latimes--2020-11-29--Pandemic surges in prisons amid county jail crowding as state lags on medical releases

Inside the state prison system ’ s Substance Abuse Treatment Facility in Kings County , David Cauthen has spent nearly five weeks on a hunger strike to protest what he sees as indifference and ineptitude by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation at stopping a coronavirus outbreak there that has infected more than 1,089 inmates and killed one in recent days .
“ Officers , nurses and even doctors only wear masks when it is convenient , ” he stated in an email , “ and the only time it is convenient for them is when the facility has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Dist .
Atty .
Lisa Smittcamp is equally unhappy with how state prison officials are handling the virus behind bars .
Her jail , she said , has been overwhelmed with convicted inmates who normally would be moved to state prisons but who are now stuck in limbo as prison officials again halted those transfers Wednesday .
With limited space in county jails , she said , people arrested are often quickly released to keep the local facility at a safe capacity .
“ You can not shut off the prisons , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , it has impacted public safety.
” Over eight months into a pandemic that has been especially virulent in crowded settings , the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation is still grappling with new outbreaks and old criticisms as the coronavirus continues to surge in some of its 35 prisons .
With a large wave of cases hitting across the state , some say the corrections department has failed to enforce its own policies and protective measures , and worry that further flare-ups could wind up filling community hospital beds in places already stressed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 3,600 active cases of the virus , with six facilities across the state having outbreaks with more than 100 cases among inmates .
The Substance Abuse Treatment Facility has reported more than 900 new infections in the last two weeks , the department says .
Nearly 6,000 guards have also tested positive since the pandemic began — including 117 in the last two weeks at High Desert State Prison in Lassen County — a source of consternation as the department concedes that its staff is carrying the virus behind bars , even as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and resisted effective masks .
Recently , 13 workers were sanctioned for noncompliance with regulations on personal protective equipment at Pelican Bay State Prison in Del Norte County in California ’ s far north , according to the corrections department , as county officials worried about a lack of information for contact tracing of coronavirus-positive prison staff .
The situation prompted state Sen. Mike McGuire ( D-Healdsburg ) to complain at a Nov. 19 oversight hearing that the lack of enforcement and cooperation was “ not good for the community.
” Seventy-two guards @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , 18 of them in the last two weeks , according to the department .
Though prison officials are quick to point out they have reduced the inmate population by 22,000 since March , bringing it to its lowest number in three decades — and recently have begun more disciplinary actions for PPE failures — lawmakers , advocates , incarcerated people and county government officials contend that the agency has been too slow to learn lessons .
There is little transparency about how decisions are being made and what is happening behind prison @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is the glacial pace of releases for elderly and medically vulnerable inmates , say advocates and some lawmakers — and the lack of answers as to why .
It ’ s a population that some argue presents the least risk for committing new crimes but has the highest risk for serious COVID-19 illnesses .
“ It sounds like the decision maker is somewhere up in the ether , ” said state Sen. Hannah-Beth Jackson ( D-Santa Barbara ) at the oversight hearing , speaking of how those determinations are handled .
“ It @ @ @ @ @ @ @ here within prisons to make those decisions unilaterally and frankly without a whole lot of accountability.
” Faced with the stark reality that vulnerable inmates in California ’ s crowded prisons would die unless he reduced the incarcerated population , Gov .
Gavin Newsom pledged to examine how to let some of them go early in the pandemic .
But Newsom and corrections officials instead largely have cut the prison ranks in two ways .
First , they released about 7,400 inmates who had only a few months remaining on their sentences .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ due to begin prison sentences stockpiled in the county jails — passing the burden to California ’ s sheriff ’ s departments .
About 7,000 of those prison-bound inmates remain in county jails , according to the state corrections department .
Since resuming accepting county jail inmates Aug. 28 , state prisons have received about 3,300 inmates from 38 counties using a strict protocol of quarantining and testing , according to the agency .
But in Los Angeles County alone , nearly 3,000 prisoners await transfer , a number likely to grow with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , the jail population has soared from 11,700 to more than 15,000 .
“ That is a large chunk of people who are sitting in our jails when they should be in state prison , and they are a double problem because these are people we can not release any other way , ” Sheriff Alex Villanueva said during an online news conference Wednesday .
“ This is harming our ability to keep the jail population decompressed and raises the risk of COVID-19 to inmates and staff alike.
” But of the more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in settings that make airborne transmission of the virus hard to control — such as cells with open bars — less than 1 % , or about 80 people , have been released , according to James King , a state campaigner for the Ella Baker Center for Human Rights , who testified at the Senate hearing .
“ We have increased the proportion of highly vulnerable [ people ] in prison by letting out the less vulnerable , ” said Dr. Stefano Bertozzi , UC Berkeley professor of health policy and management @ @ @ @ @ @ @ let the people out who most should be let out.
” The corrections department did not provide state numbers for medical releases despite multiple requests .
Michael Bien , an attorney who represents inmates in federal litigation , said the effects of not releasing incarcerated seniors will be felt publicly in nearby communities if prison infections continue to soar .
“ They will begin to fill the hospital beds near these prisons in the next three to four weeks if COVID continues to spread , ” he said .
“ Everyone who dies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be on the [ medically fragile ] list.
” Bien and others contend the decision to keep the medically vulnerable inmates incarcerated has political overtones .
Many of those under consideration were violent criminals , he said .
Their average age is 63 , and many have indeterminate sentences that have left them behind bars for decades .
Bien and Bertozzi said politicians including Newsom , who has weathered scathing press in recent weeks , seem to be weighing the risk of releasing violent offenders .
At the same time , the corrections @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , with its decades-long head retiring in August and Kathleen Allison , a former warden at the Substance Abuse Treatment Facility who began her career at the agency in 1987 as a medical technical assistant , taking over .
“ Frankly , I don ’ t understand the political logic , ” Bertozzi said .
“ You watch someone without legs rolling across the yard in a wheelchair , you think to yourself , yeah I can imagine a scenario where that person is a danger to society , but it ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for answers about how the department is ensuring its employees are taking necessary precautions — concerned that resistance among their ranks is a danger to preventive efforts and has not been adequately handled by state authorities .
Bertozzi said this month that the outbreak at the Substance Abuse Treatment Facility had started in an area where civilian staffers in a facility that packages food mixed with inmate workers in a kitchen .
That food packaging facility , run by the California Prison Industry Authority , which operates about 100 commercial enterprises inside prisons @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an essential business , despite other outbreaks linekd to factory operations and a decision by the corrections department to shut Prison Industry Authority facilities deemed nonessential .
Neither state agency answered a request for clarification .
Dr. Joseph Bick , statewide director of healthcare service for the corrections department , also testified this month that until a recent order requiring all staffers to wear surgical masks provided by the department , guards and other staffers had been using “ bandannas and gaiters and masks with valves and all types of things that are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” State Sen. Nancy Skinner ( D-Berkeley ) replied , “ It ’ s never too late , but it is rather late ” to be requiring staff to use effective PPE .
“ It ’ s disappointing.
” Lawmakers also questioned Bick and Connie Gibson , director of the department ’ s Division of Adult Institutions , about the number of guards who had refused coronavirus testing , but neither was able to provide details on how many state employees fell into that category .
Gibson said it was only “ a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ very concerned about staff that refuse to test.
” The corrections department did not provide a number or percentage of employees who have refused testing despite multiple requests .
Families of those behind bars , who have been forbidden from seeing their loved ones for months , said the real toll of the prison system ’ s failure to control the virus is on them .
“ I feel it in my soul and my stomach , ” said Shondra Caldwell , a mother of two teenage daughters whose husband is incarcerated and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said , made her “ hysterical , ” and she sees anxiety wearing on her girls .
“ There is nothing right now about the situation that is under control , ” she said .
“ No one deserves that .
”

