by Rishi Reddi
“I wish you had purchased this land too, like my uncle did,” Amarjeet said to Mr. Moriyama. He had been helping with repairs around the farm. They were eating Mrs. Moriyama’s rice balls for lunch, seated on the bench near the water’s headgate.
“Attorney general already say. Japanese cannot be citizen.”
“You could still have bought the land.”
“No matter, Amarjeet,” Mr. Moriyama said.
Amarjeet could not tolerate his passivity. He got up abruptly, to control his tongue. “Ain’t you going to the Japanese Association meeting? They put up signs everywhere. They want to speak to the Valley residents. Convince them to vote no on the law.”
“I aware of meeting.”
“At my old high school.” He did not need to add, Harry’s old high school too. “I’ll come to fetch you. We’ll go together.” He did not know why he cared so much. Was it because of Harry? Was it because he smelled the danger to the Hindus too? Was it because of the injustice of it all?
There were categories among the Orientals; everyone knew that. The Japanese could not be citizens. The Hindus could.
ON TUESDAY, one week before the election, Amarjeet picked up Mr. Moriyama early. They would help to set up the school gymnasium for the meeting that night. They did not know how many people to expect.
The Japanese Association wanted to appeal to the people directly, to tell them that if the Asian farmers left, the Valley would decline, that Anglos would not farm the land they owned, and they would not replace their Japanese sharecroppers with Anglo tenants because the Anglos did not want to do such work; it was too demanding, too hot, too menial. The grower-shipper corporations would buy the land and hire cheap labor. If the Japanese left, what would happen to the family farm, to the dream of the Imperial Valley?
Mr. B. R. Katoh was organizing the meeting. Amarjeet and Mr. Moriyama joined him and four other men who were unfolding chairs in the gymnasium, arranging them in long rows. They had a podium in place. Two women had just arrived, bringing bags of Japanese pastries and bottles of lemonade, when School Superintendent Robert Halliday entered. Behind him were four other Anglo men and Deputy Elijah Hollins.
“Mayor said this meeting’s canceled,” the superintendent said. “Threat to public safety.” He was Anna Halliday’s father.
Mr. Moriyama looked at Amarjeet, as if to confirm that he had known this would happen all along.
“We want only talk with people,” Mr. Katoh said. “Tell them our story.”
“Mayor’s orders,” Deputy Hollins said, stepping forward. He was chewing tobacco. He thrust out his chest, thumbs tucked into his belt. A pistol hung by his hip.
Amarjeet felt rage build up inside him, like a rock, unyielding. He watched as the Japanese men stacked the chairs together and began to put them away.
AMARJEET ROSE ON ELECTION DAY and went to the high school, his high school, to cast his vote. Out front, men held signs for Harding, for Cox.
At the door to the schoolhouse, he was stopped by Deputy Hollins, the same officer who had shut down the Japanese Association meeting before it had even begun.
“Voting day today, Singh. You have to be a citizen.”
Amarjeet was prepared. He took out his documents. The certificate of naturalization. His honorable discharge from the army. He showed them to Hollins without speaking.
“I didn’t know they were handing those out to Hindus,” Hollins said. His finger poked at the certificate. Amarjeet was surprised that Hollins knew who he was. He no longer wore a turban, and he had been away from the Valley for a year and a half.
“Now you do, I guess.” He spoke quietly.
When he reached the clerk’s desk, he did not wait to be asked again. He merely showed the papers. The clerk glanced at the deputy, who stood by the doorway, his thumbs hooked on his belt.
In the booth, Amarjeet drew the curtain, held the pen with shaking fingers. He filled in the ballot for Cox. Harding’s platform called for a “return to normalcy.” Amarjeet did not believe that was possible. He voted NO for the Alien Land Law. When he left the voting booth, he avoided meeting anyone’s eye.
