Should Los Angeles Remain a Sanctuary City?

I was coming out of a lovely restaurant in Downtown L.A.—Le Petit Paris. My Uber was waiting across the street, annoyingly parked on the wrong side of a one-way road. As I approached, a homeless man was shouting at the car. The driver didn’t move. Did he not realize I would have to walk right past a screaming, clearly distressed man just to get in?

View of Los Angeles

As soon as I closed the door, the driver apologized. He wasn’t sure he should even be driving. After his last ride in Old Town Pasadena, a homeless man had thrown something at his car, damaging it. He was still shaken. A few weeks earlier, someone had hurled a brick—or something like it—through his parked car window. For someone who drives full-time for rideshare, every dent or crack isn’t just an inconvenience; it’s a financial crisis.

As an Angeleno, I’m often told I’m a rarity—I don’t drive. I gave up my car and license over a decade ago. I walk, take the Metro, and use rideshare. In many ways, I see more of this city than most. And what I see both fills me with love and breaks my heart. Because Los Angeles, for all its beauty, has lost its civility.

To me, civility is more than politeness. It is mindfulness. It is a deliberate regard for others.

Los Angeles stretches forty-four miles north to south and twenty-nine miles east to west. It is home to more than 46,000 unhoused people—many without access to clean water, toilets, or even shoes. The “fortunate” ones live in tents. Others sleep behind dumpsters, on bus benches, in subway stations, or on soiled mattresses in the street. They dig through trash cans for food and drink, some barely clothed, some barefoot. Calling this a “public health hazard” feels like a cruel understatement. It is inhumane.

The situation is so dire that the city has been under a state of emergency on housing and homelessness.

And yet, government agencies and NGOs continue to welcome and provide resources to immigrants who have unlawfully entered the country, many bused here from Texas—while tens of thousands already here remain without basic care. It’s not easy to criticize compassion—but I felt betrayed and confused watching city officials and volunteers greet the new arrivals with open arms and services. Shouldn’t those same services—funded by taxpayers—have been offered the day before to people sleeping behind trash bins, under bridges, or on sidewalks? Shouldn’t we first tend to the people already suffering in our streets before extending help to others arriving from elsewhere?

If there are funds to help newcomers, shouldn’t those funds first go to the tens of thousands living in inhumane conditions right here?

It is easy to say, “We are a sanctuary city.” It sounds noble. It feels righteous. But when I see people digging through trash, sleeping on soiled mattresses surrounded by filth, I can’t help but feel that our so-called sanctuary is, at best, obtuse—and, at worst, cruel.

We are not Jesus. We cannot feed five thousand with five loaves and two fish. The truth is, we can’t help everyone. Our social services have been failing for decades. Our NGOs are overwhelmed. The demand for housing, medical care, and financial aid already far exceeds available resources. And yet, Los Angeles keeps declaring itself a haven for more people in need.

Being a sanctuary city is not just about refusing to cooperate with federal deportation efforts. True sanctuary means being able to provide the resources necessary for people to survive and rebuild. We already know we can’t.

In a city where the elderly are being pushed onto the streets by rising housing costs, how can it be “the right thing” to invite more people who will also need affordable housing? Isn’t that a modern echo of Marie Antoinette’s “Let them eat cake”? It is easier—politically and socially—to say “everyone is welcome” than to make the uncomfortable admission that we simply cannot help everyone.

There are over 300 cities in the U.S. with populations over 100,000—and more than a thousand cities altogether. Sometimes, true leadership means standing up and saying no. It means leaving the table so someone else has a place to sit.

Los Angeles must face the stench of its own inhumanity. Taking in more people in need while 40,000 of our own languish on sidewalks is not compassion—it’s negligence.

It’s time to stop saying what sounds socially correct and start doing what is morally right. Only when we restore dignity to the people already suffering in our streets can we truly call ourselves a sanctuary city.

More essays:

Barbie, Margot & Greta… Thank You, but No Thank You

Trump et Gay

Can There Be Such a Thing as Humanity in War?

And Just Like That, It Isn’t Easy Being Us

Donald Trump and His 74 Million American Voters

ESSAYS | RECIPES | STYLES | IG

Articles sélectionnés

I earn commission on qualified purchases.

