The Brief

Middle schooler allegedly attacks classmate twice, choking him severely. Police recommend attempted murder charges to district attorney.

School staff calls police to report squirrel with injured leg in school courtyard.

Unknown man in swimsuit briefs adorned with Australian flag trespassing at high school pool. Lifeguard sees a man follow boys 9 and 12, into the locker room. Man strips, pulls back the shower curtain to see the boy and asks: “Does this make you uncomfortable?” Man flees. Police list indecent exposure and lewd acts as possible offenses.

Officer dispatched to investigate ringing school alarm. Burnt English muffin found in teachers’ lounge. 

From Crescent City, Weed and Alturas in the far north to Calexico and El Cajon nearly 800 miles south, all along the Pacific Coast, across the sprawling Central Valley and up into the High Sierra and down into the Mojave Desert, police are dispatched to California schools thousands of times on any given day classes are in session.

Reasons are myriad: Students bringing guns and knives — and even a spear and a bow and arrow — to school, sexual assaults and “perversion reports” and fights. Then there are lost keys, malfunctioning alarms, and dogs — even cattle — loose on school grounds. Once, police were called for help with a swarm of bees.

Cops rush to reports of students attempting suicide and overdosing on drugs, bullying, sexual assault and unwanted touching. They surveil high schoolers leaving campuses for lunch. They break up fights between parents over spots in elementary school pickup queues. They haul drunken adults from the stands at school sporting events. They once investigated a teacher’s claim that someone stole $10,000 from her classroom desk.

Mostly the call logs capture the anguish of youngsters with mental health challenges, victims whose nude photos are showing up on social media for all to see and parents turning to school administrators to deal with it all.

Such details emerged from nearly 46,000 police call logs and dispatch records EdSource obtained from 164 law enforcement agencies in 57 of California’s 58 counties as part of a sweeping statewide investigation into school policing.

The data offered a raw, first-blush look at why school staff summon cops, reasons that sometimes lead to juvenile and adult arrests.

All incidents included in the police logs largely remain out of public view due to state laws that shield juveniles and allow police to withhold information on investigations. As a result, the data collected as a representative sample of the state is also clearly an undercount of what routinely occurs in California schools.

An EdSource analysis found that nearly a third of all calls for police were for incidents deemed serious. After consulting police experts, EdSource tagged the data with a definition for serious incidents as those that reasonably required a police presence. Included among serious incidents are those tagged as violent, which include anything involving a violent act, including self-harm.

The share of serious incidents increases to 4 out of 10 when police patrols are set aside. They make up about a third of all records, but most have little detail on what police were doing at or near the school.

The analysis also showed that high school students in districts with their own police departments are policed at a higher rate than in districts that rely on municipal police and sheriffs.

School police calls across California

Four years after Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin murdered George Floyd, igniting a national revolt and the defund-the-police movement, only about 20 of California’s 977 public-school districts made significant changes to school policing.

Most that acted ended contracts with municipal police departments to post cops — commonly called school resource officers — in schools. And three districts that made changes reversed course and brought police back after short hiatuses.

EdSource’s investigation sampled records showing calls from and about schools to city and school district police departments and county sheriffs. In some cases, officers stationed in schools dispatch themselves to a problem by radioing their dispatcher. Schools without campus police often call 911. Typically, police record their activity as “patrol” or “school check,” vague descriptions that raise questions about the use of public resources.

Whenever a school resource officer ran along a corridor, one hand on a radio microphone, or a sheriff’s deputy raced along a country road with lights and sirens on to reach a distant rural school, they contributed to what data showed is a vast, continuing police presence in California’s pre-K to 12 public education, EdSource found.

The records resurfaced a debate lingering years after Floyd’s killing about how much policing schools need and if deploying armed officers does more harm than good.

Similarly to police debates at the municipal level, school policing can be polarizing. Across California, the issue emerges as a political divide, with some seeing the police as necessary to ensure safety and others seeing them as agents of racial injustice.

In 2021, the ACLU of Southern California issued a scathing report that recommended an end to school policing in the Golden State, calling it “discriminatory, costly, and counterproductive.” In schools with regularly assigned cops, students across “all groups” were more likely to be arrested or referred to law enforcement, researchers found.

A 2020 University of Maryland study published in the journal Criminology and Public Policy, found school districts that increased policing through federal grants “did not increase school safety.” Researchers recommended improving safety through “the many alternatives” to police in schools.

In California, school policing is “a structure. It’s part of the budgets, it’s part of the vocabulary of the schools. It’s part of what the expectation is from the parents and the students,” said Southwestern Law School professor Jyoti Nandam, who has researched school policing for 25 years and calls it “completely unnecessary,” adding, America is the lone civilized country where it is practiced.

In rural California, school policing is seen as routine, allowing students to become “comfortable interacting with someone in a uniform, wearing a badge, and carrying a gun, so that as they grew older, they see those people as a friendly face, a resource that they could go to as opposed to someone that they should be afraid of,” Tulare County School Superintendent Tim Hire told EdSource. The practice is spreading in Tulare, where three small districts recently agreed to share a resource officer to travel among them.

Such decisions are often couched as safety matters, a vigilant effort to prevent the next school shooting and avoid the failure of Uvalde, Texas police to stop the gunman who slaughtered 19 students and two teachers in 2022.

