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The Brief

The most important stories for you to know today
  • Where to listen and learn about the enduring genre
    Concert goers dance and smile with their hands in the air, some holding drinks or phones. A bright green light shines out on the crowd and in the background are cement block walls.
    Attendees at a ZZK Records cumbia event.

    Topline:

    This Saturday, Argentine electronic cumbia producer Chancha Via Circuito plays downtown L.A., with San Jose’s Turbo Sonidero opening. Together, they showcase the latest chapter in cumbia’s evolution in the vibrant L.A. cumbia scene.

    The context: The show is presented by ZZK Records, an indie label born in Buenos Aires in 2008 and now based in L.A. Beyond concerts, ZZK runs Reina de Cumbia — a series of panels, films and exhibits exploring the genre’s history. Thanks to ZZK and voices like documentarian Alvaro Parra, L.A. has become a hub not only to dance to cumbia but also to learn about its roots and ongoing evolution.

    Read on … to discover the best places and people to follow for experiencing cumbia in Los Angeles.

    “The people were dancing crazy. I couldn't believe what I was seeing,” recalled Pedro Canale — better known as Chancha Via Circuito — of his first Los Angeles show. “It looked like a party in Buenos Aires or Bogotá. I was surprised.”

    The digital cumbia pioneer returns this weekend for a late-night DJ set at a secret downtown venue hosted by ZZK Records, an independent label that was founded in Buenos Aires in 2008 and moved to L.A. in 2019.

    “[L.A.] is as Latin American as any city in America,” said ZZK Records founder Grant Dull. “Cumbia has always been here, and there’s a demographic of music lovers here in L.A. that is constantly pushing cumbia.”

    Born in 19th-century Colombia from Afro and Indigenous rhythms, cumbia spread across Latin America, absorbing local sounds and styles. Today, it’s global — but L.A. may be the best place to experience its freshest, most exciting edge.

    Listen 3:37
    LA might be the best city for cumbia lovers

    How LA became a hub for cumbia

    L.A. became a hot spot for acts like Chancha Via Circuito to perform in for two reasons: the internet and migration.

    Chanca’s Pedro Canale was part of a new generation of digital cumbieros who, in the aughts, started mixing electronic music with the Afro-Indigenous rhythms of cumbia and sharing it online through platforms like MySpace. This allowed the music to spread more quickly to diasporic communities across the world, including L.A.

    A man with brown hair and a slight beard stands with his arms by his sides, facing the camera. He is wearing a black button down shirt with pink, purple, and turquoise embroidery. All around him is greenery and next to his left arm is a large pink flower.
    Pedro Pablo Canale, better known as Chancha Via Circuito, is an Argentine electronic cumbia producer.
    (
    Guadalupe Miles
    /
    ZZK Records
    )

    Meanwhile, L.A. of the late aughts saw the evolution of another kind of digitally enabled cumbia: cumbia sonidera. Sonideros are a mix of DJ and MC — they talk over the music they’re playing from large and powerful sound systems.

    Cumbia sonidera was brought by migrants from Mexico City and Puebla to Los Angeles. Audiences on both sides of the border would live stream these sets and pass messages to loved ones through the sonidero.

    Documentarian Alvaro Parra chronicled L.A. sonidero culture in his film Sonidero Metropolis.

    “You can literally tap into YouTube and see what sonidero parties are like in Puebla instantaneously,” Parra said.

    Sharing the history behind the rhythm

    Because of people like documentarian Parra and Dull of ZZK Records, L.A. isn’t just a good city to hear cumbia live but also to learn about its history.

    Parra has screened his documentaries at places like the Hammer Museum and LACMA.  And ZZK has started Reina de Cumbia — a series of panels, film screenings and exhibits that showcase the history of Cumbia.

     In the end, you want people to know where this is coming from,” Parra said. “This is coming from a long tradition. Cumbia in Los Angeles has really been a reflection of the migratory waves of people that come to live in Los Angeles.”

    Angelenos to follow to stay in the know

    Alvaro Parra, @delaparraproductions
    Parra is an Emmy-winning documentarian and one of the preeminent chroniclers of cumbia. He announces screenings through his social media pages.

