The Brief

Meaning "half" in Hawaiian, the word "hapa" first entered the Hawaiian language in the early 1800s. Originally used to describe individuals of mixed Hawaiian and European ancestry, hapa has since grown to encompass those of mixed Asian descent, often someone who is half Asian or Pacific Islander and half white.

While not inherently derogatory, there is some debate around the appropriate use of the word outside of its original Hawaiian context.

That debate has captivated artist and photographer Kip Fulbeck for decades. As a hapa person himself — his mother is from China and his father is of English, Irish and Welsh descent — growing up half Chinese and half white was not easy for Fulbeck.

Raised in Covina, California, a city in the San Gabriel Valley region in Los Angeles County, Fulbeck told Morning Edition that he was considered "the white kid" at home and among his family, but known as "the Asian kid" at school. Checking boxes for his ethnicity as a child was a regular point of contention.

"I would check white sometimes. But then I was obviously not passing for white, and so I would check one, check the other. Sometimes there would [be] this other box that said 'Other, please explain,' and I would just write 'no.'" he said. "And it wasn't until, I think, 2000 where the U.S. Census actually allowed to check more than one box. So for 35 years of my life, I wasn't able to even legally do that."

It was this examination of his own identity that served as inspiration for creating "The Hapa Project."

"The Hapa Project" is a series of portraits of people who identify as multiracial. Each photo is accompanied by the subject's handwritten answer to a question about their identity. Fulbeck started the project in 2001 — with the original installation featuring photos from about 1,200 people. The creative concept for the project consists of him photographing people who identify as hapa in the same way — from the collarbone up and without any external identifiers like clothing, jewelry or glasses. After taking their photo, he then has them "handwrite a response to the question, 'What are you?," which he stresses he never censors what his participants write in their responses.

To honor the 25th anniversary of "The Hapa Project," Fulbeck brought the series back by revisiting around 150 original participants to see how their thoughts about being mixed race have changed over time.

In some participants' "before" and "after" portraits, changes in self-perception can be perceived alongside changes in physical demeanor.

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Alongside physical changes in the before and after photos, "you also see these changes in attitude as we sort of mature and grow and change as adults," Fulbeck said.

In one portrait, the person wrote for their original photo, "What am I? Shouldn't you be asking my name first?" In their revisited photo, they wrote, "Hey! I'm Christine. Nice to meet you, too."

When "The Hapa Project" first launched, it initially sparked a varied response. Some — particularly those who identified as multiracial — found the project to be a valuable affirmation of their identities and a challenge to racial stereotypes. Others, however, questioned the appropriation of the term "hapa" by those without a direct lineage to the Hawaiian context from which it originated.

For Fulbeck, the sheer exploration of the hapa identity is the entire point.

"I've had people say, 'hapa means this.' Or, 'no, hapa means this,'" he said. "To me, it's not our place to tell someone else who they are. You're the only person who gets to define who you are. You get to say that."

The reclamation and reinterpretations of the word hapa are present in a majority of "The Hapa Project" portraits, and Fulbeck thinks it represents an evolution of how people have come to feel about themselves and the way the world sees them.

"Identity is internal, but it's also this external way we relate to others. And I think as we become more comfortable in our own skin and our place in the world and where we fit in, that depends on where you're living, too," he said.

Nearly 10% of people in the United States are of mixed race, according to the latest census. That is a 275% increase from just a decade before, and is only expected to grow. The states with the largest multiracial populations in the country include California, Texas and New York.

As the number of people in the U.S. who intermarry gets larger and larger, Fulbeck's advice for parents raising hapa kids is a "million-dollar question."

"As a parent myself, I ask myself this all the time. People have asked, 'Do you talk to your kids about being hapa?' And I was like, 'I don't … because they're dealing with dad doing this all over the world. They don't want to hear about this.' My kids — they want to play Fortnite. They just want to be kids," he said. "So I always just tell parents, you just got to love your kids. Be open to them. When they want to explore it, then be willing to do it. But you can't sit there and force it."

While Fulbeck's advice for raising hapa kids isn't so definite, his opinion on the importance of defining yourself and determining your own identity is certain. "If you don't say who you are and define it correctly, other people are going to do it for you, and they're going to do it wrong," he said.