Comments

Haemul Pajeon, Korean Seafood Green Onion Pancake

Whoever coined the phrase “bigger is better” clearly never consulted a five-foot-three-inch woman. I have long maintained that fabulousity often comes in small packages. There are exceptions, of course, and Haemul Pajeon, the Korean Seafood Green Onion Pancake, makes a rather delicious case for abandoning my principles. When it comes to this Korean favorite, thickness is everything. Packed with shrimp, squid, green onions, zucchini, and yellow onions, these savory pancakes are a glorious celebration of excess, at least where ingredients are concerned. While many recipes favor thinner pancakes or arrange the ingredients neatly on top, there is a reason the thicker, generously stuffed versions served at Korean restaurants have gone viral. With their crisp, deeply browned exteriors giving way to tender, seafood-packed interiors, they deliver a combination of flavor and texture that thinner versions simply cannot match. Sometimes, bigger really is better. Or, in this case, thicker. INGREDI...

Please Normalize Sex

I couldn't help feeling that Shane Gillis's monologue on the October 10 episode of Saturday Night Live was a stab at the alleged victim of the Cornell University gang rape case and the uproar surrounding it. Of course, I have no idea what he intended, other than to be funny, when he said, “I haven't been to the gym in so long, I didn't know women just dress like whores now?” But the joke played into a familiar narrative, one in which women's clothing and sexuality become measures of their character, and sometimes even their credibility. With Jane Doe and her attorney reportedly receiving death threats amid the controversy, the timing struck me as particularly distasteful. at LACMA Perhaps my problem is that there was simply nothing funny about it. Not because he called women whores, but because the joke failed to land. Strip away the provocation, and what remains? A rather pedestrian observation about women's gym attire, masquerading as comedy. Very weak. I get...

12 Timeless Sweaters

Somewhere in my closet is a black cashmere sweater I picked up at a sample sale well over a decade ago. It is asymmetric, beautifully understated, and now held together in a few places by my own handiwork: a needle, black thread, and the firm conviction that some things are simply worth saving. I have mended it rather than replaced it, not because black cashmere sweaters are particularly difficult to find, but because this particular one is impossible to replace. at The Geffen Contemporary at MOCA At this point, it has become something of a comfort sweater. The sort I reach for when I want to feel entirely like myself, without the fuss of getting dressed and with all the pleasure of looking effortlessly put together. Fashion has a remarkable talent for convincing us that last season's treasures are this season's embarrassments. My old cashmere sweater has spent more than a decade making a rather persuasive argument to the contrary. It has survived changing trends, wardrobe purg...

The Art of Calabrian Chicken

I spent yesterday afternoon at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art. Newly opened last month after years of anticipation, it was a visit I approached with some hesitation. My disappointment with LACMA's David Geffen Galleries earlier this year had yet to settle. I felt as though I had wandered into a fabulous space where art and artifacts had been arranged without much intention, without stories to tell, rather like an art fair with booths. I carried that impression with me as I prepared to visit the Lucas Museum. After the Prom by Norman Rockwell I knew I would be mesmerized by its architecture. What surprised me was the storytelling within. I hadn't expected Norman Rockwell's gallery to captivate me quite as much as it did. There was something profoundly beautiful about the smallness of life he portrayed, the ordinary moments of family, childhood, and everyday rituals elevated into something worthy of our attention. Rockwell's America was often idealized, certainly, bu...

Style Capsule: All Black

When Coco Chanel introduced her little black dress in 1926, she did more than offer women another wardrobe option. She helped transform a color long associated with mourning and solemnity into a symbol of modern elegance, independence, and sophistication. American Vogue famously compared the deceptively simple design to Ford's Model T, recognizing its potential to become a universal fashion essential. Nearly a century later, the little black dress remains indispensable, although Chanel deserves credit not only for perfecting the little black dress, but for recognizing that its greatest luxury was its simplicity. Women in Tub by Wayne Thiebaud Black's relationship with fashion, however, stretches much further back than Chanel's timeless silhouette. During the Renaissance, achieving a rich, consistent black required expensive dyes and considerable craftsmanship, making the color a conspicuous declaration of wealth and privilege. European monarchs and aristocrats adopted black...

