A new investigation from CalMatters examines how the law is playing out in courtrooms and jails across the state, and finds that even supporters of the measure acknowledge significant gaps in the system meant to help people struggling with addiction.

San Jose Mayor Matt Mahan, who backed the proposition, said the state has yet to deliver on its end of the deal. “People are waiting and dying on the streets for lack of a proper treatment system,” Mahan said. “The fundamental problem remains, which is that the state has refused to take ownership of building a robust treatment system that is going to serve the needs of people.”

Under Proposition 36, certain drug possession and theft offenses that were previously misdemeanors can now be charged as a “treatment-mandated felony.” Defendants facing those charges are given a choice: enter treatment or face prison time. But the law leaves it up to individual counties to decide how long that treatment period should last, and the resulting patchwork varies wildly. In Ventura County, treatment programs run about three months. In San Luis Obispo County, participants may be required to stay in the system for up to two years before their charges are dismissed.

That inconsistency can have real consequences for people trying to rebuild their lives. Aaron Kasper, who completed a three-month residential treatment program in Sonoma County after being accused of possessing fentanyl, expected his case to be resolved once he finished. Instead, he spent the rest of a court-mandated year undergoing random drug tests, attending court hearings, outpatient sessions and self-help meetings.

Because Kasper had entered a plea deal, he knew a felony on his record would make finding a job difficult. He lived off his savings and held off on his job search until just two weeks before his yearlong obligation ended.

“I tried to make the best of a horrible situation,” Kasper said.

The findings raise fresh questions about whether California’s approach to addressing addiction through the criminal justice system is delivering the outcomes voters were promised, or simply shifting the burden onto defendants navigating an inconsistent and, at times, unforgiving process.

CalMatters is partnering with the University of California, Riverside’s School of Public Policy for a public conversation on Sept. 24 in Riverside about the news organization’s investigation into the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department’s seizure of mail ballots and what it could mean for future elections. Details and registration are available through CalMatters’ events page.

In other statewide news, a once-reliably conservative congressional district in Northern California has become one of the most closely watched U.S. House races in the country, with healthcare policy taking center stage. Dr. Richard Pan, a pediatrician and former state senator known for his advocacy of childhood vaccines, is challenging Rep. Kevin Kiley, a two-term incumbent who left the Republican Party to run as an independent. Pan supports universal health coverage and argues that changes to Medicaid under the Trump administration are driving up costs for Californians. Kiley opposes vaccine mandates and single-payer healthcare, placing blame instead on state lawmakers in Sacramento for the high cost of living.

The district, which covers portions of Yolo, Sacramento and Placer counties, has drawn heightened attention after redistricting split Placer County into three left-leaning districts. Julann Brown, chair of the Placer County Democratic Party, said the change has reenergized local political engagement. “Now we have three winnable Democratic seats,” she said. “We’ve become relevant in a way that we didn’t expect.”

Meanwhile, legislation banning child marriage in California is now sitting on Gov. Gavin Newsom’s desk after nearly ten years of failed attempts to pass similar measures. Under current law, anyone under 18 can marry with parental and judicial consent, and roughly 9,000 minors are married in California each year, the vast majority of them girls marrying adult men. Critics argue the practice effectively legalizes relationships that would otherwise be considered statutory rape. Previous bills stalled amid opposition from groups such as the ACLU and Planned Parenthood, which have said marriage can provide minors with legal protections, including paths to emancipation. Supporters of this year’s bill believe political shifts, including federal funding cuts targeting organizations like Planned Parenthood, may reduce resistance to the measure.

In immigration news, a federal judge has ruled that immigration enforcement agents likely violated the Constitution by making warrantless arrests without first assessing whether individuals posed a flight risk. The decision marks a victory for immigration advocates suing to halt the practice.

In commentary, CalMatters columnist Dan Walters criticizes state leaders for withholding billions in education funding while continuing to spend heavily on pet projects and travel. Contributor Jim Newton argues that Los Angeles mayoral candidates are too focused on whether to fire the police chief, rather than examining how to properly evaluate the department’s performance. And author Kevin Waite reflects on the legacy of Biddy Mason, the formerly enslaved woman who built a real estate empire and helped shape Los Angeles into the city it is today.