    ZZK Records, @zzkrecords
    ZZK doesn’t just announce upcoming shows on its Instagram page, it also provides the context behind the acts that come through.

    DJ Sapo, @dogtoad 
    DJ Sapo hosts a regular cumbia night at Cha Cha Lounge in Silverlake.

    Gary Ganas Garay, @og_ganas 
    Gary Ganas Garay hosts a radio show for dublab called “Mas Exitos” on which he features a lot of cumbia. He also hosts a regular dance party at Footsies in Cypress Park.

    Cumbiatón, @cumbiaton_la
    Cumbiatón is a collective of DJs that throws parties centering queer, femme and undocumented folks.

    Upcoming shows

    If you want to experience the joy of cumbia live there are multiple upcoming shows:

    The Argentine digital cumbia pioneer will return to Los Angeles for a special late-night DJ set. Opening for him will be Turbo Sonidero, Cruzloma and L.A.’s Canyon Cody.

    KCRW is hosting three of the all-time-biggest cumbia bands — Grupo Cañaveral, La Sonora Dinamita and Los Hermanos Flores. The night also will feature the L.A.-based all-women DJ collective Cumbiatón spinning between artists.

    • Oct. 31st, Cumbiateca, Undisclosed downtown location 

    ZZK and Misterpsychedelia are putting on a Halloween party headlined by Mexican producer and composer Ima Felini — Amantes del Futuro.

  • Rolex was discovered in the Palisades Fire rubble
    A gloved hand holding a burnt out, discolored watch.
    What's left of the Rolex Deepsea after the Palisades Fire. The watch was found in the rubble.

    Topline:

    A Rolex watch was found in the rubble of the Palisades Fire, burnt almost beyond recognition.

    What happened next: The timepiece was sent to a YouTuber who operates a popular channel on watch resurrection. He spent months bringing the Rolex back to life.

    Read on … to learn the painstaking process and to look at photos of the watch before and after.

    A Rolex Deepsea diver's watch can withstand water pressure at depths of more than 12,000 feet.

    "Basically, the most bulletproof, toughest watch that Rolex makes," says Marshall Sutcliffe, who runs a popular YouTube channel on watch restoration.

    But what about fire?

    About seven months ago, Sutcliffe received an intriguing request from a viewer and his father to restore a Rolex that was recovered in the rubble of the Palisades Fire.

    The watch's owner had lost everything, the two said, save for a husk of that 2015 Deepsea wristwatch.

    " The idea of these fires, even though it was very much in my mind, was distant," said Sutcliffe, who lives in Seattle. "Getting something that came out of one of those fires and having it sitting in front of me was an emotional experience."

    'It was annihilated'

    A close up of what looks to be the disfigured, burnt remains of a wristwatch.
    A viewer of Marshall Sutcliffe's YouTube channel asked if he could fix a Rolex recovered in the rubble of the Palisades Fire.
    (
    Courtesy Marshall Sutcliffe
    )

    Even for Sutcliffe, the state of the timepiece was a shock.

     "It was annihilated  to a level that even I couldn't have imagined until I opened up the watch," he said.

    The outside structure, despite having been cooked for weeks, was surprisingly intact. The case and the metal bracelet, discolored and ashen, were still there. The dial, too, had survived but was unreadable. Gone were the crystal, as well as the bezel with numbers that go around the exterior.

    " My assumption is that [they] popped off because of the extreme heat," Sutcliffe said.

    Then he went in.

    A close up of a extremely rusted surface.
    The movement of the Rolex was all but unrecognizable.
    (
    Courtesy Marshall Sutcliffe
    )

    " I had a little bit of my brain thinking that maybe part of the movement inside would've survived," he said. "I don't know why I thought that."

    Some of the metal had melted into other parts, morphing into one big rusty gunk.

    "There's basically no moving parts anymore left," he said.

    One of Sutcliffe’s biggest challenges in the restoration was to get the movement itself out of the case.

