The bill we’ve been working on with incarcerated individuals for the last year — AB 746 — was introduced by Assemblymember Tina McKinnor (D - Inglewood) on February 18, 2025. AB 746 would incentivize the development of worker cooperatives within California prisons and establish critical infrastructure to support an ecosystem of cooperatives owned and governed by incarcerated and formerly incarcerated individuals, as well as crime survivors. The bill has already passed unanimously out of both the Assembly Labor & Employment Committee and the Public Safety Committee, gained Assemblymember Ash Kalra (D–San Jose) as a co-author, and is now headed to the Appropriations Committee on May 22nd.

From Farmer to Land Relations Lawyer
and Other Updates

Before I became a lawyer, I was a full-time farmer. I had always dreamt of a world where my farming could be embedded into a larger vision of environmental justice based on  rematriation. Rematriation, as many of us have learned from Sogorea Te Land Trust’s definition, is not only a return of land, but more importantly, a return of sacred Indigenous relationships to the land. And it’s one based on Indigenous-women led work, which is meant to highlight the sanctity of nurturing life and connection. During my time as a farmer, a campaign for land access for young farmers was ramping up, and there was virtually no talk about how this campaign would advance rematriation. Instead, many folks envisioned a land access campaign that could take us back to the harsh homestead days, which was only made possible through the forceful removal of Indigenous people and Indigenous cosmologies. It paired well with small-scale farms, which was seen as the ideal mode of production. Homesteading was also the antithesis of Indigenous-women led work. It was a property system that saw survival in isolated self-sufficiency and patriarchy. I was so horrified with this vision that I decided to transition careers by becoming a lawyer to support farming embedded in rematriation and environmental justice. I needed to learn how to create the conduits for giving the Land Back, and, alongside others, learn how to change our relationships to land altogether. Since becoming a lawyer, I’ve refined my vision, though it hasn’t come exclusively through my legal training. A combination of organizing, research, and lots of listening has reshaped my vision, along with asking myself this question: What does intimacy mean when thinking about the land?

Back to the Land

I came to the land because I felt disconnected from my own sustenance. At that time, small-scale farming was the most accessible avenue for me to feel connected. It also felt like an obvious antidote to large-scale corporate farming, with its labor and environmental exploitation, and the feeling of alienation I felt towards my food. There’s an old idiom that says “the farmer’s footprint is the best fertilizer.” I had come to believe that I needed to live this idiom by focusing on a small-scale farm that I could travel, in its entirety, by foot. In a sense, I thought this is what connection to my sustenance meant. But as I began to feel a deeper sense of connection with the landscape beyond the four corners of the property, I started to believe that I could feel something more expansive. I traded my limited feeling of connection with the farm for a larger feeling of intimacy for and with the landscape.

(Background image in title banner drawn by the author)

“Tabi tabi po,” I mumbled to the Filipino forest spirits or “duende” around me as we walked down a dark trail on Isla Verde, Batangas City. I was walking with my two year old daughter and six other Filipino American delegates sent by the Filipino American Coalition for Environmental Solidarity (FACES) to the Philippines to learn about the campaign to protect the Verde Island Passage. During our five-day visit, we attended six listening sessions organized by Philippine Movement for Climate Justice (PMCJ). 

“Tabi tabi po,” isn’t something I tend to say while hiking back home in California, but everyone around me was saying it, with an almost religious fervor. It felt too risky not to say it too. The path from our home base to our next meeting was dark, verdant, and overgrown with densely tangled foliage. This is the territory of the duende from whom we were asking for permission to pass. We ask permission by saying “tabi tabi po,” Tagalog for “excuse me.” 

A few hours before we walked down the dark trail on Isla Verde, our host, Ate Diane, gave me a red bracelet. With urgency, she told me I should wear it for “protection.” I learned that unlike most people, Ate Diane can see duendes. She said some of the duendes took a particular interest in my two year old daughter and as her mother, I needed protection. Rubbing my goosebumps away - because how spooky does that sound, right? -  I wore my new red bracelet and showed my respect by saying “tabi tabi po,” like everyone else.

Growing up in the Philippines, I was taught that duendes are fierce protectors of the land. If you honor their kinship, they can help you find food and water. If you disrespect them or their territory, they can make you sick. I have since learned that many Indigenous cultures ask permission from similar mythical beings.

Resisting and Healing from Violence in Our Housing System

The Law Center supports healing from legacies of violence that pervade our housing systems. We do this by partnering with visionary organizations led by poor, houseless, Indigenous, Black and other POC communities usually excluded from power. Informed by those relationships, we envision policy changes and develop legal tools that allow diverse communities (including non-traditional families) to stay rooted in place.

Wood Street Commons Community (https://woodstreetcommons.org/; check out their Instagram too)

Wood Street Commons provides vital sanctuaries of housing and healing for Oakland’s houseless population. It empowers houseless residents to lead, organize, and create dignified solutions for the housing crisis. 

By Erika Sato

In December of 2023, I signed up to co-fill a new operations role with my coworker Ari. The role was called “Care Bear,” and although the specifics still needed to be figured out, it generally involved having an eye toward accessibility at the Law Center. I was motivated to take on this role because I had been having conversations with coworkers about how our culture at the Law Center is very productivity-oriented and that sometimes leads to judgment and shame toward ourselves and each other. After making the connection with ableism, I wanted to explore what an alternative approach might look like.