Original source: CalMatters

The post California’s Tough New Crime Law Cracks Down on Offenders — But Drug Treatment Funding Is Nowhere to Be Found appeared first on The Hemet & San Jacinto Chronicle.

The measure, approved statewide in 2024 and closely watched here in the Inland Empire and across Southern California, created a new “treatment-mandated felony” for repeat drug offenses. Defendants can avoid up to three years behind bars by pleading guilty and completing court-ordered treatment. Complete the program, and the felony disappears from the record.

But an analysis of data from 15 California counties with the heaviest caseloads under the new law found that only a small share of people arrested on these charges ever make it into treatment — and fewer still finish it. Statewide, of nearly 18,700 felony drug cases filed under Prop. 36 last year, only 17% of defendants opted into treatment, and just 57 cases statewide ended in dismissal after someone graduated a program.

In Orange County, which logged more Prop. 36 referrals than any other county examined, 1,311 people were referred for drug treatment as of February. Only 314 agreed to enter a program. Fewer than half of those were actively receiving care, and just 15 had graduated.

The findings raise questions for Inland Empire residents and officials alike, since Riverside and San Bernardino counties — like their counterparts statewide — are grappling with the same fundamental problem: Prop. 36 arrived with big promises but little money to back them up.

**A law without a budget**

Proposition 36, championed by district attorneys and sheriffs including several from Southern California, was sold to voters as a way to combat homelessness, addiction and retail theft simultaneously. It rolled back parts of a 2014 measure that had reduced many drug and theft crimes to misdemeanors in an effort to ease prison overcrowding.

Gov. Gavin Newsom opposed the initiative, warning it amounted to an “unfunded mandate” that risked reviving the excesses of the War on Drugs. That prediction has, at least partially, borne out. Voters approved the policy with no dedicated funding stream, and while the Legislature has since allocated money, advocates say it falls far short of what’s needed.

This year’s state budget included just $50 million for pretrial services, behavioral health programs and court workloads tied to Prop. 36 — a fraction of the $650 million that lawmakers pushing for full implementation had sought.

“The statute basically said, ‘We will fix everything for you’ — we’ll come up with a mental health plan, a drug addiction plan, a job plan, a housing plan,” said Tracie Olson, chief public defender in Yolo County. “And none of that happened.”

**Inconsistent rules, inconsistent outcomes**

Perhaps most striking is how differently counties have chosen to apply the law. The length of time someone must remain in treatment before charges are dropped ranges from as little as three months in Ventura County to as long as two years in San Luis Obispo County. Some counties, such as San Francisco, have made almost no arrests under the new provisions at all.

Because Prop. 36 does not include a “washout period” for old convictions, some public defenders report seeing felony charges built on drug convictions dating back decades — sometimes to the 1980s — even when a defendant has been sober and out of the system for years.

That’s what happened to Nicco Pierstorff, a 40-year-old Orange County resident who had already beaten a methamphetamine addiction and rebuilt his life, landing steady work and an apartment in Buena Park. After police found drugs in a backpack in his car last year — one he says belonged to someone else — his history of arrests from nearly a decade earlier qualified him for a new felony charge under Prop. 36.

Pierstorff completed six months of treatment, including twice-weekly drug testing, group counseling and regular court appearances, and had his charge dismissed this past spring. Despite his initial anger at being swept up in the system, he now credits the program with helping him understand the trauma behind his past addiction.

“At first I thought it would be a waste of time because I was already sober,” he said. “But being in Prop. 36 really did help me a lot.”

**Treatment beds in short supply**

Even defendants eager to get help often find the system unable to accommodate them. In Orange County, which has fewer than 300 residential treatment beds, wait times have stretched from about a week before Prop. 36 to as long as six weeks now, according to Ian Kemmer, the county’s director of behavioral health services. In the meantime, people are placed in sober living homes that don’t offer the clinical treatment they need — a dangerous gap, since addiction specialists say swift intervention is critical to keeping people from relapsing.

