The Brief

We’ve all seen it: Tents lining the sidewalks of freeway overpasses; or people drinking from fire hydrants in Skid Row; or an unhoused person forced off the metro with nowhere else to sleep.

These are stark images, and no less painful for the people who endure these conditions while living unsheltered on the street.

The crisis

The homelessness crisis is not new to Los Angeles, and despite recent and ongoing efforts from city and county leadership, the problem is persistent. There’s been a big push by the L.A. mayor’s office to get people into housing but, while we wait for more permanent solutions, living on the street is often a day-to-day battle against illness and death.

The most recent Greater Los Angeles Homeless Count estimated that 46,000 people are experiencing homelessness in L.A. city alone — and another 9,000 people in other parts of L.A. County. About two-thirds of them are considered “unsheltered,” which includes living in a car or a tent. Of those surveyed, about one in three reported substance addiction.

Living unsheltered can be dangerous and even deadly — and there has been a massive increase in the death rate for unhoused people in the county over the last few years.

The promise of services — whether in the form of permanent housing, treatment for substance addiction, or mental health counseling — cannot help if people aren't alive in six months, a year — or five — to receive them.

While they wait, people have immediate needs: sanitation, bathrooms, overdose-prevention, and access to clean drinking water.

But there’s a big gap: Government agencies in the city of L.A. and L.A. County have not been able to sufficiently meet all these needs, whether due to not having enough money or bureaucratic red tape.

Skid row resident taking water inside their tent.

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Noé Montes

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Sade Kammen distributing water to Skid Row resident.

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Noé Montes

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Filling the gap with mutual aid

Mutual aid is an old idea, but it’s becoming more and more popular in Los Angeles. Essentially, it means working together to provide essential resources for people in your community — no strings attached.

It’s played a big role in other crises: providing resources during the AIDS crisis, offering legal support for immigrants. During the COVID pandemic, it became a much more mainstream idea around the world.

Some groups using the mutual aid model are official nonprofits. Others are decentralized groups with only a few volunteers. In recent years, especially in L.A., many of these groups have turned their attention toward unhoused communities, offering everything from bottled water to clean needles to backpacks.

They essentially act like a bandaid, providing what's needed in the short-term to keep people alive until the city can provide more permanent solutions, like housing, addiction treatment, and other long-term services.

To get a better understanding of who these volunteers are and what kinds of services they provide, we followed two groups in the field as they distributed supplies: one, a loosely knit team of volunteers, and the other a 501(c)(3) non-profit.

How PUMA works

PUMA, or Palms Unhoused Mutual Aid, operates in the L.A. neighborhood of Palms on Mondays and Wednesdays. Harm reduction is a main priority for the group. That means providing people who use substances with tools aimed at preventing an overdose or an infection. That includes glass pipes, clean needles, Narcan and alcohol wipes.

Ndindi Kitonga, the group’s founder, says PUMA’s approach to harm reduction is backed by scientific data. “We know that when people suffer from infected wounds, or from overdose, this doesn’t make people’s relationship with substance use better,” she says.

Kitonga says that many unhoused people they’re working with are interested in substance treatment. But they say it’s not easy for them to access.

“And of course,” she adds, “someone can’t change their relationship with substance use if they die from infectious disease or overdose before they’re able to.”

Jesse Lloyd Goldshear, a volunteer with the Monday crew and a postdoc researcher studying public health at UC San Diego, agrees.

Jesse Lloyd Goldshear is a post-doctoral researcher at UC San Diego and a harm reduction volunteer with Palms Unhoused Mutual Aid (PUMA).

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Samanta Helou Hernandez

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LAist

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Harm reduction supplies in Jesse Lloyd Goldshear's car trunk include metal cups called "cookers," clean glass pipes, new syringes, disposable tourniquets, sterile water, and cotton balls.

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Samanta Helou Hernandez

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LAist

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“Giving out harm reduction supplies, it’s, I think, become kind of a priority for most of the mutual aid groups,” Goldshear says.

PUMA is not a registered nonprofit and Goldshear believes that its decentralized, grassroots approach makes the volunteers more flexible to the evolving needs of the communities they serve.

Unhoused people say PUMA volunteers 'save lives'

In Palms, underneath the overpass near Venice Boulevard and Globe Avenue, Goldshear and Kitonga hand out most of the harm reduction supplies. Another volunteer, Sebastian Hernandez, brings carts to load all the materials, and mother-daughter duo Pat and Eve Garcia bring about 100 homemade burritos and a large baggie of hot-sauce.

