Opinion

La Nueva Voz Is Due for a Colonoscopy

La Nueva Voz cannot serve two masters.

Parody Photo Illustration Julian Lucas ©2026

The publication calls itself Pomona’s “only community newspaper.” Its October 2026 masthead also identifies it as a division of South Coast Media Services, “Providing media relations services since 1983.” A public relations firm represents its clients. A newspaper is trusted to investigate, question and hold local institutions accountable. Putting both functions under the same business invites a conflict readers deserve to have explained. [1]

Pomona deserves an independent watchdog. The question is whether the publication’s practices live up to that responsibility.

The Spin Machine

La Nueva Voz introduces itself to the city with a tagline that is as comical as it is exclusionary: “Pomona’s only community newspaper.” It is a bizarre way to present yourself to a municipality where other independent voices publish, and it poses a question the slogan cannot answer: What, exactly, are readers getting from an operation that claims the whole town? [2]

An inspection of the publication’s archive reveals a messy landscape of reporting, public relations connections, congratulatory notes to financial sponsors and factual errors that should have been caught before the ink dried. There is no need to invent wild conspiracy theories about local media. The documented examples provide enough to examine.

So let’s give the paper’s own bullshit the colonoscopy it deserves.

An Inherited Identity

The name La Nueva Voz carries a legacy of community advocacy that its current management did not create. Candelario “Cande” Mendoza and Albert “Al” Castro founded the original La Voz in 1981 to counter the negative portrayal of Latinos in mainstream news coverage. Mendoza, an educator and longtime school board member, died in 2008. Castro died in 2020. Their original publication ceased operations in 2009. [3]

La Nueva Voz launched that August. The company’s website says preserving the original paper’s “look and feel” was part of the business plan, going so far as to hire the same person for page layout and Spanish translation. The visual resemblance was deliberate. [2]

That history deserves acknowledgment. It also deserves precision. The original La Voz and the current La Nueva Voz have different founding histories. Preserving an appearance does not, by itself, establish the quality or independence of the journalism published beneath it.

A Master in PR, a Servant in News

Today, the publication presents a dual identity on its own pages: community newspaper and a division of a business advertising media relations services. How does that operation maintain editorial independence when covering the local institutions around it? [1]

While journalism and public relations share writing skills, they serve different interests. Journalism requires asking the sharp questions that institutions would prefer to avoid. Public relations involves representing those institutions.

The connections are documented. In December 2019, La Nueva Voz reported that publisher Jeff Schenkel had been retained as a public relations consultant by Tri-City Mental Health in 2007. The story described a decade of partnership publishing the agency’s news, photographs and advertisements after the newspaper launched in 2009. Tri-City was honoring the paper as an outstanding community partner. [4]

The story disclosed that history. It does not establish that Schenkel’s consulting retainer continued after the newspaper launched. That distinction matters. A past consulting relationship is not proof of a current payment.

Renee Barbee, the paper’s vice president of marketing and operations, is listed as executive board secretary on the Pomona Chamber of Commerce’s 2026 to 2027 roster. The broader board includes representatives of city government, Foothill Transit, Athens Services and Valley Vista Services. [5]

Those positions do not prove that anyone dictates coverage. But they do put a newspaper executive inside an organization alongside representatives of institutions local reporters have reason to question. Their readers should understand how those obligations are handled when they intersect.

The overlap remains current. In the October 22, 2026 issue, a photograph places Barbee in the ribbon cutting for improvements at JFK Park alongside elected officials. Apparently, covering the ribbon cutting also requires being in it. Barbee isn’t merely documenting Pomona’s civic establishment. Here, she’s posing alongside it. Tone-def? Its caption identifies her Chamber role and her position as a Pomona library trustee. The following page carries a selfie with Barbee, Police Chief Mike Ellis, Councilmember Debra Martin and an assemblymember’s representative. [1]

Attending an event or appearing in a photograph is not evidence of purchased coverage. Participating in civic leadership while helping run a newspaper covering that civic establishment does raise a question about editorial distance. Where does the institutional partnership end and the independent examination begin?

Being a valued community partner is rather lovely. A newspaper also needs to be useful when the partner would prefer it shut the fuck up.

The Receipts: Trash Deals and Cannabis Spin

The December 22, 2022 issue makes the problem concrete. The front page reported the city’s award of an exclusive trash collection franchise to Athens Services. Inside that same issue, a Christmas parade special section congratulated Athens on its selection and welcomed the company as the section’s new sponsor. The printed caption read: “Looking good, Athens!” [6]

The sponsorship was disclosed. The issue also printed Councilmember Nora Garcia’s objections to outsourcing. Those details belong in the record.

But the decision to congratulate a corporate sponsor for winning a public contract while reporting on the award is embarrassingly homie like. A public decision affecting residents’ trash service deserves editorial distance, not a corporate greeting card.

The paper’s corrections show another problem: what happens when information supplied by an outside PR operation reaches readers without a crucial error being caught.

