Latest news with #BlackAngelenos
Yahoo
6 hours ago
- Politics
- Yahoo
For Some Black Angelenos, ICE Raids Reopen the Wound of Displacement
When federal immigration agents swept through Los Angeles' Fashion District, Boyle Heights, and Pico-Union neighborhoods last week, arresting dozens of migrants in coordinated raids, Bryant Odega was transported back into his childhood memories. In elementary school, Odega's first airport visit was to watch his father, an immigrant from Nigeria, get deported back to his birth country. 'It's triggering,' the 27-year-old LA public school teacher said about the past week, 'to see the videos of people being basically kidnapped. It brings me back.' The mass immigration raids across LA County triggered a lot more people in the region, home to the second-most undocumented migrants in the country. Still, the protests that erupted over the weekend told a story as much about who showed up as who stayed home. Thousands of demonstrators filled the streets outside the federal building downtown. Local police doused protesters with tear gas and fired flash-bang grenades. Protesters hurled fireworks back at the police lines. And by Sunday night, President Donald Trump took an aggressive approach, deploying over 4,000 National Guard troops and 700 Marines to the city. The question hanging over the protests for Black Angelenos quickly moved beyond just immigration policy to who belongs in neighborhoods and in the city where belonging itself has been contested for decades. Across social media and in homes across the country's largest county, Black residents sparked heated debate about solidarity, displacement, and the complex racial dynamics that have reshaped one of America's most powerful cities over decades. The protests have marked the first military deployment against American citizens since 1992 when riots erupted in LA after the white police officers who beat Rodney King were acquitted, and the first time in 60 years that a president had federalized a state's National Guard without the governor's consent. But, the crowds of protesters, some people said, were lacking the Black activists who had led similar resistance movements just years before. The viral criticism was swift, and some Black folks responded with the argument that immigration enforcement wasn't a 'Black issue.' On social media, one user wrote, 'Black people be warned. Go home. This is not your battle to fight.' The comment, which focused on the threat of violence against protestors, was shared thousands of times across social media to the tune of millions of views and, crystallized a painful truth about Los Angeles: The same neighborhoods now under siege by immigration enforcement were once the beating heart of Black LA, before decades of demographic change transformed South Central from Black strongholds into Latino communities. And as a result, violence could seep into Black communities. Other Black residents expressed feeling the targeted attack on migrant communities was not their battle to fight because of their own experiences with displacement. 'There is a notion of disengaging that took root amongst Black folks and that this attack was seen as a Latino issue,' said Odega, who grew up in South LA and now teaches Black and ethnic studies. 'But it speaks to this culture of violence where we accept harm and choose not to speak up against what we know is wrong because we feel like we've been wronged, too.' Read More: Trump's Travel Ban Targets Black Migrants as Protests and Deportations Spread The Los Angeles area is the only American region to see most of its once majority-Black neighborhoods transform into majority-Latino neighborhoods, leading to racial animosity amongst the groups. Since 1980, LA County's Black population has grown by just 1%, while the county's Latino population has grown by 130%. Since then, 92% of the region's Black neighborhoods that experienced gentrification are no longer majority-Black, the highest rate in the nation. 'Growing up in South LA, the first anti-Black insults that I ever heard were from Latinos,' Odega said, 'so I understand how these conditions have divided people.' What the debate missed, however, was how deeply immigration raids cut into the issue of displacement that still aches through Black Los Angeles and how the federal agents now hunting migrant families are wielding the same tools of surveillance and removal that have long targeted Black communities. As Marne Campbell, the author of Making Black Los Angeles, told Capital B in 2023 after audio tapes leaked of Latino City Council members in LA disparaging Black communities and voters, the animosity amongst Black and Latino people in LA is rooted in decades of competition for the same struggling schools, the same scarce affordable housing, and the same low-wage jobs that have defined life in LA's working-class communities of color. Surveys, including one done by the University of Southern California, have shown that in Los Angeles, 'newly arrived Latinos' typically enter the city with perspectives on Black people that are 'heavily influenced by anti-Black stereotypes,' leading to a 'maintained distance from their African-American neighbors.' Latino residents tend to hold negative beliefs about Black Angelenos because of the city's disparate rates of incarceration, crime, and excessive policing concentrated in Black communities. But in the same vein, Black residents respond negatively to new Latino residents because of these prejudices. Kat Calvin, an LA resident and author of American Identity in Crisis: Notes from an Accidental Activist, said she believes Trump's plans are underscored by a desire to disrupt communities of color. 'We have to remember what we're fighting for. It is very easy for our communities to be pitted against each other, but this is pretty clearly Trump's war on California,' said Calvin. 'We can all agree [Trump's] not doing all of this, bringing in this chaos and the military presence, just to deport a few hundred undocumented immigrants.' The debate around how Black residents should show up or not show up in these protests reflects another complex reality about immigration enforcement that few acknowledge: Black migrants face deportation at dramatically higher rates than other immigrant populations, making ICE raids as much a Black issue as a Latino one. Adrienne Spires, an LA County resident and mental health professional, said that because of this reality, she believes there is a misconception around the ways Black people are showing up. 'I think people are so used to seeing, historically, how Black people have shown up — and we're always leading the struggle — but just because we're not the loudest in the room today doesn't mean we're not supporting or caring about the issue,' she said. 'There are a lot of complex reasons behind stepping back.' There are over 4 million Black immigrants living in the U.S., which is 20% of the nation's Black population, and California has the sixth-most Black immigrants in the country, with 60,000 Black immigrants living in LA alone. Adding another wrinkle, studies show that when U.S.-born Black people are pushed out of neighborhoods, like they have been in LA for decades, the Black immigrant population actually increases in these neighborhoods. This potentially contributes to negative feelings between U.S.-born Black people and Black migrants. Still, data shows that Black people are disproportionately targeted by law enforcement regardless of their citizenship status. Nationally, there are an estimated 582,300 Black undocumented immigrants, accounting for 5.6% of the total undocumented population. But Black migrants account for more than 1 in 5 noncitizens facing removal based on criminal convictions, meaning that in immigration courtrooms across America, Black people are disappearing at a rate that is four times more often than their numbers would suggest. The odds are so steep that a traffic stop or minor arrest becomes a near-certain path to exile for Black migrants in ways that don't apply to other immigrant communities. Inside Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention centers, the targeting becomes even more brutal: Black migrants are almost twice as likely to be abused by guards and staff, according to reports. The city's Black residents, who constitute roughly 40% of the county's homeless population while representing only 7% of the county's total population, understand intimately how federal enforcement targets communities of color. So the decision to participate in the protests is less about solidarity and more about survival in a city where they've already been displaced once, explained Odega, whose father was deported when he was in elementary school. 