AI And Homelessness

Trying to reach people on edge of being unhoused

By Jennifer Ludden | NPR

Published October 4, 2023 7:35 AM

Dulce Volantin (left) and her partner, Valaria Zayas, pose for a portrait on their rooftop in Los Angeles. When asked what this program has meant for her and her partner, Volantin chokes up as she says, "The world, the world."

(

Grace Widyatmadja

NPR

)

Topline:

A Los Angeles County Department of Health Services pilot program is using artificial intelligence to predict who's most likely to land on the streets, so the county can step in to offer help before that happens.

Why it matters: Homelessness numbers keep going up despite massive spending. On average, for every 207 Angelenos who exit homelessness every day, 227 others fall into it.

How it works: The program tracks data from seven county agencies, including emergency room visits, crisis care for mental health, substance abuse disorder diagnosis, arrests and sign-ups for public benefits like food aid. Then, using machine learning, it comes up with a list of people considered most at-risk for losing their homes.

When a stranger called offering Dulce Volantin some financial help, she was skeptical.

"Sounds kind of shady," she recalls thinking.

Homelessness in LA

Mayor Bass promised to house 17,000 Angelenos during her first year in office. How’s she doing so far? Our Promise Tracker is keeping tabs on Bass' progress tackling homelessness in L.A.

Check on her progress.

At the time, Volantin and her partner, Valarie Zayas, were renting a bed at a place on Venice Beach in Los Angeles. "Dormitory-style living," Zayas says. The women had met in prison a few years before, after each had been involved with gangs, and they were over-the-moon happy to have found love. But Volantin had suffered bad bouts of mental illness that required hospitalization. Zayas was hustling temp jobs to supplement Dulce's disability aid.

They'd slept in their car, then lost it. Stayed with family for too long. Then started donating plasma and selling some of their clothes to pay for motels. "By the seventh day, you don't have anything in your pocket no more," Volantin says.

Despite her doubts, she returned that phone call — and it turned out to be not only for real, but also life changing.

Valaria Zayas (left) and Dulce Volantin (center) walk down the hallway of their apartment building with case manager Hannia Centeno.

The call was from the Los Angeles County Department of Health Services, part of a first-of-its-kind experiment to try and curb homelessness numbers, which keep going up despite massive spending. On average, for every 207 Angelenos who exit homelessness every day, 227 others fall into it.

NPR AI homeless

Los Angeles is housing more people than ever, and building lots more low-income housing, yet it can't keep pace with this ever-rising number of people who end up in cars, tents and shelters.

"It's a bucket with a hole in it, so we've got to do something ... to fill that hole," says Dana Vanderford, who helps lead the department's Homelessness Prevention unit.

With that goal, the pilot program is using artificial intelligence to predict who's most likely to land on the streets, so the county can step in to offer help before that happens.

Dana Vanderford leads the Homelessness Prevention unit within the Los Angeles County Department of Health Services in Alhambra, Calif. "We have clients who have understandable mistrust of systems," Vanderford says. They've "experienced generational trauma. Our clients are extremely unlikely to reach out for help."

The program tracks data from seven county agencies, including emergency room visits, crisis care for mental health, substance abuse disorder diagnosis, arrests and sign-ups for public benefits like food aid. Then, using machine learning, it comes up with a list of people considered most at-risk for losing their homes. Vanderford says these people aren't part of any other prevention programs.

"We have clients who have understandable mistrust of systems," she says. They've "experienced generational trauma. Our clients are extremely unlikely to reach out for help."

Instead, 16 case managers divide up the lists and reach out to the people on them, sending letters and cold calling.

It's surprisingly hard to offer people thousands of dollars over the phone

Elizabeth Juarez, case manager at the Homelessness Prevention unit, cold calls potential clients to enroll them in the program. She says when people's lives are unstable their numbers and addresses often change. When she does get through, she finds many people facing eviction or dealing with domestic violence.

Sitting in a spare office one recent morning with her laptop and cellphone, case manager Elizabeth Juarez starts dialing. A major challenge is that the county never reaches half the people on its lists. Juarez says when people's lives are unstable their numbers and addresses often change. When she does get through, some people are facing eviction or dealing with domestic violence. Every now and then she'll reach a person who's already lost their housing, so then she has to tell them that they no longer qualify for the prevention program.

While most people need rent help, Juarez says that's not always the most urgent problem. She's used the allocated money for payday loan debt, appliances, laptops and, recently, an e-bike for someone whose mental illness made it difficult to take public transportation.

