A SOBERING SENTENCE

Billy could be going back to jail.

At 46, he's already served a total of 10 years behind bars for either using
or selling heroin and cocaine in the Downtown Eastside, where the open drug
market continues to flourish and kill his friends.

He rattles off their names. "Wayne, Sol, Chris, Terry, Brian-they're all
dead from heroin, cocaine or booze."

Today, Billy's in courtroom 309 at the Vancouver provincial courthouse on
Main Street, a few blocks from the notorious drug corner at Main and
Hastings, where his addiction to heroin began a decade ago.

Like the other dozen or so ex-cons seated in the courtroom, Billy's facing
drug trafficking charges for selling small amounts of heroin and cocaine to
feed his habit. He's already pleaded guilty and is awaiting sentencing.
Considering the offence and his lengthy criminal record-"I've forgotten how
many convictions I have, but there's lots"-jail seems almost certain.

Unless, that is, he can stay clean.

Billy is one of 25 addicts participating in the province's fledgling drug
court program, which began Dec. 4 with the aim of rehabilitating drug
addicts instead of sending them to jail.

It's only the second court of its kind in Canada-the first opened in
Toronto in December 1998, modelled after similar courts in the United States.

With joint provincial-federal funding of $6.3 million, the Vancouver drug
court's goal is to have 100 addicts in treatment by the end of the
four-year pilot project.

The pilot has mostly been welcomed, although the Vancouver Area Network of
Drug Users questions the idea of spending millions of dollars on a program
that treats 100 addicts instead of funding supervised drug injection sites
for Vancouver's 3,000 to 4,000 addicts-where they could be referred to
treatment.

Addicts like Billy, however, are glad to have an opportunity to trade in
the needle and give the city's latest treatment program a shot, even though
it hinges on being able to stay away from drugs.

Billy, who began attending drug court in January, is required to undergo
weekly random urine tests at the court's treatment centre, take methadone
to fight the heroin urges, participate in group counselling, stay off the
streets between 11 p.m. to 6 a.m. and keep away from the Main and Hastings
area, unless attending court.

Screw up on any of these conditions and he could be suspended from the
program or booted out completely. He would then be forced to go through the
regular court system and could end up in a cell for a few weeks,
months-maybe even years.

Billy, who grew up in Manitoba, began using drugs and drinking booze at 14.
Two years later, he left Winnipeg for Vancouver to attend the funeral of
his father, living with whoever would take him in-his sister, brother or
mother, who eventually kicked him out. He doesn't like to talk much about
his past, but he says he spent some time in Campbell River, where he helped
raise his daughter, now 23. Occasionally, he talks to her on the phone, not
wanting to push a face-to-face meeting yet. "She's well off, well
adjusted-at least I didn't screw up there," he says.

Dressed in jeans, a clean shirt and a black leather jacket, Billy looks
confidant in court, where he's updating Judge Jane Godfrey on his progress.
He stands out from some of the other addicts in the courtroom, whose faces
are gaunt and scabbed and whose clothing is dirty and well-worn. These
days, he shares a basement suite on the East Side with his disabled
brother. His $325 portion of the rent is paid by social assistance, which
also provides $175 for living expenses.

Billy approaches the bench.

"How are you doing?" Godfrey asks.

"Great, no problems," he answers, smiling. "I think I've made the right
footsteps."

His remarks are supported by David MacIntyre, director of the treatment
program, who informs the judge that Billy is a good influence on his peers
and only needs to report to court once a week-instead of twice-and
treatment three times a week-instead of five-because he's doing so well.

Outside the courtroom, Billy tells a story he believes best shows he's
cleaning himself up. Earlier in the day, while on his way to the program's
treatment centre in the downtown core, he found a wallet full of credit
cards, identification and a few bucks in change.

For someone like Billy-whose criminal past includes breaking into cars and
warehouses, committing bank fraud and selling "whatever I could get my
hands on"-a find like this is like winning a jackpot.

"Some of my old ways started to kick in," he admits, noting he kept the
change, "but then I talked with some of the boys at the centre and we
decided to turn it in. You know, it really felt great to do that."

MacIntyre and Godfrey make a point of praising addicts in drug court for
their progress. It's considered an important element in encouraging them to
continue with the year-long program.

Like a teacher, Godfrey addresses all of the addicts by their first
names-many even refer to going to drug court as going to school.

"She's got a hell of a good personality," Billy says of Godfrey.

"But she knows when to set down the rules when she has to, I'll tell you
that. I've never really spoken to judges the way I've spoken to her. She's
a lot different. She's a lot more in the open. She's honest with you."

Of course, not everyone follows Godfrey's rules. In addition to the 25
addicts in the program, 10 others have been suspended for not adhering to
their court-imposed conditions and 14 were kicked out because they never
bothered to attend the treatment centre.

Crystal, for example, was stumbling at the bench when she appeared before
Godfrey on the same day as Billy. She failed to attend the treatment centre
during the two-week window Godfrey gave her. As a result, her bail was
revoked and she was taken into custody by two sheriff's deputies. Tears
quickly replaced her smile.

