A Mural To Remember
This once-censored scene in Mexican American artist Barbara Carrasco’s mural L.A. History: A Mexican Perspective spotlights the experiences of Japanese Americans who were incarcerated during World War II.
By Jazel Arroliga
A small, wrinkled hand traced over a wooden trunk adorned with hand-painted cherry blossoms. Inside it, Reverend Takeshi S. Ban’s prized possessions awaited relocation. Only, this trip was far from a luxurious getaway. Soon, Reverend Takeshi would be forcibly taken to one of the two “War Relocation Centers” in the Los Angeles area, where he and 120,000 Japanese Americans would be detained due to Executive Order 9066.
After the attacks on Pearl Harbor, drastic measures were taken against the Japanese American community to prevent the possibility of a perceived national security threat. People of all ages were given a week’s notice to pack their belongings, which were limited to the items they could carry. Fear swept through L.A.’s historic districts such as “Little Tokyo,” as families desperately gifted or disposed of their belongings. According to the “Herald Examiner Collection” of the Los Angeles Public Library, everything from businesses to cars were sold “for pennies on the dollar.”
For 80 years preceding World War II, the treatment of Japanese Americans was hidden from history books and considered a controversial topic. Mexican American Artist Barbara Carrasco decided to share that history. According to Carrasco, LA History: A Mexican Perspective offers a “chance to show what was {not} in the history books.” Unfortunately, due to the controversial nature of the mural, which highlights systemic racism or violence, the Community Redevelopment Agency disputed the mural. Rather than its scheduled unveiling marking the city’s bicentennial in 1981, it stayed in storage for 40 years.
LA History: A Mexican Perspective is now permanently on display in NHM Commons, the new wing at the Natural History Museum. The colorful representation of L.A.’s diversity distinctly highlights a famous WWII photograph taken of Yuki Okinaga Hayakawa. Among the thousands taken to the Manzanar Relocation Center in Owens Valley, she was one of the youngest, at two years old. In the vignette, Hayakawa awaits a train at L.A.'s Union Station. She is seated patiently atop a trunk much like the one that belonged to Reverend Takeshi S. Ban. Holding an apple and a small handbag, she waits surrounded by her family’s belongings packed in a burlap sack, ready to join her 23-year-old mother in the place they would call home for the next three years.
The chug of the engine came to an abrupt stop, awakening the sleeping passengers into hazy consciousness. They peered out of their windows, noticing the sheen of sweat beading on their foreheads as they stepped out of the vehicle. Of the thousands taken to the Manzanar Internment facility, few had even set foot in Japan. Highlighted by the National Park Service: “About two-thirds…were American citizens by birth.”
Each passenger carried one small trunk, except one woman clutching a sleeping toddler, who made her way through the rows of men in matching green uniforms. She fixed her gaze on a badge: War Relocation Authority, it read, the words standing proud, ushering them into the camp. His gaze told her she was far from a guest. As stated by the National Park Service, the relocation center was under U.S. Army governance until the W.R.A took over. Due to the number of relocations at such a high rate, the camps were also reported to be “hastily built and purposefully placed in the most desolate locations.”
A huge wooden sign, reading Manzanar Relocation Center, was atop the 9-foot-tall barbed wire fences circling the facility. The passengers pushed their way through the sea of people assigned to the barracks on the grounds. A lightbulb swung into position as it switched on, illuminating the tiny room Yuki Okinaga Hayakawa would share with other detainees. Ms. Hayakawa set her daughter down on an empty cot; the hay sagged under her weight. She made her way to the latrines, bumping into dozens of men and women waiting to shower. According to reports from the National Park Service, by autumn of 1942, over 10,000 Japanese Americans were crammed into 504 barracks. With eight people in a room no larger than a standard two-car garage, privacy became a luxury.
Now, as your eyes sweep across the mural and the vignettes woven through the flowing locks of the “Queen of Los Angeles,” let this vignette linger. LA History: A Mexican Perspective is a testament to resilience and strength. Yuki Okinaga Hayakawa has become a symbol of racial injustice, an integral part of history. Acknowledging these stories through art and mourning the heartbreak of the past can help us build a stronger future.
