Carl:
The following link may be of value to the discussion.
http://r.search.yahoo.com/_ylt=AwrTccikRRFX3X8AkeknnIlQ;_ylu=X3oDMTByb2lvbXVuBGNvbG8DZ3ExBHBvcwMxBHZ0aWQDBHNlYwNzcg--/RV=2/RE=1460778533/RO=10/RU=https%3a%2f%2fen.wikipedia.org%2fwiki%2fList_of_POW_camps_in_the_United_States/RK=0/RS=qowvZ2Gefv2OE4py0fcaJMt.E.4-
The listing is several pages long so I did not include it in this reply.
Richard
On 4/15/2016 12:15 PM, Carl Jarvis wrote:
Hi Miriam,
Yes, I heard the piece on Democracy Now. What surprised me was his
comment that the internment of Japanese Americans was not well known
East of the Cascade Mountains.
Also, I did not know of any Germans who lived in the US, who were
incarcerated.
But few Japanese had their homes, land and personal possessions
returned. Cathy worked for a family who did have their farm returned.
But so many of their friends were left with nothing.
Carl Jarvis
On 4/12/16, Miriam Vieni <miriamvieni@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Carl,
By the way, the guy who was on Democracy Now yesterday, I think his name is
Richard Reeves, wrote a book about the Japanese being placed in
concentration camps. The name of the book iss Infamy, and it's on BARD. I
keep meaning to get to it, and I get side tracked with other books.
There's
also a book about the internment camp at Crystal City which was different
from the other camps. It's mentioned in this article and there's also a
book
about it on BARD. It was a camp for Japanese and Germans who were actually
considered to be threats, who were not US citizens, or who were captured
spies. I guess the parents of the woman in the article were there because
they'd renounced their US citizenship.
Miriam
-----Original Message-----
From: blind-democracy-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
[mailto:blind-democracy-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx] On Behalf Of Carl Jarvis
Sent: Tuesday, April 12, 2016 8:10 PM
To: blind-democracy@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [blind-democracy] Re: 'What Happened in World War II Is Happening
Again': Immigrant Detention Centers
The article quotes Ina as "noting that the U.S. government later apologized
and paid reparations.
That's not quite true. A small number of families were returned to their
homes and farms, but the majority found that they had been robbed. Later,
many years later, a few were "awarded" a small amount of money.
Carl Jarvis
On 4/12/16, Miriam Vieni <miriamvieni@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Excerpt: "The metal fence was what she noticed first, miles of tallsaid.
barrier topped by barbed wire strung across the south Texas pastures -
just like the internment camp nearby where she had been held as an
infant. And on the other side of the fence, again, 71-year-old Satsuki
Ina saw mothers and
children: this time, Central Americans."
A group of migrants await processing in a U.S. Border Patrol detention
center. (photo: Gregory Bull/AP)
'What Happened in World War II Is Happening Again': Immigrant
Detention Centers Through the Eyes of a Therapist By Molly
Hennessy-Fiske and Cindy Carcamo, Los Angeles Times
12 April 16
The metal fence was what she noticed first, miles of tall barrier
topped by barbed wire strung across the south Texas pastures - just
like the internment camp nearby where she had been held as an infant.
And on the other side of the fence, again, 71-year-old Satsuki Ina saw
mothers and children: this time, Central Americans.
"It was like fractured pieces trying to converge - their experience
today, my history - being in this place where I had been as a child," Ina
Ina returned to Texas to see firsthand the system the U.S. governmentAmerica.
has created to handle a surge of immigrant families and children
across the southern border, many driven here by violence in Central
Her visit was months before terrorist attacks in Paris led somewall on the Mexican border.
American leaders to suggest interning refugees, before Sen. Ted Cruz
of Texas said Muslim neighborhoods should be patrolled and Donald
Trump said he wanted to bar Muslims from entering the U.S. and build a
Unlike the internment camps, which were filled with people singled outcommunities,"
for their ancestry, the nation's three family detention centers hold
hundreds of adults and children who crossed into the U.S. illegally or
are seeking asylum. Still, Ina saw parallels between today and the
1940s, when wartime fears sent Japanese Americans to the camps.
