The Brief

Tracking sharks off the California coast is a full-time job. One program that does that is on the brink of losing its funding, even as they want to help track sharks during the 2028 Summer Olympics.

The Shark Lab at Cal State Long Beach recently announced a plea for private contributions to fund another year of research and data collection focused on keeping the public safe.

The plan leading up to the 2028 Summer Olympics is to create a tracking system specific enough to share real-time monitoring information with local lifeguards through state-of-the-art autonomous boat and drone technology.

“There are going to be Olympic events in Long Beach Harbor, down in San Clemente – there are white sharks in all those places,” said Chris Lowe, director of the Shark Lab, highlighting the importance of the tools not only for athletes, but for the public also visiting from all over the world.

“Lifeguards will be scrambling for monitoring data, and they won’t have it if we run out of money,” Lowe explained.

In 2019, the lab’s Shark Safety program began after it received nearly $4 million from the state to set up a research program to tag white sharks and use drones to monitor them from the air, while using new EDNA technology to measure their presence in the water.

“That money was scheduled to last 5 years; we made it last 6,” Lowe said. “Last year we tried to get state money back, but we were told ‘the budget’s too bad, we can’t fund you this year.’”

State Sen. Tony Strickland of Huntington Beach put in a request this year for $1.7 million in NOAA funding. “The funds requested for FY 2026–27 represents the immediate need to prevent program reductions as existing funding expires and to maintain continuity of operations,” said Strickland in his budget request. The lab’s annual operating budget is around $1 million, and the hope was that the extra funding could expand the program to Monterey Bay.

Since Strickland’s request was denied from this year’s budget, the lab’s funding is set to run out in September. Going a year without funding would be detrimental to the program’s support system, Lowe said. He says half of the budget goes toward the salaries and training of highly experienced and educated technicians, required to keep the program moving.

The lab monitors sharks up and down the California coastline.

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Cal State Long Beach Shark Lab

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Roughly $700,000 worth of equipment is set up in the ocean, monitoring around 260 white sharks from Morro Bay to San Diego. “That’s a lot of money in the water that we have to constantly maintain and download… but it provides huge amounts of data, and we share that data with everybody,” said Lowe.

Lowe is also worried about the potential crisis local beaches may face in the event of an incident such as a shark bite, as the public may be dissuaded from visiting a beach following an incident.

Lowe sees education as a crucial way to mitigate that risk and raise awareness. The Shark Lab created summer outreach programs led by undergraduate students that visit beaches along the coast, teaching beach safety surrounding marine life and risks like rip currents.

“We’ve teamed up with psychologists to look at people’s perceptions, and we’ve teamed up with an economist to look at what those costs really are,” Lowe explained.

“These are all projects with the goal of keeping both people and sharks safe,” Lowe said. “We just need help. We need financial help.”

This article was originally published by the Long Beach Post, an LAist partner newsroom.

Voters in Orange will decide in November if the city should become a charter city.

The City Council approved 4-3 at its July 14 meeting to bring the question to voters. Councilmembers Arianna Barrios, Ana Gutierrez and John Gyllenhammer opposed the measure.

Orange is currently a general law city, which means it’s bound by state law and mandates. Charter cities still have to follow state law, but can establish their own rules on issues such as mayoral authority, term limits and financial management. Each charter city varies in how they establish those rules. (Read more about the nuts-and-bolts of Orange’s proposed charter city below.)

In California, 121 cities have adopted charters, including Los Angeles, Santa Ana and Huntington Beach. Other cities, including Fullerton, have also discussed adopting a city charter.

Why this matters 

Supporters of the ballot measure have said that a city charter will give Orange more control over city planning, contracting and revenue. The city is facing a budget deficit and largely lacks the revenue to sustain operations, according to consultants.

Last year, consultants warned Orange officials that if big changes aren’t made, the city could go bankrupt by 2029.

Councilmember Kathy Tavoularis introduced the charter idea earlier this year, saying the move could help the city face its financial problems.

“If you talk to people from other charter cities, Anaheim included, they'll tell you the benefits that they have from it,” Tavoularis said. “I will respect what the voters say. It's just an option, and I want to keep giving the voters options.”

