The Brief

The U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs has said it plans to appeal a federal judge's decision to have the department foot the bill for building emergency veteran housing at the West L.A. campus.

Brad Rosenberg, the department's attorney, said in court Friday that the appeal will be filed next week. Part of it will argue that the payment will cause irreparable harm to the V.A.'s funding.

But U.S. District Judge David O. Carter said that for now, the construction must continue.

"Until I get a stay from the Ninth Circuit, we go forward," he said, adding that he wants quick work to bring veterans indoors before the rainy season.

On Sept. 6, Carter ruled on a lawsuit on behalf of veterans with disabilities, issuing two emergency orders to speed up the creation of temporary “modular” housing on the campus — essentially, tiny homes that are built ahead of time in factories.

Carter continued to pressure officials on speeding up the timeline for the temporary housing. Kelly Farrell from the architectural firm Gensler, which is working on the housing plans, said they're still narrowing down specifics for utilities to meet housing standards.

Carter pushed back.

"We can truck in showers. We can truck in toilets. We can get sewage overland, you don’t have to trench," he said. "You’ve already got lighting in the stadium for goodness sakes. I don’t want perfect — I want good."

Background on the case

Carter has ordered the creation of 2,550 additional housing units for unhoused veterans — including 750 temporary homes with supportive services within 18 months at the sprawling West L.A. Veterans Affairs campus, and construction of additional 1,500 permanent homes with services at the campus within the next six years.

The judge also ruled against a series of private leases on the West L.A. campus, writing that VA officials “are prohibited from executing and maintaining any land use agreement, including those identified by this Order, that does not principally benefit veterans and their families pursuant.”

He also banned the VA from entering into new leases with the private Brentwood School (whose athletic facilities are on the campus), Safety Park (which operates two parking lots on the campus), Bridgeland Resources (which has an oil drill on the campus), and UCLA (whose baseball stadium is on the land).

The lawsuit was filed in November 2022. It came after the VA got years behind schedule in following through on a previous settlement deal from 2015 to build more housing at the campus.

What judge Carter had to say

VA officials bowed to wealthy neighbors: Noting that VA officials had entered into lucrative land deals for portions of the property, Carter wrote that instead of serving veterans, "the West LA VA has served its wealthy and powerful neighbors, bowing to private interests backed by lobbyists and engaging in back-room deals and fraud.”

A contrast with funding for war: Carter, a Marine Corps veteran who was so injured in a Vietnam War battle that he was put in a body bag, said the federal government has failed those who served: “Veterans have seen the government swiftly deploy its resources to send them into conflict, then claim an inability to overcome funding shortfalls and administrative hurdles when they need shelter and housing back at home.”

Judge cites corruption: “Over the past five decades, the West LA VA has been infected by bribery, corruption, and the influence of the powerful and their lobbyists, and enabled by a major educational institution in excluding veterans’ input about their own lands,” the judge wrote.

Among other things, he pointed to a scandal in which a private parking lot operator pleaded guilty to bribing a VA official and stealing $13 million in connection with a lease at the campus.

Failed promises: Carter faulted the current and previous two presidential administrations for not following through on promises to end veteran homelessness. He wrote: “In the years since 2011, the Obama administration, the Trump administration, and the Biden administration have each promised that they would act swiftly to eradicate veteran homelessness in America. Yet, today, approximately 3,000 homeless veterans live in the Los Angeles area alone.”

What the parties had to say

Plaintiffs' response: Mark Rosenbaum, the lead attorney for the plaintiffs, told LAist the ruling is “an enormous victory” for unhoused veterans. He said the judge, through his ruling, is saying “no veteran who served this country should be on the streets of Los Angeles or, frankly, the streets of this nation.”

“It’s the end of veteran homelessness,” Rosenbaum added.

VA response: In a statement from Damian McGee, director Los Angeles Regional Office of Public Affairs, the VA said "there is nothing more important to VA than ending Veteran homelessness, and our efforts have led directly to a 23% reduction in Veteran homelessness in Los Angeles in 2024 and a 55% reduction in Veteran homelessness nationwide since 2010."

"The court exceeded its legal authority, and its orders would prevent VA from fulfilling our mission to end Veteran homelessness by diverting critical resources from efforts that are proven to get Veterans off the streets and save lives — including VA health care, permanent housing support, legal assistance, job training, and much more," the statement added. "This would negatively impact Veterans and their families, both in LA and across America, and VA is beginning the appeal process to prevent that from happening."

