The Brief

Fifty years ago, just after Thanksgiving of 1975, President Gerald Ford signed the Education for All Handicapped Children Act, the landmark law that created special education as it exists today, and guaranteed all children with disabilities the right to a "free appropriate public education."

Yet, "rather than celebrating progress, we face a crisis," warned a recent letter to Congress, signed by hundreds of disability, civil rights and education groups.

That crisis, according to the letter, is "the dismantling of the very infrastructure Congress created to ensure children with disabilities could reach their full potential."

The Trump administration has fired, or tried to fire, many of the federal staff at the U.S. Department of Education who manage and enforce federal disability law, though Education Secretary Linda McMahon has said federal funding for special education is not at risk.

In a November op-ed in USA Today, McMahon wrote that "returning education to the states does not mean the end of federal support for education. It simply means the end of a centralized bureaucracy micromanaging what should be a state-led responsibility."

But, in interviews with 40 parents, educators, disability-rights advocates, subject matter experts and Education Department staffers, NPR heard a growing fear: that the Trump administration's efforts to cut federal staff and oversight of special education could return the U.S. to a time, before 1975, when some schools denied access or services to children with disabilities.

What special education means to one mom and her daughter

Maggie Heilman's 14-year-old daughter, Brooklynn, has never known a world without the 50-year-old law later renamed the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA).

Maggie Heilman and her daughter Brooklynn play checkers. Brooklynn loves games, painting her nails and listening to Taylor Swift.

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The family lives in a Kansas City suburb. Brooklynn, who has Down syndrome, loves hanging out with her sisters, playing basketball and listening to music "all day, and on the bus," Brooklyn says.

"And she dances all day," her mom adds.

"In circles," Brooklyn says. "Over and over."

The teen is now in eighth grade, has her own special education plan, thanks to IDEA, and loves her middle school. But sixth grade was difficult.

"I was having a hard time," Brooklynn says.

In October 2023, Heilman says, she got a call from Brooklynn's school that her daughter had become agitated after refusing a request to come to the classroom's reading table. Eventually, Heilman says, Brooklynn was secluded for 20 minutes in a padded room the size of a closet.

"That 20 minutes changed the trajectory of our lives," Heilman recalls. "I had a child who loved to sing and dance and communicate and hug, and, after that moment, she stopped talking."

Seclusion in school, as a practice, is allowed in many states — if students pose an immediate danger to themselves or others. However, the practice can also be traumatic.

Heilman says she told school staff she thought Brooklynn's seclusion was extreme. Through the winter, she said, the school turned to informal seclusion, separating Brooklynn in other physical spaces or school offices.

Brooklynn, center, loves playing Uno with her mom and sisters.

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As a result, Heilman says, Brooklynn repeatedly missed some of her traditional classes. "And we just saw our daughter's health — physically, mentally, emotionally — deteriorate."

Finally, Heilman asked that Brooklynn be transferred to a different middle school, where staff assured her they don't seclude students. Brooklynn's situation improved dramatically, but, worried for the students who came after Brooklynn, Heilman still requested a state-level investigation into her daughter's previous seclusion. The state did not find the district at fault.     

Heilman also filed a complaint with the U.S. Education Department's Office for Civil Rights (OCR), arguing that Brooklynn had been secluded unnecessarily and that, as a result, she was denied her right to a free, appropriate public education.

That complaint kickstarted a new ordeal for Heilman and her family.

Counting on a federal system as it's being dismantled

OCR is the fail-safe for families who believe their child's civil rights are being violated at school because of their disability. A family can submit a discrimination complaint, and one of OCR's attorneys will review it and, if justified, open an investigation — no need to hire an expensive lawyer or advocate.

OCR has investigated a Texas district for restraining students; a Maryland district for how it handled the bullying of a disabled student; and an Arizona district for forcing students with disabilities to end their school day earlier than general education students.

Department records show OCR began investigating Heilman's complaint in October 2024.

But Heilman says her assigned attorney was removed around the same time the Trump administration began a broad reduction-in-force. According to emails Heilman shared with NPR, her case was then assigned to a different attorney.

Heilman says she has heard nothing about the investigation since June, when this second OCR attorney assured her, in an email, that Brooklynn's case is "currently still in investigation."

