The Brief

Marilyn Martinez said she graduated high school wondering if she was “good enough.”

She was one of a handful of Latino students at a predominantly white campus, where many of her classmates’ parents had careers in law and medicine. No one in Martinez’s family had gone to college. Her teachers steered her away from Advanced Placement courses.

Compared with her classmates, Martinez often felt she was lacking.

“I was doing well,” she recalled. “But I wasn't thriving.”

After she enrolled at Pasadena City College, however, Martinez bloomed. A counselor called her in to say she had the grades to transfer anywhere.

“Even Harvard?” she joked.

“Yes,” he told her. And he wasn’t kidding. The community college staff encouraged Martinez to be ambitious.

And to pursue her academic goals, she wanted the kind of support she didn’t get in high school.

Research shows most community college students aspire to earn a bachelor’s degree, but only about a third transfer to a university. The numbers are even more dismal for students who’ve been historically underrepresented. What kind of guidance these students receive can often be critical to whether or not they transfer and graduate.

When Martinez thought about next steps, she knew she wanted to stay close to home. On a campus bulletin, she saw a flyer for a program at UCLA, geared at helping prospective students transfer. She applied on a whim, in part because it promised a chance to live in the dorms. That program proved to be transformative.

Martinez went on to earn a bachelor’s degree at UCLA. Today, she works for that program, helping others do the same.

What does the Scholars Program provide, and who’s eligible?

Earlier this year, a report from Columbia University’s Community College Research Center found that “[d]espite surveys indicating that nearly 80% of community college students aspire to earn a bachelor’s degree, only about a third transfer to a four-year institution.”

And among those who manage to transfer, less than half go on to earn a bachelor’s degree within six years of enrolling at a community college.

The study, which examines state-by-state transfer rates and outcomes by student subgroup, also found that low-income students (11%), students who are 25 years or older (6%), Black students (9%), and Latino students (13%) transfer and complete bachelor’s degrees at even lower rates than community college students overall (16%).

The Scholars Program is run by UCLA's Center for Community College Partnerships. It aims to disrupt bleak transfer rates by providing targeted support for students who’ve been historically underserved in higher education. This includes — but isn’t limited to — students who are the first in their family to go to college; students from low-income backgrounds; formerly incarcerated students; parenting students; undocumented students; former foster youth; and men of color.

CCCP has partnerships with 17 community colleges in Southern California. At these campuses, program coordinators like Martinez — who are often transfer students themselves — help prospective students learn about what it has to offer. Then, once the students are admitted, they gain access to a year’s worth of free guidance.

In the summer, students have the option of taking a UCLA class for six weeks, giving them a chance to earn UC credit before they even transfer. Students can also partake in the program’s residential experience.

These students “get to stay at a dorm, immersed in campus life,” said Aaron Tann. He is the center’s innovation coordinator, working to spread awareness about the program online. Tann also oversees the center’s partnerships with Antelope Valley College, Compton College, and Long Beach City College.

The overnight option, he said, really enables students “to see themselves at a place like UCLA.” Tann speaks from experience; just a few years ago, he attended Citrus College in Glendora.

For students who are more pressed for time, the program offers one-day campus visits, complete with a tour and networking opportunities, as well as webinars.

All options have the same content, Tann said. They’re offered in different ways to ensure students from all walks of life can participate.

After the summer, the community college students are paired with a peer mentor, often a current UCLA student who transferred from the same school. In the fall, the program provides guidance with college applications — regardless of whether the community college students plan to pursue a degree at UCLA or anywhere else. This support includes feedback on the students’ answers to the UC system’s personal insight questions, which are meant to distinguish applicants from the crowd.

In the winter, the program helps students get financial aid. Students learn about grants, loans, and scholarships, of course. But through webinars like “Hustlenomics,” Martinez said they’re also encouraged to think creatively about ways to fund their education, including having a side gig for extra cash. Come spring, the community college students prepare to transition to a university.

Aaron Tann (in the center, wearing a gray hoodie) with other men of color at UCLA's Scholars Program in 2019.

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Courtesy of Aaron Tann

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UCLA's transfer admission rate is about 26%. By comparison, 95% of Scholars Program participants are admitted to at least one UC, and 50% are admitted to UCLA, Tann said via email.

Beyond academics and financial aid

In addition to financial aid workshops and application support, the Scholars Program provides opportunities for students to connect with other prospective transfer students, educators, and professionals.

These experiences, Tann said, are significant because they enable students to learn about specific resources and connect with communities that already exist at UCLA.