It was clear to him now. Everyone was struggling, but to the real Americans, it did not seem right that aliens could struggle alongside them. That some might actually be succeeding when the Americans came up short. Orientals were to be fieldworkers and packers because such laborers were desperately needed and could not be too uppity; workers and packers always knew their place. It was only the best Oriental entrepreneurs who should be made to leave: those who discovered ways to protect unripe cantaloupe, invented hybrid lettuce, grew peas where others had failed, earned themselves nicknames like the “potato king” and the “strawberry baron.” The successful ones who had settled and raised families and made homes here, the Japanese—especially the Japanese—must go.
Four days later, Amarjeet brought the newspaper from town and laid it on the table on the porch. The Alien Land Law had passed, by a vote of 3,962 to 1,743 in Imperial County. Such a large majority. Mr. Moriyama had been right all along.
Now if Harry’s family wanted to farm in Fredonia, they would have to depend on the kindness of the Consolidated Fruit Company, on its willingness to break the law. The Moriyamas could not purchase land in the Valley as Jivan had, or even lease it. They had no citizen to rely on; Harry was dead.
AMARJEET AND HIS UNCLE were standing with Mr. Moriyama on his porch. They could see the western border with the Singhs’ land. “What will you do?” his uncle asked.
“Lease finished January one,” Tomoya said.
“I know,” Jivan said.
“Consolidated tell me they no renew. They tell me—it breaking law.” He smiled a bitter smile. “They offer me foreman job same land.”
Amarjeet and Jivan were quiet. How could one respond to that humiliation? Amarjeet saw his uncle kick the dirt with his boot.
“They offer pay. Take order. Same land I farming.” Tomoya snorted. “I say no.”
For a moment, Amarjeet felt a gulf open between them. His uncle and Mr. Moriyama were not equals anymore. He felt uncomfortable, distressed.
“Clive knows you all developed the way to cover cantaloupe and protect from the sun,” Jivan said. “Now entire valley is following your way. He is knowing you shipped those peas last month. Right after that bloody election. Two months earlier than anyone else.”
Tomoya looked at him gratefully. “He is not law.”
“He gains from the law, Mr. Moriyama,” Amarjeet said.
“You can form syndicate,” Jivan said. “So many have done that. Jasper Davis from the bank would support you. Definitely Jasper can collect one-two other Anglos to form it. Bypass the law.”
Amarjeet knew his uncle was grasping. He did not want Tomoya to leave.
Tomoya was making an imprint of his shoe in the soft sand, absently. “Long ago I decide I make home in this place and raise family. Not travel like other men. Every three years, every year, they pack everything and go new farm. No way.” His face was stoic. “Moriyama Tomoya not live like that.
“I go join older daughter, her husband in Brownsville. No law in Texas. Or I go Bakersfield, live with younger daughter.”
Amarjeet and Jivan did not respond.
“Listen what I tell you,” Tomoya said. “You farm this land too.” His gaze took in both of them. “You and family. You take it.” He indicated the fields around them. “For twelve years I here. It better than land in Japan, better than land in Hawaii. If Consolidated offer, you take.”
Tomoya held Jivan’s gaze. The election had changed what did not need to be changed. Jivan looked pained. Amarjeet could see: his uncle felt guilty for buying his portion of Eggenberger’s land. “I will tell Karak and Ram,” Jivan said.
Tomoya’s face betrayed no emotion. “What country take only son and not let you to stay?” he asked.
JAPANESE QUESTION WAS SOLVED IN TEXAS (by Associated Press)
BROWNSVILLE, Texas., Dec. 20 – Tensi
on in the lower Rio Grande valley over the arrival of prospective Japanese colonists appears to have been eased off as a result of the promise made by two Japanese families at Harlington to return to California.
WHITE BABIES ARE INCREASING
FREDONIA, California., Dec. 22 – According to the registrar, the number of white children born in the last few months exceeded the number of Japanese and Mexican births in the township, while heretofore the Japanese and Mexican births have always far outnumbered the white births. In November’s records, sixteen white births and only five Japanese and six Mexican births are registered.