"The Hapa Project" relaunched on May 23 at the Museum of Us in San Diego and will make additional stops at the Museum of Chinese in America and Waseda University later this year.

The broadcast version of this story was edited by Ashley Westerman. The digital version was edited by Treye Green.
Copyright 2025 NPR

This story first appeared on Long Beach Post.

From his veranda on the Peninsula, VR Venkataraman gets a front-row seat as wave after wave fueled by Tropical Storm Rachel slams the bulkhead and sprays upwards, more than two stories into the air.

For now, his defenses are holding.

In recent days, city officials and work crews reinforced the bulkhead with 12-by-2 boards and added vertical columns supported by wooden braces, riveted into the boardwalk at the angles Venkataraman determined would provide the most support. He’s not an engineer, but he’s acting like one to protect his Seaside Walk home.

“I did the geometry, figured it out, taught the crew how to do it, and did one with them,” said Venkataraman, a former doctor who now owns an Indian-Mexican fusion cafe. “I’m a human being with adequate knowledge and experience of life. That’s all.”

He is one of many Long Beach Peninsula residents taking swift, creative action in an attempt to save their homes after high surf and tides from multiple storms have eroded beaches and battered properties along the coast. On Saturday, though some residents expressed frustration that there wasn’t more preventative action ahead of this fall’s extreme weather, they said they appreciated how the city has sprung into action and partnered with them to salvage whatever they can. Venkataraman praised Jake Heflin with the fire department and Cory Forrester of Parks, Recreation and Marine for their work to help him harden his property, as well as the support provided by Councilmember Kristina Duggan.

“It’s a process of learning,” Venkataraman said.

On Saturday, city crews continued to shore up beaches where sand was washed away as surf driven by Hurricane Marie pounded the Peninsula last month. By morning, sand berms were piled up ahead of high tide. Other emergency repairs included pumping water off streets and filling in the exposed bulkhead with 1,000 sandbags. Storm drains appeared clear and were able to receive water from flooded streets.

“In an emergency, we act. We spend the money we need to. We protect life and safety, but then we record all of those costs,” City Manager Tom Modica said at a press conference Saturday afternoon.

More than $1 million in one-time costs has already been spent so far, he said. The city will aggressively pursue funding from other sources as it undertakes a seven-part plan for near- and long-term resiliency, Modica said. The city is currently in conversation with the governor’s Office of Emergency Services, he added.

More than $1 million spent so far

Venkataraman was not prepared last month when high surf rushed into his ground floor and dumped more than a foot of sand, rubble and shells into his crawl space, he said. He was forced to rip out several feet of drywall and air out his home with 66 heaters and 18 dehumidifiers from Home Depot.

His first floor was still torn up when powerful waves charged by Tropical Storm Rachel arrived at his door again this week. But this time, he knew he had to take quicker preventative action. He reinforced the planter on his lower level with wood and sandbags and bolstered the bulkhead with various supports.

Though he and his family evacuated and are staying in another home they own, he has been returning to his Peninsula residence during high tides to check on the reinforcements and evaluate what else needs to be done.

He said he now hopes to reinforce the bulkhead on the ocean side, adding 2-by-4 planks for stability. And he said he will continue to periodically tighten the rivets on the support beams, as they loosen with each wall of water that crashes down.

Caught off guard by Hurricane Marie

Other residents have also stepped in to buttress the bulkhead. On Friday, the sand berm protecting 62nd Place washed away, and waves “brought the whole ocean and sand down the street,” said Marc Moore, who lives there. Once the water had receded, he started picking up 10-foot pieces of wood and digging them into the sand near the bulkhead — a DIY solution in the hopes of taking a bit of power out of each swell. “Every wave you can stop might protect somebody’s home,” he said. He added the city should have done more to avoid this current disaster, but now they were fully activated and working closely with residents.

The worst may be yet to come

Some residents said they were anxious for what was to come throughout the weekend; the National Weather Service issued a coastal flood warning and a high surf advisory on Sunday as rainy weather set to arrive threatened more damage. Flooding impacts could be the most significant the region has seen this season, according to the NWS.

Eight properties were red-tagged as too dangerous for residents to remain, and several structures noticeably creaked and sagged as the waves continued to hit. City officials said they expect the coastal erosion and property damage to worsen on Sunday and throughout the El Niño season.