One of the last remaining checks on Immigration and Customs Enforcement and private-prison contractors running immigration detention centers has all but collapsed, leaving thousands of people trapped in a system with nearly nonexistent oversight, according to an NPR review.

The grievance system in immigration detention is designed to offer a safe channel to report violations of detention standards and seek redress, without fear of retaliation. It's often the only recourse for people to submit complaints about detention issues, including mistreatment, unsanitary conditions, medical neglect and sexual assault. But an NPR review of documents, available data and interviews with experts has found the system — which in the best of times was a complex patchwork — barely operates and even at times backfires for those using it. It is one of the few remaining safeguards for immigrants in federal custody after the Trump administration effectively dismantled other oversight offices.

Detainees and their families tell NPR that in the very worst cases the absence of transparency and accountability, and the subsequent failure to adhere to mandated grievance guidelines, is one of the leading factors for the record number of deaths in detention — at least 53 since the start of President Trump's second term.

Critics say it is the reason why more detainees are risking their lives to protest inhumane conditions and legal rights violations, in the form of widespread hunger strikes.

The Department of Homeland Security declined to answer specific questions about how it handles detainees' grievance claims, how DHS or private contractor employees are trained, what steps it takes to ensure private contractors — the largest being CoreCivic and The GEO Group — adhere to guidelines, or whether all detention facilities have a mandatory grievance committee. Instead, the office referred NPR to the 2011 Performance-Based National Detention Standards, which outline how the system is intended to work.

D.E.'s story

That system didn't work for D.E., who has had a brain tumor growing in his head for the last 12 years.

He was supposed to start chemotherapy the week he was picked up by ICE just a couple of blocks from his home.

The first seizure in detention was terrifying, but the second was the worst.

It was around 2 a.m. and D.E., one of more than a thousand detainees in the California City Detention Center, was lying on the lower bunk of his small cell. The CoreCivic guard who normally brought his nightly dose of Keppra, the medication he's relied on twice a day for years to keep seizures at bay, was more than five hours late, and it wasn't the first time. He'd had the first seizure just a couple of weeks earlier, and the telltale signs of an oncoming convulsion were in full effect: a relentless throbbing in his brain behind the 3-inch scar above his left ear. The blurred vision. The dizziness.

"I could feel it coming and I didn't want to hurt myself, so I jammed my arm between the metal bed frame and the wall to lock myself in place," D.E., a Mexican national who requested that NPR only use his initials because he fears government retaliation, said in Spanish. Trapping his arm was the best precaution he could come up with to keep himself from accidentally falling face-first into the shared toilet that was just inches from his bed, he said. "It's what I was most afraid of because I could have drowned."

Recalling that night, D.E. described the episode as a sustained haze of torture. The next morning, he tried to document what he could remember in a medical grievance that has been reviewed by NPR.

In practice, the grievance system should act as an internal accountability mechanism for both federally run and contracted detention facilities; the guidelines establish mandatory review and adjudication time frames.

With limited space on the paper form, D.E. was as specific as he could be. "Hello. I am writing this letter to the Medical Services Department regarding a complaint about my medical condition," he wrote on March 6. "It is a very aggressive issue involving a brain tumor that causes headaches and has triggered epileptic episodes lasting up to four hours. I am requesting that you provide me with a doctor specializing in radiation and chemotherapy, as my treatment was interrupted when I was detained by ICE on January 19."

A breakdown of oversight

Lawmakers, immigration attorneys, advocates and detainees report that experiences like D.E.'s are ubiquitous across the nation's detention centers, reflecting a broken grievance process.

Trying to enforce the rules of the grievance system has always been challenging, Chris Brundage, the former deputy of the now-closed Office of the Immigration Detention Ombudsman, told NPR.

That's partly because it's not one single set of standards that all operators must follow, Brundage said. "It's a patchwork system that has never worked as intended," he said, explaining that there are at least three different sets of detention standards that operators are working under, depending on when they signed their contracts. (Some operators are following guidelines established in 2011. Others, an updated version from 2016, and those with new contracts are following 2019 standards.)

D.E.'s documentation of medicine taken, his seizures and medical visits during his three months in detention.

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Over the last two years, those problems have been significantly exacerbated by the evisceration of nearly all immigration detention oversight offices by the second Trump administration, he said.

