The Brief

This story includes descriptions of sexual abuse.

In 2020, as the coronavirus pandemic began its rampage, a recent law school graduate started a new job in Alaska.

She hoped the coveted post — as law clerk to a federal judge — would jump-start her career. Instead, it was almost derailed by harassment and abuse.

"The judge was the HR department, the judge was my boss, the judge was a colleague," she said. "The judge was everything, he had all the power."

The power imbalance between judges with lifetime tenure and the young law clerks who work alongside them is both vast and unique to the judiciary. People in the federal court system don't have the same kind of job protections enshrined in law that most other Americans do.

The courts largely police themselves. That's because judicial independence – and protecting the balance of power — give judges a tremendous amount of sway over their own workplace rules. At the same time, federal judges have emerged in recent weeks as the lone check on employment abuses elsewhere in the federal government.

A nearly year-long NPR investigation has found problems with the courts' internal system – and a pervasive culture of fear about blowing the whistle. Forty-two current and former federal judicial employees spoke to NPR about their experience working for judges appointed by presidents from both major political parties.

One of them is the former clerk in Alaska. She's not being named because she alleges she's the survivor of sexual assault.

Early in her clerkship, the judge started testing her boundaries, with inappropriate conversations about his personal relationships. She thought it was part of her job to listen and help with anything in his life, she said.

"He had told me that I was a confidante and he had given me the title of career clerk and, you know, he had spoken to me about what an honor that was and… I mean this is ridiculous, but I thought I was doing a public service," she said.

As the judge's marriage came apart, he began to text her constantly , to the point where her phone felt like an "electric leash." In one message, he said she looked like a "f****** Disney princess." In another, he told her he liked her blue pants.

Things got worse by the summer of 2022, so she found a new job, as a federal prosecutor in Alaska.

About a week after she left the judge's chambers, she ran into him at a party. He tried to get her to sit next to him on the couch there. Eventually she left, but she got a text from him saying he needed to talk to her.

It was cold that night, so the judge suggested they chat inside his apartment. Then, he insisted she come to the bedroom. At first, she sat on the corner of the bed, but he wanted her to lay down. Then, she told investigators, he grabbed her breast. She tried to pull his arm off, she says, but he was really strong.

"I just remember thinking like there's nothing I can do about this," she told the investigators. "This is about to happen." The judge later told investigators it was consensual.

He took off her pants and performed oral sex on her.

'No legal recourse'

Law clerks and other judicial employees are vulnerable to mistreatment and have few job protections.

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A judge's control over the future of a young lawyer in his or her chambers is real—and lasting. With only a phone call, a judge can open doors to a lucrative job at a law firm or shut them permanently.

Unlike people who work for private companies, nonprofit groups or Congress, the 30,000 employees of the federal courts usually cannot sue for mistreatment .

"The federal judiciary is outrageously exempt from Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964," said Aliza Shatzman, who launched The Legal Accountability Project to offer clerks a way to share feedback about their experiences on the job. "That means that if you are a law clerk and you are sexually harassed, fired, retaliated against by a federal judge, you have no legal recourse."

Since 2017, when the #MeToo movement swept the country, the federal courts say they've done a lot to make sure workers are treated with dignity and respect.

"We believe that the changes put in place over the past seven years have had a positive impact on the Judiciary workplace, a belief that was validated by two independent studies," a spokesperson for the Administrative Office of the U.S. Courts told NPR in a written statement. "We continue to make improvements as part of our efforts to foster an exemplary workplace for our employees."

Court administrators said employees now have several ways to report problems. And, when it comes to abusive or hostile behavior, they said federal judiciary workers have more leeway to complain about their bosses than people who work outside.

But the clerk in Alaska never used the judiciary's internal system to report the judge. She didn't know it existed.

And that's not uncommon. A study last year by the Federal Judicial Center and the National Academy of Public Administration found many federal courts failed to put required information on reporting misconduct on their websites. About one in 10 court websites have no information about workplace conduct.

People walk toward the James M. Fitzgerald U.S. Courthouse and Federal Building in downtown Anchorage, Alaska, on July 10, 2024.

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A person who once served as a resource for court employees seeking advice or information about filing complaints told NPR there are a lot of people trying to do the right thing. This person spoke anonymously, afraid of reprisal for talking about the system. They said it was a struggle just to get information updated on the court's website, so clerks could find out whom they can talk to, if they had the courage to speak.

