Mark Abel, a mobile home park resident from unincorporated District 1, speaks during public comment at the Sonoma County Board of Supervisors meeting on Feb. 3, 2026, urging the county to strengthen mobile home park closure and conversion rules. (County of Sonoma)

The morning starts the way county meetings often do — polite, almost ceremonial.

Coffee in the back. A few pastries. The familiar shuffle of papers and quiet greetings as people find seats in the Sonoma Valley Veterans Memorial Building.

Chair Hermosillo welcomes everyone warmly, proud to be hosting in her district. Mayor Ron Wellander steps forward to lead the Pledge of Allegiance. There’s a brief Spanish-language announcement, headphones offered for translation. The machinery of government clicks into place.

At first, it feels routine. Then public comment begins.

And suddenly, the room changes.

Because one by one, residents step to the microphone — not with abstract policy complaints, but with stories of fear. Of intimidation. Of homes under siege.

The first voice that truly shifts the temperature is Mark Abel, a mobile homeowner from District 1.

He doesn’t mince words.

The county’s closure and conversion rules for mobile home parks, he says, are inadequate, full of loopholes, and dangerously out of sync with state law. He warns of predatory and deep-pocketed bad actors exploiting residents across the county — Windsor, Cotati, Santa Rosa, Petaluma.

“What’s transpired in Petaluma is a slow-motion train wreck,” he tells them.

One company has allegedly threatened to spend billions on lawsuits just to exhaust residents into submission.

“It’s ugly,” he says simply.

The supervisors listen closely.

Jodi Johnson approaches next. She introduces herself as a resident of Youngstown Mobile Home Park in Petaluma — and vice president of a statewide mobile home advocacy zone.

Her voice carries the weight of someone who has been living inside the storm.

She calls Sonoma County “Ground Zero.”

She describes a new breed of corporate park owners — investment groups using closure threats as weapons.

In 2023, she says, seniors received notices taped to their doors claiming the park was closing.

It was unlawful.

But the damage was immediate.

One senior suffered cardiac arrest.

Two others attempted suicide.

All because they believed homelessness was imminent.

“This is senior and vulnerable abuse,” she tells the board flatly.

The room is silent.

Then comes Christopher Brown, a 30-year resident of Little Woods Mobile Home Park.

He speaks slowly, deliberately.

Harmony Communities, he says, has targeted the park. Space rents threatened to rise 350%.

They’ve removed parking.

They’ve threatened closure.

“They take actions to put us in fear,” he says. “It’s like psychological terrorism.”

He asks the supervisors to imagine their own parents living under that pressure.

Nobody in the room misses the point:

Mobile home residents may own their homes, but they live on land someone else controls.

Teresa Perez, a mother of three from Evergreen Mobile Home Park in Windsor, steps up next.

Her park is also owned by Harmony.

She describes the constant anxiety: rent hikes paired with closure threats if residents oppose them.

“It has affected me mentally and emotionally,” she says.

She reminds the board of the cruel truth:

“We own our homes but not the land beneath them.”

Most mobile homes cannot realistically be moved.

Relocation can cost $15,000 or more — with few open spaces anywhere else.

“The stability that comes with home ownership can change in an instant.”

Then Blanca Chávez speaks in Spanish, echoing the same story:

Evergreen residents live with fear, instability, and deterioration of conditions.

She warns the county:

“What is happening in Petaluma, Windsor, Cotati, Santa Rosa… prevention is the response.”

After public comment closes, Supervisor Coursey speaks first.

He doesn’t promise immediate action.

But he says plainly:

“We need more information… we need to know what’s in front of us.”

He calls mobile home residents part of the county’s vulnerable population.

County Executive Officer Rivera notes that mobile home policy is already embedded in the county’s Housing Element work plan — but likely not scheduled for 2026.

That answer doesn’t fully satisfy Corsi. “I’m not sure I can wait until 2027,” he says.

Supervisor Rabbit adds that regulations alone aren’t enough — the county may need broader conversations, including with park owners, to preserve mobile home parks as naturally occurring affordable housing.

The board is listening.

But the residents have made something unmistakable:

Time is not on their side.

This meeting began with coffee and civic ritual.

But it turned into something raw:

A room full of seniors, working families, immigrants, and advocates describing corporate intimidation not as theory — but as lived experience.

Mobile home parks are one of the last reservoirs of affordability in Sonoma County.

And the people living there are saying:

We are being targeted.

We are being worn down.

We are being threatened out of our homes.

Unless the county strengthens its protections…

Petaluma won’t be an isolated case. It will be the model.

Roger Coryell is editor of the Sonoma County Gazette.