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The Brief

The most important stories for you to know today
  • We dig into the history and how approaches changed
    A black and white view of three young children sitting on a lawn under tree shade. In the background is an entry to an Aliso Village building, which appears white with a couple plans and benches in front.
    Children play outside the Aliso Village, a public housing project in Los Angeles that was demolished in 1999.

    Topline:

    Affordable housing is an idea and policy, so how did we get here? We unpack the decades-old history of how housing programs were shaped in the U.S. and how approaches have changed.

    What is affordable housing in the first place? It can be a range of things, like homes built with subsidized loans or a place you rent where a portion of the cost is covered by the government. It can also be just a benchmark for yourself — aka a dollar amount you know is affordable to you.

    How is affordability determined? You can thank a congressional amendment from 1969 for that. The Brooke Amendment placed an income percentage limit on public housing, which is where we get the idea that rent shouldn’t cost more than 30% of your income today.

    How did affordable housing programs start? It all goes back to the Great Depression and World War II, in a time where housing was falling apart and money was scarce for plenty of people. Read on to learn more.

    Affordable housing. Simply linking those two words might get you an ironic laugh from today’s apartment hunter. But there was a time when the government did have an overall goal of helping you keep a roof over your head. While a few remnants of that philosophy still exist today, we wanted to know: How did it all start — and what happened?

    We look into the complicated history of affordable housing, from a Depression-era housing crisis, through communism fears and today’s patchwork of programs.

    What is affordable housing exactly?

    First, let’s define our terms. Shane Phillips, housing initiative manager at the UCLA Lewis Center for Regional Policy Studies, says people can have different things in mind when talking about affordable housing.

    There’s the idea of affordable housing as in living in places that are relatively low cost compared to your income, like living on the edge of L.A. County, for example.

    Then there’s what Phillips calls “capital A” affordable housing. It happens in multiple ways, including:

    • Public housing (which is owned by the government)
    • Subsidized housing that’s income-restricted with rent caps (built with public funding)
    • Unsubsidized housing that’s income-restricted with rent caps (not built with public funds but using programs that give regulatory breaks to developers)
    • Section 8 (where tenants share rent costs with the government on the private market) 

    A brief history of early affordable housing

    The Great Depression brought an existing problem to a head: dilapidated housing stock.

    According to the National Low Income Housing Coalition, it was common for families with little money to live without hot running water. These homes were seen as “blight” and many were eventually torn down.

    The U.S. Housing Act of 1937 created the first federal public housing program in which states had to establish local housing authorities. The act was intended to:

    Remedy the unsafe and unsanitary housing conditions and the acute shortage of decent, safe, and sanitary dwellings for families of low-income, in rural or urban communities, that are injurious to the health, safety, and morals of the citizens of the nation.

    The public housing program was put on hold during World War II but was restarted with the Housing Act of 1949, which declared its goal as “a decent home and a suitable living environment for every American family.”

    This act did a lot of things, including giving money to local housing authorities to buy up and rebuild slum properties and offering subsidies for them to build over 800,000 units nationwide.

    Meanwhile in the early ‘30s, federal agencies that were precursors to the Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) had begun to help people afford homeownership.

    The Federal Housing Administration, created in 1934, ushered in mortgage programs that made low down payments and long-term mortgages possible. Until then, most mortgages were written for three to five-year terms and borrowers had to have as much as half of the home’s cost on hand.

    Addressing different income levels

    Federal programs at that point targeted helping tenants on the very low end of the financial spectrum. Very few options existed for people in the middle — those who couldn’t afford market-rate housing but didn’t qualify for public housing.

    What counts as affordable?

    The general consensus today is 30% of a tenant’s income. That's from the 1969 Brooke Amendment, which placed an income percentage limit on public housing and some other units.

    Initially it was 25% of income — it went up later. While this applied to specific types of affordable housing, it’s become a broader societal norm that helps people decide their rental budget and is often used by landlords in rental applications.

