The Brief

Election night 15 years ago — Nov. 4, 2008 — LGBTQ+ voters in California experienced a kind of political whiplash: euphoria and despair in one night as the states' voters overwhelmingly chose to elect Barack Obama president, while simultaneously taking away the right of same-sex couples to marry.

Proposition 8 — eliminating a right to marriage that had been granted to gay and lesbian couples by the California Supreme Court less than six months earlier — passed with 52% of the vote.

Two years later, on Jan. 11, 2010, two same-sex couples, Kris Perry and Sandy Stier, and Jeffrey Zarrillo and Paul Katami, had their day in federal court when they sued to overturn Prop. 8 after they were denied marriage licenses.

That trial, which included expert witnesses testifying under oath about anti-gay tropes, theories and political arguments, resulted in the measure being struck down. The federal judge presiding over that two-week trial deemed the case for banning same-sex marriage to be unconstitutional, a violation of the due process and equal protection clauses of the 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.

The U.S. Supreme Court essentially upheld the lower court ruling in a 5-4 decision, June 26, 2013, by declining to take up the appeal.

For more than a decade after it ended, videotapes of the trial were kept under seal, until KQED successfully fought a long legal battle that resulted in the U.S. Supreme Court allowing them to be unsealed.

After the videotapes were released, KQED invited the four Prop. 8 plaintiffs — Kris Perry and Sandy Stier along with Paul Katami and Jeffrey Zarrillo — to view them for the first time and talk about the trial, its aftermath, and its significance today.

Those videos can be viewed here and here. (Or watch them below)

Reflecting on the trial, its aftermath, and its significance now

One thing that stood out is the "Yes on 8" messages such as "Protect the Children," with television commercials saying unless the measure passed children would be encouraged to marry someone of their same gender.

Those messages still echo today in political rhetoric and legislation related to high school sports and the use of bathrooms by transgender youth.

The campaign to ban same-sex marriages in California was promoted by leaders in the Catholic and Mormon Churches.

"The sad part of it is, that campaign worked because the convenience of the lie won people over, and the lie was based on fear," recalls Paul Katami. "And that fear included children. So I would never say it was a brilliant tactic, but it was an evil tactic."

That tactic using the guise of protecting children from harm brought by LGBTQ people is still at work today by politicians and ultraconservative groups like Moms for Liberty, who talk about parental rights to push back against policies that support transgender youth and their families.

Attorney Thomas R. Burke led KQED's successful legal battle to unseal the tapes.

He says the trial tested the homophobic, hateful arguments promoted by opponents of LGBTQ+ rights. The witnesses, the withering cross-examinations, and the poignant testimony is all caught on video that is now available to anyone who wants to watch.

"The evidence didn't support you," Burke says, referring to "Yes on 8" defenders. "You had great lawyers arguing your cause and you didn't win. And if people thought you should have won, they can see and judge for themselves. If you didn't have that recorded, that couldn't happen."

The historic trial resulted in a landmark decision on Aug. 2, 2010 when Judge Vaughn R. Walker struck down the ballot measure — but it was hardly a foregone conclusion at the start.

"I remember feeling very anxious and scared, honestly, not knowing how any of it would turn out," lead plaintiff Kris Perry, now 59, says after viewing trial clips at KQED. "People were really, you know, counting on us to deliver. And there was a lot of pressure."

Perry's wife, Sandy Stier, 61, recalls what seemed like days and days of preparation before going on the stand. She remembers worrying about how the trial might affect their lives, "not only for me, what it might be like for my kids, for my parents, my siblings and my community. And so it was very, very anxious going into court that day, not knowing."

Zarrillo and Katami were the first witnesses called to testify.

"I had so many fears going into the trial," Katami says. "I was not confident because this was uncharted territory for both of us as human beings."

"I said to Paul at one point, 'Even if we lose, we can go to our graves knowing that we didn't stand for being treated as second class citizens,' " Zarrillo recalls. "We tried to do something about it."

Jeff Zarrillo (left) and Paul Katami, plaintiffs in the landmark 2010 lawsuit that overturned California's ban on same-sex marriage, sit during an interview at the KQED offices in San Francisco on March 3.

