Christmas 2001

We are driving through the vast expanse of California. On Highway 395, we're heading south, towards Lone Pine. To the right, the mountain ranges of the Sierra Nevada rise up. We wouldn't be surprised if a cowboy appeared over the next hilltop, riding his horse into the sunset. This is the land of diners, steaks, and weak coffee--and breathtaking landscapes. A Wild West cliche. The heat fits the picture as well. But shortly after the town of "Independence," the myth of the Marlboro advertisement fades. We approach the "Manzanar" memorial. Here, during World War II, the American government under President Franklin D. Roosevelt interned up to 10,000 people of Japanese descent, many of them with American passports.

After the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, forcing the USA into World War II, there was a fear that Americans of Japanese descent were collaborating with the Japanese government. Consequently, on February 19, 1942, Order Number 9066 was issued. To avoid jeopardizing national security, Japanese Americans were forced to relocate to guarded camps surrounded by barbed wire.

Only essential items (blankets, bedding, clothing, etc.) were allowed to be packed and brought in a maximum of two suitcases. Manzanar was one of the first of a total of ten internment camps, which were officially also called concentration camps. In total, the American government interned approximately 120,000 Japanese citizens. In Manzanar, there were 36 wooden barracks where children, women, and men had to live in very cramped conditions, deprived of their homes, jobs, and valuables, until the camp was closed in November 1945.

Although Manzanar was declared a National Historic Site in 1972, there is still no visitor center or museum at the former internment camp. Few visitors find their way here, as large parts of American society continue to taboo and suppress the topic of this internment. During our visit, we encountered only one other tourist. To learn about the history of Manzanar, we stopped at the museum in Independence, where there is a lovingly crafted, amateurish, permanent exhibition about the camp. They also built a faithful replica of a barrack room there. On the site itself, only the original auditorium, which was used for social gatherings, parts of the cemetery with a memorial stone, the pagoda-like police post, and one of the guardhouses still exist.

Visitors are allowed to drive their cars along the dusty roads of the camp. And although there are hardly any buildings left to see, visitors can sense what the internees went through here. Wooden signs mark the positions of the barracks. They are so close together that it doesn't take much imagination to envision the cramped conditions. Upon reaching the cemetery, we notice the colorful folded cranes strung on chains. We learn their significance only later. In Japan, there is a belief that if you fold 1,000 cranes, you are granted a wish that will come true. Today, the symbol of the 1,000 cranes also represents a wish for peace: After the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, a Japanese girl named Sadako developed leukemia. She began folding cranes to wish for health but died before she could complete the 1,000 cranes. As a result, many projects were initiated in her name to create lasting peace in the world.

When you leave the former internment camp, you pass by a plaque with the following inscription: "May the injustices and humiliation suffered here as a result of hysteria, racism, and economic exploitation never emerge again."

In my opinion, there is no better Christmas message this year.

In this spirit, we wish you thoughtful, peaceful holidays!

Angelika und Michael

P.S.: Last week, Americans of Japanese descent presented cranes to their Muslim fellow citizens to show their solidarity.