The Brief

“I feel hopeless.”

“I feel helpless.”

“How do I cope with constant sadness, grief, anger, anxiety, or fear when I’m just trying to get through a normal day?”

“How do I plan for retirement?”

“How do I plan for my thirties?”

“What kind of world will my children grow up in?” “Should I even have children?”

“Am I doing enough? Am I enough?”

These are the types of worries that came up at a recent "Climate Cafe LA,” a free, virtual support group that aims to provide an informal, confidential space for people to connect with each other about the painful emotions that come with living in the climate emergency.

A dozen or so people popped into the Zoom “Climate Cafe” being held on this Sunday morning. About half of them left their cameras off (that’s totally OK, though cameras on is preferred). After setting ground rules — only “I” statements, no advice or judging allowed — the conversation began. People shared about their favorite landscapes, their worries for their own futures or their children’s, the sense of sadness, anxiety, anger and cognitive dissonance they feel all too often, even in the most mundane moments like watching a neighbor mow a lush lawn or idle their car for too long.

With ceaseless headlines of climate disasters around the world and the escalating impacts to our own backyards here in the Southland, there’s a growing movement to address the intertwined crises of mental health and the climate emergency. The efforts range from community-based support groups such as Climate Cafes, to the practice of “ecotherapy,” to boosting training for therapists, psychologists and other public health professionals to better recognize the physical symptoms of climate-related psychological distress.

“The most widespread public health impacts of climate change are actually mental impacts,” said Wael Al-Delaimy, a public health professor at UC San Diego.

Holding space for climate emotions … and finding community

Maksim Batuyev first started experiencing depression when he was about 13 years old, growing up in Michigan.

“This was before climate change was even on my radar,” said Batuyev, who is now 25.

His depression improved with therapy and mindfulness practices, but once he got to college and started pursuing environmental studies, Batuyev said that progress was reversed.

“I went on to spend four years learning about all the different ways that humans were irreparably damaging the planet and poisoning communities,” Batuyev said.

Maksim Batuyev, 25, is the director of the Climate Cafe LA Initiative and a Gen Z advisor for global nonprofit Climate Mental Health Network.

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Courtesy of Maksim Batuyev

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By his senior year, his depression and anxiety were once again overwhelming.

“I realized I'd never been told how to navigate the grief that was coming with this,” Batuyev said. “The climate crisis was just this, like, intense backdrop to what was supposed to be a normal college experience in young adult life … and the normal hardships of growing up.”

After graduating, he moved to Los Angeles to work for a sustainable fashion startup. Now, he’s a Gen Z advisor for the global nonprofit Climate Mental Health Network and the director of Climate Cafe LA.

There’s no brick and mortar cafe, it’s simply people getting together in person or online for free, informal, 90-minute conversations about coping with climate-related emotions.

Batuyev initially piloted the conversations with student groups at UCLA and is now offering Zoom Climate Cafes he co-hosts with other Gen Z facilitators. Such gatherings are a growing trend worldwide.

“It's really about creating a container for us to bring these difficult emotions to the surface,” said Batuyev. “Because all too often we have to stuff them down just to get through our day-to-day lives. We're trying to put food on the table, we're trying to get to work on time. We're stuck processing those emotions in isolation.”

Younger people are particularly impacted — they wonder how much of the Earth will be habitable by the time they’re in their 40s and 50s. In the largest study of its kind, a 2021 survey of 10,000 young people across the world found the vast majority experience emotional distress over the climate crisis on a daily basis, while more than half feel humanity is doomed.

Climate Cafes are mostly geared towards Gen Z, but they've proven to be needed spaces for people of all ages and walks of life.

At the recent virtual Climate Cafe LA, folks from all over the world joined — from Canada to India to the U.K. to New Jersey to right here in Los Angeles. The attendees encompassed a range of ages and professions: activists, therapists, a veteran, scientists and a faith worker. Though a small sample, the group exemplified the diversity of who is struggling with climate-related emotional distress.

Feeling our feelings … without the need to act 

Batuyev said one of the most important — and perhaps surprising — parts of the Climate Cafe is that it explicitly pushes back against the action-oriented narrative that’s common in most climate spaces.