    "I  tried to undo a screw on it," Sutcliffe said. "It turned into a pile of dust."

    Finally, he had to just dig into it, using the biggest screwdriver in his toolbox of tiny watch repair instruments.

    "Piece by piece," Sutcliffe said. " They just flaked off."

    After that, the rest of the work was relatively straightforward, but no less painstaking. Sutcliffe took a movement from a similar Rolex and replaced it wholesale. The other parts, he tried to retain as much as possible.

    What is original?

    But that led to a philosophical question.

    "You know, what makes a thing a thing, right?” he asked. “If you replace a bunch of parts on it, what does that end up being? What I decided to do was I kept every part that I could."

    And there's one part he kept that carries special meaning.

    In the middle of the restoration, an idea hit Sutcliffe to keep an inner ring of the Deepsea — a detail you can see but something that most people probably wouldn’t notice.

    A gloved hand holding a brand new-looking Rolex watch
    During restoration, Sutcliffe had the idea to retain a burnt, darkened inner ring from the original watch.
    (
    Courtesy Marshall Sutcliffe
    )

    Normally, that part is bright silver with black letters on it. The one on the damaged Rolex was charred to a dark brown, verging on black.

    Sutcliffe contacted the owner.

    "I asked him if I could leave that in there so that it could kind of be a subtle symbol to him," he said. "That he made it and it made it, and he's going to continue on.”

    The owner agreed.

    After the video of the restoration was posted, Sutcliffe got an email.

    The owner thanked the watch repairer, telling him that seeing the Deepsea, a gift that was given to him, being slowly put back together was emotional.

    Sutcliffe feels it, too. He still remembers first holding the watch with the marks of incredible destruction in his hand. After the monthslong process, he is struck by what it has now become — "functional again, beautiful again... ready to live a long life."

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  • They exist — they're just confused
    A pink orange sunset sky is behind a large elegant building and trees with wintry leaves
    The glorious contradictions of an L.A. winter

    Topline:

    LAist senior editor Suzanne Levy explores the glorious contradictions of an L.A. winter. Is it time for an iced latte or a hot chocolate? To buy wood for a fireplace or more suntan lotion? Fleece or flipflops (or maybe both?) There are seasons here, she argues, they're just..... confused.

    Why it matters: The sight of Angenenos in puffy coats when it's 50 degrees leaves visitors perplexed. But it's a sign that you've acclimatized when you complain of being cold all the time and a slight winter breeze and overcast sky sends you inside for a pair of gloves and a bobble hat.

    Why now: Because it's winter, people. Can't you tell by the blazing hot sun and outdoor dining? OK, look out for the lit-up reindeer on palm trees to give you a time check.

    They say there are no seasons in L.A. That’s just wrong. There are, it’s just they don’t make any sense. In the U.K., where I’m from, the seasons are pretty predictable. A period of lots of rain (winter), then a little less rain (spring), rain when you don’t want it (summer) and back to lots of rain (autumn). And yes, as far as I’m concerned, it’s autumn. Not fall. Fall is a verb, not a noun.

    But here in L.A., as I look up at a tree with maroon leaves next to a palm tree, it’s like someone picked up all the seasons and threw them up in the air and let them fall as they will. (See what I did there?)

    So yes, in winter the air is cold, but the sun is hot. There’s hot chocolate and iced latte, sometimes at the same time. There’s woodfire smoke in the evening and lunchtime outdoor dining. Sit inside or out? Um, can we do both? Like my top half is in the sun, but my bottom half is in the shade, and then I flip like a burger?

    Palm trees are seen against a red and yellow wall.
    A palm tree in downtown L.A.
    (
    Julia Wick
    /
    LAist
    )

    Newcomer confusion

    It’s certainly confusing for new arrivals. We got here in January some years ago, leaving a cold rainy East Coast behind. I spent the first Sunday sitting at a beachfront cafe as the sun shone gorgeously down from the heavens.

    But as we went down to the ocean, my then-5-year-old daughter looked about, panicking, and said, “Mommy, we mustn’t be here, there’s nobody here!”

