The Brief

Voter turnout among Native American communities is growing — and California organizers are working to build a network of engaged young people throughout the state.

"I realized that it's not just presidential elections that define the lay of the land for my community, the state, the country," said Maya Sanchez, a youth organizer with California Native Vote Project. "There's local elections. There's people that we put in power that I actually could go and meet… this is where real change can happen today.”

The nonprofit, founded months ahead of the 2016 election, focuses on increasing political power in Native American communities throughout the state. Despite recent growth, Native American election participation nationally still trails the overall population and other ethnic groups.

“There are some of us out there that don't even believe in this voting system because of all the historical trauma that there is with the U. S. government,” Sanchez said. “We're trying to flip the narrative.”

Congress granted U.S. citizenship to Native Americans in 1924, but until 1957 some states barred them from voting. Restrictive voting laws, and a lack of polling sites and broadband access in tribal areas are among the biggest obstacles that continue to disenfranchise Indigenous voters.

Native youths have driven civic engagement nationally during recent elections. One 2018 poll found more than half encouraged their friends and family to register or vote and about 27% volunteered for a candidate or participated in voter outreach. California has one of the highest rates of eligible Indigenous voters in the country.

“I hope that we have set [the youth] up with enough resources for them to go out and get curious,” said Maya Sanchez, a youth organizer with California Native Vote Project. “Build up a network, build up a community, start campaigns of their own.”

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The California Native Vote Project coordinates an annual series of workshops for young people about topics ranging from advocacy to mental health. This year the Native Youth for Justice Organizing Academy ended with an in-person gathering in downtown Los Angeles that mixed activism with artistic practices including beading and printmaking.

“Our activities are grounded in cultural revitalization,” said Youth Organizing Coordinator Liam Walsh. “Making sure that the youth have access to cultural resources so that they can practice it and reaffirm their own identity as an American Indian or an Indigenous person.”

Participants at this year's Academy made "seed bombs" with the seeds from native plants including coastal sunflower, saltbush, and California poppy.

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Another activity was printmaking.

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LAist spoke with a few of the youths who participated about their relationship to voting and the civic, community, and social issues they feel most passionate about. Their responses have been lightly edited for length and clarity.

Panchebe Manahuiatlaka, a youth member of the California Native Vote Project. He's also the brother of Maya Sanchez.

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Panchebe Manahuiatlaka, 20, is Diné and Mexica. He lives in Hacienda Heights and is a student at Mt. San Antonio College. 

“I honestly believe it's more important to watch out for our local elections because those impact our community a lot more than the presidential elections … I don't care about the Democrats or Republicans because all the way in the beginning they were the people who enslaved our people, continued Manifest Destiny, had these broken treaties, these broken promises. Maybe we should be more aware of what's happening politically, so our people can be educated. Instead of maybe focusing so much on the presidential [election], we can work our way up from local.”

Manahuiatlaka says the Academy has helped connect him to a community.  

“There are people out there who care for me and I think that's what a lot of youth are missing out [on]. Sometimes we don't have those communities or we don't have an outlet or someone to vent to, or a best friend. Being in like these communities or these spaces grounds me and humbles me. I'm happy to be a part of this community and grateful to be myself.”

Tlakatl Atl, a member of the Native Youth for Justice in Los Angeles.

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Tlakatl Atl, 18, is K'iche, Huichol, Mexica, and Filipino and grew up in the San Fernando Valley. They are studying dance at Cal State Long Beach.  

“I'm very excited to vote … I still feel like it's important to still have Native communities vote because … we didn't get the right to vote until later in time, and I think it's important for the youth now, this new generation is seeing what's needed to be done.”

Atl says they are focused on issues like climate change, affordability and homelessness. Growing up, Atl moved often, sometimes couch-surfing or living in the family car. 

“No one should be homeless on stolen land, first off, but also, I think it's just incredibly hard to see our own relatives living on the streets when they should be able to be living in territories that belong to them specifically and their families and their ancestral families.

"The misplacement is really discouraging sometimes to be able to feel like, [Where] is there a place I can rest? But I know that someday there's going to be a time where we're going to be able to live on our traditional homelands.”

Joey Gonzales, a member of the Native Youth for Justice in Los Angeles.

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Joey Gonzales, 20, is Chumash and Chicano and is an actor and content creator in Huntington Beach. 