    Congress saw this gap and wanted to solve it without creating a new and costly government housing program. Their legislation, the Housing Act of 1959, marked the first significant time that financial incentives like low-interest loans were used to coax private developers into building affordable housing. These were directed toward housing that would serve moderate-income people 62 and older.

    Later federal additions included a rent assistance program (and precursor to Section 8) in 1965, while other mortgage incentives came in 1968. At the end of the decade, affordable housing subsidies for private developers created hundreds of thousands of units nationwide.

    How approaches changed

    A black and white view of Nixon, a white man, carrying a child as he moves through a crowd of people surrounding him. There are mostly people with light skin tones by him, smiling and taking photos.
    Former President Richard Nixon at his North Hollywood campaign headquarters in 1962.
    (
    Jeff Goldwater
    /
    Valley Times Collection/Los Angeles Public Library
    )

    A significant shift in affordable housing came in 1973 when the Nixon administration placed a moratorium on federal housing programs. The following year, big changes to our housing programs were largely seen as pulling out of the construction and management game on the federal level.

    Nixon was influenced by what was happening in local governments. While World War II had made public housing favorable, eventually public opinion shifted away from it, with Red Scare fears framing it as a communist system. Like many cities, L.A. leaders faced accusations of communist infiltration because of its government-led housing.

    The city of L.A. once had a federal contract to build 10,000 public housing units, but it fell through in the 1950s after intense public pressure. L.A.’s last public housing construction ended with the San Fernando Gardens in 1955.

    Devolution of authority

    After the moratorium, President Gerald Ford introduced the Community Development Block Grant program, which gave federal dollars to local governments with “few strings attached” to do things like improve sidewalks and help rehabilitate dilapidated housing. It began what’s called the “devolution of authority” — passing on the responsibility to plan and implement affordable housing to states and cities. While there is still federal involvement in affordable housing, this program is still in use today with local authorities directing much of the implementation.

    Which means that affordable housing differs from region to region. In L.A., our affordable housing is now largely private and public partnerships, while the city’s housing authority has been slowly demolishing public housing for decades and rebuilding some as mixed income housing.

    A black and white view of a row of people, with different skin tones and genders, sit on the ground with blankets and food in between the council chamber's benches indoors. There are people walking around them carying bags.
    Fifty unhoused people warm up in City Hall after the City Council voted to open the chambers overnight during an unusually cold spell on Jan. 21, 1987.
    (
    Javier Mendoza
    /
    Herald Examiner Collection/Los Angeles Public Library
    )

    In the backdrop, while rent and house prices continued to skyrocket, more and more people were squeezed out of their homes. In 1987, L.A.’s homelessness crisis had grown to such a point that City Hall was opened to shelter unhoused people during a frigid winter.

    Over the decades, the city has tried a myriad of programs, like enacting rent control and establishing a blue ribbon committee to research affordable housing, to push the needle on the issue.

    But across its history, affordable housing initiatives have always been criticized. Some feel systems of wealth and racial inequality against tenants have worsened, especially as some groups push against affordable housing.

    Others feel the privatization of affordable housing lines the pockets of developers, or that rent programs don’t stabilize market rents enough. Then there are the developers, who often face hefty hurdles to building.

    Affordability today

    Throughout the housing programs, the debate over who they help and by how much has persisted. New market-rate housing is expensive and limited to pretty high-income people. Subsidized housing — where costs are shared with the government — are limited to low-income and extremely low-income people. For example, to qualify for Section 8, an individual’s annual income has to be at or below $44,150. For a family of four, it’s $63,050.

    “Everyone else in the middle just gets nothing,” Phillips said. “They're just kind of left to fend for themselves and that space keeps widening further and further.”

    An apartment building with stucco walls and a street number affixed beneath a "For Rent" sign. The last number, a "7," has come loose and swiveled upside down. Blurred in the foreground are the pointed tips of an iron fence.
    A "For Rent" sign hangs outside an apartment building in northeast Los Angeles.
    (
    David Wagner/LAist
    )

    There’s also the issue of time. Affordability requirements are governed by legal contracts known as covenants — where the owner agrees to maintain a unit as affordable for a specific period of time (typically 55 years in L.A.).

