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The Guardian
25-05-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
Casualties in Trump's war on the arts: the small museums keeping local history alive
For the past two years, a small arts non-profit has been telling stories about the communities living alongside the Los Angeles river, one voice at a time. The organization, called Clockshop, has collected the oral histories of nearly 70 local residents, activists and elected officials. Their knowledge is compiled in a vast cultural atlas – which contains videos, an interactive map and a self-guided tour exploring the waterway and its transformation from a home for the Indigenous Tongva people to a popular, rapidly gentrifying urban space. But in April, the future of the ever-growing atlas was thrown in uncertainty, when a three-year federal grant from the Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS), the agency that supports libraries, archives and museums, was terminated 17 months early. The grant, originally for $150,000, still had $20,000 left to pay out. 'There is no recourse to recover the funds still in the grant project activities,' the organization said in a post on Instagram. Now, executive director Sue Bell Yank says their mission to preserve the stories of residents ousted by gentrification could lead to 'erasure of the past, of cultural self-determination, and a lack of understanding about how communities can successfully advocate for the kinds of neighborhoods we deserve'. Clockshop's post foreshadowed an alarming message that would eventually be delivered to hundreds of other arts and cultural institutions across the US. As the Trump administration directed federal agencies to cancel grants that did not support the president's new priorities, which focused on funding 'projects that reflect the nation's rich artistic heritage and creativity' and targeted anything broadly deemed 'DEI' (diversity, equity and inclusion), millions of dollars dedicated to preserving local history and culture suddenly disappeared. Shortly after IMLS grants were terminated, so too were those awarded by the National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) and the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA). By Friday 2 May, a spreadsheet created by writer and theater director Annie Doren was being passed around the internet, aiming to catalog every organization that had lost their NEA funding. With more than 500 organizations on the list, the question shifted from who lost their funding to who didn't. While organizations of all kinds were impacted, it is the small and midsized institutions that lack endowments, prominent donors, and broad outreach whose futures are particularly in jeopardy. The cuts have affected a broad swath of projects – from a documentary film-maker in Fresno making a film about a woman who has played Harriet Tubman in civil war reenactments for 30 years; to a dance performance about south-east Asian mothers in New York City, to an organization that brings films, book clubs and other cultural events to rural Montana. Rick Noguchi who runs a non-profit called California Humanities, said he has seen the 112 NEH grants it awarded across the state suspended indefinitely by the Trump administration. 'There are many newer immigrant communities that don't have deep donors and struggle with being able to find individual donors that step in to tell their stories.' Back in Los Angeles, the cuts have blanketed cultural institutions with feelings of anxiety and urgency. But their leaders are also fighting back, vowing to continue the work of preserving local history in spite of the administration's threats to revoke non-profit status if they continue to champion DEI programs. The Japanese American National Museum (JANM), an affiliate of the Smithsonian Institution in LA's Little Tokyo neighborhood that focuses on the history, culture and legacy of Japanese immigrants, initially lost grants that amounted to roughly $1.45m – though some have since been temporarily restored after a court order. Among those cut was a NEH landmarks of American history and culture grant, which funded a workshop helping teachers build a curriculum about the history of Japanese incarceration during the second world war. JANM CEO Ann Burroughs said that the program benefits approximately 20,000 students a year. 'It was very much to ensure that the history was never forgotten,' Burroughs said about the museum's mission and outreach. 'It was also to ensure that what happened to Japanese Americans never happened to anybody else.' Los Angeles's One Institute, which houses the largest queer archive in the world, also uses their collection to help educate others on queer history and marginalization. They lost a $15,000 NEA grant to support their upcoming annual festival in October, and now they are scrambling to hold fundraisers to keep the festival on track. Tony Valenzuela, the organization's executive director, said that their event is important because it covers a gap in education. 'Even in liberal states like California, only a fraction of students learn about the contributions of queer people to society,' Valenzuela said. 