The lilt of poetry, melodic rhythms and the buzz of a tattooist’s needle — these are some of the sounds you might hear on any given day at Namnam Space in Koenji, a single-room community center that hosts art events, live music and educational workshops. Namnam’s open design is inherently confluent, facilitating communication that naturally fosters a sense of community. Low sofas and wooden benches line its walls, while the faint thrum of jazz descends from above. Hanging on its walls are the trappings of its political foundations, and felt in its collective voice is the warmth of its community, greeting celebrities, friends and strangers alike. Having hosted luminaries such as Noam Chomsky and Manu Chao at previous locations, Namnam continues to offer camaraderie to Tokyo’s queer and anarchic communities while taking on the cadence of Koenji’s countercultural spirit. From street level, Namnam Space is easy to miss, tucked away in the backstreets of Koenji Junjo Shotengai, with only a flyer directing visitors up to its fourth-floor door. The door itself — framed in pink and emblazoned with a large sticker of a Palestinian flag — is not as easy to miss. Political stickers and event posters for local stores stretch across the neighboring walls, melding into a faded background of agitprop from past campaigns. After three locations and a lengthy court battle, Namnam has settled in its new form and surroundings. Opened in the Noborito district of Kawasaki in 2023 and relocated to Koenji in 2024, Namnam is many things: ideologically anarchist, anticapitalist and queer; materially a nonprofit cafe, gallery and community center. Namnam is community-founded and operated, and aims to shape the lives and livelihood of its constituents. From musical performances and poetry readings to quieter moments of camaraderie, Namnam offers an ideologically anarchist, anticapitalist and queer platform in Koenji. | Maressa Jorge It’s no surprise that Alberto Carrasco, a Mexican-born professor who teaches art, history and philosophy at Rikkyo and Hosei universities, founding member of Namnam and owner of an immaculately shaped beard, greets me not by introducing the cafe but by showing me its neighbor, Dig A Hole Zines. These businesses represent one chain in a network of like-minded establishments across Koenji. From bars to recycle shops, hostels to record stores, it’s not economic markers of success that motivate their owners, but a desire to contribute to the nonconformist culture and create spaces that breathe life into it. “It’s the only 24-hour zine shop in the world,” smiles Carrasco, 34, affectionately known as “Beto.” Dig A Hole operates on a trust-payment system, built on the optimistic assertion that “those who read don’t steal, and those who steal don’t read.” This sentiment extends to The People’s Library, an unstaffed bookcase outside both shops, accessible 24/7 and stocked with donated books. Each member of Namnam has a different story about the origins of its name, but, as Carrasco explains, “It was just an excuse to play with something. Maybe do something with our names (Nadina Osmani, Alberto Carrasco, Mayo Nakamura). Because we were in Noborito, we said, ‘Let’s go (with) Noborito Art Market.’ Then Nadina said ‘New Art Manifesto.’” The name stuck, becoming a reflection of the fluidity and lack of egotism of the founders. Awoken by our talking, Kinako, a Shiba Inu, begins languidly patrolling the store. Carrasco jokes that “namnam” is the sound she makes when you play with her. Affectionately recognized as the space’s spiritual founder, Kinako isn’t the only celebrity within Namnam’s community. They have been patronized by political figures, including Chomsky, who visited in 2014 and gave a talk to a tightly packed audience, and Chao, a Parisian-born multilingual musician who has on numerous occasions both lectured and performed his socially conscious meld of punk and reggae. The place both Chomsky and Chao visited wasn’t Namnam in its current incarnation, but rather its spiritual predecessor Cafe Lavanderia, where a single phrase above its door encapsulated its ethos: musica y anti-capitalismo. Opened in 2009, Cafe Lavanderia is where many Namnam members first met. Located in the inherently political streets of Shinjuku Ni-chome — Tokyo’s gay district — and brandishing an antifascist flag, it brought in a diverse, international and politically minded crowd. While many queer spaces in Ni-chome cater exclusively to the drinking culture and evening entertainment, Lavanderia was open for longer hours, bringing together daytime socialists and nighttime socialites. It played a pivotal role in nurturing the political spirit of its visitors, and developed a reputation that became globally recognized. However, to the dismay of its owners and patrons alike, Lavanderia was evicted in 2023 and forced to close its doors. Carrasco was one of a handful to inherit Lavanderia’s equipment and, with the support of Osmani and Nakamura, he established Namnam that same year. Carrasco asks 23-year-old Lucifer Veneris (who uses they/them pronouns), a student at Senzoku Gakuen College of Music and member of Namnam, when they first visited Lavanderia. “Tokyo Queer Collective started one or two months after I came to Japan,” they say, referring to the social organization that was formed in the final days of Lavanderia by its members. “I was looking for queer events that weren’t nightlife.” Namnam, like Lavanderia, adopts the “queer” nomenclature, an all-inclusive term to denote an otherness from the status quo. This term is embraced both for the political momentum behind it and to highlight a neglected issue in Tokyo’s gay district: discrimination. “(Ni-chome) is very heavily identity-focused,” Veneris explains. “Like, this is a gay bar only; that’s the drag bar, this is the lesbian, women-only bar, which (is also) very transphobic. That’s why having a separate space was important, even in Ni-chome.” In Koenji, that space is now humming with diversity, and the scale of its events is growing, too. Carrasco reflects on hosting “Big Trans Weekend,” Tokyo’s largest trans art exhibition, in 2023. “I think we were able to host, like, over 50 or more trans artists exhibiting from around the world,” he says. “What’s rare is a place that is
