A WAY THROUGH THE DARKNESS

Judging from the circumstances of how they met, it would be safe to say
Priya Haji and David Lewis were not the most likely of business partners.

It was a day in 1992 and Haji, then a troubled junior at Stanford with lots
of good intentions but little savvy, was approaching drug addicts in
Whiskey Gulch, handing out condoms for safe sex and bleach to clean needles.

Nearby, Lewis, a recovering drug addict and ex-con who'd spent more than
half his life in prison, watched her in bewilderment.

"I knew she was an outsider from the minute I saw her," Lewis recalls.
"First of all, she is Indian, and you don't see many Indians, or you didn't
then, in East Palo Alto. And she was obviously from Stanford. She had this
aura of naivete about her. She was approaching groups of people that I
would think twice about approaching."

Haji, who at the time was volunteering for a San Mateo County AIDS program,
recalls: "He approached me very antagonistically. He knew I was from
Stanford, and there was immediate tension."

But a strange thing happened once the two got to talking. They discovered
how much they had in common. Simply, they had both overcome great personal
obstacles and wanted to devote themselves to helping people whose lives
were still in the balance.

From that chance meeting six years ago sprung Free at Last, an addiction
recovery center that has become one of the most respected operations of its
kind on the Peninsula.

With Haji as executive director and Lewis as chairman of its board of
directors, Free at Last has grown from a shoestring outfit armed with
little but a rough business plan into a hard-charging nonprofit with an
annual budget of $1.2 million. It has helped hundreds of people shake their
addictions to drugs and alcohol and, in the process, become functioning
members of society.

It runs myriad health programs, ranging from a highly structured,
nine-month residential recovery regimen to the old practice of handing out
condoms and bleach. While Free at Last's main concern is to help the
individual, the group's ultimate goal is more broadly focused: to
demonstrate to government decision makers that drug treatment, when done
correctly, is far more effective and less expensive than putting a user of
illegal drugs in prison.

"The reality is it costs about $40,000 a year to put someone in prison but
only $2,000 a year to get them residential treatment," said Haji.

"It's not that I don't think incarceration has a place in the scheme,
because I do. I do believe that punishment is part of the puzzle, but I
think it is severely overused."

Haji's office at Free at Last's headquarters at 1946 University Ave. is
decorated with plaques from organizations and her fellow colleagues. She
received the Brick Award in 1996 from the Do Something Foundation as one of
10 outstanding community leaders nationwide under the age of 30. And, in
1996, at the age of 25, she was selected to be in the San Mateo County
Women's Hall of Fame.

Even with all of these reminders of her individual achievement, Haji never
speaks in the first person. She always says "we" when referring to Free At
Last. She discusses its accomplishments not so much in terms of awards but
in stories illustrating the resolve of the organization's staff and
volunteers.

She recalls a woman who had been on the streets for a long time. Free At
Last outreach workers approached her and got her into treatment. Shortly
after, the woman relapsed. The outreach workers kept in touch with her and
got her back again, only to have her relapse a second time. Free At Last
outreach workers went and got her again, and now she is in treatment a
third time.

"To me, these stories define our success as an organization--not giving up
on people, the community or the capabilities of what we can do," Haji said.
"We don't consider any client who relapses a failure."

For Haji, that philosophy resonates on a personal level.

She grew up in a family in which social service is almost a given. Her
maternal grandmother was involved in Mahatma Ghandi's' movement in India,
and her paternal grandfather was a revolutionary in Tanzania. Both of her
parents are medical doctors who devoted themselves to issues involving the
poor. Her father, for example, ran a free clinic in Bryan, Texas, where
Priya grew up.

Haji attended Vassar College in New York for two years before transferring
to Stanford, where she received her bachelor's degree in 1993. To casual
acquaintances, she gave the appearance of having the world at her feet,
but, according to Haji, it was a mask hiding a secret she could not long
escape. "I had to be the best and the strongest on the outside," said Haji.
"But inside I felt scared and wrong and alone."

For Haji, being the best and brightest was a defense mechanism, shielding
her from the memory of sexual abuse as a child. It's a topic she doesn't
like to discuss with outsiders. The most she will say about the incident
is that she's still in recovery from it.

