The Brief

Tucked away in the Central Valley, Central California Women's Facility sits off Highway 99 between Fresno and Merced. Farmland surrounds much of the prison, and visitors are rare.

The 640-acre facility is the largest women’s prison in California, and holds more than 2,000 women, nonbinary and transgender people. In total, women make up just 4% of the state's prison population.

For these reasons and more, the prison in Chowchilla seems an unlikely place to have its own newspaper. But last year, an organization for prison journalism helped open up a media center and started training journalists there.

Central California Women’s Facility in Chowchilla is California's largest prison. More than 2,000 women, nonbinary and transgender people are incarcerated there.

In September, they put out their first issue of The Paper Trail, an in-house newspaper written and edited by incarcerated people. Its supporters say it's the first effort of its kind at a women's prison in the U.S.

" It's been amazing to be a part of something starting here for women that inspired a lot of women," said Megan Hogg, a writer for the paper who has been incarcerated at CCWF for 12 years. "The first issue that came out, people were like 'Oh, wow, we have a newspaper.' You cannot find a copy now. People are like, 'Can I look at yours?'"

I visited the prison in December. It was so huge that my escort told me corrections officers use tricycles to get around. It took us more than a half hour to walk from the prison's front gates into the media center. Along the route were long, sparse yards, check points and a cafeteria.

The prison grounds were mostly quiet on the Friday morning of my visit, but the newsroom was abuzz. A handful of staff members sat in front of desktop computers while others gathered around a table to discuss story ideas and works-in-progress.

Behind them, writing on a whiteboard declared: "Journalism: providing information to people so they can make informed decisions in their lives."

Leaders of The Paper Trail talk about editorial goals with advisor Jesse Vasquez.

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Libby Rainey

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Ice, lizards & unexpected stories

The Paper Trail has the look of a local paper, and in some ways its content mirrors that style, with coverage of community events like an in-prison farmer's market and pickleball games.

Other stories illustrate the oddities and surprises of prison life. A recent piece by Hogg compared lizards to Fendi bags — because it's become popular to capture and keep them as pets. Another incarcerated reporter, Brenda Bowers, wrote a story about ice and how most people can't get ahold of it at the prison.

"It's something that people probably wouldn't think about, because they get it so freely out there, but in here, you gotta pay for it, or bargain and wheel and deal," she said.

The paper also includes tips and guides to life inside. A recent issue featured two pieces on experiencing menopause behind bars.

"Although CCWF is a women’s facility, there is a never-ending need for sanitary products," Delina Williams wrote in one of them. "It adds an extra layer of stress for women trying to care for their very private needs, not to mention the overall difficulty of striving for 'normalcy' within the razor wires."

The paper is distributed in print, on tablets available inside the facility, and online. It's funded by the nonprofit The Pollen Initiative. That group's executive director Jesse Vasquez drives from Oakland twice a week to work with the paper’s staff.

Vasquez was himself formerly incarcerated at San Quentin State Prison, where he served as the editor of a newspaper there called The San Quentin News. (Full disclosure: I volunteered for that paper several years ago.)

"The men have always gotten the majority of attention by the fact that there are far more men. Most of the programming, most of the services revolve around the majority of people they're going to serve," Vasquez said. "So in this endeavor with The Paper Trail, I've noticed that they have a sense of empowerment."

The Paper Trail is the first newspaper out of women's prison in the country.

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Libby Rainey

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Reporting from the inside

The Paper Trail launched during a time of change for women's prisons in California. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the number of women in California prisons fell 31%, according to the Public Policy Institute of California. CCWF also began housing transgender women in recent years. One of The Paper Trail's earliest articles was about the facility's first ever LGBTQIA+ Pride Walk.

It also started during a period of scandals at CCWF. In July, a woman died at the prison during a heatwave. In January, a former correctional officer, Gregory Rodriguez, was found guilty of 64 counts of sexual abuse and battery against multiple incarcerated women, including rape.

Editor-in-chief Amber Bray said in December that she’s interviewing people about their experiences with Rodriguez for the paper’s first story looking into the abuse.

