The Brief

At 7:30 p.m. on a Monday, some 40 teenagers fire up their laptops to log into class.

They’re from seven schools across the Anaheim Union High School District so meeting virtually at night is the only way they can all make it to this first-ever Korean American studies course offered to high schoolers.

Teacher Jeff Kim beams at them from a square on the screen and recites a class motto of sorts.

“In order for the tree to grow tall,” Kim says, then pauses.

“You have to know your roots,” the students reply in scrambled unison.

Students are halfway through the year-long class that was launched this fall. Lessons span more than 100 years, covering key events like the arrival of the first Korean immigrants, the civil unrest of 1992 in L.A. and the rise of K-Pop.

Police quell violence at 924 S. Vermont Avenue in Koreatown on April 29, 1992. Few Koreans received help from the city in rebuilding their stores after the riots.

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Mae Ryan/KPCC With archival photo by Gary Leonard

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Kim has also been urging students to find out their own family histories, while acknowledging that can be a challenge in immigrant households because of cultural and linguistic barriers.

Kim says in the case of Korean Americans, immigrants also carry the generational trauma of Japanese occupation, the Korean War and moving to the U.S.

“They're certainly not seeing their story as a story of how they've overcome these amazing, amazing challenges because they’re so busy just surviving, just making a living,” Kim says.

But the class has motivated students to dig into their parents’ past, asking questions they might not have otherwise.

“This class has started a conversation in my home,” says freshman Shion Lee, who's “trying to find a little bit more about myself and my history.”

A great American story

The bulk of signups for the class have been Korean American students seeking to connect to their heritage.

Says another freshman Celine Park: “Growing up as a Korean American, there had always been this sort of gap between my Korean culture and identity and the American culture that I'd grown up with."

Studying Korean American history is also a draw for students who are not Korean American — about a quarter of the class. For some, their interest was piqued as fans of Korean dramas and K-pop. Others related to the universalities of being an immigrant.

Tenth-grader Guillermo Castro repeats a quote he’s heard his teacher say.

“The Korean American story is not just the Korean story; it's the great American story,” Castro said. “That quote really moves for me because it makes me realize that the American story is built off of different cultures."

Overcoming racism

Kim is teaching them the Korean American stories he wishes he had learned as a kid — like that of L.A.-born Young Oak Kim. He overcame racism in the U.S. Army to become one of its most decorated officers of the 20th century. During WWII, he famously led the 100th Infantry, made up mostly of second-generation Japanese American soldiers.

Korean American Olympian Sammy Lee won back-to-back gold medals in platform diving.

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PJ Capilla

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AP

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Kim had been offered a transfer because Japan's occupation of Korea had created tensions among immigrants in the U.S., but he refused, saying he was American as were his soldiers.

“He really embodied what it means to live in a multiracial America,” Kim said.

Then there was Olympian Sammy Lee who dominated the platform diving events. One of his training grounds had been a segregated pool in Pasadena which he and other swimmers of color could only use on certain days.

“Yet he has such a story of resilience: back-to-back gold medals for the United States of America,” Lee said.

Breaking the silence

Kim has wanted to teach a class on the Korean American experience for a while. Then the pandemic hit and anti-Asian attacks surged in number.

“I started seeing elderly folks getting pushed down and beaten, bones broken, dying sometimes," Kim said. "And then I heard about the Atlanta shootings, and we saw the six Asian American women that were murdered, I knew I could not be silent on this topic anymore."

Kim thought about what he could do as an educator.

The San Gabriel Valley played host to two vigils on Saturday for the victims of the Atlanta shooting spree, including this one in San Gabriel.

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Josie Huang

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LAist

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“What about if we create spaces where students can listen to one another of their stories," Kim wondered. "Might that accelerate compassion in our great nation?”

Over the next few years, Kim developed a curriculum with Korean American history experts at UC Riverside and Cal State Fullerton and received support from the Korean Consulate General in L.A.

The class was never meant to be just for Korean Americans. Abigail Tafesse says she brings her perspective as an Ethiopian American to lessons.  

Something she says that really stuck with her was learning how the "model minority" myth was used to drive a wedge between Asian and Black Americans. 

“In a Korean American class, you expect to learn about Korean Americans — which we do — but you also get to see how other communities were affected at the same time,” Tafesse said.

Perhaps the most surprising thing to students was how much they learned about themselves. 

Through a class assignment, Shion Lee learned more about her great-grandfather, the Korean composer Lee Sang-geun.

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Courtesy of the Lee family

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One of the first assignments Kim gave his students was to write their family histories. Shion Lee said was more familiar with her dad's path to the U.S. where he runs a design/build company. But she knew less about her mother's past and started probing.