Several OCR attorneys spoke with NPR on the condition of anonymity for fear of retribution by the Trump administration. Two of them said Heilman's second attorney worked in an OCR office that was gutted in October, in a second round of layoffs. Those fired workers have since been reinstated, but Heilman says she has heard nothing about her complaint.

Of the administration's decision to cut many attorneys who protect students' civil rights, Heilman says, "it's telling families with children like Brooklynn that their hurt doesn't matter."

Before special education, children with disabilities were "invisible"

Before 1975, children with disabilities were commonly denied access to public school classrooms.

"They were invisible," says Ed Martin, who helped write the landmark 1975 law. "They had been kept at home. Our goal was to end that."  

Ed Martin began his career as a young professor of speech therapy at the University of Alabama. He was invited to Washington, D.C., in the 1960s to work on disability issues.

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In 1970, U.S. public schools educated just 1 in 5 children with a disability, according to the Department of Education, and excluded nearly 1.8 million children.

Martin, now 94, says he organized hearings for parents to share their stories with lawmakers.

"There was one mother who told us a story about the school bus stopping at the foot of her driveway," Martin recalls, "and her daughter standing in the window crying, saying, 'Why can't I go with the other kids?'"

When Ford signed the new law, it cemented a bold idea: that students with disabilities have a right to an individualized, public education and that the U.S. government would help pay for it.

Margaret Spellings ran the Education Department under Republican President George W. Bush, and says special education isn't just about doing what the law requires — it's a public good.

"We're talking about a lot of kids who have abilities and disabilities that can be remediated, that can make them productive citizens," Spellings says, "and that is in our interest as a nation to have these students meet their full potential."

In fiscal year 2024, the law provided nearly $15 billion to help school districts pay for specialized classroom instruction and speech and physical therapy, among other services.  

Including its early intervention programs for infants and toddlers, IDEA helps more than 8 million children with disabilities in the U.S.

To manage and enforce not just IDEA but a cluster of federal disability laws, Congress placed a pair of offices inside the Department of Education. The Office for Special Education and Rehabilitative Services (OSERS), which includes the Office of Special Education Programs (OSEP), oversees special education under IDEA, providing guidance to states and directly to families. The other key office is OCR, the Office for Civil Rights. It does not enforce IDEA but investigates allegations of disability discrimination, which often overlap with family complaints that allege IDEA violations.

Since these offices were created, support for their mission — to help families, districts and states in their efforts to protect and educate children with disabilities — has transcended politics. Spellings says, "We have long had, for the last 50 years — until this year — huge bipartisan support and fealty to the law."

Until this year.

Devastating special education cuts 

According to court records, the Trump administration fired 121 of 135 employees at OSERS during the recent government shutdown.

"We can't, in our wildest imagination, understand how the secretary can fulfill her obligation under the law with so few staff," said Denise Marshall, head of the Council of Parent Attorneys and Advocates (COPAA).

Since those cuts, the 121 staffers have been reinstated as part of the deal to end the shutdown, though the administration could lay them off again after Jan. 30.

When NPR asked the Education Department if it planned to retain these staff beyond that date, the press office replied with a statement: "The Department has brought back staff that were impacted by the Schumer Shutdown. The Department will follow all applicable laws."

U.S. Education Secretary Linda McMahon during a television interview outside the White House. In an op-ed published in USA Today, McMahon wrote, "protecting students' civil rights is work that will never go away."

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"This is a part of the process of making a smaller federal footprint and turning responsibilities over to states," says Jonathan Butcher, acting director for the Center for Education Policy at the conservative Heritage Foundation.

Heritage's Project 2025, created as a policy blueprint for a second Trump administration, calls for IDEA funding to be "converted into a no-strings formula block grant" to be sent directly to districts — that section's author, Lindsey Burke, now works at the Education Department.

In her op-ed, and previously, McMahon has reassured families that funding for students with disabilities "will continue indefinitely." It's the federal oversight she's cutting or moving.

But an OSERS staffer, who spoke on the condition of anonymity for fear of retribution, worries that, without federal support staff, "states don't have the systems or the staffing to do this."

Ed Martin, who helped write IDEA 50 years ago, says that, without enough staff, there's also no guarantee the money will be spent on the children who need it most: "The administration has decided that nobody needs to watch [the money]."

