rebuilds

When a door slammed shut in the childhood home of Andry Hernández Romero, he wasn’t just startled. He winced, recoiling from the noise.

Nearly a month had passed since Hernández Romero, a 32-year-old makeup artist, and 251 other Venezuelans were released from a notorious Salvadoran mega-prison.

In a Zoom interview in August from Venezuela, Hernández Romero listed the ways in which the trauma of the ordeal still manifests itself.

“When doors are slammed — did you notice [my reaction] when the door made noise just now?” he said. “I can’t stand keys. Being touched when I’m asleep. If I see an officer with cuffs in their hand, I get scared and nervous.”

Trump administration officials accused the Venezuelan men of being members of the transnational gang Tren de Aragua and a national security threat, though many, including Hernández Romero, had no criminal histories in the U.S. or Venezuela.

While he was confined, with no access to his attorneys or the news, Hernández Romero had no idea he had become a poster child for the movement to free the prisoners.

“Before I was Andry the makeup artist, Andry the stylist, Andry the designer,” he said. “I was somewhat recognized, but not as directly. Right now, if you type my name into Google, TikTok, YouTube — any platform — my entire life shows up.”

Days after he was sent to El Salvador on March 15, CBS News published a leaked deportation manifest with his name on it. His lawyer Lindsay Toczylowski, who co-founded the Los Angeles-based Immigrant Defenders Law Center, denounced his removal on “The Rachel Maddow Show” and a “60 Minutes” expose.

In the “60 Minutes” episode, Time photojournalist Philip Holsinger recounted hearing a man at the prison cry for his mother, saying, “I’m not a gang member. I’m gay. I’m a stylist,” while prison guards slapped him and shaved his head.

Outrage grew. On social media, users declared him disappeared, asking, “Is Andry Hernández Romero alive?”

Activists made signs and banners demanding the federal government “FREE ANDRY.” During Pride Month, the Human Rights Campaign held a rally about him in Washington, D.C. The New Queens Pride Parade in New York named him honorary grand marshal.

Congressional Democrats traveled to El Salvador to push for information about the detainees and came back empty-handed.

“Let’s get real for a moment,” Rep. Ritchie Torres (D-N.Y.) said in an April 9 video on X. The video cut to a glamour shot of Hernández Romero peering from behind three smoldering makeup brushes.

“When was the last time you saw a gay makeup artist in a transnational gang?” Torres said.

Hernández Romero walks through a market in his hometown of Capacho Nuevo.

Hernández Romero shows the crown tattoos that U.S. authorities claimed linked him to the Tren de Aragua gang.

Hernández Romero fled Venezuela after facing persecution for his sexuality and political views, according to his lawyers.

He entered the U.S. legally at the San Ysidro Port of Entry on Aug. 29, 2024, after obtaining an appointment through CBP One, the asylum application process used in the Biden administration. The elation of getting through lasted just a few minutes, he said.

Hernández Romero spent six months at the Otay Mesa Detention Center. He had passed a “credible fear” interview — the first step in the asylum process — but immigration officials had lasered in on two of his nine tattoos: a crown on each wrist with “Mom” and “Dad” in English.

Immigrant detainees are given blue, orange or red uniforms, depending on their classification level. A guard once explained that detainees wearing orange, like him, could be criminals. Hernández Romero said he replied, “Is being a gay a crime? Or is doing makeup a crime?”

When his deportation flight landed in El Salvador, he saw tanks and officials dressed in all black, carrying big guns.

A Salvadoran man got off first — Kilmar Abrego García, whose case became a focus of controversy after federal officials acknowledged he had been wrongly deported.

Eight Venezuelan women got off next, but Salvadoran officials rejected them and they were led back onto the plane. Hernández Romero said the remaining Venezuelans felt relieved, thinking they too would be rejected.

Instead, they ended up in prison.

Hernández Romero does the makeup for Gabriela Mora, the fiancee of his fellow prisoner Carlos Uzcátegui, hours before their civil wedding in the town of Lobatera.