Many of the people experiencing homelessness whom we spoke to say that they've come to rely on this assistance.

“They save lives,” says Nono, a long-time resident of the encampment. “And that's a big deal. That's really hard to say in homeless communities.”

Harm reduction has been proven to reduce the risk of overdose, infections and overall fatalities related to substance use. It’s now being recognized more broadly as a solution to the nationwide opioid crisis. Last year, President Joe Biden called for more funding for harm reduction and the National Institute of Health launched a program to test the effects of community-based harm reduction strategies like those used by PUMA.

Palms Unhoused Mutual Aid sets up a table along Venice Boulevard in West LA offering supplies like water and hygiene items to unhoused people living in encampments nearby

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Courtesy Ndindi Kitonga

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Outside of her tent, Nono explains that the morning we met, there had been a city sweep of the area. These types of sweeps happen throughout L.A., and usually involve removing all belongings from the sidewalk and hosing down the space.

The city is required to post signs notifying people of what’s to come, but Nono says she didn’t know. When the sweep began at 6:30 in the morning, she texted one of the volunteers, Sebastian Hernandez.

“I was like, ‘Hey Sebastian, sorry to text you so early, but it's clean-up and I don't want to lose my tent again.’ He immediately texted me back, and he reached out to the rest of the PUMA team to see who could help me,” Nono says. “Things like that are priceless.”

Kitonga, PUMA’s founder, says their philosophy of harm reduction extends beyond substance-use. “Harm reduction is minimizing violent things happening to us and our friends. It can be things like needles, but it can also be a sweater, or maintaining relationships with people who have mental health issues,” she says.

“We understand a lot of what we do, day-to-day, is survival work and filling in the gaps,” she adds. “But we think of ourselves as a network of care.”

How WaterDrop LA works

WaterDrop LA is a 501(c)(3) non-profit that operates in downtown L.A.’s Skid Row. The organization was founded by five women, all USC students, in the summer of 2020.

Aria Cataño, one of the cofounders, says WaterDrop LA emerged out of an existing group that provided food in the area, when, one day, they realized they didn’t have enough water to give out with the food.

Aria Cataño, co-founder of Water Drop LA.

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Samanta Helou Hernandez

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LAist

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“I started calling the missions and other organizations that are operating in Skid Row to see if they had any plan for providing water, especially during COVID. And they didn't,” Cataño says.

Now, WaterDrop LA has 10 core members who organize the weekly distribution of more than 2,000 gallons of water. About 40 volunteers join them every Sunday at 11 a.m., meeting up in a USC parking lot where they break off into groups to bring water to every corner of Skid Row.

Water Drop LA volunteers unloading and organizing supplies for distrubution to unhoused residents of Skid Row.

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Noé Montes

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Even with their efforts, water access is still a major, and undercovered issue in Skid Row. “A lot of people don’t realize that unsheltered people in L.A. don't have access to water,” Cataño says.

A study published this year in the International Journal for Equity in Health found that about 30% of Skid Row residents had limited daytime access to drinking water, and that number jumps to nearly 70% at night.

The real-world consequence of that means many people living in Skid Row rely on fire hydrants when they — or their pets — are thirsty.

Sade Kammen greeting Skid Row resident Dwight Gaines in December 2023.

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Noé Montes

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LAist

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Skid Row resident Dwight Gaines.

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Noé Montes

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“People crack them and then they'll drink this water that sprays out,” says Sade Kammen, a longtime volunteer with WaterDrop and other mutual aid groups in Los Angeles. “It is technically potable water, but we don't recommend it,” she adds.

Dwight Joseph Gaines has lived on Skid Row for seven years and says, even with more city services like relatively new refresh spots, it’s not enough to keep him off the fire hydrant.

“It's one of those things you have to sacrifice to live, to survive,” Gaines says.

Hawk, another Skid Row resident and military veteran, agrees. He shows us how he retrieves water from the hydrant near his tent, using a stolen utility wrench he says he bought for this purpose.

Hawk uses the large, hexagonal wrench to twist open the valve, letting a torrent of water gush into a 5-gallon bucket. “This is what I do every day,” Hawk says.

In addition to the hydrant providing drinking water for himself and his dog, Hawk says he uses that water, along with water bottles from WaterDrop LA, to sterilize his hair-cutting equipment. Hawk operates a one-man barbershop outside of his tent.

Skid Row resident Derrick Thomas, known as "Hawk".

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Noé Montes

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Water dropped off outside of Derick Thomas' residence.

