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Posts Tagged ‘internment camps’

George Meeres, “Road building at Mara Lake [British Columbia] by prisoners of war [sic. interned enemy aliens].” Black and white photograph, 1916. Enderby Museum, #3377

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The Eatonville Roadhouse – built as an early motel, then used as housing for agricultural workers and a Japanese-Canadian internment camp during World War 2. // Near Rondeau Park, Kent Bridge Road, Chatham-Kent

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“IN 1940, even before the United States joined the war against the Axis powers, policymakers began to warn of imminent threats to the south. Numerous politicians and political scientists claimed that German and Japanese agents had organized an infiltration of Peru, Guatemala, and other Latin American countries. These enemy agents, it was said, were plotting coups and conspiring to launch an invasion of the United States. Franklin Roosevelt warned in repeated radio addresses that the Third Reich and the Japanese empire were erecting “beach heads” across South America. These anxieties were so pervasive that, in the same year, the White House contemplated dispatching hundreds of thousands of troops to Brazil in a preemptive strike against what it feared was a looming invasion.

Once the war reached the Western Hemisphere in December 1941, these fears started to shape formal policy. American officials were determined to suppress any potential subversion in Latin America, preferably with the cooperation of local governments. For this purpose, in January 1942, the United States helped found a new organ, the Emergency Advisory Committee for Political Defense, or CPD. Joined by twenty-one countries, from Canada in the north to Chile and Argentina in the south, the CPD would combat any activities that government officials deemed subversive, such as commerce with Axis countries or the publication of “questionable” newspapers. The CPD helped coordinate the sharing of intelligence and relevant legal procedures. A team of US legal experts, for example, helped Mexican and Brazilian officials draft regulations that curtailed the political activities of “dangerous” individuals and limited their right to travel.

But the United States wouldn’t stop at censorship and espionage. Within a few months of the CPD’s formation, its agents decided the enemy’s subversion was so dangerous that it could only be prevented through “preemptive” arrest. In the winter of 1942, American officials began to encourage and help local governments in numerous Latin American countries raid the houses of suspicious civilians. US intelligence agents provided police officials with names and logistical support, while State Department personnel helped skeptical politicians get over their opposition, mostly through generous economic loans. The thousands who were detained as a result were mostly sent to local military bases and denied access to legal representation or due process. Like the Japanese Americans whose arrest was unfolding at the same time, the detainees were targeted not so much based on anything they’d done (only a tiny minority was politically active), but due to their ethnic backgrounds: The vast majority were members of immigrant communities from Germany, Japan, and Italy.

CPD officials were well aware that many of these detainees did not pose a risk to security. They also knew that the officials in charge of the arrests were often motivated by racism or greed. (Internal reports mentioned policemen’s plans to take over the prisoners’ houses.) In one of the most grotesque consequences of this operation, the “dangerous aliens” arrested in Guatemala in 1942 included German-Jewish refugees who had recently fled the Third Reich. But in their eagerness to take action against foreign threats, American policymakers were unmoved by such tragedies. They accepted these incidents as collateral damage and sought, time and again, to enlarge the number of preemptive arrests.

The CPD’s campaign culminated in the creation of multiple concentration camps in the United States itself. American officials were convinced that they were better equipped to supervise and handle the Latin American detainees than their southern neighbors, some of whom had begun to complain about the high costs involved in holding them. In 1943, the CPD coordinated the deportation of eight thousand people from several Latin American countries to the United States. Forced onto crowded navy warships by Marine troops, they were shipped to San Francisco and New Orleans, where they were detained and processed by immigration officials. Most of the detainees were then sent to military bases in Texas, including Camp Seagoville, located a few dozen miles to the north of the Trump Administration’s proposed camps. They spent the war’s final years detained indefinitely without any charges brought against them, mostly working in local farms and factories. Unlike the asylum seekers held by CBP, these detainees enjoyed some modicum of decency. Camp authorities largely kept families together, provided basic schooling for children, and even allowed inmates to elect their own representatives, who organized cultural events. Still, because they were deemed enemy agents, most were deported at the war’s end alongside Axis POWs to Asia and Europe. Many of them would never see their homes again.

