Top Photo: Exclusion Order posted at First and Front Streets directing removal of persons of Japanese ancestry from the first San Francisco section to be affected by the evacuation. National Archives NAID: 536017

On Memorial Day 1942, Clyde Sarah and his girlfriend, Ida, were strolling down Estudillo Avenue in San Leandro, California, when a local police officer stopped the two, asking Sarah to show his identification. In wartime California, where nearly all residents lived under some restrictive measures including curfews and blackouts, the officer’s request wasn’t out of the ordinary—but Sarah’s response was.

He reached into his pocket and handed over his draft registration card, which listed him as a white man from the Bay Area. The officer was just about to send the couple on their way, but Sarah felt compelled to reveal his true identity.

Clyde Sarah was actually Fred Korematsu, a Nisei (second-generation Japanese American) man from Oakland. 

Fred Korematsu, 1940. Courtesy of the National Portrait Gallery.

The officer immediately arrested Korematsu for violating General John L. DeWitt’s evacuation orders for all individuals of Japanese descent—foreign and American-born—in the months following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Rather than join his family, who had complied with the order and left their home and successful nursery in early May to evacuate to the Tanforan Assembly Center in San Bruno, Korematsu decided to violate federal law and stay in Oakland. While Korematsu told an FBI agent that he wanted to remain in the Bay Area “until he could evacuate voluntarily with his girl [Ida]...to some spot in the Middle West where they could live as normal people,” his decision became a fight against the injustice of the US Army’s forced removal of more than 120,000 Japanese Americans (80 percent of whom were American citizens) from the West Coast. [1]

“I don’t remember a conscious moment when it became more than a personal issue,” Korematsu later recalled. “But to be pushed into evacuation, threatened with punishment, because you look like the enemy is wrong. … I felt that I was an American citizen and I had as much rights as anyone else.”[2]

For the next two years, Korematsu appealed his conviction of violating the exclusion orders all the way to the Supreme Court. Korematsu's refusal to comply with Executive Order 9066 sparked a legal battle against wartime measures that violated Japanese Americans’ civil rights and liberties. 

Born in 1919 in Oakland to immigrant parents, Korematsu grew up helping his family’s nursery to thrive alongside his three brothers. Korematsu was an “all-American” boy who began every morning with the pledge of allegiance. While a bit more reserved than some of his high school classmates, he nonetheless loved swing music, jokes, and girls. But he was also aware that his physical differences set him apart from his white friends, and he became used to stares when he was out on the streets of Oakland. As tensions increased between the United States and Japan during the late 1930s, those glares became more frequent. [3]

The Korematsu family in their Stonehurst flower nursery in Oakland, c. 1940. Fred is second from the far right. Courtesy of the National Portrait Gallery.

After graduating from high school, Korematsu wanted to serve his country but was rejected by the military because of a gastric ulcer. Deciding college was not for him, he took up welding but was let go by one job after another just when he was about to be promoted to foreman. Korematsu was feeling particularly low, but he at least had his girl.[4]

He and Ida were relaxing and listening to music while parked on a hill overlooking the bay on an otherwise easy Sunday—December 7, 1941. Suddenly, “the music stopped,” and the radio broadcast announced that Pearl Harbor had been attacked.[5]

“We’d better get back home,” he said to Ida, knowing that his life—and those of his family and friends—was about to change.[6]

Following Pearl Harbor, fear and suspicion of Japanese Americans escalated. Within hours of the attack, President Franklin D. Roosevelt released proclamations that called on the FBI and local law enforcement to arrest enemy aliens suspected of sabotage and subversive behavior, often with little evidence. After the United States declared war on Japan on December 8, Army Chief of Staff General George Marshall declared the majority of the West Coast to be a “theater of operations,” potentially at risk of either another air attack or for sabotage from enemy aliens. Calls from California politicians and military officials, including Western Defense Commander General John L. DeWitt, for the removal of all Japanese Americans (regardless of their citizenship status) from the Pacific Coast mounted throughout January and early February of 1942. Despite the complete lack of evidence linking Nisei to espionage or sabotage, Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 on February 19, 1942, authorizing the Secretary of War to allow commanders like DeWitt to remove and exclude “any or all persons” (not just enemy aliens) from restricted areas in the name of military necessity.[7]

