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ERIC PREVEN’S NOTEBOOK - Friday’s City Council meeting got off to a sluggish start, with opening formalities stretching to nearly half an hour. Roll call, approval of minutes, and ceremonial resolutions dragged on, bogged down by unnecessary parliamentary procedures that could easily be streamlined or handled electronically. The result? A high volume of wasted time.
Agenda Review and Item Adjustments (20 minutes)
Items are routinely continued to future meetings without explanation. Important land use and budget matters are pushed weeks or months down the road with zero discussion. Time wasted: high.
Special Meeting—Public Comment on Item 19 (45 minutes)
Tenant advocates, housing attorneys, landlords, and a handful of disruptors weigh in. Tenant protections are supported as a necessity; landlords argue they obstruct necessary renovations. The city attorney and council president repeatedly interrupt speakers, cutting off those deemed “off-topic” and ejecting one for inflammatory remarks. Time wasted: medium—public comment is essential, but excessive procedural interference slows it down.
Presentations & Ceremonial Honors (1 hour)
Banning High School Girls’ Flag Football Team, a Holocaust Remembrance honoree, and IBEW Local 11 Women in Trades take center stage. While worthy, these celebrations belong in a separate session. Time wasted: very high.
Public Comment for the Regular Meeting (1 hour+)
About 20–25 speakers voice concerns on evictions, city services, and budget priorities, but disruptions dominate. The city attorney frequently interrupts. Multiple speakers waste time with incoherent rants or personal attacks. Important voices are buried under the chaos. Time wasted: very high—public comment should be broken into three blocks to prevent excessive delays.
Voting on Various Items (15 minutes)
The council rushes through votes without discussion, despite controversial matters on the agenda. No meaningful debate occurs. Time wasted: medium—it’s efficient, but at the cost of transparency.
Closing Formalities & Adjournment (5 minutes)
The meeting ends without addressing why so much time was wasted on non-legislative matters. Time wasted: low—at least they wrap it up quickly.
It wasn’t always like this
For most of Los Angeles history, City Hall was loud. Not in the decorum-obsessed way its current rulers might like, but in a way that was messy, democratic, and yes—sometimes uncomfortable.
The people spoke, the council rolled their eyes. The people shouted, and the council dozed off. ["Hi, Ysabel."] The people exposed corruption, the council smirked.
But at least the people spoke.
Then, in a brazen act of anti-democratic maneuvering, the Los Angeles City Council systematically strangled public participation. One procedural change at a time, they shut off virtual public comment, muzzled critics, and curated the illusion of transparency—all while continuing their cozy backroom dealings with lobbyists and special interests.
Pre-indictment pen pals, Staffer B John Lee and Jonathan Groat will do whatever it takes.
If you don’t already know, you should. Because since September 10, 2010, when I delivered my first-ever public comment to the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors, I’ve been a victim of one of the most relentless and widespread anti-watchdog campaigns in modern L.A. history.
After more than a decade of fighting, thousands of public comments delivered, lawsuits filed, and investigations launched, I do not back down willingly, not even when the council weaponized decorum rules to silence me and others like me. Now, I’m proposing something radical:
Giving the people back their voices.
A System Designed to Exhaust, Not Engage
L.A.’s City Council meetings are an upper-level seminar in bureaucratic obstruction. Public comment has been reduced to a distant afterthought, a ceremonial nod toward democracy while council members stare at their phones, laugh among themselves, or take their leave entirely.
For years, virtual public comment was a lifeline. It allowed workers, the disabled, parents, seniors, and everyday citizens to participate without trekking downtown or sitting through hours of performative nonsense.
Then, in 2022, Paul Krekorian and Marqueece Harris-Dawson orchestrated a slow, deliberate killing of virtual testimony—the same system that cities across the country, including conservative strongholds in Texas and Georgia, still use today.
Their excuse? Decorum.
The reality? Fear of accountability.
A Rulebook Written to Protect the Powerful
Look no further than Council Rule 93, which requires the equitable framing of public comment in city broadcasts.
What does that mean?
Adrin Nazarian adores Billboards in CD2 or is this CD4 Nithya Raman.
Well, in theory, it should mean that public speakers are given equal prominence as council members on the city’s telecasts. In practice, it means commenters are shrunk down, distorted, made to look insignificant—a visual metaphor for how the council actually feels about them. #Blumenfield’sNose
Now, along with a growing coalition of activists and members of the public, we are demanding real changes, including:
- Restoring virtual public comment for all council and committee meetings.
- Enforcing the 'Do Not Interrupt' Rule—Council members and city attorneys should not interrupt public speakers.