"We've been wanting to remind people of what happened to us and make
sure the same hysteria does not overtake the leadership and the
sheher.
said of internment survivors, noting that the U.S. government later
apologized and paid reparations.
As Ina visited the center in Dilley, about 150 miles southwest of
Austin, she scrutinized families for signs of trauma she recognized as
both a former detainee and a family psychotherapist.
Mothers were issued identity cards, just as her parents had been. They
spoke of eating unfamiliar food at mess halls, living under constant
observation and stress, never letting their children leave their
sides. In the young mothers she met, Ina saw her own.
Ina had produced two award-winning documentaries on internment,
"Children of the Camps" in 1999 and "From a Silk Cocoon" in 2005. Now
she was discovering a new story to tell.
One Salvadoran mother detained for five months tearfully told Ina
through an interpreter that her 8-year-old daughter was afraid to
sleep and cried for hours whenever children she befriended at the
center departed.
Ina asked the girl why she cried. The girl glanced over her shoulder
at a female guard before whispering that she feared that the departing
children, whose families had fled gangs and violence, were being sent
home to their deaths.
Why did she have trouble sleeping, Ina asked? Again, the girl checked
that the guard wasn't listening. Then she said she had been having
nightmares about a scary dog - the dog the Border Patrol had used to
catch
Ina offered the girl a tissue. She refused, withdrawing, her faceconnection.
going blank. The therapist fell back on the Japanese art of origami,
quickly folding the tissue into a flower and tying it to the girl's
wrist.
She smiled.
"Time's up!" the guard shouted, and the girl snapped to attention.
So did Ina.
"I recognize that part of her in myself: obeying, of doing what I'm
told, of living in fear," she said. "The parallels, the resonance, the
familiarity of the situation was really clear. What happened in World
War II is happening again."
Ina was born at the Tule Lake internment camp near California's
northern border on May 25, 1944.
Her father and mother, Itaru and Shizuko Ina, a bookkeeper and
housecleaner, had been newlyweds living in San Francisco for less than
a year when Pearl Harbor was attacked.
In 1942 they were among 110,000 Japanese Americans, more than half of
them children, sent to internment camps. The couple were held first at
Tanforan Assembly Center, a makeshift facility at a San Bruno
racetrack, then at the Topaz camp in Utah, where Ina's brother,
Kiyoshi, was born, and then Tule Lake.
Ina's parents were kibei, U.S. citizens born to immigrants but partly
raised in Japan. Once detained, they refused to swear their loyalty to
the U.S.
They considered it a violation of their rights and instead renounced
their U.S. citizenship.
After the war ended, her father was transferred to a camp in North
Dakota.
Ina, her mother and brother were sent to the Crystal City family
internment camp in Texas, where the family eventually reunited.
Ina has only two memories of Crystal City: staring up into her parents'
frightened faces from a Japanese basket, or korii, and later
celebrating on a train as they left in July 1946 with just $25 each.
"I remember swinging from the arms, the row of seats on the train; the
freedom, knowing we were leaving," she said.
The family later returned to San Francisco and Ina eventually attended
UC Berkeley, protesting during the 1960s - to her parents' chagrin.
Even though their U.S. citizenship had been restored in 1957, they
worried that she would face the same backlash they had for speaking
out.
Ina wanted to help families like hers who had survived trauma, and
pursued degrees as a family therapist, becoming a professor at Cal
State Sacramento.
She came to recognize in herself the aftereffects of internment: an
easily triggered startle response, extreme vigilance when she was the
only person of color in a room and an anxious need for control in the
face of uncertainty.
Her father died in 1977, her mother in 2000. Afterward, Ina discovered
her mother's diary, which laid bare the anxiety pervading families in
detention.
"I wonder," Shizuko Ina once wrote in Crystal City, "if today is the
day they're going to line us up and shoot us."
Satsuki Ina didn't think much about the detention of Central American
families until she started seeing reports last year of officials
defending conditions at the centers.
Ina thought of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, the Democrat who
signed the executive order paving the way for internment camps. Now
the Obama administration was defending family detention, noting that
detainees received three square meals and clean housing.