    So if you do the math, our affordable housing stock is on a ticking clock. In 2022, L.A. County had 133,909 affordable rental housing units, but nearly 8,000 places were at risk of losing affordability, according to the California Housing Partnership.

    But new developments are added on an ongoing basis. Among the locations are Broadway Housing in Santa Monica from 2012 and the 4252 Crenshaw modular housing development completed in 2019.

    L.A. County still is short a massive 499,430 affordable homes. It’s a high number that experts say we can’t keep up with. The shortfall only decreased by 82,393 homes between 2014 and 2019.

    “It will just never come close to meeting the need,” Phillips said. “We need a bigger strategy than just ‘maybe a few billion more dollars that'll subsidize a few thousand more homes.’”

  • How candidates say they would tackle homelessness
    Two women, one with light-brown skin tone and one with brown skin tone, speak into microphones side by side on a panel, both mid-gesture.
    L.A. Mayor Karen Bass and Councilmember Nithya Raman appear separately at a mayoral forum held Sept. 3, 2026, in downtown Los Angeles.

    Topline:

    Incumbent Karen Bass and challenger Nithya Raman laid out competing plans for fixing L.A.'s homelessness crisis at separate mayoral candidate forums this week ahead of the Nov. 3 election.

    Why it matters: More than 29,000 people sleep outside in the city, a nearly 8% jump from last year. The two candidates are both promising to solve L.A.'s homelessness crisis, but they have slightly different approaches. Voters decide between the two on Nov. 3.

    Breaking from LAHSA: Both candidates now support the city eventually leaving LAHSA, the joint city-county homelessness authority. Bass wants to move now, proposing an independent system within about two years. "The county filed for divorce. Now we file, too," Bass said.

    The Inside Safe fight: Bass's signature program, which moves people from encampments into motels, is the sharpest divide. Raman calls it too costly — and wants cheaper rental subsidies instead.

    More than 29,000 people sleep outside in L.A., according to official estimates — a nearly 8% increase over last year.

    Two candidates for mayor are promising to change that, but they have different ideas about how.

    Incumbent Mayor Karen Bass and Councilmember Nithya Raman appeared separately at homelessness forums hosted this week by Hope The Mission, a large homeless shelter operator.

    The events were held amid a national spotlight on L.A.’s homelessness crisis.

    This week, a congressional subcommittee held a hearing on allegations of fraud and mismanagement of homelessness funds — a hearing in which Bass declined to appear. The next day, federal authorities announced charges against three employees at L.A. homelessness nonprofits in a widening federal investigation of homeless services fraud.

    Bass cited L.A.’s homelessness crisis as the reason she sought the city’s top job in 2022.

    “I ran because I am always compelled to go toward a crisis,” she said Thursday.

    She has made clearing homeless encampments and moving people indoors a top priority as mayor, but fell far short of her pledge to end street homelessness by 2026.

    Raman has said founding a local homelessness nonprofit inspired her 2020 L.A. City Council run. For years, Raman was chair of the council committee focused on city homelessness policy.

    Both candidates have played major roles in shaping L.A.’s homelessness response in recent years, and they told forum moderators this week that the city’s approach has been dysfunctional.

    L.A.’s next mayor will face a barrage of challenges related to homelessness.

    Here’s how the candidates said they would handle some of the big ones:

    How will they deal with the Trump administration?

    The Trump administration has been cracking down on the L.A. region’s administration of homeless services to root out potential financial mismanagement, but also to challenge the local policy approach to homelessness and impose policies it prefers.

    Federal officials argue that approaches known as “housing first” and “harm reduction” are failing. They favor treatment and enforcement instead.

    Bass, a Democrat, skipped a House subcommittee hearing on federal homelessness spending Tuesday, dismissing it as politically motivated.

