In Their Shoes

The bell rings. You stand at the front, pause for silence, then read:

"Our story begins in Los Angeles County: Long Beach, Boyle Heights, Little Tokyo. It’s November 1941. Before the headlines, before suspicion, Japanese American families live much like any other. First-generation immigrants work long hours running grocery stores, laundries, farms, fishing boats. Their children, born here, play baseball in the streets, speak English at school, Japanese at home. They go to church or temple, eat rice and fish and sweet manju pastries, believe in the promise of this country. But beneath it all, some already feel like outsiders—different eyes, different names, whispered questions about where their loyalty lies. Still, life goes on. They plant roots. They build homes. They believe they belong."

“Fast forward to today. Millions of Chicano and Mexican American families live in those same neighborhoods: the Eastside, Long Beach, San Pedro, East L.A. Your parents or grandparents may have crossed borders for a better life. Some of your ancestors were here long before, when this land was part of Mexico, before the border crossed them nearly 150 years ago. But you're not alone in those streets. Maybe your family came from Ireland, fleeing famine, passing through Ellis Island to chase the American dream. Maybe your roots stretch back to Italy, the Philippines, El Salvador, Cambodia, Korea; each family with its own story, but sharing these same streets, these same hopes. Your block smells like tamales steaming, tortillas warming on the comal, carne asada on the grill. But maybe it's also garlic simmering in a pot, rice frying on the stove, or lumpia crisping in hot oil. You hear Spanglish, Tagalog, Vietnamese, Spanish, English, music blasting from cars, kids yelling at the park. Your parents work long hours at warehouses, hospitals, construction, restaurants, classrooms, and they are all chasing the same dream: that this country can belong to you. You carry stories from your elders, songs in many languages, pride in your roots. You believe you belong here, just like they did.”

Students Do (Task):

"Regardless of your background, describe your own home life. Consider details like your neighborhood, the sounds and smells around you, your family’s work, your traditions, your languages. What makes your home feel like yours?"

3–5 minute journal entry. Volunteers may share after writing.

The bell rings. You stand at the front, pause for silence, then read:

"Five years into the future. The year is 2030. President Alex Sullivan, the nation’s first independent party candidate, sits in the White House after one of the most divided elections in U.S. history. The world feels tense; economic crises, rising nationalism, and border conflicts dominate the headlines. But no one expected this."

"At dawn this morning, Mexican military forces launched a coordinated surprise attack on San Diego Harbor. This is an act of aggression the Mexican government has tried to justify, claiming historical rights, but no one can deny: this was an attack born from hubris. Fighter jets bombed naval installations. Warships were struck by long-range missiles. Explosions ripped through military bases, piers, and civilian docks. By midday, the death toll surpassed 1,800. Casualties include sailors, soldiers, dock workers, even families living near the port. Two U.S. Navy destroyers and three smaller vessels now rest at the bottom of the harbor, flames still rising from the wreckage."

"The President has declared a state of emergency. News outlets are flooded with images: smoke curling over the California coastline, grieving families, angered politicians demanding retribution. You walk through your neighborhood, your school, your streets, and the looks have changed. Whispers follow your family. Eyes narrow when they hear your last name. You can feel it in the air: suspicion, fear, blame."

Students Do (Task):

"Imagine hearing the news this morning: the attack on San Diego. How do you feel? How does your family react? How does your neighborhood react? Write 3–5 sentences in your journal. You can stay in character as yourself, or imagine yourself as part of this Mexican American community."

The bell rings. You stand at the front, pause for silence, then read:

"The days after the San Diego attack feel heavier than the smoke still drifting over the coast. Every screen, every radio station replays the same images: burning ships, grieving families, angry politicians promising justice. Fear spreads fast, but suspicion spreads faster."

"You see it everywhere now. The panadería that's been part of your block for decades (the place where your neighbors buy pan dulce every Sunday) suddenly draws nervous glances. The carnecería owner from Sonora, who came here fifteen years ago, watches customers cross the street to avoid his shop. Even families who’ve been here longer than the street signs, whose children only speak English, whose abuelos built this neighborhood, they aren't spared the stares."

