The Brief

Since last spring, Los Angeles community colleges have been rolling out a number of classes in Spanish — not classes to learn Spanish, but classes where Spanish speakers can learn other subjects.

The expansion of “in-language” classes is part of a national effort to better serve community college students whose first language isn’t English. This population is “a large and growing segment of the community college student population,” whose educational needs have not been widely evaluated.

And in California, the movement is also a reversal of nearly a century and a half of policy that has minimized Spanish, since the state’s constitution was ratified in 1879.

To understand the reversal at LACCD, though, one must start with a family’s move to Los Angeles.

Educated, but not in English

On a recent visit to his childhood home in South Los Angeles, 50-year-old Gabriel Buelna heard his parents talk at the dinner table about one of the biggest challenges they faced when they came to L.A. in the mid-1960s.

“I understood a little bit of English, not a lot,” his mother Lilia Buelna said. She had taken office skills classes in Mexico for four years and worked for an engineering firm in Tijuana before moving to L.A.

Her search for English classes had as much to do with navigating life in her new home, she said, as it did with continuing her education.

“[I wanted] to earn my high school diploma and from there study something else, like business,” she said.

She and her husband, Enrique Buelna, moved into the South L.A. house after they married in 1963. He’d lived there for about five years and also struggled to find classes beyond the rudimentary language skills. They said the classes they found at the local church, high school, and community college didn’t build on the education both already had.

A 1963 wedding portrait of Gabriel Buelna’s parents: Lilia and Enrique Buelna, who married in Tijuana, Mexico, where this picture was taken.

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“They didn’t teach well. I wasn’t satisfied [with the classes]. [Teachers] would tell you ‘Write dog 20 times,’” Enrique Buelna said.

In Mexico, he’d also taken office skills courses and worked in Mexico’s equivalent of the U.S. Customs and Border Protection Agency. In the United States he worked for a furniture manufacturer that was eventually bought and run by the employees, including him. He said he wishes he could have overcome the English language barrier to take business administration classes, because that would have prepared him for the kind of decisions he’d have to make at the furniture business.

“Knowing what to do if someone gave you a bogus check or how to deal with vendors. I had little knowledge of buying and selling [at that level],” Buelna said.

It ended up costing him and the other owners of the company a lot.

Enrique Buelna, 90, went to various schools to learn English, but was unsatisfied with the quality of classes, he says. In 1983, the sofa factory he owned burned down and Buelna lost everything. “I wish I would’ve known more about insurance, and the laws — but there was always that language barrier that made it hard to know what I needed for myself and my business.”

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“We forgot to buy insurance,” Enrique Buelna said. A fire, he said, destroyed most of the business.

Their son, Gabriel Buelna, hears these stories differently now than he did when he was a kid. He practices family law, holds a doctorate in political science and teaches Chicano studies classes at CSU Northridge.

“Their capacity was hindered. There was an immigrant ceiling … they come from Mexico with some level of education … they're trying to enter the business class, they're trying to do that and the language component is the biggest anchor,” he said.

But it’s the hat he’s been wearing since 2017 that he’s used to turn his parents’ experiences, and his opinions and views of the immigrant experience, into change for public higher education. That’s when Buelna was elected trustee for the L.A. Community College District board, the policymaking body for nine campuses that enroll over 200,000 students.

“The narrative has shifted from [my parents’ time], which was ‘too bad, so sad, learn English … you're in the United States’ to where now I think the question is, do we as leaders have an obligation to allow all of our citizens to hit their maximum capacity … for folks to do that in a way that works for them,” he said.

Lilia Buelna, 78, studied business and accounting in Sinaloa, Mexico, where she is from. When Buelna moved to the United States, she taught herself English by reading the dictionary and frequenting Catholic parish ministries throughout South Los Angeles. Buelna still keeps English dictionaries around the house.