Some actually decline the help, telling her others need it more. And then there are the skeptics. "They kind of just give you the runaround," Juarez says. "Maybe they're not trusting, and I totally understand." She'll call back a couple times just in case they come around.

On this morning, though, it isn't long before Juarez gets someone on the phone. She is cheerful and patient with the man, knowing it can take a minute to process what's happening. She explains how the program offers a case manager to work with people for four to six months. They'll help figure out how to spend $4,000 to $6,000 dollars in aid, money which he won't have to pay back.

"Straight to a bank account?" the man asks. No, Juarez explains, it goes to third-party vendors to cover bills like rent, utilities, groceries or other monthly expenses. She tells him the main reason is to avoid jeopardizing any public benefits that might be cut if someone's income increases.

The man mentions he's renting from a relative and recently had a seizure. Yes, he says, he'd like to sign up.

While most people need rent help, Juarez says that's not always the most urgent problem. She's used the allocated money for payday loan debt, appliances, laptops and, recently, an e-bike for someone whose mental illness made it difficult to take public transportation.

"We discuss, 'How is your living situation?' '' she says. "So while somebody might be physically housed, is it safe in there? Do you have a bed? Do you have what you need in your home to thrive and feel stable?"

A sudden death pushes a retired grandfather's finances over the edge

Ricky Brown is a new client in the prevention program. The 65-year-old was a handyman but went on disability after injuring his back when he was in his 40s. He was barely getting by in a one-bedroom apartment in L.A.'s Crenshaw neighborhood, making ends meet on his income from Social Security and odd jobs. Then his ex-wife died suddenly a year ago. She'd been raising their three grandsons, because Brown's daughter and her husband are addicted to pills. Now, he's taken in the boys and it's been a financial blow.

"I had a little money put away, but boy ... I went through it," he says. "Because these kids eat."

On a recent morning, county case manager Fred Theus visits to work out a plan. They sit in Brown's living room, where there are now bunk beds for the three boys and large plastic bins overflowing with their clothes and sneakers. 11-year-old Ziare is hanging out with his phone while his brothers are at after-school homework time.

Homelessness Prevention Unit case manager Fred Theus visits newly enrolled client Ricky Brown in Los Angeles. Brown desperately wants to find a bigger place so his three grandsons don't have to sleep in the living room.

Theus ticks off a list of needs: car repairs, paying back due rent and utilities, restoring food aid for the boys. They were cut off a year ago, though Brown has no idea why. Theus guesses it may have been a paperwork snafu.

Then the biggest challenge: Brown is desperate to find a two-bedroom place for the boys. "They want to play," he says. "They want open space and they can't get it."

Theus says it will be difficult to find anywhere Brown can afford, so they'll have to try for a housing voucher to bring down his expenses. That, combined with boosting his income through food stamps and cash aid, are the best hope for making him self-sufficient.

Ricky Brown says he feels blessed that the homelessness prevention program reached out to help him. Still, he says, "I stay worried about a lot of stuff every day."

"That's our main goal," Theus says, "to make sure they are able to take care of themselves after we're done."

But there aren't nearly enough federal housing vouchers to meet the need, and Theus says wait times have gotten longer as cities try to help the growing number of people who are unhoused. Even scoring a voucher is no guarantee. In fact, Brown had one a decade ago, but he had to move when that building was sold. He wasn't able to find another landlord willing to accept the voucher before the time to use it ran out.

Brown says he's been blessed with this program and calls Theus a "lifesaver." But at night, it doesn't keep his mind from racing with a thousand worries.

"I might have to lose [the boys]," he thinks. "Or, you know, we're going to be on the street. That's the main thing I think about is the street. ... I stay worried about a lot of stuff every day."

It's not clear yet whether this experiment can keep people housed long term

In just over two years L.A.'s pilot prevention program has worked with 560 people. Data shows a large majority have stayed housed so far, but the program is conducting a more formal long term study. It includes a randomized control trial that's tracking people with similar needs who do not receive assistance.

Key questions are whether a few months of help and a few thousand dollars can make a lasting difference. And whether they are targeting the right people, meaning those who would actually end up on the streets but for this intervention.

"For example, here in Los Angeles, you might have 2 million people on public assistance, all of whom seem vulnerable. But only 1% to 2% of them will ever experience homelessness," says Janey Rountree, executive director of the California Policy Lab at UCLA, which developed the program's AI prediction tool.

