Addictions
No, drug prohibition is not ‘white supremacy’

From Break The Needle
British Columbia’s top doctor released a report arguing that the legalization of all drugs combats “racism” and “colonialism.” That’s historically illiterate.
The notion that drug prohibition is inherently racist has become exceedingly popular within the harm reduction world and, by extension, inside many public health institutions and graduate programs. Yet anyone with even a cursory knowledge of history can see that this is absurd. Societies from all across the world have long understood the dangers of addictive substances and supported efforts to criminalize them—so why is this being ignored?
Though the “prohibition is racist” movement usually flies under the public’s radar, it was thrust into the limelight earlier this month when B.C.’s top doctor, Bonnie Henry, released a report calling for the legalization of all drugs. Not only did Henry recommend that dangerous substances—including meth, cocaine and fentanyl—be sold in stores much like alcohol and cannabis, her team asserted that prohibitionist policies are “based on a history of racism, white supremacy, paternalism, colonialism, classism and human rights violations.”
One would hope such sweeping declarations would have been backed with fulsome arguments and historical references, but that didn’t happen here.
Instead, the report simply emphasized how Canada’s original drug laws, dating back to the late 19th and early 20th centuries, were motivated by racist animus against Chinese immigrants. As opium was popular among these immigrants, the drug was believed to pose a special moral threat to white society and was among the first substances to be harshly policed. This, in turn, gave the state a new legal tool to harass Chinese Canadians and, in some cases, deport them.
After briefly explaining this point, Henry’s report concluded that, “Over time, the moral panic associated with drug use expanded to target many more groups of people, including Indigenous people, Black people, women, people of colour, and people of lower socioeconomic status.” This extrapolation was presented as a self-evident fact, without any evidence or citations to explain or substantiate it.
Henry’s recommendations were immediately rejected by the provincial government and savagely ridiculed in the media. Yet the views articulated in her report, shocking as they may have been to many, were not actually exceptional. They only rehashed the dominant beliefs of the harm reduction world—beliefs have also, over the past decade or so, permeated deeply into Canada’s public health bureaucracies.
Henry’s report may be dead in the water, but the underlying ideas which animated it are still very much alive and will, in all likelihood, continue to influence Canadian policymakers within the cloistered hallways of the civil service. This is a shame, because it is difficult to overstate how strange these kinds of beliefs are.
To argue that drug prohibition is broadly based on a history of racism, mostly because it was misused for racist purposes a century ago, is kindergarten-level reasoning. There are ample examples of non-European societies, past and present, embracing criminalization. This is glaringly obvious and, in many cases, common knowledge.
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Non-Western drug prohibition throughout the ages
Perhaps one of the greatest examples of non-European drug prohibition is Sharia law, which has banned the consumption of mind-altering substances since the 7th century. One wonders how harm reduction activists can claim, with a straight face, that prohibition is rooted in “colonialism” and “white supremacy” when Islam’s religious and legal texts supported it centuries before global European empires emerged.
Since harm reduction scholars are so concerned about Chinese experiences, it would be instructive to look toward China itself, where prohibition is also popular.
In the late 18th century, the British began exporting large quantities of opium to the Qing Empire (China), which quickly fomented a wave of addiction and social disorder. Soon after, Qing officials embarked on a multi-decade campaign to criminalize the drug. “Opium is a poison, undermining our good customs and morality. Its use is prohibited by law,” wrote the Daoguang Emperor in an edict issued in 1810.
By the mid-19th century, the Qing worried that, without drastic action, China would be left bereft of money and productive men—so they banned all sales of opium and destroyed any supply of it they could find, including European wares. This angered the British, who profited handsomely off the opium trade, and led them to victoriously wage war against the Qing—not once, but twice—to forcibly stop prohibition.
Narcotics thus continued to flow through the veins of China’s body politic, wreaking havoc for generations. Since then, Chinese nationalists have bitterly remembered the Opium Wars as a colonial crime which marked the beginning of China’s “century of humiliation.”