“I think a lot of times when people think about climate, they imagine saving the polar bears, they imagine protesters, they imagine people yelling at each other or demanding that others sign petitions, and it's kind of easy to understand why not everyone's comfortable starting to engage in that way,” Batuyev said.

But providing a space simply to feel emotions, and not act on them, can allow people to build community and find ways to engage with the climate crisis in their own way, Batuyev said. 

“When we're able to help people connect with these intense emotions of grief or despair or anxiety around these issues, what we're really doing is also helping them connect with a place of love,” Batuyev said. “These emotions themselves are very often transformative and what drive us to act and get involved, but I think our problem is that we lack a community around us that enables us to express ourselves and experience these emotions in a safe and comfortable way.”

An accessible support model

Though Climate Cafes are not meant to replace professional help, therapy itself can be out of reach for many people, so these groups can provide support for those who otherwise may not be able to access it, said Isaias Hernandez, 27, who grew up in Sylmar and is the creator of environmental education platform Queer Brown Vegan.

Isaias Hernandez, 27, is the founder of education platform Queer Brown Vegan. He created a Climate Emotions Scale to help people name the feelings they're experiencing around climate change.

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Courtesy of Isaias Hernandez

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Additionally, he said this kind of grassroots peer-to-peer model can be replicated to fit the needs of many different communities.

“Mental health services are expensive. It's a privilege to afford it,” Hernandez said. “Creating grassroots models that center a need for community and a safe space is important.”

Hernandez created a climate emotion scale to help people find the language to describe their climate-related emotions. 

“When someone else validates another person about what they're feeling,” Hernandez said, “I think that allows them to say 'It's not just in my head, it's not a disorder, it's a natural response to what I'm experiencing.'”

How to cope with climate emotions

Recognizing and acknowledging the emotions that are driving our internal narratives around climate change is an important first step to coping and building mental resilience, said Long Beach-based therapist Carol Bartels, who specializes in “ecotherapy,” where clients process their emotions outside in a natural setting.

Coping with those feelings comes down to a lot of well-researched strategies in trauma recovery, she said.

“That is finding a sense of safety, finding the resources inside of our own bodies to relax and to feel a sense of some control and ability to regulate our own emotions,” Bartels said.

Carol Bartels is an ecotherapist based in Long Beach. Here she is at DeForest Wetlands in Long Beach, one of her favorite places to take clients.

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Courtesy of Carol Bartels

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Using breathing exercises or other forms of “grounding” to return to the present moment can help us alleviate panic and find safety and calm within our own bodies, said Bartels. To help her clients get there, Bartels often takes them outside — what’s called “ecotherapy.”

“Getting grounded in one's own body, feeling what's really going on inside of us — nature has a way of helping us tune into that and bringing us right into the present moment,” Bartels said. “Nature does half of the healing.”

Taking action … when you’re ready

Bartels said once you can recognize and hold space for your own climate-related emotions — whether it be grief, anxiety, anger, fear, despair or all of them at once — taking action can play an important role in further building mental resilience.

“It doesn't have to be some grand action of changing the world, but maybe getting involved at a more local level of sustainable projects, or even just within one's own home,” Bartels said. “We can channel these emotions into something that we do have control over, because the feeling of lack of control is such a big problem with this issue.”

To cope with her own overwhelming climate emotions, Bartels grew a permaculture food forest in her backyard. She emphasized that choosing actions rooted in one’s own personal passions and interests — not “shoulds” — is essential to building true emotional resilience.

“As we move forward, we're going to need educators and healers and artists and musicians,” Bartels said.

The next global mental health crisis?

The UC San Diego public health professor, Wael Al-Delaimy, has firsthand experience of the impacts of war and displacement on mental health. Originally from Iraq, Al-Delaimy spent most of his career as an epidemiologist working with refugees in the Middle East and here in Southern California.

Today, he sees the mental health impacts of the climate crisis on people all over the world as the next major public health challenge. He's currently researching how climate disasters are affecting the mental health of people in the Middle East.

Wael Al-Delaimy is a public health professor at UCSD who's researching how the climate crisis is impacting the mental health of people in the Middle East.