    I looked about and realized she was right. There was no one on the beach, even though it was pretty warm. Definitely as warm as I remember summer vacations being in the U.K., where you’d put up wind breaks on the sand and huddle next to them as the North wind blew across the beach and the sun apathetically glanced down every now and then.

    “No,” I said soundlng like the love child of Mary Popppins and Steven Fry. “Come on! I’d have given anything to be on a beach like this as a kid! Lovely weather!”

    So we walked along on the deserted sand as I shook my head at the waste of it all. These wide, wide beaches...and no one on them? These Californians need to build character. Make them go on beach walks when it’s below 70 degrees! It’s a shame, I said, shame.

    Lying thermostats

    Now I’ve been here over a decade and have acclimatized. I think going to the beach past November is the mark of a mad person, and I feel the cold in my bones. Not from the swirling snow outside, or from the freezing winds hurtling down a city block, but in my home. Yes .... it’s often colder inside than out. At least it feels that way. The thermostat cheerfully tells me it’s 71 degrees and I want to yell at it: “You’re lying! How is this 71 degrees when my feet at my desk are iceblocks and I’m burrowing my nose in the scarf that apparently I’m wearing indoors even though it’s blazing sunshine outside?”

    Sometimes I need to sit in my puffer coat on top of a heater just to keep my body temperature higher than a reptile.

    Look, I know it’s because they didn’t put insulation in most L.A. houses last century, and my feet are resting on a few inches of wooden floor and then nothing — just a massive hole in the ground — but it just seems odd. I go outside to warm up in the middle of the day, and turn my face up to the sky to absorb the liquid gold, and all is good .... until I go inside again and scream at the thermostat.

    But a confused California winter season is still better than most other places. The air doesn’t attack you when you’re outside, like New York or Chicago. And snow is for mountains only. There’s no scraping ice off windshields, only a mild condensation. It doesn’t take 30 minutes to dress your kids when you’re about to go out, and you can get wonderfully sweet strawberries, freshly picked, at the farmers market. Or a persimmon. Or a plum. In December.

    So as I head out in a fleece, shorts and flip flops to get wood for my fireplace while picking up more sun tan lotion, let’s hear it for SoCal’s crazy seasons, confused as hell and making it up as they go along — like most of us.

  • An art piece atop a garage sign in Pershing Square
    Pigeons perch on top of stools umbrellas and open space on the Pershing Square parking garage sign on Fifth and Hill street. The taller part of the sign is yellow. The shorter part is purple. There are 11 pigeons in the 'Cafe'.
    Pigeons sitting on and around "Spike Cafe" in Pershing Square.

    Topline:

    In a city like L.A., art is everywhere, even when you least expect it. One such work can be found atop a garage sign in Pershing Square.

    What is it? The piece, called "Spike Cafe," is by street artist S.C. Mero, who built a tiny little cafe with stools, umbrellas and plastic finger food ... for piegeons.

    The backstory: The art was meant to flip the idea of deterrence spikes on its head, but it was soon taken over by the real birds.

    Los Angeles has plenty of world-renowned art museums, but you often don't have to stray far from the street to see interesting work.

    One of them is housed on top of the parking garage sign at the intersection of 5th and Hill streets near Pershing Square. It’s been there since last Spring, situated right next to the familiar sight of deterrence spikes.

    The big draw? It’s a restaurant for pigeons.

    The Pershing Square Garage sign housing 'Spike Cafe' is seen from the side facing the street. A blue and a yellow umbrella can be seen on the sign. Fake fruit and sandwiches sit on top of fake spikes. Six pigeons occupy the cafe.
    Six pigeons sit at the "Spike Cafe" on top of the Pershing Square Garage sign.
    (
    S.C. Mero
    /
    S.C. Mero
    )

    You can’t perch here

    “ The project came about because I was messing with these deterrents,” said S.C. Mero, the artist behind “Spike Cafe”. “Some of the deterrents are human deterrents in downtown, to keep the unhoused population from sleeping in certain areas. It's essentially hostile architecture.”

