property

On May 7, Zimbabwe’s Agriculture Minister Anxious Masuka announced in parliament that the government would return 67 farms seized during the country’s land reform programme to European nationals from Denmark, Germany, the Netherlands and Switzerland. The farms, he said, were protected under bilateral investment protection agreements signed between Zimbabwe and the four European states before the land seizures.

The measure forms part of President Emmerson Mnangagwa’s effort to restore relations with Western governments and international financial institutions after more than two decades of crisis, sanctions, isolation and debt default linked in part to the fast-track land reform programme of the early 2000s.

Zimbabwe is trying to restructure about $11.7bn in external debt, including $7.7bn owed to multilateral and bilateral creditors. On May 20, the International Monetary Fund approved a staff-monitored programme to support reforms and debt restructuring.

Resolving disputes linked to land reform has become central to that re-engagement process. In July 2020, Zimbabwe signed a $3.5bn compensation agreement with former white commercial farmers for infrastructure and improvements on acquired land. Last year, it began compensating treaty-protected foreign farmers, including claimants from Germany, Switzerland and Belgium.

But this development also exposes a deeper contradiction embedded in the global order governing land and property rights in former settler colonies: European claims arising from postcolonial redistribution are treated as urgent, enforceable and respectable, while African claims arising from colonial dispossession remain largely outside the same legal and moral framework.

The colonial dispossession that created white land ownership in Rhodesia never received the same urgency as the one now directed at restoring European claims after postcolonial redistribution. At independence in April 1980, no comparable mechanism forced Britain, Rhodesia or settler beneficiaries to compensate Africans dispossessed through conquest, racial legislation and forced removal. Yet once postcolonial Zimbabwe attempted to redistribute that land, its protection suddenly became tied to legality, investor confidence and international respectability.

In October 1889, Cecil John Rhodes’s British South Africa Company (BSAC) received a royal charter from the British Crown, accelerating white settler expansion across the territory that became Southern Rhodesia. The 1893 war against King Lobengula’s Ndebele kingdom opened vast areas of land to settler occupation, while the crushing of the 1896-97 First Chimurenga, led by resistance figures such as Mbuya Nehanda, consolidated British control across the colony.

Early dispossession was not only territorial. After 1893, BSAC forces seized cattle on a large scale in Matabeleland, weakening the economic foundations of local communities. By 1958, Southern Rhodesia’s European population of roughly 207,000 controlled almost 48 million acres of prime agricultural land, while about 2.55 million Africans had 41.95 million acres of poorer, overcrowded and less arable land.

From the 1890s onwards, colonial land seizures in Rhodesia were enforced and legitimised through the selective application of British imperial law and BSAC decrees. African ownership of land was never recognised with the same standing granted to settler occupation.

That legal order survived the expansion of settler rule through the Land Apportionment Act of 1930 and continued to shape later legal frameworks.

That lopsided inheritance still shapes the global response to Zimbabwe’s land question decades after independence.

Bilateral investment treaties signed between Zimbabwe and foreign states gave protected investors the right to seek compensation when property covered by those agreements was expropriated. In practice, certain foreign-owned farms seized during fast-track land reform entered an international system backed by arbitration mechanisms, treaty enforcement and diplomatic pressure, even though the land itself had been acquired through conquest and war. The 67 farms covered by Masuka fall into that category.

Africans dispossessed under colonial rule were never granted comparable access to international reparations or protected claims against empire.

Part of this asymmetry is structural: European farmers can invoke treaties their governments signed and a compensation deal Zimbabwe itself agreed, while the dispossessed have no counterparty to sue, no instrument to enforce and, in Rhodesia, no surviving state to hold to account. But that is precisely the point. The legal architecture was built to recognise one kind of loss and not the other.

In April 2009, Dutch farmers protected under a bilateral investment treaty brought Funnekotter and others v Zimbabwe before the International Centre for Settlement of Investment Disputes (ICSID), and the tribunal ordered Zimbabwe to compensate them for expropriated farms. In 2015, another ICSID tribunal ruled in favour of European claimants linked to Swiss and German property interests in von Pezold and others v Zimbabwe after land seizures under fast-track reform.

The contrast is stark for everyday Zimbabweans.

My maternal grandparents lived in what was the Seke Reserve in Mashonaland, a place where most people were settled on small plots of land with “rather poor sand veldt with a lot of bush”. The reserve was created in 1899 along a boundary that ran roughly along the Hunyani River to the north and northeast, separating African-occupied land from areas soon to be claimed by white settlers.

