movement

He said the quiet part out loud. As the artistic director of New York’s Public Theater and one of the art form’s most prominent leaders, Oskar Eustis is known to do that. And as always, he got the art world talking.

When Eustis, 67, announced Wednesday that he would step down from his role at the Public in 2028 — after 23 years — he said in a New York Times interview that “the American nonprofit theater movement is over.” This has been whispered about and lamented since the COVID-19 pandemic led to temporary theater closures across the country that have since become permanent, but it is rare to hear it expressed so candidly.

Did Eustis, one of the key players in that vaunted movement — the man who helped foster “Hamilton” — really mean what he said? And if so, how does theater move on in the face of obstacles that at times feel as though they are scattered across an increasingly difficult course? In a wide-ranging follow-up interview with the Los Angeles Times, Eustis addressed the path forward.

Lin-Manuel Miranda and Phillipa Soo portray Alexander and Eliza Hamilton in “Hamilton.” The megahit premiered off-Broadway at the Public Theater under Oskar Eustis in 2015.

(Disney+)

It’s not an easy one, but Los Angeles theater leaders working in the trenches, including Tarell Alvin McCraney at Geffen Playhouse, Danny Feldman at Pasadena Playhouse and Snehal Desai at Center Theatre Group, already knew that. They talked with the Los Angeles Times about their plans at the crossroads reached by American theater in light of Eustis’ imminent exit.

Eustis traces the rise of the American nonprofit theater movement to the late 1950s when W. McNeil “Mac” Lowry, director of the arts and humanities program at the Ford Foundation in New York, began organizing existing regional theaters into a national movement.

“What happened during that period was that a consensus emerged,” Eustis said, noting that it was expressed in the form of national endowments, state arts agencies, public policy institutes and corporate philanthropic departments. “An idea of the common good was held throughout the country, and there were many stakeholders. And part of that idea of the common good was a broadly held belief that Americans deserved serious, non-market-driven performing arts.”

With no feudal background, America lacked a capital city like London or Paris designed to showcase the arts, so the idea spread across all 50 states. This led to the proliferation of the regional theater movement, said Eustis, as well as that of symphony orchestras and ballet companies.

“The explosion of the regional theater movement is actually, in retrospect, astonishing,” Eustis said. “From a few scattered theaters in the 1950s, by the early ‘70s, there were over 400 professional nonprofit theaters in every state of the union. Tens of thousands of people were employed. Millions and millions of audience members every year. That’s the field that I walked into in the early ‘70s.”

Fifty years later, those stakeholders have “absolutely zero consensus on whether theater should exist as a nonprofit performing arts field or whether we should exist at all,” Eustis said. “It’s gone.”

“We’ve kind of been living, in a way, off inertia of this old idea,” he added.

The great pandemic pause, along with the racial reckoning in the wake of George Floyd’s murder and the continued fracturing of a shared reality under President Trump, served to reveal how fragile that consensus was, Eustis said, and, “It’s not coming back.”

Where does that leave American theater in 2026?

“We’re faced with the need to prove to the people in our individual communities that we matter enough to them that they should support us,” Eustis said. “Now, that’s not a very bad demand to put on an art form.”

Except, as every theater that has lately dared put on a show created by new, experimental or unknown artists knows, it can feel like an insurmountable task.

Danny Feldman, artistic director of Pasadena Playhouse, said that the days of theaters underpaying talent are over.

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

Smaller theaters across the country, including many in L.A., have shuttered with staggering regularity in the last six years, which puts even greater pressure on the city’s most prominent nonprofits to shine a light on a sustainable model moving forward.

Feldman, Pasadena Playhouse’s artistic director, noted that Eustis represents the second generation of leaders of the “first chapter” of the nonprofit regional theater movement. “And that to me is what is now undeniably at the end.”

He said he and Eustis have discussed the subject at length. “We are now in a very different era. And the things that got us to this point are not the things that are going to get us to the next chapter.”

McCraney, Geffen Playhouse’s artistic director, said forging a path forward in nonprofit theater without succumbing to commercial pressure to produce only guaranteed hits requires the delicate balance of surfing.

“And there’s no better place to surf than in L.A.,” McCraney said over the phone from the Public, where he was meeting with Eustis and other theater leaders to share ideas. “I feel very connected to a bunch of folks who recognize that the regional theater model has always had to have radical vision, and that those radical visions need revision, because our most practical job is to make sure that communities have stories.”

Tarell Alvin McCraney, artistic director of Geffen Playhouse, compared the balancing act theater leaders must perform to surfing.

(Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times)

It’s not just the way theater tells — and funds — stories that must evolve. It’s the entire business model, the leaders note.

The beauty and the founding of the original regional movement, said Feldman, was artists saying, “New York is not just where it’s at. We’re going to go to our communities. We’re going to make things with and for them, and really build these ecosystems that are deeply entrenched in these local communities around the country. … And I think the underbelly of that — that maybe has not been discussed as much — was always an element of subsidized labor involved.”

