violence

It was a risky move and Jonathan Torres knew it, but he did it anyway. He let an out-of-town guest stay with him in his room.

Torres, 40, had been living at the Highland Park Motel as part of Inside Safe, Mayor Karen Bass’ flagship program to combat homelessness. He and his neighbors, many of them from a downtown encampment, were told that visitors were not allowed.

Still, Torres kept having people over. After the third violation, he said, the facility kicked him out.

Jonathan Torres spent about two years in a city-leased motel in Highland Park. He told The Times he was kicked out of the facility in December.

(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

“It’s nobody’s fault but my own, but I just feel it’s unfair,” said Torres, who now lives in a tent in Chinatown. “In the real world, you’re allowed to have people come over. You have visitors. That’s part of keeping your sanity, you know?”

Los Angeles has spent more than $300 million on Inside Safe since Bass launched the program in December 2022, clearing scores of homeless encampments and moving about 5,800 people into interim housing — mostly hotels and motels. The goal was to get each of those people into permanent housing, typically taxpayer-funded apartments.

But even as the mayor’s initiative brings more people indoors, a growing number are winding up back on the street.

The longer the program exists, the greater the share of participants who have returned to “unsheltered” homelessness, according to monthly dashboards which were posted by the Los Angeles Homeless Services Authority, or LAHSA, and analyzed by The Times.

Jeremiah Flores, center, packs up his belongings during an Inside Safe operation in North Hollywood last month.

In 2023, at the program’s one-year mark, nearly 20% had returned to the street, according to numbers posted by LAHSA at the time.

Halfway into Bass’ four-year term, the figure had climbed above 30%.

In December, as the program finished its third year, about 40% of the people who had gone indoors — 2,300 of the 5,800 — were back on the street, according to LAHSA’s dashboard. That includes people who were kicked out of their housing or disappeared from the system altogether.

The growing exodus reflects the challenges Bass faces while trying to help some of the city’s neediest residents, many of whom struggle with mental health conditions, substance use issues or major physical ailments.

Workers with Mayor Karen Bass’ Inside Safe program clean up a homeless encampment along Hollywood Boulevard in 2024.

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

Bass, asked about the worrisome trend, said she believes that Inside Safe participants need more services to address those issues. She also said she suspects that the longer people stay, the more likely they are to violate the rules and face expulsion.

The goal of Inside Safe is to find permanent homes within 90 days, with a maximum stay of six months, according to the written agreement issued by the city to each participant.

At this point, the average stay is 362 days — just shy of a year, according to recent LAHSA figures.

Bass did not offer any definitive conclusions, saying the city now has outside researchers assessing the problem.

“It’s critically important that we look at the people who left, why they left [and] what do we need to do strengthen the interim housing that we have,” she said. “I have my opinions about it, but the opinions have to be based in science.”

Bass has staked much of her reelection campaign on her handling of the homelessness crisis, which she made a top priority as soon as she took office. She credits Inside Safe with producing a 17.5% drop in “unsheltered homelessness” — people living outdoors or in their vehicles — over a two-year span. That number fell from about 33,000 to nearly 27,000, according to the most recent homeless count.

Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass prepares to leave a homeless encampment along the San Diego (405) Freeway in Van Nuys targeted by Inside Safe in July. “The homeless should never be living in these conditions,” she said.

By clearing encampments, Inside Safe also benefits the surrounding community, making sidewalks more accessible and reducing the number of encampment fires, Bass said.

UCLA Law School professor emeritus Gary Blasi, an expert on homelessness, said the program has become too expensive to justify the results — and is in need of “a thorough re-engineering.”

Blasi said there were never enough vouchers and low-cost apartments to provide permanent housing to Inside Safe participants in a timely way. As a result, the city has been paying for them to live in expensive motel rooms for long stretches, he said.

“Once they started having people in interim housing for nine months or a year, that should have rang some alarm bells, because that’s just not sustainable,” he said.

Last summer, the Inside Safe program cleared away a large homeless encampment next to the San Diego Freeway in Van Nuys. Some residents went to the Budget Inn in North Hills.

Inside Safe participants also face a wide array of rules. They are barred from leaving the premises for three consecutive days without prior approval. Alcohol and illegal drugs are prohibited in their rooms, which are inspected multiple times a day.

Participants also are frequently barred from bringing in outside food, to keep from attracting roaches, mice and other pests.

“The rules are dumb. They treat houseless people like children. They don’t give people agency,” said Paisley Mares, who lives in an RV in the San Fernando Valley and has several friends who took part in the program.

Executives with the nonprofit groups that run the Inside Safe facilities said the restrictions are needed to protect residents, keeping them on track to find permanent housing.

Violence, threats of violence and property damage are prohibited, and can result in immediate removal from the program. The ban on guests is designed to prevent people from being physically attacked, sexually assaulted or engaging in high-risk behavior, such as drug use, behind closed doors, those nonprofit leaders said.

“We are bringing people indoors, mostly from encampments, where drugs are often the trade of the street. There is also often physical violence. That’s the way people survive on the streets,” said John Maceri, chief executive officer of the nonprofit the People Concern, which runs two Inside Safe motels in Hollywood. “All of those behaviors don’t stop when people come into an Inside Safe setting.”

Executives at the People Concern estimate that 50% to 65% of the shelter clients they work with — not just for Inside Safe, but other homeless housing programs — have serious issues with drugs or alcohol. The number with serious mental health issues, particularly trauma, is also “very high,” they said.

Inside Safe providers acknowledged that motel rooms can be a huge adjustment, leaving people feeling lonely and isolated. They said they work closely with participants to improve their behavior — and turn to expulsion only as a last resort.

“My goal is never to exit anyone to the streets,” said Joseph Bradford III, chief executive officer of BARE Truth, which runs two Inside Safe motels on the Eastside. “I want to keep people inside until they find permanent housing.”

By now, Inside Safe operations are a well-oiled machine. Sanitation trucks roll up to encampments. Traffic officers cordon off the sidewalk with yellow tape. Encampment residents lug their bags onto a bus and head to their destinations.

Robert Martinez, 40, moved to a Budget Inn in North Hills last summer from an encampment near the 405 Freeway. He had been homeless for about five years and jobless even longer, he said.

Martinez, who used to work at a water filtration company, said the Inside Safe motel was better than the street. Still, he chafed at the rules. He wanted his children to visit, which was not permitted.

