latimes--2020-06-05--Column One: In the COVID-19 unit, saying goodbye to a mentor long distance

My assignment was to photograph a hospital battling COVID-19 , and over weeks of visits , I saw a brave and dedicated staff treat patients with energy and compassion .
It was impressive but , in a way , not surprising .
The staff at Martin Luther King Jr. Community Hospital has worked to overcome the reputation of the facility ’ s predecessor , the troubled King/Drew Medical Center , a hospital so bad it lost its accreditation and was nicknamed “ Killer King.
” Each day at the new hospital brought scenes of caring and love , of resourcefulness @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the specter of death .
And to my surprise , as I tried to photograph doctors , nurses , technicians and patients , my mind drifted to my college days and a nun I met brimming with energy and compassion .
The hospital staff is saving lives .
As I reflect on my days watching that staff , my thoughts pivot from hospital to college and back again , and I realize one might say the same of Sister Marie .
My first day at the hospital won ’ t start for more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ m awake .
I ’ d been trained on how to don protective gear to guard against the novel coronavirus .
I try on my respirator , again .
My primary fear : that I would become ill before I could share this story .
The secondary fear : that I won ’ t truly capture what patients and staff are going through .
In college I ’ d studied Dante ’ s “ The Divine Comedy ” with Sister Marie and this morning I reread a stanza : O Muses , O @ @ @ @ @ @ @ O mind which inscribed what I saw here your worth will be revealed .
Dante was writing about himself , about his own writing .
I return to this poem occasionally when I am about to begin a new project .
It already feels like a long day , but we ’ re just 45 minutes into it .
I meet up with Dr. Oscar Casillas , director of the emergency department .
Casillas makes his rounds with the vigor and grace of an athlete , which is understandable .
He played baseball @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , then as a utility player on the team that won the national championship in 1998 .
Casillas often speaks about the shortage of physicians in South Los Angeles and how the health disparities in the surrounding community contribute to the high volume of patients he sees .
The hospital serves a population that ’ s mostly Latino and young , and those demographics show in its COVID-19 cases .
Of 344 such patients , hospital officials say , 84 % have been Latino , 12 % African American .
Four percent were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Casillas helped open the new 131-bed hospital in Willowbrook in 2015 .
When the facility was brand-new , he recalled , patients would reference King/Drew and its troubles .
They no longer do that .
The community , he says , and the hospital staff feel they have moved beyond the past , and are facing the pandemic .
“ There also is a real sense of pride here in accomplishing something that a lot of people didn ’ t think could happen , ” he says .
In the fall of my @ @ @ @ @ @ @ visited Saint Mary College in Leavenworth , Kan. , for the first time .
In the English department , a white marble sculpture adorned the hallway and one wall featured a painting of Venice .
There were tall wooden shelves filled with books .
And there was Sister Marie Brinkman of the Sisters of Charity of Leavenworth .
She was the chair of the English department and in charge of the tiny school newspaper , the Taper .
She too , I would learn , could see possibilities .
During our first encounter @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be on her newspaper staff but couldn ’ t .
She slyly smiled , as she does , and asked , “ Why ?
” I told her meekly , “ I can ’ t spell , so I can ’ t write for your newspaper.
” And in that one sentence , I had a future .
Griselda Llanos , an ICU nurse , never appears to sit down during her 12-hour shift .
This morning she has two patients , one with COVID-19 .
She spends hours inside the room with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ first pulling a curtain to give him privacy .
She administers medication .
She helps a doctor with a complicated pulmonary procedure .
Before she finally leaves the room , she gently wipes his forehead .
Llanos , 31 , has been a nurse more than 10 years .
She was raised by a single mother and has a black-and-white tattoo of her mom inside of her left arm .
Her mother was a nurse ’ s assistant for almost 30 years , but that ’ s not what drove her to medicine @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a man fall ill and die at a fast-food restaurant .
“ I was maybe 14 , ” she said .
“ I felt so helpless because I couldn ’ t help him .
I didn ’ t know what to do .
He was young .
I found that pretty traumatizing .
Seeing that happen in front of my eyes and me not being able to help pushed me and it led me to nursing.
” Now she must remember to protect herself from the novel coronavirus .
Llanos has to remind @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and face shield while in the COVID-19 patient ’ s room .
I made my choice after meeting Sister Marie and enrolled at Saint Mary College ( later renamed University of Saint Mary ) .
Having me as her student could not have been easy — I was not the best student and never had the courage to tell her I ’ m dyslexic — but she always had an expectation I would succeed .
She was dedicated to all her students , not just me .
We would sit together for hours @ @ @ @ @ @ @ door to the tiny newsroom where I wrote and photographed for the Taper .
The office featured a large , tan IBM electric typewriter , always humming , and a black-and-white photo of her predecessor as chair , Sister Mary Ernestine , with a pet parakeet named Mr. Blue .
We would pore over my seminar papers , simple newspaper articles and essays on Dante .
She would emphasize her point by blinking both eyes hard , behind her thick glasses .
Sometimes we would walk around campus and end up in a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ toast and we would sit and talk some more .
There was always a historical context to our conversations .
We talked about our families , movies , history and travel , but also justice , ethics and the nature of suffering .
Dr. Maita Kuvhenguhwa , an infectious-disease specialist , is chatting warmly in Spanish with Maria Cuellar , holding Cuellar ’ s right hand in her two gloved hands .
COVID-19 disproportionately harms Latinos and African Americans , but Cuellar , 63 , will be going home soon .
Dr. K @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a unique connection to the hospital .
Her father , Dr. Amos Kuvhenguhwa , had practiced at King/Drew .
Born in a small village in Zimbabwe , he decided at a young age to become a doctor because his mother nearly died giving birth to him .
Kuvhenguhwa would go to King/Drew with her father and , as young as 4 , would sit at the nurse ’ s station .
Sometimes his patients wanted to meet her .
“ It always struck me that his patients were so grateful , ” she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and Kuvhenguhwa sometimes saw him in news reports .
“ I didn ’ t really recognize how powerful that was until I got older , ” she says .
One sad fact about King/Drew ’ s demise was that the hospital was created to address some of the wrongs that triggered the Watts riots of 1965 .
As King himself explained : “ These riots grew out of many things , particularly the explosion of accumulated frustration that had been developing across the years , as a result of the long night of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ one reason why Dr. K works here is because her father had wanted to practice at King/Drew ’ s successor .
But he died in 2014 , a year before the facility opened .
Of the hospital and its role in the pandemic , she says : “ The neighborhood is resilient .
The hospital is resilient , and we will get through this .
… We have to keep pushing through .
This is just one more obstacle in our path , and it ’ s not going to break us.
” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was in Santa Monica working on a book , “ Emerging Frontiers , ” a history recalling the turbulent times and renewal of her religious community .
I borrowed my cousin ’ s vintage red Mustang convertible , and we giggled as I drove us around Westwood with the top down .
Sister Marie had become a constant friend , a constant listener .
Years later I asked her to pray for my parents when , one by one , they became ill. She attended my mother ’ s funeral and called the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have her voicemail .
She understood loss .
She , too , had lost her parents as well as three brothers .
And , as I had , she had attended Saint Mary College , graduating in 1948 .
In her 38 years in the English department , and in retirement , she savored interacting with staffers and students , attended parties and baptisms , weddings and funerals .
She delights in the presence of children .
She became a nun in 1950 , taking vows of poverty , chastity and obedience .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ , which suggests unthinking compliance , she replied that it was an obligation to inform her conscience to the best of her ability — and then to follow her conscience .
As usual , her interpretation was deeper and more nuanced than mine .
A few years ago , I took her to dinner to thank her for being my professor and my friend .
We followed up the next day with a trip to the drug store .
Who knew shopping could be so much fun ?
She wanted dark chocolate , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
I would have taken her anywhere .
While working in the COVID-19 unit on the fifth floor , I receive a text : She has been battling Parkinson ’ s disease for years .
On this day , she is just a few weeks shy of her 94th birthday .
As I try to absorb the news , it ’ s hard to breathe because of my half face mask with two pink P100 filters .
But now I must focus on Quinnece Washington , who followed in her mother ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she is starting her career in the COVID-19 unit .
She admits to feeling scared at first .
“ Who would have thought as a new nurse you would be a front-liner on a huge pandemic ?
” she asks .
“ I know I will have a story to tell to my kids .
About being brave .
When something arises , you just kind of just go at it.
” She and her husband , a respiratory therapist , have two children and they look after her 85-year-old grandmother .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ [ patient ’ s ] room , I am praying , ‘ Please , God , shield me.
’ I want to provide good quality care and be there for a patient .
I also want to protect myself too .
I ask for the strength to really get me through this.
” Like the rest of the COVID-19 crew , she repeatedly washes her hands and carefully dons and doffs her protective gear .
Her shifts last 12 hours .
“ Imagine as a patient being in the hospital with no family @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ t have the interaction with the care team because you have to limit the exposure.
” Over the years , Parkinson ’ s robbed Sister Marie of the ability to write , and I once asked her if she was suffering .
Sharp as ever , she assured me , “ Absolutely not.
” She made it clear there is distinction between suffering and struggling .
She was struggling .
Hearing families cry over an iPad while their loved one is in ICU is painful , and I witness it again and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ so family members can see one another .
This morning , I take a break from photographing to call Kansas .
Her nurse holds up the phone for Sister Marie and me .
Recently she had told me , “ We are going to have great adventures together.
” This time she asks me to visit and I try to explain I can ’ t because of the virus .
She sounds tired but like herself .
I just want to sit with her and tell her all about the people at Martin @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she surely would admire .
I want to tell her about Dr. K — how her first name , Maita , means “ thank you ” in her father ’ s native language , and how she is looking to a future beyond COVID-19 .
I want to tell her Dr. Casillas played catch in the park with his children after his shift ended .
They wore masks , but they played .
I want to tell her about the nurses , like the seasoned Llanos and the newcomer Washington .
But I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Like the grieving families here , I will say my goodbyes from a distance .
I hope the hospital staff and their patients know none of us is truly alone in our suffering .
We have one another .

