Shawn Wen

I remember not long after I moved here, about a decade ago, I was crossing the street and I saw a man lying face down right where the crosswalk met the sidewalk.

So to reach the sidewalk, you had to step over his body.

And that's what everyone at this intersection did, including me.

We walked right past him, not knowing if he was alive or dead.

While this kind of human suffering is not unique to San Francisco, there's something about it here that just feels different.

It's more casual, more in your face.

In your daily life, on your way to work, on your way to dinner, on the walk to pick up groceries, you might see someone shooting up at the BART station or sitting on the sidewalk with open sores on their legs or having a mental health episode in the middle of traffic.

And most longtime San Franciscans would tell you, unfortunately, that's not new.

There's research that shows that worrying about crime can become a chronic emotional state that shapes how people see the world around them.

It can sow anxiety and mistrust, even when crime rates are stable or falling.

The research also shows that people who worry more about crime also tend to see common nuisances as threatening.

Things like noisy neighbors, litter, graffiti, or just visible groups of teenagers hanging out.

To them, these are signs of social decline.

Crime during and immediately after COVID was a nationwide conversation.

But San Francisco especially was a hot topic.

Bob Lee was killed during a moment when San Francisco had become a national punching bag, based on a reputation that wasn't completely inaccurate.

Florida Governor Ron DeSantis flew in just to dump on the city for a campaign spot.

After the break, the weight of this national scrutiny comes down on a few local politicians.

We'll be right back.

By Wednesday night, less than 48 hours after Bob was killed, city officials could see the narrative spinning out of control.