"The secretary's words are hollow"

The Trump administration has also made deep cuts to the Office for Civil Rights. In March, it moved to close seven of OCR's 12 regional offices and to fire 299 workers, leaving roughly half the staff the office had in January. This is when Maggie Heilman lost her first attorney.

In October, the administration attempted to fire another 137 staffers, including gutting the office investigating Heilman's complaint. This left 62 employees at OCR who had not received a termination notice — about 10% of the office's January headcount.

"I'm just shocked that they can destroy an entire unit of an organization that's created by statute," said R. Shep Melnick before some cuts were reversed. Melnick is a professor of American politics at Boston College who has been writing about OCR for decades.

As at OSERS, the employees who were fired in October have since been reinstated, but, again, there is no guarantee they will be allowed to stay beyond Jan. 30.

In a statement, the department's press secretary for legal affairs, Julie Hartman, told NPR: "We are rebuilding and refocusing OCR to enable the office to protect students and enforce the law."

Thousands of languishing civil rights complaints

Even as the administration has tried to cut OCR's enforcement attorneys, it has aggressively used the office to enforce new priorities, going after districts and colleges that support transgender students or embrace diversity, equity and inclusion.

In a statement, Hartman told NPR that OCR had "strayed" under Biden and that Trump "is reorienting OCR to what it's meant to be: a law enforcement agency, not a social-justice advocacy arm of the federal government."

Public data suggests a shift away from disability-related investigations.

Since Trump took office, OCR has reached resolution agreements in 73 cases involving alleged disability discrimination. Compare that to 2024, when OCR resolved 390, or 2017, the year Trump took office during his first term, when OCR reached agreements in more than 1,000 such cases.

In these agreements, school districts often commit to a host of fixes — such as launching a program to monitor the use of restraint and seclusion — that help not just the student at the center of the complaint but other students as well. Still, they require labor-intensive investigations into complaints like Maggie Heilman's, with attorneys conducting interviews and collecting documents.

After Brooklynn's first day at her new middle school, her mother, Maggie Heilman, remembers, "She was smiling. She said, 'Thank you, Mommy. I fit in. I love you.'"

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In her USA Today op-ed, McMahon said, in spite of the cuts to OCR, "protecting students' civil rights is work that will never go away."

To that, Marshall, of COPAA, replied: "Bullcrap. The secretary's words are hollow."

It is possible some of OCR's responsibilities could be shifted to other federal agencies, including the U.S. Department of Justice, says Kenneth Marcus, who ran OCR during the first Trump administration and founded the Louis D. Brandeis Center for Human Rights Under Law.

That doesn't appear to have happened yet, Marcus says. But if it does, he says, "it is entirely possible that this shift will leave us stronger when it comes to civil rights, but we will need to see the details."

Spellings, the former Republican education secretary, says that if the administration continues to focus its diminished resources on high-profile political fights, it will run the risk of failing the parents of disabled children even as it says it champions parents' rights in general: "I believe it when they say, 'Let's put parents in charge.' … OK, so what about the parents who want their options as described in [federal disability law]?"

What's next?

The endgame for the Trump administration, as the president and his education secretary have said repeatedly, is to close the U.S. Department of Education and move the federal jobs and funding streams it considers essential to other agencies.

On social media, McMahon and her staff have openly mocked the department, which she has said is "mostly a pass-through for funds that are best managed by the states."

The problem with that view, says Jacqueline Rodriguez of the National Center for Learning Disabilities, is that states need and often want support when it comes to special education. And that support comes from the hundreds of federal staff the administration has been trying to fire.

Without them, Rodriguez says, "we are concerned special education will cease to exist."

"I'm fearful," says one state director of special education, who spoke with NPR on the condition of anonymity out of concern the government would retaliate against that state. "I think it's good for states to know there's federal oversight and that they'll be held accountable. The concept of leaving special education up to states sounds great, but it's scary. What happens if one state decides to interpret the law one way, but another state disagrees and interprets it differently?"

Fifty years ago, Ed Martin helped write the law that made clear to all states and all public schools: Children with disabilities deserve better. The law, he says, was "an affirmation of the values of the country."

He hopes that's still true.

Edited by: Nicole Cohen
Visual design and development by: LA Johnson

Copyright 2025 NPR

This story first appeared on The LA Local.

