My first reaction, when I heard about the proposed $2.3-million fence around MacArthur Park, was skepticism.
Yeah, the park and the immediate neighborhood have long dealt with a nasty web of urban nightmares, including homelessness, crime and a rather astonishing open-air drug scene, all of which I spent a few months looking into not long ago.
But what would a fence accomplish?
Well, after looking into it, maybe it’s not the worst idea.
Skepticism, I should note, is generally a fallback position for me. It’s something of an occupational duty, and how can you not be cynical about promises and plans in Los Angeles, where each time you open the newspaper, you have to scratch your head?
I’m still having trouble understanding how county supervisors approved another $828 million in child sexual abuse payments, on top of an earlier settlement this year of $4 billion, even after Times reporter Rebecca Ellis found nine cases in which people said they were told to fabricate abuse allegations.
The same supes, while wrestling with a budget crisis, agreed to pay $2 million to appease the county’s chief executive officer because she felt wronged by a ballot measure proposing that the job be an elected rather than appointed post. Scratching your head doesn’t help in this case; you’re tempted instead to bang it into a wall.
Drone view of MacArthur Park looking toward downtown Los Angeles.
(Ted Soqui/For The Times)
Or maybe a $2.3-million fence.
The city of L.A. is primarily responsible for taking on the problems of MacArthur Park, although the county has a role too in the areas of housing, public health and addiction services. I made two visits to the area in the last week, and while there are signs of progress and slightly less of a sense of chaos — the children’s playground hit last year by an arsonist has been fully rebuilt — there’s a long way to go.
In a story about the fence by my colleague Nathan Solis, one service provider said it would further criminalize homelessness and another said the money “could be better used by funding … services to the people in the park, rather than just moving them out.”
The vast majority of people who spoke at the Oct. 16 meeting of the Recreation and Parks Commission, which voted unanimously to move forward with the fence, were adamantly opposed despite claims that enclosing the space would be a step toward upgrading and making the park more welcoming.
“Nothing is more unwelcoming than a fence around a public space,” one critic said.
“A fence can not solve homelessness,” another said.
The LAPD underwater dive unit investigates activity in MacArthur Park Lake.
(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Others argued that locking up the park, which is surrounded by a predominantly immigrant community, recalls the ridiculous stunt that played out in June, when President Trump’s uniformed posse showed up in armored vehicles and on horseback in what looked like an all-out invasion of Westlake.
But another speaker, Raul Claros — who is running against Councilmember Eunisses Hernandez in the 1st District — said he’d spoken to residents and merchants who support the fence, as long as it’s part of a greater effort to address the community’s needs.
Claros said he has three questions: “What’s the plan? What’s the timeline? Who’s in charge?”
Hernandez, by the way, is not opposed to the fence. A staffer told me there’s a fence around nearby Lafayette Park. Other fenced parks in Los Angeles include Robert Burns Park, adjacent to Hancock Park, and the L.A. State Historic Park on the edge of Chinatown, which is locked at sunset.
As for the long-range plan, the Hernandez staffer said the councilwoman has secured and is investing millions of dollars in what she calls a care-first approach that aims to address drug addiction and homelessness in and around the park.
Eduardo Aguirre, who lives a couple of blocks from the park and serves on the West Pico Neighborhood Council, told me he’s OK with the fence but worried about the possible consequences. If the people who use the park at night or sleep there are forced out, he said, where will they go?
“To the streets? To the alleys? You know what’s going to happen. It’s a game,” Aguirre said.
Last fall I walked with Aguirre and his wife as they led their daughter to her elementary school. They often have to step around homeless people and past areas where dealing and drug use, along with violence, are anything but infrequent.
Families and others should be able to feel safe in the park and the neighborhood, said Norm Langer, owner of the iconic Langer’s deli on the edge of the park.
A visitor takes in the view at MacArthur Park.
(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
“I completely understand why you’re skeptical,” Langer told me, but he said he’s seen improvements in the last year, particularly after fences were installed along Alvarado Street and vendors were shut down. Police say some of the vendors were involved in the drug trade and the resale of stolen merchandise.
