Quincy "Pastor Blue" Brown, co-founder of the Blue Hollywood Street Sanctuary, a half-block long stretch of sidewalk on Los Angeles' Skid Row, speaks to a video blogger as he gets ready for his monthly birthday celebration for his community.
(
Barbara Davidson
/
Capital & Main
)
Topline:
Health experts say overdose prevention centers can save lives, but are illegal in most of the U.S. On Los Angeles’ Skid Row, those in need have built their own.
The backstory: A sidewalk sanctuary in Skid Row meets a need served elsewhere by overdose prevention centers, which are common in European cities but rare in the United States. With overdose deaths rocketing upward, public health officials in Los Angeles and other U.S. cities have called for legalizing such centers, saying there’s now an abundance of evidence that they save lives. But the political will to heed that advice has not materialized.
Read on ... for the perspective of "Pastor Blue" of the Blue Hollywood Street Sanctuary. half-block-long stretch of sidewalk on Los Angeles’ Skid Row, where more than 4,400 unhoused people live.
“Come on, kick back,” invites Quincy Brown, co-founder of the Blue Hollywood Street Sanctuary, a half-block-long stretch of sidewalk on Los Angeles’ Skid Row, where more than 4,400 unhoused people live.
Four years ago, Brown began serving barbecue here out of the back of his van. He propped up a handful of tents and canopies to shade visitors from the intense sun. Now there are folding chairs and tables where men and women play dominoes, chess and checkers, and enjoy snacks and bottled water donated by local organizations and community members who pass by.
Amid the visitors hanging out and catching up, some smoke crack cocaine, meth or marijuana, sitting on chairs in the sanctuary’s central area. The nonjudgmental environment for drug consumption is on-mission for the sanctuary. Brown, 50, was ordained as a pastor in 2005 and is known by most as Pastor Blue. He started the community space to save lives: whether through food, prayer or prevention of overdose deaths. Here, anyone can obtain free clean pipes and Naloxone (commonly known by its brand name, Narcan), a nasal spray medication with the ability to reverse overdoses. While injection drugs are less commonly used at the sanctuary, free clean needles are available.
“First and foremost, I want people to live,” says Pastor Blue. By creating a hygienic environment with lifesaving medicine at hand, he hopes to prevent overdose deaths, which over the last few years have risen sharply in Skid Row and across the country.
Pastor Blue’s sidewalk sanctuary meets a need served elsewhere by overdose prevention centers, which are common in European cities but rare in the United States. With overdose deaths rocketing upward, public health officials in Los Angeles and other U.S. cities have called for legalizing such centers, saying there’s now an abundance of evidence that they save lives. But the political will to heed that advice has not materialized.
At Blue Hollywood, anyone can obtain free clean pipes and naloxone (commonly known by the brand name Narcan), a nasal spray medication that can reverse overdoses. While injection drugs are less commonly used at the sanctuary, free clean needles are available.
(
Barbara Davidson
/
Capital & Main
)
Darren Willett, director of Skid Row’s Center for Harm Reduction, operated by the nonprofit Homeless Health Care Los Angeles, said the lack of overdose prevention centers in Los Angeles is “infuriating.” If officials approved them, “we could do it tomorrow. And yet, here we are watching people die,” said Willett.
Pastor Blue estimates there have been 20 overdoses at Blue Hollywood Street Sanctuary over the last two years — yet not one fatality.
To achieve this, monitoring is crucial. The sanctuary operates with an “I’m gonna watch over you while you use, you watch over me” approach, Pastor Blue says. “I’m constantly walking through, so if somebody sleeps too long, we’re gonna get you up.”
Illicit fentanyl has been the greatest cause of overdose. By weight, the synthetic opioid is about 50 times stronger than heroin. Even small amounts can cause respiratory difficulty, and in some cases death. Fentanyl’s potency and low production cost have led to its increasing use as an additive to other drugs.
In 2021, 2,741 people in Los Angeles County died from an accidental drug overdose, according to the Department of Public Health — more than double the number of lives lost to overdose in 2016. Fentanyl was involved in 109 deaths in 2016 and 1,504 deaths in 2021.
As fentanyl-related deaths in Skid Row began to soar, the head of the Los Angeles County Department of Public Health and other health officials called for the establishment of official consumption centers to prevent overdoses.
