Being Human Writing

Written by Sarah Revie (Cuvalo)

My heart breaks for the human beings who will die because of this decision. It sits heavy in my chest, knowing that the people responsible for making it likely do not feel that same heartbreak. They do not know the lives they are about to have a hand in ending. I do.

I can see their faces. I can hear their laughs. I can remember what they looked like when they cried, and when they smiled. What is worse is that I can picture exactly how they will react when they hear this news. How devastated they will feel. How alone. How unseen. The scene is crystal clear in my mind. The feelings come so vividly, they almost feel like my own.

The decision to stop funding supervised consumption sites is a mistake. No. It is a miscarriage of justice. Human beings will die. There is no nice way to say that. No easy way. They will die. Too many of them. They will die alone because other human beings made the wrong choice.

I am going to say that loudly for the ones in the back. For the ones who do not understand because their lives have never been touched by substance use. For the ones who have always had a roof over their heads. You made the wrong choice.

And maybe it is just me. Maybe I am one of the few people who still believes every human being on this planet is worth something. Worth love. Worth compassion. Worth saving. Worth more than being discarded because their existence makes other people uncomfortable.

Sure, visible drug use is not a great look. It “hurts” property values. I understand that is what some people care about. But do you know what is worse than that? Dead bodies on the street. Preventable deaths. Human beings freezing outside and dying alone. That should devastate us far more than any concern about neighbourhood image ever could.

People are not going to stop using drugs because supervised consumption sites disappear. They are not suddenly going to be ready for sobriety because someone decided more abstinence-based services should exist instead. They are not suddenly going to heal from the trauma inflicted on them by the addictions system, the recovery system, or by life itself.

They will just use alone.

They will use in alleyways, in parks, in stairwells, in public washrooms, in tents, in someone’s backyard, outside in the cold. And some of them will die there.

At a supervised consumption site, especially the one where I worked, people were treated with kindness, compassion, and understanding. They could come in freely and use in a space where they were safe. A space where they were known. A space where they were not judged. Often, they were supported by people who had once stood exactly where they were standing. People with lived experience. People who understood.

That matters.

Harm reduction was built by people with lived experience because they knew what so many others still refuse to understand: you cannot shame people into safety. You cannot punish people into healing. And you cannot abandon people without consequences.

From an economic perspective, this decision is also indefensible. And while the cost in human life should already be enough, apparently it is not. So let’s talk about money.

Supervised consumption sites save taxpayers millions of dollars. That is not me being dramatic. That is what the data shows. Look it up. The research is there. They reduce emergency service use. They reduce hospitalizations. They prevent deaths. They save lives and they save money.

So if supervised consumption sites save lives, and save money, why have legislators decided to stop funding them?

That is the question, isn’t it?

I wonder the same thing.