The Brief

As a Republican in the Democratic-controlled state Assembly, Bill Essayli doesn’t expect his bills to pass.

That isn’t going to stop him from introducing some, though. Most recently, the Corona lawmaker proposed repealing new state funding to provide healthcare to undocumented immigrants.

Whether the bill is going to pass is the wrong question, he said. His goal is to start a discussion, and to provide a clear contrast on policy to voters.

“Ultimately, we use a lot of bills to communicate issues and to get the Democrat Party on record on where they stand on common sense policy positions,” he said.

Essayli isn’t alone. It’s common practice for California legislators on both sides of the aisle to author bills to make a political statement.

In 1971, then-Sen. Leroy Greene was motivated by a “bemusing” headline to introduce a bill legalizing prostitution — a tall order, despite support from his district. In 1994, then-Assemblymember Mickey Conroy’s bill to allow “public paddling of graffiti vandals” made it to the Assembly floor before it was defeated.

Besides bills that are just political statements, dozens of others don’t make it into law because they duplicate existing laws, or are deemed “solutions in search of a problem.”

In the 2024 session, the deadline to introduce new bills is Feb. 16 and the final day to pass them is Aug. 31. Because of this year’s multi-billion dollar budget deficit, lawmakers have been warned by legislative leaders and the governor to be judicious in introducing bills.

That may have its upsides. About 2,000 bills are introduced each year, which some legislators say makes it difficult to study each one — or each version — in depth before voting on them.

The lawmaking process is also not free: Although there are fixed costs, in 2002 the Legislative Analyst’s Office estimated that each bill cost at least $18,000 to go from introduction to passage: Each bill is given a title and number, goes through analysis by committee staff and is printed out.

An updated dollar figure from the legislative analyst was not available, but adjusting for inflation, each bill today costs in the neighborhood of $30,000. That means the cost of the 1,046 bills sent to Gov. Gavin Newsom last year would total about $31 million.

Still, party leaders and committee chairpersons might be hard-pressed to block bill introductions. That’s because they understand members must answer to outside forces, which include constituents they’re supposed to represent, voters who decide whether to re-elect them and interest groups that help fund their campaigns.

Even Jerry Brown, who famously vetoed a bill with the message, “Not every human problem deserves a law,” signed a majority of those sent to his desk while he was governor.

“A newly introduced bill is a bright, shiny object that gets lots of attention and gets people excited,” said Dan Schnur, a politics professor at UC Berkeley, USC and Pepperdine University.

But he added: “Making sure that bill does what it was supposed to do isn’t nearly as glamorous, but it’s just as important.”

Shooting for the moon

Ideas for bills come from several different sources — from past lawmakers, advocacy or other interest groups, in response to current events and, occasionally, from constituents.

But why might lawmakers introduce bills they know won’t pass?

“I used to always introduce what I call ‘diarrhea bills,’ to give people a heart attack or to just try to get attention on an issue,” said former Assembly Speaker Bob Hertzberg.

One benefit lies in the “political industrial complex”: Introducing a bill on a hot topic can propel a lawmaker into discussions that might benefit them politically.

“There’s a whole architecture of analysts and lawyers that look at every single piece of legislation — so it’s a unique opportunity to participate in the discussion,” said Hertzberg, who served as Assembly speaker from 2000 to 2002 and Senate majority leader from 2019 to 2022.

Then-state Sen. Robert Hertzberg, a Democrat from Van Nuys, presides over a Senate Governance and Finance Committee meeting in 2015 at the state Capitol in Sacramento.

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But once a less-than-stellar bill is introduced, what keeps it moving?

In Hertzberg’s view, one major reason is because lawmakers are faced with too many bills to review, and are spread too thin on committee assignments — both of which he limited while speaker. That’s why he thinks the key is legislative leadership.

“It really boils down to early management, early understanding, early communication with your members — showing them respect, because you can’t tell a member you can’t do something. They have every constitutional right to do it,” he said. “But at the same time, you have to balance that respect with an institution.”

That also includes clearly defining each Legislature’s objectives: What are the big issues facing Californians? What does success look like?

“It’s not just getting rid of bad bills,” he said. “It’s making sure good bills go through, and making sure that good bills get the proper attention necessary.”

Who decides bills’ fate?

