several time

Several times over the past many years, I’ve ended a column about California’s greatest natural asset with the same words:

The coast is never saved, it’s always being saved.

Today I’m beginning with that thought.

The words are not mine. The late Peter Douglas, former executive director of the California Coastal Commission, uttered them many years ago. He was pointing out that it would take constant vigilance to fend off repeated attempts to chip away at the protections he helped enshrine in the Coastal Act.

Over the last few days, the person doing the chipping was Gov. Gavin Newsom, who pushed a bill that would have shredded a page of the Coastal Act in a way that would have benefited a longtime campaign donor.

Odious, yes, but if you’re thinking of running for president one day, why not go for broke?

Coastal protection advocates held their breath late into the night Friday as the clock ticked at the end of the legislative session. But before I let you know how it played out, I’m going to back up a bit.

I’d just returned last week from a trip back east, where I’d taken photos of signs blocking my access to some beaches in Connecticut and New York. A typical under-handed tactic they use is to prohibit parking in beach lots unless you show proof of residence.

If you’re not a resident, goodbye. The parking lot could be nearly empty and they’ll send you away, and then you’ll discover there is nowhere else to park within easy or safe walking distance. It’s a surefire way to essentially privatize beaches.

So I came home eager to remind everyone that we have something special in California, and that we should all be lighting candles on the cake celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Coastal Act.

That’s the framework that established guidelines regarding public access, conservation and development. And it came about because more than half a century ago, when it appeared that the coast was becoming too privatized and industrialized, a citizen uprising led to the protections we enjoy today.

Now back to Gov. Newsom.

I’d barely unpacked my vacation bags when a gaggle of sources and news reports grabbed my attention, and the Calmatters story and headline neatly summed things up:

“Newsom pushes environmental carve-out for campaign donor’s Santa Monica project.”

The project, Calmatters reported, “belongs to Jeff Worthe, who, along with his wife, Kristin Worthe, has donated more than $274,000 to Newsom’s campaigns and inaugural fund between 2018 and 2022, according to state campaign finance records.”

Susan Jordan, of the California Coastal Protection Network, was aghast.

“You don’t expect to have a governor do something so under-handed as this, and now that it’s out in the open, there’s no shame about it,” she told me. ”And he would be the first person to carve out an exemption in the Coastal Act, that has survived all these other attacks over the last 50 years.”

Nice timing, Mr. Governor. I’d just written last month about how President Trump has launched his own attempt to torpedo the Coastal Commission and California’s long-established authority on matters of coastal conservation and development.

You’d like to see the California governor stand tall rather than come off like Trump’s caddy, kicking sand in the faces of those who have taken up stewardship of the coast.

Look, not everyone loves the Coastal Act or the Coastal Commission, which is seen by many as obstructionist and slow-footed. Sometimes, finding the right balance between sensible development and coastal conservation can be complicated.

But in essence, California is about the idea that the coast is not owned by anyone, it’s owned by everyone.

In the case of the Santa Monica project, Jordan asked the right question.

“Why the exemption?”

Is there something so odious about a reworked design that the only way to hustle it across the finish line is to give it a free pass?

“If you want to build in the coastal zone, you need to go through the Coastal Act,” Jordan told me. “That’s why we have the Coastal Act, and I don’t think it should be corrupted by this developer or by the governor.”

Newsom, when asked recently by a reporter to explain what he was up to, had this to say:

“I’m not going to comment about any pending bills.”

Why not? If you’re going to tear up the rule book on coastal development, doesn’t the public deserve an explanation, even if you’ve already got one foot out the door?

The Worthe project would sit just up from the beach in Santa Monica, and, in previous incarnations, it has included a luxury hotel, apartments and a Frank Gehry museum. The Coastal Commission signed off on it a few years ago after extended tussles and finally an agreement regarding low-cost housing provisions. After getting the green light, Worthe pulled back, and his permit expired.

But then Newsom came to the rescue with a trailer bill that aides were still pushing as of Thursday, sources tell me. It would have allowed for an unnamed project in that same location to be put forward again, this time without normal regulatory review in the event that Santa Monica failed to complete its own local coastal plan (LCP) by 2028

And since it could be difficult to meet that deadline, Newsom’s bill essentially provided a way to escape the kind of critical review demanded by the Coastal Act.

In anticipation of a Friday meeting between Newsom and the leaders of the Senate and Assembly, Assemblyman Rick Chavez Zbur (D-Santa Monica) rallied legislators to implore the governor to back off.

Zbur, who had been working on his own coastal development and public access bill and helping assemble Santa Monica’s LCP, was one of a dozen legislators who signed a salty missive that was sent Friday to Newsom, Senate President Pro Tem Monique Limon and Assembly Speaker Robert Rivas.