    Mero is a guerilla street artist based in Los Angeles. She uses the found environment of the city for whimsical storytelling, juxtaposing social issues with smile-inducing imagery.

    In other pieces of the series, she put things like fake marshmallows, cheese and olives on the bird spikes around L.A, which led to the idea of "Spike Cafe."

    “I’d just sort of had an idea like, wouldn't it be interesting, since they're supposed to deter the pigeons, if the pigeons instead had just set up right next to them and they were using the deterrents as a place to dine,” Mero said.

    So Mero installed two fake pigeons: One with a top hat and the other with a hat made of straw. She fastened them to a strip of plastic deterrence spikes, then put that on top of the garage sign. She even fit the spikes with a fake feast of finger sandwiches and shrimp cocktails.

    “These pigeons took something that was supposed to be, putting them down or keeping them away, and they flipped it and used it for something that was good.” Mero said.

    High noon at the Spike Cafe

    Mero considered the installation complete, but a couple weeks later while walking through Pershing Square she noticed one of her fake pigeons lying on its side. Her first thought was she hadn’t secured the sculpture properly.

    But that wasn’t it. Mero eventually found out that real pigeons were landing on her sculpture. “They were dining at the Spike Cafe, but they were using my pigeons as stools,” Mero said.

    Mero liked that real birds were appreciating her art, but she wasn’t thrilled they were damaging it. So she put spikes on her fake pigeons — which also didn't deter the birds.

    “The pigeons just continued to land. They found a different little spot, like the head of the pigeon to land on. And I just kind of conceded,” Mero said. “I might as well just embrace it.”

    Consider the birds

    Mero took down her fictional birds. She added stools for the real ones, umbrellas for shade, and plastic strawberries and watermelon pieces for her diners.

    Two pigeons sit on stools and one sits on an umbrella added to the Pershing Square sign. One pigeon is seen in the background taking flight.
    Three pigeons at the "Spike Cafe" look down onto Pershing square from their resting places.
    (
    S.C. Mero
    /
    S.C. Mero
    )

    “It ended up being a very fun installation because I realized that it's even better when it's the actual pigeons,” Mero said.

    So the next time you find yourself in Pershing Square, pull up a seat right next to a feathered friend at Spike Cafe.

    Pigeons are seen sitting at the 'Spike Cafe' while other pigeons in the background are seen on street poles. Six pigeons are seen on the sign. A few of them face the camera while others face away.
    Pigeons at the "Spike Cafe" pose for a picture while sunbathing.
    (
    S.C. Mero
    /
    S.C. Mero
    )

  • Leaders refuse to comply with White House orders
    A large building with big glass windows and a sign that says "Japanese American National Museum."
    The Japanese American National Museum's Pavilion building in Los Angeles.

    Topline:

    Two weeks after the Smithsonian shuttered its DEI office and stripped its websites of DEI-related language, Japanese American National Museum's leaders announced that they would not waver from their commitment to DEI or their mission of telling the full truth about the Japanese American experience, World War II incarceration camps and all.

    Background: Days after starting his second term, President Donald Trump issued a series of executive orders that targeted DEI programs and policies for elimination, decrying them as illegal and immoral. Museums across the country scrambled to react — and in many cases, comply. Within days, Washington’s National Gallery of Art announced it would close its office of belonging and inclusion and remove the words “diversity, equity, access and inclusion” from its list of values on its website. Five days later, the Smithsonian followed suit.

    Read on ... for more detail on why it was so important for the Japanese American National Museum leaders to stand up to the administration.

    Days after starting his second term, President Donald Trump issued a series of executive orders that targeted DEI programs and policies for elimination, decrying them as illegal and immoral. Museums across the country scrambled to react — and in many cases, comply. Within days, Washington’s National Gallery of Art announced it would close its office of belonging and inclusion and remove the words “diversity, equity, access and inclusion” from its list of values on its website. Five days later, the Smithsonian followed suit.