    “ I'm the mayor of the second-largest city in the country, and I don't have time for foolishness,” Bass said Thursday. “And remember, I know these people. It's a dog and pony show to see who's gonna get on Fox that night. I was not going to subject myself to that, and I was not going to subject our city to that.”

    Bass said her office is cooperating fully by supplying thousands of pages of documents.

    Raman said L.A. should be using the courts much more aggressively to challenge federal overreach and protect funding.

    “ We've done that less than I would've liked here in Los Angeles, but other cities have done that and actually kept their federal dollars in place despite the best efforts of the Trump administration.”

    She said the city also has to make sure that funding is spent effectively, arguing L.A. currently has no single person tracking every dollar coming in from the federal government, state government and other sources.

    “That is wrong,” Raman said at a forum on Wednesday. “If I am mayor — when I am mayor — I will ensure that every single dollar that is being given to us is being used to get as many people indoors into safety and to keep them there as effectively as possible.”

    What to do about LAHSA?

    Both candidates have said they support the city eventually breaking away from LAHSA, the joint city-county homelessness authority.

    "The county filed for divorce. Now we file, too," Bass said on Thursday.

    Last year, L.A. County officials voted to remove more than $300 million in annual homelessness funding from LAHSA’s control and to manage those funds itself with a new county department. Bass is now proposing the city create its own, independent “continuum of care,” a process she said could take “a couple of years.”

    Bass, who appointed herself to serve on LAHSA’s governing board before stepping down this month, said she’s learned in recent years “how profoundly dysfunctional” the regional homeless services system is.

    She argued that because L.A. represents 40% of the county's population and is the epicenter of the crisis, the city must have more control over the system.

    “You might remember that expression I started with: locked arms,” Bass said. “And we locked arms as long as we could.”

    Raman, in her mayoral platform, also called for the city to prepare to move hundreds of millions of dollars in homelessness contracts away from LAHSA, which she described as "plagued with scandal." But she said the city has to build the capacity to take on the job first.

    At Thursday's forum, Raman didn't mention LAHSA by name, instead describing coordination failures between agencies — citing permanent supportive housing units that sat empty for more than a year because departments weren't talking to each other.

    As chair of the council's Homelessness Committee, Raman said she created the city's Bureau of Homelessness Oversight to track spending and outcomes, but accused Bass of failing to staff it promptly.

    “The mayor did not hire people to staff up that oversight body quickly enough,” Raman said.

    LAHSA has served as the lead agency managing homelessness services for the region since 1993, including conducting a yearly homeless count, preparing regional applications for federal funds and managing key databases.

    This week, the agency announced it would soon forfeit those roles and allow other agencies or organizations to apply for them instead — including other county or city of L.A. agencies.

    What about encampments?

    The candidates are also somewhat split on their approach to homelessness encampments. Bass has criticized Raman for voting several times since 2022 against expanding the city’s anti-camping ordinance, which restricts camping in certain public spaces including schools and day cares.

    Raman has defended her votes. She argued the law, at best, “would have moved an encampment from one block to the next block.”

    “To me, that is not good enough," Raman said. "My imagination for how we address homelessness in L.A. goes beyond just thinking about which block an encampment should be on. It is about how we actually get encampments indoors."

    Asked about enforcement approaches, Bass pointed to physical barriers — like cement planters that replaced a major encampment on San Vicente Boulevard — as a more effective deterrent than ticketing or arrests.

    “ So sometimes using physical barriers work, but what we have not done is just gone in and arrested homeless people,” Bass said. “That has never happened.”

    The sharpest divide between the candidates centers on Bass’ signature program, Inside Safe, which moves people from encampments into motels and interim housing.

    Raman said she agreed with the underlying concept — going out to encampments and offering shelter — but that the program is too costly and hasn't evolved since Bass launched it in 2022.

    “Her program has not changed or learned or adapted from the lessons that they should have had in place, and to me, that is a major, major issue,” Raman said.

    Raman put the cost at roughly $100,000 per person, per year — "not a fiscally sustainable approach to a crisis that is growing in our city," she said — and favors time-limited subsidies, short-term rental vouchers that cost a third as much.

