A few weeks ago, I got an email during work asking me to fill out a survey. The survey described how Cal Poly Humboldt is considering a commencement ceremony at a venue in another part of California. If I responded “yes,” I could be graduating closer to home. But Arcata has become my home now. If I were to graduate back in LA, yes, I would be surrounded by my mom, cousin, and childhood friends, but I think I would feel lost and disconnected. I would feel like something is missing, and that would be my peers.
While another graduation closer to home might sound ideal to those struggling financially, some are not pleased with the idea–myself included. For me, I want to graduate in the place where I attended my classes and made connections to help further my career. Where I formed friendships with my peers and roommates that will last a lifetime, laughed and cried about everyday life occurrences, and crossed paths with people from different backgrounds. I want to be in the place where I had not only a successful college experience, but also an adventure. Graduating in Humboldt county would fulfill my dreams.
My mom and I have been planning (and saving) for my college graduation and have started telling our loved ones where to go and when it is. When I told my mom about this survey, she was upset with me because she wanted to see me happy on my graduation day. She agreed that if I were to go back to LA I would be depressed because I would not have my peers by my side.
I have had my heart set on Humboldt since high school. It was my motivation to strive for the best. Many thought I was crazy, that I would not succeed and have many opportunities being in a rural small town. But Humboldt is where I saw myself smiling very big and wide, walking across that stage.
To have this survey sent to me felt like Humboldt stepped on my heart with high heels. It hurt. I was overthinking where graduation was going to happen. Is it actually going to happen? Am I going to walk the stage with my friends and mentors cheering me on to the next chapter of my life? Are me and my mom going to cross ‘Graduating Humboldt’ off my bucket list?
All I want is a graduation. But not just any graduation–a graduation proving that this first-gen Latinx student went farther than LA and explored their options in an area where people least expected.
I ended up saying that I want to graduate in Humboldt. Not only am I standing up for myself in the present but also to the 17-year-old who wanted just one thing: to attend Humboldt and be able to say, “I went there and came out as a whole new person. Mom, we did it.”
Hit Los Angeles band Chicano Batman sold out the Arcata Theater Lounge on April 27. The American/Colombian band Divino Nino warmed up the audience. Received with open arms and a few reeling mosh pits buzzing with fervent energy, this show firmly confirmed a living foothold for the growing Latino music scene in Arcata.
Divino Nino were joyous to receive before the main event. They started with the intoxicating song “Quiero” from their 2019 album Foam, which got the crowd swaying to song after song.
Divino Nino, formed by childhood friends from their hometown of Bogota, Colombia, plays surreal psychedelic dream-pop with Spanish lyrics and a unique style perfect to open for Chicano Batman.
When Chicano Batman were ready to perform, the crowd was reeling and ready for the four piece team to rock the night.
Their iconic sound is marked by familiar basslines and funky swaying beats, characteristics of the psychedelic-soul twisting inspirations they derive from.
Photo by Abraham Navarro | Lead vocalist Bardo Martinez and guitarist Carlos Arévalo of Chicano batman at the Arcata Theater Lounge on April 27.
“Polymetronomic Harmony” from their 2020 album Invisible People was the haymaker that turned the crowd into a swarm of music hungry fiends, flailing every which way in the pit.
The energy out of every note nudged listeners to their feet, electric energy flowing through the audience as lead guitarist Eduardo Arenas’ fingers flew across every fret of his guitar with lightning speed. For some songs, he danced gracefully up and down the neck of his bass, laying out the backbone for the rest of the band to follow up and deliver.
Carlos Arévalo rocked the guitar and held the melody together from his stronghold on stage right. Though he seldom moved from his spot, his presence was felt throughout the entire set.
The music was medicine, but the performance was deliverance. Lead vocalist Bardo Martinez took the entire stage, jumping in the air and dancing like a possessed person writhing to the beat of the music and the rhythm of the roaring crowd.
Not only did Martinez sing, but he took on the keyboard, kept up with his bandmates on the guitar and danced his heart out to the screaming fans in the sold out show.
Not a single fan walked out without the marks of Chicano Batman firmly on their souls.
