latimes--2020-07-23--You see the warnings everywhere. But does Prop. 65 really protect you?

Vermont Soap ’ s feel-good natural products came with everything a California consumer had come to expect : an organic certification , a Non-GMO seal of approval , a “ cruelty free ” bunny silhouette .
And a warning that it harbored a “ chemical known to the state of California to cause cancer , birth defects or reproductive harm.
” Confused ?
So was Larry Plesent , who founded his soap company in presidential candidate Bernie Sanders ’ liberal home state on the notion of replacing “ yucky ” chemicals with “ yummy ” natural ones .
That was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ had in mind when they convinced California voters to approve the ballot initiative in 1986 — to coerce companies into replacing toxic chemicals with safe ones rather than bear the burden of a Scarlet Letter stamped on their products .
More than three decades later , Plesent and many other manufacturers find themselves at odds with a lawsuit mill that has grown around Proposition 65 , which gave citizens the right to prosecute companies through the same county courts that handle divorces and fender-benders .
“ I think the original intent was very @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But political forces became involved to make Proposition 65 overwhelming , overreaching , overdone and overblown.
” In Plesent ’ s case , he feared he could be sued over those same “ yummy ” natural replacements .
One of them , a compound found in carrots , hops , lemongrass and cannabis , had been linked to cancerous renal tumors in male rats that were force-fed large quantities of it , five days a week , for up to two years .
That earned it a place on the Proposition 65 list @ @ @ @ @ @ @ makers of sustainable products and carrot growers .
Plesent made a strictly business decision : “ We do not wish to fight against California.
” He added a warning .
Plesent is not alone .
Companies in every sector of the consumer economy now routinely attach warnings for any of the more than 900 chemicals and elements covered by Proposition 65 , without testing for them or attempting to reformulate products .
They fear citizen-enforcer lawsuits more than they fear freaking out customers .
That profusion of warnings has subverted Proposition 65 and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ shops online , over-warned , under-informed and potentially unprotected , a Times investigation has found .
And it has funneled hundreds of millions of dollars to a handful of attorneys and their repeat clients .
Proposition 65 warnings now greet guests at Disneyland , drivers at California parking garages , visitors at hotels , shoppers at car dealerships and lunchgoers in fast-food lines .
Where Proposition 65 prosecutions once targeted notoriously hazardous toxins such as mercury found in hemorrhoid suppositories and lead in spiced Mexican candies , they now claim that cancer , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from dalliances with bondage tape or from opening a Bible ; from grasping a pair of pliers with bare hands , or donning polyurethane-coated safety gloves .
From chewing on the plastic frames of glasses , leaving them on your nose , or touching the zipper pull of their carrying case .
From smoking pot , and burning the rolling papers used to twist it up .
From casting a plastic lure on a lake .
In the early years of Proposition 65 , state attorneys general filed actions against industrial polluters and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ concentrations of toxins — it won agreements limiting lead in ceramics and acrylamide in French fries , for example .
These days , the attorney general ’ s office files few cases .
More commonly , it pushes back against abuses by the primary enforcer empowered by the fine print of Proposition 65 — citizen prosecutors who have filed more than 30,000 violation notices under the measure since it went into effect in 1988 .
Four consecutive attorneys general have accused these citizen enforcers and their attorneys of preying on companies that can @ @ @ @ @ @ @ filing weak or frivolous cases , collecting unreasonable fees , and offering illusory remedies in settlements that vaccinate companies from further accountability for their products .
One $ 100,000 settlement over lead in salsa didn ’ t eliminate lead and didn ’ t result in a printed warning , either ; it changed fine print on the label — the “ portion ” went from a tablespoon to a teaspoon .
Another settlement for $ 40,000 tried to resolve an acrylamide exposure case by changing the preheating instructions for frozen organic potatoes before @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the law , against public policy and unenforceable .
A plumbing company in 2017 agreed to confidentially pay one San Diego plaintiff ’ s lawyer nearly $ 15,000 without promising to change anything about phthalates in dryer hoses .
The accord was withdrawn after the attorney general said it “ appears simply to be a payment to the enforcer and her counsel in exchange for the agreement not to sue.
” Legislative attempts to curb such behavior temporarily slowed the rise in Proposition 65 prosecutions , reined in their costs and limited @ @ @ @ @ @ @ their attorneys .
But 2018 saw a record of 829 settlements totaling $ 35 million , according to the most recent data from the California attorney general ’ s office .
Litigating Proposition 65 enforcement has cost businesses more than $ 370 million in settlements since 2000 , according to the state .
New labeling requirements alone are expected to cost California companies between $ 410 million and $ 818 million over the next decade , the California Chamber of Commerce estimates .
No public agency verifies how many warnings get posted , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ made to private enforcers are kept .
More than three decades into California ’ s right-to-know revolution , consumers today don ’ t know much about the health risks posed by consumer goods .
It ’ s nearly impossible to tell whether to put down a product bearing a warning and choose one without it — either one may present a high risk , a low risk or no risk .
The deepest internet dive is unlikely to surface an answer before consumers reach the checkout or finalize their order online .
That @ @ @ @ @ @ @ back pages of civil court settlements that horse-trade consumer safety and business costs .
None of those legal battles goes to a jury .
Few go all the way to a judge ’ s ruling .
Millions of dollars change hands .
A tiny portion goes to the state agency charged with protecting consumers from toxic exposure .
Attorney fees account for nearly three-quarters of the more than $ 300 million that has been paid out in Proposition 65 settlements since 2000 , according to state data .
The lion ’ s share @ @ @ @ @ @ @ habitual litigants , several of which amount to opaque front groups with closer ties to attorneys than to California consumers , The Times has found .
Meanwhile , shoppers have grown inured to the warnings .
This was not what Bay-Area environmental attorney David Roe had in mind when he drafted Proposition 65 as a market-driven alternative to government mandates that would persuade companies to clean up to avoid having to “ fess up.
” “ From my perspective , every warning is a failure , ” said Roe , who believes that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Proposition 65 permanently changed the way companies assess risk and choose ingredients , and took tons of toxic chemicals out of production .
Most companies quietly clean up their act , he said .
But the process , he said , isn ’ t perfect .
“ The thing about private enforcement is that everybody can do it , ” Roe said .
“ You get the good , the bad and the ugly.
” Not even Roe thought Proposition 65 would pass in 1986 .
Few sweeping environmental ballot measures had survived @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Mayor Tom Bradley , a Democrat , needed help in his gubernatorial rematch race with Republican incumbent George Deukmejian .
Political strategists such as Tom Hayden , then a state assemblyman , and his wife at the time , Jane Fonda , saw toxic pollution as a way to draw liberal-leaning voters to the polls and exploit a political weak point for Deukmejian , who had vetoed several toxic cleanup bills .
Hayden , among others , bankrolled the measure .
But it fell to others to write it .
“ What was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ t really matter to that strategy at all , ” said Roe .
“ It was about the headline , not the fine print.
” Details fell largely to Roe and a couple of other environmental attorneys .
“ It ’ s a very unusual design , ” Roe said .
“ You would never have been able to draft , by committee , anything as innovative as Prop .
65.
” The fine print suddenly mattered .
And in that fine print were the seeds of Proposition 65 ’ s successes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and Toxic Enforcement Act , as Proposition 65 was formally known , said that “ no person in the course of doing business shall knowingly discharge or release a chemical known to the state to cause cancer or reproductive toxicity into water ” or anywhere else where it might lead to a drinking water source .
It also said that “ no person in the course of doing business shall knowingly and intentionally expose ” anyone to those chemicals “ without first giving clear and reasonable warning.
” The usual people would enforce @ @ @ @ @ @ @ local district attorneys .
But so could “ any person in the public interest.
” Those words deputized citizens to sue anyone exposing Californians to toxins in the products they used .
Determining what constituted a toxin — and how much was unsafe — fell to the state , which listed scores of chemicals already identified in existing law or by other agencies .
Two panels of appointed experts also could add chemicals based on the expertise of reputable agencies , or look at the science and decide for themselves .
Lawsuits eventually @ @ @ @ @ @ @ linked only to cancer in animals .
The list has since grown to more than 900 chemicals and elements .
That broad and cautious view of what ’ s considered risky for Californians is why Plesent , of Vermont Soap , opted to issue a warning with his products in 2015 , over a flavor and fragrance compound called beta-myrcene , which had been linked to renal cancers in rodents .
“ That doesn ’ t mean that if you wash with lemon grass soap you [ will ] be in danger , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s a difference between 2 % to 3 % essential oils in a wash-off product and 100 % essential oils being force-fed down your little mouse throat.
” Telling that to a judge can be prohibitively expensive — Proposition 65 places the burden of proof on the defendant , a reversal of the “ presumption of innocence ” principle that otherwise underpins the U.S. justice system .
So Plesent surrendered without a fight .
“ We can ’ t test everything.… So we ’ re going to put this warning on , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a refund for $ 7,000 worth of goods she had bought to start her own private-label line of “ nontoxic ” bath goods .
Plesent complied .