    But the Japanese American National Museum, a relatively small institution in downtown Los Angeles, chose a different path. Founded in 1992 at the site of a historic Buddhist temple in L.A.’s Little Tokyo, the museum took a stand against Trump and his anti-DEI edicts while other museums acquiesced. Two weeks after the Smithsonian shuttered its DEI office and stripped its websites of DEI-related language, JANM’s leaders announced that they would not waver from their commitment to DEI or their mission of telling the full truth about the Japanese American experience, World War II incarceration camps and all. We will scrub nothing, JANM announced, in what would become a slogan for the museum’s defiance. That stance came with significant risks: At stake were millions in federal grants from institutions like the National Endowment for the Humanities and the Institute of Museum and Library Services.

    “You can’t put a price tag on your community’s integrity and your institution’s integrity,” said William T. Fujioka, chair of JANM’s board of trustees and the former chief executive officer of L.A. County.

    To date, JANM, which has an operating budget of around $13 million, has lost $660,000 in federal funding from the National Endowment for the Humanities, said Sherrill Ingalls, JANM’s director of marketing and communications. In October, the museum was also turned down for a Japanese American Confinement Sites grant from the National Park Service that funds projects about the Japanese American incarceration camps — a story central to the museum’s existence since it was founded.

    “We always got money for this grant,” Fujioka said. This year: nothing.

    “I don’t think we can draw conclusions,” said Ann Burroughs, JANM’s President and CEO. “I think it’s important that you quote that: We can’t draw conclusions.”

    “But one hears things anecdotally,” she added.

    “We don’t know for a fact why we didn’t get it,” Fujioka said. “But it’s probably grounded on the very vocal and strong position we’ve taken.”

    Sticking to your principles in defiance of a vindictive president and your own financial interests is never easy. But as many prominent museums — institutions whose primary mission is to inform the public about our collective histories — bend to Trump’s will, it’s become a stand few museums other than JANM have been willing to take.

    “If you find some, let me know, because I haven’t seen it,” said Lori Fogarty, the director of the Oakland Museum of California. “And I’ve been actively looking to see what other museums might take the stance of bravery that JANM has taken.”


    JANM’s decision to take a stand came at a board of trustees meeting last February. “We started to hear that other nonprofits, particularly other museums, were starting to scrub their websites of any references to DEI because they were afraid they were going to lose funding,” Fujioka said.

    “The executive orders were coming fast and furious, and there was this pervasive fear of, ‘What the hell does this mean?’” Burroughs said. The trustees considered what might be lost by opposing the executive orders — both in terms of funding, but also by placing a very visible target on their backs. “We talked about the importance of standing up and being vocal,” Fujioka said.

    In the end, the board voted unanimously to push back against Trump’s attacks on DEI, approving a strongly worded statement that called out the administration’s “attempt at erasure” and affirmed the museum’s commitment “to stand up for the truth about history” to fight discrimination and hate “and to ensure that no community is ever again subjected to the injustices that Japanese Americans faced.” “There were no dissenting voices,” Burroughs said.

    “Nobody stood up for Japanese Americans in 1942, other than the Quakers and perhaps one chapter of the ACLU,” said Burroughs, who was jailed as a young activist in her native South Africa for her opposition to apartheid, and is also the chair of the board of directors of Amnesty International USA. “I think our trustees, the children of camp survivors, felt that weight of history enormously. Now was the time to stand up for other people and other communities that were under attack.”

    JANM’s statement was as thorough as it was bold, as the board decried the “erosion of civil rights” and the resurfacing of “racism, xenophobia, and authoritarianism” under the second Trump administration. It denounced Trump’s directive to build a migrant detention center at Guantanamo Bay; his invoking of the Alien Enemies Act to carry out mass deportations without due process (as was done to Japanese Americans during World War II); the administration’s attacks on birthright citizenship, among other actions.

    “I was impressed,” Fogarty said of the statement, which was released Feb. 11. “But it totally made sense to me, knowing JANM’s history.”

    It’s the kind of stance that JANM has been taking for years. After 9/11, the museum’s leaders declared their solidarity with Muslim Americans, noting the similarities between the hysteria and hateful political climates of 2001 and 1942. “The Japanese American community came to Michigan to hold one of their conventions and to support the Arab American community here,” said Devon Akmon, former director of the Arab American National Museum in Dearborn, Michigan. “JANM was very instrumental throughout our early years.”