A conversation with a College of the Redwoods student at Pelican Bay State Prison
We now have more than 1.5 million people worldwide infected with COVID-19 and over 90,000 deaths. The United States has surpassed every other country in cases with just over 450,000. People are being told to socially distance themselves with six feet of space between others and isolate inside. But what about the millions who are incarcerated that don’t have that option?
Kunlyna Tauch is housed at Pelican Bay State Prison and is a student in the College of the Redwoods Pelican Bay Scholars Program at Pelican Bay State Prison. He is slated to graduate with his associate degree for transfer this summer. Tauch is also a student and contributor in Paul Critz’s audio journalism class, which produces Pelican Bay’s podcast “Pelican Bay: UNLOCKED.” Tauch has been a spokesperson of sorts for the recent programming at Pelican Bay and an advocate of the changes being made inside the supermax prison.
Cases of the coronavirus have risen just over 1,300 throughout 100 federal prisons, thousands of jails and 1,700 state-run facilities nationwide. The Federal Bureau of Prisons says 138 inmates and 59 employees have tested positive and at least seven inmates have died, bringing the total to at least 32 COVID-19-related deaths inside the nation’s prisons and jails.
On March 31, California state prison officials announced they would be releasing 3,500 incarcerated individuals early to help free space in cramped prisons due to a possible coronavirus outbreak. Governor Gavin Newsom announced a halt in the transfer and intake of incarcerated individuals and youths into California’s 35 state prisons.
According to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation website, there are, as of April 9, 12 incarcerated persons at California Prison, Los Angeles County, 19 incarcerated persons at California Institution for Men in Chino, one incarcerated person at North Kern State Prison in Delano and one incarcerated person at Substance Abuse Training Facility in Corcoran who have tested positive for COVID-19. Seventy-one CDCR or California Correctional Health Care Services employees have tested positive for COVID-19 in 21 incarcerated facilities, and hundreds have called in sick for work.
In the past five years there have been more programs in Pelican Bay than ever before and the culture inside is changing. After a lawsuit was awarded to the incarcerated individuals participating in the 2011 and 2013 hunger strikes and their advocates, one of the two solitary housing units was shut down and terms of isolation were limited to five years. This caused the prison to mitigate the effects of solitary confinement with programs like education and therapy. I spoke with Tauch on what it’s like in Pelican Bay State Prison as a college student amid the changes COVID-19 has brought to the infamous prison.
Kunlyna Tauch looking upward in June of 2019. Tauch is slated to earn his associate degree for transfer through College of the Redwoods’ Pelican Bay Scholars program this semester. | Photo by T. William Wallin
Tony Wallin: What’s it like in Pelican Bay State Prison right now and what are your concerns?
Kunlya Tauch: First of all, CDCR stopped all visitation and there are no programs. So we’re doing like old prison time, right. Which is us in prison going to yard and trying to occupy ourselves with whatever we have, which is not that much. My concern is that people on the streets are so socially distant from each other they become callous of each other and become more segregated and more disconnected. But from what I am seeing on TV is a lot of good, which is making me happy. The little acts of kindness and videos of people on the street coming out, I love it. There’s actually a little silver lining out of this.
TW: Yeah. There’s a lot of opportunity for positivity through all of this.
KT: It’s hard to pass on those opportunities because it’s so in-your-face.
TW: What’s it like in there with programs shut down? What are you doing to keep busy?
KT: College of the Redwoods has been the only program that is really working on shifting their whole business model to make it work for us. They are still running classes through correspondence and we’re getting hella work like every Friday. Our teachers are saying, ‘This is what we expect. Your next essay is due this date, send it in the mail,’ but because I have five classes I have enough work to sustain me, plus I have hella books I’ve got to get through. I am pretty occupied but it’s pretty restless in here, you know? People are constantly checking on their family, making sure they are well. They aren’t reading, they aren’t programming, they aren’t going anywhere, so their day consists of the phone and the yard. The yard schedule in itself [has changed], we aren’t seeing the regular people we used to see. They’re making it real limited, they’re not giving the day room. They literally made some new rule where only five cells in the day room at a time, which prohibits ourselves from doing what we want to do. It’s kinda stressful. It feels like we are taking a lot of steps back as far as prison goes.
