When Sacramento voters approved Measure L in November 2022, Inside Sacramento columnists Bob Graswich and Jeff Harris were openly skeptical and opposed the measure.
Investing in young people is a good idea. But Measure L didn’t create a program. It established a permanent financial pipeline, locking 40% of the city’s cannabis business tax into a new fund, the Sacramento Children’s Fund, largely distributed through nonprofit service providers.
The measure promised youth violence prevention, mental health services, homelessness support, substance-abuse programs and early childhood investments.
What troubled us then—and now—is how loosely the system was defined, how politically constructed the oversight was, and how little public discussion focused on performance measures to ensure youth are served in meaningful ways.
Three years later, Measure L is no longer a campaign promise. It’s a city structure with millions of dollars. And the way it unfolded raises serious questions about whether Sacramento built the performance and accountability architecture first, or simply and naively assumed things would work out.
Measure L passed in 2022. The Children’s Fund commission was seated in 2023. A strategic investment plan was developed through 2024. The City Council adopted a spending framework that fall.
And then… little happened.
By mid-2025, roughly $18 million in Measure L revenue had accumulated, much of it undistributed. Nonprofits selected through the city’s competitive process were waiting for final approvals and contracts. Youth advocates criticized the delays.
Meanwhile, the city continued promoting Measure L as a success, even though much of the money remained parked.
Delays are not corruption. But delays in social-service funding are not neutral. They signal structural friction and administrative uncertainty. They reveal an uncomfortable reality: Sacramento created a permanent funding stream before it had a system to manage it.
Supporters of Measure L point to its built-in oversight. An appointed Planning and Oversight Commission. Annual cannabis-tax audits and performance reporting requirements.
On paper, that sounds reassuring. In practice, those mechanisms are thinner than voters realized.
The city auditor’s role is largely limited to confirming how much cannabis tax revenue is collected and transferred. That’s not the same as auditing how effectively the money is spent, whether programs deliver measurable outcomes or whether funds are misused.
The fund’s oversight commission is appointed by elected officials. There’s no requirement that members have backgrounds in financial audits or nonprofit compliance. They are policy participants, not independent investigators.
And while grantees will report on their programs, the city hasn’t produced a dashboard allowing residents to track whether Measure L reduces violence, improves youth mental health or changes outcomes.
Most of what currently exists is process. What’s missing is verification.
Over the past decade, California poured billions into social-service systems that rely on nonprofit intermediaries. Some produce meaningful work. Others produce glossy reports and little change. Sometimes auditors uncover weak controls and inflated reporting.
Critics warn Measure L could limit the city’s flexibility during difficult budget years. Jeff Harris, a former councilmember, describes the measure as a mechanism that stashes tax dollars outside the control of elected officials.
“This is a charter-driven budget lockbox, something we’ve never done before,” he says. “It means the council cannot touch the money in stressful deficit situations like the next five years. It’s a deeply flawed mechanism.
“Nonprofits will receive tax dollars while the council eliminates staff positions, core services are weakened, infrastructure repairs are neglected, fees are raised, and pools and community centers could be shuttered to close the deficit. It’s a debacle of colossal proportions in terms of responsibly managing the city budget.”
Measure L dedicates a large, recurring revenue source to programs that are difficult to quantify, politically sensitive and emotionally charged—all conditions where weak oversight can become normalized.
Fraud rarely announces itself. It hides inside vague deliverables, inflated participant counts, conflicted relationships and the assumption that “doing good” is proof enough of effectiveness.
Several features of Measure L deserve closer scrutiny: the lag in spending, the blurred lines between political advocates and oversight bodies, and the lack of clear public metrics showing results.
None of this proves misconduct. But it creates an environment where misconduct becomes easier and detection harder.
The most important question isn’t how much money Measure L raises. The question is who watches the money?
Who independently verifies outcomes? Who stress-tests financial controls of grantees? Who is empowered to say a funded program doesn’t work?
Measure L might yet become what supporters promised. Youth deserve investment. And taxpayers deserve proof.
Trust is built on hard public evidence, not good intentions.
Cecily Hastings can be reached at publisher@insidepublications.com. Follow us on Facebook, X and Instagram: @insidesacramento.