It was no accident that all these cruelties took place in the context of prolonged and brutal war. The pervasive fears over existential threats, the belief that foreign enemies were supported by internal subversion, and the sense that victory required the total destruction of our foes all fueled the conviction that “foreigners” were enemies and thus had no rights. The American concentration camps of the 1940s exemplified the logic of such war. Foreigners were guilty until proven otherwise.

THIS LOGIC HAD A LINEAGE and a name: “militant democracy,” a term first coined in 1935 by the political theorist Karl Loewenstein. A German-Jewish refugee from Nazi Germany, Loewenstein arrived in the United States convinced that totalitarian and democratic regimes could not coexist. It was the nature of fascists and communists, he wrote in widely read academic essays, to infiltrate democratic regimes, exploit their freedoms of the press and speech, and destroy them from within. Long before the first shots of World War II were fired, Loewenstein claimed that an existential struggle between democracy and its enemies was already engulfing the entire globe. To win, democracies had to reform themselves. They had to become “militant.”

The heart of militant democracy was the suspension of laws and rights. Because totalitarianism operated especially through subversion, Loewenstein wrote, democrats had to get over their “legalistic blindness” and recognize that “the mechanism of democracy is the Trojan horse by which the enemy enters the city.” Governments had to move aggressively to limit rights—preemptively—to those deemed dangerous. Freedom of movement, freedom of speech, and freedom of religion would all be suspended, and the crackdown enforced through the creation of new, anti-totalitarian secret police forces. For Loewenstein, loyalty to the state preceded any discussion of rights. Anyone who questioned political norms found themselves outside the sphere of the law. “Fire should be fought with fire,” he wrote in 1935.

Throughout the 1930s, Loewenstein’s ideas were largely confined to academia. But World War II propelled an otherwise fringe concept like militant democracy to the maintenance of American power. To anxious government officials, the writings of Loewenstein and scholars like him captured new wartime exigencies. They clarified why curbing—and even abolishing—rights did not undermine democratic freedom, but actually enhanced it. Theories like Loewenstein’s also linked external and internal threats and rendered them indistinguishable. Japanese American or Latin American communities were thus the same—no matter where their members were born, they were both emissaries of global danger and thus not entitled to legal status. As his way of thinking spread, Loewenstein took on a more active role in America’s militant democracy. In 1943, he was recruited as legal advisor to the Justice Department, a position from which he joined the CPD and helped coordinate its campaign of surveillance, arrests, and deportations.

While Loewenstein ultimately returned to academic life, militant democracy outlived World War II. In the cold war’s harsh early years, some politicians and scholars continued to insist that international conflicts required the suspension of some rights at home. (The West German supreme court, for example, relied on militant democracy to outlaw the Communist Party in 1957.) Yet it wasn’t until the attacks on September 11 and the beginning of the war on terror that these notions reasserted themselves in the United States as forcefully as they did during World War II. The revival of militant democracy in the first decade of the 21st century helped prepare the ground for the tragedy unfolding in Texas.”

– Udi Greenburg, “The Logic of Militant Democracy: From domestic concentration camps to the war on terror.N+1, July 6, 2018.

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“Demands to be Sent to Internment Camp,” Toronto Globe. July 5, 1918. Page 02.

(Special Despatch to The Globe)
Windsor, July 4. – Shouting that he would never pay his fine and demanding that he be sent to an internment camp, Rudolph Schmidt, aged 50 years, a German who has been farming in Maldstone township since August 1914 was to-day ordered by Magistrate Miers to pay a fine of $125 and costs and to serve a month in jail. The sentence was the maximum provided by law.

Schmidt was arrested by Provincial officers a week ago for having failed to register. When taken into custody he gave the officers a hard fight before he could be handcuffed. Neighbors say that Schmidt is wealthy, and that he is professedly pro-German. A thorough search will be made of his farm premises at once.

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“Money In Germany Becoming Short,” Toronto Globe. June 25, 1918. Page 05.