“Looking at my community and seeing the diversity not being shown in film and television. A lot of the times we see in film and media, the stereotypes of Native people is the long thick black hair and dark skin tone, and it's always during colonial times … Whenever I see my community, I see beauty that's not often represented correctly, so I want to be able to do that and represent all of my relatives in media.”

"I'm learning what sound healing is and how to bring it to my community," Gonzales said. He helped open Artivism Day by inviting participants to listen to the tones created by the mallet and wooden bowl.

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Gonzales says he wants to use his platform to spread the word about voting this year. 

“When I grew up, we didn't really have our family members going out and voting. They just really didn't think that it mattered. So, growing up, I thought the same thing. Like, my vote isn't gonna make a difference. But as I started seeing polls and statistics showing the numbers of Native people voting or Latino people voting— it was low, I was like, ‘OK, my voice does matter, so my vote matters.’”

Junie Ponce first got involved with the California Native Vote Project in 2021, at the invitation of a family friend who "would always try to get me into community work."

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Junie Ponce, 19, Chicane and Diné and is concerned by how gentrification and rising rents are reshaping their Echo Park neighborhood. 

“I've seen some people struggle with houselessness and like struggling to get back on their feet, whether it was by trying to apply to Section 8, which is an extremely long process, or trying to get into shelters. It's a bit of a tough thing to witness.”

Ponce strings beads and acorns onto a keychain. "I think culture exchange is a really big thing, especially within native communities," they said. "There was a lot of trading that used to happen so things like that helps me feel like I'm reconnecting."

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LAist asked how they’re starting to think about what their role might be in changing things.

“That's definitely a hard question, but I guess finding more spaces where I can talk about these problems, and bring them to people in powers’ attention, and let them know that these are really big things that are really impacting our communities.

"I've seen [voting] in a new light. Learn the system so that we can use it to our advantage, which is something I'm trying to bring back to my family."

At this year’s Academy, they led a panel about mental health. 

“I've been meeting people and talking about this work and they're telling me I'm doing such great things for my community, and it's like I didn't even realize. So that's something I'm still working on acknowledging.”

Heslatkala-kaluluka Layfield got involved with the California Native Vote Project through another youth group.

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Heslatkala-kaluluka Layfield, who also goes by Kalu, 21, lives in Sacramento and is Nomtipom Wintu and Lakota. 

“I don't live on the rez, but when I go to the rez to dance, there's been a noticeable neglect of the elders there, and blatant disrespect, definitely. So I just want more support for elders, medical, financial, especially, because they're old, so they need all the support they can get, especially from us younger people who are very able-bodied.”

Indigenous youth gather for the California Native Vote Project "Artivism Day".

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“Keeping it light and keeping it fun is definitely really important because sometimes organizing can be kind of like a grueling, kind of a monotonous process and you don't always want to be so serious in what you do. You want to take what you're doing seriously, but you don't want to burn yourself out.”

This story first appeared on The LA Local.

Rabbi Amy Bernstein says the wind-whipped fire in January 2025 that scorched much of the Pacific Palisades, destroying her home and damaging her synagogue, “blew everything open” for the community’s faith leaders.

“If our hearts must break, let them break open,” said the rabbi, who leads Kehillat Israel where 300 families out of 900 lost their homes. “This tragedy has really pushed us closer to one another. We’re working to change the things we need changed.”

Faith leaders both in the Pacific Palisades and in Altadena and Pasadena — devastated by the pair of fires that tore across Southern California — have relied on interfaith and community partnerships to rally congregants who are picking up the pieces 16 months later.

They’ve had to learn on the fly about insurance coverage and local land use regulations while still trying to keep their scattered flock together and raising money for basic needs. Pastors in Altadena have had to fight to protect the rights of Black people who decades ago found pathways to home ownership in that community despite redlining — but now risk losing their land to outside developers who sense an investment opportunity.

And throughout this span, faith leaders have had to cater to the emotional and spiritual needs of their communities and think about how they want to rebuild their sanctuaries that were lost or damaged in the fire. More than a dozen houses of worship burned to the ground or were damaged.

Interfaith relationships have become stronger after the fires

This would have been difficult for faith leaders to handle but for the interfaith relationships that became closer and stronger after the fires, said the Rev. Grace Park, associate pastor at Pacific Palisades Presbyterian Church, which burned down.

Methodists, Presbyterians, Catholics, Jews and yogis have not just found common ground in human suffering and loss, but have learned how to lean on one another in a time of dire need, she said.

