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Russia outlaws Amnesty International in latest crackdown on dissent and activists
Russia outlaws Amnesty International in latest crackdown on dissent and activists

Washington Post

time19-05-2025

  • Politics
  • Washington Post

Russia outlaws Amnesty International in latest crackdown on dissent and activists

The Russian authorities on Monday outlawed Amnesty International as an 'undesirable organization,' a label that under a 2015 law makes involvement with such organizations a criminal offense. The decision by the Russian Prosecutor General's office, announced in an online statement, is the latest in the unrelenting crackdown on Kremlin critics, journalists and activists that intensified to unprecedented levels after Moscow invaded Ukraine in February 2022.

‘It sure feels better to be fighting than to be doing nothing'
‘It sure feels better to be fighting than to be doing nothing'

Hamilton Spectator

time03-05-2025

  • Politics
  • Hamilton Spectator

‘It sure feels better to be fighting than to be doing nothing'

Garth Mullins has spent years telling other people's stories — amplifying voices of drug users through his award-winning podcast Crackdown and organizing with the Vancouver Area Network of Drug Users (VANDU). Now, he's turned the lens on himself. His memoir, Crackdown: Surviving and Resisting the War on Drugs, is not a victory lap or redemption tale, it's something rarer: a grounded, unvarnished account of a life shaped by addiction, criminalization and collective resistance. Mullins' motivation to put pen to paper was prompted by what he describes as a 'kick in the pants' moment — the 2022 Ottawa convoy protests. 'I realized the far right in Canada was getting very well organized,' he says. 'It was only a matter of time before they found us and targeted us.' With that realization came a sense of urgency: to document his experiences as a heroin user, what he'd lived, name the forces at play and help others understand how these patterns repeat, often invisibly, in the everyday lives of people navigating survival in places like Vancouver's Downtown Eastside. But Crackdown isn't a political manifesto. It's a personal reckoning — one that includes stories Mullins had never shared publicly, including the abuse he experienced growing up. These details aren't presented for shock value or sympathy; they're context. They explain how shame isolates, how stigma becomes internalized and how the structures around us — from education, to housing, to health care — often fail people long before they pick up a drug. Mullins is careful not to frame the book as a recovery story. 'Life is messy,' he says. 'It's not just like we're sinners, we get saved, and then we're in the Promised Land.' The narrative resists a clean arc. There are no big breakthroughs, no final triumphs. Instead, there's a steady refusal to give in to silence. That act alone becomes its own form of resistance. Still, the book doesn't dwell in despair. What threads through its pages is a sense of connection… to others who've lived through similar things and to a growing coalition of drug users pushing back. 'The hope is that we have a movement. We have each other,' Mullins says. He recalls a time before any of that existed — before VANDU, before people who used drugs had language to organize or advocate. 'We were atomized,' he writes. 'Contained in our own little cells of shame.' That shift, from isolation to organizing, is at the heart of Crackdown. Mullins wants readers to understand that this movement didn't appear out of nowhere. It was built slowly, often in crisis, by a community that had already been pushed to the margins — people with little left to lose and no reason to place faith in the institutions that had failed them. For Mullins, writing the book was a way to take stock. Over the years, he filled dozens of notebooks with fragments of memories, events and conversations. Turning them into a memoir was less about polishing a narrative than about finding coherence in the chaos. 'It was like when you clean up your apartment a little bit,' he says. 'It feels better. Doesn't mean you're not going to make a mess again tomorrow, but it feels better.' There's also a sense of responsibility in sharing his story. After years of interviewing people for the podcast — often asking them to speak about some of their most painful moments — Mullins knew his time was coming. 'I felt like I owed the people I'd interviewed who shared their lives with me,' he says. 'And it was liberating... to not have that fear anymore, that someone could expose me and I'd get fired, or evicted or ostracized.' He hopes the book reaches young people who feel as lost as he once did. 'If something like this had come my way when I was 22, it would have been really helpful,' he says. 'Saved a little time. Saved a few decades maybe.' But he also wants it to reach beyond the movement — especially to people who see drug users as problems to be managed, not people to be listened to. 'I'd love it if the book could get out to all those thousands of people at [federal Conservative leader Pierre] Poilievre rallies,' he says. A book launch at VANDU is in the works, but Mullins isn't planning a cross-country tour. With a newborn at home (gurgling on his shoulder as we spoke), his priority is staying close to family. Besides, the words are already doing the work. The podcast continues. The organizing continues. The story is in motion. Crackdown the book doesn't offer easy solutions or pretend things are getting better. What it does provide is clarity — about what's happening, who it's hurting and why that matters. 'Even if we don't win, it sure feels better to be fighting than to be doing nothing,' Mullins says. Crackdown doesn't ask readers to save anyone. It asks them to show up — not with crocodile tears, but with purpose. Crackdown: Surviving and Resisting the War on Drugs is published by Doubleday Canada and is on sale now. Amy Romer is an award-winning writer and photojournalist based in Squamish and is Megaphone's Local Journalism Initiative Reporter.

