The Brief

When we first met “Nono” last summer she was living in an encampment under the 405 Freeway, straddling the Los Angeles neighborhood of Palms and Culver City. She’d been living there for several years in a tent, relying on volunteers and people in her community for resources like food, water and harm reduction.

The group that provided these resources to Nono — and dozens of other unhoused people at the encampment — is called PUMA, or Palms Unhoused Mutual Aid. It’s not a formal nonprofit but a group of volunteers who come together every week to provide things like clean needles, antiseptic wipes and Narcan — not to mention homemade burritos.

“They save lives and that's a big deal,” Nono told us in August. “That's really hard to say in, like, homeless communities.”

The idea of harm reduction is not to encourage use. Providing these tools is proven to prevent death or infection among the users, keeping people alive until they can maybe get some more permanent help in the way of housing or substance abuse treatment.

Months after we first met Nono, the encampment where she’d been living was cleared out. As part of that October sweep, Nono was given a voucher for a motel, a key element in L.A. Mayor Karen Bass’s Inside Safe program. Here’s Nono in a video produced by the mayor’s office where she’s referred to as “Noelia.”

“I walked in and literally that was the first time I felt safety and peace and a sense of 'this is the beginning of the rest of my life,'” she tells the camera.

The How to LA team recently caught up with her and others near the motel, which is south of Palms on Sepulveda, to talk about life in the Inside Safe program.

Living in a motel

The Inside Safe motels are independent contractors and people's experiences can vary depending on the location. So one person's experiences won't paint a complete picture of the program, which includes dozens of motels across the city and hundreds of people living inside of them.

On the evening we spent with Nono, at this motel, PUMA volunteers are supplying people with harm reduction tools like glass pipes and needle tips in different lengths — also toothbrushes.

Ndindi Kitonga, founder of PUMA, Palms Unhoused Mutual Aid

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Noe Montes

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LAist

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“What brought us here is people are letting us know that they don't have adequate food, that they don't have harm reduction services,” says Ndindi Kitonga, cofounder of PUMA, “and that they are reviving each other, using the Narcan that they have.”

Nono agrees to talk to us, but she asks us to stop recording after a few minutes. She’s lost a lot of weight and says she isn’t feeling great.

“I'm under so much stress because of the security situation over here. It's just ridiculous,” she says. “They kicked my parents out.”

There’s a no visitors rule at this motel.

Nono says she hadn’t seen her parents “in ages.” “What if they’re all I had?” she asks. “Well, I don't even have them, and that was like the one time I’d seen them.”

Kitonga explains: “You cannot have visitors, even if that visitor is your motel mate, meaning someone who lives next door to you.”

Kitonga and her fellow PUMA volunteers have worked with people placed in Inside Safe motels before and says the “no visitor policy” is not always enforced. But it is at this motel.

Sign forbidding visitors to residents of a motel that's part of the Inside Safe Program.

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Noé Montes

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LAist

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High hopes

Nono wants the Inside Safe program to work for her.

As you hear in the video from Mayor Bass’s office, she is optimistic about its promise. “This is finally the catapult that I've been waiting for, believing in, dreaming of and it's, it's all because, because of this project,” Nono said in that video.

So far, she says she hasn’t felt that safe.

Nono told us her doctor is concerned by her extreme weight loss, and that she got beat up on the sidewalk in front of the motel as someone stole her bike and wallet. And the “no visitors” rule makes her feel like she doesn't have any autonomy over her life anymore.

A man who says his name is Ivory Michaels joins the conversation with Nono.

“Your family can't visit. You know, you can't have people that may be your therapist,” he says. “They're not felons. These are grown people. What are you trying to do, isolate them?”

Michaels is not staying at the hotel. He lives in a tent across the street. He told us he used to be in the Inside Safe program but had his motel voucher revoked because, he says, he was labeled “defiant” after asking for clean linens and being told he could not have them.

“You're right, I am defiant,” he says. “I'm a grown man. I'm 53 years old. I shouldn't have limitations brought on me. You know? It's angersome.”