" What I would like for us to do is use the opportunity to say, 'Yeah, this is what happened to some people here, and it's sad, and it's unfortunate. But we're not defined by it,'" she said.

Bray has access that would be impossible for an outside journalist to get.

In journalism classes, she said, they were told “don't limit your thinking on what you can cover. If you see that there's a problem, well then go and learn about the problem, pitch the story, and, you know, see where it goes."

Bray will face a different dynamic when the story is ready to publish: The Paper Trail is subject to review by officials with the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.

" They're not able to do hard-hitting, investigative journalism from within a prison. I mean, it's just common sense,” said William Drummond, a journalism professor at UC Berkeley and an advisor to the San Quentin News, which goes through the same review process. “If you do that, and embarrass the warden and the staff, you aren't going to be in business long."

Prison newspapers in California are growing

Prison newspapers are rare, but not new, in California. The San Quentin News dates back to at least 1940, and was re-launched in 2008. That project has since won awards and been the subject of news coverage itself. Mule Creek State Prison near Sacramento has a newspaper, as does Pelican Bay State Prison in Northern California. The Paper Trail at CCWF is the fourth, and latest, prison newspaper in the state.

There are also a handful of newsletters produced and distributed at state prisons including at California Institution for Women in Southern California, according to Vasquez. The advocacy organization California Coalition for Women Prisoners has a long-running newsletter called The Fire Inside.

Coverage in collaboration with news organizations outside prison walls have grown in recent years, too, with podcasts such as Ear Hustle out of San Quentin and Bay Area radio station KALW's show Uncuffed. Those programs work with incarcerated and formerly incarcerated people to tell their stories, and both recently expanded to California Institution for Women in Chino.

Drummond said the reason prison media projects are expanding is simple: it's an opportunity for incarcerated people to tell their own stories.

" When they get involved in a newspaper, they discover something. And that is, in a very basic sense, you get a following. You get to say stuff people then react to," he said. "It means you're affirming yourself and your identity. And I've seen this happen dozens of times."

For Megan Hogg at CCWF, this meant being seen as someone who’s more than the crime that landed her in prison.

"We're still mothers, we're still sisters, we're still daughters," Hogg said. "We will never deny, yes, I did something horrible, and yes, someone was harmed by it in unimaginable ways. However…we don't want to be defined only by that."

For Delina Williams, the newspaper represents a step forward for all women who are affected by the criminal justice system.

" The opening of this media center starts a whole new era of women being able to speak their truths," she said.

More writers being trained

A new cohort of incarcerated people at CCWF are now training to join and contribute to The Paper Trail, Vasquez said. As the paper grows, he said its challenge is two-fold: writing "news you can use" for people inside California's prisons, and getting their voices heard by those on the outside.

While chasing those bigger goals, the new journalists are in a day-to-day grind that is all too familiar to any working writer: pitching stories, getting edited and trying their best to reflect and communicate the world around them.

"Writing is not easy," said the paper's features editor Sagal Sadiq. "But when the perfect sentence is down on paper, it's like, yes, it's beautiful. [There's] nothing like it."

The Trump administration is renewing its push to change the way it funds homeless shelters and housing in California and other states, and several agencies say it could disrupt their services.

It tried last year to move federal homelessness funds away from permanent housing and into temporary housing that requires sobriety. That move, which goes against the existing “housing first” policy favoring a no-strings-attached approach to housing, was blocked by a federal judge.

Now, the Trump administration is trying again. Once again, it’s facing pushback.

This week, a group that includes the National Alliance to End Homelessness and Santa Clara County filed a challenge in Rhode Island’s federal court to the Trump administration’s latest funding guidelines.

The Trump administration’s callous decision to take a second bite at dismantling one of our nation’s most important homelessness prevention programs after a federal court already blocked the administration’s first attempt shows a complete disregard for the people who depend on this funding to keep a roof over their heads,” Santa Clara County Counsel Tony LoPresti said in a news release.

More than $4 billion in federal funding is at stake. The National Alliance to End Homelessness estimates the proposed changes could cost California nearly $238 million for permanent housing, and threaten to put nearly 15,000 Californians back on the street.