The Office of Detention Oversight, created by Congress to conduct internal inspections, and the Immigration Detention Ombudsman's office tasked with investigating detainee deaths and other issues have had their budgets gutted and suffered massive layoffs. Both agencies sit within DHS. In the case of the ombudsman's office, one of the only places that detainees could turn to to challenge a grievance denial outside of the immediate detention facility, it was fully shuttered in May.

Another office whose budget has been slashed is the Office for Civil Rights and Civil Liberties, Brundage noted. In 2025, the administration slashed the CRCL staff from roughly 150 employees down to just a handful, effectively halting operations. The Government Accountability Project reported more than 500 active civil rights and detention-abuse complaints — including allegations of medical neglect, sexual abuse and dangerous conditions in immigration detention — were frozen or left uninvestigated.

At the time, the Trump administration said cutting hundreds of staff positions at the congressionally mandated offices was necessary to save money and because DHS claimed they were "internal adversaries that slow down operations."

"I think what happened when these offices were effectively gutted and shut down, you lost that … legitimacy. And legitimacy means that they're following the laws, regulations. But what happens if you don't have transparency into the process and you don't have accountability? Without those two things, that legitimacy erodes, " Brundage said.

Tracking grievances

Even before the closures it has been virtually impossible for lawmakers or inspectors to know how many grievances are filed at any given detention center each year, because neither ICE nor any of the private prison companies contracted by DHS are required to disclose that data to any review body. Also, even internally detention facility operators are not required to track data on how many grievance complaints are deemed to be founded, how the issue was resolved, or if it was challenged, whether the initial rejection was overturned.

Lawmakers and immigrant rights activists say that without such mandates, they are unable to decipher any patterns that could shed light on systemic problems, either at a single facility or across the entire system. Some suggest it is a deliberate ploy to keep the public in the dark about conditions on the inside of the nation's fortress-like detention centers.

The ACLU of Northern California partnered with the California Collaborative for Immigrant Justice to document the daily conditions of life in California immigration detention by tracking formal grievances during the Biden administration. The findings were published in a 2024 study called Resistance, Retaliation, Repression: Two Years in California Immigration Detention. The organization obtained grievances from detainees and their families, and Freedom of Information Act requests from the state's six detention centers, which are all run by The GEO Group, CoreCivic, and Management & Training Corp. (Two new facilities, also run by private contractors, have been added since then.)

In all, the study reviewed 485 grievance complaints, concluding that the absence of accountability and transparency keeps conditions of detention, the grievances filed and their outcome hidden from public scrutiny. An analysis of the collected grievances revealed that complaints about the staff and their conduct, including facility management and bullying by staff, were the most common reason for grievances, with 179 documented allegations. Poor living conditions, including contaminated food, sleep deprivation, exposure to toxic mold and access to legal counsel, were the second most common reasons, with 141 filed complaints. And 94, roughly 20%, were medical grievances related to insufficient medical care and denial of medications.

Based on the data, 71% of the 485 grievances were deemed as unfounded or rejected by detention center officials. Nearly 21% were either closed, undecided, or unknown. Only 8% of the total grievances found in favor of detained people. According to detention standards, officials are required to provide, in writing, a reason for a rejection of a complaint and detainees can appeal an unfounded determination up to two times. In the past, the issue could be escalated up to the Office of Civil Rights and Civil Liberties.

Ryan Gustin, senior director of public affairs at CoreCivic, which owns or operates 12 detention centers across the country, said its facilities are closely monitored by ICE and regularly undergo reviews and audits.

"We have a robust grievance process available to all detainees at each of our ICE-contracted facilities that provides multiple safe and discrete avenues for concerns to be raised, including toll-free telephone numbers," Gustin told NPR. He added that most detainee concerns are processed through ICE's Enforcement and Removal Operations' Detention, Removals and Information Line.

It is unclear if complaints made to one of the hotline numbers or those processed through ICE's ERO removals and information line are treated in the same way as a formal grievance, that is, whether it is documented and added to a detainee's file, and if detention center officials are required to abide by the same response timelines as a written complaint. CoreCivic referred all requests for clarification to DHS, which did not respond to NPR's requests for comment.

Mariel Villarreal, a senior attorney with the California Collaborative for Immigrant Justice, told NPR that many of the denials she has reviewed rarely offer any meaningful explanation for the rejection. "It'll just be a few generic words," she said. In other instances, there is no written record of the denial on the submitted complaint. (This is what happened in all four of D.E.'s grievances, filed about two years after the study at California City.)