'I know what it feels like to have my family be separated by [immigration agents], but it sucks even if you haven't. Living in LA, the folks that are being targeted are the people who we've grown up with and go to school with.' He added: 'If this government feels like it can do this to Latinos, we know that they can do that to Black folks, too.' The protests that began Friday evening have now led to hundreds of arrests. The charges paint a picture of urban warfare, including assault with a deadly weapon on police officers, attempted murder with a Molotov cocktail, arson, and looting, as protesters blocked the 101 Freeway and tagged federal buildings with anti-ICE graffiti. What started as crowds trying to physically block federal vehicles from transporting detainees has evolved into a broader resistance movement demanding an end to Trump's deportation strategy, which aims to arrest at least 3,000 migrants daily nationwide. The protesters' central demands are focused on ending what organizers call federal overreach. 'This unnecessary and dangerous escalation occurs in conjunction with the Trump Administration's sweeping effort to criminalize migrants, especially migrants of color, and weaponize federal resources against protesters exercising their rights to express support for those targeted by this Administration's anti-civil and human rights policies,' said NAACP Legal Defense Fund President Janai S. Nelson in a statement. 'Through the deployment of military resources, President Trump seeks to usurp control of California from its Governor to promote an anti-immigrant agenda.' Trump has threatened that this military action, which has targeted protesters and journalists alike, could be 'the first of many' such deployments if anti-ICE protests spread to other cities. He has justified the military presence by claiming protesters are 'paid insurrectionists' engaged in what he calls an 'insurrection,' warning that demonstrators will be 'met with equal or greater force' and stating that troops will remain in Los Angeles 'until there is peace.' He has even suggested he might invoke the Insurrection Act to give military forces broader law enforcement powers. Read More: Atlanta Immigration Protest Draws Hundreds Amid Tear Gas and Fireworks A coalition of 26 Republican-led states have backed his approach. 'In California, we're seeing the results of leadership that excuses lawlessness and undermines law enforcement. When local and state officials won't act, the federal government must,' a statement by the state leaders read. However, California Gov. Gavin Newsom and Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass mounted a coordinated political and legal offensive against the deployment of federal troops, with Newsom filing an emergency motion in federal court Tuesday to block Trump's use of the National Guard and Marines, arguing the president had violated the Constitution and state sovereignty by federalizing troops without gubernatorial consent. Newsom accused Trump of manufacturing a crisis to distract from his legislative struggles and trade war challenges, calling the president 'deranged' and claiming he had 'created the conditions you see on your TV tonight' by conducting provocative immigration raids designed to incite community backlash. However, by Tuesday evening, Bass relented and declared a local emergency, imposing a curfew from 8 p.m. to 6 a.m. covering 1 square mile of downtown. Their legal challenge also suffered a significant setback when U.S. District Judge Charles Breyer declined Newsom's request for an emergency restraining order to immediately block the military deployment, instead scheduling a hearing for Thursday and giving the Trump administration until Wednesday afternoon to file its response, effectively allowing federal troops to remain on Los Angeles streets for at least several more days. 'We have seen federal agents destabilize our city and Black LA, just look at the riots of '65 and '92,' Odega said. 'They know that we are powerful, and as Black people, we cannot deny the power that we have by choosing not to engage.' The post For Some Black Angelenos, ICE Raids Reopen the Wound of Displacement appeared first on Capital B News.
USA Today
15 hours ago
- Politics
- USA Today
My hometown of LA has right to be angry as Trump sends in the Marines
My hometown of LA has right to be angry as Trump sends in the Marines | Opinion Even if you think the crackdown on illegal immigration is necessary, it is not conservative to crash through neighborhoods to round up people who have become part of the community. Show Caption Hide Caption LA protesters ignite Waymo taxis, see the remains Protesters vandalized and set Waymo autonomous taxis on fire amid anti-ICE protests in Los Angeles. My hometown of Los Angeles has witnessed an outpouring of intense, and to varying degrees violent, protests against Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers who are engaged in detaining illegal/undocumented immigrants. The protests have precipitated a mobilization of the National Guard, and even the dispatching of a small contingent of Marines, as protesters collide with ICE and other law enforcement officers. The federal involvement signals an escalation in what has become the most striking episode of civil unrest in California since the summer of 2020. The alarmism surrounding Los Angeles is understandable. The fury over the immigration issue also is understandable. I am born and raised in LA. I'm generally conservative on the immigration question. But it is important for us to take a nuanced look at the outrage we are seeing in Los Angeles. Consequences of illegal immigration have hurt my community Undocumented/illegal immigration (take your pick) has had a damaging impact on certain communities in Los Angeles for many years. That impact has been most concentrated in Black communities, which have largely dissolved due to the overwhelming influx of immigrants, particularly from Latin America. Political marginalization, wage competition and the strains placed on public benefits and the public school system have outraged many members of Black Los Angeles. That was one of the primary issues in my congressional campaign against Democratic Rep. Maxine Waters in 2014, when Black activists in the district allied with the GOP largely because of concerns about immigration. Two years later, I went door-to-door in Los Angeles to recruit participants for a University of Southern California study on eye health in the Black community. At one point, I found myself speaking to an older Black woman who had a newspaper propped up on her sofa. Headlines declared the victory of newly elected President Donald Trump. 'Do you have a problem with my newspaper?' she asked, noting my glance toward it as we spoke in her living room. 'Well, if you do, then you can just get the hell on. I voted for this man and you know why? Because he is going to get rid of these damn illegals who are ruining our community.' Opinion: Waymo cars get torched by LA protesters, burning Google – an immigration ally Black Angelenos have been affected by violence, often in areas where law-abiding citizens already have to fear greater than normal rates of crime. The strain on public services also represents a financial burden on taxpayers. Other pressures placed on an already crowded city by increased numbers of immigrants stoke frustration. All these problems are real. People are right to call attention to them. But that's not all there is to the story. Illegal immigration is more nuanced than many believe The nuances occupy a couple of categories. There are benefits to undocumented immigration that accrue to the upper middle class and certain businesses. That much is clear, even if it's not a privilege that Americans living outside of Los Angeles' suburban middle class care to preserve for them. But cheaper services, domestic work, construction and automotive labor are things many people often benefit from by way of undocumented immigrants. It's become a way of life for much of Los Angeles' upper economic classes. When I say "way of life," I am referring to something deeper then the mere economic. I am talking about the culture of communities, the norms and relationships we grow accustomed to. This is the second category of nuanced reality people need to understand when observing Los Angeles in this moment. It's the nuances of community. Illegal immigrants and their families, including their children who've inherited birthright citizenship, are part of our community. They are the abuela with the tamale stand by the park, the mechanic you joke around with at the auto shop or the gardener who feels like an uncle. The kids I went to school with in Culver