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Last year, in a one-year term as board president, Buelna expanded the number of career and technical classes offered in foreign languages, the vast majority in Spanish, and called them “in-language” classes.

Buelna and district administrators sidestepped a state requirement that students enrolled in these classes also be enrolled in English as a second language classes. They justified the action by saying that their institution should remove barriers that exist for students to enroll in career education classes, and if English is one of those barriers, then the classes should be offered in the students’ native language.

By the numbers

Classes are mostly in Spanish, but some are taught in both English and Spanish while others are in Armenian, Russian, Mandarin and Korean, Buelna said.

The classes first rolled out on a small scale this past winter, with 313 students enrolled in 15 language classes. Enrollment grew to almost 1,500 students in 59 classes in spring. Enrollment in this fall semester’s 30 in-language classes hit a high of 1,572 students as of Sept. 6, according to Buelna.

The classes have ranged from automotive, culinary, and sewing to a variety of office skills classes, such as intro to spreadsheets.

A survey conducted by the community college district suggested the classes are tapping into an unmet need. About 75% of respondents said they speak two or more languages at home, the most common by far (74%) being Spanish. Armenian, Tagalog, Russian, Chinese languages, and French each were spoken by roughly 3% of respondents.

Nearly two thirds of respondents said they would be interested in taking classes in a language other than English. The most popular subjects chosen were education, health sciences, business and arts.

The survey also revealed resistance. Nearly 20% of respondents said they would not take such a class.

“I’m totally against the classes being taught [in] other than English except foreign languages. We should be united using a language,” one respondent answered.

What an in-language class is like

There are two groups of people waiting to be admitted to the Mexican consulate next to L.A.’s MacArthur Park. The first group is there to process passports and other government documents. The second, much smaller group by an unmarked door, is waiting to be let into Vocational Education 320: Overview of Health Sectors & In Home Support Services, a class offered by East Los Angeles College in conjunction with the consulate.

“Yesterday we talked about the different nursing careers,” class instructor Adrianne Villalvazo said, in Spanish, to 16 people in one of the consulate’s meeting rooms as class begins.

Villalvazo finished medical school a few years ago, she said, and plans to practice family medicine. During the three-hour class, she shows students a video in Spanish that explains a phlebotomist’s training to draw blood, shows a chart listing the average pay for health careers, and listens as one of the students stands in front of the class with hand-drawn illustrations and explains the work of a physical therapist.

Dulce Guzman presented that last one. She moved to L.A. from Mexico City 15 years ago. “I like learning in general,” she said. “I also want to learn about the elderly because I notice that they’re among the most neglected in our communities.”

“I knew I had one year to get policies done,” Gabriel Buelna said, regarding his re-election for the Los Angeles Community College District Board of Trustees in 2022. “With that one year, I took advantage.”

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Since arriving in L.A. she’s worked in restaurants and cleaning hotel rooms. She currently works as a caregiver, she said, for county-provided in-home support services. Her dream is to open a child care business and to earn her caregiving certification.

“My calling right now in my heart, the universe is telling me right now, to take care of older people, I think I’m good,” said Antonio Mungia, who moved to L.A. from central Mexico 23 years ago. He’s worked in restaurants and had an office job after taking an office skills course. His most recent job was taking care of a terminally ill woman who died while he was taking this class.

He hopes to learn how to take blood pressure, administer oxygen, and the ins and outs of adult diapers. He chose this class because it’s given in Spanish.

“There is nothing like learning in your own language, the language you were born with, the language that you speak,” he said.

Sacramento may scale L.A. offerings

By state law, English is to be the language of instruction in California community colleges; students who take classes in languages other than English (except those to learn a foreign language) must also enroll in English as a second language classes.

But that English-only policy was born out of xenophobic times in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

“Many California community colleges are technically Hispanic-Serving Institutions,” which means they enroll a certain percentage of Hispanic students, said Federick Ngo, a higher education policy expert at University of Nevada, Las Vegas.