“I saw myself hit, I saw myself carried by two officials with my head toward the ground, receiving blows and kicks,” Hernández Romero said. “After that reality kind of strikes me: I was in a cell in El Salvador, in a maximum-security prison with nine other people and asking myself, ‘What am I doing here?’”

As a stylist, he said, having his hair shaved off was particularly devastating. Even worse were the accompanying blows and homophobic insults.

He remembers the photographer snapping shots of him and feeling the sting of his privacy being violated. Now, he understands their significance: “It’s thanks to those photos that we are now back in our homes.”

At the prison, guards taunted them, Hernández Romero said, telling them, “You all are going to die here.”

Hernández Romero befriended Carlos Uzcátegui, 32, who was held in the cell across the hall. Prisoners weren’t allowed to talk with people outside their cells, but the pair quietly got to know each other whenever the guards were distracted.

Uzcátegui said he was also detained for having a crown tattoo and for another depicting three stars, one for each of his younger sisters.

A prisoner is moved by a guard at the Terrorist Confinement Center, a high-security prison in Tecoluca, El Salvador, on March 26. (Alex Brandon, Pool/AFP via Getty Images)

As prisoners looks on, U.S. Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem speaks during a tour of the Terrorist Confinement Center on March 26. (Alex Brandon, Pool/AFP via Getty Images)

Hernández Romero said he noticed that some of the guards would stare at him when he showered. He told reporters that guards took him to a small, windowless room known as “La Isla,” or “The Island,” after noticing him bathing with a bucket outside of designated hours. There, he said, he was beaten by three guards wearing masks and forced to perform oral sex on one of them, according to NPR and other outlets.

Hernández Romero no longer wishes to talk about the details of the alleged abuse. His lawyers are looking into available legal options.

“Perhaps those people will escape earthly justice, the justice of man, but when it comes to the justice of our Father God, no one escapes,” he said. “Life is a restaurant — no one leaves without paying.”

Uzcátegui said guards once pulled out his toenails and denied him medication despite a high fever. He had already showered, but as his fever worsened he took a second shower, which wasn’t allowed.

He said guards pushed him down, kicked him repeatedly in the stomach, then left him in “La Isla” for three days.

In July, rumors began circulating in the prison that the Venezuelans might be released, but the detainees didn’t believe the talk until the pastor who gave their daily sermon appeared uncharacteristically emotional. He told them: “The miracle is done. Tomorrow is a new day for you all.”

Uzcátegui remained unconvinced. That night, he couldn’t sleep because of the noise of people moving around the prison. He said usually that meant that guards would enter their cell block early in the morning to beat them.

Hernández Romero noticed his friend was restless. “We’re leaving today,” he said.

“I don’t believe it,” Uzcátegui replied. “It’s always the same.”

Hernández Romero knew they had spent 125 days imprisoned because when any detainee went for a medical consult, they would unobtrusively note the calendar in the room and report back to the group. The detainees would then mark the day on their metal bed frames using soap.

On July 18, buses arrived at the prison at 3 a.m. to take the Venezuelans to the airport. Officials called out Hernández Romero and Arturo Suárez-Trejo, a singer whose case had also drawn public attention, for individual photos. Hernández Romero said they were puzzled but obliged.

Migrants deported by the United States to El Salvador under the Trump administration’s immigration crackdown arrive at Simon Bolívar International Airport in Maiquetia, Venezuela, on July 18.

(Ariana Cubillos / Associated Press)

When their flight touched down, an official told them: “Welcome to Venezuela.” Walking down the plane steps, Hernández Romero felt the Caribbean breeze on his face and thanked God.

A few days later, he was back in his hometown, Capacho Nuevo, hugging his parents and brother in the center of a swarm of journalists and supporters chanting his name.

“I left home with a suitcase full of dreams, with dreams of helping my people, of helping my family, but unfortunately, that suitcase of dreams turned into a suitcase of nightmares,” he told reporters there.