In L.A. and elsewhere that meant a lot of artists in the front and back of the house working for incredibly low wages. The pandemic effectively put an end to that, and as workers demanded fair compensation, the cost of producing shows skyrocketed. Most theater leaders agree that part is as it should be. Eustis points to the recent unionization of the Public’s production department as a case in point.

“For the first time in history, everybody who’s swinging a hammer on our productions has health insurance,” he said. “They have it through the union. That’s a good thing. And it’s put a shock wave through the whole industry, but you know what? We figured out how to pay development directors. We should figure out how to pay carpenters. That’s part of growing up.”

Center Theatre Group Artistic Director Snehal Desai said Oskar Eustis’ departure from New York’s Public Theater represents a “pass the mantle” moment.

(Etienne Laurent / For The Times)

Desai, CTG’s artistic director, said he views Eustis’ decision to step down as a “pass the mantle moment.”

“Oskar has been a huge mentor to so many of us,” Desai said. “It’s up to us, the next generation of leaders, to figure it out, just as his generation did in the ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s when they built these institutions for us.”

At CTG that means exploring a new way of doing things including touring shows, intensive work in various communities and site-specific productions, all of which “can change the financials and the model of how we’re doing business.”

As for Eustis? He plans to leave the Public in the best possible shape for the next generation of artists, and never wavers from its core mission. “This is a theater of democracy that believes that the culture belongs to everybody,” he said.

Leaders of the movement say they will continue campaigning but will not stage another march through New Delhi.

Leaders of India’s “cockroach movement” say they will continue to protest against the government but will refrain from further rallies through the streets of New Delhi because of concerns about the safety of their supporters after a violent police response when more than 10,000 people tried to march to parliament.

“We will not march again because the police will hurt the youth again,” Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) founder Abhijeet Dipke said at a news conference on Tuesday.

He said 150 protesters were wounded by police who fired tear gas and beat activists with canes and batons during Monday’s march.

The movement will continue to demand the resignation of Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan, who it said must be held accountable for flaws in the education system.

The movement emerged after a leak of exam papers that forced 2.2 million aspiring doctors to retake their exams, reportedly contributing to at least 12 students dying by suicide. The CJP is calling for compensation of 10 million rupees ($104,000) for each family of the students who took their own lives after the leak.

“We won’t stop. Pradhan has to be sacked,” the CJP’s Ashutosh Ranka said.

⁠Opposition leaders Rahul Gandhi and his ⁠sister Priyanka along with members ⁠of their Indian National Congress party, staged a protest outside Prime Minister Narendra ‌Modi’s house, videos shared by the party showed on Tuesday.

“We have marched to PM ⁠Modi’s house to ⁠demand answers from him for the brutalities against ⁠young students yesterday,” ⁠Rahul Gandhi posted ⁠on X.

The rights group Amnesty International said in a statement late on Monday that the police action showed “how peaceful dissent is being suppressed in India.”

“They beat us black and blue, and they damaged our protest site,” Sahil Singh, a protester from the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, told the Reuters news agency. “We want accountability to be set with Pradhan’s resignation.”

The number of protesters who marched on Monday was larger than expected, partly due to widespread anger after veteran 59-year-old activist Sonam Wangchuk, who has been on hunger strike for three weeks in solidarity with the CJP, was seized by police and hospitalised against his will.

The Delhi ⁠High ⁠Court ruled on Tuesday that Wangchuk could be moved ⁠from a government hospital to a private healthcare facility after his ⁠wife petitioned the court, alleging he was being held in “illegal detention”, the legal news website Bar and Bench ‌said.

About 200 protesters gathered at the CJP protest site at Jantar Mantar in central New Delhi on Tuesday morning, chanting slogans under a monsoon drizzle.

Paramilitary personnel continued to patrol central parts of India’s capital, and barricades were restricting traffic.

Delhi police said nearly 180 people – 60 protesters and 118 security and police personnel – were injured in Monday’s clashes. Police also said 70 protesters were detained and legal action would be initiated against them.

Multiple videos of Monday’s clashes show police attacking protesters, but no footage has emerged of any violence by the marchers.

The CJP and its supporters remain hopeful that they may change the status quo. A representative said on Monday that a federal minister had promised the government would consider their demands.

On Tuesday, Parliamentary Affairs Minister Kiren Rijiju said: “I think when the talks are going on in a right direction, the atmosphere should not be vitiated.”

The CJP’s campaign initially began online with viral satirical memes mocking the government, and it quickly amassed millions of followers on social media. It has since morphed into a movement able to mobilise thousands on the streets, as Monday’s march demonstrated.

After the chief justice of India’s Supreme Court likened some unemployed young people to “cockroaches”, the protesters adopted the insult as the name of their movement.

