The Brief

Growing up in Santa Clarita, Ellie Magsaysay was one of the few Asian American kids in her neighborhood, and certainly one of the few Filipino Americans. Some people seemed confused by her background, she said, and assumed she wasn’t Asian.

It’s affected her sense of identity and, at times, her self-esteem. Was being Filipina or having darker skin, she wondered, why boys didn’t seem interested?

“I remember just vividly experiencing not being the ideal type as an Asian and not being an ideal type as a white person or anything else,” Magsaysay said. “It’s like where do you really fit in?”

It’s one of the questions Magsaysay, an incoming senior, got to explore in a peer-to-peer program promoting mental health awareness among younger Filipino Americans.

Faciliator Jeslyn Cortel works with Mary-Clare De Los Reyes, 14, and Tala Ancheta, 15, as they fill out their Walang Hiya or Without Shame workbook.

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Over a couple of weeks during the summer, a dozen people met regularly in Historic Filipinotown in a light-filled multipurpose room at Search To Involve Pilipino Americans, which developed the program.

A handful of college-age facilitators trained by the community organization taught eight teenage students about signs of depression and anxiety — and ways to cope through journaling and breathing exercises.

Ethan Munsayac, a student at UC-Davis, (l.) volunteered to be a facilitator working with teen participants such as Mary-Clare De Los Reyes.

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But just as Asian Americans are incredibly diverse, so are the mental health needs of different ethnicities. The facilitators made sure to discuss issues familiar to the Filipino diaspora such as colorism and cultural expectations. One exercise had the teens thinking up of comebacks to harmful statements like “I can only be a nurse to be successful.”

A suggested counter-statement? "I can be an actress to be successful.”

'Not Filipino enough'

The name of the program is called Walang Hiya, which translates to “shameless” or “without shame.”

“What's funny is that the saying in Tagalog is actually kind of derogatory,” said Kevin Sandoval Casasola, youth development coordinator for Search to Involve Pilipino Americans.

The organization, which offers youth leadership training and afterschool programs among its services, created Walang Hiya to help teens who may be struggling with the stress of being bicultural. Three years into running the program and refining it with tweaks, the group hopes to share the curriculum with more Filipino American communities outside of Historic Filipinotown.

Teens at the Walang Hiya program fill out a workbook that contains exercises on mental health awareness that are also specific to the Filipino American experience.

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The highly participatory program requires teens to draw from their own experiences in group exercises.

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“We really want to reclaim the notion of living without shame towards mental health, for the experiences we have as Filipinos, Filipino Americans,” Casasola said.

Casasola says a lot of that shame is rooted in a colonial past. The teens hear about how Spain ruled the Philippines for more than 300 years, followed by a U.S. occupation that lasted nearly 50 years. Western customs and beauty standards took hold. Speaking English was prized.

Rocks with affirmations created by participants of the Walang Hiya program.

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When Filipinos emigrated to the U.S., many didn’t teach Tagalog to their kids. That was Casasola’s experience.

“But you're kind of looked down upon if you don't speak the language,” Casasola said. “We recognize through this program, as students talk to one another, that something that's shared — this feeling of not being Filipino enough.”

Sharing space

Casasola said it’s a commonly-felt sentiment in L.A. County, home to more than 300,000 Filipino Americans. Households can be spread out. Some young people grow up feeling removed from their Filipino heritage.

“Having a space with lots of other Filipino Americans, that's something I haven't really had very much before,” said Tala Ancheta, one of the teen participants.

Ancheta said speaking about mental health issues with teens from the same background came easily.

Posters hung for the Walang Hiya program lay out ground rules for group discussions.

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The program takes place in a building of the Search to Involve Pilipino Americans in Historic Filipinotown.

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“I want to know what people are going through, or what they could be going through, and how I may be able to help,” Ancheta said.

Her father Mark Ancheta said he and his wife were happy to ferry their daughter from their home in Manhattan Beach to L.A. several times a week because the program teaches teens about mental health through a cultural lens.

Tala Ancheta, 15, says the program has allowed her to share space with other Filipino Americans her age -- something she doesn't get to do often.

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MJ Manalo, 16, says the Walang Hiya program is teaching her "self-regulation and de-stressing" which will be vital when school starts up again.

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He wants her to be able to articulate her emotions — not to feel pressure to put on outward appearances as they had growing up in their families.

"They boast about success all the time but of course, we're not going to talk about struggles," Mark Ancheta said.

Graduation day

At the end of two weeks together, teens who started out as strangers now have a shared vocabulary about mental health.

On their last day, they each wrote an affirmation to read after they receive a certificate of completion in front of an audience of family members. Ancheta strode to the front of the room to share hers.

