Joseph Shapiro stepped out of Sunday brunch in San Francisco's Castro neighborhood on June 7 and felt a fist hit him hard in the chest. Police arrived while the suspect was still in view, walking unhurriedly down the block. No one was arrested.

Shapiro, a 71-year-old retiree and singer with the San Francisco Gay Men's Chorus, moved to the city less than five years ago precisely because of its reputation as a haven for LGBTQ people. He has now been violently assaulted twice in that span — and is publicly weighing, for the first time, whether to stay. His story, first reported by SF Chronicle opinion columnist Emily Hoeven, puts a specific name and face on what The Dissent has documented all spring: a wave of anti-LGBTQ and random violence in a city whose identity is built on being above it.

The June 7 attack outside the Wooden Spoon restaurant on Market Street left Shapiro bent over in shock, unable to take more than shallow breaths. Paramedics rushed him to UCSF Parnassus, where doctors diagnosed bruised chest wall muscles and gave him an incentive spirometer — a breathing device used to prevent pneumonia, according to medical records reviewed by the Chronicle. Weeks later, Shapiro told the Chronicle he still can't lift his right arm above his chest and that it hurts to cough or sneeze.

What compounds the injury is what didn't happen next. A witness to the attack described the assailant "swung and hit" Shapiro and then "kept walking and kicking a box at two other people," according to a copy of the police report obtained by the Chronicle. Officers arrived quickly — but the suspect, apparently not in a rush, was still visible on the block. No arrest was made. As of when the Chronicle published its piece on June 27, Shapiro said he had called the department multiple times for updates and had not heard back.

"It doesn't seem like they're trying very hard to find this guy," Shapiro told the Chronicle.

SFPD spokesperson Evan Sernoffsky pushed back, telling the Chronicle that officers "made a significant effort" — canvassing the area, taking witness statements and collecting evidence — but were unable to locate the suspect. "Random attacks on our community members are incredibly disturbing and absolutely unacceptable," Sernoffsky said.

It isn't the first time SFPD has fallen short for Shapiro. In October 2022, he was walking outside his downtown office when a man with multiple outstanding felony and misdemeanor warrants allegedly struck him over the head with a broomstick, causing a likely concussion, as the Chronicle previously reported. In less than five years in a city he chose for its stated values, Shapiro has been struck from behind twice and seen meaningful police follow-through zero times.

"I don't know that either of these events were related to my sexual orientation," Shapiro told the Chronicle. "But to have lived 68 years and never been assaulted by anybody anywhere, and then now having it happen twice in a few years…" He trailed off, the Chronicle noted, with tears welling in his eyes.

"This is the first time I'm seriously thinking about whether it's safe to stay here," Shapiro concluded.

The attacks aren't happening in a vacuum. The Dissent has tracked a pattern of anti-LGBTQ violence and public-safety failures throughout Pride Month 2026: a man with outstanding warrants who was charged with a felony hate crime after punching a Castro neighbor who tried to stop him from spray-painting homophobic slurs on a flower shop; a man on simultaneous parole and probation who twice targeted the same gay UCSF General Hospital worker with death threats; a driver who tore through Dolores Park and the Castro; and a Solano County gay bar vandalized on back-to-back nights.

Nate Bourg, president of the Castro Merchants Association and co-founder of The Academy SF — an LGBTQ social club — told the Chronicle he's been hearing these conversations throughout the community. He described "less concern about targeted anti-LGBTQ+ violence and more concern about a broader sense of unpredictability in public spaces."

"Whether or not an assault is bias-motivated, a random attack can leave someone feeling shaken and questioning whether the city is living up to the values it promotes," Bourg told the Chronicle. "That's especially painful during Pride season."

For Shapiro, it's no longer just a season. "You don't feel alone in San Francisco," he told the Chronicle — pausing before adding the caveat that defines his last five years — "but that doesn't necessarily make you feel physically safe."