Joseph Soto is an activist and co-founder of the Transgresores collective. This 34-year-old, who holds a degree in performing arts, has emerged as a leading figure in the defense of the rights of the sexual and gender diversity community in Venezuela, with a particular focus on raising awareness about trans men.

How was the transition process to a trans man in Venezuela amid a full-blown crisis?

It was undeniably very complex. The years 2016–2017 saw a worsening of the socioeconomic crisis in Venezuela as a result of the US blockade and sanctions, which had a drastic impact on day-to-day life, public services, and the population’s living standards. Everything pointed to the fact that, in order to transition, I would have to leave the country, but I decided not to. There had to be some way to be a trans man in Venezuela.

It was difficult, not only because of the material and socioeconomic conditions, but above all because of the lack of information and the void of references surrounding the issue of trans masculinity. Historically, trans women have shouldered the burden of visibility within the struggles for sexual diversity. When we talk, for example, about the 1969 Stonewall riots, trans women played a leading role. Trans men, on the other hand, have not taken on that protagonism.  It caused me a great deal of anxiety to not know what to do, where to start, or where to go. I figured it out by researching, studying, seeing how things were done in other countries, reading medical protocols, analyzing different perspectives, and acquiring theoretical tools to develop my own process. But also by making connections and building networks here. That’s what saved me.

In the end, it was challenging but not impossible. And that’s exactly how I began to make connections with activists and advocates in the field of sexual and gender diversity, who in turn put me in touch with trans peers who were here in Venezuela. That allowed me to navigate the initial challenges of my gender identity transition, which involved building a collective of trans men called Transgresores.

In general terms, how would you describe the access to healthcare and medical treatment for trans people in Venezuela?

I believe there is a great need for discussion, training, and awareness-raising among healthcare workers regarding the care of our population. In addition to the inherent weaknesses of the public healthcare system, resulting from the US blockade and internal mismanagement, which create endless hurdles for receiving care at a hospital or affording treatment at a clinic, there is also the anxiety stemming from the possibility that a medical professional might be prejudiced or lack knowledge about trans issues. 

The trans community doesn’t just go to healthcare centers for issues related to their gender transition, such as hormone replacement therapy or surgery. We may also experience general illness or suffer an accident, and prejudice stemming from ignorance can affect the quality of care we receive. It’s happened to me. Once I went to the hospital in Lidice (Caracas) for a swollen lymph node in my armpit, but when I mentioned that I was trans, the doctor refused to treat me, telling me to go to my primary care physician or an endocrinologist. He couldn’t even prescribe some ibuprofen. Prejudice won out. 

Worse still is the treatment of transgender women. Discrimination persists, and the medical field is no exception. But we exist, and we have the right to healthcare. It seems like something very basic, but it’s work that still needs to be done. In the current context, with the Coexistence Program and the call made by the acting president herself for the recognition of sexual diversity, there is an opportunity for the Ombudsman’s Office, which has been facilitating this debate, to collaborate with the governing bodies in the healthcare sector to develop a training and awareness-raising process. 

In other Latin American countries such as Cuba, or certain provinces in Argentina and Uruguay, there are established protocols and transition processes. This is provided through the public healthcare system, including access to hormones and surgical procedures if that is what the person desires. However, in Venezuela, there is no public health policy established and regulated by the state geared toward the care of transgender people. Before that can happen, there must be a rigorous debate since, in addition to transgender people, gay men and lesbians also suffer this type of discrimination.

Two issues stand out on the gender and sexual diversity agenda: marriage equality and legal name and gender changes for transgender people. Can you explain why these two issues are so central? And what other demands does the movement have?

In what concerns marriage equality, the Venezuelan sexual and gender diversity movement submitted a bill to the National Assembly in 2014. In other words, work has already been done on this issue, including going through the various legal steps required by the Venezuelan legal framework to present a bill of this magnitude to the legislature. But in the end, that debate did not proceed. It was shelved despite having met all the requirements. That is why we still demand a debate, to overcome the fear of recognizing other forms of family and to integrate ourselves as subjects of equal rights within our legal framework. That would allow, for example, our partners to have inheritance rights. 

Regarding the issue of legal name and gender changes for transgender people, there are two key points. The first is that for trans people, when the name registered on legal documents does not match how we see ourselves, it can often expose us to situations of violence and discrimination in administrative procedures or when dealing with law enforcement. There have been instances of discrimination, violence, and abuse by the police when they identify a person as trans. 

The second reason is that there is no need to create a new right. What is needed is to enforce and implement an existing one. The Organic Law on the Civil Registry establishes that every citizen of this country has the right to change their name at least once if it is humiliating or does not correspond to their gender. That is why the Venezuelan sexual and gender diversity movement has been so vocal in demanding this provision. As for other demands, there is the issue of the right to a life free from violence and discrimination, because discrimination based on gender identity, gender expression, or sexual orientation is still very much alive in Venezuela. Certain municipalities have proposed decrees on this matter, but I believe that is insufficient. We need a legal framework that establishes penalties and, above all, addresses all the various forms of discrimination faced by our community.