Is a charter really the solution to Orange’s problems? 

The answer might not be straightforward. Jodi Balma, a political science professor at Fullerton College, told LAist that the charter can help with finances, but it all boils down to how it's written.

“The idea that being a charter city absolves you of all state regulation is not true,” Balma said. “How does a charter city change the finances? That depends what's in the charter. But cities get their revenue from taxes. The charter itself does not magically give the money.”

Voters can amend the charter later, she added.

“Residents can put charter amendments on the ballot,” Balma said. “Some of the cities have done good governance charter amendments, or written it in to begin with, and other cities have used that power to block the public out.”

For a city to adopt a charter, it requires a majority approval from voters. Adopting a charter alone will not cost the city, but placing the measure on the ballot will incur a cost.

What do opposing council members say? 

Other council members questioned the timing of the ballot measure and whether the city was moving too fast on the idea.

“My actual issue about not voting for this right now has to do with the timing against the other things we've brought forward,” Barrios said. “I don't think it's a bad idea. I think we need more time to get there.”

Councilmember Guttierez also said the charter item could have been tabled to prioritize more pressing city issues.

“I'd be happy to discuss this in the future after we get ourselves out of this structural deficit that we have,” Guttierez said.

What would the city’s proposed charter do?

Here are some highlights of what the 10-page proposed charter would accomplish: 

Fiscal responsibility: The proposed ordinance includes several rules concerning finances. For example, the city is required to adopt a balanced budget. An annual independent audit to be presented to the City Council would also be required under the ordinance. When deciding where to use general funds, repairing public infrastructure, replenishing reserves and reducing outstanding debt are among the city’s top priorities, per the charter.

Term limits: The ordinance governs all manner of elections, district boundaries, term limits and qualifications. For example, a resident must reside in Orange for 30 days or more to qualify to run for office. And no person can serve as mayor for more than two four-year terms in a lifetime. Also, no person can serve as a city council member for more than three four-year terms in a lifetime.

Open space reserve: A unique section in the proposed charter ensures the preservation of parks, wildlife habitat and other natural resources. The designated areas would be restricted to certain uses like recreation and park use.

You can read the full proposed charter here.

SAULT STE. MARIE, Mich. — The idea came to Danielle Boyer in a toy store. The inspiration? It was Tickle Me Elmo.

"Whenever you'd press his belly, he would talk, and he would teach you things," she said. "There are toys that teach us in English, but there aren't toys that teach us Anishinaabemowin. And I wanted that to be different."

Anishinaabemowin includes the Potawatomi, Odawa and Ojibwe languages. Exact estimates vary, but there are fewer than 10,000 people in the U.S. who speak Anishinaabemowin. That number is around 25,000 in Canada. Some Native languages have just a few dozen fluent speakers, while others have none.

Boyer has seen how quickly language loss can happen. Her grandmother speaks Anishinaabemowin, but she is one of the last fluent speakers of their dialect.

"It is devastating to feel like your language could be lost," said Boyer, a member of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians. "You lose your culture, you lose a way to describe who you are."

U.S. Indian boarding schools played a major role in the loss of Indigenous languages. Children separated from their families were taught, sometimes violently, not to speak their native tongues, and many did not pass them on to their children.

Today, some Native youth are learning their languages in schools. But Boyer said many of them still aren't invested. "They see it as another homework assignment."

Boyer and Hoy work on some last-minute adjustments to his AI-powered SkoBot before presenting at his school's end-of-year showcase, called the STEAM Museum.

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That's why she invented the SkoBot. It's a customizable toy robot designed to get Indigenous children excited to learn their languages.

"I can say 'Hey SkoBot, what is bear?' And it will say, 'Bear is makwa, makwa,' and it'll repeat it, right? So I can say, 'What is crane?' It'll say, 'Crane is ajijaak, ajijaak.'"

SkoBots use a form of artificial intelligence to speak Indigenous languages, and they're small enough to mount on the user's shoulder. They sort of resemble mini R2-D2 droids, from Star Wars, except these robots are designed to look like woodland creatures and decorated in Native American florals.

