It’s one of those days in San Francisco when the sun is inviting, the wind occasionally bites, and the northeast corner of 24th and Mission is buzzing with activity.
The BART place itself is surprisingly spotless on a mid-June Wednesday, with just a few people relaxing, smoking cigarettes or chatting with friends. But on the sidewalk, separated from the plaza by several feet of metal grating along the Mission Street side, the sidewalk is constantly packed with vendors offering their wares, and dozens of people buying and selling goods.
Though it was only the second day they were erected, the fences seemed to be making a difference: The often debris-filled plaza was strikingly clean that Wednesday afternoon, and remained nearly two hours after orange-robed community ambassadors left the area, strikingly clean their raids on Mission Street.
The sidewalk, on the other hand, was crowded, and most of the dozen or so vendors along Mission Street appeared to be working without a permit.
In a way, then, despite the sales permit allowed since September 2022, public works and police patrols, and the addition of a new community ambassador team that visits the plaza daily, the sidewalk next to the plaza borders on chaos. There are many illegal sellers, drug use persists and many who want to use the space still say they don’t feel safe.
“We’re not all the same,” said Nardo, 32, in Spanish. He sold electric razors and two baseball caps north of the plaza near El Farolito, where many vendors gather without permits to avoid the various city officials now patrolling the area. “Some of us are respectful, some aren’t.”
earn a living
Nardo, who is from Nicaragua, works as a cleaner at a hotel, but when he can’t get shifts he comes to the square to buy and resell whatever people bring that day.
“I know why it’s illegal,” he says. He doesn’t ask questions about where the products he resells come from. “But we want to earn a little more money for our rent, for our food.”
Aside from the few established vendors with permits, tables, and umbrellas, many vendors in the 24th and Mission don’t seem to care too much about what they’re selling.
Nearby, on a bench by the bus stop, a man is selling nuts, coffee, cigarettes and lighters on a tarpaulin. At the other end of the bench, a man lies curled up and passed out on the floor.
A few yards from Nardo, a woman leaning on a stroller is selling two boxes of Glad bags and two large packs of Peanut M&Ms, along with other miscellaneous items on a piece of cardboard while scrolling her phone. If you ask her to talk about what she’s doing here, she goes from friendly to hostile.
“People don’t trust; They think it could be something bad,” says Nardo. And he adds: “Some of them [them] are more aggressive, more violent.”
Often the crossing is a busy hub: people drop by, meet friends or browse the goods, which can vary greatly from day to day. The narrow sidewalk, clogged with vendors and other people, poses an obstacle for wheelchair users, seniors, and others with limited mobility.
A fenced off area prevents people from congregating near 24th Street Plaza. Photo by Eleni Balakrishnan
On Wednesday, a curious woman comes by with a newborn in her arms and goes shopping. She had never been to this BART place before but accompanied her brother who came to the mission to give back at a store.
Narcan, stolen goods, confiscations
For many, however, the influx of people at 24th and Mission over the past year or two has been unsustainable.
Authorized sellers say it is impossible for them to compete with the prices of unauthorized sellers, some of whom appear to be selling stolen goods. Other vendors fear the possibility of violence or theft of their goods.
Then there is the drug use. “They drop dead like flies,” said Roscoe Campos, who said he walked across the square after work. “You’ll go deaf to it.”
Across the street from the square, just inside the city gates in front of McDonald’s, a man dozed off sitting on a suitcase next to a tarp with clothes spread out. Two Latina women yelled “sorry” loudly and repeatedly before he finally came to and completed the sale.
The police, who have been frequently stationed at the square in recent months, can’t or don’t do much, officials at the square said. “They’re standing 20 feet from someone who smokes fentanyl … and they’re just worried about who’s selling it to them,” Campos said.
This Friday, traders were observed ignoring the fences and selling their wares. They dispersed when two officers pulled up in a squad car and began sauntering across the square.
And on Wednesday, June 21, vendors returned to both the sidewalk and the square.
24th street. BART Plaza on Wednesday June 21, 2023 at 10:30 am Photo by Lydia Chavez
Jessica Haner, who has worked at a booth in the plaza for about 10 years and is giving away free cell phones and tablets as part of the California LifeLine Program, said her husband administers Narcan, an anti-overdose medication, on or near it two or three times a week Place.
And although she believes the situation is chaotic and out of control, Haner said she’s seen city workers at times make things worse for those just trying to make a living.
“They literally just come up to you, grab your stuff and throw it in a bag … My jaw dropped,” Haner said. “I mean, a lot of it’s stolen, but not all of it!”
Enrique Arreola, who sells everything from household cleaning products to toiletries on a large white table, said in Spanish that he’s also used to being on the defensive – he’s been robbed and the police aren’t helping him when the value of the… stolen item is reduced item is so low. He knows the risks of street vending, but prefers to make his living independently.
While Nardo believed the new gates clearing the space would help keep the area cleaner than usual, Arreola, who is fenced off on the crowded sidewalk at his intended retail location, said he feared being trapped in an emergency become.
His wife had already missed work that week, concerned for her safety following recent particularly violent events.
City presence temporarily
Javier Chavez, 52, who has been coming to the square after work to relax and people-watch for a month now, said he likes the new fences. He believes they give a semblance of control.
But it’s unclear if that’s actually the case. As evening approaches and the community ambassadors, BART crisis response specialists and police are all gone, the square quickly fills up again: young people hang around, people selling three bottles of wine here, five cans of spray deodorant there.
It is generally calm and respectful, but things can change in an instant.
As I speak to Nardo, a fight nearly breaks out in front of us as a man refuses to stay to his right as he drives past another man rolling a bike and trailer. He yells and pushes the man on the bike. The two men line up to fight, and others nearby start screaming. I examine my surroundings and wonder which direction to go if necessary.
The confrontation subsided, but not always.
“They’re constant: Up to six, eight, ten fights a day I think. That’s the case anytime, anytime,” Arreola said. “Sometimes there’s a fight, other times they pull out guns.”
A few meters away, a man leans against a bus stop on his scooter, carefully sharpening a large knife.
The only thing that could help Arreola is constant surveillance, which he knows is unsustainable.
Amin, the manager of the Mi Pueblito Market grocery store a few yards away, has someone constantly watching the produce on display. Still, he estimates they lose an average of $20 to $30 in product every day.
He points to a nearby man holding a half-eaten apple, standing by the store’s fruit display. “He didn’t pay for it,” Amin said. “And I’m not going to tell him, ‘Hey, you didn’t pay for the apples.'”
Amin said he’s not sure what the solution is because he sees that the moment city workers move out, people are flooding the vacated area.
“They have to do something better,” he says.
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