We've been here before.....

  

                  guard tower at manzanar internment camp, california                                 

   We've been here before. It is in our story.

     It was this week in 1942 an offense against Asian people  began and it betrayed American principle and idealism.

 

    Immigration is a recurrent political thorn and people suffer. There are seasons of hate and victimhood changes by ethnicity, heritage, and nationality. As violence and animosity toward AAPI peoples accelerate, we recall how the American federal government crossed a line of ignominy. 

     Manzanar is emblematic of the mistreatment of people of Asian ancestry, and their resilient grace in sustaining.  

 MANZANAR

        The National Historic Site is history as a window to our national soul. It's also evidence of a test of civility and a benchmark on doing what we say we believe.

        In this instance it was people of Japanese heritage. We know however, our villainy has been felt by Native citizens, Africans, Jews, Irish, Germans, Italians, Mexicans, and others despite we are a nation of immigrants. Immigration makes us better, and more culturally rich, but our history condemns us.

       The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, followed days later by submarine attacks on central California marine targets unleashed a public mania that empowered a low in American history, the internment of nearly 120 thousand Japanese Americans during WWII.

      The Manzanar Site, ironically near Independence California, tells the history and testifies as to how fragile our civil liberties are.

      Operated by the National Parks Service, the Manzanar Historic Site, 200 miles north of LA, provides an intelligent  account of the life that began there in March of 1942. It conveys emotion.

     10 thousand people lived in 504 barracks the internees built. Tar paper shacks, windy, cold and snowy in winter, blown by sand and sweltering in the 110 degree summers.

   Surrounded by barbed wire, armed guards, and watch towers, entire families tried to make the best of life in a kind of prison camp. 
   They had been uprooted and forced to live in a cramped adversity with communal latrines and showers without stalls. Personal space and privacy taken from them.

    They worked, digging irrigation canals, raising fruit, vegetables and livestock. They made clothing and furniture, camouflage netting and rubber products for the military. They were paid between $12 and $19 a month. With their limited funds they published a newspaper, operated a general store, bank and barbershop. 

   Without due process, the Federal government gave Japanese Americans only days to decide what to do with homes, farms, businesses, cars and all property. Most sold their possessions at a significant loss. They took only what they could carry.

      Not one Japanese American was ever charged with espionage. 
    Nearly 26 thousand Japanese Americans served in the US Military during WWII, many serving with distinction and  decoration.  
    In the frame below is Teru Arikawa the mother of PFC Frank Arikawa, the first soldier from Manzanar who was killed in the line of duty.

        Most of the Japanese American soldiers served in the 442nd Regimental Combat Team in North Africa, France and Italy. The unit had the highest casualty rate and was the most highly decorated Army unit of its size and length of service.
    The quote below is from President Harry Truman at a White House ceremony honoring the 442nd and 100th Infantry Battalion of the Hawaiian Territorial Guard.

         President Roosevelt's Executive Order 9066 on February 19,1942 authorized relocation and/or internment of "anyone who might threaten the US war effort."  
       With that simple order American civil liberties and justice were savaged.  
        Processing and reporting centers were opened and Japanese Americans were forced to depart.

     Ten relocation camps were built. Without the rights due them, American citizens were forced into internment, with no idea of how long they would be held. No charges were brought against them.

    21st century Americans can visit Manzanar and see the vestige of a time when emotion, paranoia, awful political judgment and prejudice combined to create a despicable shadow on the life of this nation. It was a time that revealed our promise of freedom, liberty, and justice to be hollow and hypocritical. 

    It is both moving and frightening to see the names of those American citizens, who, because of heritage, were, without any legal recourse, treated like criminals and put into internment camps. Their freedoms were denied by an executive order, as a nation stood by.

    A driving and walking tour also covers the memorial ground, where those who died are remembered and where ashes were spread. 

 

       

     Post Trump America holds new paranoias and hatreds with new generations who are the target of zealots, racists, ideologues and politicians seeking favor.  

