisco. It was partitioned with army blankets for every married couple. 

I've heard about that Buddhist gymnasium. It was almost like a refugee camp.

At first yes, but somebody threw a rock into the church window right near where we were, so we said, it's too dangerous. So, we moved for a while from different Sunday school rooms. It was a big job finding a place to settle.

But you made it, and I know you were involved in the redress movement, can you tell me about that?

Well, we started the national Coalition for Redress and Reparations in late 1979. The third generation are the ones that really woke us up to the fact that we shouldn't just take it sitting down. The first meeting we had was over in the Christ United Church. They were looking for people to speak, so I ended up at the first day of the hearing. which was August 13, 1984. 

And this commission, they were listening to our story.

How did the hearings come about?

Well, we told the government that we felt we had the right to redress. And it was President Carter who said yes, and appointed a nine-man commission to listen to us. Former congressional representatives, reverends, civil-rights leaders. 

Can you tell me more about those hearings? I know that there was some resistance to the idea of redress, not just in the committee, but from the outside as well.

Well, we had this Lillian Baker, who was already known for disrupting meetings. I gave a warning. I said, watch out for this woman. And sure enough, she walked right in. She walked to the back, then was making her way down to the podium. She was smart. But I was kind of waiting by the door and recognized her. I alerted the guard and they escorted her out right before she got to the podium.

You used some aggressive tactics to make sure the hearings went smoothly, what do you think made you so vigilant?

I think I got into this fever of trying to fight for reparations. I went to Golden Gate University to give a testimony. When I walked in there, there were 600 people. You had kids on the steps with their notebooks, ready to learn about internment. I was crying, because here I thought no one would show up, but we had a packed house. But I was at the closing ceremony, where they gave some Isseis checks. There were people from all over the nation, but they were in wheelchairs, and you could tell they just didn't know what was going on. The attorney general, Thornberg at the time, knelt to give them the check and the letter of apology, but there was no reaction. He said, “I'm sorry it took so long.”

Maybe it was too late. That's what I understand. It's just sickening. Well, if there is a message you want to give to future generations, what is it? What did you learn from the redress, and from your experience of internment?

I think we have to continue to guard ourselves. Do whatever is necessary to make sure that the constitution is a guarantee for all. It doesn't matter the color of your skin, if you know something is right, then tell somebody. I tell them, that's the only reason we got our redress money. We didn't give up. We knew our rights. This is a lesson that the Japanese American issue can teach us, should this ever happen to anybody, in any group.

Interview conducted by Grace Megumi Fleming. JAMsj thanks Grace for allowing the museum to archive and share these oral histories