Vermont Soap now refers customers to a five-page explainer on risks associated with essential oils published by the American Herbal Products Assn .
industry group .
“ The issue kind of went away , ” Plesent said .
If the issue doesn ’ t go away , companies turn to Mike Easter .
Easter is an environmental toxicologist and attorney who has helped companies win state-sanctioned @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 65 chemicals , protecting them from prosecution .
That remedy is so strictly limited that the state has granted only nine of these in 32 years , out of the more than 100,000 products that have been targeted by citizen prosecutors .
Two years ago , the sports fishing industry hired Easter after citizen enforcers accused member companies of exposing the lure-fishing public to illegal doses of phthalates , common plasticizers that can rub off their barbed versions of squid , shad and frogs .
Among other facts , Easter dug out how @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 18.3 times a year , according to the American Sportsfishing Assn . )
, for how long ( six hours ) , how many times they might touch a lure during that time , how much of the phthalates might transfer to their fingers , how often those fingers might touch their mouth area when they ate or smoked , and how all that would play out over years of recreational fishing .
He used the results to figure out the maximum concentration of phthalates that could be on lure makers ’ ersatz @ @ @ @ @ @ @ set by the state — a level that is set 1,000 times lower than the conventional zero-effect threshold used in toxicology .
A judge approved a $ 90,000 consent agreement last year .
The seven companies signing the settlement know how much phthalates they can use before warning anglers .
Other lure makers can join the agreement for $ 2,150 to $ 59,150 , depending on their size .
That kind of science-driven accord is time-consuming and expensive .
Plaintiff attorneys have sought more than a million dollars in fees in each of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ records .
Most times , attorneys just work out a less expensive compromise .
That ’ s what happened in the case of companies selling tea .
Over the course of two years , dozens of tea companies shelled out more than $ 1 million to one citizen enforcer and her attorney .
They walked away without having to do much of anything about lead allegedly found in their tea .
They also did not submit as evidence anything like the analysis Easter does .
Figuring that out was too risky for either @ @ @ @ @ @ @ judge .
So they horse-traded .
The cases show how Proposition 65 can leave the consumers with the right to know almost nothing , including whether a pregnant woman might be condemning her future child to learning disabilities brought on by lead exposure .
In 2016 , Sacramento environmental engineer Whitney Leeman served violation notices to more than three dozen tea companies , alleging their infusions exceeded Proposition 65 ’ s lead exposure standards .
The notices warn companies that they have 60 days to work out a deal or face a lawsuit @ @ @ @ @ @ @ such as the attorney general and county district attorneys a shot at taking over the case on behalf of the public .
None did .
Among the most prolific citizen prosecutors using Proposition 65 , Leeman has collected more than $ 550,000 in bounties ( a 25 % share of civil penalties ) since 2001 , attorney general records show .
The Berkeley-based firm that has represented her , the Chanler Group , has collected more than $ 7 million in fees from those cases — part of the more than $ 55 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 65 fees over 20 years , according to state records .
Along the way , Clifford Chanler , the firm ’ s founder , has drawn the ire of multiple attorneys general and members of Congress , one of whom likened him to the extortionate troll under the bridge from the fairy tale “ The Three Billy Goats Gruff.
” Chanler calls that a “ cheap shot ” and defends his record .
“ Our work was the undisputed catalyst in large settlements brought by public enforcers that mandated chemicals such as lead @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of bottles of Coca-Cola , Pepsi , and Dr. Pepper , among other items , ” he wrote in an email response to questions from The Times .
Small tea companies quickly settled the accusations by promising to keep lead to a barely measurable level — effectively zero — or warn consumers .
The settlements drew no public attention from the attorney general .
Nineteen companies banded together and went to court to defend themselves , led by Starbucks , maker of Teavana .
Starbucks hired a top gun who knew Leeman , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Corash , who had advised opponents of the ballot measure back in 1986 and had won a milestone exemption for the meat industry , nullifying cases Leeman and the Chanler firm had filed against meat companies .
Within months , though , the two rival litigants found themselves on the same side , trying to convince a judge to accept a compromise settlement .
First , though , they had to fight an unusual adversary — the state ’ s highest law enforcement officer , Atty .
Gen. Xavier Becerra .
Becerra ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the cases with a rare intervention and bombshell disclosure in court : Based on what both parties were now offering as a “ safe ” level , almost none of the companies had ever violated Proposition 65 .
Becerra based that on the confidential product tests Leeman had submitted to his office — and that by law , only his office sees .
The tests showed that 15 of the 19 companies had never brewed tea with lead above the newly bargained standard both parties were asking the judge to approve , Becerra @ @ @ @ @ @ @ leave most of the defendants free to serve the public the same old tea , he said .
That might suit the parties to the lawsuit , but it didn ’ t serve the public interest , Becerra ’ s office argued .
Corash , the attorney for Starbucks , came to Chanler ’ s defense .
“ Everyone benefits , including the public , from having a standard , ” she told San Francisco County Superior Court Judge Harold E. Kahn .
Besides , the state stood to collect substantial penalties as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ him .
Kahn approved the accord , along with fees for Chanler Law Group : $ 480,000 .
Leeman collected her 25 % bounty from the penalty , or $ 26,250 .
The state got the rest : $ 78,750 .
Chanler told the judge his expenses far exceeded what he collected .
Other companies that had quietly settled before the Starbucks case benefited retroactively .
Agreements in 13 of those early cases included a clause that allowed the companies to adhere to any future standard set by Leeman — and the Starbucks @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than the “ all-but-zero ” level to which they had agreed , according to court records .
Leeman and Chanler were not done with the tea aisle .
Four months after the Starbucks settlement , they filed violation notices against against three more tea companies : Bigelow , Hain Celestial and a distributor , Walong Marketing .
Becerra ’ s office publicly demanded the pair withdraw those cases — they had “ no merit ” based on what he knew about their test results , he wrote .
Such public demands amount to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they ’ re ignored , and Chanler ignored them .
Deputy Atty .
Gen. Harrison Pollak met them in court , before the same judge who had rejected Chanler ’ s arguments in the Starbucks case .
Pollak argued that the cases were “ an abuse of Proposition 65.
” How could Leeman and Chanler prosecute companies whose teas never exceeded the standard they had just fought to establish a year earlier , before the same judge , in the Starbucks cases ?
Again , it was the attorney for the tea companies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ defendants , attorney Trenton Norris argued , wanted an even playing field — the same lead limit their competitors had won in the Starbucks case .
Even though they hadn ’ t failed that Starbucks standard , they were willing to pay $ 58,500 apiece ( $ 19,500 for Walong ) to settle the dispute and keep from being sued over it again .
Kahn would have none of it this time .
He threw out the settlement and dismissed the three cases .
Fighting for a settlement , despite no evidence of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ as it might seem , said lead attorney Norris , representing tea companies Bigelow and Hain .
“ We look at cases all the time that are completely without merit but are too expensive to litigate , ” Norris said .
“ You have to explain all the science to a judge who maybe last studied chemistry in 1968.
” Chanler told The Times that he was prepared to do the science at trial , and show that lead concentrations at or below the eventual compromise standard — 10 parts per billion — @ @ @ @ @ @ @ dose of lead above the Proposition 65 limit .
He also said he had additional tests showing even higher lead concentrations .
His client , Leeman , suggested that the attorney general could have taken a stronger role in the case — the office has taken over citizen prosecutions in the past , reaching several milestone agreements on products such as ceramics , candy , jewelry and toys .
A Starbucks spokesperson said the company is “ committed to providing safe , quality products for our customers.
“ The company declined to respond @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Tea seller Bigelow has said the most lead it has detected in its brewed teas was one-fifth the amount of lead allowed in federal drinking water standards .
Hain Celestial representatives didn ’ t respond to requests for comment .
Not enough for Gerry Schwalfenberg , a University of Alberta doctor whose toxicology study helped draw attention to heavy metals absorbed from soils by tea trees .
He avoids any tea from industrialized areas of China .
“ I would say it ’ s still beneficial to drink tea , but don ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ excess lead , ” Schwalfenberg said .
By comparison , Proposition 65 settlements have allowed 30 times more lead in chocolate , 10 times more lead in spicy Mexican tamarindo candies , six times more lead in the Mexican salsa whose serving size was reset to a teaspoon , over five times more in rice , and three times more in Nabisco Ginger Snaps cookies .
Consumers in the tea aisles of major grocery chains are none the wiser about lead in tea — none of the companies that settled with Leeman has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tea packages .
That ’ s not the case online .
Sellers who watched from the sidelines now routinely include Proposition 65 warnings on their orders .
Like Plesent , they just don ’ t want to fight California .
“ It would be virtually impossible to test every herb and every product we have for all 800 substances on the California Proposition 65 list , ” online seller Tea Haven said .
“ For this reason , out of an abundance of caution , we have opted to place the Proposition 65 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ California.
” A package of Chinese black teas The Times ordered from Tea Haven came with a Proposition 65 sticker and a slip of paper warning about “ one or more hazardous chemicals.
” There was no mention of lead .
Online shopping , Twitter , fast fashion and Cardi B weren ’ t around when Proposition 65 was passed .