In Santa Clara County, Judge Stephen Manley, who oversees drug and mental health cases, said the shortage extends across every diversion pathway the county offers.

“We are simply out of treatment in my county,” Manley said. “Whether you’re Prop. 36 or probation or mental health diversion, you have to wait a long time to get into treatment.”

Housing remains another unmet piece of the puzzle. In several counties studied, more than half the people referred for evaluation were homeless — 61% in Santa Clara County and 62% in Orange County. Most counties don’t even track how many participants ultimately find stable housing while in treatment.

**Mixed results, mixed opinions**

Not everyone views the rollout as a failure. San Diego County District Attorney Summer Stephan points to her county as a bright spot, noting that 71% of defendants who pleaded guilty to a Prop. 36 drug felony began the path toward mandated treatment, with fewer than 5% receiving jail or prison sentences. Still, county data show that only a third of people referred for evaluation ultimately accepted treatment, and just two had graduated as of December.

San Jose Mayor Matt Mahan, one of the measure’s most prominent Democratic backers, argues the core policy isn’t at fault — the state’s failure to invest in treatment infrastructure is.

“People are waiting and dying on the streets for lack of a proper treatment system,” Mahan said. “The state has refused to take ownership of building a robust treatment system.”

Others, including Greg Totten of the California District Attorneys Association, maintain the law is functioning largely as designed, with the biggest obstacle being a shortage of treatment capacity at the local level rather than any flaw in the statute itself.

**Success stories amid the gaps**

For some participants, the program has proven life-changing despite its shortcomings. Gustavo Meza, arrested last year in San Mateo County on a Prop. 36 drug charge, says he likely would have died from his addiction had he not been swept into the justice system. He had overdosed multiple times, including days before his arrest, and was homeless at the time.

It took nearly 10 months for the courts to formally enroll him in the program — during which time Meza had already sought out treatment on his own and gotten sober. Today he works two jobs, attends group counseling and hopes to eventually become a substance abuse counselor and reconnect with his young daughter.

“I’m sober, clear-minded, not doing the stuff I used to be doing,” Meza said. “I just want to start nice and slow.”

As lawmakers weigh whether to direct more funding toward Prop. 36 implementation, local officials across the region say the law’s underlying goals remain sound — but without a substantial investment in treatment beds, housing and mental health services, they warn that many defendants who want help will continue to find the system unable to provide it.

Original source: CalMatters

The post Prop. 47 Pledged Treatment Over Jail — Many Californians Are Still Falling Through the Cracks appeared first on The Hemet & San Jacinto Chronicle.

In May, the California Department of Justice filed grand theft charges against Gregory Oveross and his bookkeeper, Faranita L. Corvalan, in what could rank among the largest fiduciary thefts in state history. Both have pleaded not guilty and remain free on bail while awaiting trial.

State prosecutors say Oveross deceived both his clients and the probate courts overseeing his work. But court records and other public documents reviewed by CalMatters show that judicial officials and the state’s Professional Fiduciaries Bureau missed repeated warning signs for years before charges were ever filed — underscoring an ongoing pattern of weak oversight of fiduciaries, who are granted sweeping legal authority over the finances and personal lives of people deemed unable to care for themselves.

In one instance, according to prosecutors, Oveross wrote himself 19 checks totaling $670,000 over the course of a year, all drawn from a single client’s accounts. State accounting forms require fiduciaries to list a check number for every expenditure, but Oveross left that column blank. Even so, a judge signed off on the accounting.

“Not having check numbers would be a huge red flag,” said Judge Sandra Bean, who oversees Alameda County’s probate court. “It’s all very practical. If something smells fishy, it probably is.”

California lawmakers tightened accounting requirements for fiduciaries back in 2006, following earlier scandals, mandating that check numbers be included specifically so courts could catch missing or hidden transactions. That safeguard, in this case, appears not to have worked as intended.

In a separate matter, the attorney general’s office alleges Oveross never distributed a $1.7 million inheritance to beneficiaries after being appointed to administer an estate. Court records show no follow-up hearing was ever scheduled to confirm the money had actually been paid out. State law doesn’t require such automatic review hearings, leading to inconsistent practices from county to county — some courts schedule them routinely, while others, including Sacramento, San Joaquin and Santa Clara counties, do not.

