A tribute in art to an activist’s life
Asian groups collaborate to honor the bold legacy of Yuri Kochiyama
A photograph of Japanese American activist Yuri Kochiyama ran in Life Magazine, across two pages, with her cradling the head of Malcolm X just moments after he had been shot in 1965. She’s kneeling in a black coat. His white shirt has been ripped open to reveal his chest.
When many people hear the name Yuri Kochiyama, this is the image that comes to mind. Her friendship with Malcolm X and her commitment to a certain sort of intersectional politics is legend. But, of course, there was much more to Kochiyama than a single moment — or a single image.
In an effort to highlight her work and her life, the Asian American Women Artists Association and the Asian Pacific Islander Cultural Cen-
ter are presenting an exhibition dedicated to Kochiyama, who died in 2014. “Shifting Movements,” on display through May 25 at SOMArts Cultural Center, features 40 artists of various “ages, ethnicities, genders and identities” all taking on the legacy of Kochiyama.
“She was such an iconic activist and Asian American leader,” says Melanie Elvena, the programs manager for AAWAA. “A lot of us wanted to pay some kind of homage to her.”
Kochiyama and her family were among the Japanese Americans who were forced into internment camps during the second world war. The experience radicalized Kochiyama, who would go on to spend her life working as an activist for a number of causes. “She was really humble, but she did a lot for a lot of communities,” Elvena said.
For seven decades, Kochiyama fought for reparations for the interned, worked with the Black Panthers, wrote letters to government officials and political prisoners, spoke out against war, and participated in marches. She also taught English to immigrants and worked in soup kitchens, and she was vocal about many of the parallels she saw between the modern-day treatment of Muslims and the actions that led to her own family being interned.
Through her work, Kochiyama broke down deep-seated stereotypes about model minorities and Asian women as quiet bystanders. In other words, hers is a legacy of considerable breadth.
Each of the artists included in the show has some sort of connection to Kochiyama — whether that’s through family, a brief public interaction, a friendship or having found inspiration in her work. Accordingly, they each interact with her memory in their own varied ways.
Tina Kashiwagi confronts her own connection to the internment camps through her family’s experience there. She’s created a wooden-framed barrack, 6 by 6 feet, wrapped with barbed wire. Inside are a single chair and a screen that rotates through family photos taken during their incarceration. On one side, she’s also affixed the official “instructions to all persons of Japanese ancestry” posted in the Presidio on May 5, 1942.
Barbed wire becomes a theme in the show. Manon Bogerd Wada creates a sort of ladder from stacked wooden stools. The makeshift ladder is also covered in barbed wire, a bullhorn, lit from within, hangs over it all. The piece pays homage, the artist says, to Kochiyama and the way her legacy has allowed others to build on her intersectional work.
The sharp, twisted wire is also at the heart of a large-scale mandala created by Nancy Hom — a nod to where Kochiyama’s activism began. The mandala was assembled using pieces that Hom sourced from her community. People have offered up bits of collage that reference how they were touched by Kochiyama for the outermost ring. Another piece is made up of photos of Kochiyama. And then there are the miniature teddy bears, a sly reference to the fact that Kochiyama was a master collector — of letters, awards, documents, and yes, apparently, teddy bears as well.
Other pieces seem almost unrelated at all, until you begin to understand the intersectional work Kochiyama pioneered. A beautiful and heartbreaking section of the show, #SayHerName, is presented in complete darkness. Danielle Wright has created 100 portraits of black women and girls who have “come into contact with structural racism and state violence via law enforcement.” The portraits, small, but detailed, were done with invisible ink. To see them, you have to walk through the space with a black-light flashlight. The symbolism, that one has to go looking for these women, is immediate, and so is the feeling that this is something Kochiyama would spend her days agitating and fighting for.
“She organized for multiple communities, and I think that’s why we wanted to highlight her,” Elvena says. “She worked in this intersectional way where she was bridging different kinds of communities.”
Near the end of the show — or the beginning, depending on how you choose to move through it — is a table where visitors are invited to sit down and write letters to people who are currently incarcerated. Even into old age, Elvena says, letter writing was one of Kochiyama’s “main vehicles of activism.” So much so, apparently, she was constantly asking people to send her stamps.
In this way, and throughout the show, visitors are asked not just to consider Kochiyama’s memory, but to also continue with her work.