In San Francisco, Latino communities face more arrests, fewer resources amid overdose epidemic

When I decided to report on how San Francisco’s drug and overdose epidemic was affecting its Latinx residents, I was eager to find data that would reveal a fuller picture of the crisis than the dominant narrative offered by media and city officials. 

Several major news outlets and city leaders had zeroed in on Honduran immigrants as driving the drug epidemic because law enforcement estimates suggested they represent nearly half of the drug dealers on the streets of the city’s Tenderloin neighborhood, where there is a high concentration of illicit peddling. When discussing conditions in that area, people in positions of power routinely gave off-hand descriptions of suspected drug dealers that disparaged the entire Latinx community by association. 

In one instance, San Francisco Mayor London Breed attributed criminal behavior to an entire demographic in response to accusations that police were racially profiling Hondurans. “A lot of people who are dealing drugs happen to be of that ethnicity,” she said. “It’s nothing racial profile about this. We all know it. It’s the reality. It’s what you see. It’s what’s out there.”

Breed apologized after her words drew predictable outrage, saying she “had conversations with several leaders from our Latino community.” 

But what city officials never mentioned are the ongoing failures to address root causes driving the crisis in the Tenderloin, or the Department of Public Health’s own assessment that the Latinx community “has been disproportionately harmed by racist drug policies.” As a 2023 Data Fellow, I was intrigued by this description of disproportionate harm and wanted to use data to assess the impact of these drug policies. 

Data revealed that while young Latinos were arrested for drug use or possession at a much higher rate than young men of other races, drug treatment services for Spanish speakers were nonexistent in San Francisco’s jails and nearly nonexistent elsewhere in the city. Meanwhile, Latinx overdoses were trending upwards — a suggestive indicator, as studies have shown that the transition from incarceration back into the community is hazardous for drug-using offenders who are at much higher risk for overdose since their tolerance for opioids is reduced during confinement.

Also revealing was the data that I couldn’t find. The Institute for the Development of Maya Culture based in Yucatán’s capital city, Mérida, estimates that San Francisco may be home to potentially 70,000 Maya from the Yucatán, many of whom speak the Indigenous Maya language. But since data is not gathered on Latinx subgroups throughout the U.S., languages other than Spanish are not acknowledged, so Maya residents with limited English or Spanish language skills in San Francisco may be missing crucial warnings about the threat of fentanyl and missing out on drug treatment and harm reduction resources. 

A California state bill that would have collected health and census information on Latinx subgroups was vetoed last year by Gov. Gavin Newsom, who said it was inappropriate because the U.S. Office of Management and Budget was updating federal standards for collecting race and ethnicity information. Updated federal standards was announced on March 28, and they did not account for Indigenous Latinx populations. A health equity data collection bill was reintroduced on Feb. 5 and is now making its way through the state Senate.

Engagement grant helps connect with community

San Francisco’s Latinx residents bore the brunt of the COVID-19 pandemic, as health researchers at UCSF have shown. Their communities experienced higher rates of pandemic deaths and proportionately greater loss of incomes, businesses and homes. To cope, some turned to substances and wound up with substance use disorders, along with mental health conditions and severe trauma. When individuals suffering from these conditions or their loved ones sought help, they were rarely successful since Spanish-language, culturally sensitive behavioral health services are severely lacking in the city. 

I wanted to report on the toll that heightened drug-related arrests and under-resourced behavioral health services were having on Latinx residents, but many people were hesitant to go on the record with me about the challenges they faced. It took many months for me to build trust with sources. The Center for Health Journalism’s community engagement grant and mentorship helped me develop strategies to strengthen those connections. 

For example, outreach ideas included visiting neighborhoods with bilingual pamphlets about local resources that made sure people were clear on terms like “substance use disorder” and “harm reduction,” and ideas for listening sessions helped me consider a slew of needs like being flexible to suggestions from community leaders and allowing participants to take a lead during discussions. With USC funding, my news outlet was also able to offer support to sources, should they need it, such as transportation, food, childcare, and interpretation services. 

The well considered outreach plan and resources nurtured a mutual respect with community leaders who introduced me to people with heart wrenching stories about their journey into substance use disorder and the barriers they faced trying to get help.

I was also invited to events and celebrations where I met with people who could further enlighten me about the challenges facing Latinx residents. Among them was outreach worker Aurelia Ramirez, who invited me on one of her twice weekly walks through her Mission District neighborhood as she tried to engage and help her unhoused neighbors. The afternoon I spent with Ramirez allowed me to understand how frustrating the gap in resources is for people who are trying to help those suffering from behavioral health disorders achieve more stable lives. 

I also connected with several other Latinx residents who found ways to help their community, despite the city’s lack of funding. They arranged COVID testing when the city neglected their neighborhoods; they distributed tens of thousands of crates of food to families who lost incomes during the pandemic; they organized free legal advice to displaced tenants and immigrants; they formed their own mental health support network for those traumatized by grief and loss; and they elevate spirits with cultural celebrations involving traditional dance, music, clothing, art, and food. 

That determination to help each other through the worst of times — that is what truly defines San Francisco’s Latinx community.