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I’m looking for a call for an exhibit honoring the more than 4,000 people incarcerated here, in the middle of Idaho’s farmland, in an American crime camp that most people don’t know about or would forget.
Every call posted on the 7-foot sign belongs to a first-generation Japanese man who was detained in the Minidoka crime camp in Idaho during World War II. The exhibition acknowledges his threat to leave Japan and create a network here in the United States. They worked hard, despite prevailing anti-Japanese sentiment, to continue their edition of the American dream. Then, in 1942, without warning, they were arrested and criminalized without being charged with any crime, nor informed of where they were taken or when they might be detained. simply return to your homes, businesses and lives.
I squint and scan the center of the 3 panels for a specific call, while avoiding the heads of the other people in front of me. They seek calls from their relatives. I’m in favor of a call I only heard a few times.
A pilgrim’s partner asked me who I was looking for. I said hesitantly, “My honorary uncle, Shosuke Sasaki. ” I walked ahead and looked for Uncle Shosuke. It’s less difficult to read the names now, but it still feels like an endless list. My pilgrim partner pointed to the upper right corner of the last sign. Once I saw him, his name, “Shosuke Sasaki”, stood out from the crowd and seemed to shine in the sun.
Seeing his call among the thousands of Japanese Americans detained in Minidoka provoked a wave of feelings that ran through me. I had already felt that way while writing stories and researching the incarceration of Japanese Americans in criminal camps across the United States. But I didn’t. I realize that visiting Minidoka would bring a lot of anger, sadness and pain.
I understood for the first time the strength that a position can have. Little did I know that coming to this would reveal a missing component in my family’s history.
During World War II, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, which authorized the U. S. military to do so. The U. S. government will deport all other people of Japanese descent from the West Coast and criminalize them without due process. This order forced more than 125,000 Japanese-Americans from their homes and placed them in criminal camps. Two-thirds of those other people were U. S. citizens.
NOTE: KUOW does not describe Executive Order 9066 as an “evacuation” and does not refer to the camps as “internment camps. “These terms forget the intensity and horrors experienced through the Japanese-American network of World War II.
Many Japanese-Americans living in the Pacific Northwest were detained in Minidoka, a few miles southeast of Boise. Hundreds of survivors and their descendants make annual pilgrimages to Minidoka National Historic Site.
This year was the first pilgrimage since the adventure was interrupted due to the Covid-19 pandemic. It was also my first vacation to the site where at least one of my ancestors was held during World War II.
But the delight of Minidoka’s scale and the desolation and isolation of what Japanese Americans enjoy at camp will possibly soon replace forever. A commercial-scale wind power allocation would install 400 wind turbines right next to the site. A developing coalition of Japanese Americans are pushing to save your progression and Minidoka, despite the horrific memories of their lives there that have been passed down from generation to generation.
On the morning of July 4, I prepared for a three-day trip to Minidoka with two hundred other pilgrims as part of the annual pilgrimage. As I prepared for the Array I thought about what it would be like to do this in 1942, not as a guest packing for a brief visit, but as someone forced to move to a position I hadn’t known for a while. Uncertain time period.
Many families were given between 24 and 48 hours. You can only carry what you can carry. Everything else would be left behind, forever.
I finished packing my bag, grabbed my recording device and loaded it into my car. I said goodbye to my dog, Pulitzer. Me looked very worried, because the suitcase meant I was going to leave for a while. I told him I would. See it in a few days. If it had been in 1942, it would have been a promise he might not have made or kept.
Although “Uncle Shosuke” was not really my uncle, it had a lot to do with my family being in the northwest. One of the reasons my grandmother, who lives in Kobe, Japan, allowed my mother to study at the University of Washington was that her distant relative, Shosuke Sasaki, lived in Seattle. Growing up, I heard his call but didn’t know much about him. He died when I was 3 years old.
Last year, while writing some other story, I discovered his call in a database that placed him at Camp Harmony, or the Puyallup Assembly Center, at the Washington state fairgrounds. The barracks were next to wooden roller coasters, under the grandstand and at the racecourse. It is a place of temporary detention before those who were incarcerated were sent to permanent sites such as Minidoka.