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Noé Montes

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“That's why water is so important to me. I have to keep everything clean,” he says. “Them bringing out water, it assists us in a way that you just can't explain. You need water for everything, right?”

Hawk shuts off the valve, slides the wrench through a loop on his hip, and drags the bucket of water to his tent.

About the WaterDrop volunteers, Hawk says, “Whether we're important to other people or not, those people come down here on their own.”

This weekend's Long Beach Pride Festival was canceled by the city on Friday — hours before kickoff. The city said festival organizers failed to provide the required safety documentation.

The Pride Parade, managed and funded by the city, will continue as scheduled on Sunday at 10 a.m.

The parade will start at Ocean Boulevard and Lindero Avenue and travel along the Ocean Boulevard coastline to Alamitos Avenue in Downtown Long Beach.

Roads will close and parking will be restricted starting hours before the parade. Streets are expected to reopen by 2 p.m.

No parking on these streets

Between 4 a.m. and 2 p.m. on Sunday parking won’t be allowed on:

• Ocean Boulevard from Redondo to Atlantic Avenues
• The immediate side streets on the north and south sides of Ocean Boulevard from Redondo to Atlantic Avenues

And these streets will be closed

The following streets will be closed to traffic during their designated times:

• 6 a.m. and 2 p.m. — Ocean Boulevard between Redondo and Lindero, including side streets on the north and south side of Ocean Boulevard
• 7 a.m. and 2 p.m. — Shoreline Drive between Ocean Boulevard and Shoreline Village Drive
• 8 a.m. and 2 p.m. — Ocean Boulevard between Lindero and Atlantic, including all side streets on the north and south side of Ocean Boulevard
• 8 a.m. and 2 p.m. — Alamitos Avenue between Ocean Boulevard and Broadway

Where you can park

Long Beach Pride says that parking will be available at the Long Beach Convention Center at 400 E. Seaside Way. Accessible parking and viewing will be available at Junipero and First Street, near Bixby Park.

Ride the Metro

Take the LA Metro A Line and exit 1st Street Station in Downtown Long Beach. After you exit, it's roughly a 10-minute walk down Ocean Boulevard to the parade festivities at Marina Green Park.

Editor's note: This story includes descriptions of allegations of sexual assault and rape.

Harvey Weinstein's latest sex crimes trial ended with a hung jury Friday, on the third day of deliberations.

It was the second time in a year a jury was unable to reach a verdict on the same charge.

Accusations against the former Hollywood mogul came to define the #MeToo movement, and he was first convicted of assaulting Jessica Mann in 2020. The former aspiring actress testified Weinstein raped her at a DoubleTree hotel in Manhattan in 2013. But that verdict, along with another charge, was later overturned.

In a second New York trial last summer, Weinstein was found guilty on one count of a criminal sexual act in the first degree and not guilty on another. But a third charge, of raping Mann, ended in a mistrial after the jury foreperson declined to return to deliberations, citing concerns for his safety.

Weinstein had returned to court for a third New York trial in April, this one focusing on Mann's allegations. But on Friday morning, Judge Curtis Farber received a note from jurors stating they were unable to reach a unanimous decision. Farber then read jurors a modified deadlock charge, known as an Allen charge, urging them to resume deliberations.

Jurors soon responded with another note restating their position. "We feel that no one is going to change where they stand," it said. Nine jurors fell on the side of not guilty; three supported a guilty verdict, Weinstein's lawyers told press outside of the courtroom.

The prosecution has until late June to decide whether they'll try the case again.

Outside of court, 55-year-old juror Rick Treese said that the group diverged on "where we actually had facts." He told reporters, "We didn't have enough facts to grasp onto, so it was emotion." People in the group "had varying emotions about it based on [their] experience in life."

"Everybody respected each other. Everybody respected their backgrounds. It was very civil. I feel certain that we dug into it enough."

Another juror, Josh Hadar, said his vote was for "not guilty," in part because he felt there might be parts of Mann's testimony that were "fabricated."

"I think the prevailing thought was that the witness had a lot of inconsistencies in her story," he said.

The mistrial concludes a month-long trial that was quieter than Weinstein's previous court appearances, with a diminished media presence and less public attention. Earlier this year, Weinstein hired a new legal team, including high-profile criminal defense attorneys such as Marc Agnifilo, known for representing Luigi Mangione and Sean "Diddy" Combs.