Korematsu’s family was devastated. His mother couldn’t believe that Japan would do such a thing, and his father and brothers worried about the impact on the nursery. DeWitt originally called for a period of “voluntary” evacuation when Japanese Americans could leave their homes along the West Coast, organize custodianship of their businesses, and find someplace to live beyond the two military zones, but racism and discrimination nationwide made that nearly impossible. In late March, DeWitt issued a freeze order prohibiting Japanese Americans from leaving the zones unless cleared by the Army and the first in a series of civilian exclusion orders requiring all Japanese Americans to prepare to “evacuate” by May. They could only take with them what they could carry in suitcases when they reported to temporary stations staffed by local officials and military police. From there, the Army transported them to temporary detention (“assembly”) centers while they awaited assignment to one of the 10 camps overseen by the Wartime Relocation Authority (WRA).[8]

After Roosevelt signed EO 9066, Korematsu listened to his mother cry and watched his family practically give away parts of the nursery to their white neighbors and friends. But he decided he had to do something. Before the voluntary period ended, Korematsu made an announcement to his family.

He was going to leave before them and move beyond the exclusion zone to live and work. His parents were shocked, but they resigned themselves to the fact that their 21-year-old son was a man and should do what he felt was best.

What he didn’t tell them was that he was planning on illegally staying in the Bay Area to be with his Italian American girlfriend, Ida.

Korematsu wanted to go to Nevada or someplace else away from the Coast, where they might be able to be together and not receive so much unwanted attention as an interracial couple. Ida, however, had a home and a life in California and wanted to stay near her parents. Though not required to leave, foreign-born Italian Americans in the Bay Area were also initially under curfews and restrictions and faced uncertainty. Korematsu complied with Ida’s wishes, and they remained in San Leandro, biding their time. 

The young couple rented a room in Oakland and schemed to remain in the Bay Area. One day, Ida showed Korematsu an advertisement for a plastic surgeon. “Why don’t you think of this?” she asked. A less desperate man may have scoffed at the idea of using a facelift as a disguise, but while young, in love, and angry, Korematsu made an appointment with Dr. B.B. Matsen. On March 4, Korematsu paid Matsen $100 for surgery on his nose and eyelids intended (in theory) to make him less recognizable as a Nisei man.[9]

Korematsu settled on a new name—Clyde Sarah—to accompany his “new” face. He chose Clyde because he believed it sounded “Spanish” and “Sarah” because that was Ida’s middle name. He attempted to pass as a man of Spanish and Hawaiian descent, and for a little while, it worked.[10]

He changed his name on his draft card, found a well-paying welding job, and continued to live a life of relative freedom with Ida. Korematsu felt guilty that he was living care-free while his family was prepared to say goodbye to their home, but ultimately thought that working and saving money was the best way to make good use of his time. 

But on May 3, 1942, Korematsu saw Civilian Exclusion Order 34 posted on a telephone pole in San Leandro, calling for all Japanese Americans in the county to prepare to evacuate and report to the Army stations for registration on May 9. Any Japanese American who remained in the military zone after that date would be violating federal law. And when he was stopped by the police officer alongside Ida on Memorial Day, Korematsu began his new life as a criminal and defendant.  

A copy of the civilian exclusion order that Korematsu saw on the telephone pole in San Leandro. Courtesy of the National Archives and Records Administration. 