In November, after learning that a beloved uncle had died, Martinez left the motel for several days — and didn’t “want to be around anybody.”

When he returned, he said, program staffers informed him he’d been away more than 72 hours and would have to leave.

“I had 30 minutes to get my stuff,” said Martinez, who has been living on a sidewalk in Van Nuys.

Erica Y. Pena, left, and Jose Monteon at a homeless encampment in Van Nuys. Monteon told The Times he spent about two months in an Inside Safe motel last year.

(David Butow / For The Times)

Jose Monteon, 29, moved into the same motel as part of the same Inside Safe operation. He said he was kicked out two months later, after program managers accused him of fighting and making threats.

Monteon, who has spent some nights sleeping his car, denied getting physical. But he admitted expressing frustration over the theft of his bicycle and other possessions.

“Yes, I said some s—. But I never said it to a specific person,” he said. “I said ‘Whoever I find out is taking my s—, I’m going to stab their b— ass.’”

Monteon corrected himself. “My bad — poke. I didn’t say stab, I said poke.”

Ken Craft, whose nonprofit supervises the Budget Inn, declined to discuss specific cases. But he said his staff gives Inside Safe participants three chances — unless they have engaged in threats or violence — and tries to find another place for them to go.

“We’re trying to end homelessness, not have people recycle back to homelessness,” he said.

Even with its challenges, Inside Safe has been gradually moving a greater percentage of its residents into permanent housing, where they are no longer governed by such a wide array of rules.

In December, about one out of every four people who participated in Inside Safe since its inception was in permanent housing, according to that month’s LAHSA dashboard. Two years earlier, that figure was about 15%.

Once the program’s hotels, motels and other temporary lodging are factored in, about 55% were in some form of housing.

Bass said those facilities are a vast improvement over the street, providing bathrooms, heating, air conditioning, hot showers, three meals a day and doors that lock. The program is one of several reasons why Los Angeles County officials reported a double-digit reduction in the homeless mortality rate in 2024, she said.

“The value of the interim housing, number one, is to save lives,” Bass said.

Torres, the Inside Safe participant now in a tent in Chinatown, experienced the difference. He entered the program with a history of gastrointestinal issues and abdominal surgeries.

Jonathan Torres walks his dog in November. At the time, he was living in an Inside Safe motel in Highland Park.

(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

“The whole time I had my housing, not once did I get sick or have to be hospitalized,” said Torres, who grew up in Redlands and Baldwin Park.

Torres said he was in the program for nearly two years. The longer he stayed, the more frustrated he grew over the wait for permanent housing.

In November, Torres told The Times he had received a notice stating that he had violated the motel’s prohibition on guests and was in danger of being expelled.

By then, he was worried about his health and his dog Waku, a Belgian Malinois/Akita mix. (The program allows “emotional support” animals.)

First To Serve, the nonprofit that supervises the hotel, did not respond to inquiries from The Times.

Even after the written notice, Torres struggled to comply with the rules. He said he allowed a woman from out of state to stay in his room for more than a week during last year’s rains.

The day after Christmas, he was back on the street.

In February, his dog was struck and killed by a car. Days later, sanitation workers cleared the encampment where he’d been living. Soon afterward, he was in the hospital, receiving treatment for a blockage in his bowels.

He eventually returned to Chinatown, setting up another tent. He’s been using meth, saying it helps with his medical issues.

For now, Torres has found some of the companionship he craved. In recent days, he’s been sharing his tent with his new girlfriend.

The year was 1975. 

On a quiet afternoon in Bare, a farming community in Numan Local Government Area of Adamawa State, northeastern Nigeria, Clement Coleman sat beneath a neem tree with an old friend. Alhaji Sadiki, a herder from the nearby village of Sabewa, had come to visit.

Clement had recently bought two calves, and he believed that Sadiki was best positioned to raise them. There were no contracts to sign, no witnesses to summon. By the end of their conversation, he handed them over to Sadiki. At the time, this was not unusual in Bare. It was the system.

Farmers routinely bought a handful of calves and entrusted them to herders they knew. In return, the herders were given access to farmland within the community, land they could not cultivate themselves because of their nomadic life and the demands of managing large herds. Farmers, in turn, worked those fields on their behalf. 

It was an arrangement built on mutual dependence. At harvest, farmers handed over the yields to the herders. When they needed money or access to their cattle, they turned to the herders to whom they had entrusted their animals. Over time, the cattle multiplied. Farmers who never grazed a single animal came to own sizeable herds. Herders, meanwhile, secured steady food supplies through farms they did not till themselves. Risks were shared, and so were rewards.

That afternoon, Clement and Sadiki sealed their agreement with a handshake.

The pact that fed generations 

For years, the system worked with remarkable ease.

Clement recalls how Sadiki managed the cattle as though they were his own, alerting him whenever one fell ill. “One time, the cows entered someone’s farm and destroyed their crops. Sadiki told me, and I went to the farmer and covered the loss in cash,” Clement told HumAngle. 

A decade on, by 1985, his herd had grown to four cattle. By 1990, it had increased to six. The herd continue to multiply. 

“They were healthy and big. I considered myself a rich man back then,” he recounted. 

The cattle became a financial lifeline. One time when Clement was short of funds and needed to pay for his children’s education, he went to Sadiki and one of the big cows was sold. He paid his children’s fees and used the balance to support his household. He continued to use the system for years to support his family. 

Others relied on the same system.

Buba Sarno, a lifelong herder in Mararaban Bare, never had time to farm. Yet, for four decades, each harvest season, he received about 25 bags of rice and 30 bags of maize. It was simple. All he did was seek land for free and reached an agreement with a local who tended to the farm on his behalf. If the farm required manual labour or fertiliser, Buba sorted it through the farm attendant. “With time, I also cultivated soya beans and other crops, and my family never had to buy food,” Buba told HumAngle. 

Magaji Yakubu, another herder in Mararaban Bare, told HumAngle that he combined grazing with both rainy season and irrigation farming, relying on locals to manage his fields. “I cultivated rice, guineacorn and soya beans,” Magaji noted. Like Sadiki, he tended farmers’ cattle.

The same arrangement played out in Bwashi community in Adamawa’s Demsa Local Government Area, where Theophilus Tapu built his livelihood around it. The 80-year-old farmer is a father of 10 and grandfather of over 40 children. He is considered an accomplished cattle rearer in his community, but Theophilus never led a herd to graze. Instead, he bought young male calves, handed them to trusted herders, and sold them at maturity. 