California’s prison system has more than 3,600 active coronavirus cases, with six facilities having outbreaks with more than 100 infected inmates. Above, the California Correctional Health Care Facility in Stockton.
Inside the state prison system’s Substance Abuse Treatment Facility in Kings County, David Cauthen has spent nearly five weeks on a hunger strike to protest what he sees as indifference and ineptitude by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation at stopping a coronavirus outbreak there that has infected more than 1,089 inmates and killed one in recent days.
“Officers, nurses and even doctors only wear masks when it is convenient,” he stated in an email, “and the only time it is convenient for them is when the facility has visitors.”
For the record: An earlier version of this story stated that 6,000 CDCR guards had tested positive statewide, including 117 guards at High Desert State Prison and 72 at Pelican Bay. Those figures include guards and staff.
Nearby in Fresno County, Dist. Atty. Lisa Smittcamp is equally unhappy with how state prison officials are handling the virus behind bars. Her jail, she said, was overwhelmed with convicted inmates who normally would be moved to state prisons but who were now stuck in limbo as prison officials again halted those transfers Wednesday. With limited space in county jails, she said, people arrested are often quickly released to keep the local facility at a safe capacity.
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“You cannot shut off the prisons,” Smittcamp said. “One hundred percent, it has impacted public safety.”
Over eight months into a pandemic that has been especially virulent in crowded settings, the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation is still grappling with new outbreaks and old criticisms as the coronavirus continues to surge in some of its 35 prisons. With a large wave of cases hitting across the state, some say the corrections department has failed to enforce its own policies and protective measures, and worry that further flare-ups could wind up filling community hospital beds in places already stressed.
The department currently reports more than 3,600 active cases of the virus, with six facilities across the state having outbreaks with over 100 cases among inmates. The Substance Abuse Treatment Facility has reported more than 900 new infections in the last two weeks, the department says.
California California kept prison factories open. Inmates worked for pennies an hour as COVID-19 spread Inmates who made masks and furniture for as little as 35 cents an hour say they felt pressure to stay on the job, even as the coronavirus spread through the prison factories.
Nearly 6,000 guards and other staff including nurses and administrators have also tested positive since the pandemic began — including 117 in the last two weeks at High Desert State Prison in Lassen County — a source of consternation as the department concedes that its staff is carrying the virus behind bars, even as it admits some employees have refused testing and resisted effective masks.
Recently, 13 workers were sanctioned for noncompliance with regulations on personal protective equipment at Pelican Bay State Prison in Del Norte County in California’s far north, according to the corrections department, as county officials worried about a lack of information for contact tracing of coronavirus-positive prison staff. The situation prompted state Sen. Mike McGuire (D-Healdsburg) to complain at a Nov. 19 oversight hearing that the lack of enforcement and cooperation was “not good for the community.” Seventy-two guards and staff at Pelican Bay have contracted the virus, 18 of them in the last two weeks, according to the department.
Though prison officials are quick to point out they have reduced the inmate population by 22,000 since March, bringing it to its lowest number in three decades — and recently have begun more disciplinary actions for PPE failures — lawmakers, advocates, incarcerated people and county government officials contend that the agency has been too slow to learn lessons. There is little transparency about how decisions are being made and what is happening behind prison walls, they say.
Most alarming is the glacial pace of releases for elderly and medically vulnerable inmates, say advocates and some lawmakers — and the lack of answers as to why. It’s a population that some argue presents the least risk for committing new crimes but has the highest risk for serious COVID-19 illnesses.
“It sounds like the decision maker is somewhere up in the ether,” said state Sen. Hannah-Beth Jackson (D-Santa Barbara) at the oversight hearing, speaking of how those determinations are handled. “It seems there is way too much authority here within prisons to make those decisions unilaterally and frankly without a whole lot of accountability.”
Faced with the stark reality that vulnerable inmates in California’s crowded prisons would die unless he reduced the incarcerated population, Gov. Gavin Newsom pledged to examine how to let some of them go early in the pandemic.
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But Newsom and corrections officials instead largely have cut the prison ranks in two ways. First, they released about 7,400 inmates who had only a few months remaining on their sentences. Then they left more than 8,000 inmates due to begin prison sentences stockpiled in the county jails — passing the burden to California’s sheriff’s departments. About 7,000 of those prison-bound inmates remain in county jails, according to the state corrections department.
Since resuming accepting county jail inmates Aug. 28, state prisons have received about 3,300 inmates from 38 counties using a strict protocol of quarantining and testing, according to the agency. But in Los Angeles County alone, nearly 3,000 prisoners await transfer, a number likely to grow with Wednesday’s freeze. Since spring, the jail population has soared from 11,700 to more than 15,000.
“That is a large chunk of people who are sitting in our jails when they should be in state prison, and they are a double problem because these are people we cannot release any other way,” Sheriff Alex Villanueva said during an online news conference Wednesday. “This is harming our ability to keep the jail population decompressed and raises the risk of COVID-19 to inmates and staff alike.”
But of the more than 8,200 medically at-risk inmates who live in settings that make airborne transmission of the virus hard to control — such as cells with open bars — less than 1%, or about 80 people, have been released, according to James King, a state campaigner for the Ella Baker Center for Human Rights, who testified at the Senate hearing.
“We have increased the proportion of highly vulnerable [people] in prison by letting out the less vulnerable,” said Dr. Stefano Bertozzi, UC Berkeley professor of health policy and management. “We haven’t actually let the people out who most should be let out.”
The corrections department did not provide state numbers for medical releases despite multiple requests.
Michael Bien, an attorney who represents inmates in federal litigation, said the effects of not releasing incarcerated seniors will be felt publicly in nearby communities if prison infections continue to soar.
“They will begin to fill the hospital beds near these prisons in the next three to four weeks if COVID continues to spread,” he said. “Everyone who dies from now on in the prisons will be on the [medically fragile] list.”
Bien and others contend the decision to keep the medically vulnerable inmates incarcerated has political overtones. Many of those under consideration were violent criminals, he said. Their average age is 63, and many have indeterminate sentences that have left them behind bars for decades.
Bien and Bertozzi said politicians including Newsom, who has weathered scathing press in recent weeks, seem to be weighing the risk of releasing violent offenders. At the same time, the corrections department has undergone a change of leadership, with its head retiring in September and Kathleen Allison, a former warden at the Substance Abuse Treatment Facility who began her career at the agency in 1987 as a medical technical assistant, taking over.
“Frankly, I don’t understand the political logic,” Bertozzi said. “You watch someone without legs rolling across the yard in a wheelchair, you think to yourself, yeah I can imagine a scenario where that person is a danger to society, but it’s doubtful.”
Some legislators are also asking for answers about how the department is ensuring its employees are taking necessary precautions — concerned that resistance among their ranks is a danger to preventive efforts and has not been adequately handled by state authorities.
Bertozzi said this month that the outbreak at the Substance Abuse Treatment Facility had started in an area where civilian staffers in a facility that packages food mixed with inmate workers in a kitchen. That food packaging facility, run by the California Prison Industry Authority, which operates about 100 commercial enterprises inside prisons, is likely to remain open as an essential business, despite other outbreaks linked to factory operations and a decision by the corrections department to shut Prison Industry Authority facilities deemed nonessential. Neither state agency answered a request for clarification.
Dr. Joseph Bick, statewide director of healthcare service for the corrections department, also testified this month that until a recent order requiring all staffers to wear surgical masks provided by the department, guards and other staffers had been using “bandannas and gaiters and masks with valves and all types of things that are not really going to achieve our goal.”
State Sen. Nancy Skinner (D-Berkeley) replied, “It’s never too late, but it is rather late” to be requiring staff to use effective PPE. “It’s disappointing.”
Lawmakers also questioned Bick and Connie Gibson, director of the department’s Division of Adult Institutions, about the number of guards who had refused coronavirus testing, but neither was able to provide details on how many state employees fell into that category. Gibson said it was only “a few,” but she was “very concerned about staff that refuse to test.”
The corrections department did not provide a number or percentage of employees who had refused testing despite multiple requests.
Families of those behind bars, who have been forbidden from seeing their loved ones for months, said the real toll of the prison system’s failure to control the virus was on them.
“I feel it in my soul and my stomach,” said Shondra Caldwell, a mother of two teenage daughters whose husband is incarcerated and contracted COVID-19. The diagnosis, she said, made her “hysterical,” and she sees anxiety wearing on her girls.
“There is nothing right now about the situation that is under control,” she said. “No one deserves that.”


latimes--2020-11-29--Vietnamese immigrant families hash out political differences, even without a common Thanksgiving tab

Vietnamese immigrant families hash out political differences, even without a common Thanksgiving table

