First time here, and in a mild state of shock. The streets are strewn with shouters. And not just your average London yaggah-ya-bassa shouters, but proper i-have-a-blade-tucked-into-this-newspaper-and-i-enjoy-using-it shouters.
A couple of cab rides later, and all becomes clear. According to the drivers (and I’m sure this is old news to Americans and SF regulars), Raegan was the culprit. The mentally ill were thrown onto the streets in an aim to save cash. And there they stayed – shouting. One driver added that you see more in San Fran that anywhere else in the US thanks to the state’s liberal laws: benefits are far easier to get by The Bay.
The same driver also explained how the entire scene has become a tidy business. One-room ‘apartments’ are used by the homeless, with landlords charging $800 a week – apparently then claimed back from the State. Tidy. A good number of these homeless, I’m told, are veterans, their brains fried by time spent serving their nation.
We wandered over Market to Dotties yesterday morning for breakfast. In fact, no, we didn’t – we started wandering over Market, spotted the half-mile long queue of humanity waiting outside a food charity, and headed north. There was no snobbery in the diversion, just fear. You can bin your middle-class English image of the quaint down-and-out: these guys (and girls) have the sort of edge you gain when you have nothing to lose.
If I were American, I’d be a Republican – always have, always will be. I grew up in the butt-hole of south London, and watched in anger as school friends decided that there was no point in trying, not when the social would stump the bill for everything. But three days in San Francisco have subtly altered my view of the world: if Raegan’s watching from up there, I hope you’re proud.