On the other side of that line, colonial authorities allocated fertile, riverfront and midslope land to white commercial farmers, while families who had once farmed across that broader landscape were confined to a narrow, overcrowded reserve with low-grade soils and limited water.

This was part of a wider colonial regime that, from 1894, also pushed many Ndebele communities into the dry, low-rainfall and tsetse-fly-infested Gwaai and Shangani reserves in Matabeleland North.

Their subsequent, imposed impoverishment and losses, of land, cattle, livelihoods, political authority and economic autonomy, were absorbed into colonial history rather than treated as enforceable claims demanding compensation from the imperial system that created them.

They all died landless and economically broken, largely invisible to the global legal order and without meaningful redress, much like countless Indigenous communities around the country.

Yet Zimbabwe’s compensation framework, shaped largely by external pressure and Western imperatives, recognises losses arising from fast-track land reform and treaty-protected commercial farms. It does not recognise losses like those experienced by my grandparents, or by countless families whose land, cattle and livelihoods were taken under colonial rule.

For years, Zimbabwe’s debt re-engagement process has been tied to arrears clearance, economic reforms and the settlement of land-related disputes. The restoration of treaty-protected European claims has therefore become intertwined with Zimbabwe’s attempts to regain access to international finance and repair relations with Western creditors, chiefly the IMF and World Bank.

Compensation agreements and investor protections are presented as proof that Zimbabwe is becoming governable, predictable and safe again for international capital. In effect, Zimbabwe is being asked to rehabilitate confidence in settler-derived property rights as part of its return to global financial legitimacy.

Launched in 2000, Zimbabwe’s fast-track land reform programme was characterised by widespread economic disruption and violence against Black farmworkers, white farmers and opposition MDC supporters. Those failures do not erase the history of land theft that made redistribution a central political question in the first place.

The unresolved collision between colonial property systems and African restitution claims extends far beyond Zimbabwe. In former settler colonies such as Zimbabwe and Namibia, it is overwhelmingly Black Africans who are expected to absorb mass land dispossession without compensation.

Colonial seizure is treated as inconvenient background history, while postcolonial attempts to restructure ownership are framed as threats to “markets” and “investor confidence”.

African efforts to recover land face more obstacles than the colonial systems that stole it.

Land reform should be lawful, accountable and economically productive. Nonetheless, international law cannot treat property rights created through settler colonialism as morally untouchable while dismissing African compensation as dangerous or illegitimate.

The 67 farms are standing remnants of an old and unresolved colonial atrocity.

My grandmother’s people also have rights.

Zimbabweans are still waiting for justice.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

WASHINGTON  — The Supreme Court on Thursday broadly upheld lawsuits by U.S. companies whose property was seized in Cuba prior to 1960, including claims against cruise ship lines that docked there in the past decade.

These suits do not seek compensation from Cubans but from those who “traffic in property which was confiscated by the Cuban government.”

In a 8-1 decision, the justices revived a $400-million judgment against four cruise lines whose ships stopped in Havana between 2016 and 2019.

All of them used docks that were built early in the 20th century by the Havana Docks Corporation, an American company.

Justice Clarence Thomas pointed to a rarely enforced 1996 law that authorized suits against those who “use property tainted by a past confiscation.”

Past presidents had suspended enforcement of the law, but President Trump allowed such claims to go forward.

That change in policy exposed “traffickers in confiscated property of United States nationals” to brings claims in federal courts, Thomas said.

The four cruise line companies — Caribbean Cruises, Norwegian Cruise Line Holdings, Carnival Corporation, and MSC Cruises — transported nearly a million paid passengers to Cuba, he wrote.

They paid the Cuban government tens of millions of dollars to do business in Cuba. They collectively earned hundreds of millions of dollars in revenue from voyages that included a stop in Havana, he said.

A federal judge in Florida ordered each of the cruise lines to pay $100 million in damages, but the U.S. appeals court in Atlanta blocked the decision by a 2-1 vote. It said Havana Docks Corporation had a contract to run the docks had expired in 2004.

Justice Elena Kagan made the same argument in dissent.

She said “the docks belonged to the Cuban Government — not Havana Docks — all along. What Havana Docks owned was only a property interest allowing it to use those docks for a specified time. And that time-limited interest expired in 2004 — more than a decade before the cruise lines ever used the docks.”