Last month , Kim Nguyen gathered with her extended family over Vietnamese crab soup to celebrate her grandmother ’ s birthday .
As her uncles expressed support for President Trump , her younger cousins shouted their disagreement from another room .
Nguyen , 29 , a Garden Grove city councilwoman , once stayed silent when her elders expressed political views she disagreed with .
This year , amid the coronavirus outbreak , racial justice protests and a highly contentious presidential election , Nguyen has become bolder about speaking out .
When Black Lives Matter protesters filled the street in front @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she tried to make him understand the obstacles that Black Americans face .
When Vietnamese-language media outlets disparaged her support for affirmative action , she doubled down and explained her beliefs to her parents .
As the chasm between red and blue America grows , families across the country are politically divided .
For Vietnamese immigrants , the gap can be especially profound .
Many in the older generation are vehemently anti-communist , making them a sympathetic audience to Trump ’ s tough stances on China .
They may get their news exclusively @ @ @ @ @ @ @ toward a single narrative without a variety of perspectives .
As refugees who built a new life after coming to this country with nothing , they can be skeptical of efforts to prop up disadvantaged groups .
Meanwhile , some young Vietnamese Americans have embraced the progressive movement that sent protesters into the streets over the summer and that has emboldened many people to have difficult conversations with family members about topics they once avoided .
It can feel like the two sides are speaking different languages .
And sometimes they are , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ high-level concepts — how do you say “ affirmative action ” in Vietnamese ?
Because of the surge in coronavirus cases , Nguyen and her family were not planning to get together for their usual bicultural Thanksgiving meal of spring rolls , turkey and mashed potatoes .
But even without family gatherings , the holiday weekend is a time for people to take stock of their relationships and the issues they care about most — especially if those things clash .
“ It helped to learn where they were coming from , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to a resolution , it was a step in the right direction , ” Nguyen said .
While the pandemic is keeping some people apart , it is drawing others closer as nuclear families hunker down together , leaving plenty of time for discussions to spiral out of control or for long-simmering conflicts to finally be resolved .
Heidi Nguyen , a Newport Beach family counselor whose clients include many Vietnamese Americans , said her business has been booming in recent months .
Cultural and language differences make immigrant families especially vulnerable to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ intensified by the stresses of the pandemic .
“ Oftentimes , the younger generation doesn ’ t know how to communicate with their parents , and the kids may harbor negative feelings that lead to anxiety or depression , ” Nguyen said .
“ My main advice for family members is to build empathy and understanding for the other side before communicating.
” Language barriers can limit debate and result in silent frustration .
Cindy Nguyen , a junior at Westminster High School , understands enough Vietnamese to know that she disagrees with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ she is not fluent enough in the language to fight back .
“ I know what they ’ re saying in Viet , but I can ’ t always respond to them , ” said Cindy , 16 .
“ Like I can ’ t think of the word ‘ equality ’ on the spot.
” According to a national survey released in September by AAPI Data , APIA Vote and Asian Americans Advancing Justice , Vietnamese Americans were the only Asian subgroup that favored Trump over Joe Biden , 48 % to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were probably swayed by negative associations with people purported to be communist or socialist , said Karthick Ramakrishnan , a co-author of the survey who is a professor of political science and public policy at UC Riverside .
“ In this election , a lot of the rhetoric portrayed Biden as a socialist , even though it ’ s not accurate to label him that way , and it resonated with the first generation ’ s strong anti-communist views , ” Ramakrishnan said .
But the survey also found that Vietnamese Americans , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ liberal on issues such as social safety nets , healthcare , gun control and environmental protection .
Thai Viet Phan , who successfully ran for a seat on the Santa Ana City Council this fall , learned firsthand how powerful an allegation of communist associations can be .
In October , her parents were shocked to receive an attack mailer comparing her to communist leader Ho Chi Minh .
“ It was traumatizing for my family to see that , ” said Phan , who will be Santa Ana ’ s first Vietnamese @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hard to explain to her and our neighbors that they were literally making things up.
” Phan , 32 , sometimes educates her parents with information from news sources other than Vietnamese newspapers and television .
She and her extended family argue intensely over issues such as Obamacare and deportations — discussions that would not take place this Thanksgiving , with their gathering canceled because of COVID-19 .
Trung Ta , 67 , is a Democrat who agrees with his son , Viet Ta , on most political issues .
But the retired @ @ @ @ @ @ @ son ’ s support of Sen. Bernie Sanders , a self-described democratic socialist .
“ I do understand that word is jarring with our community ’ s history with communism , but I don ’ t believe Bernie Sanders is a communist , ” said Viet Ta , 33 .
“ This was the most fiery argument we had.
” When Lan-Chi Nguyen Cantuba put a Black Lives Matter sign on her desk , her father asked her to take it down .
Lan-Chi , 16 , put the sign up again two @ @ @ @ @ @ @ eventually turned into a shouting match between father and daughter .
“ It makes me uncomfortable when these issues come up .
It ’ s really stressful to be in a household that doesn ’ t share the same beliefs , ” Lan-Chi said .
“ It ’ s unsettling that my father thinks so differently , but I still love him.
” Lan-Chi ’ s mother came to the U.S. from Vietnam in 1991 .
Her father , Cesar Cantuba , is from the Philippines , but the clashes with his daughter @ @ @ @ @ @ @ parents .
Cantuba ’ s conservative beliefs , informed by his Christianity and by-the-bootstraps immigrant success story , seemed incompatible with his daughter ’ s progressivism .
But several weeks ago , the Nguyen Cantubas sat down at the dining table and hashed out their issues , with the goal of reconciliation .
On Thanksgiving weekend , the discussion could veer into politics and grow heated once again .
But Cantuba , a 58-year-old construction manager , hopes the work they have put into their communication skills will pay off .
“ We @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is family , ” Cantuba said .
“ I will still love and die for them if I have to .
”

The Nguyen Cantuba family — Lien-Chi, left, Mai-Chi, Lan-Chi and Cesar, shown in their Eastvale, Calif., home — tried to reconcile their political differences around the dining table leading up to Thanksgiving.
Last month, Kim Nguyen gathered with her extended family over Vietnamese crab soup to celebrate her grandmother’s birthday.
As her uncles expressed support for President Trump, her younger cousins shouted their disagreement from another room.
Nguyen, 29, a Garden Grove city councilwoman, once stayed silent when her elders expressed political views she disagreed with. This year, amid the coronavirus outbreak, racial justice protests and a highly contentious presidential election, Nguyen has become bolder about speaking out.
Advertisement
When Black Lives Matter protesters filled the street in front of her father’s house, she tried to make him understand the obstacles that Black Americans face. When Vietnamese-language media outlets disparaged her support for affirmative action, she doubled down and explained her beliefs to her parents.
As the chasm between red and blue America grows, families across the country are politically divided. For Vietnamese immigrants, the gap can be especially profound.
Many in the older generation are vehemently anti-communist, making them a sympathetic audience to Trump’s tough stances on China. They may get their news exclusively from ethnic media, which can lean toward a single narrative without a variety of perspectives. As refugees who built a new life after coming to this country with nothing, they can be skeptical of efforts to prop up disadvantaged groups.
Meanwhile, some young Vietnamese Americans have embraced the progressive movement that sent protesters into the streets over the summer and that has emboldened many people to have difficult conversations with family members about topics they once avoided.
It can feel like the two sides are speaking different languages. And sometimes they are, cobbling together Vietnamese and English to discuss high-level concepts — how do you say “affirmative action” in Vietnamese?
Because of the surge in coronavirus cases, Nguyen and her family were not planning to get together for their usual bicultural Thanksgiving meal of spring rolls, turkey and mashed potatoes.
Advertisement
But even without family gatherings, the holiday weekend is a time for people to take stock of their relationships and the issues they care about most — especially if those things clash.
“It helped to learn where they were coming from, and while we didn’t always come to a resolution, it was a step in the right direction,” Nguyen said.
While the pandemic is keeping some people apart, it is drawing others closer as nuclear families hunker down together, leaving plenty of time for discussions to spiral out of control or for long-simmering conflicts to finally be resolved.
Heidi Nguyen, a Newport Beach family counselor whose clients include many Vietnamese Americans, said her business has been booming in recent months.
Cultural and language differences make immigrant families especially vulnerable to painful generation gaps, which have been intensified by the stresses of the pandemic.
“Oftentimes, the younger generation doesn’t know how to communicate with their parents, and the kids may harbor negative feelings that lead to anxiety or depression,” Nguyen said. “My main advice for family members is to build empathy and understanding for the other side before communicating.”
Language barriers can limit debate and result in silent frustration.
Cindy Nguyen, a junior at Westminster High School, understands enough Vietnamese to know that she disagrees with her parents’ political beliefs.
But she is not fluent enough in the language to fight back.
“I know what they’re saying in Viet, but I can’t always respond to them,” said Cindy, 16. “Like I can’t think of the word ‘equality’ on the spot.”
According to a national survey released in September by AAPI Data, APIA Vote and Asian Americans Advancing Justice, Vietnamese Americans were the only Asian subgroup that favored Trump over Joe Biden, 48% to 36%.
Some older Vietnamese immigrants were probably swayed by negative associations with people purported to be communist or socialist, said Karthick Ramakrishnan, a co-author of the survey who is a professor of political science and public policy at UC Riverside.
“In this election, a lot of the rhetoric portrayed Biden as a socialist, even though it’s not accurate to label him that way, and it resonated with the first generation’s strong anti-communist views,” Ramakrishnan said.
But the survey also found that Vietnamese Americans, regardless of age, tend to lean liberal on issues such as social safety nets, healthcare, gun control and environmental protection.
Thai Viet Phan, who successfully ran for a seat on the Santa Ana City Council this fall, learned firsthand how powerful an allegation of communist associations can be.
In October, her parents were shocked to receive an attack mailer comparing her to communist leader Ho Chi Minh.
“It was traumatizing for my family to see that,” said Phan, who will be Santa Ana’s first Vietnamese American council member. “It was hard to explain to her and our neighbors that they were literally making things up.”
Phan, 32, sometimes educates her parents with information from news sources other than Vietnamese newspapers and television. She and her extended family argue intensely over issues such as Obamacare and deportations — discussions that would not take place this Thanksgiving, with their gathering canceled because of COVID-19.
Trung Ta, 67, is a Democrat who agrees with his son, Viet Ta, on most political issues.
But the retired aerospace project manager was troubled by his son’s support of Sen. Bernie Sanders, a self-described democratic socialist.
“I do understand that word is jarring with our community’s history with communism, but I don’t believe Bernie Sanders is a communist,” said Viet Ta, 33. “This was the most fiery argument we had.”
A sign in support of Black Lives Matter sits on Lan-Chi Nguyen Cantuba’s desk at her family home. (Kent Nishimura / Los Angeles Times)
When Lan-Chi Nguyen Cantuba put a Black Lives Matter sign on her desk, her father asked her to take it down.
Lan-Chi, 16, put the sign up again two days later — a silent war that eventually turned into a shouting match between father and daughter.
“It makes me uncomfortable when these issues come up. It’s really stressful to be in a household that doesn’t share the same beliefs,” Lan-Chi said. “It’s unsettling that my father thinks so differently, but I still love him.”
Lan-Chi’s mother came to the U.S. from Vietnam in 1991. Her father, Cesar Cantuba, is from the Philippines, but the clashes with his daughter are similar to those experienced by Vietnamese parents.
Cesar Cantuba at his home in Eastvale, Calif. (Kent Nishimura / Los Angeles Times)
Cantuba’s conservative beliefs, informed by his Christianity and by-the-bootstraps immigrant success story, seemed incompatible with his daughter’s progressivism.
But several weeks ago, the Nguyen Cantubas sat down at the dining table and hashed out their issues, with the goal of reconciliation.
On Thanksgiving weekend, the discussion could veer into politics and grow heated once again. But Cantuba, a 58-year-old construction manager, hopes the work they have put into their communication skills will pay off.
“We can differ in beliefs, but family is family,” Cantuba said. “I will still love and die for them if I have to.”