Defense attorneys argued that Mann and the then-married Weinstein had a consensual, on-again, off-again relationship over many years. But Mann testified that on that 2013 morning at the DoubleTree hotel, Weinstein "command[ed]" her to undress and penetrated her despite Mann repeatedly saying "no." Weinstein has denied all allegations of sexual assault.

Now 74, Weinstein has been incarcerated since 2020. In 2022, he was convicted of rape and sexual assault in a separate case in California and sentenced to 16 years in prison. He is appealing that verdict.

Agnifilo said outside court on Friday, "It's our job not just to win this case. There is an entire legal knot that needs to be untangled. And we're going to start untangling that knot strand by strand with the New York case and then the California case. So this really is just a first step." He said that this latest mistrial might not be "the win [Weinstein] wanted, but it's a win."

A statement from Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg said prosecutors were "disappointed that the proceedings ended in a mistrial" and would consider next steps in consultation with Mann.

"For nearly a decade, Jessica Mann has fought for justice. Over the course of many weeks during three separate trials, she relived unthinkably painful experiences in front of complete strangers," the statement said. "Her perseverance and bravery are inspiring to the members of my office, and more importantly, to survivors everywhere."

Weinstein's lawyers have said that he is in poor health. He used a wheelchair in court and did not testify on the stand in this trial, nor during any of his previous criminal cases. At one point during jury deliberations, Judge Farber announced Weinstein could not appear in court due to complaints of "chest pains."

Weinstein has given a limited number of interviews from prison, including with far-right podcaster Candace Owens and the Daily Mail. Most recently, he spoke with The Hollywood Reporter from Rikers Island.

When asked whether he had apologized to any of the women who brought charges against him, Weinstein told The Hollywood Reporter, "I apologized to them generally. You can't call them when you're in a trial with them. But I'll say it here today: I apologize to those women. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been with them in the first place. I misled them."

Citing his health issues, including bone marrow cancer, Weinstein said, "I'm dying here. And the DA's idea is probably to have me dying in prison. But I am dying."

More than 30 teams will take their handmade cars through a custom downhill course of twisty turns and obstacles Saturday as the Red Bull Soapbox Race returns to Los Angeles for the first time in nearly a decade.

Teams from across the country were selected from hundreds of applicants to compete on creativity, design, showmanship, course navigation and time.

There are no engines allowed in this race — all soapboxes must be gravity-powered.

Fully-functioning brakes and steering are required, but almost every other aspect of the engineering and design is left up to the competitors’ imaginations. According to Red Bull, the soapbox should be an extension of its team, the wilder and more outrageous the better.

From real racers to a car made out of bicycle parts

Contestants take on the course at the Red Bull Soapbox Race in Salt Lake City, Utah, in 2025.

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Long Nguyen

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Courtesy Red Bull

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The race includes competitors from across Southern California and beyond.

UCLA Bruin Racing, made up of the school’s Formula SAE Squad (which also design and race specialized cars), entered with its “Mk. 9 racer” soapbox that was originally an out of commission EV car.

Metro LA repurposed parts from some of the unclaimed bikes left behind on the transit system for its “carrot-colored” bus design (and yes, that is the agency’s nod to Tyler, the Creator’s song "Rah Tah Tah." IYKYK).

The Seagrave 13 team from Las Vegas is dedicating their soapbox to Pasadena first responders who battled last year’s Eaton Fire. They’re planning to donate the car to the L.A. County Fire Museum after the race.

Built on a patio

One of the homegrown teams trying their luck this year is made up of a group of renters and friends in Santa Monica and Victorville who built their “Runaway Hotdog Stand” soapbox on an apartment patio.

“The fact that we're able to do this shows that I mean anybody could do this, and honestly could do anything else,” Carlos Monson, captain of the Speedy Wiener team, told LAist.

The Speedy Wiener team drew their design inspiration from L.A.’s iconic hot dog carts, typically a small grill that serves bacon and veggie toppings outside concerts, sporting events and tourist attractions.

The Speedy Wiener team modeled their soapbox after L.A.'s iconic hotdog carts.

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Courtesy Carlos Monson

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“For us, luckily, a majority of them are Latino and we're like, you know what, this is actually a perfect opportunity because the whole team is Latino,” said Monson, who will also be driving the soapbox.

The group of friends, between 18 and 21 years of age, built most of their cherry-red car on Monson’s apartment patio under Victorville’s glaring sun.

The Speedy Wiener repurposed the base of an old, rickety go-kart frame for their "Runaway Hotdog Stand" soapbox.

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Courtesy Carlos Monson

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They repurposed the base using an old, rickety go-kart frame that Monson said took about an hour just to carry up the stairs and get through the front door.

