latimes--2020-06-04--They protected barrios against looting. 'Don't come here to tag up all these walls, homie'

Dressed in a black tank top and black shorts that stretched down to his shins , Orlando Fuentes stood in front of a boarded-up T-shirt store at the Anaheim Towne Center on Monday night .
About 30 other people and a pit bull named Daisy were with him .
Everyone looked like they were ready to throw down .
Earlier that day , over 1,000 people had peacefully marched past the downtown shopping plaza to decry police brutality .
Now , it was two hours past curfew .
Nearby , an Orange County Sheriff ’ s Department SWAT armored vehicle @ @ @ @ @ @ @ distance to leave .
Illegal fireworks crackled in the distance .
Police raced around town to pursue stragglers ; deputies guarded other businesses .
But Fuentes and his homies weren ’ t going anywhere .
“ I ’ ve been coming to this store since I was a kid , ” explained the 30-year-old .
“ And no way are we going to let outsiders mess with it .
We ’ re going to stay here all night if we have to.
” He and his friends had blocked off the driveway near @ @ @ @ @ @ @ trucks with poster boards that declared “ Keep it moving ” and “ Not here.
” Westside Connection ’ s “ Bow Down ” rattled out from a Lexus .
Vehicles tried to still get in , only to be told politely but firmly to turn around .
Moved by the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis , his neck pinned under the knee of a police officer , mostly peaceful protesters have gathered across cities in the U.S. day after day .
But in their wake , looters have vandalized property and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the T-shirt store , it didn ’ t matter whether they came from miles away or just around the corner .
“ I ’ m tired of our own people doing damage to our own kind , ” said 25-year-old Jesus Gallo .
He had just moved to Garden Grove from Minneapolis , where family members were now out of work after rioting shut down their businesses .
“ This is what I ’ m here for .
We got ta protect the ’ hood.
” “ Look at the big crowd here @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said Cecilia Araceli Vasquez , 25 .
“ All of us are wearing at least something from the shop .
We don ’ t want this place burned down.
” T-Shirts Outlet owner Christine Sim and her daughter , Michelle , looked on with appreciation .
In 2012 , their store suffered thousands of dollars in damage after a protest in front of Anaheim City Hall against the shooting deaths of two Latinos by Anaheim police turned into a riot .
“ We were losing sleep over what could ’ ve possibly happened @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ But our customers helped us board up the store .
And now they ’ re here .
Just seeing everyone show up is so touching.
” It was a scene repeated in barrios across Southern California that saw anti-police-brutality protests wind through their working-class neighborhoods .
Residents stood outside their homes and shops to support the message but also to offer one of their own : Don ’ t mess with us .
In Santa Ana , site of a rally of more than 2,000 people Sunday , grease-stained auto mechanics in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as they looked on .
During the Anaheim rally , a muscular , shirtless man with tattoos across his chest and abdomen ran out of a house to confront a car driver who kept peeling his tires .
“ Cut it out !
” he shouted “ All this smoke doesn ’ t do nothing !
” On Whittier Boulevard in East L.A. on Tuesday , video captured members of the Klique Car Club outside a Nike store waving signs that read “ Not on the Blvd ” and “ Don ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ This is what we ’ ve all fought out here for , ” said Stephan Ruelas , as he stood near a vintage Chevrolet Fleetline lowrider and pointed to the iconic Whittier Boulevard sign .
“ We ’ re not going to let nobody come and destroy it.
” Ulisses Sanchez , who shot the footage , said he and other residents were proud of people like Ruelas .
“ We know it ’ s important for all of us , ” said the small-business owner and Boyle Heights native , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as caretakers of those who are a part of our community.
” Something similar is happening in the suburbs , from Huntington Beach and Newport Beach to Yucaipa — though often with a distinct tenor .
There , residents have met Black Lives Matter activists with U.S. flags and jeers and racial epithets .
In Upland , police arrested a man for threatening protesters with an AR-15 assault rifle .
But what ’ s happening in barrios is different , says Cal Poly Pomona urban planning professor Alvaro Huerta .
There , complaints @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But longtimers don ’ t want outsiders to agitate on their behalf .
“ When it ’ s suburban or right-wing people , it ’ s more of an exclusionary act of trying to keep the ‘ other ’ out , ’ said Huerta , who grew up in the Ramona Gardens housing projects in L.A. 's Eastside .
“ For us , it ’ s like : ‘ This is all we have , but we ’ re proud of it .
Don ’ t mess with it.
’ ” He says @ @ @ @ @ @ @ heritage of barrio residents .
“ We ’ ve always identified with a place .
It ’ s not just Zacatecas ; it ’ s Jerez , Zacatecas .
It ’ s not just Michcoacan ; it ’ s Morelia .
You see the same thing in Appalachia , ” Huerta said .
“ Middle-class people can move around , so there ’ s not that same affiliation with place.
” Tales of protecting the barrio get told around local Mexican American circles like war stories .
On Sanchez ’ s Facebook page @ @ @ @ @ @ @ State Los Angeles ’ MEChA student group stood vigil on Whittier Boulevard during the 1992 L.A. riots .
Many Eastsiders still recount with pride how it was their neighborhood that caught Richard Ramirez , the infamous “ Night Stalker , ” when law enforcement couldn ’ t .
That espirit de corps was evident at the Anaheim Town Center on Monday .
Nearly everyone had the same story : Born and raised in the city .
Like their parents .
Attended Anaheim High .
Mexican American .
“ We ’ re proud of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ need to take care of it , ” said JR Leal , 26 .
He and others had just chased off two men trying to break into a T-Mobile store , and also put out a small brush fire set by a bandanna-clad white guy .
Suddenly , a teenager tried to graffiti a Citibank branch .
Leal and others quickly swarmed the young Latino .
Anna Chavez , 19 , dressed in red high-top Converse , shorts and a sweatshirt that said “ Anaheim , ” had just come from the march @ @ @ @ @ @ @ maintained social distance before unloading on the wannabe tagger .
“ This is our … city !
” she yelled .
“ We were born and raised here — come on , now !
” added Jesse Martinez , 30 .
“ Don ’ t come here to tag up all these walls , homie , ” said someone else , before letting loose a string of expletives .
The teen turned over his spray can and sulked off .
“ Outsiders don ’ t care about what happens here , ” Chavez @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wasn ’ t even from here .
He was from Santa Ana.
” “ This is very inspiring today , ” said Edgar Alvarez , 30 , as he jogged off to the east .
Rumor had it that anarchists were a couple of blocks away .
“ People call us thugs .
But today , we see thugs protecting the city .
”

Protesters stage a sit-in demonstration at the Anaheim Civic Center on Wednesday to protest the killing of George Floyd.
Dressed in a black tank top and black shorts that stretched down to his shins, Orlando Fuentes stood in front of a boarded-up T-shirt store at the Anaheim Towne Center on Monday night. About 30 other people and a pit bull named Daisy were with him.
Everyone looked like they were ready to throw down.
Earlier that day, over 1,000 people had peacefully marched past the downtown shopping plaza to decry police brutality. Now, it was two hours past curfew.
Nearby, an Orange County Sheriff’s Department SWAT armored vehicle stuffed with deputies warned anyone within hearing distance to leave. Illegal fireworks crackled in the distance. Police raced around town to pursue stragglers; deputies guarded other businesses.
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But Fuentes and his homies weren’t going anywhere.
“I’ve been coming to this store since I was a kid,” explained the 30-year-old. “And no way are we going to let outsiders mess with it. We’re going to stay here all night if we have to.”
He and his friends had blocked off the driveway near the store with well-kept sports cars and trucks with poster boards that declared “Keep it moving” and “Not here.” Westside Connection’s “Bow Down” rattled out from a Lexus. Vehicles tried to still get in, only to be told politely but firmly to turn around.
Moved by the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis, his neck pinned under the knee of a police officer, mostly peaceful protesters have gathered across cities in the U.S. day after day. But in their wake, looters have vandalized property and pillaged stores.
To those standing outside the T-shirt store, it didn’t matter whether they came from miles away or just around the corner.
