Latest news with #drugcrisis
Globe and Mail
3 days ago
- Health
- Globe and Mail
Letters to the editor, May 31: ‘We are overdue for our … governments to collaborate and rapidly address this ever-growing fentanyl plague'
Re 'How fentanyl transformed Victoria's Pandora Avenue from downtown hub to open-air drug market' (May 24): As someone who observes the chaos on Victoria's Pandora block almost daily, I am grateful you have given national exposure to our civic crisis. Perhaps because we have so many governmental and charitable organizations trying to address the problem, we seem incapable of even describing it holistically in the way your reporter has, let alone pulling together to solve it. I find it ironic, because British Columbia is good at deploying the Incident Command System when it comes to co-ordinating a response to natural disasters. The time has come to take charge of our drug calamity in a similar, localized fashion. Rory McAlpine Victoria Tragically, the deterioration of downtown Victoria owing to fentanyl can aptly describe many cities in North America today. As a resident of Calgary's East Village who overlooks the Calgary Drop-In Centre, I witness firsthand the similar deterioration of a planned community of condominiums, parks and the stunning RiverWalk. The main grocery store is now supervised by staff wearing body cameras. I see sidewalks riddled with human urine, feces, used needles and users smoking drugs. The solution may be a return to provincially run institutions such as Riverview Hospital in British Columbia, deemed inhumane and deinstitutionalized in favour of community-based mental health services. The old may become new again. Current community services, touted as the solution, are often underfunded and understaffed and seem incapable of dealing with the fentanyl onslaught and its users. We are overdue for our municipal, provincial and federal governments to collaborate and rapidly address this ever-growing fentanyl plague. Martin Wilkins Calgary My memories of Victoria date back to the 1960s, when my family would visit from Nanaimo. As a current resident of Victoria, I can still say it is a city of wonder, with its ocean vistas off Beacon Hill Park, the B.C. Parliament Buildings and, of course, the Empress hotel. But one doesn't have to travel far to witness the fentanyl crisis: the contorted bodies trying to stay upright or the lost souls passed out on storefronts, for some of whom I've beckoned the help of our bicycle-riding medics. My hope is that all levels of government will come together and find a solution to get those who need our help off the streets and into treatment. Only then may they find the dignity we all deserve. Unless that happens, living in a city seemingly more focused on bike lanes makes me think of a slippery slope with no return. Andrew Waldichuk Victoria Re 'What is happening to higher education in the U.S. right now is not reform. It is destruction' (Opinion, May 24): I believe these institutions also undermined their own defences from within. Long before the current political assaults, many campuses began punishing unpopular speech and sanctioning faculty under vague codes of 'harm.' By stifling internal dissent, often without due process, these universities eroded their credibility and validated the critics now calling them ideological echo chambers. This hypocrisy makes academic freedom harder to defend. To credibly resist external attacks, these universities should first recommit to open inquiry and intellectual consistency. They should get their own houses in order or risk defending the idea of a university, rather than the institution itself. Kristen McLeod Regina Re 'The men who left their mark on every corner of the brain' (Opinion, May 24): My father was suffering from a crippling spinal condition in 1949 that had rendered him almost unable to walk. He was 34, with a wife and three children (including me) to support and another on the way. His doctor advised him to see William Cone at 'The Neuro' as his best bet in seeking a cure. Dr. Cone took him as a patient. When my father asked if he could have a private room, the doctor replied, 'After paying me $3,500, I don't think you will be able to afford a private room.' Despite this letdown, the operation was a success, and my father lived without back pain for the next 54 years. In our family, Dr. Cone was a god. Fraser Laschinger Prescott, Ont. I never met Dr. William Cone, but Dr. Wilder Penfield first came into my life when I was four years old, in 1929. He operated on my mother's brain cancer and gave her four more years of life. Our families began a lasting friendship. When I was about 10, I spent a happy two weeks with the Penfield family at their summer home on Sargent's Bay off Lake Memphremagog. Some time in the 1940s, Dr. Penfield was invited to open a facility in Cowansville, Que., designed to provide local artists with studios and exhibition space. He began his address by noting he was a good choice for the task. 