During the years Oveross is accused of stealing from clients, Los Angeles County’s courts did not automatically schedule such hearings either. That changed in January 2026, when the court began automatically setting review dates following approval of final distributions, according to court spokesperson Rob Oftring.

Public records also show Oveross failed to disclose, in a required annual filing, a case in which he had been accused of financial misconduct. These annual statements are meant to alert the bureau and the public to problems fiduciaries may have had — but they rely largely on the honesty of the fiduciaries themselves, who sign the forms under penalty of perjury.

Gov. Gavin Newsom signed a law in 2021 that would have required courts to notify the bureau whenever judges sanctioned a fiduciary for abusing their license. But that requirement only takes effect once state lawmakers allocate funding for it — and they never have.

In both 2022 and 2023, Oveross submitted annual statements to the bureau that left blank the question asking whether any complaints against him had been resolved, records show. Despite the incomplete filings, the bureau renewed his license each year. The bureau declined to answer questions about Oveross, citing the pending criminal case.

The Professional Fiduciaries Bureau was established two decades ago to protect consumers after journalists exposed widespread failures by judges to catch abuse and conflicts of interest among fiduciaries. Yet CalMatters’ reporting this year has found many of the same gaps persist.

The bureau says it depends on the courts to monitor fiduciaries’ conduct, while the courts often lean on the bureau for oversight — creating a loop of shared responsibility with little real accountability.

Oftring said an attorney reviews fiduciary accountings to confirm “all required information and supporting documentation is provided, that financial activity is clearly explained, and that the accounting is accurate and balanced.” Asked why the court approved Oveross’ accounting despite the missing check numbers, he said judges and court staff are barred from commenting publicly on pending or anticipated court proceedings.

In the arrest declaration, the attorney general’s office described what it called a “systemic and widespread pattern of misappropriation of assets, discrepancies, unauthorized diversion of funds, and noncompliance with probate court mandates.”

Attorneys for Oveross and Corvalan did not respond to requests for comment.

Oveross kept his license for years while under investigation

Jean C. Elbert suffered from dementia. Her extended family lived far away, and her closest living relative — her brother — was battling Alzheimer’s disease. Elbert’s family asked the court to appoint someone to oversee her care and finances. In August 2018, the court appointed Oveross, an experienced fiduciary, to the role.

Oveross managed Elbert’s conservatorship for roughly a year. During that time, prosecutors allege, he wrote himself 19 checks and omitted every one of them from the financial report he filed with the court.

After Elbert died in August 2019, Oveross told the court he had $1.8 million on hand to distribute to her heirs, and the court ordered him to disburse the funds.

According to court records and the state’s complaint, Oveross never sent the $764,000 owed to Elbert’s brother. The brother’s son eventually sued to recover his father’s share of the inheritance. His attorney discovered that Oveross had drained money from both the conservatorship and the estate, court filings show, and had used funds from other clients’ accounts to eventually pay out Elbert’s brother.

The two sides reached a settlement in May 2024. But state records show Oveross failed to disclose that settlement in his 2025 annual statement, despite being required to do so.

All told, prosecutors allege Oveross made $1.3 million in unauthorized withdrawals from Elbert’s accounts.

In a separate case, Oveross oversaw the $2 million estate of Guadalupe Rodriguez Diaz following her death in 2019. After paying outstanding bills, Oveross told the court that $1.6 million remained for her beneficiaries.

Prosecutors say Oveross then opened a secondary set of accounts and made unauthorized transfers to himself, to Corvalan, and to another trust he managed. Court documents indicate he spent nearly the entire estate on himself and his associates. According to prosecutors, Diaz’s heirs never received a single dollar from those accounts.

“Notably, no transactions related to inheritance distribution were observed in these accounts,” prosecutors wrote in court filings.

Court records show the criminal case began after Elbert’s nephew and another Oveross client filed complaints with the bureau in 2023. Shortly afterward, a bureau investigator referred the matter to the California Department of Justice.