“I’m tired of our own people doing damage to our own kind,” said 25-year-old Jesus Gallo. He had just moved to Garden Grove from Minneapolis, where family members were now out of work after rioting shut down their businesses. “This is what I’m here for. We gotta protect the ’hood.”
“Look at the big crowd here against a bunch of instigators,” said Cecilia Araceli Vasquez, 25. “All of us are wearing at least something from the shop. We don’t want this place burned down.”
T-Shirts Outlet owner Christine Sim and her daughter, Michelle, looked on with appreciation. In 2012, their store suffered thousands of dollars in damage after a protest in front of Anaheim City Hall against the shooting deaths of two Latinos by Anaheim police turned into a riot.
Advertisement
“We were losing sleep over what could’ve possibly happened tonight,” said 29-year-old Michelle. “But our customers helped us board up the store. And now they’re here. Just seeing everyone show up is so touching.”
It was a scene repeated in barrios across Southern California that saw anti-police-brutality protests wind through their working-class neighborhoods. Residents stood outside their homes and shops to support the message but also to offer one of their own: Don’t mess with us.
In Santa Ana, site of a rally of more than 2,000 people Sunday, grease-stained auto mechanics in work uniforms kept wrenches by their side as they looked on. During the Anaheim rally, a muscular, shirtless man with tattoos across his chest and abdomen ran out of a house to confront a car driver who kept peeling his tires. “Cut it out!” he shouted “All this smoke doesn’t do nothing!”
On Whittier Boulevard in East L.A. on Tuesday, video captured members of the Klique Car Club outside a Nike store waving signs that read “Not on the Blvd” and “Don’t Steal or Disrespect” the historic thoroughfare.
Stephan Ruelas, a member of the Klique Car Club, holds a sign on Whittier Boulevard in East Los Angeles on Tuesday. (Ulisses Sanchez)
“This is what we’ve all fought out here for,” said Stephan Ruelas, as he stood near a vintage Chevrolet Fleetline lowrider and pointed to the iconic Whittier Boulevard sign. “We’re not going to let nobody come and destroy it.”
Ulisses Sanchez, who shot the footage, said he and other residents were proud of people like Ruelas. “We know it’s important for all of us,” said the small-business owner and Boyle Heights native, “to take ownership of our roles as caretakers of those who are a part of our community.”
Something similar is happening in the suburbs, from Huntington Beach and Newport Beach to Yucaipa — though often with a distinct tenor. There, residents have met Black Lives Matter activists with U.S. flags and jeers and racial epithets. In Upland, police arrested a man for threatening protesters with an AR-15 assault rifle.
But what’s happening in barrios is different, says Cal Poly Pomona urban planning professor Alvaro Huerta. There, complaints against police brutality go back decades. But longtimers don’t want outsiders to agitate on their behalf.
“When it’s suburban or right-wing people, it’s more of an exclusionary act of trying to keep the ‘other’ out,’ said Huerta, who grew up in the Ramona Gardens housing projects in L.A.’s Eastside. “For us, it’s like: ‘This is all we have, but we’re proud of it. Don’t mess with it.’”
He says the deep-rooted connection comes from the rural heritage of barrio residents.
“We’ve always identified with a place. It’s not just Zacatecas; it’s Jerez, Zacatecas. It’s not just Michcoacan; it’s Morelia. You see the same thing in Appalachia,” Huerta said. “Middle-class people can move around, so there’s not that same affiliation with place.”
Tales of protecting the barrio get told around local Mexican American circles like war stories. On Sanchez’s Facebook page, some remembered how members of Cal State Los Angeles’ MEChA student group stood vigil on Whittier Boulevard during the 1992 L.A. riots. Many Eastsiders still recount with pride how it was their neighborhood that caught Richard Ramirez, the infamous “Night Stalker,” when law enforcement couldn’t.
Anaheim residents stand outside a shop on Monday after a rally against police brutality. (Gustavo Arellano / Los Angeles Times)
That espirit de corps was evident at the Anaheim Town Center on Monday.
Nearly everyone had the same story: Born and raised in the city. Like their parents. Attended Anaheim High. Mexican American.
“We’re proud of what’s here, and we need to take care of it,” said JR Leal, 26. He and others had just chased off two men trying to break into a T-Mobile store, and also put out a small brush fire set by a bandanna-clad white guy. Suddenly, a teenager tried to graffiti a Citibank branch.
Leal and others quickly swarmed the young Latino.
Anna Chavez, 19, dressed in red high-top Converse, shorts and a sweatshirt that said “Anaheim,” had just come from the march. She removed her black mask but maintained social distance before unloading on the wannabe tagger.
“This is our … city!” she yelled.
“We were born and raised here — come on, now!” added Jesse Martinez, 30.
“Don’t come here to tag up all these walls, homie,” said someone else, before letting loose a string of expletives.
The teen turned over his spray can and sulked off.
“Outsiders don’t care about what happens here,” Chavez said. “That tagger? He wasn’t even from here. He was from Santa Ana.”
“This is very inspiring today,” said Edgar Alvarez, 30, as he jogged off to the east. Rumor had it that anarchists were a couple of blocks away. “People call us thugs. But today, we see thugs protecting the city.”


latimes--2020-06-04--California town declares self a 'sanctuary city for business' amid coronavirus

The leaders of Atwater had just declared it a “ sanctuary city ” for businesses in defiance of California stay-at-home orders when they showed up at the future home of Jessie Chauhan ’ s Rapid XPress Car Wash .
They came last month to the dirt lot by Highway 99 for a cheery civic ceremony that felt extra symbolic in the midst of a pandemic that has wrecked the economy : A groundbreaking ceremony .
Chauhan , who also owns a car wash in nearby Merced , had been requiring employees to wear masks and have their temperatures taken .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ keys and cellphone and made him change clothes in the garage .
He immediately noticed that officials coming to his groundbreaking on May 18 were unmasked .
When the city manager approached , Chauhan extended his arm for an elbow bump , but she reached out for a handshake .
In a split second , Chauhan uncurled his fingers and accepted it .
Caving in to the moment and accepting a human gesture that has all but evaporated during the coronavirus outbreak “ felt really nice , ” he said .
Still , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that the way out of the health crisis would be paved with the colder reality of social distance and curtailed niceties .
In this Central Valley city , where there have been 27 cases of COVID-19 among its 30,000 residents , reopening has been marked by a slew of awkward interactions and questions about how to both resuscitate a flailing economy and stay safe from a deadly virus .
The “ sanctuary city ” designation , designed to benefit from the buzz of a phrase used in the context of protecting undocumented immigrants @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the U.S .
But it also provoked anger among some residents who called it political grandstanding .
“ That ’ s especially gross here in Atwater because this is a community supported by agriculture , ” said Caleb Hampton , 30 , a special education teacher .
“ There are plenty of undocumented people who support our local economy and are part of our community.
” Chauhan , 33 , had to shut down his Merced carwash for a few weeks in April and temporarily lay off about 15 employees .
Any relief @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fear that cases will rise and everything will get shut down again .
“ I ’ m OK we ’ re reopening .
But I ’ m not OK with not following the social distancing rules , ” he said .
“ I want my employees and myself wearing masks , gloves , all that , to protect them and others .
But at the same time , the show must go on , right ?
We ’ ve got to reopen.
” The shutdowns walloped Atwater just as it was starting to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Great Recession .
Last year , the state auditor ranked Atwater the second-most financially distressed city in the state , behind Compton .
But in July , Atwater passed its first balanced budget in eight years and ended a nearly decade-long Friday furlough for municipal employees that kept City Hall open just four days a week .
The sanctuary resolution said local businesses that had been the catalyst for recent economic recovery were now “ perilously on life support , ” and it was their Constitutional right to make a living “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” The politically potent “ sanctuary city ” label was the brainchild of Mayor Pro Tem Brian Raymond , who said he knew that “ using the state ’ s own language against it ” would turn heads in liberal California .
Mayor Paul Creighton quickly found himself on “ Fox & Friends , ” calling California ’ s lockdown orders “ draconian.
” Politicians and police chiefs from across the U.S. reached out , saying they too wanted to create sanctuaries .
