A Letter to Los Angeles

Dear Los Angeles, 

For many families like mine you were always a beacon, the proverbial “shining city on a hill.” Yes, for some, the allure was show business or the sunshine and beaches. But for many like us, you were a refuge, a land of safety, hope and endless opportunity. A city of angels with a warm and generous embrace.

We met 39 years ago this month when I was one year old. We landed at LAX, among many refugees with unpronounceable names from far-flung lands across the globe. We were fleeing religious persecution, revolution, and war in Iran. We had nowhere to go. Two young asylum-seeking parents arrived with a toddler, a few suitcases filled with clothes and Judaica, and a humble dream for a better life. 

You enabled that dream to become a reality. We found an affordable one-bedroom apartment in West Los Angeles and a good public school. Every few years we would move to a larger apartment and an even better public school. This continued a few times until we were blessed to put down roots in Westwood. I walked every day seemingly without a care to our local elementary school on Fairburn Ave. and became a Bar Mitzvah at Sinai Temple down the street.  

Unfortunately, this dream was not a reality for everyone. The anger that exploded in April 1992 in your streets revealed the ugly truth that not everyone was treated the same. With our school closed, the evening news became our teacher, highlighting issues—about race and policing, about poverty and justice—that remain unresolved. My passion to address the issues that the riots revealed made me return home to you after Yale. I rolled up my sleeves and tried to do my part to help you—as a lawyer, non-profit leader, business owner and one of your commissioners. I have fought to build housing for adults with special needs, represent your most vulnerable, root out hate and antisemitism, support your libraries, and help prevent gun violence.

The riots were 30 years ago. Some things haven’t changed. Your sunshine is still bright and warm, and your traffic still soul-crushing. We also still don’t treat all Angelenos as equals.

But many things have changed, some for the better. Your air is cleaner and the record homicides from the 1990s seem like implausible statistics. 

Still, much has changed for the worse. Having grown fourfold in population in those three decades, you have left so many Angelenos behind, including more than 40,000 who experience homelessness every night. Addiction and mental health grow unchecked on your streets and parks. Wages have stagnated for most while lavish wealth has grown for a small few. Meanwhile, seniors and families of all backgrounds have grown increasingly fearful for their safety. And so many of our beloved small businesses have disappeared, including places where we as new Americans tasted our first donut (Stan’s in Westwood) and first pastrami on rye (Pico Kosher Deli). 

However, what has changed the most may be our sense of optimism about your future. Many see you as ailing and broken. Meanwhile, those we have entrusted with the sacred duty of caring for you have let us down. They have fiddled as your condition has worsened—or they have been too busy stealing from you, enriching themselves and their family members. They have allowed unhoused Angelenos to suffer on the streets while they take too long and spend too much to build badly needed housing. They have ignored the oil wells under our homes. They have watched our streets and sidewalks crumble.

You deserve our attention, our care, our love. You deserve what you gave my family 39 years ago—hope. You were there for so many of us when we had nowhere to go, and now it’s time for us to be there for you.

For this, you deserve an apology, from all of us. We let you down. We have delegated our responsibilities to poor caretakers. You deserve our attention, our care, our love. You deserve what you gave my family 39 years ago—hope. You were there for so many of us when we had nowhere to go, and now it’s time for us to be there for you.

Here’s how we are going to do it. We will bring urgency to our homelessness crisis by constructing shelters, tiny homes, prefabricated affordable housing, and mental health and addiction facilities faster and more cost-effectively. We will improve how we are policed so our neighborhoods are safer. We will reform our campaign finance, ethics, and planning systems to root out corruption. And we will restructure every city department from street services to parks and libraries to sanitation so we receive first-class municipal services befitting a world-class city.

Whenever we have been down, we have always gotten back up stronger. You are still the greatest city in the world, that shining beacon of hope and opportunity. 

It is time. Time for us to fire those neglectful and corrupt caretakers and be there for you ourselves to nurse you back to health. At your core, you are still young, healthy and vibrant—and filled to the brim with angels. Whenever we have been down, we have always gotten back up stronger. You are still the greatest city in the world, that shining beacon of hope and opportunity. I would not dream of raising my four young kids outside of your warm embrace. We will seize this opportunity in June to turn things around, and we will do better. For you.

Sam Yebri is an attorney and community leader running for Los Angeles City Council.