Haji describes the period of her life beginning with her enrollment at
Stanford as a difficult one.

"Stanford was an awakening for me. I got cut from the tennis team my first
week and was surrounded by people who were also 'the best,' and I had to
realize that I was just a regular person Š"

During her first year, she was kicked out of Stanford for destructive
behavior involving lying, cheating and stealing. It's another topic she
doesn't like to discuss at length, other than to say her actions stemmed
from her personal troubles.

"I was your basic nightmare," she said.

Haji returned to her home in Texas to get help, deal with her past and find
out who she was.

"I really had to face what I had done and what had happened to me," she
recalls. "It was time to air out my secrets."

Haji received a lot of support from her family and is very grateful to have
had a place to go when she was in trouble.

"My parents didn't give up on me, they believed in me and also had the
financial resources to help me.

"But," she added, "it was really difficult to go home. I was a person who
was supposed to make it and bring success to the family."

Haji received the help and counseling she needed and, after almost a
one-year absence, petitioned to return to Stanford. The university accepted
her back.

"My dad didn't want me to come back (to Stanford) because everyone knew
what I had done," Haji said. "But I felt I had to go back and deal with my
failures and come to terms with myself in that environment."

The challenge for Haji became not only succeeding academically but
channeling her own opportunity to recover into opportunities for others not
as fortunate.

As a woman of East African and Indian descent, Haji turned to East Palo
Alto for her own social support system and began attending a women's
support group in the community. She also began volunteering for the San
Mateo County AIDS Program.

As a Stanford student, she was treated with some suspicion. There's a long
history of such students coming into East Palo Alto to try to "save the
community" while building up their resume, Lewis said.

Haji agrees.

"The community has a lot of visions for itself and an internal drive to
succeed," Haji said. "A lot of times these ideas are ignored" by people
coming in from outside the community.

It took Haji and Lewis nearly a year to get Free at Last up and running.
Their first step was to gather a core of community members who were
familiar with the addiction recovery process and, more importantly, had a
passion to serve.

They pulled together a group of seven individuals with these qualities, who
all lent expertise to the effort.

"We learned about outreach teams from Donna Dean, who runs a methadone
clinic and is from East Palo Alto," said Haji. "Molly Hogan, a nurse for
the county, brought our attention to HIV."

Others included Dorsey Nunn, an East Palo Alto resident who now works as an
activist for an alternatives to incarceration, and Vicki Smothers, a city
native who works as an outreach counselor at Prenatal Advantage, a program
committed to reducing infant mortality. Several of the original board
members were in recovery from substance abuse and had broad experience in
the varying techniques and mindset of the addict.

The group met weekly and spent considerable time visiting other treatment
centers, from San Jose to Marin County, researching their operations and
identifying what was working (and not) in each case. Drawing on their
observations and their own personal experience, the group brainstormed
ideas for treatment, wrote a business plan and began applying for funding.

"We had no track record, no space--only a business plan and a passion to
execute it," Haji said.

Finally, the money started trickling in. Haji received a $15,000 Echoing
Green fellowship from utility giant General Atlantic in New York.

"The $15,000 I received basically bought me a computer and let me live for
the year," said Haji.

Then, San Mateo County granted Free at Last $45,000, and the Peninsula
Community Foundation kicked in $5,000.

Since then, as Free at Last has established a track record of success and
become more experienced at applying for grants, several other donors have
emerged. Among the major contributors are the Center on Crime, Communities
and Culture; the California Wellness Foundation; the Packard Foundation;
and foundations run by Levi Strauss and Wells Fargo.

Jennifer Kane, communications director at the Packard Foundation, said the
foundation has given almost $90,000 to Free At Last since 1996.

"The focus has been to enable them to provide more drug treatment programs,
more programs for teenagers and more outreach to the community," Kane said.

"I think Free At Last seems to be a really unique organization that focuses
not only on curing addiction but on prevention," she added. "Prevention
will play a key role in improving social conditions in East Palo Alto."

Raising money, however, is still a struggle for Free at Last. Haji says one
barrier is being a minority-run organization in a community that has a
history of failure.