My assignment was to photograph a hospital battling COVID-19, and over weeks of visits, I saw a brave and dedicated staff treat patients with energy and compassion.
It was impressive but, in a way, not surprising. The staff at Martin Luther King Jr. Community Hospital has worked to overcome the reputation of the facility’s predecessor, the troubled King/Drew Medical Center, a hospital so bad it lost its accreditation and was nicknamed “Killer King.”
Each day at the new hospital brought scenes of caring and love, of resourcefulness and resilience. Also ever present was the specter of death.
And to my surprise, as I tried to photograph doctors, nurses, technicians and patients, my mind drifted to my college days and a nun I met brimming with energy and compassion.
The hospital staff is saving lives. As I reflect on my days watching that staff, my thoughts pivot from hospital to college and back again, and I realize one might say the same of Sister Marie.
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1 / 17 Registered nurse Sandy Valle, left, emergency medical technician Javier Gonzalez and nurse Michelle Kim work in a triage tent at Martin Luther King Jr. Community Hospital. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 2 / 17 Dr. Oscar Casillas puts on his isolation gown in the emergency department at MLK Community Hospital. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 3 / 17 Quinnece Washington, a new nurse at MLK Community Hospital, works with COVID-19 patients. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 4 / 17 Dr. Oscar Casillas talks to an ER patient at the hospital in the Willowbrook neighborhood of South Los Angeles. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 5 / 17 Dr. Oscar Casillas, left, and registered nurse Jesse Lynwood, center, work with an ER patient. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 6 / 17 Darnell Baker, an environmental services worker, cleans a room that harbored the coronavirus in the emergency department. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 7 / 17 A patient struggling to breathe is hooked up to monitors in the emergency department. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 8 / 17 Registered nurse Sandy Valle is working inside the triage tent during the COVID-19 pandemic. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 9 / 17 Registered nurse Joshua Barba runs to help a COVID-19 patient at MLK Community Hospital. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 10 / 17 Patient care technician Rakeem Addison, wiping his forehead, heats up his lunch in the breakroom of the COVID-19 unit. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 11 / 17 Patient care technician Rakeem Addison comforts a non-COVID-19 patient at the hospital. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 12 / 17 Nurses Amanda Hamilton, left, and Naomi Okonofua work on a COVID-19 patient in the ICU. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 13 / 17 Doctors and nurses tend to a patient in the intensive care unit. The man had stopped breathing, but the team revived him. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 14 / 17 Alessandro Garcia, left, cleans respiratory therapist Janssen Redondo’s mask in the ICU. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 15 / 17 ICU nurse Naomi Okonofua, wearing full personal protective equipment, cares for a COVID-19 patient. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 16 / 17 Nurse Naomi Okonofua, left, and Dr. Anthony Arredondo work together in the ICU with a COVID-19 patient. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times) 17 / 17 Registered nurse Michelle Kim pulls off her gloves while working inside the triage tent at MLK Community Hospital. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
April 15, 3:30 a.m.
My first day at the hospital won’t start for more than three hours but already I’m awake. I’d been trained on how to don protective gear to guard against the novel coronavirus. I try on my respirator, again.
My primary fear: that I would become ill before I could share this story. The secondary fear: that I won’t truly capture what patients and staff are going through.
In college I’d studied Dante’s “The Divine Comedy” with Sister Marie and this morning I reread a stanza:
O Muses, O lofty genius, aid me now! O mind which inscribed what I saw here your worth will be revealed.
Dante was writing about himself, about his own writing. I return to this poem occasionally when I am about to begin a new project.
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7:45 a.m.
Emergency Department
It already feels like a long day, but we’re just 45 minutes into it. I meet up with Dr. Oscar Casillas, director of the emergency department.
Dr. Oscar Casillas, left, and registered nurse Jesse Lynwood, center, work with a patient in the emergency room. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
Casillas makes his rounds with the vigor and grace of an athlete, which is understandable. He played baseball at USC, first as a pitcher, then as a utility player on the team that won the national championship in 1998.
Casillas often speaks about the shortage of physicians in South Los Angeles and how the health disparities in the surrounding community contribute to the high volume of patients he sees.
Dr. Oscar Casillas leads the medical team in the emergency department at Martin Luther King Jr. Community Hospital. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
The hospital serves a population that’s mostly Latino and young, and those demographics show in its COVID-19 cases. Of 344 such patients, hospital officials say, 84% have been Latino, 12% African American. Four percent were homeless. Average age: 46.
Casillas helped open the new 131-bed hospital in Willowbrook in 2015. When the facility was brand-new, he recalled, patients would reference King/Drew and its troubles. They no longer do that.
The community, he says, and the hospital staff feel they have moved beyond the past, and are facing the pandemic. “There also is a real sense of pride here in accomplishing something that a lot of people didn’t think could happen,” he says.
1981
Kansas
In the fall of my senior year in high school, I visited Saint Mary College in Leavenworth, Kan., for the first time.
In the English department, a white marble sculpture adorned the hallway and one wall featured a painting of Venice. There were tall wooden shelves filled with books.
Sister Marie Brinkman in her office at Saint Mary College (later renamed University of Saint Mary) in Leavenworth, Kan., in 1984. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
And there was Sister Marie Brinkman of the Sisters of Charity of Leavenworth. She was the chair of the English department and in charge of the tiny school newspaper, the Taper. She too, I would learn, could see possibilities.
During our first encounter, I confided that I wanted to be on her newspaper staff but couldn’t.
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She slyly smiled, as she does, and asked, “Why?”
I told her meekly, “I can’t spell, so I can’t write for your newspaper.”
“That’s what editors are for.”
And in that one sentence, I had a future.
April 18, 10:31 a.m.
Intensive Care Unit
Griselda Llanos, an ICU nurse, never appears to sit down during her 12-hour shift. This morning she has two patients, one with COVID-19.
Griselda Llanos has been a registered nurse for 10 years. She works in the intensive care unit at MLK Community Hospital, which she says is exhausting. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
She spends hours inside the room with him. She changes a diaper, first pulling a curtain to give him privacy. She administers medication. She helps a doctor with a complicated pulmonary procedure.
Before she finally leaves the room, she gently wipes his forehead.
Llanos, 31, has been a nurse more than 10 years. She was raised by a single mother and has a black-and-white tattoo of her mom inside of her left arm.
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Nurse Griselda Llanos, left, and Dr. Anthony Arredondo work on a COVID-19 patient. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
Her mother was a nurse’s assistant for almost 30 years, but that’s not what drove her to medicine. As a girl, she saw a man fall ill and die at a fast-food restaurant.
“I was maybe 14,” she said. “I felt so helpless because I couldn’t help him. I didn’t know what to do. He was young. I found that pretty traumatizing. Seeing that happen in front of my eyes and me not being able to help pushed me and it led me to nursing.”
Now she must remember to protect herself from the novel coronavirus.
Llanos has to remind herself not to pull off her mask and face shield while in the COVID-19 patient’s room.
1980s
Kansas
I made my choice after meeting Sister Marie and enrolled at Saint Mary College (later renamed University of Saint Mary).
Having me as her student could not have been easy — I was not the best student and never had the courage to tell her I’m dyslexic — but she always had an expectation I would succeed.
Advertisement
She was dedicated to all her students, not just me.
We would sit together for hours inside her lovely corner office, next door to the tiny newsroom where I wrote and photographed for the Taper. The office featured a large, tan IBM electric typewriter, always humming, and a black-and-white photo of her predecessor as chair, Sister Mary Ernestine, with a pet parakeet named Mr. Blue.
We would pore over my seminar papers, simple newspaper articles and essays on Dante. She would emphasize her point by blinking both eyes hard, behind her thick glasses.
Sometimes we would walk around campus and end up in a kitchen, where she would make me toast and we would sit and talk some more. There was always a historical context to our conversations. We talked about our families, movies, history and travel, but also justice, ethics and the nature of suffering.
April 23, 8:23 a.m.
COVID-19 Unit
Dr. Maita Kuvhenguhwa, an infectious-disease specialist, is chatting warmly in Spanish with Maria Cuellar, holding Cuellar’s right hand in her two gloved hands. COVID-19 disproportionately harms Latinos and African Americans, but Cuellar, 63, will be going home soon.
Dr. K, as many call her, feels a unique connection to the hospital. Her father, Dr. Amos Kuvhenguhwa, had practiced at King/Drew. Born in a small village in Zimbabwe, he decided at a young age to become a doctor because his mother nearly died giving birth to him.
Dr. Maita Kuvhenguhwa holds Maria Cuellar’s hand. “Maita” translates to “Thank you,” from her father’s first language from Zimbabwe. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
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Kuvhenguhwa would go to King/Drew with her father and, as young as 4, would sit at the nurse’s station. Sometimes his patients wanted to meet her. “It always struck me that his patients were so grateful,” she says.
He was a trauma surgeon and Kuvhenguhwa sometimes saw him in news reports.
He saved lives.
“I didn’t really recognize how powerful that was until I got older,” she says.
One sad fact about King/Drew’s demise was that the hospital was created to address some of the wrongs that triggered the Watts riots of 1965.
Patient Maria Cuellar, left, speaks to Dr. Maita Kuvhenguhwa, an infectious-disease specialist. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
As King himself explained: “These riots grew out of many things, particularly the explosion of accumulated frustration that had been developing across the years, as a result of the long night of poverty and economic insecurity.”
Now, one reason why Dr. K works here is because her father had wanted to practice at King/Drew’s successor. But he died in 2014, a year before the facility opened.
Of the hospital and its role in the pandemic, she says: “The neighborhood is resilient. The hospital is resilient, and we will get through this. … We have to keep pushing through. This is just one more obstacle in our path, and it’s not going to break us.”
1995
Los Angeles
On my 31st birthday, Sister Marie was in Santa Monica working on a book, “Emerging Frontiers,” a history recalling the turbulent times and renewal of her religious community.
I borrowed my cousin’s vintage red Mustang convertible, and we giggled as I drove us around Westwood with the top down.
Sister Marie had become a constant friend, a constant listener. Years later I asked her to pray for my parents when, one by one, they became ill. She attended my mother’s funeral and called the day my father died. I still have her voicemail.
She understood loss. She, too, had lost her parents as well as three brothers.
And, as I had, she had attended Saint Mary College, graduating in 1948. In her 38 years in the English department, and in retirement, she savored interacting with staffers and students, attended parties and baptisms, weddings and funerals. She delights in the presence of children.
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She became a nun in 1950, taking vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.
When I asked about the obedience vow, which suggests unthinking compliance, she replied that it was an obligation to inform her conscience to the best of her ability — and then to follow her conscience. As usual, her interpretation was deeper and more nuanced than mine.
A few years ago, I took her to dinner to thank her for being my professor and my friend. We followed up the next day with a trip to the drug store. Who knew shopping could be so much fun? She wanted dark chocolate, soap and a pair of short stockings. I would have taken her anywhere.
May 4, 3:38 p.m.
COVID-19 Unit
While working in the COVID-19 unit on the fifth floor, I receive a text:
Sr. Marie has chosen to accept hospice care.
She has been battling Parkinson’s disease for years. On this day, she is just a few weeks shy of her 94th birthday. As I try to absorb the news, it’s hard to breathe because of my half face mask with two pink P100 filters.
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Nurse Quinnece Washington rushes a COVID-19 patient into the intensive care unit. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
But now I must focus on Quinnece Washington, who followed in her mother’s footsteps into nursing. At 31, she is starting her career in the COVID-19 unit. She admits to feeling scared at first.
“Who would have thought as a new nurse you would be a front-liner on a huge pandemic?” she asks. “I know I will have a story to tell to my kids. About being brave. When something arises, you just kind of just go at it.”
She and her husband, a respiratory therapist, have two children and they look after her 85-year-old grandmother.
“Sometimes, when I am in the [patient’s] room, I am praying, ‘Please, God, shield me.’ I want to provide good quality care and be there for a patient. I also want to protect myself too. I ask for the strength to really get me through this.”
Like the rest of the COVID-19 crew, she repeatedly washes her hands and carefully dons and doffs her protective gear. Her shifts last 12 hours.
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Column One A showcase for compelling storytelling
from the Los Angeles Times. More stories
“Imagine as a patient being in the hospital with no family around, no friends. You don’t have the interaction with the care team because you have to limit the exposure.”
Yes, I can imagine.
Over the years, Parkinson’s robbed Sister Marie of the ability to write, and I once asked her if she was suffering.
Sharp as ever, she assured me, “Absolutely not.”
She made it clear there is distinction between suffering and struggling. She was struggling.
May 17, 11:02 a.m.
Intensive Care Unit
Hearing families cry over an iPad while their loved one is in ICU is painful, and I witness it again and again as nurses raise up the devices so family members can see one another.
This morning, I take a break from photographing to call Kansas.
Her nurse holds up the phone for Sister Marie and me.
Recently she had told me, “We are going to have great adventures together.” This time she asks me to visit and I try to explain I can’t because of the virus.
She sounds tired but like herself.
Under a portrait of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., Dr. Oscar Casillas tends to a patient in the emergency room. (Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
I just want to sit with her and tell her all about the people at Martin Luther King Jr. Community Hospital, people she surely would admire.
I want to tell her about Dr. K — how her first name, Maita, means “thank you” in her father’s native language, and how she is looking to a future beyond COVID-19.
I want to tell her Dr. Casillas played catch in the park with his children after his shift ended. They wore masks, but they played. I want to tell her about the nurses, like the seasoned Llanos and the newcomer Washington.
But I can’t do that now. Like the grieving families here, I will say my goodbyes from a distance. I hope the hospital staff and their patients know none of us is truly alone in our suffering.
We have one another.