“The ‘housing first’ experiment failed Americans by warehousing the vulnerable without results. This ideology promised to end homelessness. Instead, billions of taxpayer dollars were spent while homelessness increased to record levels,” HUD Secretary Scott Turner said in a news release earlier this month.

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

More than a month after the abrupt cancellation of this year’s Long Beach Pride Festival, the nonprofit behind the enduring celebration remains in a financial bind. It has so far been unable to repay its vendors, ticketholders and sponsors as it awaits a decision on whether its insurer will cover its losses.

That decision, according to Long Beach Pride President Tonya Martin, will factor heavily into whether they take more drastic action to cover the debt, such as selling or leasing out their headquarters.

“We do want to keep the building,” Martin said. “But if we have to sell it, we have to sell it, because right now all we can think about is how we’re going to pay back all the vendors and the rest of the ticketholders.”

According to the organization’s treasurer, Wayne Manous, Long Beach Pride filed a claim with its carrier, the Nonprofits Insurance Alliance of California, a few days after the festival was canceled on May 15. They expect a determination in the next week, Martin said.

“Once we receive the determination and award, we can begin refunding payments to our festival vendors which encompasses Information Booths, Seller Booths, Food Booths, Food Trucks, and others awaiting a refund,” Manous wrote in a June 10 email to vendors seeking refunds.

In an emailed statement Tuesday, the organization declined to offer the total amount it owes or elaborate more on its insurance claim, saying it will wait until “those processes are fully resolved.”

The festival was canceled last month after the city of Long Beach issued a cease-and-desist letter less than an hour before its opening event, saying Pride lacked the necessary permits to start.

Many vendors and ticketholders — some who flew in or drove from other parts of the country — say they were in transit or had already arrived at the festival grounds when they were given notice of the cancellation, either from the city or from friends on social media.

Erica Loring, who owns Shecanter, an online retailer of feminist and queer products, said she was driving up from San Diego the morning of the event when a friend texted her the news.

“I was very confused,” Loring said. “I had to try and figure out what the heck that meant, what it means for vendors, if we’ve gotten any emails to notify us. ‘Do we still go up there?’”

Kaitlyn Nguyen with Heritage 1857, a Vietnamese-style coffee brand, said she received notice not from Pride but from the city’s Health Department, telling her she no longer had permission to sell her goods there.

By that point, she said, her festival crew had already driven into town from Texas and set up a tent and driven an hour outside of town. When she tried to call Long Beach Pride’s general line to get more information, it was disconnected.

Nguyen said she spent around $2,500 on gas, fees, product, permitting and everything else she needed to participate. Now she’s uncertain how much, if any, she will recover. “With the communication that it is at right now, it’s just hard to tell, but I do hope that we get that amount back,” she said.

In the days following the festival’s cancellation, the city and Pride traded blame, offering dueling timelines over what caused it. Long Beach Pride argued it submitted documents and worked with the city in good faith through the final hours and was taken off guard by the city’s order to clear out.

Martin said she was stunned when officers delivered the cease-and-desist to the festival grounds. “You have two days to get everything off the site, or you’ll be arrested,” she recalled being told. “I was in shock, just floored. I was just weak at the knees.”

Tonya Martin, with an original Pride founder, Bob Crow, talks about Long Beach Pride in Long Beach, Monday, June 26, 2023.

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Thomas R. Cordova

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Long Beach Post

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The city fired back in a 23-page memo, saying the nonprofit repeatedly failed to provide permitting materials and structural plans for stages, electrical systems and security. As the situation worsened, city officials offered to move guests into the Terrace Theater and open Bixby Park for a smaller event on Sunday, without alcohol sales or fenced festival grounds.

Pride declined both options, later saying the theater was too costly — more than $100,000, they said — while Bixby Park did not allow enough time to satisfy performers’ contractual requirements.

City spokesperson Laath Martin said Tuesday that Long Beach’s business licensing team has been offering refunds to vendors for city fees. But in the month since the event, vendors say they’ve heard little to no word from Pride itself on when or if they will be repaid for other expenses and fees.

