A Long Beach man accused of starting a small fire in a dumpster has spent the last year locked in a state mental hospital without any chance to prove his innocence.
Worried that he’ll never get his day in court, Kaizann Guerrero’s family is accelerating their efforts to draw attention to his case.
Guerrero, a 43-year-old man with schizophrenia, was managing his condition well until his life was derailed by a justice system ill-equipped to handle him, according to his mother, Karina Guerrero.
Since he was diagnosed with schizophrenia in his late 20s, Kaizann had made fleeting strides toward living a healthy life but had reached a breakthrough a few years ago.
While living in a supportive housing community in the Washington neighborhood, he was prescribed the right mix of medication and a monthly injection that allowed him to function independently. He was well enough to regularly pick up his daughter from school and take her to gymnastics or swim lessons, Karina said.
That all changed last year, when his arrest kicked off a complicated court process that his family says undid his progress and left him in frustrating legal limbo with no clear escape.
On Aug. 21, 2025, Karina called Kaizann to say she was bringing over food and he should clean out his fridge to make room. After hanging up, he took the trash down to the dumpster. There, he later told his mom, he spotted smoke and pulled the fire alarm.
Police have a different story. They say an automatic notification from a fire alarm alerted them that the dumpster had been extinguished by the building’s sprinkler system. As officers were on the way to check it out, someone at the facility called dispatchers and described a suspect who allegedly started the fire, said Long Beach Police Department spokesperson Andrea Moran. The description, police said, matched Kaizann.
When Karina showed up minutes later, two Long Beach police officers were attempting to arrest her son, who was angry and confused about why he was being targeted.
Karina said officers were aggressive, with one telling her, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
Kaizann, too, was agitated, she said. Fearing he would be injured or killed by police, she asked him to calm down and go with the officers. She thought the confusion would be quickly sorted out in court.
Normally, defendants are entitled to a speedy presentation of the evidence — as quickly as 10 days at a preliminary hearing if they insist on it. But in Kaizann’s case, proceedings on a felony arson charge were stymied almost immediately. At his arraignment, Kaizann’s public defender announced she did not think he was mentally fit to stand trial. Because defendants have a constitutional right to a fair trial where they can participate in their own defense, that announcement triggered a legally mandated mental health assessment.
If a defendant fails that assessment, they are sent to a locked state mental hospital, where they are supposed to be rehabilitated so the case can resume.
Instead, Kaizann’s family says his mental state has only deteriorated. A change in medication and low-quality food has sped the decline, according to Karina. He’s lost weight and become depressed.
Instead of helping him, the county’s mental healthcare system “has failed him in every way,” she said.
He’s now caught in what his family sees as a nearly impossible situation: To try to prove his innocence and earn his freedom, he must show he’s in control of his schizophrenia, but without his freedom, he can’t access the tools to properly treat his condition.
With their frustration mounting, Kaizann’s parents and dozens of their supporters attended a court hearing this week where a judge was set to decide whether he was well enough to face trial.
They protested outside and handed out flyers describing the situation to passersby, but inside the courtroom, they could do little more than watch. There, without Kaizann present, the judge reviewed confidential medical reports from state-appointed psychologists who deemed him still too ill for trial. The judge ordered six more months of treatment at Metropolitan State Hospital in Norwalk.
Karina doesn’t understand why her son has been unable to pass the mental health assessments. When they talk on the phone, almost daily, he’s aware of what’s going on and describes in detail his experience in treatment.
In order to stand trial, a person must understand what is happening in court and be able to help with their legal defense.
Without a dramatic change in his living conditions, Kaizann’s family doubts he will be any better by the next time he’s evaluated.
In the meantime, they’re focusing on what they can do. They have a visit planned next month along with his daughter, Mia, that they hope will lift his spirits and encourage him to keep going.
“If he had epilepsy or seizures or even diabetes, he would get the medical attention he needs,” Mia said last year during a public plea for help at Long Beach City Hall. “But he’s not; he’s just getting overlooked.”
Karina and her husband, William, had planned to retire and move to the Philippines, but they are now worried about putting enough money into Kaizann’s commissary account so he can afford decent food.
Their efforts have been buoyed recently by local Filipino groups like the Filipino Migrant Center and Gabriela South Bay, who have pitched in to raise funds for his legal defense, paint signs and make T-shirts.
Karina is maintaining hope. She has big plans for when Kaizann is released. She wants him to be the face of a movement for change within the court’s mental health system.
Her determination may be spreading. In a recent phone call, Karina said, Kaizann agreed, telling her, “OK mom, let’s work.”