An American, Chiura Obata. . .
A name or whose art you won’t see at the Whitney. A major retrospective of his work opened at the Smithsonian in November of last year. An artist and friend told me about it, saying “Wow, a must see!” and yet, have you read or heard about it in “the paper of record”? Or seen it in any other major news or cultural coverage? Nor the work of American Ruth Asawa, who dreamed of becoming an art teacher but couldn’t because of laws or discriminatory practices which excluded the ethnically Japanese from all kinds of professions and activities like being a teacher, practicing law or working for the government, etc. As a result of exclusionary race laws, she started her young adult life in “the camps.” Her work is groundbreaking for its organic forms which astound in its simple complexity. She is part of a major retrospective of women’s art at The Art Institute of Chicago, but her link to our understanding of American history is often obscured, this time by Mexico and Modernism. Nor American illustrator Mine Okubo, author of an early graphic novel documenting her experience in a US concentration camp, called “Citizen 13660,” first published 1946 is largely ignored despite today’s graphic novel craze. Or rarely is the work of American writer John Okada (about the No No Boys) included in discussions about race and class in America. . .nor are the poems of American Lawson Fusao Inada. Despite being the Poet Laureate of Oregon, 2006, most educated Americans have never heard of him or his story. Here’s a taste: To This Day Have you ever wondered whatever happened to all the barbed wire that defined and confined the so-called camp at Tule Lake? That’s a good question we have a right to ask as ordinary tax-paying citizens: “Whatever happened to all that barbed wire?” When you think about it, the very idea of fencing such an expanse of land was a daunting challenge for all those concerned because it wasn’t easy to coordinate “back East” planning with “out West” implementation, along with the manufacture and transportation of materials from all points in between. And it was also an innovative undertaking, a historical precedent, because this fence was to confine, not cattle or criminals, but residents of the American West, who, in the western tradition, were to be “rounded up,” and “herded” into fenced areas – Tule Lake being but one such place. Now, thinking about barbed wire, it could be easy to consider related matters that would take us off into a tangent about, oh, fence posts and other such aspects of construction, sidetracking us into thinking about cutting forests for fence posts, and all the effort, energy, expense involved in the overall venture – including catered lunches for planning meetings sequestered in the “red tape” of D.C. – so let’s just focus on the wire that arrived by train on huge spools, I suppose, ready to be unloaded by many men with machines who would then, over days, depending on weather, erect the barbed wire fence. And let’s keep going forward, like the war effort, not backward to the origins of the wire that would include iron ore, iron mines, steel mills, all the sweat, smoke, steam, shoveling, smelting, stamping of the extensive process of manufacturing wire and then barbing it; Yes, let’s keep going forward, like the war effort not backward to the origins of the war, or to the barb wire trenches of the First World War, but to the brand-new barbed wire fence of Tule Lake. The wire was gleaming in the sun! And with all those barbs – thousands upon thousands – all those strands were sparkling! As we can imagine – the fence was really something! And just imagine – from the air, the shining structure may have resembled – a gigantic musical instrument, that storms and raging winds would strum and pluck . . . At any rate, whatever happened to all that barbed wire? It’s all gone somewhere, somehow, obviously, which is a good thing; otherwise, it would pose a hazard for wildlife, and rusted barbs could cause tetanus in humans . . . especially children. So perhaps it’s immaterial to dwell on such material matters like rusted wire of the past; rather, as we can imagine, in this advanced day and age, there just might be a mentality among us, between us, that, to this day, serves to keep us separated serves to keep us confined between “them” and “us,” and this mentality, this condition, invisible as it is, intangible as it is, can actually function like actual barbed wire – and it is up to everyone, in the spirit of humanity, in the name of mutuality, to reach through the strands with extended hands. Lawson Fusao Inada was born in Fresno, California, and as a child during World War II, he was imprisoned in California, Arkansas, and Colorado. His books of poetry include Before the War, Legends from Camp, and Drawing the Line. He has received fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Guggenheim Foundation, and has served as Poet Laureate of Oregon. Nor did you find the Yellow Bowl Project at the ICP in their “For Freedoms” exhibition a couple of years ago about contemporary photographers' exploration of FDR’s Four Freedoms, nor did any major news outlets write about them, perhaps because they told a different story of Freedom and America than they were ready to share. The tea bowls were the only contemporary work of photography included in the FDR Library‘s year-long exhibition of FDR’s signing of EO 9066 in 2017, when the library was determined to try and tell a more complete story of “the Four Freedoms” back in 2017. Even at NPR. . .where I am not unknown, no one found this interesting enough. Often told that what happened to Japanese Americans was not relevant, "Take it to the Japan Society or the Asia Society" curators and editors would say. Among those who know - the scholars, archivists and experts in the field of immigration and the history of America's race laws written to determine who could and could not participate in this democracy by virtue of whether one was or was “not white”, citizen or not - many want to acknowledge this very American story. It seems it’s the public media that doesn’t. Some say it happened over 75 years ago. Still others say this doesn’t happen in America and didn’t. But it not only happened here, it happened within our lifetimes. It’s important because the cycle continues today. It’s important because the United States is important to the world. We think we have moved forward, but only find that History repeats itself. With this story, American history and its claim that racism ended after the Civil War doesn’t make sense. The ownership of humans may have ended, but exclusion laws took its place. Modeled after the laws to exclude Native Americans, it began 100 years of exclusionary laws written by congress and state and local legislatures around the country against those who were legally deemed by a court of law to be “not white.” It’s the missing link which most public media doesn’t want the public to know. But they shall not erase us. . . is what I say.
1 Comment
Alexandra Tinari
2/2/2020 04:41:26 pm
Thank you. The Lawson Fusao Inada poem is very powerful and I appreciate being introduced to these accomplished Japanese-Americans. I am eager to learn more about their work and lives. The Yellow Bowl project is important, relevant, beautiful, and heartbreaking and I hold fast to the idea that it will chip away at the notion that that the experience and treatment of Japanese Americans is inconsequential to understanding who we are.
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Setsuko WinchesterMy Yellow Bowl Project hopes to spur discussion around these questions: Who is an American? What does citizenship mean? How long do you have to be in the US to be considered a bonafide member of this group? Archives
June 2021
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