There isn’t an in-depth filtering process before bills are introduced.

The Office of Legislative Counsel, which drafts and reviews bill language, has attorney-client privilege with each lawmaker. So, according to the Senate’s rules, the office only notifies other members if a bill is “substantially identical” to another one in the works.

That leads to bills mostly being weeded out after introduction. One of the main filters: The appropriations committees and their suspense file hearings, where dozens of bills are quickly killed without explanation.

That means how far each bill gets often depends on legislative leadership. Anthony Rendon, the Assembly speaker from 2016 until last year, delegated a lot of decision-making power to committee chairpersons.

At his swearing-in, and at a January discussion hosted by the Public Policy Institute of California, current Speaker Robert Rivas emphasized that lawmakers’ job isn’t just to introduce new bills.

“We’re very good … of introducing bills to solve all of the state’s problems,” said the Salinas Democrat. “But we have a responsibility to look in the rearview mirror to ensure that bills we have passed in the past, policies that have been implemented, that they still work.”

Assemblymember Freddie Rodriguez, a Ponoma Democrat, tracks bills during session at the state Capitol in Sacramento on Aug. 24, 2023. Photo by Rahul Lal for CalMatters

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Senate President Pro Tem Toni Atkins, a San Diego Democrat who next week hands over the post she has held since 2018 and is running for governor in 2026, said in a statement to CalMatters that “Legislators are acutely aware of the budget constraints that we face and know to be mindful of that when introducing legislation.”

“We will continue to fight to protect our progress and fight for working Californians as we move through this year’s legislative session,” said Atkins, who also served as Assembly speaker from 2014 to 2016.

And, of course, the governor might intervene. In January, Newsom shut down a bill proposing a wealth tax by Bay Area Democratic Assemblymember Alex Lee, and one banning tackle football for kids under age 12 by Sacramento Democratic Assemblymember Kevin McCarty. Newsom also isn’t convinced about a bill by San Francisco Democratic Sen. Scott Wiener to require cars sold in California on or after 2027 to be equipped with speed limiters, telling Politico he’s wary of measures that could be weaponized by Republicans in an election year and to those with virtue signaling as the main motive.

But other bills go all the way through the Legislature before they’re vetoed by the governor.

According to lobbyist Chris Micheli’s review of the 156 bills Newsom vetoed last year:

• 18% were deemed unnecessary; 
• 10% were difficult or complicated to implement; 
• 6% were duplicative of executive branch actions;
• 64% were due to cost and the remainder for other reasons.

That means at least 50 bills “likely should not have been sent to his Desk and, arguably, should not have made it through the process at all,” Micheli wrote. “In fact, perhaps they should not have been introduced at all?”

But whether a bill is necessary, or practical, depends on who you ask. Some see attempts at a single-payer healthcare system as a longshot, while others see any efforts to divest state pension funds for different causes as posturing.

Former and current lawmakers note that sometimes a bill can seem like grandstanding — until social or political winds shift, or the Legislature becomes more diverse.

On Wednesday, the California Legislative Black Caucus announced a package of 14 measures, based on the recommendations of a first-in-the-nation state reparations task force that was created in the aftermath of the police killing of George Floyd and held more than two years of public hearings.

The package does not include direct cash payments to those harmed by slavery — the most controversial aspect of the reparations discussion in California— but instead takes a more comprehensive approach to dismantling the legacy of systemic racism, the caucus said. The bills cover civil rights, criminal justice, education and health, and one would request a formal apology for slavery from the governor and Legislature.

But some of the bills that include a price tag are meant to set the stage for future requests, said Assemblymember Lori Wilson, a Democrat from Suisun City and chairperson of the 12-member caucus.

“There’s a number of bills that they would love to get across the finish line. But they also recognize in this budget environment, and without laying the foundation for reparations yet with colleagues, it is unlikely,” she said. “However, they’re doing it intentionally, to start the conversation.”

Making a statement

Of course, no one says legislators can never make political statements through bills.

That’s where resolutions also come in: Measures that can express the opinions of either one or both chambers — though they don’t create or change state policy. They also don’t always have to go through policy committees, and don’t require the governor’s signature.