"That's what they said about us too: You have a roof over your head,"
Ina said.
Then Carl Takei emailed her last spring. Takei, 35, is an ACLU lawyer
based in Washington, D.C., whose grandparents were held at Tule Lake.
He had visited the family detention centers in Texas and made the
"When we talk about family detention today, we have to consider whatdown."
its place will be in history," he said. "Everything the families told
me echoed so strongly my own family's stories about their World War II
incarceration."
He figured that if Ina visited, her background in counseling families
would lend credibility to what he saw.
Ina lives in Berkeley and had never returned to Crystal City. It
wasn't that she was afraid. For years, she had assumed something would
eventually draw her back. Something important.
On a warm afternoon, Ina stood before a crowd gathered along a dusty
road outside the barbed-wire fence surrounding the center in Dilley. A
spring breeze ruffled Ina's short, salt-and-pepper hair.
"My family was held for four years. Today we stand together with you
in unity and solidarity, because incarceration for children and
families is not only unjust, it's immoral," Ina told several hundred
protesters, some carrying signs that said, "Free the families" and
"Children don't belong behind bars."
"Nobody came to protest on our behalf. Nobody, people like you, took
the time to protest the unjust incarceration," Ina said. "Let's shut it
The crowd cheered and clapped.Concentration Camp."
As the protest wound down, Ina found herself thinking about Crystal City.
It's only about 40 miles west, she thought.
And so she found herself driving past oil derricks and natural gas
flares, with fellow protesters who filmed her reaction. Suddenly there
it was: a cluster of monuments in a nearly empty field. A phrase
jumped out at her, carved atop a gray stone cube, "World War II
"Both national and U.S. citizens alike were abruptly, and without"cottages."
justification, incarcerated in a concentration camp at this location,"
the inscription said, noting that internees' descendants placed it
there in 1985, "as a reminder that the injustices and humiliations
suffered here as a result of hysteria, racism and discrimination never
happen again."
Ina noticed small pits where the latrines had been. She stood on one
of the slabs, remnants of the more than 40 barracks that guards called
She was reminded of the families she had just visited in what today'sexisted.
guards call "residential centers."
"It masks and hides the truth," she said.
Last fall, Ina told a crowd at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los
Angeles what she had seen in Dilley. Family detention had gained more
attention as opponents - including virtually all House Democrats -
called on the administration to close the centers.
The Japanese American Citizens League had also called for an end to
family detention, but Ina knew many were still unaware that the centers
That's why she came to speak and screen "Children of the Camps."said.
"There are women and children from Central America who are being
criminalized and detained," she said, noting the Dilley center is
"only 45 minutes away from where I was held."
The mostly Asian and white crowd fell silent.
Before the screening, Ina had surveyed a photo exhibit of the
internment and found herself transfixed by the picture of a boy being
evacuated with his parents and six siblings, tagged like luggage.
Harry Kawahara, 84, stopped too. He had also been held at a camp. The
two began chatting and discovered they knew the boy in the photo,
Tooru Mochida.
Ina told Kawahara about the immigrant families detained. "It's a human
rights issue," she said, adding, "They have cribs in the cells."
Kawahara, who lives in Altadena, shook his head. "Wow. I consider
myself a pretty aware person, but I don't know about this," he said.
Ina promised to keep him informed.
Error! Hyperlink reference not valid. Error! Hyperlink reference not
valid.
A group of migrants await processing in a U.S. Border Patrol detention
center. (photo: Gregory Bull/AP)
http://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-internment-detention-20160411-stor
y.html
http://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-internment-detention-20160411-stor
y.html 'What Happened in World War II Is Happening Again': Immigrant
Detention Centers Through the Eyes of a Therapist By Molly
Hennessy-Fiske and Cindy Carcamo, Los Angeles Times
12 April 16
he metal fence was what she noticed first, miles of tall barrier
topped by barbed wire strung across the south Texas pastures - just
like the internment camp nearby where she had been held as an infant.
And on the other side of the fence, again, 71-year-old Satsuki Ina saw
mothers and children: this time, Central Americans.
