Pacoima Business Owners Speak Out After City Clears “Skid Row Valley” Encampment

When the Los Angeles Department of Public Works rolled in trucks early Tuesday morning, the sight was unmistakable: rows of tarps, makeshift shelters, and a few scattered belongings vanished in a matter of hours. The operation, which the city marketed as a clean‑up of the so‑called “Skid Row Valley” encampment in Pacoima, left many local business owners standing outside their storefronts, staring at the now‑empty lot and wondering what would come next.

“We’ve seen this before,” says Carlos Ramirez, who runs a small electronics shop on Olive Street. “They clear the tents, promise better safety, but then the people end up somewhere else, maybe even closer to us. It feels like a revolving door.” Ramirez’s words echo a broader sentiment among the neighborhood’s merchants, who fear that the city’s swift action has merely shifted the problem rather than solved it.

According to an ABC7 investigation, the encampment had grown over the past six months, attracting both people experiencing homelessness and a handful of residents who felt uneasy about the growing pile‑up of trash and the occasional nighttime disturbances. City officials, led by Deputy Mayor Lisa Nguyen, defended the sweep, citing public health concerns and the need to restore “a sense of safety for businesses and families alike.”

Nguyen, speaking to reporters after the operation, noted, “We’re not ignoring the root causes. We’re addressing the immediate safety hazards while we work on longer‑term solutions, such as increased shelter capacity and outreach services.” Her remarks were punctuated with the kind of diplomatic language you’d expect from a municipal spokesperson, but many on the ground weren’t convinced.

“It’s the same old story,” mutters Anita Patel, owner of a nearby bakery. “One day we’re dealing with trash in the alley, the next day we’re dealing with a sudden surge of people looking for a place to stay because they were pushed out elsewhere. It’s exhausting.” Patel’s bakery, a beloved spot for locals, has seen a dip in foot traffic ever since the encampment first appeared, and the recent clearance has not yet translated into a noticeable uptick in customers.

In a small gathering outside the bakery, a group of merchants exchanged anecdotes that sounded oddly familiar: increased vandalism after the encampment’s removal, more frequent police calls, and a lingering sense of unease. Yet, a few voices offered a different perspective. “I’m hopeful,” says Marcus Lee, who operates a repair shop on the corner. “If the city follows through with real services—housing, mental‑health support—maybe this could be a turning point.” Lee’s optimism, while sincere, was tempered by a practical worry: “Hope is great, but we need action. Otherwise, we’re just waiting for the next wave.”

The city’s outreach team, according to Nguyen, has already begun coordinating with local non‑profits to provide temporary shelter options for those displaced by the sweep. However, critics argue that the timeline is vague and resources are thin. “They say they’re helping, but when we ask for specifics—like where exactly people will go, what support they’ll receive—we get vague answers,” Ramirez points out.

Community advocates, on the other hand, argue that the encampment’s removal was a necessary first step. “You can’t have a sustainable solution while people are living in unsafe conditions,” says Maria Gonzales, director of a local outreach organization. “The city’s responsibility is to ensure that these individuals have access to proper services, not just a place to set up a tent on a corner.” Gonzales emphasizes that the backlash from business owners, while understandable, should not distract from the urgency of addressing homelessness head‑on.

As the dust settles—both literally and figuratively—Pacoima’s commercial strip finds itself at a crossroads. The lot where the tents once stood remains empty, a blank canvas that could become a park, a parking lot, or perhaps a new community hub if the city follows through on its promises.

For now, the conversation continues over coffee cups, inventory sheets, and the occasional police radio crackle. Whether the city’s sweep will lead to lasting improvement or simply a temporary reprieve remains to be seen, but one thing is clear: the people who run Pacoima’s businesses want a safe, thriving neighborhood—one that doesn’t feel like a revolving door of uncertainty.