HINDUS PROVED GOOD SPRINTERS CHRISTMAS
FREDONIA, California., Dec. 26 – All the Hindus in town were chased out Christmas afternoon, following an altercation between a Hindu and an American in front of a Main street barber shop. Bystanders took up the argument and the turban wearers found the streets uncomfortable. By dark not one was to be found in the city. No regular fights were staged, most of the scrimmages being foot races with no serious damage resulting.
ANOTHER JAPANESE COLONIST WARNED TO LEAVE TEXAS
BROWNSVILLE, Texas., Jan. 7 – T. Moriyama, a Japanese Colonist, was met at the train by a committee from the American Legion, the Chamber of Commerce and the retail merchants and farmers organizations and told to leave in 48 hours. He promised to obey. He was informed that public sentiment made it impossible for the Japanese to colonize here and trouble was probable if they persisted.
NIGHT CLASS IN AMERICANIZATION
FREDONIA, California., January 12 – Plans for a night school class in Americanization are under way, John N. Beattie, in charge of night school classes at the high school, announced today. “We would like to have in the class those people who need to be taught the requirements of American citizenship, Japanese, Mexican, Spanish and Hindu people,” says Mr. Beattie. “In the class, we will teach reading, writing and civics, so they will understand the language, laws and ideals of the United States.”
Letters
Mr. Bhagat Singh Thind
Gurdwara House of Worship
1930 South Grant Street
Stockton, CA
January 13, 1921
Esteemed Bhai Bhagat Singh Thind-ji,
Greetings. Perhaps you recall our meeting in Camp Lewis about 18 months ago? At the time, I had just returned from France and was awaiting discharge from the army. We were sworn in together as new citizens in the large hall. While the rest of us were clapping to the band’s music, tossing hats in the air, you sat quiet and somber in your army uniform, wearing the dastar with such dignity. You said something curious to me at the end of that ceremony—that we should be on guard for losing the citizenship that we had just gained, that sometimes all is not as it appears on the surface. At that time, I did not know what you meant. But clearly through your age and experience you knew better than I.
This week, a Japanese family who have long been our neighbors moved away because of the new California land law. It is a tragedy. Their only son, my closest friend, died in France just after the peace. He had saved the lives of two fellow soldiers during the war. He was a citizen of this country by reason of his birth. If he had survived, they could have kept their farm and livelihood through him. Now they are without either. In the high school I attended, Americanization classes are now being offered to teach the ideals of this country. I read of this with so much bitterness. Of which American ideals do they speak? There are two Americas. I know this now.
You had asked me to write to you if ever I was unhappy with my life after the war. What had you meant by that—“unhappy with my life”? In these dark times, what is to be done? For those of us who risked life and limb to save the world for democracy, what can we do now?
You spoke so strangely to me at that moment after we took our oath. When others were celebrating, you seemed to see the future.
Sincerely yours,
Amarjeet Singh
January 17, 1921
Mr. Amarjeet Singh
Rural Route 9
Fredonia, CA
My dear Amarjeet,
I am surprised and delighted to receive your letter of 13th instant. If you are inclined to combat the darkness of these times, won’t you come and join me in the battle? I have been traveling around the state, and also to Washington and Oregon, lecturing and teaching Americans about this injustice to us recent immigrants, when they are only immigrants themselves! I reveal to them how the British have influenced American politics to undermine Indians, so that we may never win back our own country. You see, I have always believed that we should be citizens of America, so that we may have a secure base from which to fight to remove the British.
I ask you now—come and join me. You will act as my clerk, handle correspondence, make translations, and help build the movement. Despite our past failures with the Germans, there is still hope for us here. Your high school years in America will be a great asset to us. We are being funded by Ghadar money and by donations to the gurdwara.
Here is the crux—Bureau of Naturalization has appealed the grant of my citizenship. The appeal has gone all the way to the Ninth Circuit Court level. At first I was discouraged, but my lawyer is very capable. We will fight this to the Supreme Court, my young friend. You are in the same boat as me, whether you recognize it or not. What will happen if our U.S. citizenship is rescinded while we have already renounced our British citizenship? We will be stateless, and for those of us who are married to American women, they will share our fate.