When Tann was a community college student, for instance, he appreciated the programming for men of color. These gatherings, he said, gave prospective students “a space for us to be vulnerable and share without any judgment.” The students, Tann added, also had a chance to speak with male professionals of color about their college experiences.

Those opportunities to build community proved to be long-lasting. When Tann transferred to UCLA, he sometimes bumped into other men of color who’d been in the program. When they did cross paths, they’d greet each other with an enthusiastic “MOC!”

You belong 

The program also finds a role for family members.

When Martinez was a student at Pasadena City College, her mom accompanied her to UCLA for the summer dorm experience. Before dropping her off, she wanted to know her daughter would be safe.

The program hosted a family welcome. Martinez grew worried. This required that prospective students and their parents break off into separate groups.

“I didn't want to split up from my mom,” she said. Her mom predominantly speaks Spanish, so Martinez was accustomed to sitting together at “every school-related thing, explaining the context [and] maybe translating.” 

Martinez’s mom noticed she was worried. “It’s fine,” she told her daughter. “If I need you, I’ll text you.”

Learning about the laborers involved with UCLA's brick buildings gave Marilyn Martinez a sense of belonging.

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Courtesy of Marilyn Martinez

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When Martinez and her mom regrouped, she learned that her mom had heard from a UCLA student who was graduating alongside her children. Plus, because the parent session had been in Spanish, Martinez’s mom had felt comfortable asking questions about how to support her daughter with the transfer process.

“It was really life-changing, not just for me but for her as well,” Martinez said.

Another thing Martinez appreciated about that experience was a campus tour that emphasized the contributions of student activists, people of color, and those from working-class backgrounds.

When she and her cohort passed by Royce Hall, their tour guide pointed out the building’s red bricks. Martinez learned that every brick at UCLA was made by Mexican laborers at the Dixon brickyard in East Los Angeles.

“And they were saying: ‘This place was made by people like us. So if you don't feel like you belong, you do,’” she recalled.

Martinez graduated from UCLA in 2022, with a degree in sociology and Chicana and Chicano studies. When she spoke at her commencement ceremony, she recognized an old high school classmate in the crowd, someone whose intellect she’d marveled at as a teenager. It felt good to know they were in the same place.

Immigrants from El Salvador with Temporary Protected Status remain uncertain about their ability to legally live and work in the U.S. after federal officials said late Tuesday that the Department of Homeland Security planned to make an announcement about the program.

“Until such [an] announcement is made, Salvadoran individuals present in the U.S. under TPS retain protection,” DHS said in a statement.

On Wednesday, the federal program that allows people to live and work in the U.S. due to armed conflict, environmental disaster and other “extraordinary” conditions in their native countries was slated to expire for El Salvador.

An estimated 170,000 immigrants face the loss of their work authorizations and potential deportation, which has ignited fear of family separation and other anxieties.

Why this matters

L.A. County is home to the largest Salvadoran diaspora, though it’s unclear how many are beneficiaries of Temporary Protected Status.

El Salvador was granted TPS in 2001, meaning some immigrants have been living in the U.S. for more than two decades. Here, they’ve built families, launched businesses and become integral parts of their communities.

What TPS holders can do now

Nonprofits like the Asylum Seeker Advocacy Project recommend that TPS holders seek an attorney to determine if they're eligible for a different immigration status. Advocates also recommend that people who are on the verge of losing TPS create an emergency plan in case a family member is detained or deported.

How does this TPS decision impact your community?

From 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. on Sept. 12, immigration reporter Julia Barajas and community engagement producer Annie Nguyen will be speaking with community members at Café Calle, 3310 S. Central Ave., Los Angeles.

If you would like to share your experience, or if you have ideas about immigration issues they should be covering, join them for a conversation and a free drink.

How other former TPS beneficiaries have fared

In July, the Department of Homeland Security terminated TPS for Haiti. Since then, many Haitians have lost their jobs and increasing numbers are being deported.

The anxiety of losing TPS can also influence former recipients’ mental health: in Springfield, Ohio, an incoming college freshman died by suicide after DHS fitted him with an electronic ankle monitor (one of the ways the agency tracks people it may deport). The man’s name was Pierre Damas Bel, and in a social media post, he described “carrying a feeling of shame and humiliation [he] never imagined” shortly before he died.

What the Trump administration says

“TPS is just that — it’s temporary. It was never designed to be permanent,” said Homeland Security Secretary Markwayne Mullin with regard to the Supreme Court majority’s decision to allow for the expiration of TPS for Haiti. The dissenting justices determined there was ample evidence that the federal government’s move was fueled by racial animus.