Rountree expects to publish the study results in 2026, which is also when the program's funding runs out; most of its $31 million budget came from pandemic aid. She hopes there will be a strong case that it should be scaled up, and can be a model. In fact, San Diego County has already voted to create its own similar program using predictive analytics.

AI homeless chart

Depending on its long-term results, Los Angeles' proactive approach could add much needed evidence for what works to prevent homelessness, says Beth Shinn, an expert on the issue at Vanderbilt University and also an adviser to the L.A. program.

"Much of the public equates eviction prevention with homelessness prevention," she says. But while being evicted can certainly have devastating consequences, Shinn says research has not linked it to a significant rise in unsheltered homelessness. She says housing vouchers have shown the strongest success for keeping people housed, at least for families. A small-scale prevention program in New York City has also had good results.

But Shinn says the analytics driving Los Angeles' program are targeting people at much higher risk for losing housing. "You may have more failures there," she says, but the reward could also be greater. "You make the most difference for the people who are at highest risk."

An out-of-the-blue phone call that meant "the world"

Dulce Volantin (left), Valaria Zayas and their dog, Zoey in their apartment. Their building has building with on-site case management.

When asked what this program has meant for her and her partner, Dulce Volantin chokes up as she says, "The world, the world." After months of searching with their case manager, the two women were lucky to get accepted at a subsidized apartment building with on-site case management for Volantin's mental health needs.

When they enter the door to show visitors, their little dog Zoey yaps in excitement. It's a cozy space with family photos and inspirational quotes on the walls. "Slowly but surely we started decorating the place, cause it came furnished," Volantin says.

Valaria Zayas points out photos of family in their apartment in Los Angeles.

Valarie Zayas says the newfound stability helped her land a good job with the transit system. "I have a clear head" she says. "I don't have to worry about where our next meal is going to come from."

Across the street from their building is a park where people spend days on the green lawn and sleep in tents. Volantin says it hurts her heart to see.

"We give them whatever we have in our pockets, food, anything that we could, because we know the situation," she says. "We could have had one bad step and we would have been right there."

Explore LA

Knockout round

4 takeaways from the World Cup so far

By Becky Sullivan | NPR

Published June 28, 2026 7:59 AM

(

Patrick T. Fallon

AFP via Getty Images

)

Topline:

The worries before the World Cup were many, from visa wait times to high ticket prices. Now, with the knockout round set to begin Sunday, it is time to declare: The North American World Cup has been a success.

Why it matters: Overall, the stadiums have been full. Visitors and hosts alike have been dazzled by the scenes. And of course, the games have been terrific.

Read on ... for more takeaways from the tournament so far ...

KANSAS CITY, Mo. — The worries before the World Cup were many. There were the visa wait times, the ticket prices, anxieties over hotel rooms and public transit, and countless battles between FIFA and local organizing committees.

Now, with the group stage done and the knockout round set to begin Sunday, it is time to declare: The North American World Cup has been a success.

No doubt there were visitors who were turned away, would-be attendees who could not afford tickets, and hotels and local businesses who feel the promised bump in tourism hasn't materialized.

But overall, the stadiums have been full, even for matchups that seemed lackluster on paper: nearly 70,000 people packed into stadiums to see games like Cape Verde-Saudi Arabia, Algeria-Jordan and Bosnia and Herzegovina-Qatar. And for headliner events, the environment has been top-tier, like at the U.S.-Australia game in Seattle and in Kansas City for Lionel Messi's historic hat trick for Argentina.

Visitors and hosts alike have been dazzled by the scenes. Kansas City was swarmed with tens of thousands of Dutch fans for a pre-game march. Boston was besieged by the Tartan Army. Australian fans seized their chance to come to the closer North American coast, where they packed the stands and belted "Waltzing Matilda."

And of course, the games have been terrific. Now, the knockout round is set, with some blockbusters shaping up for the Round of 16 and beyond.

Read on for more takeaways from the tournament so far:

A medium-light-skinned man in a white soccer jersey on the left and a medium-dark-skinned man in a blue soccer jersey on the right run after a soccer ball.

France is the best team in the tournament

Some pre-tournament favorites have looked good, like Argentina. Others have underwhelmed, like Portugal. Some have mixed their good and bad moments, like England, Germany and Brazil.