'I'm good at opening things!' Cowansville now has a lively art scene. The project Ruée vert l'art has a dozen artists' work displayed as banners on lampposts on streets leading to what I take to be the successor of the facility that Dr. Penfield opened. Robert Stairs Peterborough, Ont. I met Wilder Penfield several times at Rideau Hall where, in 1965, he was head of the newly created Vanier Institute of the Family. During one of the doctor's visits, he fascinated a group of us with this anecdote: Before hiring a new doctor at the institute, he took them home for lunch with him and his wife, Helen. Her father and grandfather had both been doctors. He had become keenly interested in a particular candidate. But try as he might, the lunch with Helen kept running into scheduling problems, so much so that he decided, just this once, to forgo it. The new doctor was hired. Within months, the institute had been turned upside down by the newcomer, and, as Dr. Penfield lamented to us that day, he only had himself to blame. R. Bruce Stock Former aide de camp to governor-general Georges Vanier; London, Ont. Re 'To be tall is to be big – and to be big is a no-no for women of all sizes" (Opinion, May 24): My sister and I grew, much to our horror, to be 5 foot 10. Relegated always to the back row in class pictures, I too dreamt of having a section of my legs removed. When we were old enough to wear heels – our father insisted we always wear heels when dating – we learned to slouch and appear a couple of inches shorter. Then along came my husband, a handsome 6 foot 2. Together we raised three boys who topped out at 6 foot 5, 6 foot 4 and 6 foot 3. They make me feel small, and I love it. Judi Conacher Toronto Letters to the Editor should be exclusive to The Globe and Mail. Include your name, address and daytime phone number. Keep letters to 150 words or fewer. Letters may be edited for length and clarity. To submit a letter by e-mail, click here: letters@
The Sun
7 days ago
- Health
- The Sun
Welcome to Crackland – the stinking junkie town where crowds of zombified addicts light up as brutal clampdown launched
A BRUTAL police crackdown is underway in Brazil's notorious Crackland - the sprawling district dubbed the world's largest open-air drug den. Crowds of crack cocaine users, once a constant presence in the area, have vanished almost overnight following an aggressive push by São Paulo authorities to shut the zone down for good. 7 7 7 In total, more than 500 officers took part in a major late-May raid targeting the drug-infested zone officially known as Cracolândia. Led by Governor Tarcisio de Freitas and Mayor Ricardo Nunes, the latest operation has seen military police step up stop-and-search patrols, close down hostels used by users, raid dumpsters where dealers gather, and begin tearing down a nearby shantytown believed to be sheltering drug suppliers. Residents say the change has been immediate — and striking. 'I walked around for 10 minutes finding no trace of them,' bar owner Marcelo Colaicovo told AP after passing through the area on a recent May afternoon. 'Even the stench was gone.' Zombified streets For years, Crackland has been a symbol of Brazil's drug crisis. A grim city-within-a-city, its addict residents openly smoke crack in broad daylight, sometimes just metres away from college campuses and the city's main train station. By day, the streets were lined with men and women wrapped in filthy blankets. Some were as young as 13. Others were former professionals who fell into addiction. Inside 'Crackland' - a festering drug den plagued by murders and zombie addicts as model influencers peddle coke and meth 7 Many scavenged through bins for recyclables, trying to make a few coins to buy their next rock. Police long patrolled the edges of the zone, not to stop the drug use, but to try and contain the violence and robbery it often sparked. Addicts and traffickers moved freely between broken shacks, makeshift camps and budget hostels used as crack houses. A single hit could cost as little as a few cents, making crack dangerously accessible. Photos from the latest crackdown reveal a changed - but still unsettling - picture. In one image, an addict hunches over a crack pipe, flames flickering in the afternoon light. 7 7 In another, a homeless man lies sprawled across a pavement, unmobing. Uniformed officers stand watch nearby, frisking users and checking ID documents. Health workers in fluorescent vests approach addicts with clipboards, trying to offer help and an escape from the drug hell. Municipal crews in gloves and masks dismantle shanty homes at Princesa Isabel square, long seen as the epicentre of the crisis. The current clampdown also includes targeting the supply chain - a new tactic that sees police dismantling makeshift camps believed to house drug dealers just outside the main Crackland zone. Cycle of failure But critics warn the operation could follow the same failed pattern as previous efforts: a short-lived clean-up, followed by a slow return of users. In 2017, then-Mayor João Doria sent in 900 police officers with tear gas, rubber bullets and stun grenades to break up Crackland. He declared it over — only for the "fluxo", the local term for the mass of addicts and dealers, to re-form a few blocks away within months. Felipa Drumont, a trans woman who has lived on the streets of Crackland, told The Guardian at the time: 'The police turned up throwing bombs at everyone. You don't eat. You don't sleep. Any money you can get goes on crack.' Francisco Inácio Bastos, a leading drug expert who conducted Brazil's national crack survey, said: 'What we see is a change of project every administration, without any continuation. 