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Courtesy of Wael Al-Delaimy

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“The physical impacts are limited to people who are injured, who may die from extreme weather events,” Al-Delaimy said. “And this is small compared to the much more widespread mental illnesses, psychological impacts, which can become chronic. People become traumatized.”

For example, he said, people who have survived a wildfire or serious flooding may be triggered every time they smell fire, or every time it rains. He pointed to how research has found that violence and suicides increase during extreme heat events. There’s also the concept of solastalgia, the emotions that come with watching beloved landscapes change and disappear, upending livelihoods and cultural traditions — something Indigenous communities around the world have coped with for generations.

“The health care system is not prepared for either the acute nor for the chronic [mental health] conditions from climate change,” Al-Delaimy said.

He said physicians and mental health professionals alike need to be trained in talking to their patients about climate-related mental health concerns. And that training needs to be culturally aware, particularly in longtime landing spots for refugees and immigrants such as southern California.

“The mental health crisis is there without climate change,” Al-Delaimy said. “Climate change is just going to make it worse.”

But Al-Delaimy said he sees a lot of promise in the peer-to-peer support model, such as Climate Cafes. For example, his research on community health workers doing outreach with Somali, Iraqi and Syrian refugees in San Diego during COVID found communities were far more likely to trust and engage with workers from their own communities.

“Mental illnesses are hidden. There's denial about them. There's a stigma about it,” Al-Delaimy said. “But they're like any other chronic disease …They need attention. Without that, our society will continue to suffer.”

Resources for people seeking help with climate emotions

Resources for health professionals 

LEILA FADEL, HOST:

President Trump has repeatedly said that in enforcing immigration policy, he would deport criminals, rapists and the worst of the worst. But new data reveals that in the first nine months of the president's second term, Immigration and Customs Enforcement arrested more than 74,000 people with no criminal record. That's more than a third of the total ICE arrests in that period. Those numbers were provided by ICE to the Deportation Data Project, a joint initiative of UCLA and UC Berkeley Law and analyzed by NPR. For more, I spoke to Ariel Ruiz Soto, a senior policy analyst with the Migration Policy Institute. And I started by asking him what this says about the Trump administration's approach to immigration enforcement.

ARIEL RUIZ SOTO: Well, at first, it contradicts the earlier messaging from the Trump administration that it's focused on the worst to the worst and targeting criminal convictions. However, recently, the administration has also said that anybody here in the United States without legal status will be subject to deportation in the future.

FADEL: Well, let's get to what is a crime and what's not. We hear from the administration not just the claims that they're arresting rapists and gang members, but also, they say that anyone in the country without proper paperwork is a criminal. Is that true that being undocumented means you've committed a crime?

RUIZ SOTO: Under immigration law, entering the country without proper authorization is a lower offense compared to those that we colloquially think are criminal convictions in a more criminal system, meaning, for example, murder, rape, drug abuse or something else like that that could get it to be higher.

FADEL: What do we know about the other two-thirds of these arrests? Do they all have criminal histories?

RUIZ SOTO: No. Among the other two-thirds, about half of those are actually people with a criminal pending charge but not yet proven guilty. Of those that do have a criminal conviction, we know from previous reports from ICE and experience that we've done research on that the majority of those criminal convictions tend to be traffic violations or lower-level offenses.

FADEL: Was that surprising to you?

RUIZ SOTO: I didn't think it was surprising because it's been happening over months. I think the visibility has been surprising. And perhaps the other aspect of this that has been also not transparent is this is just for ICE arrests. We don't know yet how many arrests are being made by Border Patrol across the different cities they're now targeting to consider the full impact of this new enforcement.

FADEL: What has this meant for immigrant communities, mixed-status communities and families when it comes to their presence in the United States and their relationship with law enforcement and the government?

RUIZ SOTO: Well, the direct impact is on those people that are here without status. Many of them are not going outside their homes. But I think the bigger impact here is that mixed-status families are also affected. The fact, for example, that families may forgo seeking benefits that are eligible for their U.S. citizen children because they're afraid of potentially being detained or arrested, that actually has implications for U.S. citizens and many of these citizens. In fact, 5.3 million U.S. citizen children have one parent who is undocumented in the United States, and that could actually make a significant difference in their separation.

