Coming Home to a Gentrified Neighborhood
Betty Avila and the Cypress Park she once knew
One of the questions we received the most in relation to Take Me to Your River is, how do we select the individuals that are included in this project? The answer is usually through word of mouth. That’s how we found Betty Avila.
When we first reached out to her to be a part of this project, she expressed some hesitancy and suggested her mom, Rebeca, would be a better fit. After sitting in on her mom’s interview with Virginia Espino, Betty realized that her perspective of the neighborhood differed from her mom’s and agreed to be a part of the project. Following her interview, Betty suggested we contact her brother, Ciro, who, as a boy growing up in Cypress Park, had a unique perspective on his upbringing.
In this way, through the course of this project, we’ve been able to compile a portrait of the Avila family, whose experiences and memories have been distinctly shaped by Cypress Park and influenced by factors such as age or gender. The Avilas are just one of numerous families who have made a home and life for themselves in Cypress Park, and we’ve been fortunate enough to hear and record their stories.
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Betty Avila was born and raised in Cypress Park. In this “little pocket community,” as she calls it, she would walk to the neighborhood grocery store and butcher to pick up the items that her mom needed for dinner; she would pass by many of her neighbors and note how many of the homeowners in the neighborhood were people of color. Here in this working class community, Betty recalls the overwhelming sense of solidarity and mutual support neighbors offered each other.
She left home to attend Pitzer College and when she came back was confronted with the reality that her little pocket community was undergoing rampant gentrification. The businesses she would walk to as a child were long gone. Instead, new storefronts were opening for new clients. As the neighborhood changes, she constantly asks who these changes are being made for. Who will benefit the most from these changes?
The following is an edited conversation between Betty Avila and Virginia Espino.
VE: What are your earliest memories of Cypress Park?
BA: I remember a lot of the actual neighbors. There were just a lot of connections amongst people. I also had a sense of a really beautiful little pocket community; everything that we needed was there. We were within walking distance of the park; we were within walking distance of my first elementary school.
Later on, I came to learn the history of the neighborhood and the way that it's changed in terms of who was living there.
VE: That’s nice. You said that you were in Ballet Folklórico, did you practice at the park?
BA: I started [Ballet Folklórico] at eight years old, and I only stopped because I went to college. It was really fun, and it was a great experience. We performed in the Cinco de Mayo parade that runs on Cypress Avenue and ends at the Cypress Park [Recreation Center] for a big festival.
VE: What lessons did you take from your time in Ballet Folklórico?
BA: I credit it with a stronger sense of connection to place, because it was at the park and it was very affordable. Also, any level of discipline that I have come to have in my life, comes from being in this space because the teacher took us very seriously.
He would always tell us to stand up straight and smile, he would say “Don't let your arms fall down.” I always appreciated his approach to excellence, even though it was this really, humble program at Cypress Park.
VE: Let’s talk about the changes. You have some neighbors that are still there, but have you witnessed anybody displaced? Anybody forced to move out?
BA: The interesting part about Cypress Park is there were a lot of homeowners. Most of the people that I knew, their parents owned their house, so there's a different level of agency over movement to sell your house and to leave.
But I also know people who are renters and eventually bounced around within the neighborhood as things were changing and did get pushed out.
I remember feeling such a sense of anger. We were so forgotten, but we didn't need the sort of outside affirmation of this neighborhood being cool or beautiful or a good place to raise kids.
It’s not to say that I don't think people should live in a particular neighborhood, but some of the people coming in have a blank slate mentality, a sense of ownership, as if nobody who's been there before is important or worth getting to know and building community with, and I think that's the difference.
The biggest heartbreak for me has been that I couldn't buy a home here as an adult. I'm still close to Cypress Park, but I feel a sense of disconnect.
When I go now, it's actually quite difficult to be there. You start to see the way that it's changing, the restaurants that have come in. It's really jarring and disorienting when you see celebrities who will post about eating brunch at that one spot on Cypress Avenue, in this little pocket where a bunch of restaurants have opened up.
VE: How do you deal with these sentiments?
BA: Part of the way I'm addressing it now is being on the board of an organization called LA Más. Their mission really is to figure out: how do you sustain a community so that people are thriving, regardless of their economic status, and can stay.
That for me feels like the way to direct my energy because otherwise it's just a lot of anger and hurt.
VE: Are there other lessons that you think you learned from growing up in Cypress Park?
BA: There was such a sense of mutual support or solidarity. There's a lot of working class people who are trying to build a life, create a family, and, for some of them, own a home. Because there are a lot of homeowners in Cypress Park [who have faced] challenges, whether [from the] climate around gangs at the time or just a disinvestment in the community.
For a lot of families and for my parents, they didn't necessarily have the capacity or even the knowledge or understanding of where the resources are and what it takes to get them.But there was still a sense of the community wanting the neighborhood to be better in whatever way, shape, or form that could happen.