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Kori Suzuki

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Kori Suzuki / KQED News

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Trial makes people aware of rights denied

The trial was originally going to be televised on closed circuit TV via YouTube until Prop. 8 attorneys objected and the U.S. Supreme Court intervened to prevent it. But Judge Walker recorded the trial anyway, he said, for his personal use in writing the decision.

On the stand, Katami was asked by one of the attorneys who represented the plaintiffs, David Boies, what the big deal was about not being able to marry when they had the option of domestic partnership.

"The big deal is it's creating a separate category for us. And that's a major deal because it makes you into a second, third ... and fourth class citizen," Katami said that day in January 2010.

Reflecting on his testimony Katami, says until the Prop. 8 trial, many heterosexuals didn't know the hundreds of rights automatically afforded straight couples — but denied to LGBTQ people. For example, some rights are not automatically afforded same sex couples, like social security benefits of a partner who dies.

"And if you don't have that protection because marriage allows that protection, there's a bright spotlight that shines down on those rights when you don't have them," Katami says.

Viewing the trial tapes, Zarrillo notes that, "When you're on the stand like that, you have to really figure out, 'how do I answer this question [in a way] that is not going to hurt our cause?' " he says.

When Perry was asked in court to describe her relationship with Stier, whom she met while both were students at U.C. Santa Cruz, Perry testified that, "I met Sandy thinking she was maybe the sparkliest person I ever met. And I wanted to be her friend."

On the stand, Stier testified that after meeting Perry she "really felt like the thunderbolt of change for me." Unlike Perry, Stier wasn't an out lesbian at the time.

"I had moved to California, got married to a man, had two kids, and knew that something wasn't working for me," Stier tells KQED.

The trial tapes reveal the humanity of the issue, ably presented by the four plaintiffs, said Judge Walker recently.

"Both of the couples were very able witnesses — very attractive witnesses. ... So we're talking about matters that are intensely personal and important to them. That's pretty compelling testimony under any circumstances," Walker told KQED.

But the audible and visible emotion of their testimony was out of view, until the trial tapes were unsealed.

Of course, unlike TV shows, where every courtroom scene is riveting and entertaining, real-life trials are mostly "hours and hours of tedium broken episodically by sometimes emotions (or) events of great interest. But they are few and far between," Walker said.

Paul Katami (center left), a plaintiff in the landmark 2010 lawsuit that overturned California's ban on same-sex marriage, greets fellow plaintiffs Kris Perry (center right) Sandy Stier (right),and KQED Politics Editor Scott Shafer (left) ahead of an interview at the KQED offices in San Francisco on March 3.

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Kori Suzuki

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Kori Suzuki / KQED News

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Tapes show how courts deal with social issues

Still, the retired judge said the tapes will be useful in law schools to show students how courts deal with" a social issue or a constitutional issue of widespread importance."

After Prop. 8 was struck down in 2010 both couples soon married and remain so today. But LGBTQ people are still under attack by people hoping to use them as political fodder on behalf of conservative causes.

"I think that is incredibly dangerous," says transgender activist Honey Mahogany. "These are tropes that have always been a part of emotionally manipulating people to advantage a certain political group or cause, right? They're not based in fact."

Mahogany, who also chairs the San Francisco Democratic Central Committee, says release of the trial tapes helps to humanize issues and the plaintiffs.

"Seeing what happened during the trial behind the scenes is really important because it helps expose the truth," Mahogany says. "It helps expose the fact that this is just about two people loving each other, wanting to cement their relationship, wanting to protect each other ... and their children."

Mahogany says given the risks of failure, what the Prop. 8 plaintiffs did was "incredibly important and brave."

She hopes their example will embolden others to come forward today to humanize LGBTQ issues. "We can learn from history. We can, you know, find our champions and also our storytellers to help us tell our stories," Mahogany says.

With the videotapes now accessible online, the couples' stories told under oath can be seen by anyone who wishes to watch.

"They fought for a decade that this would not be seen," says attorney Burke. "And I think there's a reason for that," Burke adds, implying their arguments simply didn't hold up under legal scrutiny.

Although Walker's ruling striking down Proposition 8 was upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court, the wording of the Prop. 8 constitutional amendment remains in the California Constitution. But voters will have the chance to change that next November.

