SAFE PLACE ON MEAN STREETS

Injection Site Offers Vancouver Addicts A Refuge To Get High In -- But
Will It Work?

VANCOUVER -- It's clean. It's beautiful. It smells good.

The first legal shooting gallery in North America, in the heart of the
most down-and-out neighbourhood in Canada, has the feeling of a
trendy, hip club.

Clean wood floors, brightly coloured paintings on the walls, subdued
lighting. But appearances notwithstanding, the most desperate drug
addicts will be coming here to shoot their veins full of coke and heroin.

Governments have invested about $4 million in the injection site,
located in Vancouver's downtown eastside, to allow addicts to shoot up
in total safety. And there's no shortage of them in the area. More
than 4,700 hard-drug users are here. Day and night.

In contrast to many Canadian cities where the biggest users are
dispersed in several neighbourhoods, here everything takes place in
one area five blocks long by two blocks wide.

In this sad environment, the state-run injection site is like
paradise, with a clean exterior and windows with blinds.

"The idea here is to supply a safe place for users. We consider them
to be sick people in need of treatment. Not like criminals," says Jeff
West, a manager of the site.

A television monitor shows images from nine cameras placed around the
building. After ringing the door, clients must provide their names (no
need to show ID -- most don't have any), sign a form and obtain a
number before going to the waiting room.

Former drug abusers who know the area well welcome the clients. They explain
the rules from Health Canada: Bring your own coke or heroin, we don't
provide drugs. And you have to inject yourself, no one can help you. If a
client needs health care or wants to stop using, he'll be sent to a nearby
room or infirmary, where a social worker or doctor will be waiting.

Clients who just want to shoot up as fast as possible will be called
to the shooting room, where 12 cubicles equipped with mirrors await.

First you must wash your hands. A nurse then gives you a kit
containing a syringe, a blue elastic band to put on your arm, a spoon
and water to dilute the powdered drugs. After injecting themselves,
the clients go to the "chill-out" room, which looks like a bar or cafe
with a big counter and divans. Here, the users can drink juice or
coffee while they wait for the drugs to take effect.

"We want to make sure they're not going to overdose before sending
them back in the street," West says.

The scene is surreal. While a cop displays crack he has just seized,
on the pavement in broad daylight, an addict stops to offer to buy the
drugs.

"Five for $40," the passerby says, laughing.

"Scram," replies the cop, David Chow, also chuckling.

That's what it's like here. A circus. A zoo. An incredible
concentration of human misery.

"It's much worse than before," says Eric Doyon, a cop here since 1996
who hails from Saint-Bruno, Que.

Vancouver is trying to pretty itself up for the 2010 Winter Olympics.
Earlier this year, police decided to clean up by putting cops on every
corner.

"The results were spectacular," says Doyon. "Before there were 200
people here on the street ... it was awful. Now it's calmer."

The residents' association approves. The combination of the police
presence and the opening of the supervised-injection site have helped
local residents breathe a sigh of relief.

"We're talking about a clean, safe and welcoming site. That has
nothing to do with a crack house where the people are asleep on the
floor, a syringe in the hand and a bottle of booze in the other," says
an association volunteer.

Supporters of the safe-injection site fear the police presence will
scare away potential users.

"We're not purposely staking out the building. But if we see dealers,
we arrest them," Doyon explains.

Craig Kazuta, another cop on patrol, says it's important to keep an
open mind toward new initiatives aimed at helping addicts.

"We hope the project succeeds," Kazuta says.

When an addict wants his dose, he wants it right away. Not in a
half-hour. And he certainly doesn't want to see a cop.

Everyone interviewed for this article repeated the same thing: The
first legal drug-injection site in North America should let clients
shoot up quickly and far from cops. If not, it won't work.

"These folks want to stay anonymous. But the presence of cameras could
intimidate them," says Glen Marshall, a community worker with the
Vancouver school board whose mission is to convince addicts to return
to school.

A study in the Sept. 12 issue of the Journal of the Canadian Medical
Association said the same thing: The site should avoid imposing a long
bureaucratic process on its clients. And the cops should keep their
distance.

Researchers surveyed 458 users in the area. More than 92% of them said
they'd consider using the new injection site.

Once they're told about the Health Canada rules, however, about the
wait, the mandatory registration at the door and no help with
injection, the interest drops to 32%. Support drops to 22% if police
are patrolling the joint.

"We're here to help people, not report them to the cops," West
says.

He adds clients should be able to complete the registration process
within five minutes. "But if waits do take 30 minutes, that would mean
there were so many users we should open another clinic to meet demand."

It's 10 a.m. Sitting on the ground, near a trash can, Phil and Mary
are smoking crack.

They have red eyes, grey skin, thick voices and slow gestures. But
they appear to be in a good mood.

"Hi guys. I can tell you're not from here. Watch what you say. Watch
your backs. Hang on to your bags. And never come at night," Mary says.

Phil and Mary live in the downtown eastside, the toughest
neighbourhood in Canada. Of 12,000 residents, 4,700 are addicts. And
we're not talking pot. There's cocaine, heroin, dirty needles on the
streets, crack dealers on every corner, prostitutes, mental illness,
AIDS, hepatitis C and tuberculosis.

Phil and Mary say they don't really care about the new safe-injection
site.

"We'll try it, why not? But I think the cops want to harass us. I
don't believe they're going to leave us alone at a place like that."

They don't believe it will change their lives much.

"I want to stop, but I can't," Phil says. "Heroin is too good. When
you get one taste, you can't take a pass on it again."

Phil, 42, is a father of a 20-year-old woman and has worked as an
inspector, in roof repair and as a ski instructor.

Mary, 33, has abused drugs her whole life, and is uneducated.

They show off their scars, wounds and dozens of track marks all over
their bodies.

"I'm showing you this, and talking to you, to tell your readers never
touch this. Never," says Mary, holding a piece of crack in her fingers.

Phil, who has spent three months in prison for car theft, says he
wants some heroin and Mary goes to find some.

"I don't like stealing, but I need money for drugs," Phil
says.

Later, Mary returns with the heroin. The couple head to a corner. They
smoke more crack. Quickly, Mary mixes water and the heroin in two
syringes while Phil waits impatiently.

"Hurry, hurry," he says.

Mary sinks the syringe into her arm. It's done. Blood drips. She
frowns and breathes heavily. Phil is unable to shoot up. He complains
loudly.

"I can't do it. I can't do it," he says.

Mary gives him a hand. Finally, he feels the drugs flowing through his
veins. Tongue out, eyes closed.

"Aaaah."