Manzanar

The Executive Order

In February of 1942, using his authority as Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of the United States at a time of war, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066. Executive Order 9066 stated:

"Now, therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me as President of the United States, and Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy, I hereby authorize and direct the Secretary of War, and the Military Commanders whom he may from time to time designate, ... to prescribe military areas in such places and of such extent as he or the appropriate Military Commander may determine, from which any or all persons may be excluded, and with respect to which, the right of any person to enter, remain in, or leave shall be subject to whatever restrictions the Secretary of War or the appropriate Military Commander may impose in his discretion. The Secretary of War is hereby authorized to provide for residents of any such area who are excluded therefrom, such transportation, food, shelter, and other accommodations as may be necessary,..."

With the issuance of Executive Order 9066, the Secretary of War was authorized to exclude certain citizens and aliens from those areas (e.g. Los Angeles, San Diego, Seattle, etc.) he deemed necessary to protect the nation against espionage and sabotage. The order eventually led to the internment of over 100,000 Japanese Americans in various locations (typically desolate) in seven states including California, Arizona, Colorado, and Utah. Manzanar was the first of ten permanent "relocation sites" to open. At its peak, between the time that it opened in March 1942 and the time that it closed in November 1945, it housed approximately 10,000 confinees.

A National Historic Site
Manzanar was established as a national historic site in March of 1992, at which time, pursuant to the act which created it, it was placed under the wing of the National Park System. Very few of the hard structures that existed during the confinement of the Japanese Americans remain. Signs placed throughout the area mark sites of interest, such as former structures and gardens.

From both the north and the south, Manzanar is reached via Highway 395. Traveling through the Owens Valley along a dreary two-lane highway that passes one deserted ghost town after another, visitors would likely only notice Manzanar's front gate if looking for it. The only visible structure that might otherwise catch the eye is the still standing guard tower built near the highway just north of the entrance.

I was vaguely familiar with the chain of events related to the internment of the Japanese Americans, but, regretfully, never educated myself beyond that vague familiarity. Indeed, I knew very little, and did not know that I would pass by the site upon my return home from a visit to some of the most spectacular scenery this country has to offer.

A Barren Lonely Place
I do not know which affected my experience more, walking among the fragmented remains of the camp after traveling for hours through the barren ruined landscape of the Owens Valley, or doing so after marveling at the grandeur and majesty of Yosemite National Park. I suspect that both contributed to the sobering mood that grew within me as I drove and walked through the site. The clouds, the alternating grey and blue of the sky, and the rays of the sun breaking through and illuminating only small areas of the scrub added to the otherworldly atmosphere.

When approaching from the north, the entrance, marked by a wooden etched sign that reads "Manzanar War Relocation Center", is reached soon after passing the guard tower.
A military sentry post lies just beyond the entrance, a small picturesque structure built by internee and obviously talented stonemason, Ryozo Kado.


Natural Conditions
Most of the area is bleak. The Owens Valley, in addition to being the location of an environmental disaster, lies within the parched rain shadow of the Sierra Nevada. Native vegetation is sparse consisting of sagebrush and creosote bushes scattered throughout the valley floor. Most of the trees and bushes at Manzanar were planted by internees or by previous residents who farmed the area. The introduced flora must be irrigated to survive.

And the temperatures soar in the valley. When we were there it had cooled because of the cloud cover, and so was ninety-plus degrees. Without the cloud cover, I am certain it would have been over one-hundred degrees. Strong winds blow through the valley picking up the loose dust and sand, at times creating hostile dust storms. We saw a few dust devils that formed along the side of the highway as we drove through.

The Buildings of Manzanar
Wooden signs mark where the residential buildings once existed. Old photographs show that the residential buildings were long and placed in closely set rows. With the exception of a few structures, including the military sentry point, most of the buildings are gone.

The foundations of the buildings remain, so in addition to the signs there are concrete slabs where the buildings were, such as in this area where the hospital complex was located.

(You cannot see the slabs clearly in the photograph, but they are visible from the trail.)

The Gardens
Despite the harsh austerity of the landscape, the residents made great efforts to improve their surroundings. Gardens are one of the few things that remain. Gardens of rocks, trees, and small ponds (dry now).

The garden at the hospital was the largest and featured more trees and more rocks than any of the others. There were also folded paper cranes hanging from the trees and some of the bushes.


It was very quiet while we were there. We arrived just before the Interpretive Center closed at ~5:20 p.m., and we were two of only a handful of visitors present. Other than the rushing traffic, which after a short while you begin not to notice, the only noise is from the wind and the occasional eerie laughing and howling of the coyotes. Visitors seem to maintain a respectful quiet, whispering or not talking at all.