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The 98th Regiment of Foot at the attack on Chin-Kiang-Foo (Zhenjiang), 21 July 1842, resulting in the defeat of the Manchu government. Watercolour by military illustrator Richard Simkin (1840–1926).
This raises an important question: how exactly can anyone square this history with the ideological framework of the harm reduction movement? Were the Qing embodying some mystical form of white supremacy? Perhaps we should be grateful that the British sent their anti-racist warships to decolonize China’s drug laws.
Even today, the legacy of the Opium Wars continues to inform Chinese attitudes towards drugs—both within China itself (where strict prohibitionism is the norm) and in the diaspora.
In San Francisco, America’s petri dish for drug liberalization, it is Chinese-Americans who are leading a public backlash against progressive policies and calling for greater prohibition. Similarly, Chinese-Canadians were instrumental to Vancouver’s political pivot during the 2022 municipal elections, wherein the centrist ABC party swept the city council and the mayor’s office. Just this spring, Chinese-Canadian protestors in Richmond, the most ethnically Chinese city in North America , thwarted the launch of a new supervised consumption site, only to have a white progressive woman shout “Go back to Hong Kong” at them. No doubt another anti-racist activist.
When I interviewed almost a dozen Chinese-Canadian small business owners and workers in Vancouver’s historical Chinatown last summer, their support for prohibition was clear—and the legacy of the Opium Wars was invoked several times. Many other ethnic groups are processing similar historical traumas, and facing similar erasure. Do harm reduction activists forget, for example, that early European colonists devastated North American Indigenous communities by plying them with alcohol?
Indigenous leaders did not respond to that crisis by calling for more booze. On the contrary, they pushed for prohibition. Illustratively, when Treaties No. 6 and 7 were negotiated during the 1870s, Indigenous representatives asked for the “exclusion of fire water” from Saskatchewan, and that “no intoxicating liquor be allowed to be introduced or sold” on reserves. Even today, dozens of “dry” Indigenous reserves throughout Canada continue to ban alcohol and drugs to whatever extent they can.
When I interviewed over a dozen Indigenous elders and community members in Calgary last summer, their opposition to drug liberalization was clear—some went so far as to condemn decriminalization and “safer supply” programs as “pharmaceutical colonialism.” Ronnie Chickite, chief of the We Wai Kai Nation in British Columbia, told me this spring that his entire band council was “entirely against” decriminalization and that provincial officials had allegedly ignored them.
Building upon these interviews, two senior contacts in the Ontario government confirmed to me earlier this year that Indigenous leaders across the province seem to commonly hold prohibitionist beliefs. Who would have thought that Indigenous people could be such raging white supremacists?
Surveying the world today, it is clear that drug prohibition is actually strongest in non-European states—particularly East Asian and Middle Eastern ones—while liberalization is actually more popular in the West. It is telling that the harm reduction movement seems intent on ignoring this, or, alternatively, positioning non-white prohibitionism as a symptom of corrupting European influences. Both responses are, ironically, more than a little racist—how else can one describe the systematic erasure of non-European voices?
How is it that harm reduction advocates, who make such a theatre of their own “anti-racism,” cannot grasp that non-white communities have intellectual and cultural agency and do not simply let white people dictate their beliefs? In their obsessive disdain for European civilization, these advocates close their eyes to the rest of the world and inadvertently reproduce the same cultural narcissism that they ostensibly condemn—their calls for racial justice conceal a Eurocentric mindset sopping with paternalism.
How is this possible? How has this happened? A glimpse of an answer can be found in the “Acknowledgements” section of Henry’s report this month, where brief biographies of the report’s contributors were provided. Each contributor fixated on their ethnicity and, in many cases, proclaimed themselves as “third generation settlers” or “occupiers.” Unsurprisingly, almost everyone on the team was white. Though there were some Indigenous voices (who were seemingly relegated to working on exclusively Indigenous-related tasks, of course), not a single Asian, black or Middle-Eastern voice could be found.