Through a nonprofit she started when she was 18, Boyer, now 25, has mentored hundreds of Native American children across the country, teaching them to build SkoBots of their own. One of them is 12-year-old Holden Hoy in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

"I was already a big fan of robotics and how they work, how you can bring inanimate objects to life," he said. "And I'm Ojibwe, and so I've always wanted to save the Ojibwe language."

Hoy, a rising seventh-grader, showed off his design at an end-of-the-year science fair at his school, JKL Bahweting Anishinaabe School in Sault Ste. Marie. Like Boyer, he is a member of the Sault Tribe.

He programmed his SkoBot to answer three questions ahead of his presentation. One of them was, "What's your name," to which the robot would respond in Hoy's voice: "Aaniin, Hello. Sabe indizhinikaaz, Bahweting indoonjibaa. I was built by Holden Hoy. I will not gain sentience and take over the world. Or will I?"

Hoy named his SkoBot Sabe, which means Bigfoot in Anishinaabemowin. In Ojibwe culture, Bigfoot represents honesty, one of seven sacred teachings.

His classmates and their parents stopped by his booth to see Sabe in action. Boyer was there too, helping Hoy with his presentation.

"I'm very happy that people are actually coming to this booth," Hoy said. "I'm happy that they are learning things, and I'm really happy that I'm part of the Ojibwe."

Sabe has one eye, a sensor that detects movement and lets it know to start listening.

Hoy's Sabe, or Bigfoot, SkoBot on display (right), alongside three other SkoBots that Boyer brought with her to show off at the STEAM Museum. Each represents a specific animal: a wolf, turtle and bear. Hoy's SkoBot is 3D printed in light gray, and its face is adorned with a footprint surrounded by floral designs.

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"Basically, when it hears that one trigger word, it then plays a prerecorded audio file. So there isn't synthetic speech, there isn't any generative AI," said Boyer. "It's simply listening to what you're saying, identifying it and playing [audio files] that already exist."

That means the SkoBots will never make things up, often called AI hallucinations. Hoy said it's important not to use generative AI. "AI tends to falsify things a lot, not get things from trustworthy sources."

Boyer's goal isn't to replace interactions with real language speakers. Instead, it's to get kids interested in not only their languages, but in subjects like science, math and engineering as well. That includes getting them to think about how to use AI ethically.

"Artificial intelligence, especially when it's not created by Indigenous people, stands to do a lot of harm to our communities," she said. "When you are putting accurate information into these models … you're giving away sacred information to companies that don't have our best interests at heart."

And as chatbots have become more popular, Boyer said some people have turned to them to help them learn their languages. She's even seen large language models like ChatGPT invent fake words in Anishinaabemowin, which she said is dangerous. "If we're not learning our language correctly, we shouldn't learn it at all."

Jocelyn Hoy is Holden's mom. She's excited that her son is not only exposed to their culture, but he's eager to know more. She said he's even been teaching her new things.

"As someone who, at a time in my life, did not want to be identified as Native American … now as an adult, I cannot wait to learn more, and I think the SkoBots are going to help me and so many kids — so many people in general — learn their heritage and who they are."

Holden Hoy said that heritage and the language are inseparable: "The language is the culture!"

He added, "It is important to protect it, because it's some people's way of life. Generation after generation is based around this culture."

Edited by: Steve Drummond and Lauren Migaki
Visual design and development by: LA Johnson
Copyright 2026 NPR

This story first appeared on The LA Local.

Murals depicting Korean drummers, dancers and historical figures were a large part of Dave Young Kim’s childhood in Koreatown.

At the time, the Korean American artist didn’t know what all of the imagery meant, but it left a lasting impression on him.

“We don’t learn culture via formal education. It’s all gleaned,” Kim said. “It’s just what we sense, and we feel a connection to it without actually knowing anything about it. It belongs to us, and it feels very familiar.”

Many of the murals Kim remembers from his childhood have since disappeared. With his latest mural at the Korean Resource Center, Kim hopes to bring some of that visual imagery back to the neighborhood.

Completed this summer, the mural is Kim’s first in Koreatown.