The L.A. County Department of Public Health released a report late last year on fentanyl overdoses that included a call for official prevention centers and other harm reduction measures, such as access to Naloxone and fentanyl test strips. At the same time, Barbara Ferrer and Gary Tsai, director of L.A. County Department of Public Health and director of Substance Abuse Prevention and Control, respectively, endorsed the centers, saying it was time for “bold action.”
“We do not tell people with diabetes that they can’t be eligible for treatment unless they comply with diet restrictions 100% of the time, or that people with heart disease can’t receive care unless they exercise,” Ferrer and Tsai wrote in a Daily News op-ed. “Overdose prevention centers … send a subtle but important message that we want to bring people who use drugs out from the corners of our communities and that they deserve unconditional and nonjudgmental services.”
Despite support from health experts and local officials, federal law bans overdose prevention centers due to the “crack house statute” — a 1986 law that prevents individuals and organizations from maintaining or opening places for the purpose of using a controlled substance. Only New York City, which has two prevention centers, has bucked that law so far, though Rhode Island, Colorado and New Mexico are taking steps to open them.
A nonprofit center operated in San Francisco for one year in 2022 as part of the mayor’s emergency plan to address the overdose crisis, though it has since closed. In recent months, other unsanctioned sites have popped up in the city to address the urgent issue of drug overdose. Like in Los Angeles, the future of prevention centers in San Francisco is uncertain.
Last summer, Sen. Scott Wiener (D-San Francisco) authored a bill to open pilot overdose prevention centers in L.A., Oakland and San Francisco. But Gov. Gavin Newsom vetoed it, saying that more planning was needed. He expressed concern the centers could open “a world of unintended consequences.”
Newsom was likely hoping to stave off “the largely GOP-driven narrative of California as a needle-infested, drug-overrun dystopia,” CalMatters stated on its website.
Men and women play dominoes and enjoy snacks and bottled water. Photo: Barbara Davidson.
(
Barbara Davidson
/
Capital & Main
)
While Los Angeles has seen a groundswell of support for overdose prevention centers, with local leaders and community nonprofits calling for them to be legalized, none have opened.
So Blue Hollywood Street Sanctuary operates as a real-world example of the paradoxes brought about by the nation’s 52-year war on drugs. Worldwide, 16 countries have established more than 120 official overdose prevention centers where people can use drugs in a supervised environment, with staff ready to respond if they overdose. While such official centers are illegal in the U.S., Pastor Blue’s sidewalk setup serves as a one-man version of such a space.
On one summer evening, while people at Blue Hollywood were playing dominoes and hanging out, a resident who frequents the sanctuary accidentally overdosed. After smoking crack in a pipe, he began to have trouble breathing.
Pastor Blue called an ambulance, administered four doses of Narcan and performed CPR. Moments before paramedics arrived, “we revived him,” Pastor Blue said. “We had Narcan, thank god.”
Pastor Blue is fighting a problem that “does not seem to be going anywhere in the near future,” he said. “We have loved ones, we have friends, we have people that are suffering with different addictions. I’m here to meet people right where they are.”
Here on Skid Row, Blue Hollywood is an example of a community-created oasis, said Soma Snakeoil, director and co-founder of the Sidewalk Project, a harm reduction nonprofit in the neighborhood.
The sanctuary receives supplies such as clean needles, pipes and Narcan from local nonprofits like the Sidewalk Project, as well as chairs, tents, food and water from Los Angeles Mission and donors who drop by.
“For the most part, it’s a community,” says Pastor Blue, who resides near Skid Row. “I really want to preserve community, because there’s so many people who have been detached from their biological community.”
The sanctuary offers immediate support, whether it’s a tent for shelter or a freshly cooked lunch.
“By him putting this here, I think he saved a lot of people,” said Rico Solomon, a longtime sanctuary member. Born and raised in L.A.’s West Adams neighborhood, Solomon lived in a tent on Skid Row for four years before moving to an apartment in La Puente, 20 miles east of downtown. Even though it can mean three bus rides for more than an hour and a half, he returns to Blue Hollywood regularly.
A group bible class.
(
Barbara Davidson
/
Capital & Main
)
Solomon says the community keeps him coming back. “It’s a bit of a commute, especially when I’m catching the bus. But I have my habits, you know. So I don’t take this stuff home with me,” he said of the drugs he consumes and the pipe he uses to smoke. “I come out here and do it. Then, when I get ready to go home, I leave it all here.”
