b'PROTEST AND PROPHECY:the defiant poetry of M U N I O MAKU UCH IFLOYD CHEUNGB ORN IN SEATTLE in 1934, Munio Makuuchi (n Howard Munio Takahashi) grew up in his parents grocery store on 14th Avenue, ran up and down the aisles of the Seattle Buddhist Temple on Main Street, and first heard the sounds of jazz while hanging around outside clubs on Yesler Way. 1During World War II, he, his family, and approximately 120,000 other Japanese Americans living on the West Coast were ripped from their worlds and incarcerated by the US government as potential saboteurs or spies. Held at the Puyallup Assembly Center in Puyallup, Washington, euphemistically named Camp Harmony, and later at the Minidoka War Relocation Center near Hunt, Idaho, Makuuchi considered himself a child P.O.W. During these years, he coped by playing baseball with his friends when it was warm and sliding on the camps frozen cesspool when it was cold. But Makuuchis coping strategies did not shield him from the long-lasting consequences of incarceration on his psyche, many of which he represented in his prints and poetry.For decades after World War II, most Japanese Americans chose not to speak about their time in camp. These former incarcerees practiced gaman, the Japanese term for dignified endurance, while whispering the mantra shikata ga nai, it cannot be helped. The few exceptions include Min Okubo, who drew sketches of and commented on her carceral experience in Citizen 13660 (1946), and John Okada, who wrote about an incarceree who refused the draft in his novel, No-No Boy (1957). The vast majority of Japanese Americans, however, remained silent. For instance, Mitsuye Yamada reflects in her poem Thirty Years Under that she had packed up / my wounds in a cast / iron box / sealed it / labeled it / do not open. . . / ever . . . 2Moon rabbit, ca. 1990.CHECKLIST #40113'