When state Assemblymember Bill Essayli, R-Riverside, introduced legislation in February to require an armed police officer in each public school with more than 50 students, he described the need in base terms: “We need good guys and girls with guns, ready to act.”

Essayli’s idea is “a step backward,” Assembly Education Committee member Mia Bonta D-Alameda, said at a hearing where the bill died in April. “We know it to be true that there’s a disproportionate impact on Black and brown students when police officers are in schools.”

A matter of local control

The state Department of Education offers no guidance or best practices, calling policing a local matter, a spokesperson said. There’s little consistency statewide in whether police are deployed in schools. Nineteen school districts have their own police departments, including Los Angeles Unified, which refused to release its police call data, some with only a handful of officers.

Los Angeles Unified cut its police department’s budget by 35% in 2020 and banned officers from being posted in schools. Following reports of escalating violence, the district recently reinstated police to two schools through mid-June. Superintendent Alberto Carvalho had informed the school board that he was planning to return police to 20 schools, but he got community and trustee backlash.

Oakland Unified disbanded its police department in favor of non-police staffers to keep peace in schools and respond to emergencies. Principals were trained on when to call city police only as a last resort. Still, data shows eight of the district’s 18 traditional middle and high schools combined to call city police 225 times, with nearly half of them serious, between Jan. 15 and June 30, 2023. Reasons include assault with a deadly weapon, suicide attempts, battery and terrorist/criminal threats.

Retired Long Beach and San Diego school Superintendent Carl Cohn, who served on the California State Board of Education from 2011 to 2018, said Oakland’s model of deploying people to talk students through peaceful resolutions of disputes can work. In the early 1990s, he ran the Long Beach schools anti-gang task force, hiring people with “street cred,” including former gang members.

They “could stop instantly what was going on on a campus by their mere presence,” Cohn said. “Their credibility with youngsters that might be on the verge of gang affiliation was really powerful.”

Yet Cohn’s “not on board with this notion of ‘let’s abandon the school police altogether.’ It’s the type of thing where ultimately there’s enough bad things from time to time happening that the safety of children has to be front and center.” Police must be well-trained, and school officials must cooperate with them, he added.

Shutting down the Oakland Unified police department of 11 officers and changing its policing culture is tough and ongoing, said a leader of a racial-justice group that pushed for the change.

“There’s still the ideology of policing that exists on campus and is embedded in the infrastructure of schools that we’re also up against,” said Jessica Black, a Black Organizing Project activist. “The criminalization of young people, implicit bias, and anti-Black racist practices” still need to be confronted.

It was only after Floyd’s murder that Dr. Tony Moos, a physician, learned that her four children who had each attended high school in the affluent Santa Clara County city of Los Altos had “negative interactions” with school resources officers “that they’d kept to themselves,” she said.

Moos was motivated to act and got the city to examine school police practices and make changes.

After hearings that included a Black high school teacher saying a resource officer had once pushed her to the ground, the city pulled police from the high school. The city also replaced its police chief in 2022. The new hire, a Black woman, came with much-needed experience.

Out of public view

California law grants police wide powers to withhold documents, including investigatory records, requested under the Public Records Act without revealing how many such records are being withheld. Many departments withheld from EdSource some — or even all — of the school calls they received.

The same is true about what information police can reveal in news releases or public statements about individual school incidents, especially involving juveniles. The public is often then not informed about police activity in schools.

That means that the serious incidents — weapons, death threats, rapes, assaults, fights, drugs — that police are responding to in 3 out of 10 calls often remain confidential.

Police in Crescent City, Del Norte County, for example, didn’t release information about the attempted murder of a student at Crescent Elk Middle School by a classmate who allegedly repeatedly choked him on Jan. 23, 2023, until EdSource asked about the incident more than a year later.

When EdSource asked police in Avenal, Kings County to elaborate on a call record of a late-night report of “shots fired” at the city’s high school, a lawyer responded claiming the information was exempt from disclosure.

“The problem is that (the exemptions) apply to virtually everything law enforcement does. They never expire. So, every police report is potentially covered by the investigatory records exemption,” said David Loy, legal director of the First Amendment Coalition, an open government group. The lack of disclosure of police activity in schools makes it all the harder to determine what the correct level of policing should be, he added.

Given the importance of the issue, the lack of information is troubling, Loy said. The debate over school policing “should be held on the basis of full and complete data and not driven by anecdote.”

A day of policing

The one-day record of police responding to a school for serious incidents was 10, the data sample shows.

That was May 17, 2023, at Burroughs High School in the Sierra Sands Unified School District in Ridgecrest, a desert city of 28,000 in eastern Kern County near Death Valley.

The first occurred at 8:38 a.m. when a school resource officer arrested a student for battery and released him to his parents. District Assistant Superintendent Brian Auld, who’s in charge of security, told EdSource the student “didn’t even go to the police station.”

That was followed at 9:09 a.m. by reports of two students who appeared to be under the influence of drugs. They were evaluated and returned to class. Another report of two students apparently under the influence came in at 10:26 a.m. One student was impaired and released to their parents, Auld said.

Less than 10 minutes later, the resource officer responded to a student in “mental distress” who was taken for a psychological evaluation.

At 1:23 p.m., police were alerted to a terrorist threat that ended up involving a student threatening to beat up someone, Auld said.