Since 1977, Richard Santillan has been to every Opening Day game at Dodger Stadium. 

“The tradition goes from my father, to me, to my children and grandchildren. Some of my best memories are with my father and children here at Dodger Stadium,” Santillan told The LA Local, smiling under the shade of palm trees near the entrance to the ballpark Wednesday morning. He was there to protest the team less than 24 hours before Opening Day.

Santillan, like countless other loyal Dodgers fans, is grappling with his fan identity over the team’s decision to accept an invitation to the White House and owner Mark Walter’s ties to ICE detention facilities.

More than 30 people joined Santillan on Wednesday morning for a press conference held near 1000 Vin Scully Drive to convey a message directly to the team. 

“We are demanding the Dodgers stop participating in funding of inhumane treatment of families and do not go to the White House to celebrate with the criminal in chief,” Evelyn Escatiola told the crowd. “Together, we have the power to make a change.”

Escatiola, a former dean of East Los Angeles College and longtime community organizer, urged fans to flex their economic power by “letting the Dodgers know that we do not support repression.”

Jorge “Coqui” Rodriguez, a lifelong Dodgers fan, spoke to the crowd and called on Dodgers ownership to divest from immigration detention centers owned and operated by GEO Group and CoreCivic.

Jorge Coqui H Rodriguez speaks at a press conference outside Dodger Stadium on March 25, 2026, to demand the Dodgers not to visit the White House following their 2025 World Series win.

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In a phone interview a day before the protest, Rodriguez told The LA Local he did not want the Dodgers using his “cheve” or beer money to fund detention centers. 

“They can’t take our parking money, our cacahuate money, our cheve money, our Dodger Dog money and invest those funds into corporations that are imprisoning people. It’s wrong,” Rodriguez said. 

Rodriguez considers the Dodgers one of the most racially diverse teams and said the players need to support fans at a time when heightened immigration enforcement has become more common across L.A.

The team’s 2025’s visit to the White House drew ire from the largely Latino fan base, citing the Trump administration’s ongoing attacks on immigrants. 

In June, the team came under further scrutiny when rumors swirled online that federal immigration agents were using the stadium’s parking, which immigration authorities later denied in statements posted on social media accounts.

The team again came under fire after not releasing a statement on the impacts of ICE raids on its mostly Latino fan base at the height of immigration enforcement last summer. The team later agreed to invest $1 million to support families affected by immigration enforcement.

When he learned the Dodgers were pledging only $1 million to families in need, Rodriguez called the amount a  “slap in the face.” 

“These guys just bought the Lakers for billions of dollars and they give a million dollars to fight for legal services? That’s a joke,” Rodriguez said. “They need to have a moral backbone and not be investing in those companies.”

According to reporting from the Los Angeles Times, former Dodgers pitcher Clayton Kershawsaid last week that he is looking forward to the trip.

“I went when President [Joe] Biden was in office. I’m going to go when President [Donald] Trump is in office,” Kershaw said. “To me, it’s just about getting to go to the White House. You don’t get that opportunity every day, so I’m excited to go.”

The Dodgers have yet to announce when their planned visit will take place. 

Santillan sometimes laments his decision to give up his season tickets in protest of the team. His connection to the stadium and the memories he has made there with family and friends will last a lifetime, he said. On Thursday, he will uphold his tradition and be there for the first pitch of the season, but with a heavy heart.

“It’s a family tradition, but the Dodgers have a lot of work to do,” he said.

A local favorite mom-and-pop bookshop in Eagle Rock is facing displacement due to a steep rent hike. The owners say theirs is just one of several small businesses along Eagle Rock Boulevard struggling to keep up with lease increases.

Over the past 19 years, many in the neighborhood have come to love READ Books for its eclectic collection of used titles and shop dog Florence.

Co-owner Jeremy Kaplan said it’s been a delight to grow with the community over the years.

“Like seeing kids come back in, who were in grade school and now they’re in college,” Kaplan said.

But the building where Kaplan and wife Debbie rent was recently sold, and the rent increased by more than 130% to $2,805 a month, Kaplan said. He told LAist it was an increase his small business simply could not absorb.

Kaplan said he originally was given 30 days notice of the rent increase. After some research, assistance from Councilmember Ysabel Jurado’s office and some pro-bono legal help, Kaplan said he pushed back and got the 90-day notice he’s afforded by state law.

