Siddhi Karthikeya
As an American-born child of non-Japanese immigrants, I grew up watching my parents navigate a country that promised opportunity but offered little community. They worked tirelessly — learning new languages, adapting to a new culture and chasing a version of the American dream that always felt just out of reach with the constant reminder that, no matter where we were born, we looked different, our food was different, our language was different. I would always be “different.”
We didn’t have a neighborhood that felt like ours, a place that understood where we came from or what we carried.
That is why, when I walk through Little Tokyo, I see a community that fought through injustice, shattered the walls of incarceration and shared a culture that I always wished I had.
Little Tokyo is not just another district in Los Angeles. Each street is rich with culture and community with the reminder of what was once a group of immigrants wanting to achieve their American dream.
To erase its footprint with towering development is to erase an American story that we must never forget.
The proposition of high-rise development at Fourth and Central threatens to do exactly that. This cold storage and residential project is set to rise 30 stories — casting a literal and symbolic shadow over a historic neighborhood built from the resilience of its displaced people.
The Little Tokyo Community Council has expressed its concerns that this development is misaligned with the vision of Sustainable Little Tokyo, a plan that centers cultural preservation, community and growth.
Some will argue that we need housing and development — and they’re right. But we don’t need it this way. Cities around the world have shown that growth and heritage can coexist. Why can’t Los Angeles do the same?
What is most painful about the proposed project isn’t just the scale — it’s the silence. The developer has not fully disclosed how much of the housing will be affordable, nor how small businesses will be protected.
The LTCC has offered reasonable solutions, starting from reducing development from 30 stories to 10 stories, transferring retail space to local nonprofits and offering rent-free opportunities to community-serving businesses like laundromats or supermarkets. These tasks are not anti-growth; they are pro-community.
Testimonies from Japanese American incarceration survivors like Shiro Takeshita and Katsugo Miho from the USC Shoah Foundation further prove the impact the community will endure if this project prevails. Their stories share a common thread: the need to rebuild a sense of home after unimaginable loss.
Little Tokyo became that home. To tear down the physical spaces tied to that legacy is to lose a living monument to one of America’s darkest hours.
Yet, it is under threat. With over 400 small businesses — among them more than 50 legacy shops — struggling to survive, Little Tokyo endures a staggering rent burden with almost 60 percent of renters paying more than 30 percent of their income on housing. Despite its National Historic Landmark status since 1995, the community remains vulnerable.
This isn’t just a fight over buildings, it’s a fight to keep a community’s identity. For many Japanese Americans, Little Tokyo is one of the last remaining places where their cultural roots are visible, where their history lives. The threat of overdevelopment doesn’t just displace businesses or residents, it displaces memory, displaces meaning.
As the child of immigrants who never had a neighborhood like this, I know what it means to be erased. If we don’t protect Little Tokyo, we risk erasing a vital chapter of American history. Let’s build so we can ensure the safety of our historic sites because our past is what shapes our future.
Siddhi Karthikeya is an emerging student leader, testimony collector and founder of Behind the Story. She wrote this commentary with the LTCC to emphasize the importance of keeping stories alive and preventing gentrification.