latimes--2020-06-06--'I could have died too.' Voices from the streets of L.A. as protests spread across the city

Scores of protests against police brutality and the killing of George Floyd have spread across Southern California .
Some grew into the thousands , others were smaller but no less passionate .
Here are a sample of the voices on the streets Saturday .
“ We ’ re so tired of seeing the multiple , multiple , multiple , multiple killings , and it ’ s just become a cliche to hashtag that… .
It almost loses something .
No more hashtags .
It has to be change , it has to be a lasting change.
” “ Hopefully we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in a world that is accepting of everyone , and I think this movement is to create a better future for them.
” “ I ’ m tired .
I ’ m tired of what ’ s going on .
I ’ m tired of what ’ s happening in the world and I ’ m ready to take a stand , and I ’ m going to keep taking a stand… .
I participated [ in protests ] when Trayvon Martin was killed , .
When Mike Brown was killed , I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Rice was killed , I marched and I protested , so I ’ ve been doing this for a long time.
” “ We can not continue to lock horns with the folks we are asking for justice from .
At some point , we have to lock hands and have to sit at the table and have a conversation.
” “ This is for the people who look like me and do not feel they are treated freely as others .
We ’ re here to take a stand and say , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ matter and that ’ s it.
’ Can it be any more clearer ?
” “ People need to feel safe .
There ’ s no reason you shouldn ’ t feel safe walking down the street , running , putting your hand in your pocket.
” “ I could have died too .
This is louder than us black people being killed in the streets.
” “ I don ’ t want them to have to have the talk with their kids like black mothers have to today .
With all the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ past , this is different .
This is making a change.
” “ I think we have to keep going until as many demands as possible are met .
Yes , I think Trump should be out .
But even if Biden is elected , we need to hold his feet to the fire .
He ’ s not our savior .
We ’ re our savior.
” “ Change needs to come from the top .
The only way we get change is if we demand it.
” “ It was scarier @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to feel like I was shirking my duty .
That was more painful than worrying I ’ d get the coronavirus .
This has gone on too long .
”

Sonali Kohli, Sarah Parvini, Ruben Vives, Amy Kaufman, Arit John, Colleen Shalby, Kevin Baxter

Scores of protests against police brutality and the killing of George Floyd have spread across Southern California. Some grew into the thousands, others were smaller but no less passionate.
Here are a sample of the voices on the streets Saturday.
Westwood
“We’re so tired of seeing the multiple, multiple, multiple, multiple killings, and it’s just become a cliche to hashtag that…. It almost loses something. No more hashtags. It has to be change, it has to be a lasting change.”
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— Tonia Lovelace
“Hopefully we get to a place where kids live in a world that is accepting of everyone, and I think this movement is to create a better future for them.”
— Andrea Barrera
Culver City
“I’m tired. I’m tired of what’s going on. I’m tired of what’s happening in the world and I’m ready to take a stand, and I’m going to keep taking a stand…. I participated [in protests] when Trayvon Martin was killed,. When Mike Brown was killed, I marched and I protested; when Tamir Rice was killed, I marched and I protested, so I’ve been doing this for a long time.”
— Jai Kemp
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“It’s time for a change.”
— William Collins
San Pedro
“We cannot continue to lock horns with the folks we are asking for justice from. At some point, we have to lock hands and have to sit at the table and have a conversation.”
— Cheyenne Bryant
“This is for the people who look like me and do not feel they are treated freely as others. We’re here to take a stand and say, ‘Enough is enough, black lives matter and that’s it.’ Can it be any more clearer?”
— Joseph “JoJo” Santiago
Hollywood
“People need to feel safe. There’s no reason you shouldn’t feel safe walking down the street, running, putting your hand in your pocket.”
— Johanna Moran
“I could have died too. This is louder than us black people being killed in the streets.”
— Elyse Williams
“I don’t want them to have to have the talk with their kids like black mothers have to today. With all the protests I’ve seen in the past, this is different. This is making a change.”
— Tina Pruitt
“I think we have to keep going until as many demands as possible are met. Yes, I think Trump should be out. But even if Biden is elected, we need to hold his feet to the fire. He’s not our savior. We’re our savior.”
— Jose Lagunas
Downtown L.A.
“Change needs to come from the top. The only way we get change is if we demand it.”
— Wendoline Vargas
“It was scarier to sit at home with myself and to feel like I was shirking my duty. That was more painful than worrying I’d get the coronavirus. This has gone on too long.”
— Emma Bates


latimes--2020-06-06--Thousands turn out for peaceful demonstrations on Saturday around Los Angeles