"It takes time for people to believe that a minority-run organization in a
community that is predominantly minority can be honest and successful," she
said. "But really, because we are a community driven organization, we'll be
better at what we do."

Depending on the audience, Haji makes it her job to help potential donors
understand Free At Last's approach to treatment.

Because of the profile of the clients, most with a history of incarceration
and drug use, Haji says it is a difficult task.

"Society would rather fund children, 'the innocent victim'," she said. "Our
clients are deserving of blame in some cases but are also deserving of
assistance."

Free at Last's drop-in center opened at its storefront location on
University Avenue in January 1993. The center has couches, a TV, a
telephone, hot coffee, snacks, job boards and a housing rental/sale board.
The doors are open from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m., and people are constantly coming
in and out, mingling, making calls or just watching music videos.

Free At Last recently opened a youth drop-in center behind the University
Avenue location where kids can talk to counselors, play pool or video games
or simply hang out in a positive place.

The structured treatment programs at Free At Last, both residential and
outpatient, are intense. The recovering addicts live together, each sharing
responsibilities and chores.

The programs are six to nine months in length and can demand anywhere from
20 to 30 hours a week (see sidebar). By the end of each program, clients
have been educated on what life beyond addiction can be like. They know how
to find jobs and hold onto them. Others are encouraged to return to school.

The process is social, physical and psychological.

Haji describes recovery like peeling an onion. "You peel off the first
layer, your eyes water and it stinks. And, just when you think you have
healed, you peel the next layer."

"It's a journey of change," she said. "A lot of what we do is unraveling
all of people's baggage and helping them deal with shame, guilt and
self-worth."

Free At Last relies heavily on the 12-step process to treat addiction while
offering a broad range of other services to help clients heal.

Clients meet in groups and one on one with counselors, covering everything
from the psychology of addiction to anger management, conflict resolution,
financial management, parenting and tutoring. The programs also focus on
reunifying families, healing emotional wounds and preparing clients to
re-enter society.

An official graduation ceremony culminates the program. To graduate,
clients must not only have remained substance-free through the nine months
but have housing and a job.

So far, more than 100 people have graduated from the residential program.
More than 4,000 others have received some form of treatment through Free at
Last.

Free At Last has partnered with dozens of organizations to expand the
opportunities available to clients. Opportunities Industrial Center West in
Menlo Park provides job training and placement; Plugged In of East Palo
Alto provides computer training; and Mid-Peninsula Housing Coalition is a
resource for living arrangements.

Sharon Williams, executive director of OICW, says one of the strengths of
Free at Last is its feel for the residents of East Palo Alto and the
surrounding area.

"Free At Last has a great deal of community spirit," Williams said. "It
knows the community and its makeup and grew out of the community. I think
that's why they have an edge over other treatment programs in terms of
effectiveness."

Williams credits Haji for developing the community's trust in Free at Last.

"Priya," Williams said, "is down to earth and truly connected to her
clients. She is an executive director who hasn't removed herself from that
level, and that's what makes her successful."

Free at Last has 38 staff members, 23 of whom are full-time.

The Free At Last counselors are not clinicians, but the organization does
partner with outside sources to get help for clients needing psychiatric
counseling. About 20 percent of Free At Last clients are receiving outside
psychiatric assistance. For medical service, Free at Last partners with
Drew Health Center in East Palo Alto and Willow Clinic in Menlo Park. There
is no cost for treatment at Free At Last, except in residential programs.

One of the main areas of focus for Free at Last in coming years will be
establishing stable funding from individual donors, instead of from
foundations and private industry.

"Foundations and corporations are often more interested in start-up funding
than continuing support," said Haji. "Individuals give back every year
because they believe in a project and are seeing the impact on their
community and in their lives."

Currently, Free at Last says its success rate--reflecting how many of its
clients remain sober for at least one year after completing one of the
programs--is about 70 percent. The organization recently hired an
independent evaluator to clarify the success rate and point out areas for
improvement.

But always for Haji, Free at Last's success is best understood not in
numbers, but in individual stories.

"For me, the power of working at Free At Last is that I know someone else
is getting the treatment that I got," Haji said. "To see a person who
everyone has counted out get up and be the best they can be--there is
nothing more rewarding."