I was out of the car when I noticed the hospital garden and walked over to it from the neighboring hospital complex and doctor's quarters. Ken remained with the car, so I was alone when I took the photo above. The wind picked up, and quite unexpectedly, I heard the soft, mournful sound of chimes. I looked around and saw a single chime hanging from one of the trees in the garden. Although it startled me because I did not expect it, the sound was fitting.

The Barracks
I do not believe that the starkness of Manzanar and the sense of desolation, arise solely from the fact that Manzanar has been abandoned. I imagine its grim isolation and barren nature were prevalent even when Manzanar was operational.

After suffering the humiliation and trauma of being forced to leave their homes and belongings at gun point, internees had to face the isolated and severe conditions of the camp. I have read that evacuees arrived within a week after construction of the housing units began. The camp at Manzanar consisted of 36 blocks of barracks. Each block had 14 barracks, latrines, a mess hall, and other facilities. All 36 blocks were confined within an area of one-square mile. The barracks were standard army barracks constructed of wooden frames, boards, and tar paper. It was not long before the harsh arid conditions and the heat caused the wooden structures to dry and caused large cracks in the floors. At times, the floors of several barracks would collapse on the same day.

An immediate problem concerned the lack of privacy. At the beginning of the relocation unrelated families were housed together and in some instances, wives were assigned to room with men other than their husbands. Army latrines were another source of lack of privacy and exemplified the lack of basic necessities, often having a scarce supply of toilet paper, or no toilet paper at all.

One original building has been restored to the camp. In December 2002, a mess hall was returned to Manzanar. The mess hall was placed in block 14 which is to be restored to its original state to commemorate what conditions were like for residents of the camp.



(Original Mess Hall.)

The Cemetery
The most poignant and somber location is the cemetery. In addition to the guard tower, the obelisk located in the cemetery is the most visible and dominating structure at the camp.

The inscription on the front of the obelisk reads "Soul Consoling Tower". Inscribed on the right of the obelisk is "August 1943", and on the left, "erected by the Manzanar Japanese". The obelisk was built by Japanese master stone masons in 1943. Only 15 of 150 people who died at Manzanar were buried in the cemetery. Most internees who died were cremated. Of the fifteen who were buried here, only six sites remain intact. The others were exhumed and relocated by family after the war.

As with other areas throughout the camp, garlands of paper cranes hang from the low post and chain fence that surrounds the obelisk. Within the rocks that surround the posts of the fence are remnants of pottery, glass, and coins. Coins were located on all of the graves, and also on a large rock at the cemetery’s entrance. I tried to discover the significance of the coins, and was only able to learn that a similar practice is performed at Japanese shrines where coins are left as an offering in prayer and as a sign of respect. Each grave is marked by stones, with some more elaborately marked than others.

In addition to the stones, the grave above was marked by a small wooden cross. You can also see the string of paper cranes and the pieces of pottery.

This grave was the most elaborate, with an upright marker and wooden "fence" that was perhaps twelve inches high surrounding it. A wreath of paper cranes surrounds the large stone marker, and another lies at the foot of the grave. You can see the coins strewn throughout.

The entire relocation camp saddened me. The loneliness of the cemetery and of the gravesites saddened me even more, although some are clearly still tended and visited. It saddens me that people--young, old, married, single, all of whom were likely innocent but for the fact of being Japanese--were subjected to the internment. It saddened me more that internees died at the camp and were buried there.

Of all the graves, this one saddened me the most. There was only a small rock, a piece of pottery and a few coins. If a visitor is not observant--and I suppose some have not been--it would be all too easy to walk across this grave and not even know it was there. You can see the footprints of people who have crossed it.

Remembering
Here I must ask the forgiveness of the two gentlemen in the following photo, and I apologize in advance if they are not comfortable with its public posting. I offer the explanation that I believe that adding a personal element provides a means for others to emotionally connect and sympathize with what may otherwise be too unreal. Otherwise, I fear that this sad episode in our national history might be too remotely abstracted and thus easily disregarded.

While Ken and I were viewing the cemetery two cars drove up. A couple exited the first car and walked around quietly, taking a few pictures. From the second car a young man exited accompanied by an elderly man. The two men walked directly to the obelisk and the younger man took a picture of the older man as he stood next to the “soul consoling” tower.

The older gentleman was small of stature, slightly stooped over at the shoulders, and wore slacks and a neat, buttoned shirt. His face was weathered and serious, perhaps contemplative. I thought the posed snapshot unusual, unless one had some sort of personal connection.