Hernández Romero said he wants to see his name cleared. For him, justice would mean “that the people who kidnapped us and unfairly blamed us should pay.”

President Trump had invoked an 18th century wartime law to quickly remove many of the Venezuelans to El Salvador in March. In a 2-1 decision on Sept. 2, a panel of judges from the U.S. 5th Circuit Court of Appeals found that the administration acted unlawfully, saying there has been “no invasion or predatory incursion.”

Trump administration officials have told a federal judge that they would facilitate the return of Venezuelans to the U.S. if they wish to continue the asylum proceedings that were dismissed after they were sent to El Salvador. If there’s another chance to fulfill his dreams, Hernández Romero said he’s “not closed off to anything.”

Uzcátegui sees it differently. After everything he went through, he said, he probably would not go back.

Now he suffers from nightmares that it’s happening again. “Despite everything, you end up feeling like it’s not true that we’re out of there,” he said. “You wake up thinking you’re still there.”

Carlos Uzcátegui exchanges vows with Gabriela Mora during their wedding in August as Hernández Romero, right, in cap, looks on.

As he restarts his career, Hernández Romero is redeveloping a client list as a makeup artist. Last month, he worked a particularly special wedding: Uzcátegui’s. He did makeup for his friend’s bride, Gabriela Mora.

“He lived the same things I did in there,” Uzcátegui said. “It was like knowing that we are finally free — that despite all the things we talked about that we never thought would happen, that friendship remains. We’re like family.”

Carol Parks, the chief of Los Angeles’ Emergency Management Department, sat before a budget committee last year and painted a dire picture.

Although tasked with responding to crises in the nation’s most disaster-prone region, her department had received just a tiny fraction of the city’s budget and was getting by with a staff of roughly 30.

There was no staffer devoted full-time to disaster recovery, which meant that if an earthquake or major wildfire struck, the city would have to scramble.

But the City Council and Mayor Karen Bass balked at devoting more money to the department.

Seven months later, flames tore through Pacific Palisades and nearby communities, destroying more than 6,000 structures and displacing tens of thousands.

Now, the Emergency Management Department is in charge of coordinating the monumental task of recovery — but with a budget smaller than what the city’s Police Department uses in roughly two days.

To supplement the bare-bones emergency management team, Bass turned to an Illinois-based disaster recovery firm, Hagerty Consulting, inking a yearlong contract for up to $10 million. She also brought a former EMD general manager, Jim Featherstone, back from retirement to serve as the de facto recovery chief.

More than four months after the fire, Palisades residents and some of their elected officials are increasingly frustrated, asking: Who is in charge? What have they been doing? How is Hagerty spending its time? And what is the plan to restore the Palisades?

L.A. brings on Hagerty

As flames chewed through the Palisades on Jan. 7, EMD assigned a mid-level staffer to take on the recovery. Soon, Featherstone — a former firefighter who once served as interim LAFD chief — arrived at the emergency operations center.

In public, Bass touted civic leader Steve Soboroff as the city’s recovery czar, with a controversy over his salary taking center stage for a period.

Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass, left, and her disaster recovery czar Steve Soboroff, right, at Palisades Recreation Center in January.

(Brian van der Brug/Los Angeles Times)

In practice, Featherstone — a self-described “operator” and “tactical person” — assumed the recovery director role, helping to choreograph a massive, multiagency response.

Zach Seidl, a spokesperson for Bass, disputed that characterization and said the two men had different roles. Featherstone’s “role is largely internal to the City,” while Soboroff, whose term ended last month, “worked externally with the community along with other engagement teams within the Mayor’s Office,” Seidl said in an email.

While the city code puts EMD in charge of coordinating disaster recovery, it operates with fewer resources than similar departments in other large California cities. A 2022 audit found that L.A. spent $1.56 per resident on emergency management — far less than Long Beach at $2.26 and San Francisco at $7.59.