    In 2017, JANM was among the first museums in the country to see its leaders speak out against Trump’s anti-Muslim travel bans, as the museum drew hundreds of people to a series of marches, vigils and rallies in support of the Muslim community. Over the years, the museum has held programs about everything from implicit bias to antisemitism at its National Center for the Preservation of Democracy.

    The issue came to a head in April, when JANM learned that the Department of Government Efficiency had terminated a National Endowment for the Humanities grant that was to fund an annual program that brings teachers from across the U.S. to Little Tokyo to learn about the history of the incarceration camps. The central goal of the program was to prevent history from repeating itself by educating teachers about the camps who would then pass along that knowledge to their students.

    The museum responded with a rebuke of the executive order Trump issued in March, “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History.” “The order,” the museum said in an April 3 statement, “aims to replace nonpartisan, research-based, and comprehensive history of the US with a grandiose and simplistic narrative that omits the nation’s injustices, mistakes, and dark chapters.”

    “The attack on DEI was anathema to us, because our mission is absolutely centered in a celebration of the ethnic and cultural diversity of the U.S.,” Burroughs said.


    Word of JANM’s stand spread through museum publications, on social media and via arts blogs, local news outlets and the Japanese American ethnic press. And when Gov. Gavin Newsom was looking for an appropriate place to hold a press conference about Proposition 50 and congressional redistricting in August, he chose the museum’s National Center for the Preservation of Democracy. The spot is steps from the site where, in 1942, Japanese Americans assembled to board buses bound for American detention centers and incarceration camps. As Newsom made his remarks, dozens of masked and armed Border Patrol agents roamed around the center’s plaza, ostensibly to conduct an immigration raid. At the press conference, Newsom called those actions “sick and pathetic.”

    Since then, some other museums have also opposed Trump’s executive orders, though in quieter ways. A few, like JANM, are also choosing to “scrub nothing,” a message that JANM placed on t-shirts to raise money to replace lost federal funds. For JANM, scrubbing was never really a choice. What would a JANM exhibit or website look like without DEI? “It would be blank,” Burroughs said.

    “Right now, a lot of museums are still trying to figure out how to navigate this very carefully and deliberately,” Akmon said. “I’ve had conversations with people who are very, very nervous about making public statements because of concerns like, ‘How do I shield my staff? How do we not get obliterated?’”

    “I think it’s really important to acknowledge that not all museums have the same latitude to be as bold as JANM,” Akmon added. “There are factors like governance structures, funding, political environments, community pressures. But I do think that courage looks different in different contexts. For some it might be public statements and very forward-facing initiatives. For others, it could be quietly sustaining inclusive practices despite external pressure.”

    Although San Diego’s Museum of Us isn’t taking a formal stance on DEI like JANM did, its current exhibit, which opened this November, is about as aggressively DEI in nature and name as one gets. Titled “Race: Power, Resistance & Change,” the exhibit “tells the truth about racial oppression and white supremacy in the Californias, and how indigenous and other communities of color have resisted that oppression,” said Micah Parzen, the museum’s CEO.

    The exhibit was in the works years before Trump’s election to a second term, so it is “not a reaction [to the executive orders] by any stretch of the imagination,” he said. “We’re just continuing to do what we believe museums should be doing.”

    At JANM, the museum is expanding the reach of its message beyond its Los Angeles walls with JANM on the Go, an ambitious outreach project undertaken this year while the museum’s main exhibit space is undergoing major renovations. The program is partnering with other museums and art institutions to present shows about Japanese American female artists in Philadelphia and Monterey, Calif.; exhibits about the incarceration camps in Chicago and Seattle; a showcase of Japanese American car culture in Pasadena; and film screenings of JANM-produced documentaries in theaters from Santa Monica to Nagoya, Japan. Burroughs can’t say how much of this collaboration with other museums has been driven by their stance on DEI. “But certainly there is more interest in our work,” she said.