City, who were made citizens by virtue of a constitutional interpretation that I believe violates the 14th Amendment, were my friends. They were no less a part of my community for having undocumented parents. People who have lived their lives generally at peace with their undocumented neighbors and their families have stronger bonds with these immigrants than with the faceless ICE agents who burst into our neighborhoods to remove people we know. Opinion: What do Republicans value? My fellow conservatives need to fight the right way. Now, I have a great deal of sympathy for ICE agents as well. They are the spear tip of an effort to respond to the neglect of territorial sovereignty perpetrated by the U.S. government for generations. It is one of the great betrayals of American interests, in favor of politicians and corporations, that unchecked illegal immigration should have reached such a scale over such a period of time. I don't blame federal agents for doing their job or for believing in it. This doesn't change the fact that, in Los Angeles, ICE agents are the ones who look like aliens. Trump's deportation policy stands in the shadow of American history All of this highlights an irony in the Trump administration's approach to rectifying the immigration issue. As conservative as the principles of national sovereignty and rule of law are, conservatism also stands for the continuity of community, the respecting of norms, customs and relationships that give a place its character. These norms and relationships sometimes evolve in initially unlawful or tragic circumstances. American frontiersmen invaded Native American territory, even against the edicts of the U.S. government, at almost every turn in the early expansion of our nation. We can say that happened long ago, so it doesn't matter now. But would it be right to uproot families now because of the unlawful invasion of Native American territory generations ago? Many of those who are most incensed about the porousness of our border and the accommodations we make to the undocumented are also the most proud of our American founding and the frontier spirit of our heritage. There are differences of opinion with respect to the scope of deportations, even among those who advocate for a crackdown on illegal immigration. Some favor deporting only flagrant criminals; others want those who crossed the border recently to be returned to their home countries. Then there are some who favor deporting as many illegal immigrants as possible, regardless of their behavior and their contributions since arriving. For those who argue for mass deportation, how can we look at illegal immigrants as criminals without regarding in the same way our own ancestors who invaded Native Americans' territory and violently displaced the inhabitants? If the view is that our American ancestors, while worse than imperfect, laid by God's grace the foundation for communities that grew into a great nation, then isn't there a case to be made for charity and accommodation in dealing with most of our undocumented neighbors now? Of course, certain people make having empathy for the undocumented very hard. That includes not only those who wave Mexican flags in the face of legal authority while insisting on their "right" to remain in the nation illegally. It also includes their allies who take zero inventory of the damage done to communities and to the rule of law by policies that allow for mass illegal immigration. Still, when my best friend's first son was born, I remember his mother, an elderly woman who immigrated to the United States decades ago, approaching me at the celebration of her grandson's birth with a gift basket that held a Mexican flag and an American flag. She said to me: "Mi nieto es un Mexicano y un Americano tambien." ("My grandson is a Mexican and an American too.") Her point was that her family was proud of their heritage, but they were also proud to be a part of a nation and a community that she and I shared across the gulf of language and legal status. LA has a right to be angry. But we need a better answer. Personally, I might aggressively shut the border, and build a wall if it actually helped, because I believe that we blew past a reasonable volume of immigration a long time ago. It's a good thing that Trump has essentially frightened the world into no longer trying to cross our border illegally. That had to end. Democratic politicians like California Gov. Gavin Newsom have invited the pendulum swing on immigration by pushing it so far the other way. Now, Trump, never one to be concerned with proportionality, threatens to escalate tensions further in the name of rule of law. Yet, even if you think the crackdown on illegal immigration is necessary, it is not conservative to crash through neighborhoods to round up people who have become part of the community. America must understand that Los Angeles is not Omaha, not Savannah and not Des Moines. Los Angeles has a right to be angry. Los Angeles has a right to be LA. There should be a better way. Sadly, it seems like nobody is looking for one. John Wood Jr. is a columnist for USA TODAY Opinion. He is national ambassador for Braver Angels, a former nominee for Congress, former vice chairman of the Republican Party of Los Angeles County, musical artist, and a noted writer and speaker on subjects including racial and political reconciliation. Follow him on X: @JohnRWoodJr
Los Angeles Times
16-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
‘We've always been here': An oral history of L.A.'s Black indoor roller-skating scene
It's a Thursday night and West Coast rap anthems are thumping over the sound system. A group of O.G.s are playing spades at a nearby table. Skaters are lacing up their customized Stacy Adams boots, which are fully equipped with fiberglass wheels. Those already on the skating rink floor are showing off their skills: doing tricks (sometimes with a partner), two-stepping to the beat and whipping their bodies into turns that seem impossible. They dap each other up as they criss-cross through the crowd and sing along to the music. Smiles are imprinted on their faces. Joy fills the air. They are free. Roller skating at a rink in L.A. County is a distinctive experience that you have to witness for yourself. For Black Angelenos, it's a tradition that dates back to the 1950s and remains prominent today despite the lack of rinks in the city. Many skaters say they don't remember the exact moment they learned how to skate — it's just always been in them. If you're Black and you're from L.A., it's just something that you do, they say. In putting together this oral history on the indoor roller-skating scene in L.A., I knew I had to begin with World on Wheels — the last rink in L.A. proper. The beloved Mid-City rink was originally open from 1981 to 2013, then reopened in 2017 with the help of late local hero Nipsey Hussle, before closing permanently in 2020. Most Black rollers have skated at World on Wheels at least once. From there and with the help of popular skating documentaries like 'United Skates' and 'Roller Dreams,' I found rollers who've been a part of the community for decades. Folks like Horace Butler, a member of the Scooby Brothers skate crew, who were a mainstay at World on Wheels. I spoke to Raquel 'Roxy' Young, founder of Roxy's Backyard Sk8 Boogie, and Wayne Davis Jr. (a.k.a. DJ Wayne D), co-founder of the Sk8 Pop Up, who created outdoor skating experiences when rinks shuttered during the pandemic. And I chopped it up with Presha Washington, a longtime team member at Sk8 Fanatics, which has customized skates for everyone from DJ Mustard to Beyoncé and Silk Sonic to Usher (for his Super Bowl performance). In L.A., roller skating for Black skaters is more than just rolling in circles around a rink. Rinks are their church, dining room, daycare center, date night spot, therapist's office and a haven for youth. Roller skating is an integral part of their lives, and regardless of the barriers they face, they are dedicated to keeping the tradition alive. Terrell Ferguson, O.G. Venice skater, dancer, actor and writer, 'Roller Dreams' co-star: I always assumed [that roller skating] was Black people s—. Kind of like basketball. It's just what we do. John Okevu Ojo II, 34, skater and fashion designer: I feel like if you're Black and from L.A., you should know how to roller skate. It's just something within our culture of Black natives, especially pre-Internet, simpler times, when roller skating was such a thing. We had so many rinks in the city and there was a community around roller skating. 