LA’s Japantown is listed as one of America’s most endangered historical places, but like many neighborhoods, developers and investors have one eye on prime real estate. Writer Yvette Cook travels beyond the usual LA tourist trail to understand how one community is fighting for cultural survival.
Red and white paper lanterns, brushed with black kanji (Chinese characters used in Japanese script), sway gently in the breeze above my head, between sturdy ginkgo trees. A sweet biscuit-like scent drifts from Mitsuru Café where a fresh batch of imagawayaki—golden pancakes filled with a sweet red bean paste—is steaming by the serving hatch. The lyrical chatter of three elderly men taking slow, deliberate bites of steamed buns is punctuated by the squeals of two small children darting around tall gray rocks. The sight evokes bygone memories of my own children, scribbling wishes on colorful origami to hang on the fig tree.
After I learnt this neighborhood had been added to the National Trust for Historic Preservation list of America’s 11 Most Endangered Historic Places in 2024, I was keen to return to Little Tokyo, an integral part of Downtown LA for more than 140 years, and one of only three Japantowns in the United States alongside San Francisco and San Jose. Today, over 170,000 Japanese Americans live in Los Angeles, the second-largest population of Japanese Americans after Honolulu, though many now reside outside of Little Tokyo.
In its 1930s heyday, Little Tokyo bustled with life: A dense, walkable neighborhood of Japanese restaurants and bars, buddhist temples, bathhouses and bilingual newspapers. Originating when a former Japanese sailor opened Kame Restaurant on East First Street in 1884, it become an economic center for immigrants.
Today, with the Japanese Village Plaza (JVP) at its heart, Little Tokyo is a much smaller area of just a few blocks. I’ve come to find out what’s putting this cherished area of LA at risk—and more importantly, whether anything can be done to save it.
Outside the minimalist facade of the Japanese American National Museum, I meet Brian Takahashi from Six Taste Food Tours. In his dark-green noragi jacket (a traditional Japanese workwear jacket) and beanie, Takahashi is a young Japanese American blending tradition with LA casual.
While the museum is closed for renovations until late 2026, Takahashi starts off the tour with a powerful history lesson, drawing a subtle yet significant distinction—Little Tokyo is a Japanese American, not a Japanese, community. “To understand Little Tokyo today, you have to understand the trauma Japanese people experienced after World War Two when they were incarcerated in internment camps outside Los Angeles,” he says.
“If you just visit on the weekend, it feels vibrant and thriving. But, it hides the challenges, particularly threats to small businesses, where we are seeing rents going up and interest from speculative developers who don’t care about the community, culture and history that makes Little Tokyo special. Now we’re an endangered neighborhood, it’s a signal to Japanese Americans to fight for Little Tokyo and their heritage.”
- Kristin Fukushima, Little Tokyo Community Council (LTCC)
In the decades building up to the War, anti-Japanese sentiment in California had hardened into laws restricting immigration and land ownership, targeting a community whose numbers and economic success were rising. After Pearl Harbor, politicians and military leaders cast Japanese Americans as a security threat without evidence, even though many volunteered as air-raid wardens or for military services to prove their loyalty. In February 1942, President Roosevelt’s Executive Order EO9066 authorized the forced removal of an estimated 37,000 Japanese Americans into inland concentration camps.
After their release in 1945, another problem: “They faced a dilemma of wanting to keep their Japanese heritage, but needing to prove they were American.” This identity conflict has echoed through generations. It’s one reason many families left Little Tokyo, seeking acceptance elsewhere in more affluent areas of LA, while hoping to signal to others that they had ‘made it’.
We cross the street to Chinchikurin, an okonomiyaki restaurant, and sit before the hot grill where chefs flip the okonomiyaki, savory Japanese ‘pancakes’ or fritters, with ease. Each okonomiyaki is a layered marvel of pork belly, shredded cabbage, yakisoba noodles and pickled ginger, topped with the ever-popular Otafuku’s Original Sweet and Savory sauce. Takahashi notes this dish is Japanese, though putting the same filling into a taco would make it more Japanese American.