In other interviews and articles, you have talked about the harm suffered from studying in religious schools, despite the law establishing that education should be secular. As we witness a major offensive from evangelical groups in national politics, what is your perspective?

Indeed, the rise of conservative religious thought is a threat to sexual and gender diversity. But at the end of the day, this is nothing new. We are the cultural product of [Spanish] conquest and colonization, and from that point on, the Catholic religion was imposed. 

Now, [Protestant] fundamentalist groups are definitely on the rise both nationally and regionally. But I believe the threat does not lie in religious thought itself, because this country is not inhabited solely by Christians. It is a melting pot of religions, beliefs, and faiths. I believe that our commitment must be precisely to celebrate, through sexual and gender diversity, that religious pluralism, so long as it does not infringe upon the rights of any group. My call is for sexual diversity to provide the country with a roadmap, a vision of a truly diverse, respectful society that aims for recognition and is free from violence and discrimination. We must engage in a meaningful debate about the kind of society we want to build. This involves addressing educational, cultural, and media issues.

Most of the country is focused on socioeconomic issues, and this is pushing other important questions to the backburner. What does the sexual and gender diversity movement propose in these circumstances?

I believe that the diversity movement owes a debt to the country because it has often limited itself to merely making demands and pointing out the shortcomings of the Venezuelan state and the Venezuelan people, but it has also failed to develop a strategic, programmatic vision to offer the country a vision of governance and an institutional framework.

My view is that we need to open up a broader debate and reestablish spaces for discussion within collectives, organizations, and platforms. Migration has also disrupted spaces for activism, because many sexual, gender, and diversity activists left the country. But it’s time to regroup and rise to the challenge of the times. What do we propose for the country in the present context? How do we see it? That is the debate we are called upon to have. I cannot definitively say what the sexual and gender diversity movement proposes because it is a debate that has yet to take place. But our approach cannot be limited to marriage equality and sexual identity.

You have also expressed concerns about a sector of the LGBTIQ+ community subordinating its agenda to the dynamics of foreign funding. Can you elaborate on this?

On this topic, I am referring to the fact that many of the sexual and gender diversity initiatives or forms of activism have been limited by NGOs since the international humanitarian system entered the country, as a result of sanctions, the crisis, and so on. In this kind of activism, political action has fallen short because it has been restricted solely to activities outlined within a given project sponsored by a specific funder, and it has lost its own organic character. It cannot be that the only spaces for us to meet and discuss are fully determined by the timelines, categories, and demands of a specific NGO project.

We must have our own agenda, with our own perspective and objectives. One that, above all, is guided by sexual and gender diversity activism and struggle. We have the responsibility and the challenge of overcoming this logic to reclaim an organic structure linked to concrete spaces of work and transformation, to a community, to a specific educational institution, to our territories, with our own agendas, categories, and timelines, not those predefined by an external organization. 

The idea is not to demonize external funding, but our actions cannot be completely determined by it. Furthermore, these project activities fall short of the transformation we owe to our society. This is a personal perspective, and I’m sure I’ll get a lot of hate for it, but painting a bike lane with a rainbow flag in wealthy parts of eastern Caracas doesn’t bring about real change, even if resources, information, media coverage, and human effort are devoted to it. In terms of social and structural transformation, it achieves nothing; it leaves no lasting impact. We need a deeper, more strategic vision that harnesses the transformative potential we possess as a collective, as organized actors in society. That is why we must rebuild the movement.

When Republican Spencer Pratt burst into Los Angeles politics, venting a torrent of online fury against Mayor Karen Bass’ handling of the Palisades fire, he pitched his mayoral campaign as a full-bore challenge to L.A.’s political status quo.

The former reality TV star, who lost his home in the blaze, started as a long shot but emerged as a national story, with the ability to harvest social media attention, rally a base and dominate the news cycle.

But in a city overwhelmingly Democratic, where Republicans make up just 15% of registered voters, even some of his supporters wondered how far he could rise. In the end, voters selected Bass, a Democratic centrist, and democratic socialist City Councilmember Nithya Raman, who ran to Bass’ left, to face off in the runoff.

Still, for many of the 200,000 Angelenos who voted for Pratt, his brash, social media-fueled campaign was not just a long exercise in trolling. Pratt gave voice to their discontent with the system of one-party rule and said things they too often felt uncomfortable saying.

And now, they face a difficult choice of who to support in November.

“I know a lot of people who are disappointed,” said Meghan Daum, an L.A. writer and podcaster and former Los Angeles Times columnist who endorsed Pratt. “They are saying, ‘OK, now what? What can we do?”’

While Pratt did not make the runoff, political experts said his candidacy tapped into Angelenos’ dissatisfaction with the Democratic establishment and resonated with a sizable number of Angelenos who are rarely represented in L.A. politics.