In its September 28, 2023 issue, La Nueva Voz clarified an August 24 story about a STIIIZY check presentation. The original piece included Lopez Urban Farm among organizations the cannabis company had worked with. The farm had not worked with STIIIZY. The paper said the information and photograph came from an external PR team representing the company. According to the clarification, an invitation list apparently accounted for the confusion. La Nueva Voz apologized to readers. [7]

An invitation is not a working relationship. The published error supplied a company with a community connection it did not have. A PR team has a client to represent. The newspaper has readers to answer to.

The School District Blunder

The May 27, 2021 correction involving Oliver Unaka, then Pomona Unified School District’s public information officer, was more consequential. La Nueva Voz acknowledged two factual errors in an opinion column. His open microphone comment happened after discussion of an Asian American and Pacific Islander vigil, during a different presentation. It had nothing to do with the AAPI discussion. The paper said it obtained and reviewed the meeting recording after publication. [8]

For its description of board member Roberta Perlman’s surprise at the comment, the newspaper pointed to three question marks in a text message. It also printed PUSD’s critical response and disputed the district’s broader accusations, including whether it had sought comment before publication. [8]

Whatever those disagreements, the correction acknowledged that the paper had attached the comment to the wrong discussion. Context affects how readers judge a person. Calling a column opinion does not make that context optional.

Checking the primary source before printing would have been a better use of editorial energy than explaining the mistake afterward.

The Printing Press as a Personal Weapon

In March 2015, the paper published a restaurant review labeled opinion criticizing a Pomona Papa John’s after staff declined to use customer supplied non dairy cheese for a lactose intolerant customer. The paper said it had called ahead, that the store had accommodated the request previously and that it later sought a response. [9]

Those details give the service complaint context. Then the review dragged in how well known the paper’s advertising and public relations director was around Pomona, complained that the staff did not know her and mocked the assistant manager’s youthful appearance. [9]

What the fuck did her local prominence have to do with the pizza? Dragging personal status into the review made it read like a wounded ego had found access to a printing press.

The paper’s dealings with other publications deserve attention, too. In September 2025, The Poly Post’s student editorial board announced that its Spanish language section, La Voz de Pomona, would become La Verdad. The students said Schenkel had demanded they drop the former name to avoid confusion with La Nueva Voz. They described the approach as a legal demand and criticized the absence of an earlier conversation. [10]

Schenkel disputed their account of his outreach. In a November 4, 2025 response, he said he had attempted contact before emailing and calling the faculty adviser. He cited his history of speaking to classes and sharing stories with student journalists. He defended protecting the business name and described his actions as consistent with “real world business tactics.” [11]

Fine. Readers can assess those tactics with his explanation included. Experience in the business does not place the way you conduct it beyond criticism.

The Pomonan has a connection to this subject that readers should know. Our archive carries a notice published September 19, 2019, attributed to Barbee, demanding that PomonaVoice.org change its name to avoid possible further action and expense. The notice claimed that federal copyright protection extended to La Nueva Voz’s name itself. This is our published archive of the notice; the original correspondence has not been independently authenticated in this review. [12]

The copyright claim is dead wrong. The U.S. Copyright Office identifies names and titles as material copyright does not protect. Trademark protection is a separate question, and that distinction does not settle every possible naming dispute. But a publication warning another outlet about legal expense ought to get the law it invokes right. [13] Additionally, there is a radio station called La Nueva Voz to say the least.

For a publisher whose own website describes deliberately retaining a predecessor’s appearance, demands that other publications change their names invite an obvious question: How much room does this self-described community newspaper believe the community should have to publish?

A Community Deserves More Than Congratulations

But ok, La Nueva Voz has published work that deserves credit. Its September 2024 issue pressed Councilmember Victor Preciado, who is up for reelection, over the closure of Pomona’s Foothill Transit store. That is a useful subject for a community newspaper to pursue. Pretending the paper never challenges institutions would be dishonest and would make this criticism easier to dismiss. [14]

But useful work does not cancel out bad judgment elsewhere. Neither does longevity, a Chamber title or an award from an institution you have worked with. The proximity between Pomona’s political establishment, corporate interests and its “only community newspaper” is, in my view, far too chummy for comfort.

Pomona deserves a transparent, independent watchdog. A paper can cover the community’s celebrations and still ask uncomfortable questions. It can sell advertising and still keep its reporting accountable to readers. What it cannot do is expect a respected predecessor, a familiar masthead or a roomful of institutional friends to answer for its mistakes.

Until this town gets a press that knows the difference between a hard-hitting report and a greeting card for a corporate sponsor, The Pomonan will be right here to hold the mirror up.



Reporting note: This article is fact checked and is based on published documents and statements, including La Nueva Voz’s corrections and Schenkel’s published response. The 2019 notice remains attributed to The Pomonan’s archive; the original correspondence has not been independently authenticated in this review. The accompanying medical scene is a parody illustration.


Julian Lucas is a darkroom photographer, writer, and bookseller, though photography remains his primary language. He is the founder of Mirrored Society Book Shop, publisher of The Pomonan, and creator of Book-Store and Print Pomona Art Book Fair. And he will charge you $ 2.5 million for event photography.