FADEL: What would you say to people listening who say, well, I mean, people should not have entered without status, and this is the consequence?

RUIZ SOTO: Well, it's clear that migrants who are here without status are subject to deportation and arrest, but people have access to due process. They need to have an opportunity to present their claims to why they should stay in the United States. And if in the end of that litigation, it is determined that the person has to leave the United States, and that should be the case.

FADEL: Ariel Ruiz Soto is a senior policy analyst with the Migration Policy Institute. Thank you so much for your time.

RUIZ SOTO: Thank you.

FADEL: We reached out to ICE for comment and have not heard back. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.

On Monday, Los Angeles travels back in time. Well, sort of.

The Varnish, the famed speakeasy hidden behind a secret door at the back of Cole’s French Dip, will be reconstituted for one night only as part of a special pop-up at Firstborn in Chinatown.

(Meanwhile, Cole's itself will be open through the holiday season, with its last night of regular service planned for Dec. 31.)

The iconic bar, which shuttered in 2024 after a 15-year run, holds a special place in the hearts of many Angelenos, who believe it's where L.A.’s modern cocktail revival truly began. The event reunites three bartenders who all came up through The Varnish’s famously exacting school of cocktail-making. Kenzo Han (recently named Esquire’s Bartender of the Year) cut his teeth there before moving into roles that established him as one of L.A.’s most respected classic-cocktail technicians. Wolf Alexander and Miles Caballes emerged from the same pipeline.

One night only

Kenzo Han, bar director at Firstborn and former Varnish bartender, is hosting two fellow Varnish alumni for the Monday pop-up.

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Ron De Angelis

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Han is now Firstborn’s bar director, where he leads a tight, classics-leaning bar program. The restaurant sits inside Mandarin Plaza, where chef Anthony Wang turns out playful comfort dishes with Chinese and American influences. It’s a lively, unfussy neighborhood hangout just off Broadway, surrounded by neon, noodle shops and family-style restaurants.

The Varnish connection

All three bartenders trace their lineage back to Sasha Petraske, who, in 2009, co-founded The Varnish with Eric Alperin and Cedd Moses, the owner of Cole’s French Dip.

Petraske traded '90s flash for pre-Prohibition craft: fresh citrus over sour mix, precise technique over bottle tricks, elevating cocktails from party fuel to art form.

Miles Caballes brings his Varnish training back to the bar for one night.

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Courtesy Firstborn

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Wolf Alexander, another Varnish alum, demonstrates the precise technique that defined the speakeasy's approach.

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Courtesy Firstborn

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The Varnish became the city’s clearest expression of Petraske’s cocktail philosophy, where his playbook of precision, restraint and quiet hospitality took root on the West Coast. (Petraske passed in 2015.)

Han, Alexander and Caballes all trained in that environment, absorbing the Petraske rules of clean builds, tight technique and no-nonsense cocktails.

What to expect

For one night only, from 6-10 p.m., the trio will channel that tradition through a Varnish-style menu: curated classics only, no custom builds, with all cocktails priced at $20. Two featured drinks nod directly to the bar's lineage. The Spring Blossom — created at The Varnish — combines mezcal, French aperitifs, including Suze and Lillet Blanc, mole bitters and a grapefruit twist. Death & Taxes features scotch, gin, sweet vermouth, Benedictine (a herbal liqueur), Angostura and orange bitters, finished with a lemon twist.

On the food side, chef Anthony Wang is reviving his cult-favorite Blood Orange Chicken Sando ($20), served with radicchio, alongside a limited run of his Shanghainese-style McRib ($24) — a playful, sweet-and-sour riff built around tender ribs and “all the stuff” that made the original such a guilty pleasure.

The blood orange chicken sandwich at Firstborn from chef Anthony Wang.

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Ron De Angelis

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Expect a casual, walk-in-only atmosphere where guests can grab a seat at the bar and let the cocktail nostalgia wash over them.

