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Addictions

Illicit drug use still tolerated in some B.C. hospital rooms, says recent patient

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Illustration courtesy of Midjourney

News release from Break The Needle

Vancouverite Mark Budworth says he was exposed to illicit drug smoke while recovering from an ankle replacement at St. Paul’s Hospital.

Two months ago, nurses across British Columbia said that the provincial government had allowed addicts to openly smoke illicit drugs, such as fentanyl and meth, in hospital rooms to the detriment of frontline workers and other patients. The province subsequently committed to banning the practice – but testimony from a recently hospitalized patient suggests that, at least in some hospitals, this crackdown may not have been serious.

Mark Budworth is a semi-retired Vancouverite in his early 60s who received a full ankle replacement at St. Paul’s Hospital, one of the province’s preeminent medical institutions, in mid-May. In a recent phone interview, he told Break The Needle that, during his four day stay, he was exposed to illicit drug use that was tolerated by staff and made him feel unsafe.

Though only one story, his account fits into a broader picture of rampant fentanyl trafficking and public disorder that has been bleeding into the province’s healthcare system, all to the seeming indifference of provincial officials.

The problems allegedly began after his surgery when he was wheeled into his hospital room, which was shared with another patient who seemed around 30 years old. “There was a strong smell of smoke. And it didn’t smell like tobacco smoke. It smelled like drugs,” said Budworth, who claimed that the hospital porters transporting him commented on the smell but were largely indifferent to it. To his knowledge, no attempts were made by staff to do anything about the apparent illicit drug use.

The next day, Budworth had a friend visit him. He said that the hospital roommate introduced himself to them and was in a “euphoric” and “confused” state, which made them uncomfortable and led the friend to later speculate that the roommate may have been high on meth. After the friend departed, the roommate allegedly left the room and, upon returning, told Budworth that he had bought $200 of fentanyl.

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Budworth said that, around midnight that night, he awoke and realized that his roommate, who sounded very intoxicated, was in the middle of an “aggressive” conversation with a female visitor, which sounded “a little scary.” He said the smell of illicit drug smoke lingered in the air and that he called the nurses who, in turn, summoned security guards. As the woman was being removed, security told her to pull her pants up from around her knees, he said.

The alleged incident left Budworth feeling unsafe, as he worried that he might face retaliation from his roommate. The hospital’s nurses refused to relocate him to a new room at first, but eventually relented after he persistently emphasized his safety concerns, he said.

In his second room, his new roommate was a homeless man who would often leave to smoke cigarettes and marijuana, he said. This new roommate allegedly told Budworth that the hospital’s fourth floor rooftop courtyard is an open drug market where people regularly fight and smoke fentanyl.

Budworth said that, throughout the rest of his stay, he spoke with several hospital staff and, though they were “wonderful,” his conversations with them suggested that illicit drug use was tolerated in the building. “The staff didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. It was normal,” he said.

He claimed to have spoken with four nurses, some of whom suggested that illicit drug use among patients was making their jobs difficult. “They’re people dealing with unlimited problems with limited resources,” he said.

After Budworth was discharged from the hospital, he wrote a letter to Health Minister Adrian Dix explaining his concerns, which he then forwarded to Break The Needle. “I’ve read a lot of articles about the nurses complaining. I hadn’t yet read an article about a patient complaining – patients’ experience. And that’s why I thought I should go on record,” he explained over the phone.

The conditions Budworth recalled at St. Paul’s were largely consistent with what was described in a news report published by Glacier Media Group in early April, before the province cracked down on open drug use in hospitals. In that report, a nurse who worked at the hospital told journalist Rob Shaw, “You can barely walk into some of the rooms, there’s needles and broken crack pipes and dirty food all over the floor.”

“Absolutely there are people throughout that hospital who are dealing and using everywhere,” said the nurse at the time. “We know they are drug dealers, and yet they come and go.”

Budworth’s testimony raises concerns about whether the provincial government’s attempts to control illicit drug use in hospitals have, at least in some instances, been unsuccessful.

In an emailed response sent to Break The Needle on May 30, a media representative of St. Paul’s stated that illicit drug use is not permitted anywhere in the hospital, except for an outdoor overdose prevention site (OPS) on the rooftop courtyard, which she said had received approximately 600 unique visits in the preceding two weeks.

The representative wrote that drug trafficking has “never been permitted” anywhere at the hospital, including the OPS. “Security has increased at our sites to support clinical teams as they respond to problematic behaviours, aggression, drug use, and illicit drug dealing in hospitals.”

But apparently those policies neither protected Budworth nor safeguarded his right to a dignified hospital stay free from illicit drugs and intimidating behaviour.

He blamed the province’s failed drug decriminalization experiment, which was recently scaled back by the BC NDP, and said that the decriminalization movement made him feel “uncomfortable” because, “We’re seeing people smoking fentanyl on the streets already… which is easy to walk away from when you’re mobile, but when you’re in a hospital bed and it’s happening in your room, it’s a little too close.”