In a widely shared statement , Merced County Sheriff Vernon @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said that although he initially enforced the rules , even citing a pastor for holding a church service , he would no longer do so .
“ I truly believe that Governor Newsom ’ s motivation is to have the majority of the citizens ( and illegal residents ) dependant [ sic ] on governments assistance so he could maintain this control once this ‘ pandemic ’ is declared over , ” Warnke wrote .
Atwater residents have had to navigate varying levels of restrictions at the state , county and city levels @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much confusion from residents , and from business owners , ” Merced County Public Health Director Rebecca Nanyonjo-Kemp said in an email .
Atwater resident Stacie Martinez , who still stays home as much as possible , called the sanctuary decision brash and concerned only with the fate of business owners , not the safety of workers or patrons .
She said people seem to be wearing masks a lot less now , and that “ it feels like there ’ s a stigma , like , ‘ Oh , you must be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ not hiding at home , wearing a mask and surrounded by hand sanitizer , hiding behind a chair , ” she said .
“ We go out .
We just take precautions.
” Meanwhile , customers have not exactly rushed back to reopened mom-and-pop stores .
Last week , Reyna Bautista reopened The Sewing Room , an alterations shop she runs with her daughter .
It was 106 degrees outside and warm inside , but she wore a cloth face mask as she leaned over a sewing machine , altering a black dress @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that afternoon .
This time of year is usually busy with prom dresses and graduation outfits .
“ If this keeps going like this , we can not stay in business , ” Bautista said .
“ I am worried.
” Next door , Rosa Pedraza peeked one eye through a miniblind when a Times reporter knocked on the door of Rosa ’ s Hair Salon , where she was seeing customers by appointment .
“ The city said it ’ s OK , but the governor said it wasn ’ t , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ when told that Gov .
Newsom , just that afternoon , had said that counties could reopen hair salons .
Down the street at The Pawn Shop , Michael Gose spoke to customers from behind three-sided plexiglass barriers in front of the cash registers .
“ It ’ s been kind of slow , ” Michael Gose said .
“ People are still huddled in their homes , even though we got the go-ahead.
” When the beloved Granny ’ s Pantry Restaurant opened its dining room last week , Fawn and Larry @ @ @ @ @ @ @ delighted to be the first customers .
They come every Sunday , calling it the Church of Bacon and Eggs .
“ This feels really , really good , ” Fawn Oliver said .
But owner Jean Kirby , 77 , worried aloud about the smaller-than-normal breakfast crowd .
Kirby , who has worked at the diner since 1979 , arrived early , thinking there would be a line down the street .
There wasn ’ t .
By lunch , most tables were full .
No one wore masks .
For Granny @ @ @ @ @ @ @ designation was a boon .
Donations poured in .
One woman who heard the mayor on the “ Glenn Beck Program ” drove five hours from Upland to hand Kirby an envelope stuffed with $ 4,000 .
At a City Council meeting last week , three of the 14 people in the crowd wore masks .
Council members embraced and shook hands with police officers being honored for National Police Week .
Councilman Danny Ambriz , the only person on the dais wearing a mask , assured the crowd he was not doing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ city designation .
On the contrary , he supported it , and had only missed the vote days earlier because his wife had just given birth .
“ Yes , I shook hands with the officers tonight , ” he said .
“ But I know afterwards I ’ m going to go home , and I ’ m going to wash my hands .
I ’ m going to change out of my shirt , and then I ’ m going to love on my child .
I know the steps I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ m hoping the rest of our residents know as well.
” Councilman John Cale , a cancer survivor , told the Times that he sees the virus this way : If he ’ s scared of dying , he ’ s not living .
Atwater Police Chief Michael Salvador said he stopped requiring officers to wear masks about three weeks ago .
More concerning than the virus , he said , was the economic fallout and a significant rise in domestic violence cases and property crimes since the stay-at-home order began .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ stickers that said : “ Is Your Trip Necessary ?
Stop the spread.
” They were pulled off last month .
Now , the cars have new license plate frames reading : “ Shop Local .
”

The leaders of Atwater had just declared it a “sanctuary city” for businesses in defiance of California stay-at-home orders when they showed up at the future home of Jessie Chauhan’s Rapid XPress Car Wash.
They came last month to the dirt lot by Highway 99 for a cheery civic ceremony that felt extra symbolic in the midst of a pandemic that has wrecked the economy: A groundbreaking ceremony.
Chauhan, who also owns a car wash in nearby Merced, had been requiring employees to wear masks and have their temperatures taken. Each night, his mother disinfected his keys and cellphone and made him change clothes in the garage.
He immediately noticed that officials coming to his groundbreaking on May 18 were unmasked. When the city manager approached, Chauhan extended his arm for an elbow bump, but she reached out for a handshake. In a split second, Chauhan uncurled his fingers and accepted it.
“I did it,” Chauhan said. “Obviously, I sanitized after.”
Caving in to the moment and accepting a human gesture that has all but evaporated during the coronavirus outbreak “felt really nice,” he said. Still, it didn’t change his belief that the way out of the health crisis would be paved with the colder reality of social distance and curtailed niceties.
Advertisement
Jessie Chauhan, 33, owner of Rapid Xpress Car Wash, on the site of his future car wash in Atwater, Calif., which declared itself a “sanctuary city for business” amid the coronavirus outbreak. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
In this Central Valley city, where there have been 27 cases of COVID-19 among its 30,000 residents, reopening has been marked by a slew of awkward interactions and questions about how to both resuscitate a flailing economy and stay safe from a deadly virus.
The “sanctuary city” designation, designed to benefit from the buzz of a phrase used in the context of protecting undocumented immigrants, won Atwater support from officials across the U.S. But it also provoked anger among some residents who called it political grandstanding.
“That’s especially gross here in Atwater because this is a community supported by agriculture,” said Caleb Hampton, 30, a special education teacher. “There are plenty of undocumented people who support our local economy and are part of our community.”
Chauhan, 33, had to shut down his Merced carwash for a few weeks in April and temporarily lay off about 15 employees. Any relief he feels about reopening is tempered by fear that cases will rise and everything will get shut down again.
“I’m OK we’re reopening. But I’m not OK with not following the social distancing rules,” he said. “I want my employees and myself wearing masks, gloves, all that, to protect them and others. But at the same time, the show must go on, right? We’ve got to reopen.”
The Atwater water tower anchors Atwater, which has declared itself a sanctuary city from the state’s stay-at-home order. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
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The shutdowns walloped Atwater just as it was starting to claw back from the financial brink after the Great Recession.
Last year, the state auditor ranked Atwater the second-most financially distressed city in the state, behind Compton. But in July, Atwater passed its first balanced budget in eight years and ended a nearly decade-long Friday furlough for municipal employees that kept City Hall open just four days a week.
A sign on a closed storefront window makes a statement to residents regarding the pandemic in Atwater. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
The sanctuary resolution said local businesses that had been the catalyst for recent economic recovery were now “perilously on life support,” and it was their Constitutional right to make a living “in the face of tyrannical government overreach.”
The politically potent “sanctuary city” label was the brainchild of Mayor Pro Tem Brian Raymond, who said he knew that “using the state’s own language against it” would turn heads in liberal California.
Mayor Paul Creighton quickly found himself on “Fox & Friends,” calling California’s lockdown orders “draconian.” Politicians and police chiefs from across the U.S. reached out, saying they too wanted to create sanctuaries.
In a widely shared statement, Merced County Sheriff Vernon H. Warnke, an Atwater resident, said that although he initially enforced the rules, even citing a pastor for holding a church service, he would no longer do so.
“I truly believe that Governor Newsom’s motivation is to have the majority of the citizens (and illegal residents) dependant [sic] on governments assistance so he could maintain this control once this ‘pandemic’ is declared over,” Warnke wrote.
Atwater residents have had to navigate varying levels of restrictions at the state, county and city levels.
Jeri Warren, owner of Aura 11 Beauty Studio, prepares her hair and make-up salon for reopening in Atwater. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
“We have heard and experienced much confusion from residents, and from business owners,” Merced County Public Health Director Rebecca Nanyonjo-Kemp said in an email.