Even as the criminal investigation moved forward, Oveross was allowed to continue working under a valid fiduciary license for more than two years. His license was finally suspended less than two weeks after his arrest. In the order barring him from practicing, the bureau demanded a complete list of every case in which he was serving as a fiduciary — information the agency should have already had, since fiduciaries are required to accurately report such details every year in their annual statements.

Original source: CalMatters

The post State Says Man Bilked California Seniors Out of Millions — Courts Missed Warning Signs for Years appeared first on The Hemet & San Jacinto Chronicle.

This isn’t a statistical fluke. It reflects a long-standing pattern of racial disparity embedded in how California applies its harshest punishment — one that advocates argue courts can no longer afford to sidestep.

Two years ago, the Office of the State Public Defender, along with several civil rights groups, took an unusual legal path: filing what functions as a civil rights lawsuit directly with the California Supreme Court. The move came after decades in which lower courts repeatedly failed to meaningfully engage with claims of racial bias in capital sentencing.

The petition leans on more than a dozen empirical studies, arguing that the way California carries out capital punishment runs afoul of equal protection guarantees written into the state Constitution. In May, the state Supreme Court agreed the case had merit enough to proceed, sending it to Sacramento Superior Court for further review.

The research cited spans four decades and paints a troubling picture. Black defendants are up to eight times more likely, and Latino defendants up to six times more likely, to be sentenced to death compared with other defendants. Cases involving white victims are also more likely to end in a death sentence than those involving Black or Latino victims.

That bias doesn’t just shape outcomes — it raises the stakes for wrongful convictions. Since 1981, eight people have been exonerated and released from California’s death row. All eight were men of color.

Concerns over this kind of bias were central to Gov. Gavin Newsom’s decision to halt executions in the state. His 2019 executive order establishing the moratorium specifically noted that death sentences have been “unevenly and unfairly applied to people of color.” The data since then hasn’t offered much reassurance: Of the 29 people sentenced to death since the moratorium began, 25 are people of color.

A governor’s moratorium, however, is not permanent — a future administration could reverse it at any time. That’s part of why advocates say a definitive court ruling is essential. Only the courts can settle whether the deep racial disparities baked into the state’s capital punishment system make it unconstitutional.

For years, defendants and their attorneys tried to get courts to seriously examine these disparities, only to be met with procedural gridlock. Troy Ashmus’ case illustrates the problem. Sentenced to death in 1986, Ashmus filed a federal habeas petition in 1998 challenging California’s death penalty system under the Eighth Amendment, backed by substantial evidence of racial bias.

What followed were more than two decades of delays. It wasn’t until 2020 — 22 years after he first raised the issue — that Ashmus finally appeared before a superior court judge. But before a ruling could be issued, he died of COVID-19, and his case was dismissed without ever being decided.

Even Ashmus’ case, frustrating as it was, represented a best-case scenario in some ways: he at least had legal representation and resources behind his appeal. That’s not the norm. Of the roughly 550 people currently on California’s death row, about 70% lack an attorney or the funding needed to pursue appeals or petitions. Even when a defendant manages to raise state constitutional claims, getting the California Supreme Court to weigh in can take more than a decade.

Part of the holdup stems from a shrinking, aging pool of attorneys qualified to handle capital appeals, compounded by chronic underfunding of the system. It can take years just to get appellate counsel appointed. Meanwhile, more than 130 fully briefed capital appeals are already sitting before the state Supreme Court, with dozens more working their way through earlier stages — a backlog that all but guarantees years of additional delay.

The financial toll has been staggering as well. Since 1978, California has spent roughly $6 billion maintaining its death penalty system, while carrying out only 13 executions. The most recent one took place on Jan. 17, 2006 — nearly two decades ago.

Given all of this, the constitutional questions raised in the pending civil rights petition demand timely answers, not another decade of delay. Every year the case remains unresolved, the evidence of racial disparity in California’s death penalty system continues to grow — and so does the human cost of waiting.

Original source: CalMatters

The post California’s Courts Must Confront Racial Bias in Death Penalty Sentencing appeared first on The Hemet & San Jacinto Chronicle.