Still pending before the court is a similar claim from Exxon Mobil Corp., which was argued on the day in late February.

SACRAMENTO — Severely disabled veterans in California could be getting an expanded tax break.

State lawmakers are considering legislation that would exempt from taxation 50% of the residential property owned by a fully disabled veteran, or 100% if their household income does not exceed $40,000.

“I’ve seen firsthand the financial challenges many disabled veterans face just trying to stay in their homes,” Assemblyman Jeff Gonzalez (R-Indio) said Thursday. “We always say we support our veterans, but support has to mean taking meaningful action to make life more affordable for them.”

Gonzalez, who introduced Assembly Bill 2022, is a Marine Corps veteran and vice chair of the Assembly Committee on Military and Veterans Affairs.

The legislation would apply only to veterans who became disabled as a result of their military service. It defines a fully disabled veteran as one who is blind in both eyes, has lost the use of at least two limbs, or is otherwise incapacitated due to an injury or disease. Surviving spouses would be eligible for the same exemptions, provided they do not remarry.

The exemptions would sunset in 2032 so legislators could review the bill’s effect before deciding whether to enact the policy permanently.

California is home to more than 1.8 million former service members, which is the largest veteran population of any state in the nation, according to the most recent census. The California Department of Veterans Affairs estimates there are 184, 283 veterans this year residing in Los Angeles County.

During a legislative hearing earlier this year, Gonzalez told lawmakers that about 380,000 veterans in the state live with service-related disabilities. He explained the rising cost of living in California is especially challenging for those on fixed incomes, and said reducing property tax burdens could help prevent the most vulnerable veterans from ending up on the streets.

“For a veteran who has already sacrificed so much, losing their home is not just a financial hardship, it is a failure of our commitment to them,” Gonzalez said.

The bill has passed two committees with unanimous support and was most recently referred to the Assembly Committee on Appropriations.

There are currently two property tax exemptions offered for fully disabled veterans in California, according to the State Board of Equalization.

The basic property tax exemption, or the $100,000 exemption, is available to all fully disabled veterans. The low-income exemption, or the $150,000 exemption, is available to fully disabled veterans whose annual household income does not exceed a specified amount — currently $81,131 — that is adjusted periodically for inflation. The exemption amount reduces the assessed value of the property, resulting in less property taxes due.

Patrick Murphy, an urban affairs professor at the University of San Francisco who focuses on tax policy, doubts the legislation would have a significant effect on homelessness.

“Homelessness among veterans is a big problem; that is pretty well-documented,” he said. “But I think if we were to list the reasons why veterans end up homeless, the burden of their property taxes would be pretty far down.”

Murphy also cautioned that Assembly Bill 2022 could face potential legal challenges if signed into law.

“Since Prop. 13 is written into the California Constitution, I would almost think there would need to actually be a proposed ballot initiative to change this,” Murphy said.

Proposition 13 mandates that property should be assessed and taxed uniformly based on purchase price. It caps property tax rates at 1% of a property’s value at the time of purchase, and limits annual assessment increases to a maximum of 2%.

Scott Kaufman, legislative director for the Howard Jarvis Taxpayers Assn., believes the legislation is on solid footing.

“I don’t see a problem,” he said. “The disabled veterans exemption already exists in the constitution, so I don’t think Prop. 13 trumps it because they both exist together.”

The California Teacher’s Assn. has raised other concerns with the legislation.

“We oppose tax exemptions that cut into the state’s ability to fully fund public schools by putting Prop. 98 funding at risk,” spokesperson Maggie Sisco wrote in an email.

Proposition 98 guarantees a minimum annual funding amount for K-12 schools and community colleges. The money comes from state funding and local property taxes.

According to the State Board of Equalization, the state does not reimburse local governments for the property tax revenue losses from the Disabled Veterans’ Exemption.

The bill is backed by several veterans organizations, including the American Legion, California State Commanders Veterans Council and Vietnam Veterans of America California State Council.

It also has support from the California Assn. of Realtors. Sanjay Wagle, the association’s senior vice president of government affairs, said property taxes are a concern for many disabled veterans looking to purchase a home.

“A lot of our members have seen them struggling, frankly, to make ends meet,” Wagle said. “This kind of property tax relief could be vital.”

A similar bill, SB 296, is being sponsored in the state Senate by Sens. Bob Archuleta (D-Pico Rivera) and Suzette Martinez Valladares (R-Acton).