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Atwater resident Stacie Martinez, who still stays home as much as possible, called the sanctuary decision brash and concerned only with the fate of business owners, not the safety of workers or patrons. She said people seem to be wearing masks a lot less now, and that “it feels like there’s a stigma, like, ‘Oh, you must be really afraid.’
“I’m not hiding at home, wearing a mask and surrounded by hand sanitizer, hiding behind a chair,” she said. “We go out. We just take precautions.”
Larrie Long waits for customers in front of Thrift and Treasures in downtown Atwater. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Meanwhile, customers have not exactly rushed back to reopened mom-and-pop stores.
Last week, Reyna Bautista reopened The Sewing Room, an alterations shop she runs with her daughter. It was 106 degrees outside and warm inside, but she wore a cloth face mask as she leaned over a sewing machine, altering a black dress for the only customer who had called that afternoon.
This time of year is usually busy with prom dresses and graduation outfits.
“If this keeps going like this, we cannot stay in business,” Bautista said. “I am worried.”
Next door, Rosa Pedraza peeked one eye through a miniblind when a Times reporter knocked on the door of Rosa’s Hair Salon, where she was seeing customers by appointment.
Rosa Pedraza, wearing a protective mask, cuts Robert Nunez’ hair at Rosa Hair Salon in Atwater. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
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“The city said it’s OK, but the governor said it wasn’t,” Pedraza said, visibly relaxing only when told that Gov. Newsom, just that afternoon, had said that counties could reopen hair salons.
Down the street at The Pawn Shop, Michael Gose spoke to customers from behind three-sided plexiglass barriers in front of the cash registers.
“It’s been kind of slow,” Michael Gose said. “People are still huddled in their homes, even though we got the go-ahead.”
Social distancing signage greets customers at The Pawn Shop in downtown Atwater. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
When the beloved Granny’s Pantry Restaurant opened its dining room last week, Fawn and Larry Oliver, 65 and 69, were delighted to be the first customers.
They come every Sunday, calling it the Church of Bacon and Eggs.
“This feels really, really good,” Fawn Oliver said.
But owner Jean Kirby, 77, worried aloud about the smaller-than-normal breakfast crowd. Kirby, who has worked at the diner since 1979, arrived early, thinking there would be a line down the street. There wasn’t.
By lunch, most tables were full. No one wore masks.
Jean Kirby, co-owner of Granny’s Pantry Restaurant, takes an order from Anthony Moles, 10, while his mother, Ashley Warnock, and other family members wait on the first day the eatery reopened to the public in Atwater. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
For Granny’s Pantry, the sanctuary city designation was a boon. Donations poured in. One woman who heard the mayor on the “Glenn Beck Program” drove five hours from Upland to hand Kirby an envelope stuffed with $4,000.
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At a City Council meeting last week, three of the 14 people in the crowd wore masks. Council members embraced and shook hands with police officers being honored for National Police Week.
Councilman Danny Ambriz, the only person on the dais wearing a mask, assured the crowd he was not doing so because he disagreed with the sanctuary city designation. On the contrary, he supported it, and had only missed the vote days earlier because his wife had just given birth.
Atwater City Council members John Cale, from left, Danny Ambriz, city manager Lori Waterman, and Mayor Pro Tem Brian Raymond bow their heads during the invocation at the start of a city council meeting. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
“Yes, I shook hands with the officers tonight,” he said. “But I know afterwards I’m going to go home, and I’m going to wash my hands. I’m going to change out of my shirt, and then I’m going to love on my child. I know the steps I’m supposed to take. I’m hoping the rest of our residents know as well.”
Councilman John Cale, a cancer survivor, told the Times that he sees the virus this way: If he’s scared of dying, he’s not living.
Atwater Police Chief Michael Salvador said he stopped requiring officers to wear masks about three weeks ago. More concerning than the virus, he said, was the economic fallout and a significant rise in domestic violence cases and property crimes since the stay-at-home order began.
For weeks, police cars sported bumper stickers that said: “Is Your Trip Necessary? Stop the spread.”
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They were pulled off last month. Now, the cars have new license plate frames reading: “Shop Local.”


latimes--2020-06-04--Troubling videos capture L.A. police violence, aggression amid demonstrations

In one video , at least eight Los Angeles police officers surround a woman lying in a Hollywood street as the buzz of a Taser fills the air .
People scream from apartment balconies for the officers , who appear to be firing the stun gun at the woman , to stop .
In another video , an LAPD vehicle barrels into a crowd of protesters in Pershing Square , nearly driving over one before backing up and speeding away as protesters throw objects at the car .
On Tuesday , footage of a curfew arrest in Hollywood ends with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pleading for mercy as a police radio squawks with orders for officers to take anyone they see into custody .
In L.A. County , sheriff ’ s deputies in one video appear to shoot pellets out of a moving vehicle at young men on the street , and those in another video punch and knee a young man on the ground in Compton .
With cellphone cameras everywhere and social media providing a livestream of unprecedented protests against police brutality , there has been a steady stream of new videos showing troubling police @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a full assessment of how police in Southern California performed and how widespread cases of misconduct have been .
Protesters and some civil liberties activists have slammed the police tactics as unacceptable .
And even city leaders admit there have been problematic incidents and have called for investigations and reforms based on what has emerged .
Mayor Eric Garcetti said the LAPD would reduce the use of foam rounds after many complaints from protesters who were hit by the projectiles .
The mayor also said Wednesday that he would support the creation of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ misconduct cases , a longtime demand of activists .
The Times reviewed more than a dozen videos and shared several with police officials for comment .
Josh Rubenstein , a police spokesman , said officers had been responding for days to “ dynamic and at times dangerous situations ” and had had rocks and bottles thrown at them .
But Rubenstein declined to provide explanations for the specific actions of officers caught in videos that have gone viral , including several in which officers can be seen aggressively beating non-violent protesters with their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ years ago and riots the following year sparked major reforms in the LAPD that continued over the last few decades .
That includes rules around the use of force , restrictions on holds and using flashlights as weapons and , more recently , deescalation training designed to make officers less likely to get into violent altercations with people .
Even some longtime LAPD critics have said the department has made progress .
But the protests of the last week show much more needs to be done , they said .
“ It ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ black activists have been saying for decades — that police abuse and excessive force is real , ” said Najee Ali , a longtime South Los Angeles civil rights leader .
“ Now , with the spread of social media and everyone having a cellphone , we can actually document what we feel is abuse .
Ali said he and other leaders planned to gather outside LAPD headquarters Thursday morning to demand an audience with LAPD Chief Michel Moore and L.A. County Sheriff Alex Villanueva , to share videos community members have gathered @ @ @ @ @ @ @ They aren ’ t alone in demanding answers .
In recent days , the Police Commission and two City Council members have called on the department to review its use of force during the demonstrations .
The department ’ s tactics also have come under fire from business owners , who say responding officers have repeatedly opted to arrest nonviolent protesters instead of looters at various scenes across the city .
Amid nationwide protests over the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis police custody , former President Obama urged every mayor in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ police use-of-force policies and commit to needed reforms .
While Moore , Villanueva and Garcetti have largely commended officers for their handling of the unrest in recent days , they too have acknowledged that problems have arisen .
Moore has said internal affairs officers are working around the clock to investigate specific incidents — including the one in which a patrol vehicle was driven into protesters .
The LAPD issued a statement Thursday acknowledging the footage and urging the public to contact Internal Affairs investigators or the department ’ s Office of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been the victims of unjust force or misconduct “ We are aware of individuals who have posted videos online and on social media depicting encounters with the police that they believe constitutes excessive force or misconduct during these demonstrations , ” the statement said .
“ We will investigate each instance thoroughly and hold any officer who violates department policy accountable.
” Rubenstein said complaints could be filed with the department ’ s Professional Standards Bureau toll-free at ( 800 ) 339-6868 , or with the inspector general at ( 213 ) 893-6400 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by e-mail at oigcompl @ lapd.online .
Villanueva said his department was investigating misconduct allegations and videos of potential misconduct .
