Families look back on legacy of Port Chicago, fight for exoneration at Concord commemoration

More than 400 family members, community activists and elected officials gathered near the remnants of the base.

CONCORD — One hour meant the difference between life and death for Morris Soublet Sr., a 22-year-old sailor assigned during World War II to load ammunition at Port Chicago, a remote naval base constructed between Martinez and Pittsburg in Contra Costa County.

By returning to his Navy barracks an hour early on the night of July 17, 1944, he narrowly avoided joining the list of 320 men — many of whom were Black — who were killed in a series of catastrophic explosions which effectively vaporized the naval base.

In the aftermath of the disaster, hundreds of Black sailors who refused to return to work at Port Chicago were charged with mutiny and disobeying wartime orders.

Saturday morning, Soublet’s son Richard joined more than 400 other family members, community activists and elected officials who gathered near the remnants of the loading docks where his father led crews loading ammunition, commemorating the Navy’s decision to fully exonerate all men on the 80th anniversary of the explosion, which was the deadliest military disaster on mainland American soil during World War II.

Following speeches from several people who recounted the hard-fought pursuit for exoneration, a wreath was released into Suisun Bay, joined by dozens of flowers thrown by attendees in their honor.

Richard was a teenager when he first heard snippets of his father’s memories from Port Chicago, but the now-78-year-old younger Soublet didn’t learn the whole story until he returned home from his own military service in Vietnam.

“He said it was one of the most horrific things that he’d ever gone through,” said Soublet, who lives in Oakland. He said his father, who died at the age of 82 in 2004, followed orders to return to work, motivated by a sense of obligation to his country and fellow service members during World War II. “I hope we never forget that convicting those sailors of mutiny was unconscionable. I hope we always remember that they gave their lives for their country.”

In the immediate aftermath of the blast, many traumatized sailors recounted feelings of panic and unease, according to oral histories and extensive interviews. These fears festered as the Navy failed to provide any clear explanation about what had triggered the explosion.

Scores of Black military personnel stationed at Port Chicago had long suffered through racial injustice, lax training protocols, rushed wartime quotas and disrespect from the all-white officers in charge.

But the physical and mental shock of the July 1944 explosion galvanized 258 of these Black military men to renegotiate their duty; they organized their anger and fear into a collective, non-violent work stoppage, despite death threats from their superiors.

Navy prosecutors, however, quickly branded this resistance as mutiny — quashing any challenge to the legitimacy of military authority.

By September, 258 sailors who eventually agreed to return to work were convicted for disobeying orders, and 50 men who continued to resist — despite shame tactics and death threats — were jailed through the duration of the war. All were found guilty.

In the long years fighting for justice, Soublet — who was born two years after the explosion — said he channeled the emotions that built up over the years by directly appealing to naval officials, arguing that exoneration was the only way to properly honor the sailors’ memory and actions.

That dream became reality last week, when Navy Secretary Carlos Del Toro fully exonerated each of those men of all charges – exactly 80 years after the harrowing disaster.

“I’m ambivalent that it took so long to get to this point, but I’m excited we’re finally here,” Soublet said. “This is a happy day, an uplifting moment.”

Rather than rebelling, Del Toro said those servicemen were simply pleading for their lives and the lives of their fellow sailors after the Navy failed to uphold their obligation to keep them safe. On Saturday, he vowed to the Port Chicago sailors’ descendants that those men would never again be remembered as “mutineers.”

“Theirs was a desperate act of self-preservation, a refusal to be complicit in further destruction and bloodshed,” Del Toro said, his voice momentarily faltering with emotion. “Tragically, their stand was met with suspicion, hostility and criminal charges. These men — who had sworn an oath to defend their nation — were now ostracized, their voices drowned out by the roar of a system unwilling to acknowledge its very own failings.”

He thanked the family and community members who never lost sight of the Port Chicago disaster or their pursuit for justice long overdue, including Rev. Diane McDaniel, president and founder of Friends of Port Chicago; and Robert Allen, an investigative reporter and historian who dedicated much of his life to chronicling the sailors’ experiences. Allen died exactly one week before the Navy announced the exoneration.

“For eight decades, the history of Port Chicago has been a stark reminder of a great injustice,” Del Toro said. “This event marks a turning point in our nation ‘s history — a moment when we confront our ghosts and embrace the promise of more justice.”

This has also been a long time coming for Robert Harris and his family.

In 2016 — decades after the Navy shared that his uncle, Eugene Coffee, Jr., died in an explosion on a ship – Harris learned from genetic ancestry tests that the 22-year-old WWII sailor was actually one of the men killed by the catastrophic explosions, rather than their belief that he died at Pearl Harbor.

While Harris is still bitter that an all-Black crew was relegated to such inherently dangerous grunt work on the shores of Suisun Bay — treatment that echoes a long history of mistreatment of African Americans in the military and beyond — he said Saturday’s commemoration finally provided a sense of closure.

“Our stories seem to get lost in history, but there is no time limit to telling the truth — no time limit for justice,” Harris said, standing near the last remnants of Port Chicago. “Now that (the Navy) is acknowledging and righting past wrongs, they are connecting facts with history — the truth of what happened here.”