29, rap artist: Growing up in L.A., somebody close to you knows how to skate. If you were hanging out and you didn't know how to skate — goofball. Goofy. [laughs] Raquel 'Roxy' Young, 39, founder of Roxy's Backyard Sk8 Boogie, skate instructor and community activist: It was just passed down generations. My mother skated. My grandmother skated, so I was bound to skate as well. I had four children and all of them know how to skate. It's just part of our culture. James 'BuckWild' Rich, 60, O.G. Venice skater, certified skate instructor and performer, 'Roller Dreams' co-star: The one thing that Black people like to do is play music and dance, and skating is a big part of that. Presha Washington, skater and team member at Sk8 Fantics: I've been skating [seriously] since I was 15. Then it just progressed into a lifestyle. It's not a hobby. It's something that's embedded in you and once it's there, it's there. I was skating like four times a week [back then]. My punishment as a teenager was 'You can't go skating' and that was heart-wrenching right there. Jeffrey Young, 67, performer and O.G. Venice skater, 'Roller Dreams' co-star: At one point when [roller skating] was so popular, I was too young to go out on my own because I didn't have transportation. That's when they had that skating rink called Flipper's in West Hollywood. They had a rink in Rosecrans and others, so Blacks were at all these places. We were the majority at every skating rink. You'd see a white or Latino [person] here or there, but we dominated for years and years and years. Connie Foster Wells, 65, former office manager at World on Wheels and retired professional skater: White people skated, but at private functions and outside, and primarily — at least in the '80s and '90s — [on] roller blades. And World on Wheels, at that time, was in the 'hood so they weren't necessarily skating during the regular skating hours. Ashley Imani, professional skater and entertainer: I think [roller skating] initially was a way for Black people to escape reality and come together as a community and vibe and party. We were known for having block parties and making the best of what we can in our lives back in the day, especially when there was a lot of racism. Horace Butler, 68, longtime skater and member of the Scooby Brothers skating crew: Back in the day, they were so prejudiced with everything, so we had to find a way to get this frustration out. Jeffrey Young: When you're skating, you're not thinking about life's ups and downs. You're just gliding around and everything's free. The music is jamming and those things are somewhere else in the back of your mind. Ojo: L.A.'s [style] is similar to how we dance, how we step. We have our little walk, our two-step. It's a lot of footwork. It's a lot of getting low. It's a certain confidence. It's a certain swag that you have about you whereas in Georgia, it's more fast-paced. They're not so much trying to get off a style. Whereas in Maryland, it's real smooth, calm, cool and collected. But I feel like for L.A., since gang culture is so prevalent out here too, there's a level of affiliation with how people skate. They're chunking up their hands. They're shuffling their feet. They are wiping their skates off while they skate. A lot of custom skates that people will start off with are Stacy Adams, and if you know anything about [that shoe] within L.A. culture, gang culture, that's like player s—. That's like OGs rocking Stacys with the Dickies creased up, Dickies shirt or fully suited up. Travis 'Smuurdaa' Horne, 34, avid skater, DJ and founder of Sk8Mafia skate family: Everything was to perfection. The skates were clean. You clean your wheels. You clean your plate. We took the appearance of skating very seriously and our skating culture too. We just have a different vibe to what we do. We love to bounce. We like West Coast music. We have one of those complex kinds of styles, but now it's being branched out and a lot of [other] states are adapting to it. Back then, you didn't have that. When you would go out of town, you wouldn't really hear West Coast music [at the rinks]. Wayne Davis Jr., a.k.a. DJ Wayne D., 39, skater and co-founder of the Sk8 Pop Up: You can't go to the rink on the West Coast and play Future because there's a style of skating for the West Coast, and the West Coast music helps with the bounce of that style. You can almost dance to anything, but you can't skate to everything. Roxy Young: We're worried about how we look when we skate. We roll more and slide more to the rhythm. Other areas are kind of more rough and hard, but we glide and slide. People always say they love watching my videos because they say, 'It looks like you're just floating around the rink,' and I'm like, 'Yeah, I am. I'm sliding.' Ashley Imani: We call it sliding because you're able to slide on the side of [the skates] versus going front and back. You can go sideways too. The flavor of it is real gangsta. I'm not gon' lie. It's real grungy, and I think that's dope. You'll see some of the most street dudes come in there, but they're skating and they're in their happiest mode. They're detached from all of that's going on outside. Ojo: My first pair of customs that I got to kind of be different were a pair of Wallabee boots. I want my outfit to complement my customs, so I got all my jewelry on. Manicured up. Skin looking righteous. I'm really here to get my s— off. At the end of the day, I remember certain skaters by how they get their s— off too. Like he did that move on the floor, but he also had a fire fit on. Or shorty was going crazy, and she had the fire fit on. That resonates. J.D. Archer, 26 , avid skater and member of Trendsettas crew: I got my [blue] Stacy Adams boots from Sk8 Fanatics, but I got my skates built by Slydz by Dnice, [which] are Black-owned skate shops. Washington of Sk8 Fanatics: [Sk8 Fanatics] revolutionized the micro fiberglass wheels. Clamp-on plates were attached to Stacys and that's what they would skate on back in the early '50s, '60s, '70s, so it's been around for a long time. In the L.A. culture, Sk8 Man Joe was the first person out here who started that trend, and when he passed away, his son, Sk8 Man Rick, took over the business, Roller Skates of America. Sk8 Man Joe was around in the late '80s, early '90s. Aaliyah Warren, 23, professional roller skater, model and performer: We love customizing our boots, so we get them graffitied and painted. One of the other skaters did some artwork on mine, but Sk8 Fanatics are the go-to. My first pair has the symbol for Sk8 Mafia on it, which is the yellow M emoji. Then I love burgers, so I have a hamburger painted on it [laughs] and the 'Fresh Prince of Bel-Air' [logo], but it says 'Fresh Princess.' I have the Monopoly man spray-painting the word 'skate' and he's running away with broken hearts out of the money sack. Washington: Heel skates are some of the craziest ones [that] we do because every one is different and the fabrication that goes into them to make them functional [is] time-consuming. It can be an actual stiletto heel or a wedge. We've done some for Beyoncé, 'RuPaul's Drag Race' and Ashley Imani. Butler: When World on Wheels opened [in 1981], me and my boys [the Scooby Brothers] did the grand opening show. It was so packed. We had on our little outfits matched up. We mimicked the Temptations, the way they were so together. So instead of just doing the moves where you're skating fast around the rink, we actually put our [choreography] together like we were going to be doing it onstage. Back then, there were four of us. Everybody was nice and young. I think I might've been 19 or 20. We were just about that skate game, and it was a wonderful thing. Yonell Lester, 52, skater: My mom initially was a Rosecrans skater, [but] once it closed down, we had to find another rink and we found World on Wheels. My mom started working there part-time because she loved skating so much. She brought me with her every Saturday when she would come to work. That's how I met [Phelicia Wright]. Phelicia Wright, 52, skater and co-star of the documentary 'United Skates': We had so many amazing memories there. I miss the old Saturday night 7-to-12 [sessions]. Me and [Lester] would be out there cutting up. There was nothing like it. Lester: Then there were the 12 a.m. to 4 a.m. [adult sessions]. We had to sneak in because my mom worked there, and I worked there as a teenager as well, so I could come in through the back door. We would roll with the adults like nothing, then of course one of the DJs would spot me and be like, 'Hey! Come to the DJ booth,' and we'd have to pack it up. [laughs] Wright: Every blue moon, they would be in a good mood. We weren't bad or anything. We just liked to skate, and we were very good at it. Ashley Imani: My mom [Connie Foster Wells] worked at World on Wheels from 1987 until it closed [the first