The strongest critic of the incarceration camps was the least likely person: the man in charge of them.
May 14, 1943: Dillon S. Myer, director of WRA, issues a statement that the relocation centers should be removed as soon as possible because they are un-American.
On May 14, 1943, Dillon S. Myer, the director of the War Relocation Authority, issued a statement that surprised many: he called for the incarceration camps to be shut down “as soon as possible.”
This wasn’t coming from a critic outside the system. It was coming from the man running it.
The War Relocation Authority (WRA) had been created to manage the forced removal and incarceration of over 120,000 Japanese Americans during World War II. Myer, appointed director in 1942, oversaw the operation of ten camps scattered across the interior U.S. — places like Manzanar, Heart Mountain, and Tule Lake.
And yet, just a year into his role, Myer publicly declared the entire system “unnatural and un-American.” He recognized that the camps were not sustainable — not just economically or logistically, but morally. He urged the government to begin dismantling them and to reintegrate Japanese Americans back into society.
His words weren’t empty. Myer pushed for policies that eased restrictions on Japanese Americans, expanded work leave programs, and quietly advocated for early releases even before the war ended. His leadership helped shorten the incarceration for many families and laid groundwork for resettlement outside the West Coast.
He spoke candidly about what he saw:
“Keep in mind that the evacuees were charged with nothing except having Japanese ancestors.”
And he understood how the incarceration undermined America’s global image:
“It has added weight to the contentions of the enemy that we are fighting a race war — that this nation preaches democracy and practices racial discrimination.”
In 1946, the Japanese American Citizens League awarded Myer a citation, recognizing his efforts to promote justice and dignity for Japanese Americans, even while leading an unjust system.
It’s easy to assume everyone complicit in a system is fully aligned with it. But Myer’s stance complicates that narrative. While he didn’t oppose the camps’ creation, he worked from within to end them earlier than many in power were willing to consider.
He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a radical reformer. But he used the authority he had to make things better than they might have been.
Some people have the courage to speak up — even when it goes against what they’re tasked to do.
Quiet Americans remember them.