![]() Here, the man who asks the questions knows that even though the camp will close their houses, the ones they lived in before the war, may have been stolen. His narration reads, “The irony was that the barbed-wire fences that incarcerated us also protected us.” One man says, “We’re free! We can finally go home!” His companion responds with questions: “You think our homes are still there? You think white people will welcome us with open arms?” George stares at the men with a quizzical look on his face. The fence separates us from the men and Takei. ![]() We see all three of them behind the barbed wire fence, us as the reader looking into the camp. When the news comes down of the camps’ closure, Takei overhears two men talking. Children need stability and routine, and the camps became just that. Home has become, for Takei and siblings, the camps themselves, the routines, the knowledge of what will occur. They have been stripped of their homes, herded up and incarcerated all over the United States, labeled as “enemy aliens.” Their property seized or stolen. So, when the order comes from the camps to close in December 1944, Takei, along with others, are left thinking about home and what that word actually means for them. ![]() For Takei and his family, what does home actually mean? They live in an incarceration camp for years, and Takei, the oldest of three children, is only about five or six when they enter they camp. Over the course of George Takei’s They Called Us Enemy, home plays an important thematic role. ![]()
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