Pubdate: Tue, 06 Mar 2007
Source: Village Voice (NY)
Copyright: 2007 Village Voice Media, Inc
Contact: http://www.villagevoice.com/aboutus/index.php?page=contact
Website: http://www.villagevoice.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/482
Author: Felix Gillette	
Bookmark: http://www.mapinc.org/hr.htm (Harm Reduction)

UNIONIZING CHRONIC DRUG USERS

On a Thursday afternoon in early February, Louie Jones strolls 
through the courtyard of the Gowanus Houses, a public housing project 
in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn. As he moves, Jones--40 years old, gaunt and 
relentlessly outgoing--sizes up each passerby. Jones is a recruiter 
of sorts, and every week at this time he is out pounding the 
pavement, in part, to find new enlistees. He's not scouting for the 
military or for a church, but rather for his fledging organization, 
called VOCAL NY, User's Union--the only group in New York solely 
dedicated to organizing the city's legions of drug addicts. Jones is 
looking for a few good users.

At around 2:30 p.m., Jones spots a man in a puffy jacket, leaning 
against a fence.

"Condoms," Jones calls out. "Free condoms?"

The man declines. "Still working on the last batch, y'all gave me."

Jones keeps walking. At the center of the courtyard, a team of city 
workers is picking up trash. Jones takes a long look at the cop car 
idling nearby. "It's going to be a slow day," says Jones. "Slow, slow, slow."

Thanks to the police presence the dealers are scarce, and so too are 
the users. The regular hotspots--the corner outside the bodega, a 
service ramp disappearing into one of the tall brick towers--are empty.

As he continues his walk, Jones explains the philosophy behind the 
user's union. The notion isn't new; it and has been employed to great 
effect in cities like Amsterdam and Vancouver, Jones says. The 
essential idea is to get chronic drug users to take responsibility 
for their health, not in some ideal version of the future when 
they've kicked their habit, but in the present imperfect moment while 
they continue to use drugs. The union, says Jones, is an effective 
way of bringing addicts together and encouraging them to begin 
helping each other "peer to peer."

Jones has been a heroin addict for several decades, and argues that 
the current state of drug treatment in New York City is too much of a 
binary process. Some users remain in recovery and have access to many 
avenues for self-improvement from therapy to health care to volunteer 
opportunities; others still use, and have access to nothing. "We're 
interested in the middle path," says Jones. "No abstinence required."

VOCAL's current 20 to 30 dues-paying members (Jones isn't sure about 
the exact number) meet regularly at the headquarters of the New York 
City AIDS Housing Network on Fourth Avenue in south Brooklyn. There, 
VOCAL members can attend support groups, sign up for volunteer 
activities, help plan demonstrations aimed at improving how the city 
caters services to them, and strategize on how to combat what Jones 
calls "addict-o-phobia"--that is, society's stigmatization of 
addiction, which Jones believes often scares users into lying about 
their condition.

"You think of a group of users and you think of chaos," says Jones. 
"It's not chaos. It's about the concept of harm reduction. I 
practice. We all practice. It's what binds us together."

That said, Jones would be the first to admit that organizing drug 
addicts is a bit more complicated than unionizing, say, journalists. 
Would-be members regularly drop out because of health or legal 
problems. Others might disappear on a binge. There's also the tricky 
issue of funding. How do you get charitable organizations or city 
administrators to hand over money to a group of individuals who admit 
to regularly snorting cocaine or injecting heroin? Jones is still 
working out the details. But for the time being, VOCAL is surviving 
by forming partnerships with other sympathetic nonprofits in the 
area, such as the Harm Reduction Coalition and the Injection Drug 
Users Health Alliance.

In the meantime, Jones who is HIV- and Hepatitis C-positive, is out 
on the streets doing what he can to help reduce transmission of the 
viruses among his fellow Brooklyn addicts--one condom, one unsoiled 
syringe, and one pristine crack pipe at a time. On this Thursday 
afternoon, as he makes the rounds, Jones is accompanied by Michael 
Duncan, a physician assistant who works for various syringe-exchange 
programs throughout the city, and by a VOCAL volunteer.

At around 3 p.m., the team spots a potential peer member, a haggard, 
middle-aged woman, in neon-green gloves and a corduroy hat, who is 
standing out in the cold at the projects entrance, restlessly 
shifting from foot to foot. After a round of introductions, Duncan 
removes a crumpled brown paper bag from his overstuffed messenger's 
backpack and hands it to the woman. Inside, there are alcohol swipes, 
a kit for disposing of used needles, packets of sterile water, a 
metal mixing cap, a cotton swab, and 10 clean syringes.

For the next few minutes, everyone stands around chatting, sharing 
gossip, advice, and war stories. Eventually, the physician's 
assistant hands the woman a business card for a doctor who 
specializes in helping people overcome heroin addiction, using the 
prescription drug Suboxone. She listens as he explains the potential 
pros and cons of the treatment versus methadone. Finally, Jones 
reaches out and hands the woman a flyer. "VOCAL is the union of drug 
users and our allies," reads the pamphlet. "We drug users and our 
allies need to be involved when drug-related policies are being discussed."

Jones invites her to the next group meeting. Membership costs $20.
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MAP posted-by: Beth Wehrman