RVs parked along the wider boulevards, curtains closed, generators humming softly, and other obvious indicators of people attempting to sleep through whatever the city decides to do next are still noticeable if you drive near Mission Bay in San Diego at the appropriate time of day. One of California’s longest and slowest legal disputes has centered on these cars and the occupants. That battle continued after a recent federal court decision in the Bloom case. It simply made breaking the rules much more difficult.
Most media sites reported that the city had partially prevailed in its battle. That is accurate. A federal judge ruled that, if there is space for them, San Diego may issue tickets to RV owners who refuse to relocate to the city’s approved safe parking spaces for the night. With about 190 spots, the H-Barracks location was considered a viable substitute. That portion of the decision likely seemed like a victory for a community that has spent years dealing with concerns about congested roadways and unofficial camps.
The other side of the same verdict, which was nearly more significant, was something the city didn’t discuss as much. The same judge determined that San Diego had violated its own 2024 settlement, which put an end to the initial lawsuit and waived thousands of dollars’ worth of fines in exchange for the city constructing actual, livable secure parking infrastructure. There were no running water, electricity, showers, or restrooms at the Mission Valley 24-hour site. The city was required by the judge to return with a genuine strategy and timeline. It served as the legal equivalent of a courteous but strong reminder that settlement responsibilities never go away.
This is the section that city lawyers outside of San Diego should be concerned about. Settlements signed by a former mayor, council, or city attorney are sometimes treated by municipal government as historical artifacts, making them seem less relevant in the present. That is not how federal courts view it. A settlement that has been approved by the court is not a press release. It’s a directive. It is not a policy decision to abandon it without a judge’s approval. It’s disdain, or something so similar that it doesn’t really matter.
Like many of these stipulated agreements, the Bloom settlement has a multi-year jurisdictional tail. The plaintiffs’ attorneys are aware of when to return if a city begins to stray, and the court continues to monitor for the term of the agreement, often even longer. San Diego has to pay a high price to learn this. The city now faces continuous legal exposure, a court-mandated infrastructure plan that it attempted to postpone, and a public relations issue as a result of being discovered to have broken a contract it had signed.
In this instance, there is a more general pattern that merits consideration. Nearly all American communities are having difficulty managing car habitation. In most West Coast cities, RV-dwelling is the fastest-growing type of homelessness. The enforcement strategy that worked in 2010—sweep the streets, issue tickets, and hope the issue moves elsewhere—keeps running afoul of federal court decisions, most notably the Ninth Circuit’s homelessness jurisprudence, which has gradually limited what cities can criminalize. Bloom and similar settlements became the workable solution. Cities consent to offer substitutes. The lawsuits are agreed to be dropped by advocates. Within predetermined bounds, enforcement resumes.
What happens when one party treats that agreement carelessly is made evident by the San Diego verdict. Without the infrastructure, enforcement is impossible. Without providing the showers, water, and illumination you promised in return, you cannot claim the right to empty the streets. Saying it aloud makes it appear clear, and the attorneys who drafted the deal most likely saw it as well. The translation from the legal paper to the actual capital-improvement project, which is where these things nearly always go wrong, is where the error occurred.