The rules being enforced at these places — from no visitors to limits on how many belongings one can bring in — have long been a sore point for some of the folks living in these interim housing programs, whether its through Inside Safe or something like a Tiny Homes project. The criticisms go at least as far back as the height of the pandemic, when unhoused people were moved into hotels and motels to prevent the spread of COVID-19.

“Let me say this, it's not perfect, it's not meant to be the panacea. But it's one huge, proactive, step forward for those who've been suffering greatly,” says L.A. City Councilman Kevin de León who has a Tiny Home village in his district. “There's criticism that's abundant on Tiny Homes, don't let the perfect get in the way of the good.”

A motel in Culver City that's part of the Inside Safe program.

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Noé Montes

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LAist

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It's the imperfect part of these programs — the lack of autonomy, the services and the feelings of isolation — that drive mutual aid volunteers like Kitonga to do what they do.

After the encampment where Nono was living in Palms was cleared out by city officials, Kitonga says, “People ended up in three motels. One is off of the 90, so still far away if you consider if you don't have a car, and then a bunch of other people were moved to South L.A.”

So, she adds: “You just have people who've just been in a limbo in motel rooms with very few services, loss of their community and what have you,” she says.

About 1 in 6 people choose to leave the Inside Safe program.

An imperfect solution

The primary goal for officials in L.A. City and L.A. County is to get unhoused people off the streets and, first, into interim housing. The idea being that those much needed services — water, food, a sense of security — will be satisfied once people can get inside.

In theory, that’s when the Band-Aids provided by mutual aid volunteers, like Kitonga, can come off.

“We had to choose between providing those services and organizing those efforts… and actually looking for housing for people,” says L.A. City Councilmember Nithya Raman, “where they could access those services in the context of a motel or a hotel room or a shelter site of some kind.”

Inside Safe is the mayor's flagship interim housing program and, by far, the largest. It's also the city's biggest response in terms of dollars spent. About 8,000 people have obtained a voucher for a room in one of the 38 available motels or hotels in the city.

According to our analysis of data released by the city, these vouchers cost about $8,000 per unit, per month, including additional costs like insurance. Since the program began last December, Inside Safe has incurred a total of $93.8 million in expenses.

People are promised three meals per day in addition to things like hygiene services and the overdose prevention resource Narcan. But so far, these needs are not being fully met.

L.A. Mayor Karen Bass acknowledges the drawbacks. “We are building the plane while we fly it,” she says. “Mistakes are made along the way. We're learning about gaps and things that are woefully inadequate.”

Lack of permanent housing

The goal of the program is to offer an alternative to the street while people wait for permanent housing.

That transition has been slow.

The mayor “seemed to really expect that there would be a lot more available [places] for people to transition from the motels and Inside Safe spots to this longer-term housing,” says Nick Gerda, who covers unhoused communities for LAist. But “she’s running into this structural issue of a lack of affordable housing options for people.”

He notes that only “a couple hundred people” have been able to move on to a permanent place to live.

That means, he says, “The motels are largely full. There's much less capacity for people to move off the streets into the motels.”

“I wish we had a much better situation,” says Mayor Bass. “I don't think that moving people into motels, number one, is financially sustainable. But I was not going to accept the idea that while we're doing this stuff that people have to die on the streets. I think a motel room is better than somebody being in the street and possibly raped or killed.”

The Band-Aid remains

The city is not the only player when it comes to housing. Los Angeles County is responsible for providing mental health services, as well as other public health resources. But they spend a lot of money and time on housing, too.

Then there's LAHSA, the Los Angeles Homelessness Authority, the joint agency that sits between L.A. City and L.A. County.

“The bulk of what LAHSA does is refunding non profit groups, that provide the bulk of the homeless services in our system, especially the outreach work,” says Paul Rubenstein, LAHSA's deputy chief external relations officer, “the work that helps people find apartments, the work that helps people stay in apartments.”

Still, there are tens of thousands of Angelenos experiencing unsheltered homelessness. Less than half of them currently have access to one of these temporary housing programs.