“It’s a sense of mutual affection and respect, learning from each other and leaning on one another,” Park said. “We’re sharing the joys and the deep valleys of what it means to lead through a time of tragedy.”

Brother Satyananda, a senior monk at the Self Realization Fellowship, lost his living quarters and belongings in the fire. Much of the campus, started by Paramahamsa Yogananda who brought ancient spiritual practices from India to the West, fortunately survived the fire.

Satyananda recalls one day when Bernstein picked up on his sadness and offered him “motherly compassion.”

“We share the same profession where we’re tuned to people in need,” he said. “Now, our relationship has changed because we’re tuning into each other. There’s a greater level of trust.”

Pastor BJ King, who leads LoveLand LifeCenter, worked with the late Rev. Cecil B. Murray to heal communities and build interfaith coalitions after the 1992 Los Angeles riots.

“Back then, there was a choice whether or not to get involved,” he said. “But with these fires, there is no choice. It has affected everybody.”

Pastors have had to acquire new skills

King’s congregation has switched to online services after their leased church building in Altadena suffered smoke damage. Twelve families lost their homes. In addition to helping meet people’s basic needs, King has created a program organizing gatherings to connect therapists with those in need of mental health.

“Many people didn’t even know they needed that,” he said.

One of the most powerful roles faith leaders have played after the fire is to “continue to talk with power, people in charge,” said Pastor Jonathan DeCuir, who leads Victory Bible Church in Pasadena. He and others in the region have continued to meet with local officials and even conferred with Gov. Gavin Newsom to keep things moving for their communities.

DeCuir chairs the board of a nonprofit called Legacy Land Project, which provides financial aid, legal support and guidance on building contractors, as well as medical care to those affected by the fires.

The disaster has brought a level of camaraderie that DeCuir says he has never seen among the region’s clergy.

“Denominational lines have been crossed,” he said. “Even if we have different theological stances or approaches to ministry, we are all now looking at how to care for our people and community. If we don’t come together, Altadena will never ever be the same. The people won’t be there anymore. That, to me, is terrifying.”

While a church is more than a building, physical churches do appear as “beacons of hope” in traumatized communities, said Pastor Mayra Macedo-Nolan, executive director of Clergy Community Coalition in Pasadena. Her group has lobbied for houses of worship to be prioritized on the same footing as businesses in the rebuilding plan.

“When people start seeing churches rebuilding in Altadena, they’re going to feel like it’s going to be OK because the churches are coming back,” she said.

Reimagining a purposeful future

Pastor Jonathan Lewis, fourth from right, holds a groundbreaking service at the site of the burned Fountain of Life Nazarene Church to mark the beginning of its rebuilding in Altadena, Calif., April 26, 2026.

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Members of the congregation join in prayer during the groundbreaking ceremony at the site of the burned Fountain of Life Nazarene Church, marking the beginning of its rebuilding, April 26, 2026, in Altadena, Calif.

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Pastor Jonathan Lewis poses for a photo with his congregation during a groundbreaking service at the site of the burned Fountain of Life Nazarene Church, marking the beginning of its rebuilding, April 26, 2026, in Altadena, Calif.

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On April 26, the Altadena Fountain of Life Church broke ground to build a new sanctuary after their house of worship, which had stood for over three decades, was destroyed in the fire. Pastor Jonathan Lewis, who ministers to about 75, hopes the church will be ready in time for Easter next year.

“It’ll be a Resurrection Sunday for our church, too,” he said.

Alexis Duncan, who grew up in Altadena attending that church, came to the groundbreaking with her 6-year-old daughter. She lost both her home and her church building.

“It means everything to me that they’re rebuilding because I want the church to be there for my daughter as she grows up,” she said. “This new beginning gives me and my family hope and the encouragement to come back.”

Some churches like Altadena Community Church, a United Church of Christ congregation, are pausing to rethink their future purpose. The Rev. Michael Lewis, who took over in February after the previous pastor retired, said the congregation is looking into several possibilities for the one-acre lot, including affordable housing.

“We know that a church is not intended to be a landlord and the pastor is no property manager,” he said. “But, we’re also thinking about who is able to return to Altadena? How will this rich, economically diverse community that was scattered by the fire come back?”

The church has been around since the 1940s. A haven for actors, poets and musicians, the former sanctuary also served as a vibrant performance space. Lewis said they hope to incorporate a performance stage into the new facility.