After they took their photo, I approached them and asked if they had family who had been in the camp. The younger man informed me that his elderly companion, his father, had been interned in a similar camp in Colorado. He said they were taking a road trip and that his father had wanted to stop at Manzanar. The first thoughts I expressed were that I was very sorry. I simply said, "I am so sorry.", and found myself repeating this several times.

The father told me that he had been eighteen when he was relocated, and that he had lived at the Colorado relocation center for four years. He is now eighty-four. I apologized for intruding, but the son quickly assured me that he thought it very important that people know and remember what happened. I thanked them both and wished them well. The son responded by saying that it was nice to meet me. Actually, it was my pleasure and an honor.

Following this encounter, Ken reminded me that a former co-worker of his had a connection to the camp. The co-worker's mother had been an internee at Manzanar. This person, a California State Park Ranger, would take his mother to Manzanar occasionally to visit and to perform upkeep. For so many, I imagine, the connection will never die. As with other painful experiences, the memory may fade and become background noise, but it inevitably becomes part of the person and forever changes who they are. It is my hope that visiting, restoring, and maintaining the camp may somehow ease the pain of survivors and their loved ones, thereby incorporating the experience into thier composite whole, rather than let it become the sole signifier of their identity.

Revising History
As we were leaving, I photographed a bronze plaque set in stone at the camp's entrance commemorating Manzanar.

It is difficult to see the text in the picture, but it reads:

"In the early part of World War II 110,000 persons of Japanese ancestry were interned in relocation centers by executive order No. 9066 issued on February 19, 1942.

Manzanar, the first of ten such concentration camps was bounded by barbed wire and guard towers, confining 10,000 persons, the majority being American citizens.

May the injustices and humiliation suffered here as a result of hysteria, racism and economic exploitation never emerge again."

I took the picture, not to document what I had just seen, but to show what has been done to the plaque itself. You can clearly see the scarring from shotgun blasts and bullets. Across the State of California Grizzly Bear, someone has also scratched "Arbeit macht frei", the slogan which marked the concentration camps of the Third Reich.

While I was further researching Manzanar, I happened across an article about misguided individuals who are attempting to revise the history of what occurred here in a narrative that is strikingly different from documented reality. Some claim that the internees were not forced to leave their homes and relocate to the camps, but did so voluntarily, at the "invitation" of the United States government. Such revisionist accounts claim that Japanese Americans on the East Coast, who were not forced to relocate, were "clamoring" to be able to gain entry to the purportedly resort-like camps. Other claims state that the guard towers were not built to house armed guards to keep people from escaping, but were intended solely as lookouts for wildfires. Similarly, and incredibly, it is further asserted that the barbed wire fence surrounding the camps was intended to keep cows from neighboring ranches out of the camps, not to keep people in.

Ken and I speculated on the motivation behind such claims, which resonate strikingly with the claims of those who deny that six million Jews were exterminated during the Holocaust. Perhaps such sentiments are rooted, not in some misdirection of collective guilt, but simply in a deep abiding resentment toward any sympathy for a minority who suffers great injustice at the hands of the majority. The least we can offer survivors of such injustices is sympathy. They are owed so much more. The recognition of their story must be followed by unfaltering dedication to preserve the memory, thus furthering the understanding of this episode so that we may never repeat a similar outrage.

Leaving Mananar
As we were leaving, I asked Ken to drive me back to the guard tower. (It is a re-creation of an original tower.) When Manzanar was operational, there were eight such towers, each occupied by men armed with submachine guns.

A plaque commemorating another former camp site in Arizona reads:

"May it serve as a constant reminder of our past so that Americans in the future will never again be denied their constitutional rights and may the remembrance of that experience serve to advance the evolution of the human spirit."

Race "Matters" (Part I)

(I started this post on August 24, 2006, when I refer to "this morning", I am referring to the morning of the 24th.)

It will come as no surprise to those who know me that I was listening to NPR this morning while I was getting ready for work (a long process, so I am able to listen for a while). Although I promised my baby sister that I would not post commentary related solely to political and social issues (after all, the last post elicited a "Debbie Downer" comment), in recent days listening to local and national news media and surfing the same on the internet, I have been bombarded with stories fully confirming the extent to which the issues of race continue to beleaguer our nation. And, as with so much of the current state of our society—local, national and international—it wounds my heart.

