things in life were your family and your country. Now I think it is only family.”
Tomi felt as if someone had hit her. Was this really Pop talking? He was the most patriotic person she’d ever known. He had taught them America was the best country in the world because it welcomed everyone and gave everyone an opportunity. When Tomi memorized the pledge of allegiance at school, he had given her a dime. He insisted Roy, Hiro, and Tomi speak English at home instead of Japanese, because that was America’s language. And at harvest, he donated part of his strawberry crop toa church that gave meals to poor people. He believed he was giving back to the country that had been good to him.
“You don’t believe in America anymore, Pop?” Tomi asked.
Pop shrugged. “What kind of country puts people in jail for nothing?” He repeated the word. “Nothing. They charged me with nothing.”
“Then why were you in prison for two years?” Roy asked.
Pop finished his tea and handed his cup to Mom. Slowly he began to tell his story.
The FBI men who arrested him took Pop to a jail, where he was held with other Japanese men. The government men sat Pop down at a table and asked him questions. They wanted to know who he was sending information to in Japan. Pop denied he was contacting anyone in Japan except for his parents, who were farmers and very old.
“Then why do you have a radio?” he was asked.
“You can’t send messages with a radio. I listen to the baseball games. I like the New York Yankees.” When the men didn’t smile, Pop added, “Maybe you are not Yankees fans. Maybe you don’t even like baseball. Are you un-American?” He smiled, thinking he had made a great joke.
“I ask the questions,” one of the men replied.
Then he asked Pop why he had bought so much gasoline and fertilizer. Did he plan to use it to make bombs? The man put his face close to Pop’s face.
Pop looked at the man as if he were crazy. “I’m a farmer. I use it on the land. I raise the best strawberries you ever tasted. Come to my house when we are finished here, and my wife will make you a strawberry shortcake. I will give you a nickel if it’s not the best strawberry cake you ever ate.”
“I’ve been to your house, and it wasn’t for cake.”
Pop looked from one man to another. He realized he had better stop joking. This was serious. Mom would be worried if he was late getting home. He wanted the questions to end. Not until that evening did he realize he wasn’t going home. He was spending the night in jail.
“Mr. Lawrence got a lawyer for you,” Roy said.
Pop shook his head. The FBI men wouldn’t let him talk to a lawyer. He never talked to anybody who was on his side.
He was held in jail in California for a few days, not allowed to see anyone. Then he was sent to prison in New Mexico with half a dozen other Japanese men. “They saidwe were working for the Japanese government, that we were spies. I asked them for proof, and they said they had plenty, but they wouldn’t tell me what it was,” he said. “I told them I was one-hundred-percent American. They said I wasn’t American at all. I wasn’t even a citizen.”
“But you couldn’t be,” Roy said. “The law doesn’t let Japanese immigrants become citizens. Germans and Italians can, but not Japanese. Only Nisei —second-generation Japanese like Hiro and Tomi and me—can be U.S. citizens. How can they blame you for what the law doesn’t let you do?”
Pop only shrugged his shoulders.
“They must have believed you finally, because they let you come here,” Tomi said.
“They didn’t believe me ever. Maybe it’s a trick. I think they are watching me all the time, watching you, too.”
He shivered again, and Mom put her hand to Pop’s forehead to see if he had a fever. “Tell me what is wrong with you. You are not well,” she said.
“The camp was very cold, and there were only thin blankets. I didn’t have a warm coat. We had to stay outside
Tomi felt as if someone had hit her. Was this really Pop talking? He was the most patriotic person she’d ever known. He had taught them America was the best country in the world because it welcomed everyone and gave everyone an opportunity. When Tomi memorized the pledge of allegiance at school, he had given her a dime. He insisted Roy, Hiro, and Tomi speak English at home instead of Japanese, because that was America’s language. And at harvest, he donated part of his strawberry crop toa church that gave meals to poor people. He believed he was giving back to the country that had been good to him.
“You don’t believe in America anymore, Pop?” Tomi asked.
Pop shrugged. “What kind of country puts people in jail for nothing?” He repeated the word. “Nothing. They charged me with nothing.”
“Then why were you in prison for two years?” Roy asked.
Pop finished his tea and handed his cup to Mom. Slowly he began to tell his story.
The FBI men who arrested him took Pop to a jail, where he was held with other Japanese men. The government men sat Pop down at a table and asked him questions. They wanted to know who he was sending information to in Japan. Pop denied he was contacting anyone in Japan except for his parents, who were farmers and very old.
“Then why do you have a radio?” he was asked.
“You can’t send messages with a radio. I listen to the baseball games. I like the New York Yankees.” When the men didn’t smile, Pop added, “Maybe you are not Yankees fans. Maybe you don’t even like baseball. Are you un-American?” He smiled, thinking he had made a great joke.
“I ask the questions,” one of the men replied.
Then he asked Pop why he had bought so much gasoline and fertilizer. Did he plan to use it to make bombs? The man put his face close to Pop’s face.
Pop looked at the man as if he were crazy. “I’m a farmer. I use it on the land. I raise the best strawberries you ever tasted. Come to my house when we are finished here, and my wife will make you a strawberry shortcake. I will give you a nickel if it’s not the best strawberry cake you ever ate.”
“I’ve been to your house, and it wasn’t for cake.”
Pop looked from one man to another. He realized he had better stop joking. This was serious. Mom would be worried if he was late getting home. He wanted the questions to end. Not until that evening did he realize he wasn’t going home. He was spending the night in jail.
“Mr. Lawrence got a lawyer for you,” Roy said.
Pop shook his head. The FBI men wouldn’t let him talk to a lawyer. He never talked to anybody who was on his side.
He was held in jail in California for a few days, not allowed to see anyone. Then he was sent to prison in New Mexico with half a dozen other Japanese men. “They saidwe were working for the Japanese government, that we were spies. I asked them for proof, and they said they had plenty, but they wouldn’t tell me what it was,” he said. “I told them I was one-hundred-percent American. They said I wasn’t American at all. I wasn’t even a citizen.”
“But you couldn’t be,” Roy said. “The law doesn’t let Japanese immigrants become citizens. Germans and Italians can, but not Japanese. Only Nisei —second-generation Japanese like Hiro and Tomi and me—can be U.S. citizens. How can they blame you for what the law doesn’t let you do?”
Pop only shrugged his shoulders.
“They must have believed you finally, because they let you come here,” Tomi said.
“They didn’t believe me ever. Maybe it’s a trick. I think they are watching me all the time, watching you, too.”
He shivered again, and Mom put her hand to Pop’s forehead to see if he had a fever. “Tell me what is wrong with you. You are not well,” she said.
“The camp was very cold, and there were only thin blankets. I didn’t have a warm coat. We had to stay outside
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