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“Banzai. The word rushes over me like a river. A memory of what we used to say on the streets of Japantown when we played at war. A memory we inherited from our fathers and their fathers, this word, this history, this giving of ourselves for the nation, for the emperor. Except now it's not for the emperor. I don't think, in this moment, that it's even for our nation. It's for us, our brothers, here, who have died on this hill and in dozens of battles before, for our families back home,in that dream-world of deserts and barbed wire, for our folks who had everything taken from them and still were asked for more: compliance, obedience, money, blood.” — Traci Chee
Banzai.
The word rushes over me like a river. A memory of what we used to say on the streets of Japantown when we played at war. A memory we inherited from our fathers and their fathers, this word, this history, this giving of ourselves for the nation, for the emperor.
Except now it's not for the emperor.
I don't think, in this moment, that it's even for our nation.
It's for us, our brothers, here, who have died on this hill and in dozens of battles before, for our families back home,in that dream-world of deserts and barbed wire, for our folks who had everything taken from them and still were asked for more: compliance, obedience, money, blood.