“He identified a previously invisible level of anger and frustration,” said Dan Schnur, a longtime politics professor at USC, UC Berkeley and Pepperdine University, of Pratt. “The question going forward is whether he, or someone else, can shape that raw emotion into a movement.”

Pratt has yet to put out a statement conceding the race or contesting the results. As a stream of Republicans, including President Trump, made unfounded allegations of election fraud in California, the campaign’s most online candidate was conspicuously absent on X and Instagram.

Some Democrats in L.A. urged Pratt to make good on his promise to leave the city if Bass or Raman were elected. Late night TV host Jimmy Kimmel, a prominent Democrat, told Pratt he had rented him a U-Haul.

Despite the snark from Democrats, political observers say Pratt changed the terms of L.A.’s mayoral debate.

“He forced the more conventional candidates to talk about the issues in a way that would not have been the case if he weren’t in the race,” Schnur said.

“For the first time in years, there is a critical mass of citizens who are done pretending that what they see before their eyes isn’t really there,” Daum wrote on her Substack. “The people in charge will have to answer to those citizens.”

In the final weeks of the campaign, Pratt became ubiquitous in the national media. There were profiles in high-end publications, podcast interviews and regular reports from Fox News. But the results show he fell short of persuading enough Angelenos to make the runoff.

“It doesn’t appear that he’s impacted the political underpinnings of a deep blue city like Los Angeles,” Schnur said. “His impact was less ideological than attitudinal. He wasn’t convincing the voters to become more conservative, he was convincing them that it was OK for them to vent their anger in an unconventional way.”

Dissatisfaction is building in L.A. as the city’s cost of living mounts and a new generation of young Angelenos are unable to buy homes. Many are concerned about the lack of visible progress on street homelessness. Some are angry at what they see as city leaders’ poor preparation and response to the Palisades fire.

Ultimately, the momentum for change in Los Angeles was divided. As Pratt challenged Bass from the right, Raman tacked to the left of Bass on homelessness and policing and made affordability a key plank of her campaign.

Whatever their concerns about the status quo in L.A., many Angelenos were unwilling to vote for a Republican.

During the course of the campaign, Daum said she had numerous conversations with Angelenos who said: “I can’t associate with anybody who voted for Trump. I can’t have them in my house. I can’t have a conversation with them. I want nothing to do with them.”

A 42-year-old millennial who became famous on “The Hills” and owns a business selling “healing” crystals, Pratt had no political experience when he entered the mayoral race. He didn’t even appear to have a campaign manager.

“The system in Los Angeles isn’t struggling, it’s fundamentally broken,” Pratt said as he launched his campaign on Jan. 7, the anniversary of the fire. “It is a machine designed to protect the people at the top and the friends they exchange favors with while the rest of us drown in toxic smoke and ash.”

Bombastic and full of braggadocio, Pratt critiqued what he saw as Bass’ failure to prepare for and respond to the wildfires. He berated city leaders for not doing enough to get unhoused people off the streets. He railed against the city’s challenges with public safety, potholes, and the abuse of dogs on Skid Row. He even seized on a comment Bass made on the campaign trail about using taxpayer money to fund dental care for meth users.

As Pratt talked about homelessness, his message resonated with Marissa Comstock, 36, a stay-at-home mom and former software engineer in Eagle Rock.

“It’s totally obvious to me,” she said. “We need to get these people off the street.”

Last year, Comstock said she and her husband had a negative encounter at Griffith Park as they pushed their daughters around in strollers. Just a few minutes into their hike, she said, they were accosted by an unhoused person who screamed at them and threatened to cut off their daughters’ legs.

Since that incident, Comstock said, she takes her daughters only to places like the Huntington or Descanso Gardens that require membership to be admitted.

“I don’t feel comfortable even being on regular streets,” she said. “If there’s some crazy homeless person, what am I supposed to do?”

Pratt did extraordinarily well in capturing attention and developing a message, said Paul Mitchell, vice president of the Sacramento-based bipartisan firm Political Data Inc. Many Angelenos, he noted, had a better sense of Pratt’s viewpoint than they did of much more deeply funded California gubernatorial candidates, like Matt Mahan or Xavier Becerra.

During his campaign, Pratt did not express support for Trump or the Make America Great Again movement. He insisted he was a nonpartisan candidate running on local issues.

“I’m going to show everybody that I’m their mayor,” Pratt said on election night.

But even if Pratt was not explicitly MAGA, his reality TV theatrics mixed with antiestablishment populism were so MAGA-coded that he struggled to persuade disaffected liberal Angelenos. He referred to the homeless as “fentanyl zombies.” He railed against California’s “socialism.” He called Bass “Basura,” Spanish for trash.

When Trump spoke of Pratt, telling reporters “I heard he’s a big MAGA person,” Raman was quick to share Trump’s remarks on social media, warning Angelenos that Pratt was wildly out of step with their views.

While Pratt impressed some political observers with his performance in a May 6 televised debate with Bass and Raman, others said he alienated a significant portion of Angelenos with some of his social media antics.

