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Last Thursday, July 11, for the third time, I experienced firsthand the effects of insecurity in the city of San Francisco, California. This time, my means of transportation, a bicycle, which I have used for more than two years as a way of contributing to not polluting the environment, was stolen.
It is an open secret that the San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) is completely overwhelmed to deal with the insecurity experienced on the streets, especially in areas considered to be “most unsafe.”
However, even in these areas you can be a victim of having your vehicle’s windows broken to steal items inside, as well as being assaulted on public transport or on the streets.
I have even been a silent witness, because there is little that can be done, to robberies inside the vehicles of visitors who go to tourist places such as Alamo Square Park, in front of the famous Painted Ladies, which are visited daily by hundreds of people.
But let’s get back to my bad experience with the issue of insecurity in the county and port of San Francisco.
After five in the afternoon on July 11, 2024, I went to the well-known Folsom Street, which crosses between 5th and 6th, to run some errands.
As usual, I put two locks on my bike and left it parked in one of the areas designated for this type of vehicle. Not more than 30 minutes had passed when I left the place where I had gone, to have the unfortunate surprise that it had been stolen.
I confess that my first reaction was helplessness and anger. This is the third time that my vehicle has been stolen.
In 2022, at the door of a well-known supermarket located at 14th Street and Folsom, my electric bicycle, which I rented, was stolen, causing me a big problem and a loss of several hundred dollars.
A year later, in 2023, I parked my bike in front of the building where I live, in the neighborhood known as Lower Pacific Heights, considered quiet and safe, or at least that’s what they tell you when you rent.
On that occasion, I only used one lock for the vehicle, so the thug or thugs stole only the front tire. I spent another few hundred dollars to repair that loss.
Just last April, I bought a hybrid bicycle out of necessity, in which I invested almost two thousand dollars. After having had bad experiences, my boyfriend David decided to buy two chips and install them in our vehicles. I didn’t know that this decision would save me from losing my “bike.”
THE ODYSSEY OF THE STOLEN AND SELF-RECOVERED BICYCLE
On July 11th, minutes after my bike was stolen on Folsom Street between 5th and 6th, I remembered David’s wonderful idea of placing the chip to track the vehicle, so I unlocked my cell phone and, through the chip application, located the stolen item.
The unit appeared in the Mission area. So I walked down 6th Street to reach Mission Street and board a truck that would take me there. On the way, I found one of the locks that had been removed to steal my bike, and I kept it with me as proof of the crime.
The bike was indeed on Mission Street, between 17th and 18th. Next to my vehicle, there was an African-American man and a woman who looked affected by some kind of substance. Both looked like homeless people and consumers of substances that affect the brain.
Faced with this situation, the first thing I did was call 911, thinking that it would be easy to ask for police support, that some officer or officers would come and help me recover my bicycle, which I had well located.
On the emergency number, a person who spoke a little Spanish answered. I explained the situation to him, after which they asked me many questions, including a description of the person who had stolen the bicycle. I provided the information I had and the person who answered me said that a patrol car with officers was on the way.
More than 15 minutes passed and the patrol did not arrive. It is worth mentioning that on Valencia and 17th Street, there is a police station, precisely at 630 is the Mission Police Station.
In the absence of a response, I had no choice but to approach the place where my bicycle was. In that area, people who sell all kinds of stolen items congregate, specifically on the sidewalk that includes Mission Street, between the intersections of 17th and 18th.
With fear and asking God for strength and protection, I approached the African-American person to tell him that the bicycle he had was my property.
Without the slightest surprise, he replied that he had bought it for $100 and that if I wanted to get it back I would have to pay him that amount.
The rage and helplessness came back to me. The guy got into my vehicle and drove away on Mission Street, turned right on 17th and fled. The police never arrived.
I did not have the courage to confront him further, many situations ran through my mind, one of them was the possibility that this person was armed with a sharp object, since I myself have witnessed that the assailants get on public transport with knives, screwdrivers and other objects with which they can attack anyone.
The police never arrived, even when the person was fleeing with my bicycle, a patrol car passed by the place, I waved to get their attention and was ignored.
WASTE OF TIME CALLING FOR HELP
Through my cell phone I watched the subject drive away in my vehicle, the chip showed me meter by meter the places he traveled, when he was in the Tenderloin and Civic Center area I called 911 again, I made at least 10 calls.