“Those institutions are kind of grappling with their identity and their mission in light of who they're actually enrolling, and so it does make sense that if you have a large Spanish-speaking population, that you would want to perhaps expand course offerings [in Spanish],” he said.

Other experts say that creating a learning space in a student’s native language increases the opportunities for learning success which in turn nurtures excitement about learning and understanding.

More community colleges may be on their way to creating such spaces.

California Assembly Bill 1096, authored by Assemblyman Mike Fong, is making its way through the legislative process. If approved, it would suspend the English as a second language requirement in community colleges.

LACCD Trustee Gabriel Buelna wants to see in-language instruction expanded to math, biology, literature, and other classes in order “to meet that need [to learn], and for language rights to be seen as equal and not second or third class,” he said.

The number of people in the U.S. who speak a language other than English has been rising. LACCD’s in-language classes are set to help adult learners enter work places where the ability to speak multiple languages is an asset.

“It seems to me to be a very student-centered approach, responsive to [LACCD’s] local labor markets and communities,” said Nikki Edgecombe, a research scholar at the Community College Research Center at Teachers College in New York.

Edgecombe added that LACCD is further along in this effort than other institutions of which she’s aware. The next step, she said, is to measure whether students taking these classes reached their job and education goals and, if so, what will expansion of these classes mean for the surrounding areas.

“How can we affirm the linguistic diversity of our communities and leverage that linguistic diversity to support healthy communities, to have more workers with some post-secondary training that can then work in support and serve those communities better?” she said.

“Una persona que sabe dos idiomas vale más,” said 90-year-old Enrique Buelna as he talked about making sure his kids spoke English and Spanish. The phrase translates to, “A person who knows two languages is worth more.”

The key word is worth. His son Gabriel believes Spanish speakers have been seeking the return of self-worth that nearly a century and a half of public policies have taken away from them.

DUARTE, Calif. — Veteran actor T.K. Carter, who appeared in the horror film "The Thing" and "Punky Brewster" on television, has died at the age of 69.

Carter was declared dead Friday evening after deputies responded to a call regarding an unresponsive male in Duarte, California, according to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department.

Police did not disclose a cause of death or other details, but said no foul play was suspected.

Thomas Kent "T.K." Carter was born Dec. 18, 1956, in New York City and was raised in Southern California.

He began his career in stand-up comedy and with acting roles. Carter had been acting for years before a breakthrough role as Nauls the cook in John Carpenter's 1982 horror classic, "The Thing." He also had a recurring role in the 1980s sitcom "Punky Brewster."

Other big-screen roles include "Runaway Train" in 1985, "Ski Patrol" in 1990 and "Space Jam" in 1996.

"T.K. Carter was a consummate professional and a genuine soul whose talent transcended genres," his publicist, Tony Freeman, said in a statement. "He brought laughter, truth, and humanity to every role he touched. His legacy will continue to inspire generations of artists and fans alike."

Copyright 2026 NPR

Downtown Los Angeles

A person in an inflatable frog suit holds a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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A woman holds incense during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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A person holds up a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis. (Photo by ETIENNE LAURENT / AFP via Getty Images)

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A person holds up a sign during a protest in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Etienne Laurent

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A tourist bus drives past as people protest in front of the Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC), in Los Angeles, California on January 10, 2026 against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) after the fatal shooting of Renee Nicole Good in Minneapolis.

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Pasadena

Alison Brett (far right) of La Crescenta at the Ice Out For Good protest in Pasadena on Jan. 10, 2026.

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Casey Law of South Pasadena at Ice Out For Good protest in Pasadena on Jan. 10.

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People have been taking to the streets nationwide this weekend to protest the Trump administration's immigration enforcement tactics following the death of Renee Good in Minneapolis, a 37-year-old woman who was shot and killed by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer this week.

At least 1,000 events across the U.S. were planned for Saturday and Sunday, according to Indivisible, a progressive grassroots coalition of activists helping coordinate the movement it calls "ICE Out For Good Weekend of Action."

