Glare, Barriers, and the Politics of Enforcement

 

Glare, Barriers, and the Politics of Enforcement

I have always been drawn to analogies, probably going back to the days of riding the bus with nothing to do but stare out the window. You watch people get on and off at every stop, each carrying their own small story, until finally you reach your stop and walk home, sometimes down the block, grateful that another day of work is over.

That sense of movement without control still stays with me, and it shows up in everyday life. Every now and then I drive my wife to evening Mass because she dislikes driving directly into the setting sun along Mission Avenue around 4:30 in the afternoon. The glare is familiar to anyone who has driven toward Los Angeles on the 101 or toward Pasadena at sunset. It is intense, blinding, and unavoidable. You get used to it, but sunglasses never quite solve the problem.

After dropping her off, I often drive into the old Bank of America parking lot. It reminds me of when Bank of America was actually a bank, a place where people gathered, talked, and conducted business. Now it is just a building with a few computerized remnants of a bygone era. The bank has not been open in years, but the parking lot remains.

What also remains are the metal brackets installed to stop skateboarders. They were placed along curbs and ledges to prevent tricks, grinding, or even harmless movement. These barriers still exist even though the bank itself is gone. Skateboarders are no longer bothering anyone, yet the symbols of enforcement remain. They stand as quiet evidence of past decisions by banks and cities that prioritized control over community use.

This pattern repeats throughout the area, especially as new populations move in. There is a constant tension between long-time residents and newer arrivals who bring different ideas about enforcement, order, and “improvement.” Skateboarding, which was never a serious problem, becomes a target simply because it looks disorderly.

A similar situation exists at Swami’s, near the Self-Realization Fellowship property overlooking the ocean. It is a beautiful place with cliffs, a steep stairway to the beach, and a world-famous surf break. Locals, surfers, visitors, retirees, and longtime residents gather there to watch the waves and enjoy the view. I have spent many peaceful hours there, pointing out surfers and sharing quiet conversations.

Yet even here, metal dividers and barriers have been added to benches and seating areas. These changes are often justified as homelessness prevention or public safety measures, even though neither skateboarding nor homelessness has historically been a problem there. The community has largely been respectful, including the use of public facilities. Still, new councils and new residents continue to impose restrictions that feel unnecessary and symbolic rather than practical.

This reflects a broader cultural issue, where seasoned locals are pushed aside by newcomers who claim to be improving the area while slowly erasing its character. It is an exhausting process of absorbing negativity disguised as progress.

That same instinct toward enforcement over understanding shows up nationally, most notably in the events of January 6 and the political behavior surrounding Donald Trump. Trump’s involvement in that day was not surprising. He has consistently aligned himself with movements that weaken democratic foundations rather than strengthen them. His political posture reflects a rigid, authoritarian mindset that has little connection to lived community experience.

Trump is only one part of a larger problem. His administration and some of its allies openly flirt with fascist and authoritarian frameworks, ideas that are documented in projects like the so-called 2025 agenda. While many traditional Republicans in the Senate and House may not fully support these extremes, the party remains trapped by its dependence on Trump’s base.

Meanwhile, the Democratic Party has repeatedly proposed modernization efforts, from voting rights to healthcare to education, aimed at strengthening institutions rather than tearing them down. Their approach to progress emphasizes education, economic inclusion, and social stability rather than militarism or exclusion.

The conflict we see nationally mirrors what happens locally. New power structures arrive claiming improvement, while quietly installing barriers—physical, legal, and cultural—that make life harder for the very people who built the community. Whether it is a bench divided by metal brackets or a Constitution strained by authoritarian ambition, the pattern is the same.

It would be encouraging to see the Senate wake up. It would be encouraging to see local councils listen to their communities. But as development accelerates and profit-driven outsiders gain influence, good intentions continue to produce harmful results.

In the end, the glare remains. We keep driving into it, squinting, adjusting, and hoping that someone, somewhere, finally decides that understanding works better than barriers..