They collided last May over a Proposition 65 warning on bikinis .
California did not come out well on a national stage .
“ How can clothes cause cancer ?
” tweeted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a photo of the neon green zippered bikini she purchased from Fashion Nova , the Vernon-based brand made famous by rapper Cardi B .
The tiny white tag warned about lead , cadmium and phthalates .
Some 7,000 retweets later , Ani ’ s post accumulated a long string of out-of-state comments about Proposition 65 warnings on eyewear , Christmas lights , work boots , sofa cushions and gun parts .
“ I ’ m like 90 % certain that a lot of clothes expose you to the same harmful things but California @ @ @ @ @ @ @ consumer , ” said a user from Boston .
“ This tag is literally on the McDonald ’ s drive thru window lmao it ’ s everywhere , ” another user commented .
Ani eventually concluded Fashion Nova was “ not getting anymore of my coins.
” Fashion Nova declined to comment about the incident or its reasons for posting the warning .
The apparel industry has been a growing target for lawsuits over lead and phthalates in metallic fibers , faux skins , zippers , clasps and buttons .
Apparel and accessories @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 65 notices annually , according to a Times review of state data .
The Twitter bikini panic shows how deeply Proposition 65 ’ s legal requirements and psychology have penetrated the national market , particularly for companies that peddle their products online .
Some sellers warn every online shopper .
Others wait until a customer enters a California ZIP Code .
Right-wing talk show host Alex Jones , whose Infowars Life dietary supplements were tagged with a $ 135,000 settlement in 2018 over lead content , warns only Californians on its website , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ holds its independent sellers responsible for Proposition 65 compliance .
Online reaction to warnings support what Vanderbilt University economist Kip Viscusi predicted at the law ’ s genesis .
His tests three decades ago showed consumers overreacted at first , equating the notices with the surgeon general ’ s warnings on tobacco products .
“ The problem is the Proposition 65 warnings pick up a huge range of risk , ” Viscusi said .
“ Very risky products such as chewing tobacco , which was among the early Proposition 65 warnings — that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ something that poses a 1-in-100,000 lifetime risk of cancer.
” Because fast fashion is generally designed to last for a season , the bikini ’ s cancer risk could be as low as about one in 7 million , by Viscusi ’ s calculations .
It ’ s not even clear whether the bikini contains a hazardous chemical — Fashion Nova , like other companies , may have posted it without even testing .
So , buyers of the green bikini can ’ t know enough to know what risk , if any @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , co-director of the environmental law concentration at Northwestern University Pritzker School of Law , said a consumer doesn ’ t really have to calculate risk for Proposition 65 to accomplish its aim of making cleaner products .
They only have to be afraid to buy it .
“ Does this give the consumer enough information to make an informed risk-benefit trade-off ?
The answer is very clearly no , ” said Barsa .
“ But that would be an impossible world to live in .
Can you imagine you go to the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you ’ re having to read through reams of data and exposure analysis ?
It would be crazy-making.
” Consumer fear “ is really just what gets the ball rolling for everybody else to make the right decisions — even if that initial consumer impact is not itself rational , ” Barsa said .
“ If you look at the whole law and what happens with it , there may be a sort of crazy genius to it.
” At least one seller , BJ ’ s Wholesale Club , a membership discount @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to bother selling to Californians because of Proposition 65 .
“ At this time we are not confident that our products are consistently labeled to meet these requirements , ” the company said on its website .
“ As such , the company has opted to temporarily stop selling merchandise to consumers in California .
We do not have an ETA on when shipping to California will be turned back on.
” Shipping to California is what pushed Grass Family Hemp out of business .
The owner and sole employee , Frank Grass @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Moore of San Jose in August 2017 .
Months later , Moore received an ominous Proposition 65 Notice of Violation from the San Jose office of “ Safe Products for Californians.
” Like Grass Family Hemp , Safe Products for Californians also is a family operation .
It is registered as a for-profit corporation run by Kenneth Moore from the office of his ex-wife , attorney Tanya Moore , according to state records .
He has been her only client in more than 100 cases , about half of them against Amazon sellers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ $ 700,000 in lawyer fees , according to attorney general records .
Grass reached out to the Moores to explain that he was exempt from Proposition 65 , which applies only to companies with 10 or more employees .
He was a one-man shop operating from his home in Aurora , Colo. , selling via Amazon , he said .
“ She didn ’ t care , ” Grass said of Tanya Moore .
“ She just skipped over it like it wasn ’ t even said.
” A judge didn ’ t @ @ @ @ @ @ @ agreed to mediation , after which Moore requested that the case be dismissed .
Reached by The Times , Tanya Moore declined to talk about the case , her client or where he conducts business , citing attorney-client privilege .
( Proposition 65 settlements are public , and are posted to the attorney general ’ s website . )
“ I can not discuss any specific cases , ” Moore told The Times .
“ I can not discuss any of our settlements.
” The legal tangle cost Grass $ 5,000 , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it .
“ I ’ m not going to be selling on Amazon anytime soon , ” he said .
And certainly not to California .

Vermont Soap’s feel-good natural products came with everything a California consumer had come to expect: an organic certification, a non-GMO seal of approval, a “cruelty free” bunny silhouette. And a warning that it harbored a “chemical known to the state of California to cause cancer, birth defects or reproductive harm.”
Confused? So was Larry Plesent, who founded his soap company in presidential candidate Bernie Sanders’ liberal home state on the notion of replacing “yucky” chemicals with “yummy” natural ones.
That was exactly what Proposition 65’s architects had in mind when they convinced California voters to approve the ballot initiative in 1986 — to coerce companies into replacing toxic chemicals with safe ones rather than bear the burden of a Scarlet Letter stamped on their products.
More than three decades later, Plesent and many other manufacturers find themselves at odds with a lawsuit mill that has grown around Proposition 65, which gave citizens the right to prosecute companies through the same county courts that handle divorces and fender-benders.
Advertisement
“I think the original intent was very positive,” Plesent said. “But political forces became involved to make Proposition 65 overwhelming, overreaching, overdone and overblown.”
In Plesent’s case, he feared he could be sued over those same “yummy” natural replacements. One of them, a compound found in carrots, hops, lemongrass and cannabis, had been linked to cancerous renal tumors in male rats that were force-fed large quantities of it, five days a week, for up to two years. That earned it a place on the Proposition 65 list in 2015, over objections from the makers of sustainable products and carrot growers.
Plesent made a strictly business decision: “We do not wish to fight against California.” He added a warning.
Plesent is not alone. Companies in every sector of the consumer economy now routinely attach warnings for any of the more than 900 chemicals and elements covered by Proposition 65, without testing for them or attempting to reformulate products. They fear citizen-enforcer lawsuits more than they fear freaking out customers.
That profusion of warnings has subverted Proposition 65 and left Californians, and increasingly anyone who shops online, overwarned, underinformed and potentially unprotected, a Times investigation has found. And it has funneled hundreds of millions of dollars to a handful of attorneys and their repeat clients.
Proposition 65 warnings now greet guests at Disneyland, drivers at California parking garages, visitors at hotels, shoppers at car dealerships and lunchgoers in fast-food lines.
A Proposition 65 sign warns visitors to Disneyland that they may be exposed to chemicals that can cause cancer or reproductive harm. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
Advertisement
Where Proposition 65 prosecutions once targeted notoriously hazardous toxins such as mercury found in hemorrhoid suppositories and lead in spiced Mexican candies, they now claim that cancer, birth defects or reproductive harm might arise from dalliances with bondage tape or from opening a Bible; from grasping a pair of pliers with bare hands, or donning polyurethane-coated safety gloves. From chewing on the plastic frames of glasses, leaving them on your nose, or touching the zipper pull of their carrying case. From smoking pot, and burning the rolling papers used to twist it up. From casting a plastic lure on a lake.
In the early years of Proposition 65, state attorneys general filed actions against industrial polluters and makers of widely used products with high concentrations of toxins — it won agreements limiting lead in ceramics and acrylamide in French fries, for example.
These days, the attorney general’s office files few cases. More commonly, it pushes back against abuses by the primary enforcer empowered by the fine print of Proposition 65 — citizen prosecutors who have filed more than 30,000 violation notices under the measure since it went into effect in 1988.
Four consecutive attorneys general have accused these citizen enforcers and their attorneys of preying on companies that can ill afford to defend themselves, of filing weak or frivolous cases, collecting unreasonable fees, and offering illusory remedies in settlements that vaccinate companies from further accountability for their products.
One $100,000 settlement over lead in salsa didn’t eliminate lead and didn’t result in a printed warning, either; it changed fine print on the label — the “portion” went from a tablespoon to a teaspoon. Another settlement for $40,000 tried to resolve an acrylamide exposure case by changing the preheating instructions for frozen organic potatoes before the attorney general declared the settlement contrary to the law, against public policy and unenforceable. A plumbing company in 2017 agreed to confidentially pay one San Diego plaintiff’s lawyer nearly $15,000 without promising to change anything about phthalates in dryer hoses. The accord was withdrawn after the attorney general said it “appears simply to be a payment to the enforcer and her counsel in exchange for the agreement not to sue.”