But one team has consistently looked a cut above the rest: France. Les Bleus had supposedly drawn one of the toughest groups at this World Cup, with dark horses Senegal and Norway competing with them for the top spot. After a sluggish first half to start their opener against Senegal, France turned on the gas and has cruised ever since. They've made their World Cup look downright easy, with at least three goals in each game.

No path to the World Cup Final is easy, and France would certainly arrive battle-tested if they get there, with a potential later matchups in the Round of 16 against Germany, in the quarterfinal against the Netherlands or Morocco and in a possible semifinal against Spain. But their group stage performance leaves no doubt that they should be the favorites to win all of them, and more.

The U.S. is better than expected, though its path to the quarterfinals isn't easy

Is this finally the World Cup run to remember for the USMNT? The American men were once the plucky underdogs of international soccer, always willing to run for 90 minutes and gut out a tough, gritty game. Those days seemed to fade for a decade or two after their 2002 quarterfinal run.

Suddenly, the results are good, the vibes are even better, and the expectations are growing by the minute. For the first time ever, the starting lineup mostly features players with key roles on teams in top European leagues. And these boys can score: The six goals they scored in their first two group stage games were twice as many as they netted across four games in the 2022 World Cup.

The third group stage match against Turkey, in which U.S. coach Mauricio Pochettino gave most of his usual starters a rest and his backups a chance to play, cooled their momentum somewhat with a 3-2 loss.

Still, a Round of 32 matchup against Bosnia and Herzegovina should be winnable. That would be their third win of the tournament so far, the most ever by any U.S. men's team at a World Cup. And a potential Round of 16 matchup against Belgium (or Senegal) is tougher but should be competitive, too. A quarterfinal in Los Angeles, even if it's a loss against Spain, would be an epic and fitting result for this team on home soil.

This will be an epic Golden Boot race

The stars are delivering in this World Cup. Argentina's GOAT Lionel Messi has six goals. France's twin titans Kylian Mbappé and Ousmane Dembélé are hot on his heels with four goals apiece. The imposing 6-foot-5 Norwegian megastar Erling Haaland has four goals despite resting on the bench for Norway's third game. Brazil's Vinícius Júnior also has four.

Messi should have plenty more opportunities as Argentina drew perhaps the easiest route to the quarterfinal, with a Round of 32 match against Cape Verde, followed by a possible Round of 16 game against the winner of Egypt versus Australia. Plenty of other stars have two or three goals and what could be a deep run ahead, like England's Harry Kane and Portugal's Cristiano Ronaldo. Watch this space.

The expansion to 48 was criticized, but it has been a lot of fun

The biggest criticism of expansion was that there would be no real peril for top-quality teams in the group stage, both because there would be more lopsided group stage matchups and because eight third-place teams advance. That has mostly borne out.

The highest-ranked World Cup team that failed to qualify for the knockout stage was Uruguay, which came in ranked No. 16. By contrast, the 2022 tournament had four teams ranked higher and were eliminated in the group stage — Belgium (No. 2), Denmark (No. 10), Germany (No. 11) and Mexico (No. 13). The new Round of 32 will have to do some of that work of adding surprise and peril to the big favorites.

The expanded format has also given us moments and teams to remember, like Cape Verde — which would probably not have reached the World Cup under the old format — taking the pre-tournament favorites Spain to a scoreless draw in their opening match. It's a thrill for fans of teams that rarely have a shot, like Scotland or Haiti or the Democratic Republic of Congo, to have a chance to see their nation on this kind of stage. In fact, nine (of 10) African countries advanced to the knockout round.

Plus, seven teams have reached the knockout stage for the first time in their country's history: Cape Verde, Egypt, Ivory Coast, South Africa, Congo, Canada and Bosnia and Herzegovina. Sure, they won't be favorites to make a deep run. But the games should be electric.
Copyright 2026 NPR

A dark-skinned woman in a crowd of people holds a scarf that reads "Cabo Verde" above her head.

How the landslide started

Point Fermin is where you can get a spectacular view of the water. On a clear day, you can see down the Pacific Ocean as far as Catalina Island.

That scenery is why people wanted to live on its bluff. In the 1920s, Los Angeles was on the cusp of a population boom, so naturally, building homes on the coastline made sense. Developer George Peck took that idea and built an upscale neighborhood with bungalows.

A wide archival view of a large crowd of people standing on a hill overlooking a neighorhood full of homes. A cross with a wreath can be seen toward the right in the middle of the crowd.

It lasted for a few years, but in the months leading up to January 1929, some strange coincidences began to happen. Pipes were breaking more than expected, but it wasn’t clear why.