After his arrest, the local police held Korematsu in a county jail before they transferred him to the stockades at the Presidio in San Francisco—also home to General DeWitt’s headquarters. Fortunately for Korematsu, lawyers with the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), including Ernest Besig, were planning legal challenges to the exclusion orders and curfews that applied only to Nisei, citing them as examples of racial discrimination and violation of Japanese Americans’ civil rights. Besig learned of Korematsu’s arrest from the local papers and believed that he possibly had a case—a slim one, but a case nonetheless based on the overreach of military authority in Japanese American removal. [11]

In late May, Besig met with Korematsu to discuss appealing his arrest as a test case against the constitutionality of EO 9066. In the meantime, local authorities complied with the exclusion orders and transferred Korematsu to the Tanforan detention center. There he rejoined his family, who expressed their deep disappointment in Korematsu for his slate of poor decisions: the surgery (which did not fool his mother; she immediately recognized and scolded him), his refusal to comply with the orders, and, perhaps most importantly, his dishonesty with those who loved him. Korematsu was shunned by many of his friends and community in the camp and felt very alone without Ida—whom he never heard from again. [12]

But as Korematsu felt he was at his lowest point, Besig was only just beginning to fight. On June 28, official charges were filed against Korematsu for violating Civilian Order No. 34, and Besig accompanied him to San Francisco for trial. The judge found him guilty and set his bail at $2,500. Besig posted bail and was leaving with Korematsu when two military police prevented them from leaving. 

“You haven’t any authority over him. We paid the bill; he’s a civilian. He’s not a military man. He has a right to go, and we are going,” Besig stated.[13]

“No, he’s not,” one of the guards replied. “We have orders from my commanding officer that he is not going to step outside this door.”[14]

Besig was shocked that the judge allowed the military police to take Korematsu back to the stockade at the Presidio, a flagrant violation of judicial orders and civil rights after posting bail. Not long after, the military police returned Korematsu to Tanforan until he would be transported, along with his family, to the Topaz camp in Utah in late summer.

Repurposed horse stalls that Japanese Americans slept in at the Tanforan detention center. Courtesy of the National Archives and Records Administration.

But in the fall of 1942, largely in response to a decreased threat of attack along the West Coast and a labor shortage in agriculture and manufacturing, the WRA allowed “loyal” Japanese Americans to be released from the camps so long as they held jobs and resettled beyond the restriction zones. Korematsu and thousands of other Nisei answered “yes” to loyalty questionnaires that asked them to renounce their loyalty to the Japanese emperor and agree to serve their nation where needed. The WRA cleared Korematsu to leave Topaz with his brothers and relocate to Detroit, where they all found employment in war industries.[15]

And while he did secure his freedom from Topaz, Korematsu continued the fight against his conviction—representing his parents and the thousands of other Nisei still behind barbed wire. 

Korematsu v. United States

By the time Korematsu v. United States reached the Supreme Court on October 11, 1944, the law did not appear to be working in Korematsu’s favor. The Court had already issued rulings against Gordon Hirabayashi and Minoru Yasui their cases challenging the constitutionality of exclusion and military orders; there was little reason for Besig to believe that his results would be any different. Nevertheless, he and Korematsu persisted. His legal team argued before the court that EO 9066 violated Korematsu’s Fifth Amendment right to due process since the writ of habeas corpus was not suspended and the civilian judicial system was still the law of the land, not the military authorities. That same day, the Supreme Court heard arguments in the Ex Parte Mitsuye Endo involving a young Nisei woman, Mitsuye Endo, who had filed a case against the United States claiming that though the WRA confirmed her loyalty and she was able to leave the Tule Lake camp, she could not return to the West Coast under the existing exclusion orders.[16]

In response to both plaintiffs, the government’s case rested on the principle of military necessity. While the exclusion orders might seem extreme, they were fitting with the circumstances: the nation was at war, and the West Coast was under threat of sabotage. 