'It's all political. Without long-term planning, [Cracolândia] will continue as it is.' A national emergency Brazil has the highest number of crack cocaine users in the world — an estimated 370,000 in major cities. São Paulo's location at the heart of the country's economy, and close to cocaine-producing neighbours Colombia, Peru and Bolivia, has made it a key trafficking hub for decades. Crackland reflects the deep ties between poverty, inequality and addiction in Brazil. The state has tried social programmes, like 2014's 'Open Arms' initiative — backed by Prince Harry during a visit — which offered shelter and cash for small jobs in exchange for treatment. But the scheme was scrapped after criticism and lack of funding. Since then, 'mini-Cracklands' have emerged on the city's outskirts, with users scattering across multiple zones after each police operation — rather than disappearing. Still in the spotlight Crackland is not hidden. It sits in one of São Paulo's busiest districts, just blocks from concert halls, shopping centres, and the offices of South America's biggest newspaper. Office workers and college students rush past addicts lighting up in the street. The contrast has made the area a constant source of embarrassment for city officials — and a visible sign of failed drug policy. Despite the visible clean-up, few believe this latest effort will succeed where others failed. Without major investment in long-term treatment, housing, and employment programmes, experts warn the crackdown will only scatter the problem — not solve it. For now, São Paulo's most infamous junkie town lies quiet. But history suggests it won't stay that way for long.
Globe and Mail
24-05-2025
- Health
- Globe and Mail
How fentanyl transformed Victoria's Pandora Avenue from downtown hub to open-air drug market
The sidewalk outside Victoria's Central Baptist Church was littered with trash on a recent visit. A woman was slumped like a resting marionette, her arms hanging from her waist. The smell of urine rose from the concrete. It was mid-week in the heart of the city's central business district but Pandora Avenue was strangely quiet. Nobody was talking. No one was asking for change. Central Baptist Church stretches almost an entire block along Pandora's south side. Judged from the nave, it looks in good shape, with a new pastor, a banging house band, a popular youth ministry. On Sundays, 700 people pack the pews to hear Shawn Barden preach. But the church is at a crossroads. In the next couple months, Central Baptist will decide whether to remain where it has stood for 98 years or sell the property and leave Pandora. 'Being among people at the margins of society is where churches thrive,' says Mr. Barden. 'But the needs of the people here have taxed our expertise, our ability to help.' Pandora, with its wide, tree-lined boulevards, was once a lush gateway to the downtown from the east. But in the past decade, it has morphed into one of the largest open-air drug markets in Western Canada. About a third of the storefronts are shuttered. Soup kitchens, charities and mom-and-pop pharmacies fill many of the rest. Half the people on the sidewalk are semi-conscious and bent over – the fentanyl fold, the pose is known. Blankets, cardboard and trash clutter the pavement. 'You see everything here – shootings, murders, overdoses, fires,' says Linda Hughes, who moved into her condo overlooking Pandora's 900 block in 2010. 'It used to be wonderful living here.' Now, she says, misery is the only constant. The Globe and Mail visited Pandora as part of Poisoned, a continuing series examining the opioid crisis, and the impact it has had on the country. For this installment, we set out to find out what is lost when several blocks of a street effectively disappear from a city landscape, and what can cause so swift a change. To Conor King, a detective with the Victoria Police Department, what's happened to Pandora can be summed up in a single word: fentanyl. In the spring of 2013, over a period of days, he watched as the drug ripped through the neighbourhood, 'knocking people off their feet,' before exploding into a wider crisis. Along Pandora where a small number of heroin users had gathered, it was like spraying gasoline on an ember fire. Although this is a story about what's known as 'the block' in Victoria, it could be about so many other Canadian neighbourhoods that have been left deeply scarred by the opioid crisis, like Ottawa's Byward Market or North Main in Winnipeg. If fentanyl is a national crisis, B.C. is its epicentre. Unlike Vancouver's Downtown Eastside – a magnet for transient folks and drug users for more than a century – Pandora's swift decline has been far more recent. A decade ago, the sidewalks surrounding Central Baptist were full of tourists, residents and office workers who co-existed with a smaller number of unemployed and homeless folks who