A protest and a pen both tell the story.

Flames rip through the scene of the New York skyline as the image of Japanese fighter planes make figure eights across the air. The PanAm Building and Empire State Buildings are engulfed in a sea of smoke and fire. ANPO: Art X War opens to graphic artistry of skulls and machine guns in the backdrop of a memorial for a middle-aged woman shot dead by an MP on a military base.

On the street called gutter alley an elder journalist recounts how the Okinawa n street got its name, only to be harassed while filming by two US Military serviceman in full camouflage uniform. Photos recount the visages of a time attempting to forget itself but found wanting.

A painting of a faceless hobbled Japan wrapped in bandages and barbed wire embodies the sentiment of the strangle hold the US had over Okinawa and indeed Japan. The 1960's and 70's ANPO protests began as a youth protest where students linked arms and marched to the Parliament building to oppose the occupation at the hands of the US. With banners raised and spirits high they gathered young and old, fathers, mothers, and children as they screamed out “overturn Kishi”. The Tokyo trials included 28 members of the Japanese cabinet were indited as war criminals by the ally forces post war.

The grave of the fireflies as well as other notable work display the trauma that was the post WWII Japan. As firebombing civilian targets during the war by US forces left many Japanese and Okinawa citizens with a bitter taste for US foreign policy. PM Kishi was seen as having given the country's political future over to the US in order to gain and maintain power and influence. The All-Japan Labor Movement called for the ouster of the US forces. Wearing armbands and head bands they went on strike to protest the occupation.

Images of Japanese women under the arms of US servicemen and paintings of women engaged in sex acts. Japanese women lured into the entertainment industry by false add in the newspaper. Stand-alone photo of a five-year-old girl run over by a military convoy when she was crossing the street to follow her older sister to school. Setting the stage for resentments as the US capitalized on the spoils of war. In the aftermath of the Hiroshima bombing, we see the faces and the bodies of the survivors decay and scars decades later in images of a 1961 photo book. Though the average person did not escape the bombing, their clothes survived, many stained with the blood of their once owners. The only remnants of their once vibrant fashionable lives. Forever encapsulated in the regiments of their class and station.

Paul Robeson was an instrumental not only for his rendition of the negro spiritual “Go Down Moses” (1953) but for his outspoken criticism of US racism and Imperialism in the East. ANPO was one of those issues most criticized by the artist. Soon after ANPO re-ratification was passed Kishi stepped down as PM. With the notion being that the nation needs to focus on economic development not on political unrest. But the signing of the de-occupation agreement was only a pretext for backdoor arrangements to keep US bases on Okinawa and Japan for decades to come.

More modern protests persist to remove American bases from Okinawa. US forces are known as the mysterious stink on Japan. Leaving a stench of humiliation and servitude in the face of the occupier.

Following class, we embarked on a pilgrimage of presence on the hottest day of our journey thus far. Traveling to the nearby Yoyogi Park, we were tasked with meandering around, finding some imagery that caught our attention and making an artistic observation. Further rendering our observed object or atmosphere as a sketch or drawing. The afternoon found us dispersing into the foliage in all directions as we discovered our surroundings capturing the essence of the green space on the bleach white canvas of the page. Finding myself on a bench where the shade of the trees enveloped my body so that only a single ray of glimmering light kissed the edges of my socks. 

There I discovered the one tree amongst the forest that had been topped. Its termite infested trunk stripped of half its protection from the elements. Yet there was still a clinging to life about this decapitated arbor two branches on one side had leafy green foliage. Despite the weathering of time, insect infestation, and the trimmings of man this tree stood in noble defiance. Saying to the world I'm not done yet. I still have work to do. Even if it's to nourish the roots of the next generation I still have substance and purpose. Before I was aware of the passage of time my fingers took flight capturing the statement that was this rebel. Standing and refusing to give in to the invading army that was ravaging its core. The minutes ticked by, and I soon completed my sketch. With my task completed, I departed the scenery of our quest into the afternoon heat. Fondly thinking of the time spent in reverence for the time I had left. Time before I become food for insects. What statement will I make. Will I in my last moments still cling to life or will I succumb to the ravages of entropy. Time will tell.