My mom and I traveled to this windy desert
landscape to try to imagine what life was like behind the barbed wire fences of
a war relocation center more than 70 years ago
I visit national parks to experience America, warts and
all.
Luckily for me, my mom is a good sport about these
things. Traveling with her to national
parks has become a regular part of my life. We spent her 80th
birthday touring the geyser basins of Yellowstone a few years ago. We’ve been
to Glacier and Glacier Bay and Joshua Tree. We’ve even explored national parks
overseas, like The Galapagos. However, we’d never gone to one of the
smaller, more obscure parks together—until last fall.
Mom needed to get herself and her red Chevy Impala from
Eugene, Oregon, to her winter habitat in Palm Springs, California. As her
driver, I made sure we’d stop at Yosemite on the way south—and I picked a route
along the eastern edge of the Sierra Mountains to include an important lesson
from World War II, Manzanar National
Historic Site.
Manzanar is one of several National Park Service units
helping us to remember the injustice of interring Japanese and
Japanese-Americans during World War II. The country had been at war for more
than a year when President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 in
1942, giving U.S. armed forces broad powers to incarcerate anyone in the name
of military defense. The government overwhelmingly used this power to imprison Japanese
and Japanese-Americans for having “foreign enemy ancestry.” Ultimately, the
military kept 120,000 innocent people under armed guard in isolated areas of
the West, forcing them to leave their homes, businesses, possessions, and
normal lives behind for the duration of the war.
Interring U.S. citizens because of their ethnic
background and not for any real threat to national security must never, ever
happen again. And who best to help us remember that story than the National
Park Service, in collaboration with some of the very people who spent time at
the Manzanar War Relocation Center.
So after a walk with Mom along the edge of Mono Lake and a brief visit to Tuolumne
Meadows in Yosemite, it was back onto highway 395 for a glimpse into a dark part
of America’s history.
Of the 10 internment camps scattered across the country,
only Manzanar remains much as it was 75 years ago. Its location in the high
desert of the East Sierra under the shadow of Mt. Whitney ensured that it would
remain today much like it was in 1945. Not many people want to live here, and
for good reason. It is insanely hot in the summer and icy cold in the winter.
And the wind never stops blowing.
We bent into that wind as we waited on the steps for the
visitor center to open and tell us its story. The visitor center is in the
camp’s original auditorium building, and the walls speak—literally. When the
site was established in 1992, many of the people who lived out the war at
Manzanar were still alive, and their first-person accounts are the backbone of
how NPS interprets the internment history. The site offers multimedia displays so
you can actually hear the voices of the people interred at Manzanar as they
tell their own stories.
In addition to the visitor center, NPS has reconstructed
several housing barracks so you can imagine what it was like to have your life
reduced to a suitcase and end up in a place like this. A 3.2-mile auto tour
gave us a sense of just how big this place is. We saw roads, some foundations
of buildings, and ornamental gardens built by residents who tried make this
desolate place a bit more like home.
Over 10,000 people lived in the 500 acres that were
developed. They stayed for years. We stayed for hours and tried to imagine what
it was like. My mother was particularly moved. She remembers Japanese-Americans
in her hometown being taken away. It just didn’t make any sense to a ten-year-old
girl from southern Oregon. It still doesn’t.
I visit national parks to experience all that is America,
warts and all. What makes the National
Park System so engaging to me is its diversity. Both Yosemite and Manzanar tell
important stories about our country, and to fully understand and appreciate
America, we need both the good and bad chapters in the continuing evolution our
history.
As my mom and I left Manzanar, a profound reflective
silence filled the car. Interring Japanese and Japanese-Americans during WWII
was one of America’s worst moments. I am constantly amazed at how the Park
Service is sensitive, balanced, and accurate in how it shares these stories
from our past. And these stories must be told, so this history is never
repeated.
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