Solomon said he’s seen four overdoses at the sanctuary and has called 911 himself to assist people experiencing an overdose, so they are able “to live to see another day.”
“People are dropping like flies around here,” said Anthony Willis, 60, who lives in an apartment in Skid Row. Born and raised in L.A., he is a father and grandfather.
Nearly a year ago, Willis accidentally overdosed. While looking to smoke crack cocaine, he borrowed a pipe. Before smoking the pipe, he asked if it contained fentanyl and was told no.
The pipe turned out to be laced with it. “I panicked,” Willis said. “I couldn’t breathe.” Emergency services arrived, though he was able to regain his breathing on his own.
Consuming drugs less frequently is one of Willis’ goals. In the meantime, treating those who consume with dignity is imperative. “We’re all human,” he said. “Don’t judge people.”
According to Willett, the Center for Harm Reduction director, a nonjudgmental approach is key.
“There’s a lot of things you can do to help people improve [their] health without stopping using drugs,” he said. Too often, he said, organizations approach the problem by focusing on abstinence. “For many people, that’s a deal breaker,” he added.
Using a harm reduction — as opposed to an abstinence — approach allows the center to engage with 95% of clients who use drugs, Willett said.
While the U.S. is now five decades deep into the war on drugs, the stigma and criminalization of drug use is a relatively new phenomenon. “In the late 1800s, you could buy cocaine and a syringe for $1.50 in the Sears catalog,” Willett said.
“There’s a direct lineage straight from slavery to Jim Crow to mass incarceration and the war on drugs,” said Willett, adding that all were tools used by the system of white supremacy to maintain control over Black people. He points out that the supposed end of Jim Crow laws in the late 1960s coincided neatly with the start of the war on drugs in 1971, which resulted in a dramatic increase in prison populations. It has cost the U.S. roughly $1 trillion to police, arrest and incarcerate people for drug-related charges, and spiked rates of overdose and death.
Brown sweeps the street with one of the sanctuary's regulars.
(
Annakai Geshlider
/
Capital & Main
)
If you ask Willett, the war on drugs has neither met its stated goals nor alleviated the most pressing health issues: It hasn’t reduced overdose rates, soft tissue infection, infectious disease or violence related to drug trafficking. Instead, it has “devastated communities of color through reincarceration, ripping families apart for minor drug offenses and confiscating people’s homes for being associated with illicit drug trade.”
The problem isn’t drug use itself, Willett believes. It’s the way society punishes people for using drugs — targeting Black people, communities of color and low-income people in particular, despite similar rates of drug consumption and sales across racial and economic lines.
“We cannot continue doing the same thing over and over again and hoping for a different result,” L.A. City Councilmember Eunisses Hernandez said in an email, speaking to the history of criminalizing drug use and the rise in overdose deaths.
“It’s a reality that people are gonna use,” said Pastor Blue. “So on behalf of trying to keep an atmosphere where they’re at peace … safe consumption sites are very important.”
Countries with overdose prevention centers (the first opened in Switzerland in 1986) show significantly lower rates of overdose than those without. In 2020, 91,799 people died from overdose in the United States — about 58 times more than in Germany, where 1,581 people died from overdose (the U.S. population is only four times larger than Germany’s).
Jeannette Zanipatin, California director for the national advocacy group the Drug Policy Alliance, says these overdose prevention centers are not a substitute for treatment. The centers, which commonly connect clients to other services such as mental and physical health care, “keep individuals alive so that when they are ready to access treatment those linkages can be made for the individual,” Zanipatin said in an email.
In the U.S., critics from both parties have questioned their success. “Enabling those suffering from addiction to go to the brink of death is a dubious treatment,” wrote U.S. Deputy Attorney General Jeffrey Rosen, a President Trump appointee, in a 2020 opinion in the Philadelphia Inquirer.
In 2018, Gov. Jerry Brown vetoed a state measure to open a pilot prevention center in San Francisco, saying, “Fundamentally I do not believe that enabling illegal drug use in government sponsored injection centers — with no corresponding requirement that the user undergo treatment — will reduce drug addiction.” Such sentiments linger today.