Whether you were a Varnish regular or only heard the stories, this pop-up is a rare chance to see that style alive again — familiar faces, bespoke cocktails and the kind of muscle-memory bartending that defined an era of L.A. drinking culture. For newer drinkers, it’s a glimpse of the cocktail philosophy that shaped the city as we know it.

It’ll likely get busy early, and the food specials may run out fast — but that’s part of the charm. The Varnish’s legacy has always been about small rooms, sharp precision and moments you catch only if you’re paying attention.

In the city of Los Angeles, neighbors or homeowner groups who choose to fight approvals of new housing are required to pay a fee when filing an appeal.

Right now, that fee is $178 — about 1% of the amount the city says it costs to process the appeal. But that fee soon will go up.

On Wednesday, the L.A. City Council voted to increase the fee to $229 but rejected a proposal by the city administrative officer that would have raised the cost for appellants to more than $22,800, or 100% of the cost.

Some advocates for making housing easier to build argued the city should have adopted the higher fee.

“Appeals of approved projects create delays that make it harder to build housing and disincentivize future housing from being proposed,” said Jacob Pierce, a policy associate with the group Abundant Housing L.A.

At a time when L.A.’s budget is strained, Pierce said, if someone thinks a project was wrongly approved, “They should put their money where their mouth is and pay the full fee."

The City Council unanimously approved another new fee structure put forward by the city’s Planning Department.

While fees will remain relatively low for housing project opponents, developers will have to pay $22,453 to appeal projects that previously had been denied.

A November report from the city administrative officer said setting fees higher to recover the full cost of processing would have aligned with the city’s financial policies. Generally, fees are set higher when applicants are asking for a service that benefits them alone.

“When a service or activity benefits the public at large, there is generally little to no recommended fee amount,” the report said.

Pierce said he hoped a City Council committee would reconsider the higher fee proposal next year. With the city falling far short of its goal to create nearly a half-million new homes by 2029, he said the city needs to discourage obstruction of new housing.

“Slowing down the construction of housing is expensive for all of us,” Pierce said.

Los Angeles could become the first city in the U.S. to ban ink cartridges that can be used only once.

The L.A. City Council unanimously voted Wednesday to approve the creation of an ordinance that prohibits their sale. The move comes after more than a year of debate over the terms.

Why the potential ban

This builds upon the city’s effort to reach zero waste, including phasing out single-use plastics. You’re likely familiar with some of those efforts — such as only getting plastic foodware by request and banning single-use carryout bags at stores. Multiple plastic bans have been suggested, like for single-use vapes and bag clips, but now it’s ink’s turn.

The cartridges are tough to dispose of because of the plastic, metal and chemicals inside, according to the city. They’re also classified as regulated waste in the state because they can leach toxic substances into the environment, such as volatile organic compounds and heavy metals.

That poses a problem. L.A.’s curbside recycling program can’t recycle the cartridges, and while its hazardous waste program can take them, a significant portion end up in landfills.

Major printer manufacturers and some ink retailers have take-back programs for used cartridges so they can get refilled. However, L.A. Sanitation says there are certain single-use cartridges that don’t have recovery programs. These are usually cartridges that work with a printer but aren’t name brand.

How outlawing them could work

LASAN has spent months figuring out what a ban would cover — and it hasn’t been without pushback. The city’s energy and environment committee pressed the department back in September on how effective a ban would be.

Ultimately, the committee moved it forward with a promise that LASAN would come back with more details, including environmental groups’ stance, concrete data to back up the need and a public education plan.

The department’s current recommendation is that the ordinance should prohibit retail and online establishments from selling any single-use ink cartridge, whether sold separately or with a printer, to people in the city. Retailers that don’t follow the rules would get fined.

So what does single-use mean here? The ban would affect a printer cartridge that:

• is not collected or recovered through a take-back program
• cannot be remanufactured, refilled or reused
• infringes upon intellectual property rights or violates any applicable local, state or federal law

Any cartridges that meet one of these points would fall under the ban, though you still could get them outside L.A.

The proposed ordinance will go to the committee first while LASAN works on a public education plan.

If it ends up getting approved by the full council, the ban likely would go into full effect 12 months later.