Los Angeles, often dubbed the “melting pot” of cultures, is a city brimming with stories, each one as unique as the chords and beats that flow through its streets.

As a Panamanian American living in South L.A., this varied tapestry makes my personal playlist eclectic and dynamic. Growing up, my home was filled with the vibrant sounds of Spanish music, as my parents exclusively conversed in Spanish and were engrossed in Latin media. Yet, outside our doorstep, the urban heartbeat of L.A. pulsed with hip-hop.

Amid this diversity, I grappled with my identity. My parents, with their deep skin tones, predominantly spoke Spanish, but when they did converse in English, it was infused with Patois. My father would sometimes interject with phrases in French, and photographs of my great- grandmother, adorned with a striking red bindi on her forehead, hinted at even more cultural intricacies. The swirl of potential identities—Spanish, Jamaican, Indian, Black—left me confused and at a time when cultural identifications felt more rigid, usually limited to Black, white, or Hispanic.

Yet for all the moments of alienation I experienced, this very duality of my heritage also became my strength. It allowed me to traverse all kinds of spaces with ease from Leimert Park—a neighborhood pulsating with the rich African American heritage and resonating with elements reminiscent of my Panamanian roots—to the iconic lights of Hollywood—a melting pot of cultures, reflected in its food joints to avant-garde art galleries—to the bustling streets of DTLA, where contemporary influences blended with historic undertones.

Over time, I’ve come to understand that identity isn’t confined to rigid boundaries. Instead, like the music on my playlist, it’s a fluid dance of acceptance, understanding, and evolution.

 “Rica y Apretadita (feat. Anayka)” by El General

El General left an indelible mark on the musical landscape of Latin America. In the 1990s and early 2000s, it was almost a given that the rhythms of El General would reverberate through homes, adding a sense of joy to mundane life (or Saturday chores). For me, his song “Rica y Apretadita” is especially iconic. Whether it was attending a festive quinceañera, a lively neighborhood party, or a casual gathering, this song was the go-to anthem, binding generations with its universal appeal. Today, El General’s music remains a unifying force within the Panamanian community and beyond, creating shared memories and experiences that are fondly reminisced upon today.

“Dedication” by Nipsey Hussle feat. Kendrick Lamar

Especially for those of us who grew up within the Crenshaw district, “Dedication” is more than just a song; it’s an anthem of motivation and an ode to authentic hustle. The late Nipsey’s legacy is celebrated not just for his music but also for the significant impact he had on his community. He is the epitome of rising from humble beginnings and making it big. With this track, he brought forth a message that went beyond the typical narrative of street life. He championed the idea that it’s not just about making it out, but also about uplifting where you came from. “Dedication” is about entrepreneurship, supporting family, and reinvesting in the community. It captures the essence of the commitment and drive needed to transform one’s circumstances while staying true to one’s roots.

“Cha Cha Slide” by DJ Casper

“Cha Cha Slide” is not just a catchy tune; it’s a cultural phenomenon that bridges generations and backgrounds. As a journalist who’s covered countless community events, I’ve witnessed firsthand the transformative power of this track. Its instructive lyrics and invigorating beat not only compel any gathering into a synchronized dance fest, but also pull people from all walks of life to the dance floor. No matter the culture, background, or age, when this anthem plays, there’s an undeniable sense of unity. It’s the kind of feel-good music that reminds me of the power of song to connect and uplift communities.  Many songs in hip-hop and beyond have incorporated call-and-response elements, but few have done it as effectively as the “Cha Cha Slide.” It actively engages listeners, turning passive audience members into active participants.

“Suavemente” by Elvis Crespo

“Suavemente” deeply resonates with my experience as a dark-skinned individual with a Spanish-speaking family. It stands out as a unifying anthem, especially since it’s one of the few Spanish tracks universally recognized and beloved by the Black community. As a part-time bartender (and someone who frequents various L.A. bars), I’ve observed firsthand the song’s power in cutting across genres. Amid DJ sets dominated by rap, hip-hop, or Afrobeats, “Suavemente” invariably finds its way into the mix. And every time, without fail, I watch Black individuals in the venue not only recognize the tune but sing along passionately, celebrating its infectious rhythm.

“Top Shotter” by DMX feat. Sean Paul and Mr. Vegas

Growing up, my parents’ unique blend of Spanish and Patois often made me feel self-conscious amid the dominant American English around us. However, the release of Belly in 1998 changed that for me. The movie, written and directed by Hype Williams, wasn’t just popular because of its star-studded cast featuring DMX, Nas, and T-Boz, but also because it introduced and celebrated dancehall music to a wider audience, like with “Top Shotter,” a powerful fusion of American hip-hop and dancehall culture off the soundtrack. The film’s widespread acclaim made me feel more comfortable embracing my Caribbean side. For the first time, I could proudly sing along to dancehall tracks in public, relishing the fact that the genre was gaining the recognition and appreciation it deserved.

“Essence” by Wizkid

I see “Essence” as a bridge, introducing the Afrobeats genre to L.A.’s music scene. Afrobeats, echoing dancehall and reggae yet carrying a distinct melody and more tempered lyrics, had been around for some time when “Essence” began to circulate widely in 2021. But this track felt like something new and fresh, and with its Sunday brunch vibes, it’s become synonymous with relaxation and good times.

