Ndindi speaks at the Community Self Defense Coalition’s first march on February 17, 2025. [Photo: Rosalind Jones]
The first time I witnessed Ndindi Kitonga’s true spirit and personality, I knew I needed to learn from this woman for as long as she would allow me. It was 2023, mid May at 6:10 AM at the corner of Jasmine Avenue and Washington Boulevard in Culver City, the day of a CARE+ sweep.
Culver City was gray and cold as I approached the encampment. It consisted of about five or six tents and structures. Possessions were strewn about in a chaotic spread as a handful of mutual aid organizers and folks living in the camp tried to salvage whatever they could before the city came to take it.
And there was Kitonga, right in the middle of all of it. She was almost a blur, her long locs swinging as she hauled around bags of clothes, shoes, and structure materials. She was physically running around, assembling piles of people’s things to be transported somewhere else. Her eyes were bright and focused, a remarkable feat for 6:00 AM.
I first met Kitonga virtually in 2022 when she was invited to join a general meeting for the group I organize with, Community Solidarity Project. She was just a portrait in a box on our Zoom, but I was blown away by her presence. Her organization, Palms Unhoused Mutual Aid (PUMA), began organizing in May of 2020. They started providing supplies and political education materials to unhoused folks while the protests of George Floyd’s murder took place in Downtown LA. Over time, PUMA expanded to distribute food and essential supplies three times a week to unhoused folks in the Culver City/Palms area. Kitonga began to collaborate with Community Solidarity Project on events and fundraisers, then eventually joined us as an organizer when we all unanimously decided that her experience and insight were both priceless and a privilege to be around.
Whenever I interacted with her, she was always collected and poised. Until now, I had only seen her in low-stakes scenarios, community meetings and panels and the like. This was the first time I’d seen stress in her.
“We’re just trying to save as much of this as we can before the city destroys it,” she declared, her voice strong as she motioned to the process of disassembling the camp.
I barely had time to nod and agree with her before she ran off to help another person gather their things.
The thing about Kitonga is that she doesn’t just know when the sweeps are. She doesn’t just show up to help these folks save their stuff. She knows each one of them by name. She knows how old they are. She knows how long they’ve been living there. She knows their medical history. She’s been at Jasmine and Washington every week distributing supplies, making sure folks had food, hygiene supplies, and water every Monday. She knows, because she’s made the time and effort to ask and build a relationship, how much stress and mental anguish sweeps like this one cause.
Hours went by. A woman from the church at the end of the block came outside and began berating us about our choice to assist the unhoused folks in the camp, saying we are stupid and naive to help “dangerous addicts.” An encampment resident stood near us, holding a kitten as the woman ranted. One of the other organizers told me that the church called and asked the city to sweep these people and their possessions away.
Kitonga glared at the woman as she blustered in her face, hurling all sorts of inflammatory statements. She said nothing, her expression blank. She was following rule number one for dealing with agitators: don’t engage. The agitator eventually realized she was being ignored, looking embarrassed and finally leaving
“What time is it?” Kitonga asked me, her voice indicating that her mind was moving a thousand miles an hour.
“8:30 AM.”
Kitonga dropped the bag she was holding and straightened up.
“Okay. I have to go teach! I’ll be back at 10!”
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I have spent the last four years admiring Kitonga and showing up for her projects. She inspires me to dig deeper and find reserves of energy to do more, to create more places where we can effect change.
Ndindi (middle) and Rosalind (left) at the UCLA Solidarity with Palestine encampment in April 2024. [Photo: Rosalind Jones]
Organizing friendships are like normal friendships, but with more existential dread and day to day communication about our physical and mental capacities. We are often splitting ourselves apart for the cause, and our friends in these circles are the ones witnessing the toll of that. I never pushed her to reveal anything. In organizing, emotions are precious but they also can throw a wrench in our plans. Who was I to ask her to pause and open up to me? It was not until this year, 2025, that I learned why Kitonga’s passion burns so bright in moments of assisting unhoused folks during sweeps.
Kitonga was one of three friends that moved to LA from Kenya. She is the only one still alive. The other two died on the street, unhoused.
“Nothing I did mattered,” she says through tears. “None of the mutual aid, none of the organizing. It didn’t save them. It didn’t matter.”
In four years of an organizing friendship, I had never seen Kitonga cry until then.
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I watched Kitonga run off down Washington. She was right, it was time for school. In fact, she runs her own school.
In 2014, Kitonga and her partner founded a progressive secondary school that focuses on authentic education beyond the conventional. The students have the same amount of input and control over the curriculum as the instructors. The students self-evaluate their work and review the work of their peers for the grading process. They go on bi-weekly field trips to social justice hubs, art galleries, and important Los Angeles landmarks. And to cap it all off, the students engage in multiple forms of mutual aid with their surrounding communities.
Kitonga has told me many times about how important it is to guide young people — “the babies,” she calls them — into an understanding of community and radical mutuality. We live in the era of TikTok and Meta’s elimination of fact-checking. Children are incredibly susceptible to misinformation about issues like homelessness, but they’re also more than just receptacles. They’re potential agents of monumental, social change. Kitonga sees that.
I have no doubt that day in May 2023 was a difficult day of teaching, as the sweep continued in her absence. But perhaps Jasmine Avenue made it into the school day’s discussions. Perhaps the young folks in her classes will be moved to become like her too.
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We live in an era of increasing criminalization of mutual aid, especially when it comes to organizing to support unhoused communities. In February of this year, the city of Fremont, CA, passed an ordinance stating that residents “aiding and abetting” unhoused people could face up to six months in jail and a $1000 fine. Along with Kitonga and other organizers in the greater Culver City area, I’ve passed out supplies like soap, socks, water bottles, and homemade burritos to folks that are unhoused. I’ve stayed to chat with these folks about their lives, what they’re feeling, and to see if I can bring them anything in particular the next time. If I were living in Fremont, perhaps these actions could land me in jail.
It’s understandable to be filled with horror at a time like this. Uncertainty hangs over not just Los Angeles but the entire country. For me, this is a time for alchemizing fear. It is time to understand that we have more in common with unhoused people than we do with any billionaire. It is time to take actions outside of our comfort range — like Kitonga, showing up on a cold morning at 6 am to stand between unhoused neighbors and the destruction of their property.
You can start your own mutual aid organizing journey right now. Mutual Aid Los Angeles Network has a directory of organizations you can browse and reach out to if you feel called to act. If you don’t see your neighborhood or region represented on this list, I encourage you to start your own.
If you are in the Palms/Culver City area, PUMA distributes to unhoused folks every week on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. They are always looking for support with procuring hygiene products via their wishlist. They are also happy to receive volunteers that want to assist with food or supply distribution.
The future is based on the brave decisions we make today, so I encourage you to show up for your community members. The hardest part is making the decision to begin. I hope I see you in the streets sometime, and we can organize together to create a more just world, the way PUMA and Kitonga have.
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To support mutual aid for unhoused folks in the Culver City/Palms area, please consider donating to Palms Unhoused Mutual Aid (PUMA) at https://palmsunhousedmutualaid.org.