Leah Greenberg, a co-executive director of Indivisible, said people are coming together to "grieve, honor those we've lost, and demand accountability from a system that has operated with impunity for far too long."

"Renee Nicole Good was a wife, a mother of three, and a member of her community. She, and the dozens of other sons, daughters, friends, siblings, parents, and community members who have been killed by ICE, should be alive today," Greenberg said in a statement on Friday. "ICE's violence is not a statistic, it has names, families, and futures attached to it, and we refuse to look away or stay silent."

Large crowds of demonstrators carried signs and shouted "ICE out now!" as protests continued across Minneapolis on Saturday. One of those protestors, Cameron Kritikos, told NPR that he is worried that the presence of more ICE agents in the city could lead to more violence or another death.

"If more ICE officers are deployed to the streets, especially a place here where there's very clear public opposition to the terrorizing of our neighborhoods, I'm nervous that there's going to be more violence," the 31-year grocery store worker said. "I'm nervous that there are going to be more clashes with law enforcement officials, and at the end of the day I think that's not what anyone wants."

Demonstrators in Minneapolis on Saturday, Jan. 10, 2026.

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The night before, hundreds of city and state police officers responded to a "noise protest" in downtown Minneapolis. An estimated 1,000 people gathered Friday night, according to Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O'Hara, and 29 people were arrested.

People demonstrated outside of hotels where ICE agents were believed to be staying. They chanted, played drums and banged pots. O'Hara said that a group of people split from the main protest and began damaging hotel windows. One police officer was injured from a chunk of ice that was hurled at officers, he added.

Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey condemned the acts of violence but praised what he said was the "vast majority" of protesters who remained peaceful, during a morning news conference.

"To anyone who causes property damage or puts others in danger: you will be arrested. We are standing up to Donald Trump's chaos not with our own brand of chaos, but with care and unity," Frey wrote on social media.

Commenting on the protests, Department of Homeland Security (DHS) spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin told NPR in a statement, "the First Amendment protects speech and peaceful assembly — not rioting, assault and destruction," adding, "DHS is taking measures to uphold the rule of law and protect public safety and our officers."

Good was fatally shot the day after DHS launched a large-scale immigration enforcement operation in Minnesota set to deploy 2,000 immigration officers to the state.

In Philadelphia, police estimated about 500 demonstrators "were cooperative and peaceful" at a march that began Saturday morning at City Hall, Philadelphia Police Department spokesperson Tanya Little told NPR in a statement. And no arrests were made.

In Portland, Ore., demonstrators rallied and lined the streets outside of a hospital on Saturday afternoon, where immigration enforcement agents bring detainees who are injured during an arrest, reported Oregon Public Broadcasting.

A man and woman were shot and injured by U.S. Border Patrol agents on Thursday in the city. DHS said the shooting happened during a targeted vehicle stop and identified the driver as Luis David Nino-Moncada, and the passenger as Yorlenys Betzabeth Zambrano-Contreras, both from Venezuela. As was the case in their assertion about Good's fatal shooting, Homeland Security officials claimed the federal agent acted in self-defense after Nino-Moncada and Zambrano-Contreras "weaponized their vehicle."
Copyright 2026 NPR

Bob Weir, the guitarist and songwriter who was a founding member of the popular and massively influential American rock band the Grateful Dead, has died. According to a statement from his family posted on his website and social media pages, Weir died from underlying lung issues after recently beating cancer. He was 78.

A member of the Dead for its first three decades, and a keeper of the flame of the band's legacy for three more, Weir helped to write a new chapter of American popular music that influenced countless other musicians and brought together an enormous and loyal audience. The Grateful Dead's touring, bootlegging and merchandising set an example that helped initiate the jam-band scene. Its concerts created a community that brought together generations of followers.