With such a small team for a 469-square-mile city, EMD has struggled to staff its emergency operations center in crises, prepare for events like the 2028 Olympics and help residents recover from smaller-scale calamities like building fires, storms and mudslides.

Parks told the City Council in a 2024 memo that her department “lacks the experience and dedicated staff to oversee long-term recovery projects.” After recent emergencies, EMD handled recovery duties “on an ad hoc basis,” yielding “delays, postponements and possible denial of disaster relief funds,” she wrote.

To boost EMD, Bass in early February tapped Hagerty after hearing proposals from firms including AECOM and IEM. Her reasons for choosing Hagerty were unclear, although the firm had already signed a wildfire recovery contract with L.A. County’s emergency management office and had long worked with the state Office of Emergency Services.

It’s not unusual for a state or local government to retain a recovery consultant after a disaster, even if it has a recovery arm of its own. Hagerty has routinely been hired to help with hurricane recovery, including managing billions of dollars in funding after Superstorm Sandy in New York in 2012.

Because Bass hired Hagerty under her emergency authority, the city has also solicited bids for a longer-term recovery contract worth $30 million over three years, with Hagerty among the companies vying for it.

Initially, Hagerty spent “a significant amount” of time compensating for the lack of a city recovery team, said Featherstone, who supervises Hagerty’s work, at a budget hearing last month.

By contrast, L.A. County had a dedicated recovery operation that consultants could plug into — and the muscle memory from recent disasters like the Woolsey fire.

“The structure had to be built out,” Featherstone told council members at the budget hearing. “Folks were pulled out of their regular day-to-day functions … to start to build out a recovery capability.”

Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass speaks with Pacific Palisades residents at a debris removal town hall on Jan. 26 in Santa Monica.

(Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times)

That structure is a series of tactical teams focused on issues including infrastructure, economics, health and housing. Under each umbrella are multiple working groups composed of several city departments working with federal and regional agencies.

Under the infrastructure team, for example, is a debris removal group, a utilities team and a group for hazards such as mudslides, according to a recording of a recovery meeting reviewed by The Times. The housing team, meanwhile, brings together the Department of Building and Safety and the city Planning Department to streamline the permitting process.

Debris removal was one of the first orders of business — so that group was among the first to be organized and has been the “busiest,” as one EMD staffer said in a recording of an internal March meeting.

The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has the primary responsibility for clearing debris from lots, with most expected to be done by Memorial Day and the rest largely due to be finished this summer. The city, with Hagerty, helped explain the debris removal process to residents, including the decision to opt in to the Army Corps cleanup or do it on their own.

With Hagerty’s guidance, the Emergency Management Department also created a dashboard showing the progress of debris removal, with real-time maps tracking the status of each lot.

Tracey Phillips, a Hagerty executive, told City Council members in March that her firm was organizing these tactical teams and holding weekly meetings so that “we can develop a short-term and mid-term operational framework.”

“This is the first step to that: [determining] who the players are, getting them in the room, getting them trained up and developing that operational cadence,” Phillips explained. “It’s already happening — it’s just not being reported and it’s not kind of coalesced yet.”

As of mid-March, Hagerty had about 22 employees working on Palisades fire recovery, billing the city at hourly rates ranging from $80 to nearly $400 per employee.

City Councilmember Monica Rodriguez is among those who say that some of the money used for Hagerty would have been better spent bolstering the Emergency Management Department’s rank and file — as Parks had requested last year.

“I don’t understand their purpose. I don’t need another contractor,” Rodriguez said in an interview. “What my city staff needs is staff to do the work.”

Asked whether funding for Hagerty would be better spent on EMD, Seidl, the spokesperson for Bass, said most of the firm’s work is reimbursable by the federal government, a point that Featherstone made at a March budget hearing. Featherstone also suggested that Hagerty’s guidance could yield more funding in the long run because of the firm’s expertise with the Federal Emergency Management Agency.