A widespread culture of fear surrounds talking about what happens in a judge's chambers, from cases and decision-making to abuse and misconduct. And there's a good reason for that.

James Baker is a former judge who also worked in the White House and the military.

"The location where I found the power differential the most distinct was when I was serving as a judge with law clerks, and I think that's something worth noting," said Baker, who worked on last year's NAPA judiciary study.

Not only is the relationship between judges and clerks fraught, it often comes with a huge age gap; the average age of a federal judge is in the mid to late 60s, while law clerks tend to be in their mid to late 20s.

Here's the way the system works now.

If a clerk has a problem, their first option is something called informal advice.

"Informal advice could be anything like, you know, talk to the judge, write down your thoughts," said Gabe Roth, who pushes the courts to be more accountable through his group, Fix the Court. "It can be a lot of different sort of basic HR things that we've all spoken to HR people about."

The next step, called an assisted resolution, is a little more serious. The courts say there are about 500 people across the system who are designated to hear about problems and offer advice. Much happens informally through mediation, where a clerk or other court employee can raise concerns and get an apology or even a job transfer.

Then, there's the most serious option: making a formal complaint. Staying anonymous is not guaranteed. That's a big problem for many of the clerks and law students who reach out to Aliza Shatzman. She operates a database where clerks can share honest feedback about judges: the good and the bad.

"I don't take it lightly when I say the federal judiciary is the most dangerous white-collar workplace in America," Shatzman said.

Hard data about misconduct in the court system isn't easy to come by. For example, no one tracks the most commonly used way that clerks and other workers raise an alarm, that option to seek informal advice.

"There's tons of stats; you want to know the birth year of some random judge in Missouri from 1897," said Roth, of Fix the Court. "They have that. But the idea that they … have not successfully captured the most common type of complaint is very frustrating."

The courts unveiled their first annual workplace conduct report last November. That report showed more court employees are using the dispute resolution process. But few of them are law clerks.

There are more than 1,400 federal judges with life tenure – and they each have at least two clerks. Just seven complaints came from law clerks between 2021 and 2023.

"The actual number of complaints that flow out of chambers misconduct is a very small number," Judge Robert Conrad of the Administrative Office told reporters last year. "Wherever misconduct occurs in the judiciary, we need to be ready to address it in a serious way. But the notion that this is primarily a judge problem seems to be dispelled by the findings of the report."

Shatzman, of the Legal Accountability Project, interprets those numbers very differently.

"When you see a low number of harassment and misconduct complaints in a workplace, typically that does not signal that it is a safe workplace," she said. "Typically, it signals that the reporting mechanisms are broken and law clerks do not feel comfortable filing complaints."

Sexual harassment, bullying, and discrimination

Over nearly a year, NPR heard the stories of people whose self-confidence was shattered by judges who screamed so loudly others could hear from the hallways, and people who were fired after only a few weeks on the job, for no clear reason.

Some described sexual harassment, like in the case of the Alaska clerk. Many more shared episodes of bullying. Others said they faced discrimination or harsh treatment because they had a disability or were pregnant.

Jessica Horton is one of them.

When she graduated from law school, at age 24, she felt lucky to get a job as a law clerk to a new federal judge.

Horton said she disclosed her pregnancy a couple of months before she started work. And at the time it didn't seem like it would be much of a problem for the judge who was herself a mom.

"She told me that she took off two weeks when she had each of her children," Horton said. "And so she said, 'You can expect the same.' And at the time, I had no context for how little that is."

Inside those chambers, the judge's word is law. And Horton fell in line.

Several clerks shared they faced discrimination or harsh treatment because they had a disability or were pregnant.

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She worried so much about missing work that she told the doctor she wanted to avoid a C-section, because of the recovery time. She refused an epidural too, because she had read about complications with them.

"My judge at one point asked me how dilated I was," Horton recalled. "And so she's like, well, maybe when you go to your appointment, the doctor should check. I had no idea. Like, I mean, at the time, like I knew that that was wrong. Looking back, that is so incredibly inappropriate."

Horton ended up back at a work event 11 days after her first child was born, still bleeding from birth, leaking milk, and completely miserable. She fought infections and bullying from another clerk.