In 2022, the American Medical Association called for more funding for pilot prevention centers. And recently the National Institutes of Health announced it will fund a four-year study to investigate the impact of prevention centers on both individual clients and neighborhoods — as well as estimate potential costs and savings for local medical and criminal justice systems.
NIMBYism is also an obstacle to opening prevention centers, said Zanipatin, with some fearing a center would negatively impact their community. Yet “crime rates have been reduced, syringe litter is reduced, and open drug use is reduced in places where centers are co-located in communities,” she wrote in an email.
A study of one unofficial overdose prevention center in the U.S. found that in the five years since its opening, crime decreased in the surrounding area. A review of government-sponsored prevention centers in Vancouver, Canada, found no increases in drug-related crimes or public nuisance.
As part of Homeless Health Care Los Angeles in Skid Row, a trained overdose response team of staff and clients canvasses the neighborhood in golf carts seven days a week. They are armed with a broad range of tools, including Naloxone injections, concentrated oxygen, artificial breathing masks, pulse oximeters and automated external defibrillators.
Still, one crucial service is missing: providing a safe environment for clients to consume drugs on-site.
In 2016, Homeless Health Care Los Angeles formed a partnership with The Men’s Home in Copenhagen, which operates two overdose prevention centers, and has been sending staff to Denmark to learn from these centers ever since.
Crews prep a replacement pipe following a water main break that flooded streets in West Hollywood, and shut down a portion of Sunset Boulevard.
(
Myung J. Chun
/
Los Angeles Times via Getty Images
)
Topline:
A portion of Sunset Boulevard reopened overnight after LADWP crews finished repairs on a water main break in West Hollywood that shut down the area for more than a week.
The backstory: The 110-year-old water main ruptured on Thursday, flooding streets and damaging businesses.
What's next: LADWP says crews will need to be back to finish up work in the coming weeks.
A portion of Sunset Boulevard reopened overnight after LADWP crews finished repairing a water main break in West Hollywood that shut down the area for more than a week.
The water trunk line broke more than a week ago on Thursday, July 16, flooding streets and opening a sinkhole on Sunset Boulevard. LADWP says crews will need to return in the coming weeks to complete permanent paving and other work.
LADWP also said it's accelerating the installation of a new trunk line to replace the 110-year-old pipe. The infrastructure project, which was originally scheduled to begin installation in 2031, is currently “60% designed” and will take approximately four years to complete.
The historic Westlake Theatre across the street from MacArthur Park opened in 1926 and closed in 1991. A group seeks to revive the space with input from community members.
(
Semantha Raquel Norris
/
The LA Local
)
Topline:
An L.A. nonprofit theater company wants to buy the century-old Westlake Theatre near MacArthur Park and transform the shuttered movie palace into a community arts and nonprofit hub.
The org: Strindberg Laboratory led about 50 people — including representatives from the Koreatown Youth and Community Center, Homies Unidos, LA Commons and other groups — on a flashlight tour of the vacant theater recently, pitching a shared civic center that could host performances, film screenings, neighborhood council meetings, workshops and office space for nonprofits.
Why it matters: The Westlake neighborhood has few public gathering places, and the proposal would revive a 1926 landmark that has sat largely unused since it closed as a movie theater in 1991 and became an indoor swap meet. Preservation advocates see a chance to restore a historic building while creating badly needed community space.
Armed with flashlights, dozens of community members stepped into the darkened Westlake Theatre on Thursday, sidestepping puddles and broken glass as they imagined what the century-old movie palace could become.
Inside, much of the theater looks frozen in time. Dust coats the staircases leading to the balcony, while rows of worn seats still face the stage beneath peeling painted ceilings and decorative plasterwork. Above the auditorium, a faded Anthony Heinsbergen mural offers a glimpse of the theater’s past.
Los Angeles nonprofit theater company Strindberg Laboratory hopes to change that.
The organization wants to purchase the historic Westlake Theatre and transform it into a community arts and nonprofit hub. Their proposal calls for preserving the space while adapting it into a shared civic center that could host live performances, film screenings, neighborhood council meetings, lectures, arts workshops and office space for community organizations.
The effort is in its early stages.
The building has not been purchased, no major funding has been secured and organizers say community input will help determine what the project ultimately becomes before fundraising begins. The group’s proposal estimates acquiring and restoring the theater would cost between $6 – $8 million.
