What the insiders are saying about California’s new mental health court

from Marissa Kendall and Jocelyn WienerCalMatters

This story was originally published by CalMatters. Sign up for their newsletters.

Governor Gavin Newsom two years ago launched a new program called CARE court which gave hope to families struggling with severe mental illness.

It promises to provide treatment and housing through court-supervised plans that will support hard-to-help people.

We’ve spent much of the past year talking to dozens of people who have interacted with CARE Court as participants, contributors, and as employees attempting to fulfill program goals.

Here is a sampling of their experiences.

“I felt so defeated”

Last summer, June Dudas was at church when she got a text from her 84-year-old aunt: “He’s here.”

Dudas called and, in a whisper, her aunt said she had locked herself in the bathroom to hide from her son, Ed, who was outside her San Diego home. It was an all too familiar situation. Over the years, Dudas has helped his aunt strengthen her fence, install multiple security cameras and file restraining orders. It was an effort to protect her from a man who, when he wasn’t psychotic, was a “gentle giant” who loved animals and made jewelry from precious stones — but when left to the mercy of his delusions, could turn cruel.

This time Dudas told his aunt he had a new solution. She had just learned about CARE Court, which she had heard could force people into treatment. Dudas’ aunt quickly filed a petition in the CARE Court on her son’s behalf.

But when the CARE Court team offered Ed help, he refused, according to Dudas. Saying there was nothing more they could do, the judge dismissed his case.

“I felt so defeated because of my cousin,” Dudas said. “It’s like, ‘Okay, Eddie, they say when you’re well enough to know how sick you are, then they’re ready to help you, but until then, you’re on your own, mate, and they’re not going to do anything for you.’ And that just seemed very callous to me.

Dudas’ aunt tried again with a second petition in October. This one was also rejected.

Ed is now in jail for violating his mother’s restraining order. Dudas worries that when she gets out, which will likely be early next year, her family will be back where it started: with her and her aunt living in fear, and Ed still not getting the help he needs.

“Life has been pretty good to me”

When field workers found JM in February, he was sleeping on several blankets under an awning in Oakland. He had no tent, despite the winter cold, and could not walk because of a leg injury. He wore several pairs of pants and socks in an attempt to compress his leg and ease the pain and swelling.

JM, who has been homeless for several years, asked CalMatters to refer to him by his initials to protect his privacy.

The county initially sent JM to a mental hospital for temporary detention. He received treatment for his leg and for his mental health, but said it was frustrating not to have a choice in the matter. He found the facility depressing and disliked the food.

When he was discharged, CARE Court provided him with a hotel room in downtown Oakland that was converted into temporary housing for clients in need of mental health services.

JM now regularly walks the half-mile from the hotel to the waterfront at Jack London Square, where he sits and watches the water.

He wants to go back to school and get his GED. He dropped out of high school in the ninth grade and would like to find a teacher to help him with reading, spelling, and vocabulary, areas he has always struggled with. He is looking for a job and trying to quit smoking.

“It was pretty good,” JM said. “Life has been pretty good to me.”

“They were so caring”

CARE Court has been a lifeline for Mary Peters, 64, of Riverside. Until then, Peters had been dealing with her younger sister’s mental illness on her own.

In addition to her sister, Peters helped care for their father, who had dementia. Meanwhile, her sister was in and out of the hospital and homelessness. Sometimes Peters didn’t know where she was or how to find her. Even if she suspects that her sister is hospitalized, hospital staff often do not give her any information, citing patient confidentiality.

Peters filed a petition in CARE Court on behalf of her sister in October 2023, and all that changed. Suddenly there were people to help her. The CARE Court team tracked down her sister when Peters’ couldn’t and got her to live in a sober living facility. When her sister didn’t like that facility, they helped her move elsewhere, Peters said.

“Without the CARE team, it would be impossible for me to do this,” Peters said. “There were times when I wanted to give up. There were days when you just put your hands up if someone feels so hopeless and you do everything you can to try and help.”

Peters’ sister graduated from CARE Court earlier this year in a small courtroom celebration with cupcakes. She now lives in her own apartment in Riverside.