“It’ll look different from what we had before,” he said. “Once we figure out how to build community, we can decide what physical structures will help us support that community.”

As for Kehillat Israel, on May 15, members will carry their Torah scrolls back to their sanctuary, marking one of the first returns by a house of worship to the Palisades since the disaster.

Judaism has had “a long history of starting over,” Bernstein said.

“It’s encoded in our cultural approach to the world, that there are things that can always be taken away from you,” she said. “But what you become can never get taken away.”

Gov. Gavin Newsom announced Friday that he has requested a yearlong extension of FEMA funding for L.A. fire survivors. Without the extension, the money will run out July 9.

Now the decision on FEMA support lies with the federal government.

The funds have allowed many survivors to afford temporary housing and other daily needs. Most have yet to return home — 2 in 3 survivors who were living in Altadena or Pacific Palisades at the time of the fires are still displaced, according to the latest survey of more than 2,100 survivors by the nonprofit Department of Angels. Nearly 40% of respondents reported they will either soon run out of temporary housing insurance coverage or have already.

The situation is particularly dire for low-income households: Nearly 80% of respondents making $50,000 or less said they didn’t think they could afford housing for three months once coverage ended.

“The data is clear: This recovery is not over,” said Angela Giacchetti of the Department of Angels at a news conference organized by the Eaton Fire Collaborative in Altadena on Thursday. “If you are a survivor, you know this in your bones. For many families, it has barely begun. People have just begun to stabilize. We need federal support that reflects the scale of this disaster and systems that survivors can actually navigate and access over time.”

FEMA assistance isn’t reaching most survivors

The FEMA Individuals and Households Program can provide funding for survivors of disasters to pay for temporary housing, repair their homes, and respond to other challenges that insurance may not cover. It can also help cover costs if a survivor has no insurance.

Gil Barel has been relying on FEMA funds to pay rent on a small back house for herself and her son for the last year. She said they still haven’t been able to return to their rent-controlled Pasadena apartment because of smoke damage, though she still has to pay the rent for it.

Gil Barel is paying rent on a smoke-damaged apartment in Pasadena while FEMA funds have helped her cut the cost of temporary housing.

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Barel doesn’t know what they’ll do if the FEMA funding runs out.

“ I'm really stressed out,” she said. “I think I'm just kind of trying to put that thought aside and hope for the best.”

But in the 15 months since the fires, most survivors have not accessed FEMA funding. About 60% have received no FEMA assistance beyond the initial $770 payments dispersed in the immediate aftermath of the fires, according to the Department of Angels survey.

Many have faced denials, according to disaster case manager workers with Catholic Charities of L.A. and lawyers with Legal Aid Foundation of L.A.

That’s the situation for Gayle Nicholls-Ali and her husband, Rasheed, who lost their Altadena home of 15 years in the Eaton Fire. They’ve relied on their insurance to pay for a rental in Montrose, but that’s rapidly running out. And because they have that insurance, FEMA has denied further support.

Gayle Nicholls-Ali and her husband, Rasheed, lost their home in the Eaton Fire. They plan to rebuild, but the cost is a major hurdle.

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“A lot of our ALE [Additional Living Expenses insurance] is going to run out before we even are able to get into a house,” Nicholls-Ali said.

Without FEMA or insurance support, they’ll have to find a way to pay rent on top of a mortgage. They also face a big gap in the cost of their rebuild versus how much their insurance covers. Nicholls-Ali said without the help of FEMA and other sources of funding, recovering feels further out of reach.

Funds for long-term recovery still in limbo

FEMA funding extensions have been routine in past disasters, including the 2023 wildfires in Hawaii and after devastating flooding in North Carolina in 2024.

But the agency has faced significant cuts during the second Trump administration, and there are indications that disaster aid is becoming increasingly political. For example, President Donald Trump has approved aid for just 23% of requests from states with a Democratic governor and two Democratic senators, compared to 89% for states that with Republican governors and senators, according to an analysis by Politico.

The state has also not received more than $33 billion for long-term recovery, which can help pay for infrastructure upgrades and repairs, as well as help rebuild schools, parks and homes. That money was requested by state and local leaders shortly after the January 2025 fires and hasn’t been appropriated by Congress.