Another measure, Senate Bill 888, is also seeking to reduce property tax burdens for disabled veterans.
The legislation, whose author is Sen. Kelly Seyarto (R-Murrieta), would exclude service-related disability payments from being included in the household income used to determine eligibility for exemptions.

Counting unhoused populations is difficult due to the transient nature of homelessness, but the most recent analyzed data from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development indicate veteran homelessness is on the decline nationwide. In 2024, the department’s annual count found 32,882 homeless veterans, the lowest figure since the count began in 2009.

A city hearing concerning on-site alcohol sales provided the public a chance to air their opinions on the possible reopening of the Cinerama Dome and ArcLight Hollywood on Tuesday morning.

Though a final letter of determination is still to be issued, Tim Fargo, the associate zoning administrator in charge of Tuesday’s meeting, said he was “inclined to approve” the conditional-use permit under consideration. The permit would cover the Cinerama Dome, 14 adjacent auditoriums and a restaurant café with two outdoor spaces.

The Dome closed in March 2020 with the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic and in April 2021 it was announced that the venue would not be reopening. Film lovers in Los Angeles and around the world have since been hopeful the venue, seen by many as a symbol for Hollywood itself, could reopen.

During the meeting, Elizabeth Peterson-Gower, a land use consultant representing the owner and applicant Dome Center LLC, was asked if there was a timeline for reopening the theaters. She responded, “I too don’t have a schedule yet, but when I do, I’ll convey it to you.”

In a separate phone interview following the meeting Tuesday, Peterson-Gower referred to the approval of the conditional-use permit as a “milestone” in the process of reopening the theaters and added that ownership has noted the intense public interest around the Dome and the ArcLight and that “it will inspire a time frame in the near future.”

Throughout the meeting, Peterson-Gower referred to the success of the Blue Note jazz club that opened on a corner of the property in August 2025.

“What it proves to me is that the ownership cares greatly,” Peterson-Gower said after the meeting. “That’s a big undertaking and a big statement in favor of the fact that ownership care what’s there.”

Numerous other voices were heard throughout the hearing as well. Ted Walker, planning deputy for Council District 13, where the theater is located, said, “Too often we see [historic-cultural monuments] around our city sitting vacant. So we’re very supportive of anything to bring some life back into this. We know there’s a lot of love for the Cinerama Dome and we want to acknowledge the work of all the community members who are advocating for it. We believe resuming these operations will further enhance the vibrancy of Hollywood.”

Burbank City Council member Konstantine Anthony noted that he was a former usher at the Dome and also voiced support for the reopening.

More than 30 people provided public comment. Among those were Kat Kramer, daughter of filmmaker Stanley Kramer, director of “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World,” the very first film to play in the Dome in 1963, film critic Wade Major and Ben Steinberg, who has led a grassroots campaign to get the venue reopened.

The Blue Note Jazz Club undergoes construction near the Cinerama Dome on Tuesday, Aug. 5, 2025, in Los Angeles.

(Juliana Yamada / Los Angeles Times)

One commenter said, “Why have they kept it closed? Is this just a strategy to let it rot so that they can get building violations and just tear it down and build condos? There’s a lot of fear about what’s going to happen with this thing that people feel attached to. And to not answer questions over all this time has frankly been offensive.”

Another commenter said that the delays in reopening feel like ownership “keeping a bit of our heritage hostage from us.”

Even those who were asking for clear specifics from ownership were nearly all in favor of granting the conditional-use permit, which was the ostensible purpose of the meeting. As local preservation advocate Kim Cooper said, “I know that this has been hard and it has seemed like the citizens versus the ownership — that’s not what it is. People want to come together and help and bring this place back.”

Speaking after the meeting, Peterson-Gower noted her own history with the Dome, having been involved with many events there in the late ’80s and early ’90s when she was vice president of the Hollywood Athletic Club, located just a few blocks away on Sunset Boulevard.

“Everyone has a story about the Dome that’s lived here, even me,” she added. “I didn’t want to bring my personal life into the hearing, but I care passionately as well about it opening.”

While the final outcome of the hearing is still to be fully determined, all signs point to the permit being granted and the project being free to move forward.

“I was overwhelmingly pleased with the comments,” said Peterson-Gower. “I think that it shows that there’s a great historic use in a historic property and I think that people care passionately about it operating and are very, very proud of the property being here in Hollywood.”