They can be an avenue for California lawmakers to weigh in on issues beyond the state’s direct scope: After Hamas’ attack in Israel on Oct. 7 and the Israeli government’s response, several legislative caucuses sent a letter to President Biden, calling on the administration to try and reduce civilian deaths in the Gaza conflict. Last month, the Senate Republican caucus introduced a resolution condemning Hamas.

But some have criticized resolutions as a way to please donors, to give the “false impression” that legislators are taking action on an issue — or just busywork that allows them to earn their per diems.

Neither the Assembly nor Senate restrict the number of resolutions members can introduce. But they’re limited to 40 bills per two-year session in the Senate, and 50 in the Assembly.

To some — including legislators — that’s still too many to be properly vetted, especially as they change through the process.

The bill limit in the Senate has dropped from 65 in 1995-96 to 50 in 2003-04 and to 40 in 2011-12. In the Assembly, the cap was 50 in 1993-94, dropped to 30 in 1997-98, increased to 40 in 2003-04 and back to the current 50 in 2017-18, according to the California State Library.

Prior to 1993, limits were focused not on the number of bills per lawmaker, but on when they could be introduced.

This session, Assemblymember Kate Sanchez, a Republican from Rancho Santa Margarita, introduced a resolution to decrease the Assembly’s limit to 25 bills per two-year session given the projected budget deficit.

“We need quality, not quantity,” she said.

While many lawmakers tout how many bills they passed at the end of each year to their constituents, that measure isn’t necessarily the best way to be a “good” lawmaker.

“My district did not elect me and send me here to pass more laws,” said Essayli. “No one said, ‘I need more laws and rules and regulations in my life.’ In fact, they want less.”

Micheli also supports further reducing the bill limit. He talks to clients about considering options outside the legislative process, such as working on regulations with state agencies, or by suing in the courts.

Often, he said, legislators look at the bill that’s in front of them and debate the language or provisions rather than looking at the underlying problem and determining whether legislation is the right approach. “Having that discussion could potentially reduce the need for bills, because again, does every problem require a bill?” he asked.

Micheli also agrees with Rivas that lawmakers should focus on implementation of the laws that already exist.

“One of your jobs is to make sure that public dollars are being spent wisely and efficiently,” he said. “They just don’t seem to get into it very much. And I think that’s unfortunate, because I think that is an appropriate role and responsibility of the legislative branch of government.”

According to new data from TikTok and theater trade group Cinema United fan-made TikToks can now do what big marketing campaigns couldn't always achieve: keep a movie thriving after opening weekend.

At this year's CinemaCon, the annual convention for movie theater owners, director Denis Villeneuve showed the first seven minutes of his third Dune film. He told the crowd he made his latest installment of the science fiction saga for the fans. And long before the December opening, fans have been posting their own reactions on TikTok.

"There's this incredible chant in Dune 3 that's in the trailer and what we've seen is it's a soundbite that users on TikTok have embraced and made their own content with," says Cameron Curtis, executive vice president of global digital marketing for Warner Bros.

He says TikTok is a tremendous platform for reaching new audiences.

"We often see that the creator content on [the] platform outperforms our traditional advertising content by 3-to-1. It's become just critical to our strategy and everything that we do," says Curtis.

He says Warner Bros. and other studios have been partnering with TikTok creators to market their films. According to TikTok executives, that's for good reason. "We really saw that the buzz doesn't stop with the opening weekend," says Dennis Papirowski, TikTok's global head of Entertainment and News.

He says every day, the platform's users create 6.5 million posts related to content from new and classic films and TV shows. According to TikTok, half of their users say they discovered a new movie through the platform. And of those, more than a third looked up showtimes and purchased a movie ticket.

Dawn Yang, the company's global head of entertainment partnerships and business development, says studios tend to do a lot of marketing for the first weekend a film opens.

"But on TikTok, it really takes off after the first weekend," she says, "because people have seen the entire movie and they want to talk about it."

TikTokers post enthusiastic movie reviews, they cosplay and reenact scenes, and some create new edits from the official trailers and footage. For instance, 24-year-old college student Josiah Pilet remixed Spider-Man clips set to music.

Fan edits would have been no-nos in the old Hollywood strategy of protecting intellectual property, says Paul Dergarabedian, senior media analyst for Comscore, which analyzes the box office.

"There was a time when studios did not want marketing messaging going out that wasn't from them," he says. Now, he says even negative responses to movies are welcome "as long as it's not something horrible, that can boost the profile of a movie and excitement around it, because sometimes people want to see what the fuss is all about."

