Witnessing the dark history of the US incarceration of its own citizens during World War II is a sobering experience at the Japanese American National Museum in Los Angeles. 
Not only are we taken into the concentration camps in the US West -- where 120,000 Japanese Americans were imprisoned for more than three years from 1942 to 1945 -- but we are provoked anew regarding the fragility of democracy and our responsibility for preserving it. The museum excels at storytelling -- videos, pictures and written messages by first-generation immigrants and their second-generation children who were born citizens before World War II, considered themselves loyal Americans and then were segregated simply because of their appearance in a time of war. They lost everything and had to rebuild their American dreams -- with a spirit of silent acceptance and courageous resilience.
Many of us were never taught this history growing up in the US -- and fortunately we can now learn it through such exhibits as Ansel Adams at Manzanar (which closes Feb. 18, 2007). 
His poignant photos of the concentration camp in the eastern desert of California illustrated his view that "America has not assimilated all who have assimilated America." Whether Japanese American or not, we will all find reflections of our experiences as Americans in this museum, especially as World War II veterans or as sons, daughters and grandchildren of that "Greatest Generation." If any city can teach us about the bounty and challenges of diversity in the US, then it is LA -- and this museum is a leader in showcasing how the story of one ethnic group in the US is the story of us all.
Little Tokyo is only a few-block area, just east of the downtown center, close to the Latino Olvera Street market and preserved by Japanese American businessmen in the 1980s before the re-development bulldozers could level it. One of the buildings on the Japanese American Museum's campus is the first Buddhist temple built in LA in 1925 and now a National Historic landmark. The Geffen "wing" of LA's Museum of Contemporary Art is on the same block.
Be sure to take advantage of the Japanese cuisine along East First St. -- sushi 
and beyond to ramen (noodle) dishes, fish plates (mackerel, black cod and salmon) and light curries. Recommended are the Suehiro Cafe, 337 E. First St. (wide range of items), Daiko Kuya Original Noodle and Rice Bowl a few doors away (it's tiny so be prepared to stand in line outside up to 30 minutes) and the Miyako Hotel's own restaurant across the street. Downstairs, its Cafe Take 5 coffee shop even serves green tea latte. The museum's Chef Akira's Garden Cafe also offers salads, sandwiches and hot plates built around Japanese ingredients in the range of $5 to $7.50 each.
The Miyako Hotel is an inexpensive but well-run and comfortable focal point. Its spa, open 3 pm to midnight M-F and 12 noon to midnight (Sat-Sun), offers shiatsu massages starting at $60 for 45 minutes, and less for members or hotel guests.
The Japanese American museum opened in 1985 through a significant grassroots effort, initially to preserve the Buddhist temple. But the founders also felt the urgency of recording and 
preserving the 
immigrant Japanese American experience as the first two generations were passing on. More broadly, the museum has established a national and international presence as an educational resource for teaching the how diversity is part of our democracy, especially through its National Center for the Preservation of Democracy. Primarily a resource for teachers, students and scholars, the center is housed in the old temple with interactive exhibits and a 200-seat state-of-the-art theater for town hall style forums.
What's most hopeful are not only the stories of great courage and wisdom but the museum's forward-looking focus on democracy, diversity, social justice and civil rights. LA is where the world is going -- even the Japanese Americans now are multi-cultural within their own families -- and it's next to impossible to win the guessing game of nations walking along LA's streets. Any culturally specific group, including African Americans, Arab Americans and Caucasians, should value the knowledge that arises from the museum's message about our freedoms -- and their risks of assault. We begin to understand in new ways the tremendous discrimination often levied on US immigrants -- despite our rapturous "give me your tired and your poor" preachings. After leaving the museum, if we forget and return to our previous myopia, then we must bear the shame and responsibility, too.