But of one matter there is no doubt: it is better to be a man without a country than a citizen of an enslaved country. Come and join me.
In chardi kala,
B. S. Thind
February 10, 1921
Bhai Bhagat Singh Thind-ji,
Your offer is quite flattering to me. I am not deserving of such a role in the movement. Surely you are mistaken? It cannot be me that you have in mind?
Yet, my anger grows every day. Yesterday while walking in town, a man knocked the turban from my friend Gugar Singh’s head. I stopped Gugar Singh from saying anything to the man, despicable though he was. There is no safety here. There is no telling what would have ensued. We picked up the dastar from the filthy ground and we left the place.
Last week my uncle organized a meeting with the businessmen in the local Chamber of Commerce. Theme of the meeting was: How can Hindus fit in and be better residents and stay away from lawlessness? I was humiliated to attend such a meeting. Yet I understand my uncle’s action. I understand why we have need for such a thing.
Sincerely yours,
Amarjeet Singh
February 16, 1921
My dear Amarjeet,
I have made no mistake. I am desperately in need of an assistant and you must fill that role. I will send money for your travel and you will stay in the gurdwara with me. Gurdwara is like our mother—whether you cross the desert on hands and knees, or swim across the ocean, or come with broken heart, gurdwara brings comfort. Always we Sikhs take care of our own and anyone else who seeks solace. We do not let others suffer, whether they be of our faith or not. How, then, can I abandon you to your anger?
Name of the train depot here is Santa Fe Union Station. Train comes twice a day. Telegraph the details after your arrangements are made. If you do not come, I’ll be greatly disappointed.
Fateh,
B. S. Thind
March 1, 1921
Bhai Bhagat Singh Thind-ji,
Situation has become unbearable here. Is this the country for which I joined the war? Where are those ideals of the United States that I fought for? Democracy? Tolerance?
I have asked my uncle for permission to join you. I am ashamed to say I have gone against him in the past, but in this, I needed his permission. He has given it and more. He gave me his blessing.
You should know that I have begun to wear a dastar again, proudly, as you do. You have inspired me, bhai-ji. That one can be an American, and wear a dastar, and work
for Indian independence—all can be counted in the same man.
Please look for my telegram. I will come.
In chardi kala,
Amarjeet Singh
Part Five
I want to say—I cannot say too often—any man who carries a hyphen about with him carries a dagger that he is ready to plunge into the vitals of this Republic whenever he gets ready.
—President Woodrow Wilson, speech in Pueblo, Colorado, September 25, 1919
29
Spring 1921
AMARJEET LEFT BEFORE THE SPRING HARVEST, ON A WINDY AFTERNOON when sand swept over the hood of the Model T as the family drove to drop him off. There was no parade and no band as they stood with him on the platform, near a trunk filled with clothes and books. Only an Anglo businessman waited with them, and farther toward the front, a Negro woman with her teenage son. The train whistled its approach, the four passengers boarded, and suddenly Amarjeet had left them, again.
The storm held off until they returned that night, then sent sand blasting against the side of Jivan’s house, through crevices around the windows and roof. The next morning, they spent hours clearing both homes. At Moriyama’s deserted house, sand collected against the eastern wall. Two date trees had fallen across the path. Scorpions sheltered in the sitting room where Amarjeet and Hatsu had talked about Anna Halliday. No one cleared them out. The fertile land sat untilled and abandoned.
To Ram, it seemed everyone had reconciled themselves to Amarjeet’s absence, especially Jivan Singh. Without complaint, Jivan hired a man to help with Amarjeet’s chores. The family’s routine seemed unchanged, but everything had been altered. Jivan would say that he did not care about being a U.S. citizen himself, but he would never forgive what happened to Tomoya. “It is the principle that matters and for which Thind and Amarjeet are fighting! What shall happen to us all if we lose the right to citizenship too?”