Thousands of people gathered at more than a dozen peaceful demonstrations around Los Angeles on Saturday to protest the death of George Floyd and other black Americans at the hands of police .
By late Saturday afternoon , several thousand people who participated in a demonstration in Hollywood marched to Beverly Hills .
There were few police in sight , though some heavily-armed National Guardsmen were seen posted along the route .
At one point the crowd stopped at the intersection of La Cienega and Santa Monica Boulevard and knelt down for about five minutes .
Some sang songs and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ !
” they said in unison .
After a few minutes , the mostly festive crowd broke into applause before continuing their march down Santa Monica Boulevard toward Beverly Hills .
Police and sheriff ’ s helicopters circled overhead .
At San Vicente Boulevard , dozens of sheriffs deputies in riot gear stood behind a road block .
Kelvin Rivas , a 22-year-old political science major from Cal State Northridge , joined the march in progress on his fifth consecutive day of protesting .
He said he ’ s coming back on Sunday @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be out here until it ’ s over , “ he said .
Many in the crowd urged all demonstrators to remain peaceful , while some marchers carried bags to pick up any trash left behind .
There were no disturbances reported .
In downtown Los Angeles , there was a growing crowd in front of City Hall and a smaller group in front of the Los Angeles Police Department by Saturday afternoon .
Across the way at Grand Park , a small memorial to Breonna Taylor , Ahmaud Arbery and others was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and bouquets of flowers .
Taylor was shot by police in her Louisville , Ky. , apartment .
Arbery was chased down and shot by two white men in Georgia .
Andrea Gonzalez brought her mother , husband and three children to City Hall on Saturday afternoon .
It was the first ever demonstration for her children , ages 4 , 6 and 7 .
“ We brought them out here because it ’ s important to show them why we respect all human lives and that even though we are brown , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
Gonzalez ’ s mom , Micaela Ruiz , said she remembers the 1992 L.A. riots vividly and has experienced discrimination as a Latina firsthand .
She said she fought for her own children , who had been discriminated against while growing up , recalling a teacher who would not allow her daughter enter the classroom until all the white students were seated first .
She hopes that the expression of outrage will lead to change .
It ’ s one reason she felt compelled to protest in solidarity Saturday .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The family traveled to Los Angeles from San Dimas .
Gonzalez believes that one reason the current protests seem different from past demonstrations is the rhetoric that has come from President Trump , which she believes has further fueled racial tensions .
“ I get so angry and disgusted by his words — this is what his words have created , ” she said .
Hundreds of demonstrators gathered about 2 p.m. around the Federal Building on Wilshire Boulevard in Westwood .
One woman wearing a black beret and a “ Black @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the street blocking traffic , while another laid down in the middle of a nearby intersection , face down .
Then dozens of protesters joined in , lying on their stomachs on the street .
They stayed for minutes before getting up and chanting “ Say their name ” and “ Breonna Taylor.
” Five minutes later they erupted into cheers , still in the intersection .
A man with a bullhorn praised participants for keeping the action peaceful .
As protesters slowly fanned back to the sidewalk they chanted “ Say his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ A group of about 50 nurses and healthcare workers from Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center , UCLA Santa Monica Medical Center , USC Keck Medical Center , Children ’ s Hospital Los Angeles and Kaiser Permanente joined the protest in front of City Hall after months of working round-the-clock to help patients affected by the coronavirus .
“ We left the front lines to come here .
We felt a lot of anger and as patients advocates , we felt we needed to speak up about the injustice , ” Kannitha Lor , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ been hit especially hard by the virus — a major reason they joined in the demonstration , they said .
“ Racism is a public health crisis , ” said Delilah Garcia , 24 , noting the disproportionate number of black patients she sees in comparison to other races .
“ Enough is enough.
” Wearing face masks , in accordance with coronavirus restrictions , and scrubs and holding signs that read “ Nurses for Black Lives Matter ” and “ If someone says they can ’ t breathe , you help them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ other protesters and were prepared to offer medical assistance if needed .
In Carson , dozens of peaceful protesters , led by City Councilman Jawane Hilton , marched to City Hall to chants of “ Police the police ” and “ Get your knee off my neck.
” One woman shouted , “ Mama , I can ’ t breathe , ” a reference to Floyd ’ s final words .
“ Our demand is simple : that they stop killing us , ” Hilton said .
At one point the crowd took @ @ @ @ @ @ @ silence for Floyd .
Debra Williams , 55 , of Los Angeles , said the Carson event was the first protest she had ever attended .
“ You get angry about situations that happen , and you keep seeing it , and you keep seeing it , and you keep seeing it , and then it ’ s like : OK , now I ’ ve got to do something , ” she said .
Williams , who works for law enforcement , drove about 20 minutes from L.A. to attend the event @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ d had enough of systemic racism and social injustice .
“ They ’ ve had their knee on our neck for over 400 years and we ’ re over the oppression , ” Williams said .
“ Without us , America would not be built.
” “ It ’ s time for a change , ” said William Collins , a 36-year-old black man from Carson who was marching with his sister .
Her sign read : “ You can ’ t put a curfew on peace.
” Collins said he was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ d ever attended in his life because he wanted a better future for his daughter and nephew .
“ This one is hitting real close to home , ” he said .
At Carson City Hall .
protesters heard from pastors , members of the community and elected officials , including Rep. Nanette Barragán ( D-San Pedro ) .
“ We need action now , ” Barragán told the crowd .
“ And we need to stop killing black Americans and we need to hold ... our police accountable when it is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in reciting the names of Floyd , Taylor and Eric Garner , who died after police put him in a chokehold in New York in 2014 .
“ Let ’ s keep it going and let ’ s not stop until we see action , because we ’ re tired of just words , ” Barragán said .
In Hollywood , a diverse group gathered at Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street .
Hundreds of people of all colors filled the intersection , some hanging out of their car windows or popping their heads @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Floyd , Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery ’ s names .
Tina Pruitt , 57 , brought her grandsons to the protest because they were eager to attend .
Myels , 11 , prompted the drive to Hollywood after seeing protests across the country on TV all week .
On the way , Pruitt said she told her grandsons that they were going to the demonstration so the next generation of black Americans could have a better relationship with the police .
“ I don ’ t want them to have to have @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mothers have to today , ” Pruitt said .
“ With all the protests I ’ ve seen in the past , this is different .
This is making a change.
” Pruitt noted that she ’ s seen more diversity in these protests than demonstrations in years past .
Standing next to her on the street , Myels said he wanted to know how it felt to protest .
“ I think it ’ s made a change for me , ” he said .
“ I want cops to stop killing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ felt mad and sad that a lot of black people lost their lives.
” His brother TJ , 15 , said he was gad to see the protest was nonviolent .
He said he would continue to protest in the future .
“ I want to make it easier for people to feel safe , ” he said , holding a sign that said , “ Black lives matter.
” “ I don ’ t want them to have to worry when they go outside , ” Pruitt chimed in .
“ I @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I was scared when my son went to school on the bus that he wouldn ’ t come home.
” About 12:30 p.m. , the crowd began to march down Sunset Boulevard , heading west .
They held signs over their head that read “ Black lives matter , ” “ No justice no peace no racist police , ” and “ Trump/Pence ¡fuera ya !
” A white Tesla was parked in the middle of the street giving out water and food .
At the intersection of Highland and Sunset , the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ did they chanted , “ Trump , Pence , out now !
” Jose Lagunas has been protesting for two decades , so he knows what gets attention at marches .
Which is why , along with his wife , he brought another special guest to the gathering at Hollywood and Vine : Trump ’ s head on a stick .
He bought the rubber facsimile of Trump a couple of years ago .
“ If there ’ s one thing I ’ ve learned , it ’ s that stuff like this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , ” said the 34-year-old Lincoln Heights resident , who said he has been to four protests over the last week .
Lagunas , who was born in Mexico City but remained “ undocumented from age 3 tp 20 , said he ’ s noticed the demonstrations becoming increasingly peaceful since at the Fairfax Avenue and 3rd Street protest last weekend .
“ I think we have to keep going until as many demands as possible are met , ” he said , noting he was now speaking out about defunding the police @ @ @ @ @ @ @ color .
“ Yes , I think Trump should be out .
But even if Biden is elected , we need to hold his feet to the fire .
He ’ s not our savior .
We ’ re our savior.
” Hundreds of students , faculty and residents from the surrounding neighborhood gathered for a peaceful demonstration on the USC campus .
Several speakers addressed the crowd about Floyd ’ s death and the issue of police brutality .
In Westwood , Eridania and Curtis McLaughlin were at the protest with their @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sunflowers that someone at the protest had given them .
Whether “ they ’ re going to be able to remember this or not I wanted to be part ” of what will hopefully be long term change for police oversight , Curtis said.
“ I want cops to be able to be prosecuted just like anyone else , ” Eridania , wearing a Game of Thrones-inspired “ Mother of Twins ” shirt , said “ I look at my kids and I do it for them ... so they can have a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in.
” Xavier , one of the twins , hopped down from the perch on his dad ’ s waist to show his sunflower to Andrea Berrera , 27 , who was holding a “ Black Lives Matter ” poster .
She traveled to Westwood from Boyle Heights to diversify her protests—she ’ s been mostly attending the ones in Downtown .
“ Hopefully we get to a place where kids live in a world that is accepting of everyone and I think this movement is to create a better future for them @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Beach , about 500 people were gathered at Pacific Coast Highway and Main Street at 2 p.m. Saturday , said Officer Angela Bennett , a spokeswoman for the Huntington Beach Police Department .
Two groups of protesters had faced off and officers were standing between them , Bennett said .
One group appeared to be affiliated with black lives matter , Bennett said .
She could not describe the affiliation of the other group , but video from the scene showed multiple people waving American flags and wearing Trump apparel.Four people had been @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the charges was not immediately available .
In San Pedro , more than 200 demonstrators took part in a Unity March .
The peaceful and diverse crowd wore masks , carried white roses and held up signs that read “ Hate suffocates ” and “ Justice can ’ t wait.
” They chanted “ Black lives matter ” and “ I can ’ t breath ” as they marched from the Los Angeles Police Department ’ s Harbor Station to the San Pedro Municipal Building .
The crowd gathered on the lawn @ @ @ @ @ @ @ community organizers spoke about the importance of unity and standing up against injustice and racism but also cooperation so that changes can happen .
The event was organized by the NACCP ’ s San Pedro and Wilmington chapter with conjunction of the Los Angeles Police Department ’ s Harbor Division.Addressing the crowd while standing on a large rock was Cheyenne Bryant , the NAACP ’ s chapter president .
“ We can not continued to lock horns with the folks we are asking for justice from , ” she said .
“ At @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hands and have to sit at the table and have a conversation.
” Also speaking to the crowd was Joseph “ JoJo ” Santiago , one of the organizers of the event .
“ This is for the people who look like me and do not feel they are treated freely as others , ” he told everyone .
“ We ’ re here to take a stand and say enough is enough , black lives matter and that ’ s it .
Can it be any more clearer.
” Attending the event @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whose district includes San Pedro and other elected officials and community organizers .
Standing several feet away as speakers took turn to address the crowd was Lawanda Hawkins , who runs Justice for Murdered Children , a non-profit .
Hawkins came to the event with her 10-year-old great nephew , Bryson .
Together they held a banner with the photos of people who had been murdered in L.A. County .
She said she wanted to come support the peaceful demonstration and speak out against social injustice but also to call for the end @ @ @ @ @ @ @ police .
“ There ’ s just no justification for killing people , ” she said .
Hawkins ’ son was killed in the mid-90s not far from the location of the demonstration .
She said his case remains unsolved .
She said was disturbed by the video recording of George Floyd begging for a breath and calling out for his mother .
“ I kept thinking , is that what my son said when he died ?
” she said .
Hawkins and her great nephew both wore masks on and stood @ @ @ @ @ @ @ their social distance .
She said her great nephew was concern about the infectious diseases .
“ He told me , I don ’ t want to catch the corona auntie , ” she said , recalling the conversation .
“ I told him , don ’ t worry auntie is going to protect you.
” She said the demonstration was well organized and above all peaceful .
She saw that some officers were kneeling and others held white roses .
Protests were also scheduled Saturday in Torrance , West Los Angeles , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ around Southern California .