Even before this year’s shock cancellation, the festival, established in 1983, had been struggling.

According to tax filings, Pride lost more than $1.8 million between 2022 and 2024 — $819,066 in 2022, $716,729 in 2023 and $306,000 in 2024. The organization has not turned a profit since 2019.

When Martin took over as president in 2023, she said she unknowingly inherited an organization already carrying $2.6 million in outstanding debt. A year after Martin took the helm, the nonprofit relinquished control of its long-running Pride parade. The city took over planning and funding for the signature event while Pride attempted to keep running the corresponding festival.

The crowds gather along Ocean Boulevard for the 41st Annual Long Beach Pride Parade in Long Beach, Sunday, May 19, 2024.

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Thomas R. Cordova

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Long Beach Post

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The festival’s budget this year was $500,000, and Pride had raised less than $100,000 of it by the time the event was canceled, with only 331 tickets sold as of late April, according to Q Voice News. Pride declined to confirm the number of tickets sold or provide any detailed financial information to the Long Beach Post.

Corporate sponsorships, once a reliable source of major revenue, had largely evaporated, Martin said, naming Walmart and Coca-Cola as examples of large companies that have quietly pulled back as the Trump administration has coerced firms to forgo LGBTQ+ and diversity initiatives.

“They don’t want to upset the president,” Martin said. “Nobody will come out and say it, which I wish they would.”

Normally, Martin said, Pride hires an outside operator to put on the festival, which can run upwards of $400,000. But under financial pressure, she and the board voted to avoid the expense and handle the festival setup themselves. As Martin has repeatedly emphasized since the cancellation, they are all part-time volunteers.

This year’s event was shaping up to be small, according to Loring; only 13 retail or merchandise vendors were listed to participate. “Smaller than a tiny farmer’s market,” Loring said. Another 10 or so food vendors were signed up, Nguyen said, about half of what she’d expect at a festival this size.

“I was like, OK, was the application process a deterrent, or have bridges already been burned, and these businesses have learned not to come to Long Beach due to prior experience?” Nguyen said.

In a letter over the weekend, Pride said it wants to bring the festival back in 2027 under new leadership, with lessons learned and, it hopes, a more stable financial footing.

The board also said that Martin would step down from the presidency in August, a transition the organization said had been planned before the cancellation. Martin confirmed her exit on Monday, saying she will step away from the role and intends to help whoever succeeds her get up to speed. She said she also plans to hold a debrief with Mayor Rex Richardson to discuss what went wrong.

The organization is also working with the city to hold a free Teen Pride event in September.

“I don’t think Pride will ever go away, no matter what they do, even if we change the whole scope of the event itself,” Martin said. “It will never go away. It’ll always be there.”

But Loring, who made her vendor debut in Long Beach, said she would not return if the event is run by the same people.

She was shocked when Pride asked in a June 10 email if vendors and ticketholders would consider donating back a portion of their refunds to the organization. “The audacity for that was on another level,” Loring said.

“It seems as though the entire Pride organization needs an overhaul,” she said. “It needs a fresh set of eyes, a fresh set of experience in order for the community to move forward faithfully.”

Two icons of Los Angeles are coming together in Alhambra for a food pop-up this weekend — each has carved a unique place in Asian America.

On one end you have Kogi, bringing its Korean-Mexican fusion kimchi taco and blackjack quesadilla — and its food truck — to the collab. On the other is Sam Woo, old-school purveyor of Cantonese taste lending its char siu and roast duck from its OG location on Valley between 5th and 6th.

Together, they represent two generations of immigrant entrepreneurship that reshaped how L.A. eats.

“The best way to do it would be to come together like Voltron, but be ourselves separately,” said Roy Choi, chef and founder of Kogi BBQ. “So don't do anything to your roast duck. Don't do anything to your char siu. Don't do anything to our blackjack quesadilla. Don't do anything to our taco.”

The mash-up features two items – roast duck kimchi taco, and char siu blackjack quesadilla. The best-of-both-worlds concept extends to where the food will be served.