Then, a waterline broke under an inn and a crack appeared. At first, it was brushed off as a “simple landslide” with minimal danger, but it eventually became known as an uncontrollable “act of God.”

The crack formed near the cliffside back around to Pacific Avenue and Paseo del Mar. Part of it even caved in, forming a deep, 10-foot-long hole in front of homes.

F.L. Ransome, a geology professor at Caltech, reportedly told L.A.’s city engineer that land had slid up to 8 inches, ripping open utility pipes and pulling apart building foundations.

He warned that the area was no longer suitable for large structures and that water in the area may accelerate the movement, producing “disastrous changes on the surface.”

A black and white archival of a man in a suit standing in a large ditch between two sections of land. The foundation he's standing on is much lower than the two sides and you can see the rock layers and roots sticking out of them. Homes are in the background.

At that point, the slide, which covered 5 acres, was mostly blamed on ground weakness and wave erosion. The city filled cracks as they happened and explored ways to protect the area, including with eminent domain. Property owners in 55 lots petitioned the city to buy them out.

But by September, the situation became so risky that geologists recommended the area be condemned. L.A. officials told residents to leave or risk “their own peril.”

A slow march to the sea

For the next several years, Point Fermin was in limbo. The ground still moved but mostly at a snail’s pace. The keyword is mostly. The area was plagued by huge cracks that tore apart the once-thriving community — some 40 feet wide.

Multiple incidents caused the landslide to move faster, including heavy rains. Numbers varied, but it was reported that the grounds shifted more than 30 feet seaward and 30 feet down by 1941.

A black and white archival look at a large section of ground that's cracked off from the bluff. The debris clearly shows paved roads as two people stand on the edge looking over. They are much smaller compared to the size of the crack.

This destroyed the area. The city demolished homes that were too damaged to live in, and others were relocated to other parts of L.A. Officials eventually bought up nearly all of the impacted land to turn it into a park. But with the heightened risk, much of the area was blocked off to the public for years.

Around this period, landslides happened in other parts of the Palos Verdes Peninsula, like the Portuguese Bend. The issue became such a problem that insurance companies refused to insure L.A. homes for landslide damage.

Then came the big drop. After a 5.0 earthquake in 1969, a new “mammoth, crescent-shaped fissure” appeared that damaged three homes along Paseo del Mar and dropped another 200 feet down into the rocks. Still, some residents refused to leave.

“I’ve studied the trench and I’d be willing to bet the house never goes, even if the backyard did,” said resident Larry Penhall in 1970.

In total, the slip eventually grew to 10.5 acres, according to a geological study in 1987, with 40,000 feet of that ending up in the Pacific Ocean. It took down at least two homes and a lot of infrastructure, including roads, utility pipes and rail lines.

Sunken City today

The peninsula is generally still prone to landslides, but the ground is more stable in Point Fermin, or what’s now called Sunken City. It wasn’t the most dangerous landslide we’ve ever seen — no one died at the time, but visitors have in the years since, those who’ve wandered too far toward the cliff edge. It’s become a local legend because of how it looks today.

A satellite aerial view of the landslide area. The cliffside is visible from above, with a clear breakage on the edge. The inland area is flat and unbroken, and further in are homes and the neighborhood.

If you venture to Sunken City, there’s still a neighborhood nearby, but the landslide area itself is closed off. For those bold enough to sneak in, you risk getting caught for trespassing. Visitors have even had to be rescued over the years.

The terrain resembles nothing of its affluent past, but that may change soon. Earlier this year, the City Council approved funding for environmental monitoring and safety upgrades for the upper area.

Sophie Gilchrist, communications director for Councilmember Tim McOsker, said part of the plan includes the design of a new fence that requires coastal development permits.

“While we don’t have a precise timeline for reopening, we have informed the local neighbors that it may take another full year,” she said. “The project is actively moving forward.”

Climate & Environment

Hazardous chemical threat

Residents want answers after pair of incidents

By Alejandra Reyes-Velarde | CalMatters

Published June 28, 2026 5:00 AM

a man in a helmet walks past a lot of debris and fire equipment as hoses spray water

Firefighters battle a blaze at a cold storage facility in the Boyle Heights neighborhood June 22. Authorities declared a state of emergency as the fire intensified, prompting evacuations in the surrounding area. The fire started June 17.