latimes--2020-11-29--Column: 'Why won't Black folks trust us' on COVID-19? These doctors and nurses have answers

As a Black man and a nurse practitioner working at the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs hospital in Long Beach , Walter Perez hears a lot of cringeworthy stuff from his Black patients .
Like how the forthcoming COVID-19 vaccines won ’ t be safe because Big Pharma is cutting corners to make more money .
Or how the medical establishment wants to use Black people as guinea pigs to test those vaccines .
Or how the vaccines could actually prove more harmful than getting COVID-19 .
The list goes on .
“ The only way I can describe it @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” Perez said .
“ A lot of people are just really paranoid about it.
” Indeed , across the U.S. , only 32 % of Black adults say they would definitely or probably take a COVID-19 vaccine , according to the Pew Research Center .
Another study by the COVID Collaborative and the NAACP found that most Black people don ’ t believe a vaccine will be safe or effective , and don ’ t plan to get it .
In California , it ’ s even worse , with fewer than @ @ @ @ @ @ @ would probably or definitely get vaccinated — the lowest percentage of any racial group surveyed by the Public Policy Institute of California , though Latinos weren ’ t far behind .
That we are here — with Black people , alongside Latinos , still disproportionately dying of COVID-19 , and Pfizer , Moderna and AstraZeneca on the verge of rolling out their lifesaving vaccines — comes as no surprise to Black people .
Many of us grew up hearing stories as children about how Black men were left to suffer during the Tuskegee @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have lived out our own stories of fighting through disparities to try to get adequate care .
In my whole life , I ’ ve never had a Black doctor .
I ’ m 43 years old .
As of last year , only about 2.6 % of the nation ’ s physicians and 7.3 % of students in medical school this year were Black .
Because of persistent inequities in education and household income , those numbers haven ’ t changed since I was born .
Considering the many studies that show @ @ @ @ @ @ @ when treated by trusted Black doctors and nurses , this is a problem .
All of which is why convincing millions of skeptical Black people to get vaccinated — a crucial step toward achieving a herd immunity of about 70 % and bringing the pandemic under control — won ’ t be as simple as many elected and public health officials would hope .
In the same way that the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis made plain how this country has never truly dealt with its history of systemic racism in policing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the unaddressed history of distrust and systemic racism in the nation ’ s healthcare system .
Perez and his fellow Black nurses and doctors understand this better than most .
And they rightfully want a reckoning .
“ Is there mistrust for vaccines and for the healthcare system in Black communities ?
Yes .
But that mistrust is very well earned , ” said Dr. Tiffani Johnson , an emergency physician in the pediatric ward of UC Davis Medical Center in Sacramento .
“ So I think that we , as physicians and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ take a step back and instead of saying , ‘ Why won ’ t Black folks trust us ?
’ say , ‘ What have we done to earn trust ?
’ ” So far , most plans for the COVID-19 vaccines have focused on the relatively easier issue of access , which is understandable .
These are desperate times .
The disease has already killed some 266,000 Americans .
Coronavirus cases are multiplying at a terrifying pace , with about 1 in 145 people infected and contagious in Los Angeles County , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ were upended and new shutdown orders and curfews have again thrown small-business owners into chaos .
So , hoping to bring this pandemic to an end sooner rather than later , California is preparing to barrel ahead with mass vaccinations , starting with healthcare workers and other first responders .
In L.A. , public health officials are working on ways to store and distribute doses once they become available in a few weeks .
On Monday , Gov .
Gavin Newsom assured Californians that “ an equity lens is part of our focus.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ communities of color have access to the vaccines is a top priority — which is the way it should be .
But that could backfire because the problem isn ’ t so much access as it is trust .
Flojaune Cofer , an epidemiologist and a senior director of policy at the statewide nonprofit Public Health Advocates , describes it as “ three hot takes ” that add up to a no-win scenario .
The first option for counties is to roll out the vaccines to everyone at the same time , ignoring @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Indigenous populations are getting COVID-19 at higher rates and are dying of it at younger ages than the rest of the population .
That will lead to accusations that there ’ s “ no equity because you ’ re just giving it to everybody all willy-nilly at the same time.
” The second option is to target Black people and roll it out in the neighborhoods that have logged the most cases .
“ But then , ” Cofer said , “ people are going to say , ‘ Oh , no !
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ on us like you did with Tuskegee.
’ ” The third option is to roll it out specifically to white people living in neighborhoods that haven ’ t been hit as hard by COVID-19 .
But then , Black people will say , “ So you ’ re going to save yourselves and leave the rest of us to fend for ourselves ?
” And all three of those hot takes , Cofer added , “ are absolutely valid and correct.
” So what ’ s the solution then ?
I suspect that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ who have agreed to vet federal regulators ’ decisions about COVID-19 vaccines will help allay people ’ s fears .
But , in the meantime , so will honesty and humility .
“ We have to come out and say : ‘ Look , vaccines have helped human history .
And we want to hopefully get to the place where you feel comfortable taking a vaccine , ’ ” Cofer said .
“ ‘ We recognize some of you are ready tomorrow , and some of you won ’ t be ready for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ OK. ’ ” Eric J. Williams , a past president of the National Black Nurses Assn .
and interim associate dean of health sciences at Santa Monica College , said he expects Black nurses and doctors to play an outsize role in persuading other Black people to get vaccinated .
One reason is they will be leading by example , as healthcare workers will be among the first to be vaccinated .
They ’ ll be the real guinea pigs .
Another reason is that nurses , in particular , are used to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ says he turns to facts when patients confront him with conspiracy theories , and uses examples about the importance of vaccines , such as how many Indigenous people would ’ ve been saved if they ‘ d had access to the smallpox vaccine .
“ We teach every day when we do interactions with patients and their families and the community , ” Williams said .
Looking ahead , though , the real solution must be about rebuilding public trust in the nation ’ s healthcare system .
That more than 13 million @ @ @ @ @ @ @ virus and millions of others — of all races — would rather take their chances catching it than take a vaccine speaks volumes .
That ’ s not a problem Black doctors and nurses can fix alone , nor should they be asked to .
“ If you want patients to get vaccinated , we also need to do our part in order to kind of create trustworthiness in the community , ” Johnson said .
“ I think that there needs to be a call to action for all healthcare providers to @ @ @ @ @

As a Black man and a nurse practitioner working at the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs hospital in Long Beach, Walter Perez hears a lot of cringeworthy stuff from his Black patients.
Like how the forthcoming COVID-19 vaccines won’t be safe because Big Pharma is cutting corners to make more money. Or how the medical establishment wants to use Black people as guinea pigs to test those vaccines. Or how the vaccines could actually prove more harmful than getting COVID-19.
The list goes on.
“The only way I can describe it is there’s a paranoia,” Perez said. “A lot of people are just really paranoid about it.”
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Indeed, across the U.S., only 32% of Black adults say they would definitely or probably take a COVID-19 vaccine, according to the Pew Research Center. Another study by the COVID Collaborative and the NAACP found that most Black people don’t believe a vaccine will be safe or effective, and don’t plan to get it.
In California, it’s even worse, with fewer than 30% of Black people saying they would probably or definitely get vaccinated — the lowest percentage of any racial group surveyed by the Public Policy Institute of California, though Latinos weren’t far behind.
That we are here — with Black people, alongside Latinos, still disproportionately dying of COVID-19, and Pfizer, Moderna and AstraZeneca on the verge of rolling out their lifesaving vaccines — comes as no surprise to Black people.
Many of us grew up hearing stories as children about how Black men were left to suffer during the Tuskegee Syphilis Study and, as adults, have lived out our own stories of fighting through disparities to try to get adequate care.
In my whole life, I’ve never had a Black doctor. I’m 43 years old. As of last year, only about 2.6% of the nation’s physicians and 7.3% of students in medical school this year were Black. Because of persistent inequities in education and household income, those numbers haven’t changed since I was born. Considering the many studies that show Black people tend to have better outcomes when treated by trusted Black doctors and nurses, this is a problem.
All of which is why convincing millions of skeptical Black people to get vaccinated — a crucial step toward achieving a herd immunity of about 70% and bringing the pandemic under control — won’t be as simple as many elected and public health officials would hope.
In the same way that the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis made plain how this country has never truly dealt with its history of systemic racism in policing, the COVID-19 pandemic has made plain the unaddressed history of distrust and systemic racism in the nation’s healthcare system.
Perez and his fellow Black nurses and doctors understand this better than most. And they rightfully want a reckoning.
Advertisement
“Is there mistrust for vaccines and for the healthcare system in Black communities? Yes. But that mistrust is very well earned,” said Dr. Tiffani Johnson, an emergency physician in the pediatric ward of UC Davis Medical Center in Sacramento. “So I think that we, as physicians and researchers and healthcare systems, need to take a step back and instead of saying, ‘Why won’t Black folks trust us?’ say, ‘What have we done to earn trust?’”
::
So far, most plans for the COVID-19 vaccines have focused on the relatively easier issue of access, which is understandable. These are desperate times.
The disease has already killed some 266,000 Americans. Coronavirus cases are multiplying at a terrifying pace, with about 1 in 145 people infected and contagious in Los Angeles County, as of last week. Thanksgiving plans were upended and new shutdown orders and curfews have again thrown small-business owners into chaos.
So, hoping to bring this pandemic to an end sooner rather than later, California is preparing to barrel ahead with mass vaccinations, starting with healthcare workers and other first responders. In L.A., public health officials are working on ways to store and distribute doses once they become available in a few weeks.
On Monday, Gov. Gavin Newsom assured Californians that “an equity lens is part of our focus.” In other words, ensuring that communities of color have access to the vaccines is a top priority — which is the way it should be. But that could backfire because the problem isn’t so much access as it is trust.
Dr. Flojaune Cofer, an epidemiologist and a senior director of policy at the statewide nonprofit Public Health Advocates, describes it as “three hot takes” that add up to a no-win scenario.
The first option for counties is to roll out the vaccines to everyone at the same time, ignoring the fact that Black, Latino and Indigenous populations are getting COVID-19 at higher rates and are dying of it at younger ages than the rest of the population. That will lead to accusations that there’s “no equity because you’re just giving it to everybody all willy-nilly at the same time.”
The second option is to target Black people and roll it out in the neighborhoods that have logged the most cases. “But then,” Cofer said, “people are going to say, ‘Oh, no! You’re not gonna experiment on us like you did with Tuskegee.’”
The third option is to roll it out specifically to white people living in neighborhoods that haven’t been hit as hard by COVID-19. But then, Black people will say, “So you’re going to save yourselves and leave the rest of us to fend for ourselves?”
And all three of those hot takes, Cofer added, “are absolutely valid and correct.”
::
So what’s the solution then? I suspect that recommendations from a number of Black doctors who have agreed to vet federal regulators’ decisions about COVID-19 vaccines will help allay people’s fears. But, in the meantime, so will honesty and humility.
“We have to come out and say: ‘Look, vaccines have helped human history. And we want to hopefully get to the place where you feel comfortable taking a vaccine,’” Cofer said. “‘We recognize some of you are ready tomorrow, and some of you won’t be ready for several years. And that’s OK.’”
Eric J. Williams, a past president of the National Black Nurses Assn. and interim associate dean of health sciences at Santa Monica College, said he expects Black nurses and doctors to play an outsize role in persuading other Black people to get vaccinated.
One reason is they will be leading by example, as healthcare workers will be among the first to be vaccinated. They’ll be the real guinea pigs.
Another reason is that nurses, in particular, are used to teaching. Perez, for example, says he turns to facts when patients confront him with conspiracy theories, and uses examples about the importance of vaccines, such as how many Indigenous people would’ve been saved if they‘d had access to the smallpox vaccine.
“We teach every day when we do interactions with patients and their families and the community,” Williams said.
Looking ahead, though, the real solution must be about rebuilding public trust in the nation’s healthcare system, which is something that Black nurses and doctors have been calling on their white peers to do for decades.
That more than 13 million Americans have been infected with a potentially lethal virus and millions of others — of all races — would rather take their chances catching it than take a vaccine speaks volumes. That’s not a problem Black doctors and nurses can fix alone, nor should they be asked to.
“If you want patients to get vaccinated, we also need to do our part in order to kind of create trustworthiness in the community,” Johnson said. “I think that there needs to be a call to action for all healthcare providers to think about that.”