California Senate Bill 1103 requires landlords to give businesses with five or less employees 90 days’ notice for rent increases exceeding 10%, among other protections.

Systems Real Estate, the property management company, did not immediately respond to LAist’s request for comment.

What can small businesses do? 

Nadia Segura, directing attorney of the Small Business Program at pro bono legal aid non-profit Bet Tzedek said California law does not currently allow for rent control for commercial tenancies.

Outside of the protections under SB 1103, Segura said small businesses like READ Books don’t have much other recourse. And even then, commercial landlords are not required to inform their tenants of their protections under the law.

“There’s still a lot of people that don’t know about SB 1103. And then it’s very sad that they tell them they have these rent increases and within a month they have to leave,” Segura said.

She said her group is seeing steep rent hikes like this for commercial tenants across the city.

“We are seeing this even more with the World Cup coming up, the Olympics coming up. And I will say it was very sad to see that also after the wildfires,” Segura said.

Part of Bet Tzedek’s ongoing work is to advocate for small businesses, working with landlords who are increasing rents to see if they are willing to give business owners longer leases that lock in rents.

What’s next 

After READ Books posted about their situation on social media, commenters chimed in to express their outrage and love for the little shop.

While he looks for a new spot, Kaplan says he’s forming a coalition of local businesses and activist groups to see what can be done to help other small businesses facing similar displacement. He wants to address the displacement issue for businesses like his, which have made Eagle Rock the distinctive neighborhood that it is today.

Owl Talk, a longtime Eagle Rock staple selling clothing and accessories in a unit in the same building as READ Books, is facing a “more than double” rent increase, according to a post on their Instagram account.

Kaplan said he’s been in touch with the office of state Assemblywoman Jessica Caloza and wants to explore the possibility of introducing legislation to set up protections for small businesses like his, including rent-control measures or a vacancy tax for landlords. Kaplan said he also reached out to the office of state Sen. Maria Durazo.

By his count, Kaplan said there are about a dozen businesses within surrounding blocks that are at risk of closing their doors or have shuttered due to rent increases or other struggles.

When READ Books was founded during the Great Recession, Kaplan said he knew it was a longshot to open a bookstore at the same time so many were struggling to stay in business.

“It was kind of interesting to be doing something that neighborhoods needed. That was important to me growing up, that was important to my children, that was important to my wife growing up,” Kaplan said.

“And then somebody comes in and says, ‘We’re gonna over double your rent.”

Topline:

Frozen budget: Most of the city’s Bureau of Street Lighting budget comes from an assessment that people who own property illuminated by lights pay on their county property tax bill. The amount people pay depends on the kind of property they own and how much they benefit from lighting. A typical single-family home currently pays $53 annually, and in total, the assessments bring in about $45 million annually for the city to repair and maintain streetlights. Changing the amount the Bureau of Street Lighting gets from the assessment requires a vote among property owners who benefit from the lights.

Ballots: L.A. City Council’s vote gives city staff the green light to prepare and send out those ballots. Miguel Sangalang, who oversees the bureau, said at a committee meeting earlier this month that he expects to send out ballots by April 17. Notices about the ballots will be sent out prior to the ballots themselves.

Near unanimous vote: L.A. City Councilmember Monica Rodriguez was the only “No” vote Tuesday, saying she wanted to see a more current strategic plan for the bureau. Sangalang said the bureau developed a plan in 2022 that lays out how money will be spent. Councilmember Imelda Padilla was absent for the vote.

Vote count: Votes will be weighted according to the assessment amount. Basically, the more you’re asked to pay yearly to maintain streetlights, the more your vote will count. Ballots received before June 2 will be tabulated by the L.A. City Clerk.

How much more money: According to a report, the amount needed in assessments from property owners to meet the repair and maintenance needs of the city’s streetlighting in the next fiscal year is nearly $112 million.

Use of the money: Sangalang said at a March 11 committee meeting that the extra funds would be used to double the number of staff to handle repairs and procure solar streetlights, which don’t face the threat of copper wire theft. That would all potentially reduce the time it takes to repair simple fixes down to a week. Currently, city residents wait for months to see broken streetlights repaired. The assessment would come with a three-year auditing mechanism.