The clerkship lasted a year — and to leave would be "career suicide," she said. She started counting down the days on the calendar.

Starting out, Horton had been excited about learning from the judge, having a mentor, maybe someday even becoming a judge herself.

"But after this experience, I changed my mind and it, I think, kind of put the nail in the coffin of my legal career pretty early," she said.

Her son is now 9 years old. Sometimes they drive by the courthouse and she reminds him, that's where he slept underneath her desk as a baby.

Horton decided to talk on the record, in part because she's left the legal profession.

Things can get pretty tough for clerks who speak out.

When the Alaska clerk reported the assault, she told a colleague in the U.S. attorney's office who had been assigned to mentor her.

"When I reported to my mentor, she was also the person that had been sending him nude photos and immediately told him that I reported the sexual assault," the clerk said.

The mentor later said in court papers that she also felt pressured to share nude pictures with the judge, given his power and authority, and because he told her he would have sway over a job she wanted.

The former clerk heard from friends that the judge was furious she'd told anyone. When she ran into him, in the hallway at the courthouse, she said he warned her to keep her head down and shut up. (The judge denied that.)

"The actual sexual assault was awful…completely awful and you know I've since sought therapy for that, and help. But what happened next was almost worse," she said.

The court system ultimately launched an investigation into the judge, Joshua Kindred. What followed were multiple rounds of interviews with investigators who cross-examined her and stress-tested her credibility. The court investigation took more than a year, and all the while two other young women clerks in the judge's chambers continued to work by his side.

Alaska lawyer Joshua Kindred speaks during a judicial nomination hearing at the U.S. Senate Committee on the Judiciary in Washington, D.C., in 2019.

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At first, Kindred told investigators nothing sexual had happened between them. Much later, he said the experience was consensual and that he had no "sinister intent."

Last July, a special committee for the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit found the judge had deliberately lied . But the court committee found the judge did not retaliate against the former clerk and did not reach a conclusion about whether the judge sexually assaulted her.

Kindred resigned shortly before the report about his misconduct became public.

He did not respond to phone calls or messages to an email address and a phone number associated with him, or to messages sent to relatives.

A patchwork reporting system

Before the courts started to develop more formal systems for reporting abuse seven years ago, clerks sometimes had to figure out a solution for themselves — something that continues to this day.

That's what happened with a woman we're calling S, who worked for Judge José Antonio Fusté in Puerto Rico, just out of law school.

Chief U.S. District Court Judge José Fusté attends a press conference in San Juan, Puerto Rico in 2009.

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"We were working together on a very high-profile, high-stakes death penalty case," she said. "I remember that I was in his chambers and we were sitting next to each other. And I remember that he put his hand on my thigh and I remember moving it off of my thigh and just being shocked."

Things like that happened quite a few times, she said, including an incident when the judge returned from a trip and tried to kiss her on the lips. He also copied down a love poem and left it at her desk, she said.

S said she struggled with her options, including whether to leave the job early. Eventually, a new law clerk arrived, and S said the judge made advances on her too.

"This wasn't about me personally. This was just a pattern and practice of behavior," S said.

Together she and the other clerk developed some strategies for handling the judge, their boss. They never went into his chambers on their own, for starters.

"Kind of just tried to stay away from him as much as we could, which is a very unfortunate situation, because part of the reason one might choose to work for a federal judge is because you want to be able to interact with a federal judge," she said. "So we just…got very cold to him and I guess strength in numbers is how it turned out."

S said she and her fellow clerk — diligent young attorneys just out of law school — dug into legal research about sexual harassment and the ramifications of making a complaint about a federal judge.

Ultimately, they reached out to administrators in the Appeals Court for the First Circuit but S said they were told "there wasn't anything that could be done."

Fusté remained on the bench for years, until 2016, when he resigned after another clerk reported him to administrators.

A widespread culture of fear surrounds talking about what happens in a judge's chambers, from cases and decision-making to abuse and misconduct.

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Isabel Seliger for NPR

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NPR attempted to reach Judge Fusté for comment, but he did not respond to phone calls or messages to an email address and a phone number associated with him, or to messages sent to relatives.

S knows Fusté has retired. But she's still afraid of the damage it could cause her career if she identifies herself by name.

"He was able to retire with all of his federal benefits," she said. "So I thought, 'Well, this doesn't really seem fair that all he has to do is kind of, you know, walk away and …he could have been ready to retire in any case.'"