Alex Wigglesworth, Colleen Shalby, Arit John, Amy Kaufman, Sarah Parvini, Kevin Baxter, Ruben Vives, Sonali Kohli

Several hundred protesters take a knee and hold their fists in the air during a moment of silence to honor George Floyd during a peaceful protest march from Manhattan Beach to Hermosa Beach. (Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
L.A. Mayor Eric Garcetti walks out to address protesters and clergy members outside LAPD headquarters on Tuesday. (Kent Nishimura / Los Angeles Times)
LAPD Cmdr. Gerald Woodyard takes a knee with clergy members from the Los Angeles area as they participate in a march and demonstration outside LAPD headquarters in Los Angeles. (Kent Nishimura / Los Angeles Times)
Janie Hill,15, from Lawndale, receives a hug from a friend, following an emotional discussion with a Manhattan Beach Police officer, at the conclusion of a protest in Manhattan Beach. (Jay L. Clendenin/Los Angeles Times)
Several hundred protesters gather to demand justice for George Floyd at the Manhattan Beach Pier Plaza Tuesday. (Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
Mira Ercingoz,16, from Palos Verdes, center in red hat, holds a poster with an image of George Floyd alongside protesters in Manhattan Beach. (Jay L. Clendenin/Los Angeles Times)
A young woman reacts to a group chant, while gathered with a couple hundred people to protest the death of George Floyd and in support of Black Lives Matter, near the Manhattan Beach Pier. (Jay L. Clendenin/Los Angeles Times)
Jessica Jordan takes a knee as she joins other protesters at Sunset & Vine in Hollywood on Tuesday. (Al Seib/Los Angeles Times)
Protestors gather outside Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti’s Hancock Park house as they continue to demonstrate against police brutality. (Francine Orr/Los Angeles Times)
Terrence Burney, 36, left, and Commander of the LAPD Operation West Bureau Cory Palka, right, talk together peacefully in front of Getty House in Hancock Park. (Francine Orr/Los Angeles Times)
A woman stands next to an image of George Floyd as hundreds participate in a march against the in-custody death of Floyd in Venice. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Several hundred protesters take a knee and hold their fists in the air during a moment of silence to honor George Floyd during a peaceful protest march from Manhattan Beach to Hermosa Beach. (Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
Protesters shoot hoops while taking a break from marching against the death of George Floyd by police on Abbot Kinney Blvd. in Venice on Tuesday. The basketball hoop was attached to the front of a bus that followed the protest for a while. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Members of the California National Guard flash peace signs after protesters had marched by in support of Black Lives Matter in Venice. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
“Hands up. Don’t shoot,” say hundreds participating in a march against the of George Floyd on Abbot Kinney Blvd. in Venice onTuesday. (Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Hundreds of protesters march throughout downtown ending with many arrested for curfew violations. (Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
Hussain Sharif, left, Mari Drake, and Thomas Rosado chant as they ride along with hundreds of protesters at a downtown demonstration. (Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
Marcus Owen, yells out chants for George Floyd as hundreds of protesters gather outside City Hall in a daylong protest. (Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
Makenzie Anderson, 2, rides on her father, Shawn’s shoulders as they join hundreds of protesters marching throughout downtown. (Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
Bando Kev prays along Hollywood Blvd. in front of the National Guard and near TCL Chinese Theatre in Hollywood. (Wally Skalij/Los Angeles Times)
Protestors rally on the steps Anaheim City Hall steps against last week’s in-custody death of George Floyd in Minneapolis. (Irfan Khan/Los Angeles Times)
Protestors rally on the steps Anaheim City Hall steps against last week’s in-custody death of George Floyd in Minneapolis. (Irfan Khan/Los Angeles Times)
Protestors rally on the steps Anaheim City Hall steps against last week’s in-custody death of George Floyd in Minneapolis. (Irfan Khan/Los Angeles Times)
Protestors rally on the steps Anaheim City Hall steps against last week’s in-custody death of George Floyd in Minneapolis. (Irfan Khan/Los Angeles Times)
Protesters march through West Hollywood to demand justice for the killing of George Floyd during march on Wednesday. (Brian van der Brug/Los Angeles Times)
Protesters march through West Hollywood to demand justice for the killing of George Floyd during march on Wednesday. (Brian van der Brug/Los Angeles Times)
Hundreds of demonstrators block traffic as they march down both sides of Balboa Blvd. to protest against racism in Newport Beach. (Allen J. Schaben/Los Angeles Times)
In a sign of peace, protesters reach out to Riverside County Sheriff deputies, who were there to enforce an 8pm curfew during a demonstration to protest the death of George Floyd’s in Moreno Valley. (Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times)
Riverside County Sheriff Lt Chris Durham tries to calm nerves after hundreds of demonstrators that marched to the police station protest the death of George Floyd in Moreno Valley. (Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times)
A huge crowd gathers in downtown Los Angeles to protest the death of George Floyd and in support of Black Lives Matter. (Gary Coronado/Los Angeles Times)
Paul Villalobos, 28, from Oakland, joins other demonstrators as they protest on Spring St. in downtown Los Angeles. (Mel Melcon/Los Angeles Times)
Mustafa-Ali, 27, from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, joins other demonstrators as they protest on Spring St. in downtown Los Angeles. (Mel Melcon/Los Angeles Times)
A L.A. Sheriff’s deputy watches as protester Annik Chung holds a sign while cheering on marchers along La Brea Ave. in Hollywood. (Brian van der Brug/Los Angeles Times)
Protester Vailing high-fives National Guardsmen as they march through Hollywood to demand justice for the killing of George Floyd in Hollywood. (Brian van der Brug/Los Angeles Times)
Stephen Chang, 32, left, of Silver Lake, with an American flag draped over his head, joins other demonstrators at the intersection of Spring and Temple streets in downtown Los Angeles, as they protest against L.A. Dist. Atty. Jackie Lacey and also demand justice in the death of George Floyd. (Mel Melcon/Los Angeles Times)
Crowds gather in downtown L.A. to protest the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis. At 9 p.m., for exactly 8 minutes and 46 seconds, protesters shone lights into the sky. (Gary Coronado / Los Angeles Times)
Gustavo R. Ramirez of Pomona kneels in front of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. statue in Riverside. (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)
A protester drapes himself with a flag during a demonstration in downtown Los Angeles on Thursday. (Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times)
LAPD Chief Michel Moore, left, talks with community leaders outside police headquarters after a candlelight vigil for George Floyd on Friday. (Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)
Zoe Perkins, 4, of Glendale and her mother brought flowers to the Hall of Justice in downtown Los Angeles to protest the death of George Floyd. (Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times)
Katyana DeCampos, a citizen of France visiting California, marched with a sign with the words “Anti Racism,” joining nearly 1,000 people gathered to protest the death of George Floyd and in support of Black Lives Matter, in downtown Los Angeles. (Jay L. Clendenin/Los Angeles Times)
Mek Bitul held up a sign with the words, “This Is The Tipping Point!!!” in front of City Hall, joining nearly 1,000 people gathered to protest the death of George Floyd and in support of Black Lives Matter, in downtown Los Angeles. (Jay L. Clendenin/Los Angeles Times)
A protester lies on the ground under his horse with his hands behind his back as demonstrators including some on horseback rally in front of LA City Councilman Marqueece Harris-Dawson’s office in Los Angeles Saturday. (Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times)
A National Guardsman holds a rose given to him by a protester along Fairfax Ave. during a march Saturday. (Wally Skalij/Los Angeles Times)
A protester yells in front of a Black Lives Matter mural with the names of victims on Fairfax Ave. during a march Saturday. (Wally Skalij/Los Angeles Times)
Los Angeles Police Deputy Chief Regina Scott takes knee next to Johnathan Jasper, brother of slain teen Anthony Weber, during a rally in front of LA City Councilman Marqueece Harris-Dawson’s office Saturday. (Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times)
A woman tries to get between Black Lives Matter protesters and pro-Trump counter protesters during a demonstration at the intersection of Main Street and Pacific Coast Highway in Huntington Beach on Saturday. (Luis Sinco/Los Angeles Times)
A family member of Breonna Taylor, right, is hugged by another woman after speaking to protesters in Beverly Hills Saturday. (Wally Skalij/Los Angeles Times)
Elijah Estrada, 6, holds up his fist for 8:46, the length of time George Floyd was held down by Minneapolis Police Officer Derek Chauvin, at the conclusion of a peace ride and walk with the Compton Cowboys at Compton City Hall on Sunday. (Jay L. Clendenin/Los Angeles Times)
Houston Rockets star Russell Westbrook speaks to the crowd of protesters and the Compton Cowboys at the end of a peace walk at Compton City Hall on Sunday. (Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times)
The Compton Cowboys ride horseback down South Tamarind Avenue, joining thousand of protesters Sunday during the Compton peace ride, which ended at City Hall. (Jay L. Clendenin/Los Angeles Times)
Protesters march, raising fists and signs in the air, on La Brea Avenue in Hollywood on Sunday. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
Protesters hold up signs at the All Black Lives Matter march, which was organized by Black LGBTQ leaders and organizations in place of a previously planned event by the group behind LA Pride. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
Jason De Puy of West Hollywood wears a mask that reads “Black Trans Lives Matter” as people fill Hollywood Boulevard during a solidarity march called All Black Lives Matter on Sunday, June 14. (Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
Thousands hold up signs and march in the All Black Lives Matter solidarity protest on Hollywood Boulevard. The procession started at Hollywood and Highland and moved into West Hollywood. (Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)
A protester waves a rainbow flag on Sunset Boulevard during the All Black Lives Matter march on Sunday. (Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times)
People participate in the All Black Lives Matter march in West Hollywood on Sunday, June 14. Thousands of demonstrators marched for racial justice and LGBTQ rights. (Dania Maxwell / Los Angeles Times)
Deborah Jay Winams cries after singing a song at a Black Lives Matter Los Angeles rally to call for justice in the fatal shooting of Kenneth Ross Jr. by Gardena police in 2018. (Wally Skalij/Los Angeles Times)
A protester dances on top of Donald Trump’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame during a demonstration by members of Refuse Fascism who are calling an end to the Trump administration on June 20, 2020. (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)
Thousands of people gathered at more than a dozen peaceful demonstrations around Los Angeles on Saturday to protest the death of George Floyd and other black Americans at the hands of police.
By late Saturday afternoon, several thousand people who participated in a demonstration in Hollywood marched to Beverly Hills. There were few police in sight, though some heavily-armed National Guardsmen were seen posted along the route.
At one point the crowd stopped at the intersection of La Cienega and Santa Monica Boulevard and knelt down for about five minutes. Some sang songs and chanted together. “Peaceful! Protest!” they said in unison.
After a few minutes, the mostly festive crowd broke into applause before continuing their march down Santa Monica Boulevard toward Beverly Hills. Police and sheriff’s helicopters circled overhead.
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At San Vicente Boulevard, dozens of sheriffs deputies in riot gear stood behind a road block.
“Shame on you!” a protester shouted.
“Is this necessary?” another asked.
The deputies stood unmoved.
Kelvin Rivas, a 22-year-old political science major from Cal State Northridge, joined the march in progress on his fifth consecutive day of protesting. He said he’s coming back on Sunday.
“I’m going to be out here until it’s over,“ he said.
Many in the crowd urged all demonstrators to remain peaceful, while some marchers carried bags to pick up any trash left behind. There were no disturbances reported.
In downtown Los Angeles, there was a growing crowd in front of City Hall and a smaller group in front of the Los Angeles Police Department by Saturday afternoon.