We never knew where Uncle Shosuke went after Camp Harmony. I asked my mom why she didn’t know more about her experiences. She explained that she didn’t like to ask him about it, because remembering caused her pain.
I walked through the North Cascades and the reshaped world from the green and rainy of western Washington state to the dry, brown farmlands east of the mountains.
There is not much left in the Minidoka National Historic Site: some historic buildings modified, adding a reproduction of a watchtower. Most of it is open farmland that extends to the horizon.
The scorching sun falls on the other two hundred people who made the journey. To a city dweller like me, this sounds like the definition of isolation. I think isolation is the reason the government chose this place.
Fujiko Gardner is a survivor of the Minidoka crime camp and came to Minidoka with her family.
“Most of us, when we arrived in Minidoka, were surprised. Coming from Washington, we were used to beautiful greenery and green trees. It was a surprise to get off the train,” Gardner said. All you can see is miles and miles of dry land and masses of mugwort. “
When Decree 9066 was issued, it wreaked havoc on his family. Gardner was born in the United States, the youngest of 11 children. Like Uncle Shosuke, Gardner and his family were first sent to Camp Harmony.
“I celebrated my tenth birthday at Camp Harmony,” he said. “I saw my father change. I honestly believe that if he had figured out a way, he would have ended his life. Thanks to his time at Camp Harmony, he has greatly replaced.
Gardner said his father had become depressed. When he was returning from the refectory to the barracks, he could see a watchtower with a soldier holding a rifle. Gardner’s older brother was the only user in his circle of relatives who didn’t make it to the camp. He joined the army before the war.
“I think my dad is angry about that,” Gardner recalls. “His own son wears the same uniform as the tower guard. That doesn’t make sense, does it? »
Gardner said that although his father’s intellectual state declined, his mother compensated.
“Economically we were poor. I can honestly say that we were rich in many other aspects. Thanks to my mother. She was the one who showed us strength and resilience,” Gardner said. “A lot of other people say so, the moms, who were given the stage under control. “
After three months at Camp Harmony, Gardner and his family were transferred during practice to Minidoka.
Two of Gardner’s older brothers, Mitsuru and Masaru, were later recruited from the camp for the army. It was composed entirely of American infantrymen of Japanese descent and is the most decorated unit in the history of the U. S. Army. His brother, Mitsuru, was killed in action while serving in Italy, a month before Victory in Europe Day in 1945.
Gardner said the U. S. government has let her and her family down.
“It’s the horror of it all,” he said. No American citizen has gone through what we went through.
During our pilgrimage we visited the Historic Block 22. It houses two wooden buildings that look like shipping containers. One served as a barracks and the other as a refectory. Inside the barracks, every step you take squeaks and resonates.
Several family sets and apartments were staying together. There were no walls between the sets, so other people hung the sheets. But the sheets do not block the noise. If a newborn cries or a delicate argument occurs in the circle of relatives, everyone in the barracks can simply listen to him.
The buildings were built with fresh, green wood, and when the wood dried, it shrank, leaving gaps in the walls. A single dust typhoon can cause about an inch of sand to accumulate inside the barracks. People filled the cracks with newspapers to stay away from the sand. Gardner remembers dust typhoons. He added that elders also planted grass and flowers in an attempt to help.
“They knew they had to throw grass seeds to reduce dust. They were hard-working people,” he said. They’re not going to sit down and get depressed and, you know, cry about the terrible situations we have to live in. They took the time to do anything to make it a lovely position to stay. “
Gardner said it’s imperative to share those reports with younger generations.
“Every time I get the chance, I have to tell my story, because it’s not just my story,” she said. “That’s the whole story of Japanese Americans. “
After the visit, the pilgrims were separated into small teams to talk about what it’s like to move into the criminal camp. Emotions were running high. For many of the group’s descendants, the move to camp is a way to face the history of their network and family.
Throughout the pilgrimage, I heard that many camp survivors have avoided talking about their experience. Some survivors feel ashamed for allowing someone to put them in such horrible conditions.
