Community colleges play a critical role in addressing California’s persistent demand for healthcare workers, preparing students to become the state’s next generation of nurses, medical assistants and physical therapy aides.

But in the Los Angeles Community College District, where more than half of all students report incomes near or below the poverty line, many people struggle to complete their degrees while also holding down jobs to pay rent, buy groceries and cover child-care costs.

A pilot program at the L.A. district — the state’s largest, with nine colleges and 194,000 students — aims to address these seemingly intractable challenges with a targeted remedy: $1,000 a month in guaranteed income.

Late last year, the district launched an initiative that provides cash payments for 12 months to 251 students with a demonstrated financial need who are pursuing health careers. The funding is unrestricted, so participants can use the money however they see fit.

The goal of the effort, dubbed Building Outstanding Opportunities for Students to Thrive, or BOOST, is to eliminate financial insecurity so that students can focus on achieving their academic goals and the college system can deliver a diverse, multilingual healthcare workforce to serve L.A. in the process.

The Times followed one student through the first months of the new initiative to learn how a guaranteed basic income might influence the lives and choices of L.A. community college students.

Adriana Orea, 32, has known for years that she wanted to pursue a career in nursing. She had worked for a time as a licensed vocational nurse, and found the experience rewarding. But after giving birth to a son two years ago, she set her sights on a higher-paying position as a registered nurse, which generally requires a bachelor’s degree from an accredited nursing program.

“I want to give him opportunities, and in order to do that, I have to get ahead,” said Orea, a single mother. “I don’t want him to feel like he’s missing out on something because I’m not able to provide it for him.”

She had recently returned to school, enrolling at L.A. City College in the prerequisite courses she’ll need to get accepted into a nursing school, when she was selected for BOOST. She received her first cash payment on Thanksgiving.

“I feel very blessed to have been picked,” she told The Times a few days later. “At the same time, I feel like I want to be very responsible with this, because it’s not something to be taken lightly.”

Orea lives with her parents and her curly-haired 2-year-old, Kevin, in a rent-controlled building near MacArthur Park. In early December, she was taking three classes and working eight hours a week at the front desk of the college counseling department — a position she got through the state’s welfare-to-work program.

Adriana Orea says her parents, both Mexican immigrants who work night shifts as janitors, are crucial partners in helping raise her son, Kevin.

She is quick to express gratitude for her parents, who are crucial partners in helping raise her son. Her parents, both Mexican immigrants who work night shifts as janitors, watch Kevin while Orea is on campus. She covers most of the family’s food expenses with her CalFresh benefits, spending between $500 and $600 a month on groceries, and also pitches in for rent.

“It’s just been living on a budget, which is definitely doable, because I have so much support,” she said.

Of the first $1,000 payment, she spent about $600 on outstanding bills for Kevin’s newborn check-ups that had resulted from a lapse in health insurance. She also used some of the money to buy Christmas gifts for her family and a holiday outfit for herself. She received the second payment in mid-December, and was determined to not dip into it.

“I’m just treating it like I’m not receiving it,” she said.

By January, she already felt more financially secure, having squirreled away $1,000 and knowing more would be coming.

“I might actually have something in the back pocket,” she said. “It’s not just a paycheck-to-paycheck thing.”

Adriana Orea says the $1,000 a month she gets through BOOST has made a world of difference in her stress levels: “I can literally just concentrate on studying for my classes.”

More than 150 guaranteed income pilot programs have launched nationwide in recent years, but BOOST is one of the first focused on community college students.

Proponents tout unconditional cash as a way to provide greater stability to vulnerable community members. But as the concept has gained steam, it has also spurred backlash. Several Republican-led state legislatures are banning or trying to preempt cities and counties from launching direct cash initiatives, arguing publicly funded programs are a waste of taxpayer resources.

The BOOST program is privately funded with more than $3.1 million from the Eli and Edythe Broad Foundation, and $867,500 from the California Community Foundation’s Young Adults Forward Fund. It represents a rare philanthropic investment in California community college students, who number 2.1 million statewide. Typically, more than half of California high school graduates start at a community college.

There is a “massive mismatch of where private philanthropic dollars go and where students in California go to school, particularly if we think about low-income, first-generation and students of color,” said Kelly King, executive director of the Foundation for the Los Angeles Community Colleges. “This level of investment in community college students is very unusual, unfortunately, but it’s very much needed.”

To be eligible for BOOST, students must have selected a health-related major and express interest in pursuing a health career, as well as have a demonstrated financial need and be considered low-income for L.A. County. Participants in the pilot were selected by lottery, with 251 receiving the monthly payments and an additional 370 enrolled in a control group.

Of the total participants, 72% are female, 65% are Hispanic or Latino, and 29% report that the primary language in their household is Spanish, according to data provided by the community college district. The average annual household income is $31,853, and 47% report having children in the household.

Like other pilots, BOOST is designed as a research study. In this case, the Center for Guaranteed Income Research at the University of Pennsylvania is analyzing how the unrestricted payments effect the well-being of students and what role it might play in keeping them on track in completing their healthcare degrees.

“Lack of basic needs, food insecurity and unexpected financial shocks create barriers for students that often push them out of education,” said Amy Castro, the center’s co-founder and faculty director. “Dreaming about your future should be a feature of young adulthood that is open to all — not just the wealthy or those with the good fortune to have ironclad access to higher education.”

Among other benefits, Adriana Orea says the money she is saving through BOOST has allowed her to start an emergency fund in case she or her son falls ill and she can’t work.

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By mid-February, the guaranteed payments had made a big difference in Orea’s life.

Determined to take advantage of the financial support, she enrolled in four classes for the spring semester. She felt as if her momentum was snowballing, and realized that with better time management, she could also take on a few more hours at work and make a bit more money.