“The point isn’t to limit access,” Langer said. “The fence is intended to improve safety and quality of life for the people who live, work, and spend time here. It gives park staff a fighting chance to maintain and restore the place, especially at night, when they can finally clean and repair without the constant chaos that made upkeep nearly impossible before.”
LAPD Capt. Ben Fernandes of the Rampart division told me police are “trying to make it not OK” to buy and use drugs along the Alvarado corridor. Drug users often gather in the northeast corner of the park, Fernandes said, and he thinks putting up a fence and keeping the park off limits at night will help “deflect” some of “the open-air usage.”
The park has a nice soccer field and a lovely bandstand, among other popular attractions, but many parents told me they’re reluctant to visit with their children because of safety concerns. If a fence helps bring back families, many of whom live in apartments and have no yards, that’s a good thing.
But as the city goes to work on design issues, questions about enforcement, opening and closing times and other details, it needs to keep in mind that all of that is the easy part.
It took an unforgivably long time for L.A. Mayor Karen Bass and other elected officials to acknowledge a social, economic and humanitarian crisis in a place that’s home to thousands of low-income working people.
It was an overcast Sunday in June, the WeHo Pride parade was in full swing and the hit song about an iconic West Hollywood gay bar was blasting at full volume.
Sure, the county supervisor’s sequined, rainbow muumuu was giving her an angry rash. But that did little to dampen her spirits as she danced atop her pink pony-themed Pride float, swaying and mouthing the lyrics.
Five hours later, Horvath had traded her sequins and rainbow sneakers for a simple black dress and heels.
Now, she sat on a wooden pew for evening Mass at her 121-year-old Catholic parish in Hollywood.
But she still knew all the words, albeit this time to a traditional hymn about the holiness of the Lord. And then she knelt down in quiet prayer.
Horvath, 43, defies easy characterization.
She is the first millennial member of the county Board of Supervisors, a governing body that wields tremendous power despite remaining unknown to most Angelenos.
When elected in November 2022, she went from representing roughly 35,000 people as a West Hollywood City Council member to having more than 2 million constituents across a sweeping, 431-square-mile district that sprawls from the Ventura County line down to Santa Monica, east to Hollywood and up through much of the San Fernando Valley.
While attending the University of Notre Dame, Horvath held a leadership position with the school’s College Republicans chapter, helped create Notre Dame’s first gay-straight alliance and drew national opposition for staging “The Vagina Monologues” at the Catholic university — all while working three jobs to pay off her student loans. (She’s still paying them off.)
During her 2022 campaign for supervisor, she had the backing of some of the most progressive politicians in the city, including then-Councilmember-elect Eunisses Hernandez, as well as then-Councilmember Joe Buscaino, one of the more conservative members of the body.
As a member of the West Hollywood City Council, she helped approve what was then the highest minimum wage in the country, yet her county reelection bid was just endorsed by one of the region’s most prominent pro-business groups.
In the three years since she was elected to the county Board of Supervisors, she has effectively rewritten the structure of county government and drastically changed its approach to homelessness response.
Horvath’s Midwestern mien, unflagging politeness and warm smile belie her fierce ambition.
She has long been seen as someone who does not — to crib a phrase occasionally used about her behind closed doors — “wait her turn.” And that impatience has worked out OK for her so far.
All of which raises the question, will Horvath challenge Karen Bass in the June 2026 Los Angeles mayoral race?
Horvath speaks as supporters rally in September for her motion to pass an emergency rent relief program.
(Al Seib / For The Times)
Her name has been bandied as a potential Los Angeles mayoral candidate since early in the year, when her public profile exploded in the wake of the devastating Palisades fire and tensions between her and Bass first became public.
She has done little to tamp the speculation since, though some posit she is merely expanding her profile ahead of a run for county executive in 2028.
Still, the political rumor mill went into overdrive in early summer, as word trickled out that the erstwhile mayor of West Hollywood had moved into a two-bedroom apartment at the edge of Hollywood — firmly in the city of Los Angeles.