'If the government abandons funding non-profits and other individuals and organizations providing a social good, this country will also be abandoning whole swaths of its citizens who greatly benefit from this work.' Another organization that was hit hard was the Los Angeles Poverty Department (LAPD), which operates the Skid Row History Museum & Archive, located just a few blocks north of the neighborhood in Downtown Los Angeles. They lost four grants administered by IMLS, NEH, and California Humanities, and are unlikely to receive an NEA grant that normally keeps the organization running – a total value of nearly $144,000 dollars, or 22% of the organization's annual budget. Like Clockshop, the LAPD's exhibitions, public programs and archives chart the ways Skid Row has been transformed – and nearly erased – due to development and gentrification. 'Not everyone sees Skid Row as a community, let alone a thriving arts community,' said Henry Apodaca, LAPD's media archivist. 'This is a critical counter narrative to popular narratives that we've all been inundated with when talking about Skid Row.' One of the terminated grants was an IMLS grant for small museums, which was being used to support a project called Welcome to the Covid Hotel. The project, named for the temporary medical treatment centers that popped up in vacant hotels during the pandemic to care for unhoused people, culminated in an exhibition and a series of theatrical performances based on interviews with patients, nurses and social workers. 'There's stories of people coming in blind and getting cataract surgeries,' explains LAPD's co-founder and artistic director, John Malpede. 'Someone with gangrene needed to have his legs amputated, and it saved his life. And most people got and accepted some form of next-step housing.' Malpede's performance is a creative way for policymakers to notice the Covid Hotels' impact and potentially make the sites into permanent fixtures. When the grants were canceled, LAPD was still waiting on more than $38,000 to come through: money that was supposed to pay venues, crew and performers for events that took place in April, as well as upcoming performances in May and June, and a forthcoming publication. While LAPD aims to move forward with their plans, they are uncertain on how to fund it. After going public on social media, private donors have since stepped up to help the JANM and Clockshop recoup their losses. LAPD and the One Institute, however, are still looking for support. Without this funding, not only could the non-profits disband, but also the communities that have flourished as a result of their work. As Malpede warns: 'It's only because of the neighborhood standing up and using its own history that it continues to be present.'
Los Angeles Times
24-05-2025
- General
- Los Angeles Times
After 27 years fighting to change oil field into massive Orange County nature preserve, initial plans released
Conservationists and people of coastal Orange County communities have been working for nearly three decades to transform a former 387-acre oil field into at the border of Costa Mesa, Huntington Beach and Newport Beach into one of the largest protected green spaces in the county. Now, the coalition of agencies setting the foundation to transform that dream into a reality have published initial plans describing what Randall Park will eventually look like, and are asking for more input from the public. Those documents and additional resources are available at They lay out how how the collaborating agencies intend to balance the restoration of habitats for the 18 unique sensitive or threatened species that live there, the reclamation of culturally significant sites located on the property by native tribal government of the Tongva as well as access to the general public. The plans contain details about what kind of work must be done and what facilities and amenities will eventually be available. The planning process for the preserve is currently in a public input phase that ends July 16. Those interested in helping shape the future of Randall Preserve have until then to formally submit questions, comments and suggestions. 'We've literally waited 27 years for this day, in terms of those who fought this battle,' said Melanie Schlotterbeck, stewardship consultant for the Coastal Corridor Alliance. 'This is an opportunity for them to realize the vision, the dream they had, the reason they showed up to the Coastal Commission and held the signs up saying 'Save Banning Ranch,' this is how it has payed off.' She said the conservancy had already received hundreds of responses before plans were released. Since then, many community members have taken the opportunity to go over the documents, which are hundreds of pages long, and returned with well-informed followup comments. About two dozen people showed up to an open house in Costa Mesa showcasing the progress that has been made to date. Attendees examined where proposed trails and entrances would go, as well as photos of what it looked like in the past and graphics describing what might be there in the future. They also filled out comment cards, watched a presentation available on the corridor alliance's website and got to know those involved in planning the preserve. One person attending Tuesday's open house was Bridget Gleason. Her father was among those who pleaded before the Coastal Commission for the preservation of what was formerly known as Banning Ranch, and she eventually wound up buying a home nearby. 'I've been aware since it was the Banning Ranch effort, and my dad was going to Coastal Commission meetings and helping with that effort,' Gleason said. 'It's kind of come full circle now that I've bought on that side of town and it's in my backyard and evolved into the actual restoration part of it. Doing it right truly does take time.' Two more open houses are scheduled. One will be held Monday, June 2, at the Norma Hertzog Center in Costa Mesa, and the other one is set for Saturday, June 21 at the Newport Beach Civic Center. Those who turn out are eligible for $25 gift cards. And transportation as well as Spanish translation services may be available for people who RSVP ahead of time. 