Dergarabedian says studios are increasingly embracing and harnessing the power of short TikToks made by the key Gen Z audience.

"You have some movies that open huge, have a huge opening weekend, then drop by 70% or more in their second weekend," he says. "But the way you keep people coming back is that you not only have a great movie, but the social media engagement continues, amplifies and creates that excitement and the FOMO factor among potential moviegoers."

Take last year's box office hit Sinners. Cinema United and TikTok's report found that buzz about the film surged on the platform during its opening week — and ticket sales barely dipped the following week.

But social media platforms, including TikTok, have also sometimes caused minor headaches for theaters. Last year, fan-made posts chronicled the mayhem sparked by a line spoken by Jack Black's character in The Minecraft Movie.

Audiences shouted "chicken jockey" along with him and tossed popcorn in theaters. The ruckus was so chaotic that one fan even carried a live chicken into the movie, as shown by one viral video.

At CinemaCon, Warner Bros. executives offered a good-natured apology to theater owners for the mess.

But it's not just fans posting TikToks. As executive director of communications and content for B&B Theatres, Paul Farnsworth makes funny TikToks, starring himself and the staff — often in the lobby, playing around with the latest movies.

"It's like a little wink-wink joke, nothing that you're going to like, pay money to go see a stand-up comedian say," he says. "But I think for us, it indicates to our guests a sensibility of like the playfulness of the movies, the magic of the experience, the shared communal thing that we're all trying to achieve with them."

Farnsworth says he asks the studios for guidance on the material — hoping his viral TikToks get people into movie theaters.

The man arrested in connection with the shooting at the White House Correspondents' Association Dinner Saturday night was identified as Cole Allen by two sources familiar with the matter. The sources spoke to NPR on condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to speak publicly.

Shooting details

Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., third from left, is taken out of the ballroom by security agents during a shooting incident at the annual White House Correspondents' Association Dinner.

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The shooting took place outside the ballroom at the Washington Hilton, where the dinner was underway. President Donald Trump on Saturday released what appears to be video surveillance footage that shows a man quickly moving past security officials, who then draw their weapons. Trump, who was safely evacuated with his wife, Melania, and other top officials, also shared images via his Truth Social account late Saturday of a shirtless man detained on the floor of the hotel.

Todd Blanche, the acting U.S. Attorney General, told Meet the Press on Sunday morning that they believed the gunman was targeting "administration officials," but didn't want to be more specific since the investigation was still underway. He said the targets "likely" included the president.

He also said investigators believed the gunman had traveled to D.C. from California via train and was staying at the hotel with two firearms. Blanche said the man purchased those firearms within the last couple of years.

At a news conference following the shooting, Jeffery Carroll of D.C.'s Metropolitan Police said that the suspect said the suspect "was armed with a shotgun, a handgun and multiple knives."

Jeanine Pirro, U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia, said at that same news briefing that the gunman would face federal charges. Authorities say the man will be charged Monday.

What we know about the gunman's SoCal ties

FBI personnel confer with Torrance police officers on the street of the house connected to Cole Tomas Allen, the shooting suspect at the White House Correspondents' Dinner late Saturday.

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The FBI searched a home connected to Allen in Torrance late Saturday.

According to a LinkedIn profile under his name, Allen obtained a bachelor's degree in mechanical engineering from the California Institute of Technology in 2017, and a master's degree in computer science from California State University, Dominguez Hills in 2025.

The profile also says that one of his employers is C2 Education, a tutoring and college test prep center with a location in Torrance, where he was named "Teacher of the Month" in a December 2024 post.

A search of California's Commission on Teacher Credentialing did not surface a credentialed teacher by that name.

“We were shocked to hear the news of the horrifying incident that transpired at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. We are cooperating fully with law enforcement to assist them in their investigation. Violence of any kind is never the answer," C2 Education said in an email response to LAist seeking comments.

Statements from local schools

As news reports spread identifying the gunman as a California teacher from Torrance, the Torrance Unified School District said in a statement Saturday night that the alleged gunman is not an employee of the school district and has never worked there.

"While details are still emerging and facts remain under investigation, early reports have referenced a teacher from Torrance as being involved," the statement from Torrance Unified said. "We want to clarify that the individual named in the news is not an employee of the Torrance Unified School District and has never worked in our district."