An international team of disease detectives is now racing to connect with the more than two dozen passengers who disembarked the MV Honius cruise ship on the Atlantic island of St. Helena before the hantavirus outbreak was identified.

These individuals have flown across the world, including to the United States.

The risk of further spread of this virus is low since it requires close and prolonged contact with an infected individual — and those infected seem to transmit the virus for only a brief period of time. But public health officials want to make sure the outbreak is contained.

Here's how authorities are using the practice of contact tracing to contain the outbreak and keep the hantavirus from spreading.

Contact tracing 101

The concept of modern contact tracing dates to the 1930s and was part of an effort to stop the spread of syphilis. It involves locating the close contacts of anyone who may have been infected. "By identifying people who are at risk of infection," says Preeti Malani, an infectious disease physician at the University of Michigan, "you try to get ahead when people don't have symptoms yet with the goal of preventing the infection from continuing to propagate."

This is a well-tested approach for containing an infectious disease. "It's the oldest tool in the epidemiologic toolbox," explains Malani. "We thought about this a lot early in the pandemic with COVID. But we also do contact tracing for sexually transmitted infections, for things like meningitis and even measles."

Malani likens contact tracing to monitoring ripples in a pond, "trying to prevent those outer rings from propagating by isolating individuals and by identifying individuals who might be at risk of infection."

The idea that "there's a time period where people don't have symptoms but could be harboring the virus, that's what contact tracing helps identify," says Malani.

It starts by pinpointing someone with an infection or suspected infection of the disease in question — in this case, hantavirus. Epidemiologists then look to see with whom they've recently had close contact since these individuals are more likely to have been infected.

This hunt for those with the greatest probability of infection is important. "Otherwise, it becomes an impossible web to contain because everyone is connected to everyone," says Boghuma Titanji, an infectious diseases doctor at Emory University. "So you have to stratify by high, intermediate and low-risk contacts."

The next step involves public health agencies ordering precautions for those who are infected or who may be infected but aren't showing symptoms yet. Such measures may include quarantine, so that an individual doesn't come into contact with even more people — who may then become infected.

One challenge that hantavirus presents is that its incubation period can last up to several weeks. In other words, "people take a long time to become symptomatic after they've been exposed," says Titanji. "Some of these primary contacts would have to be monitoring themselves for symptoms for up to 45 days to be at the tail end of that very long incubation period."

Aboard and ashore

The work isn't high-tech but it is painstaking, requiring officials to reconstruct the many interactions someone may have had over days or weeks.

Onboard the cruise ship, "you might have an individual who is a source of an infection," says Titanji, laying out a hypothetical example. "And then they were sitting at a dinner table with one individual who then goes back to their cabin and shares a bed with their partner who has a conversation with someone else on the deck."

Once someone disembarks the ship, the number of potential interactions can grow quite quickly. This is why officials were concerned when a KLM flight attendant fell ill after being aboard a flight with one of the infected cruise ship passengers. Fortunately, the flight attendant ultimately tested negative for hantavirus.

Titanji is heartened by what she's seen playing out so far. "It seems like the international collaborative effort has been really robust and the mechanisms for containment are in place and underway," she says.

Public health officials argue that contact tracing is a powerful approach that will reduce further spread. "We can break this chain of transmission," said Abdi Mahmoud, the director of the World Health Organization's health emergency alert and response efforts, at a press conference on Thursday.

He has good reason to be confident. Contact tracing was vital during the fight against COVID-19 and helped end the Ebola crisis in Liberia, containing the epidemic there more than a decade ago. Some of the contact tracing even involved hours-long hikes through the jungle to a remote village.

Authorities are hoping for similar success with this hantavirus outbreak.
Copyright 2026 NPR

The sky above Los Angeles State Historic Park in Chinatown will be dotted with color Saturday with the annual Kite Festival.

The festival had its beginnings as a joyful protest in 2021, back when a proposal for a Dodger Stadium gondola included cutting through the airspace above the park. Organizers say last year’s Kite Festival drew a crowd of about 7,000.

“The Kite Festival, [for] some people, it’s their favorite day in Los Angeles,” said Sue Bell Yank, executive director of Clockshop, the nonprofit arts org that runs the festival. “It’s the time when they really feel connected to their city. More so than any other time.”

This year’s programming includes a kite-making station where you can build your own flying art for a donation of $5, along with art workshops and the unveiling of a large floating, inflatable sculpture by Guatemalan kite artist Francisco Ramos.