At the end of the Walang Hiya program, parents are invited to come and learn what their children have learned about throughout the two week course meant to increase self-awareness through a lens of social justice.

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“I am extraordinary,” she said to applause while giving herself a hand.

Ellie Magsaysay had written her affirmation in big bold pink letters, underlined for emphasis. She said she better understands how Filipino history has shaped cultural norms. But they don’t define her.

Mary Ellie Magasaysay, 17, writes affirmations next to her sister and father on the last day of the Walang Hiya program.

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Mary Ellie Magsaysay writes affirmations on the last day of the program.

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“I wrote that I am smart, I am strong, I am beautiful,” Magsaysay said — words she’ll try to live by after she leaves these four walls.

A federal appeals court has upheld a court order requiring the Department of Veterans Affairs to build more than 2,500 housing units on its West Los Angeles campus.

The U.S. Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals on Tuesday ordered the VA to construct 750 temporary units for veterans within 18 months and 1,800 permanent housing units within six years.

The ruling found the agency had “strayed from its mission” by leasing land to commercial interests like a UCLA baseball field and Brentwood School sports complex, instead of caring for veterans.

“There are now scores of unhoused veterans trying to survive in and around the greater Los Angeles area despite the acres of land deeded to the VA for their care,” Judge Ana de Alba wrote in the opinion.

Attorneys for the plaintiffs in the Powers v. McDonough case say the ruling could end veteran homelessness in the Los Angeles region, which is home to more than 3,000 unhoused veterans, according to official estimates.

"It's the most important ruling in the history of this country concerning the rights of veterans," said Mark Rosenbaum, lead attorney with Public Counsel, during a press conference Wednesday. “After this case, there should be no such thing as a homeless veteran.”

The VA did not immediately respond to LAist’s request for comment on the ruling.

‘Long overdue’

The appeals court affirmed most of U.S. District Judge David O. Carter's 2024 ruling, which found the VA discriminated against disabled veterans by failing to provide adequate housing on the 388-acre property deeded as a soldiers' home back in 1888.

The main plaintiff named in the class-action lawsuit, Jeffrey Powers, lived in a tent outside the gates of the VA Medical Center.

At a press conference Wednesday, Powers told reporters this week’s appeals court ruling delivers “about 80%” of what he wanted.

“We got the most important thing, which was to get veterans off the street,” Powers said. “And for that, I'm happy with the outcome.”

The case stems from a 2015 settlement in which the VA promised to build 1,200 housing units, with more than 770 completed by 2022. The department missed that deadline, prompting the new lawsuit.

Iraq War veteran Rob Reynolds came to the West L.A. VA for PTSD treatment in 2018, met veterans sleeping on the streets outside and began advocating for them.

During Wednesday’s press event, he called this week’s Ninth Circuit ruling “long overdue.”

"There should never have been a lawsuit filed in the first place,” Reynolds said. “ They were using the property for everything but what it was intended for, and that's housing.”

The veteran plaintiffs argued that lack of on-campus housing prevented disabled veterans from accessing physical and mental health services at the facility.

As of late 2024, the VA said there were 307 veteran housing units open on the West L.A. campus and 461 units under construction.

Robert Reynolds (right), a veteran advocate with AMVETS, walks with Los Angeles County Sheriff Alex Villanueva as they tour the Veterans Row encampment along San Vicente Boulevard in November 2021.

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Commercial leases

The appeals court ruling invalidated most commercial leases on the property, including Brentwood School's 22-acre sports complex and an oil company's drilling license.

However, the court overturned the district court's previous invalidation of UCLA's lease for its baseball stadium. Rosenbaum said he plans to refile that portion of the case, which had been argued on different grounds.

Reynolds criticized local leaders for what he said was inaction at the West L.A. VA Campus. He said local officials’ personal connections to Brentwood School and UCLA played a role.

“ A lot of these special interest groups on the VA land have so much influence politically in Los Angeles,” he said. "That's why you've had a lot of our politicians remain quiet about this."

In May, President Donald Trump signed an executive order instructing the VA secretary to declare the West L.A. VA campus a national hub for homeless veterans and develop a plan to house 6,000 people there by 2028.

That housing goal is even more ambitious than the court order, but local advocates say they haven’t heard anything from the Trump administration since it was issued.

“They need to speak to the people that actually live on that property,” Reynolds said. “I'm hoping now that we have this Ninth Circuit ruling in, that we'll be able to have some more discussion with the administration and with the VA leadership to try to figure out what the next steps are.”

As a result of this week’s ruling, the case has been sent back to the District Court judge to implement the housing order and oversee construction

On a chilly December night in Sandy Spring, Md., dozens of people crammed into the Woodlawn Manor for a Victorian-era Yuletide dance lesson, the wood floors creaking under the uncertain steps of 21st-century people learning 19th-century English country dances.