Legislative attempts to curb such behavior temporarily slowed the rise in Proposition 65 prosecutions, reined in their costs and limited the shares collected by perpetual plaintiffs and their attorneys. But 2018 saw a record of 829 settlements totaling $35 million, according to the most recent data from the California attorney general’s office.
Litigating Proposition 65 enforcement has cost businesses more than $370 million in settlements since 2000, according to the state. New labeling requirements alone are expected to cost California companies between $410 million and $818 million over the next decade, the California Chamber of Commerce estimates.
No public agency verifies how many warnings get posted, nor whether all the promises companies have made to private enforcers are kept.
More than three decades into California’s right-to-know revolution, consumers today don’t know much about the health risks posed by consumer goods. It’s nearly impossible to tell whether to put down a product bearing a warning and choose one without it — either one may present a high risk, a low risk or no risk. The deepest internet dive is unlikely to surface an answer before consumers reach the checkout or finalize their order online.
That kind of information is buried in the back pages of civil court settlements that horse-trade consumer safety and business costs. None of those legal battles goes to a jury. Few go all the way to a judge’s ruling. Millions of dollars change hands. A tiny portion goes to the state agency charged with protecting consumers from toxic exposure.
Advertisement
Attorney fees account for nearly three-quarters of the more than $300 million that has been paid out in Proposition 65 settlements since 2000, according to state data. The lion’s share of that goes to a handful of habitual litigants, several of which amount to opaque front groups with closer ties to attorneys than to California consumers, The Times has found. Meanwhile, shoppers have grown inured to the warnings.
This was not what Bay Area environmental attorney David Roe had in mind when he drafted Proposition 65 as a market-driven alternative to government mandates that would persuade companies to clean up to avoid having to “fess up.”
“From my perspective, every warning is a failure,” said Roe, who believes that meaningful compliance still predominates over abuses. Proposition 65 permanently changed the way companies assess risk and choose ingredients, and took tons of toxic chemicals out of production. Most companies quietly clean up their act, he said.
But the process, he said, isn’t perfect.
“The thing about private enforcement is that everybody can do it,” Roe said. “You get the good, the bad and the ugly.”
Born to fail
Political strategists in 1986 hoped Proposition 65 would draw liberal-leaning voters to the polls and help Democratic L.A. Mayor Tom Bradley, left, unseat Republican Gov. George Deukmejian. Californians ended up backing the proposition but not Bradley. (Rick Meyer / Los Angeles Times)
Not even Roe thought Proposition 65 would pass in 1986. Few sweeping environmental ballot measures had survived vigorous industry-funded counter-campaigns.
But Los Angeles Mayor Tom Bradley, a Democrat, needed help in his gubernatorial rematch race with Republican incumbent George Deukmejian. Political strategists such as Tom Hayden, then a state assemblyman, and his wife at the time, Jane Fonda, saw toxic pollution as a way to draw liberal-leaning voters to the polls and exploit a political weak point for Deukmejian, who had vetoed several toxic cleanup bills. Hayden, among others, bankrolled the measure. But it fell to others to write it.
“What was in it — the content — didn’t really matter to that strategy at all,” said Roe. “It was about the headline, not the fine print.”
Details fell largely to Roe and a couple of other environmental attorneys. “It’s a very unusual design,” Roe said. “You would never have been able to draft, by committee, anything as innovative as Prop. 65.”
Advertisement
Bradley lost. Proposition 65 won, by a 2-1 margin.
The fine print suddenly mattered. And in that fine print were the seeds of Proposition 65’s successes and excesses.
The Safe Drinking Water and Toxic Enforcement Act, as Proposition 65 was formally known, said that “no person in the course of doing business shall knowingly discharge or release a chemical known to the state to cause cancer or reproductive toxicity into water” or anywhere else where it might lead to a drinking water source. It also said that “no person in the course of doing business shall knowingly and intentionally expose” anyone to those chemicals “without first giving clear and reasonable warning.”
The usual people would enforce it — the state attorney general and local district attorneys. But so could “any person in the public interest.” Those words deputized citizens to sue anyone exposing Californians to toxins in the products they used.
Determining what constituted a toxin — and how much was unsafe — fell to the state, which listed scores of chemicals already identified in existing law or by other agencies. Two panels of appointed experts also could add chemicals based on the expertise of reputable agencies, or look at the science and decide for themselves.
Lawsuits eventually forced the state to also consider toxins linked only to cancer in animals. The list has since grown to more than 900 chemicals and elements.
That broad and cautious view of what’s considered risky for Californians is why Plesent, of Vermont Soap, opted to issue a warning with his products in 2015, over a flavor and fragrance compound called beta-myrcene, which had been linked to renal cancers in rodents.
“That doesn’t mean that if you wash with lemon grass soap you [will] be in danger,” said Plesent. “There’s a difference between 2% to 3% essential oils in a wash-off product and 100% essential oils being force-fed down your little mouse throat.”
Telling that to a judge can be prohibitively expensive — Proposition 65 places the burden of proof on the defendant, a reversal of the “presumption of innocence” principle that otherwise underpins the U.S. justice system.
So Plesent surrendered without a fight. “We can’t test everything.… So we’re going to put this warning on,” he said.
Advertisement
One customer then demanded a refund for $7,000 worth of goods she had bought to start her own private-label line of “nontoxic” bath goods. Plesent complied. Vermont Soap now refers customers to a five-page explainer on risks associated with essential oils published by the American Herbal Products Assn. industry group.
“The issue kind of went away,” Plesent said.
If the issue doesn’t go away, companies turn to Mike Easter.
Easter is an environmental toxicologist and attorney who has helped companies win state-sanctioned “safe use” concentrations for Proposition 65 chemicals, protecting them from prosecution. That remedy is so strictly limited that the state has granted only nine of these in 32 years, out of the more than 100,000 products that have been targeted by citizen prosecutors.
Two years ago, the sports fishing industry hired Easter after citizen enforcers accused member companies of exposing the lure-fishing public to illegal doses of phthalates, common plasticizers that can rub off their barbed versions of squid, shad and frogs.
Among other facts, Easter dug out how many times sport license holders fished (18.3 times a year, according to the American Sportsfishing Assn.), for how long (six hours), how many times they might touch a lure during that time, how much of the phthalates might transfer to their fingers, how often those fingers might touch their mouth area when they ate or smoked, and how all that would play out over years of recreational fishing.
He used the results to figure out the maximum concentration of phthalates that could be on lure makers’ ersatz baits before they exceeded the daily dose set by the state — a level that is set 1,000 times lower than the conventional zero-effect threshold used in toxicology. A judge approved a $90,000 consent agreement last year.
The seven companies signing the settlement know how much phthalates they can use before warning anglers. Other lure makers can join the agreement for $2,150 to $59,150, depending on their size.
That kind of science-driven accord is time-consuming and expensive. Plaintiff attorneys have sought more than a million dollars in fees in each of several long-running cases, according to court records.
Most times, attorneys just work out a less expensive compromise. That’s what happened in the case of companies selling tea.
A tempest over tea
Over the course of two years, dozens of tea companies shelled out more than $1 million to one citizen enforcer and her attorney.
Advertisement
They walked away without having to do much of anything about lead allegedly found in their tea.
They also did not submit as evidence anything like the analysis Easter does. Figuring that out was too risky for either side, the plaintiff attorney told a judge. So they horse-traded.
The cases show how Proposition 65 can leave the consumers with the right to know almost nothing, including whether a pregnant woman might be condemning her future child to learning disabilities brought on by lead exposure.
Here’s how that happened.
In 2016, Sacramento environmental engineer Whitney Leeman served violation notices to more than three dozen tea companies, alleging their infusions exceeded Proposition 65’s lead exposure standards. The notices warn companies that they have 60 days to work out a deal or face a lawsuit. That waiting period gives public prosecutors such as the attorney general and county district attorneys a shot at taking over the case on behalf of the public. None did.
Tea companies including Starbucks-owned Teavana paid over $1 million to settle one Proposition 65 case — with little effect on the lead allegedly found in their teas. (Damian Dovarganes / Associated Press)
Among the most prolific citizen prosecutors using Proposition 65, Leeman has collected more than $550,000 in bounties (a 25% share of civil penalties) since 2001, attorney general records show. The Berkeley-based firm that has represented her, the Chanler Group, has collected more than $7 million in fees from those cases — part of the more than $55 million the firm has collected in Proposition 65 fees over 20 years, according to state records. Along the way, Clifford Chanler, the firm’s founder, has drawn the ire of multiple attorneys general and members of Congress, one of whom likened him to the extortionate troll under the bridge from the fairy tale “The Three Billy Goats Gruff.”
Chanler calls that a “cheap shot” and defends his record.
“Our work was the undisputed catalyst in large settlements brought by public enforcers that mandated chemicals such as lead being removed from the inside and outside of bottles of Coca-Cola, Pepsi, and Dr. Pepper, among other items,” he wrote in an email response to questions from The Times.
