The Brief

Mariela Spillari remembers the first year the L.A. Pride Parade went back to Hollywood in 2022.

It was a significant time in the parade’s history because the Christopher Street West festivities were leaving West Hollywood for good, and moving back to the roots of the first 1970 parade.

As parade director and producer, Spillari wasn’t sure what kind of crowd they’d get, but thousands of people came. She recalled an emotional moment when a woman marched by with an “amo mi hija trans” sign — “I love my trans daughter.”

“I almost lost it,” said Spillari, who was born in Guatemala. “I’m on a walkie and I just stopped and was like ‘whoa, if this is the kind of impact that this is having, you just can’t put a price on that. You can’t put a value on that’.”

L.A. Pride returns this weekend on June 8 and 9. The parade is in its 54th year, so we decided to take a look at what goes into keeping the oldest permitted pride parade in the world rolling.

The lead-up to the big day

This year will be Spillari’s fourth parade. She and her team spend about six months planning, starting in the beginning of the year.

At left, Mariela Spillari with a member of the team at the L.A. Pride Parade.

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Courtesy Mariela Spillari

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The Christopher Street West Association picks the parade theme (this year it’s Power in Pride). They’ve put on the parade since 1970, and they only have two full-time employees. Contractors are brought in to prepare for June.

As the co-founder of L.A.-based Prima Agency, Spillari and her crew are brought in because of their experience running large-scale events, like the Rose Bowl Parade.

“Parades in general, just the celebratory nature of them, are something that is so significant to a lot of people,” Spillari said. “Then with Pride itself, it just has such an emotional impact and can mean so much to the community. That’s why we take it so seriously.”

Participants ride on a float during the 2023 LA Pride Parade in Hollywood

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Mario Tama

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Her team starts with building the registration form, and later they pick which groups actually walk on parade day. She said this year they’ve “received more applications than ever.”

Official pride parades in general are quite famous for having a lot of big corporate sponsors. But to choose who walks, Spillari said they look at a variety of places, like an organization’s Human Rights Campaign score, Guidestar rating and social media posts to see if and how a company or nonprofit supports LGBTQ+ people.

Stepping off to march

A marcher with PFLAG walks at the 2023 LA Pride Parade with a sign that says "love" in in Chinese

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On parade day, everyone is bustling with energy.

This will be L.A. Pride’s 54th and largest parade yet. There will be 165 groups marching, ranging from small groups to Disney and ABC7, which is going to have four vehicles and 200 people.

Everyone gets to Hollywood bright and early on Sunday. Spillari said it’s “organized chaos” as floats get in order, fire department inspections happen, and groups work individually to get their people fed and pumped.

“We’re looking at half-built floats and stilt walkers and balloons and florals and all kinds of beautiful, creative, incredible stuff,” Spillari said.

The day-of-production team is about 25 people, made up of mostly women and queer people, Spillari said. They fly in from places like New York, Atlanta, Texas, and San Francisco. Their job is to keep track of everyone and communicate with Spillari about what’s happening on the route.

“I’m actually right at the start of the parade at our step off,” she said, “and have a megaphone and the honor of welcoming everyone in.”

At 11 a.m., people start marching north on Highland Avenue. They turn onto Hollywood Boulevard where a crowd of more than 100,000 people cheer on.

The parade’s a little over a mile long. Once groups turn south onto Cahuenga Boulevard, a disbanding team helps them disassemble. And that’s a wrap.

“It’s truly one of my favorite weekends,” Spillari said. “Year after year, we just get refueled and want to do it all over again.”

If you’re already planning to return a holiday gift that you’re just not that into, you could be in for a surprise.

More stores and shopping outlets are charging a restocking fee or a return surcharge of some kind. And many are also imposing deadlines or restrictions on returns, according to the National Retail Federation.

A quick search turned up these policies that might complicate your return plans:

• Best Buy charges a restocking fee of $45, or 15% of the purchase price on certain items, such as prepaid cell phones, cameras, drones and projector screens and … saunas.
• Macy’s offers free in-store and return shipping for its Star Rewards members, but non-members can face a $9.99 return shipping fee, plus tax, that will be deducted from your refund.
• UNIQLO requires online purchases to be returned online, not in a brick-and-mortar location.

How we got here

The reason is simple. We love to return stuff. Retailers are expected to see nearly $850 billion — with a "b" — in returns this year. And nearly 20% of online sales will be returned, according to a report by the National Retail Federation. (Interesting fact: Gen Zers are more likely to return an online purchase, the report found.)