About 20 minutes later, two girls began fighting in art class.

One grabbed what Auld called “an art project” — apparently a ceramic object — and allegedly swung it at the other girl’s head. Police called it assault with a deadly weapon, arresting the aggressor. “Deadly weapon sounds like a knife or a gun. The officer made the decision that (the object) could have done serious bodily harm,” Auld said. “I’m not downplaying it.”

At 3:14 p.m. a report of disturbing the peace came in. No details were provided.

At 10:26 p.m, a vandalism report to the police turned out to be benign — police found that soon-to-graduate seniors had decorated the school with toilet paper.

Ridgecrest is “a unique, isolated community” near a military base. The school district considers its relationship with the police as a successful partnership, Auld said.

District officials “have some, or even total, discretion regarding whether or not an arrest is made,” he added. The district has 15 counselors, mental health therapists and a registered behavioral therapist, Auld said. It’s also implementing restorative practices and social-emotional learning to “change behaviors before they result in suspensions, expulsions and arrests.”

The Kings of calls

The most total call and dispatch records in the data for one school that relies on calling 911 was Lemoore High School, in Lemoore, a city of 26,600 in Kings County with 471 calls over a nearly six-month period.

Lemoore police, which refers to school police as youth development officers, provided scant detail on the reasons for the calls, listing hundreds in records as premises checks.

In an interview, Lt. Alvaro Santos, who supervises Lemoore’s school policing, attributed the numbers to the department’s practice of having all available officers “drop what they’re doing” during the times students arrive at school and leave for lunch and later go home, basically surrounding the buildings, some on side streets out of view of students.

“They’re around the school. They could be either parked on a side street or they could be driving by looking for vehicle code violations or anything that would pose a danger to the students,” Santos said. He said the schools are near a main road through the city and that there are concerns about drunk drivers in the area.

More serious calls

Sampled data shows that middle schools have a higher rate of serious incidents reported to police than high schools. At Cesar Chavez Middle School, in East Palo Alto, 41% of calls to police reported violent incidents, threats and sexual misconduct, data shows.

In one of two calls that East Palo Alto police labeled “perversion report,” a student allegedly used a phone to make “a TikTok” of another girl using the restroom, according to a recording of a heavily redacted 911 call to police from a school official. Police refused to release any details.

Fresno’s Gaston Middle School is in a neighborhood plagued by violence, gangs and drugs, all of which follow students through the school doors, both police and Fresno Unified Superintendent Bob Nelson said.

A patrol car for a Fresno Unified student resource officer sits outside of Gaston Middle School and its health clinic.

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Lasherica Thornton

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“I would love for there to be no acts of any physical harm on another person, but that’s impossible,” Sgt. Anthony Alvarado said.

Fresno Unified has been debating what level of policing to have in its schools for several years. In 2020 police were pulled from the district’s middle schools but remained in high schools. After several violent incidents, police were returned to some middle schools in 2022 and the rest in 2023.

School 'feels like a prison'

The daily presence of Kern High School District police at Mira Monte High in Bakersfield “feels ghetto,” sophomore Jose Delgado said.

The school “feels like a prison. It’s like they don’t trust us at all.”

Still, Delgado said, he understands the need for police, noting a lot of fights at the school. “It’s for the best, but it makes us feel ghetto.”

Data shows 163 police call records at Delgado’s school for the five-and-a-half month period. They describe incidents including assault with a deadly weapon, an irate parent, out-of-control juveniles and resisting a police officer.

Delgado’s sense of school as a prison and not being trusted are among the reasons why the negatives of school policing “completely outweigh the positives,” Nandam, the Southwestern Law School professor said.

The students who police typically interact with “are not the children that are doing well in school,” Nandam said. “Part of why there isn’t an outrage, a global outrage, is because it’s not impacting the people that are in power, the people who have agency.”

Children seeing police in schools can be akin to going to an airport and encountering armed officers at a security checkpoint, said University of Florida education professor Chris Curran, who has studied school policing extensively. “It’s natural to wonder what’s wrong, why are there people with guns?” he said. “You find yourself saying, ‘What do I not know about? What’s this danger that has necessitated assault rifles?’”

No state guidance

When he was a state Assembly member in 2020, California Attorney General Rob Bonta, Assemblymember Mia Bonta’s spouse, clearly came down on the side of removing police from schools when he spoke at a forum after Floyd’s murder.

“It’s just really important to call out this incredible moment,” he said, lauding districts, including Oakland, that ended policing. “There’s a general dehumanization of children of color, a belief that they need to be surveilled and monitored and watched and policed.”

“The outcomes don’t make our students safer,” he said. School policing is “not achieving what we’re seeking,” a video of the forum shows. It was hosted by State Superintendent of Public Instruction Tony Thurmond.

State Superintendent of Public Instruction Tony Thurmond.

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Andrew Reed

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Asked recently if Bonta’s position on school policing as the state’s top law enforcement officer mirrors what he said in 2020, his press secretary replied “no” via email.

Bonta, who’s expected to enter the 2026 governor’s race, “has always believed that there isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution for school safety, and that schools need to work towards data-driven policies that fit their community,” Alexandra Duquet wrote.

“School resource officers can be an important component of ensuring students and school personnel safety,” Duquet wrote. “Their primary focus should be ensuring the safety of all on campus — not discipline — and they be given tools such as implicit bias training that ensure the equitable treatment of all students.”