Small tea companies quickly settled the accusations by promising to keep lead to a barely measurable level — effectively zero — or warn consumers. The settlements drew no public attention from the attorney general.
Everyone benefits, including the public, from having a standard. — Michele Corash, an attorney hired by Starbucks
Nineteen companies banded together and went to court to defend themselves, led by Starbucks, maker of Teavana. Starbucks hired a top gun who knew Leeman, Chanler and Proposition 65 well — Michele Corash, who had advised opponents of the ballot measure back in 1986 and had won a milestone exemption for the meat industry, nullifying cases Leeman and the Chanler firm had filed against meat companies.
Within months, though, the two rival litigants found themselves on the same side, trying to persuade a judge to accept a compromise settlement. First, though, they had to fight an unusual adversary — the state’s highest law enforcement officer, Atty. Gen. Xavier Becerra.
Even glassware at Williams Sonoma on Beverly Drive is displayed with a Proposition 65 warning. (Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times)
Becerra’s office had ended its silence on the cases with a rare intervention and bombshell disclosure in court: Based on what both parties were now offering as a “safe” level, almost none of the companies had ever violated Proposition 65.
Becerra based that on the confidential product tests Leeman had submitted to his office — and that by law, only his office sees. The tests showed that 15 of the 19 companies had never brewed tea with lead above the newly bargained standard both parties were asking the judge to approve, Becerra’s office revealed. That would leave most of the defendants free to serve the public the same old tea, he said. That might suit the parties to the lawsuit, but it didn’t serve the public interest, Becerra’s office argued.
Corash, the attorney for Starbucks, came to Chanler’s defense.
“Everyone benefits, including the public, from having a standard,” she told San Francisco County Superior Court Judge Harold E. Kahn. Besides, the state stood to collect substantial penalties as part of the settlement, she reminded him.
Kahn approved the accord, along with fees for Chanler Law Group: $480,000. Leeman collected her 25% bounty from the penalty, or $26,250. The state got the rest: $78,750.
Chanler told the judge his expenses far exceeded what he collected.
Other companies that had quietly settled before the Starbucks case benefited retroactively. Agreements in 13 of those early cases included a clause that allowed the companies to adhere to any future standard set by Leeman — and the Starbucks agreement now set it 10 times higher than the “all-but-zero” level to which they had agreed, according to court records.
Leeman and Chanler were not done with the tea aisle. Four months after the Starbucks settlement, they filed violation notices against three more tea companies: Bigelow, Hain Celestial and a distributor, Walong Marketing.
Becerra’s office publicly demanded the pair withdraw those cases — they had “no merit” based on what he knew about their test results, he wrote. Such public demands amount to scolding — they hold no consequences if they’re ignored, and Chanler ignored them. Deputy Atty. Gen. Harrison Pollak met them in court, before the same judge who had rejected Chanler’s arguments in the Starbucks case.
Pollak argued that the cases were “an abuse of Proposition 65.” How could Leeman and Chanler prosecute companies whose teas never exceeded the standard they had just fought to establish a year earlier, before the same judge, in the Starbucks cases?
Advertisement
Again, it was the attorney for the tea companies who fought the attorney general. The defendants, attorney Trenton Norris argued, wanted an even playing field — the same lead limit their competitors had won in the Starbucks case. Even though they hadn’t failed that Starbucks standard, they were willing to pay $58,500 apiece ($19,500 for Walong) to settle the dispute and keep from being sued over it again.
This toasted nori at Lassens Natural Foods & Vitamins in Echo Park is certified organic — but also stuck with a Proposition 65 warning. (Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times)
Kahn would have none of it this time. He threw out the settlement and dismissed the three cases.
Fighting for a settlement, despite no evidence of a violation, was not as unusual as it might seem, said lead attorney Norris, representing tea companies Bigelow and Hain.
“We look at cases all the time that are completely without merit but are too expensive to litigate,” Norris said. “You have to explain all the science to a judge who maybe last studied chemistry in 1968.”
Chanler told The Times that he was prepared to do the science at trial, and show that lead concentrations at or below the eventual compromise standard — 10 parts per billion — would still have exposed consumers to a dose of lead above the Proposition 65 limit. He also said he had additional tests showing even higher lead concentrations.
His client, Leeman, suggested that the attorney general could have taken a stronger role in the case — the office has taken over citizen prosecutions in the past, reaching several milestone agreements on products such as ceramics, candy, jewelry and toys.
A Starbucks spokesperson said the company is “committed to providing safe, quality products for our customers.“ The company declined to respond to detailed questions about the case.
Advertisement
Tea seller Bigelow has said the most lead it has detected in its brewed teas was one-fifth the amount of lead allowed in federal drinking water standards. Hain Celestial representatives didn’t respond to requests for comment.
A Proposition 65 warning greets customers at the door at Trader Joe’s in Glendale. (Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times)
So is tea safe?
Not enough for Gerry Schwalfenberg, a University of Alberta doctor whose toxicology study helped draw attention to heavy metals absorbed from soils by tea trees. He avoids any tea from industrialized areas of China.
“I would say it’s still beneficial to drink tea, but don’t drink it from places that have excess lead,” Schwalfenberg said.
By comparison, Proposition 65 settlements have allowed 30 times more lead in chocolate, 10 times more lead in spicy Mexican tamarindo candies, six times more lead in the Mexican salsa whose serving size was reset to a teaspoon, over five times more in rice, and three times more in Nabisco Ginger Snaps cookies.
Consumers in the tea aisles of major grocery chains are none the wiser about lead in tea — none of the companies that settled with Leeman has printed a Proposition 65 warning on its tea packages.
That’s not the case online. Sellers who watched from the sidelines now routinely include Proposition 65 warnings on their orders. Like Plesent, they just don’t want to fight California.
“It would be virtually impossible to test every herb and every product we have for all 800 substances on the California Proposition 65 list,” online seller Tea Haven said. “For this reason, out of an abundance of caution, we have opted to place the Proposition 65 warning on every order we ship to California.”
Advertisement
A package of Chinese black teas The Times ordered from Tea Haven came with a Proposition 65 sticker and a slip of paper warning about “one or more hazardous chemicals.”
There was no mention of lead.
(Lorena Elebee / Los Angeles Times)
Fear and loathing online
Online shopping, Twitter, fast fashion and Cardi B weren’t around when Proposition 65 was passed.
They collided last May over a Proposition 65 warning on bikinis. California did not come out well on a national stage.
Advertisement
“How can clothes cause cancer?” tweeted Azia Ani, of Atlanta, above a photo of the neon green zippered bikini she purchased from Fashion Nova, the Vernon-based brand made famous by rapper Cardi B.
Did y’all know this tag is in Fashion Nova swimsuits ? pic.twitter.com/pUK5S2BAMq — Azia Ani 💓 (@aziaani_) April 29, 2019
The tiny white tag warned about lead, cadmium and phthalates.
Some 7,000 retweets later, Ani’s post accumulated a long string of out-of-state comments about Proposition 65 warnings on eyewear, Christmas lights, work boots, sofa cushions and gun parts.
“I’m like 90% certain that a lot of clothes expose you to the same harmful things but California requires you by law to inform the consumer,” said a user from Boston.
“Don’t eat it lol,” wrote another.
“This tag is literally on the McDonald’s drive thru window lmao it’s everywhere,” another user commented.
Ani eventually concluded Fashion Nova was “not getting anymore of my coins.”
Advertisement
Fashion Nova declined to comment about the incident or its reasons for posting the warning.
The apparel industry has been a growing target for lawsuits over lead and phthalates in metallic fibers, faux skins, zippers, clasps and buttons. Apparel and accessories are the focus of hundreds of Proposition 65 notices annually, according to a Times review of state data.
The Twitter bikini panic shows how deeply Proposition 65’s legal requirements and psychology have penetrated the national market, particularly for companies that peddle their products online.
Gardeners might struggle to glean whether the Proposition 65 warning on this potted plant pertains to the pot, the plant or the soil. (Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times)
Some sellers warn every online shopper. Others wait until a customer enters a California ZIP Code. Right-wing talk show host Alex Jones, whose Infowars Life dietary supplements were tagged with a $135,000 settlement in 2018 over lead content, warns only Californians on its website, but warns everyone on Amazon, which holds its independent sellers responsible for Proposition 65 compliance.
Online reaction to warnings support what Vanderbilt University economist Kip Viscusi predicted at the law’s genesis. His tests three decades ago showed consumers overreacted at first, equating the notices with the surgeon general’s warnings on tobacco products.
“The problem is the Proposition 65 warnings pick up a huge range of risk,” Viscusi said. “Very risky products such as chewing tobacco, which was among the early Proposition 65 warnings — that is clearly in a different league than something that poses a 1-in-100,000 lifetime risk of cancer.”
Because fast fashion is generally designed to last for a season, the bikini’s cancer risk could be as low as about 1 in 7 million, by Viscusi’s calculations.
It’s not even clear whether the bikini contains a hazardous chemical — Fashion Nova, like other companies, may have posted it without even testing.
So, buyers of the green bikini can’t know enough to know what risk, if any, it poses.