After deliberation, the Supreme Court released its joint opinions in the Endo and Korematsu cases on December 18, 1944. While the court ruled in favor of Endo and the exclusion orders were lifted for those Japanese Americans deemed loyal enough to return to the West Coast, the court ruled against Korematsu. The majority opinion, delivered by Justice Hugo Black, ultimately upheld exclusion, stating, "We cannot reject as unfounded the judgment of the military authorities," effectively prioritizing military judgment over individual rights. He saw little difference between Korematsu’s case and that of Hirabayashi from the previous year.[17]

Dissenting Justices Frank Murphy and Robert Jackson, however, challenged the idea that the removal was justified. Murphy asserted that "this is not a case of military necessity but rather of racial discrimination," highlighting the military’s role in perpetuating racial prejudice. He also declared that removal “falls into the ugly abyss of racism” that was similar to "the abhorrent and despicable treatment of minority groups by the dictatorial tyrannies which this nation is now pledged to destroy."[18]

Jackson warned of the dangerous precedent set by the ruling, emphasizing that racial discrimination was antithetical to American democracy—particularly when fighting a war against fascism:

But once a judicial opinion rationalizes such an order to show that it conforms to the Constitution, or rather rationalizes the Constitution to show that the Constitution sanctions such an order, the Court for all time has validated the principle of racial discrimination in criminal procedure and of transplanting American citizens. The principle then lies about like a loaded weapon, ready for the hand of any authority that can bring forward a plausible claim of an urgent need. Every repetition imbeds that principle more deeply in our law and thinking and expands it to new purposes. 

Despite the dissents, the court’s ruling not only legitimized the military's actions during wartime but also raised questions about accountability and oversight in matters of national security.

When General Delos Emmons (Western Defense Commander after DeWitt stepped down in 1943) lifted the exclusion orders on the West Coast and the Army permitted Japanese Americans to return to the West Coast in January 1945, Korematsu’s brothers went home to Oakland, where they found their family’s nursery in disarray. Korematsu couldn’t bring himself to return and decided to remain in Detroit. There, he met his wife and raised his children, living a quiet life and never speaking of his experiences.[19]

But in December 1981, while Congress wrapped up a series of hearings on the removal and incarceration of Japanese Americans during the war, a lawyer named Peter Irons reached out to Korematsu with a shocking discovery. Based on his legal team’s research at the National Archives and Records Administration, Irons discovered that the military and the federal government had purposefully withheld information proving that Japanese Americans were not a security risk—crucial documents that the Supreme Court justices could have used in their decision. When Irons informed Korematsu that he wanted to pursue a pardon for his wartime conviction, Korematsu retorted, “I don’t want a pardon. If anything, I should be pardoning the government.” Ultimately, however, Korematsu agreed to Irons’ proposal.[20]

Two years later, in November 1983, San Francisco US District Court Judge Marilyn Patel heard Korematsu’s case and issued her ruling: “[t]he conviction that was handed down in this court and affirmed by the Supreme Court in Korematsu v. United States is … vacated and the underlying indictment dismissed.” [21]

Korematsu was grateful but had one final plea: 

“Having this conviction cleared, I am very happy. But ... I would like to have it completely cleared from the record and that this will never happen again to any American citizen.”  [22]

Korematsu (center) with Irons (right) at a press conference in 1983. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

In the decades following the Supreme Court's decision, the federal government recognized removal and incarceration of Japanese Americans as a grave injustice thanks to the work of Korematsu and other activists. In 1988, President Ronald Reagan signed the Civil Liberties Act, which formally apologized for the mass civil rights violations and provided reparations to survivors. [23]

In 2018, following a decision on a case involving immigration restriction, the Supreme Court effectively overturned the Korematsu decision. In his opinion, Chief Justice John Roberts agreed with dissenting Justice Sonia Sotomayor’s denunciation of Korematsu, explaining that “Korematsu was gravely wrong the day it was decided, has been overruled in the court of history, and—to be clear—‘has no place in law under the Constitution.’”[24]

Fred Korematsu died in 2005, but every year on January 30 (his birthday), several states recognize his work and sacrifice on Korematsu Day, and 80 years later, the case still serves as a reminder of the need to protect civil liberties even during times of insecurity.

Fred Korematsu’s gravesite in Oakland, California. Courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.

The opinions expressed here do not reflect those of Air University, Maxwell Air Force Base, the United States Air Force, and the Department of Defense.