"Every good party has dancing," said Angela Yau, a historical interpreter for the parks department who was teaching the dances — and the Victorians loved a good Yuletide shindig.

Angela Yau, a site manager for the Montgomery County parks department who also works in cultural and natural history interpretation, wears an 1840s-style dress while teaching Victorian dances to the room.

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The merriment was emblematic of how many think of Yule; today, it's synonymous with Christmas. But centuries ago, before crooners sang about carols being sung by a fire, Yule meant something different: a pagan mid-winter festival around the solstice, dating back to pre-Christian Germanic people.

It was particularly important to Scandinavian communities during that time of year, beset by late sunrises and early sunsets, according to Maren Johnson, a professor of Nordic studies at Luther College.

"All these kinds of winter traditions are tied very intricately into small communities," she said. "You develop between yourselves a folklore about this winter time and this period of darkness."

In this week's installment of "Word of the Week," we travel back in time to the origins of Yule festivals, and trace those earliest traditions to modern-day Christmas celebrations.

Feasting, drinking and animal sacrifices

Scholars of these early pagan festivals don't have much concrete evidence of what actually went on at them, according to Old Norse translator Jackson Crawford, because much of the written record comes much later from Christians. But what is clear, he said, was that feasting and drinking were abundant.

Terry Gunnell, a professor of folkloristics at the University of Iceland, agrees. Drinking copious amounts of ale was not only encouraged but required, he said, and animals were slaughtered as part of the sacrifices to gods and spirits typical of these early festivals.

"The snow is coming down the mountains and in a sense, the nature spirits are moving closer," he said — and people wanted to appease them.

And then, there was the oath-swearing. Crawford said this was one of the major hallmarks of early Yule celebrations as recorded in myths like The Saga of Hervör and Heidrek from the 13th century. In it, a man swears to the king of Sweden that he'll marry his daughter with no real prospects of doing so.

"But your oaths during Yule are kind of sacred, extra binding," he said. "So he has to try to fulfill it," even though he eventually gets killed.

Crawford thinks that this oath-swearing could be where the word "Yule" actually comes from. The earliest roots could come from Indo-European words for "speaking," he said, and then Germanic peoples came to use it for more judicial purposes like admitting, confessing or swearing.

There's other theories out there, though, the dominant one being that the word could come from the Old Norse word hjól, meaning "wheel" — as in the "wheel of the year" that keeps turning with the seasons, Gunnell said.

Yule gets co-opted into Christmas

Christianization of this part of Europe, however, changed how people celebrated Yule. The church began to align its own holidays with pagan celebrations, Gunnell said. Easter replaced the festival at the beginning of summer, for example, and St. John's Day replaced midsummer. "And then we hear in Icelandic source material that [Yule] was replaced with Christmas," he said.

"So what the church is really doing is to allow people to go on doing what they had done before, but now under a Christian name," he added.

Around the 900s, Crawford said, Scandinavians started saying "Yule" and "Christmas" interchangeably.

"I think it suggests that, fundamentally, both of them are basically parties," he said.

That's not to say that Christmas was the exact same as the Yule celebrations of old. There was a new emphasis, Gunnell said, not so much on winter spirits but "a period of joy with the birth of Christ." But much of the feasting and drinking spirit of Yule stuck around — and became Christmas traditions throughout much of Europe.

Fast forward to the Victorian era, where the spirit of merriment became embedded in English culture, thanks to two important cultural influencers: Prince Albert, who imported traditional Yuletide customs popular in his native Germany, and Queen Victoria.

The queen fell in love with the traditions, Yau of the parks department said. And since she was a fashion icon, "These Christmas traditions really spread from the royal couple out through England and out through the colonies and everywhere else." And, as cultural customs are wont to do, the traditions morphed — creating, among other things, Santa Claus.

Still making sacrifices — just sweeter

Although slaughtering animals to please winter spirits is perhaps less typical of modern Yuletide celebrations, the spirit of sacrifice still remains, according to Gunnell.

That's particularly true in Scandinavian Christmas folklore. People leave out porridge for nisse and tomte, small trickster spirits who live in local forests, around the winter solstice in hopes of placating them or receiving gifts. (Though these days, Johnson said, many Scandinavians also celebrate the Julenisse, more of a Santa Claus figure.)

In Iceland, there's not really a Santa Claus figure at all, Gunnell said. Instead, there's the "Christmas Men," also known as the Yule lads. As the stories have told it, the mystic men – with names like "Window Peeper," "Sausage Swiper," "Bowl Licker" and "Meat Hook" — come one by one down from the mountains by your community, play pranks and steal things from homes. (To be fair to them, they'll also leave presents in windows for children.) On top of that, they have an ogress mother, Grýla, who eats misbehaving children "like sushi for Christmas," Gunnell said.