The B.C. provincial health officer report’s contributors section:
So it seems that a bunch of white progressive bureaucrats produced a document that fixated on “colonialism” and “racism” while ignoring the actual beliefs of many, if not most, non-white communities. Nothing could encapsulate the harm reduction zeitgeist more perfectly: the privileging of empty gestures over real consultation, the self-indulgent self-flagellation of the white bourgeoisie, the patronizing assumption that minority communities have homogenous political beliefs that happen to align with progressive causes.
All of this would be comedic if lives weren’t at stake.
It should be clarified that there are many valid ways to criticize drug laws from a racial justice lens. Laws are just tools which we use to order society, and, like any tool, they can be abused—so it is fair to explore how some laws, in some contexts, have racist intentions or outcomes.
This is best illustrated by the wealth of scholarship criticizing American cannabis laws—in this case, critics have been able to concretely show that specific laws, in specific contexts, are being enforced unfairly and exacerbating inequities without producing justificatory social benefits.
Yet this mode of analysis, which focuses heavily on outcomes and concrete data, is an entirely different beast from the essentialist arguments recklessly flung around by the harm reduction movement. It makes sense to test measurable hypotheses about specific laws and their implementations. But to argue that drug prohibition is intrinsically “racist” is to succumb to ideological hallucination.
This essay originally appeared in The Hub and has been syndicated to Break The Needle through a co-publishing agreement.
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Addictions
‘Over and over until they die’: Drug crisis pushes first responders to the brink

First responders say it is not overdoses that leave them feeling burned out—it is the endless cycle of calls they cannot meaningfully resolve
The soap bottle just missed his head.
Standing in the doorway of a cluttered Halifax apartment, Derek, a primary care paramedic, watched it smash against the wall.
Derek was there because the woman who threw it had called 911 again — she did so nearly every day. She said she had chest pain. But when she saw the green patch on his uniform, she erupted. Green meant he could not give her what she wanted: fentanyl.
She screamed at him to call “the red tags” — advanced care paramedics authorized to administer opioids. With none available, Derek declared the scene unsafe and left. Later that night, she called again. This time, a red-patched unit was available. She got her dose.
Derek says he was not angry at the woman, but at the system that left her trapped in addiction — and him powerless to help.
First responders across Canada say it is not overdoses that leave them feeling burned out — it is the endless cycle of calls they cannot meaningfully resolve. Understaffed, overburdened and dispatched into crises they are not equipped to fix, many feel morally and emotionally drained.
“We’re sending our first responders to try and manage what should otherwise be dealt with at structural and systemic levels,” said Nicholas Carleton, a University of Regina researcher who studies the mental health of public safety personnel.
Canadian Affairs agreed to use pseudonyms for the two frontline workers referenced in this story. Canadian Affairs also spoke with nine other first responders who agreed to speak only on background. All of these sources cited concerns about workplace retaliation for speaking out.
Moral injury
Canada’s opioid crisis is pushing frontline workers such as paramedics to the brink.
A 2024 study of 350 Quebec paramedics shows one in three have seriously considered suicide. Globally, ambulance workers have among the highest suicide rates of public service personnel.
Between 2017 and 2024, Canadian paramedics responded to nearly 240,000 suspected opioid overdoses. More than 50,000 of those were fatal.
Yet many paramedics say overdose calls are not the hardest part of the job.
“When they do come up, they’re pretty easy calls,” said Derek. Naloxone, a drug that reverses overdoses, is readily available. “I can actually fix the problem,” he said. “[It’s a] bit of instant gratification, honestly.”
What drains him are the calls they cannot fix: mental health crises, child neglect and abuse, homelessness.
“The ER has a [cardiac catheterization] lab that can do surgery in minutes to fix a heart attack. But there’s nowhere I can bring the mental health patients.
“So they call. And they call. And they call.”
Thomas, a primary care paramedic in Eastern Ontario, echoes that frustration.
“The ER isn’t a good place to treat addiction,” he said. “They need intensive, long-term psychological inpatient treatment and a healthy environment and support system — first responders cannot offer that.”
That powerlessness erodes trust. Paramedics say patients with addictions often become aggressive, or stop seeking help altogether.
