Blanton is the executive director of Shoreline Community Services, which supports unsheltered individuals in San Diego’s Central Beach Area and operates The Compass Station, a trauma-informed drop-in resource center.
On May 9, a man at the Pacific Beach Public Library became agitated and began swinging a hatchet at desks and computers. Library staff and security got him outside, and police were dispatched. Officers repeatedly commanded him to drop the weapon before shooting him multiple times. He remains hospitalized in critical condition.
We know this man.
His story illustrates the failure of every public system meant to protect him — and our community.
Since August 2024, we have interacted with him 19 times during his visits to The Compass Station, providing support to improve his health and help him secure housing. We offered transportation to the Social Security and county benefits offices and helped him apply for a birth certificate, which is essential to accessing housing and healthcare.
But his health kept declining.
He cycled through hospitals, jails, recovery programs, clinics — always returning to the street. We called 911 three times when his condition became life-threatening. Despite worsening symptoms, he was repeatedly discharged.
Once, he arrived at our center in a hospital gown, his belongings in a plastic bag. He was cold, disoriented, vulnerable. We clothed him — and didn’t see him again for more than three months.
When he returned, he had a trash bag duct-taped to his colostomy port. Our nurses gave him proper bags and instructions, but he couldn’t manage his own care. The port got infected. He developed a fever. Blood and feces seeped from the site. He became incoherent. We called 911 again. He was taken to the ER, then discharged.
On April 22, we made the heartbreaking decision to ban him. The health risk to others had become too great.
We explained as clearly and gently as we could. He yelled — he wanted help. Then he picked up a heavy stanchion and swung it. His response was so violent, we barricaded ourselves inside and called the police again.
It was clear he was gravely disabled and a danger to himself and others.
That was 17 days before he was shot.
He had accessed every available resource — none were adequate.
Hospital: Was he unmanageable? Did records say he left against medical advice?
Psychiatry: He was discharged with medication but had no phone or transportation.
Jail: Brief incarceration, then release.
Crisis Response: Mental health teams couldn’t intervene — he was violent.
Primary Care: He could “walk away,” so likely wasn’t diagnosed as incapacitated.
Shelter: His hygiene and health made him ineligible.
Permanent Housing: He lacked the executive function to complete the process.
Every system failed him — and our community.
He should have qualified for involuntary psychiatric treatment. Why didn’t he?
Did no one know how to access it? Is it even available?
Are county and city programs tasked with recommending conservatorship simply ineffective?
At the library, police used violence because every other system had already failed.
Our question is the same as yours: Is violence really the only solution?
Right now, the answer appears to be yes. But that is not public safety.
Police with drawn guns outside a library do not make us safer. Waiting for someone to unravel doesn’t make us safer. Discharging dangerously ill people back to our neighborhood doesn’t make us safer.
San Diego has programs — mental health, care coordination, housing, street medicine – that help hundreds. But they are not helping the violently mentally ill — the group that poses the greatest risk and that we most consistently fail.
This man was a clear threat. We referred him to program after program. Our efforts could have led to care. This didn’t have to end in gunfire. To ensure public safety, we need fewer professionals saying, “He’s beyond our scope,” and more who know exactly what to do when someone is gravely disabled and dangerous.
We understand some people blame providers like us for “bringing” homelessness into the community. But people experiencing homelessness are already here. They sleep in parks, alleys, sidewalks — not because we serve them, but because there are no alternatives. We don’t cause homelessness; we respond to it. And the best way to reduce its impact is to help people access care, not ignore them until tragedy forces action.
We want to improve the welfare of our unhoused neighbors and keep our neighborhood safe. We believe both are possible, but only with a real pathway to psychiatric care for people too ill to care for themselves. Not a return ticket to the streets.