And although he doesn't swipe sausages or eat children, Santa Claus is not a completely dissimilar figure.

"The idea of sacrifices remains in leaving out a little bit of sherry or whiskey for Santa Claus and some food for the reindeer," Gunnell said.

It's something to consider the next time you leave out cookies and milk.
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Carmen Peterson's son Ethan is a big fan of Elmo and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. And although Ethan is nonverbal, he loves to sing along in his own way.

"He's a really fun-loving 8-year-old. He doesn't speak, but he gets his point across," Peterson says.

Ethan has a rare genetic disorder — Syngap1 — which, among other things, causes a kind of seizure that can make him drop to the ground without warning.

"Everything just kind of shorts out for a moment," Peterson says. "And the danger of that — and I've seen this — is him falling on hardwood floors, concrete, off of stairs, like all of these things."

She says he's gotten hurt and she's had to rush him to the emergency room.

Ethan takes a medicine called Epidiolex that prevents these seizures. But last holiday season, a thief stole it off the family's front porch in Charlotte, N.C.

Peterson remembers finding the empty box and then checking her Ring doorbell camera footage. "I see this guy walking off … and I am just livid," she says.

Then, she had to figure out how to get this medicine — worth $1,800 — replaced so her son didn't miss a dose. It turned out to be a challenge.

How many stolen packages?

December is a busy time for package deliveries and for porch pirates who steal them. Sometimes the thieves run off with mail-order medication instead of getting an iPad or a Labubu.

E-commerce took off during the pandemic, and December remains the busiest time of the year for package deliveries, according to the U.S. Postal Service.

Still, it can be tricky to get the whole picture when it comes to package theft.

As easy as it is to buy stuff online, getting it to customers is actually really complicated. That's because so many people and companies interact with a package before it's delivered, according to Ben Stickle, a professor of criminal justice administration at Middle Tennessee University.

"So it's really hard to get, you know, what happens from the point that you click a button to when it gets delivered, all put back together with enough detail to find out when and where these thefts are occurring and then actually do something about it," he says.

Stickle worked on a study with the Postal Service published earlier this year, and says that victims of theft wind up reporting it to different places that don't share information with each other or even necessarily record the missing package as "theft." And sometimes victims don't report it at all.

"There's a lot of packages stolen," he says, explaining that according to security research company SafeWise, it's about 250,000 packages every day. Stickle has worked with SafeWise.

The Postal Service report estimated that at least 58 million packages were stolen in 2024. "So what are the odds that one of those, unbeknownst to the thief, has some type of medication in it?" Nobody really knows for sure, he says.

Ways to lower theft risk

So what can you do? Stickle says scheduling deliveries for when you're home and having a delivery spot that's hidden are good ideas. Even a locker for your porch that doesn't lock is a good deterrent.

"If a thief can see that there's a package, even if it's an envelope on your porch from the roadway, it seems to be far more likely that it's going to be stolen," he says.

According to Express Scripts and Optum Rx, which are two companies that offer mail-order pharmacy services, medication theft is pretty rare.

CVS Caremark, another company that ships prescriptions by mail, said it offers customers package tracking to prevent theft, but didn't answer NPR's question about how common medication theft is.

Pharmacies, including Walgreens, say they offer order tracking and use discreet packaging to help prevent theft. Customers can also opt to require a signature when their medicines are delivered.

Making sure patients don't miss a dose is a top priority, says Stryker Awtry, the director of Loss Prevention and Transformation for Optum Pharmacy, part of Optum Rx.

"Especially during the holiday seasons when deliveries surge, we want to make sure we build in peace of mind for our customers," he says. "So if a theft were to happen, No. 1, contact the pharmacy right away."

He says to also report the theft to your prescribing doctor and local law enforcement.

A lost prescription replaced  

As for Carmen Peterson in North Carolina, when she called her insurer's pharmacy to get Ethan's medicine replaced, the answer was no. But Ethan missing a dose and having a seizure that put him in the emergency room again? Not an option for her.

"It's just like it's one of those things that you just don't have a choice," she says.

If forced to, she would have found the money to buy the medicine herself.

"It was just unfortunate that the … company was so ready and kind of willing to just wash their hands of it because they felt like they had done what they were contracted to do, which is deliver the medication."

That company, Liviniti Pharmacy, said it couldn't comment on the Peterson family's experience because of patient privacy laws.

Unwilling to give up, Peterson reported the theft everywhere and made noise about it — including on her local news stations. That worked. Jazz Pharmaceuticals, the company that makes the drug Ethan needs, saw the stories and replaced it for her within a week.

Now, she recommends getting important medicines delivered to a P.O. box, a workplace or just going to the pharmacy to pick it up yourself.

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