“We are frustrated that, once again, we must devote time and energy to working to defeat this harmful proposal that creates unprecedented exemptions from the Coastal Act,” the letter said.

It must have made an impact. Late Friday night, when the last whistle blew at the sausage factory, the Newsom exemption had been pulled back.

Victory for the coast.

Zbur told me Saturday morning that it was not clear how the matter had played out when the governor met with the two legislative leaders Friday, but Zbur was grateful to all three of them for letting the matter drop.

“This wasn’t about the project,” Zbur said. “It was about the precedent that would have been set on having people come in and exempting a certain project from the Coastal Act. It would have been a terrible precedent.”

Despite this threat and the recent big-footing by Trump, there’s a silver lining in all of this.

“As long as there are people who want to monetize the coast for their own benefit, you’re going to need people to rise up and say no,” said Kim Delfino, an environmental attorney and founder of Earth Advocacy.

And people did rise up.

Last week, dozens of organizations signed a letter to the governor opposing any “last-minute legislation to create dangerous exemptions to the Coastal Act.” Among them were Heal the Bay, Amigos de Bolsa Chica, L.A. Waterkeeper, Azul, the Surfrider Foundation and Orange County Coastkeeper.

I can think of several ways to end this column, but at the risk of repeating myself, I don’t think I can do better than to lean on this reminder:

The coast is never saved, it’s always being saved.

steve.lopez@latimes.com

The Indianapolis Colts took a flyer on an impressive athlete from Kenya 13 years ago, but a story that began with an inspirational backdrop has taken an increasingly familiar turn: Daniel Adongo was deported from the United States last month, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement confirmed.

According to ICE, Adongo, 37, overstayed his visa after his brief NFL career ended in 2015 and he remained in Indiana. The former linebacker and African rugby star was arrested several times over the past nine years for crimes including felony intimidation, battery and disorderly conduct. He also showed signs of mental illness, according to court records.

“This dangerous individual was clearly a threat to the community, which is now safer since he’s been removed,” ICE Chicago Assistant Field Office Director Douglas Thompson said in a statement. “Those who violate immigration law are held equally accountable, including former professional athletes.”

Adongo was released by the Colts after playing in two games in 2013 and three in 2015, mostly on special teams. The team cut ties with him after police were called to a home in Fishers, Ind., to check on a woman who lived with Adongo.

According to a police report, the woman’s friend contacted law enforcement. Adongo was not at the residence at the time, and the woman declined medical assistance. The Hamilton County prosecutor’s office reviewed the case and did not charge Adongo.

However, the 6-foot-5, 260-pound Adongo began exhibiting increasingly erratic behavior. In 2017, an Indiana judge found him mentally incompetent to stand trial in a criminal case in which he was charged with intimidation and criminal mischief and ordered him committed to a state psychiatric hospital for evaluation and observation, according to the Indianapolis Star.

The only crime Adongo has been convicted of is a criminal mischief misdemeanor in 2020 for which he was sentenced to 364 days in jail, according to ICE. Other charges for intimidation, battery and disorderly conduct were dismissed.

Judges twice found Adongo incompetent to stand trial, according to court filings, including one case in which an expert witness testified that Adongo was acutely psychotic and possibly suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy — brain trauma — from playing football and rugby.

Members of Adongo’s family described in court filings a dramatic personality change in him after his playing career ended and expressed concern that he struggled to access mental health treatment.

ICE held Adongo without bond for several months under the Laken Riley Act, a federal law signed Jan. 29, 2025, that requires the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) to detain undocumented immigrants without bond when arrested for specific crimes. He was deported one month ago.

Adongo was the first of two Kenyans to play in the NFL. The second was guard Rees Odhiambo, who played in 16 games from 2016 to 2018 for the Seattle Seahawks and Arizona Cardinals.

Obsession is maybe too hard-edged; interest too soft. But from “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” and “E.T” to his new sci-fi thriller “Disclosure Day,” Steven Spielberg has spent nearly the entire length of his career returning to the possibility that we are not alone in the universe. Even “Firelight,” the amateur movie he made as an Arizona teenager in 1964, revolved around extraterrestrial visitors.

That recurring fascination stands out partly because Spielberg has never been a filmmaker who stays in one lane. Across 36 features as a director, he has pivoted between science fiction, war films, historical dramas, adventure movies, thrillers, comedies and even a musical while somehow retaining the same famed Spielbergian sense of emotional wonder that defined his earliest work.

Which makes “Disclosure Day” — opening Friday and built around mysterious transmissions, buried government secrets and the possibility of alien contact — feel less like a detour than a return to one of Spielberg’s oldest creative preoccupations. Speaking about the film in March at SXSW, Spielberg admitted that while he has no special knowledge about extraterrestrial life, he nevertheless has “a very strong, sneaking suspicion that we are not alone here on Earth right now. And I made a movie about that.”