latimes--2020-11-29--L.A. County Dist. Atty. Jackie Lacey's security team fires at would-be car thieves outside her home

A security team assigned to Los Angeles County Dist .
Atty .
Jackie Lacey was involved in a shooting Saturday @ @ @ @ @ home over an attempted car theft , authorities said .
The shooting and attempted theft @ @ @ @ @ the 17900 block of Mayerling Street was reported at 6:20 p.m. , a Los Angeles @ @ @ @ @ Service .
According to police , the security officers were in two cars parked outside @ @ @ @ @ As an officer exited one of the cars , two people pulled up in their @ @ @ @ @ them then tried to get into the empty security vehicle , prompting the shooting .
@ @ @ @ @ scene without being struck by gunfire , the dispatcher said .
Lacey lost her reelection @ @ @ @ @ former San Francisco Dist .
Atty .
George Gascón , who will takeover the nation @ @ @ @ @ s office in January .

A security team assigned to Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. Jackie Lacey was involved in a shooting Saturday evening outside her Granada Hills home over an attempted car theft, authorities said.
The shooting and attempted theft of a security vehicle in the 17900 block of Mayerling Street was reported at 6:20 p.m., a Los Angeles police dispatcher told City News Service.
According to police, the security officers were in two cars parked outside Lacey’s home. As an officer exited one of the cars, two people pulled up in their own vehicle. One of them then tried to get into the empty security vehicle, prompting the shooting.
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The two suspects fled the scene without being struck by gunfire, the dispatcher said.
Lacey lost her reelection bid earlier this month to former San Francisco Dist. Atty. George Gascón, who will take over the nation’s largest prosecutor’s office in January.


latimes--2020-11-28--Six Buddhist temples vandalized across Little Saigon this month

Thai Viet Phan , who was recently elected to the Santa Ana City Council , was stunned when she received the advisory notice from the Buddhist temple she attended growing up .
Huong Tich Temple had been vandalized and Santa Ana police had deemed it a hate crime .
It was the sixth temple to be vandalized in the area in the last month .
Outside the temple ’ s entrance , 15 stone Buddha and Bodhisattva statues were defaced with black spray paint .
On the back of one read “ Jesus ” vertically down the spine .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s beyond vandalism .
It ’ s a hate crime targeted at the Vietnamese American Buddhist community , and we will not stand for that , ” Phan told reporters at a news conference held outside a temple in nearby Westminster on Saturday .
Growing up , she attended Sunday school in her small neighborhood temple , Huong Tich , and she made an effort to rekindle relations with her temple while recently campaigning for a seat on the City Council , where she will serve as the city ’ s first @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , wearing masks and carrying cans of spray paint , were caught on video surveillance footage late Monday evening trespassing and defacing statues at the Santa Ana temple .
Both were seen in dark clothing , one wearing a blue Patriots beanie and the other a black beanie .
Police investigating all six incidents of vandalism say they could be related and are pursuing at least two suspects .
Three temples have been vandalized with black spray paint in Garden Grove , two in Santa Ana and one in Westminster .
A similar @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Ana and two houses of worship in Garden Grove occurred in 2018 , resulting in a woman arrested for breaking off pieces of the statues .
Police officials from the three cities have begun a coordinated investigation and do not believe the person involved in the earlier incident is related to the current hate crime .
Sgt .
Gil Hernandez said Santa Ana police have stepped up patrols at temples across the city and have been sharing evidence with neighboring police departments .
“ The damage to property is not what keeps us @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the most , it ’ s the hate crime in itself and the negative impact to interfaith relations in our community , ” the Venerable Vien Hay of the Dieu Ngu Temple , one of the affected temples in Westminster , said in Vietnamese .
The latest incident comes one month after Orange County released its 2019 hate crimes report , which showed a 24 % rise in hate crimes from 2018 .
Last year also marked the fifth straight year of increasing hate crimes in the county .
With the ongoing pandemic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ worry the number of hate crimes will continue to grow .
Garden Grove City Councilwoman Diedre Nguyen , who organized Saturday ’ s news conference , said she worried of what the hate crimes may signal for her community .
Nguyen said she was heartbroken to see thousands of dollars in damage at places of peace and worship .
“ I ’ m mostly scared that because of our culture , many people won ’ t feel comfortable reporting these incidents , ” Nguyen said , “ but I want to get out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ know anything .
”

A Buddhist statue at Huong Tich Temple in Santa Ana was recently vandalized. This is one of a string of vandalism incidents at Buddhist temples across the Little Saigon community in Orange County.
Thai Viet Phan, who was recently elected to the Santa Ana City Council, was stunned when she received the advisory notice from the Buddhist temple she attended growing up.
Huong Tich Temple had been vandalized and Santa Ana police had deemed it a hate crime. It was the sixth temple to be vandalized in the area in the last month.
Outside the temple’s entrance, 15 stone Buddha and Bodhisattva statues were defaced with black spray paint. On the back of one read “Jesus” vertically down the spine.
“It’s beyond trespass. It’s beyond vandalism. It’s a hate crime targeted at the Vietnamese American Buddhist community, and we will not stand for that,” Phan told reporters at a news conference held outside a temple in nearby Westminster on Saturday.
Growing up, she attended Sunday school in her small neighborhood temple, Huong Tich, and she made an effort to rekindle relations with her temple while recently campaigning for a seat on the City Council, where she will serve as the city’s first Vietnamese American council member.
Two women, wearing masks and carrying cans of spray paint, were caught on video surveillance footage late Monday evening trespassing and defacing statues at the Santa Ana temple. Both were seen in dark clothing, one wearing a blue Patriots beanie and the other a black beanie.
Local elected officials and police officers gather at Dieu Ngu Temple in Westminster on Saturday afternoon for a news conference regarding a string of vandalism incidents at Buddhist temples across the Little Saigon community. (Stephanie Lai / Los Angeles Times)
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Police investigating all six incidents of vandalism say they could be related and are pursuing at least two suspects. Three temples have been vandalized with black spray paint in Garden Grove, two in Santa Ana and one in Westminster.
A similar vandalism incident of five temples in Santa Ana and two houses of worship in Garden Grove occurred in 2018, resulting in a woman arrested for breaking off pieces of the statues. Police officials from the three cities have begun a coordinated investigation and do not believe the person involved in the earlier incident is related to the current hate crime.
Sgt. Gil Hernandez said Santa Ana police have stepped up patrols at temples across the city and have been sharing evidence with neighboring police departments.
“The damage to property is not what keeps us up at night or what bothers us the most, it’s the hate crime in itself and the negative impact to interfaith relations in our community,” the Venerable Vien Hay of the Dieu Ngu Temple, one of the affected temples in Westminster, said in Vietnamese.
The latest incident comes one month after Orange County released its 2019 hate crimes report, which showed a 24% rise in hate crimes from 2018. Last year also marked the fifth straight year of increasing hate crimes in the county. With the ongoing pandemic and backlash targeting Asian Americans, officials worry the number of hate crimes will continue to grow.
Garden Grove City Councilwoman Diedre Nguyen, who organized Saturday’s news conference, said she worried of what the hate crimes may signal for her community. Nguyen said she was heartbroken to see thousands of dollars in damage at places of peace and worship.
“I’m mostly scared that because of our culture, many people won’t feel comfortable reporting these incidents,” Nguyen said, “but I want to get out the message that they should if they know anything.”