“You” by Lucy Pearl

As the sun sets over the L.A. skyline and the palm trees sway, there’s a certain rhythm and flow that “You” taps directly into, echoing the heartbeat of the city. I feel like this song brings back memories of backyard parties and house parties in the hills—Windsor Hills—when my parents finally allowed me to go be outside with my friends. It also reminds me of going skating because the song always played at the now-shuttered World on Wheels. Whenever this song comes on, it effortlessly connects Angelenos of all ages—old heads, millennials, Gen Z-ers—together, reminding us of sun-kissed days, warm nights, and the shared experiences that bind us to our city.

The post Shivonne Peart’s Diaspora Jukebox Playlist appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

The open-air event, which also streamed live online, was produced in partnership with Esperanza Community Housing’s South Central Innervisions: An AfroLatinxFuturism, a free multidisciplinary arts festival being held at the mercado, a marketplace and community center in the Figueroa Corridor, this Saturday.

The question of the evening—“Is South L.A. Forging a New American Identity?”—offered a dynamic look at how place-based identity can build bonds of solidarity across racial and ethnic lines.

Before jumping into the conversation, moderator Angel Jennings, the Los Angeles Times’ assistant managing editor for culture and talent, explained why the panelists would be using the terms “South Central” and “South Los Angeles” interchangeably.

“You can’t talk about this region, this community, and this area without first giving it a name, and identifying and describing it,” said Jennings. Located on the ancestral and unceded territory of the Tongva people, said Jennings, this land has become “the epicenter of the California dreams for so many.” That includes African Americans, many of whose descendants came to South L.A. from the South during the Great Migration, and immigrants from Central and South America and their children and grandchildren, who’ve increasingly made it their home over the last four decades.

When it comes to South Los Angeles or South L.A., Jennings said, both names have legitimate claims to the space.

Panelists Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo and Manuel Pastor, USC sociologists and co-authors of a new book, South Central Dreams: Finding Home and Building Community in South L.A., which inspired the discussion, agreed, noting that even their title straddles both names. They interviewed some people, young and old, who Hondagneu-Sotelo said, consider South Central “a special term of endearment,” while for others, South L.A. feels more encompassing, especially among those who hadn’t felt included before. “In Watts, they felt very firm,” she added. “This is not South Central. This is Watts. There’s a particular pride in the uniqueness of the place.”

Visual notes by Amanda Oesef

Panelist Corey Matthews, chief operating officer of Community Coalition or CoCo, is a local himself, born and raised on 108 and Western. (He noted, and the audience agreed, that part of being from South Central is naming your streets.) Matthews recalled leaving home and returning to a place with a new name and new demographics. “In a lot of ways,” Matthews reflected, “I’m relearning and learning newly what South Los Angeles is.”

To tell this story of demographic change, Pastor looked to the numbers. In 1970, South Central was 80 percent African American, and around half of Los Angeles County’s Black population lived in the area. Today, South L.A. is two-thirds Latino, and only one-quarter of the county’s Black population lives there. This data offers “a sense of loss on the part of the Black population of this central place of meaning for the community—not just for people who lived there, but for all of Black Los Angeles,” said Pastor.

Amid this demographic transformation, academics and the media focused on the tensions between Black and Latino residents, but few scholars have revisited that narrative since. In their book, Pastor and Hondagneu-Sotelo explore how South L.A. today tells a different story: of how Latino and Black residents have come together and built community in this historically Black space.

What, asked Jennings, were the most surprising things that came out of their research, which included interviews with nearly 200 residents?

For one thing, they said, how central place can be to identity. “Latinos in South L.A. are different than Latinos in the rest of Los Angeles,” said Pastor. Beyond, say, a preference for hip hop over Ranchera music, second generation Latinos, they found, are steeped in the history of American apartheid and Jim Crow. “They’re very easily able to center the struggle of anti-Black racism even as they’re lifting up Latino empowerment,” said Pastor.

Another key finding centered around community organizing. The impact of South L.A. community organizing groups, including institutions like CoCo and Community Asset Development Re-defining Education (CADRE), has been widespread in forging coalition-building among Black and brown residents. “We often think people make movements,” said Pastor, “but movements also make people.”

Matthews agreed. “I’m really fascinated by this generation,” he said, noting that young people of color are coming together around issues that matter to them, whether it’s parks and green space, art, wellness, or entrepreneurship. CoCo’s South Central Youth Empowered through Action (SCYEA) group, for instance, held a teach-in in response to the rise of anti-Asian American hate crimes. “They felt it important to elevate [their] concerns and draw similarities between their experiences and their comrades that were of a different background,” he said. It was a marked contrast to his own experience as a young person. “That was something that we were not doing, at least not explicitly, and certainly not with language at the time,” he recalled.

Visual notes by Soobin Kim

The young people doing this work today with this capacious understanding of identity, said Hondagneu-Sotelo, are “South L.A.’s biggest asset.” They possess “love of place formed by these communities, formed by daily experiences, interactions with schools, sports teams,” all of which creates “a strong sense of not only affiliation and solidarity, but consciousness.”