Next door to Chinchikurin is Bunkado, a family-run store that for 80 years has sold everything from rice bowls to ‘good luck’ Daruma dolls. I chat to a friendly assistant: “Generations have come here for everyday things to connect them back to their Japanese culture,” she tells me. Outside the store, Takahashi gestures to a worn marker embedded in the sidewalk that states “First Japanese immigrant to open a restaurant in around 1890”. With our eyes to the ground, we follow these understated plaques along East First Street tracing faded outlines of Japanese-owned businesses such as Nihon Hotel (1910), Tenri Restaurant (1937), Dr Tsukifuji dentist (1926), Hoshizaki Grocery (1914) and even a bath house.
Looking up, the low-rise 19th century and Art Deco buildings are looking uncared for with flaking paint, graffiti and blocked windows. “We’ve lost many legacy restaurants and businesses, such as Mitsuru Sushi and Grill,” says Takahashi. “Gentrification brought on by landowners has taken a toll.” The nearby USD$2 billion ‘Fourth & Central’ development of apartments, office space and shops, together with improvements in public transit projects, are changing Little Tokyo’s culture and economy. Now sitting on lucrative land, Little Tokyo’s rents are rising, driving out small businesses and attracting chain stores.
Still, there’s hope. “Local people are pooling their money to purchase the buildings to preserve their legacy,” he tells me. The creation of the Little Tokyo Community Impact Fund has raised USD$1 million from over 100 investors, including regular people, and purchased its first building in August 2025. Its aims are simple, to keep rents low so small businesses aren’t priced out by outsider investors.
Stepping inside Fugetsu-Do, a fourth-generation confectionery shop since 1904, the air is sweet with sugar and rice flour from the mochi, a small, round cake made from glutinous rice. “The displays have been the same since then,” Takahashi tells me, pointing to the neatly arranged wooden cases that bring comfort and nostalgia to older Japanese Americans. From rows of multi-colored mochi, I choose kusa mochi, made with leaves of yomogi (Japanese mugwort) and sweet red bean paste. The tender chewy cake clings lightly to my teeth, releasing an earthy flavor before the sweetness of the bean paste.
In the Japanese Village Plaza, there’s a palpable buzz from a ‘takeover’ event promoting Japanese entertainment company Konami’s Silent Hill horror franchise about a series of survival horror games. Red spider lilies drape over Little Tokyo’s decorative yagura tower, queues snake outside stores selling themed pastries, and visitors pose for photos against eerie backdrops. In the queue for Cafe Dulce’s limited-edition mitarashi dango—a rice dumping with a sweet glaze—I meet Kevin Watanabe, a young Japanese American from Orange County. He tells me, “I usually come for quirky toys at Monkey Pants or collectibles at Anime Jungle, but with this Silent Hill event, it’s amazing to see my favorite spot so alive.”
While Takahashi welcomes the energy, he worries that the community is losing what makes Little Tokyo special. For him and many others, ‘saving’ Little Tokyo is less about drawing crowds and more about preserving Japanese American identity.
“Even 30 years ago, Little Tokyo was much larger. Gentrification and high rents have forced legacy businesses out, and too few Japanese American residents can live here now”.
- Carolina Roque, Japanese American Cultural and Community Center
Intrigued, I call Kristin Fukushima, Executive Director of the Little Tokyo Community Council (LTCC), whose mission is to protect and preserve their identity. “LTCC is a place for consensus-building, bringing together all of Little Tokyo’s businesses, residents and community organizations,” she tells me. “We identify the issues, have space to talk about what we do and then advocate together with one voice for the whole neighborhood.”
I’m surprised when she tells me that it was LTCC that applied to become one of America’s most endangered places. “If you just visit on the weekend, it feels vibrant and thriving,” Fukushima says. “But, it hides the challenges, particularly threats to small businesses, where we are seeing rents going up and interest from speculative developers who don’t care about the community, culture and history that makes Little Tokyo special. Now we’re an endangered neighborhood, it’s a signal to Japanese Americans to fight for Little Tokyo and their heritage.”
Fukushima also tells me about a new development in Little Tokyo called First Street North which will be one of LA’s largest 100 percent affordable housing complexes that will prioritize its commercial spaces for local small businesses. “It’s been a 10-year campaign, working with our previous City Councilmember Kevin de León, to secure that land,” she says. “I remind people that while buildings are beautiful and hold important memories, if our people are not inside them, it’s just a beautiful building.”
