ADDICTED AND INVISIBLE ON THE STREET

Like the women it represents, the tiny display nearly escaped notice.
The Edmonton Room in the basement of the Stanley Milner Library has
been converted into an art gallery.

Until Wednesday, it is home to A Roomful of Missing Women, a haunting
display of portraits of 50 women who've disappeared from the streets
of Vancouver's Downtown Eastside.

About 100 to 150 people a day are going through the exhibit, put
together by Prince George, B.C., artist Betty Kovacic.

It was brought here by the Prostitution Awareness and Action
Foundation of Edmonton (PAAFE) as part of the Works Art and Design
Festival. But off in an obscure corner, however, is another tiny
display that has a power all its own.

It's a fireplace screen, and attached to it are nearly 100 ribbons,
each bearing the name of a woman connected to Edmonton's streets who
has died in recent years.

One hundred.

Most didn't die violently - although some members of PAAFE will argue
that the deaths - due to disease, drug overdose, exposure to the
elements, etc. - are really a form of indirect violence.

On Thursday evening, they had another name to add to the list. Earlier
in the day, several PAAFE staffers and volunteers attended the funeral
for Charlene Johnson, who died June 19, less than a week after her
40th birthday.

"She was wonderful," recalled Kathy King, acting head of PAAFE. "She
spent a lot of time with us, volunteering and helping out."

Johnson, like so many others, had struggled to get off the street, but
years of abusing herself and allowing others to do the same had taken
its toll. In 2005, Johnson wrote a letter that she hoped would end up
in the hands of elected officials.

"I had a very bad night last night," Johnson said. "Pretty much like
most nights with few exceptions ... I'm wired for sound and
desperately need to forget the fact that hours earlier I was raped.
Later on, I was robbed and then got busted for talking to a wanna-be
john (undercover police officer).

"What put the cap on the needle was when I had my miscarriage in a
desolate and dirty back alley. All alone, sad and confused."

In another letter, she talked about her introduction to crack cocaine,
followed by a rapid downward spiral.

After a string of evictions, she took to couch-surfing at friends'
places until her welcome was worn out.

Eventually, she wrote, "I stayed in the filthiest of places because no
one cared about their environment enough to think about diseases and
dignity."

By the summer of 2003, Johnson was living in some bushes in a back
alley. "I was hurting inside and I felt powerless to cocaine. I knew
there was family but because of my state I couldn't go to them," she
wrote. "So I stayed in my bush and the people who lived on the
property didn't bother me."

She went on, "Not even the bumble bees I called Bee and Beatrice
seemed to mind. A back alley cat would come around and poke his head
in and wander on by. I felt so invisible."

Eventually, she got help and cleaned up, but by then the ravages of
years of living on the street had taken hold of her. Sadly, Johnson's
story is just one of 100 represented by the ribbon display. There are
hundreds more on the streets every day.

Is anyone noticing?