“He could have talked about the drug use and the risks and the filth and the fire risks and all that,” said Rob Stutzman, a GOP political strategist, of Pratt’s zombie rhetoric, “but then paired that with, ‘My God, these liberals are leaving these people out here to die,’ and expressed some humanity towards the population that’s on the streets.”

Ultimately, Daum said Pratt was a “terrible candidate.”

“He did a million things wrong,” she said. “The whole time, I was yelling on Twitter about how he’s got to stop it: the AI videos are gonna hurt him, the Basura stuff, the zombie stuff. Like, stop it! Stop it!”

As Pratt’s campaign came to an end, Stutzman said, it is not clear that he represents any kind of lasting political movement.

“The question remains: Did he create a political movement or did he exploit the opportunity to run for mayor to restoke his diminishing fame?” Stutzman said. “He’s in the mold of a Kardashian: He’s just found ways to be famous without ever really doing anything important. I suspect that this was more about him acting out as to what he is as a reality celebrity versus becoming a leader of a political movement in L.A. We’ll see.”

When Angelenos go to the polls in November, there are several paths for Pratt voters.

Some, Mitchell said, will probably sit the election out entirely.

“You’ll get some Republicans who vote for Raman because they’re like, ‘Well, she’s a socialist and I can’t stand her, but I’m just voting no on Bass.’ And then you’ll have a lot of Republicans who are like, ‘OK, Raman’s a socialist.’”

After Raman made it to the runoff, Bass’ campaign slammed the city council member for voting against hiring more police and blocking efforts to keep homeless encampments away from schools. Meanwhile, Raman positioned herself as the anti-status quo candidate.

In a statement celebrating her advance to the general election, Raman did not mention Pratt or his supporters, but railed against “powerful interests” in City Hall.

“Working people pay the price in higher rents, depleted services, and a city that has stopped working for them,” she said. “If you’re as frustrated by the broken status quo as I am, I hope you’ll join our movement to build a city that works for everyone.”

Even as Daum felt depressed that Pratt’s campaign was not continuing, she said she felt more engaged in L.A. politics than she had ever been. She planned to vote in November and would be watching both Bass and Raman to see how they responded to Angelenos’ concerns about street homelessness.

“If Karen Bass said, ‘OK, I get it, “housing first” is not the panacea that I’ve been thinking it is. Seriously, I’m gonna put together a task force of people who are going to actually think this through.’ … I would be following that. I would be very curious,” Daum said. “Same if Nithya said that, too. I’m open to either of them, I guess.”

Comstock said she would probably vote for Bass in the runoff.

“Nithya Raman is just way too far on the socialist scale for me and will likely do more damage, rather than Karen Bass’ ineffectualness,” she said. “I don’t want to go any farther left.”

On May 14, the high court in the central Indian state of Madhya Pradesh ruled that the centuries-old Kamal Maula mosque in the city of Dhar was actually a temple dedicated to a Hindu goddess. Two days later, saffron flags associated with Hindu far-right groups were all over the site, with supporters celebrating and filming rituals that were carried out.

The Kamal Maula mosque, also known as the Bhojshala complex, has been disputed for decades. And such claims are not unique to this mosque. Far-right Hindutva activists have made similar claims – that a given mosque was built atop a temple – across the country, emboldened by Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s rise to power in 2014.

Modi is a leader of the Bharatiya Janata Party, which follows an ideology known as Hindutva.

But what is the Hindutva movement, and how did it emerge?

What does Hindutva mean?

Hindutva is a right-wing political and nationalist ideology that defines the cultural and national identity of India based on a particular interpretation of Hindu values. India is a constitutionally secular state, but advocates of Hindutva want the country to adopt Hinduism as its state religion.

The term Hindutva consists of two linguistic parts: The first is the word “Hindu”, whose origin likely traces back to the Sanskrit word “Sindhu”, the ancient name for the Indus River. With the evolution of linguistic usage, the ancient Persians and others replaced the letter “S” with “H”, and the term “Hindus” came to be used for the inhabitants living beyond the river.

The second part is the Sanskrit suffix “-tva”, which indicates essence or being, meaning that the term literally denotes “Hindu essence” or “Hindu identity or being”.

How did Hindutva originate?

Hindu nationalism emerged in protest against British colonial notions of the religion, but quickly grew into a majoritarian ideology that viewed the Indian identity through the lens of a specific interpretation of Hinduism.

Its early years coincided with sectarian Hindi-Muslim tensions in the early 20th century under British rule, culminating in the partition of the subcontinent at independence in 1947 and the formation of Pakistan on religious grounds.

Indian freedom fighter and ideologue Vinayak Savarkar coined the term “Hindutva” in his 1923 pamphlet Essentials of Hindutva, presenting a vision of Hindu identity based on the unity of territory, culture, and historical belonging, while considering India as the fatherland and the holy land of Hindus.