“I was gonna vote NDP. I think the provincial government’s pretty good, but, with this experience, they lost my vote on this one… I don’t think that our current government and Victoria is really considering all the stakeholders on this issue,” he said.

[This article has been co-published with The Bureau, a Canadian media outlet that tackles corruption and foreign influence campaigns through investigative journalism. Subscribe to their work to get the latest updates on how organized crime influences the Canadian drug trade.]

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Addictions

The War on Commonsense Nicotine Regulation

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From the Brownstone Institute

Roger Bate  Roger Bate 

Cigarettes kill nearly half a million Americans each year. Everyone knows it, including the Food and Drug Administration. Yet while the most lethal nicotine product remains on sale in every gas station, the FDA continues to block or delay far safer alternatives.

Nicotine pouches—small, smokeless packets tucked under the lip—deliver nicotine without burning tobacco. They eliminate the tar, carbon monoxide, and carcinogens that make cigarettes so deadly. The logic of harm reduction couldn’t be clearer: if smokers can get nicotine without smoke, millions of lives could be saved.

Sweden has already proven the point. Through widespread use of snus and nicotine pouches, the country has cut daily smoking to about 5 percent, the lowest rate in Europe. Lung-cancer deaths are less than half the continental average. This “Swedish Experience” shows that when adults are given safer options, they switch voluntarily—no prohibition required.

In the United States, however, the FDA’s tobacco division has turned this logic on its head. Since Congress gave it sweeping authority in 2009, the agency has demanded that every new product undergo a Premarket Tobacco Product Application, or PMTA, proving it is “appropriate for the protection of public health.” That sounds reasonable until you see how the process works.

Manufacturers must spend millions on speculative modeling about how their products might affect every segment of society—smokers, nonsmokers, youth, and future generations—before they can even reach the market. Unsurprisingly, almost all PMTAs have been denied or shelved. Reduced-risk products sit in limbo while Marlboros and Newports remain untouched.

Only this January did the agency relent slightly, authorizing 20 ZYN nicotine-pouch products made by Swedish Match, now owned by Philip Morris. The FDA admitted the obvious: “The data show that these specific products are appropriate for the protection of public health.” The toxic-chemical levels were far lower than in cigarettes, and adult smokers were more likely to switch than teens were to start.

The decision should have been a turning point. Instead, it exposed the double standard. Other pouch makers—especially smaller firms from Sweden and the US, such as NOAT—remain locked out of the legal market even when their products meet the same technical standards.

The FDA’s inaction has created a black market dominated by unregulated imports, many from China. According to my own research, roughly 85 percent of pouches now sold in convenience stores are technically illegal.

The agency claims that this heavy-handed approach protects kids. But youth pouch use in the US remains very low—about 1.5 percent of high-school students according to the latest National Youth Tobacco Survey—while nearly 30 million American adults still smoke. Denying safer products to millions of addicted adults because a tiny fraction of teens might experiment is the opposite of public-health logic.

There’s a better path. The FDA should base its decisions on science, not fear. If a product dramatically reduces exposure to harmful chemicals, meets strict packaging and marketing standards, and enforces Tobacco 21 age verification, it should be allowed on the market. Population-level effects can be monitored afterward through real-world data on switching and youth use. That’s how drug and vaccine regulation already works.

Sweden’s evidence shows the results of a pragmatic approach: a near-smoke-free society achieved through consumer choice, not coercion. The FDA’s own approval of ZYN proves that such products can meet its legal standard for protecting public health. The next step is consistency—apply the same rules to everyone.

Combustion, not nicotine, is the killer. Until the FDA acts on that simple truth, it will keep protecting the cigarette industry it was supposed to regulate.

Author

Roger Bate

Roger Bate is a Brownstone Fellow, Senior Fellow at the International Center for Law and Economics (Jan 2023-present), Board member of Africa Fighting Malaria (September 2000-present), and Fellow at the Institute of Economic Affairs (January 2000-present).

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Addictions

The Shaky Science Behind Harm Reduction and Pediatric Gender Medicine

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By Adam Zivo

Both are shaped by radical LGBTQ activism and questionable evidence.

Over the past decade, North America embraced two disastrous public health movements: pediatric gender medicine and “harm reduction” for drug use. Though seemingly unrelated, these movements are actually ideological siblings. Both were profoundly shaped by extremist LGBTQ activism, and both have produced grievous harms by prioritizing ideology over high-quality scientific evidence.

While harm reductionists are known today for championing interventions that supposedly minimize the negative effects of drug consumption, their movement has always been connected to radical “queer” activism. This alliance began during the 1980s AIDS crisis, when some LGBTQ activists, hoping to reduce HIV infections, partnered with addicts and drug-reform advocates to run underground needle exchanges.

