San Diego’s sun-drenched, salt-sprayed coastline is about to get a major facelift—and not everyone’s clapping.
The city’s newly approved “Coastal Resilience Master Plan” is being billed as bold, forward-thinking, and a necessary response to rising seas. But for many San Diegans, especially those living in places like Sunset Cliffs, Ocean Beach, and La Jolla Shores, it feels more like a hostile takeover dressed in eco-friendly language.
At the heart of the plan? A massive pivot away from seawalls and concrete to nature-based solutions like sand dunes, berms, and vegetated buffers. That might sound lovely in a brochure. But in reality, residents say it’s a raw deal—one that trades practicality for performative climate politics.
And let’s be honest, when you start talking about narrowing traffic lanes, cutting off beach access, and introducing paid parking in areas that have always been free, people get nervous—and then they get loud. Really loud.
Scott McCaskill of the Ocean Beach Community Foundation called it out during a packed and emotional public hearing, blasting the plan as “not about protecting the coast—it’s about pushing a political agenda.” That sentiment echoed through the chambers as community leaders slammed last-minute additions like turning Sunset Cliffs Boulevard into a single lane and charging people to park along one of the city’s most iconic stretches.
And it’s not just about convenience. Critics argue that these changes could choke traffic, create dangerous bottlenecks, and jeopardize emergency access—issues that lifeguards in Mission Beach flagged so forcefully that the city actually pulled that area from the fast-track list. For now.
Then there’s the matter of safety. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers didn’t save Sunset Cliffs in the ’70s with some organic sand berm. They used seawalls, cement, and good old-fashioned engineering. Residents are asking: if it worked before, why ditch it now?
But the city’s holding its ground. Officials point to projections showing sea levels could rise as much as 7 feet by the end of the century. With billions in commercial sales and thousands of businesses at risk, they say now’s the time to act. Councilmember Joe LaCava didn’t mince words: “What we had yesterday won’t be there tomorrow unless we take action today.”
Still, that action feels a little too abstract for comfort. Even Councilmember Jennifer Campbell admitted the ideas are “conceptual,” while planning officials conceded that much of the design work hasn’t even started. That’s done little to calm residents who fear the decisions have already been made behind closed doors.
Environmental groups are celebrating, though. Over a dozen have backed the plan in a joint letter, calling it a win for recreation, habitat restoration, and climate equity. They say it fits perfectly with Climate Resilient SD, a broader climate initiative rolled out back in 2021.
But back on the ground, the tone is much different. Locals are staring down a future where family beach outings come with new costs, fewer parking spots, and more rules. Where “coastal access” starts to feel like a privilege instead of a right. And where the unique, slightly scrappy identity of San Diego’s beach neighborhoods gets washed away by consultants and bureaucrats.
Councilmember Stephen Whitburn put it bluntly: “This plan sets our coastline up for long-term success.”
But to people like McCaskill, it sounds more like the first step in erasing what makes San Diego’s coast truly special.
“They call it resilience,” he said. “But we call it destruction.”