Based on this notion, some Hindutva theorists argued that Muslims and Christians do not fully belong to the Indian nation, as their holy places are located outside India – even though India is home to one of the world’s largest Muslim populations, and has more Christians than many European nations such as the United Kingdom.

Savarkar was, and remains, a controversial figure: He infamously wrote letters to the British pleading for his release from a notorious prison in the Andaman Islands.

From idea to movement

By 1925, the early Hindutva ideologue Keshav Baliram Hedgewar had founded the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) – which loosely translates to National Volunteer Organisation – the mothership of the Hindu majoritarian political movement.

The RSS focused on organising and strengthening the Hindu community through local social and cultural activities. Over time, it expanded to include a network of affiliated institutions and organisations spanning religious activities, education, health, publishing, student politics and even the trade union sector.

Some of its early leaders publicly, in their writings, admired the European fascists and the manner in which they dealt with religious and ethnic minorities.

After India’s independence, the movement faced significant pressure following the assassination of Mahatma Gandhi in 1948: Gandhi’s assassin was a former RSS member. Savarkar, the founder of the Hindutva ideology, was also arrested in connection with the assassination but was eventually acquitted because the prosecution could not present corroborating evidence against him.

Later, the movement shifted towards political action by establishing a party in 1951, which subsequently evolved into the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) in 1980.

The party witnessed a remarkable surge in its political influence during the 1980s and 1990s by championing the construction of the Ram Temple in the city of Ayodhya on the site of the Babri Mosque.

In 1992, the demolition of the mosque by activists associated with the RSS and the BJP prompted a widespread wave of sectarian violence. In the wake of that violence, the BJP first came to national power in 1996 as India’s single largest party, but its government collapsed in 13 days after allies it depended on withdrew support. In 1998, it returned to power, but this time lost after 13 months. New elections followed in 1999, and the BJP emerged as the single biggest party again. It led a coalition government for a full five years until 2004, when the Congress party – now India’s largest opposition force – defeated it.

The Congress ruled for a decade until 2014, when Modi stormed to power with the largest mandate any party had received since 1984.

Thought and Ideology

Hindutva ideology posits that Indian identity is fundamentally rooted in Hindu culture and civilisation.

The ideology relies on historical narratives portraying the periods of Islamic and Mughal rule as an era that weakened Hindu heritage, calling for the restoration of Hindu identity and the strengthening of its presence in the public sphere.

Its most prominent ideas include: Rereading history from a Hindu nationalist perspective, viewing India as a sacred civilisational entity, calling for the return of those believed to have Hindu origins to their ancestral religion, and granting national status to symbols such as cows and the Sanskrit language.

Critics differentiate between Hindutva as a nationalist political project and Hinduism as a religion and spiritual philosophy, arguing that the former politicises religion and can contradict values such as tolerance and nonviolence that have long been central tenets of Hinduism, the faith.

Hindutva in political practice

Hindutva has gradually transitioned into the political and legislative spheres with the rise of the BJP to power. Its principles have begun to reflect in laws, public policies, and the nature of social debate within the country. Supporters argue that these policies preserve national identity, while critics contend that they undermine religious and cultural pluralism.

The most notable of these measures was the abrogation of Article 370 of the Constitution in 2019, which had granted the Muslim-majority region of Jammu and Kashmir a special autonomous status.

Additionally, the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) was passed that year, granting expedited citizenship to certain immigrants from neighbouring countries, excluding Muslims. It officially went into effect in March 2024, accompanied by the National Register of Citizens (NRC), which threatens to strip millions of Muslims of their citizenship and label them as infiltrators.

The impact of this vision has extended to local legislation in certain states, such as tightening restrictions on cow slaughter and enacting laws to regulate religious conversion and interfaith marriages, alongside calls for the implementation of a Uniform Civil Code to replace certain personal status laws for minorities.

Hindutva has also been linked to the emergence of Hindu nationalist groups, such as the Bajrang Dal, which have been implicated in acts of violence and intimidation against Muslims, Christians and marginalised social groups, particularly over issues related to cows or religious conversion.

In January 1999, when the BJP was in power nationally, Bajrang Dal activists burned alive Graham Staines, an Australian Christian missionary, and his two sons, while they were sleeping in their car. And in 2002, while Modi was chief minister of the western state of Gujarat, independent India witnessed one of its worst massacres of Muslims, after a group of Hindu pilgrims on a train were burned alive under circumstances that are still contested.

Indian far-right groups ideologically aligned with the RSS have also been accused of lynching dozens of Muslims since 2014, often on accusations that they were carrying cows for slaughter. In almost all cases, none of the murderers have been punished, and in several instances, families of the victims have faced charges.

Secessionists in the western Canadian province of Alberta recently announced that they have gathered enough signatures to launch a referendum on independence from the rest of the country.

Leading secessionists said that they formally submitted about 300,000 signatures to election authorities earlier this week, far more than the 178,000 required for the province to consider a referendum.