This has larger implications for the nation as a whole, Pastor said. “Historically, South Central has been looked at from the outside as a place of deficits. As a place of economic challenges. I don’t want to minimize all those,” but he said, “South L.A. is a model of what could be done with good community organizing, power building, and coalition building.”

The panelists also answered questions from audience members participating in the virtual chatroom, including one around what such coalition-building demands.

Pastor cited “frank and honest conversations around differences,” recalling a Q&A from a panel he was on several years back with CoCo founder and U.S. Representative Karen Bass.

Pastor recalled a “young Black man who said, ‘You know, I used to like Mexicans, I just don’t like these new Mexicans’—by which he meant Central Americans.” Another, older Black man in the audience offered his own generalization: “‘Latinos like to work.’” These “impolite, impolitic” statements would never come up in an academic setting, noted Pastor, yet they started a difficult, meaningful conversation. “And out of that real and honest conversation grew a Black-brown alliance to support the retrofitting of city buildings, pipelines for jobs for Black and brown people,” he said.

Before the conversation wrapped, Jennings asked the panelists: What should we be thinking about as we reimagine the future around South L.A.?

“Are we building a South L.A. that will allow our young people to buy here, live here, and stay here?” Matthews asked.

Hondagneu-Sotelo and Pastor agreed, addressing displacement concerns. “Home,” said Hondagneu-Sotelo, “is a key aspect of the book, and the looming danger is, can South Central continue to be a home for those who are currently here—who’ve been here for several generations?”

The post How South (Central) L.A. Is Forging Its Future appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

The post South Los Angeles Thrives on Kendrick Lamar’s Philosophy appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

In long-maligned South Los Angeles, that time is now, said a panel that included a scholar, a community organizer, a youth mentor, and a former city official during “Is South L.A. an Urban Success Story?,” a Zócalo/California Wellness Foundation event.

The lively discussion was moderated by Jennifer Ferro, president of KCRW, before an overflow crowd at Mercado La Paloma, a former garment sweatshop turned community hub. The conversation covered the evolution of South L.A. into a place that is both far more hopeful and far more complex than stereotypes would suggest.

It’s not that the work in South Los Angeles is done, said Manuel Pastor, a USC sociology professor and director of its Center for the Study of Immigrant Integration. Far from it. But, he said, a newly released study on Latino engagement in the historically African-American area, which he co-authored, demonstrates both the tremendous progress of the entire community and that, “there’s no single story of South L.A.”

In 1980, South L.A. was 80 percent African-American. Today it’s nearly two-thirds Latino. Over time the relationship between black and Latino residents—especially among younger, second-generation Latinos—has evolved into a nuanced understanding of their community that bridges race. Today, Pastor said, “there’s a very different South L.A. Latino. They’re deeply invested, and they believe they have a future in South L.A.”

Benjamin Torres, head of the grassroots organization Community Development Technologies Center, known as CDTech, agreed that the momentum is behind a collaborative effort to invest from within, in a historically and socially equitable way, rather than relying upon outside development and its consequent gentrification.

“We don’t try to wipe away the knowledge and the history of people who have come before,” Torres said. “Residents are actively saying, we want to actively create a vision, rather than letting outside development drive the change.”

To be effective, you need to be heard, said Valerie Shaw, the former president of the Los Angeles Board of Public Works and longtime resident of Leimert Park. To be heard, you need to know, first and foremost, how to organize. And, also, how to complain.

“When I say complain, I mean anything you can imagine, any service you want, that’s how things happen,” Shaw said. “If you want something from your elected official, or city government, if you complain in an orchestrated way and you never give up, you will get it.”

Ferro jokingly suggested Jorge Nuño, who recently announced his candidacy for Los Angeles City Council’s District 9, pay attention to Shaw’s humorous and forthright advice for dealing with constituents and vice versa. Apart from his own political involvement, Nuño mentors young South L.A. residents through his non-profit Nuevo South, teaching them skills they’ll need to become effective community leaders themselves.

“A lot of our young people who have spent time with Nuevo South are going on to college and coming back and asking, ‘What can I do? What can I do to help my community?’,” Nuño said.

In the end, panelists observed, the ongoing progress in South Los Angeles owes much to the resilience of a multicultural community previously crippled by crime and a lack of equal opportunity.

During the question and answer period, the audience contributed to deepening the understanding of “multicultural”—with one questioner reminding the panel of the importance of the Asian community to the history of South Los Angeles and to an inclusive future.

Another audience member asked how political and business leaders can work with the community rather than being perceived as a threat. “Let them be guests at our table,” Nuño said. “We want the investment, we just don’t want the displacement.”

Pastor summed up the sentiment of the evening by riffing on a line from rapper Kendrik Lamar, a Compton native, to observe, “The thing that’s going right in South L.A. is that South L.A. loves itself.”

The post The Secret to South L.A.’s Success Is That It Loves Itself appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

The South Central corridor has long defined the larger region. It was a destination spot during the 20th century jazz heyday. Its struggles during the 1970s and ‘80s reflected struggles throughout South L.A. And today, the revival of S. Central Avenue, at the hub of this very dynamic corridor, demonstrates South L.A.’s progress and possibilities.