Processing all those returns cuts into company profits. And then there’s the fraud, abuse and waste that goes along with it. (This includes everything from returning empty boxes, using and abusing items and then requesting returns, and something that I do quite a lot of — it’s called “bracketing,” where you buy two or more sizes of something to try them all on, planning on at least one return.)

It all adds up, and businesses are not in the business of wasting money.

“We’re seeing return figures that are much more than the norm,” said David Sobie, the Santa Monica-based co-founder and CEO of Happy Returns, a third-party business that you’ve probably seen inside places like Ulta. For consumers, it provides returns without a need for printer labels or packing tape. For businesses, this service provides built-in fraud protection.

He said limitations on returns in the form of restocking fees and charges are likely to increase in response to what businesses see as “costly consumer behaviors."

What you can do about it

Sobie said consumers can avoid unpleasant surprises with a little pre-purchase sleuthing:

• Ask about return policy details.
• Consider whether you might be better off checking the item out in person before purchasing.
• Find out about any “fine print” issues regarding return details, fees, or limitations. For example, if you purchase in person, can you return the item by mail?

And of course, hang on to receipts.

“I always say you want to check it out before you check out,” Sobie said.

Sitting in the Oval Office this month, President Donald Trump went on one of his trademark riffs, an aside about vehicles that are popular in Asia but impossible to buy new in the United States.

"They have a very small car. It's sort of like the Beetle used to be with the Volkswagen," he said. "They're very small. They're really cute."

In Japan, these vehicles are known as kei cars. They are, indeed, very small. They are, indisputably, very cute.

"But you're not allowed to build them" in the U.S., Trump went on. "I've authorized the secretary [of transportation] to immediately approve the production of those cars."

A shirt featuring a variety of kei cars was on display during a meeting of the Capital Kei Car Club.

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Michael Noble Jr. for NPR

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That news came in the middle of a press conference about the Trump administration relaxing fuel economy rules — a change that will make it easier for Americans to buy more of the big, fuel-guzzling trucks and SUVs that car buyers love.

Trump's endorsement surprised, delighted and somewhat confused American kei car enthusiasts.

It is not actually illegal to build tiny cars for the U.S. auto market. The problem is that kei cars built for foreign countries don't meet U.S. safety standards, so you can't import them unless you're willing to buy an antique. And companies could build tiny cars to U.S. standards, but given the American preference for big vehicles, they simply don't.

"If this is going to be a kick in the right direction to maybe get the domestic auto industry to reconsider cars like this," said Andrew Maxon, a kei car owner and the founder of the Capital Kei Car Club, "I'm all for it. I'll take what we can get."

An antique exemption 

Andrew Maxon, the founder of the Capital Kei Car Club, sits in his Autozam AZ-1.

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Kei cars, trucks and vans are very popular in Japan. But while new models might meet Japan's safety standards for things like airbags and seat belts, they're not designed to meet the very specific U.S. requirements.

So they can't be imported and driven in the U.S. unless they're at least 25 years old, which qualifies them as an antique and exempt from federal safety standards. That's why every vehicle at a recent Capital Kei Car Club meetup in Northern Virginia was at least 25.

Drivers raved about their tiny cars — their fun handling, their cute appearance, the delighted responses they get when they drive them around.

Drivers of kei vans and trucks also emphasized that the vehicles are practical. Ryan Douglass replaced his midsize American pickup with a pint-size Japanese one, but while it's shorter than a modern Mini Cooper, it still has a full 6-foot bed, longer than you'll find on a lot of massive trucks these days.

"I can lay down in the bed and not even touch the ends of it," he said. More to the point, he can fit in a sheet of plywood.

Unbeatable prices, with some drawbacks

Car enthusiasts work on a minor repair in the engine bay of a Suzuki Cappuccino.

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A new kei car, truck or van can be snagged in Japan for less than $15,000.

And the imported antiques? Douglass paid $8,000 for his truck, which runs great, and he says that was on the expensive end; he paid someone else to manage all the import paperwork.

Mainstream pickups are pricey in the U.S. right now, even when they're used. In November, the average price on Carfax.com was more than $34,000.

Douglass marvels at how much his kei truck saved him.

"I think I could get five or six of these and customize them to my heart's desire and still be cheaper than a brand-new truck that I can buy out of a dealership today," he said.

There are drawbacks, of course. Douglass' license plate warns drivers behind him that his vehicle is, in fact, "VRYSLW."

Ryan Douglass steps out of his Honda Acty.

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The snub-nosed front of the vehicle means there's no protective crumple zone in front of the driver. If you crash a kei truck, your knees take the hit directly. And because these vehicles are all antiques, their safety specs are antiquated too.