Thurmond, a declared 2026 gubernatorial candidate, took no position on school policing during the forum. He recently told EdSource he favors “well-trained school resource officers to handle serious situations.” He also called for “more training of school staff so they’re not calling police for something that’s a student discipline matter.”

Thurmond also said that during his time as a member of the West Contra Costa Unified School District board from 2008-2012 he saw police officers help students, calling them “some of the best social workers I’ve worked with.”

State Sen. Nancy Skinner, D-Berkeley, who during Thurmond’s forum praised Oakland’s shuttering of its school police department, said in an interview that school districts should consider alternatives to police the way some cities have started using trained civilians to respond to 911 mental-health-crisis calls.

State Sen. Nancy Skinner, D-Berkeley.

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“Kids are emotional. Kids don’t have impulse control the way adults should, and to bring an officer in, especially since all of our officers are armed, can, rather than defuse the situation, make it worse,” Skinner said. Kids can act out what they experience at home or on the street, she added.

Skinner, the author of several major police accountability bills, also said she saw value in the data EdSource obtained and published.

Police logs can help officials decide if civilian staff should deal with more school incidents at a time when California’s suffering a police shortage, she said. That could leave sworn officers available for “real public safety needs. We never want to prevent a school from calling 911 if that’s needed. However, there might be some appropriate guidelines or boundaries that cities and schools could work out.”

Stopping a police chase

The executive director of the Alabama-based National Association of School Resource Officers, Mo Candy, a retired cop, said districts would be mistaken to remove resource officers from campuses. Police will always be needed to respond to schools, and “we need for students and faculty to be able to feel like this officer is more than just a law enforcement officer, that they really are another trusted adult in that school environment.” A trained and well-known officer, “may be the person who comes into a situation with the coolest head,” he said.

Loretta Whitson, executive director of the California School Counselors Association, has seen what can happen when police approach a student situation lacking the cool-headedness Candy described.

As a school counselor in the Monrovia Unified School District in Los Angeles County, she once worked with a child who ran away from school multiple times. Finally, an exasperated principal called the police, who chased after the student.

“The principal didn’t stop them. I felt as (officers) went on in their rant this kid is getting more damaged. So, I said, ‘Stop, stop,”’ Whitson said. “We already had a very damaged kid, and this wasn’t helping.” The student was later found to need special education services, she said.

Tom Nolan, a retired Boston police lieutenant turned sociologist who’s taught at several universities and studied school policing, said when law enforcement officers are called into a school situation, “they become the shot callers,” deciding what to do whether it is in the child’s best interest or not. Too often, principals are calling them for minor problems like lost keys and disciplinary matters, he said.

“The research is unequivocal in demonstrating that the police coming into schools, or police being assigned to schools, is almost always a bad idea. It has bad outcomes for children. It has bad outcomes for school safety.”

Nolan said police are not school counselors and shouldn’t play that role. “That’s something that’s a very specific skill set that is attained through years of graduate level study by mental health practitioners and clinicians.”

The California Police Chiefs Association declined to make anyone from its leadership available for an interview. In an email, its executive director described school policing as a matter best discussed at local levels.

Brian Marvel, president of the Peace Officers Research Association of California, a powerful federation of police unions, wasn’t available for an interview, a spokesperson said. In a statement, Marvel, a San Diego police officer, said cops assigned to schools “play an important role in” schools. They act as “educators, emergency/crisis managers, first responders, informal counselors, mentors, and model the kind of behavior that builds trust and respect between law enforcement and the communities they serve.”

Data shows that sometimes, regardless of who might be available to counsel or advise a student, one may just do something dumb, like putting a death threat in writing.

On June 15, 2023, James Morris, the county administrator who also acts as Inglewood Unified superintendent, received a death threat via email, police call records show. Morris, a veteran administrator, was brought on to lift Inglewood out of years of state receivership because of fiscal woes.

“I can just say, generally, it was a student,” Morris said when asked about the threat. Police took a report, but Morris said he didn’t want charges filed.

“I’ve been doing this for 44 years. It takes a lot to rattle me,” he said. “It was a young person who just needed help.”

Days after starting his second term, President Donald Trump issued a series of executive orders that targeted DEI programs and policies for elimination, decrying them as illegal and immoral. Museums across the country scrambled to react — and in many cases, comply. Within days, Washington’s National Gallery of Art announced it would close its office of belonging and inclusion and remove the words “diversity, equity, access and inclusion” from its list of values on its website. Five days later, the Smithsonian followed suit.

But the Japanese American National Museum, a relatively small institution in downtown Los Angeles, chose a different path. Founded in 1992 at the site of a historic Buddhist temple in L.A.’s Little Tokyo, the museum took a stand against Trump and his anti-DEI edicts while other museums acquiesced. Two weeks after the Smithsonian shuttered its DEI office and stripped its websites of DEI-related language, JANM’s leaders announced that they would not waver from their commitment to DEI or their mission of telling the full truth about the Japanese American experience, World War II incarceration camps and all. We will scrub nothing, JANM announced, in what would become a slogan for the museum’s defiance. That stance came with significant risks: At stake were millions in federal grants from institutions like the National Endowment for the Humanities and the Institute of Museum and Library Services.