The mural shows a group of traditional Korean drummers moving beneath sweeping ribbons of color, with plum blossoms blooming across the bottom of the wall. Faint outlines of traditional Korean architecture appear in the background.

At the center of the mural is 풍물놀이 (pungmulnori), a traditional Korean folk performance that combines drumming, dance and acrobatics and has long been part of village festivals and celebrations.

A close-up view of artist Dave Young Kim’s mural at the Korean Resource Center in Koreatown. The work depicts traditional Korean drummers.

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Courtesy Dave Young Kim

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For Kim, the project was a chance to reconnect the neighborhood with the kind of cultural imagery he says shaped his own understanding of identity growing up.

“It was important to me growing up, and for me to see myself through very purposeful art, very intentional art,” he said. “For my own formation and identity, I think it was very important. I’d like to do that for future generations.”

Kim, 46, who was born and raised in Koreatown, said the project felt different from his other murals because it was rooted in the community where he spent his childhood.

“The formative years of my life are here,” he said.

The project grew out of the Abbey Mural Prize, a national grant program that supports community-based public mural projects.

As part of the project, Kim partnered with the Koreatown Storytelling Program, which trains youth to interview community elders. Students interviewed residents at Durae Crenshaw House, an affordable senior housing complex and home to the Korean Resource Center, and shared transcripts with Kim as he developed the mural.

The architecture in the mural reflects the idea of home that emerged repeatedly in interviews with elders, Kim said.

“There were a lot of iterations of the mockups. The very initial ones were very, very, very rooted in the stories, the narratives from the elders,” Kim said.

The interviews also left an impression on Daisy Yeon, 17, one of the students who conducted them. She said participating in the project changed the way she thinks about Koreatown and its history.

Yeon said she believes traditional Korean imagery still has a place in a neighborhood that has changed rapidly in recent years.

“Personally, the way Koreatown has evolved in these few last years from the pandemic and the shift where people move into other Korean enclaves like Buena Park and Torrance, Koreatown is partly becoming a place of pop-up matcha spots, for example,” she said. “So I think it’s important for tradition to still be here.”

Seeing the finished mural was “a full-circle moment,” she said, after spending months interviewing elders whose stories became part of the artwork.

While researching Koreatown’s public art history, Kim learned many of the murals he saw as a kid grew out of cultural initiatives and public funding that no longer exist. He also discovered an earlier generation of Korean American muralists whose work once covered parts of Koreatown.

In 1993, artist Dong-In Park completed a mural of traditional Korean farmers’ dance in the Korean Community Center at 981 S. Western Ave.

He told the Los Angeles Times he hoped “the 1.5- and second-generation Korean kids” would not forget their language and history. Park, along with artists including Sonia Hahn and Kuk Chol Han, helped establish a tradition of public art celebrating Korean culture during the late 1980s and early 1990s.

An undated photo of Dong-In Park’s mural depicting a farmers band playing music and dancing to provide entertainment for Korea’s largely agricultural population. The mural was previously located at 981 Western Avenue in Koreatown.

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Courtesy Mural Conservancy of Los Angeles

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Kim wants his mural to carry that tradition forward while also reflecting the history of the community it was created for.

The Korean Resource Center, founded by South Korean democracy activist Yoon Han-bong, has long organized around immigrant rights, workers’ rights and civic engagement. During the project, Kim learned that traditional Korean drumming has long played a role in the organization’s activism.

In the mural, an older drummer who immigrated from Korea leads the group, followed by a middle-aged performer who learned from him and younger drummers wearing sneakers, modeled after college students who continue the tradition today.

“Where we landed was very much to the core of what KRC is,” Kim said. “They are very activist and progressive.”

The Koreatown of today is filled with Korean-owned businesses and Korean-language signs, Kim said, but far fewer public murals reflecting Korean culture.

His latest mural isn’t about recreating the past so much as restoring something he believes has faded from the neighborhood.

As an artist, Kim said, public art has the power to shape how people experience a place.

“There’s something about the everyday landscape that you kind of are forced to take in,” he said, “and then as an artist, having the ability to shape what that might be.”