In the fragmented mysteries of the great Argentine filmmaker Lucretia Martel, her explorations always start with sensory flashes: faces, spaces, objects, sounds in transfixing procession. The language is its own, resulting in disorienting but undiluted depictions of the worlds of modern elites (“La Ciénega,” “The Headless Woman”) and 18th century colonists (“Zama”) alike.

But now, with her first feature documentary, “Our Land (Nuestra Tierra),” Martel unravels a political crime and the larger offenses behind it with a vital clarity. The film is centered on the 2009 murder of Javier Chocobar, an Indigenous Chuchagasta man from Argentina’s northwestern Tucumán province, who was shot while defending his ancestral homeland from a thuggish incursion. The weight of the issue at hand — stolen land, territorial rights and the overdue recognition of a colonized country’s original peoples — brings out a tantalizing lucidity from the typically elusive Martel on a serious subject that requires discipline.

In one sense, she’s dealing with a rights issue too painful to be aggressively aestheticized, but she’s also exploring a blood-soaked injustice that can’t be treated conventionally. She begins, in fact, with rolling satellite images from space — as if to say: This appropriation of nature is the world’s problem, not just Argentina’s.

What follows, toggling between a courtroom and vast, contested land (filmed with dreamlike urgency by cinematographer Ernest de Carvalho), is a righteous, visually arresting swirl of fact and feeling, past and present. It’s also anchored by the stories of a community desperate to claim territory they’ve cultivated for centuries. “Our Land” is as honorable a documentary as you’re likely to encounter this year about what fighting looks like in today’s era of grab-what-you-can thievery.

First, we hear from the defendants, captured by Martel’s cameras at their 2018 trial in Buenos Aires (an unconscionable nine years after the shooting). The three accused men — a businessman and two ex-cops — flounder at positioning themselves as the true victims when their own handheld video of the incident shows otherwise: The confrontation with the Chuchagastas only escalated because they brought a gun. Their lawyers obnoxiously push a narrative of ownership versus trespassers, backed by reams of documents and tossed-around historical dates.

But as Martel patiently unfolds the Chuchagastas’ perspective — personal narratives that come to life in intimate photos, atmospheric sound design and warm home footage — we begin to understand that documents and files are a bogus battleground given their hundreds of years of careful tending. One community member distrusts dialogue to begin with, calling it a means to “give up something.”

“Our Land” is the work of a director whose attention is rigorous, whose care is genuine, but who is also conscious of her outsider’s perspective. It’s an ally’s respect. There’s no better proof of that than in her drone shots of this embattled community’s sun-soaked valley: elegant, purposeful, even awkward (a bird hits one) visitations from the air. They’re a reminder that she’s the filmmaker, surveying a story that belongs to others. Documentaries don’t get much more honest than that.

Candles flickered on long wooden tables beneath a sprawling mulberry tree as Matt French stepped in front of the doorway of his sleek Pioneertown home, holding a drink aloft. Dressed in fitted jeans and a dark western shirt, he welcomed the roughly 60 guests who had assembled in his front yard for the kickoff event of the High Desert Art Fair that would take over the 19-room Pioneertown Motel he owns with his brother Mike.

“We’re super honored to be hosting this event and hosting tonight,” said Matt, addressing a crowd that included local artists, musicians and well-heeled art world types from L.A. “This is the exact kind of event that we want to have in the desert.”

Although the French brothers were not directly involved in the art fair itself, the evening’s itinerary had their fingerprints all over it. Dinner was held in front of the expansive compound they share, and the food — perfectly grilled tri-tip with chimichurri, sourdough bread with cultured butter, flatbread pizzas — was prepared by the owners of the Old Town Public Market, a yet-to-open organic deli and wine bar that would soon occupy another building the brothers own in nearby Yucca Valley. After dessert, the ringing of an old-fashioned triangle bell alerted guests that it was time to cross the road to the Red Dog Saloon, another French brothers business, where Shepard Fairey was already DJing to a packed crowd that spilled onto the rustic porch, the cacophony of laughter, bass and cigarette smoke wafting down the town’s main drag.

It was just another dreamy, highly curated night in the high desert of Matt and Mike French’s making.

Vintage design details abound at the French brothers’ properties, including the Pioneertown Motel.

