On Monday, August 18, 2025, the city of San Jose launched a sweeping operation to clear its largest homeless encampment at Columbus Park, marking a pivotal moment in the city’s ongoing struggle to address homelessness and restore public spaces. The encampment, which had swelled to nearly 400 residents—370 by the city’s most recent count, including 11 children and 108 pets—had become a symbol of both the city’s housing crisis and the challenge of balancing public safety, compassion, and civic order.
City workers, clad in orange vests and flanked by yellow hazard tape, began hauling away bags of trash and personal belongings as outreach teams fanned out to offer information and support. For many, the day was fraught with anxiety and frustration. “I don’t know, I’m really mad right now, because they don’t care,” said Fernando Alcantra, one of the residents facing displacement. Another resident, Jessika, reflected on repeated clearings: “I’ve been abated five or six times in the past two months and the city has just gotten less and less tolerant of our existence.”
San Jose’s decision to accelerate the clearing process followed a sharp uptick in public safety incidents at the park. According to East Bay Times, 911 calls for the most serious emergencies rose dramatically in the first seven months of 2025—priority one calls jumped 47% and priority two calls 63% compared to the previous year. In total, first responders were dispatched to the park 242 times during that period, averaging more than one call per day. The urgency was underscored when police discovered a dead body in an RV on August 18—the second such death in the camp in just a week. Mayor Matt Mahan didn’t mince words: “It’s just not a tenable situation for the people who are living there or for our first responders who are regularly, on a daily basis, called out to the site or the public who would like to get back to using the basketball courts and baseball diamonds. It’s untenable and it’s frankly inhumane for people to live in these conditions. We can do better and we will do better.”
City officials had posted abatement notices 70 days prior to the sweep, giving residents and advocates time to prepare. Still, the clearing was met with outcry from both camp residents and homelessness advocates, who marched to City Hall last week to protest. Emma Hartung, a resident and advocate, voiced a common criticism: “The city’s solutions are wholly inadequate. We know this (and despite) as much public PR has been put forward, we know that ultimately this is going to be a sweep like any other, with folks losing all of their belongings (and) access to their pets. I actually believe that we can have a San Jose that’s for all of us.”
Despite skepticism, city leaders insisted that their approach was measured and humane. Mayor Mahan emphasized that no resident who accepted shelter would be forced out immediately. “We are not trying to move 300 people on day one,” he told Bay Area News Group. “This is a slow, methodical transition and our goal is to relocate everyone indoors, decommission the encampment thoughtfully, clean up the area and prepare it so that our [Parks, Recreation and Neighborhood Services] team can begin to restore the park to public access.”
Outreach teams had spent two months building rapport with residents, offering interim housing and services. According to KRON4, 68% of those surveyed agreed to seek alternative shelter. For those who accepted, signs were placed on their belongings to prevent them from being mistakenly discarded during the cleanup. Yet, some residents remained wary. Jerry Drawhorn, 60, recounted his struggles after a previous RV encampment sweep, while Katherine Davis, 58, was hesitant to return to interim housing after a negative experience at another site. Still, Davis accepted a temporary motel placement, sharing, “I feel very safe at the hotel. I have a bed and I can watch TV and shower every day, which is a big thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy and proud of what they have done for us, but I feel safer when I can lock my door.”
For some, the city’s buyback program for RVs—offering up to $2,000 for a vehicle if residents accept interim housing—was an incentive. At Columbus Park, outreach workers counted 120 vehicles, including 51 RVs and 45 trailers, with 80 of them inoperable. Juanita Macias, who sold her RV through the program, was offered a spot in an interim hotel room. “It’s my first time,” Macias said. “We had an apartment and my husband was working and then was laid off. It’s hard, you know, it’s hard. I want to leave—I do want to leave, I don’t want to be here no more.”
The city’s strategy hinges on rapidly expanding interim housing, much of it in converted hotels and motels. As of August 18, the first 42 beds opened and the initial group of residents moved in. Over the next four weeks, nearly 400 beds are slated to become available, with another 400 promised by year’s end. By October, the city expects to have enough interim housing for all 370 people being cleared from Columbus Park. The city’s new navigation center near Watson Park, which was supposed to open sooner, has been delayed by vandalism and will not be available until the end of August.
San Jose’s approach marks a shift from the traditional “housing first” model, investing instead in a spectrum of interim solutions: tiny home communities, safe sleeping and parking sites, and hotel conversions. According to East Bay Times, these efforts have contributed to a 23% reduction in unsheltered homelessness in the city. Mayor Mahan defended the city’s multipronged approach, inviting gubernatorial candidate Steve Hilton—who has criticized the city’s homelessness policies—to tour the site after the abatement is complete. “It’s working, and Columbus Park is going to be the next example of how this multiprong strategy works … it’s the kind of thing I hope all the gubernatorial candidates will learn from and discuss as they debate how to solve the biggest crisis facing the state of California,” Mahan said.
Yet, challenges remain. San Jose’s most recent census found more than 6,500 people experiencing homelessness citywide, far outstripping current shelter capacity. Moreover, 48% of Columbus Park’s residents are classified as “high needs”—struggling with severe addiction or mental illness—requiring support that the city alone cannot provide. “When we see service resistance … that tends to be the folks with the most serious forms of addiction and mental illness, who are just unwilling or unable to accept help that frankly the city can’t provide,” Mahan explained. “Only our county and state can.”
As the city moves forward, the fate of those left behind remains uncertain. Residents like Laylah Jackson, who has lived at the park for 25 years, expressed deep skepticism: “I feel like it’s an injustice.” She and others worry that the city’s solutions may prove temporary, and that the cycle of displacement will continue. Meanwhile, officials are already looking ahead: after the encampment is cleared and the area restored, plans call for new soccer fields, horseshoe pits, and courts by the third quarter of 2027. Work to revitalize Columbus Park is expected to begin next year, with the hope that, this time, the city’s efforts will lead to lasting change for both the park and its most vulnerable residents.