congregated beneath the trees. When he was prime minister, Jean Chrétien visited Pandora, touring the Victoria Conservatory of Music shortly after it moved to its grand, new home on the street. It feels impossible to imagine a prime minister visiting the block the way things are now. Until a few months ago, paramedics wouldn't set foot in the area without a police escort. Drug users – and those who care for them – seem to be the only people there. Some business leaders and police in Victoria warn that unless the city can get a handle on the decline, the chaos spiraling outward from Pandora risks threatening the entire downtown of the B.C. capital, long considered a crown jewel of Canadian tourist destinations. Keith Johnson, co-owner of Oh Sugar on Johnson Street, five blocks west of Pandora's 900 block, believes Victoria has a limited time to save the city. 'Ten years ago, the downtown was lovely: vibrant, full of people. It's become a scary place.' Mr. Johnson and his wife are considering selling the candy shop they've owned for almost nine years, citing the spike in thefts, broken windows, open drug use and dysfunctional behaviour. 'We're so tired of dealing with it ‐ the constant challenges, the stress.' If they can't sell, they may simply walk away when the lease is up next year, he says. 'It's just not worth it anymore." Twice a week, Central Baptist sends out a street outreach team with sandwiches and hot coffee. Monday nights, staff hand out bags of fresh produce and ready-made meals. To Mr. Barden, it all can feel like 'putting the world's tiniest Band-Aid on a horrible open wound.' Mr. Barden was named Central Baptist's lead pastor a year and a half ago. He and his wife, a family doctor, and their three daughters traded a quiet mountain life in Fernie, B.C., for the inner city. He doesn't take himself too seriously. But his playful confidence was earned. As a child, Mr. Barden overcame a crippling stutter. His congregation is divided on the question of whether to stay or go. One side feels morally compelled to remain on Pandora, to rebuild their entire mission around serving the street community, carving out shelter space and serving hot meals, he explains. The other side say they no longer feel safe coming and going from the church. They don't want their church to become another service agency. Mr. Barden is keeping mum on the question. He has a cleric's tendency to pull people towards his views and doesn't want to steer opinions on the issue. But everyone at Central Baptist, he says, can agree on one thing: the church cannot continue to exist on Pandora as it is operating now. 'A church is meant to be open. But at our church, every door is locked,' says Mr. Barden. 'It feels antithetical to who we are supposed to be – like we're doing the gospel wrong.' And yet, it is no longer safe to keep the doors open. Someone recently snuck inside and smoked fentanyl in front of a room filled with toddlers. Last summer, a staff member was sucker-punched in a random attack. Shortly after, a man exposed himself to two children entering the church. Last fall, in an attempt to rein in the chaos, officials started pulling down the jumble of tents just north of Central Baptist on Pandora and erecting fencing to keep people from camping on the grassy medians. The city was forced to act after a paramedic was attacked last July. He was trying to help someone having a seizure after smoking drugs. After being punched and kicked in the face, the paramedic stumbled, barely conscious, to a nearby firefighter, who positioned himself above the injured medic, axe in hand, protecting them from a mob of 60 people who encircled them. Victoria police sent out a mayday. Every available officer in the southern half of Vancouver Island responded. The next day, first responders and firefighters began refusing to attend calls to the street without police protection, forcing city officials to address the sprawling encampment. B.C.'s quaint coastal capital, which once considered putting up snowflakes in place of Christmas decorations – too 'prejudicial,' to one councillor – has long been a bastion of tolerance and progressivism. The city of 96,000 opened North America's largest safe inhalation site in 2023. For years, many policy makers embraced the idea that people should be allowed to sleep in tents on city property and use drugs in public. Two years ago, council voted against a proposed ban on drug use in libraries and community centres. Such a ban, said Coun. Susan Kim, would have fundamentally gone against what those facilities are all about. People with addictions 'might need to medicate,' she said. 'What if they need to medicate as soon as they're done using a public computer at the library, applying for a job?' Ms. Kim said. 'This just creates barriers to the people we're trying to serve.' But as the opioid crisis intensified, homeless encampments in the city became increasingly entrenched, lawless and violent. Public support for some of Victoria's most liberal drug policies has been collapsing. A survey conducted by the Victoria Police Department last year listed 'open drug use' as the biggest problem facing the city, according to respondents. City officials and social service agencies told The Globe the fundamental problem is a lack of supportive housing. Last fall, B.C.'s NDP government opened up enough shelter space to move the 70 to 80 people sleeping on Pandora indoors. The city contracted the non-profit Pacifica Housing to co-ordinate efforts. But nine months on, some 50 people still remain on the block, according to city estimates. 