Rebecca Phillips was high on drugs when she first met the mayor of San Francisco.
She was sitting on the sidewalk of Julian Street in the Mission, surrounded by people also suffering from homelessness and addiction, when she noticed men who looked like bodyguards approaching. Mayor Daniel Lurie, wearing a navy jacket with the collar flared, followed closely behind before stopping to speak with her, she recalls.
“‘We’ve got to change something out here,’” Phillips remembered Lurie saying. “‘You’ve got to help me help you.’”
Across the city, people living on the streets have similar stories. Since taking office in January, Lurie has made a habit of talking to homeless people, pulling over his Rivian truck to offer shelter, or pausing a stroll to ask someone not to use drugs in public.
Lurie’s practice is central to his mantra that he needs to witness the city’s most intractable problems firsthand in order to solve them. He has often told the story of how he was inspired to run for office after encountering a man in crisis while walking through the Mission with his two kids.
“You can’t fix what you don’t see,” Lurie said in an interview. “I don’t want anybody in my administration walking by somebody that is on the street anymore.”
But while some homeless people say they appreciate his efforts, others describe his appearances as performative, noting his policies have largely forced them out of view.
Shortly after Lurie’s visit to Julian Street, police cleared Phillips and her friends from the block, she said.
“It was all for the camera, I could tell,” Phillips said. “He could’ve at least brought us doughnuts or something.”
The Standard spoke with more than a dozen people who claim to have met the mayor during his outings. Some say Lurie connected them to shelter. Others say his presence has led to a reduction in visible drug use, remarking that “he means business.” But most say their situation has not changed since their run-ins.
“He comes out, and then on the news they’re saying he has it under control down here,” Kesa Criss said this month while smoking a pipe on Sixth Street. “I think he’s doing something, but he needs to do it in a more respectable way for people that are homeless.”
Connor Perez, who lives in subsidized housing, said he was panhandling near Union Square when he met the mayor. Perez was holding a sign that read, “My husband has cancer. I can’t work. Please help.”
Lurie offered to call the Homeless Outreach Team, but Perez was too overwhelmed to explain that he’s not homeless — just very poor. Instead, Perez recalls, he found himself repeating, “I don’t need a HOT team” until Lurie told him to “move along.”
“I was already in a panic. I hadn’t eaten that day, and I was already in a very fragile state of mind when I saw the mayor walk up,” Perez said. “I couldn’t really think of what I needed from him. It made me feel unseen, like I was just trash on the street.”
In January, The Standard watched as a formerly homeless man named Derek Robinson approached the mayor, alleging that workers at his subsidized housing complex had stolen his belongings — including shoes signed by Kevin Durant, a Rolex watch, and at least 100 pounds of weed.
Lurie appeared to console Robinson, shaking his hand before walking away. But roughly four months later, The Standard found Robinson in an alleyway, just one block away, still airing the same grievances.
“They took everything I own,” Robinson said. “It doesn’t matter if he was listening. Ain’t nothing happen.”
When asked if he feels a responsibility to solve such personal plights, Lurie said he feels “an obligation to every single person in this city.” While on his walkabouts, he has witnessed overdoses and woken people from fentanyl stupors. On one occasion, he remembers, a man told him to “mind your business.”
“You are my business,” Lurie responded.
But it seems the mayor can do only so much when dealing with the city’s oft-criticized homeless response system. Lurie says that by early afternoon on any given day, even he has trouble locating shelter for someone in need.
Mark Mazza, a coordinator of the city’s homeless outreach teams, said he’s gotten used to taking near-daily calls from Lurie, who is usually trying to locate a bed. Mazza acknowledged that not everyone is happy to meet the mayor. But at times, he said, Lurie’s presence has been galvanizing for clients who were otherwise resistant to receiving help.
“A few times, people have been motivated by meeting the mayor and him caring about them,” Mazza said.
Overall, however, progress is hard to measure. Lurie said last month he once again took a walk through the Mission with his son Sawyer. Conditions were worse, leaving his son traumatized. And Lurie found himself still struggling for an explanation.
“He was crying. He was heartbroken. He’s like, like, like, ‘Why? Why can’t we help?’” Lurie said. “How do we as parents explain that to our kids? … I can’t explain it, because it’s not OK.”