WORKERS SLAM LACK OF FIXED NEEDLE EXCHANGE

Mobile Service Lets Too Many Addicts Through The Cracks, Outreach Staff Say

Outreach workers handing out syringes to injection drug users say
since going mobile at the end of May they are reaching fewer clients
- -- from those discreet users who pick up needles after work to
hard-core addicts living on the street.

"It's a lose-lose situation," said Erin Gibson, her mountain bike
laden with syringes, alcohol swabs, sterilized water, condoms and
other drug paraphernalia. "Every Canadian under our Constitution is
deserving -- no matter where they've come from, or what they've done,
or where they've been -- of a basic level of service and human rights
and health rights. This is negligence."

Health and city officials strongly support the needle exchange
because it's proven to help prevent the spread of HIV/AIDS and
hepatitis C contracted through the sharing of dirty needles. It's
also proven to reduce health care costs. The B.C. Ministry of Health
reports each new HIV infection costs $188,000 to $225,000 in direct expenses.

On this particular day, the outreach workers, Gibson and Heather
Hobbs, walk Victoria's downtown streets furtively scanning alleys,
doorways and squares for people in need. As this is a trial period
for the mobile exchange, they fine-tune their hours of operation and
routes so as to be more effective and reach more users as time goes on.

In one instance, they pull up their bikes to Store and Swift streets.
Within moments, like magnets, they draw a variety of people to their
side -- young and old, obvious users and not.

One young man's arms are ripped with muscles, his chest puffed. Only
the needle marks up down his arms give him away as an injection drug
user. Another well-groomed man in his late 50s, in his bike helmet
and white breathable marathon running shirt, looks no different from
the other cyclists in the area.

Some people drift over from the other side of the street where they
are sitting idly near an upscale furniture store. Others stray over
from nearby Streetlink.

They are looking for needles, water, cookers, "soda" (baking soda and
ascorbic acid to prepare drugs), condoms, "vitamin S" (slang for
strawberry flavoured condoms) and more. The outreach workers hand out
push sticks and various types of filters for crack pipes, whatever
they are permitted to distribute, knowing more is needed.

Some clients are clearly uncomfortable with the spectacle they are
creating, while outreach workers, surrounded by clients on all sides,
looked harried as they try to fill a variety of requests.

"It's very different, it's more impersonal, it's more crisis-based
and we don't have as much to offer them," Gibson said. "I just had a
guy say to me that this is crazy it's so public, out in the open, and
that he was not comfortable at all. We're getting those comments."

At the fixed site, AIDS Vancouver Island staff could talk with
clients privately to identify any physical or mental health concerns
and refer them to needed services. Clients would confide in them.

"It's not discreet now. And people are in a rush so they're not
likely to stand there and talk to us because they don't want to be
seen," Gibson said. "It's the same with people coming after work,
they don't want to be seen."

Hobbs rejects the suggestion that users may possibly stop using drugs
if the mobile needle exchange service doesn't meet their needs.

"Absolutely not," said Hobbs. "It won't make anyone quit. If it was
that easy to quit people would be quitting. It's not like you can
wave a magic wand and say because you're not comfortable shooting up
here, today you'll quit.

"Addiction is a serious health issue and I don't think the public has
enough understanding of that. This is not a choice in that sense of
the word," Hobbs said.

She is worried that the needle exchange fixed site that provided a
safe refuge for clients -- some who often fall through the cracks --
will be lost.

The needle exchange, run by AIDS Vancouver Island and funded by the
Vancouver Island Health Authority, has 1,500 registered clients. It
served about 400 of those clients a month out of its Cormorant Street
location where it had been since 2002.

However, over the last year, the operation became increasingly
controversial because users loitered outside the building, leaving
behind dirty syringes, blood and human waste. Some neighbours took
legal action forcing the landlords to evict the service -- effective May 31.

Until a new location is found, VIHA and AVI have established a mobile
service. Staff drive and park a van or walk their mountain bikes
around the downtown core to seek out those who need clean supplies.
They expect the service will only improve, but for right now it's a
going concern.

Drug researcher Benedikt Fischer, at the University of Victoria's
Centre for Addiction Research B.C., had predicted that rather than
drug users concentrating in one area, with a mobile exchange they
would only scatter in small groups throughout the city and that their
health would deteriorate as they'd be harder to contact.

Hobbs said that's exactly what's happening: "What we've experienced
so far and what we hear from people who were using the fixed site is
people are spreading out in smaller groups. As well there's rigs
being found in areas there weren't before."

The outreach workers hand out old Nalgene sport water bottles -- that
have been turned in for recycling after a recent scare about
Bisphenol A in hard plastics -- for addicts to deposit their dirty
needles. There are also drop boxes placed on poles throughout town.

Using a password, involving some mix of the client's name and
numbers, the number of syringes given out and retrieved are recorded
"so we can encourage people to have a good exchange rate and so we
can see how many different clients are coming in a month," Hobbs said.

VIHA and University of Victoria researchers will evaluate the service
from June until September to determine if it works.

Equipped with cellphones, outreach workers will also respond to calls
at 896-2849 for information on where to get clean needles.

Nearing the end of their shift, as the workers head up Pandora
Avenue, a man, with the deep lines of a hard life etched in his face,
stands up from where he's sitting with a few friends.

He gives Gibson a hug and shares a huge smile. They talk.

Afterwards he backs away, signals "hang loose," with his hand and
says "I love you."

As she walks away she explains how hard it is for her to see people
living on the street, or addicted to drugs, as others see them -- "a
transvestite, crackhead, junkie or prostitute."

"I am in this so much I forget that other people see people like
that. They reduce them to those entities," Gibson said. "It
legitimizes people's fear. People are so much more than those words.

" I feel more safe here than anywhere else," she says, as she and
Hobbs get back on their bikes, determined to save more people from themselves.