Manzanar, A Monument to Fear
During our recent trip to Lone Pine, CA, described in last Monday's post, we drove past Manzanar. It looked a little beleaguered with age. I also hope it isn't on the chopping block of National Parks.
In 2004 on a blustery day, we visited Manzanar National Monument. After watching the looped documentary and seeing the exhibits, we drove around the campsite. White stones marked the footprints of barracks and buildings such as a post office, clinic, or recreational shop. There is a monument in a fenced area that includes a few graves. What was truly eerie, though, was a couple of boulders one of the internees placed to create a koi pond in a traditional garden. It is the only sign of how the people occupied themselves while in captivity. If relatives hadn't put this site together to memorialize their families' suffering, those two stones would be an enigmatic remnant of creativity whose origin would be unknown.
Manzanar 2004
Wind still blows over Manzanar
It sweeps across gardens
where women tended vegetables
to augment mess hall fare.
It sweeps across streets where
children rode bicycles borrowed
from the Toy Center.
It sweeps across stones carefully placed
forming ponds and waterfalls
that nurtured incarcerated souls.
It sweeps the desert where barracks
housed eight strangers to a room
separated by cotton or wool.
It sweeps where boys practiced karate
where an artist stood his easel
to paint a Sierra view.
It sweeps stone circles marking graves
paper cranes drape the fence
a lone auditorium displays memories on film.
It sweeps the sage and greasewood
where 10,000 Americans
waited to resume their lives
without due process.
Japanese Americans at Manzanar
The Hotel at the Corner of Bitter and Sweet
Years ago, the Douglas County Library sponsored Douglas County Reads. They chose Farewell to Manzanar, giving books to local residents to keep and participate in various activities. A panel discussion included a teacher from the high school. During the Q and A portion, I asked if the school ever had field trips to Manzanar. Some schools did campouts at Bodie State Park near Bridgeport, but I felt a trip to Manzanar would be a great value to the students. The teacher exploded with frustration regarding funding, liability, and logistics involved in such an undertaking. It was quite the shutdown of discussion. It also seemed typical of the way high schools approached learning opportunities versus sporting events. Students in sports teams are bused hundreds of miles for games, yet a field trip to take advantage of a historical site of such significance is out off the table.
If you enjoyed this post, feel free to explore other writings in the Ring Around the Basin Archive. I also love to read your comments, so please share your thoughts. Let’s start a conversation. And if you wish to support my writings, please consider subscribing or upgrading to a paid subscription. It’s now only $50/year. Even better, I would appreciate it if you could share Ring Around the Basin with your friends. Thank you!
All my books, Paradise Ridge, When the Horses Come and Go, and Ghost in the Forest are currently available on Kindle. Ghost in the Forest, is also available in paperback. Paradise Ridge is out-of-print, but the Kindle version is re-edited and better quality.
Such a national shame, such a tragedy. How many Americans know absolutely nothing about US internment camps for US citizens - with no due process, as you say. The Japanese were not the only ones proscribed. Italians' fishing livelihood was taken from them as well, as they were not able to work OR LIVE within a mile from the sea. I love your repetition of It sweeps.... Beautiful, Sue.
The poem's use of "sweeping" reminds me that throughout the cruelty and deaths in their midst, the real effort of Japanese Americans to actually live through the days of desert incarceration took on a grace and orderly fashion that I myself have read a good deal on. Very simple but endearing work, Sue. Thanks for the conditional update on the site and graves. It has lasted for a long time despite life moving on and the eternal sweeping. Constance