The story this morning was about the Minutemen Civil Defense Corps, a private organization that espouses a “mission” of US Internal and Border Civil Defense. The story related that the Minutemen are moving beyond the borders to the interior of the nation; to states like Iowa, South Dakota, Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma and Missouri. In these states the group is offering training workshops for initiate chapters, imparting their “ideals” and mission of protecting this Nation from “invasion by enemies foreign and domestic”. A gentleman in the story stated his belief that the “illegals” are a threat to “America’s national culture and security.” (America’s national culture?) In the workshops members are trained to “monitor and report” employers who hire “illegals”. This was only conveyed to the NPR reporter second-hand. The reporter was not allowed to attend the workshop, ostensibly because the organization does not want to “give away our battle plan.” Members of the group make no effort to hide the fact that they believe, and act as though, they are at war.

One of the methods the Minutemen use is to visit sites where presumed illegals gather, awaiting work. They also visit businesses where they believe illegals are already working. The Minutemen then photograph individuals at the sites. Restaurants are a prime target, as Greg Thompson, one of the trainers interviewed for the story, related, “Restaurant workers are a health risk. Many are from Third World countries who’ve not had vaccinations. They bring diseases that are rampant [I’m guessing he meant that the diseases are becoming rampant here?] and people don’t realize it.” Of course he used the stock argument that the illegals are clogging our hospitals and emergency rooms, places where the Minutemen are also visiting and taking photographs.

One of the fallacies of their logic and methods (well, actually one of many) lies in their determination of just who is illegal. How do they decide who to photograph? It does not take long to arrive at the conclusion that the color of one’s skin, hair and eyes, and one’s general appearance are likely the primary criteria they use. Would it ever dawn on any of them that the brown-skinned, dark haired worker may be a United States citizen? Simply by dismissing him as some “Macaca” and photographing him, the Minutemen have already, astonishingly, discerned the impossibility that he could be one of us.

Searching the group’s official website, a visitor is informed, in so many words, that the Minutemen are not a bigoted group. The official pledge includes a statement in which they vow, “A Minuteman believes that just as ethnicity, race, religion and all such factors are incidental and do not affect our God-given, constitutional equality as American citizens, such factors are also irrelevant in the debate over illegal immigration. There is no tolerance among Minutemen for racism or bigotry - E Pluribus Unum - Out of Many, One.” Perhaps in making such statements they are attempting to deflect such criticisms to the contrary. Or, perhaps they are trying to convince themselves. Or, perhaps they actually believe this. I sometimes wonder if this last possibility is not one of the most insidious aspects of racism—the fact that so many people who evidence racist opinions and beliefs in their daily words and actions sincerely profess their lack of racial biases and bigotry; ever iterating public statements of belief in tolerance and love of diversity.

Of all of the issues raised by the actions and creeds of groups like the Minutemen, the one that most confounds me is the dissonance between the ideas and opinions they express in relation to immigrants and the affirmation they find in a supposed moral superiority. In the United States, clearly the latter is most often ascribed to a deep abiding Christian ethos. But where in his ministry does Jesus teach that it is okay to dislike, disdain, be biased against, treat badly or simply hate those who are different? My understanding of his words is that he taught that his followers should love all men (and women) and embrace all of God’s children. I understood that he commanded his followers to assist the downtrodden, to pick up the fallen, to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and give comfort to the sick and weary. How does that doctrine get convoluted with the anger and resentment exhibited throughout history against the immigrants in this country? How does one reconcile basic Christian charity with the calls to resist this so-called “human flood” or, as if they were vermin, this “swarm of migrants”?

Perhaps just as they use patriotism to shroud their provincialism, they use the law to cloak their hate. It inoculates them against any overriding sense of justice or sympathy they might otherwise harbor deep within their Christian conscience.

Over Three Years Later

I have been thinking about the war since before it started when we (I and other dedicated and foolhardy souls) were soulfully and sorrowfully marching in the streets of San Francisco, Los Angeles and San Diego. It is never far from my consciousness, both because of who I am, and because I live in an area populated by marines and naval personnel. As I drive down local streets and highways, I encounter cars with, of course, the typical "Support the Troops" signs and ribbons, while there are very few of a counter-view, except for my SO's (who has a "Coexist" sticker on his car). Lately I’ve seen "Welcome home, Daddy, we missed you" sprayed on vehicles. Others I've seen recently include "You are our Knight in body armor," and "Honey, you are mine tonight" . Based only on the number of cars I've driven by with such writings, I would guess that a large contingency of troops recently came home. It is so difficult to manage the anger and the sadness that I feel when I hear about the war, read about it, or remember how hard we tried to prevent it. Two of the most memorable occasions were when I traveled overnight, once on a bus and once by car, to San Francisco to march in the streets downtown with tens of thousands of individuals—once over two hundred thousand—gathering together, unified in their distress and their impotence. Individuals who did not know what else to do, but who had to do something, even if it was only to make their voices heard. We tried so desperately to halt what, in retrospect, was clearly inevitable.