He said the scene in Compton came after an officer “ narrowly escaped being killed by fleeing looters ” in a vehicle , and the one in which officers are seen shooting out of a vehicle — which was retweeted to millions of people by rapper Lil Nas X — involved pepper balls being deployed .
Both incidents are under investigation .
Some protesters and other police reform advocates say a reckoning @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of Moore — who was forced to apologize this week after he said looters were as responsible for Floyd ’ s death as the officer who had his knee on Floyd ’ s neck — and continuing with criminal charges for officers caught assaulting people .
Garcetti and some police commanders have expressed support for Moore .
There is no question officers face unusual challenges .
Though the vast majority of the protests have been peaceful , some people have thrown objects at officers , and more than two dozen officers have been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
It ’ s unclear how many protesters have suffered injuries .
Looters hit scores of businesses , smashing windows and stealing merchandise .
But several witnesses say the police actions have been intentional and inexcusable .
Nicholas Flickinger , a 29-year-old social worker who recorded the video of officers in Hollywood piling on top of a woman , said he had had to call police for help multiple times at work .
But , he said , images like the one he recorded Tuesday left him feeling an animosity toward law enforcement @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ The way the LAPD has dealt with everything , I ’ ve never felt so anti-police or -LAPD , ” he said .
“ I ’ ve always been of the opinion that there ’ s good and bad in every group … but even if there ’ s a majority of good officers , they ’ re not doing anything .
It sounds like the cliche , canned thing , but they ’ re all complicit in what ’ s going on.
” Jonathan Uttenreither , 48 , of Hollywood said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on 3rd Street in the Fairfax District on Saturday when police started advancing , firing foam rounds “ indiscriminately ” into the crowd .
“ They were not aiming low , that was clear , ” he said .
As he started to flee , he saw a young woman also running away suddenly drop to the ground .
Rushing to her aid , he realized she had been hit in the back of the head with one of the police projectiles .
As blood ran down her neck and he and another @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rounds popped off the ground around them , one grazing his arm .
“ I realized the police were still firing on us as we were attempting to carry this wounded woman off the street .
They were intentionally shooting at us , ” Uttenreither said .
The fact that such actions are part of an orchestrated police response is outrageous , he said .
“ It crushes hope that there ’ s any intention from the police to force themselves or the politicians that control them to have any accountability , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ like the police putting themselves at war with the population they are supposed to be serving rather than attempting to deescalate and solve problems.
” At least 2,500 people were arrested by the LAPD from Friday through Tuesday , and Moore has acknowledged that only 200 of those people were taken into custody on suspicion of looting or burglary offenses .
The figures jibe with complaints from lawyers and activists , who contend the department used curfew violations and dispersal orders in recent days to squelch protest rather than ensure public safety .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ of time and money that didn ’ t have to occur while you could have been dealing with other much more serious activities , ” said civil rights attorney Carol Sobel , who has successfully sued the department in the past over its handling of protests .
Although not commenting directly on use-of-force incidents , Moore has said the department needs to become more aggressive in response to sustained looting and mounting injuries to officers .
Police have also been increasingly set on edge by reports of serious violence against officers in other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was shot in the head while responding to a protest on the Strip on Tuesday night , and three New York City officers were stabbed and shot Wednesday in Brooklyn .
The NYPD officers are expected to survive .
But in L.A. , many fear the LAPD is escalating an already tense situation with each misstep .
Flickinger said he and his boyfriend had been part of a march in Hollywood on Tuesday night but decided to get off the street rather than risk arrest due to a curfew violation .
Around 7:30 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ away from a group of police officers on Argyle Avenue near Hollywood Boulevard .
The officers had been yelling at her to stop , but the woman did not appear to be carrying anything or armed , according to Flickinger , who said the woman was then taken to the ground .
“ One officer went at her and then seven people piled on top .
As you can see in the video there ’ s six or seven officers all pressing their knees on her , ” he said , evoking imagery @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
“ They had their hands behind her back and you can hear the sound from the video of just them continuing to Taser her and Taser her .
That ’ s why everyone started screaming , myself included.
” Brooke Forston , a woman who says she was among the protesters struck by an LAPD cruiser in Pershing Square on Sunday , has filed a notice of claim against the city and accused the officer behind the wheel of escalating an already tense situation .
“ Tens of thousands of peaceful protesters @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the driver of this LAPD vehicle chose to create chaos where there had been peace , ” her attorney , V. James DeSimone , said in a statement .
“ At no point did Brooke attempt to harm anyone , and instead the LAPD turned a peaceful march into something dangerous for everyone.
” Lexis-Olivier Ray , a 30-year-old reporter for L.A. Taco , is one of several reporters who say they have been injured by police covering Southern California protests in recent days .
Ray was reporting from a skirmish line between @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Fairfax Avenue on Saturday afternoon , near where Uttenreither had been , when officers began lashing out with batons without having given any dispersal order , he said .
He was struck in the stomach .
“ I was staying out of their way and I was working peacefully and just doing my job , ” he said .

James Queally, Kevin Rector, Richard Winton

In one video, at least eight Los Angeles police officers surround a woman lying in a Hollywood street as the buzz of a Taser fills the air. People scream from apartment balconies for the officers, who appear to be firing the stun gun at the woman, to stop.
In another video, an LAPD vehicle barrels into a crowd of protesters in Pershing Square, nearly driving over one before backing up and speeding away as protesters throw objects at the car.
On Tuesday, footage of a curfew arrest in Hollywood ends with the unarmed arrestee held at gunpoint and pleading for mercy as a police radio squawks with orders for officers to take anyone they see into custody. In L.A. County, sheriff’s deputies in one video appear to shoot pellets out of a moving vehicle at young men on the street, and those in another video punch and knee a young man on the ground in Compton.
Advertisement
× Nicholas Flickinger, a 29-year-old social worker, filmed officers in Hollywood piling on top of a woman.
With cellphone cameras everywhere and social media providing a livestream of unprecedented protests against police brutality, there has been a steady stream of new videos showing troubling police behavior.
It will take time for a full assessment of how police in Southern California performed and how widespread cases of misconduct have been. Protesters and some civil liberties activists have slammed the police tactics as unacceptable. And even city leaders admit there have been problematic incidents and have called for investigations and reforms based on what has emerged.
Mayor Eric Garcetti said the LAPD would reduce the use of foam rounds after many complaints from protesters who were hit by the projectiles. The mayor also said Wednesday that he would support the creation of a special prosecutor to review officer criminal misconduct cases, a longtime demand of activists.
The Times reviewed more than a dozen videos and shared several with police officials for comment. Josh Rubenstein, a police spokesman, said officers had been responding for days to “dynamic and at times dangerous situations” and had had rocks and bottles thrown at them.
But Rubenstein declined to provide explanations for the specific actions of officers caught in videos that have gone viral, including several in which officers can be seen aggressively beating non-violent protesters with their batons.
The Rodney King beating 29 years ago and riots the following year sparked major reforms in the LAPD that continued over the last few decades. That includes rules around the use of force, restrictions on holds and using flashlights as weapons and, more recently, deescalation training designed to make officers less likely to get into violent altercations with people. Even some longtime LAPD critics have said the department has made progress.
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More info of #LASD shooting at unarmed law abiding teenagers in Hollywood with rubber bullets:
From an eyewitness account:
“June 1st 7:35 PM Mansfield and Higman Avenue between Fountain and Delongpre. The kid with the skateboard was hit in the back of the leg.” pic.twitter.com/DoWPoXb2vH — NICK HAMILTON (@NickHamiltonLA) June 3, 2020
But the protests of the last week show much more needs to be done, they said.
“It’s nothing but a confirmation of what black activists have been saying for decades — that police abuse and excessive force is real,” said Najee Ali, a longtime South Los Angeles civil rights leader. “Now, with the spread of social media and everyone having a cellphone, we can actually document what we feel is abuse.
“We finally have the proof.”
Ali said he and other leaders planned to gather outside LAPD headquarters Thursday morning to demand an audience with LAPD Chief Michel Moore and L.A. County Sheriff Alex Villanueva, to share videos community members have gathered so that officials can launch investigations.