“I sold them to sort my needs and purchase more young ones, then hand them back to the herders,” he told HumAngle, adding that when some of the herders were migrating, they would hand over his herd to him, and he would entrust it to a new batch of herders. 

The cycle sustained him for over 60 years. 

By 2000, he had lost count of his herd. He explained that his relationship with the herders thrived to the extent that he didn’t have to follow them to the market; the herders sold the cattle and brought him the proceeds. 

It was, in every sense, a shared economy rooted in trust.

From trust to tension 

The trust began to fracture in 2017. 

That year, violence broke out between farmers and herders in several communities in Adamawa State, with Numan and Demsa among the hardest hit local government areas. What had once been isolated disputes escalated into deadly clashes, displacing communities and destroying livelihoods. 

Despite government intervention and multiple peacebuilding efforts, the violence has persisted for almost a decade. 

At its core, the conflict is about land and water. Farmers have accused herders of encroaching on farmlands. Herders, in turn, said grazing routes had been taken over.

In Bare, the turning point came in 2017, when a confrontation between a farmer and a herder spiralled out of control. “The herder took his cattle to the farm, and when the owner of the farm confronted him, things got out of hand, and they started fighting,” Jackson Amna, the District Head of Bare, told HumAngle. 

What began as a verbal confrontation that day turned into full-blown violence, leading to deaths and displacement. The clashes now follow a pattern, according to locals; they subside during the dry season and resurface when farming resumes with the rains. 

HumAngle has extensively covered the conflict in Bare and Mararaban Bare.

With each recurrence, trust erodes further. 

The long-standing system, in which farmers entrusted cattle to herders and herders relied on farmers for farm produce, is steadily collapsing across Numan and Demsa. Even though a few farmers still hand over farmland to herders, the District Head of Bare explained that it is rare. 

“During the 2017 conflict, some herders ran with people’s cattle and have not been seen to date,” Jackson said. “My herd was also taken away by the herder I entrusted them with, so I won’t give my cattle to somebody who can run away with them.”

Strained lives

The consequences have been profound.

When clashes between farmers and herders continued in Bwashi, Theophilus’ relatives urged him to retrieve his cattle from the herder he had entrusted to them. He noted that most herders had already started leaving the area at that time. 

“They [herders] were considered our enemies, and we could no longer trust them, but I knew some of them were good, but my people wanted me to do nothing with them,” he said. 

Theophilus succumbed and took over his cattle from the herder.

Not long after, thieves stole the animals he had struggled to manage himself. The old farmer doesn’t have a single cow to call his own. “I lost everything,” he said. “I’m very poor now, and survival is hard.” 

Theophilus had a well-planned retirement. He was to stop farming in 2024 and live off his herd, but now he says his entire life has been altered, and with many mouths to feed, he had to go back to the farm that yields little. 

Things didn’t change only for the farmers. In 2019, two years after the conflict began, the man who had given the farmland to Buba Sarno in Mararaban Bare told him never to set foot on the land again, so Buba migrated with his herd and family to Lamurde, a nearby local government area. In Lamurde, he tried to rent land for farming but couldn’t get any. 

“I went to a hill and established a farm there, but unfortunately, the soil is not good, and the land is not fertile, so my crops didn’t yield,” he said. 

Like Buba, several other herders who once lived in Bare have been displaced to settlements such as Sabewa, Ubandoma, and Mararaban Bare. However, since they are not indigenous to those communities, they told HumAngle that farming has become restricted as locals have taken over their lands and broken the pact that existed between them for generations. 

Magaji Yakubu, who lost his farmland at Mararaban Bare after locals took charge of it, has also retired all the cattle he had been tending for locals. “Feeding has become very hard for my family and me since the conflict began,” he stated. As someone who had access to large harvests in past years, Magaji said navigating a new life without owning farmland or grain is difficult. 

For Clement, the loss is both economic and deeply personal. Sadiki, the man he trusted for decades, disappeared with his cattle during the 2017 crisis. Although his phone rings occasionally when he dials it, no one has ever responded. Clement says he is not sure whether the man is dead or alive.

“Some say the herders around here migrated to Cameroon for safety due to the recurring clashes. We also heard that some have moved to other states. I’ve looked for Sadiki everywhere I can in the past nine years and haven’t seen him,” he said. 

He had planned to fund his children’s education by selling cattle. Without them, those plans collapsed. Even if Sadiki returns, Clement believes the relationship might not be as usual. 

“Right now, I believe he intentionally ran away with my herd,” he said. 

Searching for solutions

Efforts to restore peace continue, but progress remains slow.

The Justice, Development, and Peace Commission (JDPC), a faith-based organisation affiliated with the Catholic Diocese of Yola, has worked for decades to address the crisis. According to Jareth Simon, JDPC’s Project Manager in Adamawa State, land and water were the initial triggers, but new pressures have emerged.

“The one that is glaring to us now is the climate-related issues,” he said. “We’ve also seen where there is an increase in population, leading to more people wanting to cultivate more land.” Additionally, Jareth noted that displacement caused by the Boko Haram insurgency in the region has further intensified competition for resources. 

While most of Adamawa’s 12 LGAs have been affected by the farmers-herders crisis, Jareth said that JDPC’s engagements have identified Demsa, Numan, and Yola South as the hardest hit areas. “This is as a result of the number of cases that have been reported,” he said. 

To mitigate the crisis, JDPC’s approach focuses on community-led solutions, bringing together local government representatives, religious leaders, women, and persons with disabilities. Currently, about 415 stakeholders in conflict-prone areas are engaged in this initiative. 

“These are people who cut across the local structures at the local government level. That includes the local government representative and religious leaders from the Muslim and Christian associations. We have women’s representation and persons with disabilities,” he said. 

Jareth explained that people meet at least once a month to discuss issues related to peaceful coexistence, social cohesion, and community protection, and to identify local actions to mitigate them. “We don’t dictate to them. We only strengthen their capacity, and they themselves identify the leadership structure,” Jared said. 

In some communities, such as Namtari in Yola South, the approach has helped reduce clashes. “We have programmes for children like Peace Clubs, and we also have the one that targets adults using informal education and informal approaches,” he added. 

But challenges remain, particularly around funding and sustainability. “So we’ve seen where we’ve intervened, and then the projects have to end, but you also see that there is an increased need for you to also go out and support, and the funds are limited,” he said.