"It was like fractured pieces trying to converge - their experience
today, my history - being in this place where I had been as a child," Ina
Ina returned to Texas to see firsthand the system the U.S. governmentAmerica.
has created to handle a surge of immigrant families and children
across the southern border, many driven here by violence in Central
Her visit was months before terrorist attacks in Paris led somewall on the Mexican border.
American leaders to suggest interning refugees, before Sen. Ted Cruz
of Texas said Muslim neighborhoods should be patrolled and Donald
Trump said he wanted to bar Muslims from entering the U.S. and build a
Unlike the internment camps, which were filled with people singled outcommunities,"
for their ancestry, the nation's three family detention centers hold
hundreds of adults and children who crossed into the U.S. illegally or
are seeking asylum. Still, Ina saw parallels between today and the
1940s, when wartime fears sent Japanese Americans to the camps.
"We've been wanting to remind people of what happened to us and make
sure the same hysteria does not overtake the leadership and the
sheher.
said of internment survivors, noting that the U.S. government later
apologized and paid reparations.
As Ina visited the center in Dilley, about 150 miles southwest of
Austin, she scrutinized families for signs of trauma she recognized as
both a former detainee and a family psychotherapist.
Mothers were issued identity cards, just as her parents had been. They
spoke of eating unfamiliar food at mess halls, living under constant
observation and stress, never letting their children leave their
sides. In the young mothers she met, Ina saw her own.
Ina had produced two award-winning documentaries on internment,
"Children of the Camps" in 1999 and "From a Silk Cocoon" in 2005. Now
she was discovering a new story to tell.
One Salvadoran mother detained for five months tearfully told Ina
through an interpreter that her 8-year-old daughter was afraid to
sleep and cried for hours whenever children she befriended at the
center departed.
Ina asked the girl why she cried. The girl glanced over her shoulder
at a female guard before whispering that she feared that the departing
children, whose families had fled gangs and violence, were being sent
home to their deaths.
Why did she have trouble sleeping, Ina asked? Again, the girl checked
that the guard wasn't listening. Then she said she had been having
nightmares about a scary dog - the dog the Border Patrol had used to
catch
Ina offered the girl a tissue. She refused, withdrawing, her faceconnection.
going blank. The therapist fell back on the Japanese art of origami,
quickly folding the tissue into a flower and tying it to the girl's
wrist.
She smiled.
"Time's up!" the guard shouted, and the girl snapped to attention.
So did Ina.
"I recognize that part of her in myself: obeying, of doing what I'm
told, of living in fear," she said. "The parallels, the resonance, the
familiarity of the situation was really clear. What happened in World
War II is happening again."
Ina was born at the Tule Lake internment camp near California's
northern border on May 25, 1944.
Her father and mother, Itaru and Shizuko Ina, a bookkeeper and
housecleaner, had been newlyweds living in San Francisco for less than
a year when Pearl Harbor was attacked.
In 1942 they were among 110,000 Japanese Americans, more than half of
them children, sent to internment camps. The couple were held first at
Tanforan Assembly Center, a makeshift facility at a San Bruno
racetrack, then at the Topaz camp in Utah, where Ina's brother,
Kiyoshi, was born, and then Tule Lake.
Ina's parents were kibei, U.S. citizens born to immigrants but partly
raised in Japan. Once detained, they refused to swear their loyalty to
the U.S.
They considered it a violation of their rights and instead renounced
their U.S. citizenship.
After the war ended, her father was transferred to a camp in North
Dakota.
Ina, her mother and brother were sent to the Crystal City family
internment camp in Texas, where the family eventually reunited.
Ina has only two memories of Crystal City: staring up into her parents'
frightened faces from a Japanese basket, or korii, and later
celebrating on a train as they left in July 1946 with just $25 each.
"I remember swinging from the arms, the row of seats on the train; the
freedom, knowing we were leaving," she said.
The family later returned to San Francisco and Ina eventually attended
UC Berkeley, protesting during the 1960s - to her parents' chagrin.
Even though their U.S. citizenship had been restored in 1957, they
worried that she would face the same backlash they had for speaking
out.
Ina wanted to help families like hers who had survived trauma, and
pursued degrees as a family therapist, becoming a professor at Cal
State Sacramento.