latimes--2020-11-27--Along the crumbling Sonoma Coast, an ambitious project paves the way for 'managed retreat'

A few winding turns past Bodega Bay , along foggy bluffs and coastal prairie , relentless waves pound a crumbling stretch of coastline in dire need of saving .
Here at Gleason Beach , once referred to as Malibu North , the beach gets drowned during high tide .
Bits of concrete and rebar are all that remain of 11 cliff-top homes that have already surrendered to the sea .
A graveyard of seawalls , smashed into pieces , litters the shore .
Highway 1 now hangs inches from what seems like the edge of the world .
For decades @ @ @ @ @ @ @ road from the ocean — pouring millions of tax dollars into a vicious cycle of sudden collapses and emergency repairs .
Last year , this critical lifeline for the region was reduced to one lane .
With the realities of climate change looming ever closer , California transportation officials are now moving a key stretch of highway more than 350 feet inland — one of the first major efforts by the state to relocate , or “ manage retreat , ” critical infrastructure far enough from the coast to make room for the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
The ambitious project — approved this month after more than a decade of planning — comes at a time when city and state leaders across California are waking up to the social and economic disasters of sea level rise .
At least $ 8 billion in property could be underwater by 2050 , according to recent legislative reports , with an additional $ 10 billion at risk during high tides .
Heavier storms and more intense cycles of El Niño could make things even worse .
In a set of targets guided @ @ @ @ @ @ @ administration , many agencies agreed this year to prepare California for at least 3.5 feet of sea level rise by 2050 .
The painful reimagining of Gleason Beach offers a glimpse into the future for other communities now clashing over the costs and compromises of living by the sea .
At the heart of this $ 73-million project is a reckoning over what is worth saving — and what is worth sacrificing — and whether it ’ s possible to redesign a treasured landscape so that it survives into the future .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a lot of change to cope with , but it ’ s also an opportunity for communities to think about : What are the coastal resources we want to have access to 50 , 100 years from now ?
” said Tami Grove , the California Coastal Commission ’ s statewide transportation program manager .
“ It gets lost , sometimes , when people are worried about everything that we ’ re going to lose to sea level rise — but there are things that we ’ re going to be able to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ future if we start planning now.
” Maintaining this critical stretch of Highway 1 has been a decades-long saga .
It is the only evacuation route for many residents , as well as the only way to reach many of Sonoma ’ s beaches and sweeping vistas — the economic and cultural soul of the region .
Photos from the 1970s show more than 20 bluff-top homes and a wide sandy beach buffering the highway from the sea .
But the particularly unstable cliffs in this area have been eroding about 1 foot @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sea level rise and sudden landslides .
With most of the homes and beach now gone , the highway has struggled to hold the line between land and sea .
Since 2004 , Caltrans has spent about $ 10 million in emergency defenses and failed repairs .
The cliffs and beach today are cluttered with remnants of human engineering .
“ This is what unmanaged retreat looks like , and it is quite frankly a hot mess of septic systems , old house parts and armoring that have fallen into the intertidal zone @ @ @ @ @ @ @ up , ” said Sonoma County Supervisor Lynda Hopkins .
“ If we don ’ t start planning ahead and taking proactive measures , Mother Nature will make the decisions for us.
” In an interagency collaboration that many said was a major coup in government bureaucracy , the California Department of Transportation , the Coastal Commission and county leaders hammered out a plan to relocate 0.7 miles of the highway — largely with a new 850-foot-long bridge spanning Scotty Creek where it meets the ocean .
Compromise wasn ’ t easy : @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tried to balance safety codes , traffic needs , fragile habitats , public access to the coast and other competing requirements that were tricky to meet given the topography — not to mention all the nearby properties and getting a skeptical community on board .
The concrete bridge ( a monstrous overpass or a reasonable compromise , depending on who ’ s talking ) will allow the creek to flow freely into the ocean again — making room for more red-legged frogs , Myrtle ’ s silverspot butterflies and the passage of steelhead @ @ @ @ @ @ @ highway avoids paving over wetlands , officials said , giving these drowning habitats the space to migrate inland as the sea rises .
Caltrans also agreed , as part of the project , to pay $ 5 million to help clean up the mess of abandoned homes and failed road repairs .
An additional $ 6.5 million will go toward wetland , creek and prairie restoration .
Some of the old highway will be converted into a coastal trail , and the public will have access to a new parking area and a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ property .
Officials have also set aside $ 2.7 million to negotiate and acquire land from three private properties , including necessary portions of a nearby ranch that will be most impacted by the realigned highway .
Once completed , much of the open space will be transferred to Sonoma County to manage on behalf of the public .
Philip and Roberta Ballard , the ranch owners , said they ’ ve come to understand the necessity of this project .
The bridge still feels way too big — especially for this rural @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hearts 21 years ago — but the Ballards have dedicated their energy over time into making sure Scotty Creek gets restored as part of the deal .
The creek , the largest watershed between Salmon Creek and the Russian River , has needed help for years , they said .
In addition to its flow getting choked by a culvert that was installed in 1952 for the highway , the lower creek has been denuded of its vegetation .
“ A lot of our efforts have gone into trying to make the best @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” said Roberta Ballard , who is a professor emeritus of pediatrics , along with her husband , at UC San Francisco .
“ But the bridge is pretty ugly.
” Other residents and trail groups said a giant concrete bridge , no matter what color you paint it , would forever alter the majesty of the Sonoma Coast , where much of the coastal protection movement of the 1960s and ’ 70s was born .
Their many suggestions for a less intrusive solution were ignored , they said .
“ Let ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ much of the place itself , ” said Richard Charter , a longtime resident and senior fellow at the Ocean Foundation .
“ This is going to be the largest man-made structure on the Sonoma Coast .
It ’ s going to be visible from everywhere , and it ’ s going to completely obliterate what we thought we had saved on our coast.
” Some environmental groups , such as the Surfrider Foundation , supported the managed retreat process but questioned the small seawall included in the deal to protect a driveway @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Stefan Galvez-Abadia , Caltrans district division chief of environmental planning and engineering , acknowledged these concerns and said that after so many years of seminars and talks about climate change adaptation , turning an abstract concept like managed retreat into reality has been a very complex exercise in compromise .
His team is trying to design a prettier bridge that ’ s more fitting for the rural landscape .
They ’ ve studied the arched columns of Bixby Creek Bridge on the Big Sur coast and other man-made landmarks .
The project @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Regarding the more minimal options suggested by concerned residents , many did not meet seismic or safety standards — the bridge needs to be high enough for emergency vehicles to pass under , officials said , as well as for worst-case flood scenarios .
Other suggestions were not enough in size nor distance to outlast coastal erosion into 2100 .
“ You don ’ t have many choices when it comes to sea level rise … whichever way you chose , you ’ re going to have some kind of impact , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the difficult decisions that we will all have to make as a region , as a community for generations to come.
” Gary Griggs , a longtime coastal erosion expert at UC Santa Cruz who has been studying what the future of managed retreat will look like for California , said there have been very few case studies so far and was struck by how much time — and money — it takes to relocate a stretch of highway that isn ’ t even in an area as populated as Malibu or the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ gets more interesting — and a lot more complicated with the trade-offs , he said .
“ What ’ s happening at Gleason Beach is a good example of what can be done and another step forward.
” Back on Highway 1 , Stavan Cook recalled the bluff-top cottage he grew up in .
Old photos showed the house with a 20-foot yard and stairs that led down to the beach .
His father , an architect , made a few additions over the years as the cliff continued to erode .
His @ @ @ @ @ @ @ But after a devastating storm in 1997 , they finally decided to manage their own retreat : jacking up their house and moving it to a new parcel inland .
Now a locksmith at Bodega Coast Lock and Key , Cook relies on this coastal highway that connects his whole community , driving each day past the crumbling lot where his home once overlooked the sea .
“ I ’ ve seen the cliff erode for my entire life , ” he said .
“ We have to do something , and if @ @ @ @ @ @ @ takes , well , that ’ s what it takes .
”