Fiercely Chic in Leather

Long before leather became synonymous with rebellion and sex appeal, it was a marker of wealth and social standing. In eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Europe, finely crafted leather gloves were indispensable accessories for women of privilege, signaling refinement and the luxury of hands unaccustomed to manual labor. How amusing that a material once associated with proper etiquette would eventually become one of fashion's most provocative expressions of independence. Leather, it seems, has always understood the importance of making an impression, even as its definition of good manners has changed rather dramatically. Paris, France By the twentieth century, leather had shed much of its polite disposition. Yves Saint Laurent brought motorcycle-inspired rebellion into the hallowed world of Christian Dior in 1960, while Vivienne Westwood later embraced leather's more subversive possibilities through punk and fetish-inspired fashion. Azzedine Alaïa sculpted it around the femal...

Shrimp & Kimchi Inari

Inarizushi emerged in Japan during the Edo period, when seasoned fried tofu pockets filled with vinegared rice became popular as inexpensive street food. Its name is tied to Inari, the deity associated with rice, agriculture and prosperity, and to the foxes regarded as Inari’s messengers and linked in folklore to fried tofu. Inari, however, has never been Japanese to me. Growing up in South Korea, I knew it as yubu chobap, a meal my mom packed for school lunches and picnics—and one that always felt like a treat. Rather than sushi rice, she filled the tofu pockets with different kinds of fried rice. Perhaps that is why I have never regarded the pouch as something requiring too much fidelity. Shrimp & Kimchi Inari is my homage to kimchi fried rice, only quieter: shrimp and kimchi folded into rice with less seasoning than I would ordinarily use for the fried rice version. The restraint is intentional. The lighter seasoning leaves room for the fried tofu skin, with its distinctive swee...

What If I Told You Tolerance Is Insane

A few years ago, I worked as a Project Manager for a marketing agency. What most people did not know was that I wasn’t simply managing marketing projects. Part of my job was to conduct root-cause analysis and privately address what I found with the VP of Operations. The agency was losing clients, and part of my assignment was to conduct root-cause analysis within the PMO. No one ever told me the two were connected, but I wondered whether leadership believed they might be. Ganna Walska Lotusland I worked alongside another Project Manager, a smart guy with a project management certification whose vertical happened to be one of the problematic ones. He didn’t know that evaluating his project pipeline was part of my assignment. His failure to follow project management best practices had already been escalated. He also had reluctance to escalate problems early enough to keep them from affecting clients. One Client Success Manager was a recurring problem. She routinely failed to turn in ...

Surf & Turf Fried Rice

Growing up, fried rice was a staple in our home. My mother served it with yellow radish pickles and kimchi, sometimes crowned with a fried egg. On certain days it appeared a little fancier—tucked neatly inside an omelet, or my personal favorite, stuffed into inari age, those seasoned fried tofu pouches that soak up every grain. Ceramic bowl was wheel-thrown and glazed by me Fried rice exists in many forms across Asia—China, Japan, Korea, Thailand, and Vietnam, to name only a few—each with its own techniques, flavors, and traditions. I cannot say that my version belongs squarely to any one of them. It began with the flavors and instincts of Korean-style fried rice, but over time it evolved, influenced by my Chinese-Hungarian-American ex-husband and the ingredients commonly found in American kitchens: leftover ham, jalapeño, and calabacita. This version leans into a playful idea of surf and turf—shrimp representing the sea and ham representing the land—folded together into a wok of rice ...

Let's Unite With Intelligence, Not Emotions

It has been difficult to watch as the alleged Cornell University gang rape saga unfolds. I am not minimizing what allegedly happened. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and domestic violence as an adult, I do not take what allegedly happened lightly. What happened to Jane Doe, I know she will never be able to escape—physically, mentally, or emotionally. I know her thoughts must take her to the darkest and cruelest moments, moments that at times must feel as though they will never end. I have learned to accept those moments myself, the shame and rage turning so rapidly that eventually they become numbness, until something triggers them again. I have also learned that the numbness is when it becomes dangerous, when the conflict that keeps us “feeling” is subdued and settles into an acceptance: I am damaged. Forever. So I know it is difficult—nearly impossible for some of us, and for legitimate reasons—to leave our emotions out of what allegedly happened beginning on October 19, 202...

Exhaling Life

Search This Blog