“I always compare us to New York City,” says Raman, who was elected to the city council in 2020 and is up for reelection next year. “There are more unhoused people in New York than the county of Los Angeles, but only a couple of thousand … are living on the streets.”

That’s due to a court-mandated effort in the 1980s to have as many available shelter beds as unhoused people in the city.

“We don't have those shelter beds,” says Raman, “and as a result we have the astounding statistic that more people succumb to extreme weather conditions on the streets of Los Angeles than they do in the city of New York.”

Palms Unhoused Mutual Aid volunteers distributing supplies to unhoused and housing insecure people.

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Noé Montes

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LAist

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Medical supplies provided by Palms Unhoused Mutual Aid to unhoused and housing insecure people.

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Noé Montes

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LAist

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And so — to come full circle — it's these gaps that require the mutual aid groups to step in.

That is, until a more permanent fix can be found.

“I understand that no one individual or no one program or no one approach is actually at the heart or the problem of what's going on here because the social problems really are poverty, gendered violence, structural racism, gentrification,” says PUMA’s Kitonga. “They are the big ‘isms’ so, yes, I understand how and why the mayor is overwhelmed. They underestimated the scale and undertheorized what's going on here.”

Angelenos took to the streets of downtown Los Angeles and Westwood on Saturday in response to the U.S.-Israeli military strikes in Iran.

• Read: What you should know about local protests, reaction and law enforcement actions

A coalition of organizations, including the National Iranian American Council, the ANSWER coalition and 50501, held protests nationwide in reaction.

Local demonstrations took place outside City Hall in downtown Los Angeles, as well as in Ventura and Orange counties.

In Westwood, Iranian Americans gathered to celebrate the strikes. More demonstrations are planned for today and tomorrow.

Here are photos from Saturday.

Westwood

Hundreds rally seeking regime change in Iran in Westwood on Saturday, Feb. 28, 2026, in Los Angeles. The rally was organized after word spread that the U.S. and Israel had bombed Iran overnight, Pacific time, killing Iran's Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, among others.

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Genaro Molina

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/Los Angeles Times via Getty Image

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Hundreds rally waving the historical Iranian Lion and Sun and American flags in Westwood on Saturday.

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Genaro Molina

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Los Angeles Times

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Hundreds rally in Westwood seeking regime change in Iran.

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Genaro Molina

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Image

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A man walks under the colors if Iran while joining hundreds in a rally seeking regime change in Iran in Westwood on Saturday.

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Genaro Molina

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Image

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Downtown Los Angeles

A protester holds a poster reading "drop the files not the bombs" during a demonstration against the war in Iran in front of City Hall in Los Angeles on Feb. 28, 2026.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A crowd gathered at Los Angeles City Hall to protest against United States and Israel bombing Iran on Saturday, Feb. 28, 2026.

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Myung J. Chun

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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A protester holds a portrait of Iran's supreme leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei and a flag of Iran during a demonstration against the war in Iran in front of City Hall.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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Protesters hold placards reading "no new US war in the Middle East" during a demonstration against the war in Iran in front of City Hall.

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Etienne Laurent

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AFP via Getty Images

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A man holds a sign at Los Angeles City Hall to protest against United States and Israel bombing Iran.

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Myung J. Chun

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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Walk through cities around the world and it's easy to spot the trend: utility boxes painted and transformed into public art to spiff up neighborhoods.

In downtown Los Angeles, street artist S.C. Mero has taken the idea of the utility box as art in a different direction with one she’s installed in the Arts District.

“Would you like me to open it up and you can see?” she asked on a recent morning.

At first glance, it looks like an ordinary electrical cabinet — gray, about the size of a refrigerator, with slotted vents. But instead of the usual fire-resistant metal, this one is made of wood with a faux concrete base.

The box theater incognito.

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Courtesy of S.C. Mero

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Mero spins two combination locks and pulls open the door.

A hidden theater

Inside, instead of a tangle of cables and cords, red crushed velvet covers the walls from top to bottom.

A gilded clock and gold-framed pictures of two other electrical boxes (“possibly its mother, and its great-grandfather”) adorn the tiny interior, inspired by one of downtown’s oldest and grandest movie palaces, the Los Angeles Theatre.

