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From an ealier trip to California in 2002, the United States like an ailing person and the WW 2 internment camp of Manzanar: The United States is like an ailing person, seemingly healthy—handsome, admirable, good tan, sturdy build, muscles, but also with high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes, over weight (but not greatly), and with a drinking problem. This person (in actuality, found among many of us), the nation, is middle age and comfortably affluent, has an athletic history, but now is prone to being sedentary because of busyness and growing laziness. This person, when warned, exclaims, “What me worry, about what, why? I’m in fine health, get a yearly checkup, work out at the health club a few times a month, cut the grass and rake the leaves regularly, not even using a power mower or leaf blower, and even eat organic at times.” But the doctor proclaims—“All the making of a big problem here. You are at risk, best to change your ways.” At risk from what, this ailing nation that belittles signs of its own ailments? Mainly corruption, not only of persons like the executives and accountants now in the limelight of corporate crime [and the officials responsible for the criminal negligence of the Katrina-struck region and the aftermath of the storm], but the system itself. As when looking at a war-torn country, the physical damage is easier to spot, to assess, but the psychic damage remains subterranean, hard to observe, long lasting, and difficult to treat. This trauma lives on, and often erupts in anger and conflict and further destruction, as with Israel, as with Germany after World War 1. [See the book, Homeland, by Dale Maharidge with photos by Michael Williamson for details of the stunning parallels between the rise of Nazism and the current American era.] The system extends from the corporations, governmental agencies, institutions of higher education, and media to each one of the suffering souls living on this planet. Thru the stock market, white privilege and consumerism in particular, we are all connected, all complicit. And sick, perhaps beyond cure. Or perhaps the early signs of imminent collapse will inspire us to better health. —September 7, 2002 Manzanar, the Japanese-American internment camp during World War 2, to report on the astonishing visit L and I made last week[September 2002] as we departed the Sierra Nevada mountain range after a back packing trip]. Two visits actually, one brief one with A and R, on our own, discovering without much guidance, then the next morning, L and I went on a tour given by an extraordinarily gifted young woman archivist and historian. She filled us to overflowing with stories of life in the concentration camp. It was the US equivalent—much less harsh and inhumane of course—of the Nazi camps. First, the look and feel of the place: barren, wind swept, remote, sandy, silent, uninhabited, forlorn, poised between the ruins and disintegration of the camp nearly 50 yrs after it closed and a new format that will elucidate the experiences of the nearly 10,000 Japanese-American internees. Trees are prominent, some being watered, and small water park-gardens, also remains of sewage systems, sidewalks, roads, and one building under reconstruction which turned out to be the high school gymnasium, the only building remaining. On our first foray we didn’t know who’d planted the non-native trees, the apple and pears, nor did we understand the concrete-lined pits with an array of rocks placed into esthetic positions. Later we learned a thriving orchard community, the original Manzanar, had existed there from 1910 to 1935, dying when Los Angeles diverted most of the water of Owen’s valley. Internees had tended these trees, planted others, and quickly became nearly 80% self sufficient in meat and produce. The gardens were also internee-constructed, indeed, leading to competitions. And before that, the valley was home for indigenous people. The park service develops and maintains the site. They seem to do it in an honest way. This is one of the few occasions of governmental action that I can support, that makes me proud of my national origin. Our guide was forthright in answering questions, among them, how attendance has changed since 911. 47,000 people visited in 2001, about 40% increase over the preceding year. And many indicated thru their questions and remarks they came in part because of the erosion of civil liberties since 911. Manzanar is such a clear example of the folly of following fear dictates when in an emergency. Not one Japanese-American was ever convicted of engaging in activities harmful to the US, not one. A few were tried, most were exceedingly loyal and helpful to the US, many enlisting in the armed forces during World War 2. What about opposition to this site’s recent development? She told us that there had been some, especially from local people who’d prefer not having their town forever associated with the incarceration center. To deal with this opposition, a committee of townspeople and others meet regularly to design the interpretation. Apparently, one reason for the resistance is the fact that Manzanar town’s people supported the construction of the camp, finding jobs and enhanced business lucrative reasons. L and I both extensively photographed this experience, concentrating much of our attention on the cemetery with its cenotaph, a marker with Japanese characters that signify something like a purification of the soul, or “soul consoling tower.” We learned that a survivors’ association was instrumental in saving the camp, and annually sponsors a pilgrimage in April. L is thinking of attending. And has written Jun-san and others of Nipponzan Myohoji [a Japanese Buddhist order which builds peace pagodas and conducts peace and justice walks] about this. Who were the internees? Mostly Japanese-Americans from LA, the majority I believe 2nd and further generations. The home site determined the assembly site which in turn governed where the internee would reside, which of the 10 or so camps mostly in the west they’d live at for the duration of the war. None were given an opportunity to prove loyalty (other than a loyalty oath), but they were offered an escape—go east, to the other side of the continent, and a few did. So the internees were all in the military exclusion zone of the western sector of this country. The government, driven by the people, feared a consortium of interests between people of Japanese heritage living here and the nation of Japan, a fear that in hindsight was groundless. Besides the site itself, we discovered the California Museum at Independence had a full depiction of the experience, including a mocked up section of a barrack, articles used by the internees, a photo display, and an impressive set of photos made by the official camp photographer, Toyo Miyatake. Among the stories our guide told, his was one of the best. Already a professional photographer when incarcerated, he snuck in with him a lens and film holder. He constructed a box camera and used it surreptitiously. Discovered, he was eventually allowed to photograph under supervision and eventually worked with a staff of some 10 people in a studio making portraits for other internees. His photos, tho of the commercial style, demonstrate clear sight, perspicacity, humanity, and a deep understanding and love of photography. Another story, this one of resistance, is that of Henry Ueno. A kitchen worker, remembered for his advocacy of the garden parks, noticed the unequal treatment of Japanese-Americans compared with the few whites present. He protested and was attacked by the authorities and by other internees who were more loyalist. Some 3 people were killed in an uprising, and I believe Ueno was sent to a more restrictive camp. Ansel Adams photographed here, a friend of the camp director, as did Dorothea Lange, then working for the War Relocation Authority. Both sets of photos are high quality, but I admit, hesitantly, Lange’s move me much more. Odd, how skill, tho needed, is sometimes secondary to passion or compassion or awareness of human sensibility. What Adams excelled in when in the mountains—his love of rock, tree, mountain light—seemed to fail him at Manzanar. And what Lange excelled in when photographing people served her superbly at Manzanar. The reconstruction of Manzanar raises the question of now: what is happening now and what can we learn from the Japanese-American internee episode? And what would I do, if held in such a setting? —September 8, 2002 |