“ My whole vision was for Kogi truck to be parked in front,” said Karen Cheung, daughter of Sam Woo’s original owner.

Kogi x Sam Woo

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Courtesy Kogi and Sam Woo

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From Chinatown to everywhere

Restaurants come and go, but Sam Woo has remained the byword for Cantonese barbeque in Los Angeles and beyond for more than four decades.

On Christmas Day 1979, new immigrant Peter Cheung opened a stand serving take-out roast duck, char siu and the likes in Chinatown, bringing the family craft from Hong Kong to L.A.

“At the time, it was just my dad, my brother, and me,” Cheung, 67, said in Cantonese. “We hired a cashier and a meat cutter, that was about it.”

Cheung also brought over the Chinese name from the family business back home. It means “three harmonies” – among earth, heaven, and man. The English name Sam Woo was chosen because it sounded like the Cantonese words.

Sam Woo in Alhambra.

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Fiona Ng

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LAist

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In the late 1970s, his clientele was mainly Chinese and Vietnamese immigrants in the then-bustling enclave, with a small handful of customers coming in from Monterey Park.

Back then, he said, “All the restaurants were concentrated in Chinatown.”

As the Chinese-speaking diaspora expanded to the San Gabriel Valley, so too did Sam Woo. Cheung opened a Monterey Park location in 1981 (now closed) and the Alhambra outpost on Valley Boulevard in 1983.

Today, Cheung and his family own and operate four locations across the L.A. region — the oldest in Alhambra.

That little storefront served a loyal legion of eaters, including my family, who moved to Alhambra in the early 1990s — and a kid named Roy Choi.

Roy Choi, left, hands out food from his Kogi BBQ truck in Maywood in January 2024.

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Allen J. Schaben

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Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

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When Roy met Sam

Choi was hanging out in Alhambra and nearby 626 cities during high school and into college, at all-night Asian cafes and their parking lots where a subculture centered around modified Japanese cars took root.

“It was the cafes and the barbecue spots back in Alhambra that were early on in having a kind of a meeting ground for young Asian youth,” Choi said. “It might have been the birth of the AZN movement, you know what I'm saying?”

One place he always ate at was Sam Woo.

Strip mall signs in San Gabriel point to a majority Asian population in this part of Los Angeles.

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Samanta Helou Hernandez

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LAist

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“One of the top five things to eat for me is roast duck or roast pork over rice with the sauce that drips down into it,” he said. “That's where I started really eating barbecue  — and this is before I was a chef.”

Forty-three years since it opened, the hole-in-the-wall in Alhambra has not been changed — inside or out. Karen remembers hanging out at the shop with her sisters growing up, filling small containers of sauces while their parents ran the operation.

“ When you walk into Alhambra, you feel like you are going back in time,” Karen said. “That's what people remember Sam Woo as, like the Mahjong clock, or the vintage menu that you do not ever see anymore. That's people's memories.”

The mahjong clock at Sam Woo in Alhambra.

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Karen Cheung

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Courtesy Sam Woo

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The take-out menu at Sam Woo.

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Karen Cheung

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Courtesy Sam Woo

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How the collab fell into place

Choi wrote about eating at Sam Woo among other culinary adventures in L.A. earlier this year for the Financial Times.

Karen, one of Peter’s four children, read the story – and fired off a DM.

“I was like, ‘We're so honored. Out of all the restaurants you could talk about, you mentioned Sam Woo,” Karen said. “‘Let's do a collab.’”

Six months of planning later, with hundreds of pounds of char siu ready to be cooked, the crossover is happening.

Chef Roy Choi cooking inside Sam Woo in Alhambra.

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Courtesy Kogi BBQ

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Sam Woo in Alhambra.

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Fiona Ng

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LAist

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“The inspiration is how delicious their food is [and] the longevity of their restaurant,” Choi said, whose Kogi has redefined fusion cooking and the food truck experience for 19 years and counting.

“We wanna bring something really special to Alhambra," he said. "Just a moment that you could say, ‘I was there.’”