Still, Venkataraman and his neighbors remained hopeful and focused on action.

“It may be a losing battle,” Venkataraman said, adding he is not ready to give up. “I’m a warrior. I will fight until the bitter end.”

Police officers in cities across the U.S. are quick to extol the virtues of real-time crime centers as a game changer that helps them find missing children, monitor large events from the skies and scope out dangerous scenes before putting an officer in harm's way.

Hundreds of police departments have one of these central hubs, which have existed for years. But many are now being powered with AI software, such as Fusus, from the public-safety technology giant Axon.

Fusus, by Axon's own description, is a "rapidly deployable real-time crime center in the cloud." It functions like the brain of a crime center, synthesizing the data it pulls in and allowing police command centers to watch an entire city from one place.

Flock cameras, the automated license plate readers (ALPRs), have faced intense backlash in recent months amid stories of abuse. Yet privacy experts say they're just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to police surveillance.

"I have been watching the debate about Flock with a little bit of puzzlement," says Andrew Guthrie Ferguson, a law professor at George Washington University. "Because real-time crime centers have not just ALPR cameras and sensors, but video analytics and drones and essentially a way to create a visual single-pane-of-glass vision of what's going on in a city, with time machine capabilities where you can go back and investigate crime."

How AI-powered software fuels real-time crime centers

Tools like Axon Fusus, which is a leader in this type of software, also pull in footage and data from police body cameras, law enforcement dashcams, 911 dispatch, gunshot detectors and surveillance cameras, including sometimes those of private businesses that opt in.

Its use is growing fast. In 2024, the technology news site 404 Media reported that just over 100 law enforcement agencies had deployed Fusus, which was then its own company and was acquired by Axon that year. The number of law enforcement agencies using the tool has more than doubled since then, according to Axon.

Police officers in departments that use Fusus told NPR that the tool serves as a time-saver and a force multiplier for their agencies.

"We could put analysts in a room and have them access 40 different systems," says Benjamin Weir, a captain with the Oklahoma City Police Department. "But that slows them down. So the biggest leveraging factor for a real-time information center to be productive is to have software that can incorporate all these things into one usable area."

Quincy Whitner, a lieutenant with the Greenville County Sheriff's Office in South Carolina, says Fusus helped his department find a man who shot a police officer and fled the scene, by combining city surveillance footage with license plate data.

"Instead of having to go to a million different systems, a million different places to find answers, we can get it in one platform in one place somewhat instantaneously," says Whitner.

Privacy concerns when surveillance is easy

But that push-of-a-button mentality is exactly what makes privacy experts nervous.

Rachel Levinson-Waldman, director of the Liberty and National Security Program at New York University's Brennan Center for Justice, says even a few decades ago, there were more hurdles to overcome when police officers wanted to surveil members of the community. They might have to physically follow someone or do a stakeout. It took time, staffing and resources.

"In addition to all of the things that you would want in place requiring some kind of criminal predicate to launch it, there is just this kind of organic friction that imposes some constraints," she says. "As that friction gets lifted, it becomes easier and easier to do investigations, to look at people and even to pull up broad-scale information."

Police told NPR that they understand those concerns but that the good — the potential for stopping and solving crime — outweighs the bad — the potential for misuse and mass surveillance.

"I understand people's concerns, but if you're not up to no good, we're not looking at you. We are looking at people who are committing crimes," says Michelle Iezzi, deputy director of the Operational Intelligence Division at the Montgomery County Police Department in Maryland.

Axon did not respond to multiple requests for comment. But CEO Rick Smith said on the latest earnings call that the company strongly values privacy: "We just have to be thoughtful and understand those concerns and say, 'Look, this is a tool to amplify human ability, not to replace human judgment.'"

But there is broad potential for abuse when a police department is always watching, privacy experts say; surveillance technology can sweep up innocent people by mistake, and it can enable targeting.

"What happens if there is a government that wants to silence a particular group or even a particular person? And you just built the architecture of surveillance that makes that super-easy," says Ferguson, the George Washington University law professor.

Courts are moving slowly in deciding when or if this kind of surveillance crosses a constitutional line. In the meantime, Ferguson says, lawmakers could act by limiting how long data is stored, for instance, mandating regular audits or restricting surveillance near sensitive sites like abortion clinics or immigration courts.