"I accept the terms and conditions," said Sergey Hall, whose 1992 Suzuki Cappuccino car is even smaller than Douglass' vehicle. "That's the best way to put it. I know that there are no safety features on it. No airbags, ABS [antilock braking system], no throttle position sensors or anything like that."

Safety concerns are why some states ban imported antique kei vehicles, even if federal rules allow them. That frustrates kei car enthusiasts, who note that motorcycles, which are not renowned for safety, are legal on highways.

"What is a 'safe' vehicle?" mused Dan Kobayashi, who drives a Honda Acty kei truck. He noted that a car that's slow and small is safer for pedestrians. And he pointed out that kei cars have great visibility, compared with bigger vehicles with giant hoods and chunky "A pillars" framing the windshield. So unlike the driver of a big SUV, Kobayashi said, "I don't have to worry about hitting kids in front of me, because I can see in front of me."

Still, kei car drivers do have to worry about whether other drivers can see them on American roads, where giant vehicles are moving at high speeds.

Little interest in little cars 

Nevi Bergeron sits behind the wheel in her Suzuki Cappuccino during a meeting of the Capital Kei Car Club.

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Michael Noble Jr. for NPR

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In his remarks, Trump said that companies "can't build" little cars in the U.S. and that he'd immediately authorize the production of tiny vehicles.

The thing is, building these vehicles is not actually prohibited in the United States.

Yes, federal safety standards block imports; for the record, the Transportation Department confirmed to NPR that those safety standards are not being waived for small cars. And, yes, some states restrict imported antiques because of safety concerns. So what's stopping automakers from building versions of these cars that do meet U.S. safety standards?

The American shopper.

When companies sold smaller cars in the past, "people didn't want to buy them," says Jessica Caldwell, head of insights at the car data site Edmunds.

"We look at the subcompact car — that is the smallest car sold in the United States. That segment is less than 1% of the market," she says. And it's shrinking, not growing.

Federal fuel economy rules have been criticized for incentivizing larger vehicles. Automakers have another incentive to go big: They make bigger profits on bigger vehicles.

But consumer preferences have also spoken loud and clear. Years ago, Daimler made a push to sell the Smart fortwo, a tiny car by any definition. It was cheap and cute, and it could fit sideways in a parking spot. But it was discontinued in 2019 after about a decade of disappointing sales.

Andrew Maxon walks by his Autozam AZ-1.

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Michael Noble Jr. for NPR

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At the Capitol Kei Car Club meetup, I asked everyone there — big fans of tiny cars — whether they think America writ large could learn to love them too. Could small, cheap and slow take off?

"If I had to bet, I would bet against it, unfortunately," Andy Creedon said, summing up the overwhelming consensus.

Kobayashi was more optimistic. His truck is useful, he said. And small vehicles like this are popular in other countries; why not in the U.S.? As he said, a little enviously: "Everybody else in the world has it."
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Teamsters Local 2010, which represents trade workers across the Cal State University system, last week approved a strike if negotiations with management continue to stall.

The union says the system has reneged on paying previously agreed upon contractual raises and salary step increases. CSU officials say contingencies in place for those raises to go into effect require new state funding that has not happened.

What is Teamsters Local 2010?

The union represents 27,000 public education employees throughout the state, including the University of California system, Los Angeles Unified and the Cal State University system.

The 1,100 union members who work for the CSU include electricians, elevator mechanics, plumbers, carpenters, locksmiths and other trades workers.

What is each side's position?

In a press statement, the union said that instead of the previously agreed upon terms, the CSU is offering workers “a one-time bonus worth far less than what workers are owed.” Teamsters Local 2010 said it “won back salary steps in 2024 after nearly three decades of stagnation.”

In an email, CSU spokesperson Amy Bentley-Smith described the strike authorization vote as “disappointing” and counterproductive. The current labor agreement between the system and the union, she added, contains “clear contingency provisions language that tied certain salary increases to the receipt of new, unallocated, ongoing state funding. Those contingencies were not met, leading to the current reopener negotiations on salary terms.”

When would a strike start?

Strike authorization votes are “procedural,” Bentley-Smith said, so this “does not mean a strike is imminent.” The CSU, she added, “is hopeful continued negotiations will result in the parties reaching an agreement.”

The union says there is no timeline for when the strike might happen. Some 94% of workers voted to authorize their bargaining team to call a strike, according to a statement released Friday. The move, the union said, gives the CSU a clear sign that "we are strike ready."

Last year, Teamsters Local 2010 was on the verge of striking alongside the system's faculty, but the union reached a last-minute deal with the CSU.

