I have gotten away from posting excerpts from my father's WWII letters.  I will post another in a few days, but this time I decided to do a WWII story that has nothing directly to do with my father, but reflects some current concerns. 

A few years ago, at the Northeast storytelling conference, I met a woman named Ann.  She told a story about her grandfather which stuck with me.  I realized that were strong parallels between her grandfather's experience and that of my wife Gretchen's grandfather - but the experience diverged at one key point.

Both grandfathers immigrated to the United States as young men in the early twentieth century, with little besides the cloths on their backs, their native abilities, and a willingness to work hard.  Both settled in west coast cities, Gretchen's grandfather in San Francisco, Ann's in Seattle.  Both worked hard, and over several decades achieved a share of the American dream - both owned small grocery stores, and had achieved some prosperity and respect in their adopted country.  And in December of 1941, both of their native countries went to war with the United States.

No one bothered Gretchen's grandfather - his business continued to prosper, and he was able to pass some wealth on to his descendants.  Ann's grandfather was sent to an internment camp, and he was forced to hastily sell his business for a small fraction of its value.  He never fully  recovered.  As you have likely guessed, Ann's grandfather came to the United States from Japan.  Gretchen's grandfather came from Italy.

Yes, this happened almost eighty years ago.  But it affected the opportunities available to the families involved for decades.  It has somewhat affected me.  It is one small example of why we White people should be careful to deny the relevance of racist events which happened what seems like a long time ago.