'We realize maybe they have to take time off of work,' Schlotterbeck said. 'Maybe they work two jobs, and we wanted to help somewhat make it worth their while.' How and where people will be able to gain entry to the park has been one of the most popular topics among comments received since plans were released, Schlotterbeck said. The preserve will be opened to the public in phases. The first portion that people will be able to step foot on will feature a 1-mile hiking loop with an entrance at eastern edge of the preserve, near 17th Street and Whittier Avenue. Open house attendee Maria Irma Hernandez told the Daily Pilot she lives around the corner from the first proposed entrance of the preserve. Once it opens, she'll be able to take her morning walks surrounded by nature, rather than pounding pavement alongside the din of passing traffic. 'The infrastructure does not exist there right now,' Schlotterbeck said. 'We need to get it up there because it wouldn't be prudent to open a property without having trash cans and restrooms, things like that.' But before that can happen, the former owners of the property must cleanup after decades of use as an oil field. That means the removal of chemical deposits and decommissioning of old access roads. That work should allow for large uninterrupted patches of restored green space. Planners looking ahead at the impacts of climate change intend to reshape parts of the acreage to allow water to flow into what will hopefully become habitats for saltwater and freshwater species. 'The lowland will be impacted in 100 years with 4.9 feet of sea level rise; all of it will be under water,' Schlotterbeck said. Planners expect the cleanup process to end in 2026, with the formal decommissioning of oil wells by 2027. That's the earliest it might be feasibly possible to start opening the Randall Preserve to the public. Once it's open it will be managed by the Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority. The agency handles maintenance, security and a wide variety of other services at dozens of preservation sites across Southern California, including a wildlife crossing over the 101 Freeway. Randall Preserve will be the first property they manage in Orange County. 'It is a big lift to open a new park [and] this is a significant property,' the conservation authority's deputy executive officer Brian Balduf said. 'It is in a new territory that MRCA hasn't been operating, so we're going to be learning a lot working in Orange County. But also, we're a park agency. We manage parks. We have a great team. This is what we do.'
Los Angeles Times
15-05-2025
- General
- Los Angeles Times
Is the L.A. River alive? Robert Macfarlane would probably argue yes
From the second line of Robert Macfarlane's new ode to nature, I was caught in the current, rushed along the rapids of his exploration into a question with fundamental consequences: Is this river — that river, any river — alive? Not simply as an ecosystem or a home to animals, but is a river a living being itself? If so, does a river have memory and intention? What about needs or rights? Each question begets another, sweeping Macfarlane, his companions and now his readers along on that tide of thought. Rivers do not resemble life forms as we're used to them, though the language of rivers suggests they could. As bodies of water, rivers already have headwaters, mouths and arms. Seen from above, meandering rivers resemble vascular systems or neural networks. So why not assume they have thoughts, feelings and needs too? 'For those who, like me, have been largely raised on rationalism, to imagine a river is alive in a way that exceeds the sum of the lives it contains is difficult, counterintuitive work,' the author writes, though it seems early into the book that he has already made his leap from rationalism to animism, at least for the rivers he sees. 'Words make worlds,' he reflects. 'In English, we 'it' rivers, trees, mountains, oceans, birds, and animals: a mode of address that reduces them to the status of stuff.' Part of his quest, then, is to shift his thinking: If rivers — and the rest — are no longer an it, can they be a who? If so, then the river closest to my home, the Los Angeles River (Paayme Paxaayt as named by the Tongva), is no longer a river that flows but a river who flows. Does that change the river for me? That I have to keep fighting my computer's grammar settings to ignore the 'error' of 'river who flows' suggests how far we have to go. The thingness of nature is deeply set in Western thought; recalibration will be complex. Macfarlane's title question takes him to three countries, each home to threatened rivers: Los Cedros in Ecuador, Adyar River in India and Mutehekau Shipu (also known as Magpie River) in Canada. At each visit, he considers what the rivers give to us and what we give to them — an exchange of nurturing for poison, usually. Human-led danger circles each in various forms: logging, pollution, dams. One of the rivers is already considered dead, the other two are still vibrantly alive. In each country, Macfarlane is accompanied by the river's allies, people who already see each water body as living and often live nearby as neighbors. These stories are peppered with rights of nature discussions exploring how Ecuador and New Zealand have extended to certain rivers legal rights to flow uninterrupted and established guardianship councils that attempt