But Michael Barsa, co-director of the environmental law concentration at Northwestern University Pritzker School of Law, said a consumer doesn’t really have to calculate risk for Proposition 65 to accomplish its aim of making cleaner products. They only have to be afraid to buy it.
“Does this give the consumer enough information to make an informed risk-benefit trade-off? The answer is very clearly no,” said Barsa. “But that would be an impossible world to live in. Can you imagine you go to the supermarket and literally every item you buy you’re having to read through reams of data and exposure analysis? It would be crazy-making.”
Consumer fear “is really just what gets the ball rolling for everybody else to make the right decisions — even if that initial consumer impact is not itself rational,” Barsa said. “If you look at the whole law and what happens with it, there may be a sort of crazy genius to it.”
Advertisement
Dining establishments like Il Fornaio Italian restaurant warn of potential chemicals in beverages and a variety of dishes, including fried and baked foods. (Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times)
At least one seller, BJ’s Wholesale Club, a membership discount outlet based in Massachusetts, decided not to bother selling to Californians because of Proposition 65.
“At this time we are not confident that our products are consistently labeled to meet these requirements,” the company said on its website. “As such, the company has opted to temporarily stop selling merchandise to consumers in California. We do not have an ETA on when shipping to California will be turned back on.”
Shipping to California is what pushed Grass Family Hemp out of business. The owner and sole employee, Frank Grass, sold hemp powder to Kenneth Randolph Moore of San Jose in August 2017. Months later, Moore received an ominous Proposition 65 Notice of Violation from the San Jose office of “Safe Products for Californians.”
Like Grass Family Hemp, Safe Products for Californians also is a family operation. It is registered as a for-profit corporation run by Kenneth Moore from the office of his ex-wife, attorney Tanya Moore, according to state records. He has been her only client in more than 100 cases, about half of them against Amazon sellers. The pair have netted her nearly $700,000 in lawyer fees, according to attorney general records.
Grass reached out to the Moores to explain that he was exempt from Proposition 65, which applies only to companies with 10 or more employees. He was a one-man shop operating from his home in Aurora, Colo., selling via Amazon, he said.
Industrial sites like Aerocraft Heat Treating in Paramount require Proposition 65 notices in addition to other warning signs. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
“She didn’t care,” Grass said of Tanya Moore. “She just skipped over it like it wasn’t even said.”
A judge didn’t rule on that defense — both parties agreed to mediation, after which Moore requested that the case be dismissed.
Reached by The Times, Tanya Moore declined to talk about the case, her client or where he conducts business, citing attorney-client privilege. (Proposition 65 settlements are public, and are posted to the attorney general’s website.)
“I cannot discuss any specific cases,” Moore told The Times. “I cannot discuss any of our settlements.”
The legal tangle cost Grass $5,000, and his company — he opted to dissolve it.
“I’m not going to be selling on Amazon anytime soon,” he said.
And certainly not to California.
Mohan is a former Times staff writer. Staff writer Ryan Menezes contributed to this report.


latimes--2020-07-23--LAPD begins cost cutting, and units must 'show your relevance,' chief says

During a recent meeting with officers from the elite but troubled Metropolitan Division , Los Angeles police Chief Michel Moore offered support for their crime-fighting mission , but also a warning he ’ d previously shared with command staff .
With significant reductions in the force looming , every unit is under a microscope — and must prove its worth .
Following a historic $ 150-million budget cut , and amid a nationwide re-imagining of what policing should be , the LAPD is reviewing its operational structure from top to bottom and pushing forward with potentially far-reaching internal changes in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ officials said .
The revamped LAPD will have hundreds of fewer officers to deploy by this time next year , and Moore has asked unit commanders throughout the department to write him proposals for what their teams should look like in such a future .
The Metro force , which includes the department ’ s targeted enforcement teams , is being scrutinized closely for potential cuts , and gang units and other specialized squads are also likely to be slimmed down .
Some fear a reduction in patrols as well , meaning fewer @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , though officials have said they intend to limit such cuts .
Programs that center cops in the community , meanwhile , will be expanded .
“ We need to look at how we police the city with the scant resources that we have , and determine how we can find alternatives if our current practices aren ’ t going to continue to work , ” Moore said in an interview with The Times .
Assistant Chief Horace Frank said the department will probably concentrate resources on patrols and community outreach , while @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that are somewhat removed from directly serving neighborhoods .
It ’ s likely that some officers who have been assigned to specialized units will go back on patrol , officials said .
“ Patrol is absolutely our base service .
That is our primary core , and then everything spins around that , ” Moore said .
The entire conversation represents a radical departure from policing discussions in L.A. just a few months ago , when officials were talking about increasing the police budget .
It also falls against a backdrop of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ blows to city coffers ; a recent increase in homicides in L.A. ; and massive protests for police reform that broke out in major cities across the country following the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis in May .
For too long , demonstrators allege , police departments have been bloated , their budgets allowed to balloon to ridiculous levels because they are viewed as sacrosanct by city politicians fearful of crime and all the implications that come with it .
Instead , demonstrators have demanded that police be “ defunded , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ more social workers , mental health professionals and transportation employees to respond to a plethora of calls that don ’ t require an officer with a gun .
Some activists called for the Police Department to be abolished entirely .
Others called for its budget to be cut by 90 % .
One called the $ 150-million cut “ pocket change.
” “ We are saying defund the police , ” Black Lives Matter-LA co-founder Melina Abdullah said at a City Council hearing last month .
“ We ’ re also saying re-imagine @ @ @ @ @ @ @ public safety is not policing , ” actor and activist Kendrick Sampson said at the same hearing .
With defunding suddenly gaining traction , the council acted last month by slashing the LAPD ’ s funds .
It also put forward a few additional ideas for reshaping the LAPD .
But planning for how the cut would play out on the ground and within the department was lacking , and department officials were sent scrambling .
Moore , who approves of shifting some police responsibilities to civilian agencies , sees any such plan @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
His more immediate challenge , he said , is shepherding the LAPD forward with less funding and without sacrificing public safety while a clearer framework for the future is developed .
The questions before him , he said , are twofold : “ How am I going to realign the organization ?
And , in the interim , how am I going to handle the workload while we decide what we ’ re going to stop doing ?
” Given the city spends about $ 3 billion on the LAPD annually , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ relatively minor and indicative of little change .
But police officials don ’ t see it that way .
By this time next year , they expect to have 250 fewer sworn officers , bringing their total to about 9,750 — the lowest in a dozen years .
They ’ ll also lose about 140 civilian employees , Moore said .
The transition to a smaller force has already begun , with hiring curtailed despite sustained attrition .
Eric Miller , a professor at Loyola Law School who focuses on policing issues , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , facing pressure from all sides — elected officials , the civilian Police Commission , rank-and-file officers , protesters , and most of the rest of the public , who want to see change but still value police in their neighborhoods and quick response times when they call for help .
But police officials have survived similar moments in the past by targeting units that face scrutiny — such as Metro — or are unproductive , Miller said .
“ What he has to do is suggest that he is making significant reforms @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about , but which don ’ t necessarily impact the core mission of police as he sees it , ” Miller said .
“ What you want to do is work out which units are causing you disciplinary headaches , use that as an excuse to trim the unit , and use that as a sop to the mayor and the public.
” The proposals Moore requested from commanders are due in the coming days and weeks , he said , and will help inform decisions about what units should stay , which @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and which should be reconfigured .
“ What is the size of them going forward ?
That question is being asked of every command , ” he said .
Moore acknowledged “ there ’ s a lot of rumors ” that Metro will be completely disbanded , but that is unlikely , he said .
The Metro Division is an amalgamation of several specialized units , including targeted enforcement teams , the SWAT team and the department ’ s mounted and canine units .
For years , its members were praised by public @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a lot of police work , conducting thousands of traffic stops and seizing guns .
Mayor Eric Garcetti at one point ordered the division ’ s expansion as a solution to violent crime .
However , since it was revealed last year by the Times that Metro officers were disproportionately stopping and searching Black drivers , many members of the 200-person team have been diverted to spend more time investigating crimes that have already occurred .
That is important work that will continue , Moore said .
Beyond patrol and criminal investigations , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Community Safety Partnership program , including devoting more command staff to the mission , as part of a directive from the Police Commission .
LAPD officials also are having conversations with officials from other agencies that may be asked to pick up some duties .
Moore recently told the Police Commission that he had begun discussions with transportation officials about a City Council proposal that would see some traffic calls handled not by police but by transportation employees .
He said he can ’ t imagine transportation employees handling enforcement stops , but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ calls .
“ Our effort is to sit down together and understand what potential realignment of responsibilities might entail , ” he said .
Moore said he is looking for ways to incorporate some ideas from officers .
“ The wisdom of this organization doesn ’ t come from the 10th floor ; it comes from the rank and file , ” he said , referring to command offices at police headquarters .
Officers and the union that represents them have been critical of Moore and city officials in recent weeks , not @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and surrounding unrest — where dozens of officers were injured — but for what they perceive to be an acquiescence to the department ’ s critics and a failure by officials to defend officers ’ actions .