When I insisted on the phone, one of the answers they gave me was to go to the Police Station located on Valencia Street and 17th Street. It was after six in the evening on Thursday, July 11, I entered the building and approached the counter, however, there was no staff, which did not surprise me.
I waited for several minutes and finally two police officers appeared.
A woman helped me, but she didn’t speak Spanish and my English isn’t very good, especially when I’m nervous or in a hurry. The other officer, who was in charge of the station at the time, noticed my desperation, he spoke Spanish, so he turned to me only to tell me that before they could give me any kind of help, it was necessary to report the theft of my bike.
I explained to him that I had located my vehicle, that I only needed the support of an officer to get me closer to the person who had it and be able to recover it.
Visibly uncomfortable with my insistence on asking for support, he responded that they did not have enough personnel to assign someone. He insisted that I file the report and told me that I had to go back to my vehicle, locate it, and then call 911 to request the presence of a police officer, but now using the report number.
With the report in my hand and three times as frustrated, I left the police station. They sent me out onto the street without a real solution and, most frustratingly, I watched from my cell phone as the person who had my vehicle drove around various points in the city, even returning to Mission Street between 17th and 18th.
From the moment of the theft, I kept in touch with David, my boyfriend, who encouraged me at all times to continue fighting to recover my vehicle. He is a witness to how much I like using my bike to get around the city.
I was about to give up on my unit, but the thought of losing my investment of almost two thousand dollars, and above all, the discomfort of knowing that I knew where it was, gave me the strength to board another vehicle and approach the address where the bike was indicated to be.
This time I went to 9th Street and Tehama Street, and the GPS located my bike there. When I arrived, I again followed the police instructions to call them at 911. For the umpteenth time, I explained what had happened, but the questions continued, including the name of the person who had stolen the vehicle. Once the long questionnaire was over, they told me they would send police support, although they refused to tell me how long it would take.
Minutes passed and they did not arrive. My bike was now on Tehama Street, between 8th and 9th. However, the African-American man was no longer there. I deduced that he had abandoned it there. Instead, there was a white man next to a tent along with other items. It was obvious that the person was under the influence of drugs.
While I waited for the police to arrive (I naively thought they would help me), I walked around the area where my vehicle was, not daring to confront a person under the influence of drugs for fear of their reaction.
Fortunately, there were some Latinos on the street at that moment, a group of three Venezuelans, who, noticing my concern, looked at me strangely. More than 15 minutes had passed and police support had not arrived, so I decided that I had no choice but to talk to the Latinos and explain my situation.
After telling them my story, their reaction was one of annoyance, “but don’t have an accident and crash, because dozens of patrol cars will appear immediately,” one of them said ironically.
I showed them the document that contained the robbery report number and, to make sure that my story was true, one of them called 911. There they confirmed that they had the report and that help was on the way. Of course, they didn’t say which way.
After several minutes and no police help showing up, the three Latino boys accompanied me to claim the vehicle. The guy guarding my bike reacted scared, he managed to say a few words in English that I didn’t understand and he shook his head from side to side.
The Venezuelans shouted “get on your bike and go, don’t wait any longer!” I recovered from my shock and fear, and started the (hybrid) bike, but not before thanking the boys for their help.
It seemed incredible to me to recover my vehicle on my own (with the help of the three Venezuelans, obviously), but without any response from the Honorable San Francisco Police Department.
It is worth mentioning that on that same day, July 11, when I was at home and after recovering the stolen vehicle on my own, I received a phone call from the San Francisco Police Department. I answered, but no one spoke. Nothing happened.
The idea of narrating my experience with insecurity and the lack of support from the police in the city of San Francisco has no other objective than to reveal the problems suffered by hundreds of people, who find themselves helpless, because there is no real police support.
Those of us who live in this city know that there is a lack of police elements, in addition to a significant renovation of the police units, since even on the streets, we see obsolete patrol cars, vehicles of old models.
A police officer admitted that there were not enough police officers to assist the population. He said that it was impossible for a police officer to help recover a bicycle, even though it had been located.
The question that must be asked is: What is the purpose of the Honorable San Francisco Police Department? And, in whose hands is the safety of the inhabitants of the city, port and county?
I would like to point out that those of us who live in the United States know about the high taxes that must be paid to be here. In the case of the city of San Francisco alone, the city government collects taxes on various items, so it is important that part of those resources be allocated to public safety, as well as updating staff and infrastructure.
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