When asked about her mayoral intentions late last month, Horvath demurred, but made clear the door was open.
“I have no plans to run for mayor,” she said, sitting under the sun in Gloria Molina Grand Park, just outside her office in the Kenneth Hahn Hall of Administration, within direct view of City Hall.
“I continue to be asked by people I deeply respect, so I continue to listen to them and consider their requests, and I’m taking that seriously,” she continued. “But I’m focused on the work of the county.”
Horvath, left, embraces Mayor Karen Bass in August at an event in Pacific Palisades.
(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
Horvath declined to share specifics about who was pushing her to run, though she said they were “significant stakeholders” that didn’t hail from any single community.
On Monday, former schools chief Austin Beutner kicked off his campaign for mayor, becoming the first serious candidate to challenge Bass. Political watchers have speculated that Beutner’s entrée could potentially open the floodgates by offering a permission structure for others to challenge the mayor of the nation’s second-largest city.
In the immediate wake of the January firestorm, Bass’ political future appeared to be in real jeopardy, but she has since regained some of her footing and shored up support with powerful interests, such as local labor groups.
***
Horvath was 26 and had lived in West Hollywood for all of 18 months when Sal Guarriello, a 90-year-old West Hollywood council member, suddenly died.
It was spring 2009. The advertising executive and Ohio transplant was active in Democratic and feminist circles, co-founding the Hollywood chapter of the National Organization for Women and leading the West Hollywood Women’s Advisory Board. (Raised by conservatives, Horvath started college as a Republican but soon evolved into a staunch Democrat.)
Former Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti — who was then president of the Los Angeles City Council — had become a friend and mentor to Horvath through her activism. He and others urged her to throw her hat into the ring for the open seat.
More than 30 people applied, but Horvath was ultimately chosen by the remaining members of the council to join them — an outcome that was stunning, even to her.
After two years in her appointed role, she lost an election bid in 2011 but continued to make a name for herself in the tight-knit, clubby world of progressive West Hollywood politics.
Undeterred, she ran again for West Hollywood City Council in 2015 and won.
Horvath is sworn in as the new county supervisor for District 3 in December 2022.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Horvath remained on the council for the next seven years and twice served as mayor before turning her ambitions toward the county Hall of Administration.
She was seen as an underdog in her supervisor’s race, running against former state Sen. Bob Hertzberg, a political veteran who had a 3-to-1 fundraising advantage and first took elected office as she was entering high school.
Hertzberg had far more name recognition, but Horvath ultimately defeated him with a coalition that included local Democratic clubs and some of labor.
***
On the Board of Supervisors, Horvath has been unafraid to take chances and ruffle feathers.
Less than two years into her first term, Horvath was leading the charge to fundamentally reinvent the structure of county government, which hadn’t been meaningfully changed in more than a century.
Horvath’s bold plan to increase the size of the board from five to nine supervisors and create a new elected county executive position was approved by voters last November.
Voters will choose the county’s first elected executive in 2028. Opponents (and even some allies) have long griped that Horvath has her sights set on the very position she helped create, which will undoubtedly be one of the most powerful elected offices in the state.
“There are people who are never going to be convinced that I created this measure without seeing a seat for myself in it,” she says. “I’m not interested in convincing people of that. I’m interested in doing the work.”
As she campaigned for Measure G, critics also said Horvath and her allies were moving too fast, with too much left to figure out after the vote, including the price tag.
“Not everybody always loves you when you do things that upset the status quo. But I think history judges people not by ‘Did everybody love them in a given moment?’ … It’s were they smart and were they brave,” Garcetti said of Horvath.
“And she’s both,” he added.
Still, some of those criticisms came to bear in July, when it was revealed that county officials committed a near-unthinkable administrative screwup. When voters approved the sprawling overhaul to county government in November, the move unintentionally repealed Measure J, the county’s landmark criminal justice reform passed by voters in 2020.
Horvath said she didn’t think she and other proponents moved too fast, arguing that if they hadn’t seized the moment, they would have missed the opportunity “to bring about the change that has been stuck for far too long.”
