Oakwood celebration is a homecoming for a displaced black community

Venice's black community gathered at Oakwood Park last week for an event with all the trappings of a typical Juneteenth celebration; soul music, cool costumes, fried chicken, cornbread and a bounce house for the kids.

But Juneteenth is exactly what they've been calling this celebration for the past few years, ever since President Biden declared it a national holiday in 2021. For more than two decades, Black residents of Oakwood have celebrated the third Saturday in June with names like Hood Day, Neighborhood Day, Community Day and Remembrance Day.

Some residents said the holiday marks the day black people first settled in the Oakwood area of Venice, an occasion that was first celebrated more than 100 years ago. Whatever the name, it is a time for the community to remember loved ones lost too soon and renew cherished relationships.

Naomi Nightingale speaks at the Juneteenth celebration in Venice.

(Zoe Cranfill / Los Angeles Times)

“These types of gatherings have occurred in this park since I was a child in the 1960s,” said Naomi Nightingale, a Venice native and professor and historian.

The word that came to mind was homecoming. They all knew each other well enough to ask for the names of each other's cousins, mothers, and siblings. It seemed like no one could finish a conversation before they were interrupted by new loved ones to say hello.

But most of the people I spoke to no longer lived in the area and could only point to the houses they grew up in. Nightingale estimates that only a third of attendees still have Venice zip codes, and most of them are renters. Hood's Day has never been about a protest, but in recent years, as gentrification pushed more Oakwood residents out of the neighborhood, the political dimensions of the celebration have become harder to ignore.

“We're not going to stop trying to preserve the sacrifices our grandparents made in this community,” said Nightingale, who says she gets at least one call every day from a real estate agent trying to buy her house.

There is “protest and resistance” in trying to keep the community alive, Nightingale said. Bringing Oakwood back to life each year is his way of honoring the sacrifices his ancestors made to live in Venice, he said.

Gwen Moseley, 60, remembers the neighborhood as the kind of community place where children who step out of line can be punished by any of the area mothers, who work together to be parents, she said.

“They say it takes a village, and we sure were a village,” said Moseley, who now lives in the Mid-City area.

Like most people I spoke to, he pointed to the house where he used to live. It is located on a street where a house is currently listed on Redfin for $5.3 million. His father owned the family home in Venice, but when he passed away, his brother inherited the property and decided to sell it instead of managing it.

She regrets that a little, but at least they have Hood Day, she said. Here she can watch the babies she once bounced on her lap grow into towering college graduates, maintain old friendships, and remain part of the old neighborhood.

“We are looking forward to this day right here. We call it Juneteenth now, but we've been doing it this way before Juneteenth came along. “It’s the only time we all see each other besides the funeral,” Moseley said.

Geraldine Holloway, 67, said all her fondest memories and loved ones are in Oakwood. She recalled the excitement among neighborhood children when McDonald's first opened on Lincoln Boulevard. The memory of her mother throwing away the Big Mac that she and her brothers raised her money for still makes her laugh.

The neighborhood really started to change about seven years ago, he said. Her family always rented in Venice and she spent a few years in Palmdale and other parts of Los Angeles, but there was never a place like Oakwood. She returned to the neighborhood to be near her grandchildren.

“I never leave. I mean, I left, but I always come back,” Holloway said.

“Every time someone dies, the children sell the properties. But my family is still here. I have a lot of family here in this park right now,” Holloway said, pointing to them one by one.

Clinton Noble is a case manager at the Helper Foundation, a youth violence nonprofit that helped found the holiday. She said the event was born out of a desire to remember friends and family who had passed away. Churches, community groups and private citizens have funded the event in the past. Attendees would hang portraits of their lost loved ones on the park's metal fences.

“We give rise to the idea of memory. Whether you lost someone or were dealing with some type of tragedy, we had a common goal to come out and celebrate,” Noble said.

But it would not be accurate to describe the holiday as a somber time. Whatever tragedy and regret attendees may face, Hood Day is a full-throated celebration.

After the speeches concluded, attendees, including Nightingale, invaded the dance floor and moved in unison with steps they all knew by heart. Three cars full of hip-hop dancers dressed as clowns showed up and started krumping, a type of dance born in South Los Angeles. People passed around plates with the right proportions of their favorite foods.

Gwendolyn Moseley talks to customers at her booth

The day was a powerful testament to the idea that a home is more than property, especially if you are from a group that has historically been denied homeownership through racist real estate practices such as redlining and racially restrictive deed covenants.

Sometimes home is just a feeling you carry with you, or a cooked meal, a familiar taste.

Sometimes it's a once-a-year gathering, a holiday hidden within a holiday, a time to share a secret feeling of intimacy with the people you grew up with, even if it's just for a few hours.

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