Few people have had more influence on the modern aesthetic of the sun-drenched desert near Joshua Tree National Park than the two brothers from Portland whose properties regularly pop up in travel publications, Instagram reels and “best of the desert” lists. Since buying the Pioneertown Motel in 2014, Matt, 42, and Mike, 37, have built a portfolio of businesses that tap into the mythology of the California desert — part cowboy, part Rat Pack, part cosmic traveler. Across historic restoration projects like the motel where Gene Autry once played cards all night, the Red Dog Saloon where 1940s film crews unwound after long days of shooting and the Copper Room, a restaurant and bar at the Yucca Valley airport that was a favorite of Gram Parsons, their properties give tourists and locals alike a taste of the desert’s history and glamour all while making it feel like patrons have just stumbled upon these magical spots themselves.

Now, the brothers, along with Eric Cheong, a designer and the third partner in their company Life & Times, are expanding their unique vision to other parts of the desert with two new projects. In late 2026, they will open Lord Fletcher Inn, a 1960s-era steak house in Rancho Mirage where Frank Sinatra occasionally stepped behind the bar. Miracle Hill, the brothers’ colorful take on a geothermal bath house in Desert Hot Springs, is slated to open at the end of 2027.

The French brothers purchased the 1960s-era restaurant Lord Fletcher’s in Rancho Mirage, where Frank Sinatra occasionally tended bar.

Designer Eric Cheong, left, on the porch of the Red Dog Saloon, with Matt and Mike French.

With these two new businesses, as well as an ambitious expansion of the Pioneertown Motel, including an extension of the Western facade of Mane Street that was approved in December, the brothers say they feel a renewed commitment to the desert community where they have lived and worked for more than a decade. Although they toyed with the idea of doing projects in other parts of the country, they ultimately decided that the world they have created in this dry desert landscape is too valuable to leave.

“The lady at the post office has treats for my dog and knows my dog’s name,” Mike said. “You can’t buy your way into community like that. You have to earn it.”

The French brothers’ story may sound like a desert fairy tale, but they insist it wasn’t always that way.

Although they’d been traveling to Palm Springs for family vacations since they were kids, it wasn’t until 2009 that Matt first drove up the rocky mountain pass to Pioneertown and fell in love with the funky desert community originally built in the 1940s as a working film set. After learning that the rundown motel across the street from Pioneertown’s iconic roadhouse and concert venue Pappy & Harriet’s was for sale, Matt, who was working for a boutique hotel company at the time, convinced Mike to join forces with him and buy it. It took five years of starts, stops, heartbreak and nearly giving up before the deal finally went through in 2014.

“Matt was really the driving force,” Mike said. “I was like, this is nuts, but I’m in.”

Those early days were challenging. One of their first orders of business was to evict the previous owner’s weed dealer who had been living in one of the rooms rent-free. The manager at the time was known to yell people off the property. Skilled workers were hard to find, and the desert’s popularity as a tourist destination had not yet ballooned.

Mike and Matt French are setting the stage for their next venture, Miracle Hill, a geothermal bath house in Desert Hot Springs.

“In retrospect it can look very obvious and very, like, ‘Oh, of course, the hotel’s cool and it’s right next to Pappy’s,’” said Matt. “But that is not what it felt like back then.”

The brothers also had to contend with a notoriously fierce local community that was deeply suspicious of the lanky millennials from out of town.

“We had our claws out and our guns cocked,” said David Miller, 81, a longtime local and the president of Friends of Pioneertown. “But it turned out that they are model citizens.”

For two years, the brothers ran the motel remotely while continuing to work other jobs — Matt for a real estate company that did large-scale development in Portland and Mike for a ticketing and events start-up in L.A. In 2017, they decided they needed a home base in town and bought a rundown house with an even more rundown barn a 10-minute walk from the motel. They have since renovated it into two homes just yards from each other with a shared backyard that includes a pool, sauna, cold plunge, hot tub and custom-built hammock that can hold up to 20 people. In 2018, they moved in full time.

A Pioneertown Motel pick-up truck, spotted outside the kitchen window of Matt French’s home.

Two years later, in August 2020, they opened the Red Dog Saloon, a full-scale renovation of the historic bar of the same name that originally opened in 1946. The brothers say they weren’t necessarily looking to open a new business — they just really wanted another place to eat and drink in town besides Pappy & Harriet’s. Their original plan was to create a 16-seat whiskey bar in a small building across from Pioneertown’s picturesque Post Office, but their partners, restaurateurs Adam Weisblatt of Last Word Hospitality who operates Hermon’s and Found Oyster and Eric Alperin from the Varnish, suggested they look at the much larger Red Dog Saloon instead.