“We have a terrible relationship with the people in our community struggling with addiction,” Thomas said. “They know they will sit in an ER bed for a few hours while being in withdrawals and then be discharged with a waitlist or no follow-up.”
Carleton, of the University of Regina, says that reviving people repeatedly without improvement decreases morale.
“You’re resuscitating someone time and time again,” said Carleton, who is also director of the Psychological Trauma and Stress Systems Lab, a federal unit dedicated to mental health research for public safety personnel. “That can lead to compassion fatigue … and moral injury.”
Katy Kamkar, a clinical psychologist focused on first responder mental health, says moral injury arises when workers are trapped in ethically impossible situations — saving a life while knowing that person will be back in the same state tomorrow.
“Burnout is … emotional exhaustion, depersonalization, and reduced personal accomplishment,” she said in an emailed statement. “High call volumes, lack of support or follow-up care for patients, and/or bureaucratic constraints … can increase the risk of reduced empathy, absenteeism and increased turnover.”
Kamkar says moral injury affects all branches of public safety, not just paramedics. Firefighters, who are often the first to arrive on the scene, face trauma from overdose deaths. Police report distress enforcing laws that criminalize suffering.
Understaffed and overburdened
Staffing shortages are another major stressor.
“First responders were amazing during the pandemic, but it also caused a lot of fatigue, and a lot of people left our business because of stress and violence,” said Marc-André Périard, vice president of the Paramedic Chiefs of Canada.
Nearly half of emergency medical services workers experience daily “Code Blacks,” where there are no ambulances available. Vacancy rates are climbing across emergency services. The federal government predicts paramedic shortages will persist over the coming decade, alongside moderate shortages of police and firefighters.
Unsafe work conditions are another concern. Responders enter chaotic scenes where bystanders — often fellow drug users — mistake them for police. Paramedics can face hostility from patients they just saved, says Périard.
“People are upset that they’ve been taken out of their high [when Naloxone is administered] and not realizing how close to dying they were,” he said.
Thomas says safety is undermined by vague, inconsistently enforced policies. And efforts to collect meaningful data can be hampered by a work culture that punishes reporting workplace dangers.
“If you report violence, it can come back to haunt you in performance reviews” he said.
Some hesitate to wait for police before entering volatile scenes, fearing delayed response times.
“[What] would help mitigate violence is to have management support their staff directly in … waiting for police before arriving at the scene, support paramedics in leaving an unsafe scene … and for police and the Crown to pursue cases of violence against health-care workers,” Thomas said.
“Right now, the onus is on us … [but once you enter], leaving a scene is considered patient abandonment,” he said.
Upstream solutions
Carleton says paramedics’ ability to refer patients to addiction and mental health referral networks varies widely based on their location. These networks rely on inconsistent local staffing, creating a patchwork system where people easily fall through the cracks.
“[Any] referral system butts up really quickly against the challenges our health-care system is facing,” he said. “Those infrastructures simply don’t exist at the size and scale that we need.”
Périard agrees. “There’s a lot of investment in safe injection sites, but not as much [resources] put into help[ing] these people deal with their addictions,” he said.
Until that changes, the cycle will continue.
On May 8, Alberta renewed a $1.5 million grant to support first responders’ mental health. Carleton welcomes the funding, but says it risks being futile without also addressing understaffing, excessive workloads and unsafe conditions.
“I applaud Alberta’s investment. But there need to be guardrails and protections in place, because some programs should be quickly dismissed as ineffective — but they aren’t always,” he said.
Carleton’s research found that fewer than 10 mental health programs marketed to Canadian governments — out of 300 in total — are backed up by evidence showing their effectiveness.
In his view, the answer is not complicated — but enormous.
“We’ve got to get way further upstream,” he said.
“We’re rapidly approaching more and more crisis-level challenges… with fewer and fewer [first responders], and we’re asking them to do more and more.”
This article was produced through the Breaking Needles Fellowship Program, which provided a grant to Canadian Affairs, a digital media outlet, to fund journalism exploring addiction and crime in Canada. Articles produced through the Fellowship are co-published by Break The Needle and Canadian Affairs.