“This is just the first gathering,” Michael Bierman, founder of Strindberg Laboratory, told The LA Local. “It’s not an exclusive club. We welcome everybody and anybody. Everybody has something to input in their community.”
Bierman wants to create a coalition to see the project come to life. Several organizations have already expressed interest, he said, and about 50 people attended Thursday’s tour, including representatives from the Koreatown Youth and Community Center, Homies Unidos, LA Commons, the Los Angeles Historic Theatre Foundation, Central City Neighborhood Partners and other community groups.
The Westlake Theatre opened in 1926 as a 1,949-seat vaudeville and movie palace overlooking MacArthur Park, according to the Los Angeles Historic Theatre Foundation. It operated as a movie theater until 1991, when it closed and was converted into an indoor swap meet. The city’s Community Redevelopment Agency bought the property in 2008 with plans to restore it as a live entertainment venue, but those plans stalled after the agency was dissolved in 2012.
In 2018, the property was sold to 634 Alvarado LLP, an entity controlled by Jamison Properties and today, the ground floor houses a swap meet with small businesses, including clothing vendors, tailors and a barbershop, while the historic auditorium remains unused.
Bierman said the next step is forming a steering committee before seeking philanthropic, local, state and federal funding. If organizers can secure enough partners and financing, he hopes the coalition can purchase the theater by winter. Restoring the building, he said, would likely take several years.
An interior view of the historic Westlake Theatre, which has been closed for at least three decades. The space is vacant on July 23, 2026.
(
Semantha Raquel Norris
/
The LA Local
)
What neighbors want to see
For many who attended Thursday’s tour, the proposal was also personal.
Aurora Corona, a former Pico Union Neighborhood Council member, remembers visiting the theater as a child.
“It just brings back memories of the glory of the way it was,” Corona said. “The history is here. So for me, revitalizing and bringing back to what it was is like a dream.”
She said she hopes the restored theater could host performances, international films, festivals and local artists while reflecting the surrounding community.
Sara Zapata Mijares arrived in the Westlake neighborhood from Yucatán in 1969, when she was 17 years old. She remembers when MacArthur Park served as a gathering place for families in the neighborhood.
How to participate
The coalition’s steering committee is expected to meet in the coming weeks to discuss the project’s next steps.
Residents and organizations interested in joining the effort can email Strindberg Laboratory to participate in the discussion.
“This used to be a park where my dad and I used to come and have picnics and he would play ballgaming here with a lot of families,” she said. “I remember coming to the park and coming to watch movies here.”
Zapata Mijares said reviving the theater could also help nearby businesses. Visitors to the nearby Mexican Consulate, she said, could help boost the local economy if they stayed in the neighborhood to shop or eat after their appointments.
The idea to transform the theater into a community hub grew out of Strindberg Laboratory’s own search for a permanent home after rising rental costs made it increasingly difficult to continue working out of the Frida Kahlo Theater. But after touring the three-story building, Bierman realized the space was too large for a single organization.
“We dreamed of a community public space that also is a hub for culture and arts and theater and films and education and newspaper and all those things that every single community needs,” Bierman said.
What happens to the swap meet?
The effort faces practical questions beyond raising millions of dollars. The proposal would have to address the future of the businesses already operating inside the building.
Sofía García, who has sold clothing inside the swap meet for about a year, said she hopes a restoration would bring customers back to the space.
“That would be good because it would improve the atmosphere here,” García said in Spanish. “By improving the theater, there would be more people and therefore more sales.”
García estimated her sales fell sharply after parking was removed outside the building and nearby street construction made it difficult for customers to visit her business.
Bierman acknowledged that vendors will have to be part of the conversation if the project moves forward.
“They are part of the community,” he said. “We’re not going to just come in and take over and boot them out. We need to talk to them and see what they want.”
Jesús Sosa Guerra, who recently opened a tailoring business inside the swap meet, said he supports the proposal but worries existing tenants could be displaced.
“It wouldn’t be good to sideline small businesses, because we all need to hustle to make ends meet,” he said in Spanish.
Preservation advocates see the project as an opportunity to restore a historic landmark while creating badly needed public space in a neighborhood with few gathering places.