The City of Highland: A Great Place to Raise a Warehouse. City Hall Will Even Provide the Binkies

City Hall is out here playing wet nurse, breast feeding developers, changing their diapers and handing them another three years to get their warehouses off the ground.

Cyanotype by Fernanda Durazo ©2026

Some slick—suit, cheap suit architect Kevin Alcantara stands up at a 2023 Planning Commission hearing and starts shamelessly bragging about how much he loves gentrifying and paving over the Inland Empire. This is his team’s seventh industrial monolith in Highland, and their pet architect is busy droning on about how "the market dictates the building’s height" because their faceless corporate tenants need maximum vertical clearance to stack their plastic imported garbage.

"We definitely like developing in this city," Alcantara says, grinning like an absolute parasite who just swallowed a zoning loophole.

Later in the meeting, Chair Randall Hamerly asks the groundbreaking question of why there aren’t taller trees along Fifth Street—because, you know, Highland is basically a sun-baked, asphalt dust bowl and shade is a baseline human right. Alcantara explains, with a completely straight face, that the design team didn't want to obscure the building. Let that sink in. They are actively blocking shade in a literal desert because nobody must disrupt the majestic vista of a concrete coffin. They act like Welton Becket personally descended from architectural heaven to sketch the damn thing. It’s a warehouse, you tools. What exactly are we supposed to stand across the street admiring? The exquisite texture of tilt-up concrete? They need room to stack merchandise, but actual living trees have to step aside so everyone can worship a glorified storage unit. Meanwhile, there is a preschool full of toddlers literally right next to the site. Somehow, the aesthetic feelings of a giant grey box have become a crisis requiring deep bureaucratic reflection before the thing even exists.

The corporate entity behind this masterclass in local degradation is called Patriot Partners. A guy named Kevin Rice is the applicant listed on the city’s paperwork for this 53,665-square-foot monstrosity on Fifth and Central. And because one concrete scar isn't enough to satisfy their greed, Patriot has another 48,000-square-foot warehouse proposed over on Sixth Street, positioned directly across from Indian Springs High School. The kids were already there. These aren't new schools moving into an industrial zone; these are existing classrooms full of human children being surrounded by diesel truck bays. But to these spreadsheet-bumping sociopaths, a school isn't a place of learning—it’s just a spatial constraint on a map that the developer has to maneuver around.

By 2026, the wheels started falling off the developer's grift. Patriot Partners slinked back to the city crying for more time. The July staff reports laid it out bare: limited tenant demand, trouble securing construction financing, and "economic uncertainty." In plain English, the magical, infallible "market" they used to justify the warehouse's massive height did a completely garbage job of actually getting it built. So Patriot demanded a three-year extension to keep their approvals on life support until the cash started flowing again. And what did Highland’s planning staff do? They immediately bent over backward and recommended giving the developers exactly what they wanted.

Meanwhile, the working-class families living around these dust lots get to keep waiting too. They get to spend their Tuesday nights sitting in drafty municipal gymnasiums, checking bureaucratic agendas, and explaining for the fiftieth time to a panel of glazed-eye politicians why staging hundreds of diesel semi-trucks next to a playground might be bad for developing lungs. The developer’s financial incompetence is treated as a valid excuse for a government handout, while the neighborhood’s real-world suffering is just filed away as a footnote in the public record.

Those recommendations to bail out the developer came straight from Community Development Director Lawrence Mainez, were rubber-stamped by Assistant Director Kim Stater, and meticulously typed up by Senior Planner Angela Tafolla. These people knew exactly what they were doing. Their own reports explicitly point out the Head Start preschool next to the Fifth Street site. They explicitly name Indian Springs High School on Sixth, the residential home to the west, and the Villa Del Rosa condominiums to the south. The city literally mapped out every single human being who will be forced to breathe in truck exhaust. It’s all right there in black and white. Nobody had to pretend the neighborhood was empty; they looked at every house, every school, and every crying parent, and still said, "Yeah, let’s build it." Apparently, knowing better is totally compatible with selling out your community anyway.

On July 21, the Planning Commission approved the extensions unanimously. Chair Randall Hamerly, Vice Chair Chandra Thomas, and commissioners Nicole McCance, Jarrod Miller, and Brent Merideth all eagerly voted yes. More than 20 locals showed up to beg them not to do it. Hamerly. Thomas. McCance. Miller. Merideth. Write those names down on a wall of shame. A completely spineless, unanimous decision shouldn’t get to hide behind the vague shield of "the commission." The residents did exactly what the civics textbooks told them to do: they showed up, they participated, and they got completely ignored so a developer wouldn't lose a buck. The public participated, which is apparently supposed to make losing your entire evening feel worthwhile.

Even the school district stepped in to fight the extensions. Thomas Pace, the director of facilities planning for the San Bernardino City Unified School District, sent a letter urging the city to kill the project, citing blindingly obvious concerns about toxic diesel pollution, pedestrian safety, blocked school buses, and trapped emergency vehicles. These are basic, everyday things you worry about when you're in charge of kids. Parents just want their children to cross the street without getting flattened by a logistics truck. But somehow, the community had to audition and plead just to keep these warehouse plans from hanging over their heads forever.