- Implementing financial penalties for council members who ignore public speakers, starting at $900 and escalating to $4,500 per offense.
- Eliminating the city attorney’s role in council meetings altogether—they can sit quietly, review precedents, and read Eric Preven v. City of Los Angeles. If they speak without invitation? A $14,500 fine. Doubled if they try to defend themselves.
Los Angeles vs. The Rest of the Country
If you think this is just an L.A. thing, think again. Across the country, even in red states, public participation is valued in ways that Los Angeles refuses to acknowledge.
- North Richland Hills, Texas: Maintains structured public comment periods, ensuring residents can speak without being buried under endless procedural delays.
- South Fulton, Georgia: Allows Zoom-based public comments, proving that accessibility isn’t a partisan issue—just an issue of whether politicians care enough to listen.
- New York City, San Francisco, Seattle, and Washington D.C.: All allow virtual public testimony.
So why is Los Angeles—the so-called progressive capital of the country—the one silencing its residents?
Simple: Because the people asking the real questions are the ones they want to shut up the most.
Donald Trump holds the key to the Fifa World Cup 2026. No plan yet.
Turn Up the Volume
The current city council wants a silent, obedient public that watches from a distance, unable to engage in real-time, unable to challenge their authority, and unable to interfere with the sweet deals happening behind closed doors.
And they almost got away with it.
But there’s still time.
If Los Angeles is serious about being a city that listens to its people, then the fight to restore virtual public comment is the fight for democracy itself.
This isn’t just about whether a few dozen angry Angelenos get to yell at their government.
This is about whether the people’s voices still mean anything at all.
Horvath’s Great Awakening:
It took Supervisor Lindsey Horvath two full years of grandstanding about LAHSA’s dysfunction—two years of carefully curated reform rhetoric, flowery speeches about accountability, and performative outrage—to suddenly, in 2025, stumble upon a conflict of interest with LAHSA CEO Va Lecia Adams Kellum. Stunning.
Not the $2.3 billion in untracked spending. Not the chronic failures in service delivery. Not the abysmal 47.8% return-to-homelessness rate. Not the bed shortages or the grotesquely mismanaged contracts. But a conflict. “Now, I will resume my post fundraising for the Palisades."
Horvath's epiphany would be funny if not for her own cozy relationship with AIDS Healthcare Foundation and Measure G activists.
Suddenly, now that the LA Times has turned on Mayor Bass and public patience for LAHSA has expired, Horvath decides it’s time to centralize power in a brand-new single county department to handle homelessness. Conveniently, a department she will no doubt oversee or influence.
But one department won’t fix this mess.
Smart Speaker: We need nine new departments?
LAHSA’s dysfunction isn’t just about a lack of central authority—it’s about bureaucratic silos that refuse to talk to each other. Mental health services are in one corner. The emergency rooms in another. The Sheriff’s Department with its own rules. DPSS worried about federal funding and Regional Planning doing its own thing. A bigger department just builds a bigger silo.
What’s needed is a leader who can push county departments into actual collaboration—not in a billionaire tech mogul “fire-everyone” way, but in a “clear the bureaucratic sludge and make it work” way. Is that Horvath? "The Supervisor is in Malibu!"
Bass, meanwhile, is floundering.
The LA Times has started calling her out for the homelessness crisis, but she’s been busy dodging questions about her disappearing text messages. If she wants to be mayor, she needs to turn on the auto-record function because the longer she stonewalls, the more she resembles David Michaelson.
Meanwhile, Heidi Feldstein Soto et al. and all the elves and enablers in the City Attorney’s office continue to shield council members from accountability.
We warned Strefan Fauble and Michaelson years ago about ignoring public records requests and how that strategy would backfire. Now, it’s a growing liability.
Here’s a current list of council members who have outright ignored publicized records requests for their official calendars from January 2025 and any expenses related to the Olympics and Paralympics. We must hold them accountable:
- Eunisses Hernandez
- Bob Blumenfield
- Imelda Padilla
- Curren Price
- Heather Hutt
- Traci Park
This is not just bad governance—it’s illegal.
At some point, refusing to comply with public record laws isn’t just a bureaucratic headache—it’s obstruction.
And LA voters should start asking what, exactly, their leaders are trying to hide.
🔍 Comparing Jurado (a lawyer) to Other Council Members
✅ Where She Outperforms Others:
📌 Some Public Engagement: Held drop-in hours and met with activists, which is more than we can say for half the council.
📌 Shows Up to Council & Committees: Attended Housing & Homelessness, Energy & Environment, and Arts & Parks.