"But even grievances that are ultimately founded, there's often no real remedy to them. There's nothing with teeth or no enforcement mechanism for making sure the grievance is actually addressed in a meaningful way," Villarreal said.

Villarreal noted other violations that she has witnessed, including facilities that have ignored a rule prohibiting a staff member who is accused of wrongdoing from ruling on a complaint about them.

"We've heard complaints from people [saying], 'I filed the grievance about this officer or this staff who did something bad or mistreated me,' and they were the one that then adjudicated it. And the proof of that is that their name shows up in logs," she said.

The report also found that use of the grievance system can backfire. Villarreal said her clients have reported various forms of retaliation, including solitary confinement or getting transfers to detention facilities far from a complainant's family and lawyers.

"I have a feeling that a lot of people who are filing grievances in immigration detention are pretty aware of the fact that it's essentially a sham," Villarreal said. But the reason people in custody continue to file them anyway is because it's the only way to document what's happening to them, "because it's their word against the whole system," she said.

"People are at the whim of whatever ICE wants to do with them"

Despite the Trump administration's attempts to ban unannounced visits by federal lawmakers, members of Congress have the legal authority to visit ICE detention sites at any time.

Texas Congressman Joaquin Castro visits the Dilley Immigration Processing Center in south Texas about once a month. But, he told NPR, that's become more difficult as ICE is enforcing more restrictive policies designed to block unannounced visits.

"They no longer allow us to see people who want to sign up to see members of Congress when a [congressional delegation] is going to inspect the facility. Now we have to have specific permission to see particular people," Castro said after a visit to the facility in June.

U.S. Rep. Joaquin Castro, pictured at a press conference in Washington last year, visits the Dilley Immigration Processing Center in south Texas about once a month.

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Even so, Castro said he's witnessed operational violations on nearly every visit. On a chaperoned tour in June, the congressman said he was taken into a room with a phone bank for detainees to use to anonymously report abuses, including a connection to a national rape hotline. But when he tested the line, he said it asked for the caller's personal identification code.

"The [CoreCivic] warden said he didn't know why it was happening and that he would get back to me" about it, he said.

He added: "I think for all intents and purposes, the grievance process, the resolution process, is non-functioning at this point. And these people are at the whim of whatever ICE wants to do with them."

New Jersey State Attorney General Jennifer Davenport sued The GEO Group after staff at the Delaney Hall facility allegedly blocked health department inspectors from entering most of the complex during a scheduled visit in May. The inspection followed a hunger strike by detainees, who in a letter, complained about rotten or worm-infested food, medical neglect and being coerced into signing deportation orders. But the team of inspectors, which was tasked with conducting a biannual audit of more than 20 national detention standards, including the grievance system, was not allowed past the center's kitchen facilities.

In a statement to NPR, a DHS spokesperson said, "There are NO subprime conditions or abuse at Delaney Hall." However, a recently released report of an August 2025 inspection of the facility during which inspections and compliance specialists from the Office of Professional Responsibility were also blocked from touring the entire facility, noted a slew of health violations. And a review of the facility's suicide watch logs showed 19 instances where clinical staff failed to conduct mandatory 15-minute check-ins. Instead, documents showed gaps of up to 65 minutes.

The GEO Group referred NPR's questions to DHS.

In California, a U.S. District Court judge issued a preliminary injunction in a class-action civil suit brought by detainees and immigrant advocacy groups against ICE for allegedly subjecting immigrants to inhumane and illegal conditions at the Adelanto Processing Center — one of the largest immigration detention centers in the United States. At least four people have died in custody while detained at The GEO Group-run facility since September 2025.

The lawsuit called Adelanto's grievance process "slow and often futile," adding that "detained individuals routinely wait more than a month for response after filing a grievance." It also states that in some cases, The GEO Group staff have pressured detained individuals into withdrawing their grievances in order to receive help.

The judge's July ruling said the plaintiffs "have demonstrated they are likely to prevail — or at the least, raise serious questions — on the merits of their Fifth Amendment and Rehabilitation Act claims."

She ordered the facility to immediately provide basic necessities. In addition, two independent monitors will have access to the detention center for unannounced inspections and to provide monthly reports, and detainees will have direct access to them in a confidential grievance system.

D.E.'s grievances

D.E., 44, says he moved to the U.S. when he was 18 so he could help support his parents and siblings back home in Mexico. He's been undocumented the entire time.