Don't worry, though—Highland’s bureaucrats have the warehouse's outfit completely under control. The Fifth Street report specifies that the site will feature five loading docks, an eight-foot screen wall next to the preschool, and a meticulously curated exterior color palette: Superwhite, Peppercorn, and Iron Ore. An entire little civilization of tasteful, artisanal industrial finishes, assembled right next to a playground. Wow! Superwhite! Peppercorn! Iron Ore! Truly revolutionary stuff. Whatever else happens to the air quality, at least the concrete coffin will look highly coordinated. The professionals have moved on to matching paint swatches while the parents are left worrying about asthma.

Back at the original hearing, Commissioner Miller actually abstained from voting because the building was way too damn high. But by July 2026, he folded like a cheap lawn chair, joining the unanimous cult of the yes-vote. The city defends this with the ultimate paper shield: an environmental justification under CEQA Guidelines Section 15162, claiming their old reviews are "adequate" and no further environmental scrutiny is required. They claim their "mitigation measures" will magically reduce the toxic impact below a threshold of significance. That's the bureaucratic fiction. Parents are still allowed to look at a truck terminal next to a sandbox and see a disaster. Shuffling papers does not mean the locals have to applaud the poisoning of their zip code.

The final appeals dragged this mess all the way to the top—reaching Mayor Penny Lilburn, Mayor Pro Tem Jimmy Saldana, and council members Gregory Hogan, Larry McCallon, and John P. Timmer on October 13. The agenda featured a bunch of sterile LLC names like "Patriot 5th & Central" and recommended denying the neighborhood's appeals. Unsurprisingly, the People’s Collective for Environmental Justice reported that the council rammed the extensions through anyway, putting a corporate developer’s bottom line directly ahead of human health.

While the politicians hide behind their official titles, the actual people of Highland deserve to be named too. Janet Seaton, a resident of 49 years, described a predominantly Black, Latino, and elderly neighborhood where people can’t just pack up and leave when the air turns toxic. Maria Sanchez spoke out about the pure terror of watching kids navigate a gauntlet of semi-truck traffic just to get to class. These women aren't waiting for a market correction to start utilizing the neighborhood; they actually live there. The homes are occupied. The schools are full. Nobody needed a logistics tenant to give this community a purpose. Yet the city treated the developer's broken wallet as an emergency, while treating the residents' lives as a bureaucratic nuisance.

Highland’s leadership owes everyone an explanation for why they are protecting these warehouse plans with such desperate, pathetic persistence. What makes a failed concrete box worth more than the families living in its shadow? The developer's financing problems explain why they want more time, but they don't explain why a mother living next door should be happy to give it to them. And when Lilburn, Saldana, Hogan, McCallon, and Timmer explain what kind of city they want Highland to be, they are telling the world that they prefer a profitable, smog-choked truck stop over their own citizens.


SOURCE

  1. Highland Planning Commission minutes, September 19, 2023⁠. Item 5, PDF pages 4–8. Architect’s remarks, building height, tree discussion and Miller’s abstention.

  2. Fifth Street warehouse staff report, July 21, 2026⁠. City report reproduced on Scribd. Project specifications, school proximity, exterior finishes, financing delays and staff recommendation.

  3. Sixth Street warehouse staff report, July 21, 2026⁠. City report reproduced on Scribd. Project specifications, surrounding schools and homes, financing delays and staff recommendation.

  4. Highland public hearing notice⁠. Identifies Kevin Rice and Patriot Partners as applicant/owner.

  5. Manny Sandoval, Inland Empire Community News: “Highland Extends Warehouse Permits Near Schools in Area Home to 20,000 Residents”⁠. Reporting on the July 21 commission votes, residents’ statements and school district letter.

  6. Fifth Street extension: October Notice of Determination⁠. City filing recording approval October 13, 2026, posted October 19.

  7. Sixth Street extension: October Notice of Determination⁠. City filing recording approval October 13, 2026, posted October 19.

  8. October 13 council agenda, reproduced by Muyni⁠. Items 18 and 19: appeals, applicant LLCs and staff recommendations.

  9. Official Highland City Council roster⁠. Councilmembers’ names and titles.⁠


Julian Lucas is a darkroom photographer, writer, and bookseller, though photography remains his primary language. He is the founder of Mirrored Society Book Shop, publisher of The Pomonan, and creator of Book-Store and Print Pomona Art Book Fair. And he will charge you $ 2.5 million for event photography.

The Limits of Vision

Concept and image by Julian Lucas

Every city has them. Plans, meetings, a steady language about what things could become. The vocabulary hardly changes. Revitalization and investment. Words that suggest motion, though most of the time nothing actually moves fast the way we would like to see. Nothing moves in the direction many of us would love to be a part of. It circulates instead, passing from one room to another, intact.

Stay with it long enough and a pattern settles in. Projects arrive in fragments, a development here, a proposal there. Each one presented as progress, but rarely in relation to anything else. Nothing accumulates, nothing quite follows through. It begins to feel less like a vision than an arrangement. With respect to housing, cities are now told to build housing. 