"Your parents (first-generation immigrants, proud of what they’ve built) have lived here long enough to pay taxes, start a business, raise a family. But not long enough to escape the label of 'outsider.' You, born here, raised on these streets, still hear the whispers: 'Where’s their loyalty?' 'Can we trust them?' Even classmates and neighbors, people you've known since kindergarten, shift uneasily when your name is called."

"Yesterday, the letter arrived. The government’s official notice: Effective immediately, all individuals of Mexican descent (immigrants and U.S.-born citizens alike) must carry new identification papers at all times. A strict 8:00 p.m. curfew is in place. No travel beyond a five-mile radius without government approval. Failure to comply may result in detention or criminal charges."

"At a press conference, a senator from Texas spoke loud enough for the country to hear: 'We have to be honest. Mexicans can never truly assimilate. Their loyalties are divided by blood, by history, by culture. We must take every precaution to protect the homeland.' You wonder how many people listening nodded along."

"Your block feels smaller. Patrol cars pass more often. The air hums with fear."

Students Do (Task):

"Consider the phrase you just heard: 'Mexicans can never truly assimilate.' This is a direct parallel to something Senator Tom Stewart once said about Japanese people during World War II, a line you’ll read for yourself in They Called Us Enemy: 'They cannot be assimilated.'

What does that mean to you? What does it mean to assimilate? Are you American enough in your own eyes? Are you American enough in other people’s eyes? Can someone ever truly belong here completely? What defines an 'American'? Is it language, skin, birthplace, culture? Write your thoughts. You can respond from your own perspective or stay in character."

The bell rings. You stand at the front, pause for silence, then read:

"This morning, the notice appeared on your door. Printed neatly on government stationery, stamped with the seal of the United States, it reads like a promise, but feels like a warning."

"‘To ensure the safety and wellbeing of all citizens, and to prevent unnecessary misunderstandings, the government will be temporarily relocating individuals of Mexican descent to designated processing facilities. These sites will provide shelter, security, and structure during this period of national uncertainty.’"

"The letter uses words like 'assistance,' 'stability,' and 'protection.' It talks about maintaining 'order' and 'unity.' It reminds you this is for your own benefit. But the rumors tell a different story. Families disappearing overnight. Homes boarded up. Businesses shuttered. Furniture tossed out onto sidewalks."

"Your family starts packing. Not just clothes, but memories: framed photos, religious statues, the wedding dress your mom’s been saving, the rosary from your abuela, the medals your dad earned serving this country. You try to sell what you can: your dad’s truck, your mom’s jewelry, the television, the dining table your family worked years to afford. But nobody’s offering real money. People know you're desperate. You watch your father accept ten dollars for a refrigerator that cost hundreds. You see neighbors crying as strangers haul away their couches, their beds, their futures, for pennies."

Students Do (Task):

In 1942, Executive Order 9066 was issued, forcing over 120,000 Japanese Americans from their homes on the West Coast. They were allowed to bring only what they could carry, while their homes, cars, and businesses were sold off or taken by the government. Families lost everything they had worked for, often accepting pennies on the dollar for their belongings.

For this task, place yourself in their shoes but through the lens of today’s scenario. You have 24 hours to leave. You can only bring what you can carry by hand. Everything else (your furniture, your family car, your home) will be sold or left behind.

What do you pack? What do you leave? What’s being sold for pennies? What gets left behind that can never be replaced? Make your list. Write your thoughts. You can stay in character or speak from your own life.

The bell rings. You stand at the front, pause for silence, then read:

"The trucks arrive before dawn. Government officials in neat uniforms, buses lined up at the curb, soldiers watching from the corners. You knew this day was coming, but seeing your neighborhood like this; it feels unreal."

"Your family stands on the curb with the two suitcases you packed. Everything else is gone. Sold off for scraps, left behind, stolen. The government says your home will be 'protected,’ but you’ve seen boarded-up houses covered in graffiti, doors ripped off, furniture smashed."

"The letter said you’ll be 'relocated' far from the Southern border, far from your community, your church, your school. They tell you it’s temporary, but no one believes that now. You’re headed to a place called Santa Anita, the old racetrack near Los Angeles. The same place they sent other Mexican families last week. Rumors say people are sleeping in horse stalls, the smell of manure everywhere, entire families crammed into spaces meant for animals."