'I know that the community is really frustrated,' says Pacifica CEO Carolina Ibarra. 'Everyone was offered shelter. Not everybody took us up on it.' The problem isn't a lack of housing, it's that the population is 'unhouseable,' says Sgt. Jeremy Preston with the Victoria Police Department. 'The bar for supportive housing is pretty low – don't light fires, don't threaten the building manager – but for many, that's still too high.' Gazing down from her condo window overlooking Pandora's 900 block, Ms. Hughes says once or twice a week she watches bylaw officers forcing people to take down their tents. 'It's like whack-a-mole. The minute officers leave, the tents go right back up.' Pandora residents, she adds, have dealt with a decade of 'noise, drug activity, fighting and threatening anti-social behaviour, not to mention depreciating property values and endless expenses trying to fortify our properties to make them safe.' Two units in her building spent months on the market before their owners finally delisted them. 'We're trapped here,' says Ms. Hughes. 'We can't sell. We can't move. We can't walk our dogs. We can't walk to the grocery store.' Street chaos forced the Victoria Conservatory of Music to puts its Pandora entrance, and its grand, oak doors behind black iron gates. It is Western Canada's largest music school, but seen from its front side, along Pandora, it looks permanently closed. Last year, ChoirKids, a Conservatory youth program, began preforming their annual concert off-site for safety reasons, the group's founder, Jack Boomer, told The Globe. For the last four years, its concert hall – which country legend Emmylou Harris once called a 'jewel box' – has been operating at 50 per cent capacity because fire regulations require a full house to have a second exit. It's not clear when – or if – the front entrance can reopen. Lost revenues so far total $1.5-million, according to CEO Nathan Medd. Several of the conservatory's Pandora neighbours have pulled up stakes, including a Subway that had been there for 33 years, a sushi restaurant, a butcher, a 7-Eleven. Opposite the conservatory a billboard outside a strip mall advertises six businesses that no longer exist there. Patrol officers like Mike Wishlaw are among those who know the area and its people best. Every shift, he's out walking the block, and nearby streets, getting to know the store owners and citizens who populate them. He spends much of his time helping businesses deal with the impacts of public drug use and erratic behaviour. Over the last few years he has come to know a lot of the folks living rough in the core. One woman spends her days at a downtown Tim Hortons. She has a tendency to take off her clothes and blurt out sexualized and often racist comments targeting the shop's largely South Asian staff, he says. Another lives in a tent in a city park, and is convinced that her daughter – who died from a drug overdose almost a decade ago – has been kidnapped and is being tortured. Const. Wishlaw says she wanders residential streets talking animatedly to herself, sometimes screaming or crying – and frequently calls police, begging them to rescue her daughter. Victoria police, who are routinely called to supportive housing buildings in the city, are frustrated by what they call the 'warehousing' of drug users and profoundly ill people by the B.C. government, and a lack of incentives to push people to try to curb their addictions or treat their mental health issues. To Const. Wishlaw, the block is what happens when good intentions, smart minds and a lot of money run up against the reality of drug addiction. 'This isn't a housing issue. It's a drug issue. And it's a mental health issue. People need off-ramps: treatment, long-term care. But we don't offer them any of that.' The buildings are catered with hot meals twice daily, he adds, noting that residents are allowed to smoke and inject drugs inside their apartments, which B.C. Housing confirmed to The Globe. The housing agency's spokesperson, Laura McLeod, said the approach 'meets people where they are at — housing first, then support for healthy life choices." Const. Wishlaw is frequently called to the buildings for violent standoffs, drug trafficking and weapons seizures. Earlier this week, police seized a kilogram of fentanyl, a loaded 9 mm gun and $40,000 in cash from a supportive housing facility just off Victoria's scenic Inner Harbour. He described a typical unit: 'Imagine everything a person has in a street encampment. Now put all that inside a 300-sq. ft. room. You're barely able to move. Even the bathrooms are full of stuff — so they don't use their toilets, their sink. Everything feels sticky. There's no air flow. It smells stale.' Even Det. Insp. Conor King, a rock-ribbed supporter of harm reduction measures and safe supply, is having doubts. 