“They were like, ‘You can actually make money that way,’” Mike said about the restaurant and bar that can serve as many 1,000 people a day. “And we were like, ‘Yes, that’s a great point.’”

The same team came together again to open the Copper Room, a higher-end, full-service restaurant at the Yucca Valley Airport that opened in 2022 on the site of a dive bar they used to frequent called Wine & Roses.

In 2020, the brothers opened the Red Dog Saloon, a full-scale renovation of the historic bar of the same name that originally opened in 1946.

“At the time we really weren’t sure if Yucca Valley could support that kind of dining experience,” Mike said. “Now we have a $200 tomahawk steak served tableside on the menu and they sell out. There is no way we could imagine that happening when we opened.”

As they did with the motel and the Red Dog, the brothers and Cheong leaned into the history of the space when designing the Copper Room. They kept the curved bar where Gram Parsons drank his last margarita intact but went with a 1950s vibe in the main dining room, with heavy brocade banquets and floral wallpaper, nodding to the restaurant’s opening in 1957.

Cheong said that across each project, he and the French brothers leaned heavily on the space’s unique history for design inspiration.

The vintage-style entrance into Red Dog Saloon.

“We really base it around story and lore,” Cheong said. “The spaces merge together because there is a similar strategy, but it’s not a style. It’s not a color palate. It’s like a feeling of respect and honor, but it’s also our twist on it.”

The brothers’ three businesses were thriving, but in 2023, they found themselves in a lull. “We were having trouble figuring out what to do next,” Matt said. “ We have a very specific criteria of what we want to do and we were like, maybe we look outside of the desert. Maybe things here are plateauing.”

The brothers already had one property outside of the desert — Captain Whidbey, a historic lodge and resort on Whidbey Island in Washington that was named one of the best hotels in the world by Travel + Leisure in 2020 — but ultimately they concluded that the price of leaving Pioneertown to start over somewhere new was too high to pay. They had invested years into building relationships with the high desert’s eclectic community. Somewhere along the way they had also come to feel like chosen family.

The French brothers and Eric Cheong leaned into the history of the space when designing the Copper Room.

“So many things were pulling us in different directions, but life is more personal than business,” Mike said. “So we committed to the desert, which was not just committing to doing business in the desert, but was really committing to living in the desert.”

Since then, more opportunities have opened up. The brothers purchased Lord Fletcher’s in 2025 after a real estate agent happened to mention a 1966-era steak house in Rancho Mirage was for sale. Miracle Hill came about in part because the town of Desert Hot Springs is eager to grow its reputation as a destination for geothermal bathing and offered to help them find a suitable location. For the brothers, it represents the first time they are creating a space from the ground up. Construction has yet to begin, but they have already crafted a story for the space that builds off the community’s early 20th century history and mystical geology.

“The core narrative is that it feels like an eccentric, gregarious host’s home that you are going into,” Mike said. “And the mountain alignment, the sun, the wind, the faults and the geothermal water are the five forces that create a vortex-type energetic field deal. So we’re kind of leaning into that.”

At the same time, Mike revived the community’s historic Pioneertown Gazette, which he originally started printing as an in-room publication but has since expanded to a weekly newsletter that enthusiastically highlights the growing calendar of events happening at several venues across the high desert. And in the next few years, the brothers plan to begin construction on the next phase of the Pioneertown Motel, which will include a swimming pool, restaurant and 47 new rooms.

A game of horseshoes at Pioneertown Motel.

Signage pointing to the Red Dog Saloon.

Pioneertown’s history buffs, and there are many of them, will tell you that the picturesque community has a long history of newcomers showing up with dollar signs in their eyes, hoping to make it big in the desert. But few, if any, have been as successful as the French brothers at making those businesses come to life. It helps that they have a good sense of design and an intuitive understanding of what people want. It also helps that they’ve attracted like-minded people like Jeffrey Baker, the warm and personable general manager at the Copper Room and future general manager of Lord Fletcher’s who excels at management (a self-described weak point for Matt and Mike) and makes everyone he meets feel like an instant friend.

But their true secret sauce might be that aside from the motel, their businesses are designed to cater to the local community at least as much as to tourists.

“People here love these restaurants,” Matt said. “They love the Red Dog, they love the Copper Room, they love the Gazette. So we felt that vibe shift of people being supportive and excited about what we’re doing.”

It also helps that over the last few years, some bad actors have demonstrated what the alternative might look like, with new management at Pappy’s that alienated locals from their longtime watering hole and a wannabe developer who floated much-maligned plans to build a concert venue and a massive glamping complex in Pioneertown. (Both parties have since left the area.)