(

Ted Soqui

CalMatters

)

Topline:

After warehouse fires in both Garden Grove and Boyle Heights, records show state and local regulators knew the facilities; they had inspected them, approved plans, and resolved violations. How they used their authority is now a central question for neighbors in the surrounding areas seeking accountability.

Why it matters: Companies face layers of federal and state oversight designed to help prevent hazardous chemicals from escaping into surrounding neighborhoods. But records show that these two facilities, one in Orange County and one in Los Angeles County, had accumulated violations over years and continued operating.

What's next: Residents want accountability, but the legal bar to hold companies for environmental crimes is high. Criminal prosecution requires more than proving a rule was broken. Prosecutors need evidence of deliberate deceptions — falsifying reports, hiding violations, deceiving regulators.

Read on ... for an in-depth look at the regulatory and legal challenges residents face in getting answers to the problems their neighborhoods face.

Manuel Valle, 84, jumped on his bike and rode through his Boyle Heights neighborhood despite the protests from his worried children. The air was smoky, for the fifth day in a row; he pushed through fits of coughing to pass out 50 N95 masks to his neighbors.

The same day, officials told residents the air was not dangerous and the smoke was clearing out. Valle didn’t agree.

“This is a state emergency,” he said. “Treat it like a state emergency.”

Fire had ignited at a facility, operated by the company Lineage, which stores food before it’s shipped off to restaurants and grocery stores. Lineage uses the toxic refrigerant anhydrous ammonia, which posed a health risk in the early hours of the fire.

Weeks earlier and miles away, the Orange County Fire Authority issued an evacuation order affecting 50,000 Garden Grove residents when fire officials realized a tank at an aerospace manufacturing facility could either explode or leak large amounts of a toxic chemical into the air.

In both cases, records show state and local regulators knew the facilities; they had inspected them, approved plans and resolved violations. How they used their authority is now a central question for neighbors in the surrounding areas seeking accountability.

A lawmaker has proposed some reforms to chemical policy. But prosecuting companies for failing to follow environmental laws is difficult, and how far cities may go to protect residents isn’t clear.

“I don’t know what the local government is waiting for — for a tragedy to occur or something more serious or what … on top of what is already going on,” said Miguel Ocegueda Castillo, who lives near the Lineage warehouse.

a child wears a gas mask and leans up against a fence with some bushes and trees in the background

Years of oversight, unresolved risks

Companies face layers of federal and state oversight designed to help prevent hazardous chemicals from escaping into surrounding neighborhoods. But records show that these two facilities, one in Orange County and one in Los Angeles County, had accumulated violations over years and continued operating.

In 2021 the South Coast Air Quality Management District issued GKN Aerospace multiple notices of violation, including for failing to maintain the required emissions records and operating some equipment without proper permits. The company later signed a settlement with air regulators and paid more than $900,000 — without admitting liability.

During the emergency, authorities gave residents conflicting information about whether the chemical methyl methacrylate had leaked.

“When you go home, you can feel safe. There was no contamination. … There was no leak,” Regina Chinsio-Kwong, Orange County Public Health Officer told residents during one press briefing, even though early reports characterized the incident as a leak.

Days later, Orange County health officials walked back that statement.

In Boyle Heights, the Lineage facility stores more than 12,000 pounds of anhydrous ammonia, according to the Environmental Protection Agency. The chemical is a refrigerant that if inhaled, can cause severe eye and respiratory irritation, shortness of breath, nausea, vomiting and, at high concentrations, death.

In the early hours of the fire June 17, the Los Angeles Fire Department told residents to shelter in place because of the risk of the chemical being released into the air. The order was lifted, and then imposed again.

Lineage said in a statement that it “proactively took steps to pump out the ammonia and transport it offsite” and that no measurable ammonia concentrations had been recorded in the community since the fire began.

Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass told residents the air was not dangerous. But on the sixth day of the fire, an air monitor detected a hazardous spike of air pollutants.

Federal records show that the state Division of Occupational Safety and Health inspected Lineage in Boyle Heights the day the fire started. It wasn’t their first visit.

In 2020, Cal OSHA opened an investigation into the facility for violations of multiple safety standards. After Lineage lodged an administrative appeal, regulators fined the company $2,250 for violations related to process safety and respiratory protection.

Rebecca Liu Morales, a spokesperson for Lineage, said the company stores food, not hazardous materials, and said it was not responsible for the fire. She said the fire started when a contractor was working on the rooftop solar array, which provided power to the city.

