By Sharon Yamato

During the past turbulent few weeks, we’ve all been experiencing endings and beginnings.

Just as I was getting ready to begin a long-anticipated vacation to Paris and Prague, I was hit by the news of Rafu editor Gwen Muranaka’s departure from the paper she has helped keep alive for the past few decades. Knowing how much she deserved a vacation, I tried not to dwell on my sadness at her leaving.

I managed to take off on my vacation looking back at all the meaningful stories we’ve shared and knowing that her Rafu ending had nothing to do with our never-ending friendship. However, as I spoke with her before she left, I could feel the tiny trickle of fear in her voice that only an uncertain future can bring.

I knew our European holiday was about to take place during the critical final days of an election that would rock all our futures, but I wanted to get as far away as I could from the last-minute lies and provocations that would come out of the former president’s mouth. As I mailed my last “get-out-the-vote” postcards to swing state voters in North Carolina, I vowed to leave the election behind me.

Fortunately, the serene paintings of Monet, the dancers of Degas, the lush gardens of Versailles, and the grand statues of Rodin relieved the anguish of the thought of our democracy coming to an end. Even while peacefully contemplating before Rodin’s masterpiece, “The Thinker,” I realized that amid political turmoil, art can provide a beacon of beauty and hope.

When our art-filled trip came to an end on Election Day, I was feeling refreshed and renewed. Our final glorious meal in Prague served with Czech wine offered a peaceful moment of joy in a city alive with freedom.

And then it happened. Kamala. Lost.

I had joked with friends that if that were to happen, we weren’t coming back. Suddenly, I wanted to mean it. On our way to Heathrow, it helped to commiserate with a number of Brits who felt almost as bad as us and for us.

As I deplaned to greet our equally morose friend who picked us up, I listened to her recount the horrifying numbers that led to Harris’ loss. I didn’t want to believe that 16 million eligible voters had chosen to stay home, or that Latino men and white women (those who were undoubtedly the prime targets of Trump’s misogyny and blatant racism) had come out to vote for the returning Racist-in-Chief.

In a fit of pure denial, I chose to remove myself from the media onslaught of post-election chatter and dove right into the pile of work that waited for me while I was gone. The first stage of denial, at least according to Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, served me well, but it wasn’t long until the next stages of anger, disbelief and depression set in.

More than a week has now passed, and I can’t say that I’m any closer to the final step of acceptance. But I’ve come to realize that Kübler-Ross missed the boat on an important sixth step, and that is action.

As talks of detention camps and deportations resurface, I’m reminded that those of us whose families were once subjected to such bigoted and inhumane acts need to speak out more loudly than ever. Tule Lake descendant and author Satsuki Ina reminds us to be the voice of support and protection that wasn’t afforded our ancestors in 1941. It’s up to us to combat efforts to take away constitutional freedoms from those considered the “other” as those in power gain more strength.

I also reflect on the insightful words of the brilliant writer and former Vietnamese refugee Viet Thanh Nguyen, who knows all too well that this is a country built on the contradiction of freedom and oppression. In facing a reinstated president who relishes the latter, Nguyen says:

“Reflecting his rage, cruelty, and pettiness only makes us worse. Feeling lonely, isolated, and defeated is what he wants from us. Get out there and join an organization if you haven’t already. Start one if one doesn’t exist for you. We have to work against him and everything he represents from a place of solidarity, love, and justified anger.”

If we as a community stick together, we can fight for the two things especially imperiled under another four years of Trump: equal justice and the rule of law. Taking away these two mighty principles forced us into camps in 1942, and we can’t let it happen again.

Sharon Yamato writes from Playa del Rey and can be reached at [email protected]. Opinions expressed are not necessarily those ofThe Rafu Shimpo.

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