TW: CDCR said they were going to send out more cleaning supplies to all prisons and make sure every prison has what they need. Are you seeing that?
KT: That’s never been a problem. The cleanliness of the place isn’t a problem. Right now I have a personal friend who had some symptoms, they didn’t even test him and they just took him to quarantine and is on two weeks lockdown with no mail, no phone, no nothing. Just to see if he has it or not.
TW: Where do they have the quarantine right now? What do they have blocked off?
KT: They have one on A yard and one on B yard and it’s one section of one building and they’re basically in the SHU [secure housing unit]. They’re like kicking off drugs by themselves. That’s their treatment and I guess the nurses are going over, but I don’t know. I assume nurses are checking on them professionally. There’s too much of a shortage of testing, but one thing about medical is they are a separate entity than CDCR, so CDCR can’t dictate what they do.
TW: Interesting. They operate differently? The warden doesn’t have a say on the medical side of things?
KT: No, medical community operates the medical community. All records are sealed and confidential. The prison has to accommodate that or else there’s a big lawsuit. I think CDCR concedes medical and there’s an agreement [between them]. According to the American government this is it and [CDCR] is only the California government, same with religion and same thing with tech. For some reason the tech, IT, here is their own entity and they suck. It takes like a month to transfer music onto our laptop [for the podcast]. It’s been stagnant. I’ve been feeling lethargic. I feel like they caged me back up and I’m really back in prison again. Pelican Bay was really doing good with their programs and everything running everyday and now it feels like this modified program where it feels like we’re just on lockdown. I feel like a lot of our minds aren’t being stimulated because a lot of us aren’t in those programs we are forced into or choose to be in.
TW: Right. It feels like pre-2014?
KT: Yes. Real shit. It feels like before and it feels like out of mind will cause more trouble. I am waiting for the ball to drop. I am waiting for something to happen. I’m almost mad that personally we’re on lockdown, but the whole fucking world is on lockdown and I can’t make more moves happen.
TW: Yeah, the irony in all of this is everything is locked down globally. How is your morale and the overall morale in the prison? Are there still positive interactions?
KT: I feel like we’re losing that. I feel like the tank is draining every single day. Guys that were motivated are losing that motivation. I see my college peers going like, ‘I don’t even feel like doing the work.’ But you don’t have that motivation no more because you’re not in front of the teacher anymore, you’re not engaging. You have questions but you can’t get an answer. I have a bleeding heart for my community in here, but it’s hard for me to help them because I have five courses and I have to study. We’re getting hella shit to read and it’s like, ‘I don’t have the time to worry about you guys because I have to get this out of the way first.’ Before all of this coronavirus I was approved to transfer to Lancaster [California State Prison, Los Angeles County]. That’s a level three. That was a big decision I had to make because that means I have to detach myself from this place I grew roots in. The process of this whole coronavirus—I’m back worrying about college and I can’t really be the catalyst to get my guys rallied up to do their work because I have to just worry about my work. So, I’ve been feeling like the morale is ‘Let’s see what happens while we are in this state of limbo,’ which is worse than staying stagnant because we’re losing the momentum, you know? We work on momentum on the programs that are on a level four yard. Without that momentum it’s like, ‘I’ll just watch Jerry Springer all day.”
TW: It’s gotta be rough going from so many programs for the first time at Pelican Bay and then, in an instant, they’re gone. For those of you that are students at College of the Redwoods, can you study together?
KT: Everything in person is shut down but we can do our own personal study groups, but we are divided. So, we only see our own dudes in our own yard and maybe another building and they’re across the fence so we can’t even have a study group out there. Also the COs [correctional officers] are really cracking down on what stuff we can bring out and they’re asking us, ‘Why were you bringing books and stuff out to the yard since programs are shut down?’ So we can’t even have that. So technically no, we can’t have a study group. We can have an impromptu one if there’s a cool CO that says it’s cool, we can sit out there.
Locals react to HSU students bused back to Humboldt from coronavirus-afflicted areas
A bus chartered by the Humboldt State Homeward Bound program picked up 31 HSU students March 21 from San Francisco and Los Angeles—two cities where the coronavirus has become more and more prominent—and brought the students back to Humboldt.