1 / 14 Demonstrators protest Saturday near the White House in Washington. (Jacquelyn Martin/AP) 2 / 14 A man speaks into a megaphone while standing with others on the center divider as traffic is stopped on the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, Saturday. (Jeff Chiu/AP) 3 / 14 Protesters hold up signs and their hands as they chant during a protest in Pittsburgh Saturday. (Keith Srakocic/AP) 4 / 14 A group of protesters take a knee while marching in lower Manhattan, Saturday. (Craig Ruttle/AP) 5 / 14 Members of the Austin Police Department kneel in front of demonstrators who gathered in Austin Saturday. (Eric Gay/AP) 6 / 14 A demonstrator stands in front of Chicago Police officers during the March for Justice in honor of George Floyd Saturday, June 6, 2020, in Chicago. Demonstrators who gathered at Union Park marched through the city’s West Side on Saturday afternoon, as the city prepared for another weekend of rallies. (AP Photo/Nam Y. Huh) (Nam Y. Huh/Los Angeles Times) 7 / 14 Demonstrators protest at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington Saturday. (Alex Brandon / Associated Press) 8 / 14 Freddie Peralta stands with the America flag as he holds a sign in memory of Breonna Taylor during a protest in Miami over the death of George Floyd and others, Saturday. (Lynne Sladky/AP) 9 / 14 Denver Broncos head coach Vic Fangio, left, greets offensive guard Dalton Risner as they take part in a rally in the Greek Amphitheatre in Civic Center Park in Denver, Saturday. (David Zalubowski/AP) 10 / 14 Demonstrators march during a protest in Boston against police brutality, Saturday. (Michael Dwyer/AP) 11 / 14 Protesters and activists walk across the Brooklyn Bridge in New York Saturday. (Craig Ruttle/AP) 12 / 14 Protesters march following a non-violent sit-in at the Statehouse in Indianapolis, Saturday. (Michael Conroy/AP) 13 / 14 People raise their fists during a protest over the death of George Floyd, Saturday in Miami. (Lynne Sladky/AP) 14 / 14 Lucy Carbajal grieves for her son Bernardo Palacios-Carbajal during a vigil in front of Utah State Capitol Saturday in Salt Lake City. People gathered, chanted and spoke out against racism and police brutality in an eighth straight day of protests. (Rick Bowmer/AP)
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Across the way at Grand Park, a small memorial to Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery and others was marked on the ground by a cross and bouquets of flowers. Taylor was shot by police in her Louisville, Ky., apartment. Arbery was chased down and shot by two white men in Georgia.
Andrea Gonzalez brought her mother, husband and three children to City Hall on Saturday afternoon. It was the first ever demonstration for her children, ages 4, 6 and 7.
“We brought them out here because it’s important to show them why we respect all human lives and that even though we are brown, we support black lives,” she said.
Gonzalez’s mom, Micaela Ruiz, said she remembers the 1992 L.A. riots vividly and has experienced discrimination as a Latina firsthand. She said she fought for her own children, who had been discriminated against while growing up, recalling a teacher who would not allow her daughter enter the classroom until all the white students were seated first.
She hopes that the expression of outrage will lead to change. It’s one reason she felt compelled to protest in solidarity Saturday.
“Silence is acceptance,” she said.
The family traveled to Los Angeles from San Dimas.
Gonzalez believes that one reason the current protests seem different from past demonstrations is the rhetoric that has come from President Trump, which she believes has further fueled racial tensions.
“I get so angry and disgusted by his words — this is what his words have created,” she said.
Hundreds of demonstrators gathered about 2 p.m. around the Federal Building on Wilshire Boulevard in Westwood. One woman wearing a black beret and a “Black Girls Rock” T-shirt, stood in the street blocking traffic, while another laid down in the middle of a nearby intersection, face down.
Then dozens of protesters joined in, lying on their stomachs on the street. They stayed for minutes before getting up and chanting “Say their name” and “Breonna Taylor.”
Five minutes later they erupted into cheers, still in the intersection. A man with a bullhorn praised participants for keeping the action peaceful. As protesters slowly fanned back to the sidewalk they chanted “Say his name” and “George Floyd.”
A group of about 50 nurses and healthcare workers from Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center, UCLA Santa Monica Medical Center, USC Keck Medical Center, Children’s Hospital Los Angeles and Kaiser Permanente joined the protest in front of City Hall after months of working round-the-clock to help patients affected by the coronavirus.
“We left the front lines to come here. We felt a lot of anger and as patients advocates, we felt we needed to speak up about the injustice,” Kannitha Lor, 25, said.
Black communities have been hit especially hard by the virus — a major reason they joined in the demonstration, they said.
“Racism is a public health crisis,” said Delilah Garcia, 24, noting the disproportionate number of black patients she sees in comparison to other races. “Enough is enough.”
Wearing face masks, in accordance with coronavirus restrictions, and scrubs and holding signs that read “Nurses for Black Lives Matter” and “If someone says they can’t breathe, you help them,” they offered hand sanitizer to other protesters and were prepared to offer medical assistance if needed.
In Carson, dozens of peaceful protesters, led by City Councilman Jawane Hilton, marched to City Hall to chants of “Police the police” and “Get your knee off my neck.” One woman shouted, “Mama, I can’t breathe,” a reference to Floyd’s final words.
“Our demand is simple: that they stop killing us,” Hilton said. At one point the crowd took a knee and held a moment of silence for Floyd.
Debra Williams, 55, of Los Angeles, said the Carson event was the first protest she had ever attended. “You get angry about situations that happen, and you keep seeing it, and you keep seeing it, and you keep seeing it, and then it’s like: OK, now I’ve got to do something,” she said.
Williams, who works for law enforcement, drove about 20 minutes from L.A. to attend the event with a coworker.
She said she’d had enough of systemic racism and social injustice.
“They’ve had their knee on our neck for over 400 years and we’re over the oppression,” Williams said. “Without us, America would not be built.”
“It’s time for a change,” said William Collins, a 36-year-old black man from Carson who was marching with his sister. Her sign read: “You can’t put a curfew on peace.”
Collins said he was was at only the second protest he’d ever attended in his life because he wanted a better future for his daughter and nephew. “This one is hitting real close to home,” he said.
At Carson City Hall. protesters heard from pastors, members of the community and elected officials, including Rep. Nanette Barragán (D-San Pedro).
“We need action now,” Barragán told the crowd. “And we need to stop killing black Americans and we need to hold ... our police accountable when it is done.”
She led the assembled group in reciting the names of Floyd, Taylor and Eric Garner, who died after police put him in a chokehold in New York in 2014.
“Let’s keep it going and let’s not stop until we see action, because we’re tired of just words,” Barragán said.
In Hollywood, a diverse group gathered at Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street. Hundreds of people of all colors filled the intersection, some hanging out of their car windows or popping their heads through their sunroofs as they chanted George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery’s names.
Tina Pruitt, 57, brought her grandsons to the protest because they were eager to attend. Myels, 11, prompted the drive to Hollywood after seeing protests across the country on TV all week. On the way, Pruitt said she told her grandsons that they were going to the demonstration so the next generation of black Americans could have a better relationship with the police.
“I don’t want them to have to have the talk with their kids like black mothers have to today,” Pruitt said. “With all the protests I’ve seen in the past, this is different. This is making a change.”
Pruitt noted that she’s seen more diversity in these protests than demonstrations in years past.
Standing next to her on the street, Myels said he wanted to know how it felt to protest.
“I think it’s made a change for me,” he said. “I want cops to stop killing black people for no reason. I felt mad and sad that a lot of black people lost their lives.”
His brother TJ, 15, said he was gad to see the protest was nonviolent. He said he would continue to protest in the future.
“I want to make it easier for people to feel safe,” he said, holding a sign that said, “Black lives matter.”
“I don’t want them to have to worry when they go outside,” Pruitt chimed in. “I need for me to feel safe. I was scared when my son went to school on the bus that he wouldn’t come home.”
About 12:30 p.m., the crowd began to march down Sunset Boulevard, heading west. They held signs over their head that read “Black lives matter,” “No justice no peace no racist police,” and “Trump/Pence ¡fuera ya!”
A white Tesla was parked in the middle of the street giving out water and food.
At the intersection of Highland and Sunset, the marchers stopped to kneel. As they did they chanted, “Trump, Pence, out now!”
Jose Lagunas has been protesting for two decades, so he knows what gets attention at marches. Which is why, along with his wife, he brought another special guest to the gathering at Hollywood and Vine: Trump’s head on a stick. He bought the rubber facsimile of Trump a couple of years ago.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that stuff like this gets good attention and spreads the message,” said the 34-year-old Lincoln Heights resident, who said he has been to four protests over the last week.
Lagunas, who was born in Mexico City but remained “undocumented from age 3 tp 20, said he’s noticed the demonstrations becoming increasingly peaceful since at the Fairfax Avenue and 3rd Street protest last weekend.
“I think we have to keep going until as many demands as possible are met,” he said, noting he was now speaking out about defunding the police and putting government dollars toward communities of color. “Yes, I think Trump should be out. But even if Biden is elected, we need to hold his feet to the fire. He’s not our savior. We’re our savior.”
Hundreds of students, faculty and residents from the surrounding neighborhood gathered for a peaceful demonstration on the USC campus. Several speakers addressed the crowd about Floyd’s death and the issue of police brutality.
In Westwood, Eridania and Curtis McLaughlin were at the protest with their 2-year-old twin sons, who each held sunflowers that someone at the protest had given them.
Whether “they’re going to be able to remember this or not I wanted to be part” of what will hopefully be long term change for police oversight, Curtis said.“I want cops to be able to be prosecuted just like anyone else,” Eridania, wearing a Game of Thrones-inspired “Mother of Twins” shirt, said “I look at my kids and I do it for them ...so they can have a fair chance in this world we live in.”
Xavier, one of the twins, hopped down from the perch on his dad’s waist to show his sunflower to Andrea Berrera, 27, who was holding a “Black Lives Matter” poster.
She traveled to Westwood from Boyle Heights to diversify her protests—she’s been mostly attending the ones in Downtown.
“Hopefully we get to a place where kids live in a world that is accepting of everyone and I think this movement is to create a better future for them,” Andrea said.
In Huntington Beach, about 500 people were gathered at Pacific Coast Highway and Main Street at 2 p.m. Saturday, said Officer Angela Bennett, a spokeswoman for the Huntington Beach Police Department.
Two groups of protesters had faced off and officers were standing between them, Bennett said. One group appeared to be affiliated with black lives matter, Bennett said.
She could not describe the affiliation of the other group, but video from the scene showed multiple people waving American flags and wearing Trump apparel.Four people had been arrested by Saturday afternoon, though information on the charges was not immediately available.
In San Pedro, more than 200 demonstrators took part in a Unity March. The peaceful and diverse crowd wore masks, carried white roses and held up signs that read “Hate suffocates” and “Justice can’t wait.”
They chanted “Black lives matter” and “I can’t breath” as they marched from the Los Angeles Police Department’s Harbor Station to the San Pedro Municipal Building.
The crowd gathered on the lawn of the building where elected officials and community organizers spoke about the importance of unity and standing up against injustice and racism but also cooperation so that changes can happen.
The event was organized by the NACCP’s San Pedro and Wilmington chapter with conjunction of the Los Angeles Police Department’s Harbor Division.Addressing the crowd while standing on a large rock was Cheyenne Bryant, the NAACP’s chapter president.
“We cannot continued to lock horns with the folks we are asking for justice from,” she said. “At some point, we have to lock hands and have to sit at the table and have a conversation.”
Also speaking to the crowd was Joseph “JoJo” Santiago, one of the organizers of the event.
“This is for the people who look like me and do not feel they are treated freely as others,” he told everyone. “We’re here to take a stand and say enough is enough, black lives matter and that’s it. Can it be any more clearer.”
Attending the event was L.A. City Councilman Joe Buscaino, whose district includes San Pedro and other elected officials and community organizers.
Standing several feet away as speakers took turn to address the crowd was Lawanda Hawkins, who runs Justice for Murdered Children, a non-profit. Hawkins came to the event with her 10-year-old great nephew, Bryson. Together they held a banner with the photos of people who had been murdered in L.A. County.
She said she wanted to come support the peaceful demonstration and speak out against social injustice but also to call for the end of all killings whether by people or police.
“There’s just no justification for killing people,” she said.
Hawkins’ son was killed in the mid-90s not far from the location of the demonstration. She said his case remains unsolved. She said was disturbed by the video recording of George Floyd begging for a breath and calling out for his mother.
“I kept thinking, is that what my son said when he died?” she said.
Hawkins and her great nephew both wore masks on and stood feet away from the crowd to keep their social distance. She said her great nephew was concern about the infectious diseases.
“He told me, I don’t want to catch the corona auntie,” she said, recalling the conversation. “I told him, don’t worry auntie is going to protect you.”
She said the demonstration was well organized and above all peaceful. She saw that some officers were kneeling and others held white roses.
Protests were also scheduled Saturday in Torrance, West Los Angeles, Westmont, Santa Ana and other locales around Southern California.


