At first glance, many riders assume Frank Dan and Brandon Fenwick are police officers: They walk through train cars and station platforms dressed in matching blue and black uniforms, with BART logo hats and duty belts around their waists. But instead of a gun, Taser or baton, as BART Police Ambassadors, Dan and Fenwick carry a radio, flashlight and pouch for the anti-overdose medication Narcan.
Almost a year after new teams of Ambassadors began patrolling the system, BART is going further in pursuing efforts to respond to problems of drug abuse, homelessness and mental illness with unarmed civilian employees instead of traditional law enforcement officers.
In addition to the ambassadors, the agency plans to double the size of a newly-created team of Crisis Intervention Specialists — civilians with a background in social work who would respond to calls involving people with suspected mental health issues. It will pay for the new positions with $1.9 million originally budgeted to hire six new police officers.
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“It is time to try something a little different,” said BART Director Rebecca Saltzman, who in the wake of protests against police brutality and racial injustice last summer called for the agency’s police to identify ways to respond to the societal problems that often play out on trains and in stations. “Police will still be absolutely needed at BART, and they need to engage in certain situations — but in others, they’re not necessarily the best person.”
BART is among several police agencies in the Bay Area reimagining how law enforcement should engage with the public, particularly non-White riders or those experiencing a mental health crisis. BART’s vision is to have the Crisis Intervention Specialists dispersed at stations throughout the system and available to respond to calls along with an armed officer, whose job would be to secure the scene and be on standby in case the interaction escalates. Nearly 40% of the calls BART police received last year were classified as “wellbeing and medical assistance” checks, according to the agency’s data.
The specialist, who would wear a different uniform and be trained in how to interact with people in crisis and reduce the intensity of a situation that might otherwise result in harm, would then take the lead in talking with people who may be in distress. The agency had announced plans last fall to hire 10 of the specialists, and this month doubled that unit to 20. The specialists have not yet been hired; BART hopes to have the full contingent on board later this year.
The idea of shifting money away from traditional law enforcement and toward new more progressive public safety models is not sitting well with everyone.
“People want to see police officers at the stations — they want a presence,” said BART Director Liz Ames, who thinks the agency is diving headlong into new strategies without studying whether they are more effective at keeping the system safe or connecting people who need help with social services. “It’s not really proven, to me, that this new model is going to work.”
BART police, however, have long had a fraught relationship with many non-White riders.
Their darkest chapter, the killing of Oscar Grant, an unarmed Black man who was pinned face-down on the Fruitvale station platform when he was shot by BART police officer Johannes Mehserle in 2009, resurfaced this week when Alameda County District Attorney Nancy O’Malley announced she would not file criminal charges against Anthony Pirone, another officer roundly criticized for his aggressive conduct during Grant’s arrest. An analysis presented to BART’s board on Thursday found the agency’s police department detained and used force on Black riders at vastly disproportionate rates compared to White riders.
BART’s plans are far from a full shift away from traditional law enforcement — the agency plans to add more officers to its “Train Teams” and prioritize a visible police presence on trains.
“Presence equals safety,” BART Police Chief Ed Alvarez told the agency’s board Thursday. “Getting more people out there, being present in our system, walking our trains and doing the work that we do is going to help with crime.”
Meanwhile the agency has continued to pursue efforts to make its system harder to sneak into. It has raised barriers and secured elevator entrances at dozens of stations and plans to have that work finished at all stations by the end of next year.
But a $90 million project to replace the system’s orange fare gates with new swinging barriers that are harder to push through or jump over will take four or five years to complete and relies on BART securing most of the funding for the project, $55 million, from county governments.
The stakes of these safety efforts are high for a transit system that is primarily funded by passenger fares but has seen ridership floundering at less than 15% of pre-pandemic levels since last spring.
The return of riders will in large part depend on when COVID-19 vaccines are widely available and offices reopen, but passengers’ sense of security will likely play a role in their decision to get back on board. BART ridership had been in a slow decline for years, and while many factors played into that trend, the drop was particularly acute on nights and weekends when many passengers said they felt unsafe.
BART’s police union has questioned how effective the unarmed Ambassadors can be in preventing violent crime in the system. Their work is more about being a reassuring presence for riders, providing information about shelters and other services to the homeless, and reminding people to follow BART rules, like wearing face masks during the pandemic.
If they see thefts, fights or other serious incidents, Fenwick and Dan say they are told to use their radios to contact BART police. In their first six months, BART data showed the Ambassadors had to call police for help 66 times.
“We’re not supposed to get involved,” Fenwick said.
As they walked through trains on a recent weekday, the two ambassadors spotted a man without a face mask and offered him one, which he accepted and put on. They approached another man slumped over a pair of seats with a pile of belongings and asked him to pull his face mask up; once he did, they moved along.
“We’re here to help,” Dan said. “We’re not enforcement.”