“The health and safety of our employees and the communities we serve is our top priority,” she added. “Our industry is heavily regulated and inspected, with over 200 routine regulatory inspections by various agencies conducted of our North American operations alone between 2024 and 2025.”

The Los Angeles Fire Department is investigating the cause of the June 17 fire. The city department of Building and Safety is also investigating, and the workplace safety investigation remains open.

Luck, rather than strong protections, has saved residents from catastrophe in both Orange and Los Angeles counties, said Jane Williams, executive director of California Communities Against Toxics.

Industrial infrastructure has grown near residential communities, Williams said. But state and local oversight of hazardous substances has not kept up.

“I don’t think anybody really thought: Wait, we have these warehouses, a warehouse here, a warehouse there, and what happens if there’s an earthquake and we lose containment at four anhydrous ammonia tanks in one square mile at the same time?” Williams said.

Filling in regulatory gaps

Federal and California laws are designed to protect communities from accidental releases, when a spill or an explosion or a leak releases hazardous chemicals into air, soil or waterways.

The federal Clean Air Act’s Risk Management Program requires companies handling dangerous chemicals in significant amounts to develop preventive and emergency plans for just these situations — and file those plans with regulators. California goes even further: Its risk management program sets stricter thresholds and more demanding requirements than federal law — meaning California law holds facilities to a higher standard, and state regulators have more tools and more authority to act than their federal counterparts.

But critics say even California’s stronger standards have significant gaps that state officials have allowed to persist.

Reactive chemicals, such as the methyl methacrylate stored at GKN, often fall outside of both the federal and state accidental release programs. In Garden Grove, regulators required no risk management plan.

Anhydrous ammonia is a different story. It’s a listed chemical, one of the core hazards state and federal programs aim to regulate. Federal and state environmental protection officials confirmed Lineage in Boyle Heights is part of both programs.

Local agencies called Certified Unified Program Agencies are the layer of oversight closest to the ground. In California, they’re responsible for knowing what hazardous chemicals companies store where, and in what quantities. Local agencies must inspect those facilities regularly and keep emergency plans on file, so that a fire department showing up to a warehouse blaze should already know what’s inside.

Neither local agency has fully disclosed its oversight of these facilities. In Los Angeles, the Los Angeles Fire Department did not answer questions about its oversight of Lineage Logistics, despite repeated requests by CalMatters.

In Garden Grove, records obtained by CalMatters reveal that the Orange County Healthcare Agency has inspected GKN more than a dozen times over the last decade and issued violations related to hazardous waste regulations that were later corrected. The facility had emergency plans that were approved in May, weeks before the incident, records show.

State Sen. Tom Umberg, a Democrat whose district includes Garden Grove, introduced Senate Bill 883 in the weeks after the GKN episode. It would require the state Office of Emergency Services to maintain a statewide inventory of facilities storing reactive chemicals, add methyl methacrylate to the state’s risk management program, require CalEnviroScreen tool to track facilities that pose an explosion risk and update current environmental review law to ensure that storage sites that have a risk of explosion aren’t exempt from review.

“We must learn from this incident, address the gaps it exposed, and take steps to ensure it never happens again,” Umberg said, in a statement announcing the legislation.

The bill is moving through Assembly policy committees.

The GKN emergency prompted a federal response. The Federal Bureau of Investigation searched the facility on June 10 — but experts say determining whether anyone committed a crime is often difficult after an industrial accident.

smoke spreads across a charred landscape as the sun sets behind a distant cityscape.

Legal remedies are a challenge

Residents want accountability, but the legal bar to hold companies for environmental crimes is high.

Criminal prosecution requires more than proving a rule was broken. Prosecutors need evidence of deliberate deceptions — falsifying reports, hiding violations, deceiving regulators.

The federal government goes after “those that are lying, cheating and stealing,” said Ethan Ware, an attorney who represents companies investigated for environmental crimes. “There’s more to it than just the environmental violation. There’s some effort to deceive, or to hide, or to get enriched by lying on documents.”

That bar gets even higher when no specific rule is broken — when prosecutors argue a company has a general duty to keep people safe. “What the government is saying is you have complied with all of these hundreds and thousands of regulatory requirements, but we still think you pose a risk to the community,” Ware said. “That’s a hard sell to a jury, to a judge, to anybody.”

A federal criminal investigation into an industrial accident is unusual — and the Garden Grove investigation may not lead to charges. The broader federal enforcement landscape has also changed.

