Abstract
On a cool, crisp winter afternoon in a California desert, at the foot of the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, a crowd of more than two thousand people gathered. Some were curious; more were angry. Before all of them, standing on an oil tank with a microphone and loudspeaker, forty-seven-year-old Joseph Y. Kurihara shouted angry words of defiance. Referring to the generally despised Fred Tayama, who was assaulted the night before, Kurihara bellowed, “Why permit that sneak to pollute the air we breathe? … Let's kill him and feed him to the roving coyotes! … If the Administration refuses to listen to our demand, let us proceed with him and exterminate all other informers in this camp.”
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