So with Spielberg once again looking skyward, we decided to revisit the director’s long cinematic relationship with aliens, as figures of astonishment, terror, transcendence and, occasionally, giant crystal skulls from another dimension.

Melinda Dillon and Cary Guffey in 1977’s “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.”

(Columbia Pictures)

Josh Rottenberg: I don’t really remember a world without Spielberg’s aliens. I was 6 when “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” arrived in 1977, not much older than the little boy played by Cary Guffey who is carried off by visitors from another world after his toys mysteriously come to life. Five years later, I was exactly Elliott’s age when “E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial” landed in theaters in 1982.

“Close Encounters” made aliens feel weirdly plausible, not just creatures in a “Star Wars” cantina or rubber-suited monsters from old sci-fi movies but something that might turn up in ordinary American life through blinking kitchen appliances, strange lights in the sky and suburban middle-class dads who can’t explain why they suddenly need to drive to Wyoming.

What surprises me now is how hopeful the movie feels. It came out of the post-Watergate ’70s, when distrust of institutions was running high, but Spielberg directed most of that suspicion toward the government, not the alien visitors. Richard Dreyfuss sculpting Devils Tower out of mashed potatoes should seem completely insane — and it kind of is. But Spielberg somehow makes you understand why Dreyfuss’ Roy Neary is willing to walk away from his entire life and family over something he can’t explain.

With “E.T.,” Spielberg scaled that cosmic yearning down to a California cul-de-sac. I recently watched the movie again at Hollywood Forever Cemetery with my wife and younger daughter, who’s in college now. I’d seen it several times since 1982 but not on a big screen, and I was startled by how much of it I still knew by heart: E.T. shuffling through the kitchen drinking cans of Coors, Elliott freeing the frogs in science class, Drew Barrymore introducing the alien to her dolls like he’s a new kid who just moved in next door. Somewhere along the way, “E.T.” became less a movie to me than part of the background texture of childhood itself.

Spielberg turned one of science fiction’s grandest ideas — first contact with alien life — into the story of a boy and his weird little space-faring goblin best friend. Mark, we’re of the same Gen X vintage. Did Spielberg permanently convince you that aliens were basically on our side?

A scene from the 1982 movie “E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial.”

(Universal Pictures / Photofest)

Mark Olsen: I didn’t see “Close Encounters” when it was first in theaters, but I remember any kid with a piano learning those five notes of John Williams’ alien theme music and then the movie becoming a staple rental of the early VHS era.

When I revisited the film for its 2017 re-release — an overwhelming experience in the sorely missed Cinerama Dome, where the movie also played when it first opened — I was struck by how homespun and handmade it felt, grounded in a naturalistic sense of realism. For as much as Spielberg may be fascinated by aliens and whatever could be out there, he always uses them as a way to reconsider what is going on down here: to reconnect with the elemental aspects of humanity and our common bonds.

I’ll be honest and say that “E.T.” is a movie I have always struggled with. I clearly remember seeing the movie when I was young and being very disturbed by the scene when the government arrives and drapes the family’s house in plastic sheets and tubing. I distinctly recall recognizing that the film itself wanted me to feel bad — I didn’t like that. (Perhaps thus was a young critic born.) Spielberg is often so proud of his mechanics, he lets them show, which is why even then I was resistant to moments when he wants the relationship between Elliott and his new friend to truly take flight.

Tom Cruise in Steven Spielberg’s 2005 sci-fi thriller “War of the Worlds.”

(Paramount Pictures)

Rottenberg: By 2005 and “War of the Worlds,” the wonderment was gone. Spielberg took H.G. Wells’ downbeat vision of extraterrestrials as exterminators and updated it for post-9/11 America: nightmarish scenes of alien tripods clawing their way up through the pavement, blaring air-raid horns, entire crowds vaporized into clouds of dust.

This time, nobody is trying to communicate through music or empathy. Tom Cruise spends the movie running through New Jersey with two terrified kids while ash drifts through the streets and giant alien war machines scoop humans into dangling metal cages. “E.T.” had turned aliens into plush toys and breakfast cereal. “War of the Worlds” turned them back into the menacing aggressors of 1950s sci-fi films like “Earth vs. the Flying Saucers” and “Invaders From Mars.”

Which made it all the more jarring when, three years later, Spielberg suddenly swerved back toward old-school flying-saucer mythology with 2008’s “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull,” shoehorning an extraterrestrial plot into one of his most beloved series. Seeing Cate Blanchett march into a glowing alien chamber to commune with giant crystal skeletons from another dimension, I could understand why some fans reacted like they’d just watched someone spray-paint a UFO on the Ark of the Covenant.