"Some say this is only the beginning. There are whispers of other camps, isolated places deep in the desert, even farther north, places like Manzanar or Poston. Some say Lompoc and Guadalupe (towns with strong Mexican and Japanese roots) are being watched closely. Catholic churches raided. Families targeted not just for their last names, but for their faith. You heard them say it at the market: 'Mexican Catholics can’t be trusted. Too close to the Pope, too loyal to foreign powers.' You never thought your religion would make you a suspect."

"As the bus door creaks open, you wonder: how far can they take you before you stop feeling like you belong anywhere?"

Students Do (Task):

"In 1942, after Executive Order 9066, over 120,000 Japanese Americans (two-thirds of them U.S. citizens) were forcibly removed from their homes and sent to detention camps. The government called it 'relocation' to protect national security, but families lost their homes, businesses, and basic freedoms in the process.

This action also violated key protections in the U.S. Constitution, especially the 5th Amendment, which states that no person shall 'be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law.' Despite that, thousands of citizens lost everything.

For this task, imagine this scenario differently. Suppose you were responsible for relocating 120,000 people, either citizens or immigrants, during a time of national crisis. What would be the fair, ethical way to do this, without compromising the core beliefs of the United States? What rights and freedoms would be most important to protect? What reasons, if any, would justify relocating people inside this country?

Write your answer. You can speak as yourself or stay in character, but be thoughtful: what should a country like ours do when fear and security collide?"

The bell rings. You stand at the front, pause for silence, then read:

"The bus ride takes days. Long stretches of highway, cramped seats, soldiers watching. You pass through deserts, small towns, endless farmland. By the time the bus pulls off the dirt road, your legs are stiff, your throat dry, and your home feels like a lifetime ago."

"This is where they’ve brought you: Rowher Relocation Center, deep in rural Arkansas. The first thing you notice is the mud. Endless stretches of it, swallowing your shoes, clinging to your clothes. Rows of dull, wooden barracks sit in neat military lines. No paint, no insulation, just thin boards barely holding back the wind. Guard towers rise above the camp, rifles visible behind the barbed wire."

"The smell hits next. It reeks of damp earth, crowded bodies, the sharp sting of disinfectant. Families shuffle through the mud carrying what little they could bring. Children cry. Elders stumble. Your parents try to look strong, but their faces say otherwise."

"They assign you to a barrack with one room, shared with strangers. No running water. No electricity. The bathrooms are communal, the food is served in crowded mess halls, and everything from the beds, the walls, your future feels temporary, slapped together like an afterthought."

"They call this 'relocation.' It feels more like a prison."

Students Do (Task with Historical Context):

"In They Called Us Enemy, George Takei’s family was sent to Rowher Relocation Center in Arkansas, over 1,000 miles from their California home. Over 8,000 Japanese Americans were imprisoned there, surrounded by fences, watchtowers, and harsh conditions. These 'relocation centers' were isolated, overcrowded, and lacked basic necessities like electricity or private bathrooms. Families were expected to adapt, working inside the camp, enduring boredom, fear, and uncertainty.

For this task, imagine you’ve just arrived. There’s no school. No jobs yet. No power in the barracks. You can’t just play games all day: your family still has responsibilities, but in this strange, confined place.

What do you do with your time? What’s expected of you? How do families survive in these conditions? Write your thoughts. You can stay in character or speak from your own experience."

The bell rings. You stand at the front, pause for silence, then read:

"The days blur together inside the camp. You wake to the sound of boots crunching in the dirt, the wind rattling the thin wooden walls of your barrack. There’s no school yet. No real work. The camp leaders say they’re organizing things, but mostly, people wait."

"You start noticing the cracks: the quiet fights at mealtime, the worried glances between neighbors, the frustration simmering under polite smiles. The older generation (the Mexican immigrants, the first to come here) they try to stay calm. 'Follow the rules,' your father says. 'Keep your head down,' your abuelo mutters. They still believe this country might protect them."

"But the Chicanos (the ones born here, raised here) they’re different. You hear it in their voices, sharp with anger. 'We’re citizens,' they say. 'We’ve served in the military. We speak English better than half the guards here. How dare they treat us like outsiders?'"