Jareth said that government authorities should set up and maintain multiple community-based interventions. “Because one of the gaps we’ve noticed is that from the community to the local government, from the local government to the state, there seems to be some gaps sometimes even in terms of information sharing,” he said. 

Government interventions to resolve the farmers-herders conflict across Nigeria have struggled over the years. For instance, the Rural Grazing Area (RUGA) scheme, introduced in 2019, was derailed by mistrust and controversy and later suspended by the former President Muhammad Buhari’s administration. 

Another intervention, the National Livestock Transformation Plan (NLTP), remains largely unimplemented. It was initially introduced to “create a peaceful environment for the transformation of the livestock sector that will lead to peaceful coexistence, economic development, and food security…” 

The Plan, whose first phase execution was budgeted at ₦120 billion, has not been actualised. 

While Jareth acknowledged the efforts of the Adamawa State government in establishing a peace commission comprising committees across the LGAs, he said there’s a need to strengthen security across the locations. “We also want to see the government come out with policies […] that help resolve some of these tensions that arise as a result of scarce resources within these communities,” Jareth stressed. 

Government interventions and community-led peace initiatives continue, but the deep scars of mistrust, competition for land, and recurring violence make reconciliation slow and fragile.

What is being lost in Adamawa is not just a livelihood, but a way of life. 

Amid allegations of three domestic violence incidents involving reality TV star Taylor Frankie Paul, fans are worried about whether MomTok can survive this.

Paul, who gained an online following after founding MomTok — a loosely connected group of TikTokers who made content about their lives as members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — previously pleaded guilty in abeyance to a third-degree felony count of aggravated assault following a fight with former boyfriend Dakota Mortensen in 2023.

MomTok inspired the Hulu reality show “The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives,” which follows eight women in Salt Lake City who grapple with their relationship with the church. The first season explored the fallout of the group’s “soft swinging” scandal, which Paul exposed on TikTok prior to filming.

Throughout its four seasons, “Mormon Wives” has featured lighthearted content like the moms’ love of the soda shop Swig and more weighty topics, including gender roles within the Mormon church. “Mormon Wives” has also crossed over with various Disney reality shows, including “Dancing With the Stars,” “The Bachelorette” and “Vanderpump Villa.”

However, filming on Season 5 of “Mormon Wives” was paused and Paul’s season of “The Bachelorette” was shelved in the wake of domestic abuse allegations. A second investigation, which began in late February, gained even more attention when a video from Paul’s 2023 domestic dispute with Mortensen was made public. The footage showed Paul putting Mortensen in a headlock and throwing metal barstools while the couple fought. Paul’s daughter can be heard crying and was injured during the incident, according to the police report.

2020: The birth of MomTok

Paul, Whitney Leavitt, Mayci Neeley and Mikayla Matthews begin making videos together on TikTok. Their content focuses on motherhood and their relationship with the church mixed with dancing and skits.

May 2022: The Pauls split

Paul posts a video on TikTok announcing her divorce from her husband, Tate Paul. Fans begin speculating what led to their divorce.

May 25, 2022: ’Soft swinging’ scandal emerges

On TikTok Live, Paul explains that she and her husband had been in an open relationship and were part of a “soft swinging” group with other members of MomTok. Paul says she had violated the group’s rules by meeting with a partner without her husband’s knowledge, which contributed to their divorce.

Feb. 17, 2023: Paul is arrested

Hulu begins filming the first season of “Mormon Wives.” After a fight with Mortensen, Paul is arrested and charged with assault, criminal mischief and commission of domestic violence in the presence of a child, according to the Herriman Police Department. Filming of the show is put on hold during the investigation.

August 2023: Paul enters a plea deal

Paul enters a plea in abeyance to a third-degree felony count of aggravated assault. The agreement allows charges to be reduced after three years, if Paul meets the requirements of her plea deal.

Dakota Mortensen and Taylor Frankie Paul share 2-year-old son Ever.

(Fred Hayes / Disney)

March 19, 2024: Paul and Mortensen welcome a son

Paul has a son, Ever, with Mortensen. While the pair had been dating throughout Paul’s pregnancy, they choose to end their relationship and co-parent their son.

Sept. 6, 2024: ‘Mormon Wives’ debuts

The first season of “Mormon Wives” is released on Hulu. The series follows cast members Jen Affleck, Jessi Draper, Demi Engemann and Layla Taylor, as well as Leavitt, Neeley, Matthews and Paul from the original group of MomTokers. The pilot episode, “The First Book of Taylor,” explores the fallout of the swinging scandal and ends with Paul’s 2023 arrest. The second episode picks up nearly a year after the incident.

The show is Hulu’s most-watched unscripted season premiere of 2024 and is renewed just a month after its premiere.

October 2024: On again

Mortensen and Paul seemingly reconcile their relationship.

December 2025: Off again

Paul and Mortensen break up. On Christmas, Paul posts on TikTok that she “wouldn’t wish this pain upon anyone.”

Demi Engemann, Mikayla Matthews, Mayci Neeley, Layla Taylor, Whitney Leavitt, Miranda Hope and Taylor Frankie Paul in Season 2 of “The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives.”

(Fred Hayes / Disney)

May 15, 2025: Season 2 premieres

Season 2 of “Mormon Wives” is released. Miranda Hope joins the cast.

Sept. 10, 2025: Paul gets her roses

During an episode of Alex Cooper’s hit podcast “Call Her Daddy,” Paul announces she will star as “The Bachelorette.” Paul is the first-ever Bachelorette to have not competed on “The Bachelor.”

Fall 2025: Mortensen‘s mea culpa

While FaceTiming Paul before she begins filming “The Bachelorette,” Mortensen apologizes for his behavior and tells Paul “save a rose for me.” This conversation is shown in the fourth season of the show in March 2026.

Nov. 13, 2025: Season 3 debuts

”Mormon Wives” Season 3 premieres.

Feb. 24-25, 2026: A second investigation opens

The Draper City Police Department makes contact with Paul and Mortensen regarding an open “domestic assault investigation” between the two, with allegations being made in both directions.

March 12, 2026: Season 4 drops

Season 4 of “Mormon Wives” is released.

March 16, 2026: ‘Mormon Wives’ filming halts

Filming for Season 5 of “Mormon Wives” is paused as the new investigation involving Paul and Mortensen becomes public.