📌 Met With Power Players: The Mayor’s Office, LAPD, LADWP—all good, but what came out of it?
🚩 Where She Falls Short:
🔴 Drowning in Internal Meetings: Half her schedule is “Internal Meeting” blocks. That’s not governance—that’s hiding behind process.
🔴 Low Visibility on Infrastructure & Public Safety: Where’s the work on transit, crime, or economic growth?
🔴 Weak on Public Messaging: One small interview isn’t enough. Traci Park might overdo it, but at least her constituents know what she’s working on.
🔴 Housing & Homelessness Work Stuck in Committees: Meetings, meetings, meetings—but no fieldwork, no emergency action, no visible impact.
🚨 Final Ranking for Jurado: F+ (Barely Avoiding the Bottom)
She gets an F+ instead of an F because she at least acknowledged the Public Records Act request. But showing up to meetings doesn’t equal results.
🔹 Better than the BAD COMMITTEE? Sure—she at least pretends to care.
🔹 Better than McOsker, Park, or even Staffer B John Lee? No. She’s not touching major crises like crime, transit failures, or city services.
🛑 Message to Jurado: Less bureaucratic navel-gazing, more actual work.
📢 “Internal meetings” don’t fix housing.
📢 Drop-in hours are great—but where’s the follow-up?
📢 Start leading on citywide crises, not just floating through committee meetings.
💀 BAD COMMITTEE (Hernandez, Padilla, Price, Hutt, Soto-Martinez)
Jurado isn’t impressive, but at least she’s visible.The BAD COMMITTEE? They don’t engage, don’t report, and don’t serve the public. What exactly do they do all day?
Lawyers Be Lawyering:
It turns out even becoming a lawyer in California is now a legal battle. The recent rollout of the state’s revamped bar exam was such a disaster—riddled with technical glitches, administrative failures, and a botched testing process—that thousands of aspiring attorneys are now suing the State Bar. The test was supposed to be modernized, more accessible, and cost-effective, but instead, it left candidates staring at frozen screens, missing essay prompts, and wondering if they’d ever get a fair shot.
Frankly, we could use some new blood. Because the current crop—the ones already running Los Angeles? They're worse than a crashed exam portal.
"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers." – Shakespeare, Henry VI, Part 2
Of course, that would be a logistical nightmare in Los Angeles, where lawyers multiply like unchecked billable hours, ensuring their own survival at the public’s expense. From City Hall to the County Counsel’s office, from the suits at Munger Tolles to the slick litigators who treat public contracts like an all-you-can-bill buffet, the hammerlock is unbreakable. “Hello, Skip” Miller Barondess, LLP
Take David Michaelson—once Mike Feuer's henchman, now shimmying down the bureaucratic fire pole to Mayor Bass’s office, arguing with a straight face that public officials’ text messages are none of the public’s business. The courts already ruled against him—and other undermining officials like Lindsey Horvath shared hers. But does Michaelson care? Not really. He just keeps serving bad legal takes like a bartender on the public’s tab, handing out indemnities instead of drinks.
And then there’s Covington & Burling, the high-powered legal firm brought in to investigate contracting fraud in the county—a report that, conveniently, has yet to see the light of day. For a firm known for protecting powerful clients, their silence speaks volumes. Even Patti Giggans of Peace Over Violence, once a loyal team player, called out County Counsel for obstructing oversight. When the truth is too uncomfortable, LA’s legal gatekeepers don’t expose it—they bury it under privilege and process.
And don’t forget the judges—oh no, never forget the judges. The probate judges, in particular, deserve their own special place in legal hell. In Los Angeles, if you thought a will or estate plan meant something, think again. These robed referees make sure the process drags out just long enough to generate hefty fees for the well-connected attorneys circling like vultures. Some estates don’t even get settled so much as they get strip-mined—assets funneled off in legal fees, unnecessary guardianships, and endless hearings until there’s barely enough left for the actual heirs to buy a decent meal.
That will not be at the beloved Pantry, which closed last week to avoid paying union wages. No? Yes!
And speaking of legal gatekeepers with bad judgment, Jonathan Groat, regrettably, is eligible for removal—for a series of bad-take crackdowns on public participation. His approach to the First Amendment has twisted the public’s right to speak into a bureaucratic obstacle course where transparency is discouraged and accountability is shrugged off.
So maybe the State Bar should fix its test and let some new faces in—because the ones running this town now? They’ve been here too long. And they’re billing us for every second of it.
(Eric Preven is a Studio City-based TV writer-producer, award-winning journalist, and longtime community activist who won two landmark open government cases in California.)