“This day is historic in Alberta history,” secessionist leader Mitch Sylvestre said.

“It’s the first step to the next step — we’ve gotten by Round 3, and now we’re in the Stanley Cup final,” he added, referring to a hockey championship tournament.

Even if a vote were in favour of independence, an uncertain and protracted process would follow, including possible legal challenges and negotiations with the federal government.

But the possibility of a referendum has brought renewed attention to Alberta’s longstanding frustrations with federal power in Canada and calls for greater autonomy.

What is driving Alberta’s secessionist movement? What are the prospects of success for the referendum, and what could it mean for Canadian politics? Here’s what you need to know.

How many signatures were collected?

Alberta secessionists said on Monday that they had submitted nearly 302,000 signatures, more than the 178,000 required to qualify for referendum consideration.

Alberta Premier Danielle Smith has said she would move forward with the vote if the petition gathered enough signatures, although she does not support independence from Canada herself.

What would the referendum ask voters?

If the proposed measure makes it to the ballot, it would ask voters: “Do you agree that the Province of Alberta should cease to be a part of Canada to become an independent state?”

Does this guarantee a referendum, and could Alberta actually separate from Canada?

Meeting the signature requirement does not in itself guarantee that a referendum will take place.

Elections Alberta, the province’s electoral authority, still needs to verify the petitioners’ names, a process that has been stalled by a court ruling.

Indigenous groups have also filed a legal challenge, stating that separation would be a violation of their treaty rights.

There are also questions about whether the referendum will gather sufficient support among voters to pass. Polls have shown that about 30 percent of residents would support such a measure.

What’s behind Alberta’s bid for separatism?

While secession has never been so close to a vote in Alberta, pro-independence sentiment has been part of the province’s political culture — home to about 5 million people — for decades.

That sentiment is driven largely by the feeling of many in Alberta that the province is distinct — culturally, economically, and politically — from the rest of Canada.

The oil-rich western province has long expressed frustration with political decision-making in Ottawa, the Canadian capital, despite what it sees as its outsized economic contribution to the national economy through its massive fossil fuel industry.

Environmental regulations and efforts to address climate change have become another flashpoint, with secessionist leaders depicting Alberta’s primary industry as hamstrung by regulatory decisions made by bureaucrats with little understanding of the province.

“We’re not like the rest of Canada,” secessionist leader Sylvestre told the news service AFP. “We’re 100 percent conservative. We’re being ruled by Liberals who don’t think like us.”

“They’re trying to shut down our industry,” he added.

Have any other provinces considered separating from Canada?

Alberta is not the only region with a complicated relationship with the rest of Canada.

The French-speaking province of Quebec is home to a decades-old nationalist movement that has pushed to separate from Canada, rooted in a desire to recognise Quebec’s distinct linguistic and cultural identity.

The popularity of that movement has ebbed, with a March poll finding Quebecois secessionism at its lowest level of support since voters narrowly rejected a referendum in 1995. Still, the secessionist Parti Quebecois political party is polling high in advance of a provincial election set for later this year.

Has the push for independence attracted criticism?

As with all independence movements, the province’s bid for separation from the rest of Canada has become a source of passionate disagreement.

“It stands for something that most of us Albertans and Canadians don’t stand for,” Thomas Lukaszuk, the province’s former deputy premier and a strong supporter of federalist identity, told AFP. “It’s a form of treason.”

Expressions of support from the administration of United States President Donald Trump, who has angered Canadians by suggesting that the country should become a US state, have also sparked criticism that the secessionist movement is undermining Canadian unity.

Asked about the possibility of independence in January, US Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent said that Alberta would be a “natural partner” for the US.

“Alberta has a wealth of natural resources, but they won’t let them build a pipeline to the Pacific,” Bessent told a US right-wing commentator. “I think we should let them come down into the US, and Alberta is a natural partner for the US. They have great resources. The Albertans are very independent people.”

“The separatists are not elected members. They’re just citizens of Canada residing in Alberta, and they actually formed delegations and are received by the highest levels of US administration,” Lukaszuk said. “That must be very empowering to them.”

Regardless of whether the proposed ballot measure succeeds, the development is likely to serve as a shot in the arm for the province’s secessionist forces.

“I think this is going to be a permanent change in our political culture,” independent historian and supporter of independence Michael Wagner told AFP, adding that the movement “is not going to just disappear”.

What happens next?

A provincewide ballot could take place as soon as October, as part of a larger referendum on several questions relating to constitutional issues and other matters, such as immigration, scheduled for October 19.

Justice Shaina Leonard issued a monthlong stay on the certification of the independence petition on April 10, following a legal challenge from several First Nations groups who say separation would violate treaty rights.

That ruling did not bar the gathering of signatures, and a decision on legal challenges from Alberta First Nations is expected later this week. A decision in favour of the First Nations challengers could render the process academic.