    Bass called that framing "fundamentally dishonest," arguing the county reimburses the city for some of the up-front cost.

    Bass said she wants to bring costs down by building permanent structures on public land instead of renting motel rooms.

    She said she favors moving groups of unhoused people together and bringing services to them, which she said is harder to do with the housing vouchers Raman wants to rely on.

    "I would house 30 people at a time, not one by one,” Bass said. "I see it from a people's point of view. She sees it from a numbers point of view. Both are needed."

    The general election is Nov. 3.

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  • Hidden in plain sight in a business park
    A pair of light skinned hands with several tattoos spoons a brown liquid over a series of white plates which each hold a piece of beef.
    The Darkroom burger, dry-aged beef, and swimming in a light au poivre bath.

    Topline:

    Chef-owner Zach Scherer's Darkroom sits in an unmarked business park on the Costa Mesa/Santa Ana border — a deliberate choice that's turned the restaurant into a word-of-mouth destination rather than a drive-by discovery.

    Tell me more: The menu changes constantly, tracking real-time seasonal shifts — this visit caught the tail end of summer's Jimmy Nardello peppers giving way to fall's first honeynut squash. Scherer runs the kitchen with longtime partner Drew Adams, and the two also operate Chrysalis, a tasting-menu concept sharing the same space some nights.

    Why is it important? Most diners expect flashy fine dining to come with flashy real estate. Scherer, aiming to make Orange County "nationally competitive" with cities like San Francisco and Chicago, is proving serious technique doesn't need a serious address — or a serious attitude.

    Step into the darkness: Scherer's next concept, Three Eyed Tiger, is currently in development nearby.

    Just off the 405 freeway at the border of Costa Mesa and Santa Ana, a block down from IKEA and a couple of business parks over, you'll find Darkroom.

    It's the kind of address where you'd expect to find a dentist's office or a logistics company — instead, it's home to some of the most inventive food in Orange County, and arguably beyond, anchored by a formidable wine program featuring small producers.

    The location is a deliberate choice by Zach Scherer, Darkroom’s chef-owner, that has turned the restaurant into a growing word-of-mouth destination. For Scherer, hiding in plain sight was never a compromise. It was the plan.

    Inside Darkroom

    The interior of the restaurant is a completely different story. Its decor matches that of an angsty teenager who shops at Hot Topic, with an affinity for industrial and goth music, and a bit of new wave mixed in.

    Dimly lit restaurant interior with red-toned lighting, framed artwork including cherubs with graffiti text and a skull painting, and blurred diners at a table in the foreground.
    Darkroom's interior leans into its irreverent, gallery-meets-Hot Topic aesthetic.
    (
    Wales Communications
    /
    Courtesy Darkroom
    )

    Your eyes might take a minute to adjust to the low light before a friendly server wearing a tattered band T-shirt greets you and escorts you to your table.

    Scherer wears his nonconformist attitude with pride — and intention. "If you're a little too serious, Orange County won't love it," he said, and it shows: the room is built to feel like the opposite of a hushed tasting menu.

    Two chefs with tattooed arms plating food together at a restaurant counter — one light-skinned with short brown hair, a beard, glasses, and a purple graphic shirt; the other light-skinned with short bleached-blond hair and a mustache, plating a dish by hand.
    Chef Zach Scherer (right) and Drew Adams work the pass together — the same partnership they describe as "like a band."
    (
    Wales Communications
    /
    Courtesy DARKROOM
    )

    Scherer runs the kitchen with longtime partner Drew Adams — a lifelong Orange County resident — who also oversees the pastry program. The two think of Darkroom's identity "like a band," Scherer said: a shared core sound, no matter who's guesting on a given dish. (Their tasting-menu concept, Chrysalis, runs out of the same kitchen some nights — a five-course tasting menu happening in parallel.)

    The menu

    Start off with the Scotch olives, fried Castelvetrano olives with anchovy and lamb merguez, served over spiced sumac yogurt. Meanwhile, a couple of slices of their zucchini bread with koji butter, topped with silky jamón serrano, provide some comforting bites.