They aren’t alone in demanding answers.
In recent days, the Police Commission and two City Council members have called on the department to review its use of force during the demonstrations. The department’s tactics also have come under fire from business owners, who say responding officers have repeatedly opted to arrest nonviolent protesters instead of looters at various scenes across the city.
Amid nationwide protests over the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis police custody, former President Obama urged every mayor in the nation Wednesday to review their cities’ police use-of-force policies and commit to needed reforms.
My friend got arrested for WALKING. HOME. TODAY. On Hollywood Blvd where most people WALK HOME from work (Including myself sometimes) Listen closely to what the officers are saying on the speakers in the background.. 💔 pic.twitter.com/RejjqGKHLe — Adore Delano (@AdoreDelano) June 2, 2020
While Moore, Villanueva and Garcetti have largely commended officers for their handling of the unrest in recent days, they too have acknowledged that problems have arisen. Moore has said internal affairs officers are working around the clock to investigate specific incidents — including the one in which a patrol vehicle was driven into protesters.
The LAPD issued a statement Thursday acknowledging the footage and urging the public to contact Internal Affairs investigators or the department’s Office of the Inspector General if they believed they had been the victims of unjust force or misconduct
“We are aware of individuals who have posted videos online and on social media depicting encounters with the police that they believe constitutes excessive force or misconduct during these demonstrations,” the statement said. “We will investigate each instance thoroughly and hold any officer who violates department policy accountable.”
Rubenstein said complaints could be filed with the department’s Professional Standards Bureau toll-free at (800) 339-6868, or with the inspector general at (213) 893-6400 or (213) 893-6464, or by e-mail at oigcompl@lapd.online.
Villanueva said his department was investigating misconduct allegations and videos of potential misconduct. He said the scene in Compton came after an officer “narrowly escaped being killed by fleeing looters” in a vehicle, and the one in which officers are seen shooting out of a vehicle — which was retweeted to millions of people by rapper Lil Nas X — involved pepper balls being deployed. Both incidents are under investigation.
Some protesters and other police reform advocates say a reckoning is needed, beginning with the ouster of Moore — who was forced to apologize this week after he said looters were as responsible for Floyd’s death as the officer who had his knee on Floyd’s neck — and continuing with criminal charges for officers caught assaulting people. Garcetti and some police commanders have expressed support for Moore.
There is no question officers face unusual challenges. Though the vast majority of the protests have been peaceful, some people have thrown objects at officers, and more than two dozen officers have been injured. One had his skull fractured. It’s unclear how many protesters have suffered injuries. Looters hit scores of businesses, smashing windows and stealing merchandise.
But several witnesses say the police actions have been intentional and inexcusable.
My friend lives on Hollywood & Argyle. He just sent me a video of a pile of police taser-ing a woman. The police are now shooting rubber bullets at anyone who comes out over the overlook to stop filming of the incident. Police brutality needs to end. #BlackLivesMatter pic.twitter.com/mwAT63RmhW — Patrick Michael (@likeasifpatrick) June 2, 2020
Nicholas Flickinger, a 29-year-old social worker who recorded the video of officers in Hollywood piling on top of a woman, said he had had to call police for help multiple times at work. But, he said, images like the one he recorded Tuesday left him feeling an animosity toward law enforcement he’d never felt before.
“The way the LAPD has dealt with everything, I’ve never felt so anti-police or -LAPD,” he said. “I’ve always been of the opinion that there’s good and bad in every group … but even if there’s a majority of good officers, they’re not doing anything. It sounds like the cliche, canned thing, but they’re all complicit in what’s going on.”
Jonathan Uttenreither, 48, of Hollywood said he was near a police skirmish line on 3rd Street in the Fairfax District on Saturday when police started advancing, firing foam rounds “indiscriminately” into the crowd.
“They were not aiming low, that was clear,” he said.
As he started to flee, he saw a young woman also running away suddenly drop to the ground. Rushing to her aid, he realized she had been hit in the back of the head with one of the police projectiles. As blood ran down her neck and he and another man tried to carry her away, rounds popped off the ground around them, one grazing his arm.
“I realized the police were still firing on us as we were attempting to carry this wounded woman off the street. They were intentionally shooting at us,” Uttenreither said.
The fact that such actions are part of an orchestrated police response is outrageous, he said.
“It crushes hope that there’s any intention from the police to force themselves or the politicians that control them to have any accountability,” he said. “It’s like the police putting themselves at war with the population they are supposed to be serving rather than attempting to deescalate and solve problems.”
At least 2,500 people were arrested by the LAPD from Friday through Tuesday, and Moore has acknowledged that only 200 of those people were taken into custody on suspicion of looting or burglary offenses. The figures jibe with complaints from lawyers and activists, who contend the department used curfew violations and dispersal orders in recent days to squelch protest rather than ensure public safety.
“It was just a colossal expenditure of time and money that didn’t have to occur while you could have been dealing with other much more serious activities,” said civil rights attorney Carol Sobel, who has successfully sued the department in the past over its handling of protests.
Although not commenting directly on use-of-force incidents, Moore has said the department needs to become more aggressive in response to sustained looting and mounting injuries to officers.
Police have also been increasingly set on edge by reports of serious violence against officers in other cities. A Las Vegas police officer was shot in the head while responding to a protest on the Strip on Tuesday night, and three New York City officers were stabbed and shot Wednesday in Brooklyn. The NYPD officers are expected to survive.
But in L.A., many fear the LAPD is escalating an already tense situation with each misstep.
Flickinger said he and his boyfriend had been part of a march in Hollywood on Tuesday night but decided to get off the street rather than risk arrest due to a curfew violation. Around 7:30 p.m., he saw a woman walking away from a group of police officers on Argyle Avenue near Hollywood Boulevard. The officers had been yelling at her to stop, but the woman did not appear to be carrying anything or armed, according to Flickinger, who said the woman was then taken to the ground.
“One officer went at her and then seven people piled on top. As you can see in the video there’s six or seven officers all pressing their knees on her,” he said, evoking imagery similar to Floyd’s last moments. “They had their hands behind her back and you can hear the sound from the video of just them continuing to Taser her and Taser her. That’s why everyone started screaming, myself included.”
Brooke Forston, a woman who says she was among the protesters struck by an LAPD cruiser in Pershing Square on Sunday, has filed a notice of claim against the city and accused the officer behind the wheel of escalating an already tense situation.
“Tens of thousands of peaceful protesters gathered to have our voices heard and the driver of this LAPD vehicle chose to create chaos where there had been peace,” her attorney, V. James DeSimone, said in a statement. “At no point did Brooke attempt to harm anyone, and instead the LAPD turned a peaceful march into something dangerous for everyone.”
Lexis-Olivier Ray, a 30-year-old reporter for L.A. Taco, is one of several reporters who say they have been injured by police covering Southern California protests in recent days.
Ray was reporting from a skirmish line between police and demonstrators at 3rd Street and Fairfax Avenue on Saturday afternoon, near where Uttenreither had been, when officers began lashing out with batons without having given any dispersal order, he said. He was struck in the stomach.
“I was staying out of their way and I was working peacefully and just doing my job,” he said.


latimes--2020-06-04--Stevante Clark raged after cops killed his brother. Now he's emerged as a leader

With the National Guard carrying live ammunition and two nights of looting leaving the city on edge , no one was sure what would happen here Monday as darkness fell downtown — not police blaring reminders of a curfew from an unmarked car , not the city leaders and business people who had long since cleared out of the area , and not the protesters themselves , many seemingly young and inexperienced with civil disobedience .
Then a slight man , decked out in a tapered black suit , lace up loafers and a wide brim hat , stepped up @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Stevante Clark , brother of Stephon Clark , gunned down by Sacramento police in 2018 , took hold of the only small bullhorn anyone had thought to bring , and with it , took hold of the crowd of about 600 .
“ If you disrespect the legacy of George Floyd , you are disrespecting the legacy of my brother , ” he yelled , his voice strained to a whisper from earlier protests .
“ And I will not allow that.