The State Legislature placed a measure on the fall 2024 ballot that removes that now-unenforceable language of Prop. 8 and replaces it with the statement that "marriage is a fundamental right" for all couples and is among " the inalienable rights to enjoy life and liberty and to pursue and obtain safety, happiness, and privacy."

It's an affirmation of the right of all couples to marry in California.

Raul Malo, the leader of the country band The Mavericks and one of the most recognizable voices in roots music, died Monday night, according to a representative of the band. The guitarist and singer had been battling cancer.

He was hospitalized last week, forcing him to miss tribute shows staged in his honor at the Ryman Auditorium over the weekend. He was 60 years old.

"No one embodied life and love, joy and passion, family, friends, music and adventure the way our beloved Raul did," read a statement released by his family.

Malo's group, The Mavericks, mourned the loss of their leader in a social post.

"Anyone with the pleasure of being in Raul's orbit knew that he was a force of human nature, with an infectious energy," the statement read. "Over a career of more than three decades entertaining millions around the globe, his towering creative contributions and unrivaled, generational talent created the kind of multicultural American music reaching far beyond America itself."

Over a career that lasted four decades, The Mavericks lived up to the band's name, challenging expectations and following a roadmap crafted by Malo's expansive musical upbringing as the son of Cuban immigrants in Miami.

"I grew up in a very musical household. There was all kinds of music around always," he told WHYY's Fresh Air in 1995. "We listened to everything from Hank Williams to Celia Cruz to Sam Cooke to Bobby Darin. It didn't matter."

In 1992, Malo told NPR that his widespread influences weren't always understood or appreciated in his South Florida hometown, but he said that his struggle to fit in taught him to trust his instincts. Malo had become the guitarist and lead singer for The Mavericks in 1989, alongside co-founders Robert Reynolds and Paul Deakin, and his roaring, sentimental voice defined the band's sound and remained its constant as the group's catalog moved from slow, tender ballads to full-throttle rock songs. In 1995, the band released its biggest hit with "All You Ever Do Is Bring Me Down," a swinging country song featuring an assist from Tex-Mex accordion legend Flaco Jimenez.

As the band grew in members and devoted listeners, The Mavericks continued to push the boundaries of American music, weaving a richly layered tapestry of textures and stories. With more than a dozen studio albums, The Mavericks collected praise and recognition from the Academy of Country Music, the Country Music Association and the Recording Academy. Although they took a hiatus for several years, Malo never stopped making music — and returned to his bandmates with renewed inspiration.

Following its 30th anniversary, the group released its first full-length Spanish album in 2020, aptly titled En Español. The record reimagined Latin standards and folklore-tinged popular tunes; it also made an implicit political statement about Latin music's contributions to American culture.

"In our own little way, if we could get somebody that perhaps is on the fence on issues and hears us singing in Spanish and perhaps reminds them of the beautiful cultures that make up what this country is trying to be and what it should be, so be it," Malo told NPR at the time. "Yeah, I'm OK with that."

The following year, the Americana Music Association recognized The Mavericks with the Trailblazer Award. In 2024, the band released its last studio album, Moon & Stars. The release coincided with news of Malo's cancer diagnosis, which he discussed openly with NPR's Ayesha Rascoe.

Before being hospitalized last week, Malo had been scheduled to perform with The Mavericks at a pair of tribute concerts held this past weekend at the legendary Ryman Auditorium in Nashville. Over 30 artists, including Patty Griffin, Jim Lauderdale and Steve Earle, still gathered to pay tribute to Malo, with some of the proceeds of the night going to the cancer prevention organization Stand Up To Cancer.

According to his spokesperson, though Malo was too ill to attend, the concert was streamed to his hospital room Friday night.

Copyright 2025 NPR

The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department has mostly blocked efforts to investigate misconduct within its ranks, according to the county inspector general, who announced his retirement Tuesday after 12 years on the job.

In an open letter, Max Huntsman cited examples of how the county has thwarted his efforts to watchdog the department, which in the past has been plagued with accusations that deputies use excessive force and lie on the job.

Huntsman said one example is former Sheriff Alex Villanueva’s misuse of criminal enforcement powers to discredit critics, such as opening an investigation into former County Supervisor Sheila Kuehl.

Villanueva was sheriff from 2018 to 2022.

