By Brandon Dabling
Grace Oshita was 17 years old when the government ordered her family to leave their San Francisco home and relocate to a horse stable at the Tanforan Race Track in California.
' need to think about what it would be like to be put in a horse stable,' Oshita said. 'We were shocked .'
Not long after, the family was again forced to move, this time to the Central Utah Relocation Center in Topaz, a desert city 16 miles from Delta. Oshita spent the next three years in Topaz.
Sixty-five years later, more than 100 former Topaz internees will gather Saturday at the former site to reflect on their experiences and celebrate Topaz becoming Utah's 13th historic landmark this past April.
' is really a recognition that the Topaz camp site represents a historic part of our country,' said Rick Okabe, a member of the Topaz Museum board. 'It was a breach of civil rights for over 8,000 men and women who were interned there.'
At its peak, Topaz held more than 8,100 of the 120,000 internees across the nation and was Utah's fifth largest city.
'The so-called city of Topaz was one mile squared,' Oshita said. 'It was all desert and all very sandy and the barracks were not dust proof.'
Most of the barracks were quickly assembled and did not include solid walls or ceilings, said internee Yoshiko Uchida, in her book 'Desert Exile.'
'It was pointless trying to clean our room until the wind stopped blowing,' Uchida said. 'So my mother and I shook out our blankets, lay down on our cots, and waited for the dust storm to subside.'
Topaz internees also struggled with extreme temperatures in the summer and winter, widespread un-cleanliness, food poisoning and malnutrition. Diarrhea and other maladies were common in the camp.
Individual apartments were heated with coal stoves, but poor insulation provided little protection from the desert climate, according to the official Topaz Museum Web Site.
The camp eventually closed in October 1945.
'The buildings were then dismantled,' according to the Web site. 'Some were moved to other locations, leaving cindered roads, foundations for latrines and mess halls, and an episode that sullied the history of American democracy and its Constitution.'
Few signs of the internment remain at the site. Visitors will find pieces of broken glass, utensils and pottery. The sagebrush that was burned when the military built the barracks has now grown back. Even the site is easily missed unless passersby keep a sharp lookout.
Today, members of the Topaz Museum Board hope that internment will serve as a reminder of the importance of protecting civil liberty.
'The U.S. is founded on the principle that all citizens are granted basic rights, regardless of race and religion,' Okabe said. 'They were put in camp because they looked like the enemy.'
Dr. Byron Daynes, a BYU professor and instructor of a course on Japanese and Japanese-American internment, said he hopes teaching Americans about internment will protect against potential violations of civil rights without evidence of crimes committed.
'It could happen again,' Daynes said. 'Guantanamo keeps staring at me. We aren't always good students of history in this country. ... In many ways it is less visible, but is still lashing out at people without charging them with a crime.'
Daynes said this internment taught the United States it needs to constantly be cognizant of protecting civil rights not only during peace times, but especially in times of war.
'The Constitution is often not a very good document during times of crisis,' Daynes said. 'Citizenship meant nothing .'
After her internment at Topaz, Grace Oshita was able to successfully integrate back into society. Her family settled in Salt Lake City, where she lives today.
Though Oshita will not be present in Topaz on Saturday to reflect on her time as an internee, she asks that Americans never forget her story and that of the 120,000 internees around the country.
'Please remember history,' Oshita said. 'Please remember that this happened to a group of people that never did anything wrong.'
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