The memories and associated feelings are coursing through my mind now more than they often do, in part because I am reading Fiasco: The American Military Adventure in Iraq by Thomas E. Ricks. I am a voracious reader. I have to have one or two books in progress and usually more lined up waiting. And I like to read at night before bed. I get so enraged reading this book, however, I might have to change my practice.

This morning I looked through some old computer files and documents (old=Year 2003) and found the following letter, a letter I wrote to some of our Congressmen. I think I faxed it to Senator Feinstein and others, but, honestly, I don't really recall. I wrote it shortly after the initial bombing raids on Iraq—the “Shock and Awe”. I remember so clearly how I felt. I remember feeling the acid burn at the bottom of my stomach, feeling helpless and hopeless, outraged and defeated. I remember watching the bombs, the “precision bombs”, bursting and throwing shrapnel and fire at unknown targets and bystanders. I remember thinking about the brutal effects of the bombs. I read that it is likely that anyone within 300 plus feet of the blast, which creates pressures of several thousand pounds per square inch and 8,500-degree heat, will not survive. Shrapnel and debris can fly nearly three-quarters of a mile. I read that the pressure can literally pull a limb off of someone. Everything in its range is obliterated. My throat tightens and the acid in my stomach builds just remembering.And now, over three years later, the bloodshed continues. To what end?

"March 21, 2003
Dear Senator:

I am horrified by what I am seeing in Baghdad and in other areas of Iraq. I desperately wanted to believe that those who represent us would succeed in stopping this war and today’s horrific bombing campaign before it started. Regardless of whether you believe the war to be just or unjust, the magnitude of the damage and destruction we are bringing to bear upon the people of Iraq under the pretext of removing a dictatorial regime—one that we aided and abetted for many years and helped to put into power—is reprehensible, unethical,and immoral. It violates international law and, quite simply, the most basic sense of right and wrong. The imbalance of military and economic power between the two states is immeasurable; and I fear that the complete devastation that we are causing will indeed be judged, as was so eloquently stated by Pope John Paul II, by our “conscience, history, and God.” It is far too easy to label those of us who object to this campaign and who are demoralized by what is happening as partisans, leftists, reactionaries, Marxists, hippies, and unpatriotic malcontents. I cannot help but wonder where the rhetoric stops and what you truly believe about the people you represent begins. Many of us are caring, patriotic, thoughtful, intelligent and educated people who oppose what is happening based on greater principles. Those who oppose this war are from so many different organizations; organizations that include the National Council of Churches, women’s groups, minority groups, students, professionals, working class people and children. Indeed, the World itself is against what we are doing.

The Administration and others can couch it in whatever language they please and call the actions of our country and some affiliates the actions of a “Coalition of the Willing”, speaking of the 45 countries who support what we are doing. But reality is visible to those who choose to look. Those “Willing” are countries who depend on our country for economic support and other aid, and many can certainly be characterized as anything but bastions of democracy and protectors of human rights. Many of the Central Asian countries on the list are among the worst violators of human rights against their people. Listening to Donald Rumsfeld and others speak about this war as liberating the Iraqi people is offensive and disturbing. Our nation’s recent track record in Afghanistan doesn’t support an purported commitment to protecting the people of the countries that we “liberate.” I listen to the news, watch what is happening, and I listen to what those in the Administration and its supporters are saying, and I truly wonder how they manage to sleep at night. The only just war would be one of self defense. And while there are many who are willing to believe that this war is being fought in defense of the American people, there are many who are aware of the fallacies involved in that argument (The ties to September 11 lead to countries allied with us in this ‘endeavor’--not Iraq.). There are many of us who cannot help but note the inconsistencies of our position with regard to our dealings with other countries, countries who we know harbor members of Al-Quaeda (e.g., Kuwait, Pakistan, Uzbekistan…).

The violence of this war has already ignited additional violence around the world. It is difficult to believe that it will end here. The violence that protestors (and the police) are experiencing in Egypt and other countries is unconscionable. We are beginning a period of violence and fractionalization that perhaps only history will be able to judge, because it appears to be a period that will last beyond the lifetimes of many of us. I sincerely hope that those responsible for this misguided endeavor pray to whatever God they believe in that they are not wrong; and I hope that they are judged with more mercy than they have shown their fellow world citizens."

May we all be judged with mercy.