Retirement stops any court investigation in its tracks. Often a judge under scrutiny will keep their benefits and sometimes still show up at the courthouse.

That's how things went down in the most notorious case in recent years.

Sexual misconduct allegations against Judge Alex Kozinski shook the federal courts in 2017 , after #MeToo complaints hit Hollywood, the business world, media and politics.

Ninth Circuit Appeals Court Judge Alex Kozinski attends a House Judiciary Committee hearing on March 16, 2017 in Washington, D.C.

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Kozinski apologized to his former clerks for making them feel uncomfortable. He said he had a "broad sense of humor."

But even after he retired, Kozinski kept working in the law. He's even filed court papers for clients with cases before the 9th Circuit, the same one he left amid a national outcry.

The Administrative Office of the Courts pointed out in a statement to NPR that three judges named in this story — Kozinski, Fusté and Kindred — are off the bench, and that two of them left before the #MeToo scandals erupted, and before the courts created a better reporting system.

A push for accountability 

For most people, the courts are where they turn for accountability when they have problems at work. But for the people who work in those very courts, their rights are not that clear. Protections for them are not set out under law, and a judge's colleagues and friends can be the deciders.

Congresswoman Norma Torres, a Democrat from California, is trying to change that .

Last fall, she convened a group of experts on Capitol Hill to draw attention to the problem.

"I don't need to be a lawyer to know that people in power with no oversight get to sweep people and problems under the rug," she said.

Torres says the majority of judges behave properly, but the ones who don't face little accountability. The courts operate in a patchwork, so no one is in charge of overseeing all the systems that employees use to report misconduct. Torres pushed for Congress to set aside money for two research studies to understand the holes in the system.

Gretta Goodwin led one of those efforts, for the Government Accountability Office. But Goodwin found she didn't have the access to properly do her job.

"This report is about workplace misconduct," Goodwin said at the congressional roundtable. "And we were not really allowed to talk to employees or get perspectives from employees. We were allowed to speak to one current and one former employee."

The federal courts said the study validates the steps they've already taken to improve conditions for workers there.

But Torres said that's not good enough. She's committed to using the power of the purse — the appropriations power — to try to get the judiciary to do more.

California Democratic Rep. Norma Torres speaks during a press conference on Capitol Hill on June 13, 2024.

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She and Georgia Democrat Hank Johnson also introduced the Judiciary Accountability Act . The bill would make clear that the civil rights laws — the protections against discrimination on the basis of race, gender, disability and other protected characteristics, as well as against sexual harassment and retaliation — apply to the 30,000 people who work for the federal courts.

"This is just one small step, but a very important step to bring about some accountability," Johnson said.

Senator Lisa Murkowski, of Alaska, helped sponsor a companion bill in the Senate. But neither piece of legislation got a hearing before Congress left town last year. Republicans now control both chambers of Congress and reforms to the judicial branch are not expected to be a priority for them this year.

As for other avenues of accountability, the people who work for federal judges, probation departments and public defenders can't go to the executive branch for help. And it's not clear they can sue in the courts either.

In fact, NPR heard from a dozen current and former employees that it's hard to even find a lawyer to give advice because these systems are so hard to understand, and because the lawyers worry about getting on the bad side of a federal judge who may decide their own cases someday.

Pressure to remain silent

Executives in the federal court system said they're committed to improving the work environment and they've taken concrete steps to demonstrate that.

"This is not the systemic failure that some critics stuck in a six-year time warp have used to describe the judiciary's efforts," Conrad, of the Administrative Office of the Courts, said last year.

But clerks told NPR that people who run into trouble on the job still face tremendous pressure to remain silent. A negative reference from a judge can detonate a clerk's career, while judges serve for life.

Judges who behave badly can be an open secret in a courthouse: NPR heard over and over again that the court security officers know, the longtime clerks know, their colleagues know. But a new batch of clerks, just out of law school, may not have heard those whispers.

"I can handle a tough boss," said a former clerk who spoke anonymously for fear of reprisal. "I can't handle an abusive boss. I just wish more people would talk about it."

Were you harassed or bullied by a federal judge or do you know someone who was? We want to hear about your experience. Your name will not be used without your consent, and you can remain anonymous. Please contact NPR by clicking this link .