    Still others are simply choosing not to accept or apply for federal grants. Last October, the executive committee of the Oakland Museum of California, which focuses on the arts, history and culture, turned down a major grant administered by the Department of Interior after the department told the Oakland Museum executive committee that accepting the award would essentially affirm that the museum would abide by Trump’s executive orders against DEI. The museum also decided to stop pursuing federal grants in the future. “We wouldn’t be able to accept federal funding in good conscience with those strings attached,” Fogarty said.

    Parzen isn’t applying for any new federal grants either. “We know, just from a practical perspective, we’re not going to get them,” he said. “Because the mandate is to not fund the so-called ‘woke’ museums.”

    Parzen said the administration’s anti-DEI stance has completely upended what the grants were originally intended to do — and nearly guaranteed that places like JANM won’t get the sorts of grants they did in the past, like the National Park Service one they lost. “One of the key criteria they used to use to evaluate these grants was: Does it support a community of color that typically hasn’t been represented in museums?” Parzen said. “Whereas now, all of a sudden, it’s: Does the grant support the administration and celebrate patriotism and all the wonderful things about what it means to be American?”

    Since the beginning of the year, the National Endowment for the Humanities has canceled at least 1,200 grants — an estimated 85% of its existing grants. It’s hard to quantify how much has been lost to federal cuts, both in terms of research and public-facing programs, but it’s a lot, say museum directors like Fogarty. “Those grants are really important because they are peer reviewed and so competitive that in order to receive one, it really has to be a model project,” she said. “So these grants would really jump-start very important projects.”


    This March, Burroughs will be attending the California Association of Museums annual conference being held in Los Angeles in 2026. With museum leaders and administrators in attendance from across the state, Burroughs will likely field questions about JANM’s ongoing stance against the Trump administration — how it came to make it, and what it has cost them.

    Why was JANM able to take such a strong stance against DEI, for instance, when so many others could not, or would not? A major factor was its board, which was the driving force behind JANM’s position, Fujioka said.

    “There was no politics in that discussion,” Fujioka said. “What we talked about was our heritage, and our responsibility to the Issei and Nisei [first and second Japanese American] generations, who lost so much.”

    For many museums, this is not typical. “Boards in particular are getting skittish and nervous and saying, ‘Maybe we need to change this a little bit,’” Parzen said. “‘We wouldn’t want to be on the radar and subject to an investigation or an audit.’”

    JANM also has the advantage of being a culturally specific museum whose very existence is rooted in community activism. The museum was established because other museums across the country were not telling the history of Japanese Americans, and was funded, in large part, by individual Japanese American community members and groups. “I think a museum like the Japanese American National Museum, or even the Arab American National Museum, a lot of these culturally specific museums have a lot of clarity on why they exist,” Akmon said. “I mean, a deep, deep purpose. Being a museum is almost secondary. It’s like, we’re a museum because of this. That is a powerful proposition.”

    “And sometimes, in some of the darkest hours,” he continued, “being bold, for these types of institutions, actually galvanizes their community.”

    Ironically, JANM is, in many ways, in the same position as other museums that scrubbed their websites or canceled exhibits or chose not to take a stand. Even after the Smithsonian scrubbed its site, Trump announced an extensive review of the museum to ensure that it “reflect(s) the unity, progress and enduring values that define the American story”; similarly, in May, Trump called for the removal of Kim Sajet, the director of the National Portrait Gallery, because of her support of DEI, even after the gallery removed the DEI messaging from its website (she resigned the following month).

    “A lot of museums chose not to speak out because they were afraid of funding getting cut,” Burroughs said. “Well, it’s been cut. It’s gone.”

    For Burroughs, museums are at a critical crossroads where they must make tough decisions about how to stand up for their principles. “I just don’t believe for a second that museums can be neutral,” she said. “Museums can’t be neutral, whether you’re a science museum or an art museum or a cultural history museum. Especially at a time like this, when truth is under attack, when truth and history and science and art and culture is under attack, I think that we have a responsibility to stay firm.”

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