They say they worry about public safety at a time when homicides are up nearly 14 % from last year and shootings are on the rise .
And they say that little about the path forward is clear to them .
“ It ’ s changing so fast .
It just seems like every day , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said Craig Lally , president of the Los Angeles Police Protective League .
Lally said a lot of people are talking about defunding the police without a clear idea of what that even means — “ they ’ re putting the cart before the horse.
” Given the force reduction , Lally said he expects there to be “ massive shortages over the next few years in patrol , ” and new demands for more cops from residents angry about rising crime .

Kevin Rector, Richard Winton, Cindy Chang

Chief Michel Moore says big changes are coming to the LAPD after a historic $150-million budget cut.
During a recent meeting with officers from the elite but troubled Metropolitan Division, Los Angeles police Chief Michel Moore offered support for their crime-fighting mission, but also a warning he’d previously shared with command staff.
With significant reductions in the force looming, every unit is under a microscope — and must prove its worth.
“Show your relevance,” Moore recalled saying.
Following a historic $150-million budget cut, and amid a nationwide re-imagining of what policing should be, the LAPD is reviewing its operational structure from top to bottom and pushing forward with potentially far-reaching internal changes in anticipation of an even broader shake-up, officials said.
Advertisement
The revamped LAPD will have hundreds of fewer officers to deploy by this time next year, and Moore has asked unit commanders throughout the department to write him proposals for what their teams should look like in such a future. The Metro force, which includes the department’s targeted enforcement teams, is being scrutinized closely for potential cuts, and gang units and other specialized squads are also likely to be slimmed down.
Some fear a reduction in patrols as well, meaning fewer officers on the streets and in neighborhoods, though officials have said they intend to limit such cuts. Programs that center cops in the community, meanwhile, will be expanded.
“We need to look at how we police the city with the scant resources that we have, and determine how we can find alternatives if our current practices aren’t going to continue to work,” Moore said in an interview with The Times.
Assistant Chief Horace Frank said the department will probably concentrate resources on patrols and community outreach, while trimming specialized units and other police functions that are somewhat removed from directly serving neighborhoods.
It’s likely that some officers who have been assigned to specialized units will go back on patrol, officials said.
“Patrol is absolutely our base service. That is our primary core, and then everything spins around that,” Moore said.
Advertisement
The entire conversation represents a radical departure from policing discussions in L.A. just a few months ago, when officials were talking about increasing the police budget. It also falls against a backdrop of the coronavirus pandemic, which has dealt significant blows to city coffers; a recent increase in homicides in L.A.; and massive protests for police reform that broke out in major cities across the country following the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis in May.
For too long, demonstrators allege, police departments have been bloated, their budgets allowed to balloon to ridiculous levels because they are viewed as sacrosanct by city politicians fearful of crime and all the implications that come with it. Instead, demonstrators have demanded that police be “defunded,” with those dollars redirected to hire more social workers, mental health professionals and transportation employees to respond to a plethora of calls that don’t require an officer with a gun.
Some activists called for the Police Department to be abolished entirely. Others called for its budget to be cut by 90%. One called the $150-million cut “pocket change.”
“We are saying defund the police,” Black Lives Matter-LA co-founder Melina Abdullah said at a City Council hearing last month. “We’re also saying re-imagine public safety.”
“We know that public safety is not policing,” actor and activist Kendrick Sampson said at the same hearing.
With defunding suddenly gaining traction, the council acted last month by slashing the LAPD’s funds. It also put forward a few additional ideas for reshaping the LAPD. But planning for how the cut would play out on the ground and within the department was lacking, and department officials were sent scrambling.
Moore, who approves of shifting some police responsibilities to civilian agencies, sees any such plan unfolding over time, with careful preparation. His more immediate challenge, he said, is shepherding the LAPD forward with less funding and without sacrificing public safety while a clearer framework for the future is developed.
The questions before him, he said, are twofold: “How am I going to realign the organization? And, in the interim, how am I going to handle the workload while we decide what we’re going to stop doing?”
Given the city spends about $3 billion on the LAPD annually, critics have viewed the recent cut as relatively minor and indicative of little change. But police officials don’t see it that way.
By this time next year, they expect to have 250 fewer sworn officers, bringing their total to about 9,750 — the lowest in a dozen years. They’ll also lose about 140 civilian employees, Moore said. The transition to a smaller force has already begun, with hiring curtailed despite sustained attrition.
Eric Miller, a professor at Loyola Law School who focuses on policing issues, said Moore is in a tough spot, facing pressure from all sides — elected officials, the civilian Police Commission, rank-and-file officers, protesters, and most of the rest of the public, who want to see change but still value police in their neighborhoods and quick response times when they call for help.
But police officials have survived similar moments in the past by targeting units that face scrutiny — such as Metro — or are unproductive, Miller said.
“What he has to do is suggest that he is making significant reforms in areas that people are shouting loudest about, but which don’t necessarily impact the core mission of police as he sees it,” Miller said. “What you want to do is work out which units are causing you disciplinary headaches, use that as an excuse to trim the unit, and use that as a sop to the mayor and the public.”
The proposals Moore requested from commanders are due in the coming days and weeks, he said, and will help inform decisions about what units should stay, which ones can go — if any — and which should be reconfigured.
“What is the size of them going forward? That question is being asked of every command,” he said.
Moore acknowledged “there’s a lot of rumors” that Metro will be completely disbanded, but that is unlikely, he said.
The Metro Division is an amalgamation of several specialized units, including targeted enforcement teams, the SWAT team and the department’s mounted and canine units. For years, its members were praised by public officials for being at the forefront of a lot of police work, conducting thousands of traffic stops and seizing guns. Mayor Eric Garcetti at one point ordered the division’s expansion as a solution to violent crime.
However, since it was revealed last year by the Times that Metro officers were disproportionately stopping and searching Black drivers, many members of the 200-person team have been diverted to spend more time investigating crimes that have already occurred. That is important work that will continue, Moore said.
Beyond patrol and criminal investigations, the department is working to expand its Community Safety Partnership program, including devoting more command staff to the mission, as part of a directive from the Police Commission.
LAPD officials also are having conversations with officials from other agencies that may be asked to pick up some duties.
Moore recently told the Police Commission that he had begun discussions with transportation officials about a City Council proposal that would see some traffic calls handled not by police but by transportation employees. He said he can’t imagine transportation employees handling enforcement stops, but could see them responding to some collision calls.
“Our effort is to sit down together and understand what potential realignment of responsibilities might entail,” he said.
Moore said he is looking for ways to incorporate some ideas from officers.
“The wisdom of this organization doesn’t come from the 10th floor; it comes from the rank and file,” he said, referring to command offices at police headquarters.
Officers and the union that represents them have been critical of Moore and city officials in recent weeks, not only for their handling of the protests and surrounding unrest — where dozens of officers were injured — but for what they perceive to be an acquiescence to the department’s critics and a failure by officials to defend officers’ actions.
They say they worry about public safety at a time when homicides are up nearly 14% from last year and shootings are on the rise. And they say that little about the path forward is clear to them.
“It’s changing so fast. It just seems like every day, something else is going on,” said Craig Lally, president of the Los Angeles Police Protective League.
Lally said a lot of people are talking about defunding the police without a clear idea of what that even means — “they’re putting the cart before the horse.”
Given the force reduction, Lally said he expects there to be “massive shortages over the next few years in patrol,” and new demands for more cops from residents angry about rising crime.


latimes--2020-07-23--Sierra Club reflects on its racist roots and looks toward a new future

As U.S. companies , politicians and institutions seek to atone for a history of systemic racism , the environmental movement is also grappling with a past built on white supremacy and a glaring lack of diversity in its current rank and file .
On Wednesday morning , Sierra Club ’ s executive director , Michael Brune , penned a missive on the organization ’ s problematic history — from founder John Muir ’ s racist statements about Black and Indigenous people , to its affiliation with the eugenics movement , and its current , predominantly white membership and sentimentality .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ some people to shut their eyes to the reality that the wild places we love are also the ancestral homelands of Native peoples , forced off their lands in the decades or centuries before they became national parks , ” he wrote .
It is this ignorance , he said , that “ allows them to overlook , too , the fact that only people insulated from systemic racism and brutality can afford to focus solely on preserving wilderness.
” As advocates for a more equitable nation take down Confederate statues in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Father Junipero Serra in California , Brune called for the organization to reexamine its own role in perpetuating white supremacy , “ starting with some truth-telling about the Sierra Club ’ s early history.
” Muir ’ s legacy — the father of the national park system , whose words shaped the way generations have thought about the wilderness and how it should be protected and managed — has come under increased scrutiny in recent years .
Many questioned whether his ethos is still relevant in today ’ s world .
This history @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis as a renewed social awareness of systemic racism takes hold .
“ The first step is to own mistakes personally and institutionally , ” Brune said in an interview .
“ There were early leaders in our organization who made harmful and disparaging remarks about Native Americans and Black people that haven ’ t been acknowledged by leadership in the organization for more than a century , so we ’ re owning that , apologizing for it.
