What can we learn from our past?

This week when I went on my walk through the park I encountered what remained of a tree dissection. It broke my heart to see this and it looked like the tree had been butchered. It was cut off at the stump, then the various branches and trunk had been cut into sizable pieces for what I guess is to haul them away--or maybe not, because not too much farther out I caught sight of a cluster of decaying hunks of trees from previous chopping.

Last week I began discussing the strange times that we live in. I touched on the protests, which are continuing as we speak and I will refer to later. As I look at these trees--it occurs to me that they do not have a voice. The more I walk the trail, the more I feel like they are my tribe. Sometimes when storms come through, the trees fall over and must be removed from the path. They are cut down for the benefit of hikers and bikers, which is a wonderful cause; I always wonder about the trees that just seem to be cleared for no apparent reason, and these are the trees I am referring to that seem to have no voice in what happens to them.

I have begun my journeys lately referencing nature and my long hikes. It has occurred to me that I enjoy making connections and seek insight from God's creation to make me think about life and current events. As I reflect on the protests, I reflect back to the trees that seem to have no voice, the trees that are cut down and left to rot among the other trees.

It may seem far fetched; however choices and actions and ignorance are all ways people have contributed to the "cutting down" of the black community. Judgement and false statements, hurtful words, stereotypes and violent abuse have occurred. Thinking upon this reminded me of my own past, and my grandmother's past as a Japanese girl growing up in California in the 1920s.

The following story is true and is not meant to compare or overshadow black lives; but to shed some light on discrimination, distrust, and the different results they can have on people. It is sad that I even have to write this disclaimer; however I do so to show respect.

I grew up in the south as a half Japanese girl. It was quite exotic to have a girl in Louisiana in the 1980s with the last name Kurosawa. I was relentlessly made fun of, and I keenly recall a chant that went, "Chinese, Japanese, dirty knees, look at these." I got that all the time, complete with the exaggerated motions, and remember feeling discriminated against in odd ways: the occasional "ching, chang, chong," I would hear when I walked by someone, or a joke about being good at math. No matter that some ignorant remarks made fun of my being Chinese, Korean, or Oriental (if you're going to make fun of someone at least be accurate about your discrimination)--it was a daily part of life living in the south.

Let's go back even further, to the 1920s, where my grandmother went to school in California. As a young child, schools were segregated and Asians, blacks, and mentally disabled children were put into one school and whites went to their own school. The education was subpar, and each day when she arrived home from school her mother (a first generation Japanese immigrant) would continue studies with classic literature, language, and a strict moral code, all with the intention to fill in the gaps of their poor education.

Jumping to the 1940s, my grandmother and tens of thousands of others were put in an American concentration camp at Manzanar in California. Her entire family was given an hour to pack all they could carry from their home to take with them. They lost their home, their land, and all their rights. My grandmother was 19 years old at the time, and she, along with her younger sister and parents, were taken to live in a giant shelter with many other families. She has recounted this information with me multiple times and each time she speaks of it I see the hardness in her face--the pure anger and hatred of being mistreated and unable to do anything about it. She told me, "I promised myself then that I would never let anyone take away my civil rights ever again." She managed to find herself a job (one could not be released from the camp unless a job and housing had been secured), then quickly found jobs for her parents working and living in a household in Ohio so they would be released. Her sister was able to leave as well, and the two sisters continued on to go to college, marry and have families.

To my grandmother's surprise, all her immediate family moved back to California--a place she would never live again. There was a tight knit Japanese-american community in southern California, and many of those that were imprisoned moved there afterwards. She viewed it as a sort of cultural self imprisonment, and spent the majority of her life in New York, a place teeming with diversity and rich in culture.

There is so much more to her story--my grandmother has lived a long life and seen a great many changes. She has experienced more than her fair share of heartache, pain, suffering, and has outlived her two sons and husband. She now lives with my sister, and at 96 years old, is still an inspiration to me of independence, strength of character, and stubbornness.

But I digress, the main point of this story is the two sisters. They each endured similar experiences, and yet the take away was vastly different for each. One sister took her younger years at Manzanar and steeled her heart against the government. She grew strong and independent and highly critical of people unwilling to work towards change. In some ways, she became too judgmental. She was intolerant of ignorance, and yet also highly discriminatory of others.

As for her sister, she learned valuable life lessons from her imprisonment and used her experiences as a tool to teach her own children about racism and discrimination. She advocated love, equality, laughter, and rigidly impressed the importance of these qualities to them. Her children have all exhibited these things in abundance and inspired me in many ways through their kindness, generosity, and open minds.

Two very different responses; two similar circumstances.

Even though I am the third generation from this experience, it has affected me and continues to do so as I try to teach my own children about the importance of equality. It is not comfortable to talk about, as are all hard things.

I do not relay this information lightly, nor do I consider my family's experiences to be more painful or difficult than those of the black community. I count it all joy that I have lived in freedom and learned from the past experiences of my elders.

What I take away from this is that the affects on myself are relevant and as I have had my fair share of being judged and stereotyped, then how much MORE SO the black community?

When I see the tree pieces hacked up and left to rot and be forgotten, and then turn my head and see the already mostly decayed tree pieces from years past, it brings to mind the many injustices done to this community of people, for generations--and the silence of others who notice it but choose to ignore it or just leave it to take care of itself. There are fresh injuries that keep happening, and something must be done. It is important to address these things, and not to ignore them.

We are all children of God, created with purpose. We are called to love one another. To love our neighbor as our self! Are we doing our part to educate ourselves against ignorance and love our neighbors like we love ourselves? Black lives matter. We can take what we see and silently judge, or embrace the truth and offer love and support. What are you going to do?

This was a challenging piece for me to write and may even be scoffed at by readers; that is OK. I want to use my voice to show support, and use my family history to show relevance and understanding. I hope that this speaks to you in some small way, and that you help give a voice to those who lay butchered--butchered by hateful words, ignorant behaviors, and hateful crimes--in silence. I would hope that should the need arise we would do the same for any egregiously treated community.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. Next week I will try and keep it more light hearted! Have a blessed week!