    Charred red Jimmy Nardello peppers topped with dukkah and chives, resting on whipped labneh in a dark oval dish against a teal background.
    Grilled and marinated Jimmy Nardello peppers — a short-season ingredient the kitchen deliberately doesn't overwork.
    (
    Wales Communications
    /
    Courtesy Darkroom
    )

    From there, seasonal produce takes center stage, with grilled, marinated Jimmy Nardello peppers served with fennel-pollen labneh and sprinkled with walnut dukkah, hitting equal notes of sweet, spicy, nutty, and fresh. Followed by honeynut squash from Weiser Farms — poached in a light broth known as nage, made with bits of country ham and horseradish, topped with rainbow chard, a dish that reads Southern-meets-European.

    A dry-aged beef burger sliced in half, served in a light broth on a white plate with a rainbow light reflection across a dark marble table.
    The Darkroom burger, cut in two — only 10 are made a night.
    (
    Wales Communications
    /
    Courtesy Darkroom
    )

    Cap things off with The Darkroom burger, cut in half, made with dry-aged beef, molten Comté cheese, and gooey caramelized onions, served between soft, glossy brioche-style buns, swimming in a light au poivre bath. It's a dish that, like the others, exhibits strong technique but still wears its fun on its sleeve — all the makings of a truly memorable meal.

    The philosophy

    Scherer's goal is to make the Orange County food scene nationally competitive with San Francisco, New York, and Chicago — and the seasonal fluency on display that night, from summer's last Jimmy Nardellos to fall's first honeynut squash, is the technical proof behind that claim.

    Seven golden fried olives arranged in a circle atop a swirl of white sauce, garnished with herbs and spice, on a white plate.
    The fried Scotch olives — Castelvetranos stuffed with anchovy and lamb merguez, set over sumac yogurt.
    (
    Wales Communications
    /
    Courtesy Darkroom
    )

    The menu's dynamic approach — its ability to oscillate between cuisines — reflects that same nonconformist identity, reinforcing the idea that the food doesn't take itself too seriously, just like the space around it.

    Scherer's ambitions don't stop at Darkroom's walls; he's also developing Three Eyed Tiger, a cocktail-forward concept nearby.

    "The food we're making now is the food that I'm the most proud of, because it really shows our identity," said Scherer.

  • Driver who rammed into bus was under the influence
    A heavily damaged SUV sits crushed against the side of an orange Metro bus at night.
    Police and LA Metro investigate the scene of a crash between an SUV and an LA Metro Bus that left two people dead on Tuesday in Chatsworth.

    Topline:

    The driver connected to the tragic bus crash in Chatsworth on Tuesday night is facing two second-degree murder charges, as well as charges for driving under the influence and reckless driving. Bailee Lynn Rios is expected to be arraigned Friday, according to L.A. District Attorney Nathan Hochman.

    What possible punishment is she facing? Hochman announced Thursday that his office was seeking the maximum sentence of life in prison for the 36-year-old driver.

    What else is there? Drugs were found in her system at the time of the crash, Hochman said. His office did not share what kind of drugs.

    Adding to the tragedy, an NBC4 helicopter covering the incident also crashed nearby, killing pilot George Marciniw and reporter Eliana Moreno, as well as a pedestrian, Edy Gutierrez Mejia.

    Rios, who is in custody, could not be immediately reached for comment.

    Background: Rios sped through a red light and plowed her SUV into a Metro bus, killing two passengers, Daniel Castillo and Gage Weida. Five other passengers were injured, according to prosecutors.

  • Judge upholds injunction blocking notification
    A modern gray office building with the Chino Valley Unified School District logo and name displayed above the entrance, featuring a stylized sunrise graphic. An American flag and California state flag fly from a flagpole in front of the building.
    Exterior of Chino Valley Unified School District building

    Topline:

    A San Bernardino County Superior Court judge on Tuesday rejected Chino Valley Unified School District’s request to dissolve an injunction blocking its policy requiring employees to notify parents when students identify as transgender or use different names or pronouns at school.