“My requests for investigation were rejected,” Huntsman’s letter reads. “Even after receiving an official subpoena, the Sheriff’s Department has failed to turn over records regarding the improper surveillance.”

He added: “Sometimes members of the public wonder if frightening new surveillance techniques will be used for improper purposes under the guise of criminal investigation. Sadly, the answer is yes.”

Before becoming inspector general in 2013, Huntsman, 60, was a deputy district attorney who specialized in public corruption. He told LAist on Tuesday that the inspector general job wasn’t something he wanted initially.

“I didn’t want to go work for politicians,” he said. “But the need to provide some kind of independent reporting and analysis was significant.”

The Sheriff’s Department issued a statement saying it valued the Office of the Inspector General and all county oversight bodies and that it wished Huntsman and his family well in his retirement.

The department said it “continues to make great strides in advancing the department in a transparent manner.”

LAist also reached out to the county CEO and county counsel for comment, but they declined.

After George Floyd

In the letter, Huntsman says the state of California has come a long way in strengthening the power of local law enforcement oversight bodies, in part because of the 2020 murder of George Floyd by police in Minneapolis.

After widespread protests — and lobbying by Huntsman — the state provided authority to inspectors general to enforce subpoenas requiring law enforcement agencies to hand over documents and authorized external investigation of police misconduct, including deputy gang conduct.

The Sheriff’s Department — backed by county lawyers — has resisted.

“Los Angeles County may not follow those laws, but it will not be able to avoid them forever,” Huntsman wrote. “The county refuses to require the photographing of suspected gang tattoos in secretive groups that the undersheriff has identified as violating state law.”

“Just a few weeks ago, we requested some information regarding an investigation, and a pair of commanders refused to give it to us,” Huntsman said in an interview with LAist.

Origin of the office 

The Inspector General’s Office was created by the county Board of Supervisors in 2013 in response to a scandal that included former Sheriff Lee Baca covering up the abuses of jail inmates.

Baca went to federal prison.

Since then, the office has issued dozens of reports with recommendations for improving living conditions inside jails that some have described as “filthy,” stopping abuses of juveniles inside juvenile halls and providing shower privacy for inmates as part of the requirements under the Prison Rape Elimination Act.

“All of these abuses were reported by the Office of Inspector General and recommendations were ignored,” Huntsman wrote. Often, it took court orders to enact change.

“When we first blew the whistle on the torturous chaining of mentally ill prisoners to benches for 36 hours at a time, it was only a court order that ended the practice,” he wrote. “Time and time again, this pattern repeated itself.”

Huntsman wrote the county has permitted the Sheriff’s Department to block oversight and defunded the Office of Inspector General by removing a third of its staff.

“It's not surprising the county has driven out two successive chairs of the Sheriff Civilian Oversight Commission,” he wrote.

“Government always claims to value transparency and accountability, but shooting the messenger is still the most common response to criticism,” Huntsman wrote.

Despite setbacks, Huntsman values work 

Huntsman told LAist on Tuesday that he was proud of his career as a public servant.

“I’ve really enjoyed the work and I’m sad to have it end,” he said.

It’s a sentiment he echoed in his letter, adding that despite the setbacks and roadblocks, he was proud of the people with whom he shared the office.

“It has been my honor to work with a talented, brave and tireless group of public servants to ensure that the public knows what its government is doing,” he wrote.

He noted the inspector general’s reports are fact-checked by the office and public.

“When government abuses occur, they are sometimes kept secret, but that is no longer the case for much of what is happening in Los Angeles County,” Huntsman wrote. “What you do about it is up to you.,”

Huntsman’s last day is Friday.

Topline:

The backstory: Last month, the council's Transportation Committee voted to bring a proposal forward to implement a policy change that allows the city to impound and immediately destroy abandoned or inoperable RVs worth less than $4,000. The change is inspired by new state law AB 630, which was created to prevent previously impounded RVs from ending back up on the street.

The motion, authored by Councilmember Traci Park, reports that abandoned RVs pose as public and safety hazards.

What's next: Councilmember Nithya Raman requested that an implementation plan be presented to the council's public safety and housing and homelessness committees.

Go deeper: L.A. pushes policy to make it easier to remove RVs from city streets.