Pensioner Told He Need Not Expect Any More for Some Time

(Canadian Press Despatch.)
Kingston, June 24. – A day or so ago S. J. Rodger of this city, acting for the Netherlands Government, paid to Karl Kessler, a convict in the Portsmouth Penitentoary, the equivalent of about $300, being his pension from the German army, of which he had been a member for many years. Accompanying the pension was the intimation from the German authorities that this would probably be the last instalment which Kessler would receive for some time, owing to the fact that money was becoming short in Germany. 

Kessler was among the Germans interned in Fort Henry early in the war, and he gave considerable trouble to the guards over there, finally assaulting one of them so severely that he was landed behind the bars at Portsmouth for his offence. He has still some time to serve there.

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“Escaped Prisoner Recaptured,” Toronto Globe. May 10, 1918. Page 09.

Austrian From Burwash Camp Taken at Niagara-on-the-Lake.

(Special Despatch to The Globe.)
Niagara Falls, Ont., May 9. – John Roze, an Austrian, who escaped from the internment camp at Burwash, Ont., has been arrested at Niagara-on-the-Lake, and will be sent back to Burwash. He escaped from Burwash some months ago, and a Province-wide search for him failed to locate him.

Roze managed to get over the Niagara River, and was subsequently arrested and given a forty days’ sentence in the County Jail at Lockport, his real identity not being suspected. After being released from Lockport Jail he crossed the river at Niagara-on-the-Lake to visit his parents. He was walking along the road when Pte. Leonard of the Military Police saw him, and thinking he looked suspicious questioned him. Roza’s broken English convinced the soldier that he had better take the man to headquarters. His description was sent broadcast, and Provincial Police identified the man as the escaped prisoner.

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“Hun Prisoner Killed In Wreck; Two More Hurt,” Sudbury Star. January 25, 1919. Page 01.

Two Injured Are in St. Joseph’s Hospital – Train Jumped Track.

Paul Stehr, a German prisoner of war, was instantly killed, and F. Hiemenich, another prisoner, and Pte. Gorge Hawkey, of Portland, Ontario, had their legs injured, and a score of other prisoners and guards had narrow escapes from more or less serious injury about two o’clock on Wednesday afternoon when a work train on the C.N.O. Railway left the rails near Stackpool. Five cars went over a ten foot embarkment into the ditch. The dead man and the two injured ones were in a car which turned on its side and dragged quite a distance before the train was brought to a standstill. Three other men in the car escaped without a scratch. The two injured men are in St. Joseph’s Hospital.

Were Hurrying to Wreck
The work train was part of what is known at Kapuskasing Camp as a railway detail, and the men were being hurried to a wreck near Capreol when the accident happened. The train was running at a fair rate of speed, and twenty-five cars suddenly left the track, five near the rear end taking to the ditch. The car in which the dead man and injured were riding suddenly turned on its side, the boxes and barrels in it being thrown about. Stehr was thrown out the side door, closely followed by Guard Hawkey. Stehr was pinned under the side of the car, it being necessary to raise the car with jacks to release the body.

Hawkey Dragged Thirty Feet.
Hawkey was more fortunate. Some of the boxes in the car went out the door ahead of him, and when the car turned on its side these boxes were under, preventing the weight of the car from catching the prostate man. He was dragged about thirty feet, but the only injured he sustained was to one of his legs.

The other men were in cars which left the rails but did not go over the embankment. They were merely shaken up as the train bumped along over the ties.

Huns Were Sailors
It was learned today that the German Stehr has been an interned man since shortly after the war started. He was taken off a German liner in New York and first taken to Kingston and interned at Fort Henry. He was later transferred to Kapuskasing. Deceased was thirty-six years of age. The body is at Henry’s morgue.

Heminich it is claimed, was one of the crew of the German steamer Navarra, which was captured by the British early in the war. He also has spent time at Kingston and Kapuskasing with the rest. He was under close guard at the hospital today and it was impossible to get any information from him.

Pte. Hawkey is a native of Portland, near Kingston, where he has been a guard, but more latterly has been stationed at Kapuskasing. Pte. D. J. James, of Paris, Ont., doing duty as guard at St. Joseph’s Hospital in charge of the prisoner Hemmich, was also in the wreck, but escaped uninjured.

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