Lost Coast Outpost posted an article about the bus March 24. The Facebook post for the story has 433 comments as of March 29, many of which are critical of HSU.
“This is beyond irresponsible of HSU,” one comment reads.
“And one more reason we feel GREAT about not sending our kids to HSU,” reads another.
Sarah Ray, an environmental studies professor, defended the students.
“Quite a few of our students live here and have moved here and have their lives here and they were visiting family,” Ray said. “So, just like we would expect and hope that kids and students who are from Arcata and the area—we would fully respect and appreciate that they would want to come home and be home with their families once their classes got cancelled in this really frightening moment—it’s reasonable that students would want to go where they’re most comfortable and feel at home.”
She went on:
“There’s also a lot of research out there about how many students across the nation going through this exact problem are not safe at home, and this might be a safer place for them,” Ray said.
“I feel like it’s not a simple solution to just say, ‘Go back there,’ because many of these students live here.”
Xochitl Andrade, HSU English and biology major
Grant Scott-Goforth, communications specialist for HSU, explained the precautions implemented on the buses returning to HSU.
“The buses were partially full so that people could have social distancing on the buses while they rode,” Scott-Goforth said. “And then, obviously when they return, we’re asking everyone to shelter-in-place, to quarantine if you’ve been exposed or been to an area with exposure, and to contact the Student Health Center or hospitals with concerns about health.”
As much as HSU wished it could’ve been in command over which students came and which students left Humboldt, there was no way to do that. Of course, as Scott-Goforth asserted, the coronavirus situation is nothing to sneeze at.
“I think it’s terribly unfortunate and I’m very sad for them and I feel very protective of students because it’s what I do.”
Sarah Ray, HSU environmental studies professor
Xochitl Andrade, an HSU senior majoring in English and biology, said the situation is complicated.
“I feel like it’s not a simple solution to just say, ‘Go back there,’ because many of these students live here,” Andrade said. “They may have no where else to go if they were told to go back. We don’t know if they were just visiting friends or family. And for those who don’t have any family to go back to, what are they supposed to do?”
While Andrade agrees that the students should be quarantined, she said she thought HSU knows what it’s doing.
Ray hoped the harsh words toward HSU students from the Lost Coast Outpost article weren’t representative of the Arcata community.
“I think it’s terribly unfortunate and I’m very sad for them and I feel very protective of students because it’s what I do,” Ray said. “I would like to think that it’s only an extreme, fringed, vocal, internet types of social media people who are saying those kinds of things. The vast majority of the university, especially the community and many people in the community—that’s not the kind of sentiment I see.”
‘Who Killed Josiah’ examines the consequences of a divided community and the effect David Josiah Lawson’s death had on his family
In Humboldt County there are some people that don’t know about David Josiah Lawson, but others will remember his name and story for the rest of their lives.
When Karen Foshay, an executive producer for KCET – a television station in Southern California, heard about Lawson’s murder she felt she had to follow the story. Foshay produced the 29-minute episode “Who Killed Josiah?” for KCET’s news documentary series SOCAL Connected.
After three months of working on the news documentary, “Who Killed Josiah” premiered on KCET’s website, kcet.org, and YouTube on Oct. 22 and will air on KCET-HD and KCETLINK on Nov. 12, 13, 14 and 16.
Foshay’s husband attended Humboldt State University as an undergrad. In January, when she and her husband were passing through Humboldt, she found herself on the scene covering a national news story when two local girls went missing from their backyard.
“Along the way I meet a photojournalist who told me about an LA student who was killed up here,” Foshay said. “I looked into it and I was really interested. Not the death itself, but what this death did for the area.”
“We couldn’t paint the community as racist. We had to be fair and give their voices and experiences justice.”
Karen Foshay
The episode follows the murder of David Josiah Lawson, a 19-year-old Humboldt State University student, who was stabbed at an off-campus party on April 15, 2017. The show examines the consequences of a divided community and the effect Lawson’s death had on his family.
