Pubdate: Sun, 13 Jun 1999 Source: Santa Fe New Mexican (NM) Copyright: 2000 The Santa Fe New Mexican Contact: 202 E Marcy, Santa Fe, N.M. 87501 Fax: (505) 986-3040 Feedback: http://www.sfnewmexican.com/letterstoeditor/submitform.las Website: http://www.sfnewmexican.com/ Author: Barbara Ferry Bookmark: additional articles on heroin are available at http://www.mapinc.org/heroin.htm and articles on New Mexico are available at http://www.mapinc.org/states/nm.htm HOW DID DRUGS GAIN A FOOTHOLD IN NORTHERN NEW MEXICO? Like his Chimay neighbors, Don Usner and his wife, Deborah Harris, often ponder the question: Why are so many people they know killing themselves with drugs? In April, Cindy Sandoval and her nephew Matthew Carr, 10, visit the Cordova grave site of Matthew's mother, Lori Carr, who died of a drug overdose March 29, 1997. The village, where Usner spent childhood summers with his grandmother and where he and Harris have lived for 11 years, has become notorious as the epicenter of the black-tar heroin trade in Northern New Mexico. Police estimate 30 or more dealers are operating out of Chimay=F3, but villagers don't seem to be getting noticeably richer from the trafficking: They are dying. "We keep asking, 'Why are we the heroin capital?' " says Harris, who works with young children and families affected by drugs and domestic violence at Las Cumbres Learning Services in Espanola. They ask Usner's mother and his grandmother, Benigna Ortega Chavez, who recently celebrated her 101st birthday, for some perspective. The elders remember there being a small number of heroin users dating back to the 1950s. But how to explain the epidemic of today? "They can't. They're mystified," Harris says. The epidemic may be perplexing, but it is undoubtably real. In Rio Arriba County, the drug-related death rate is the highest in the nation - nearly four times the national average. From 1995 to 1998, in a county of slightly more than 35,000 people, 42 documented deaths have been attributed directly to heroin while 35 have been attributed to cocaine, the state health department says. And still the death toll climbs. In tiny Cordova (population 700), nestled between Chimay and Truchas, two more young men died within the past two weeks: Brian Romero, 27, and Allen Sandoval, 36. Earlier this year, during Lent, Romero painted the words "Pray For Us" on the paved road leading into the village. It was part memorial to a drug-addicted uncle who had died a year before - part plea for help. But it did not save his life, nor that of Sandoval. Romero was found dead in his bed by his 16-year-old wife over Memorial Day weekend. Sandoval, his close friend, attended a rosary for him on June 2. Later that night, he, too, was found dead. The words 'Pray for us!' are still visible on the road that leads to the cemetery off N.M. 76 in Cordova. Brian Romero used white spray paint to paint the slogan in memory of his uncle Lenny Martinez, who died of an overdose. Romero himself was buried on June 3. Both men had drug and alcohol problems, their friends and family members say=2E "I don't know what's going on here anymore," says Cordova resident Cindy Sandoval, who is adopting her nephew, whose mother died of an overdose. "It seems like every day we're just burying another one." The numbers say nothing of the many more people who struggle daily with addiction or of the children whose parents have died of overdoses or are too single-mind-edly pursuing drugs to care for them. Other Northern New Mexico counties, including Santa Fe, have similarly dismal death statistics. But it is in the hamlets of Chimay and Cordova and Truchas, where life has traditionally depended on the extended family structure and where it is unusual to find a family that hasn't been directly affected by drugs, that heroin seems capable of swallowing up the villages. A Culture At Odds With The Modern World Usner, author of Sabino's Map, a history of Chimay, emphasizes in his writing the strong communal traditions that helped the villagers survive centuries of poverty and frontier life. He is working on a collection of his grandmother's cuentos. In reflecting on the darker side of Chimay, Usner sees the demise of a cohesive, vital, traditional culture that is at odds with the modern world. "Here you have an isolated culture which has been enveloped by an expensive, sophisticated, fast-paced culture," he says. "Many people just don't have the coping mechanisms for dealing with that." Individual income in Rio Arriba County remains half the national average, and some point to the region's economic condition - likened to a rural ghetto by University of New Mexico anthropologist Sylvia Rodriguez - as a reason for the drug epidemic. But Usner thinks that poverty in relation to the larger society - not poverty itself - is a more important factor. An open grave at the Cordova cemetery awaits the body of Allen Sandoval, who died o June 3 of an apparent overdose. He was buried next to his friend and neighbor Genaro Trujillo, who died from an overdose two months earlier. The cross in front marks the grave of Lori Carr, also an overdose victim. "Before, everyone was poor. There was no money. People learned deep cultural ways of doing things," he says. "Now, they are surrounded by media telling them about the things they need but can't afford. I think that feeds hopelessness." When Usner's father came to Chimay in 1949, there was no electricity and no paved roads. "It makes me realize that it wasn't that long ago this area was thrust into the mainstream," Usner says. "He loved it. He said it was the most wonderful place with the most honest, hard-working, self-sufficient people." Usner's father had changed his opinion by the time he died. "He could hardly stand it here anymore," Usner says. Usner often brings tour groups to Northern New Mexico for educational programs. The tourists see snow-capped mountains, red rock cliffs, apple orchards, idyllic farms. Usner tells them about the harsh realities of life in the village. "I tell them, 'We live in an earthly paradise of incredible problems,' " he says. The tourists are stunned to hear it. Seven miles up the road in Truchas, Max Cordova, director of Los Siete Cooperative, a nonprofit art gallery and community center, also struggles to understand the drug problem. Cordova, who comes from a family of 10, sees the extended family structure as both a blessing and curse in the modern era. "The addict won't admit he has a problem. And the families can't believe their son or daughter is on drugs," says Cordova, who has sought to help an addicted family member of his own. "The extended families are often involved in drugs as well. And in those cases there's no support for the person who is trying to quit." Cordova's son David, 30, says eight of the 12 boys he went to elementary school with in Chimay are dead of drug-or alcohol-related causes. "There's a lot of pride here, but the pride needs to be focused," he says. The younger Cordova, who aspires to be a screenwriter, graduated from The University of New Mexico and lived in Los Angeles for a few years before returning home to work with his father at Los Siete. "If you haven't ever left here, it's hard to see what's outside the box," he says. "It's almost unacceptable to dream a big dream here." How far away are solutions? But signs of resistance are growing. A revitalized Chimay=F3 Crime Prevention Organization is aggressively lobbying for law-enforcement efforts, and it is planning a youth corps to occupy kids' time with reforestation, trail-building and other conservation projects. In May, pilgrims of various faiths, led by 100 hermanos from Northern moradas marched along N.M. 76 and prayed for an end to drug-related violence. In March, at a senate field hearing in Espanola, Sen. Pete Domenici, R-N.M., pledged to seek federal resources for law enforcement and community groups fighting the drug scourge. So far he has helped get about $250,000 for beefed-up law enforcement in the county. Usner is encouraged by all of this activity. "A lot of people are at least talking about it," he says. "They're fed up and frustrated. They want to do something. I think things are either going to improve dramatically or we are going to regress to a very desperate situation." Harris, who spends her days working with the youngest victims of drugs, is less optimistic. "By now, it's so endemic that I worry we don't have the tools to deal with it," she says. "We don't have the infrastructure or the basic resources. We can spend money now on treatment programs, but the people who need it often don't have telephones or transportation. "Sometimes I think we're making headway with a family, and then the person needs a place to live. You know John Maher (who co-founded the Delancey Street rehablitation center) said, 'You can't cure an alcoholic in a bar.' It's the same situation here."