She came to recognize in herself the aftereffects of internment: an
easily triggered startle response, extreme vigilance when she was the
only person of color in a room and an anxious need for control in the
face of uncertainty.
Her father died in 1977, her mother in 2000. Afterward, Ina discovered
her mother's diary, which laid bare the anxiety pervading families in
detention.
"I wonder," Shizuko Ina once wrote in Crystal City, "if today is the
day they're going to line us up and shoot us."
Satsuki Ina didn't think much about the detention of Central American
families until she started seeing reports last year of officials
defending conditions at the centers.
Ina thought of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, the Democrat who
signed the executive order paving the way for internment camps. Now
the Obama administration was defending family detention, noting that
detainees received three square meals and clean housing.
"That's what they said about us too: You have a roof over your head,"
Ina said.
Then Carl Takei emailed her last spring. Takei, 35, is an ACLU lawyer
based in Washington, D.C., whose grandparents were held at Tule Lake.
He had visited the family detention centers in Texas and made the
"When we talk about family detention today, we have to consider whatdown."
its place will be in history," he said. "Everything the families told
me echoed so strongly my own family's stories about their World War II
incarceration."
He figured that if Ina visited, her background in counseling families
would lend credibility to what he saw.
Ina lives in Berkeley and had never returned to Crystal City. It
wasn't that she was afraid. For years, she had assumed something would
eventually draw her back. Something important.
On a warm afternoon, Ina stood before a crowd gathered along a dusty
road outside the barbed-wire fence surrounding the center in Dilley. A
spring breeze ruffled Ina's short, salt-and-pepper hair.
"My family was held for four years. Today we stand together with you
in unity and solidarity, because incarceration for children and
families is not only unjust, it's immoral," Ina told several hundred
protesters, some carrying signs that said, "Free the families" and
"Children don't belong behind bars."
"Nobody came to protest on our behalf. Nobody, people like you, took
the time to protest the unjust incarceration," Ina said. "Let's shut it
The crowd cheered and clapped.Concentration Camp."
As the protest wound down, Ina found herself thinking about Crystal City.
It's only about 40 miles west, she thought.
And so she found herself driving past oil derricks and natural gas
flares, with fellow protesters who filmed her reaction. Suddenly there
it was: a cluster of monuments in a nearly empty field. A phrase
jumped out at her, carved atop a gray stone cube, "World War II
"Both national and U.S. citizens alike were abruptly, and without"cottages."
justification, incarcerated in a concentration camp at this location,"
the inscription said, noting that internees' descendants placed it
there in 1985, "as a reminder that the injustices and humiliations
suffered here as a result of hysteria, racism and discrimination never
happen again."
Ina noticed small pits where the latrines had been. She stood on one
of the slabs, remnants of the more than 40 barracks that guards called
She was reminded of the families she had just visited in what today'sexisted.
guards call "residential centers."
"It masks and hides the truth," she said.
Last fall, Ina told a crowd at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los
Angeles what she had seen in Dilley. Family detention had gained more
attention as opponents - including virtually all House Democrats -
called on the administration to close the centers.
The Japanese American Citizens League had also called for an end to
family detention, but Ina knew many were still unaware that the centers
That's why she came to speak and screen "Children of the Camps."
"There are women and children from Central America who are being
criminalized and detained," she said, noting the Dilley center is
"only 45 minutes away from where I was held."
The mostly Asian and white crowd fell silent.
Before the screening, Ina had surveyed a photo exhibit of the
internment and found herself transfixed by the picture of a boy being
evacuated with his parents and six siblings, tagged like luggage.
Harry Kawahara, 84, stopped too. He had also been held at a camp. The
two began chatting and discovered they knew the boy in the photo,
Tooru Mochida.
Ina told Kawahara about the immigrant families detained. "It's a human
rights issue," she said, adding, "They have cribs in the cells."
Kawahara, who lives in Altadena, shook his head. "Wow. I consider
myself a pretty aware person, but I don't know about this," he said.
Ina promised to keep him informed.
http://e-max.it/posizionamento-siti-web/socialize
http://e-max.it/posizionamento-siti-web/socialize