Hagerty and Featherstone declined interview requests from The Times. Joseph Riser, a spokesperson for EMD, provided written responses to questions.

EMD was “very pleased” with Hagerty for building out recovery teams “where they did not previously exist,” Riser said, noting that the firm has improved coordination and provided “high-level briefings” to City Hall and department general managers, among other duties.

Seidl emphasized that the mayor has taken steps to preserve EMD’s budget, “even in difficult budget times like this year.” He also touted steps the city has taken to hasten the recovery, like a one-stop permitting and rebuilding center, measures to allow for the re-issuance of permits for homes built in recent years, and restoring water and power in two months compared to the 18 months it took in Paradise after the 2018 Camp fire.

“Despite one of the worst natural disasters in recent history, L.A.’s recovery effort is on track to be the fastest in modern California history,” Seidl said.

Palisades residents strike back

Some Palisades residents say that Hagerty and EMD — and ultimately, Bass and her team — have done a poor job of communicating what their plan is going forward.

Citing the cornucopia of government agencies involved in the rebuild, City Councilmember Traci Park, whose district includes the Palisades, said, “Sometimes it feels like there are so many people in charge that no one is in charge.”

Maryam Zar, who runs the Palisades Recovery Coalition, said that at times, “we feel like we are doing this ourselves.”

Pacific Palisades residents attend a town hall on the L.A. Fire Health Study featuring leading scientists on post-fire health in the backyard of a private residence on Tuesday in Los Angeles. The study is a 10-year effort to study the exposures to dangerous substances and consequent health effects.

(Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times)

Zar and her group have been among the most vocal advocates for a logistics plan governing how thousands of homes will be rebuilt in a community with narrow streets and already-snarled traffic.

The group has circulated ideas that include a concrete plant in the Palisades, short-term housing for construction crews and one-way roads to ease congestion.

Zar said that Hagerty has “shown up to community meetings, and they have been so unable to deliver any kind of information.”

In an interview, Park said that “for weeks and weeks now,” she also has been asking Hagerty and city departments for “a logistics and operations plan” for moving people, vehicles and materials in and out of the Palisades.

Park has visited Lahaina, Hawaii, which was devastated by a wildfire in 2023, and studied other communities rebuilding from fires. She said those areas had consultants who were “very, very engaged” with communities in identifying priorities and solving problems. She wants the city and Hagerty to push forward on a longer-term recovery plan that establishes criteria for fire-safe rebuilding and a timeline for restoring parks, schools, libraries and businesses.

“I know that those things can take significant time to develop. But this is Los Angeles, and this is the Pacific Palisades, and we are not waiting around,” she said, adding that she and her constituents were “moving at warp speed.”

Riser, the EMD spokesperson, said that traffic and logistics were not handled in a “single, static, formal plan,” but that problems were being addressed in coordination with city and state agencies. He also said EMD has brought in traffic experts to “structure this work more effectively.”

“Recovery is dynamic and complex and changes daily as debris is cleared, infrastructure is repaired, and reentry phases evolve,” Riser said.

Frustration with Hagerty boiled over at an April 10 meeting of the Palisades community council, where Hagerty representative Harrison Newton touted recovery as “a chance to become more resilient to the next disaster.”

Residents could barely contain their fury, criticizing Newton for an abstract presentation that seemed divorced from their real needs around rebuilding, permitting and traffic control.

“It feels extremely generic,” said Lee Ann Daly, who then turned her ire toward City Hall. “You need to know that we have a trust issue with the people who are paying you. … We have a trust issue, and it’s huge.”

Palisades resident Kimberly Bloom, whose home burned in the fire, pressed Newton to provide a “concrete example” of Hagerty’s work in a prior disaster “that is not just another layer of bureaucracy, because that’s what it feels like at the moment.”

Newton referred residents to Hagerty’s website and spoke of how his firm provides “augmentation support,” prompting residents to interrupt and criticize his use of jargon.

