Both grandma and I photographed in front of the Honor Roll at Minidoka in 1943 and 2023 ( Courtesy of Lindsey Wasson via AP)

                                                                                           PART 1: THE TRIP  
 
           Five years after starting this project, I finally went to the place that I have been researching and learning about. Where grandma and her family were interned almost exactly eighty years ago. I am especially grateful to the Minidoka Pilgrimage, which is a Seattle-based volunteer-organization that leads a pilgrimage back to the Minidoka National Historic Site in Idaho every summer. The pilgrimage is geared towards survivors, descendants, and allies of those who were interned at Minidoka. I knew that despite how difficult it would be to see with my own eyes where my grandma and her family were interned, it was necessary to complete the journey I promised myself I would complete. I was lucky to be joined by eight other youth fellows whose grandparents were also at Minidoka to go through the experience with.

                                                                                       PART 2: FINDING FAMILY 

            Driving past the guard tower that would've patrolled the entrance of the barbed wire enclosed camp made my chest tighten. How did my grandma feel when she entered the camp? How did she feel that her brother was fighting in the 442nd Infantry in the U.S. Army for the same country that put his family behind the barbed wire? How did she feel as an American citizen that guards would point rifles at her, and the children, adults, and elderly? Inside the museum, I found her name along with her family's in the camp records. It was then that I found out that Rose was her middle name. Her first name was Kaoru. Just like her reluctance to teach my dad and his siblings Japanese, I wonder if not using her Japanese name was another form of assimilation to survive after the camp. Despite the feeling of loss knowing that she isn't here anymore, I realized that there were survivors of the camp that were on the pilgrimage and willing to share their stories and answer some of my painful questions. I am very grateful to all of the elders who were kind enough to sit with me as I began to process my grandma's past. The elders and descendants became family to me through storytelling, shared processing, and reclaiming the camp as a place of healing and community. 


                                                                            PART 3: REFLECTION AND MOVING FORWARD 
 
             While there is so much more I want to say, I have only begun the processing of reflecting. Despite thinking that this was the final piece of my journey to reconnect and recognize my grandmother, I now know that it is a step in a longer process. The community that I have been able to become a part of is incredibly special to me. Being able to connect and lean on other descendants and elders year-round, not just the annual weekend at Minidoka, is something unique that I feel incredibly privileged to have. It was important for me to go on the pilgrimage now because the survivors are getting older, and as they pass on, so do their knowledge and stories. Storytelling is paramount for not only the descendants and community to remember, but also for the general population to remember so this never happens again. However, similar situations are occurring all over the world, and in the memory of my grandma, I will continue to tell her story and advocate for others who are incarcerated and discriminated against based on their background.