He says those conversations should be happening before a tool ever is used.

Copyright 2026 NPR

Once a year Crenshaw Boulevard comes alive with music, food and celebration at the Taste of Soul Family Festival. What organizers bill as Southern California’s “largest free street festival,” now in its 21st year, takes over nearly three miles between Obama Boulevard and Stocker Street on Saturday, Oct.17.

Come on in, it’s free

Crowds fill Crenshaw Boulevard at Taste of Soul.

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And “free” is the operative word.

“At Coachella, it's $500 a ticket. At Taste of Soul, you come free,” said Pamela Bakewell with Bakewell Media, the festival's organizer.

Danny J. Bakewell Sr. — chairman of the organization and Pamela’s brother — pitched the festival to then-L.A. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa.

“He went to him and said, ‘Look, if they can do these things in New Orleans, then why can't we do it in Los Angeles?’”

Tiffany Haddish with Danny J. Bakewell Sr. at Taste of Soul 2025.

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That first festival in 2005 drew about 25,000 people, according to organizers. Now, some 350,000 people attend every year.

A world of vendors

Organizers say the festival has become an economic boost for small businesses in Southern California, featuring over 100 food vendors of serving a variety of cuisines.

A food vendor cooks at Taste of Soul 2018.

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“It's the biggest event that I do all year,” said Brian McMillan, owner of The Kobbler King in South L.A. “People place orders after the event. They taste the cobbler;  it sets us up for Thanksgiving.”

McMillan has been a vendor at Taste of Soul for 20 years.

Montell Jordan performs on the KJLH Music Stage at Taste of Soul 2025.

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“You got food from all over. I have a friend from East Africa; his food is some of the best food I've ever had, and it's extremely healthy,” McMillan said.

And plenty more to see

Visitors and staff at the Watts Healthcare tent during Taste of Soul 2025.

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McMillan said he relishes seeing different generations of neighbors and customers come by to say hello and get some cobbler.

“It's like a family reunion, and I think that's very important because you don't see that with too many festivals at all.”

Long Beach is famously surrounded by a breakwater to protect its harbor, but that massive barrier hasn’t been able to shield homes on the city’s Peninsula from hurricane-charged swells recently.

Over the last few weeks, strong waves have repeatedly stripped away sand, broken through a boardwalk bulkhead and threatened to collapse beachside homes by clawing away the sand underneath them. All of this keeps happening in a narrow stretch of homes along the Peninsula, mostly between 62nd and 69th places.

Those few blocks are vulnerable to swells coming from the south because of an opening in the breakwater and jetty that allows boat access to Alamitos Bay.

In order to protect those homes, Long Beach typically builds a sand berm to block waves. When waves rip it away, the breakwater keeps it from washing out to sea, and it instead piles up to the west near downtown (a phenomenon called littoral drift.) The city spends $1 million to $1.5 million a year on trucking that sand back to the Peninsula and rebuilding the beach.

This year, it hasn’t been enough.

El Niño’s warm waters have supercharged high tides. That, combined with hurricane-driven waves coming up from the south, has stripped so much sand away from the Peninsula’s beach that the wooden bulkhead under the coastal boardwalk has been exposed.

At high tide, breakers now slap directly against the wood, repeatedly splintering it.

The city is hoping to soon start a $11.4 million dredging project to gather enough sand to rebuild the beach and protect the boardwalk, but that can’t happen while it’s getting pounded by the surf.

There may be some relief soon. Hurricane season in the eastern Pacific runs from mid-May through November. Hurricanes later in the year are much more likely to form in the western Pacific — as opposed to the southeast — and the federal breakwater that shields Long Beach’s harbor blunts the swells that originate from the west. That’s why much of California’s western coast may still see dangerous waves through the winter, though Long Beach is usually safe.

To bolster the Peninsula’s defenses, Long Beach is now considering a $6.8 million plan to build a rock revetment — a wall of boulders that would sit behind the beach as a backup.

This aerial view of the Peninsula was included in a city report on ways to replenish its sand.

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But for a long-term solution, officials say it may cost $150 million to $350 million for a full habitat and shoreline restoration — funded partly by state mitigation credits.

It’s the kind of project that would take massive amounts of approvals and planning and likely some delays. The city council, for now, has approved $30,000 to look into it further.