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.
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.
Thank you, Sharron. Yes, I had to share this poem at this time when the idea of camps are becoming a reality. I watched a video, however, of immigrants pouring through a gap in the fence. After crossing, they would gather under a nearby tree and wait for the border patrol vans to arrive and take them to "processing centers." After their arduous walk from godknowswhere, they looked forward to food, comfortable shelter, and safety.
My dad told stories about being stationed in Ajo, AZ which was near a German detention camp. These soldiers would be allowed to attend the camp's dances on Saturday nights. The GIs were peeved because the girls would enjoy dancing with the Germans more than them. Oh, and also, the Zoot Suiters would drop by. Exciting times, then.
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
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.
Thank you, Sharron. Yes, I had to share this poem at this time when the idea of camps are becoming a reality. I watched a video, however, of immigrants pouring through a gap in the fence. After crossing, they would gather under a nearby tree and wait for the border patrol vans to arrive and take them to "processing centers." After their arduous walk from godknowswhere, they looked forward to food, comfortable shelter, and safety.
My dad told stories about being stationed in Ajo, AZ which was near a German detention camp. These soldiers would be allowed to attend the camp's dances on Saturday nights. The GIs were peeved because the girls would enjoy dancing with the Germans more than them. Oh, and also, the Zoot Suiters would drop by. Exciting times, then.
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