| Abstrakt: |
On June 5, 2021, I went to Arlington National Cemetery while visiting a family in the city. I had been to Arlington many times but never thought about visiting the Cemetery. Growing up in postwar Japan, I avoided places where I might encounter excess patriotism or militarism, like Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo where fallen soldiers were deified. These sentiments made me very uncomfortable, because I could not trust powerful institutions like the government and the military. The mere presence of the Shrine was, in my mind, a sign of a resurgence of the imperial colonial military nation Japan once was and should never again become. Likewise, I had considered Arlington National Cemetery as a place to be avoided. But something-perhaps God-told me on that day that I should visit the Cemetery. I was starting a chaplain residency at a Veterans Affairs (VA) hospital in several weeks, so I felt that visiting the Cemetery might help me connect with veterans I would soon meet. I had no idea that this visit was the beginning of my long homecoming journey: learning about my family, the stories that my parents had never shared, and how their-and my own-suffering propelled me to leave my native land. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR] |