Cal State Dominguez Hills, in a statement, said a man with the name of the alleged gunman had graduated from the school in 2025, but could not confirm if it was the same person.

"A student named Cole Allen graduated with a master’s degree from California State University, Dominguez Hills in 2025. The university cannot confirm if this is the same suspect identified in the April 25 shooting at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner," the statement said.

Caltech also said it had not independently confirmed the alleged gunman was the same person who attended their university.

"An undergraduate student by the name of Cole Allen graduated from Caltech in 2017," university officials said in a statement. "Based on media reports, we are aware that federal authorities have identified a suspect by the name of Cole Allen in the April 25 shooting incident at the Washington Correspondents’ Dinner. We do not have details from the investigation to confirm that the suspect and our undergraduate alumnus are the same person."

The math club at Bella Vista Elementary School is not a quiet affair — not with more than a dozen 10- and 11-year-olds stacking sets of mahjong.

But before the games can begin, it's time for math lessons.

"Remind me, math is the study of what?" fourth grade teacher Andy Luong asks the class.

Buena Vista elementary school teacher Andy Luong goes over different elements of mahjong with the afterschool math club.

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Some of the 16 students that make up the mahjong math club at Bella Vista Elementary, with club co-founder Rachel Hwang.

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"Pattern, patterns," the kids say.

Luong clicks through several slides, each featuring a mahjong tile the students call "seven sticks."

 "When you first learned this tile, what did you use to memorize this?" Luong, co-founder of the Mahjong Math Club, asks.

"They look like sticks," a boy says.

Luong locks in on a slide for a few seconds, just a flash. It features six tiles, divided into two rows. He asks the class how many tiles they see.

 "Three on the top and three on the bottom," a girl says. " So when I saw the pattern, I was like, 'Oh, it's six.'"

Luong nods. " Recognizing those patterns are a lot faster than counting 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6," he says.

The game that never goes out of style

The tile game of mahjong is believed to have started in China in the 19th century, after decades if not centuries of evolution. It spread globally, adopting regional specificities, including in the U.S. after it landed in the late 1910s from Shanghai by way of an American businessman. A few decades later, a group of Jewish American women established the National Mah Jongg League in New York.

The game never stopped being a staple of Chinese and many Asian cultures — anywhere in the world.

Intergenerational Mahjong is a monthly series held in Monterey Park, one of many new mahjong social clubs in L.A.

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In recent years, fueled in part by the COVID-19 shutdown, an interest in the game has sparked among young Asian Americans. They form or attend social clubs in L.A. dedicated to the pastime, creating their own bond with the game.

Luong is one of them. When he was growing up in Illinois, the game came with certain connotations.

" Mahjong has such a bad rap in the Asian American community," Luong said, who moved to the San Gabriel Valley about a decade ago. "Part of a big reason why my parents don't play is because they associate it with gambling."

The 30-year-old finally gave the game a spin in 2024, learning it from third grade teacher and math club co-founder Rachel Hwang. She cut her teeth by watching her family play. Naturally, she threw Luong in the deep end.

" I was like, 'Here, we're just gonna play,'" Hwang said. " I just put the tiles on."

"I was so overwhelmed. It's like, 'What do you mean I had to get a set? A set of how much?' I'm like, 'I don't know what I'm doing,'" he said.

Still, Luong fell head over heels, quickly becoming a regular at the mahjong social clubs (in fact, it was at one of those events where I first met him) and a student of the game.

In learning it, Luong figured out how to teach it.

Principal Jennifer Martinez of Bella Vista Elementary in Monterey Park

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"He was the one [that] as a learner didn't grow up playing this game," Hwang said. "He was the one that found the tutorials, watched the tutorials, and he really, from a learner's perspective, figured out what a kid needed to learn and how they needed to learn in order to play the game."

Last year, Luong submitted a proposal to start a math club focused on mahjong at the school.

" It was pretty much slam dunk. It explores other avenues of the cultural experience that we want our students to learn," said Jennifer Martinez,  principal of Bella Vista Elementary School.  "It was something that we wanted to get off the ground right away and support."

Since September, the club has been meeting on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. It was so popular Luong and Hwang brought in help to run the club.