” Clark , 27 , is emerging as the leader @ @ @ @ @ @ @ able to clearly convey and share emotionally the salt-in-the-wound agony of police violence that has defined his life since his unarmed brother was killed in his grandmother ’ s backyard — a bellwether of grief for a young generation already tired of hurting and desperately in need of hope from someone who feels authentic .
But he is an unlikely guide .
Two years of expressing his sorrow publicly in this small city of 500,000 has included arrests , a mental breakdown involving a sword , humiliation and scorn , he said , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on center stage .
“ He ’ s very genuine , ” said Darrell Steinberg , who first met Clark in the days after his brother ’ s shooting when Clark jumped on the dais at City Hall and yelled obscenities at him , as the current mayor and former Senate president pro tem .
“ There is a lot of good in there and yet he has his troubles , ” said Steinberg .
“ He demonstrates how complex the human condition is.
” Police killed Stephon Clark after they responded to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
A sheriff ’ s department helicopter spotted him in a backyard , and two officers pursued and fatally shot him after seeing what would later turn out to be an iPhone in his hand .
The death came two years after Sacramento police killed another black man , Joseph Mann , in a case that led to massive reforms and the city ’ s first black police chief .
The shooting of Clark , like that of George Floyd , provoked fury that men of color continued to die due to police @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shut down the freeway and forced The Kings to cancel NBA games .
Last year , protests around Clark ’ s death helped to pass legislation changing California law , increasing the standard for when law enforcement can use deadly force from when it is “ reasonable ” to “ necessary.
” A security guard with dreams of being a musician , Stevante Clark was thrown into the role of the grieving brother and spokesman for a movement when his brother died , but the pressure of national media attention coupled with the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ seemingly out of control .
Appearing on the Don Lemon show on CNN , Clark dinged a bell when he disliked a question , leaving Lemon flummoxed .
At a memorial service with the Rev .
Al Sharpton , Clark clung to the pastor and threw himself on the casket .
A few weeks after the shooting , he trashed a room in a hotel after watching video of it and was placed on an involuntary mental health hold by police , ending his ability to carry a gun and his security career @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and son in a local store .
He disrupted a church service .
He demanded city officials give him diplomatic immunity and a 24-hour auto detail facility .
He used trashcans to barricade the street where he lived and menaced roommates and neighbors with a machete in a three-day standoff , leading police to arrest him .
Public sentiment swung from sympathy to ridicule to fear .
For a time , it was unclear if people were seeing righteous anger , grandstanding or mental illness .
Clark himself seemed unsure , though he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the grief , ” he said .
But problems have persisted .
Last month , he was arrested on three felony counts of domestic abuse , for which he has a June court date .
Clark declined to speak about the incident .
“ I am changing the ‘ You have to be perfect ’ narrative , ” he said .
“ I didn ’ t ask for this [ expletive ] .
God dropped the ball , said ‘ Here you go , let ’ s see what you can do @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , sitting on metal bleachers at a baseball diamond near the Capitol on Tuesday morning , where he had used his social media following to gather volunteers to scrub graffiti , and where he was interrupted three times by passersby who wanted selfies .
“ I ’ ve been broken .
I am broken , ” he said .
“ And I ’ ve noticed that to be built like a king , excuse my French , but you have to be broken like a [ expletive ] .
” Clark is known @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of authority that , even as he has gained prominence in Sacramento and the Capitol , have made him little trusted among an old guard that is wary of his volatile ways and refusal to align himself with known players in a town of politics .
“ Community leaders failed .
Democrats failed .
Republicans failed .
Christians failed .
Muslims failed .
Everybody has failed these kids , ” said Clark .
“ The anger is righteous anger.
” But , gentle and introspective away from cameras and followers , he said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ direction is chaos , ” and hopes to pass that lesson on .
“ I know I may come off as a little eccentric .
I have a foul mouth .
I am an advocate for marijuana .
I ’ m a civil libertarian .
I ’ m known to go line dancing at country bars at times , ” Clark said .
“ I ’ m not the most popular , liked guy .
And I can accept that though because I am not here to be popular or liked .
... @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and I am going to die in this [ expletive ] .
” That outsider nature has made him invaluable during the unrest , at a time when both community and political leaders are searching for a way forward in the face of unrelenting rage across the country .
Protesters so far have had few clear calls to action , and even seasoned leaders with progressive credentials like Steinberg are struggling .
“ The young people out there look , I think understandably , at everyone in positions of power as not knowing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and maybe they are right , ” said Steinberg .
“ And I am trying to figure out how I can be better.
” By noon Tuesday , Clark was at the facade of the California State Library , where anti-law enforcement graffiti was scrawled on its smooth stone walls and National Guard members still stood watch .
Gov .
Gavin Newsom , who has also pledged to do better , was there as well , scrubbing in solidarity in a stained blue work shirt with a bottle of cleaner hanging from the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ typical impunity , Clark grabbed Newsom for an impromptu Facebook live — a rare unscripted moment for the careful politician who , along with other governors , earlier in the week had been berated by President Donald Trump for appearing “ weak ” in the face of unrest and failing to use military force to remove protesters .
Newsom , who seemed tired , also seemed thankful for Clark ’ s presence in a city that likely would have made national headlines if protesters had squared off with the National Guard .
There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have ended with clashes if not for Clark .
“ You more than anyone understand the rage that people have , ” Newsom said into Clark ’ s camera .
“ And [ understand ] this madness , but ... in a thoughtful , peaceful and constructive way.
” After taking the bullhorn that night , Clark led protesters to Sacramento County Dist .
Atty .
Anne Marie Schubert ’ s office , a place familiar to local activists , who have long contended that she is easy on officers who use lethal @ @ @ @ @ @ @ officers who shot Stephon Clark .
Clark ordered the crowd to take a knee and raise their fists as he recited names of people killed by police violence and institutional racism , back to Emmitt Till .
“ Give me your hand .
Give me your mind .
Give me your spirit .
Give me your heart , ” he yelled .
“ We can protest and whatnot , but what are we asking for ?
” Then he ordered the crowd to look to their left , look to their right and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a pastor in church .
Nearby , a young white man dressed in all black with red tennis shoes turned to the girl next to him .
Clark wants these protesters united in “ plotting and planning and mobilizing and strategizing , ” he said .
He wants them to call for more police reforms , and for California ’ s new use of force standard to be adopted nationwide .
By 10 p.m. , Clark had ordered protesters to make the area a “ ghost town ” rather than fall into what @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of massive law enforcement presence .
About 50 people were ultimately arrested , mostly for curfew , but the stealing and vandalism of previous nights didn ’ t materialize , and hasn ’ t since .
“ I am able to move like water in [ the protests ] , because I have paid the price for my agenda , ” said Clark .
Clark said he hopes to capitalize on his current prominence by holding regular Sunday rallies and revitalizing a reform movement that ebbs and flows with public outrage .
He @ @ @ @ @ @ @ will be as big and organized as those of Bernie Sanders or Trump , and makes sure every person he meets is following him on Instagram .
Clark is almost always pushing his message , though late last year , after the passage of the state ’ s use of force law , he swore he was done .
“ I ’ ve been tired since my brother died .
I ’ m exhausted , ” said Clark .
He was , he said , going to step out of the spotlight and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ outside of his brother ’ s legacy , maybe focus on his music .
But then Floyd was killed , and the ending bled into another beginning .
“ I hate my life sometimes , ” said Clark .
“ But it is what it is .
I am in pain .
I speak to pain .
I speak to hurt .
”

Stevante Clark, whose brother Stephon Clark was killed by police in 2018, is hoisted by a supporter in front of Sacramento City Hall on Monday.
With the National Guard carrying live ammunition and two nights of looting leaving the city on edge, no one was sure what would happen here Monday as darkness fell downtown — not police blaring reminders of a curfew from an unmarked car, not the city leaders and business people who had long since cleared out of the area, and not the protesters themselves, many seemingly young and inexperienced with civil disobedience.
Then a slight man, decked out in a tapered black suit, lace up loafers and a wide brim hat, stepped up as mobocracy crept in with the evening.