As he was being handcuffed and pushed into an unmarked van in January, D.E. says he asked the officers to stop by his apartment so that he could grab his medication. They didn't. Then when he arrived at Delaney Hall detention center in Newark, N.J., hours later, he told the medical intake staff about his condition.

"I even told them in English: I have a Stage 4 brain tumor. I have to take 1,000 mg of Keppra at 9 a.m. and 9 p.m. I'm supposed to start chemotherapy this week," he said.

He also gave them the name of his doctor and the hospital where he was being treated about an hour away. "Please call them," he begged.

It's unclear whether anyone at Delaney ever spoke to his medical team, but D.E. says the on-staff doctor at the detention facility reviewed his records and recommended that he be sent to a local hospital for chemotherapy. About two weeks later, he said an officer told him he didn't need chemotherapy.

Eventually, word got out and local activists started lobbying elected officials to intervene on his behalf. Days later, D.E. was transferred to a facility in Arizona for about a week, then shipped off to California City, where he says the inconsistent delivery of his meds triggered four seizures.

All in all, the second seizure lasted about four hours off and on. It's the worst one he's ever had. Throughout it, he lost control of his body and the ability to speak. He recorded the details of the episode in a formal grievance the following morning. It was one of four medical grievances D.E. filed with the CoreCivic staff in March alone.

"I filed them even though I knew nothing would change," D.E. said. "My lawyer told me they were supposed to respond to the grievances within a week, but I never got any kind of response," he added.

NPR reviewed all four complaints and confirmed that the documents do not contain a response to D.E.'s requests for chemotherapy, access to cancer specialists, or plans to ensure the timely delivery of his medications from CoreCivic or DHS staff.

According to the guidelines set by the DHS, a designated "grievance coordinator" is responsible for reviewing complaints, and staff must investigate and provide a written response, usually within five days. If the grievance involves an immediate threat to health or safety, the facility must respond within 24 hours.

"That never happened," D.E. said. Instead, "They would tell me that I would get treatment 'soon' but not set an appointment or a time frame," he said. D.E. was eventually released from detention after filing a petition in state court.

In more than three months in detention, D.E. never saw an oncologist.
Copyright 2026 NPR

Xavier Becerra says California needs to build more housing by reducing permitting times and making affordable housing funding easier to access, but he doesn’t want to say how many new homes he would deliver as governor. To address inequality, he’s considering whether the public should own shares of artificial intelligence companies, but he won’t commit to pursuing that policy.

If the Democratic candidate’s promises remain vague to Californians who, polls show, widely favor him for governor this November, he has an explanation — in the form of a regret dating back to 1993.

After campaigning against the North American Free Trade Agreement, the first-term Los Angeles-area congressmember was persuaded to vote for it, believing that adding some labor protections and a domestic lending program would shield American workers and small businesses from foreign competition. It only took a few years, Becerra recalled in an interview with CalMatters, to see American jobs displaced anyway.

For the young politician, it was a “pivotal lesson” with an enduring takeaway: Don’t back anything until you’re sure.

“No one gets my vote unless I know what I’m voting for completely,” he said.

Becerra would go on to serve a dozen terms in Congress, including in House Democratic leadership, and become California’s first Latino state attorney general, then the first Latino U.S. secretary of health and human services. Now he’s approaching the governor’s office with a mix of the deliberativeness he learned earlier and a painstaking effort against overpromising.

As a result, he’s been slow to declare specific policy directives and pushes back when pressed to take positions or outline goals. Instead, he points to past experiences as proof he can take on the state’s challenges, and says his best offer for voters is a steady hand to run the government.

To pay for the state’s public healthcare programs, he says he wants to eliminate some administrative spending, waste and fraudulent billing — but won’t say how or how much he would save. On housing, he criticized fellow Democrats for setting moonshot targets like 2 or 3 million new housing units in a four-year term. But even as he considers a more realistic goal, such as doubling the current output of about 106,000 units a year, he hesitates to say he would deliver it — concerned it “could be an inflated promise.”

No incentive to go out on a limb

It’s a marked contrast from not only the Democratic opponents Becerra beat in the primary, but also his Republican opponent Steve Hilton, who has rolled out numerous policies and big promises, like $3-a-gallon gas and halving electricity bills with a deregulatory agenda. The current governor, Democrat Gavin Newsom, won on a campaign full of lofty goals — millions of homes, single-payer healthcare, strong climate regulations, universal preschool and more. He has not achieved all of them.