'Police have adopted very progressive drug policy, but it's worse than ever, and we're doing more than ever. How can we be optimistic?' The precise starting point for Pandora's decline is hotly debated. But 2013 was a watershed year for the block. Det. Insp. King was running a team of beat cops that patrolled Victoria's downtown core. He started hearing reports from drug users about a new and powerful type of heroin. Drug users were dropping from overdoses on Pandora in waves. Det. Insp. King sent undercover officers to buy drugs. Testing announced the arrival of fentanyl, a devastating new demon that no one – from street users to VicPD officers – saw coming. In fentanyl, drug cartels operating along the West Coast had found their moneymaker, the detective says. They realized they could slash labour and transit costs by replacing heroin made from farm-grown opium in Afghanistan with fentanyl, a powder made in a lab. B.C was their Canadian guinea pig. The uptick in chaos on Pandora was almost immediate, the data show. Overdose-related calls more than doubled in 2015 from the previous year to 12,263, according to B.C.'s Emergency Health Services. Police calls from the area roughly tripled, according to VicPD data provided to The Globe. They rose steadily every year thereafter, from 936 in 2014 to 4,034 in 2021, when the encampment on Pandora became entrenched. Drug overdoses are now the leading cause of death for people aged 10 to 59 in British Columbia, and account for more deaths than homicides, suicides, accidents, and natural diseases combined. Last year, 2,253 people died from overdose, up from 334 in 2013, giving the province the fifth highest overdose mortality rates of any North American state or province, at 45.7 deaths per 100,000 residents. Experts are beginning to understand that overdoses are also causing lasting harm to those who survive them. Fentanyl can slow or stop a person's breathing during an overdose, starving their brain of oxygen. This can lead to permanent memory loss, impairment, and impulsive behaviour, creating a hidden epidemic of people with often severe brain damage who are struggling to survive in the city's core. No one in Victoria has tried to measure the prevalence of hypoxic brain injuries among drug users. But The Globe spoke with 30 people on Pandora over two days in March. All of them recounted suffering numerous overdoses. By their combined accounts, they had overdosed an average of nine times. This has led to a rewriting of street rules, normalizing behaviours that would never previously have been tolerated, said Jeff Bray, director of the Victoria Downtown Business Association. One downtown Tim Hortons seems to have given up, removing all of its tables and chairs, becoming take-out only. And it's made the job of caring for people who use drugs infinitely more challenging. Julian Daly, CEO of Our Place, a Pandora shelter and support services provider, says it is long past time for B.C. to open the door to long-term, involuntary care: 'I make no apology for saying that. That's what my experience has shown me. There is a small group of people who are so unwell they are not able to make an informed choice about their health care. If they do not get help, they will die.' The pandemic marked yet another downward turn for Pandora. In the years leading to 2020, the number of people sleeping rough in Victoria was relatively stable, at 25 to 35, according to city data. But in April, 2020, when shelters were forced to reduce capacity, the number of tents and shelters jumped to 465. The B.C. government quickly bought three downtown Victoria hotels, moving 334 people into them. But in 2021, after the homeless count rose again, another 200 people were moved indoors. Already, two of the leased hotels have been slated to close permanently due to recent fires, damage and disrepair. Then, in 2023, the number of people sheltering along Pandora started to climb again, leading to the current crisis. To Const. Wishlaw, efforts to restore order on Pandora can feel like 'shoveling water with a rake.' Councillor Dave Thompson said that as soon as bylaw officers began moving people off Pandora, he started getting calls and complaints about street disorder from businesses and residents in other parts of the downtown. The dysfunction has become 'the biggest problem that Victoria has,' Mr. Thompson says. Outside the Shoppers Drug Mart on Douglas Street, the city's main drag, Const. Wishlaw asked four people smoking fentanyl in a bus shelter to move along. One, who police noted was in need of a fix, complained of being harassed by security at Shoppers. Const. Wishlaw estimated that within 15 minutes she would try to steal from another downtown business, since the drug store had foiled her theft attempt. Not ten minutes later, she hurried out of a nearby Winners, arms full of stolen shoes, makeup, sweaters and dresses. She almost collided with Const. Wishlaw and his partner, who happened to be walking past with The Globe. This is the reason that staff at the Douglas Ave. Shoppers Drug Mart will soon be wearing body-cameras – a first in Western Canada. It's the reason that so many