“ I don't feel like they're really doing math,” said Ruolin Chen, a kindergarten teacher who was recruited. "It's like they're learning from playing or playing from learning.”

Let the games begin

Fifth graders Emily Le and Brianna Azpeitia at the mahjong math club.

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Fifth grader Liam Torres.

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Back in the classroom, Luong clicks to a last slide to remind the club how to maximize "points" with certain "hands." This semester, the club is playing Hong Kong style mahjong — three point minimum win.

Finally, it's game time. The group of mainly fourth and fifth graders take their seats at the tables: mixing the tiles, stacking them into starting formation, casting the die, so on and so forth.

Then, they build their hand, meticulously rearranging the 13 tiles according to their suits — or in math club parlance, patterns.

The clank of tiles and sounds of "pong" and "gong" soon fill the air.

Pattern recognition, strategy, situational awareness, probability, learning when to pivot or to fold — those are some of the learnings the math club intends.

"Andy is so structured," Hwang said of Luong's design of the club. " The first two weeks, they didn't even play a game. It was like, 'Let's look at the tiles. How many tiles do you see? Pick out and group them into sets.'"

Fifth grader Uma Alvarado.

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Fifth grader Benjamin Garcia.

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Fifth grader Uma Alvarado shows me her hand. She's going all "pong" — trying to assemble four sets of three identical tiles. It'd be worth three points if she wins.

Alvarado says what brings her to the club is the opportunity to hang out with her schoolmates. But trying something new is pretty cool too.

"I get to mix the tiles and find new ways to play a game I have never been introduced to before," she adds.

At another table, fourth grader Bonnie Kuang says the game keeps her on her toes.

Fourth grader Bonnie Kuang (left) and fifth grader Ian Maldonado.

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Fourth grader Sofia Mandic explains how the club has taught her pattern recognition.

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"I think it's fun to use different strategies, and maybe I need to change strategy mid-game," Kuang said. "And I like it when I win."

Sofia Mandic, her same grade classmate and opponent across the table, says the pace of the game makes quick tile recognition key.

"You need to think fast. You need to think to yourself if you need it or not," Mandic says, because oftentimes, there are just seconds to make a decision.

Bringing mahjong into the classroom

Pattern recognition, strategy, situational awareness, probability, learning when to pivot or to fold — those are some of the learnings the math club intends.

"Andy is so structured," Hwang said of Luong's design of the club. " The first two weeks, they didn't even play a game. It was like, 'Let's look at the tiles. How many tiles do you see? Pick out and group them into sets.'"

It's all part of a teaching method known as "counting collections" that focuses on hands-on, student-centered learning experiences to build informal math knowledge. It's one aspect of a body of research called Cognitively Guided Instruction, which all math teachers at Bella Vista are trained in. Luong is applying it to guide his approach.

A slide used in the mahjong math club to teach kids how to calculate points.

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A slide used in the mahjong math club teaching kids how to increase points with certain combinations.

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" We need to have them see there's four different types of tiles. There's [Chinese] characters, there's sticks, circles, and there's honorary tiles," Luong said. "They're not going to know unless they actually see it and they use their hands."

Even then, it's a lot to process. It could be downright overwhelming when a kid has to juggle all the elements all at once during game play.

"The very first time that we actually started playing, some of them didn't finish a game. It took an entire period," Luong said.

It took about a month into the club before the mechanics of the game — things like drawing a tile, discarding the ones they don't want — became routine; and another two months for the kids to play faster and without supervision.

Teachers Rachel Hwang, Ruolin Chen and Andy Luong. They run the Mahjong Math Club at Bella Vista Elementary in Monterey Park.

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"A lot of the students who don't know Mandarin, or have any Chinese background, are starting to recognize the characters. I'm really proud to say that," Luong said.

Ultimately, the teachers want the kids to take away from the game a lesson about life.

"What we really want the kids to do is not to have such a fixed mindset," Luong said.

" We want them to, A) be flexible, B) change up your game plan," Hwang said. "It's OK. Life is going to throw curve balls at you."

Updated April 26, 2026 at 16:56 PM ET

President Trump and the first lady are uninjured after a shooting at the White House Correspondents' Dinner on Saturday in Washington, D.C. A suspect is in custody, according to a statement from the U.S. Secret Service.

