Shawn Yim 2026: Further Reflections

A year and change after Shawn Yim’s passing (read my essay on him here), I find myself having thoughts. 

I notice that where there should be answers, there remain only questions. In 2024 I wondered if this event might finally be the one to galvanize our elected officials into taking action and cleaning up our city (remember, it's not Metro but our local governments we should be looking to: it isn't buses that are unsafe, but Seattle at large). 

Unfortunately such hope has thus far gone unrewarded. 

Nothing, not even fentanyl, is as addictive as maintaining the status quo. And the status quo bothers me because it favors the few over the needs of the many. It isn't just that people like Richard, Shawn's murderer, are suffering; it's that folks like Shawn, and Richard’s murdered roommate, and all their friends and family, have to suffer too.
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People who are a danger to themselves and others should not be left to rot in public, nor to act out as they please, with no regard for their neighbors. We naively believed people would obey laws even if there were no consequences for breaking them. We hoped people with problems would proactively self-select their own healthy solutions. What beauty there is in this optimism. I wish we lived in that world. 

We do not. 

Apathy is simply too easy, too tempting a thing to enact, especially if it's dished out to you daily. My friends on the street feel abandoned, ignored, and despised, and they accordingly respond with their own version of the same. As long as securing a job that pays for rent remains nigh-impossible; as long as basic needs and mental health solutions hide behind a forest of bureaucracy; as long as society works to make each person feel isolated, unheard and alone– violence will remain what it always has been: a voice for the oppressed. An opportunity to feel liberation, power, however briefly. A way of finally being seen. I see the satisfaction some of them take in annoying or scaring normies like me, they, who have a degree of struggle, and a degree of freedom, the rest of us will likely never know. 

Recently my entire bus was harassed by a screaming person with schizophrenic tendencies who refused to leave my bus, resisting every polite, respectful, cajoling, and finally firm attempt by me, even after I was out of service. No help responded, and no security was in sight. All I could do was sit there as he ranted, myself a prisoner to his whims and his schedule, forced to watch as he declared he had COVID and commenced coughing on me, reaching up over the shield. I noticed I was shaking afterwards.

We live in a city where such behaviors go largely unchecked. If you've never been a victim of street crime, this is easier to tolerate. If you have, it becomes harder to remember that systemic oppression enables and causes these behaviors. You notice what is also true, which is that Jeffrey (that was his name) in no way felt oppressed. He felt what he paradoxically also was: free. Jeffrey can be himself however his brain dictates, acting out against whomever and wherever he chooses, without consequences. What problem? I saw genuine joy as he toyed with me, and the others, a brain running on profane and gleeful overdrive. Any student of anthropology knows that societies cannot function without restrictions on individual freedoms; but how much freedom is too much?

In my recent Elliott Bay talk I was asked how one would solve Seattle’s homelessness/safety/mental health/drugs problem. At the time I fumbled for an answer. If I were answering now I think I'd say that I don't think our elected officials or other power brokers will ever succeed in fixing the crisis... unless they can be convinced that it's a for-profit venture. I'm terribly sorry to sound so cynical but in our capitalistic society, I unfortunately think that's the only thing that will provide liftoff. Sort of like how the environmental movement didn't meaningfully get going until they figured out how to turn it into an excuse for people to buy stuff– cars, light bulbs, and so on. 

The crisis needs to be presented either as an opportunity to make tons of money, or a scenario that is currently preventing the making of tons of money. And the thing is, it is possible to make that argument, with reference to declining property values vis-a-vis real crime and perceived crime, all of our closed storefronts, Seattle’s growing reputation as a dangerous place, etc. But this argument would have to compete with the current state of affairs: not solving homelessness is clearly very lucrative for somebody. I’ll let others do the finger-pointing here.

Whenever this eventually gets solved, it will be too late. For now, more years will pass, and my friends on the street will continue to thrive within the confines they're given. As people rendered invisible by the system, some of them will continue to treat those around them with corresponding inhumanity. My colleagues and I will still be harassed, intimidated and maybe killed. My female friends– drivers, passengers, commuters– will continue to tell me the horrors they've suffered on buses and sidewalks, horrors which leave scars that never go away.

My street peeps will tell me of the stunning inhumanity only they know, how it continues casually, a tide you can hardly fight against, the barrage of constant messaging telling you you’re worthless. We wonder why they walk into the middle of the street. I think of Delillo’s line from Underworld every time: “If you [believe] your life is worth nothing, only a gamble with death can gratify your vanity.” They will continue wandering out there, hoping for contact, and I will continue to deny them the pleasure. They may not value their lives, but I do.

My passengers will go on telling me how they're investing in weapons, cars, tasers, e-bikes, plans to move away, plans to change their hours– anything but this. As the only person on the bus not allowed to carry a weapon, the only person not allowed to leave a dangerous situation, I listen politely, trying to remember the difference between real solutions and mere Band-Aids.

And the systems in power will sing their considerate song while ultimately doing nothing for either side. Loneliness, the disease of every epoch but especially ours, will continue seeping into our blood, spreading, raising the walls between us until we forget that we are made of the same clay and have most of the same experiences.

We will also continue to have hope. 

We will imagine better worlds and wonder why our leaders aren't similarly interested. It will still feel electrifying to connect, commune, assist, contribute. The buzzing altruistic rush we feel when we connect with another, when we bring someone joy and belonging; who could forget how much better it feels to give, than to receive?

What I hope most for in writing this despairing essay is to be proven wrong. I want our city's exciting new leadership to quickly render the above problems dated and obsolete. I dream of a day when the selfish apathy of our time reveals itself as a facade. When all our basic needs are met, and for that to be evident to us, because only then can we begin caring for those around us. Only then can empathy blossom on a large scale. 

We will survive, meanwhile, and we will hope. We will take small steps toward goodness. It is what we can do, and what we have to do.