“The first time I went into that theater, the feeling that I had, I wanted people to have a similar feeling when they opened this up,” she said.

Like the theater, the box is meant to bring audiences together. Mero invites performers to step inside, and since its installation a few weeks ago, some 30 poets, magicians, puppeteers and clowns have reached out about using the space.

Many are female artists.

“Maybe it's because of the scale of it, they feel like they can actually have a chance to get inside,” Mero said.

A tradition of unexpected art

The box theater sits on the 800 block of Traction Avenue, across the street from the historic American Hotel, an early hub for artists in the neighborhood.

Jesse Easter, the hotel’s night manager, has a front-row seat to the box theater performances.

“The Arts District is still alive,” he proclaims.

Easter first arrived in the neighborhood in the 1980s, a blues and rock musician who also professionally installed art.

He said the Arts District has long been known for unconventional public art. Famously, in 1982, artist Dustin Shuler pinned a Cessna airplane to the side of the American Hotel with a 20-foot-long nail.

“I was one of the people that was in the hotel that saw the room that the nail came down into, went through the brick wall, into the floor and stopped,” Easter recalls.

Easter says Mero’s installations boldly continue that tradition of guerrilla street art in the neighborhood.

After graduating from USC in 2011, she started to make sculptural works with overlooked street fixtures, exploring issues such as addiction and homelessness.

Before the box theater, there was a giant mailbox.

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Courtesy of S.C. Mero

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Before the theater box, Mero installed an oversized mailbox at the same corner, towering over passersby, symbolizing a housing market that remains out of reach for many Angelenos.

Elsewhere in the Arts District on Rose Street, she has installed a 13-foot-tall parking meter sculpture, commentary on the overwhelming nature of parking in the city.

Realizing a dream 

The box theater is perhaps the piece that has invited the most participation.

Jesse Easter, a musician and night manager at the American Hotel, prepares to perform at the box theater.

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Courtesy of S.C. Mero

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Last week, Mero asked Easter and other local artists to perform there. He played a blues song he wrote more than 40 years ago when he first moved to the Arts District.

“It was sunset, and I was thinking, this kind of is the bookend,” he said.

Other participants performed spoken word poetry and played saxophone.

One performer, Mike Cuevas, discovered the theater by accident.

An Uber driver, Cuevas was waiting for his next delivery order by the box theater as it was being prepped ahead of the night’s performance.

Mero recalls him getting out of his car to look at what she was doing.

“He's like, what's going on here? This looks so cool,” Mero said. “He said as he's driving throughout the city, in between his rides, he writes poetry.”

Cuevas, who goes by the pen name Octane 543(12), left to make a delivery in East L.A., but he said “something in his heart” told him to return that evening.

After watching others perform, he stepped up to the box and read his poetry in public for the first time, a piece about Latino pride.

Mike Cuevas, aka Mike Octane 543-12, publicly reads his poetry for the first time.

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Courtesy of S.C. Mero

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“Another generation will pass through,” he recited. “And they'll understand why we honor with proud delight, the continuous fight for the history of our brothers and sisters.”

Cuevas didn’t know Mero by name or anything about her work, but thanked her for giving him a venue.

“I just felt something beautiful with her art,” Cuevas said. “It's time for me to start expressing myself. She inspired me to do exactly what she's doing, but through poetry.”

He now plans to read again at an open mic in downtown L.A. next week.

An overture to look inside

Mero says the project has spoken to her personally, too. Growing up in Minnesota, she loved art as a child but later focused on playing lacrosse and hockey. At USC, she studied public relations.

“Once I started getting so into art, everyone was kind of shocked,” Mero said. “That's why I really want to encourage people to go inside themselves and see what's there, because you never know.”

Mero is hoping for a long run for the box theater. Its predecessor, the supersize mailbox, stayed up for five years, only toppled, she heard, after skateboarders accidentally ran into it.

In the meantime, the small theater sits unassumingly on the sidewalk waiting for its next performer, its exterior starting to collect graffiti like any other utility box.