Foshay said that part of the reason she pursued Lawson’s story is because he moved to Humboldt from Perris, a city in Riverside County. She added that she understands many students move to Humboldt from Southern California. When she and her crew were investigating, they had to consider HSU’s policies, recruiting methods and how the institution approached the death of a student.
When the crew collected more information, they weren’t able to separate Lawson’s story from the area.
“The scenery and landscape is the backdrop,” Foshay said. “Rugged, scary, and drop dead gorgeous which frames the mystery of the story.”
The crew filmed at familiar places in Humboldt, such as HSU’s campus, Eureka and Moonstone Beach. The crew also interviewed recognizable local faces, such as Lawson’s mother Charmaine Lawson, photojournalist Mark McKenna and former KHSU Office Manager Lorna Byrant.
Photo courtesy of Karen Foshay
Toward the end of their investigation, Foshay said that she and her crew obtained four hours worth of dash cam footage that captured dramatic moments of the night of the murder, as well as a call a police officer made to Charmaine breaking the news of her son’s death.
“You have to keep asking questions and digging,” Foshay said.
“Who Killed Josiah?” depicts an emotional and complex story that provides a variety of perspectives from Lawson’s family and the community at large.
Foshay said that she wanted to respect the strong feelings on both sides.
“We couldn’t paint the community as racist,” Foshay said. “We had to be fair and give their voices and experiences justice.”
A look at one of the key players in the underground Humboldt electronic scene
Twenty-two-year-old Preston Thibo is a Humboldt State studio art major who mixes his own electronic music and throws underground parties, but that’s only a piece of what he envisions for the future of electronic music in Humboldt.
Thibo’s music career sprouted from his passion for throwing “renegades,” a term used to describe underground electronic concerts showcasing lesser-known artists at secret locations. He began throwing renegades a year ago, and soon found himself mixing music for his own shows.
“I wanted to give people a place to dance to electronic music instead of punk, which isn’t for everyone,” Thibo said. “And I didn’t see a scene up here so I created one.”
Throwing renegades was spear-headed because electronic music shows in Humboldt aren’t exactly accessible for people under the legal drinking age of 21 because electronic music shows are often held at venues that serve alcohol.
Thibo relaxing before heading to the stage for his set at The Jam on Sept. 22. | Photo by Jerame Saunders
This drove Thibo to begin working on full-fledged concerts stationed in landmark Humboldt locations. Eventually, he was sucked into becoming one of the showcased artists.
“I think I was on the forefront of making it happen,” Thibo said. “There are a lot of people up here who mix and who create, but there wasn’t really anywhere for them to perform.”
After the first renegade in 2018, the support from the community and fellow artists was substantial enough for him to throw more, all while performing at shows on and off-campus.
“The success in terms of money is not at all,” Thibo said. “Success in the terms of making people happy and giving people a good time, it’s been amazing.”
Preston Thibo plays music with a partner for a small crowd at The Jam on Friday, Sep. 20. | Photo by Jerame Saunders
Thibo was led to Humboldt to escape the urban trappings of Los Angeles and he quickly fell in love with the environment. However, there are still drawbacks to being an artist in such a unique area like Humboldt County.
“Pros are that it’s such a small community that you get to know everyone in it,” Thibo said. “But that can lead to a con as well.”
Thibo doesn’t necessarily consider his mixes as representative of the Humboldt electronic scene, which he describes as trippy, ambient and with deep bass.
“For me, I like to play disco and house music, and what gets people moving on an upper level and not so much on a downer level,” Thibo said.
“[Music] is everything to me. If I didn’t have a platform for me to share my music, I probably wouldn’t be as outgoing as I am today.”
Preston Thibo
According to Thibo, he is constantly striving to improve at making music, by accumulating better equipment and furthering his renegade brand called Esoteric Method with the name Kabbalah, his personal label as an artist. His other passions include stage design, making art installations and transporting people into the worlds he creates.
“I guess my goal is to unite people with similar interests who have awesome nights where they don’t have to worry about work tomorrow, school or class,” Thibo said. “They come and are in the moment and in the now, having fun with people they might not know.”
Thibo uses his creative outlets for social connection and to have a place where his music and art may impact the lives of others.
