Mills_draft

Being presented with a completely open inquiry assignment is daunting. There are so many topics to explore, and so many that interest me; the choosing of a singular subject creates a strange circumstance which is at once expressive and suppressive. When creating my initial list of inquiry foci, the subject matter varied widely - Edward Teach and the Pirates of the Carolinas, the Salem Witchcraft Trials, The Great White City: Chicago’s World’s Fair male/female linguistic styles – just to name a few. After days of consideration, I decided on the Japanese Internment Camps of World War II. Initially, my approach concentrated on the infringement of civil rights: When does action taken in the interest of national defense violate the individual civil rights of citizens? This quickly led me down a political science path of inquiry that I hadn’t intended on following. What I truly wanted to delve into was camp life from the perspective of the internee. Though the former is worthy of query for its’ topical value alone, my interests were more in line with the emotional effects of the internment on those who were affected. As a Baby Boomer growing up in California with parents from the Veteran Generation, my awareness of the internment camps was based on vague history lessons I’d received as a child and family folklore. The history lessons came by way of watching a film entitled “Farewell to Manzanar” on television, followed by a class discussion the next day. The family folklore relayed the tale of Benny Morikowa, a neighbor and childhood friend whose family was sent to Manzanar after the bombing at Pearl Harbor. Exploring my topic from this perspective, I vainly searched for Benny; perhaps in an attempt to pay my respects or perhaps to give my own family history credibility. Regardless, once research began, my inquiry project took an unexpected turn. Looking at //Born Free and Equal// Ansel Adams’ pictorial collection of the Relocation Camp at Manzanar, I was struck at once by the beauty and austerity of his work. The arid, desolate landscape appears moon-like. The rows of wooden buildings in the middle of nowhere look like an accident; a miscalculation by a government contractor tasked with placing barracks on a military training post. The photos of daily life portray the internees as cooperative and amenable to their current conditions. Indeed, reading his comments, he glowingly speaks of the effect of the landscape on the people at the camp: “I believe that the acrid splendor of the desert, ringed with towering mountains, has strengthened the spirit of the people at Manzanar” “The huge vistas and the stern realities of sun and wind and space symbolize the immensity and opportunity of America – perhaps a vital reassurance following the experiences of enforced exodus” (9). As I leafed through the book, I felt little connection to the people on the pages. I definitely responded to the desolation depicted in the landscape frames, but the interior shots felt staged. Combined with text that read, “Out of the jostling, dusty confusion of the first bleak days in raw barracks they have modulated to a democratic internal society and a praiseworthy personal adjustment to conditions beyond their control” (9) the work seemed largely aimed at changing white opinion of Japanese Americans as being threatening to national security. What I was looking for was the internee’s perspective. What was it like to live in the camps? Searching resources both primary and secondary, I found books and articles written by internees. Hitting the arrow key, I went through the list, logging each website address, each article title. As I scanned my choices, a heading leaped out at me: __The Creative Art of Coping in Japanese Internment__. It was a recording on National Public Radio. I went to the NPR website, and listened to the story. Susan Stamberg, a correspondent for NPR spoke of //gaman// – to bear the seemingly unbearable with patience and dignity. The report described an exhibit of art objects created by the residents of the various Japanese internment camps during WWII. Though several trained artists were numbered among the prisoners, much of what was crafted was by individuals who had never created works of art before. After release from the camps, these new artists would never paint or sculpt or weave again. Once I’d heard about the Art of Gaman exhibit, my inquiry question synthesized from a general “life in the camps” query to one more about their need to create something of beauty in adverse conditions. Why did so many Japanese internees turn to the arts during their time of hardship? The __Creative Art of Coping__ broadcast reminded me of time I’d spent in boot camp. It was confinement of my own volition, but confinement nonetheless. I’d gone back in the military at the age of 27, leaving my two-year-old son with my mother. During the course of training, I fractured my heel, causing the time spent at boot camp to be extended from two months to over four. The circumstances and duration of my stay couldn’t compare to the situation the internees of the camps found themselves in; still, the pain of separation from my son was palpable. Through my extended stay I found myself creating increasingly intricate, detailed drawings during my free time. I would draw scenes of circus animals performing under the Big Top; dinosaurs crashing through prehistoric jungles gnashed their teeth and clawed the air; zoo animals gazed from behind bars. The