“This city is filled with talented people who are lacking one very fundamental thing, which is a place to show what they’re capable of and to make connections,” said Kim Cooper, co-founder of Esotouric, a walking tour that explores various neighborhoods around the city.
Cooper said the space could be opened up to people who have bands and want to perform, to book events, to readings, to poetry slams, to any kind of number of things.
“You could have spelling bees, like anything. You could just have a neighborhood potluck. You could have fruit exchanges. I don’t know. I mean, the neighborhood will tell you what they want to do,” she said.
Cooper’s partner, Richard Schave called Bierman’s proposal “an opportunity for a neighborhood that has had perhaps the worst succession of public policy decisions made about it to finally have one decent public policy decision made about it.”
Keep up with LAist.
If you're enjoying this article, you'll love our daily newsletter, The LA Report. Each weekday, catch up on the 5 most pressing stories to start your morning in 3 minutes or less.
A Supreme Court ruling stripped Haitian migrants of their temporary legal status. Those with U.S.-born children face an agonizing choice: should they take them back to a still-dangerous Haiti?
Why it matters: By one Princeton researcher's estimate, there are 50,000 children who've been born in the U.S. to Haitian parents with TPS. The loss of those protections means a large new population of mixed-status families are vulnerable to being split apart by the Trump administration's mass deportation drive.
The backstory: The Supreme Court last month allowed the Trump administration to kick 350,000 Haitians and 6,000 Syrians out of the Temporary Protected Status program that has allowed them to live and work in the U.S. because of unsafe conditions in their countries.
SAN DIEGO — Josiane Valsaint has lived and worked legally in the U.S. since 2010. But she and hundreds of thousands of other Haitian nationals are set to lose their legal status as soon as Monday, opening the door for federal immigration agents to round them up for deportation.
The question that sends tears streaming down Valsaint's face is: If that happens, what will happen to her 10- and 12-year-old children, born in San Diego, who attend public school here?
"Who's going to take care of my kiddos?" she asked. "They're not adults yet. They were born here." Taking them to Haiti, much of which is now controlled by heavily armed gangs, is not an option, she said.
The Supreme Court last month allowed the Trump administration to kick 350,000 Haitians and 6,000 Syrians out of the Temporary Protected Status program that has allowed them to live and work in the U.S. because of unsafe conditions in their countries. There are many uncertainties now agonizing these communities, including how aggressively immigration agents — who have their addresses — will seek to detain them, and what will happen to their children, many of whom are U.S. citizens.
Guerline Jozef is executive director of the Haitian Bridge Alliance, a San Diego-based nonprofit that supports Haitian immigrants. She said if the government begins rounding up Haitians whose Temporary Protected Status has been revoked, family separations are likely because most parents can't fathom taking their children back to a country largely controlled by armed gangs.
(
Adrian Florido
/
NPR
)
By one Princeton researcher's estimate, there are 50,000 children who've been born in the U.S. to Haitian parents with TPS. The loss of those protections means a large new population of mixed-status families are vulnerable to being split apart by the Trump administration's mass deportation drive.
In deciding to strip Haitians of their temporary legal status, the Trump administration has said it's no longer justified because "conditions in Haiti have improved sufficiently to support the return of Haitian nationals' safely. It's also said allowing Haitian migrants to remain is "contrary to the U.S. national interest."
Haitian migrants and advocacy groups have disputed those conclusions. In fact, they say, Haiti is more dangerous now than when the Obama administration first granted TPS to Haitians after the 2010 earthquake that killed hundreds of thousands of people. Haiti's president was assassinated in 2021. Today, armed gangs control vast swaths of the island nation's territory, infrastructure and economy, and restrict the movement of citizens.
Almost invariably, Haitian TPS holders say taking their children there is unfathomable.
"They cannot take those children back to Haiti," said Guerline Jozef, executive director of the San Diego-based Haitian Bridge Alliance, which advocates for Haitian immigrants. "Not because Haiti is not beautiful. Not because there's no hope. But because right now, in July 2026, it is impossible for them to be safe there."
In late June, Haitians in the U.S. with Temporary Protected Status attended an information session at the Haitian Bridge Alliance, in San Diego, about what the loss of their legal status could mean for them and their families — and how to prepare.