One of the corridor’s thriving institutions is A Place Called Home, a nonprofit that serves young members ages 8 to 21 with programs in everything from the arts to urban agriculture. Zócalo Public Square asked participants in the summer photography class to document life on the corridor.

Their images capture the improvements of buildings and businesses, and the constant traffic of an area where finding a parking space is often no easy feat. They also show a homeless population far more visible than in the past, a change attributed within the community to higher housing costs and the pushing out of homeless people from downtown, just to the north. Both trends are recounted in an essay by Vivian Bowers-Cowan, longtime owner of a dry cleaning store and retail complex on Central Avenue.

South L.A’s improvements have raised new questions for the corridor, as CVS and other larger retailers mull moving in. How can it accommodate bigger and broader businesses, without displacing smaller shops that have loyally served customers there through earlier, tougher times? The photos capture a signature Los Angeles thoroughfare, growing and adapting to a promising and challenging future.

The post Cruising South Central Avenue appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

Outterbridge was born in 1933 in Greenville, North Carolina, where he saw and felt the effects of segregation and took in from his mother the need to “press on” despite racist oppression. He arrived in Los Angeles in 1963, two years before the Watts Riots. Anne Ellegood, senior curator at the Hammer Museum, explained recently how assemblage was part of that moment. For African-American artists, a practice that made profound meaning from what society had cast off was part of a general demand for recognition of under-served communities and unrecognized histories. Assemblage has a varied history—back to Marcel Duchamp’s readymades, at least, and including Robert Rauschenberg’s combines, Joseph Cornell’s boxes, and Edward Kienholz’s installations. Outterbridge is part of a prominent group of black artists—including Noah Purifoy, Betye Saar, John Riddle and Senga Nengudi—who nurtured their careers in Los Angeles and remained inter-connected as they rose to prominence. They brought a modernist genre into conversation with African-American heritage, which Angelenos were reminded of in “Now Dig This!” a group show of L.A. black artists active in the 1960s and ‘70s presented at the Hammer and part of 2012’s “Pacific Standard Time,” a multi-venue exploration of Los Angeles’ art scene.

Like several in that set, Outterbridge took his creative practice into arts education and organization as well as art-making. Centering these efforts in the South Los Angeles region, he cofounded the Compton Communicative Arts Academy in 1969. He was later director of the Watts Towers Art Center, housed next to Simon Rodia’s iconic Watts Towers—a mosaiced monument meticulously embellished with salvaged shells, tile and glass—and co-founded by Purifoy after the Watts Riots. Outterbridge worked there for 17 years. He lived the belief, as Ellegood put it, that “art has a social role and can actually change society.” Outterbridge’s assemblage is uniquely suited to this kind of change—since it is open to and valuing all. “Wherever I was,” he said, “anything was available and anything could be used and was used.”

It was a lesson that connected the evolving conditions of L.A. with Outterbridge’s earliest experiences. He learned as a boy the beauty of folk art and the aesthetic wisdom of everyday practices. “The rags that hung out to dry blew in the wind like colorful tapestries,” he remembered, “and I was touched by the perfect order that those rags had.” He treasured ad-hoc assemblage in his neighborhood like “the glass bottles in the trees that made music for me and my siblings.” Outterbridge’s father worked as a so-called “junk man” who would collect and resell discarded objects, so “John really grew up with that kind of ethos,” Ellegood said. “Things could always be re-used.”

The current show—called “Rag Man”—emphasizes how Outterbridge’s recent work, especially, looks back to these childhood lessons. A series called “Rag and Bag Idiom” reuses bits of textiles discarded by L.A. manufacturers—in brightly painted, abstract sculptures that seem more organic the more one looks. Other works are drawn from a series using dolls and reflecting on the way different cultural and religious traditions employ such objects. Curated by Ellegood and Jamillah James, the exhibition opened first at Art + Practice in Los Angeles and is on view this month at the Aspen Art Museum. While it’s not a retrospective, it demonstrates the continuities of Outterbridge’s long, steady career.

Assemblage makes that longevity an especial asset. Recollections are so many bits of material, too. “I put memories … away in pockets and places,” Outterbridge said. “I wrap things up and save them for a time they might be useful. That’s the nature and the practice and the process of assemblage.”

But that’s also, he added later, “what life is. We take it all in and we push it right back out in some other form.” For Outterbridge, his art is a creativity, a philosophy, a politics, an education—and “a celebration.” It’s “an affirmation of life.”

The post Life Lessons From South L.A.’s Most Influential “Rag Man” appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

But South L.A. has a way of surprising you.

The growth and success we’re experiencing are raising new questions for residents and businesses alike. For example, how do we continue to grow and still preserve what we have? How do we attract new businesses so residents can access conveniences in their own community? And at the same time, how do we make sure that the local mom-and-pop businesses that have been part of our growth don’t get pushed out by the likes of CVS (coming soon) or Trader Joe’s (rumored)?

I’m sensitive to the concerns of the mom and pops, because I am the mom in one—as were my mom and my grandmother.

My parents, Alice and Horace Bowers, purchased Smith’s Cleaners from my mother’s parents in 1950 and renamed it. Originally it was on the corner of Westlake Avenue and Temple Street in the Westlake District, and it grew quickly, though the cleaning was done by a subcontractor.

