As polls continue to show the public's deep antipathy to reparations, it's easy to forget that just three years ago all elected officials were participating in them, pointing to what many quietly thought would be a one-time model of righting wrongs. To systemic racism.
It's easy to forget, unless you're Cavon Ward.
The Where Is My Land founder was present when Gov. Gavin Newsom signed a bill relinquishing government control of Bruce Beach — the property that once belonged to Willa and Charles Bruce and served as a popular inn and dance hall for black beachgoers in the 1900s before it was taken over by the city of Beach. Manhattan by eminent domain.
Newsom argued that what California was doing, returning the land to the Bruce family to keep or sell, could and should be replicated. Many openly shook their heads with hope. Many secretly shook their heads in doubt. But as it turns out, the governor was actually onto something.
Last week, the Santa Monica City Council voted to return the land or compensate the descendants of Silas White. A black businessman tried to open a club for black beachgoers in the late 1950s, in the then-segregated city, but was thwarted by unfair use of eminent domain.
There are still more steps before whites can officially join Bruce, starting with council members approving city staff recommendations on compensation. This can happen within 90 days. But in the meantime, Ward, who has worked with both families, compares the feeling of victory in Santa Monica to Bruce Beach.
“People thought it was a one-off and rejected the work I did,” she told me. “They'd say, 'I just got lucky.' “All the stars were aligned. Well, I did something that had never been done before, twice.”
The question now is, can this happen a third time? And the fourth, fifth, and sixth? If so, what does this mean for long-accepted principles about property ownership and the accumulation of wealth across generations? Who will be the new winners and who will be the new losers?
In a heartfelt ceremony on Manhattan Beach in 2022, state and Los Angeles County officials gathered at Bruce Beach to present the title deed to the Bruce family. Anthony Bruce, center, holds the deed next to his wife, Sandra Bruce, second from right, and Where Is My Land's Kavon Ward, far right.
(Christina House/Los Angeles Times)
Because in America, almost all of us live on stolen land. It's an uncomfortable truth, so we rarely question its justice. But this could change.
“We need to take a hard look at our institutions of government that have traditionally been dominated by white males and, quite frankly, white supremacists, and correct some of the harmful actions of the past,” Santa Monica Councilwoman Carolyn Torousis told me. “The more we normalize choices and processes for people to obtain reparative justice, the more it becomes mainstream thinking.”
However, I suspect that this potential to normalize the economic reorganization of society is one reason why there is so much opposition to reparations — even as the California Legislature has begun considering more than a dozen bills recommended by a state task force to address the permanent harms of reparations. Slavery and racist government policies.
One such law, Senate Bill 1050 introduced by State Sen. Steven Bradford (D-Gardena), would enable the state to investigate allegations of racially motivated property takings. Importantly, this law also “establishes a process for providing compensation to the rightful owner,” which would make it easier to do what Ward did in Manhattan Beach with Bruce Beach, and in Santa Monica with the Ebony Beach Club.
“It took a lot to get this done,” said Ward, who provided information on SB 1050. “You don't see everything that happens behind the scenes, so people think it's easy. But it's not.”
Yurok guides paddle tourists along the Klamath River in traditional canoes. The Yurok people have struck a deal to reclaim 125 acres in Humboldt County, and they have similar hopes for their ancestral lands along the Klamath River.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)
And few understand this more than Native Americans, who founded the Native Land Return movement, designed to reclaim and manage ancestral lands seized and encroached upon more than a century ago.
Their struggle for control of mostly rural wild lands is little different from the battles for ownership of developed urban neighborhoods. For one thing, it's not just about the land for the tribes. It is about culture, identity and healing, and about having sacred spaces to practice ancient traditions.
However, they have also had some surprising wins recently.
In 2022, while black people were still figuring out how to replicate what happened with Bruce Beach, an acre was returned from the Tongva tribe in Altadena, marking the first time in nearly 200 years that Los Angeles' first residents had land to call their own. Also that year, more than 500 acres of northern California redwood forests were returned to the InterTribal Sinkyone Wilderness Council.
In 2023, 6.2 acres were transferred from Orange County to the Tongva and Akjachimen people. So far this year, the Ohlone people have reclaimed 2.2 acres of land near San Francisco. The Yurok people also made a deal to reclaim 125 acres in Humboldt County, and have similar hopes for their ancestral lands along the Klamath River, which is emerging after four hydroelectric dams were removed.
On the other hand, Assemblywoman Wendy Carrillo (D-Los Angeles) and Insurance Commissioner Ricardo Lara are responsible for the long-standing and unfortunate exodus of thousands of mostly Latino families, in order to build housing, but ultimately to build Dodger Stadium.
The 1950 Assembly bill would have provided reparations — Carrillo's word, not mine — to the descendants of the residents of Palo Verde, La Loma, and Bishop, now known collectively as Chavez Ravine. The biggest demand is for land. Each family would be entitled to receive city-owned land similar in size to what they lost or compensation for the value of their land, adjusted for inflation.
“The city has robbed the residents of these three communities of generational wealth,” Carrillo said in explaining why she introduced the bill, which is still in early committee hearings.
In fact, there is a wave of new thinking about confronting the dire consequences of stolen land. And with every win, whether it's in Santa Monica or Humboldt County, there's more momentum for the next one.
“There is a clear openness to correcting injustice [and] “It's the right thing for people to do, especially at a time when housing is the dominant conversation,” Carrillo said. “And we began to see how incredibly biased policies of the past affected people of color.”
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A newspaper page from the Los Angeles Times archives shows the Ebony Beach Club building proposed by Silas White.
(Los Angeles Times)
Big questions aside, 90-year-old Connie White still questions the fact that her family might actually get the Santa Monica land back — or at least compensation for it.
She was in her twenties when she watched her father, Silas, invest his dreams and savings into converting an old building on Ocean Avenue into a hotel and club. He owned several businesses, including a laundromat and a hamburger stand, but this was destined to be his “crown jewel.” Nat King Cole agreed to be a charter member.
But a few months before the Ebony Beach Club was scheduled to open, the city seized the building and surrounding land. White sued but lost. Shortly after, he was diagnosed with cancer. He fought it, but became sicker. The city then condemned the building, demolished it, and replaced it with a parking lot.
“It really hurt him a lot,” White told me. “And then he started not taking care of himself as much as he did before. He was very depressed. And then, in 1962, he died. He was only 57 years old.”
I thought it was over. That there was nothing left for anyone to do. She never mentioned what happened to her other relatives, including her cousin, Melana Davis. Then came Bruce Beach.
“You know, my father had property in Santa Monica that they took from him,” Connie said to me one day. “Maybe I should call Where Is My Land,” Davis recounted. “Yes, I think you should,” I said.
Given an option on compensation, Davis said she would prefer to restore the land, although that is a complicated proposition given that the luxury Viceroy Hotel now occupies the land.
Meanwhile, White said she doesn't know what she wants yet, other than for people to know what happened to her father — and to prove to other families, and other people of color who have been wronged, that they don't just have the right. To accept the theft of their lands.
“That's my hope,” White said.
She added: “Many years ago, my father spoke to me and we were talking about the definition of justice.” “He said, ‘In your life, if you see a way to get justice, I want you to pursue it.’ And so I did.