Hodge podge. Not in a generous sense, in the sense of no cohesion, no vision. Industrial lots sitting next to tired storefronts, laundromats pressed up against tire shops, motels that look like they’ve been holding the same stories for decades, a few doors down gas stations neighboring new apartments that are trying to signal something forward. And buildings that never move at all. It’s all there, just not together. 

After a while, that lack of cohesion stops reading as temporary. It starts to feel intentional, even when it isn’t, like this is simply how the place is meant to be. People learn it without being told. They understand where attention gathers and where it thins out, which spaces are treated as open and which are approached like the outcome has already been decided. It doesn’t need to be written down. You can see it in what gets built, and repurposed, what lingers in delay, what never even gets close.

The expectation takes over from there. It decides what feels possible before anything begins and narrows things just enough that the results start to look inevitable. Stagnation doesn’t announce itself. It holds, not because there aren’t ideas, but because those ideas aren’t allowed to land everywhere. 

Because renters can’t possibly have ideas that matter.

When something new shows up in a place that’s been stuck in a pattern, people notice it right away. Not because it blends in, but because it doesn’t. It looks intentional. It looks like it belongs somewhere else, or at least somewhere that’s been treated differently.

That’s where the tension is. It raises a question people usually move past too quickly. If this can exist here, even for a moment, then what has been stopping everything else? There are answers ready, policy, funding, process. They matter, but they don’t explain the consistency of the outcome. Something else is doing the work, where seriousness gets placed, where it doesn’t, what gets taken on and what gets dismissed before it has time to become anything.

That kind of sorting builds over time, decision by decision, approval by approval, a way of working that favors what can be managed over what might actually change something. Nothing gathers enough force, so the story holds. Until something interrupts it, not by fixing anything, but by refusing the proportions that were already in place. The contrast doesn’t argue. It stays, and once it does, it becomes harder to go back to believing things are the way they are because they have to be.

This is usually where “innovation” gets mentioned. Slides, language, a version of change that stays contained. Something that can be approved without disrupting anything around it.

But that’s not what this is.

This doesn’t come out of a meeting. It doesn’t wait to be placed where it feels appropriate. It shows up where it isn’t expected, fully formed, not asking to be explained.

That’s closer to what innovation actually looks like.

Not a concept that moves through rooms, but something that takes up space. Something that risks being out of place because it’s trying to change the place.

It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t pretend to. It just sits there and makes the difference obvious.

And once you see that difference, it’s harder to go back to believing things are the way they are because they have to be.


Julian Lucas is a darkroom photographer, writer, and a bookseller, though photography remains his primary language. He is the founder of Mirrored Society Book Shop, publisher of The Pomonan, and creator of Book-Store and Print Pomona Art Book Fair. And yes he will charge you 2.5 Million for event photography.

Pomona Saves the Sign, but Kills the Soul

Illustration Julian Lucas ©2025

Googie architecture thrived in the Atomic Age, when America’s imagination was fueled by the space race, roadside culture, and the Jetsons’ gleaming optimism. Rooflines tilted like rocket fins, signs shouted in neon, and every design choice insisted the future wasn’t something to fear but something to be built, loudly, unapologetically, and in public view. To erase that is to chip away at a time when boldness was the default, not a risk.

But new age politicians aren’t interested in bold, they’re interested in streamlining culture until it’s flat enough to fit inside a marketing brochure. They sand down the edges, cut the neon, and sell the past back to you as a caricature of itself. To ignore Googie is to say history never mattered here, and maybe never will.

Pomona has a talent for missing the point. On July 21, the City Council proved it again, voting to preserve the old milk bottle sign on Indian Hill while ignoring the building it belongs to. The Historic Preservation Commission, which exists precisely to weigh in on such matters, had already said the building was historic. The Council didn’t listen. They listened to staff instead.

The result is a familiar scene in Pomona politics, history is flattened into set dressing for a city that can’t tell a story. History preserved only as kitsch. The sign gets to stay, floating in the air like a detached mascot, while the building, a rare piece of mid-century Googie architecture, is left to the mercy of demolition or gut-job redevelopment. It’s a decision rooted not in vision but in small-bore bureaucracy, the kind that confuses preservation with tokenism.

And what’s going up instead? Supposedly, a three-story housing block, cheek to jowl with a strip mall that’s already a hodgepodge of half-dead businesses, including, naturally, a liquor store. Because nothing says urban planning like stacking new apartments beside an outdated strip mall with a discount smoke shop and a nail salon, a barber because we don’t have enough barbers in the city.

The Council will say, they don’t want to override their commission and they care about economic development. They’ll say they’re making room for the future. But anyone with an imagination could see the future sitting right there, in that building, with its drive-thru bones and road-trip nostalgia. The problem isn’t that Pomona can’t innovate, it’s that its leadership can’t imagine innovation outside of the cookie-cutter apartments with “luxury” in the marketing brochure although “affordable” is usually the buzzword that comes before luxury.

Cities with ambition know how to work with their history. They repurpose. They reimagine. They keep the soul of a place alive even as they refresh its face. In Pomona, we get the opposite, leaders who treat their own historic commission like an advisory speed bump.