“You can’t put a price tag on your community’s integrity and your institution’s integrity,” said William T. Fujioka, chair of JANM’s board of trustees and the former chief executive officer of L.A. County.

To date, JANM, which has an operating budget of around $13 million, has lost $660,000 in federal funding from the National Endowment for the Humanities, said Sherrill Ingalls, JANM’s director of marketing and communications. In October, the museum was also turned down for a Japanese American Confinement Sites grant from the National Park Service that funds projects about the Japanese American incarceration camps — a story central to the museum’s existence since it was founded.

“We always got money for this grant,” Fujioka said. This year: nothing.

“I don’t think we can draw conclusions,” said Ann Burroughs, JANM’s President and CEO. “I think it’s important that you quote that: We can’t draw conclusions.”

“But one hears things anecdotally,” she added.

“We don’t know for a fact why we didn’t get it,” Fujioka said. “But it’s probably grounded on the very vocal and strong position we’ve taken.”

Sticking to your principles in defiance of a vindictive president and your own financial interests is never easy. But as many prominent museums — institutions whose primary mission is to inform the public about our collective histories — bend to Trump’s will, it’s become a stand few museums other than JANM have been willing to take.

“If you find some, let me know, because I haven’t seen it,” said Lori Fogarty, the director of the Oakland Museum of California. “And I’ve been actively looking to see what other museums might take the stance of bravery that JANM has taken.”

JANM’s decision to take a stand came at a board of trustees meeting last February. “We started to hear that other nonprofits, particularly other museums, were starting to scrub their websites of any references to DEI because they were afraid they were going to lose funding,” Fujioka said.

“The executive orders were coming fast and furious, and there was this pervasive fear of, ‘What the hell does this mean?’” Burroughs said. The trustees considered what might be lost by opposing the executive orders — both in terms of funding, but also by placing a very visible target on their backs. “We talked about the importance of standing up and being vocal,” Fujioka said.

In the end, the board voted unanimously to push back against Trump’s attacks on DEI, approving a strongly worded statement that called out the administration’s “attempt at erasure” and affirmed the museum’s commitment “to stand up for the truth about history” to fight discrimination and hate “and to ensure that no community is ever again subjected to the injustices that Japanese Americans faced.” “There were no dissenting voices,” Burroughs said.

“Nobody stood up for Japanese Americans in 1942, other than the Quakers and perhaps one chapter of the ACLU,” said Burroughs, who was jailed as a young activist in her native South Africa for her opposition to apartheid, and is also the chair of the board of directors of Amnesty International USA. “I think our trustees, the children of camp survivors, felt that weight of history enormously. Now was the time to stand up for other people and other communities that were under attack.”

JANM’s statement was as thorough as it was bold, as the board decried the “erosion of civil rights” and the resurfacing of “racism, xenophobia, and authoritarianism” under the second Trump administration. It denounced Trump’s directive to build a migrant detention center at Guantanamo Bay; his invoking of the Alien Enemies Act to carry out mass deportations without due process (as was done to Japanese Americans during World War II); the administration’s attacks on birthright citizenship, among other actions.

“I was impressed,” Fogarty said of the statement, which was released Feb. 11. “But it totally made sense to me, knowing JANM’s history.”

It’s the kind of stance that JANM has been taking for years. After 9/11, the museum’s leaders declared their solidarity with Muslim Americans, noting the similarities between the hysteria and hateful political climates of 2001 and 1942. “The Japanese American community came to Michigan to hold one of their conventions and to support the Arab American community here,” said Devon Akmon, former director of the Arab American National Museum in Dearborn, Michigan. “JANM was very instrumental throughout our early years.”

In 2017, JANM was among the first museums in the country to see its leaders speak out against Trump’s anti-Muslim travel bans, as the museum drew hundreds of people to a series of marches, vigils and rallies in support of the Muslim community. Over the years, the museum has held programs about everything from implicit bias to antisemitism at its National Center for the Preservation of Democracy.

The issue came to a head in April, when JANM learned that the Department of Government Efficiency had terminated a National Endowment for the Humanities grant that was to fund an annual program that brings teachers from across the U.S. to Little Tokyo to learn about the history of the incarceration camps. The central goal of the program was to prevent history from repeating itself by educating teachers about the camps who would then pass along that knowledge to their students.

The museum responded with a rebuke of the executive order Trump issued in March, “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History.” “The order,” the museum said in an April 3 statement, “aims to replace nonpartisan, research-based, and comprehensive history of the US with a grandiose and simplistic narrative that omits the nation’s injustices, mistakes, and dark chapters.”

“The attack on DEI was anathema to us, because our mission is absolutely centered in a celebration of the ethnic and cultural diversity of the U.S.,” Burroughs said.

Word of JANM’s stand spread through museum publications, on social media and via arts blogs, local news outlets and the Japanese American ethnic press. And when Gov. Gavin Newsom was looking for an appropriate place to hold a press conference about Proposition 50 and congressional redistricting in August, he chose the museum’s National Center for the Preservation of Democracy. The spot is steps from the site where, in 1942, Japanese Americans assembled to board buses bound for American detention centers and incarceration camps. As Newsom made his remarks, dozens of masked and armed Border Patrol agents roamed around the center’s plaza, ostensibly to conduct an immigration raid. At the press conference, Newsom called those actions “sick and pathetic.”