In 1964, my parents purchased a small dry cleaning plant at 2507 South Central Avenue. Bowers & Sons then became a “full service” cleaning operation servicing downtown Los Angeles and surrounding areas from two locations. The Bowers’ served retail and wholesale clients and provided pickup and delivery services. As the business grew, my parents purchased an adjoining building (2509) for expansion. Eventually, they bought the entire block of storefronts on the 2500 block of Central Ave., now Bowers Retail Complex.

Like many families who own their own business, my brothers and I worked at the store. Each of us has held the helm of the ship! We’ve succeeded because we’ve adhered to the business philosophy coined by my parents—“We Care Enough to Add A Personal Touch.” We’ve also maintained the cornerstones of our business—professionalism, quality, reliability, and affordability. Additionally, we believe in being good stewards of our community and giving back to people in need and to community causes. My parents were always there to give financial, business, and even family advice, assistance or employment. My dad would often hire the men down on their luck to do general maintenance, like sweeping, mopping, or painting.

Still, I wanted my own life and career. I married and had two sons, now wonderful young men. For over 20 years I worked in retail sales and management and then as an account executive at Kaiser Permanente, where I earned a good salary, full benefits, and five weeks annual vacation.

In 1994, my parents decided to retire. My dad wanted to close the doors and sell, unless one of their children would take over the plant. Neither of my brothers, who both managed the plant previously and were well into their desired careers—one was a writer, the other an actor-singer-performer—wanted to take it over. Nor did I.

Vivian Bowers-Cowan at Bowers & Sons Cleaners.

Alas, I decided I couldn’t stand the idea of the building going into decline and adding to the community’s blight. My thinking was this: If my parents had succeeded and stood the test of time, I would also. Besides, I’d always enjoyed working in the community and providing a good service.

Many people asked me why would I take over a business in South Central and give up my career. I answered, why not?

I was a single mother, and it was 1994—just two years after the riots—and the neighborhood was having a rough time. My sons, who had worked at the store, asked me not to take over the business, saying it was dangerous and “We’d starve!” But I felt the community consisted of good, hardworking people who deserved professional service. So, I put my faith in God, in the family’s reputation as pillars of the community, and in our location’s proximity to downtown, freeways, and USC. It’s a timeless truth that people will always need to get their clothes cleaned.

Because this was post-riots, I essentially took on two, related struggles—one for the business, the other for the neighborhood. In those first years, I saw drive-by shootings, drugs, and prostitution. At one point I thought about installing bullet-proof glass!

Initially, we had only three employees and there were days the business made little more than $200. I wanted to develop a business plan, and my search for help led me to the Rebuild L.A. program, which referred me to USC’s Business Expansion Program. I completed the Fast Trac II entrepreneurial course, creating a working business plan that I put into action. Within three years, Bowers had grown over 75 percent, added two employees, and redecorated the lobby.

Slowly, the neighborhood also improved. Community members began complaining to the council office and police department about the crime and lack of resources. In response, policing increased resulting in a raid of one of the largest dope houses in the area, which to my surprise was directly across the street. (There’s a bakery there now.) Shortly afterwards, Maxine Waters held a press conference on the corner of Adams and Central, declaring that we wouldn’t tolerate any more violence and unrest in our community.

We didn’t. On our block, I had pay telephone stands used by drug dealers removed, while sweeping and repainting. I had a local graffiti artist paint a mural on the side of the building to discourage other graffiti. Residents and business owners developed neighborhood watch groups and worked with the Community Police Advisory Board. When the local police division moved from Newton Street, which was above Washington, down to 35th Street on the Avenue, the community welcomed their presence.

But the biggest shift was the sea change of residents. South Central was largely an African American community. Over time, many of these longtime residents relocated to other areas of Los Angeles in search of employment and a better quality of life, some passed away, and unfortunately, some went to prison. By 1997 the area was 75 percent Latino and most of the small businesses along the South Central corridor were owned and operated by Latinos. I eventually added staff who were bilingual—I only had so much Spanish from my days at L.A. High.

We also benefited from public and private investment and more attention from our city council office under the leadership of Jan Perry. The vacant lot in the block next to ours (once a super market) was acquired and developed as a mixed-use property with affordable housing and retail space on the street level. Several other senior and affordable housing units soon followed. A shopping center with a grocery store and other services was developed on 20th and Central. A city moratorium on new fast-food places and liquor stores also created space for new kinds of businesses to develop.

Councilwoman Perry built a constituent service center in the 4200 block of Central Avenue—a beautiful LEED-certified building with rooftop space that is great for public use. And our store and several other businesses took advantage of the city’s façade improvement program to beautify our storefronts. The rehab of the Somerville Apartments and of the Dunbar Hotel, the latter famous as a venue during South Central’s jazz heyday, also gave us a lift.