Taylor Frankie Paul’s season of “The Bachelorette” was canceled three days before it was set to premiere.

(Michael Kirchoff / Disney)

TMZ publishes a previously unreleased video taken by Mortensen during his February 2023 altercation with Paul. It shows Paul throwing barstools at Mortensen as her then-5-year-old daughter cries. After the video’s release, ABC cancels Paul’s season of “The Bachelorette.”

March 20, 2026: The court intervenes

Mortensen is granted temporary custody of Ever, his 2-year-old son with Paul, according to documents obtained by People.

March 24, 2026: A third investigation opens

The West Jordan Police Department in Utah begins investigating a third incident of domestic abuse between Paul and Mortensen, which occurred in “early-mid 2024.” No charges have been filed as the investigation is ongoing.

Paul has been denied visitation until their protective order hearing on April 7, which may determine whether a final protective order is granted by the court.

United States Secretary of State Marco Rubio has offered wide-ranging remarks upon his departure from the latest Group of Seven (G7) ministers’ meeting in France, denouncing Iran’s continued chokehold on the Strait of Hormuz as well as settler violence in the occupied West Bank.

Standing on an airport tarmac on Friday, Rubio fielded questions from journalists about reports that Iran plans to implement a tolling system in the strait, a vital waterway for the world’s oil supply.

Rubio used the topic to double down on pressure for countries to participate in securing the Strait of Hormuz, a demand US President Donald Trump has repeatedly made.

“One of the immediate challenges we’re going to face is in Iran, when they decide that they want to set up a tolling system in the Strait of Hormuz,” Rubio said.

“Not only is this illegal, it’s unacceptable. It’s dangerous for the world, and it’s important that the world have a plan to confront it. The United States is prepared to be a part of that plan. We don’t have to lead that plan, but we are happy to be a part of it.”

He called on the G7 members — among them, Japan, Canada, France, the United Kingdom, Italy, Germany and the European Union — as well as countries in Asia to “contribute greatly to that effort”.

Rubio calls toll plan ‘unacceptable’

The Strait of Hormuz is a key artery for the global transport of oil and natural gas, and prior to the start of the US and Israel’s war against Iran on February 28, an average of 20 million barrels of oil per day passed through the waterway.

That amounted to roughly 20 percent of the world’s liquid petroleum supply.

But since the outbreak of war, Iran has pledged to close the Strait of Hormuz, which borders its shores. The threat of attacks has ground most of the local tanker traffic to a standstill, though a few vessels, some linked to Iran or China, have been allowed to pass through.

Media reports suggest that Iran is setting up a “tollbooth system” that would require passing ships to put in a request through Iran’s armed forces, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC). There would also be a fee to secure passage.

“ They want to make it permanent. That’s unacceptable. The whole world should be outraged by it,” Rubio said on Friday.

He added that he conveyed a warning about the polling scheme to his colleagues at the G7.

“All we’ve said is, ‘You guys need to do something about it. We’ll help you, but you guys are going to need to be ready to do something about it,’” Rubio said.

“Because when this conflict and when this operation ends, if the Iranians decide, ‘Well, now we control the Strait of Hormuz and you can only go through here if you pay us and if we allow you to, that’s not only is it illegal under international law and maritime law. It’s unacceptable, and that can’t be allowed to exist.”

The Trump administration, however, has struggled to rally allies and world powers to join the US in its offensive against Iran.

Legal experts have criticised the initial strikes against Iran as an unprovoked act of aggression, though the Trump administration has cited a range of rationales for launching the attack, including the prospect that Iran may develop a nuclear weapon.

Many of the US allies in Europe have maintained that they would limit their involvement to defensive actions. Trump, meanwhile, has accused members of the NATO alliance of being “cowards”, adding in a social media post, “We will REMEMBER.”

In a statement following the G7 meeting, member countries reiterated their stance that there should be an “immediate cessation of attacks against civilians and civilian infrastructure”.

They also underscored the “absolute necessity to permanently restore safe and toll-free freedom of navigation in the Strait of Hormuz”. But the statement fell short of pledging any resources or aid to the US and Israeli war effort.

Achieving goals ‘without any ground troops’?

It is unclear when the war might end. On Saturday, it reaches its one-month anniversary, having stretched for four weeks.

Rubio on Friday echoed Trump’s assessment that the war was going as planned and that the US was achieving its objectives, including to destroy Iran’s navy, missile stockpiles and uranium enrichment programme.

“ We are ahead of schedule on most of them, and we can achieve them without any ground troops, without any,” he said, addressing an oft-raised concern about the prospect of US troops being deployed to Iran.

Rubio also briefly addressed the increasing levels of Israeli settler violence against Palestinians in the occupied West Bank.

Footage has shown settlers this month torching Palestinian homes and vehicles, as well as assaulting residents.

On March 19, the United Nations estimated that more than 1,000 Palestinians have been killed in the West Bank since Israel began its genocidal war in Gaza in October 2023. The international body underscored that a quarter of the victims were youths.

“ Well, we’re concerned about that, and we’ve expressed it. And I think there’s concern in the Israeli government about it, as well,” Rubio responded, adding that it was a “topic we follow very closely”.

He suggested that the Israeli government may take action to stop the violence, though critics argue that Israel has largely turned a blind eye to settler violence.

“Maybe they’re settlers, maybe they’re just street thugs, but they’ve attacked security forces, Israelis, as well. So, I think you’ll see the government going to do something about it,” Rubio said.

Upon taking office for a second term in January 2025, President Trump also moved to cancel sanctions against Israeli settlers accused of grave abuses in the West Bank.

Content note: This story contains details of sexual violence. 

Civil rights icon Dolores Huerta is one of several women in the United States speaking out against the sexual violence they say they endured at the hands of labour leader Cesar Chavez.

In a statement on Wednesday, Huerta said she was motivated to speak out after being contacted for an investigation by The New York Times, which revealed that children as young as age 12 were abused by Chavez.

“I am nearly 96 years old, and for the last 60 years have kept a secret because I believed that exposing the truth would hurt the farmworker movement I have spent my entire life fighting for,” Huerta wrote.

“Following the New York Times’ multi-year investigation into sexual misconduct by Cesar Chavez, I can no longer stay silent and must share my own experiences.”

Chavez, who died in 1993, co-founded the National Farm Workers Association alongside Huerta and other advocates. They rose to fame during the US civil rights movement of the 1960s, practising nonviolent protest techniques similar to those of Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr.