The milk bottle will stay, smiling down from its lonely perch. The building will likely vanish. And once again, Pomona will trade the possibility of a landmark for the safety of a signpost.

The tragedy isn’t that they can’t see the value. It’s that they never even tried. And that, more than anything, is why this city has gotten to be so corny.


Julian Lucas is a photographer, writer and provocateur committed to documenting what power tries to hide. Julian is the founder of The Pomonan and founder and owner of Mirrored Society, a bookshop dedicated to fine art books. His work, on the page, in the darkroom, and in the streets, documents what institutions try to forget. He publishes what others try to bury.

Trumps Politics of Erecting Power

On flags, thrones, and the cult that mistakes domination for salvation.

Updated 08/06/2025 2:04PM PST

Illustration Julian Lucas ©2025

Eight months after the election and I saw someone was still wearing that hat. Not the classic red this time, but white, pristine, like it had just been unboxed. The stitching was crisp. No sun-bleach, no sweat stains. It hadn’t been worn into belief, it had been purchased like one buys a fresh Bible. Most likely made in China, but that’s never mattered. He wasn’t alone either, he was with a group. The kind that looks like they think patriotism is a big raised truck with a big American Flag flying out the back of it. You know the folks that don’t believe in growing their own food, but have allegiance to industrialized farming, and shop at big box grocery stores, unconsciously. When they left, he swapped the hat for something louder. An all-over-print tank top that made the American flag look like a tactical vest. Stars on his pecs, stripes stretching across his gut. He didn’t just wear the flag. He deployed it.

I didn’t say anything to him. I didn't need to. The outfit wasn’t meant for conversation, it was a broadcast. A wearable sermon to the faithful. Because that’s what this is now. It’s not politics. It’s postering and it lacks substance. The flag isn’t a symbol, it’s a uniform. The hat isn’t about making anything great, it’s their off the rack veil, a flyer from a pilgrimage to Mar-a-Lago, whether they’ve made the trip or not. Mr. Trump isn’t a candidate anymore. He’s a belief system. A messiah that possibly has a lifetime subscription in spray tan oil. And the people who follow him? They’re not undecided. They’re converted to the religion of Trumpanity, where faith is less about reading the Bible, or reading in general, forgiveness, and attending church, but more about followers.

They say they’re Christian. But do they question a man who campaigns not on faith, but vengeance? Who promises retribution over redemption? When was the last time they fact checked their faith? When was the last time they read a Bible? Trump could vow to outlaw Mondays or baptize his tax returns in soda, and still they’d cheer. Why? Because belief doesn’t require logic, just faith and loyalty. And somehow, Mr. Trump has turned that loyalty into something else entirely, an identity. 

Erica Groshen gave the country good news, jobs increased. So Trump canned her. Not because the numbers were wrong, but because they weren’t flattering to Mr. Trumps liking. In this regime, the truth is punished. And the statisticians? They’re just the next political prisoners, sentenced for honesty.

Is it still politics when you live by a man’s tweets? When you recite his slogans more than scripture? Are they voting for a president, or submitting to a prophet? Because this no longer feels like civic duty. It feels like devotion. To a man who insists only he can save you from the world he helped set on fire. And maybe, in the end, it’s not even about saving. Maybe it’s just about who he hates. And whether that hate feels familiar.

Mr. Trump doesn’t just ask for their vote. He demands their obedience. They do so, willingly. Not because he offers them answers, but because he names their enemies. Because he hates out loud. And in a country that still hasn’t repented for its original sins, hatred passes for clarity. So they follow, not out of hope, but out of ritual. Have they traded in the gospel for grievance, scripture for slogans, and wrap the American flag so tightly around their eyes they can’t see nor comprehend who’s robbing them.

They don’t want policy. They want punishment. They don’t read platforms, they moan for retribution. Mr. Trump could staple his name to the Bible and they’d bend over and beg for chapter and verse. This isn’t about governance. It’s about submission. They want a flag they can hump, a strongman who spits when he talks and promises to make the libs cry. They don’t crave democracy, they get off on domination. Strip away the slogans, and all that’s left is a base that wants to be owned, and a man more than willing to fuck the country to prove he can.


Julian Lucas is a photographer, writer and provocateur committed to documenting what power tries to hide. Julian is the founder of The Pomonan and founder and owner of Mirrored Society, a bookshop dedicated to fine art books. His work, on the page, in the darkroom, and in the streets, documents what institutions try to forget. He publishes what others try to bury.

What Would Pomona Be Without Cronyism? A Better City, Probably

Ah, the cost of political integrity in Pomona. Just $400, give or take a technicality. In the grand bazaar of campaign finance violations, it was reported that our very own City Council woman, Elizabeth Ontiveros Cole has been fined yet again by the California Fair Political Practices Commission (FPPC). And let’s be honest, if campaign violations were a sport, Pomona officials would be perennial champions, because they usually go unchecked and are not held accountable, unless, of course, it’s by La Nueva Voz, the small, biased paper that proudly calls itself “Pomona’s Only Local Newspaper,” yet refuses to play fair.