As Ari and I would soon learn, the scope of the role could be taken in a lot of different directions. We did a staff survey to find out what staff needs might be going unmet related to our physical workspaces, our job expectations, and our social environment. We hosted discussions and trainings on disability justice,[1] access as care and love,[2] executive dysfunction,[3] and fatphobia.[4] We also started to take a look at our external-facing resources and what might be done to ensure as many people as possible could understand and use them. 

At the same time, I was beginning a personal learning journey to better understand my relationship with ableism and disability. I began to educate myself on the history and goals of the disability justice movement, and to better understand how disability justice is integral to our liberation and our fights for justice along race, class, and gender lines. I learned about the ten principles of disability justice, as proposed by disability justice-based movement building and performance project Sins Invalid: (1) intersectionality, (2) leadership of those most impacted, (3) anti-capitalist politic, (4) commitment to cross-movement organizing, (5) recognizing wholeness of people outside their productivity, (6) sustainability and pacing ourselves, (7) commitment to cross-movement solidarity, (8) interdependence, (9) collective access, and (10) collective liberation.[5]

But as much as we learn through study, I believe that the deepest learning happens through our lived experiences. I reflected on my own struggles as I pondered the idea that most people are or will become disabled in their lifetimes. Am I disabled? I didn’t think so. Although I have struggled at times with various mental and physical health issues, it felt inappropriate to claim that identity when so many people live with disabilities that affect their lives and how they are able to move through our society in much deeper, more persistent ways. I had never been systematically excluded from anything due to my access needs. Even so, I was beginning to understand how disability justice offers really helpful frameworks for better understanding our own lives and relating to our bodies.

By Mike Diago from The Bittman Project

Podcast, Next Economy Living from LIFT Economy

A favorite grounding practice at the Law Center is reading! Below is a list of a few of our favorite books and articles from last year. These writings inspired us, brought us to tears, taught us a little bit about ourselves, and so much more! 

Our Favorite Sci-Fi Reads:

Sisters of the Vast Black by Lina Rather (Recommended by Erika)

Featuring a group of nuns traveling through space in a giant living spaceship animal, this short little book and its sequel have everything I would look for in a work of speculative fiction: a sapphic love story, anti-imperialist sentiments, creative sci-fi creatures, collective decision-making, spiritual-ethical conundrums, commentary on religious establishment, women in science, deep friendship among women, and journeys through space.

Por Jesús Cruz Reyes  Economía Solidaria

During my 20 years in the legal profession, I’ve had an ever growing feeling that the work of lawyers is disrupting something that should not be disrupted. I don’t believe it can be expressed in words, but I see it expressed everywhere. Perhaps I can offer a picture: 

Last year, I found myself quite captivated by a goose sitting on her eggs. I was struck with how, inside of an egg, liquid was slowly turning into a live gosling. I was struck by how the mother goose herself came into being in the same way, as part of an unbroken chain of millions of years of life creating and nurturing life. 

Whether you view this as divine unfolding or simply as biological facts, this is a flow, a pattern, and a force that we likely all agree should not be disrupted. A goose does not design and assemble her gosling. Rather, she lets life come into being, under her gentle and protective warmth.

As 2024 comes to a close, we’re reflecting on how to stay centered in this time of great uncertainty and pain. One way we center ourselves is by intentionally re-committing to the movement for resilient communities everywhere. Our commitment is rooted in our indispensable community of co-dreamers, supporters, partners, clients, comrades, and family. That includes you! 

Here’s our 2024 Annual Report which includes reflections from the year. Some highlights include:

• our work with Poor Magazine to denounce the criminalization of homelessness;
• our series of events on The Future of Work: Nourishing Life Giving Labor; and
• our policy campaigns to ban land grabs, abolish “family zoning,” and create a legal model for worker cooperatives owned and controlled by people in prison. 

There’s also a bunch of pictures of us and our comrades being awesome, badass, joyful, and/or silly together. We hope you take a look!

As we prepare for 2025, we are finding hope and motivation in our work of building economies of care and cooperation.  

If you’re able to support us, please contribute here. Every dollar helps to sustain our work in 2025 and beyond!

By: Trebor Scholz, Anne-Pauline De Cler, Michelle Lee, Morshed Mannan, Stefano Tortorici Co-op News

There are worker cooperatives in prisons all over the world, including in Ethiopia, South Africa, Iran, Brazil, Puerto Rico, Italy, and more. Folks incarcerated in California want them, too. At the Law Center, our vision is a future without prisons. To move toward that future, we want to help our partners in prison to create an ecosystem of “prison cooperatives,” i.e. worker cooperatives owned by incarcerated and formerly incarcerated people. That's why we're working with Earth Equity and others to make prison cooperatives possible.

For updates on our projects supporting incarcerated and formerly incarcerated workers to form and join cooperatives, please visit theselc.org/cooperatives_in_prisons.

By Mohit Mookim, Alejandra Cruz, and Tia Taruc-Myers

In 2024, the Law Center emerged with a new and expanded team of land justice legal workers. As four new staff attorneys were onboarded in mid-2023 — all of whom are passionate about land return work — our team created space to collectively and individually reflect on our land work through a six-month discussion series titled “Becoming the Land.” In that space, and in our regular “Land Eagles” meetings (where we surface strategic and high-level questions about our land work), one theme consistently emerged: the relationship between law and decolonization.

The Law Center strives towards decolonization. We use law to support movements for decolonization, moving with deep respect. But we also aspire to decolonize law itself. How do you decolonize law? Isn't "law" as we know it inextricably linked with colonization? Good questions...