Together, Chavez, Huerta and other advocates drew attention to the abuses facing vulnerable immigrant farmworkers, particularly in the Hispanic and Filipino American communities.

Some of the slogans from the movement continue to have resonance in the US political sphere.

The Spanish phrase “si, se puede” — or, in English, “yes, we can” — was adopted as the campaign slogan for President Barack Obama, while the Tagalog phrase “isang bagsak” continues to be a rallying cry for collective organising.

The fight for equality and fair labour practices that Huerta and Chavez led would be remembered as one of the defining moments of the 1960s.

But it was out of fear of denting the burgeoning civil rights movement that Huerta and other women say they stayed silent about Chavez’s abuse.

“I carried this secret for as long as I did because building the movement and securing farmworker rights was my life’s work,” Huerta said in her statement.

“I wasn’t going to let Cesar or anyone else get in the way. I channeled everything I had into advocating on behalf of millions of farmworkers and others who were suffering and deserved equal rights.”

Huerta explained that the first time she had sex with Chavez, she was “manipulated and pressured” into submitting to his advances while on a trip to San Juan Capistrano.

“I didn’t feel I could say no because he was someone that I admired, my boss and the leader of the movement I had already devoted years of my life to,” she said.

The second time, she said she was “forced, against my will”. The New York Times investigation includes a summary of what Huerta says happened: She was in a car that Chavez was driving when he parked in an isolated grape field and raped her.

Both instances resulted in pregnancies, which Huerta says she kept secret. The children were ultimately given to other families to raise.

“I had experienced abuse and sexual violence before, and I convinced myself these were incidents that I had to endure alone and in secret,” she said.

Her story was echoed by the accounts of other women featured in The New York Times investigation.

One of the interviewees, Ana Murguia, said she was 13 when a 45-year-old Chavez kissed her, took off her clothes and tried to have sex with her in his locked office.

He had known her since she was eight years old, and the abuse at his hands prompted her to attempt suicide.

Debra Rojas, meanwhile, was 12 years old when Chavez began groping her. She described being 15 when she was raped by him at a motel near Stockton, California.

A third woman, Esmeralda Lopez, said she was 19 when Chavez tried to pressure her to have sex with him while they were alone on a tour, offering to use his influence to get something named in her honour.

Lopez said she refused his advances, and her mother, a fellow activist, corroborated her account, based on conversations they had at the time.

The women explained that they grappled with whether to come forward and whether they would be believed, given Chavez’s rise to fame as a civil rights hero.

In response to the widening scandal on Wednesday, United Farm Workers — the group that emerged from the National Farm Workers Association — announced it would not participate in any events on Cesar Chavez Day, a federal commemoration that falls on the late leader’s birthday.

The group denied receiving any direct reports of abuse, but it pledged to create a pathway for reports to be submitted.

“Over the coming weeks, in partnership with experts in these kinds of processes, we are working to establish an external, confidential, independent channel for those who may have experienced harm caused by Cesar Chavez,” United Farm Workers wrote in a statement.

“These allegations have been profoundly shocking. We need some time to get this right, including to ensure robust, trauma-informed services are available to those who may need it.”

Lawmakers across the political spectrum, from Texas Governor Greg Abbott to New Mexico Representative Ben Ray Lujan, also called for Chavez’s name to be stripped from public buildings, roads and other places of honour.

Lujan called the revelations in Wednesday’s New York Times report “horrific” and a “betrayal of the values that Latino leaders have championed for generations”.

“His name should be removed from landmarks, institutions, and honors,” Lujan said of Chavez. “We cannot celebrate someone who carried out such disturbing harm.”

Huerta, meanwhile, said that, in the wake of the investigation, community advocacy was more important than ever.

“I have kept this secret long enough,” she wrote. “My silence ends here.”

As the U.S. wades even deeper into the conflict with Iran, some Democratic and progressive political figures are trying to figure out how to connect the public’s wariness about war with concerns about affordability and the widespread reaction against President Trump’s xenophobic immigration policies.

If you’re looking for a template to do it well, one can be found in the words and actions of a political figure who recently passed away: the Rev. Jesse Jackson.

For while attention after his death has rightfully focused on Jackson’s long involvement with the civil rights movement, the more telling lesson for this moment is how his presidential campaigns connected a concern for addressing domestic disenfranchisement with a resolute stance against U.S. military adventures — a message that built on and echoed the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.’s landmark 1967 speech against the Vietnam War, economic exploitation and racial injustice.

Jackson’s candidacies in 1984 and 1988 emerged at a moment when the social compacts forged by the labor, civil rights and women’s movements of the 20th century were being systematically undone. Deindustrialization was hollowing out working-class communities. Reaganism was consolidating power around tax cuts for the wealthy, deregulation and attacks on unions. A new corporate consensus was hardening — one that increasingly shaped both major parties — prioritizing financial elites while disciplining labor and shrinking the public sphere.

Sound familiar?

Jackson refused to accept that such a right-wing and corporate realignment was inevitable. His Rainbow Coalition was far more ambitious than a candidate-centered campaign. It was an attempt to build an organized, multiracial, cross-class political front capable of contesting the direction of the country itself.

The Rainbow brought together constituencies that conventional political wisdom said could not unite — Black voters in the South, industrial workers in the Midwest, family farmers in crisis, Latino and Native organizers, Arab American activists, peace advocates, labor insurgents and progressive whites.

Jackson’s platform did not treat these groups as symbolic additions to a coalition; it linked their material interests. Farmers facing foreclosure were not an afterthought — the farm crisis was up front. Deindustrialized workers were not rhetorical props — trade, jobs and industrial policy were central. Civil rights were braided together with economic justice.

And crucially, Jackson insisted, as King had, that economic populism could not be separated from anti-militarism.

At the height of the Cold War, amid Reagan’s military buildup and interventionist doctrine, Jackson argued that bloated Pentagon budgets were not abstract line items. They were resources diverted from schools, healthcare, housing and jobs. He connected the violence of abandonment at home to the violence of intervention abroad — and his campaign called for redirecting military spending toward human needs and for diplomacy over escalation.

When Jackson thundered that we should “choose the human race over the nuclear race,” this was not a simple turn of phrase. It was integral to the Rainbow’s moral and economic logic. A government that prioritizes war over welfare, weapons over workers, cannot sustain democratic life.