The Trump administration has moved to terminate most of the 17 TPS designations that were in place when its second term began. Signed into law by former President George H.W. Bush in 1990, TPS offered temporary safeguard from deportation and eligibility for a work permit — but not a pathway to permanent residence.

This story first appeared on The LA Local.

A stretch of beach along Long Beach’s Peninsula is gone after a weekend of pounding waves eroded massive amounts of sand. The hurricane-driven swell left the area’s boardwalk in tatters and is threatening to undermine the foundations of more than a dozen oceanfront houses.

Homeowners and structural engineers were assessing the damage to about 20 residences, and crews were trying to rebuild defenses after a weekend of unforgiving waves pulled so much sand into the sea that, at low tide, there was a 15-foot drop from the boardwalk to exposed rocks below. The waves damaged the boardwalk’s already battered seawall and left dozens of homes exposed to future swells, which are expected to pummel Long Beach again on Tuesday evening.

Dennis Poulsen, who built his beachfront home on the Peninsula in 2005, said he has never seen the backside of the seawall. Now that it’s exposed, “it’s in far worse shape than I thought,” he said of the eroded wood. “It just has no muscle left to fight.” 

Without the beach’s sand barrier and intact seawall, the ocean water can pour in beneath the boardwalk and attack the foundations of the ocean-facing homes, Poulsen said. Many houses are built atop shallow foundations that erode easily, as the waves drag sand back into the Pacific, compromising homes’ structural integrity, he said. 

A man jumps onto a collapsed pathway and looks at the waves coming under the boardwalk after strong waves flooded the Long Beach peninsula on Tuesday, Sept. 8, 2026.

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Thomas R. Cordova

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Long Beach Post

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Poulsen said his home was built on fine sand compacted to the point that it behaves like concrete, but all the Peninsula’s homes were built under the assumption that the beach and seawall would offer protection. Now, the barriers are compromised, inviting the ocean into the homes built to overlook it. 

Why were these waves so bad?

In this neighborhood, residents are used to guarding against strong tides and waves.

Heavy trucks commonly rumble up the shoreline to build a protective sand berm. City crews truck in the sand six days a week to replace what waves wash away, at the cost of about $1 million annually. Before storms, residents heap sandbags and tack up plywood, usually escaping major damage.

This time was different.

One resident called it a “perfect storm” — the result of a hurricane hundreds of miles away, warmer ocean temperatures and the convergence of high tide and high swell. 

Hurricane Marie, originally a Category 2 storm that’s since been downgraded, gave the weather system most of its energy, said Marine Safety Chief Gonzalo Medina. Warm ocean temperatures, as hot as 80 degrees, caused the water to expand, resulting in greater volume and higher tide, Medina said. When combined with high swell, the Peninsula faced a “one-two punch” that produced large waves, as high as five feet, Medina said.

City workers salvage what’s left of the seawall as they prepare for the next round of strong waves along the boardwalk after waves pounded the Long Beach Peninsula on Tuesday, Sept. 8, 2026.

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Thomas R. Cordova

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Long Beach Post

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High swells are expected again this evening, when high tide is predicted to crest over six feet, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Though Medina expects it to be smaller than over the weekend, he added that the weather system is dynamic and unpredictable. “We’re keeping our fingers crossed that it’s a lot less impactful than the last two nights,” he said. 

Experts have warned that low-lying areas of Long Beach like this are especially vulnerable as climate change causes tides to reach further inland and exacerbates extreme weather.

Residents brace for more 

Inspectors on Tuesday were still trying to assess damage between 63rd and 67th places, where waves can hit the Peninsula after passing through a gap in Long Beach’s breakwater system. Evacuation orders remained in effect, and the boardwalk was closed to foot traffic.

Residents remained uncertain about the immediate safety of their homes, let alone their long-term prognoses, and some returned to fortify their houses in the meantime.  

One resident, Keith Holt, who moved into his oceanside home in 2015, said he was “just trying to save the house” as engineers drilled reinforcements into the seawall, all that stood between Holt and the ocean as waves pelted the walls and shot geysers of water into the air. 

Long Beach firefighters survey the damage along the boardwalk after strong waves pounded the Long Beach peninsula on Tuesday, Sept. 8, 2026.

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Thomas R. Cordova

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Long Beach Post

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Ashley Simpson, a neighbor, walked out to the boardwalk in her pajamas to gauge the situation. Two of her kids participated as junior lifeguards every summer, running miles on the now-submerged Peninsula beach. She added that it’s devastating to see that land gone, especially in a community as tightly knit as Long Beach. 

