through the context of past and present

Walking onto the desolate, desert plain surrounded by mountains, I had a deep sense of "the end." Coming into this "visit to Manzanar," I was not particulary excited, nor did I know how to phrase my feelings surrounding the visit. For me, I see incarceration, past and present, through the context of my ancestors and the now prison industrial complex. Visuals come to my mind of people in captivity and the environments they were forced into; as I see a plantation, I see a place like Manzanar. This was not a place I "wanted" to go, nor did I have any inclination other than curiosity.

Remains of John Shepard Ranch of Owens Valley

What drew me in about this visit was not what I was familar with, but what I had never heard of: the Owens Valley Paiute. We tend to forget about the other bodies, the other people, that are affected by the history of a location, especially in the way we signify lives. From establishing thier villages on this land to innovating agricultural tools, they thrived as a society in the valley without interference or disruption. The lingering miners and ranchers from the Gold Rush began to settle and take of ver the Paiutes' land, taking thier agricultural innovations and using them as well for their benefit. Later down the road, John Shepard established a ranch in Owens Valley and employed the Paiute people (on their own original land).

I noticed many people were drawn to other areas of the visitor center, but I focused on the stores that are not usually told and the false narratives and façade pushed about the Japanese and Japanese Americans incarcerated in the camp, shown in a picture film. I understand the notion of making the most out of the worst circumstances, however, it was clear that these pictures and silent film were put together to show everyone else in the nation how "good" they were still living; it was clear especially seeing the fenced yards with rock gardens, children walking down the streets, and even plays.

Inside the theater

It was hard to have a sense of joy or express any solace in the resilience that they showed through their endurance of circumstances that were forced upon them. I became somewhat frustrated about those removed from their own land and the future reuse of a once prosperous land and community for incarceral reasons. As the ground crunched under my feet, as we walked the long roads to memorials, and as I stood watching my peers and the Sophia students play basketball on the makeshift courts, I was overwhelmed with unease. I thought about the people who were once here before, the possibility of bodies beneath our feet, those who could not leave and see beyond these mountains. Standing at the memorial, seeing the few grave sites and the large one for the many, surrounded by paper cranes, saddened my heart. I noticed myself drifting away from the large congregation at the alrge site and instead stepping in silence near the isolated trees and small mounds of dirt with stones. Quiet was needed to acknowledge, honor, and bring some peace to those spirits still encapsulated by the mountains.

Grave Site Behind the Memorial

I also thought of those who had no clue where to go afterwards because they had no place to go. Again, I was thinking in the context of enslavement and the response I had seeing plantations and slave quarters on the Civil Rights trip down south. Did they know they were "free"? Where did they go? Were they on their own? Presently, how does society respond and react to their descendants now?

I respect the outlook of celebrating those incarcerated every year with a pilgrimage to Manzanar with dances, readings, and spotlighting voices. However, it is still difficult for me to look at the injustices without some resentment.