Since then, some other museums have also opposed Trump’s executive orders, though in quieter ways. A few, like JANM, are also choosing to “scrub nothing,” a message that JANM placed on t-shirts to raise money to replace lost federal funds. For JANM, scrubbing was never really a choice. What would a JANM exhibit or website look like without DEI? “It would be blank,” Burroughs said.

“Right now, a lot of museums are still trying to figure out how to navigate this very carefully and deliberately,” Akmon said. “I’ve had conversations with people who are very, very nervous about making public statements because of concerns like, ‘How do I shield my staff? How do we not get obliterated?’”

“I think it’s really important to acknowledge that not all museums have the same latitude to be as bold as JANM,” Akmon added. “There are factors like governance structures, funding, political environments, community pressures. But I do think that courage looks different in different contexts. For some it might be public statements and very forward-facing initiatives. For others, it could be quietly sustaining inclusive practices despite external pressure.”

Although San Diego’s Museum of Us isn’t taking a formal stance on DEI like JANM did, its current exhibit, which opened this November, is about as aggressively DEI in nature and name as one gets. Titled “Race: Power, Resistance & Change,” the exhibit “tells the truth about racial oppression and white supremacy in the Californias, and how indigenous and other communities of color have resisted that oppression,” said Micah Parzen, the museum’s CEO.

The exhibit was in the works years before Trump’s election to a second term, so it is “not a reaction [to the executive orders] by any stretch of the imagination,” he said. “We’re just continuing to do what we believe museums should be doing.”

At JANM, the museum is expanding the reach of its message beyond its Los Angeles walls with JANM on the Go, an ambitious outreach project undertaken this year while the museum’s main exhibit space is undergoing major renovations. The program is partnering with other museums and art institutions to present shows about Japanese American female artists in Philadelphia and Monterey, Calif.; exhibits about the incarceration camps in Chicago and Seattle; a showcase of Japanese American car culture in Pasadena; and film screenings of JANM-produced documentaries in theaters from Santa Monica to Nagoya, Japan. Burroughs can’t say how much of this collaboration with other museums has been driven by their stance on DEI. “But certainly there is more interest in our work,” she said.

Still others are simply choosing not to accept or apply for federal grants. Last October, the executive committee of the Oakland Museum of California, which focuses on the arts, history and culture, turned down a major grant administered by the Department of Interior after the department told the Oakland Museum executive committee that accepting the award would essentially affirm that the museum would abide by Trump’s executive orders against DEI. The museum also decided to stop pursuing federal grants in the future. “We wouldn’t be able to accept federal funding in good conscience with those strings attached,” Fogarty said.

Parzen isn’t applying for any new federal grants either. “We know, just from a practical perspective, we’re not going to get them,” he said. “Because the mandate is to not fund the so-called ‘woke’ museums.”

Parzen said the administration’s anti-DEI stance has completely upended what the grants were originally intended to do — and nearly guaranteed that places like JANM won’t get the sorts of grants they did in the past, like the National Park Service one they lost. “One of the key criteria they used to use to evaluate these grants was: Does it support a community of color that typically hasn’t been represented in museums?” Parzen said. “Whereas now, all of a sudden, it’s: Does the grant support the administration and celebrate patriotism and all the wonderful things about what it means to be American?”

Since the beginning of the year, the National Endowment for the Humanities has canceled at least 1,200 grants — an estimated 85% of its existing grants. It’s hard to quantify how much has been lost to federal cuts, both in terms of research and public-facing programs, but it’s a lot, say museum directors like Fogarty. “Those grants are really important because they are peer reviewed and so competitive that in order to receive one, it really has to be a model project,” she said. “So these grants would really jump-start very important projects.”

This March, Burroughs will be attending the California Association of Museums annual conference being held in Los Angeles in 2026. With museum leaders and administrators in attendance from across the state, Burroughs will likely field questions about JANM’s ongoing stance against the Trump administration — how it came to make it, and what it has cost them.

Why was JANM able to take such a strong stance against DEI, for instance, when so many others could not, or would not? A major factor was its board, which was the driving force behind JANM’s position, Fujioka said.

“There was no politics in that discussion,” Fujioka said. “What we talked about was our heritage, and our responsibility to the Issei and Nisei [first and second Japanese American] generations, who lost so much.”

For many museums, this is not typical. “Boards in particular are getting skittish and nervous and saying, ‘Maybe we need to change this a little bit,’” Parzen said. “‘We wouldn’t want to be on the radar and subject to an investigation or an audit.’”

JANM also has the advantage of being a culturally specific museum whose very existence is rooted in community activism. The museum was established because other museums across the country were not telling the history of Japanese Americans, and was funded, in large part, by individual Japanese American community members and groups. “I think a museum like the Japanese American National Museum, or even the Arab American National Museum, a lot of these culturally specific museums have a lot of clarity on why they exist,” Akmon said. “I mean, a deep, deep purpose. Being a museum is almost secondary. It’s like, we’re a museum because of this. That is a powerful proposition.”

“And sometimes, in some of the darkest hours,” he continued, “being bold, for these types of institutions, actually galvanizes their community.”