She discovered her mother, Heejin, had given up a career teaching music composition at a university to move to the U.S. and start a family.

“She never told me that and I thought that's like a pretty important life event,” Lee said.

Her mom’s love of composing had been fostered by her grandfather — a composer named Lee Sang Geun who's been described as Korea’s Tchaikovsky and is the namesake of an annual music festival. (Listen to a performance of his music here.)

Heejin Lee fondly shared how her grandfather took her to concerts.

Talking with her daughter “reminds me of the old days, and the passion I had for my music,” she said in Korean.

The Korean American studies class met in-person in November to celebrate the students' family "stories of resilience" at Cambridge Virtual Academy. Shion Lee and her mother Heejin sit at the far right.

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Courtesy of Jeff Kim

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Last month, mother and daughter took part in a student-parent panel for the Korean American studies class, the first time it had met in-person to celebrate their families' "stories of resilience."

Shion says she’s not sure when else she would have thought to ask her mom about her past life. But if her class has taught her anything, some of the most important history could be right in front of you. 

Raul Malo, the leader of the country band The Mavericks and one of the most recognizable voices in roots music, died Monday night, according to a representative of the band. The guitarist and singer had been battling cancer.

He was hospitalized last week, forcing him to miss tribute shows staged in his honor at the Ryman Auditorium over the weekend. He was 60 years old.

"No one embodied life and love, joy and passion, family, friends, music and adventure the way our beloved Raul did," read a statement released by his family.

Malo's group, The Mavericks, mourned the loss of their leader in a social post.

"Anyone with the pleasure of being in Raul's orbit knew that he was a force of human nature, with an infectious energy," the statement read. "Over a career of more than three decades entertaining millions around the globe, his towering creative contributions and unrivaled, generational talent created the kind of multicultural American music reaching far beyond America itself."

Over a career that lasted four decades, The Mavericks lived up to the band's name, challenging expectations and following a roadmap crafted by Malo's expansive musical upbringing as the son of Cuban immigrants in Miami.

"I grew up in a very musical household. There was all kinds of music around always," he told WHYY's Fresh Air in 1995. "We listened to everything from Hank Williams to Celia Cruz to Sam Cooke to Bobby Darin. It didn't matter."

In 1992, Malo told NPR that his widespread influences weren't always understood or appreciated in his South Florida hometown, but he said that his struggle to fit in taught him to trust his instincts. Malo had become the guitarist and lead singer for The Mavericks in 1989, alongside co-founders Robert Reynolds and Paul Deakin, and his roaring, sentimental voice defined the band's sound and remained its constant as the group's catalog moved from slow, tender ballads to full-throttle rock songs. In 1995, the band released its biggest hit with "All You Ever Do Is Bring Me Down," a swinging country song featuring an assist from Tex-Mex accordion legend Flaco Jimenez.

As the band grew in members and devoted listeners, The Mavericks continued to push the boundaries of American music, weaving a richly layered tapestry of textures and stories. With more than a dozen studio albums, The Mavericks collected praise and recognition from the Academy of Country Music, the Country Music Association and the Recording Academy. Although they took a hiatus for several years, Malo never stopped making music — and returned to his bandmates with renewed inspiration.

Following its 30th anniversary, the group released its first full-length Spanish album in 2020, aptly titled En Español. The record reimagined Latin standards and folklore-tinged popular tunes; it also made an implicit political statement about Latin music's contributions to American culture.

"In our own little way, if we could get somebody that perhaps is on the fence on issues and hears us singing in Spanish and perhaps reminds them of the beautiful cultures that make up what this country is trying to be and what it should be, so be it," Malo told NPR at the time. "Yeah, I'm OK with that."

The following year, the Americana Music Association recognized The Mavericks with the Trailblazer Award. In 2024, the band released its last studio album, Moon & Stars. The release coincided with news of Malo's cancer diagnosis, which he discussed openly with NPR's Ayesha Rascoe.

Before being hospitalized last week, Malo had been scheduled to perform with The Mavericks at a pair of tribute concerts held this past weekend at the legendary Ryman Auditorium in Nashville. Over 30 artists, including Patty Griffin, Jim Lauderdale and Steve Earle, still gathered to pay tribute to Malo, with some of the proceeds of the night going to the cancer prevention organization Stand Up To Cancer.

According to his spokesperson, though Malo was too ill to attend, the concert was streamed to his hospital room Friday night.

Copyright 2025 NPR

The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department has mostly blocked efforts to investigate misconduct within its ranks, according to the county inspector general, who announced his retirement Tuesday after 12 years on the job.