Takahashi takes me to the development site, passing the Go For Broke Memorial, which commemorates the Japanese American soldiers who fought for the country in World War Two. To amplify Kristina’s point, he says, “We’re reaching out to legacy restaurants and businesses that were pushed out of Little Tokyo to give them a home here.”
But, he adds, all Japanese Americans must come along on the journey too. “We need to learn to be proud of being Japanese again. In Japanese culture, ‘gaman’ means perseverance and ‘shōganai’ means it cannot be helped.” Both reflect resilience, but also how some Japanese Americans have just accepted what has happened and, which Takahashi believes, holds the community back.
It’s this desire to preserve and champion Japanese-American culture that drives Takahashi’s advocacy of Nisei Week, an annual nine-day festival in August—‘Nisei’ means ‘second generation’ in Japanese. Colorful floats and taiko drummers fill the streets of Little Tokyo alongside food festivals and calligraphy workshops.
Beneath a canopy of maple and cherry blossom trees in the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center (JACCC) garden, I meet Carolina Roque, JACCC’s marketing director. As she guides me along a gurgling stream, she explains its significance. “At the top, the waterfall splits into two—the rougher stream represents the struggles of the first generation, while the smoother one reflects the journey of the second [the first American-born Japanese].” Pointing downstream, she explains how “they merge into a calm pond symbolizing the coming together of the third and fourth generations.” It seems like a fitting metaphor for Takahashi’s hopes.
On Little Tokyo’s challenges however, Roque is frank. “Even 30 years ago, Little Tokyo was much larger”, she says. “Gentrification and high rents have forced legacy businesses out, and too few Japanese American residents can live here now”.
“I want visitors to understand that Little Tokyo isn’t just a destination with fun Japanese things. It’s also an important part of our history.”
- Brian Takahashi, guide, Six Taste Food Tours
Still, she remains optimistic, viewing Little Tokyo’s endangered status as a turning point. “What we’ve been saying for years is finally recognized nationally which will hopefully bring resources and grants to help our community groups fight back.”
One key effort is Sustainable Little Tokyo, a partnership of local groups expanding educational and cultural programs so Little Tokyo remains a living neighborhood. From reviving Nikkei music traditions at JACCC’s Aratani Theatre to crafting cocktails at the bar Wolf & Crane using grapefruit from one of the neighborhood’s two 150-year-old trees—one lives in JACCC’s plaza. Carolina smiles, “my wish is that people continue being passionate, so future generations can enjoy a little piece of Japan in Los Angeles.”
Her wish may be coming true, as I remember Fukushima’s final words to me. “We’ve seen a new generation of younger folks step up to fight, making people feel confident in their Japanese American identity and able to come to places like Little Tokyo to renew and restore that sense of identity and culture.”
As I prepare to leave Little Tokyo, one final attraction commands attention, a towering mural of Shohei Ohtani on the 12-story Miyako Hotel. Hailed as the savior of the city’s baseball team, the LA Dodgers, Ohtani helped drive a 90 percent increase in tourism from Japan in 2023, bringing over 230,000 visitors, many of whom wandered through Little Tokyo. Takahashi reminds me it takes more than one hero to save a neighborhood. “I want visitors to understand that Little Tokyo isn’t just a destination with fun Japanese things,” he says. “It’s also an important part of our history.”
Outside the museum, I scan the Ohtani QR code on the sidewalk and raise my phone toward the mural. Through augmented reality, Ohtani swings his bat, sending a virtual baseball soaring across East First Street. Watching his determination, I feel confident that the long fight by Japanese Americans, like Brian Takahashi, to preserve their legacy and heritage will deliver a winning home run for Little Tokyo and its community.
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To research this story, the writer traveled as a guest of Los Angeles Tourism and Convention Board.
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Yvette is a freelance travel journalist with a passion for positive impact storytelling. She’s interested telling the stories of women in travel and getting under the skin of lesser-known destinations—and all the better if she can jump on a train to get there. Her features appear in the Independent, iNews, New Zealand Herald, and BBC Sky at Night Magazine.
