Musicians, painters and poets give reluctant thanks to police as violence decreases after crackdown on hawkers
Donald Kissinger started to fear it was the end of Venice Beach's era as a haven for artists and free speech when a rival stallholder whacked him on the head with a skateboard.
For more than a decade, Kissinger had sold badges with political and cultural messages alongside the poets, singers, musicians, painters and street performers who made this Los Angeles promenade a sun-drenched, bohemian mecca.
Then about two years ago, pedlars of T-shirts, sunglasses, jewellery and other merchandise muscled in on the two-mile boardwalk, a lucrative market that attracts many millions of visitors each year, southern California's biggest draw after Disneyland.
According to Kissinger, a barefoot, bookish 55-year-old, the new vendors hired homeless people and drug addicts to reserve prized spots traditionally occupied by artists and performers. "They were very successful at intimidating us. One morning, a guy wanting to sell tie-dye T-shirts cracked my skull with a skateboard."
Kissinger stayed but many artists fled, saying the strip had become too wild and commercial to continue as a beacon of counter-culture and first amendment freedoms.
This week, however, the artists were back and most of the vendors had vanished, restoring Venice Beach to a semblance of its previous incarnation. "The feeling is so much better now," said Kissinger. "Those of us who come here to communicate can do so."
For this the bohemians are thanking – in many cases through gritted teeth – an unlikely ally: the Los Angeles police department (LAPD). The police started sweeping hawkers and vagrants away in February, leaving the promenade's 205 designated spaces free for artists, performers and craftspeople.
"It had become chaotic. Homeless people were being paid to sit in and watch spots," said Jon Peters, commander of the LAPD's Pacific division. Since the crackdown, which includes a midnight-to-dawn curfew, property crime had fallen by 6% and violent crime was down by 33%, he said. "We're seeing a lot less of the fights, arguments, extortion and violence."
Shop owners who had been undercut by the street sellers have reported a recovery in sales and artists and performers have enjoyed more space and attentive audiences.
"Yeah, you can say it's better," said Nathan Pino, 55, a pony-tailed, classically trained pianist who has played the promenade for 12 years.
"It was getting away from the artistic spirit: people buying Chinese trinkets wholesale for 10 cents downtown and selling it here for five bucks, pretending they'd made it themselves. The cops got rid of all that and that's a good thing."
Pino shook his head. "But you know, that doesn't put the police on my side. I'm always getting hassled, getting tickets, summonses. The city wants to get rid of Venice and build expensive stores and condominiums here. And they'll do it. Because money always wins."
It was a belief shared by others such as Matt Dowd, a New Zealand-born guitarist who has accused authorities of harassing legitimate performers. "The crackdown is good news for those of us who are still here and bad news for those wiped off. It's a matter of time before I get another ticket for leaving my guitar case in the wrong place or something equally ridiculous."
Greta Cobar, an activist and writer for the local paper, Beachhead, shared the ambivalence, welcoming the clean-up as a boon for shops and artists but remaining suspicious of city authorities' long-term intentions. "LA doesn't want this area's quirkiness and weirdness."
The homeless people, she added, had been pushed to other parts of the city.
Peters, the police commander, said his force had good relations with the artistic community and had balanced the area's free spirit with law and order. "We're not trying to take away from the uniqueness of Venice Beach. We support the artists and performers and the first amendment." Deciding what constituted art, and thus who was entitled to a spot on the boardwalk, was complicated, said Peters. "At the academy they teach you about burglaries and robberies. We've had to do extra training."
Some recent arrivals stretched artistic concepts. Charles Moorehead, 28, and Dustin Bryant, 19, stood on the corner of Windward avenue holding a sign that read: "Kick me in the balls for $10." They said the invitation constituted performance art and served a social purpose by relieving passers-by of pent-up aggression.
"This is free speech. And it helps people get stress out of their system," said Moorehead. "I wouldn't normally do this – I'm an oil painter – but galleries stopped sponsoring me so I got to do what I can to survive." Asked about the pain, he shrugged. "Get used to it. A 350lb [160kg] guy once lifted me off the ground."
Kissinger said the duo were entitled to boardwalk space. "They're communicating something. Is it art? Well, who decides? Philosophers have trouble deciding these issues."