Based on anecdotes from Ritsuko Furuya
I had a pretty peaceful life in my part of the desert in what people call the state of Utah…at least, before that Japanese American invasion. I don’t know what else to call it. We went from seeing maybe one human a week, if that, to being overrun with Japanese Americans!
We should have known something was up when a bunch of trucks and cars started coming out and gangs of men started building shacks. Now I have nothing against shacks. I looked forward to exploring them and finding places to nest. (By the way, perhaps I should have mentioned: I’m a cricket.)
But then! Big buses started coming, unloading Japanese Americans by the hundreds! All of us–we crickets, the grasshoppers, and scorpions–were all on alert. Soon the shacks—rows and rows of them—were filled with Japanese Americans!
The first order of business when faced with an unknown foe is to hide and observe. The old men seemed quiet and harmless. But the women! I thought the ones with brooms were the worst, until we had one who took to pouring hot water into the seams between the floor and the wall, scalding several of my friends and causing the rest of us to flee from the cracks. We were out in the open; then came the broom. Boom! Smash! It wasn’t pretty. I was lucky to escape with my life.