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In the early 2000s, after the North American AIDS epidemic was brought under control, many HIV organizations maintained their relevance (and funding) by pivoting to addiction issues. Despite having no background in addiction medicine, their experience with drug users in the context of infectious diseases helped them position themselves as domain experts.

These organizations tended to conceptualize addiction as an incurable infection—akin to AIDS or Hepatitis C—and as a permanent disability. They were heavily staffed by progressives who, influenced by radical theory, saw addicts as a persecuted minority group. According to them, drug use itself was not the real problem—only society’s “moralizing” norms.

These factors drove many HIV organizations to lobby aggressively for harm reduction at the expense of recovery-oriented care. Their efforts proved highly successful in Canada, where I am based, as HIV researchers were a driving force behind the implementation of supervised consumption sites and “safer supply” (free, government-supplied recreational drugs for addicts).

From the 2010s onward, the association between harm reductionism and queer radicalism only strengthened, thanks to the popularization of “intersectional” social justice activism that emphasized overlapping forms of societal oppression. Progressive advocates demanded that “marginalized” groups, including drug addicts and the LGBTQ community, show enthusiastic solidarity with one another.

These two activist camps sometimes worked on the same issues. For example, the gay community is struggling with a silent epidemic of “chemsex” (a dangerous combination of drugs and anonymous sex), which harm reductionists and queer theorists collaboratively whitewash as a “life-affirming cultural practice” that fosters “belonging.”

For the most part, though, the alliance has been characterized by shared tones and tactics—and bad epistemology. Both groups deploy politicized, low-quality research produced by ideologically driven activist-researchers. The “evidence-base” for pediatric gender medicine, for example, consists of a large number of methodologically weak studies. These often use small, non-representative samples to justify specious claims about positive outcomes. Similarly, harm reduction researchers regularly conduct semi-structured interviews with small groups of drug users. Ignoring obvious limitations, they treat this testimony as objective evidence that pro-drug policies work or are desirable.

Gender clinicians and harm reductionists are also averse to politically inconvenient data. Gender clinicians have failed to track  long-term patient outcomes for medically transitioned children. In some cases, they have shunned detransitioners and excluded them from their research. Harm reductionists have conspicuously ignored the input of former addicts, who generally oppose laissez-faire drug policies, and of non-addict community members who live near harm-reduction sites.

Both fields have inflated the benefits of their interventions while concealing grievous harms. Many vulnerable children, whose gender dysphoria otherwise might have resolved naturally, were chemically castrated and given unnecessary surgeries. In parallel, supervised consumption sites and “safer supply” entrenched addiction, normalized public drug use, flooded communities with opioids, and worsened public disorder—all without saving lives.

In both domains, some experts warned about poor research practices and unmeasured harms but were silenced by activists and ideologically captured institutions. In 2015, one of Canada’s leading sexologists, Kenneth Zucker, was fired from the gender clinic he had led for decades because he opposed automatically affirming young trans-identifying patients. Analogously, dozens of Canadian health-care professionals have told me that they feared publicly criticizing aspects of the harm-reduction movement. They thought doing so could invite activist harassment while jeopardizing their jobs and grants.

By bullying critics into silence, radical activists manufactured false consensus around their projects. The harm reductionists insist, against the evidence, that safer supply saves lives. Their idea of “evidence-based policymaking” amounts to giving addicts whatever they ask for. “The science is settled!” shout the supporters of pediatric gender medicine, though several systematic reviews proved it was not.

Both movements have faced a backlash in recent years. Jurisdictions throughout the world are, thankfully, curtailing irreversible medical procedures for gender-confused youth and shifting toward a psychotherapy-based “wait and see” approach. Drug decriminalization and safer supply are mostly dead in North America and have been increasingly disavowed by once-supportive political leaders.

Harm reductionists and queer activists are trying to salvage their broken experiments, occasionally by drawing explicit parallels between their twin movements. A 2025 paper published in the International Journal of Drug Policy, for example, asserts that “efforts to control, repress, and punish drug use and queer and trans existence are rising as right-wing extremism becomes increasingly mainstream.” As such, there is an urgent need to “cultivate shared solidarity and action . . . whether by attending protests, contacting elected officials, or vocally defending these groups in hostile spaces.”

How should critics respond? They should agree with their opponents that these two radical movements are linked—and emphasize that this is, in fact, a bad thing. Large swathes of the public understand that chemically and surgically altering vulnerable children is harmful, and that addicts shouldn’t be allowed to commandeer public spaces. Helping more people grasp why these phenomena arose concurrently could help consolidate public support for reform and facilitate a return to more restrained policies.

Adam Zivo is director of the Canadian Centre for Responsible Drug Policy.

[This article was originally published in City Journal, a public policy magazine and website published by the Manhattan Institute for Policy Research]

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