Horvath argues that the fact that Measure J could have been unwritten in the first place is why Measure G was so needed.
***
Horvath was, briefly, everywhere during the fires.
While Mayor Bass receded into the background, Horvath was a constant presence at media briefings and on the news.
Her face was so omnipresent that a man she’d recently gone on a date with — someone who didn’t fully understand what she did for a living — spotted her on television with some confusion.
That was the last she heard from him, she said. (Dating as a public official is “very weird,” and not just because the one time she tried to use Tinder while abroad, she was seemingly banned for impersonating herself.)
She also tussled with Bass behind closed doors in late January, as revealed in text messages obtained by The Times that highlighted an increasingly fractious relationship.
The two women were at odds even before flames laid waste to a wide swath of coastal paradise.
Last November, Horvath went public with a proposal to shrink the duties of the Los Angeles Homeless Services Authority, which is overseen by city and county political appointees.
Horvath called for hundreds of millions of dollars to be shifted out of the agency and into a new county department focused on homelessness — a proposal to which Bass strenuously objected.
Horvath ultimately pushed her strategy forward in April, but not without warnings from Bass about creating a “massive disruption” in the region’s fight against homelessness.
Horvath attends a news conference celebrating the Army Corps of Engineers clearing debris from the final house in the Palisades in late August.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Horvath’s relationships in the Palisades have also not been without some tension.
The supervisor recently pledged $10 million of her county discretionary funds to help rebuild the Palisades-Malibu YMCA, but some in the community have felt betrayed by her, according to Pacific Palisades Residents Assn. President Jessica Rogers.
“We don’t believe that she’s properly engaging her community,” Rogers said, citing the independent commission that Horvath convened in the wake of the fires. “She put a lot of time and energy into creating this report. The intentions might have been good, but she didn’t include proper community participation.”
Rogers was particularly bothered by Horvath’s proposal for a countywide rebuilding authority, since Rogers felt like Horvath hadn’t earned their trust. The rebuilding authority, which was supported by the mayor of Malibu, did not come to fruition.
“There’s a perception that [Horvath] is too aggressive,” said another community leader, who asked to speak anonymously because they hope to get things done without alienating anybody. “But there’s more of a mix to how people feel about her than you can see.”
The loudest voices, particularly in community WhatsApp groups, NextDoor and other forums, tend to be the most vitriolic, the community leader said, positing that some of the gripes about Horvath had more to do with her progressive politics than her leadership.
“People are suffering, and I will always show up for my constituents — especially when the conversations are difficult. The Blue Ribbon Commission provided independent, expert guidance on a sustainable rebuild. Its recommendations were meant to inform, not replace, community engagement,” Horvath said.
***
The chances of Horvath entering the mayoral race still remain far slimmer than the alternative, particularly because she is up for reelection in 2026 — meaning she would have to sacrifice her safe board seat for an uphill battle challenging an incumbent who still has deep wells of support in the city.
Former Los Angeles City Councilmember Mike Bonin, who long represented the Westside and now directs the Pat Brown Institute for Public Affairs at Cal State LA, said he wondered why someone would want the job of mayor while in the comparatively plush position of county supervisor.
Supervisors have more power and suffer far less scrutiny, he argued. Still, there were benefits to remaining in the mix.
“Being mentioned as a potential candidate is one of the greatest places a political figure can be. Because when you’re in the mentioning stage, it’s all about your strengths, your assets, your positive attributes,” Bonin said with a laugh. “Once you declare, it’s the reverse.”
Times staff writers David Zahniser and Rebecca Ellis contributed to this report.
Los Angeles County is moving to add more checks on how federal immigration officials can access data collected by the Sheriff’s Department that can be used to track where people drive on any given day.
County supervisors voted Tuesday to approve a motion, introduced by Supervisor Hilda Solis, to beef up oversight of data gathered by law enforcement devices known as automated license plate readers.
It’s already illegal in California for local law enforcement agencies to share information gleaned from license plate readers with federal agencies such as U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement without a warrant.