After some back and forth, Newton emphasized that he and his team were trying to accelerate the city’s response to the issues raised by residents. Hagerty, he said, was “bringing more people to bear so they’re less thinly stretched, and you’re achieving work faster.”

What lies ahead

So far, more than 1,500 parcels in the Palisades have received a final sign-off from L.A. County that they are cleared of debris, paving the way to begin rebuilding.

As of this week, 54 construction permits for 40 addresses have been issued in the Palisades, said Seidl, who noted that hundreds of permit applications are now under review.

The burden will increasingly shift onto city agencies like the Department of Building and Safety to serve thousands of homeowners and businesses seeking plan checks, permits, inspections and certificates of occupancy.

The logistics of whole neighborhoods undertaking simultaneous construction projects on hillside streets, with only a few major arteries in and out, will test the recovery framework that EMD and Hagerty have been working to erect.

In the coming weeks, Bass is expected to name a new chief recovery officer, and her team is “currently interviewing … qualified candidates,” Seidl said. Featherstone, who was initially hired on a 120-day appointment, is now serving as an assistant general manager at EMD, and Parks, the EMD chief, has asked for funding in the coming fiscal year’s budget to keep him.

Hagerty could be replaced by a different firm if it loses the competitive bidding process for the multi-year recovery contract. One of the many “deliverables” for that contract is developing a long-term recovery plan.

That type of overarching plan governing the rebuilding — and direct communication about the plan — is what residents and local officials say they have been pleading for.

“We have more debris clearing to do, but we are also breaking ground on new buildings,” said Councilmember Park. “If we don’t get those plans under control and in place, this is going to turn into ‘The Hunger Games’ very quickly.”

When survivors from January’s wildfires in Los Angeles County apply to rebuild their homes, their first interaction might be with a robot.

Artificial intelligence will aid city and county building officials in reviewing permit requests, an effort to speed up a process already being criticized as too slow.

“The current pace of issuing permits locally is not meeting the magnitude of the challenge we face,” Gov. Gavin Newsom said when announcing the AI deal in late April.

Some 13,000 homes were lost or severely damaged in the Eaton and Palisades fires, and many families are eager to return as fast as they can. Just eight days after the fire began and while it was still burning, the city received its first home rebuilding application in Pacific Palisades.

Wildfire recovery foundations purchased the AI permitting software, developed by Australian tech firm Archistar, and donated it to the city and county. When property owners submit applications, the software first will examine them for basic compliance with zoning and building codes, suggest corrections and provide a standardized report on the submission for human plan checkers to review.

L.A. County officials hope the software — believed to be the first large-scale use of such permitting technology nationwide after a natural disaster — will slice the time its employees now spend performing menial tasks, such as measuring building heights, counting parking spaces and calculating setbacks, said Mitch Glaser, an assistant deputy director in the county’s planning department.

“We see our planners doing things that are more impactful for our fire survivors,” Glaser said.

Disaster relief and government technology experts said they’re encouraged by the initiative. Municipal permitting is the type of highly technical, repetitive and time-consuming process that AI software could make more efficient, they said, especially as residents are expected to flood local building departments with applications to rebuild.

Still, they warned that for the AI software to be effective, the city and county would have to integrate the technology into its existing systems and quickly correct any errors in implementation. If not, the software could add more bureaucratic hurdles or narrow property owners’ options through overly rigid or incorrect code interpretations.

“This could be fabulously successful and I hope it is,” said Andrew Rumbach, a senior fellow at the Washington-based Urban Institute, where he studies disaster response. “But experimenting with technology in the context of people who’ve lost a lot is risky.”

Immediately after the fires, leaders at all levels of government pledged to waive and streamline rules for property owners to rebuild, promising that regulatory processes wouldn’t hold up residents’ return. Noting the pace of ongoing debris removal, L.A. Mayor Karen Bass has called the region’s recovery “on track to be the fastest in modern California history.” A mayoral spokesperson said that the building department is completing initial permitting reviews twice as fast as before the fire.