Barrie Hardymon, Monika Evstatieva and Krishnadev Calamur edited this story with help from Anna Yukhananov and Robert Little. Research from Barbara Van Woerkom, with art direction and photo editing by Emily Bogle. Production support from Casey Morell and Margaret Luthar.

Copyright 2025 NPR

President Donald Trump has signed a bill to fund the government, bringing a close to the longest government shutdown in history, one that saw millions of Americans affected and ended with little political gain.

The bill passed Wednesday night despite Republicans' narrow margin in the House. Six Democrats joined their Republican colleagues to get the bill over the finish line 43 days after the shutdown began: Reps. Henry Cuellar of Texas, Don Davis of North Carolina, Adam Gray of California, Jared Golden of Maine, Marie Gluesenkamp Perez of Washington, and Tom Suozzi of New York.

Two Republicans — Reps. Thomas Massie of Kentucky and Greg Steube of Florida — voted no. The final vote was 222 to 209.

Trump signed the bill shortly after the House vote. He blamed Democrats for the shutdown at the signing event in the Oval Office.

"This was an easy extension but they didn't want to do it the easy way," Trump said. "They wanted to do it the hard way."

In addition to extending last year's spending levels through the end of January for most of the government, the bill provides funding for some agencies through the end of next September, including payments for the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP). The program, which provides food aid to nearly 1 in 8 Americans, has been mired in a court battle because of the shutdown.

The bill includes a measure to reverse layoffs the Trump administration imposed during the shutdown, provides backpay for federal employees, and institutes protections against further layoffs.

But the central issue underlying the entire shutdown — extensions on enhanced Affordable Care Act subsidies that expire at the end of the year — is not addressed in the bill.

Instead, as part of the deal reached with a bipartisan contingent of senators , Senate Majority Leader John Thune, R-S.D., agreed to hold a vote in mid-December on Democrat-drafted legislation aimed at extending those subsidies.

That doesn't sit well with many Senate Democrats, who remain wary of the pledge.

"A handshake deal with my Republican colleagues to reopen the government and no guarantee to actually lower costs is simply not good enough," said Sen. Tammy Baldwin, D-Wisc., who voted against the measure.

Even if a December bill addressing the expiring subsidies passes the Senate, it would need to go to the House. Speaker Mike Johnson, R-La., has not made a guarantee to bring such a bill to the floor for a vote.

A lot of pain, not a lot of gain

Government shutdowns historically have not been effective tools for advancing a party's policy goals. The last six weeks proved that to be the rule, not an exception.

The decision by Senate Democrats not to fund the government before Oct. 1 was fueled, at least in part, by demands from the Democrats' political base to be a strong opposition party. The party homed in on a promise that they would not fund the government unless Republicans agreed to extend subsidies for people who buy health care through the Affordable Care Act marketplace.

The decision came after key Democrats, including Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer, voted alongside Republicans to avoid a shutdown in March. The result was a furious Democratic base, who demanded the minority party exert what little leverage it has to force a negotiation with Republicans in exchange for their votes to fund the government.

With an eye toward the expiring subsidies and resulting skyrocketing premiums, Senate Democrats stood firm during the October shutdown, hoping their resolve, paired with the devastating impacts of the shutdown on millions of Americans, would bring Republicans to the negotiating table.

But the strategy ultimately didn't work. Republicans didn't budge and continued to hold regular votes to fund the government.

In the meantime, 42 million Americans who participate with SNAP didn't receive the food aid they rely on. Air traffic controllers and most Transportation Security Administration employees had to remain on the job without pay, leading to the Federal Aviation Administration's order to scale back flights . Millions of federal workers went without pay.

The group of seven Democrats and one independent senator who voted to end the shutdown acknowledged that waiting longer wouldn't bring about a different result.

"There was no guarantee that waiting would get us a better result, but there was a guarantee that waiting would impose suffering on more everyday people," Sen. Tim Kaine, D-Va., told NPR.

The result is an end to a shutdown that does not address the core demand from Democrats on the subsidies. Instead they are left to defend the kind of handshake agreement that they once said was insufficient.

Thune's ultimate deal with Democrats aligns with his repeated statements throughout the shutdown that Republicans would be open to negotiating on the expiring subsidies only after the government was funded, not before.

