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This chapter discusses how Kikuchi's diary and papers provide substantive evidence of interracial alliances and conflicts at a time when the theory and practice of democracy itself were rigorously being tested and redefined. During the first stage of this period, or the early years of the internment (1942–1943), Japanese Americans experienced an extreme form of prejudice, oppression, and segregation, while fellow minorities initially feared for their own welfare, understandably hewing to shibboleths of unqualified patriotism. Eventually, though, the absurd arbitrariness of the evacuation compelled other American minorities to consider their own possible futures. In the second stage—the resettlement of Japanese Americans, circa 1943–1945—growing populations of job-seeking minorities struggled over and negotiated the restricted urban spaces they were now forced to share with recently freed Japanese.

This chapter explores the lengthy, honest, and mutually respectful nature of the correspondence between Kikuchi and Dorothy Swaine Thomas, especially during the period of 1942 to 1945, when Kikuchi officially kept his personal diary for the Japanese American Evacuation and Resettlement Study (JERS), which Thomas led. Thomas had initially asked Kikuchi to keep a diary in the hope that she would gain greater insight into the “normal” workings of camp life and the readjustment processes of an individual resettler after camp. The chapter considers the significance of understanding how African Americans intersected with and viewed their Asian neighbors and coworkers. The chain reaction of internment and postwar resettlement filled cities with intermixing and competing Blacks and Japanese (and other Asians), and Kikuchi provided a running commentary.

This chapter illustrates how Kikuchi had decided to rejoin his family during the initial phase of the internment. Kikuchi infused the connection to his family with the greatest significance: as an index of his Americanism, a sign of his loyalty to the nation. Kikuchi's intertwining of his two aspirational families is striking-filiopietism translated into patriotism or, to use his term, Americanism. When the Kikuchis left the Tanforan horse stalls behind at the beginning of September 1942, they were also leaving behind a more cosmopolitan group of evacuees, all of whom had lived in the Bay Area. The Gila River Relocation Center, on the other hand, housed a cross-section of diverse groups of Japanese descent from the West Coast: rural and urban, older Issei bachelors and Nisei families, Kibei, Hawai'ian Nisei, worldly Angelenos, Berkeley academics, and San Joaquin Valley farmers, among many others.

This chapter illustrates how Kikuchi shrewdly understood that cultivating a relationship with a figure as influential as Louis Adamic could only help his future career and long-term interest in matters of race and ethnicity. After the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, Kikuchi indeed counted on the Adamics for practical and emotional support. Numerous later letters showed that Kikuchi considered Adamic's mentoring a welcome development, something he had lacked for so many years while away from his biological parents. However, despite Adamic sending Kikuchi many other similar texts, he rarely communicated with his acolyte at any great length or with any immediacy. As Kikuchi understood, his and Adamic's commonality had at least two sides: their visions and hopes for America coincided, and the two men's lives were similar versions of the immigrant's tale.

This introductory chapter draws on Charles Kikuchi's diaries in presenting a trail guide for a reconstructive study of why the various schools of American democracy—including Nisei intellectuals at Berkeley, pluralist advocates, Chicago School sociologists, and African American progressives, among other types—ultimately failed in part and, not insignificantly, of how some of their ideas managed to survive the larger society's capitulation to Orwellian, Cold War ideology in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Kikuchi's preservation of the time's key moments and meaning makers allows for a restaging of historical actors and events. Most importantly, through Kikuchi's narrative, historical actors reenact their earnest but fallible efforts at progressively redefining the idea of American democracy on a stage not quite prepared for the glare of klieg lights.

This chapter talks about how Kikuchi suspected that his belief in his alienable rights as a citizen would be severely challenged. A year earlier, Congress had passed the Alien Registration Act, requiring the registration and fingerprinting of all aliens over the age of fourteen. The law had passed in large part due to unsubstantiated rumors of fifth column activity and espionage on the part of enemy aliens, especially German Americans. At the same time, the Department of Justice and the FBI were compiling a short list of dangerous or subversive aliens—German, Italian, and Japanese—who were to be arrested as soon as war broke out with their particular countries. The chapter shows how Kikuchi viewed the situation through a racial lens—citing Hitler's anti-Jewish pogroms—whereas he had been preoccupied with class after his migratory work in the San Joaquin Valley.

This chapter looks at how Kikuchi found army life somewhat of a rude awakening after having spent two years living in Chicago, working on his master's degree in social work, and conducting research for JERS. It proved to be as much a mental challenge as a physical one: the bureaucracy of the military hierarchy and its conservative ideology were most surprising to Kikuchi. He discovered that deep-seated racism directed toward African American soldiers and civilians pervaded the army ranks, a difficult pill to swallow given his own position as a recently imprisoned Nisei. Nevertheless, he managed to retain an intense faith and belief in the power and potential of America's democracy, hoping that his individual service would, in some small measure, reflect the commitment of the Nisei as a whole.