While fellow candidates this year honed in on proposals to limit insurance regulations or control utility spending to rein in the cost of living, Becerra proposed to declare a state of emergency so he could study the causes of high electricity and insurance rates — effectively avoiding deciding what to do until later.

He has been noncommittal on whether he would keep the state’s mandate to phase out the sale of new gas cars by 2035.

“If we invest in it, it absolutely is feasible,” he said onstage during a Politico event last week. “If we don’t invest in the infrastructure, then it’s not feasible.”

He also said “there’s a lot of room to expand” on AI regulation and that “we could buy some equity in AI to make sure that we all gain from having this new technology.” But to reporters afterward, he denied supporting such a policy outright, saying “if there’s something along those lines, it wouldn’t be totally far-fetched.”

The vagueness of Becerra’s positions is “textbook political science,” said Melissa Michelson, a political science professor at Menlo College.

Because he faces Hilton in the general election, Becerra is likely to win based on Democrats’ voter registration advantage in California alone. He doesn’t have to do much to persuade Democrats to pick him, needing only to excite liberal voters enough to turn out in the last few weeks before November, Michelson said.

California gubernatorial candidate Xavier Becerra speaks during an election night event in Los Angeles on June 2, 2026.

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“He doesn’t have an incentive to go out on a limb” on policies, she said. “You don’t want to mess up, you don’t want to do anything crazy.”

But Becerra’s distaste for risk goes beyond avoiding controversies. Asked onstage last week what voters could expect him to do as governor, he declined to name a single policy commitment.

“I would prefer not to run on inflated promises,” he said. “I will run on my record.”

Mulling things over

Born in Sacramento to working-class Mexican immigrant parents and educated at Stanford Law School, Becerra, 68, rose to power during a wave of Latino political activism in the early 1990s.

He first clinched a state Assembly seat in an upset in the east Los Angeles suburbs in 1990, then just two years later was elected to Congress in a safe Democratic seat he held onto until 2017. He and his wife, OB-GYN Carolina Reyes, moved to Washington, D.C. during that time and raised three daughters; the couple have now settled back in Sacramento.

Former staffers described Becerra as detail-oriented, sending back memos if they contained typos and insisting on marking even a few thousand dollars in costs as a potential “fiscal impact” when evaluating legislation that affected the attorney general’s office. On policy matters he was focused, they said, on how immigrants or middle- and low-income Americans would be affected.

“I think he always kept people like his parents in mind,” said Sirat Attapit, who worked for both Becerra’s congressional office and as his liaison to the California Legislature when he was attorney general. “You always knew based on the kinds of questions he asked, that was always in the back of his mind.”

Attapit said his reputation for being a slow and thorough decision maker was a sign of good policymaking, enabling him to consider multiple perspectives “even if we were diametrically opposed.” Becerra in the early 2010s was part of a bipartisan group of House members meeting secretly to discuss immigration reform.

“He was thoughtful and methodical to the point where perhaps some of his colleagues thought he mulled things over or took too long to make a decision,” she said. “Whenever he made a decision, you had to get to a point where he had educated himself and heard from all of the stakeholders. Everybody who had a perspective, he wanted to hear from.”

Then-U.S. Rep. Xavier Becerra spends time with two of his daughters, Natalia, 3, and Olivia, 4, at his campaign headquarters in Los Angeles on Jan. 9, 2001. Becerra was running for mayor of Los Angeles.

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That approach was apparent later in one of his most controversial decisions as attorney general. In 2019, he refused to release records of police investigations of officer misconduct, as required by a new state transparency law. Local police unions were fighting the law in court, arguing it could endanger officer privacy.

Becerra said he would wait for further direction from judges on whether the law covered retroactive records that journalists sought, even after one appellate court ruled the records were public. Brian Marvel, president of the politically influential Peace Officers Research Association of California, said he appreciated the attorney general’s caution.

“He just wanted to make sure that it was a clear direction on what needed to be released,” Marvel said.

But David Snyder, executive director of the First Amendment Coalition, said it was clear the law covered the sought-after records, and called Becerra’s position “baffling.” A coalition of news organizations sued, and the courts ordered Becerra’s office to release the records and pay over $1 million in attorneys’ fees.