(
Adrian Florido
/
NPR
)
Many Haitian TPS holders, Jozef said, are just beginning to consider the impossible decisions they'll soon face. Leave their children in someone else's care? Take them back to Haiti? Try fleeing to another country?
"I think family separation is more likely," Jozef said. "To take them back with them is not even a choice."
Valsaint, whose 10 and 12-year-olds speak perfect English and sing in a church choir in San Diego, said about her plans only that, "families stick together." And then, her voice catching, she added: "We can't go back to Haiti." She said she's hoping for a miracle.
Sandra, a Haitian woman with TPS who asked NPR to use only her first name because she fears deportation, said her teen son came to her after the Supreme Court ruling and expressedsuicidal thoughts over the prospect of being sent to Haiti, a country he's never been to but whose troubles he's kept up with online.
"I cried," said Sandra, who works as an in-home caretaker in San Diego. "I'm supposed to protect them, and I feel like I'm failing."
It's not clear how aggressively Immigration and Customs Enforcement will move to detain and deport Haitians newly stripped of TPS protections, or how much capacity Haiti has to receive deportation flights. Haiti's top migration official told local reporters that based on a conversation with the U.S. embassy in Haiti, he expects about a thousand deportees to arrive on flights from the U.S. each month.
NPR asked the Department of Homeland Security how it plans to handle the U.S.-born children of Haitians it seeks to detain. In an emailed statement, an unnamed spokesperson wrote, "ICE does not separate families. Parents are asked if they want to be removed with their children or ICE will place the children with a safe person the parent designates. This is consistent with past administration's (sic) immigration enforcement."
Haitian flags at the offices of the Haitian Bridge Alliance, a San Diego nonprofit.
(
Adrian Florido
/
NPR
)
The statement stressed the administration's longstanding position that Temporary Protected Status was always meant to be temporary.
"For too long, TPS has been allowed to function as a de facto amnesty program," the statement said. "The Trump administration is restoring integrity to the immigration system by ensuring that individuals who no longer qualify for TPS either pursue another lawful immigration status, voluntarily depart using the Department's available return assistance, or face removal in accordance with federal law."
In some states with large Haitian communities, such as Massachusetts, officials have published guides to help parents who want to designate temporary guardians for their U.S. citizen children. Jozef, of the Haitian Bridge Alliance, said advocates are scaling up other support systems to help Haitians make plans to protect themselves and their children in the weeks and months ahead.
On Monday, a lower federal court in D.C. is expected to implement the Supreme Court's ruling allowing TPS for Haitians to end. That would allow immigration agents to begin arrests. Advocates are exploring other legal options and urging Congress to pass a bill that would extend TPS protections for Haitians. It passed the House with support from some Republicans in April, but was blocked by Senate Republicans this week.
If you or someone you know may be considering suicide or is in crisis, call or text 9 8 8 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.
J.C. Reifenberg and Jen Smith, co-owners of Scum & Villainy Cantina, who are hoping to expand to Burbank.
(
Harry Levin
/
LAist
)
Topline:
If you’re the kind of person who nerds out on Star Wars, Marvel, Game of Thrones, for the past eight years you’ll likely have found your community at Scum and Villainy Cantina in Hollywood. Now the owners are raising money to open a bar and creative culture hub in another location: Burbank.
Why it matters: For those who crave the community of other fans — or feel the desire to cosplay every weekend — Scum and Villainy hits the spot.
Why now: Owners J.C. Reifenberg and Jen Smith want to open the new location, Scum and Villainy: Rendezvous, before Avengers: Doomsday comes out on Dec. 18.
For the past nine years, if you’re the kind of person who nerds out on Star Wars, Marvel, Game of Thrones, or any nerd franchise that exists in the galaxy, you’ll have found your community at Scum and Villainy Cantina in Hollywood.
While the exterior looks like just another unassuming business on the often bustling street, walking in reveals a highly curated space honoring every facet of nerd culture down to the last detail. The design honors the Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. Custom cocktails allude to different fandoms with names like “Sauron Sour” and “Harley Quinn.”
Scum & Villainy Cantina's bar may look familiar.
(
Jim Donnelly
/
Courtesy Scum & Villainy
)
Most importantly, the people enjoying the space are openly expressing their love for these stories and universes, whether that be through intricate costumes or lively debate. It’s a scene one might find after (or before) a sci-fi convention, which is exactly what J.C. Reifenberg, co-owner of Scum and Villainy, intended.
