Lunar New Year x Black History Month 2025: Celebrating Asian & African-American Solidarity
388 9th Street, Oakland
February 1, 2025
The rhythmic drums and crashing cymbals of a lion dance are experiences I never tire of—the whirling colors and proscribed dance movements create a suspension of disbelief that enthralls me. So, I was hot to see the performance scheduled as part of the program for the Lunar New Year x Black History Month event at the Oakland Asian Cultural Center. And I was also curious about what was described as a “celebration of Asian and African-American solidarity.”
But how many folks would be in attendance on a gray, rainy Saturday afternoon? Surprisingly, it was packed.
I hustled through the day’s wetness into the expansive Pacific Renaissance Plaza and up dangerously slippery stairs to the second floor venue. At first it didn’t seem like much: traditional red Asian new year decorations placed on the walls and on tables in the lobby, paper Chinese lanterns, etc. But when I entered the large auditorium nearly every seat was taken, mostly by families with young children who screeched and ran up and down the aisles. Somehow I was able to get a seat near the back.
I’d missed a few performers, including the Great Wall Youth Orchestra, and a demonstration of Filipino martial arts, but the lion dance was yet to come.
Before the dancing, Emcee Miko Lee, Director of Programs for Asian Americans for Civil Rights and Equality, introduced Amihan, a poet and musician from San Francisco.
Spoken word poetry isn’t my cup of tea. While Amihan performed with gusto, her rapped social justice poems were to me a sequence of trite slogans I’ve heard hundreds of times. Perhaps they were inspiring to the school-age ears in the audience, but I preferred the hopeful and optimistic quotes from authors like Maxine Hong Kingston, Audre Lorde, and Grace Lee Boggs that emcee Lee recited between performances.
Gold, Red, and Violet
Time for the lions!
Lee introduced the Cal Vietnamese Student Association’s lion dance troupe: University of California, Berkeley’s “one and only student-run lion dance team.”
A drummer lost his grip on a drumstick and sent it flying into the center aisle. The team reset and began again.
The college students weren’t pros, but they put on an excellent show. The three lions—gold, red, and violet—wound their way offstage to dance through the aisles where kids screamed and giggled, jostling to be near them and touch their furry manes. They charmed the entire audience into laughter and smiles.
“Are you a reporter?” asked a young woman seated beside me named Sylvia. She’d seen me scribbling in my notebook. I asked why she had come, but suddenly she and her friend Lauren had to dash out to put money in their parking meter. Oh, the parking! I didn’t see them again until after the final performance.
The youngster on the other side of me was obviously eagerly awaiting this final act. He told me his name was Eli, a junior at Oakland Tech, and that his girlfriend was a member of the upcoming dance group. And they were fire.
Dimensions Dance Theater
More than two dozen mostly teenage girls comprised Dimensions Dance Theater, a company founded in 1972 to “create, perform, and teach dance that reflects the historical experiences and contemporary lives of African Americans.” Their energy was ferocious and their synchronized coordination almost flawless. At one point the group played their bodies as percussion instruments in a piece of choreography that reminded me of “Stomp,” which I saw in New York’s East Village long ago.
No exaggeration: I liked the teens’ performance better.
After the performances I wandered into the local vendors’ marketplace, browsing books at the Marcus Books table. The delicious looking pound cakes made by Reggie and Nicole Borders at the Pound Bizness table made my mouth water. “I’m the love, he’s the butter,” Ms. Borders remarked, patting her husband’s belly. But there was no time for cake.
Back in the lobby I saw that the rain had abated, and hoped this was an auspicious sign for the young lunar new year of the snake. The celebration I’d experienced had certainly been heartening—and happy.
Gung Hay Fat Choy!