‘Nobody can ever replace Trey'
‘Nobody can ever replace Trey'

Hamilton Spectator

time03-05-2025

  • Health
  • Hamilton Spectator

‘Nobody can ever replace Trey'

It's hard to imagine how the Downtown Eastside will function without the steady force for good that was Trey (Ashtrey) Helten. What's not hard to see is how deeply he was loved — by the community he served, his partner and their son, his dog Zelda, his former employer Sarah Blyth at the Overdose Prevention Society (OPS), his good friend Smokey D, and by the many, many people he helped in the latter part of his short life of 42 years. When Helten failed to show up to a training at OPS on the morning of Tuesday, April 22, Blyth and a colleague went to his Strathcona home and found him unresponsive. At the time of this writing, the cause of death is unknown. Since his passing, an outpouring of love and remembrance has flooded social media and the Downtown Eastside streets he served with such integrity. Murals have begun to appear in his honour, and there is a growing movement to name one of the neighbourhood laneways — Ashtrey Alley. Helten was publicly up front that his early years were characterized by addiction; he didn't mind being called an addict, he once said on Garth Mullins' Crackdown podcast. In his recovery, he built relationships with hundreds of people and, as manager of the OPS, saved the lives of hundreds more. Blyth, who is the organization's executive director, has given many interviews since Helten's passing. For CBC Radio's Early Edition and As It Happens, Blyth recalls Helten's fierce dedication to the people he was helping. Over and above his tireless work at OPS, he was willing to drive people to appointments, detox and Narcotics Anonymous meetings. He took people to lunch or for coffee at the Ovaltine Cafe. He was passionate about doing everything he could in aid of a person's safety, recovery and comfort. In an interview with Megaphone, Blyth once said: 'I can't find words to describe what a unique person Trey is.' Helten began working at OPS in 2018. Megaphone featured Helten on the cover in September 2023, along with his dog, Zelda. Zelda — part pit bull, mastiff and king corso — like Helten could expertly detect drug overdoses. As with many extraordinary pets in the Downtown Eastside, Zelda reflected qualities of her human: intuition, compassion, intelligence and love. In the CBC As It Happens interview, Blyth acknowledged that Helten sometimes tried too hard, to the detriment of his own self-care. At one point, he relapsed into his addiction and needed to step away from his job as manager of OPS. But as his partner, Amanda Jane Rose — who is expecting Helten's second child — said on Facebook, 'Trey NEVER gave up on his recovery.' 'Trey believed that recovery was always possible. It doesn't matter if it takes you one try or one hundred. Keep coming back, keep coming back, keep coming back.' Before Christmas, Helten gave a naloxone training session to photojournalist Amy Romer, who then worked with him to write a 'Naloxone 101' for Megaphone magazine, published just last month in the April issue — in time for the nine-year anniversary of the toxic drug overdose crisis being declared a B.C. public health emergency. Helten's dedication never stopped. 'Nobody can ever replace Trey,' said Rose. 'Not in this community, not in the hearts of so many people and certainly not in my life. He was the most unique, wonderful person in the world. To me, he was perfect.' Trey Helten tributes: A tribute to Helten can be found in the latest episode of the Crackdown podcast. There will be an all day memorial in Helen's honour on Saturday, May 10 in the parking lot of the now-demolished Balmoral Hotel (100-block East Hastings Street), from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. Artist Smokey D has created a memorial piece near OPS.

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