Ironically, JANM is, in many ways, in the same position as other museums that scrubbed their websites or canceled exhibits or chose not to take a stand. Even after the Smithsonian scrubbed its site, Trump announced an extensive review of the museum to ensure that it “reflect(s) the unity, progress and enduring values that define the American story”; similarly, in May, Trump called for the removal of Kim Sajet, the director of the National Portrait Gallery, because of her support of DEI, even after the gallery removed the DEI messaging from its website (she resigned the following month).

“A lot of museums chose not to speak out because they were afraid of funding getting cut,” Burroughs said. “Well, it’s been cut. It’s gone.”

For Burroughs, museums are at a critical crossroads where they must make tough decisions about how to stand up for their principles. “I just don’t believe for a second that museums can be neutral,” she said. “Museums can’t be neutral, whether you’re a science museum or an art museum or a cultural history museum. Especially at a time like this, when truth is under attack, when truth and history and science and art and culture is under attack, I think that we have a responsibility to stay firm.”

Copyright 2025 Capital & Main

It's not your mother's podcast — or your father's, or anyone else's. The Washington Post's new offering, "Your Personal Podcast," uses artificial intelligence to customize podcasts for its users, blending the algorithm you might find in a news feed with the convenience of portable audio.

The podcast is "personalized automatically based on your reading history" of Post articles, the newspaper says on its help page. Listeners also have some control: At the click of a button, they can alter their podcast's topic mix — or even swap its computer-generated "hosts."

The AI podcast immediately made headlines — and drew criticisms from people questioning its accuracy, and the motives behind it.

Nicholas Quah, a critic and staff writer for Vulture and New York magazine who writes a newsletter about podcasts, says the AI podcast is an example of the Post's wide-ranging digital experiments — but one that didn't go quite right.

"This is one of many technologically, digitally oriented experiments that they're doing" that is aimed at "getting more audience, breaking into new demographics," he says. Those broader efforts range from a generative AI tool for readers to a digital publishing platform. But in this case, Quah adds, "It feels like it's compromising the core idea of what the news product is."

On that help page, the newspaper stresses that the podcast is in its early beta phase and "is not a traditional editorial podcast."

Bailey Kattleman, head of product and design at the Post, calls it "an AI-powered audio briefing experience" — and one that will soon let listeners talk back to it.

"In an upcoming release, they'll be able to actually interact and ask follow up questions to dig in deeper to what they've just heard," Kattleman says in an interview with NPR.

As technically sophisticated as that sounds, there are many questions about the new podcast's accuracy — even its ability to correctly pronounce the names of Post journalists it cites. Semafor reported that errors, cited by staffers at the Post, included "misattributing or inventing quotes and inserting commentary, such as interpreting a source's quotes" as the paper's own stance.

In the newspaper's app, a note advises listeners to "verify information" by checking the podcast against its source material.

In a statement, the Washington Post Guild — which represents newsroom employees and other staff — tells NPR, "We are concerned about this new product and its rollout," alleging that it undermines the Post's mission and its journalists' work.

Citing the paper's standing practice of issuing a correction if a story contains an error, the guild added, "why would we support any technology that is held to a different, lower standard?"

So, why is the Post rolling out an AI podcast? And will other news and audio outlets follow its lead?

Here are some questions, and answers:

Isn't AI podcasting already a thing?

"The Post has certainly gone out on a ledge here among U.S. legacy publishers," Andrew Deck tells NPR. But he adds that the newspaper isn't the first to experiment with AI-generated podcasts in the wider news industry.

Deck, who writes about journalism and AI for Harvard University's Nieman Lab, points to examples such as the BBC's My Club Daily, an AI-generated soccer podcast that lets users hear content related to their favorite club. In 2023, he adds, "a Swiss public broadcaster used voice clones of real radio hosts on the air."

News outlets have also long offered an automated feature that converts text articles into computer-generated voices.

Even outside of the news industry, AI tools for creating podcasts and other audio are more accessible than ever. Some promise to streamline the editing process, while others can synthesize documents or websites into what sounds like a podcast conversation.

Why do publishers want to experiment with AI podcasts?

"It's cost-effective," says Gabriel Soto, senior director of research at Edison Research, which tracks the podcast industry. "You cut out many of the resources and people needed to produce a podcast (studios, writers, editors, and the host themselves)."

And if a brand can create a successful AI virtual podcast in today's highly competitive podcasting market, Soto adds, it could become a valuable intellectual property in the future.

Deck says that if the Post's experiment works, the newspaper "may be able to significantly scale up and expand its audio journalism offerings, without investing in the labor that would normally be required to expand."

In an interview, Kattleman stresses the new product isn't meant to replace traditional podcasts: "We think they have a unique and enduring role, and that's not going away at the Post."

What's unique about the Post AI podcast?

For Deck, the level of customization it promises is an innovation. Being able to tailor a podcast specific to one person, he says, "is arguably beyond what any podcast team in journalism right now can produce manually."

In an example the Post published, listeners can choose from voice options with names like "Charlie and Lucy" and "Bert and Ernie."

Kattleman says her team was working from the idea that for an audience, there isn't a "one size fits all" when it comes to AI and journalism.

"Some people want that really straight briefing style; some people prefer something more conversational and more voicey," she says.

Quah says that adding an AI podcast is a bid to make stories accessible to a broader audience.

He says that with the podcast, the Post seems to be trying to reach young people who "don't want to read anymore, they just want to listen to the news."