I was fortunate that God sent me a wonderful husband, Greg Cowan, in 1997. He is now fondly called Mr. Bowers in our community! Initially, he’d come down to the plant after work and help me close the shop and service machinery. And after he got laid off from JPL in 1999, he filled in as the delivery driver. I couldn’t let him go! I needed every bit of his help; I was working from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m., and barely getting a couple full days off per year. He’s helped me survive recessions and the 2008-09 credit crunch, when small businesses had their credit lines pulled. Currently we have nine employees, we are eco-friendly, and we have three computerized point of sale stations. We continue to provide quality, affordable service, and “A Personal Touch.”

Greg and I have become my parents!

Location – and delivery – have seen us through. Our business succeeds because we are less than a mile from the growth and development downtown. We provide dry-cleaning and laundry service to lofts and private residences within a 10 mile radius, corporate clients such as the L.A. Music Center, Los Angeles Convention Center, MTA, various departments at USC, and the Department of Homeland Security. Today, more than 70 percent of our business comes from such routes.

The other businesses in the Bowers Retail Complex are long-term tenants including a dentist, a soccer store, and a computer repair shop, which have all been here for more than 10 years. There’s also a tattoo supply store and a corner store, Amigos Variety, which has been there forever. The newest, A Taste of ChiBas Café, is my mom’s catering kitchen, which she now leases out to qualified licensed caterers.

For several years, members of the Central Avenue Business Association worked on beautification and cleanliness, business growth and development, and safety and parking concerns. When we first discussed the Business Improvement District, it seemed like a strange idea. We were already paying taxes for these services, so why should we send more money to the city? When we researched other BIDs we realized it was a way to maintain high standards and reach our goals. In May 2014, we formed a steering committee, hired consultants, and started the 18-month formation process. The BID of property owners was officially established on December 6, 2015 with a 78.65 percent yes vote. We’ve already hired our Clean Streets Team to power wash the streets, remove graffiti, empty trash cans, remove bulky items, and weed the tree wells. By August, we will have our Safety Ambassador Team on board. Businesses on neighboring corridors have already begun to ask how they can develop their own BID!

I’m thrilled with the BID. It’s added to what I call the improvement moment on the Avenue and in South Los Angeles in general. A variety of projects are currently underway. Meta Housing, which developed the lot next door, has another project in progress on Washington Boulevard. A Place Called Home, a terrific nonprofit focused on children and the arts, is expanding. The city has an interesting pilot program to help some of the small businesses here digitize their operations, so that it will be easier for them to grow.

And I’m very excited about the new, very nice sit-down restaurant that should open early next year in the Hotel Dunbar. (Cross your fingers).

Some things are becoming harder. Homelessness has become a much bigger problem in our area, as the development downtown pushes more people south. And there’s the concern that all the growth and development will displace both people and businesses. How do we welcome the new without pushing out the old?

The good news is that on South Central, we are in a much stronger position to deal with these hard questions.

The post The Little Dry Cleaning Shop Around the Corner appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

An interesting fact about city government is that, for the most part, all city departments (about 40) operate in silos. There is very little formal interdepartmental communication and coordination, and as a result overall service provision is not maximized.

In 2008, during the worst recession since the Great Depression, Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa and Councilmembers Bernard C. Parks, Jan Perry, Janice Hahn and Herb Wesson decided to work together to improve conditions in South L.A. Their effort—to create and implement a five-year economic development strategic plan for South L.A. The plan was called the South L.A. Initiatives. It was novel because it focused on a region—not a council district or a neighborhood.

I was appointed by the mayor and supported by the councilmembers as the coordinator of the South L.A. Initiatives. From 2008 to 2013, I worked closely with the mayor, councilmembers, political staffers, city department executives and staff, and community members to bring services to South L.A.

It’s common knowledge that the city produces scores of plans that are eventually shelved. But unlike so many other plans for South L.A., this one measured the performance of the plan’s goals on an ongoing basis. Every month for five years, 15 departments reported their progress. Every quarter for five years, department executives met to solve problems, report progress, and identify areas of collaboration. Additionally, a 15-member community committee regularly received progress reports.

As a result of this performance-based strategic planning, the South L.A. region experienced over $600 million of investment, as well as serious analysis and attention from 15 city departments.

At the heart of the initiatives was a $250 million investment in neighborhood infrastructure. Streets, sewers, and stormwater systems were improved. Many trees were trimmed and alleys cleaned. Municipal facilities such as an aquatic center, parks, libraries, and fire stations were constructed.

In the employment arena, 6,000 jobs were created in the region. The city’s workforce center placed 25,000 South L.A. residents in jobs. Mayor Villaraigosa’s summer youth employment program resulted in over 17,000 jobs for local residents.

The South L.A. Initiatives also focused on housing, investing $100 million to develop nearly 2,000 affordable rental units, and $6 million in home repair and security to assist close to 3,000 low-income senior residents. The program also supported the conversion of 180 vacant or foreclosed properties into more than 400 housing units. And scores of city employees worked to move forward the redevelopment of the historic Jordan Downs public housing project.

Even with the economy in free fall, the Initiatives continued to back retail and small business enterprises. Among the projects supported were the Midtown Crossing and the Baldwin Hills Crenshaw renovation and expansion, the repositioning of industrial lands for new uses, efforts to attract national and international employers, and assistance to more than 3,500 small businesses.