latimes--2020-06-06--'I guess America is finally listening.' Why George Floyd protests have spread to affluent white subu

'I guess America is finally listening.' Why George Floyd protests have spread to affluent white suburbs

In many ways , the scene wouldn ’ t have looked out of place in Los Angeles , New York or other big cities across the country .
Hundreds demonstrated for hours , waving homemade signs with messages such as “ Silence = Violence , ” chanting “ No justice , no peace ” and raising their fists in honor of George Floyd , a black man killed by Minneapolis police last month .
Yet this protest wasn ’ t happening amid downtown skyscrapers or on the steps of L.A. City Hall .
Instead , the tableau was manicured medians @ @ @ @ @ @ @ mile from the ocean in one of Southern California ’ s most affluent communities .
“ It ’ s a blessing that this is going on in Newport Beach , ” Gale Oliver Jr. , a pastor at the Greater Light Family Church in Santa Ana , said while attending Wednesday ’ s demonstration .
“ I mean , this is going on in Newport Beach ?
I guess America is finally listening.
” The Orange County enclave of yachting clubs and cliffside mansions is just one example of how demonstrations in response @ @ @ @ @ @ @ beyond urban centers to whiter , wealthier , more conservative suburbs than prior protests against police brutality and racism .
Some of these areas have faced their own recent allegations of law enforcement mistreatment of black residents .
Protests in other affluent areas , such as Beverly Hills and Santa Monica , came about because of deliberate decisions by groups including Black Lives Matter to show whiter , richer communities the pain felt by black Americans .
But a number of sociologists and pollsters said that the spontaneous demonstrations in neighborhoods that haven @ @ @ @ @ @ @ broader shifts in public opinion , particularly among white residents .
A majority of Americans — 57 % — now believe that police officers facing a difficult or dangerous situation are more likely to use excessive force if the individual is black , according to a Monmouth University survey conducted after Floyd ’ s killing — a figure that ’ s increased from about one-third of Americans four years ago .
Over that time , the percentage of white Americans who believe law enforcement is more likely to use excessive force against black @ @ @ @ @ @ @ % .
Patrick Murray , director of the Monmouth University Polling Institute , said the results are indicative of a “ historical turning point ” on views of policing .
“ There has been a sea change among white Americans on how deep-rooted systemic racism is , ” Murray said .
In recent days , protests against police brutality have sprung up in cities and towns across California , including communities richer and whiter than the state as a whole , such as Irvine , Walnut Creek , Danville , Redlands and Temecula @ @ @ @ @ @ @ event , predominantly young and white protesters packed Pacific Coast Highway , with afternoon joggers weaving their way through the crowd .
Demonstrators cheered when cars — often Range Rovers , Mercedes-Benzes or Audis — rolled by and honked their horns in support .
Later , the protest shifted to the Newport Beach Pier and along a bike path in front of beachfront homes near where , less than a week earlier , on Memorial Day , kayak , boat and yacht owners launched a sailing parade in support of President Trump .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ reputation as a conservative bastion , the last two decades have seen dramatic demographic and political change , culminating in Democratic candidates sweeping the county ’ s seven congressional seats in 2018 and registered Democrats overtaking Republicans last summer .
Still , Newport Beach resident Susan Groux , 52 , said she ’ s never seen any protest like Wednesday ’ s in her city .
The fact that demonstrations against institutional racism are spreading to areas such as hers means they ’ re gaining support everywhere , she said .
“ Maybe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ think we ’ ve reached a tipping point , ” said Groux , who is white .
“ I ’ ve been here since the L.A. uprising of ’ 92 .
This feels different to me .
I really think there ’ s a change.
” Protesters in other communities were similarly taken aback by the amount of support .
The Rev .
Leslie Takahashi , lead minister at the Mt .
Diablo Unitarian Universalist Church in Walnut Creek , said a demonstration has taken place there almost every day since Sunday , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 70,000 residents is nearly 70 % white , according to U.S. census data , with median home values approaching $ 900,000 .
“ The Bay Area of course had a lot of protests for Ferguson , and there may have been a few small protests within Contra Costa County or Walnut Creek , but there was nothing like this , ” said Takahashi , who has lived in the community for 13 years .
“ Mostly it was on the other side of the tunnel in Berkeley or Oakland.
” Takahashi said the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ people , including “ kids who grew up in this community , and I remember them when they were in elementary school.
” In Redlands , podcaster Anthony Boswell , 33 , organized a vigil Sunday night expecting 50 mourners to show up .
Instead , he said , more than 400 people came from all over the Inland Empire .
Boswell , who is black and lives in Redlands , said he had the vigil there in large part because he wanted to force people out of “ their bubble.
” While @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Newport Beach or Walnut Creek , Redlands is whiter and wealthier than many surrounding areas in San Bernardino County .
“ A real reason I wanted to have it in Redlands is they call themselves the jewel of the Inland Empire , they think they ’ re special , and a lot of the reason I wanted to do that is because if we didn ’ t do that , then they would have been able to continue living in their bubble and pretending these things aren ’ t happening , ” Boswell @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and threats during the protests .
Vandals broke windows , some people stole from stores and two banks were burned to the ground Saturday night in La Mesa , a San Diego suburb where that region ’ s first large-scale demonstrations after the Floyd killing occurred .
Police in riot gear shot tear gas and projectiles at protesters , hospitalizing one 59-year-old woman who was hit between the eyes by what appeared to be a beanbag round .
Residents there were also upset about a cellphone video recording posted on social media days @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a city police officer outside a trolley station grabbing and shoving a 23-year-old black man who police say was resisting arrest .
Walnut Creek police shot tear gas and rubber bullets and used police dogs against protesters Monday when hundreds of people rushed onto Interstate 680 , stopping traffic and prompting many motorists to call 911 .
In Newport Beach on Wednesday , a man brandished a handgun at a demonstrator and a driver sped through a crowd of protesters , though no one was injured .
It ’ s not surprising that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with large-scale police protests , said Darnell Hunt , dean of social sciences and professor of sociology and African American studies at UCLA .
The 1965 uprising in Watts hastened the flight of white residents to suburban communities , and many outlying areas were insulated from protests and violence in South Los Angeles and other parts of the city following the 1992 acquittal of LAPD officers in the Rodney King beating , he said .
Such incidents , he continued , are by definition unpredictable , and protests that may begin as peaceful @ @ @ @ @ @ @ clearly is a fear of urban unrest , ” said Hunt , who has written a book on the King demonstrations .
Hunt believes there are many reasons why the protests in response to Floyd ’ s killing have expanded so quickly and so widely .
The COVID-19 pandemic has kept people in their homes for months and on edge about the health of themselves and their loved ones .
It also has disproportionately affected poor black and Latino Americans .
Massive unemployment in the wake of the pandemic has exacerbated anger and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ officer Derrick Chauvin with his knee pinning Floyd by his neck for nearly nine minutes , including after he had lost consciousness , was particularly gruesome .
Hunt and Murray , the Monmouth pollster , also believe that Trump has accelerated unrest and division by not calling for unity but instead pushing for the military to quell protests .
All together , these events have pushed people out into the streets despite the risks of contracting the coronavirus , Hunt said — including people who in another era might not have been stirred @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ask yourself when you look at the crowds that we see in the televised images coast to coast what is it that would drive people to literally risk their lives , ” he said .
“ That really does speak to the urgency of the moment and the sense of outrage people have .
That ’ s why we see it everywhere.
” Times staff writers Matthew Ormseth and Stephanie Lai contributed to this report .