Stevante Clark, brother of Stephon Clark, gunned down by Sacramento police in 2018, took hold of the only small bullhorn anyone had thought to bring, and with it, took hold of the crowd of about 600.
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“If you disrespect the legacy of George Floyd, you are disrespecting the legacy of my brother,” he yelled, his voice strained to a whisper from earlier protests. “And I will not allow that.”
Clark, 27, is emerging as the leader of a particular moment in Sacramento, able to clearly convey and share emotionally the salt-in-the-wound agony of police violence that has defined his life since his unarmed brother was killed in his grandmother’s backyard — a bellwether of grief for a young generation already tired of hurting and desperately in need of hope from someone who feels authentic.
But he is an unlikely guide. Two years of expressing his sorrow publicly in this city of 500,000 has included arrests, a mental breakdown involving a sword, humiliation and scorn, he said, leaving some nervous to have him back on center stage.
“He’s very genuine,” said Darrell Steinberg, who first met Clark in the days after his brother’s shooting when Clark jumped on the dais at City Hall and yelled obscenities at him, as the current mayor and former Senate president pro tem.
“There is a lot of good in there and yet he has his troubles,” said Steinberg. “He demonstrates how complex the human condition is.”
Police killed Stephon Clark after they responded to a call about someone breaking car windows. A sheriff’s department helicopter spotted him in a backyard, and two officers pursued and fatally shot him after seeing what would later turn out to be an iPhone in his hand.
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The death came two years after Sacramento police killed another black man, Joseph Mann, in a case that led to massive reforms and the city’s first black police chief. The shooting of Clark, like that of George Floyd, provoked fury that men of color continued to die due to police violence, setting off massive protests that shut down the freeway and forced The Kings to cancel NBA games.
Last year, protests around Clark’s death helped to pass legislation changing California law, increasing the standard for when law enforcement can use deadly force from when it is “reasonable” to “necessary.”
A security guard with dreams of being a musician, Stevante Clark was thrown into the role of the grieving brother and spokesman for a movement when his brother died, but the pressure of national media attention coupled with the heartache of loss left him erratic and seemingly out of control.
Appearing on the Don Lemon show on CNN, Clark dinged a bell when he disliked a question, leaving Lemon flummoxed. At a memorial service with the Rev. Al Sharpton, Clark clung to the pastor and threw himself on the casket.
Stevante Clark addresses protesters in 2018 after the police shooting of Stephon Clark in Sacramento. (Josh Edelson / AFP/Getty Images)
A few weeks after the shooting, he trashed a room in a hotel after watching video of it and was placed on an involuntary mental health hold by police, ending his ability to carry a gun and his security career.
He yelled profanities at a father and son in a local store. He disrupted a church service. He demanded city officials give him diplomatic immunity and a 24-hour auto detail facility.
He used trashcans to barricade the street where he lived and menaced roommates and neighbors with a machete in a three-day standoff, leading police to arrest him.
Public sentiment swung from sympathy to ridicule to fear. For a time, it was unclear if people were seeing righteous anger, grandstanding or mental illness.
Clark himself seemed unsure, though he now understands he was “knee deep in the grief,” he said.
But problems have persisted. Last month, he was arrested on three felony counts of domestic abuse, for which he has a June court date. Clark declined to speak about the incident.
“I am changing the ‘You have to be perfect’ narrative,” he said.
“I didn’t ask for this [expletive]. God dropped the ball, said ‘Here you go, let’s see what you can do with it,’” said Clark, sitting on metal bleachers at a baseball diamond near the Capitol on Tuesday morning, where he had used his social media following to gather volunteers to scrub graffiti, and where he was interrupted three times by passersby who wanted selfies.
“I’ve been broken. I am broken,” he said. “And I’ve noticed that to be built like a king, excuse my French, but you have to be broken like a [expletive].”
Clark is known for his raw and charismatic stream-of-consciousness rebukes of authority that, even as he has gained prominence in Sacramento and the Capitol, have made him little trusted among an old guard that is wary of his volatile ways and refusal to align himself with known players in a town of politics.
“Community leaders failed. Democrats failed. Republicans failed. Christians failed. Muslims failed. Everybody has failed these kids,” said Clark. “The anger is righteous anger.”
But, gentle and introspective away from cameras and followers, he said he has learned that “passion without direction is chaos,” and hopes to pass that lesson on.
“I know I may come off as a little eccentric. I have a foul mouth. I am an advocate for marijuana. I’m a civil libertarian. I’m known to go line dancing at country bars at times,” Clark said. “I’m not the most popular, liked guy. And I can accept that though because I am not here to be popular or liked. ... I represent the [expletive] struggle and I am going to die in this [expletive].”
That outsider nature has made him invaluable during the unrest, at a time when both community and political leaders are searching for a way forward in the face of unrelenting rage across the country. Protesters so far have had few clear calls to action, and even seasoned leaders with progressive credentials like Steinberg are struggling.
“The young people out there look, I think understandably, at everyone in positions of power as not knowing and not caring and certainly not understanding and maybe they are right,” said Steinberg. “And I am trying to figure out how I can be better.”
By noon Tuesday, Clark was at the facade of the California State Library, where anti-law enforcement graffiti was scrawled on its smooth stone walls and National Guard members still stood watch.
Gov. Gavin Newsom, who has also pledged to do better, was there as well, scrubbing in solidarity in a stained blue work shirt with a bottle of cleaner hanging from the back pocket of his jeans.
With typical impunity, Clark grabbed Newsom for an impromptu Facebook live — a rare unscripted moment for the careful politician who, along with other governors, earlier in the week had been berated by President Donald Trump for appearing “weak” in the face of unrest and failing to use military force to remove protesters.
Newsom, who seemed tired, also seemed thankful for Clark’s presence in a city that likely would have made national headlines if protesters had squared off with the National Guard. There is consensus here that Monday night may have ended with clashes if not for Clark.
“You more than anyone understand the rage that people have,” Newsom said into Clark’s camera. “And [understand] this madness, but ... in a thoughtful, peaceful and constructive way.”
After taking the bullhorn that night, Clark led protesters to Sacramento County Dist. Atty. Anne Marie Schubert’s office, a place familiar to local activists, who have long contended that she is easy on officers who use lethal force. She declined to charge the officers who shot Stephon Clark.
Clark ordered the crowd to take a knee and raise their fists as he recited names of people killed by police violence and institutional racism, back to Emmitt Till.
“Give me your hand. Give me your mind. Give me your spirit. Give me your heart,” he yelled. “We can protest and whatnot, but what are we asking for?”
He wants Schubert recalled.
Stevante Clark leads demonstrators protesting the death of George Floyd to the Sacramento County district attorney’s office Monday. (Anita Chabria)
Then he ordered the crowd to look to their left, look to their right and introduce themselves to their neighbors, like a pastor in church.
Nearby, a young white man dressed in all black with red tennis shoes turned to the girl next to him.
“Hi, I’m Josh,” he said.
Clark wants these protesters united in “plotting and planning and mobilizing and strategizing,” he said. He wants them to call for more police reforms, and for California’s new use of force standard to be adopted nationwide.
By 10 p.m., Clark had ordered protesters to make the area a “ghost town” rather than fall into what he described as the “trap” of massive law enforcement presence. About 50 people were ultimately arrested, mostly for curfew, but the stealing and vandalism of previous nights didn’t materialize, and hasn’t since.
“I am able to move like water in [the protests], because I have paid the price for my agenda,” said Clark.
Clark said he hopes to capitalize on his current prominence by holding regular Sunday rallies and revitalizing a reform movement that ebbs and flows with public outrage. He is quick to tell followers the events will be as big and organized as those of Bernie Sanders or Trump, and makes sure every person he meets is following him on Instagram.
Clark is almost always pushing his message, though late last year, after the passage of the state’s use of force law, he swore he was done.
“I’ve been tired since my brother died. I’m exhausted,” said Clark.
He was, he said, going to step out of the spotlight and figure out what his future looked like outside of his brother’s legacy, maybe focus on his music.
But then Floyd was killed, and the ending bled into another beginning.
“I hate my life sometimes,” said Clark. “But it is what it is. I am in pain. I speak to pain. I speak to hurt.”