They worked on the soapbox in between classes and shifts at work. The final touches include stamping their Speedy Wiener logo and adding a mock-menu to the frame. There’s also ketchup and mustard bottles with yellow and red streamers hanging from the nozzles and a rainbow umbrella over the wheel.

The team, made up of renters between 18 and 21 years old, built most of the soapbox on their captain's apartment patio in Victorville.

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Courtesy Carlos Monson

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For the car’s structure, Monson turned to a collection of cardboard boxes he had lying around after a recent move and attached the various pieces with zip ties.

“We'll be able to hopefully last when they make it down the race track,” he said.

Engineering students’ big break

Another entrant on Saturday is the Los Ingenieros, a group of mechanical engineering students from Cerritos College in Norwalk, who has taken inspiration from the team’s Hispanic heritage and Los Angeles culture.

Their car is lucha libre-themed with rails modeled after a wrestling ring and the driver donning a muscle suit and mask.

The red, white and green colors represent the Mexican flag and features Chicano-style pinstriping from L.A.’s lowriders, as well as some Aztec patterns.

The Los Ingenieros team is made up of a group of mechanical engineering students from Cerritos College.

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Courtesy Ruben Orozco

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“It's definitely going to be a powerful testimony to our culture,” said Ruben Orozco, a Los Ingenieros member from La Mirada.

The team never expected to be picked for the race, and Orozco said the invitation has been “mind-blowing” and “surreal.”

Arelie Marquez, another member from Long Beach, told LAist she sketched the design for the modified go-kart frame before the team chopped the wheels, boosted the back axle and added suspension. While some of the students drew up blueprints on engineering computer software, Marquez used her welding experience to help mount the brackets — all in Orozco’s backyard.

As a community college student, Orozco said he’s felt like he’s missed out on opportunities to showcase their knowledge and innovations compared to students in the Cal State or UC system, but the Red Bull Soapbox Race has helped shed that notion.

“Not only has it been reassuring to myself, but also we've used it as a platform to kind of show others in STEM, in community colleges, that you could do crazy things as a student,” he said.

And yes, the team is already highlighting the unique engineering experience on their resumes, according to Gabriel Ramirez, a Compton resident and another member along with his twin brother, Hector.

Their next challenge? Cramming for finals next week.

The Surfrider Foundation is hosting a protest in the Pacific Ocean on Sunday to oppose what it sees as mounting threats to our California coastline.

In 2015, a pipeline operated by Plains All American spilled more than 100,000 gallons of crude oil near Refugio State Beach in Santa Barbara County. Hundreds of marine mammals were killed or injured and beaches across the region were contaminated.

Bill Hickman, a senior regional manager with the Surfrider Foundation, remembers it well.

“I live in Ventura. We had a bottlenose dolphin wash up here that was covered in oil,” Hickman told LAist. “That was really sad to see. And there was oil on the beach all the way down to L.A.”

The spill also “shut down fisheries, closed multiple beaches, and impacted recreational uses such as camping, non-commercial fishing, and beach visits,” according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

In March, the Trump administration invoked the Defense Production Act to bring that same pipeline, now run by Texas-based Sable Offshore, back online. The company says that the system will produce tens of thousands of barrels of oil a day, as well as “provide a secure, consistent source of domestic crude oil, replacing approximately 1 million barrels per month of imports.”

But Hickman and other environmental advocates say restarting the pipeline raises serious concerns. California sued the Trump administration in March to keep it shut.

The restart, along with the Trump administration’s push to open the California coast up to new oil and gas drilling for the first time in decades, has Hickman sounding the alarm.

“Right now it seems like if you’re not outraged you’re not paying attention,” Hickman said. “And luckily a lot of people are really fired up about all of the threats to the environment and particularly the Santa Barbara channel.”

Oil spills like the one in 2015 could also deeply affect tourism, the fishing industry and lead to billions in cleanup costs, according to Gov, Gavin Newsom’s office. In a January 2026 statement opposing the Trump administration’s new offshore drilling plans, the governor’s office said the state's coastal economy “supports hundreds of thousands of jobs and generates over $44 billion annually.”

On Sunday morning, Hickman will be part of a spiritual ritual in surf culture: a paddle-out into the ocean at Refugio State Beach.

He said anyone with a human-powered craft is welcome to join the circle to oppose drilling on our coasts.

“People are standing up. There’s a lot of opposition,” Hickman said. “Californians really treasure our coast, our beaches, our waves and really want to protect them.”