     

     I asked once if Manzanar could happen again? Could we again suspend due process and trample civil liberties because of fear and a perceived threat? With the Trump-McConnell appointees on the federal bench, and all the believers of the big lie, it's a valid question still.

                    

      Manzanar can be explained, but not excused, by the fear stemming from war. Now it is another affliction that stalks us. Ignorance, brutality, political expediency and radicalized hate have aggregated to threaten our way of life, our beliefs and our future.

     

       We have soul searching and soul work to do.

       See you down the trail. 

Resurrection Turtles

 

    Rainbows are one of those natural prompts that seem to always lift our spirits. We captured this one during a recent storm.

            

    Another natural phenomena that prompts human behavior is the calendar of our revolution and rotation in the solar system. 

        For as long as there is a human history, solstice and equinoxes has prompted response. Do you wonder when and how humankind first calculated a solstice or equinox. How did those ancestors harness observation and calculation? How was the knowledge, the "science," shared?

   It didn't take long for humans to turn the Spring change into ritual and events.

    Some regard spring as the new year, others call it a resurrection of the sun. Egyptians, Persians, and Chinese  advanced celebrations with eggs. Anglo Saxons celebrated fertility and the "moon goddess." Druids too celebrated a goddess of fertility, known as a Flower Woman.

    The Dionysian Mysteries were one of the Greek's mystery cults observing spring rites. They essentially drank or drugged themselves to the point of "loosing control," so the power of their gods or the universe could enter them. 

    There were elaborate observations of the solstice at ancient stones and archeological mystery sites. Some dug up decayed pigs. Cultures picked flowers and danced around around poles. 

    Islam celebrates Ramadan. Jews observe the feast of the Passover. Christian's observe the passion of the Christ. Holy week features Palm Sunday, a triumphant entry, marred by Maundy Thursday a betrayal and arrest, Good Friday when Jesus is executed on a cross, Easter Sunday when Christians celebrate the resurrection of the Son.

    It seems we cannot see the greening of the season, blooming of trees and flowers, the warming of the sun and not think of life, maybe new life from the dead of winter or more.

    Well, here's a little anthropological story. I call it 

THE RESURRECTION TURTLES

    My brother John and I somehow won a couple of little turtles at an elementary school Ice Cream Social. It might have been one of those fishing games, or musical chairs, I can't recall. We went home with two turtles, in little boxes along with turtle food. 

    We acquired an old fish tank, and built our turtle "biome" with clumps of dirt, grass, twigs and leaves. The turtles flourished and we lavished them with attention. They were our first pets and we loved them.

    As fall came on we noticed they were getting sluggish, not eating all of their food and we worried. One morning we discovered the turtles had crawled under some of the dirt clods and were not moving. Mom said they must have gotten old and died. She promised to bury them near the back stoop and put a rock on the ground so we could remember them. We got on and eventually the loss had less sting.

    Spring came and one day my younger brother John, a bit of a rascal, even at that age, suggested we dig up the turtles so we could have turtle skeletons. Sounded interesting to me so we proceeded. We moved the rock and began to dig. Instead of finding skeletons, we found a turtle, fully intact and it seemed to be alive. It turned its curious head our way. We dug on and found the second turtle, not as animated, but clearly not a dead skeleton.

    We called them our Resurrection Turtles and went about the neighborhood telling about it. Our turtles were Resurrection Turtles.

     Mom, somewhat amazed and somewhat embarrassed soon realized the turtles had been merely hibernating. She did a good thing in burying them by the back stoop. 

    Soon she and dad began to explain to us, the difference between death and hibernation and advised us the turtles were not really resurrected. But still, after all these years, I can remember the surprise, the elation, the wonder and the chuckles about our "resurrected" turtles.

    To this day the grass still seems greener, the flowers more beautiful, the world a little brighter and more joyful at Easter. However you observe or reflect at this time of year, I hope it brings a sense of renewal, energy, cheer and warmth.

       Our celebratory inclination is as old as the first human spring.