The Initiatives also encouraged the planning department to complete the three community plans in the South L.A. region. These plans had not been updated for more than 10 years. The new plans thoughtfully established overlay plans for transit-oriented districts along the Expo and Blue Lines, streamlined land-use entitlements along the commercial and industrial corridors, and adopted a USC master plan.

As the coordinator of the South L.A. plan, it was my job to foster ongoing communication among all participants and to manage the performance measurement mechanism. As a result of the efforts of nearly 100 city employees, who worked thoughtfully and diligently to bring projects, information, and resources to improve the lives of South L.A. residents, the South L.A. Initiatives plan won the 2012 award for Planning Excellence, Large Jurisdictions from the American Planning Association-L.A. Chapter.

Fast forward, it’s now 2016—and what should South L.A. residents do? First, encourage your elected officials to create a regional strategic service plan. Several cities actually have strategic plans, but L.A.’s size and governance structure prevents a citywide plan. So it’s best to advocate for creation of regional plans within the city.

Next, South L.A. residents need to know how to complain. Yes, call 311, but also contact the council office, the Mayor’s South L.A. district representative, and the city commissioner in the department that interests you. Get to know your local service providers—for example, the manager at your sanitation or street cleaning yard, the park supervisor, the area Department of Water & Power manager. Advocate for services and don’t give up.

As Los Angeles continues to grow, the future of each neighborhood is in the hands of its residents. I have lived in South L.A. neighborhoods all of my adult life. I have witnessed the changes, the ebbs and flows. As the neighborhoods change from predominantly African American to mostly Latino or multicultural, we must move forward as one region, connected and committed to improving the conditions of our individual lives and the lives of all South L.A. residents.

The post What Did It Take to Clean Up South L.A.? $600 Million and Cooperation appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

This insight was not my own—it’s one of the central ideas of legendary gang researcher Malcolm Klein, an emeritus sociologist at USC. In one of my conversations with Mac, he compared the social relations that bring together gangs to the lifelong affection and solidarity that soldiers have for those with whom they served in combat. In countering gangs, it is vital not to put potential gang members under siege or to give them a common enemy; that just fuels their cohesion.

Applying this insight was an enormous departure in L.A. For 30 years, the city handled gangs as primarily a law enforcement matter. In the 1980s, LAPD Chief Daryl Gates declared war on gangs—which Mac’s research showed was counterproductive. Our overcrowded prison system, too, reinforced gangs by segregating prisoners by race and gang affiliation.

But a decade ago, Police Chief William Bratton and Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa decided to shift strategies. They figured out that to disrupt the gang phenomenon, you needed to focus on weakening the social ties between gang members and strengthening other kinds of relationships and social ties among gang-age young people.

In 2006, South L.A. was the source of half of the gang-related violence in the city. By that year, every category of crime was in decline L.A.-wide—except gang violence, which had increased 16 percent in one year. There had been a series of shootings in Watts at the end of 2006, with nine people killed. On the heels of the violence came a report from attorney Connie Rice and The Advancement Project and an audit from Los Angeles City Controller Laura Chick that deemed the city’s anti-gang approach a failure, creating enormous public attention—and an opportunity to change.

At the time, I had recently completed two years as chief of staff at Sojourners, the Washington, D.C.-based Christian community dedicated to social justice. I’m also an ordained minister in the Church of the Nazarene. But my expertise and work had been with young people, and figuring out how to engage them during my 17 years at the Bresee Foundation.

Which is why the mayor hired me to develop the new approach to combating gangs that became GRYD. Until then, the city’s anti-gang and youth resources had been spread thinly across 15 council districts in Los Angeles like peanut butter. In mid-2008, we won a bruising political battle to consolidate them, taking the money and targeting it in eight zones where rates of violence were four times more than in the rest of the city. Four of these zones were in South L.A.

In summer 2008, we had our first big initiative, Summer Night Lights. We kept certain public parks open late into the night, turned on the lights, and brought in programming that had been designed in consultation with young people, including gang members. Summer Night Lights was, and still is, an immediate hit with young people. It became the linchpin of our efforts to turn public spaces into places where everyone could participate.

We put two-thirds of the money into prevention programs and activities like Summer Night Lights. We spent a lot of time talking to LAPD officers, and suggesting that they focus their attention only on the hardcore gang members who do the shooting, and stop arresting kids who look or walk like gang members.

We also had researchers at USC create an assessment tool to produce data on who might be most likely to become a gang member. The researchers told us we were actually looking for a very small number of people. Even in neighborhoods considered gang-infested, 85 percent of kids will never join a gang; only 15 percent will join, and most will be active for two or fewer years. So how could we identify those few kids who were most at risk to become hardcore gang members, and focus our resources on them?

The research showed that kids are most likely to join gangs between ages 10 to 14, and we came up with 15 primary risk factors to assess that age group for gang membership. If the assessment tool scored them as likely to join a gang, they were eligible to be in the GRYD program.

This was controversial, especially when the assessment tool contradicted what people thought. People might look at a kid whose father and brother were gang members and say, ‘This is a high-risk kid.’ But it turned out that for some kids, having family members who were gang members provided daily reminders of why they didn’t want to be in gangs.

