Patrick Hogan’s Rare Victory Shows Unhoused Californians Can Hold Public Agencies Accountable and Why it Shouldn’t Be So Rare
Patrick Hogan woke to the sound of voices—sharp, urgent, and close. Flashlights tore through the darkness.
“Turn those damn things down,” he called out. No one did.
It was just after 6 a.m. on October 24, 2023. Caltrans crews had arrived with California Highway Patrol officers to clear the encampment. Hogan’s tent was the first in their path.
Most people ran—fearing not just arrest, but the domino effect of a ticket they couldn’t pay, a missed court date, a warrant, a jail stay. Running meant losing everything. Staying meant gambling with the system.
Hogan didn’t run.
“I’m the old man,” he told them. “The more you yell at me, the slower I go.”
He asked for bags to pack his belongings. They said they had none. Eventually, a Caltrans worker brought two and held them open. Hogan loaded what he could: a stove, a mattress, clothes, utensils. What didn’t fit, he lost.
He asked for a receipt. They said no. Instead, they scrawled his name on the bags with black marker and tossed them into a truck.
Among the items seized were Hogan’s handwritten poems, short stories, and journals—work he hoped to publish one day.
“That was the worst part,” he said. “They didn’t just take my stuff. They took the words I hadn’t gotten to finish.”
What stayed with him just as much was the CHP officer who stood nearby laughing as he packed—mocking him like it was all a spectacle.
“He made fun of me,” Hogan said. “Like it was all a joke.”
The number posted for item retrieval led nowhere. Weeks later, Caltrans admitted nothing had been stored.
So Hogan decided to fight back.
He filed a small claims court case against Caltrans—armed with a smartphone, a printed copy of the agency’s own policies, and video footage of the sweep.
“If they can throw away my story,” he told the judge, “they can throw away anybody’s.”
In April 2024, he won. A judge awarded him $1,500—one of the few known victories of its kind in California. For unhoused people across the state, it sent a powerful message: public agencies can be held accountable.
Kath Rogers, a senior attorney with the ACLU of Southern California, called Hogan’s case “rare—but it shouldn’t be.”
She described Hogan as “very sophisticated”—someone who knew his rights, documented the violations, and had the clarity to enforce them.
Under the 2016 Sanchez v. Caltrans settlement, the agency is barred from destroying property without prior notice and proper storage. And under the Fourth and Fourteenth Amendments, all Californians—housed or unhoused—are protected from unlawful seizure and loss of property without due process.
In practice, those protections are routinely ignored. “Bag-and-tag” procedures are often skipped.
“It’s easier to throw everything in a trash truck,” Rogers said. “And they know most people won’t fight back.”
At the Inner City Law Center in Skid Row, the consequences of these sweeps show up weekly.
“Almost every time we run our Vital Documents clinic,” said communications manager Jacqueline Burbank, “someone shows up in tears because their birth certificate or Social Security card was swept.”
Without those documents, people can’t access housing, benefits, or even prove their citizenship. And with ICE raids on the rise in Los Angeles, Burbank said, the risks are greater than ever.
“Sweeps don’t just displace people,” she said. “They erase people.”
Advocates warn that even when a 48-hour notice is posted, it’s inconsistently enforced. Retrieval systems fail. And with agencies like CHP involved, intimidation is common.
In a written response, Caltrans said it follows a minimum 48-hour notice policy before removing encampments, except in emergencies, and coordinates with local agencies to offer shelter or housing placement. Regarding the Oct. 24 sweep, the agency said Hogan’s belongings were “heavily soiled and ineligible for storage” and confirmed that none were inventoried. Caltrans maintained that its “manual policy procedures” were followed that day, though advocates dispute the consistency of such compliance.
Hogan’s case may be unusual—but it’s replicable.
California’s small claims courts allow individuals to sue for up to $12,500, and lawyers aren’t permitted in the courtroom. The system is designed to be accessible, but Rogers notes that many unhoused people face steep barriers: no phone, no Wi-Fi, no safe place to store documents, and no one to guide them through the process.
Rogers said that while the small claims process is meant to be straightforward, most unhoused people never get the chance to use it.
“It’s not just about knowing your rights,” she said. “You need a charged phone, an internet connection, a safe place to keep your paperwork, and someone to walk you through the steps.”
She stressed that documentation is key. “If you see a sweep, focus your camera on the officers, the workers, and especially the trash truck. A picture is worth a thousand words in court.”
After the sweep, Hogan tried for weeks to get his belongings back. The number posted on the notice led him to a public information officer, who eventually told him that nothing had been stored. “It’s like they make the process impossible on purpose,” Hogan said. “If you don’t give up right away, they just pass you around until you do.”
Rogers also points out that Caltrans’ actions didn’t just violate the Sanchez settlement—they may have also run afoul of California Government Code §2080, which requires public agencies to store unattended property rather than destroy it. Violations of that law, she said, are common across the state but rarely challenged.
The law applies whether the items are left on a sidewalk or in an encampment.
“It’s a protection most people don’t know exists,” Rogers said. “And agencies count on that ignorance to get away with violating it.”
“The more people who assert their rights,” she said, “the more pressure there will be to change the system.”
Hogan agrees.
“They thought I would just forget,” he said. “But I didn’t.”