By Sophia Pu, 2026 CLA Intern
It’s hard to miss Men’s Central Jail if you’re walking down Alameda St from Little Tokyo to Union Station. At first, all I could see was pale concrete and metal fencing, making it hard to imagine what it must be like inside. Then I saw their hands.
Inmates, pressed against caged windows, looking out onto the street. I had a feeling they were looking at me while I waited to cross the 101 freeway, so I waved at them. And they waved back.
That one simple, human interaction broke my heart. I had known conceptually about the overcrowding, sexual violence, and unsafe conditions in the jail — When CLA went to the Board of Supervisor’s meeting, activists were there to beg and berate the Board for failing to close the jail like they planned to 5 years ago. But what haunted me was seeing their hands and faces and thinking about them trapped behind fortified walls while I got to shake the Supervisors’ hands.
As an intern in a political office, I often feel as though I’m trimming the leaves of a tree that’s producing rotten fruit. So much of my job is to tell people, “sorry, that’s not under our jurisdiction.” Or, “we can submit that request for you but don’t know when they’ll get back.” Everyday I see and hear how layers of bureaucratic hot potato are keeping people from the support they need to survive. When people are truly suffering from inhumane conditions, like those at Men’s Central Jail, I’m just another cog in the machine.
There are some ways I am able to make real change in people’s daily lives. Whether it’s helping someone’s disability insurance come through, or just listening to a constituent’s grievances on the phone, I have the power to make someone’s day through my work in Senator Allen’s office. Perhaps it is those simple, human interactions and acts of service that add up into something great. But I still can’t help but wonder why the word of an intern holds more weight than someone who can’t pay their rent. Or what happens to all the people who don’t know to call our office when their insurance claims are denied.
As we approach our mock campaign election night for LA’s incoming county executive position, I’ll be thinking about the inmates in Men’s Central Jail. The county executive is supposed to cut through the layers of bureaucracy and rebuild trust in government. They’re supposed to be the one who can finally make a decision on how to shut down Men’s Central Jail. I’ll be looking forward to the day I can make that walk from Little Tokyo to Union Station and feel not heartbreak, but hope.