     See you down the trail.

Wishing you....

 

Wishing you a life that is green...

...a comfy spot...

...a good story...

...a place to quench a thirst...

...friends...

...music...

...a timeless mystery...

...something to love...

...spirit and commitment...

...something to believe ....

...memories...

...friends with which to share...

...wit and wisdom and the soul of a poet....

...and a life that breathes an ageless story.

Slainte'

See you down the trail.

Peeking at Normal

 

Oak trees shadow the moonrise over the Santa Lucia Mountains in Cambria  

        The dawning success of getting jabs into enough arms so the vaccinated can now socialize, inside, sans mask, will awaken distant memories of how great it used to be.

        Another tell is what we are talking about. The "royals" have grabbed headlines after talking to our Queen of media, Oprah.

        Our local King, ruler of the polydactyls, is pleased his ridge top savanna is green again.  Hemingway shows more dignity than those in the palace who have driven yet another young woman  to the edge of despair, and displayed tone deaf racism in the process. 

        It seems if the appalling anachronism of "royalty" is to continue, they need to use CRSPR to design princesses to endure the silliness of such as thinking someone must be bowed to. Oh but we love The Crown and the cheap pleasure of royal gossip and intrigue. These people used to lop of heads and got away with it. So, you don't think history convicts us?

    New direction in Washington is helping lower American blood pressure levels. The Biden Covid Relief plan offers assistance the US needs to recover from the disaster; the disease's devastation of life, economy, normalcy and the malignant incompetence of the Trump-McConnell reign. 

    The Biden plan is a bi-partisan success, favored by a majority of US citizens, both Republicans and Democrats. It is etching itself into Presidential History. It may prove to be a  significant legislative remedy on the scale of FDR.

    The House and Senate Republicans are hopelessly trapped in a psychotic death cult where truth is a sin. Isn't it cute, that right on cue the party of run-away spending and economic recessions is putting on their budget deficit faces again, though a majority of their voters await the Biden relief.

    

    

        Overhanging the way forward is the need for a national nonpartisan investigation into the causes and facts of 1/6. This is something Republicans would like to forget. 

        Another overhang, and one where the bill is coming due is the costly undoing of the Iran nuclear deal JCPOA. Since the mistake of quitting the agreement, Iran has enriched more uranium, is using advanced centrifuges and restricting international inspections. Thank you Mr. Trump.*

        And because horror stories need a teasing ending, I hope you've watched the knife attack the Trump organization has directed to his chump party mates. Only he can raise money using his name. His political fundraising may be his best scam and con yet. 

       * The change of scenery or personnell at the State Department and White House will have impact on the looming Iran fight.

         Ali Akbar Salehi, one of Iran's Supreme Leader's most trusted advisors and the head of the Atomic Association of Iran said this week, a deal is a deal and the US walked away.

        Intelligence analysts tell us the first phase of reengaging the JCPOA will be a kind of dance and war of nerves to see who blinks first. They tell us Biden has sent his first message, letting it sink in with the Iranian people, as they face their own inner turmoil and economic trouble.

        An early Biden test is how his humanitarian instincts and the reality of refugees flooding the border will resolve. His critics are looking closely.

        

        And finally, a sailing story. This little single masted craft

has an interesting history. It was a piece of drift wood, apparently bark of some sort, found by our grand daughter Addie, who professed "this will float."

    It lead to looking up sail boat designs and making a sketch.

Nana then helped cut a sail and set the mast. It was time for a test.

    

   It proved its sea worthiness in several tide pools and was the source of pride and glee. Lessons learned, and something proven it was time to return the slightly altered bark to nature.

        When last seen it was moored in a channel between a couple of tide pools awaiting the return of the high tide. Maybe there is a sea shanty in this, but not from this writer. There is a little lass however who found her first trip down to the sea, a great adventure.

        Now, don't we all feel better these days, with hope and a new normal on the rising tide?

        Stay well. 

        See you down the trail.