For those keeping score at home, which we know rarely happens in Pomona, Cole’s latest fine landed her on an exclusive “short list” of Los Angeles County public officials with FPPC violations. That’s right, out of the entire county, she managed to make the cut. An achievement worthy of a plaque or at least a participation trophy.

But let's get into the allegations. The FPPC dinged Councilwoman Cole for failing to disclose campaign contributions in a timely manner. Basically, she took money but forgot to tell the public about it until after it mattered. But don’t worry, it was all just a tiny misunderstanding. You know, the kind that regularly happens when people in power are caught being less than forthcoming.

Even better, there was an investigation into whether she accepted money from a business with a financial interest in something she voted on. What the rest of us would call a “conflict of interest” and what elected officials and their gatekeepers in Pomona just call Tuesday. But in a shocking turn of events, the FPPC concluded that there wasn’t enough evidence to pursue further action. It’s the political equivalent of saying, “We know you did something sketch, but we can’t quite prove it, so… carry on.”

Now, in a city with a rich history of the usual “coincidental” decision making that just happens to favor well connected donors, Cole is in good company. Cronyism in Pomona is less of a scandal and more of a municipal tradition. Without it, what would we have left? Honest governance? Public accountability? A city council that works for its residents instead of its benefactor? How boring. 

But let’s entertain a radical idea for a moment, and yes it’s understood, many Pomonans don’t like anything radical, although their Jesus was a radical. Anyway, what would Pomona be without cronyism? Well, for starters, public projects might actually serve the public instead of well connected developers, even the local ones that make attempts at pushing statutes through committees and commissions. The city’s budget might prioritize the needs of residents instead of padding the pockets of those with the right political connections. Imagine a Pomona where small businesses get the same opportunities as the ones owned by campaign donors and beyond. Where votes on city contracts and zoning laws aren’t quietly influenced by backdoor deals.

A Pomona without cronyism might have a city council that actually debates policies based on what’s best for the community, rather than what’s best for their next campaign fundraiser. Maybe residents would feel like they had a real say in local government, instead of watching from mid court as the usual political regulars cut deals behind closed doors. Maybe, just maybe, people would trust their local government.

But let’s be fair, why should Cole be singled out when she’s simply playing the game the way it’s always been played? If anything, Pomona should start awarding trophies for this stuff. “Most Creative Use of Loopholes,” “Best Performance in a Conflict of Interest Investigation,” or my personal favorite, “Excellence in Pretending Not to Know.”

Of course, if we did decide to flip the script, let’s try a revolutionary concept. How about we stop electing people who treat campaign finance laws like optional side quests? What if, and hear me out, we demanded transparency from the officials who claim to serve us? I know, I know, it’s a radical idea. But hey, if Cole can make the FPPC’s “short list,” maybe Pomona voters can make a “short list” of politicians who actually deserve their support.

Crazy thought, right?

Lastly, while La Nueva Voz has gone to impressive lengths to detail every check, contributor, and technical filing misstep tied to Ontiveros-Cole, it’s worth asking: where is this energy when others in City Hall face questions of accountability? Selective scrutiny isn’t journalism, it’s just an obvious attempt to play watchdog while wagging the tail for their favorites. 


Julian Lucas, is a photographer, a purveyor of books, and writer, but mostly a photographer. Don’t ever ask him to take photos of weddings or quinceaneras, because he will charge you a ton of money.

Do we feel safer every year the police budget increases?

Photography ©Julian Lucas

Updated 12/06/2024 5:52pm PT

More than half of the City of Pomona’s budget goes toward funding the Police. This is historically true, and it is still true today. It is an emphasis that we need to continually scrutinize - even with the recent passage of Measure Y that reallocates 10% of the City’s General Funds to child and youth services by the years 2030-2031. 

Pomona’s police budget has increased about $20 million since 2020, and currently $80 million is allocated for Police. This was enabled, in part, with the voters’ approval of the 0.75% sales tax in 2018, and again in spring of 2024, that has resulted in an influx of about 16.8 million more dollars per year to the City’s General Fund.

It is a sobering fact that at the same time as the police budget has increased, the City’s homicide rate has basically remained the same. Since 2016, the City has averaged about 17 homicides a year. Which means that preventing violent crime remains a constant and ongoing concern, raising all sorts of basic questions:

Is the amount of funding devoted to policing translating into safer streets and effective crime reduction, or is this funding failing to address the root causes of violence?

Will allocating a slightly bigger slice of the City’s overall budget to youth programs, with the passage of Measure Y, help us secure safer streets and see a reduction of crime?

Now that our governing bodies, the City Council and Commissioners, are charged with allocating more funds toward child and youth services, are the individuals that make up the governing body, including Pomona’s Mayor, capable of being creative enough to manage a large city like Pomona?

Many members of the City Council and various commissions actively campaigned against Measure Y. Among them was the Pomona Police Officers Association, which contributed nearly $25,000 to the "No on Measure Y" campaign opposing the Pomona Kids First Initiative. Despite their efforts, the measure passed with a 62.5% majority. Their slogan? “The Wrong Way to Help Pomona’s Children.”

This raises an important question: given their level of opposition to Pomona’s Kids First Initiative, are they capable of making the new funding formulas work?

