Families in Imperial Beach and South Bay are leaving their homes, some with no plan to return, after hydrogen sulfide from the Tijuana River sewage crisis reached concentrations 150 times higher than California's safety standard, turning a once-desirable coastal enclave into what one county supervisor called a public health emergency zone.
The toxic chemical, which carries the unmistakable stench of rotten eggs, hit 4,500 parts per billion in the area, as ABC 10 reported. California's limit is 30 parts per billion. The reading was the highest since September 2024, and local officials, a UC San Diego professor, and residents themselves say the state has done nothing close to enough.
Governor Gavin Newsom's office responded by pointing the finger at the federal government. A spokesperson told the Daily Mail that the Tijuana River situation "is a federal issue and not under state control," adding that the administration "urges the federal government to take action quickly to help address the impacts of their failed infrastructure."
That answer has not satisfied the people breathing the air.
Sonia Mayorga and her husband left their Imperial Beach home after the smell became unbearable. Within days of leaving, her symptoms disappeared. When they returned, the symptoms came back.
Mayorga told reporters:
"I literally want to cry. I want to go back and I can't. We have a beautiful home, with my family over there, we can't go back because it's so toxic. Our bodies can't handle it, so we have to be out."
She is not alone. Residents across South Bay have reported headaches, nausea, and nose and throat irritation at the levels now being recorded. The New York Post reported that on one recent Sunday, hydrogen sulfide levels topped 2,000 parts per billion, already far above what workers at wastewater treatment plants encounter before suiting up in full protective equipment.
UC San Diego Professor Dr. Kimberly Prather put the situation in blunt terms:
"These levels are levels that workers in wastewater treatment plants put on all their PPE and walk around, right? The community doesn't have that."
Prather has urged Newsom directly to declare a state of emergency, writing on Facebook that "the science is unambiguous" and that "the link to health damage on people and the environment is proven." Her message to the governor was pointed: "You have the power and the authority. Please use it, before you leave office."
The sewage disaster along the Tijuana River did not appear overnight. The Associated Press has reported that since 2018, more than 100 billion gallons of raw sewage, industrial chemicals, and trash have flowed through the Tijuana River into Southern California. The International Boundary and Water Commission provided those figures. Tens of thousands of people have been exposed.
Hydrogen sulfide from the sewage can trigger asthma attacks and cause headaches, nausea, coughing, shortness of breath, and skin and eye irritation. Prolonged beach closures have become routine.
EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin said during a February visit to San Diego that resolving the crisis will take about two years. For families like the Mayorgas, that timeline is cold comfort when they cannot sleep in their own beds tonight.
This is the same state government that has struggled to manage homeless encampments burying Sacramento waterways in trash while the governor touts funding victories. The pattern is familiar: Sacramento announces money and ambition, and the people on the ground get the smell.
San Diego County Supervisor Paloma Aguirre has been among the loudest voices demanding state action. She wrote on Facebook that the community is "entering a new era of crisis" and addressed Newsom directly:
"Governor Gavin Newsom: This is an SOS from South San Diego. We are breathing in toxic gases, and we can't wait any longer. Please declare a State of Emergency for the Tijuana River crisis."
In another post, Aguirre described the human toll: "Our children are waking up with headaches, our seniors are struggling to breathe, and our families are prisoners in their own homes. Our air is toxic. Our beaches are hazardous to our health. Our families feel trapped indoors."
Earlier this month, Aguirre visited the affected area with gubernatorial candidate Tom Steyer. The two were spotted wearing masks. Steyer and other candidates have pledged to act if elected, a tacit admission that the current occupant of the governor's office has not.
Newsom's record of ambitious promises and thin follow-through extends well beyond the Tijuana River. His $236 million mental health program that aided just 22 individuals stands as a case study in how Sacramento can spend lavishly and deliver almost nothing.
The Washington Examiner reported that the San Diego County Board of Supervisors has already voted to declare its own state of emergency over the Tijuana sewage crisis. County leaders specifically asked both Newsom and then-President Joe Biden to issue state and national emergency declarations, seeking faster access to funds for infrastructure repairs. The outdated sewage treatment plant at the center of the disaster needs major work, and local officials say a federal declaration could accelerate that funding.
The governor's office has settled on a familiar strategy: blame Washington. The spokesperson's statement to the Daily Mail framed the crisis as a product of "failed infrastructure" under federal jurisdiction and urged the federal government to "get this community the help it needs, now."
That framing may contain a grain of truth, cross-border sewage infrastructure does involve federal agencies. But the people choking on hydrogen sulfide at 4,500 parts per billion are Californians, living in California, governed by California law, and protected, in theory, by California's 30-parts-per-billion safety standard. The governor has the power to declare a state of emergency. He has not done so.
The political dynamics of Newsom's final stretch in office add context. With a crowded governor's race already exposing fractures in California's Democratic establishment, the Tijuana River crisis is becoming a test of whether any leader in Sacramento will act before the next election forces the question.
Meanwhile, Newsom faces scrutiny on multiple fronts, from his party's stance on ICE and federal enforcement to the state's broader governance failures. The sewage crisis fits a pattern: a problem that festers for years, a community that suffers in silence, and a state government that responds with press statements instead of emergency powers.
At 4,500 parts per billion, hydrogen sulfide is not just unpleasant. It is the kind of concentration that triggers immediate protective protocols in industrial settings. Workers at wastewater treatment plants gear up in full personal protective equipment at far lower levels. The families of Imperial Beach and South Bay have no such gear. They have windows they can close and doors they can lock, and, increasingly, suitcases they can pack.
The health effects are not speculative. Residents have reported headaches, nausea, and irritation of the nose and throat. Sonia Mayorga's experience, symptoms that vanished when she left and returned when she came back, is the kind of natural experiment no one should have to run on their own family.
Dr. Prather's data from UC San Diego found hydrogen sulfide levels at 150 times the state safety standard. That is not a marginal exceedance. It is a public health failure measured in orders of magnitude.
And the crisis is not new. The sewage has been flowing since at least 2018. More than 100 billion gallons of raw waste have crossed the border into Southern California. The scale of the contamination is staggering, and the pace of the response has been anything but.
The people living with this crisis are not lobbyists or political donors. They are homeowners, renters, families with children, and seniors, the people California's government is supposed to serve first. They bought homes near the beach because it was beautiful. Now they cannot breathe in their own living rooms.
Gubernatorial candidates are visiting the area in masks and making promises. A UC San Diego professor is posting on Facebook, begging the governor to use powers he already has. A county supervisor is writing SOS messages on social media. And the governor's office is issuing statements about federal jurisdiction.
Somewhere in Imperial Beach, Sonia Mayorga's beautiful home sits empty because the air inside it is toxic. That is not a policy debate. It is a failure with a name, an address, and a family that cannot go home.
When the government tells you it's someone else's problem, and you're the one who can't breathe, you know exactly whose problem it is.