But looking back, the inclusion seems almost inevitable. Spielberg keeps circling back to aliens no matter what genre or franchise he’s working in. Even 2001’s “A.I. Artificial Intelligence” eventually reveals itself as a kind of inverted first-contact story, with humanity becoming the vanished civilization studied by synthetic descendants of the machines.

Mark, were you able to roll with Indy suddenly colliding with Area 51 mythology, or did Spielberg lose you at that point?

Harrison Ford and Shia LaBeouf in the 2008 movie “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.”

(David James / Paramount Pictures / Lucasfilm)

Olsen: There was something so eye-rollingly whatever about the finale of “Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” that you couldn’t even really be mad about it. On a storytelling scale of Spielbergian preposterousness, the moment lands somewhere between the Wrath of God sequence in “Raiders of the Lost Ark” (totally legit) and the time traveling of “Dial of Destiny” (throws hands in the air).

“War of the Worlds” remains a fascinating film within the director’s space alien canon because it has an anxiety and uncertainty that isn’t often found elsewhere. Even his core interest in creatures, so often a well of amazement and positivity, couldn’t pull him up. Much has been made of the film as a response to the aftermath of 9/11 and Spielberg followed it up with the existential thriller “Munich,” a further exploration of the darker aspects of the national mood, before the year was even up.

This seemed to be a moment of malaise for Spielberg, one he worked his way out of with an unpredictably wide-ranging series of films including “Lincoln,” “Bridge of Spies” and “The Post.” It was as if he were left reeling from cynicism and was trying to reclaim some youthful confidence that he would eventually rediscover with the autobiographical “The Fabelmans.” Josh, do you feel that “Disclosure Day” serves as the final word on Spielberg’s alien interests?

Emily Blunt and Josh O’Connor in the movie “Disclosure Day.”

(Niko Tavernise / Universal Pictures)

Rottenberg: What makes “Disclosure Day” interesting to me — even though I wasn’t fully sold on it — is that Spielberg is returning to these ideas at a moment when UFO culture has already evolved far beyond him.

Screenwriter David Koepp has cited “Three Days of the Condor” as a touchstone, and for long and often gripping stretches, the movie really does play like a paranoid 1970s conspiracy thriller: cryptic transmissions, shadowy government programs, Josh O’Connor racing to expose buried secrets, Colin Firth strapped into a chair using alien technology to manipulate people from afar.

But while “Close Encounters” arrived at a time when UFOs still occupied this hazy space between science fiction, Cold War anxiety and New Age mysticism, “Disclosure Day” lands in a world where self-described UFO abductees have their own support groups and Congress has held multiple hearings about “unidentified anomalous phenomena.” Meanwhile, earlier this spring, the U.S. government declassified another batch of UFO files and the response was roughly equivalent to a collective shrug.

In recent interviews, Spielberg has said he now considers the circumstantial evidence for UFOs “overwhelming” and no longer views “Disclosure Day” as science fiction at all. In his earlier alien films, extraterrestrials represented mystery and escape. Here they feel more like vaguely benevolent interstellar therapists trying to help humanity get its act together. The film’s climax reaches for the same sense of civilizational awe as the mothership landing in “Close Encounters.” For me it didn’t quite get there.

But maybe that’s partly because it’s harder now to experience these ideas with the same innocence they carried in 1977 or 1982. Rewatching “E.T.” at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery, I still wanted to believe that an encounter with an alien intelligence could elevate us. But we’re a long way from Reese’s Pieces and flying bicycles. Mark, did “Disclosure Day” manage to pull you back into Spielberg’s orbit this time?

Olsen: I have to just get it out of the way that as someone from Kansas City, I will be eternally annoyed that Emily Blunt plays a TV weatherperson in KC and Spielberg did not actually shoot there. Having said that, for me the movie is at its best as a chase thriller — a sequence in which O’Connor escapes a remote farmhouse is particularly well-executed.

“Disclosure Day” is first and foremost just a lot of fun, a showcase for Spielberg’s gifts as a filmmaker and his longstanding collaborations with cinematographer Janusz Kaminski and composer John Williams. The film is deeply interested in who knows what. There are longtime tightly held secrets being kept from the rest of us for whatever reason. Though the film is framed as a conspiracy thriller, Spielberg’s essential goodheartedness continually peeks out, as if he can only play at being hard-bitten for so long.

Where the film becomes less sure-footed is when it grabs for its bigger meaning, attempting to render something deeper from Spielberg’s longstanding fascination with aliens and what they might have to teach us.

The real disclosure of “Disclosure Day” turns out to be our own inability to listen: how everyone gets so wrapped up in themselves they often miss the larger picture. But the idea that the entire world could latch onto something together feels too far-fetched in our own current fractured news environment. That is likely less the fault of Spielberg and more one of ourselves. His career-spanning interest in aliens always brings him back to trying to better understand us.