“We wanted to create the post-convention bar experience every night of the week,” Reifenberg said.
As a veteran of such conventions, he’s seen Mark Hamill (who played Luke Skywalker) speak numerous times, but he doesn’t remember any of the speeches. He does remember the people he met at the bar when the long day was over.
Revel in nerd culture (costumes encouraged) at Scum & Villainy.
"The best part about fandom is the community. That’s what people crave,” Reifenberg said. “This geek world has grown up with the kids that fell in love with it and continues to offer comfort, companionship, friendship and opportunity.”
Scum & Villainy Cantina in Hollywood.
(
Harry Levin
/
LAist
)
Reifenberg is now taking that concept and doubling down, hoping to create not just another gathering place, but a community hub for makers and creators to learn the craft.
Expanding to Burbank
For the past eight months, he and his wife, Jen Smith, who designed the interior of both establishments, have been crowdsourcing to raise $1 million for Scum and Villainy: Rendezvous, which they hope to open in Burbank, steps below the AMC 16. It’s certainly attracting interest; so far the pair have raised more than $600,000 toward the goal.
Scum & Villainy, open to people of all galaxies.
(
Jim Donnelly
/
Courtesy Scum & Villainy
)
Reifenberg said he can’t confirm an official launch date because they’re waiting on their permits from the Department of Planning in Burbank. But they are shooting to open by the time Avengers: Doomsday comes out on Dec. 18.
“My goal is for people to watch Avengers and walk down the steps to Rendezvous with everybody in the movie theater,” Reifenberg said. “We’ll have ‘No spoilers’ signs up until the last showing of the night is over.”
The new space is 5,200 square feet over two floors. The bottom floor is for the post-convention hangs, similar to the current Scum and Villainy. Upstairs, there will be private dining and a professional podcast and livestreaming studio. Reel Rejects, the movie and television commentary channel on YouTube, is partnering with Rendezvous for live events and recording.
There’s also a multi-purpose room hosting classes taught by entertainment professionals, for which they’ll be tapping some industry heavy hitters. After running Scum and Villainy and working in film and television, including many projects with fellow super nerd Kevin Smith, Reifenberg and Smith have come to know Marc Bernardin (who wrote episodes of Batman: Caped Crusader and Eyes of Wakanda), Fon Davis (who worked at George Lucas’s visual effects company, Industrial Light & Magic), and many more professionals behind geek franchises.
“I’m connected to all these wonderful makers, and these people love to share what they learned,” Reifenberg said, noting that when he grew up in Chicago, not only was there not nearly as much of an industry for this kind of work, but any time he would share his big ideas, his peers would shoot them down as impossible. Not here in Los Angeles.
“Los Angeles is a city of dreamers,” Reifenberg said. “I remember how magical and untouchable these things were. What can I do to help inspire the next kid to do an impossible thing?”
Fundraising for it
The first five investors of $5,000 in the WeFunder campaign for Rendezvous will get to shoot their short films there, and there are plenty of bigger perks as well. Individual tiers go as high as $100,000, offering everything from lifetime discounts to being in a commercial for the space directed by Kevin Smith. (Smith invested $10,000, and has hosted numerous episodes of his podcast Fatman Beyond at the original Scum and Villainy). Then, if the total goes over $750,000 or reaches the total goal of $1 million, everyone who contributed gets extra benefits, such as 20% off merch.
The $1 million amount may seem ambitious, but in 2017, the original Scum and Villainy was just a weekend pop-up instead of a year-round establishment. After announcing it, they sold more than $1 million in tickets from April to July 2017, and they realized they needed to keep it open for the community.
The pair told me so many stories about how Scum and Villainy has changed people’s lives. Some are about couples meeting there on May 4 (yes, May the Fourth, the internationally recognized Star Wars holiday) who then proposed on a later May 4. Others are about people who came to every weekend of the pop-up in costume because it was the first place in their entire lives they felt truly safe to express who they are.
“I have worked in bars and restaurants for 20 years, and I have seen restaurateurs who don’t believe in their concept. They’re not willing to put the time and effort into massaging it to appease the community,” Smith said. “This whole place exists because the community is like ‘Please don’t close.’”
Reifenberg added: “If we build it, they will come.”