A key goal, Kattleman says, is to make podcasts more flexible, to appeal to younger listeners who are on the go.

Outlining the process behind the Post's AI podcast, Kattleman says, "Everything is based on Washington Post journalism."

An LLM, or large language model, converts a story into a short audio script, she says. A second LLM then vets the script for accuracy. After the final script is stitched together, Kattleman adds, the voice narrates the episode.

Will listeners embrace an AI news podcast?

Soto, of Edison Research, says that 1 in 5 podcast consumers say they've listened to an AI-narrated podcast.

But, he adds that for podcast listeners, "many prefer the human connection, accepting AI tools to assist in creating the content, but not in executing or hosting the podcast."

The new AI podcast reminds Deck a bit of the hyper-personalized choices for users offered by TikTok and other social media.

"There is a level of familiarity
and, arguably, comfort with algorithmic curation among younger audiences," he says.

But while younger audiences tend to be tech savvy, many of them are also thoughtful about authenticity and connection.

"Community is at the core of why people listen to podcasts," Soto says.

Then there's the idea of a host or creator's personality, which drives engagement on TikTok and other platforms.

"These creators have built a relationship with their audience — and maybe even trust — even if they haven't spoken to sources themselves," Deck says. "This type of news content is a far cry from the disembodied banter of AI podcast hosts."

What are the potential downsides of AI podcasts?

One big potential consequence is the loss of jobs — and for companies, the loss of talent.

"The automation of it kind of erases the entire sort of voice performance industry," Quah says. "There are people who do this for a living," he adds, who could "produce higher quality versions of these recordings."

There are also concerns that, if AI chooses a story and controls how it's presented, it might create an echo chamber, omitting context or skepticism that a journalist would likely provide.

"AI-based news personalization tends to land firmly in the camp of delivering audiences what they want to know," Deck says.

Deck says he's willing to give the Post's AI podcast a bit of time to see how it plays out. But Deck does have a chief concern: "I can say point blank, generative AI models hallucinate."

And when AI models are wrong, he says, they're often confidently so.

Blurring boundaries between human and AI voices could also raise questions of trust — a critical factor for a news organization.

As Soto puts it, "What happens when your audience expects content from the real you and ends up finding AI instead?"

Storylines about abortion and conversations about it showed up on television 65 times this year, on prestigious dramas like The Pitt and Call the Midwife, on reality shows such as W.A.G.s to Riches and Love is Blind and on lowbrow animated comedies like Family Guy and South Park. That's about the same as last year. In 2024, TV shows featured 66 such plotlines.

But in the past few years, there's been a significant drop in the number of characters who actually went through with an abortion. 37% obtained an abortion in 2025, a 14% decline since 2023.

That's according to the annual Abortion Onscreen report. It comes from Advancing New Standards in Reproductive Health, a research program on abortion and reproductive health based at the University of California San Francisco.

"I think there still is a lot of stigma, even in allegedly liberal Hollywood," says researcher Steph Herold. She says the report, which has come out for about a decade, reflects a profound lack of accurate representation of abortion use in America. For example, she points to research showing that about 60% of real life Americans who seek an abortion deal with some sort of barrier.

"But only about a third of people who are characters on screen face any kind of barrier to abortion," Herold said. "Whether it was not being able to come up with the cost of the abortion, not having somebody to watch their kids or cover for them at work, having to deal with clinics that are miles away, or in other states having insurance that wouldn't cover the cost." Most TV shows in 2025 depicting women struggling to get abortions focused on legal obstacles in the past and present.

On TV, 80% of characters seeking abortions are upper or middle class, but in real life, most abortion patients struggle to make ends meet. "This [disparity] obscures the role that poverty plays in obstructing access to abortion, and perhaps explains why we so rarely see plotlines in which characters wrestle with financial barriers to abortion access," the study says.

This year, a teenager on The Pitt sought abortion pills to end her pregnancy — one of only three stories depicting medication abortion out of 65 plotlines about abortion this year. That's another disparity between representation on-screen and real-world numbers: research shows that abortion pills account for the majority of abortions in the U.S. Another difference: only 8% of people seeking abortion on TV are parents. In real life, most abortion patients have at least one child.

It is unrealistic, says Herold, to expect TV to perfectly reflect current abortion use in the U.S., but she said she was disappointed by certain trends. Fewer characters this year received emotional support around their abortions, and more shows, she said, including Chicago Med, 1923, Breathless and Secrets We Keep featured plotlines that emphasized shame and stigma around abortions, especially because of religion. These storylines, the report says, "both obscure the diversity of religious observance among people having abortions, portraying religious patients as exclusively Christian, and also only associating religion with prohibiting abortion, instead of being a meaningful or supportive part of someone's abortion decision-making and experience."

But even though abortion has long been a hot-button political issue, Herold says millions of Americans have had some sort of experience with abortions. "Whether it's having one themselves or helping a daughter or a friend," she said, adding that stories that reflect a diversity of abortion experiences will be familiar to many viewers.

One bright spot, she added, was that television is doing a better job of reflecting the racial realities of abortion. A slight majority of characters in abortion plotlines are people of color — and although they are by far the majority of abortion seekers in real life, this marks a notable improvement from a decade ago, when TV shows more often portrayed women seeking abortions as wealthy and white.