"Some families turn inward, finding comfort in familiar things: prayers whispered in Spanish, tamales cooking over small stoves, rosaries clutched tight. Others turn bitter, staring at the barbed wire, counting the days, imagining what they’ve lost."

"This is your new life now: the same food lines, the same fences, the same questions that have no answers. Some days, hope feels heavier than the mud under your feet."

Students Do (Task):

"In They Called Us Enemy, George Takei describes the generational divide among Japanese Americans. The Issei, first-generation immigrants, often tried to endure camp life quietly believing respect and obedience would protect them. The Nisei, their American-born children, were citizens, many resented being treated like foreigners in their own country.

For this task, imagine those same generational gaps inside the camp but within the Mexican American and Chicano communities or within your own ethnic community.

How do different generations handle this struggle? How do your parents, grandparents, or older relatives react? How do people your age respond? Where do you see hope? Where do you see frustration or resistance? Write your observations. You can stay in character or reflect personally."

Instructions: Complete this questionnaire honestly, from the perspective of your assigned role or your own identity within this scenario. Your answers may impact your legal status, your family's treatment, and your future freedoms.

1. What is your full name?

2. Where were you born?

3. Are both of your parents of Mexican descent? If not, please explain.

4. Have you ever visited Mexico? If yes, when and why?

5. Do you speak Spanish? If yes, how often do you use it in daily life?

6. Do you participate in religious or cultural traditions associated with Mexico? If yes, describe them.

7. Have you ever donated to, volunteered with, or supported any organizations based in Mexico?

8. Do you renounce any loyalty or allegiance to the Mexican government, the Mexican Catholic Church, or any foreign power?

9. Are you willing to serve in the armed forces of the United States on combat duty, wherever ordered?

10. Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States of America and faithfully defend the United States from any and all attack by foreign or domestic forces, and forswear any form of allegiance to the Mexican government, the Mexican Catholic Church, or any other foreign government, power, or organization?

After Questionnaire Completion

You stand at the front, pause for silence, then read:

"After completing the questionnaire, the conversations never stopped. Especially about Questions 9 and 10. Some people answered 'Yes-Yes,' willing to serve, swearing allegiance, forswearing ties to Mexico or the Catholic Church, no matter how complicated that felt. Others answered 'No-No,' refusing to serve a country that had imprisoned them, rejecting the demand to erase their heritage or loyalty to their faith."

"Inside the camp, those labels stuck: 'Yes-Yes' families hoped cooperation would bring freedom. 'No-No' families were branded disloyal, dangerous, watched more closely. Families fractured. Friendships strained. People judged one another based on two questions designed to force impossible choices."

"And outside these fences? No matter how you answered, to the world… you were still suspect."

Historical Connection:

In 1943, the U.S. government issued a 'Loyalty Questionnaire' to over 75,000 Japanese Americans held in internment camps. The most controversial questions were #27 and #28, which forced people to prove their loyalty under impossible conditions.

Question #27 asked: 'Are you willing to serve in the armed forces of the United States on combat duty, wherever ordered?'

For many imprisoned families, this question felt insulting. How could they be asked to fight for a country that had stripped them of their rights, homes, and freedom? Some young men said yes, hoping to prove their worth. Others refused, unwilling to serve while their families lived behind barbed wire.

Question #28 asked: 'Will you swear unqualified allegiance to the United States of America and faithfully defend the United States from any and all attack by foreign or domestic forces, and forswear any form of allegiance to the Japanese Emperor or any other foreign government, power, or organization?'

For U.S.-born citizens, this question made no sense. How do you 'forswear' allegiance to a foreign government you never pledged allegiance to in the first place? Many felt trapped: if they answered 'no,' they were branded disloyal. If they answered 'yes,' it felt like erasing their heritage or implying they had been disloyal all along.

These two questions divided families and communities: those who answered 'Yes-Yes' were promised certain freedoms. Those who answered 'No-No' were labeled dangerous, isolated, and sometimes sent to harsher camps like Tule Lake.

Student Task (Reflection):

"You already completed the questionnaire. But now, reflect on the phrasing of those questions. How would you feel being asked to forswear loyalty to something you never pledged allegiance to in the first place? How would you feel being forced to choose between your heritage, your faith, your identity and proving your worth as an American?”