In remarks from the White House after the incident, the president said a Secret Service agent is "doing great" after being shot in a bulletproof vest. The Secret Service said the incident took place at a security screening area inside the Washington Hilton hotel near the entrance to the main ballroom where the event was taking place. There are no reports of further injuries.

The suspect has been identified as Cole Allen, according to two sources familiar with the matter. The sources spoke on condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to speak publicly.

Trump shared surveillance footage online which appears to show law enforcement reacting to an assailant sprinting through an area of the hotel. He also posted pictures of a man, shirtless, with his eyes closed lying face down on a carpet.

Cole is being charged with using a firearm during a crime of violence and assault on a federal officer using a dangerous weapon, with more charges likely, according to Jeanine Pirro, the U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia.

At a law enforcement press conference, Jeffery Carroll of DC's Metropolitan Police said that the suspect "was armed with a shotgun, a handgun and multiple knives." Law enforcement said they believe the suspect was a guest at the hotel.

He was evaluated at a local hospital after the incident and was not hit by gunfire, according to law enforcement.

Getty Images photographer Andrew Harnik takes photos as a security official points his weapon after an incident at the annual White House Correspondents' Association Dinner.

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A chaotic scene

Gunshots were heard by gathered reporters shortly after 8:30 p.m. ET. Several guests were seen fleeing the ballroom where hundreds of journalists, politicians and attendees were gathered — including Trump, Vice President Vance and other members of the administration.

Video from inside the room showed security quickly clear the guests on the main stage — including the president and first lady. Someone can be heard shouting "stay down."

President Trump took to social media shortly after being rushed out to praise the Secret Service.

Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is taken out of the ballroom by security agents during a shooting incident at the annual White House Correspondents Association Dinner.

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"Quite an evening in D.C. Secret Service and Law Enforcement did a fantastic job. They acted quickly and bravely. The shooter has been apprehended," Trump wrote.

The president said in a later post that all cabinet members are safe.

"I said earlier tonight that journalism is a public service, because when there is an emergency, we run to the crisis, not away from it. And on a night when we are thinking about the freedoms in the First Amendment, we must also think about how fragile they are," Weijia Jiang, the president of the correspondents' association, said. "I saw all of you reporting, and that's what we do. Thank God everybody's safe and and thank you for coming together tonight. We will do this again."

First lady Melania Trump and President Trump were sitting next to each other just before they were rushed out of the ballroom at the Washington Hilton.

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Several members of Congress were seen leaving the event by foot, including Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse, D-R.I., and Rep. Jared Moskowitz, D-Fla.

Attacks on Trump and the press

Both the president and members of the press have been targeted for violence in recent years.

During his 2024 reelection effort, Trump was injured in a shooting at a July rally in Pennsylvania when a bullet whizzed past his head, grazing his ear. Two attendees were wounded, and rally-goer and former fire chief Corey Comperatore was killed.

A Secret Service sniper shot and killed the perpetrator.

In September 2024, a Secret Service agent saw a man holding a semi-automatic rifle hidden in the tree line at Trump International in West Palm Beach. The suspect fled in his car and was arrested a short time later.

White House Correspondents Association President and CBS Senior White House Correspondent Weijia Jiang pauses while coming back to the stage to speak after a shooting incident at the annual White House Correspondents Association Dinner.

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He was later sentenced to life in prison.

During the Jan. 6, 2021, riot at the U.S. Capitol building, more than a dozen journalists were attacked in targeted assaults by rioters, according to a tally by the Freedom of the Press foundation. "Murder the media" was etched into a doorway during the attack.

In 2018, a man mailed pipe bombs to people and organizations he perceived to be critics of Donald Trump, including CNN offices in New York and Atlanta. He was sentenced to 20 years in prison.

The Washington Hilton, which played host to Saturday's dinner, is also the site of past political violence — in 1981, President Reagan was shot and seriously wounded outside of the hotel.

Three others were also injured in the attack, including Reagan's press secretary James Brady, who sustained brain damage and was permanently disabled in the attack. He became a gun control activist, successfully lobbying alongside his wife Sarah Brady for a background check system for firearm sales.

The White House Press Briefing Room, where Trump made brief remarks after the incident, was later renamed in his honor.

Deepa Shivaram and Ryan Lucas contributed to this report.

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