time, in 2013]. She was pregnant with me there [and] started having contractions while she was at work. She told me they announced it on the mic and everything. So when I say I'm a rink rat, I'm really a rink rat. She got me skates at like 10 months old and I was there every day. I also lived up the street. My cousins stayed out that way toward World on Wheels and I was the youngest, so I had to go with them. They started going to this thing called '7 to 7.' You had to be 12 or 13 [years old] to go, and I used to be crying because I couldn't go with them. Then as soon as I was old enough to go, I probably went one time, and then they stopped it. It was jumpin' though. Ashley Imani: All the kids wanted to go to the '7 to 7.' The line would be wrapped around the building from World on Wheels all the way down to the Ralphs in the parking lot. Basically, you would stay from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m., and after midnight if you were 17 and under, you couldn't leave. A parent had to come get you. I used to beg to go because my mom was a little strict. They would turn the center circle into a dance floor, while the skaters are skating on the outside. [My mom] would tell me, 'You're not allowed in the center circle if you go,' because kids would be making out. So I would sneak in there because now I'm curious. [laughs] Then they would announce me and my cousins' names on the speaker, like 'Ashley, get out of the center circle!' and I would get in trouble. [laughs] Warren: I'm from Long Beach, so I went to one '7 to 7' night. It was mayhem. [laughs] We were all young and we're out somewhere at the skating rink with our friends doing something that we love. It was just so fun. Foster Wells: They got to stay out late and feel grown up. They were with their friends. They got to get their mack on. It was just like a big, long recess. Warren: There used to be a bowling alley upstairs that was connected to the rink and for the '7 to 7,' not all the time but a lot of the time, they would [make] access for the kids to go bowling as well. Lester: You knew when the '7 to 7' was coming, it was going to be a party for us — the teenagers. They used to have performers like Bobby Brown and EPMD. Remember, Troop came there? Wright: A lot of artists started their careers at World on Wheels. They would have a Friday night skate dance, so the gates would open like a stage, and they would perform up there while we watched them from below. Foster Wells: Public Enemy, I remember I gave them a hard time when they came. We had really close ties with KDAY, and Greg Mack would bring acts there. [On this day] he provided a guest list of the people who were going to get in for free. It was Flava Flav, actually, who said: 'Yo, we Public Enemy.' And I was like 'And….?' [Then he asked]: 'We're not on the guest list?' I looked down [and said]: 'You're not. It's $5.' [laughs] That's how I treated Public Enemy, and I ended up being one of their biggest fans. Queen Latifah [came] to World on Wheels, N.W.A, then later on, I remember Chris Brown came. He was only there for, I'd say, 30 seconds. As soon as he walked in, those girls started hollering and screaming. He turned right around and walked out. [laughs] Ashley Imani: He got ran out the door. Everyone was so in love with him. I performed at World on Wheels in like 2018, before it closed the second time. I for sure would be there [skating too] and they would play my music. I'd go in the DJ booth and say wassup because that's big. I used to come here as a kid [and] now they play my music here. Archer: My favorite memory [at the rink] was the day I met Alicia Keys. She was doing a toy drive and promoting her album that was about to come out. At the time, I was staying in San Bernardino, so I took that whole little hour-and-a-half trip in traffic. We were skating and I told the homie, 'I'm about to go up to her, but I need you to record me.' So I went up to her and I was like, 'How you doing, Miss Alicia Keys?' And then some girl came and tapped her on her shoulder and took her whole attention away from me, and [Keys] started talking to her. I was just sitting there like, 'Oh wow.' I started to skate off, [but Keys] grabbed my hand and gave me the biggest f—ing smile I've ever seen in my life. She was so beautiful. I turned into a whole b—. I got to hold hands with Alicia Keys and roll with her. That was the highlight of my life. Ashley Imani: A lot of us are really successful who went there. Like DJ Mustard, he grew up with me going there and he'd DJ sometimes. It created a lot of opportunities. They also held a lot of record pools there, so artists and producers would come to present their music to all of the top DJs in the city because obviously at that time we didn't have the internet in the same way. It was a hub for so many different things. It wasn't just skating. Foster Wells: When it closed the first time [in 2013], I was devastated. Everybody was. I worked there for 27 years. Warren: Due to gang violence around the area, debt and more factors, it closed, but then Nipsey Hussle and a few other investors reopened it in 2017 and oh my gosh, everybody was happy. People were there all the time. Wright: We used to drop our children off at World on Wheels before it closed. Now, the generation after that, they don't get that luxury of feeling secure and safe in a fun place. Archer: Not having a rink in L.A. has been really detrimental to the skating community. When World on Wheels got closed down, I remember some kids were online saying [things] like, 'Bro, this was all I had. I used to catch the bus and ride my bike up here.' Roxy Young: There's another one in the Valley, but we don't claim that because they don't allow [our type of skates]. Ashley Imani: It sucks for me because the closest rinks are in Chino Hills and Fountain Valley. They're about an hour away from where I live, so it's not as convenient as World on Wheels, which I could literally walk to from my house. Some people don't have that outlet anymore, so it's unfortunate, because [skating] has a lot of positives for your mental and physical health. Roxy Young: World on Wheels was part of the community. It's a landmark. Warren: Now since, sadly, World on Wheels closed and Skate Depot closed [in 2014], the Black community had to branch out and go to other skating rinks. I feel like that really helped our community get out there more, because it has always been here but just not in the more suburban areas. [People from other backgrounds] are way more intrigued and are wanting to experience what our skate culture is now. A lot of people didn't even know about this side of skating. [Even] now, they're like, 'Whaaat? Where have you guys been?' It's like we've always been here. Roxy Young: Other races [were skating] more outdoors, but I feel like after the pandemic, they were introduced to our indoor rink skating style. Lester: I still go skating once a week at Fountain Valley [Skating Center] or Holiday [Skate Center in Orange County], depending on what's going on. Then there are a lot of skate functions that people have, so whenever there's a function, we're at the function. Roxy Young: Everybody's been scattered now, so really, the only time that we see each other is when there's a big skate party that is not too far out. Ashley Imani: I'm hoping that we can get a rink in the inner city again so that some of these kids can get some of the same experiences that we were able to and to have more options to utilize their time outside of school activities [and] camp, and so they can have another source of family or community. Lester: Black people are probably going to have to figure out a way to get a rink on our own and come together. Roxy Young: We're going to definitely keep the skating alive, and if that means skating in warehouses or some kind of vacant building and turning it into a rink, we're going to try to make that happen because I'm a native. Skating is my therapy. Butler: We got to do it because it really keeps us in shape. I'm 68 and I'm still the hottest guy at the rink, and every time I go to the doctor, he's telling me, 'Whatever it is you're doing, keep doing it.' The rolling is going no matter what they do. If they push us outdoors to where we're really on the corners, that's what we're going to do, but we ain't never going to stop rolling. It's in our blood. Roxy Young: I grew up as an only child, so I didn't have sisters and brothers, but when I'm part of the skating rink, I have that. I have aunties, big brothers and big sisters that I can ask anything. It's definitely unity- and family-oriented. It's a great skating community that I love being a part of. Lester: To me, skating is family. It feels like home.