Learn more about CSU's financial picture

• Cal State Dominguez Hills students, faculty rally to save 6 'essential' programs from chopping block
• Cal State wants to offer bigger raises to campus presidents while cutting elsewhere
• Why did the CSU spend millions on ChatGPT amid a budget crisis? We asked school leaders

An immigration judge issues a stern warning: "If you don't show up, there is a good chance the court will order you removed."

She speaks to an immigrant from El Salvador in a quiet immigration courtroom in Hyattsville, Md., in November. Clad in an all-black dress jacket and shirt, the immigrant — who was identified only by the number of his case — swears that his last immigration notice was lost in the mail.

The judge tells him to check his mail regularly, ahead of his next appearance in January.

As the room empties out, the judge says out loud that there are a number of no-shows that day. The Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or ICE, attorney in court files motions to remove five people "in absentia." The judge grants it. Those people can now be deported.

A similar scene has played out, and increasingly so, in nearly every immigration court nationwide over the past year, according to immigration attorneys and NPR's early analysis of court data. The results mirror those of Joseph Gunther, an independent researcher, who has also been tracking the data closely. More immigrants are not showing up for their mandatory immigration court hearings, allowing the government to order their immediate deportation.

"What happened is that the word spread that if you go to court, you could get picked up from ICE," said Ruby Powers, an immigration lawyer based in Texas with cases all over the country.

In 2025, ICE turned to arrests directly from federal or immigration courtrooms in order to meet arrest quotas set by the Trump administration.

"Those instances weren't consistent around the country, but at least the word had spread, the fear had spread. And so individuals were really hesitant to go into court," Powers said.

The number of in absentia removals was generally already on an upward trend each year since 2022, said Andrew Arthur, resident law and policy fellow at the Center for Immigration Studies, a nonprofit that advocates for lower levels of migration. Still, the number of such removal orders in fiscal year 2025 nearly tripled that of the previous year — topping over 50,000.

NPR calculated just how many people were ordered removed "in absentia."

Each of the top 10 cities with the largest number of completed immigration cases in those courts is on track to end the year with a higher rate of in absentia removals than they started. That is according to data from the Executive Office for Immigration Review — part of the Department of Justice — from January through November.

Each of these courts experienced an uptick in this kind of removal order starting in the summer months. That timeline is consistent with when immigration attorneys say ICE officers began arresting people inside the courts.

NPR has spoken with the family members of immigrants who came to court in New York, for example, in place of their parents or partners — out of concern their loved ones might be detained. New York's courts have become notorious this year for scenes of violent arrests and confrontations with federal officers.

Powers said that there are other reasons people may fear coming to court, including that they may not win their case or get deported to a third country. There are logistical barriers, too.

"A lot of times people don't even know that they have a hearing, or hearing dates can change without receiving the notice in the mail," Powers said. Sometimes immigrants can move and addresses are not immediately updated with the court, or go to places like apartment buildings that have less consistent mail delivery, she said. Notices can also be sent to completely incorrect addresses, which lawyers said has been an issue in years past.

Immigration attorneys across the country have noticed an uptick in this kind of removal order. Organizations like the Center for Immigration Studies have also spotted it.

In many cases, the Department of Homeland Security has to receive a removal order issued by an immigration judge before it can physically deport any person from the U.S., Arthur said.

"The more orders of removal in absentia or at the end of proceedings that are issued, the more people that ICE can then target for removal from the United States," he said.

Arthur said that immigrants who fail to appear opt to not take the government up on the offer for due process.

"The more people who are under final orders for removal … the more people who are going to end up in ICE custody because the law requires that ICE take into custody everybody who's under a final order of removal, notwithstanding the administration's stated focus on the worst," Arthur said.

"This appears to be well in excess of those historical trends," Arthur said.

Immigrants may have the opportunity to reopen their cases. However, most people in immigration court do not have legal representation, which they must pay for themselves.

Nonprofits like the organization Mobile Pathways have tracked a low rate of arrests in courts. But immigrant advocates said that doesn't mean the fear and negative perceptions go away.

"It probably falls into the narrative that the administration wants to be portrayed, that these individuals are not participating in the process that they're supposed to," Powers said, about the rise in no-show removal orders.

Some families she represents have fled violence, are working through trauma, or are navigating language and other barriers in addition to the immigration law system.

"[They] are just making the best decisions they can with the information they have provided to them," Powers said, adding that most immigrants are still showing up for their court appointments. "It's just because a lot of things are being stacked up against them. And that's why we're seeing these numbers."
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