At Gleason Beach, remnants of homes and piles of broken seawalls clutter the coastline next to Highway 1.
A few winding turns past Bodega Bay, along foggy bluffs and coastal prairie, relentless waves pound a crumbling stretch of coastline in dire need of saving.
Here at Gleason Beach, once referred to as Malibu North, the beach gets drowned during high tide. Bits of concrete and rebar are all that remain of 11 cliff-top homes that have already surrendered to the sea. A graveyard of seawalls, smashed into pieces, litters the shore.
Highway 1 now hangs inches from what seems like the edge of the world. For decades, officials have scrambled to save the road from the ocean — pouring millions of tax dollars into a vicious cycle of sudden collapses and emergency repairs. Last year, this critical lifeline for the region was reduced to one lane.
Advertisement
With the realities of climate change looming ever closer, California transportation officials are now moving a key stretch of highway more than 350 feet inland — one of the first major efforts by the state to relocate, or “manage retreat,” critical infrastructure far enough from the coast to make room for the next 100 years of sea level rise.
The ambitious project — approved this month after more than a decade of planning — comes at a time when city and state leaders across California are waking up to the social and economic disasters of sea level rise. At least $8 billion in property could be underwater by 2050, according to recent legislative reports, with an additional $10 billion at risk during high tides. Heavier storms and more intense cycles of El Niño could make things even worse.
In a set of targets guided by Gov. Gavin Newsom’s administration, many agencies agreed this year to prepare California for at least 3.5 feet of sea level rise by 2050.
The painful reimagining of Gleason Beach offers a glimpse into the future for other communities now clashing over the costs and compromises of living by the sea. At the heart of this $73-million project is a reckoning over what is worth saving — and what is worth sacrificing — and whether it’s possible to redesign a treasured landscape so that it survives into the future.
“It seems daunting; it’s a lot of change to cope with, but it’s also an opportunity for communities to think about: What are the coastal resources we want to have access to 50, 100 years from now?” said Tami Grove, the California Coastal Commission’s statewide transportation program manager. “It gets lost, sometimes, when people are worried about everything that we’re going to lose to sea level rise — but there are things that we’re going to be able to choose and enhance and design into the future if we start planning now.”
Maintaining this critical stretch of Highway 1 has been a decades-long saga. It is the only evacuation route for many residents, as well as the only way to reach many of Sonoma’s beaches and sweeping vistas — the economic and cultural soul of the region.
Advertisement
Photos from the 1970s show more than 20 bluff-top homes and a wide sandy beach buffering the highway from the sea. But the particularly unstable cliffs in this area have been eroding about 1 foot a year on average, exacerbated by sea level rise and sudden landslides.
With most of the homes and beach now gone, the highway has struggled to hold the line between land and sea. Since 2004, Caltrans has spent about $10 million in emergency defenses and failed repairs. The cliffs and beach today are cluttered with remnants of human engineering.
As part of the highway realignment project, Caltrans agreed to pay $5 million to help clean up all the shattered homes and seawalls on the beach. (Carolyn Cole / Los Angeles Times)
“This is what unmanaged retreat looks like, and it is quite frankly a hot mess of septic systems, old house parts and armoring that have fallen into the intertidal zone with no real mechanism for cleaning it up,” said Sonoma County Supervisor Lynda Hopkins. “If we don’t start planning ahead and taking proactive measures, Mother Nature will make the decisions for us.”
In an interagency collaboration that many said was a major coup in government bureaucracy, the California Department of Transportation, the Coastal Commission and county leaders came together and hammered out a plan to relocate 0.7 miles of the highway — largely with a new 850-foot-long bridge spanning Scotty Creek where it meets the ocean.
Compromise wasn’t easy: Officials studied more than 20 alternatives that tried to balance safety codes, traffic needs, fragile habitats, public access to the coast and other competing requirements that were tricky to meet given the topography — not to mention all the nearby properties and getting a skeptical community on board.
The concrete bridge (a monstrous overpass or a reasonable compromise, depending on who’s talking) will allow the creek to flow freely into the ocean again — making room for more red-legged frogs, Myrtle’s silverspot butterflies and the passage of steelhead trout and coho salmon. Elevating the highway avoids paving over wetlands, officials said, giving these drowning habitats the space to migrate inland as the sea rises.
A rendering of the proposed bridge over Scotty Creek, which elevates and realigns Highway 1 further inland to account for the next 100 years of sea level rise. (California Department of Transportation)
Caltrans also agreed, as part of the project, to pay $5 million to help clean up the mess of abandoned homes and failed road repairs. An additional $6.5 million will go toward wetland, creek and prairie restoration. Some of the old highway will be converted into a coastal trail, and the public will have access to a new parking area and a beach that was once limited by private property.
Officials have also set aside $2.7 million to negotiate and acquire land from three private properties, including necessary portions of a nearby ranch that will be most impacted by the realigned highway. Once completed, much of the open space will be transferred to Sonoma County to manage on behalf of the public.
Philip and Roberta Ballard, the ranch owners, said they’ve come to understand the necessity of this project. The bridge still feels way too big — especially for this rural stretch of paradise that first captured their hearts 21 years ago — but the Ballards have dedicated their energy over time into making sure Scotty Creek gets restored as part of the deal.
The creek, the largest watershed between Salmon Creek and the Russian River, has needed help for years, they said. In addition to its flow getting choked by a culvert that was installed in 1952 for the highway, the lower creek has been denuded of its vegetation.
“A lot of our efforts have gone into trying to make the best out of something that is necessary,” said Roberta Ballard, who is a professor emeritus of pediatrics, along with her husband, at UC San Francisco. “But the bridge is pretty ugly.”
Other residents and trail groups said a giant concrete bridge, no matter what color you paint it, would forever alter the majesty of the Sonoma Coast, where much of the coastal protection movement of the 1960s and ’70s was born. Their many suggestions for a less intrusive solution were ignored, they said.
“Let’s fix the road without destroying so much of the place itself,” said Richard Charter, a longtime resident and senior fellow at the Ocean Foundation. “This is going to be the largest man-made structure on the Sonoma Coast. It’s going to be visible from everywhere, and it’s going to completely obliterate what we thought we had saved on our coast.”
Some environmental groups, such as the Surfrider Foundation, supported the managed retreat process but questioned the small seawall included in the deal to protect a driveway and a portion of the coastal trail.
Stefan Galvez-Abadia, Caltrans district division chief of environmental planning and engineering, acknowledged these concerns and said that after so many years of seminars and talks about climate change adaptation, turning an abstract concept like managed retreat into reality has been a very complex exercise in compromise.
His team is trying to design a prettier bridge that’s more fitting for the rural landscape. They’ve studied the arched columns of Bixby Creek Bridge on the Big Sur coast and other man-made landmarks that have become iconic over time. The project is expected to break ground next summer.
Regarding the more minimal options suggested by concerned residents, many did not meet seismic or safety standards — the bridge needs to be high enough for emergency vehicles to pass under, officials said, as well as for worst-case flood scenarios. Other suggestions were not enough in size nor distance to outlast coastal erosion into 2100.
“You don’t have many choices when it comes to sea level rise … whichever way you chose, you’re going to have some kind of impact,” Galvez-Abadia said. “These are the difficult decisions that we will all have to make as a region, as a community for generations to come.”
Gary Griggs, a longtime coastal erosion expert at UC Santa Cruz who has been studying what the future of managed retreat will look like for California, said there have been very few case studies so far and was struck by how much time — and money — it takes to relocate a stretch of highway that isn’t even in an area as populated as Malibu or the Bay Area.
Each managed retreat project gets more interesting — and a lot more complicated with the trade-offs, he said. “What’s happening at Gleason Beach is a good example of what can be done and another step forward.”
Back on Highway 1, Stavan Cook recalled the bluff-top cottage he grew up in. Old photos showed the house with a 20-foot yard and stairs that led down to the beach.
His father, an architect, made a few additions over the years as the cliff continued to erode. His family tried putting up a seawall. But after a devastating storm in 1997, they finally decided to manage their own retreat: jacking up their house and moving it to a new parcel inland.
Now a locksmith at Bodega Coast Lock and Key, Cook relies on this coastal highway that connects his whole community, driving each day past the crumbling lot where his home once overlooked the sea.
“I’ve seen the cliff erode for my entire life,” he said. “We have to do something, and if putting in a bridge is what it takes, well, that’s what it takes.”


latimes--2020-11-26--Proposed aerial gondola for Dodgers fans ignites controversy at Los Angeles State Historic Park

