Occupied Space: The Secret Black History of Little Tokyo
by Rafiq Taylor
A subway map rests next to the new Little Tokyo station.
When I think about the political problems that plague the US and the world, I can’t help but wonder if the control of physical space is only an illusion.
Humanity tells itself physical spaces can be “owned” to signify power. It’s the one element that seems constant when the forces of oppression are conducting their dirty work. The acquisition and control of physical space lie at the root of humanity’s colonial and imperial impulses. When I think about Little Tokyo, I’m reminded that physical space cannot be controlled. It can only be occupied. Even then, the concept of “occupation” still has the stink of exclusionary practice attached to it.
“One day I came down to take photographs, and I was putting money in the meter, and I was right outside of this store owned by a Japanese woman. As I got out of my car and put money in the meter, our eyes met. She very deliberately came up to the door and closed it in my face… And I thought to myself: ‘Yes! We were here.’” Quoted is Kathie Foley-Meyer, a mixed-media fine artist who crafted a series of community-based works titled Project Bronzeville. With a special interest in transparency, visibility, and memory she combines glass, wood, and metal to unearth the open secrets of Los Angeles.
Interestingly, these works would not exist without acknowledging that “owned” space is a construct. When people move through physical spaces, the politics of power are operating, not the promise of entitlement.
Historical photos stand attentive next to the entrance to Little Tokyo Plaza.
As a location, Little Tokyo lives up to its reputation as a culturally significant must-see destination. The entrance sits across the street from the Japanese American National Museum. Lanterns adorn the Japanese Village Plaza, tying together the many shops. Excited people happily traverse this space. Pressed inside the walls bordering this entrance are the aged historical acknowledgments: activist remnants from when the plaza was constructed in the 1970s.
When one examines the historical acknowledgments etched in Downtown LA’s Little Tokyo Plaza, they’re paying homage to the over 120-year history of Japanese American habitation on the West Coast.
An acknowledgment of California’s rich Japanese-American history is engraved.
In this dedication, a single paragraph addresses the 4 years of federally mandated incarceration inflicted on Japanese Americans during World War 2. Little Tokyo was not empty during this event. In their absence, black residents from the Deep South migrated north to fill a labor shortage in the war defense industry. Having limited housing options due to segregation and housing shortages, they became residents of Little Tokyo.
It was during this time that Little Tokyo transformed into Bronzeville, a cultural hotspot for black business and art. Wartime shifts for the workers were 24 hours a day, and many famous performers would share their art at Bronzeville’s black-owned breakfast clubs. These include Count Basie, Judy Garland, Gene Kelly, and Charlie Parker.
Charlie Parker and Miles Davis perform at a Bronzeville breakfast club.
The end of the Japanese concentration camps and the war meant mass layoffs that impacted black workers, but also meant the return of Japanese American citizens to Little Tokyo, and, knowing this, I’m reminded of how intersectionality applies not only to historical memory but to the politics of occupied space.
Geopolitical identity is not about the land we think we are entitled to. It’s about how our bodies fill the space and how power structures impact their design. In the conversations I’ve had about the concept of intersectionality, it is often limited to the confines of personhood. In discussions of struggle, rarely is the “ownership” of physical space truly questioned. It’s an elephant in the room: turned invisible by the convenience of conflict.
Black and Japanese-American residents assess their inventory.