grocers and clothing stores in Victoria's downtown now employ security guards. And it's the reason police give for the majority of the 6,000 calls they get every month from Mayfair Shopping Centre, the core-area mall. A new Leger poll showed that 73 per cent of Victorians think downtown has gotten worse in the last year, far higher than any other Canadian city. The top reasons given for the perceived decline of the core include homelessness (91 per cent) and drug addiction (87 per cent). Forty-four per cent of respondents said that they or a close friend or family member had been victim of a crime or dangerous experience within the past six months. Commercial vacancies in Victoria reached a historical high of 10.7 per cent in February, 2025, up from 6.1 per cent in 2023, according to Collier's, an investment management company. Brett Lacey, who co-owned Arq Salon says the chaos cost him his business of 28 years. Mr. Lacey once employed 22 stylists and served 800 clients a month. But over the last decade, the uptick in disorder outside the salon chased off an increasing number of clients – and staff. For years, he kept holding on, 'hoping the next new building downtown would be the light to push out the dark.' Over the years, he invested $500,000, mostly in renovations. Two years ago, he sold Arq for $50,000 — just enough to start over in a salon in suburban Langford. 'I poured my life into the business,' he said, choking up. He remembers coming in at dawn on Sunday mornings to polish the concrete outside the shop to make it easier to clean up blood, urine and feces that seeped into the cracks. David Screech also decamped from the core last year. The decision to close his furniture and upholstery store came suddenly one morning last summer, after a homeless woman dragged five garbage bags onto his property looking for bottles and cans. Mr. Screech, who has owned Greggs Furniture & Upholstery since 2000 – and worked there since 1981 – gently asked her to clean up when she was done. She ignored him, so he asked again. The woman then grew enraged, started screaming obscenities at him, ripped open the bags and began kicking and throwing garbage at him. As half eaten burgers and coffee grinds flew past him, Mr. Screech suddenly realized he was done. He couldn't pick up any more garbage, couldn't hose any more urine from his building walls, couldn't replace one more plate glass window. He couldn't face rousing another sleeping person from his doorway, nor another fire in the entryway. The business was doing great. But the chaos in the core had broken him. And so, he left the woman – still hollering abuse at him – walked to his desk and, with tears in his eyes, e-mailed his landlord, letting him know the business was shuttering. In September, after 70 years in Victoria, Greggs Furniture, which employed nine Victorians, closed its doors. Pandora hasn't lost Central Baptist yet, but they are facing a similar decision over the next couple months. 'We're trying to ask ourselves: why do we exist? What are we good at? What gets us fired up?' says Mr. Barden. 'And if we cease to exist where we have been for 100 years, what would be lost?'
CBC
24-05-2025
- Health
- CBC
Sask. firefighters are responding to more overdose calls — and it's taking a toll
Joel McNair and his team spring into action the moment the bell rings at the Number 1 fire station in Saskatoon, sliding down the fire pole, jumping onto a fire truck and speeding off to the call. More often than not these days in the city, firefighters are being called to a drug overdose. A veteran of 22 years, McNair said it wasn't always that way. "People are openly taking fentanyl. We don't ask them if they've taken heroin. We ask them if they've taken fentanyl," he told host Sam Maciag on the CBC podcast This is Saskatchewan. "The other thing that's happening now is they're putting other drugs in there, which makes it harder for the Narcan." McNair said Saskatoon fire crews had responded to 1,088 overdose calls this year, as of May 15. He dug into the archives of his specific station and found that in 2000, they responded to 3,385 calls of any kind during the whole year. As of May 15, Number 1 station had responded to 500 calls more than that (3,885), with more than six months to go. Saskatchewan's Ministry of Health has issued at least three overdose alerts for Saskatoon so far this year. The most recent came in May after the fire department responded to 30 drug overdoses over three days. Another in February alerted the public to 14 overdoses in 24 hours, and another in March — perhaps the most alarming — to 37 overdoses in 24 hours. The spike in March was so serious that Saskatoon's only supervised consumption site, Prairie Harm Reduction, closed its doors for almost two weeks to give its exhausted staff a break. During that time, two library branches in Saskatoon also closed, saying staff weren't equipped to deal with the number of overdoses happening in their space. Things in Regina aren't much better. Firefighters are responding to significantly more overdoses than fire calls. "My record — if you want to call it a record, if you're keeping track — is four overdoses before lunch, two to the