But after a summer of ramped-up deportations, the county supervisors decided to impose more transparency on who’s requesting license plate data from the Sheriff’s Department — and when the agency provides it.
The change will create a clear policy that the data cannot be “disclosed, transferred, or otherwise made available” to immigration officials except when “expressly required” by law or if they have a warrant.
“In a place like Los Angeles County, where residents depend on cars for nearly every aspect of daily life, people must feel safe traveling from place to place without fear that their movements are being tracked, stored, and shared in ways that violate their privacy,” the motion states.
Supervisor Kathryn Barger cast the sole no vote. Helen Chavez, a spokesperson for Barger, said the supervisor voted against the motion because it calls for the county to support a bill that would limit the amount of time law enforcement can keep most license plate data to 60 days. Law enforcement has opposed that bill, she said.
Across the country, law enforcement agencies use cameras to collect data on millions of vehicles, poring over the records for clues to help find stolen vehicles, crime suspects or missing persons.
A sheriff deputy’s patrol car is equipped with a license plate scanner. The plate numbers are instantaneously processed and if the registered vehicle owners are wanted for felonies or certain types of misdemeanors, if they are registered sex or arson offenders or if an Amber Alert has been issued, an alarm will sound to alert the officer.
(Los Angeles Times)
The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department said in a statement it has roughly 366 fixed licensed plate readers from Motorola Vigilant and 476 from Flock Safety in contract cities and unincorporated areas. An additional 89 mobile systems from Motorola are mounted on vehicles that patrol these areas.
The department said its policy already prohibits it from sharing data from plate readers, known as ALPR, with any entity that “does not have a lawful purpose for receiving it.”
“LASD shares ALPR data with other law enforcement agencies only under an executed inter-agency agreement, which requires all parties to collect, access, use, and disclose the data in compliance with applicable law,” the statement read. “LASD has no current agreements for ALPR data sharing with any federal agency.”
Tricia McLaughlin, assistant secretary for the Department of Homeland Security, said in a statement that the agency has multiple resources at its “fingertips to ensure federal law is enforced in Los Angeles, and throughout the entire country.”
“These sanctuary politicians’ efforts to stop the Sheriff’s Department from cooperating with ICE are reckless and will not deter ICE from enforcing the law,” McLaughlin said.
Southern California law enforcement departments — including LAPD and authorities in San Diego, Orange and Riverside counties — have been accused of routinely flouting state law by sharing license plate data with federal agents. A recent report from CalMatters cited records obtained by the anti-surveillance group Oakland Privacy that showed more than 100 instances in a single month when local police queried databases for federal agencies.
“When you collect this data, it’s really hard to control,” said Catherine Crump, director of UC Berkeley’s Technology & Public Policy Clinic. “It’s no different from once you share your data with Meta or Google, they’re going to repackage your data and sell it to advertisers and you don’t have any idea which of the advertising companies have your data.”
Even with the board cracking down on data sharing, advocates say it’s nearly impossible to ensure federal agents are barred from license plate data in L.A. County.
Dave Maass, the director of investigations for the Electronic Frontier Foundation, said private companies that operate in California still collect and sell data that ICE can use.
U.S. Customs and Border Protection also has its own license plate readers around Southern California, he said.
Maass said even if a county bars its local sheriff’s department from sharing data with ICE, it’s difficult to guarantee the rule is followed by the rank-and-file. Immigration officers could informally pass on a plate number to a deputy with access to the system.
An L.A. County Sheriff’s Department patrol car equipped with a license plate reader can scan somewhere between 1,000 and 1,500 plates a day.
(Los Angeles Times)
“Maybe they run the plate,” Maass says. “Unless there’s some public records release from the Los Angeles side of things, we just really don’t know who accessed the system.”
Under the motion passed Tuesday, the sheriff department would need to regularly report what agencies asked for license plate data to two county watchdogs groups — the Office of Inspector General and the Civilian Oversight Commission.
“Having somebody who is somewhat independent and whose role is more aggressively overseeing reviewing these searches is actually quite a big deal,” Maass said.