“In fairness, I suppose, it was a brand-new law,” Snyder said. “But I can’t recall a time where an agency simply refused to interpret the law itself and said, ‘We don’t know what the law means until a court tells us.’”

Asked whether being so deliberative could hinder being bold or decisive as a leader, Becerra said there’s a time and place for quick action — like when he leapt to sue the Trump administration to preserve the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals immigration program or to intervene in a lawsuit with Texas to preserve the Affordable Care Act.

A pragmatic progressive

If he becomes governor, the cautious Becerra will become de facto leader of a state Democratic Party that is pushing further left.

Supporters like Amanda Renteria, who worked in the U.S. Senate and drafted parts of the federal healthcare law with Becerra, said his unassuming style belies progressive goals.

He was an early supporter of LGBTQ+ rights and universal public healthcare. Since his earliest days in Congress he took firm stances on defending the rights of asylum seekers and immigrants’ access to public benefits, sometimes clashing with fellow Democrats over it.

“He can work between two worlds,” Renteria said, praising “his ability to both be in Democratic leadership and at the same time be one of those members of Congress that (was) also pushing the progressive agenda where he sees it's possible.”

But Becerra himself hesitated to portray his potential term as governor the same way. He considers himself a “pragmatic” progressive, and suggested his agenda itself is flexible.

When President Joe Biden, nominating him as health secretary, warned him he was against single-payer healthcare, Becerra said he accepted it despite being a longtime supporter and agreed to focus on increasing enrollment in Medicaid or the ACA market instead. (During the primary campaign, Becerra reportedly told the state’s doctors’ association he would not push for single-payer as governor.)

Gubernatorial candidate Xavier Becerra at the Planned Parenthood offices in Sacramento on June 1, 2026.

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“Just because I didn’t get single-payer, doesn’t mean I’m not a progressive, and just because I didn’t fight for single-payer doesn’t mean I am establishment,” he said. “At this stage of my life, at this stage of my career, I just want to get things done.”

To that end, he’s careful to trade ambition for achievability.

Last week, he floated a “power hour” proposal to give low-income utility customers two free hours of electricity in the middle of each day during the sunny but temperate period when power suppliers produce excess solar energy.

When asked by CalMatters whether that idea counts as a campaign promise, he ran through an analysis of whether he could commit to it: there were still stakeholders to consult, like the utility companies and the California Public Utilities Commission, which regulates electricity rates. On the other hand, low-income households are already enrolled in utility discount programs, so it would be easy to deliver the free power to them. And because it wouldn’t be a universal program for all customers, it wouldn’t create too much demand, he mused.

“I’d like to make it a promise, because it’s not pie-in-the-sky,” he said. “Is it realistic? Can I make it into a promise? I probably can, because I’ve limited it.”

This article was originally published on CalMatters and was republished under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license.

This story first appeared on The LA Local.

The wait is over, and the Vision Theatre Performing Arts Center is preparing to reopen, ushering in a new era of performance, events and Black culture in Leimert Park. 

The L.A. Department of Cultural Affairs is scheduled to hold an invite-only ribbon-cutting ceremony Thursday at the historic theater, marking a major milestone for a project that began the first phase of construction in 2011. 

“The Vision Theatre has long been a special place in Leimert Park and in the lives of so many who call this community home,” said Heather Hutt, who represents District 10 for L.A. City Council where the theater is located. “Its reopening represents both a celebration of that history and an investment in our future.” 

The city has invested nearly $40 million in the renovation project, which has unfolded in multiple phases and was slowed by funding challenges, the COVID-19 pandemic and supply-chain disruptions, a cultural affairs spokesperson previously told The LA Local.

The restored theater features a reconfigured 729-seat auditorium, new mezzanine and balcony seating, a lounge area, a full stage with wings and crossover space, dressing rooms and a green room. 

The project also includes restoration of the theater’s historic Art Deco features and auditorium ceiling mural, along with upgraded audio, visual and lighting systems and a broadcast room.

“The renovation of the Vision Theatre unites historic preservation with state-of-the-art venue upgrades to create a world-class cultural venue that all Angelenos can be proud of,” said Daniel Tarica, general manager of the cultural affairs department.

The Vision Theatre in Leimert Park in South L.A. is expected to reopen this year.

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Steve Saldivar

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The LA Local

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The Vision Theatre’s reopening is expected to bring thousands of new patrons to Leimert Park, giving surrounding small businesses an opportunity to boost their bottom lines. The theater is also poised to strengthen the neighborhood’s identity as a Black Cultural Arts District by attracting top-tier talent, hosting major events and creating opportunities for emerging local artists.