    More details: Judge Michael Sachs upheld his 2024 injunction blocking Chino Valley Unified from enforcing a policy the school board adopted in 2023. The policy required district employees to notify parents within three days if their student asked to go by a name or pronoun different from official school records or join a sex-segregated program, such as athletics, that did not correspond to those records.

    Why now: The school district had asked Sachs to overturn a permanent injunction after the U.S. Supreme Court issued an emergency docket ruling in a separate case, Mirabelli v. Bonta. The district argued that the ruling affirmed parents’ constitutional right to be informed about information critical to their children’s health and well-being.

    A San Bernardino County Superior Court judge on Tuesday rejected Chino Valley Unified School District’s request to dissolve an injunction blocking its policy requiring employees to notify parents when students identify as transgender or use different names or pronouns at school.

    Judge Michael Sachs upheld his 2024 injunction blocking Chino Valley Unified from enforcing a policy the school board adopted in 2023. The policy required district employees to notify parents within three days if their student asked to go by a name or pronoun different from official school records or join a sex-segregated program, such as athletics, that did not correspond to those records.

    The school district had asked Sachs to overturn a permanent injunction after the U.S. Supreme Court issued an emergency docket ruling in a separate case, Mirabelli v. Bonta. The district argued that the ruling affirmed parents’ constitutional right to be informed about information critical to their children’s health and well-being.

    Sachs rejected the request, saying his injunction does not conflict with the Supreme Court’s ruling. During Tuesday’s hearing, he distinguished between the two cases, saying the school policy at issue in the Mirabelli case required school employees to withhold information from parents when asked.

    “The school’s policy essentially mandated that staff lie to the parent about their child, and the court did not accept that,” Sachs said of Mirabelli v. Bonta.

    The Chino case involves a different question: whether school employees can be required to disclose a child’s gender identity to their parents.

    “There is no mandatory duty for the school district to voluntarily release information about the student,” Sachs said in court.

    Chino Valley Unified was disappointed by the ruling, said Emily Rae, the district’s attorney and president of the California Justice Center, a conservative legal nonprofit focused on protecting individual liberty.

    “The main problem is that it puts the burden on parents to know whether they’re having a secret kept from them,” Rae said.

    Rae said Sachs’ ruling misinterpreted the Mirabelli opinion, which she said made clear that schools should not withhold information from parents. She said it was too soon to say whether the district would appeal the ruling or make changes to any of its policies.

    Sonja Shaw, president of the Chino Valley Unified school board and a candidate for state superintendent of public instruction, also criticized the ruling. In an interview with EdSource, she called the proceedings a “kangaroo court” that has caused “so much confusion.”

    Shaw said she planned to ask the superintendent whether the district could ask all parents to check a box: “Do you want secrets to be held from you?”

    “They shouldn’t have to do that,” she said. “At the end of the day, it’s insane we have to go through all these hoops to uphold a parent’s right to know.”

    Christine Parker, senior staff attorney with the ACLU Foundation of Southern California, said the ruling was consistent with the Supreme Court’s order in Mirabelli v. Bonta and other applicable law.

    “The court got it right: Blanket policies like Chino Valley USD’s, in which school employees must — in all circumstances — disclose a student’s gender identity to their parents, remain unlawful in California,” Parker said in a statement to EdSource.

    Another pending case referenced in Tuesday’s proceedings was the City of Huntington Beach v. Newsom, which hinged on a dispute over AB 1955, known as the SAFETY Act. The law, signed by Newsom in 2024, bars school districts from requiring staff to disclose a student’s sexual orientation or gender identity to parents. It went into effect before the injunction in the Chino Valley Unified case.

    In the wake of the Mirabelli v. Bonta case, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals issued a preliminary injunction for parents in the City of Huntington Beach v. Newsom who sued to block enforcement of the SAFETY Act.

    This story was originally published by EdSource. Sign up for their daily newsletter.