In an open letter, Max Huntsman cited examples of how the county has thwarted his efforts to watchdog the department, which in the past has been plagued with accusations that deputies use excessive force and lie on the job.

Huntsman said one example is former Sheriff Alex Villanueva’s misuse of criminal enforcement powers to discredit critics, such as opening an investigation into former County Supervisor Sheila Kuehl.

Villanueva was sheriff from 2018 to 2022.

“My requests for investigation were rejected,” Huntsman’s letter reads. “Even after receiving an official subpoena, the Sheriff’s Department has failed to turn over records regarding the improper surveillance.”

He added: “Sometimes members of the public wonder if frightening new surveillance techniques will be used for improper purposes under the guise of criminal investigation. Sadly, the answer is yes.”

Before becoming inspector general in 2013, Huntsman, 60, was a deputy district attorney who specialized in public corruption. He told LAist on Tuesday that the inspector general job wasn’t something he wanted initially.

“I didn’t want to go work for politicians,” he said. “But the need to provide some kind of independent reporting and analysis was significant.”

The Sheriff’s Department issued a statement saying it valued the Office of the Inspector General and all county oversight bodies and that it wished Huntsman and his family well in his retirement.

The department said it “continues to make great strides in advancing the department in a transparent manner.”

LAist also reached out to the county CEO and county counsel for comment, but they declined.

After George Floyd

In the letter, Huntsman says the state of California has come a long way in strengthening the power of local law enforcement oversight bodies, in part because of the 2020 murder of George Floyd by police in Minneapolis.

After widespread protests — and lobbying by Huntsman — the state provided authority to inspectors general to enforce subpoenas requiring law enforcement agencies to hand over documents and authorized external investigation of police misconduct, including deputy gang conduct.

The Sheriff’s Department — backed by county lawyers — has resisted.

“Los Angeles County may not follow those laws, but it will not be able to avoid them forever,” Huntsman wrote. “The county refuses to require the photographing of suspected gang tattoos in secretive groups that the undersheriff has identified as violating state law.”

“Just a few weeks ago, we requested some information regarding an investigation, and a pair of commanders refused to give it to us,” Huntsman said in an interview with LAist.

Origin of the office 

The Inspector General’s Office was created by the county Board of Supervisors in 2013 in response to a scandal that included former Sheriff Lee Baca covering up the abuses of jail inmates.

Baca went to federal prison.

Since then, the office has issued dozens of reports with recommendations for improving living conditions inside jails that some have described as “filthy,” stopping abuses of juveniles inside juvenile halls and providing shower privacy for inmates as part of the requirements under the Prison Rape Elimination Act.

“All of these abuses were reported by the Office of Inspector General and recommendations were ignored,” Huntsman wrote. Often, it took court orders to enact change.

“When we first blew the whistle on the torturous chaining of mentally ill prisoners to benches for 36 hours at a time, it was only a court order that ended the practice,” he wrote. “Time and time again, this pattern repeated itself.”

Huntsman wrote the county has permitted the Sheriff’s Department to block oversight and defunded the Office of Inspector General by removing a third of its staff.

“It's not surprising the county has driven out two successive chairs of the Sheriff Civilian Oversight Commission,” he wrote.

“Government always claims to value transparency and accountability, but shooting the messenger is still the most common response to criticism,” Huntsman wrote.

Despite setbacks, Huntsman values work 

Huntsman told LAist on Tuesday that he was proud of his career as a public servant.

“I’ve really enjoyed the work and I’m sad to have it end,” he said.

It’s a sentiment he echoed in his letter, adding that despite the setbacks and roadblocks, he was proud of the people with whom he shared the office.

“It has been my honor to work with a talented, brave and tireless group of public servants to ensure that the public knows what its government is doing,” he wrote.

He noted the inspector general’s reports are fact-checked by the office and public.

“When government abuses occur, they are sometimes kept secret, but that is no longer the case for much of what is happening in Los Angeles County,” Huntsman wrote. “What you do about it is up to you.,”

Huntsman’s last day is Friday.

Topline:

The backstory: Last month, the council's Transportation Committee voted to bring a proposal forward to implement a policy change that allows the city to impound and immediately destroy abandoned or inoperable RVs worth less than $4,000. The change is inspired by new state law AB 630, which was created to prevent previously impounded RVs from ending back up on the street.

The motion, authored by Councilmember Traci Park, reports that abandoned RVs pose as public and safety hazards.

What's next: Councilmember Nithya Raman requested that an implementation plan be presented to the council's public safety and housing and homelessness committees.

Go deeper: L.A. pushes policy to make it easier to remove RVs from city streets.