To the average visitor , Los Angeles State Historic Park looks to be an urban oasis — a serene expanse of rolling grass and shady glens tucked between Chinatown and the Los Angeles River .
But the park ’ s assorted picnickers , joggers and children flying kites belie a long history of conflict , one that continues to this day .
The park , which opened on Earth Day 2017 , is just a few blocks from the site where hundreds of white rioters killed 19 Chinese men and boys on Oct. 24 , 1871 .
And just to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ forced more than a thousand mostly Latino families from Chavez Ravine in the 1950s to build the stadium where the Dodgers now play .
In the 1990s , the 32-acre tract had become a legal battleground when the city planned to transform it into a warehouse center .
Yielding to pressure from activists , California State Parks acquired the property for a park in 2001 .
It was built 16 years later with $ 20 million in voter-approved Proposition 40 bond funds and touted as a model for solving land use battles in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ funded by former Dodgers owner Frank McCourt has proposed a $ 125-million electric aerial gondola system to ferry baseball fans and concertgoers from Union Station over the park to Dodger Stadium — and community activists have weighed in with a barrage of concerns .
“ This park is a tribute not just to the historic struggle that created it but to the communities that continue to fight for it , ” said Jon Christensen , an environmental historian at UCLA .
“ Nothing comes without struggle , ” he added .
“ But @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the value of the park for their projects respect its historic nature and realize their obligations to those communities.
” Among the community members is Xochitl Manzanilla , 78 , a park volunteer who lives in a nearby public housing development in Chinatown .
Standing on a pedestrian bridge in the park with panoramic views of the L.A. skyline , she wagged a finger in disapproval and said , “ We don ’ t want gondolas in this park .
People come here to enjoy nature , open space and fly kites high @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of talk has the developer bracing for a fierce debate as the Los Angeles Aerial Rapid Transit project enters the environmental review phase .
The project envisions two competing proposals : the southern Broadway alignment and the Spring Street alignment .
Both would encroach upon and cross portions of the park with a passenger tower , stanchions , aerial cables and gondola cars able to whisk some 5,500 people per hour from Union Station to the stadium in about seven minutes , the developer said .
Proponents say it would help reduce traffic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Street alignment would have the biggest effect on the park ’ s recreational opportunities , views and archaeological resources , according to state parks officials .
Conversely , it would provide the most direct path with the fewest turns and potential clashes with property owners for the developer , officials said .
Cindy Starret , an attorney and manager of the project , said that the developer “ is happy ” to help state parks officials and local stakeholders secure funding for improvements including a pedestrian bridge linking the park to a nearby @ @ @ @ @ @ @ is to have a partnership , ” Starret said .
“ We are offering to help with the cost of the pedestrian bridge .
If the state wants more say , restrooms , we can help with that .
It has proposed more tree planting .
We can help with that too.
” But a big worry buzzing around the park is the scale and design of a passenger station to be built on city property just south of the park boundary , where gondola cars would make a 90-degree turn off Spring @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the park and continue up to their destination in the stadium parking lot owned by the McCourt family .
Critics say developer ’ s renderings suggest that the station would be about 75 feet tall with a huge , curved roof ( designed to mimic the shape of a bird in flight ) that would tower over the park ’ s nearby visitor pavilion , ranger station , promenade and orchards .
Its cables and steady stream of moving gondola cars would block views of the park ’ s rolling grasslands , urban @ @ @ @ @ @ @ foot .
In a recent letter to the Los Angeles County Metropolitan Transportation Authority , which has agreed to act as the lead agency for the environmental impact report , Patricia Perez , board chair of the nonprofit Los Angeles River State Park Partners , complained that “ these unobstructed views are now being promoted by the developer as a gondola benefit.
” The gondola rides , which would cost about $ 10 each way , would fly roughly 30 feet over historic sites including where a Spanish expeditionary force led by Capt @ @ @ @ @ @ @ River in 1759 and set up a base camp near the Native American village of Yang-Na .
Across that terrain ran the Zanja Madre , a web of brick and mortar conduits fed by a large water wheel that carried irrigation water in the young city .
Entombed in dirt nearby are remnants of a passenger station built in 1876 to serve the newly arrived Southern Pacific Railroad .
Supporters of the gondola line include Martin Farfan , president of Cathedral High School , just a stone ’ s throw from the northwestern @ @ @ @ @ @ @ love the Dodgers , ” said Farfan , whose school receives donations of $ 5,000 to $ 10,000 each year from the McCourt family to help provide scholarships for students .
“ Beyond that , I ’ m in favor of anything we can do to get vehicles off Los Angeles ’ freeways.
” But opponents worry the project could transform the surrounding working-class neighborhoods into a commercial center festooned with corporate advertising .
The area , after all , is already struggling to contain gentrification triggered by creation of the park on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ yard .
It ’ s not a development plan that Julia Meltzer , a community activist and founder of Clockshop , a nonprofit arts organization in nearby Elysian Valley , will be keen to promote .
Sitting on a boulder in the proposed path of the gondola line on a recent weekday , she looked up at western bluebirds flitting in the highest branches of 20-foot sycamore trees .
From the elevated windows of a crowded gondola car , she said , the trees would tell a less vibrant story .
“ Project @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ‘ Think of the views you ’ ll get from the gondolas , ’ ” she said with a deep sigh .
“ We say , ‘ Think of the views you ’ ll destroy at a park people fought like hell to create .
’ ”

To the average visitor, Los Angeles State Historic Park looks to be an urban oasis — a serene expanse of rolling grass and shady glens tucked between Chinatown and the Los Angeles River.
But the park’s assorted picnickers, joggers and children flying kites belie a long history of conflict, one that continues to this day.
The park, which opened on Earth Day 2017, is just a few blocks from the site where hundreds of white rioters killed 19 Chinese men and boys on Oct. 24, 1871. And just to the north, developers and city officials forced more than a thousand mostly Latino families from Chavez Ravine in the 1950s to build the stadium where the Dodgers now play.
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In the 1990s, the 32-acre tract had become a legal battleground when the city planned to transform it into a warehouse center. Yielding to pressure from activists, California State Parks acquired the property for a park in 2001. It was built 16 years later with $20 million in voter-approved Proposition 40 bond funds and touted as a model for solving land use battles in metropolitan areas.
Now, a company funded by former Dodgers owner Frank McCourt has proposed a $125-million electric aerial gondola system to ferry baseball fans and concertgoers from Union Station over the park to Dodger Stadium — and community activists have weighed in with a barrage of concerns.
“This park is a tribute not just to the historic struggle that created it but to the communities that continue to fight for it,” said Jon Christensen, an environmental historian at UCLA.
“Nothing comes without struggle,” he added. “But I hope that developers who will reap the value of the park for their projects respect its historic nature and realize their obligations to those communities.”
Among the community members is Xochitl Manzanilla, 78, a park volunteer who lives in a nearby public housing development in Chinatown.
Xochitl Manzanilla, 78, who serves on a housing and development council, describes standing on the pedestrian bridge overlooking Los Angeles State Historic Park as her “Titanic moment.” (Al Seib / Los Angeles Times)
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Standing on a pedestrian bridge in the park with panoramic views of the L.A. skyline, she wagged a finger in disapproval and said, “We don’t want gondolas in this park. People come here to enjoy nature, open space and fly kites high up in the sky.”
That kind of talk has the developer bracing for a fierce debate as the Los Angeles Aerial Rapid Transit project enters the environmental review phase.
The project envisions two competing proposals: the southern Broadway alignment and the Spring Street alignment. Both would encroach upon and cross portions of the park with a passenger tower, stanchions, aerial cables and gondola cars able to whisk some 5,500 people per hour from Union Station to the stadium in about seven minutes, the developer said. Proponents say it would help reduce traffic and improve air quality.
The Spring Street alignment would have the biggest effect on the park’s recreational opportunities, views and archaeological resources, according to state parks officials. Conversely, it would provide the most direct path with the fewest turns and potential clashes with property owners for the developer, officials said.
Cindy Starret, an attorney and manager of the project, said that the developer “is happy” to help state parks officials and local stakeholders secure funding for improvements including a pedestrian bridge linking the park to a nearby Gold Line station.
“Our approach is to have a partnership,” Starret said. “We are offering to help with the cost of the pedestrian bridge. If the state wants more say, restrooms, we can help with that. It has proposed more tree planting. We can help with that too.”
But a big worry buzzing around the park is the scale and design of a passenger station to be built on city property just south of the park boundary, where gondola cars would make a 90-degree turn off Spring Street, cross over the mid-section of the park and continue up to their destination in the stadium parking lot owned by the McCourt family.
A company funded by former Dodgers owner Frank McCourt has proposed a $125-million gondola lift that would fly customers over Los Angeles State Historic Park from Union Station to Dodger Stadium. (Al Seib / Los Angeles Times)
Critics say developer’s renderings suggest that the station would be about 75 feet tall with a huge, curved roof (designed to mimic the shape of a bird in flight) that would tower over the park’s nearby visitor pavilion, ranger station, promenade and orchards. Its cables and steady stream of moving gondola cars would block views of the park’s rolling grasslands, urban forests and downtown skyscrapers for people on foot.
In a recent letter to the Los Angeles County Metropolitan Transportation Authority, which has agreed to act as the lead agency for the environmental impact report, Patricia Perez, board chair of the nonprofit Los Angeles River State Park Partners, complained that “these unobstructed views are now being promoted by the developer as a gondola benefit.”
The gondola rides, which would cost about $10 each way, would fly roughly 30 feet over historic sites including where a Spanish expeditionary force led by Capt. Gaspar de Portolá forded the L.A. River in 1759 and set up a base camp near the Native American village of Yang-Na.
Across that terrain ran the Zanja Madre, a web of brick and mortar conduits fed by a large water wheel that carried irrigation water in the young city. Entombed in dirt nearby are remnants of a passenger station built in 1876 to serve the newly arrived Southern Pacific Railroad.
Supporters of the gondola line include Martin Farfan, president of Cathedral High School, just a stone’s throw from the northwestern corner of the park.
“I love the Dodgers,” said Farfan, whose school receives donations of $5,000 to $10,000 each year from the McCourt family to help provide scholarships for students. “Beyond that, I’m in favor of anything we can do to get vehicles off Los Angeles’ freeways.”
But opponents worry the project could transform the surrounding working-class neighborhoods into a commercial center festooned with corporate advertising. The area, after all, is already struggling to contain gentrification triggered by creation of the park on what had been an abandoned downtown rail yard.
Julia Meltzer, founder of Clockshop, a nonprofit arts organization in the nearby Elysian Valley neighborhood, visits Los Angeles State Historic Park. (Al Seib / Los Angeles Times )
It’s not a development plan that Julia Meltzer, a community activist and founder of Clockshop, a nonprofit arts organization in nearby Elysian Valley, will be keen to promote.
Sitting on a boulder in the proposed path of the gondola line on a recent weekday, she looked up at western bluebirds flitting in the highest branches of 20-foot sycamore trees. From the elevated windows of a crowded gondola car, she said, the trees would tell a less vibrant story.
“Project promoters have the nerve to say, ‘Think of the views you’ll get from the gondolas,’” she said with a deep sigh. “We say, ‘Think of the views you’ll destroy at a park people fought like hell to create.’”