Rep. Jared Golden, D-Maine, one of the six Democrats who voted for the bill in the House, said there is still an opportunity to address health care.

"Congress still has a window to pass bipartisan legislation to extend the ACA premium tax credits," Golden said in a statement. "In September, I joined a bipartisan coalition in the House to put forth legislation to extend the credits for one year and now, with the shutdown now over, I urge members of both parties who care about affordable health care to come back to the table so we can get the job done."

Another factor that didn't go Democrats' way is the president himself. President Trump has been known at times to upend Congressional Republicans' game plan. But he took a step back during the shutdown and let Thune drive the GOP strategy. He didn't take the bait from Democrats who repeatedly asked where Trump "the great negotiator" was in the discussions.

What happens now? 

Both parties have significant choices ahead that could lay the groundwork for their political successes and headaches through next year.

Senate Democrats have about a month to craft a bill that addresses the expiring ACA subsidies in a way that brings enough Republicans on board for passage.

If they're successful at getting an extension, Democrats will be able to start 2026 with a policy victory in hand that will shape their messaging going into the midterm elections. If Republicans don't support it, Democrats still have what they see as a winning issue — health care — to run on next year.

Some Republicans have shown interest in addressing the subsidies, but want to institute reforms like fraud prevention and income caps.

And both parties have to contend with the fact that the government is only funded for a few months. Congress will still have to pass nine other appropriations bills before the continuing resolution ends.

Copyright 2025 NPR

Gov. Gavin Newsom’s former chief of staff, Dana Williamson, and four co-conspirators were indicted Wednesday on 23 counts of bank and wire fraud, allegedly committed from 2022 to 2024, during her time working for the governor.

The indictment alleges that Williamson, a longtime Democratic strategist, worked with Greg Campbell, a prominent Sacramento lobbyist, and Sean McCluskie, the former chief of staff to former U.S. Health and Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra, as well as two other unnamed co-conspirators to steal $225,000 from an unnamed former official’s dormant campaign account for McCluskie’s personal use.

“Collectively, they funneled the money through various business entities and disguised it as pay for what was, in reality, a no-show job,” FBI Sacramento Special Agent in Charge Sid Patel said in a news release.

Prosecutors allege that Williamson and one of the unnamed co-conspirators, described only as a former California public official who owned a political consulting firm, used their political strategy firms to funnel money out of a campaign account, believed to be Becerra’s, into an account controlled by McCluskie. They allegedly disguised the funds as payments for McCluskie’s spouse, who was described in the indictment as a stay-at-home parent.

Williamson is also accused of falsely claiming more than $1.7 million in business expenses on her taxes. She used the funds to purchase luxury handbags, chartered jets and a nearly $170,000 birthday trip to Mexico, the indictment alleges.

Williamson, who previously held a high-level position in Gov. Jerry Brown’s administration, was well known for her negotiating ability. When she left his office, Newsom said in a statement that he would miss her "insight, tenacity and big heart.”

The indictment indicated that Becerra had no knowledge of the scheme, and he confirmed as much Wednesday afternoon in a written statement via his spokesperson, Owen Kilmer.

“The news today of formal accusations of impropriety by a long-serving trusted advisor are a gut punch,” said Becerra, a prominent candidate to succeed Newsom in next year’s gubernatorial election. He added that he had fully cooperated with the U.S. Justice Department and would continue to do so.

“As California’s former Attorney General, I fully comprehend the importance of allowing this investigation and legal process to run its course through our justice system.”

Williamson was scheduled to appear in federal court Wednesday afternoon.

A spokesperson for Newsom distanced the governor from his former top aide.

“While we are still learning details of the allegations, the governor expects all public servants to uphold the highest standards of integrity,” said Izzy Gardon, Newsom’s spokesperson, in a written statement.

“At a time when the president is openly calling for his Attorney General to investigate his political enemies, it is especially important to honor the American principle of being innocent until proven guilty in a court of law by a jury of one’s peers,” the statement said.

Patel, the special agent in charge, said in a news release that the charges were “the result of three years of relentless investigative work.”

“The FBI will remain vigilant in its efforts to uncover fraud and corruption, ensuring our government systems are held to the highest standards.”

This article was originally published on CalMatters and was republished under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license.

After more than two years of discussion and debate, the Los Angeles City Council voted Wednesday to significantly lower annual rent increases in most of the city’s apartments.