Yahoo
03-04-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Black L.A. social spaces flourished after George Floyd. 5 years later, will they survive?
Tucked away on a quiet part of La Cienega Avenue in the Culver City Arts District, Black Image Center feels reminiscent of a collegiate Black student center. On a recent Tuesday, five people were gathered for the center's daily community co-working series. Laughter and casual conversation swam above the sound of the clicks of their laptops. But instead of a 100-page reading or an mind-boggling problem set, they were working on creative pursuits — editing a photography-forward zine, working on the treatment for a music video project, polishing a fashion journalism article — and consulting one another on them. "I've seen the daily magic that goes down at a place like this," said Julian Samuels, a longtime volunteer at Black Image Center, who called its offerings "really rare in L.A." Black Image Center, an organization dedicated to providing photography resources to Black Angelenos, was born from a group of six photographers and creatives who connected over Instagram in 2020. After securing nonprofit status, Black Image Center opened in a physical location in Mid-City in May 2022. In addition to a free 35mm film refrigerator, visitors can use both a normal and large-format printer free of charge. The open-format space boasts a cozy book nook with scores of Black photography books. The space regularly hosts sold-out photography workshops, in addition to having hosted more than 50 artists-in-residence, according to co-founder Maya Mansour. So members of the Black creative community were shocked and disappointed when Black Image Center recently announced on Instagram its imminent physical closure. 'None of us could've done what we did without you. Personally speaking, y'all are the reason I feel empowered to keep a camera close by,' commented photographer Adam Davis beneath Black Image Center's post. Asked about the closure, Samuels audibly sighed, saying, "Oof. I understand it as a necessary transition. That being said, I can't lie. I'm feeling pretty sad about it." In the March 14 announcement, the organization said it was 'stepping into a new space, without physical walls, but with endless room to grow." During a recent conversation with The Times, Mansour pushed back on the notion that Black Image Center is closing for good. But the closure of Black Image Center's physical space echoes that of other small businesses in Greater Los Angeles that have served as Black community hubs beyond their primary offerings, with many owners saying the initial support garnered during the height of the Black Lives Matter movement has since waned. The Salt Eaters Bookshop, an Inglewood feminist bookstore, transitioned to a virtual model at the end of 2024. Bloom & Plume, a coffee and flower shop, closed its Echo Park doors last August. The artist Noname's Radical Hood Library in Jefferson Park, while hanging on, has been transparent on social media about financial instability and started a Patreon account in an attempt to offset costs. The Times spoke with some of these business owners, who said their desire to provide for their community was often in direct contradiction to business operations. Although Black Image Center hasn't struggled to get people into its space, a lack of capital resources has put a strain on its small leadership team. 'It's really hard and it doesn't work most of the time,' said Mansour of her experience with Black Image Center. 'You just kind of stretch yourself in ways that you didn't know that you could.' Mansour cited several factors that contributed to the founders' decision to not renew their lease come May. For starters, where the founders had a clear creative vision — the "magic" that is evident when you walk in the room — they lacked business acumen. To this day, Mansour said Black Image Center doesn't have a clear business plan — something that she hopes will have time to develop without the pressure of maintaining a physical space. 'Having the brick-and-mortar really does kind of put your back against a wall in a way that you have to kind of get it together,' said Mansour, who over time stepped into the role of executive director despite the group's original nonhierarchical vision. Also, at least three of the six original founders have stepped away from Black Image Center, said Mansour, and the center relies extensively on a small group of volunteers to maintain its robust programming schedule. 'None of us really went into this expecting it to blow up in the way that it did,' Mansour said. 'I kind of promised myself: At the end of this lease, it's probably going to be time to reevaluate. Like, what can I do for this thing?' Mansour's experience was preceded by that of Asha Grant, founder of the Salt Eaters Bookshop, which opened its Inglewood doors in 2021 and closed at the end of 2024. Like Black Image Center, the Salt Eaters Bookshop was Grant's brainchild during the COVID-19 pandemic. Grant was running the Los Angeles chapter of the Free Black Women's Library — and accumulating hundreds of books — when a GoFundMe campaign gave her the capital to open a physical bookstore. 'It was one of the most challenging and rewarding experiences of my life,' Grant said of running the store. 'More people than I'll ever know showed up for me and showed up for our community.' Grant described her vision for the Salt Eaters Bookshop as being someone's bedroom but with a lot of books in the space. Zora Neale Hurston wallpaper lined the walls, vintage Ebony magazines were on a coffee table once owned by Grant's grandmother, and an autographed Destiny's Child picture hung near the register. If it were a song, Grant said, it'd be Brandy's hit 'Sittin' Up in My Room.' But while visitors to the shop were embraced in a cozy hug, Grant, who was supporting the store full-time, was struggling to breathe. 'I was constantly negotiating how to keep doing what I love and what I know our community needs most, while also not being a martyr for the cause,' said Grant, who also pointed out the irony of her store offering free hygiene products while she herself lacked health insurance. Like Black Image Center, Grant decided to close the Salt Eaters at the end of her last lease cycle. Selling books wasn't covering rent. Over the course of the store's existence, Grant had launched two GoFundMe campaigns and thrown rent parties in addition to hosting events and renting out the physical space. Grant called turning to the internet for help 'emotionally draining.' Also, a nearly $4,000 plumbing issue in 2023 almost forced the shop to close. Grant said she didn't have the energy to apply for grants, and for years, she was clouded in a looming sense of dread. 'My whole existence can't be making sure everyone is well and I'm suffering myself,' said Grant, who began a master of library science degree program in January after closing the shop in December. Although a message on the Salt Eaters website reads, "We are transitioning to a virtual model in 2025!" Grant, in practice, maintains an affiliate webpage for Salt Eaters on the online marketplace With time, she said she hopes to restart her virtual book club series and sell books on her own website. Part of the strain is that small Black businesses are infrequently just small businesses; owners also labor under what Jazzi McGilbert, founder of the bookstore and concept space Reparations Club in Jefferson Park, calls "an unrealistic set of expectations." "There's so many things that we end up carrying. Even just the psychological components of people having a hard time, and they come into our spaces to seek that relief," said McGilbert, who has cried with her customers. On one occasion, McGilbert dog-sat for a customer, something she said she was happy to do yet cheekily notes is not a service that could be found at, say, the Apple Store. "Sometimes, I think these spaces are asked to hold a lot of things that really our government should be providing," she said. "There should be more spaces that are equipped to hold people, you know, bringing back the town square. Libraries and other spaces shouldn't feel sad and underfunded. They should feel like exciting, generative spaces that people want to spend their time in, and that requires funding." Unlike Grant, McGilbert strayed away from crowdfunding, as she doesn't see it as a sustainable business model. But over the years, she has learned to make business adjustments to stay viable while still prioritizing a sense of community. For example, she will cancel an event if it doesn't meet an RSVP minimum. Also, a select number of events — rather than all of them — are priced on a sliding-scale model. McGilbert said Reparations Club has grown year over year, and she is interested in adding a cafe element to the shop in addition to expanding the business hours. But at the same time, she said rent has increased significantly over the past five years. With the lease being up in September, McGilbert is constantly questioning 'how to keep Rep Club solvent and not at my expense.' 