Addictions
New RCMP program steering opioid addicted towards treatment and recovery

News release from Alberta RCMP
Virtual Opioid Dependency Program serves vulnerable population in Red Deer
Since April 2024, your Alberta RCMP’s Community Safety and Well-being Branch (CSWB) has been piloting the Virtual Opioid Dependency Program (VODP) program in Red Deer to assist those facing opioid dependency with initial-stage intervention services. VODP is a collaboration with the Government of Alberta, Recovery Alberta, and the Alberta RCMP, and was created to help address opioid addiction across the province.
Red Deer’s VODP consists of two teams, each consisting of a police officer and a paramedic. These teams cover the communities of Red Deer, Innisfail, Blackfalds and Sylvan Lake. The goal of the program is to have frontline points of contact that can assist opioid users by getting them access to treatment, counselling, and life-saving medication.
The Alberta RCMP’s role in VODP:
- Conducting outreach in the community, on foot, by vehicle, and even UTV, and interacting with vulnerable persons and talking with them about treatment options and making VODP referrals.
- Attending calls for service in which opioid use may be a factor, such as drug poisonings, open drug use in public, social diversion calls, etc.
- Administering medication such as Suboxone and Sublocade to opioid users who are arrested and lodged in RCMP cells and voluntarily wish to participate in VODP; these medications help with withdrawal symptoms and are the primary method for treating opioid addiction. Individuals may be provided ongoing treatment while in police custody or incarceration.
- Collaborating with agencies in the treatment and addiction space to work together on client care. Red Deer’s VODP chairs a quarterly Vulnerable Populations Working Group meeting consisting of a number of local stakeholders who come together to address both client and community needs.
While accountability for criminal actions is necessary, the Alberta RCMP recognizes that opioid addiction is part of larger social and health issues that require long-term supports. Often people facing addictions are among offenders who land in a cycle of criminality. As first responders, our officers are frequently in contact with these individuals. We are ideally placed to help connect those individuals with the VODP. The Alberta RCMP helps those individuals who wish to participate in the VODP by ensuring that they have access to necessary resources and receive the medical care they need, even while they are in police custody.
Since its start, the Red Deer program has made nearly 2,500 referrals and touchpoints with individuals, discussing VODP participation and treatment options. Some successes of the program include:
- In October 2024, Red Deer VODP assessed a 35-year-old male who was arrested and in police custody. The individual was put in contact with medical care and was prescribed and administered Suboxone. The team members did not have any contact with the male again until April 2025 when the individual visited the detachment to thank the team for treating him with care and dignity while in cells, and for getting him access to treatment. The individual stated he had been sober since, saying the treatment saved his life.
- In May 2025, the VODP team worked with a 14-year-old female who was arrested on warrants and lodged in RCMP cells. She had run away from home and was located downtown using opioids. The team spoke to the girl about treatment, was referred to VODP, and was administered Sublocade to treat her addiction. During follow-up, the team received positive feedback from both the family and the attending care providers.
The VODP provides same-day medication starts, opioid treatment transition services, and ongoing opioid dependency care to people anywhere in Alberta who are living with opioid addiction. Visit vodp.ca to learn more.
“This collaboration between Alberta’s Government, Recovery Alberta and the RCMP is a powerful example of how partnerships between health and public safety can change lives. The Virtual Opioid Dependency Program can be the first step in a person’s journey to recovery,” says Alberta’s Minister of Mental Health and Addiction Rick Wilson. “By connecting people to treatment when and where they need it most, we are helping build more paths to recovery and to a healthier Alberta.”
“Part of the Alberta RCMP’s CSWB mandate is the enhancement of public safety through community partnerships,” says Supt. Holly Glassford, Detachment Commander of Red Deer RCMP. “Through VODP, we are committed to building upon community partnerships with social and health agencies, so that we can increase accessibility to supports in our city and reduce crime in Red Deer. Together we are creating a stronger, safer Alberta.”
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