same address for different people," said Tyler Packham, who is president of Regina Professional Fire Fighters L181 and has more than two decades of service under his belt. McNair and Packham agree the new reality is taking a different kind of toll on fire crews, particularly when it comes to repeat users. McNair, in recovery himself from alcohol addiction, sees each call as an opportunity for someone to make a change. But not all firefighters are able to see it that way. "It turns you a little bit hard. It turns you a little bit crass. It turns you a little bit judgmental. It turns you a little bit opinionated at times, and that is not a good place to be," Packham said. That's where Nick Carleton comes in. He's a professor of clinical psychology at the University of Regina and the lead researcher at the Psychological Trauma and Stress Lab. His work focuses on supporting the mental health of trauma-exposed professionals, including first responders and other public safety personnel, health-care workers, military members and veterans. Carleton said dispatching firefighters to overdose calls should be an extraordinary, temporary band-aid solution to help overwhelmed ambulances and hospitals, not the norm that it's become. "In the general population, we might be exposed to five or fewer potentially psychologically traumatic events in our entire lifetime," he said, noting that first responders could be exposed to that many in a day. "We need to recognize the toll that we are tasking on all of our first responders and we have to do a way better job of supporting them." Packham said Regina firefighters only have $300 of coverage to see a counsellor or social worker each year. With common rates around $200 per hour, that doesn't go very far. Carleton suggests first responders get familiar with PSPNET, an online service that provides free, confidential, online cognitive behaviour therapy. As for the opioid crisis, he said all levels of government need to start talking and get invested. "There is no silver bullet, There's no magic solution here. In many ways we're deploying our first responders to try and navigate poverty at this point," he said. "We're having them try and collectively navigate addiction, which is a huge health related issue and it should be treated as a health-related problem, but it is also associated with difficulties with things like poverty." At the end of the day, McNair and Packham say that when the bell rings, they always roll. If someone wants to be a firefighter, they'll encourage them while also sharing the realities of the job. They know people rely on them now more than ever. "It's the greatest job ever," Packham said. "It is, it still is."
BBC News
22-05-2025
- BBC News
Parc prison: Positive 'green shoots' at troubled jail
There have been some "green shoots" of positive actions at the troubled Parc prison, near Bridgend, the most senior prisons inspector in Wales and England has this year a report from Charlie Taylor, HM Chief Inspector of Prisons, said the situation at Parc was "enormously disappointing".The damning report said Parc was failing to tackle an "alarming" amount of drugs that have led to a "spate" of he told MPs on Wednesday that a new boss had provided "a little bit more grip" although there was still "a long way to go". The report, which followed an unannounced inspection of HMP Parc in January, said drugs were "pouring into the prison", with deliveries often by inmates are known to have died at Parc in 2024, more than any other UK the 17 deaths G4S, which runs the prison, confirmed that eight inmates had died from natural causes, and five deaths were believed to be drugs were found on 900 occasions in 2024, and G4S said it had invested significant resources to tackle drugs in the prison including patrol dogs and detection equipment. Parc had previously been judged as one of the most successful prisons, and HM Chief Inspector of Prisons Charlie Taylor called the January inspection "enormously disappointing".Addressing MPs on the Welsh Affairs Select Committee at Westminster on Wednesday, Mr Taylor said the recent deaths had "an absolute catastrophic effect" on "the pride and that real sense of community" on both staff and inmates. However, he said, although the January inspection was very critical there "were some positives there".He told MPs: "There was a little bit more grip by a new director who had been appointed, the number of deaths had diminished since that shocking high that there had been earlier last year."The regime wasn't nearly good enough, but there were some reasonably credible plans to get prisoners out and about and doing some of the things that in the past we commented on reasonably positively."There was a sense amongst the leadership team and also amongst officers, that morale was beginning to improve. So there were some green shoots."However he warned: "I wouldn't want to give you a false assurance on that. "We will be back at Parc within the year and we'll want to see that those improvements that we've begun to see have been sustained but there is a long way to go."Following the report in January, G4S, which runs the prison, said "significant improvements" were being made.