'I don't know what's next for us, and I don't know if we're next on the chopping block,' she said. McGilbert said she suspects that part of the reason that Reparations Club has been able to survive is because it opened in 2019, before the official March 2020 start of the pandemic and the wave of racial reckoning and investment in Black businesses that occurred after the murder of George Floyd. 'I think we saw a lot of businesses open because we, maybe wrongly, maybe hopefully, assumed that would remain,' McGilbert said. 'I think that part of what has happened here is that that support comes in waves, and because it necessitates Black people to be experiencing some kind of trauma to get that support, I don't think that's viable long-term.' Maurice Harris, founder of now-shuttered Bloom & Plume, experienced a similar surge and waning of support. "We were considering closing when COVID happened," Harris said of Bloom & Plume, a coffee and flower shop that opened in January 2019. "What kept us open was George Floyd." In addition to the two months after Floyd's murder by police, Harris said his shop was most profitable the month he announced its closure in August 2024. By then, he said, minimum wage had skyrocketed to $17.28 from $12 when the shop opened; meanwhile, a drip coffee at Bloom & Plume increased in price by less than a dollar over the same time period. "That's a huge discrepancy," said Harris, who employed five people and did not pay himself over the course of the shop's lifetime. Despite partnering with his brother, a corporate banker, on a business plan, Harris said Bloom & Plume struggled to break even during its entire five-year run. Although Harris' inspiration for opening the shop was to provide an elevated, beautiful experience for everyday folks — "actually stopping and smelling the roses is an important part of sustaining your life," he said — its demands were ultimately "fighting against" his job as a luxury florist, his main source of income. "Can an actual mom-and-pop small business afford that?" he said. "Probably not as much." While not operating for profit, the Black Image Center team also felt the impact of the cultural shift away from supporting Black businesses, said Mansour, with many of the corporate sponsorships initially sustaining the center now gone. 'We've just been so focused on maintaining our physical space that we have really just been working paycheck to paycheck, grant by grant,' said Mansour, who works independently as a photographer in addition to running the center. With mounting pressure, Mansour said she is 'excited' about the lease ending and "creating this really natural opportunity for us to do this internal restructure.' 'There's a lot of ego involved in the conversation around running your own business,' Mansour said. 'I think that when you're doing something where the intention is service, you really have to know when it is your time to bow out and make room for other people who are better at being of service in that way.' Grant, who experienced this same wave of emotions mere months ago, agreed. 'You don't want to give up on your dream, but then I kind of realized that I already achieved my dream,' she said. 'I've already experienced it. I know what it feels like. I can feel proud about that and that I'm not a failure. Whatever I need to do is whatever I need to do.' Mansour said there isn't yet a clear plan or timeline for what's next for Black Image Center, but that the founders would be looking to establish a new executive board. In the meantime, people can visit Black Image Center for its signature community co-working series until the space closes on April 10. 'Like all good things, it's going to take time, because we want it to be good,' said Mansour of Black Image Center's next phase. 'We're not really putting any pressure on ourselves, because there's been a lot of pressure on us the last five years.' Sign up for The Wild newsletter to get weekly insider tips on the best of our beaches, trails, parks, deserts, forests and mountains. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times
03-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
Black L.A. social spaces flourished after George Floyd. 5 years later, will they survive?
Tucked away on a quiet part of La Cienega Avenue in the Culver City Arts District, Black Image Center feels reminiscent of a collegiate Black student center. On a recent Tuesday, five people were gathered for the center's daily community co-working series. Laughter and casual conversation swam above the sound of the clicks of their laptops. But instead of a 100-page reading or an mind-boggling problem set, they were working on creative pursuits — editing a photography-forward zine, working on the treatment for a music video project, polishing a fashion journalism article — and consulting one another on them. 'I've seen the daily magic that goes down at a place like this,' said Julian Samuels, a longtime volunteer at Black Image Center, who called its offerings 'really rare in L.A.' Black Image Center, an organization dedicated to providing photography resources to Black Angelenos, was born from a group of six photographers and creatives who connected over Instagram in 2020. After securing nonprofit status, Black Image Center opened in a physical location in Mid-City in May 2022. In addition to a free 35mm film refrigerator, visitors can use both a normal and large-format printer free of charge. The open-format space boasts a cozy book nook with scores of Black photography books. The space regularly hosts sold-out photography workshops, in addition to having hosted more than 50 artists-in-residence, according to co-founder Maya Mansour. So members of the Black creative community were shocked and disappointed when Black Image Center recently announced on Instagram its imminent physical closure. 'None of us could've done what we did without you. Personally speaking, y'all are the reason I feel empowered to keep a camera close by,' commented photographer Adam Davis beneath Black Image Center's post. Asked about the closure, Samuels audibly sighed, saying, 'Oof. I understand it as a necessary transition. That being said, I can't lie. I'm feeling pretty sad about it.' In the March 14 announcement, the organization said it was 'stepping into a new space, without physical walls, but with endless room to grow.' During a recent conversation with The Times, Mansour pushed back on the notion that Black Image Center is closing for good. But the closure of Black Image Center's physical space echoes that of other small businesses in Greater Los Angeles that have served as Black community hubs beyond their primary offerings, with many owners saying the initial support garnered during the height of the Black Lives Matter movement has since waned. The Salt Eaters Bookshop, an Inglewood feminist bookstore, transitioned to a virtual model at the end of 2024. Bloom & Plume, a coffee and flower shop, closed its Echo Park doors last August. The artist Noname's Radical Hood Library in Jefferson Park, while hanging on, has been transparent on social media about financial instability and started a Patreon account in an attempt to offset costs. The Times spoke with some of these business owners, who said their desire to provide for their community was often in direct contradiction to business operations. Although Black Image Center hasn't struggled to get people into its space, a lack of capital resources has put a strain on its small leadership team. 'It's really hard and it doesn't work most of the time,' said Mansour of her experience with Black Image Center. 'You just kind of stretch yourself in ways that you didn't know that you could.' Mansour cited several factors that contributed to the founders' decision to not renew their lease come May. For starters, where the founders had a clear creative vision — the 'magic' that is evident when you walk in the room — they lacked business acumen. To this day, Mansour said Black Image Center doesn't have a clear business plan — something that she hopes will have time to develop without the pressure of maintaining a physical space. 