One of the first things I learned after moving to Chinatown was to avoid walking down Broadway on the weekends. This was well over a decade ago- before the high rent apartments and perennial line at Howlin’ Ray’s were a thing- and the sidewalk scene on the neighborhood’s main drag was poppin’ throughout the weekends. Back then, trying to get from Point A to Point B was like maneuvering your way through a house party where your goal is to squeeze through a tightly packed crowd of people and stuff without knocking over a vase or getting stabbed by a pointy plant. Then the pandemic happened and, perhaps like most of downtown save for Little Tokyo, the crowds didn’t come back in the same numbers.
On the Saturday after Lunar New Year, though, Chinatown felt like it did before lockdown. I walked along Broadway- after the past six years, I forgot my old rule- and quickly backed up against a wall, near a row of plants, to let large group of teenagers pass. I got caught in wave after wave of gridlock and teetered along the curb trying to bypass the nearly impenetrable crowd in front of Yang Chow and the oversized stroller parked between a store and a rack of tchotchkes. At Scoops, which was my destination, my first two ice cream choices were sold out and the third nearly so. It had been busy all day, I heard, and, even as dinner time approached, people were still hanging around.
This isn’t a post about the decline of Chinatown or Downtown. That overblown story was tired even before it became engagement bait. But, post-pandemic, there are two things that I’ve noticed happen in the space where social media and IRL converge. Now that our feeds are dominated by Influencers or Creators or whatever we’re calling people who make money off our anger and insecurity, we don’t really know what’s happening in our own cities. On the surface level, that results in finding out about events after they happen, which is something I wrote about for LAist three years ago and remains an issue. The bigger issue, though, is that bad news travels fast, tends to stick around and is hard to counter even when the “news” isn’t entirely accurate. A recent example is last summer’s anti-ICE protests, which were often depicted as more widespread and violent than they actually were. (I wrote about what I sawhere and here.)
We’re essentially living in a world where the messages on our phones are, “There’s nothing good happening, stay home and scroll” and “The world outside is scary, stay home and scroll.” So, to see crowds of people out and about for any reason feels like a small miracle. This is something that I’ve been seeing more and more often since the start of the year. Whether we’re talking about clubs or protests or just hanging out downtown in the afternoons and weekends, there does seem to be more people. IDK why. Maybe everyone is just sick of opening their phone and seeing Trump’s sagging, shit-spewing, orange face ad nauseam.
But, back to Saturday. The 127th annual Golden Dragon Parade, one of Chinatown’s biggest Lunar New Year events, took place earlier in the afternoon. (FYI, the other big event, the Firecracker Run, is this weekend.) I think I’ve been to every Golden Dragon Parade that has happened since I moved to the neighborhood and can say with a fair amount of confidence that I haven’t seen a turnout this large since 2019. People spilled off the sidewalk and into the street, taking photos and cheering on the participants. Maybe the irony here is that parades are the antithesis of modern entertainment. They move slowly. Sometimes the gaps between floats and performers are long enough to make you think that the show is over. And the people who have the crowd hyped aren’t celebrities, they’re little kids showing off their martial arts skills, teens banging on drums and adults dancing in traditional attire, plus librarians and Metro employees encouraging people to read books and ride the bus. It’s the real LA on display and people get into it.
To enjoy a parade in person, you have to be patient and pay attention to the small details. When the classic convertibles stop so that city officials can wish everyone a happy New Year, you might notice the snowcapped mountains in the background on this sunny February afternoon. Since music can overlap, you have to listen carefully to pick up that one of the high school bands is playing a Lady Gaga song. Some of the best moments are the ones that aren’t so photogenic, like the lion dancers running to catch up with their groups, the beauty queens taking selfies when they think no one is watching or the crowd racing towards the Metro crew trying to get holiday TAP cards.
Seeing so many people of all ages and backgrounds outside, enjoying an event that’s well over a century old is certainly heart-warming. But, it also feels a little rebellious. This is not the content that the algorithm wants. That’s something that sticks with me into Sunday, when I’m back out on Broadway running errands. Saturday’s confetti still carpets much of the ground, particularly in and around the plazas. The street isn’t as packed as it was the previous day, but it’s still bustling. Conversations in no fewer than three different languages overlap as I pass by the spot where cumbia and Italo disco collide from the competing bluetooth speakers of two different sidewalk vendors. Clusters of people filter in and out of restaurants. It’s a vibe that doesn’t exist for the likes and shares. It’s just for you, the person who decides to see and hear the city through your own eyes and ears. I’m hopeful more people are up for doing that now.
Liz O. is an L.A.-based writer and DJ. Follow on Instagram or sign up for the weekly, Beatique newsletter for updates on new stories and gigs.
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