to speak for the rivers. He and allies consider how activists in India and Canada are trying to do the same without risking reducing these legal protections to performative nonsense. While those discussions could be weighed down by politics, Macfarlane's touch is deft, giving us exactly enough to consider the question while also showing us how this is not just about rivers but about us. Sick rivers don't end at their banks, but spread into communities. It's no coincidence that my neighborhood, Frogtown, is no longer home to any frogs despite easy access to the river. (Once, before the river was attacked, communities of toads hopped through yards and sang choruses in the night.) As I read this book, I went on long, ambling walks along the L.A. River, trying to see it as Macfarlane might. Perhaps he would describe it as sick with pollution, or jailed by concrete channeling. Would he see Paayme Paxaayt as hopeful? Defiant? Or doomed? Macfarlane's writing is as beautiful as the rivers and the hope he's describing. Everywhere he looks is art — a 'sunset has slaughter in it,' a 'cloud-forest is a steaming, glowing furnace of green,' a sun rises 'red as a Coke can over the ocean' and 'faced with a river, as with a god, apprehension splinters into apophasis.' His paragraphs flow like the water he admires: sometimes tranquil and easy, other times a tumbling, mixing, effervescent torrent directed by commas, never promising a full stop. But don't let his elegiac prose divert you — there is a dedicated scholar at work here. There's the obvious proof: a detailed glossary, and a notes and bibliography section that runs over 30 pages. Then there's the more subtle proof: The whole book is a weighty question whose answer impacts disciplines like law, business, history and philosophy. Macfarlane takes us through each like creeks feeding into a stream. The philosophical underpinning sees the most impressive transformation. He does his own unlearning of anthropocentrism on the page through his intense experiences with these three rivers, concluding only when the rivers are done with him: 'I am rivered.' He is showing us the way to do our own unlearning, too. How we view our relationship to nature is a vital question that people around the world are reconsidering. Climate change has disrupted many natural patterns, and we're waking up to the reality that solutions will involve more than reusable water bottles and biodegradable straws. Here in L.A., our year kicked off with devastating fires that we are still recovering from. The aftermath begs us to really consider the questions Macfarlane is asking. Are our rivers alive? What about our forests? If so, how are we going to treat them? Castellanos Clark, a writer and historian in Los Angeles, is the author of 'Unruly Figures: Twenty Tales of Rebels, Rulebreakers, and Revolutionaries You've (Probably) Never Heard Of.'
Yahoo
24-04-2025
- Science
- Yahoo
Scientists capture emotional footage of predator returning to fire-ravaged forest: 'Means everything to me'
The Eaton Fire that ripped through the Los Angeles area in January devastated the region, causing wildlife to flee and leaving the landscape barren and burned. But researchers in the area are getting their first signs of hope that things might be getting better. According to LAist, UCLA psychiatry professor Kristen Ochoa and a team of volunteers and biology researchers used trail cameras set up in the Altadena Foothills to see mountain lions returning to the area for the first time since the blaze. Ochoa and her team have used the cameras as a valuable tool in monitoring the regrowth of the foothills along the Chaney Trail Corridor. It began within a few days, as rain brought vegetation back to life. "The coyotes and the ravens were there right away," Ochoa told LAist. "Then with time, we've seen some green come back. There's crown sprouting on a lot of the trees. There's elderberry coming back. There's black sage coming back." From there, more and more wildlife began to show up, and on March 26, Ochoa and her team saw a mountain lion on the cameras. A week later, a female with two juvenile mountain lions in tow appeared as well. Why is this a big deal? A number of reasons. First of all, mountain lions are elusive creatures by nature; they tend not to make many appearances, and even hunt via stealth rather than brute strength. On top of that, mountain lions are apex predators. Their return to a region after a devastating fire is a sign that that area is healing, as there's now enough prey in the area to support it. "That mountain lion means everything to me," Ochoa said. "Nature is resilient and, for me, it helps me feel resilient as well. Honestly, I really wanted to share it with everybody who has struggled during this fire so they can feel the same feeling of hope and elation that the lion is back." Ochoa shared her findings first with the native Tongva tribe in the area, to whom mountain lions are sacred, and after getting their blessing, shared it with the world. She hopes that their finding will allow the area to continue to be conserved, even after it's sold. Do you think America does a good job of protecting its natural beauty? Definitely Only in some areas No way I'm not sure Click your choice to see results and speak your mind. " I think that in these sorts of spaces — the urban-wild interface — it's really important if we have a chance to keep it open, to allow the wildlife to move around," Ochoa said. Join our free newsletter for good news and useful tips, and don't miss this cool list of easy ways to help yourself while helping the planet.