In many ways, the scene wouldn’t have looked out of place in Los Angeles, New York or other big cities across the country. Hundreds demonstrated for hours, waving homemade signs with messages such as “Silence = Violence,” chanting “No justice, no peace” and raising their fists in honor of George Floyd, a black man killed by Minneapolis police last month.
Yet this protest wasn’t happening amid downtown skyscrapers or on the steps of L.A. City Hall. Instead, the tableau was manicured medians and sidewalks outside an upscale mall a mile from the ocean in one of Southern California’s most affluent communities.
“It’s a blessing that this is going on in Newport Beach,” Gale Oliver Jr., a pastor at the Greater Light Family Church in Santa Ana, said while attending Wednesday’s demonstration. “I mean, this is going on in Newport Beach? I guess America is finally listening.”
The Orange County enclave of yachting clubs and cliffside mansions is just one example of how demonstrations in response to Floyd’s death are spreading beyond urban centers to whiter, wealthier, more conservative suburbs than prior protests against police brutality and racism.
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Some of these areas have faced their own recent allegations of law enforcement mistreatment of black residents. Protests in other affluent areas, such as Beverly Hills and Santa Monica, came about because of deliberate decisions by groups including Black Lives Matter to show whiter, richer communities the pain felt by black Americans.
But a number of sociologists and pollsters said that the spontaneous demonstrations in neighborhoods that haven’t traditionally had them also reflect broader shifts in public opinion, particularly among white residents.
A majority of Americans — 57% — now believe that police officers facing a difficult or dangerous situation are more likely to use excessive force if the individual is black, according to a Monmouth University survey conducted after Floyd’s killing — a figure that’s increased from about one-third of Americans four years ago. Over that time, the percentage of white Americans who believe law enforcement is more likely to use excessive force against black people nearly doubled to just under 50%.
Patrick Murray, director of the Monmouth University Polling Institute, said the results are indicative of a “historical turning point” on views of policing.
“There has been a sea change among white Americans on how deep-rooted systemic racism is,” Murray said.
In recent days, protests against police brutality have sprung up in cities and towns across California, including communities richer and whiter than the state as a whole, such as Irvine, Walnut Creek, Danville, Redlands and Temecula.
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At Wednesday’s Newport Beach event, predominantly young and white protesters packed Pacific Coast Highway, with afternoon joggers weaving their way through the crowd. Demonstrators cheered when cars — often Range Rovers, Mercedes-Benzes or Audis — rolled by and honked their horns in support.
Later, the protest shifted to the Newport Beach Pier and along a bike path in front of beachfront homes near where, less than a week earlier, on Memorial Day, kayak, boat and yacht owners launched a sailing parade in support of President Trump.
Though Orange County has long had a reputation as a conservative bastion, the last two decades have seen dramatic demographic and political change, culminating in Democratic candidates sweeping the county’s seven congressional seats in 2018 and registered Democrats overtaking Republicans last summer.
Still, Newport Beach resident Susan Groux, 52, said she’s never seen any protest like Wednesday’s in her city. The fact that demonstrations against institutional racism are spreading to areas such as hers means they’re gaining support everywhere, she said.
“Maybe this is too optimistic, but I think we’ve reached a tipping point,” said Groux, who is white. “I’ve been here since the L.A. uprising of ’92. This feels different to me. I really think there’s a change.”
Protesters in other communities were similarly taken aback by the amount of support.
The Rev. Leslie Takahashi, lead minister at the Mt. Diablo Unitarian Universalist Church in Walnut Creek, said a demonstration has taken place there almost every day since Sunday, with more planned. The city of 70,000 residents is nearly 70% white, according to U.S. census data, with median home values approaching $900,000.
“The Bay Area of course had a lot of protests for Ferguson, and there may have been a few small protests within Contra Costa County or Walnut Creek, but there was nothing like this,” said Takahashi, who has lived in the community for 13 years. “Mostly it was on the other side of the tunnel in Berkeley or Oakland.”
Takahashi said the protests have been well attended by local people, including “kids who grew up in this community, and I remember them when they were in elementary school.”
In Redlands, podcaster Anthony Boswell, 33, organized a vigil Sunday night expecting 50 mourners to show up. Instead, he said, more than 400 people came from all over the Inland Empire.
Boswell, who is black and lives in Redlands, said he had the vigil there in large part because he wanted to force people out of “their bubble.” While much less affluent and more diverse than Newport Beach or Walnut Creek, Redlands is whiter and wealthier than many surrounding areas in San Bernardino County.
“A real reason I wanted to have it in Redlands is they call themselves the jewel of the Inland Empire, they think they’re special, and a lot of the reason I wanted to do that is because if we didn’t do that, then they would have been able to continue living in their bubble and pretending these things aren’t happening,” Boswell said.
Several communities have witnessed violence and threats during the protests. Vandals broke windows, some people stole from stores and two banks were burned to the ground Saturday night in La Mesa, a San Diego suburb where that region’s first large-scale demonstrations after the Floyd killing occurred. Police in riot gear shot tear gas and projectiles at protesters, hospitalizing one 59-year-old woman who was hit between the eyes by what appeared to be a beanbag round.
Residents there were also upset about a cellphone video recording posted on social media days after Floyd’s death, showing a city police officer outside a trolley station grabbing and shoving a 23-year-old black man who police say was resisting arrest.
Walnut Creek police shot tear gas and rubber bullets and used police dogs against protesters Monday when hundreds of people rushed onto Interstate 680, stopping traffic and prompting many motorists to call 911. In Newport Beach on Wednesday, a man brandished a handgun at a demonstrator and a driver sped through a crowd of protesters, though no one was injured.
It’s not surprising that there have been clashes in communities unfamiliar with large-scale police protests, said Darnell Hunt, dean of social sciences and professor of sociology and African American studies at UCLA.
The 1965 uprising in Watts hastened the flight of white residents to suburban communities, and many outlying areas were insulated from protests and violence in South Los Angeles and other parts of the city following the 1992 acquittal of LAPD officers in the Rodney King beating, he said. Such incidents, he continued, are by definition unpredictable, and protests that may begin as peaceful can change without warning.
“There clearly is a fear of urban unrest,” said Hunt, who has written a book on the King demonstrations.
Hunt believes there are many reasons why the protests in response to Floyd’s killing have expanded so quickly and so widely. The COVID-19 pandemic has kept people in their homes for months and on edge about the health of themselves and their loved ones. It also has disproportionately affected poor black and Latino Americans. Massive unemployment in the wake of the pandemic has exacerbated anger and despair. The video of Minnesota police officer Derek Chauvin with his knee pinning Floyd by his neck for nearly nine minutes, including after he had lost consciousness, was particularly gruesome.
Hunt and Murray, the Monmouth pollster, also believe that Trump has accelerated unrest and division by not calling for unity but instead pushing for the military to quell protests. All together, these events have pushed people out into the streets despite the risks of contracting the coronavirus, Hunt said — including people who in another era might not have been stirred to action.
“You have to ask yourself when you look at the crowds that we see in the televised images coast to coast what is it that would drive people to literally risk their lives,” he said. “That really does speak to the urgency of the moment and the sense of outrage people have. That’s why we see it everywhere.”
Times staff writers Matthew Ormseth and Stephanie Lai contributed to this report.


latimes--2020-06-06--Earthquake: Magnitude 3.3 quake felt near Gilroy, Calif.

A magnitude 3.3 earthquake was reported Friday at 4:09 p.m. three miles from Gilroy , Calif. , according to the U.S. Geological Survey .
The earthquake occurred five miles from Prunedale , Calif. , 10 miles from Morgan Hill , Calif. , and 13 miles from Hollister , Calif .
In the last 10 days , there have been three earthquakes of magnitude 3.0 or greater centered nearby .
An average of 234 earthquakes with magnitudes between 3.0 and 4.0 occur per year in California and Nevada , according to a recent three-year data sample .
The earthquake occurred at @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you feel this earthquake ?
Consider reporting what you felt to the USGS .
Even if you didn ’ t feel this small earthquake , you never know when the Big One is going to strike .
Ready yourself by following our five-step earthquake preparedness guide and building your own emergency kit .
This story was automatically generated by Quakebot , a computer application that monitors the latest earthquakes detected by the USGS .
A Times editor reviewed the post before it was published .
If you ’ re interested in learning more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of frequently asked questions .

A magnitude 3.3 earthquake was reported Friday at 4:09 p.m. three miles from Gilroy, Calif., according to the U.S. Geological Survey.
The earthquake occurred five miles from Prunedale, Calif., 10 miles from Morgan Hill, Calif., and 13 miles from Hollister, Calif.
In the last 10 days, there have been three earthquakes of magnitude 3.0 or greater centered nearby.
An average of 234 earthquakes with magnitudes between 3.0 and 4.0 occur per year in California and Nevada, according to a recent three-year data sample.
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The earthquake occurred at a depth of 4.1 miles. Did you feel this earthquake? Consider reporting what you felt to the USGS.
Even if you didn’t feel this small earthquake, you never know when the Big One is going to strike. Ready yourself by following our five-step earthquake preparedness guide and building your own emergency kit.
This story was automatically generated by Quakebot, a computer application that monitors the latest earthquakes detected by the USGS. A Times editor reviewed the post before it was published. If you’re interested in learning more about the system, visit our list of frequently asked questions.