No written response necessary today.

Extended Learning

The Question of Loyalty from The Japanese-American Legacy Project (Link)

The bell rings. You stand at the front, pause for silence, then read:

"Word spreads fast through the camp: rumors of a new military unit forming. All Mexican American. All Chicano. Volunteers only, but heavily encouraged. They say it’s your chance to prove your loyalty, to defend the country, to earn your freedom."

"Some people in the camp whisper it’s just more false promises. Others say it’s the only way out, the only way to show the world you belong. Your family is divided: your abuelo says no good can come from dying for a country that locked you up. Your older cousin says it's worth the risk, that fighting could change everything."

"The posters outside the mess hall show young men in uniform, saluting proudly. The government calls them patriots. You wonder: are they heroes or just another way to forget what this country has done to them?"

Historical Connection:

"During World War II, while Japanese Americans were imprisoned in camps, the U.S. government formed the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, an all-Nisei (second-generation Japanese American) military unit. Despite their families being behind barbed wire, thousands volunteered to serve.

The 442nd became one of the most decorated military units in U.S. history for its size and length of service. Their motto: 'Go For Broke' or risk everything. They fought bravely in Europe, including the legendary rescue of the 'Lost Battalion' in France, where hundreds of Nisei soldiers sacrificed themselves to save fellow American troops. Over 18,000 individual decorations were awarded to members of the 442nd, including 21 Medals of Honor.

Their heroism often gets overlooked, yet their sacrifices challenged stereotypes and reshaped how Japanese Americans were seen. But the question remains: should they have had to prove their worth in the first place?"

Students Do (Task):

"What does sacrifice mean to you? Could you see yourself doing what the 442nd did, risking your life to prove your loyalty, even while your family remains imprisoned? Would you volunteer for the All Chicano unit or a unit based purely on racial ethnicity? Why or why not? Write your thoughts. Stay in character or speak for yourself."

Extended Learning

The Question of Loyalty from The Japanese-American Legacy Project (Link)

The bell rings. You stand at the front, pause for silence, then read:

"The day you never thought would come… finally arrives. The fences are still there. The guard towers still loom overhead. But the order has been given: You’re free to leave."

"But what does free mean now?"

"Your neighborhood isn’t the same. The house you left behind is boarded up, maybe occupied by strangers. Your family’s car is gone. The business your parents built is gone. The friends you trusted were the same ones whispering behind your back. The country you were born in, raised in, pledged to locked you away, questioned your loyalty, stripped your dignity. And now… they say you can go."

"The bus ride home is quieter than the one that brought you here. You stare out the window, watching the fences fade behind you, wondering: How do you rebuild? How do you forgive? Can you ever belong again in a place that proved how easily it could cast you out?"

"The world outside keeps turning. Some people forgot what happened. Some never cared to know. But you remember."

Historical Connection:

"After World War II, Japanese Americans were released from the camps, but returning to their old lives was nearly impossible. Over 120,000 people of Japanese descent had been imprisoned during the war, two-thirds of them U.S. citizens. By the time the camps closed in 1945, most families had lost everything: homes, businesses, farms, and possessions.

In some cities, their properties had been vandalized, seized, or sold off. The government offered no compensation at the time, and many Japanese Americans faced continued racism, job discrimination, and social exclusion for decades after their release.

It wasn’t until 1988 (more than 40 years later) that the U.S. government formally acknowledged the injustice. Congress passed the Civil Liberties Act of 1988, which issued an official apology and granted $20,000 in reparations to each surviving Japanese American who had been incarcerated. By then, many of those who had suffered the most were elderly or had already passed away.

The government admitted the camps were not about national security, but driven by 'racial prejudice, wartime hysteria, and a failure of political leadership.' But for generations of Japanese Americans, the scars (economic, emotional, cultural) never fully healed.

Today, many still question: Can a country ever truly repair the damage caused by injustice? What does accountability look like after so much has been lost?"

Students Do (Task):

"Reflect on this experience: the story, the history, the choices. What does 'freedom' mean after losing your home, your trust, your community? Can a country truly make amends for something like this? What would it take for you to feel like you belong again? Write your final thoughts. You can speak as yourself or through the eyes of your character."