The recent double homicide in Riverside, California has shaken the community in a way that feels both deeply personal and painfully familiar. While details are still unfolding, what is already clear is that two lives were taken senselessly—one of them belonging to a man many in the downtown area knew simply as Richard.
I did not know both victims, ( Corrina Segovia RIP ) but I did know Richard Hinds. Not through long conversations or shared experiences, but through something just as meaningful—consistency. For nearly three years, Richard was a constant presence just steps away from the police station. I passed him almost every day while leaving my office. He never begged. He never caused trouble. He never made anyone feel uncomfortable. Instead, he offered something rare in today’s world: kindness without expectation. A simple smile. A genuine “have a good day.”
That was Richard.
Learning that the incident occurred around 2 a.m. makes this tragedy even harder to process. Anyone who knew Richard’s routine can reasonably believe he was asleep at that hour—resting, unaware, and completely vulnerable. If that is the case, then this was not just violence; it was an attack on someone who had no chance to defend himself. And if the second victim was in a similar situation, then this becomes an even more devastating reflection of how exposed and unprotected some members of our community truly are.
This tragedy forces us to confront uncomfortable questions. Not just about the act itself, but about the environment that allowed it to happen. Richard wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was in the same place for nearly three years. That wasn’t a coincidence—it was a reality that everyone around him accepted. Police officers, firefighters, lawyers, judges, city officials—countless individuals passed by him daily. Some showed compassion, offering food or water. But compassion without action can only go so far.
If the system truly worked the way it claims to, would Richard have been sleeping on the street for three years straight?
This is where accountability becomes difficult but necessary. The city did not commit the crime, but it cannot be separated from the circumstances surrounding it. When people fall through the cracks and remain there for years, it reflects a larger failure. It reflects a gap between what is promised and what is practiced.
Too often, homelessness becomes a talking point—something discussed during campaigns, highlighted in speeches, and used to signal concern. But concern without sustained, effective action leads to situations exactly like this. The community wants solutions. People care. People notice. But the disconnect between public concern and institutional response remains painfully visible.
Richard deserved more than to be remembered as a victim. He deserved safety. He deserved stability. He deserved the same basic level of protection that many take for granted.
This moment has shifted something. It has redirected the purpose behind this platform and this voice. What started as observation must now evolve into intention. Awareness alone is not enough. Stories like Richard’s cannot just pass through the news cycle and fade into memory.
Somehow, someway, someday—there has to be a path forward. A path where people like Richard are not left exposed for years. A path where care is not temporary or symbolic, but structured and lasting. A path where tragedies like this are not inevitable, but preventable.
Richard Hines was known. He was seen. He was appreciated. And he deserved better.