Her sister still has her ups and downs, but now she seems cleaner, has reconnected with her two grown sons and feels less hopeless, Peters said. And she credits CARE Court.

“They were so patient,” Peters said. “They were so caring.”

“My sister that I knew…”

Antonio Hernandez first learned about CARE Court when he saw a flyer his older sister brought home after being discharged from a treatment facility.

“I was so excited about this CARE Court,” he said. “Oh my God, this is exactly what we need.”

His sister, who has schizophrenia, was stable at the time, taking medication and talking about getting a job.

Hernandez filed for his sister to enter the CARE court in Kern County. The process in the county’s CARE court was fraught with delays and extensions, her brother said. Meanwhile, he said, his sister was left in limbo and began to decompensate.

Eventually, she was kicked out of a room and board in Bakersfield and moved into a sober living home, he said. Six months after his first application, he said, his sister signed the CARE agreement. The same day she was kicked out of the receiver.

She became homeless, camping in the park and talking to herself, he said. She stopped taking her medication.

“You have to be in the worst condition for them to help,” he said. “It doesn’t make sense. They expect you to be at your worst to be accepted. At the same time, they expect autonomy from patients to make their own decisions when they’re at their worst.”

He worries about the irreversible damage to his sister’s brain.

“My sister that I knew, I will no longer have that sister because of their failure, their negligence and their failure to follow what the law says,” he said.

A life changing program

CM, 55, was on the brink of homelessness when CARE Court intervened last January.

In her 40s, she had begun experiencing bouts of psychosis when she was under severe stress, with terrifying symptoms that included hearing cruel voices or feeling like her body was being shocked with electricity.

In her 50s, she lost her job as a construction manager because of one of these episodes and struggled to pay the rent on her San Leandro apartment. Her disability benefits were about $1,600 a month, but her rent was $1,750. She drove for Lyft to try to close the gap, but then her Lyft app started crashing, she said. She knew she couldn’t pay her bills and the stress sent her into another episode of psychosis.

In January 2025, one of the emergency physicians on San Leandro’s Mental Health Crisis Response Team saw that she needed help and filed a petition in CARE Court on her behalf.

CM now has his own room on the first floor of an old Victorian house in West Oakland, with a window overlooking a courtyard and a giant agave plant. She has pasted pictures of her two grown sons as little boys on one of the walls, next to a printed list titled Coping Skills.

“I literally didn’t spend any time on the street after I got evicted because of CARE Court,” said CM, who asked to be referred to by her initials for fear that her association with schizophrenia would hurt her chances of getting a job.

She can live there rent-free while staff help her find permanent housing. This stability is important for everyone, but it is especially life-changing for CM, as financial stress and the fear of homelessness are psychological triggers that can push her back into psychosis.

Now the CM is looking to the future. She starts construction management school next year and hopes to find another job in the industry. But there is some uncertainty there too. CM is due to graduate from CARE Court in April, and with that date fast approaching, she is still unsure of where her next home will be.

“This is what families have to endure”

Initially, Anita Fisher was an enthusiastic advocate for the CARE Court. She met with Governor Newsom to discuss it. She appeared on 60 Minutes talking about how the program is a promising tool to help people with serious mental illness.

At the time, her own son, who had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, was doing well.

Some of her last words in the 60 Minutes interview?

“I hope he never has to use it.”

Then her son stopped his medication and went into a mental crisis.

Fisher’s petition for the San Diego County CARE Court was granted. But soon her son was arrested. Then they wrote him out on the street. At one point he disappeared.

“Can you imagine having to wonder for three weeks if your son is alive or dead?” she said. “This is what families have to endure.”

Her son, whom she describes as a kind, obedient man, was an army medic with an unblemished record until his illness struck at age 21. Now he continues to go to prison.

Two years after she first petitioned the CARE Court to get him help, she has nothing positive to say about the program she once praised.

“I look at it as a complete failure,” she said.

This story was co-produced by CalMatters & CatchLight as part of our mental health initiative. This was reported with the support of the Rosalyn Carter Fellowship for Mental Health Journalism.

This article was originally published on CalMatters and is republished under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-No Derivatives license.