Despite having more on her plate, Orea seemed less stressed. Knowing she didn’t need to hold down a full-time job, or a second part-time gig, to support her son was in itself a huge relief.

“I can literally just concentrate on studying for my classes,” she said.

She had started amassing an emergency fund in case she or Kevin gets sick and she’s unable to work.

She was also feeling more comfortable spending the money. She bought her family a Valentine’s Day lunch at Sizzler, treating her mom to the buffet and her dad to his favorite steak and shrimp dish. She took Kevin to Big Bear to see snow. And if she ran out of time to pack a lunch from home, she didn’t stress about grabbing a sandwich at a doughnut shop near campus.

“I see my bank account going up — I feel like I’m saving,” she said. So, she’s able to tell herself: “This is not a big splurge, I can treat myself.”

By early April, Orea had received $5,000 through BOOST.

She opened a high-yield savings account, with the goal of using her money to make money. She purchased Disneyland tickets to celebrate her mom’s 60th birthday. She had recently received two parking tickets, and while she said she was disappointed to lose money, it wasn’t the crisis hit to her budget that it would have been in the past.

She said receiving the cash — and knowing it was temporary — has made her “laser-focused” on her goals: Finish her prerequisite courses this spring; work part-time as a licensed vocational nurse this summer while studying for her nursing school entrance exam; then apply to schools in the fall and start a nursing program next spring.

“Having this opportunity made me take a hard look at myself and be like, ‘This is what you want. How are you going to get there? Take advantage that you have this,’” she said.

At the same time, her horizons have expanded. Receiving the guaranteed income had freed her from the suffocating sensation of constantly worrying about money.

“Once you feel like there’s one less thing stressing you out, you just feel this relief,” she said. “It clears your mind a little more and you just feel less stressed about everything else.”

Orea said she expects the money she has saved through BOOST will smooth her transition to nursing school. She hopes to receive financial aid to attend a nursing program at L.A. City College or a Cal State university, but said she would take out loans if needed to attend a more expensive private school. She plans to live at home and pick up a couple of shifts each week as a licensed vocational nurse while in school, but said her savings from this year should help ensure she isn’t stretched thin during the two-year program.

She will likely remain in L.A. County after nursing school, she said. She worked in geriatrics previously, but is interested in exploring work in a birthing or neonatal unit. No matter where she works, she will use her Spanish fluency to communicate with patients and their families.

This article is part of The Times’ equity reporting initiative, funded by the James Irvine Foundation, exploring the challenges facing low-income workers and the efforts being made to address California’s economic divide.

As the leader of a nonprofit that supports thousands of children and adults with developmental disabilities across Los Angeles County, I’ve seen firsthand the strength, resilience and dignity of families raising children with autism. So when I heard the U.S. secretary of Health and Human Services claim last week that autism “destroys” children and families and is “catastrophic for our country,” I was deeply disturbed but sadly, not surprised.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s overwrought remarks, like many made in public discourse about autism, reduce complex human stories to simple tragedy. They paint individuals and families as broken. They perpetuate the outdated idea that an autism diagnosis is, starkly, an ending, not a beginning. And for families already facing daily challenges — navigating school systems, medical insurance, therapies, and work, life and caregiving balances — this kind of language is another blow.

What’s worse, it distracts from real, urgent issues facing these families right now — especially proposed cuts to Medicaid that could devastate the supports they rely on.

To be clear: The prevalence of autism is rising. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention now estimates that 1 in 31 children in the U.S. is diagnosed with autism, up from 1 in 36 just a few years ago. But that doesn’t mean autism is a catastrophe. The CDC says the change reflects better awareness, improved diagnostic tools and more families — especially in underserved communities — gaining access to the evaluations and services their children need.

Here in California, the state Department of Developmental Services serves more than 400,000 adults and children with developmental disabilities, including autism. That’s a 40% increase over the past decade, but services that are available haven’t kept pace. From early intervention help and behavioral therapy to job support and independent living programs, families often face long wait lists and limited options, particularly in working-class and low-income communities.

Now, just as more families are seeking help, some federal lawmakers are calling for Medicaid budget cuts that could threaten services for millions of Americans with disabilities. More than 15 million people with disabilities rely on Medicaid nationwide, including more than 1.9 million here in California.

These are the threats we should be talking about. Not manufactured panic over vaccines. Not unfounded theories about the cause of autism. And certainly not careless words that make families feel ashamed for seeking support.

Kennedy is right about one thing: Families matter. But if we truly care about them, we must protect — not politicize — them. I’ve met single parents working two jobs who spend their nights filling out paperwork to get their child approved for therapy. I’ve seen siblings step up to care for brothers and sisters navigating their own adolescence. I’ve seen entire families become fierce advocates, building welcoming communities where their children can thrive.

What these families need is not blame, but investment. In services. In housing. In employment pathways. In research — yes — but also in dignity, and the right to a full, self-determined life.

The individuals my organization serves are not “destroyed.” They are learning, working, creating art, volunteering, making friends and building lives of purpose. The caregivers, educators and direct service providers who support them are not defeated — they are relentless. And their stories deserve to be told not as cautionary tales, but as testaments to possibility.

So instead of invoking fear, let’s focus on the future. Let’s commit to equitable access to services. Let’s ensure California leads the nation in supporting people with autism and developmental disabilities. And let’s reject rhetoric that stigmatizes difference and isolates those who live it.

Los Angeles is a city built on diversity, innovation, and heart. Our disability community is no different. It’s time we honor their contributions — not with pity or panic, but with partnership and progress.

Veronica A. Arteaga is president and CEO of the Exceptional Children Foundation, headquartered in Culver City.