CBS News
22-04-2025
- General
- CBS News
Los Angeles River restoration could face setback due to climate change, wildfires
A new movement is happening to revitalize the Los Angeles River with life, but the recent wildfires have put the progress at risk. Amid the concrete flood channels are rare green pockets within the LA River are proving essential not just for the wildlife but for the city's resilience. The natural spaces are helping LA adapt to a hotter, drier and more unpredictable future. Long before the freeways and skyscrapers, the LA River sustained the Tongva people and Spanish settlers. Currently, it faces threats from pollution and climate change. "It's really critical for us to understand that the river is LA's origin story," said Candice Dickens-Russell, the CEO of Friends of the LA River. "LA is where it is because the river is where it is and all roads lead to the river when it rains, everything finds its way here." Dickens-Russell and her organization are helping advocate for nature, the climate and equity on the LA River. They are committed to protecting the river's ecosystem and the communities it impacts. "Our rivers are 10 million years old…all of that life in this special environment has persisted," said Ann Willis, with American Rivers. "We're not trying to stop change, we're just trying to acclimate and moderate the pace of change for many generations to come." Southern California's wildfires are a stark reminder of this changing climate. Post-fire runoff carries toxic metals and carcinogens into the river, threatening water quality for millions. American Rivers is a nonprofit environmental advocacy organization that works to promote the health of rivers across the country. They work with communities to reduce river pollution, remove unnecessary dams and advocate for policies for clean water. "When fires burn cities and impact homes and communities, the impact to the river lasts a long time," Willis said. "Heavy metals like lead, zinc, copper, things that don't degrade… can enter our food chain, can make our beaches unswimmable our water undrinkable." The Sepulveda Basin is one of the only stretches of the LA River that looks like a real river. The area thrives with greenery, wildlife and year-round flowing water thanks to reclaimed water. It's a success story for river revitalization, offering space for kayaking, fishing and nature walks. But just a few miles downstream, it's a very different picture. Most of the LA River looks like a man-made flood channel designed to move water out of the city as quickly as possible. Efforts are underway to turn more of these concrete walls into green spaces that provide much-needed environmental benefits. With climate change intensifying and threats like wildfire runoff contaminating the water, the fight to restore the LA River is more urgent than ever. "There is a direct connection between the diversity and health of our natural world and the economic health of our lives," Willis said. "The beautiful thing about natural infrastructure like a floodplain or a healthy forest is that in many ways it maintains itself…we can take the money we would've spent on gray infrastructure and we can invest in other places where it's really needed." Over one million people live within a mile of the LA River. Neighborhoods with more parks see lower asthma rates and fewer heat-related illnesses. Restoration isn't just about water, it's about community health and climate adaptation. "I don't think that most people understand the connection between the river and climate or the way that a healthy green, thriving river can impact the climate," said Dickens-Russell. "Notice the nature. It's not something you get in your car and drive far away to do. It's right there and take the time to notice it." Community education is key to the river's future. With continued restoration, more sections of the LA River could look like the Sepulveda Basin—lush, thriving, and full of life. But as climate change accelerates, the fight for the river's future is far from over.