'Having the brick-and-mortar really does kind of put your back against a wall in a way that you have to kind of get it together,' said Mansour, who over time stepped into the role of executive director despite the group's original nonhierarchical vision. Also, at least three of the six original founders have stepped away from Black Image Center, said Mansour, and the center relies extensively on a small group of volunteers to maintain its robust programming schedule. 'None of us really went into this expecting it to blow up in the way that it did,' Mansour said. 'I kind of promised myself: At the end of this lease, it's probably going to be time to reevaluate. Like, what can I do for this thing?' Mansour's experience was preceded by that of Asha Grant, founder of the Salt Eaters Bookshop, which opened its Inglewood doors in 2021 and closed at the end of 2024. Like Black Image Center, the Salt Eaters Bookshop was Grant's brainchild during the COVID-19 pandemic. Grant was running the Los Angeles chapter of the Free Black Women's Library — and accumulating hundreds of books — when a GoFundMe campaign gave her the capital to open a physical bookstore. 'It was one of the most challenging and rewarding experiences of my life,' Grant said of running the store. 'More people than I'll ever know showed up for me and showed up for our community.' Grant described her vision for the Salt Eaters Bookshop as being someone's bedroom but with a lot of books in the space. Zora Neale Hurston wallpaper lined the walls, vintage Ebony magazines were on a coffee table once owned by Grant's grandmother, and an autographed Destiny's Child picture hung near the register. If it were a song, Grant said, it'd be Brandy's hit 'Sittin' Up in My Room.' But while visitors to the shop were embraced in a cozy hug, Grant, who was supporting the store full-time, was struggling to breathe. 'I was constantly negotiating how to keep doing what I love and what I know our community needs most, while also not being a martyr for the cause,' said Grant, who also pointed out the irony of her store offering free hygiene products while she herself lacked health insurance. Like Black Image Center, Grant decided to close the Salt Eaters at the end of her last lease cycle. Selling books wasn't covering rent. Over the course of the store's existence, Grant had launched two GoFundMe campaigns and thrown rent parties in addition to hosting events and renting out the physical space. Grant called turning to the internet for help 'emotionally draining.' Also, a nearly $4,000 plumbing issue in 2023 almost forced the shop to close. Grant said she didn't have the energy to apply for grants, and for years, she was clouded in a looming sense of dread. 'My whole existence can't be making sure everyone is well and I'm suffering myself,' said Grant, who began a master of library science degree program in January after closing the shop in December. Although a message on the Salt Eaters website reads, 'We are transitioning to a virtual model in 2025!' Grant, in practice, maintains an affiliate webpage for Salt Eaters on the online marketplace With time, she said she hopes to restart her virtual book club series and sell books on her own website. Part of the strain is that small Black businesses are infrequently just small businesses; owners also labor under what Jazzi McGilbert, founder of the bookstore and concept space Reparations Club in Jefferson Park, calls 'an unrealistic set of expectations.' 'There's so many things that we end up carrying. Even just the psychological components of people having a hard time, and they come into our spaces to seek that relief,' said McGilbert, who has cried with her customers. On one occasion, McGilbert dog-sat for a customer, something she said she was happy to do yet cheekily notes is not a service that could be found at, say, the Apple Store. 'Sometimes, I think these spaces are asked to hold a lot of things that really our government should be providing,' she said. 'There should be more spaces that are equipped to hold people, you know, bringing back the town square. Libraries and other spaces shouldn't feel sad and underfunded. They should feel like exciting, generative spaces that people want to spend their time in, and that requires funding.' Unlike Grant, McGilbert strayed away from crowdfunding, as she doesn't see it as a sustainable business model. But over the years, she has learned to make business adjustments to stay viable while still prioritizing a sense of community. For example, she will cancel an event if it doesn't meet an RSVP minimum. Also, a select number of events — rather than all of them — are priced on a sliding-scale model. McGilbert said Reparations Club has grown year over year, and she is interested in adding a cafe element to the shop in addition to expanding the business hours. But at the same time, she said rent has increased significantly over the past five years. With the lease being up in September, McGilbert is constantly questioning 'how to keep Rep Club solvent and not at my expense.' 'I don't know what's next for us, and I don't know if we're next on the chopping block,' she said. McGilbert said she suspects that part of the reason that Reparations Club has been able to survive is because it opened in 2019, before the official March 2020 start of the pandemic and the wave of racial reckoning and investment in Black businesses that occurred after the murder of George Floyd. 'I think we saw a lot of businesses open because we, maybe wrongly, maybe hopefully, assumed that would remain,' McGilbert said. 'I think that part of what has happened here is that that support comes in waves, and because it necessitates Black people to be experiencing some kind of trauma to get that support, I don't think that's viable long-term.' Maurice Harris, founder of now-shuttered Bloom & Plume, experienced a similar surge and waning of support. 'We were considering closing when COVID happened,' Harris said of Bloom & Plume, a coffee and flower shop that opened in January 2019. 'What kept us open was George Floyd.' In addition to the two months after Floyd's murder by police, Harris said his shop was most profitable the month he announced its closure in August 2024. By then, he said, minimum wage had skyrocketed to $17.28 from $12 when the shop opened; meanwhile, a drip coffee at Bloom & Plume increased in price by less than a dollar over the same time period. 'That's a huge discrepancy,' said Harris, who employed five people and did not pay himself over the course of the shop's lifetime. Despite partnering with his brother, a corporate banker, on a business plan, Harris said Bloom & Plume struggled to break even during its entire five-year run. Although Harris' inspiration for opening the shop was to provide an elevated, beautiful experience for everyday folks — 'actually stopping and smelling the roses is an important part of sustaining your life,' he said — its demands were ultimately 'fighting against' his job as a luxury florist, his main source of income. 'Can an actual mom-and-pop small business afford that?' he said. 'Probably not as much.' While not operating for profit, the Black Image Center team also felt the impact of the cultural shift away from supporting Black businesses, said Mansour, with many of the corporate sponsorships initially sustaining the center now gone. 'We've just been so focused on maintaining our physical space that we have really just been working paycheck to paycheck, grant by grant,' said Mansour, who works independently as a photographer in addition to running the center. With mounting pressure, Mansour said she is 'excited' about the lease ending and 'creating this really natural opportunity for us to do this internal restructure.' 'There's a lot of ego involved in the conversation around running your own business,' Mansour said. 'I think that when you're doing something where the intention is service, you really have to know when it is your time to bow out and make room for other people who are better at being of service in that way.' Grant, who experienced this same wave of emotions mere months ago, agreed. 'You don't want to give up on your dream, but then I kind of realized that I already achieved my dream,' she said. 'I've already experienced it. I know what it feels like. I can feel proud about that and that I'm not a failure. Whatever I need to do is whatever I need to do.' Mansour said there isn't yet a clear plan or timeline for what's next for Black Image Center, but that the founders would be looking to establish a new executive board. In the meantime, people can visit Black Image Center for its signature community co-working series until the space closes on April 10. 'Like all good things, it's going to take time, because we want it to be good,' said Mansour of Black Image Center's next phase. 'We're not really putting any pressure on ourselves, because there's been a lot of pressure on us the last five years.'