“Anytime a business opens, especially something as big as the Vision Theatre , it’s going to be amazing for the entire Village and Crenshaw Corridor,” said Odessa Bowden-Sierra, owner of LA Native clothing store near Crenshaw Boulevard and 43rd Place. 

Genelle Brooks-Petty, vice president of the Leimert Park Village Merchants Association and co-owner of ALL CHILL hip-hop ice cream shop, said the theater reopening is an opportunity to showcase the historic community. 

“‘One Village. One Destination’ is our creed, and we’re excited to see this institution restored and reinvigorated, as Leimert Park Village continues to thrive,” Brooks-Petty said.

The original front entrance of the Vision Theater on 43rd Place, shown here on Aug. 19, 2026, remains after renovations.

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LaMonica Peters

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The LA Local

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The theater’s cultural impact could be just as significant.

The city has partnered with the WACO Theater Center, founded by actor Richard Lawson and Tina Knowles, Beyoncé’s mother and former clothing designer, to expand artistic and educational programming at the venue. 

Shay Wafer, WACO’s executive director, told The LA Local that the organization’s mission includes creating opportunities for emerging artists of African descent, as well as local, national and international artists whose work reflects the African diaspora .  

“I’m overwhelmed and excited,” Wafer said about the reopening. “I’m optimistic that the philanthropic community and ticket buyers will support us.” 

Wafer said WACO, who’s responsible for the theater’s programming, will hold its own grand opening at the theater in November and soft launch performances, community events and a membership program. 

The first full season, about 15 to 20 shows and events, will launch in February 2027, Wafer said. 

“The time that it takes to fully activate a performing arts center the size of the Vision has to occur in phases,” Wafer said.  “The first season is going to look totally different from the second season. We’ll be at full capacity by the second year.”

Finding a good taco in Los Angeles isn't as hard as it used to be, but finding an excellent one requires an almost obsessive devotion to the craft.

Bill Esparza, the James Beard Award-winning food writer who's spent the last two decades chronicling L.A.'s taco scene, has made it his mission to uncover the best the cuisine has to offer.

His latest effort is Taqueando After Dark, a new festival he's curated, taking place Thursday, Aug. 27 and Friday, Aug. 28 at Level 8, located inside the Moxy Hotel in downtown L.A.

The festival brings together acclaimed chefs from both Los Angeles and Northern Mexico — specifically Tijuana and Valle de Guadalupe — who will offer their distinct region’s cuisines as festival goers roam through Level 8’s eight rooms.

The event

Esparza said he wanted to bring together taqueros from Baja California, Sonora, and Los Angeles "to express this wonderful moment that Northern Mexican food is having."

"We have a big Sinaloense culture, a big culture from Mazatlán,” he said. “And Tijuana tacos have been viral for the last decade. It's everywhere: birria, carne asada, adobada.”

Thursday evening will feature Ruffo Ibarra, the acclaimed chef behind Michelin-recognized Oryx in Tijuana, while Tomás Gastélum and José Luis Hinostroza of Michelin-recognized Mira Fireside in Valle de Guadalupe will be cooking on Friday.

Taqueando After Dark takes over Level 8 for two nights, Aug. 27 and 28.

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Courtesy of Level 8

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LA chefs

While Ibarra, Gastélum, and Hinostroza bring the border-crossing star power, local talent is also on display, including Ray Garcia of Qué Bárbaro  (DTLA), Broken Spanish Comedor (Culver City), Eloy Aluri of Tacos Royale (Silver Lake),
Tijuanazo (East L.A.) and Tacos La Carreta (Whittier and Long Beach).

Some of the festival's most compelling cooking may come from Vernon. Francisco Leal of Mariscos Chiltepín has quietly built a reputation for serving some of the best mariscos in the city.

Francisco Leal's aguachile at Mariscos Chiltepín brings the heat — and the kind of shrimp that makes the Vernon drive worth it.

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Gab Chabrán

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LAist

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For Leal, Taqueando After Dark isn't just an opportunity to flex his skills creatively, but also a chance to rub elbows with the Baja chefs he admires.

"I love the way they handle almejas chocolatas, reinas, pismo clams, and oysters — the different techniques to flavor them, whether French, Japanese, or natural," he said. "They're really doing it very well."