That clarity feels especially salient today, as the United States continues to pursue military interventions and proxy conflicts whose legality and human cost are deeply contested. Once again, defense budgets swell while public goods strain. Once again, dissent against war is treated as disloyalty. Jackson rejected that false choice decades ago. He understood that militarism abroad reinforces inequality and immorality at home.

Jackson’s 1988 campaign captured millions of votes, won primaries and caucuses across the country and forced issues into the Democratic Party that party elites preferred to sideline. He demonstrated that a progressive program grounded in the lived experiences of ordinary people — rural collapse, urban disinvestment, plant closures, racial injustice and war — could assemble a national constituency.

Unfortunately, after Jackson’s last campaign, the Rainbow’s experiment in independent organizational life was folded too tightly into the mainstream Democratic Party. While that seemed a strategy to achieve a broader front, it meant that the progressive anchor was unmoored — and the effort dissolved before it could truly mature.

But the lessons of that era may be more relevant than ever.

Today, we again confront an ever-ascendant rightward turn buttressed by concentrated corporate power and normalized militarism. As in Jackson’s day, some leaders seek to deflect our attention, blaming economic challenges on the proximate “other” — in his era, Black women taking welfare, in our era, immigrants taking jobs — rather than those with power.

Jackson understood that defeating reactionary politics required isolating it — not only morally, but structurally — by assembling a coalition larger than the right’s base and rooted in shared material demands. He understood that hope had to be organized and that peace had to be part of prosperity. His campaigns showed that racial justice, labor rights, rural survival, gender equality and anti-war politics were not competing claims but interlocking ones.

Protest has surged in the United States, particularly after the excesses in Minnesota. But protest alone does not prevent consolidation. Nor do narrow electoral bargains that leave the underlying corporate and military consensus intact.

At a time when both parties remain deeply entangled with corporate and defense interests, remembering the promise of the Rainbow is not nostalgia. It is instruction.

Rishi Awatramani is a postdoctoral scholar in sociology at USC, where Manuel Pastor is a professor of sociology and the director of the Equity Research Institute.

DALLAS — A federal jury Friday convicted nine people — eight on terrorism charges — over a shooting at a Texas immigration facility that federal prosecutors tied to antifa, the decentralized far-left movement that has become a target of the Trump administration.

One person was also found guilty of attempted murder after prosecutors say he opened fire last summer outside the Prairieland Detention Center outside Fort Worth, wounding a police officer. The Justice Department called the violence an attack plotted by antifa operatives, but attorneys for the accused denied that characterization, saying there were no antifa associations and that there was merely a demonstration with fireworks before gunshots broke out.

U.S. District Judge Mark Pittman, an appointee of President Trump, presided over the nearly three-week trial in Fort Worth. It was closely followed by legal experts and critics who called the proceedings a test of the lengths the government can go to punish protesters.

FBI Director Kash Patel had said the case was the first time charges of providing material support to terrorists had targeted people accused of being antifa members.

“Today’s verdict on terrorism charges will not be the last as the Trump administration systematically dismantles Antifa and finally halts their violence on America’s streets,” U.S. Atty. Gen. Pam Bondi said in a statement.

Short for “anti-fascists,” antifa is not an organization but rather an umbrella term for far-left militant groups that confront or resist neo-Nazis and white supremacists at demonstrations.

Protesters denied having antifa ties

Defense attorneys told jurors that there was no plan for violence on July 4 outside the facility in Alvarado.

Of the nine defendants on trial, eight faced the charge of providing material support to terrorists, among other charges. The ninth defendant, Daniel Sanchez Estrada, was charged with corruptly concealing a document and conspiracy to conceal documents. He was found guilty of both.

Sanchez Estrada’s attorney, Christopher Weinbel, said he can’t believe jurors “came to this conclusion.” Weinbel said his client had deployed as a member of the U.S. Army several times and he’d hoped what he sacrificed for the country “meant something.”

“But I feel like it turned its back on justice with this. … The U.S. lost today with this verdict,” Weinbel said.

Prosecutor Shawn Smith told jurors during closing arguments that the group’s actions — including bringing firearms and first aid kits and wearing body armor — were all signs of nefarious intent. He said they practiced “antifa tactics” and were “obsessed with operational security.”

Attorneys for the defendants have said that there was no planned ambush and that protesters who brought firearms did so for their own protection — in a state with very lenient gun laws.

A test of 1st Amendment rights

The terrorism charges followed Trump’s order last fall to designate antifa as a domestic terrorist organization. Those charges did not require a tie to any organization, and there is no domestic equivalent to the State Department’s list of foreign terrorist organizations. That’s in part because organizations operating within the United States are protected by broad 1st Amendment rights.

Critics of the Justice Department’s case have said the outcome could have wide-reaching effects on protests.

“That opposition is something that the government wants to squash, so a case like this helps the government kind of see how far they can go in criminalizing constitutionally protected protests and also helps them kind of intimidate, increase the fear, hoping that folks in other cities then will think twice over protesting,” said Suzanne Adely, interim president of the National Lawyers Guild, a progressive legal group.

Trial focused on shots fired

Attorneys for the defendants have said most protesters began leaving when two guards from the center came outside. That was before any shots were fired.

Prosecutors said Benjamin Song, a former Marine Corps reservist, yelled, “Get to the rifles,” and opened fire, striking one police officer who had just pulled up to the center.

Though it was Song who opened fire, prosecutors charged several other protesters with attempted murder of an officer and discharging a firearm, but they were found not guilty. The prosecution had argued that from the group’s planning, it was foreseeable to those others that a shooting could happen.

The officer who was shot, Alvarado Police Lt. Thomas Gross, testified that when responding to the scene he saw a person clad in all-black with their face covered and carrying a rifle. He told jurors he was shot with a round that went into his shoulder and out of his neck.

Song’s attorney, Phillip Hayes, told jurors during closing arguments that there wasn’t a call to arms before Gross arrived on the scene and “aggressively” pulled out his firearm. Hayes suggested that Song’s shots were “suppressive fire” and that a ricochet bullet hit the officer.

Leading up to the trial, several people pleaded guilty to providing material support to terrorists after being accused of supporting antifa. They face up to 15 years in prison at sentencing.

Some of them testified for the prosecution, including Seth Sikes, who said he went to the detention center because he wanted to bring some joy to those held inside.

“I felt like I was doing the right thing,” he said.

Stengle writes for the Associated Press. AP writer Jim Vertuno in Austin, Texas, contributed to this report.