The City’s traditional disproportionate focus on police, while homicide rates remained roughly the same, means that there continues to be room for reflection and re-evaluation. It is with great hope that by enhancing support for community-driven initiatives and preventative strategies, Pomona can build a more holistic approach to public safety. It is also with great hope that focusing funding for youth will not only address the immediate needs of our young population, but also address long-term reductions in crime.

THE NUMBER OF HOMICIDES SINCE 2016:

2016: 13 Homicides
2017: 17 Homicides
2018: 17 Homicides
2019: 12 Homicides
2020: 13 Homicides
2021: 21 Homicides
2022: 19 Homicides
2023 :  (Pending) Discrepancy

In 2023, there was a body found  “in front of a house on Towne Ave, titled, ‘Suspicious Death’ (Reference# P000288-091324).This unfortunate incident, which took place July 1, 2023 at 5:45 am has not been included in The Pomonan Homicide Report count. When the Pomonan submitted a public records request on this incident, the city’s response was vague and only stated information of what officers observed upon their response. The request did not state if this incident was deemed a homicide.

After submitting a public records request for the total number of homicides in 2023, the city reported a figure of 14. However, our independent review and cross-referencing of the data revealed the actual total to be 16. Notably, the city's report included one incident classified as manslaughter, which does not meet the criteria for homicide.

This raises important questions about whether all homicides are being accurately reported in the city’s crime data. Are all homicides being included in the official reports, or are some intentionally left out and swept under the asbestos, making it appear that the homicide rate is decreasing when it may not be?

Do we feel safer every year the police budget increases? 

Behind the 6 P’s

Behind the Six P’s–The reputation of Holt avenue in Pomona goes beyond the Indian Hill Mall. Everyone in the surrounding cities knows about it.

The street is known for unhoused people, sex workers and street vendors.

Its reputation is a shadow looming over the officials running the city and now the city council and the mayor want to turn Holt into a Business Improvement District to improve its conditions.

According to the US Department of Transportation, Business Improvement Districts (BIDs) are privately-directed and publicly-sanctioned organizations that supplement public services within geographically defined boundaries by generating multi-year revenue through a compulsory assessment on local property owners and/or businesses - which basically means - BIDs are privatized public places that use funds to: BIDs are privatized public places that use funds to:

  • Promote business and events within the boundaries 

  • Patrols it with private security 

  • Keep the area clean.

The function of a BID is to monetize gentrification and criminalize loitering, by keeping unwanted individuals from the area. Under a BID, the funds, generated from increased taxation on property located in the district, are set aside for promotion, security and clean-up, and are managed by a selected board of directors.

Lisa Marie Alatorre from the San Francisco Coalition on Homelessness described the work of BIDS as “Jim Crow laws” and described them as a way to promote “discriminatory policing practices to simply remove people deemed unwanted from certain parts of town.”

Downtown Pomona is currently operating under a BID until 2028 under the management of the Downtown Pomona Owners Association (DPOA). From 2021 through 2022, DPOA spent $306,373 on private security, even though the area remains covered by a police force that operates with 49.8% of the city’s budget. Private security cannot arrest an individual, but they can call the police on any 'suspicious' activities, according to American Global Security.

From 2021 through 2022, DPOA spent $306,373 on private security. The area is still covered by a police force that will be given 49.8% of the city’s budget for the new fiscal year. Private security cannot arrest an individual but they can call the cops on any “suspicious activities,” according to American Global Security.

In regards to dealing with the problems of Holt, the city of Pomona wants to adopt a BID in order to hire a professional ‘rat’ to call the cops on any activity that a business owner deems 'suspicious.' Creating a BID on Holt will give property owners major influential power. Typically, a BID board of directors includes the district’s property owners. 

Creating a BID will also give major influential power to property owners. The board of directors for BIDs typically includes property owners of the area. The tax forms from 2022 indicate that the DPOA board of directors includes two members of the Tessier family. 

The tax forms from 2022 indicate that the DPOA board of directors for downtown Pomona includes two members of the Tessier family who run Arteco Partners, the current owner of the Progress Building and its basement art gallery; the Founder's Building; the Union Block; the Fox Theater; the Glass House; Acerogami; the Oxarart Block; the Wright Brothers Building; the Wurl Building; the Armory Lofts; the Tate Building; the Opera Garage; the Civic Center; and the School of Arts and Enterprise. Arteco Partners have a negotiating deal with the city of Pomona to buy more land in the downtown area and build more apartments that would only serve to increase their monopoly of downtown Pomona.

The Arteco Partners have a negotiating deal with the city of Pomona to buy more land in the downtown area and build apartments to complete their monopoly of the heart of Pomona. 

Not only will a BID on Holt Avenue pass the problem to someone else, it will give property owners the power to increase rent on the local businesses and drive them away.

To quote “Mad Max: Fury Road,” "Where must we go, we who wander this wasteland, in search of our better selves?"

The city of Pomona claims that its mission is to improve the quality of life for its diverse community, yet the changes its officials want to make will only drive the diverse community into the Wasteland known as Victorville and sell their soul to vegan milkshakes and spa water. 


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