Tin Can Martial Law
#BlackLivesMatter
This article is raising awareness about
THE OFFICIAL GEORGE FLOYD MEMORIAL FUND
Which provides support for his family, including expenses for his children and their education
In the year 2020, I am in Japan. People are complaining about stay-at-home laws and self-isolation due to COVID-19. Everyone acts like it’s new and horrible and they ask why I am not upset about it. Why do I accept it so willingly? It makes me think back to all the times in all the places my family was placed under some kind of lockdown.
My first experience was on Guam, during a super typhoon in 1976 that was so intense the instrumentation was damaged before the worst of the storm hit. We never knew how much faster (than 200 miles per hour) the winds exceeded.
During the typhoon, the roads were blocked with fallen palm trees and flooded with mud. The power went out and water services were disrupted. It was ironic that while the Civil Defense notices on our battery-powered radios were urging us to take shelter and stay inside away from windows, Mc Donald’s was advertising “we have power, we have air-conditioning! Come on down and get your burgers, there’s plenty of space.” Instead of removing the temptation for people to travel in the middle of a superstorm by yanking the ad, our governor, Ricardo Bordallo, declared martial law.
Martial law? By him? It was ironic because he had been dishonorably discharged from the military. His declaration was highly questionable. Many locals served honorably in the armed forces and they did not want to deal with martial law under him.
My family had fled to a neighbor’s home just before the storm hit. We carried over food and clothes and supplies. We were prepared for a 2-day event. When our neighbor’s wife heard the words ‘martial law’ spill out of the radio, she flipped: “the Japanese army put us under martial law when the US came to retake the island from them. We were liberated by the US and we have never had martial law since! This one (she meant Governor Bordallo, which she punctuated with a wave of a lit cigarette) never even served a full duty.” She exhaled and ground out her cigarette. We all sat around the dining room table in the light of a kerosene lamp we kept on to play monopoly or gin rummy throughout the storm. Nobody said a word. Nobody dared. “He cannot declare martial law. He has no right! What is this shet!”
The kids (all of us bored) took this to mean no martial law so we begged to Mc Donald’s. It didn’t help that the DJ on KUAM 610 on the AM dial ran the ad for shakes, burgers and fries every ten minutes. My parents said no; my neighbors said no. We pushed our luck too far. Maggy stormed into the kitchen, rummaging into the dark cabinet corners where the Spam and corned beef were kept as staples. “Nobody is going out! It’s not safe. I don’t care what KUAM broadcasts !” The Spam forcefully connected with the tile counter like a gunshot, and Maggy declared her own marshal law—all with the clank of that tin can.
And that defined our understanding of lockdowns moving forward.
When we were politely locked into our hotel in Delhi nine months later due to the street uprisings, the desk manager profusely apologized to us. My brother and I continued to eat our Tuttifrutti sundaes. “We apologize but a sort of martial law has been declared. It is for your safety. The front doors will be locked for the duration.” He bowed and left us in the dining room. This really wasn’t that much of a surprise because the day before, the local gendarmerie had raided the hotel for illegal alcohol. The only fatality in the bust was my mother’s gin and tonic being spirited away. Martial law? My Mom looked at us and said, “what would Maggie have to say about it?”
I missed the lockdown my parents experienced in Thailand. I also missed the one my mom went through in Manila, getting caught in transit from Guam to Bangkok.
In Korea there was a sort of lockdown: my brother was stuck at home with my parents during some particularly bad student uprisings in 1989. My father came in and said no one could go outside due to the possibility of negative police interactions. My brother’s snarky comment was “Gee, didn’t even hear the clank of a tin can.”
When I talked to my mom a couple of weeks back, I asked about lockdown where they were. I forgot that in Alaska, we have minus 40-degree weather and you stay home until it warms up to minus 10. You have your larders stocked. I asked if my parents could handle it. My mom once again referenced our Maggie moment: “it’s either Spam or corned beef when the lights go out.”