A 2026 report by the Environmental Integrity Project found that the number of civil lawsuits filed by the U.S. Department of Justice in cases referred by the EPA dropped to just 16 in President Donald Trump’s first year in office — 76% less than in the first year of the Biden administration. Only 12% of facilities with air pollution violations received any kind of enforcement action from EPA or state agencies in the last year.

That federal shift matters for Lineage, which has faced at least three civil enforcement actions in recent years, but none that resulted in criminal charges.

Last year, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration fined the company $37,500 for three violations at a Riverside facility, two related to its handling of hazardous materials and emergency plans.

Also last year, the company paid $3,420 to settle alleged violations at a Vernon facility, including that the company didn’t correct a critical safety system deficiency it identified during a 2021 audit.

In 2023, the EPA fined Lineage more than $172,000 for alleged violations of the federal Risk Management Program at an Iowa facility. The EPA said in a news release that the company “failed to correctly document the worst-case scenario in its risk analysis, failed to comply with accidental release prevention requirements, and failed to document emergency response coordination with local authorities.”

In 2024, a Lineage warehouse in Washington burned for 60 days. Hundreds of neighbors to the warehouse reported health problems, and some residents filed civil claims. But the company has not faced criminal charges.

The limits of local power

Weeks after an evacuation sent tens of thousands of people from their homes in Garden Grove, GKN Aerospace came to a City Council meeting. The company had not spoken publicly since the evacuation.

Resident Rodrigo Garay held up a thin red cross blanket.

“This is what I used for the whole week to sleep on,” he said/ “And I’m sure that you slept on really nice beds with your $260,000-a-year salary.”

He and other residents wanted to know why the city wasn’t doing more to ban GKN and other facilities like it from their city.

Miles away in Boyle Heights, Lineage neighbors are also raising concerns about their schools, homes and playgrounds being so close to warehouses and other industrial facilities.

“We shouldn’t wait until after this disaster for Boyle Heights residents to know what was in the facility in their backyard,” said local City Council member Ysabel Jurado.

The frustration in both cities points to a hard truth. The people with the most immediate stake, both residents and city officials, may have the least power after a facility is already operating.

mist and spray surrounds a pair of large metal tanks flanked by piping and scaffolding.

City officials can update their general plans and rezone property to keep facilities they consider a threat to public health and safety away from their residents.

But the Constitution limits how far that authority extends to facilities that are already there. Businesses have a general right to not be over-regulated out of existence, said David Waite, an attorney who specializes in local land use law.

“Where it gets tricky is we have existing uses — such as the GKN facility — that were duly permitted and duly authorized under the existing zoning on that property,” Waite said. “That rezoning effort cannot just simply bar that existing use without running afoul of constitutional takings arguments.”

Cities can try revoking a facility’s permit by proving it is a public nuisance. But that requires showing an ongoing threat, not a one-time event, Waite said.

Garden Grove and Boyle Heights are largely communities of color. Garden Grove ranks among the top 20% of the state’s most environmentally burdened communities, according to CalEnviroScreen; Boyle Heights is in the top 10%.

In Garden Grove, the city’s response has been cautious.

Garden Grove spokesperson Johnathan Garcia said the city is “exploring with its attorneys and engaging in the deliberative process regarding its options in consideration of its authority under the constitution, federal and state laws.”

“What is the point of bemoaning that you don’t have more local control if you don’t use the authority you do have in times like this?” Mai Nguyen Do, a research and policy manager for the Harbor Institute for Immigrant and Economic Justice, asked the council.

In Los Angeles, Jurado is calling for an investigation into what went wrong at the Lineage facility and introduced a package of motions, including calls for a public report on the cause of the fire and the facility’s compliance history, increased public transportation service in the area to reduce the amount of time residents are outdoors and funding for neighborhood councils to distribute air purifiers and other protective equipment.

“When a major industrial fire happens here, it’s not viewed as an isolated incident. Residents see it as part of a larger pattern,” Jurado said. “That’s why I have said from the beginning that this is not just a fire response issue. It’s a public health issue, it’s an accountability issue, and it’s an environmental justice issue.”

This story was produced in collaboration with Boyle Heights Beat, a founding community newsroom of The LA Local, a nonprofit covering Los Angeles communities.

Laura Anaya-Morga, Isaac Ceja, Claudia Koerner, Alejandra Molina, Isaiah Murtaugh, Jessica Perez, Steve Saldivar and Nathan Solis contributed to this story.

Alejandro Lazo contributed to this story.

Hey, LA listener!

The Brief