days waiting to heal and return to my child were filled with the crafting of pictures I fashioned from government issued ballpoints and blank pages of instruction manuals. Soon, my bunkmates would bring colored pens and pencils - considered contraband – to the ward where I was mending. My drawings had become an anticipated diversion, my fellow recruits wanting to view the latest in a series of art works meant for my son. As I finished each one, carefully folding and placing it in an envelope, I felt a true connection to him. As someone who often turns to art when I feel isolated from my true self, I identified with the internees at the camps. In order to have a greater understanding of their need to create; however, a better appreciation of their circumstances and the conditions in which they lived was necessary. Using primary source documents as reference, I began to construct a typical camp dwelling in my mind: bleak, dirty, substandard facilities…these dwellings were hastily built in isolated areas with no insulation from the elements. Each resident was provided with a cot and mattress ticking to fill with straw. Those ordered to the camps were only able to bring bed linen, essential toilet articles, and one suitcase of clothing. They had been uprooted from their homes, their communities, their businesses. Finding themselves without the most basic of furnishings, internees began to collect scrap pieces of wood and discarded nails, crafting crude pieces of furniture. Initially, their creativity was function based. A chair here, a table there…the Issei busily recreated some semblance of home for their families. As time progressed; however, it became clear that life in the camps was having a detrimental effect on the identity of those in lived in them. The time honored patriarchal family structure was breaking down, as the Nisei began to turn to one another for companionship, comfort, and guidance. The Issei were left with little to do; fathers, no longer able to provide for their families, felt bitter and lost. The anger, loss, confusion, and betrayal which one might expect with individuals forcibly removed from their homes and businesses and put into concentration camps in a land which espoused democracy was hidden from the outside world. Fear of retribution prevented protest. The Japanese terms //sho ga nai// – it cannot be helped, and //gaman// became mantras for camp residents. What they could not express outwardly was secreted inside. It is through //gaman// that residents began to create the works of art mentioned in the NPR broadcast. Understanding the connection between the creator and the creation – the fusion of thought and emotion with medium - I decided it was necessary to go to Washington, D.C. and see the Art of Gaman show. I believed that viewing the pieces in person would give me a greater appreciation of what the act of creating had meant for these artists. Whenever I enter an art gallery or museum, I stand at the doorway for a few moments. Each show has its own characteristics which impose a mood or feeling. Standing at the entrance of The Art of Gaman I immediately felt reverent. Walking through exhibit, looking at the objects created from scrap wood, metal, cloth, and paper I felt saddened. The artwork showed conflict, determination, desperation, and dignity. The Asian stylized sculpture of an American eagle, a bear looking much like the image found on California’s state flag... the gallery was filled with objects which clearly illustrated a bridge between Japan and America. What the Japanese were unable to express through language because of fear, they conveyed through their art. Each piece proclaimed “I am Japanese - I am American” at the same time. Minnie Mouse, fashioned out of shells and seeds found on the desert floor of a Relocation Center, smiled with Asian eyes. A traditional Japanese vest, made for a son heading off to fight for the United States in the war, bore a thousand knots, each one sewn by individual well-wishers. Brooches created out of seeds, shells, wood, and bottle caps spanned time, easily imagined on the silk of a kimono or the angora of a cardigan. Psychologists Paul Murray and James Oliver state that the transformative power of art is often found not just through the active making or enjoyment of a product, but through the ambiguity and transience to be found within the process – the timeless space that art can afford us to be 'betwixt and between' our everyday concerns, or to allow for new meaning or understanding of self or others. The Art of Gaman exhibit clearly illustrates the validity of this statement. Much of the art was created by the Issei. The experience of internment stripped them of their traditional role within their families; indeed, within their own hearts and minds. The men, no longer viewed as the final authority, were adrift in the unstructured days of camp life. One internee remarked that going out into the desert for long periods of time to collect wood for carving became a demonstration of virility, as there was little opportunity for men to feel empowered. To create allows one to reconnect with and affirm their identity – to reclaim that which is lost. In an attempt to claim their identities as Japanese Americans, the internment camp residents turned to art. Thinking back to the drawings I had made for my son, I realized that they were not only an attempt to maintain a connection with him; they were also an endeavor to remain connected to myself.