GRYD brought together city agencies to develop plans for high-risk kids that would include improving their school performances and encouraging activities that built strong social relationships. Some of our biggest allies in much of this work turned out to be grandmothers, who worked with their grandchildren, and some of whom also drove the work of the Watts Gang Task Force, a joint effort of law enforcement, communities, and agencies that has made a huge impact on reducing gang violence.

GRYD was just one factor in the decrease in gang violence in South L.A. Gang-related crime was dropping at the time across the country. We don’t understand all of the reasons why, and it’s not clear if previous strategies will work in today’s landscape, where gang violence has shifted to being done online and through human trafficking instead of drug trafficking. But we do know that aggressive assessment of risks and youth development make a difference in keeping kids away from law enforcement—and out of gangs.

The post How 10 Year Olds, Not Cops, Spearhead Gang Prevention in South L.A. appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

I grew up in Watts, and for as long as I can remember I have been hearing negative stories about the community from family, friends, and the people I knew. At a very early age I learned that the crime rate was high, that the neighborhood was drug-infested, that the schools were hopeless, and that Watts was home to many ills.

I heard so much about its dangers that I planned my life around avoiding them. The safest way to live, I figured, was to focus on my education to protect myself—with the expectation that I might one day leave. I spent most of my youth indoors reading and writing, instead of playing outside with the other children.

I must admit that, while I never challenged Watts’ reputation as a kid, I was curious about where it came from. Watts had its problems, but it never felt half as bad in the experiencing as in the telling. And I never felt fearful in the way that people expected me to be.

As I got older, it bothered me that when people who didn’t live in Watts talked about the community, they always seemed to talk about the 1965 Watts Riots. The fact that this is still true more than 50 years later, in 2016, seems bizarre, given how neighborhoods change and how few of the people who were there are still here.

As I studied journalism and learned to write, I decided I had the power to change how people thought about Watts. Three years ago, having entered my mid-20s, I started to publish essays about Watts. I didn’t shrink from Watts’ problems, but I also wrote about my life and family and the joys of it.

One essay I wrote for Zócalo Public Square in 2014 became a sensation. In it, I praised Watts for offering a lot of institutions to help young parents and kids, but I wondered why it didn’t offer what I needed as a young, childless college student who was also working. I couldn’t print out an essay or get college-related advice anywhere in Watts. I closed the piece by suggesting that Watts needed a local neighborhood center with computers and guidance counselors that can get help people trying to get ahead.

The essay was also published in Time magazine and became so popular that reporters started calling to interview me. Of course, many of them were preparing pieces in advance of the 50th anniversary of the Watts Riots. NBC included me in their special on the anniversary. I used every opportunity to talk about the virtues of the community, the ways it had changed, and the need to improve some of the statistics around poverty that fuel our reputation.

I was proud of my work and glad for the attention, but for some reason, it didn’t feel right. I took a hiatus from writing articles to continue my schooling and work while I thought about why I felt unsettled. Was I approaching the story of changing Watts’ reputation wrongly? Had I not done enough?

I was especially frustrated because, with every passing day, the distance grew between Watts’ bad reputation and its improving reality. Schools were getting better, crime and violence were even less common, and there were all kinds of fairs and programs in the community that seemed to lead to people getting jobs and health care.

I didn’t have to go far to see this. Two impressive developments had launched within walking distance of my home. Last year, a College Track program opened in Watts, helping high school students enter college and also working with them so they can successfully complete their degrees. The second development—this January, chefs Roy Choi and Daniel Patterson opened a much-needed restaurant down the street from me and it quickly became a favorite among people in the neighborhood.

Things were looking up for Watts, and for me. I even received a letter in the mail giving me permission to use an old community recreational room to jumpstart my own resource center—exactly like the one I envisioned in my Zócalo article.

Pedestrian bridge over Blue Line tracks, Watts.

But I was less than thrilled—Watts’ reputation still wasn’t moving as fast as Watts.

Then one day, I had a conversation with my neighbor for an article I was planning to write to end my self-imposed sabbatical. He had lived in Watts for as long as I could remember and was very popular in the neighborhood. I asked him what he thought of all the improvements in Watts, and his reply really hit me: “To be real with you, I just lay my head there. I’m like most people, I don’t really pay attention to that stuff.”

I thought this was funny at first. But then I thought about it some more, and some more after that, and it hit me. He was deeply right.

I’m glad for the changes, but they didn’t really mean that much to me, or my own experience of Watts. Because Watts was never to me anything like the place people think it was. And if it didn’t really matter to him or matter to me—we had built lives here—why was I worrying so much about its reputation?

My problem was mine, not Watts’. Why was I making myself unhappy worrying about a reputational problem that wasn’t in my power to fix?

Watts is a fine place, with problems and virtues like other places; I’m proud to live here and I value it for what it’s given me. After all, hadn’t I learned the value of education here in Watts, sometimes from the same people who taught me about Watts’ ills? I have more positive to say about this place than negative (and I’m very grateful to see more and more positive things blooming here). And now that I’ve allowed myself to be happy about Watts, my goals feel even clearer. I won’t stay in my house, and I’m going to go outside and get my resource center up and running.

You can think what you want about Watts. I’m too busy enjoying my neighborhood to care.

The post Why I Don’t Care About My Neighborhood’s Bad Reputation appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.