“[Music] is everything to me. If I didn’t have a platform for me to share my music, I probably wouldn’t be as outgoing as I am today,” Thibo said. “I grew up very shy and to myself. But now being able to play music and express myself through what I listen to with other people, it just makes me content with my every day life.”
To check out Thibo’s mixes, go to SoundCloud of MixCloud under the name “Monsieur.”
Travis Poe is racing against countless others in Humboldt County to build a cannabis business under the recently passed Proposition 64, a bill that legalized marijuana in California. And much like his competitors, there is a lot of uncertainty as the policies change the landscape for cannabis farming throughout the state.
“Right now it’s super exciting,” Poe said. “I’m glad we’re doing it and I’m glad it happened but it’s also fucking terrifying.”
Poe spends his day building his business. As CEO of his startup company, most of his day involves market research, website development, company branding, and problem solving. If you looked at his to-do list, you might think he is your average young businessman, but he is not in the average business. He operates a legal cannabis nursery.
Poe has been involved in the cannabis industry for several years and actually voted against Prop. 64. But since it’s passing he has fully embraced the changes and teamed up with four others to create a cloning and genetics company where they provide plant starts for full-term cannabis growers.
Currently, the five are operating business under an affidavit which allows them to continue cultivation as they wait for their permit to be approved. The county is still working out the details on local legislature regarding the cannabis industry, which has caused a hold-up on Poe’s permit.
“The process has been interesting, slow, and somewhat unclear,” Poe said. “What’s happening right now is that the county is feeling that too, realizing it’s not the right formulation and going back to the drawing board.”
For Poe and many other longtime growers, the passing of Prop. 64 has been a confusing time. While they are excited to come out of the shadows the confusion and lack of clarity regarding county policies have given reason for caution.
“It’s just a lot. A lot of moving parts and a lot of changes moving really really fast,” said Chris Anderson, the cofounder and president of Redwood Roots. “I think there are going to be a lot of people that don’t make it through the process and that breaks my heart. It’s a really hard pill to swallow.”
Redwood Roots is a collective that oversees 25 different outdoor greenhouse marijuana farms in Southern Humboldt. Anderson created the collective in hopes of helping the smaller farm operations in his community have a chance at breaking through the expensive and competitive process of becoming a profitable farm under the new regulations.
Currently, all cannabis businesses are required to obtain a permit. There are 17 different licenses available, according to Cal Growers Association, ranging from large-scale outdoor cultivation to transporting licenses.
For those looking to cultivate marijuana outdoors they not only need to apply for a permit but they must go through extraneous lengths to come into compliance with Humboldt County regulations. These growers are hiring environmental, legal, and structural consultants so that they are within the specific codes the county requires for permitted cultivation. This includes soil testing, erosion surveying, environmental impact reports and, for many, regrading and rebuilding infrastructure. It gets expensive quickly which is separating the small farmers from the corporate farmers who are new to the scene.
Anderson is currently waiting for approval on three different permits: dispensary, nursery, and transportation. Although he is eager to get his permits finalized, he has been patient with the county in recognizing the complicated scenario.
“[It’s been] a huge challenge. The county has been helpful on our part, it’s just a really complicated process,” Anderson said. “We just wanted to step out and be ourselves and represent where we are from and make sure that our culture survives through the change.”
Until the county confirms their policies and clearly defines the components of the local market, growers will hang in limbo. Many are hoping to keep a boutique approach to Humboldt grown marijuana in order to isolate themselves from the corporate structure forming in county’s like Monterey and Los Angeles.
The biggest concerns expressed by Humboldt growers surrounding the new law are that the small grow operations won’t be able to compete with the larger corporate farms throughout California. Poe and his partners remain positive that the existence of big business will leave room for smaller well branded business.
“We’re investing in the brand. You have to be building value in other areas of your business to compete with the big guys,” Poe said. “There’s always an evil empire, but that leaves a place for the rebel alliance.” The county is sensitive to these concerns as they reform their policies to help small farmers break through the startup costs and into the market.
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Currently, the five are operating business under an affidavit which allows them to continue cultivation as they wait for their permit to be approved. The county is still working out the details on local legislature regarding the cannabis industry, which has caused a hold-up on Poe’s permit.