“I think that has given some people some perspective that having locals do it right, and seeing that we are committed, has really made a difference,” Matt said.

Mike and Matt French walk down Pioneertown’s Mane Street.

It’s been a winning business formula, but if you believe the brothers, there’s more to it than that. Creating spaces where everyone from foreign tourists to drunken bachelorettes to crusty locals to families with young kids feels comfortable and welcomed is all part of the desert ideal they’ve been curating for more than a decade.

Mike said that there’s nothing like seeing Pioneertown old-timers drinking with their buddies at the Red Dog.

“It’s so good,” he said. “And then you find other people who get lit up by the same silly thing, and it’s like, maybe it’s not so silly. Maybe it’s the whole point.”

After back-to-back appearances at both weekends of Coachella, David Lee Roth popped out Saturday at Stagecoach to sing Van Halen’s “Jump” with Teddy Swims for the third (and final?) time. To discuss what he called his “three-peat,” I caught up later with the 71-year-old singer, who wore a bedazzled jacket and a leather vest.

Have you bought property in Indio? Do you just live here now?
No, I’ve bought property in the American musical fabric that extends beyond time frame, that extends beyond shoes and haircuts. It includes cowboy hats and yarmulkes.

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Next weekend this place is gonna be barren. Will you be back to sing “Jump” with nobody?
There’ll be plenty of people here for the Diamond Dave Big Rig Trucking School and Day Care Center.

You’re on your own tour right now. How are those shows going?
They go exquisitely because if you enjoy what you saw onstage [tonight], it’s that times 22 songs.

Twenty-two songs in the set.
Oh yeah. I wrote every word that I sing, I wrote every note that I sing — all the melodies — and I stacked all the harmonies. Ed [Van Halen], of course, contributed all the great guitar parts. And we wrote all of those parts literally sitting in a tiny little alcove room where you put a washer and a dryer. We would sit knee-to-knee the room was so small, and he’d play the electric guitar. His mom wouldn’t let him plug in because it would be too loud, so I had to lean over. Every song that you know of Van Halen, I heard from an unplugged-in electric guitar from four inches away, going, “Too long.”

Tighten it up.
Cut it short. All great musicians finish long after the ending.

Last time we talked, you said you were wearing Artemis II. What’s the outfit tonight?
This is classic Nudie’s western wear from Lankershim. This is from the ’50s. This has been all over the world. This is made by Nudie’s of Hollywood, who made all of Roy Rogers’ and Jean Autry’s [clothes] and all of “Bonanza,” “Gunsmoke,” “Rawhide’s” wear. Look up Nudie of Hollywood, OK? This baby’s worth more than my shoes, and they’re custom-made. This jacket’s worth more than my teeth — same thing.

Dylan Sprouse sprang to action early Friday morning when he encountered a trespasser at his Hollywood Hills home.

Sources familiar with the incident told The Times that “The Suite Life of Zack & Cody” star tackled a man on the lawn near his home after his wife, Victoria’s Secret model Barbara Palvin, spotted “the creepy guy.” Palvin made an emergency call to police around 12:30 a.m. and reported a possible burglary.

TMZ, citing unnamed sources, reported that Sprouse had a gun and held the trespasser down until police arrived.

Police told The Times that the suspect was taken in on outstanding warrants and that no injuries were reported. Additionally, the suspect did not make it inside the couple’s 1920s Spanish-style home, only onto the property.

TMZ obtained footage of the arrest, which showed a suspect, whose face was blurred out, being handcuffed outside a police vehicle. A skateboard was leaned against the fence of the Disney alum’s property, and a “Private Property, No Trespassing” sign was posted on the gate.

Representatives for Sprouse and Palvin have not responded to The Times’ request for comment.

The couple met at a party in 2017 and by the fall of 2018, Palvin was gushing to Vogue that she was “very much in love.”

“I feel like I found the perfect guy,” she said of Sprouse. “He’s very kind and gentle.”

The couple tied the knot in the summer of 2023. In 2024, Palvin walked in the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show and during a backstage interview said that Sprouse always has something up his sleeve to surprise her.

Outside the show, Sprouse revealed on the pink carpet that he had signs made with the faces of the couple’s fur babies, a French bulldog named Piggy Cow and a cat named Klaus Von Sprouse, to hold up while Palvin strutted the catwalk.