More than 200 Pacific Palisades property owners have submitted applications to rebuild or repair their homes, according to a Times analysis of city permitting data, with 11% approved. Last week, 24 property owners submitted applications, the highest amount since the disaster, the analysis shows.

L.A. County, which is responsible for permitting in Altadena and other unincorporated areas, has a separate system for tracking permits which the Times has not been able to independently verify. On Monday, the county listed 476 applications for zoning reviews on its data dashboard, with eight building permits approved. By Tuesday, the number of zoning reviews listed had increased to 486 while the number of building permit approvals dropped to seven.

Besides Newsom, architects, builders and homeowners have grumbled about the permitting process, expressing frustrations at what they say are confusing and inconsistent interpretations of regulations. Last week, actress Mandy Moore, whose family had multiple homes damaged or destroyed in the Eaton fire, blasted the county for “nonsensical red tape” that is making it difficult for her to rebuild.

The wildfire recovery nonprofit Steadfast LA, started by developer and former mayoral candidate Rick Caruso, took the lead on securing the Archistar software and is covering much of the up to $2-million tab for its implementation. LA Rises, the foundation started by Newsom after the fires, will pay Archistar’s $200 fee per application.

Caruso, who declined an interview request from The Times, has said that turning to AI was a no-brainer.

“Bringing AI into permitting will allow us to rebuild faster and safer, reducing costs and turning a process that can take weeks and months into one that can happen in hours or days,” Caruso said in the news release announcing the deal.

Archistar’s AI permitting software has been in development since 2018. The company has contracts with municipalities in Australia and Canada and is expanding to the United States. In the fall, after a successful pilot program in Austin, Texas, Archistar signed an agreement with the city to perform initial assessments of building projects, similar to its intended use in Los Angeles. Austin has not implemented the software yet, but city officials said they believe it could cut preliminary reviews there to one business day from 15.

Once Archistar’s program is online in L.A. County, Glaser said, officials hope it will reduce the first analysis for rebuilding projects to two or three business days from five.

It could save additional time for projects by minimizing revisions and corrections, said Zach Seidl, a Bass spokesperson.

“The biggest potential for reducing permitting time comes from improving the quality of initial plans that homeowners submit to the city,” Seidl said.

Land use consultants and architects in Los Angeles said they were happy with any technology that could hasten approvals of their projects. But they said that AI wouldn’t ease the hardest parts of the permitting process.

Architect Ken Ungar, who is working with roughly two dozen Palisades property owners who are rebuilding, said his biggest headaches come from needing multiple city departments, such as those that oversee fire safety and utilities, to sign off on a project. Applications can get stuck, he said, and even worse sometimes one department requires changes that conflict with another’s rules.

Artificial intelligence, Ungar said, “sounds great. But unless the city of L.A. changes its whole M.O. on how you get building permits, it’s not super helpful.”

The state’s Archistar deal allows the city of Malibu, where the Palisades fire destroyed more than 1,000 homes, to receive the donated software as well. Malibu officials say they’re still deciding on it, noting that the community has specialized building codes addressing development on coastal, hillside and other environmentally sensitive habitats.

Governments are right to look to technology for help in speeding up disaster permitting, Rumbach said, but they also should ensure that human plan checkers provide oversight to account for nuances in zoning and building codes.

“I hope there are people more seasoned in communicating with disaster survivors who are the face of this,” he said. “A lot of people could be frustrated because they don’t want to deal with AI. They want to deal with a person.”

Although L.A. city and county might be the first to use AI for permitting after a major disaster, experts expect the technology to become mainstream soon.

“I’m confident there is no way back,” said Sara Bertran de Lis, director of research and analytics at Johns Hopkins University’s Bloomberg Center for Government Excellence.

L.A. County expects to implement the Archistar software within six weeks after programming and testing, Glaser said. At a recent disaster recovery panel, Bass said the city will do so “in the next couple of months.”