I know a lot of people who suffer from a chronic malady that gets worse each time there’s news out of Washington. Supporters of the current president of the United States might refer to this condition as a side effect of Trump derangement syndrome, but it’s more like Trump fatigue syndrome.

Symptoms can include a desire to tune out for a spell, stick your head in an ice bucket, or find another way to numb the senses.

But some brave souls, instead of looking away, step into the fray.

Bert Voorhees, for instance.

I came upon his name while reading coverage of the Monday evening demonstration at City Hall in downtown L.A., where protesters railed against the bombing of Iran — the latest example of Trump acting as if he’s king of the world and answerable to nobody, including Congress, the courts or the American people.

On the steps of L.A. City Hall, people attend the March 2 Answer Coalition rally protesting the attack on Iran by the U.S. and Israel.

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

With missiles flying, civilians dying and chaos spreading, Voorhees told USA Today that the Iranian ayatollah’s violence against his own people did not justify a U.S. military assault. In Voorhees’ mind, it’s American democracy that is under attack.

“If people don’t stand up and get loud about this, all together right now, we’re not going to have a country,” the northeast San Fernando Valley resident said. “So, it’s time for people to get serious, get in the streets.”

I called Voorhees, a retired lawyer and teacher, and we had a long chat that continued the next day over lunch in Montrose. We’re both in our 70s, and we both have trouble aligning the country we’re living in with the vision we had for it as younger men. Who could have anticipated years of bullying and name-calling, pathological lying about a “stolen” election or the routing of congressional and judicial opposition?

I confessed to Voorhees that I completely misread the direction this country was heading back when the first Black president in history termed out in 2016. I would have bet that as a more diverse and tolerant population came of voting age, old divisions would fade slowly into history and the U.S. would keep pushing toward higher elevations.

Silly me.

Voorhees says he’s demonstrated hundreds of times, but with immigration raids and now the war in Iran, President Trump is keeping him extra busy. “If people don’t stand up and get loud about this, all together right now, we’re not going to have a country,” said Voorhees. “So, it’s time for people to get serious, get in the streets.”

(Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)

Maybe it was the naively wishful thinking of a parent wanting his kids to live in a more evolved country rather than one filled with Neanderthal notions about science, medicine, climate, and non-white immigrants.

To Voorhees, these are reasons to raise hell rather than to lose faith, and he’s not alone. The No Kings rallies in greater L.A. were massive. Home Depot civilian patrols have looked out for hard-working neighbors because “silence is violence.” The whistle brigades are defending their communities.

Denise Giardina, a Huntington Beach book seller and friend of Voorhees’, has been on Home Depot patrols in her community and said planning various political actions is practically a full-time job.

“I have daughters and wanted them to have more rights than me, and I’m not sure that’s going to happen,” Giardina said.

When Giardina needs a break, she goes for a hike, which serves as a reminder that a single protest doesn’t change the world, but small steps matter.

“Sometimes you can’t think about the end,” she said. “It’s just one foot in front of the other. It’s not government that’s going to save us. It’s going to be the people.”

A crowd gathered at Los Angeles City Hall on March 2 to protest the bombing of Iran by the United States and Israel.

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

Roseanne Constantino, a Silver Lake graphic designer whose activism includes knocking on doors during election cycles, sending postcards and making phone calls, has been on the front lines with Voorhees and shares his sense of duty.

“I mean, for people to say, ‘I can’t watch the news, I’m numb, I’m overwhelmed, I have to tune out,’ is so much privilege talking, because they can tune out, because they’re safe,” Constantino said.

“I find it’s like a gateway drug,” she added, “because even people who have never done anything activist in their life eventually find themselves at a protest and are buoyed by the community and the sense of purpose and expression of opposition, but also of the love of democracy.”

To Voorhees, “democracy is a privilege,” and your participation does not end with voting. “You’ve got to make sure they do the right things,” he said, “and that requires paying attention and supervising them, if you will. Politicians are supposed to work for us.”

Voorhees told me that under President Obama, when drones were used in targeted overseas killings, he took to the streets in protest.

“I’m an equal opportunity activist, but we just haven’t had in my lifetime a person so determined to destroy democracy,” Voorhees said. “I called Reagan a fascist, and Reagan felt like a fascist until I met this man, who is the head of a fascist movement in this country.”

I wagered that the bombing of Iran by the America-first president — who promised to end rather than start wars — was Trump’s way of projecting strength at a time of weakness. Many of the president’s true believers are applauding, but it seems that nothing was learned from past Middle East meddling that ended badly, and with no thoughtful consideration of what comes next, Epic Fury could be followed by Epic Quagmire.

Voorhees insists this wasn’t just a show of might, but an act of distraction.

From the Epstein files, for instance. From the empty promises about lower prices for groceries and consumer goods, the droopy favorability ratings, midterm election fears and the mess created by tariffs that cost American merchants millions of dollars and were declared illegal.

Voorhees is mad about all of that, but made a point of clarification.

He’s not demoralized.

More than 200 people protest the U.S. and Israel’s war against Iran in front of City Hall in downtown Los Angeles on Saturday. Protesters carried Mexican, Palestinian and Iranian flags at the rally organized by the Answer Coalition.

(Genaro Molina / Los Angeles Times)

“The arc of the universe bends toward justice,” Voorhees said, “but it doesn’t do it steadily. There are retreats. Two steps forward, one back. One step forward, three back. We’re in one of those periods. … But we can overcome, and I believe in the long run we probably will.”

Minneapolis is the model, he said. When two innocent people were killed in immigration raids, the community came together and rose in protest, forcing a retreat of Trump’s forces and sparking a national conversation about the brutal tactics.

“Minneapolis pushed back against that with humanity, and that’s the future we want to build,” Voorhees said. “That’s the future Martin Luther King Jr. always wanted. That’s the beloved community. That’s the ticket.”

Things will change only if “we get up off the couch,” said Voorhees, who attended another antiwar protest Saturday on the steps of City Hall with a sign that asked, “Who Would Jesus Bomb?”

“You can march ahead with a heavy heart and a downcast head, or dance ahead with a smile and a tune on your lips, hand in hand with people you care about. Why not do that? All empires fall. All kings and tyrants fail in the end. Sometimes it’s fast. Sometimes it’s slow. But that day is coming and, as the Twin Cities proved, love is stronger than hate, if only just.”

steve.lopez@latimes.com