Known to fans as "Bobby," he was born in San Francisco as Robert Hall Parber, but was given up for adoption and raised by Frederick and Eleanor Weir. In 1964, when he was still a teenager, Weir joined guitarist Jerry Garcia in a folk music band, Mother Mcree's Uptown Jug Band. In May of 1965 Weir and Garcia were joined by bassist Phil Lesh, keyboard player Ron "Pigpen" McKernan and drummer Bill Kreutzmann to form an electric, blues-based rock and roll band that was briefly named The Warlocks. After discovering that there was another band using that name, Jerry Garcia found a phrase that caught his eye in a dictionary and in December of that year they became the Grateful Dead, launching a 30-year run over which time they grew into a cultural institution.

Weir was a singular rhythm guitarist who rarely played solos, choosing instead to create his own particular style of chording and strumming that gracefully supported Garcia's distinctive guitar explorations especially during the extended jams which were the heart of the band's popularity.

Lyrics were largely a product of a communal effort between Weir and Garcia, as well as lyricists John Perry Barlow, Robert Hunter, that often blurred the lines between who wrote what. The opening lines to "Cassidy," which first appeared on Weir's 1972 solo album Ace and was played by the Dead on live recordings including the 1981 double album Reckoning, reflect the combination of metaphor, rhyme and storytelling set to memorable melodies that the band's audiences could memorize, analyze and sing along to:

I have seen where the wolf has slept by the silver stream
I can tell by the mark he left you were in his dream
Ah, child of countless trees
Ah, child of boundless seas
What you are, what you're meant to be
Speaks his name, though you were born to me
Born to me, Cassidy

Weir's emotive singing, on "Cassidy" and other songs like "Sugar Magnolia," "One More Saturday Night" and the band's unofficial theme, "Truckin', " often included whoops and yells, in contrast to Garcia's calm and steady approach. His occasional tendency to forget lyrics was usually greeted by thunderous applause from fans.

After Garcia's death in 1995, at age 53, the surviving members of the band carried on in various forms and arrangements, the longest running of which was Weir's Dead & Company, which also featured Grateful Dead drummers Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart. Weir and the band concluded their "final tour" in July of 2023, but then returned to the stage for two extended residencies at the Sphere in Las Vegas, in 2024 and 2025.

A self-described "compulsive music maker," in 2018 Weir formed yet another band to mine the depths of the Grateful Dead catalog. It was a stripped-down guitar, acoustic bass and drums outfit that he called Bobby Weir & Wolf Bros. Its members included renowned bassist and producer Don Was.In October of 2022, Weir & Wolf Bros worked with a classical music arranger to present yet another iteration of the Dead's catalog, notable for never being played the same way twice, with a group that largely only plays what's written on the paper in front of them, the 80-piece National Symphony Orchestra.

In a 2022 interview with NPR, Weir explained the reason for that collaboration, and in doing so, seemed to offer a possible explanation for why the band's music stayed so popular for so long: "These songs are … living critters and they're visitors from another world — another dimension or whatever you want to call it — that come through the artists to visit this world, have a look around, tell their stories. I don't know exactly how that works, but I do know that it's real."

After Jerry Garcia's death in 1995, Weir kept the legacy of the Grateful Dead alive, touring with bands that came to include generations of musicians influenced by the group. Here, Weir performs with The Dead at Madison Square Garden in New York City in 2009.

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Weir's work to shepherd and sustain the Dead's legacy was rewarded by ever younger generations of Deadheads, the band's loyal following, who attended tour after tour, often following the band from city to city as their parents and grandparents did during in the 1960's, '70s, '80s and '90s.

In an interview with Rolling Stone in March 2025, Weir shared his thoughts on his legacy, as well as on death and dying, that had a hint of the Eastern philosophies that were popular when the Grateful Dead emerged from the peace and love hippie movement of San Francisco. "I'll say this: I look forward to dying. I tend to think of death as a reward for a life well-lived," he said.

Copyright 2026 NPR