” The club ’ s staff , membership @ @ @ @ @ @ @ membership skews older .
“ The Sierra Club is multi-generational and multi-racial but not nearly enough , ” Brune said .
“ There ’ s a lot of work to be done in that regard.
” Many of the polluting industries that are propelling climate change disproportionately affect poor and non-white communities that live next to refineries and pipelines .
“ It ’ s been an evolution over time , ” said Kathryn Phillips , director of Sierra Club California .
“ Since the ‘ 90s , the Sierra Club has gotten more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ air pollution … What ’ s happening now is we are overtly recognizing that we have to make sure we are including all people.
” In 2004 , the club was nearly dismantled after an internal rift grew between those who were advocating for tough immigration restrictions as a way to control environmental damage and those who felt such policies were inherently racist .
Marce Gutiérrez-Graudiņš of Azul , a group based in Oakland that aims to bring more Latino voices to coastal issues , said the Sierra Club ’ s reckoning with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ coming , and it ’ s sadly a reflection of not just the Sierra Club but our field in general.
” Gutiérrez-Graudiņš has spent years framing issues from an environmental justice perspective but said until recently , it did not have the impact and reception it is now receiving — not just from decision makers but also from her conservation colleagues .
“ We ’ re at a point where people can ’ t ignore it anymore , ” she said .
“ There ’ s a confluence of all these changes that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ now taking action on this work that has been going on for decades.
” She pointed to generations of work by advocates such as Robert García , of the City Project , and others who fought for equitable access to clean air and water .
Together , they pushed for California ’ s recent , which explicitly authorizes state officials to consider not only impacts to plants , animals and coastal habitats when making decisions but also the effects on underrepresented communities .
Gutiérrez-Graudiņš left the mainstream environmental movement almost a decade ago @ @ @ @ @ @ @ isn ’ t just one way to be a conservationist .
For years , she has battled a misperception that Latinos don ’ t care about the environment and has urged colleagues in the environmental space to recognize how diversifying their meetings and events is not just about checking boxes .
“ I was basically tokenized left and right , and I wanted to be able to say ‘ no ’ and do things the way I thought they should be done — informed by and led by my community , ” she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that there ’ s one way to do environmental work , that there ’ s one way to do conservation , that there ’ s one way to do outreach , and that if folks don ’ t show up to your thing , they don ’ t care.
” The Sierra Club has taken a number of steps in the right direction in recent months , she noted , including naming the first Latino in its 128-year history to lead its board of directors .
A recent poll , conducted by Yale @ @ @ @ @ @ @ people of color are more concerned about climate change than white people .
The poll found that 49 percent of white people are concerned about climate change , compared to 57 percent of Black people and 69 percent of Latino people .
“ There is definitely a reckoning underway , and it ’ s long overdue , ” said Meera Subramanian , the Society of Environmental Journalists ’ board president , who oversees a predominantly white membership-driven organization of environmental journalists .
“ The challenge now is to translate the promises made in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ The environment isn ’ t polar bears and Yosemite National Park , ” she said .
“ It ’ s the water in Flint , Michigan , and the air in New Delhi.
” Gladys Limón , executive director of the California Environmental Justice Alliance , said the Sierra Club and other major environmental organizations have traditionally wielded most of the power and benefited from the biggest budgets .
To advance their racial justice commitments , she said the major players need to make room for smaller , grassroots groups and shift @ @ @ @ @ @ @ organizations and communities .
Rene Henery , California science director for Trout Unlimited , noted that the environmental movement arose in a culture that was white and patriarchal : “ Everything , from who could participate in that movement and have a voice to how the organizations came to be , to who was on the boards and how the organizations are structured ” reflected that culture .
“ It is what it is .
Now we are trying to set a new boundary , ” Henery said .
“ It ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ care of everybody else because we ’ re all interconnected .
”

Susanne Rust, Bettina Boxall, Rosanna Xia

As U.S. companies, politicians and institutions seek to atone for a history of systemic racism, the environmental movement is also grappling with a past built on white supremacy and a glaring lack of diversity in its current rank and file.
On Wednesday morning, Sierra Club’s executive director, Michael Brune, penned a missive on the organization’s problematic history — from founder John Muir’s racist statements about Black and Indigenous people, to its affiliation with the eugenics movement, and its current, predominantly white membership and sentimentality.
”... willful ignorance is what allows some people to shut their eyes to the reality that the wild places we love are also the ancestral homelands of Native peoples, forced off their lands in the decades or centuries before they became national parks,” he wrote. It is this ignorance, he said, that “allows them to overlook, too, the fact that only people insulated from systemic racism and brutality can afford to focus solely on preserving wilderness.”
Advertisement
As advocates for a more equitable nation take down Confederate statues in the South and those of Christopher Columbus and Father Junipero Serra in California, Brune called for the organization to reexamine its own role in perpetuating white supremacy, “starting with some truth-telling about the Sierra Club’s early history.”
Muir’s legacy — the father of the national park system, whose words shaped the way generations have thought about the wilderness and how it should be protected and managed — has come under increased scrutiny in recent years. Many questioned whether his ethos is still relevant in today’s world.
This history has come into even sharper focus since the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis as a renewed social awareness of systemic racism takes hold.
“The first step is to own mistakes personally and institutionally,” Brune said in an interview. “There were early leaders in our organization who made harmful and disparaging remarks about Native Americans and Black people that haven’t been acknowledged by leadership in the organization for more than a century, so we’re owning that, apologizing for it.”
The club’s staff, membership and volunteers are predominantly white and the membership skews older.
“The Sierra Club is multi-generational and multi-racial but not nearly enough,” Brune said. “There’s a lot of work to be done in that regard.”
Advertisement
Many of the polluting industries that are propelling climate change disproportionately affect poor and non-white communities that live next to refineries and pipelines.
“It’s been an evolution over time,” said Kathryn Phillips, director of Sierra Club California. “Since the ‘90s, the Sierra Club has gotten more involved in California in urban issues and air pollution … What’s happening now is we are overtly recognizing that we have to make sure we are including all people.”
In 2004, the club was nearly dismantled after an internal rift grew between those who were advocating for tough immigration restrictions as a way to control environmental damage and those who felt such policies were inherently racist.
Marce Gutiérrez-Graudiņš of Azul, a group based in Oakland that aims to bring more Latino voices to coastal issues, said the Sierra Club’s reckoning with its history “was a long time coming, and it’s sadly a reflection of not just the Sierra Club but our field in general.”
Gutiérrez-Graudiņš has spent years framing issues from an environmental justice perspective but said until recently, it did not have the impact and reception it is now receiving — not just from decision makers but also from her conservation colleagues.
“We’re at a point where people can’t ignore it anymore,” she said. “There’s a confluence of all these changes that are coming together, and people are now taking action on this work that has been going on for decades.”
She pointed to generations of work by advocates such as Robert García, of the City Project, and others who fought for equitable access to clean air and water. Together, they pushed for California’s recent environmental justice law , which explicitly authorizes state officials to consider not only impacts to plants, animals and coastal habitats when making decisions but also the effects on underrepresented communities.
Gutiérrez-Graudiņš left the mainstream environmental movement almost a decade ago to amplify Latino voices and show there isn’t just one way to be a conservationist. For years, she has battled a misperception that Latinos don’t care about the environment and has urged colleagues in the environmental space to recognize how diversifying their meetings and events is not just about checking boxes.
“I was basically tokenized left and right, and I wanted to be able to say ‘no’ and do things the way I thought they should be done — informed by and led by my community,” she said. “There was this idea that there’s one way to do environmental work, that there’s one way to do conservation, that there’s one way to do outreach, and that if folks don’t show up to your thing, they don’t care.”
The Sierra Club has taken a number of steps in the right direction in recent months, she noted, including naming the first Latino in its 128-year history to lead its board of directors.
A recent poll, conducted by Yale and George Mason universities, shows that people of color are more concerned about climate change than white people.
The poll found that 49 percent of white people are concerned about climate change, compared to 57 percent of Black people and 69 percent of Latino people.
“There is definitely a reckoning underway, and it’s long overdue,” said Meera Subramanian, the Society of Environmental Journalists’ board president, who oversees a predominantly white membership-driven organization of environmental journalists. “The challenge now is to translate the promises made in an engaged moment into long-term action.”
“The environment isn’t polar bears and Yosemite National Park,” she said. “It’s the water in Flint, Michigan, and the air in New Delhi.”
Gladys Limón, executive director of the California Environmental Justice Alliance, said the Sierra Club and other major environmental organizations have traditionally wielded most of the power and benefited from the biggest budgets.
To advance their racial justice commitments, she said the major players need to make room for smaller, grassroots groups and shift philanthropic financial support directly to environmental justice organizations and communities.
Rene Henery, California science director for Trout Unlimited, noted that the environmental movement arose in a culture that was white and patriarchal: “Everything, from who could participate in that movement and have a voice to how the organizations came to be, to who was on the boards and how the organizations are structured” reflected that culture.
“It is what it is. Now we are trying to set a new boundary,” Henery said. “It’s in everybody’s interest to take care of everybody else because we’re all interconnected.”