Victor Masato Kimura

-If you wish to make a contribution in Victor’s honor, please go to: http://giveto.ucsc.edu to mak your donation.

What you don't know won't hurt you. For some, those words act as a mantra easing them through the ins and outs of each day. For others, seeking out truth is the key to knowledge. I had the privilege of interviewing Victor Kimura, the first Asian American staff member at UCSC, about his career before he retired three years ago. For him, the truth is the only way to go. His career demonstrates his convictions and his example is one that has been celebrated by students, faculty, and staff. What proves to be vital in sharing his story is his courage in speaking out against racially insensitive acts.

Victor was born in Tooele, Utah, around the time when the American government incarcerated over 120,000 Japanese and Japanese Americans in internment camps during WWII. He explains, “My father said that no son of his would be born in an internment camp, so they moved from an internment camp in Poston, Arizona to a work camp in Tooele, Utah.” He recalls his father’s words to him and the pervading sentiment of Japanese Americans at the time: “I was deeply affected by a lot of things that my father said to me as I was growing up, for instance, don’t create waves, don’t create any problems, be a model citizen.” His father, no doubt driven by the political climate at the time, told him to respect authority, to withhold feelings, to not complain, and certainly to not speak out. Victor grew up amidst this unique time.

While attending Cabrillo College, he fell in love and soon after, started a family. In order to make money, he worked on a certificate of completion in accounting while holding down three jobs, one of which was for the UCSC Library that was temporarily housed at Cabrillo College. He moved the entire UCSC Library collection from Cabrillo to UCSC with a pick-up truck. On February 1st, 1965, Victor formally received his first job on campus making 372 dollars per month, starting two steps below the minimum of clerk level. Thirteen years later, Victor emerged as Assistant Accounting Officer and went on to becoming Campus Budget Director, in the wake of massive state budget reductions that translated into painful cuts for the campus as well. Still, he faithfully performed his duties as Campus Budget Director for the next thirteen years. Up to that point, Victor had been the most reclassified, most promoted staff member at UCSC. He fulfilled his post and true to his father’s wishes, “kept his nose clean,” until one day an incident occurred that changed his life forever.

In December 1988, Crown College planned a Filipino College Night that happened to fall on the anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. After realizing this, Crown staff canceled Filipino College Night, rationalizing that a celebration of Asian food and culture on that night may anger those with family members who fought in the war. Many students at the time believed the act was indicative of the racism that pervaded the campus.
In a gesture of solidarity with the students and in an effort to follow his convictions, Victor composed a letter voicing his criticism of Crown’s decision and subsequent justifications. “I remember the day I wrote the letter,” he recalls in that fateful moment, “I toned it down quite a bit. I remember standing above the ‘out’ basket in my office. I remember putting it in and taking it out, putting it in and taking it out. I did that about four or five times. I decided I’m just going to put it in; it seemed like the right thing to do.”

The letter turned out to have a very profound effect on his career. He was subsequently blasted for his statement against racism. From that moment on, there was no going back. Trust in the University’s encouragement of speech against racism miserably crumbled when, later, a Crown administrator sued Victor, the former Chancellor, and the Regents of the University of California for “defamation of character and intentional infliction of emotional distress.”
The University denied Victor legal representation concluding that he expressed a personal belief not associated with the University in any way - after the former chancellor had formally implored the UCSC community to speak out against racist acts. A difficult and laborious three-year court battle ensued. The case went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court where it was finally dismissed. Following the lawsuit, the former chancellor decided that Victor was no longer qualified to be the Campus Budget Director and demoted him. Presently, he is retired but working as a financial consultant at UCSC’s Colleges Nine and Ten.

In the wake of the “Asian Food Affair,” AA/PI students passionately supported Victor and mobilized their efforts through forums, rallies, and letters of support. Victor’s action demonstrated a method of resistance against racist institutions to the AA/PI student community. His bravery empowered students in their own journeys as they navigated through UCSC life and beyond. Christina Salvin, former UCSC student remembers Victor’s bravery: “As a student, we feel like we’re invincible. We can say anything, write anything, and no one can touch us. But as a staff person, the implications are much greater. Now as a faculty member myself, I can more appreciate what a big deal it was for him to write that letter against other staff members.” Julie Noh, alumni and former APISA member also recalls Victor’s lasting impact: “His situation launched a whole campaign for things like Ethnic Studies, affirmative action, scholarship programs, and the need for an AA/PI Resource Center. He reminded us that not only can you be a radical activist when you’re young, but also later in life.” Although the knowledge that Victor has gained from the experience is in many ways painful, he concedes that he would do the same again: “I used to be very career oriented. Issues of diversity were not terribly important to me, which I’m ashamed to say now. So the letter that I wrote did a lot of things. I got to know a lot of AA/PI students here. They asked me to speak at their graduation ceremony [API Grad 1991] which was quite an honor. And it opened my eyes to how the university is really run. What I learned is terrible, but it’s better that I opened my eyes than to keep them closed and have my head in the sand for my entire career.” He continues to share his story at conferences, forums, and with anyone who is interested in learning about a part of campus history.

Although retired, Victor still remains active in community organizations such as the ACLU of Northern California, Japanese American Citizens League, and Asian Pacific Islanders for Community Awareness (APICA). He continues to pursue his passions such as motorcycle riding, and perhaps most importantly, spends time with his wife Karen and five-year-old son Carter and two-year-old daughter Nicole. For Victor, life is definitely better seeking out the truth.