L.A.’s current rent control rules guarantee landlords the right to raise rents at least 3% every year. Increases can be as high as 10% in some apartments during periods of high inflation.

But under the reforms passed by 12 of the council’s 15 members, rent increases would be capped at 4% annually, and an additional 2% increase for landlords who cover utilities would be eliminated. The exact rate each year would be equal to 90% of the change in the region’s consumer price index, a government measure of economic inflation.

“We need to make a change to this formula,” said Nithya Raman, chair of the council’s Housing and Homelessness Committee ahead of the vote. “Extraordinary rent increases are driving people out of the city.”

The rules passed by the majority of councilmembers would set a new floor of 1% in years of low inflation. Councilmembers Bob Blumenfield and John Lee voted against the changes, and Councilmember Curren Price recused himself from the vote because he is a landlord.

This is the first overhaul of the city’s rent increase formula since 1985. Tenant groups have long argued that the current rules increase costs faster than incomes for many renters, pushing some toward eviction and potential homelessness.

Landlord groups decried the changes, saying the city is further clamping down on their ability to keep up with skyrocketing insurance premiums and steep maintenance costs.

Before the new rules take effect, they still need to be drafted by the City Attorney’s Office and returned to the council for a final vote.

‘We would end up homeless’

The changes represent a step toward but not a full adoption of the demands for a 3% cap at 60% of inflation from tenant groups. Humberto Altamira, an unemployed cook living with his wife in L.A.’s downtown Fashion District, said his family’s rent went up about $50 per month earlier this year, and they would struggle to afford another increase of 3% or more.

“We would end up homeless and living on the street,” Altamira said, speaking in Spanish.

Humberto Altamira and his wife stand in front of L.A. City Hall ahead of a City Council vote on rent control.

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During the COVID-19 pandemic, the city banned increases for nearly four years . The new cap, while comparable to caps in many other Southern California cities, does not reflect the rising costs property owners face, said California Apartment Association spokesperson Fred Sutton.

“Reject arbitrary magic numbers,” Sutton said. “These changes will not create a single new home, but they’ll make it even harder to build, making the housing crisis worse for everyone.”

Where LA rent control applies

The city’s rent control rules generally cover apartments built before October 1978, as well as new units that replace demolished rent-controlled units or are attached to older buildings.

Nearly two-thirds of L.A.’s residents live in rental housing. And because most of them live in older properties, the city’s rent control rules affect about 42% of all L.A. households.

Some councilmembers, including John Lee, said stricter rules would run counter to other local policies to spur housing development, such as Mayor Karen Bass’ executive directive to speed up the approval of affordable housing projects.

“Just as we are gaining momentum, we are considering a change,” Lee said. “This sends the message, ‘Do not build here. Do not invest in Los Angeles.’”

Other councilmembers said getting rental costs under control is key to addressing homelessness. At last count , about 43,500 people lack housing in the city.

“We have an eviction-to-homelessness pipeline,” Councilmember Eunisses Hernandez said. “We get calls constantly from property owners about people experiencing homelessness around their buildings.

“We are struggling to deal with that crisis,” Hernandez continued. “We can’t house the number of people every year that are falling into homelessness. And a majority of that is because they can’t afford it.”

To build or not to build?

Renters and landlords crowded into City Council chambers to give public comment ahead of Wednesday’s vote.

Megan Briceño, who owns eight rent-controlled apartments, told LAist she has building permits to construct an accessory dwelling unit on her four-unit property in Mid-City L.A. Because the unit will be rent-controlled, she said the city’s changes could halt her building plans.

“I don't know how much longer I can continue to do business in a city that constantly feels like I'm fighting for my basic property rights, for a basic fair return,” Briceño said.

The process of reforming L.A.’s rent control ordinance was kickstarted in October 2023, when councilmembers Hugo Soto-Martinez and Bob Blumenfield asked for an in-depth review of the city’s rules.

LAist obtained the city-commissioned report produced in that process and was the first to publish it in September 2024.

Among other observations and recommendations, the report argued for eliminating an additional 2% annual increase landlords can impose if they pay for a tenant’s electricity and gas service. The report found that over time those increases can eclipse the entire cost of providing those utilities.

The reforms passed Wednesday include the elimination of this utility bump.