It’s whale watching season, which always makes me think of the novel Moby-Dick.

In the book, Captain Ahab chased a whale for vengeance. I recently chased whales off the coast of Los Angeles, but in my case, it was in pursuit of the beauty and majesty of the natural world.

With warm — relative to Alaska — spring waters, migratory rest-stops and great feeding grounds, Los Angeles County’s coast is considered part of the “Blue Highway,” a crucial whale migration corridor and one of the best places to spot the gentle giants.

According to Cabrillo Marine Aquarium program director Jim DiPompei, many whales can be seen right in our backyard.

“There’s a little over 90 species of cetaceans (marine mammals) in the world, and we see about 30% of the species we could possibly see here in Southern California,” DiPompei told The LA Local.

Cetacean species you may spot in our waters include humpback whales, orcas, blue whales and dolphins. Your best chance, however, is spotting a gray whale. As school bus-sized gray whales migrate back and forth between Alaska and Baja, they consistently hug LA’s coastline.

But where should you go to actually get a good look at whales? Don’t worry — I got you. Here’s The LA Local guide to cruising the Blue Highway.

Top spots to watch whales from shore

Point Vicente Interpretive Center
31501 Palos Verdes Drive West, Rancho Palos Verdes
Free, laid-back, on the mountains!

At the Point Vicente Interpretive Center in Rancho Palos Verdes, you’ll find an overlook dedicated to whale watching. While this is a great free spot for amateurs to come and look out for whales, this is no playground. Professionals conduct the annual whale census here, tracking the migration of whales.

This is a great place to bring a picnic basket and some binoculars to relax while scanning the ocean. Even if you don’t spot any whale action, you can visit the free natural history museum inside, which focuses on the region and its most famous inhabitants: whales. Afterward, step outside and chat with a museum docent accompanying the census watch.

If you want to see whales, stick to the coastal canyons. Canyons aren’t just massive structures above water — they are also mountains beneath the surface, offering depth, cold water and nutrients that attract food for whales. Gray whales tend to follow the canyons to stay away from the dangerous orcas.

Whale spotting 101

Whale watching season typically runs from December through May. It peaks from January to March.

When looking for a whale, try to spot their water mist blowing above the water. Gray whales typically surface for air every five minutes. When they do, they’ll blow out a water mist — that’s your chance to spot and track them until they surface again.

Get on a boat!

If you want to get eye-to-eye and really feel a cetacean’s scale, there are plenty of whale-watching cruises. They typically depart from Marina Del Rey, Redondo Beach, Long Beach, San Pedro, Dana Point and almost anywhere with a port.

Many cruises have a naturalist on board to answer questions and provide expert context to ocean wildlife.

On my tour departing from Long Beach, we saw five gray whales and a swarm of common dolphins feeding.

But be warned: If you get seasick easily, this trip might not be for you. On our two-and-half-hour trip, the boat rocked emphatically as we approached feeding sites. It’s fun if you can imagine yourself on a see-saw, but it might not be that enjoyable if that sounds nauseating.

While boat captains are not allowed to approach the whales too closely due to environmental protections, the whales can approach the boat if they choose. Sometimes the whales seem curious and watch us in return — it’s up to them and how they are feeling.

Get involved

Cabrillo Marine Aquarium
3720 Stephen M. White Drive, San Pedro

If you really catch the whale-watching bug, you’re in luck.

At the Cabrillo Marine Aquarium, they offer a whale-watching naturalist program where you can volunteer and train to be a naturalist on board whale-watching cruises.

DiPompei said they train anyone over the age of 18 “who’s interested in learning about whales and volunteering their time to be on these whale-watching boats to talk to the general public and to talk to students.”

This program was started in the 1970s by John Olge, one of the founders of Cabrillo Marine Aquarium, with an emphasis on education and showing schoolchildren the beauty of our natural world.

The aquarium is also a great place to introduce whales to children. With kid-sized exhibits and educational programs throughout the year, it’s an ideal way to show young ones just how big and beautiful our oceans are.