The swallowed beach puts other homes in jeopardy, because the oceanside homes protect the bayside homes, Poulsen said, adding, “If this goes away, the Peninsula goes away.” 

Jennifer Pieracci-Jensen, who lives on 67th Place, said she “hasn’t stopped moving” since her street flooded with several feet of water two nights ago. She combined a pump in her subterranean garage, sandbags and a water gate to try to keep the ocean and accompanying debris at bay, but it had overcome the defenses on her low-lying street.

Robbie Cox shovels out 2 feet of sand in front of a home along the boardwalk after strong waves pounded the Long Beach Peninsula on Sept. 8, 2026.

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Thomas R. Cordova

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Long Beach Post

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She has only spent a few years in the home, having purchased the duplex with her husband and family friends in 2023, yet she already knows that more battles are ahead. An exceptionally strong El Niño is headed to the region this year, and the coastal neighborhood will have to keep fighting rising sea levels.

“It’s not going to get any better,” she said.

Rancho Palos Verdes is leading the charge to create a new landslide insurance option for homeowners.

The effort brings together a coalition of city and county governments who say they need financial relief as they address ongoing issues like coastal erosion.

RPV's problems

A portion of Rancho Palos Verdes sits on an ancient landslide. For decades, land movement was minimal. But above-average rainfall in 2022 and 2023 rapidly accelerated the slip — up to 1 foot per week in some places — prompting Southern California Edison and SoCalGas to shut off utilities for hundreds of residents.

Roughly three years after above-average rainfall fueled a devastating landslide in Rancho Palos Verdes, the landscape has become almost unrecognizable. Around 20 homes, ripped apart by the land movement, have been red-tagged, meaning they can’t be lived in. Dozens have been yellow-tagged.

Landslide damage has closed dozens of trails in the Portuguese Bend area of Rancho Palos Verdes on April 04, 2026.

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Brian Feinzimer

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LAist

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The city’s eventual plan is to buy back some of these homes and turn them into open space, but trying to slow the landslide has pushed the city to the financial brink, with Rancho Palos Verdes spending on landslide mitigation as much as it takes to run the whole city.

Meanwhile, homeowners have had to put their savings — including their retirement — back into homes to repair landslide damage. Insurance companies haven’t helped. Generally, homeowners insurance does not cover landslides that aren’t caused by earthquakes.

In 2024, Rancho Palos Verdes surveyed residents who lived in the landslide area about their insurance coverage. None of the residents surveyed had insurance that covered landslides.

Other solutions haven’t panned out

An assembly bill to allow the governor to declare a state of emergency for landslides that aren’t caused by earthquakes, AB 986, failed.

RPV also dabbled with creating a joint powers authority where two or more public agencies come together to combine resources to coordinate services. Examples include clean power alliances like the Orange County Power Authority, and the California Community Housing Agency. But, under California law, JPAs cannot provide insurance options to private property owners.

Why the new effort matters

Rancho Palos Verdes is not the only city grappling with lack of landslide insurance for its residents. Cities mostly along the coast including Dana Point, Malibu, Laguna Beach and San Clemente have dealt with infrastructure damage due to coastal erosion over the years. San Clemente, a beach town reliant on foot traffic, has had to close public access to some of its beaches due to increased coastal erosion. Recurring landslides in the city have also disrupted coastal rail service.

Some counties including Santa Barbara, Ventura and San Diego also voiced their support for measures like the failed AB 986.

So what's the proposed solution?

Rancho Palos Verdes hopes to push state legislators to create a program similar to the California Earthquake Authority and the California FAIR Plan.

The state legislature created the California Earthquake Authority to provide optional earthquake insurance after the 1994 Northridge earthquake, which resulted in $20 billion in residential damages. Only half of the damages were covered by insurance. The CEA is a nonprofit that is managed by the state but privately funded through insurance premiums and represents about two-thirds of the residential earthquake market in California, according to Rancho Palos Verdes city staff.

The California Fair Plan was created in 1968 to offer insurance plans for homeowners who have trouble getting private insurance in areas that are prone to wildfires. It has grown to about 610,000 policies as of June 2025, a 154% increase since September 2021, as other insurance companies have canceled or stopped issuing new policies in California, citing growing wildfire risk. The plan is run by insurers who do business in the state but is not publicly managed.

Rancho Palos Verdes officials will be reaching out to other affected cities and counties to drum up support. They then plan to reach out to state legislators and the insurance commissioner by the end of the year.