One man came here on pilgrimage with his father, who survived Minidoka. He said his father refuses to talk about the camp. Once in Minidoka, his father slowly began to tell stories that his son had never heard before.
The son said that coming to Minidoka gave him the possibility to confront himself and see what his father had endured. He says he had come here before with his father.
Others shared similar emotional stories and many members of the organization wept brazenly as they listened. The pilgrims agreed that coming to Minidoka to see the site with their own eyes was the first step towards healing.
But the experience of visiting the Minidoka crime camp could soon change dramatically. Magic Valley Energy is proposing a commercial-scale wind energy project with Minidoka called the Lava Ridge Wind Project.
According to the Bureau of Land Management, the proposed allocation could house up to 500,000 homes, with turbines reaching 740 feet tall, more than the Space Needle. The site could house more than 400 wind turbines. Some of them would be within 3 kilometers of Minidoka National Historic Site and within the war resettlement line. This means that pilgrims and others would see the wind turbines when they arrive at the remote site.
Gardner would ruin the experience.
“When I come on pilgrimage, I feel energy,” he said. “I see that I can feel the spirit that has inhabited me here before, you know, and I feel that if they erect all those towers, they will destroy Minidoka. “.
Gardner needs this history preserved. She wishes for future generations to come to Minidoka so they can see the earth and feel the energy, the same way she experienced it as a child.
Emily Yoshioka’s grandparents and great-grandparents were arrested in Minidoka. He is now a member of the committee that organizes the annual pilgrimage.
He agreed with Gardner that the Lava Ridge task would radically replace the experience of visiting the remote site.
“It may not be the same for generations to come. It’s scary to think about it,” Yoshioka said. “But it’s also a driving force. My preference to continue doing this work, to be part of the pilgrimage, and to be part of the Japanese-American community.
She said she understood that as a young member of the Japanese community, her task now is to be the mother of history. It is also your duty to protect places like Minidoka from projects like Lava Ridge.
The Bureau of Land Management is recently reviewing more than 11,000 public comments on the Lava Ridge proposal. BLM spokeswoman Heather Tiel-Nelson said the Japanese-American’s comments are “quite significant. “
He said the company seeks to “mitigate the effects while allowing Magic Valley Energy to have a viable project. “
On the last morning of the pilgrimage, we return to the Minidoka Historical Site for a final ceremony. There have been speeches about the desire for what happened here and to keep this site to teach future generations so that history does not repeat itself.
The pilgrims took “Emas” (wooden plaques shaped like houses) and wrote messages in honor and remembrance of their imprisoned relatives. They attached them to posters. Some older ones helped the younger ones tie the Emas tightly, while others hugged others.
After the rite and farewell, they put me in my car and I left the park. I walked past the giant “Stop Lava Ridge” protest signs. In my rearview mirror I saw the watchtower, the only thing rising above the floor. fields of gold grains.
A few days later, my mother and I investigated Uncle Shosuke. I learned that he is an activist for the rights of Japanese Americans.
He is one of the main authors of the first summary of the “Seattle Plan”. This plan was the first step that led the U. S. government to officially apologize for the camps and pay $20,000 in survivor reparations.
Today, African Americans use this plan as an example of reparation.
My mom also told me how much Uncle Shosuke hated the “Japanese” insult. He said he remembers him speaking passionately about how the media wrote anti-Japanese propaganda that dehumanized the Japanese people.
During my research, I learned that Uncle Shosuke had written a letter to the New York Newspaper Guild urging them to avoid this insult to describe the Japanese.
In an interview with Densho, an organization that preserves testimonies from survivors of World War II crime camps, Uncle Shosuke says the word was later put on the list of prohibitions. The Guild conceived it as such a brilliant concept that it proposed banning the use of the word in newspapers.
Uncle Shosuke said it the first time an organization “openly opposed the use of the word ‘Japanese. ‘”
It turns out that my uncle Shosuke, who among thousands of people imprisoned against their will in a remote Idaho outpost, who endured sandstorms, disgrace and humiliation, was brave and strong enough to speak out against racism and discrimination that are so prevalent in your country. . day.
Thanks to him and his bravery, I can now appear in public media without this insult that describes me and my community.
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