If addicts don't show up for court or treatment, the judge issues a warrant
for their arrest. If arrested, they could spend up to seven days in jail
before being given a second chance to explain themselves to Godfrey.

Using drugs, however, will not get an addict kicked out of the program-as
Billy discovered when he slipped up twice and went back to using heroin.
It's understood by the judge and treatment providers that participants are
not going to kick their habits on the first day of the program.

"They need a lot of rope," MacIntyre explains. "It's a pragmatic approach
to dealing with folks with significant medical health and addiction
problems. They need support until they can get stable."

As of late April, Billy claims to have been clean from heroin for 40
days-no easy task for someone who's been doing drugs for 32 years. Like
others in the program, Billy is here voluntarily and can leave any time he
wants. He heard about the program in jail and believed it would be the
"kick in the ass" he needed to turn his life around.

All of the participants are long-time addicts, many of whom started using
drugs in their teens. Many are infected with Hepatitis C and HIV and have
criminal histories tied to smalltime drug dealing and petty theft. Some
have worked in the sex trade.

They're selected by the federal Crown prosecution office, which approves
charges on drug possession and dealing. In reviewing each file, the Crown
looks for an addict who is selling drugs, committing petty thefts to feed
their addiction, has no history of violence and is a long-time user.

The addicts are told that if they are successful in the program-and Godfrey
speculates that will mean staying sober for four months, having stable
housing and working or going to school-then they will not go to jail,
although the sentence could still include probation.

To get to that point, however, is not easy.

"It's a very onerous program," says MacIntyre, noting some addicts chosen
for the program would rather take their chances in the regular court
system. "In many ways, it's much more onerous than actually going into
custody. For some of these folks, going into custody is actually a break
from the street. A lot of them have friends in jail, they've spent time
there and it doesn't hold the same fear factor as it might for you or I."

For Godfrey, who has been a judge for 21 year, the goal is to stop the
revolving door effect that continues after addicts serve their time.

"Once they get out of jail, they commit another crime and they're back in,"
she says. "I hope that if the addiction gets addressed, then the crime will
stop."

In a September 2000 report by the Carnegie Street Program, which operates
out of the Carnegie Centre at Main and Hastings, 63 per cent of 315 drug
users polled on the infamous corner admitted to feeding their habits by
committing crimes.

Out of that group, 59 per cent said they use heroin and cocaine and 37 per
cent said they had been arrested five or more times for drug use.
Sixty-four per cent said they wanted to get off drugs.

That's certainly true for Shelley, a disheveled woman in her 20s, brought
into the courtroom at the end of the day by sheriff's deputies on a charge
of possessing cocaine. It's her first appearance and she tells Godfrey she
wants to enter the program.

"Why?" Godfrey asks.

"I'm sick of this life," she says.

The magnitude of the drug problem on the Downtown Eastside has been
well-documented in newspaper articles and documentaries. From 1993 to 2000,
an average of 147 people per year died of illicit drug overdose deaths in
Vancouver, predominantly on the Downtown Eastside.

Hundreds of people have also contracted HIV and Hepatitis C from injecting
drugs into their veins. In short, drug use on the Downtown Eastside is out
of control and police are scrambling to combat it.

"We can't keep up," says Det. Neil Gillespie, who works on the city's drug
squad and serves as liaison officer to the drug court.

"We drive down the street in a marked police car and they will fix in front
of us because they know we can't keep up and that things can't get any
worse for them anyway. We can throw them in jail but that would probably
make things better for them."

As a result, police rarely arrest people in possession of heroin or cocaine
for personal use because it's evident all over the city-not just in the
Downtown Eastside, but at Fraser and Broadway and along Commercial Drive.

"We can't-with a clear conscience-put someone before a judge for simple
possession," says Gillespie, an officer for 17 years who has worked mainly
on the Downtown Eastside.

Gillespie believes the drug court program is a step toward getting addicts
and small-time dealers off the streets. But because the program is designed
for "the lowest of the low," he's not expecting all participants to graduate.

"Nobody expects somebody to enter the program and not fall off the rails at
least a couple of times. I mean, you have to look at who you're dealing
with. But something is better than nothing, and if you can save a few
people-yahoo!"

In Toronto, where MacIntyre helped set up the country's first drug court in
December 1998, 48 of 235 addicts have graduated from the program, which
means they've been clean for four months, have a job, go to school or
volunteer and live in stable housing. Of those 48, fewer than six went back
to committing crime and using drugs.

Dean Wilson, president of the Vancouver Area Network of Drug Users, says
the drug court is a positive step, but it's unfortunate addicts who break
the law get a guaranteed spot in a treatment facility, while others who
decide to go straight have to wait for a bed that may or may not be available.

"If you offer it to one person, you have to offer it to everybody," he
says, noting his organization represents 1,200 injection drug users.

Wilson, who is fighting a heroin addiction, says evidence from other parts
of the world shows addicts' health improves and crime drops when
safe-injection sites are available.

At a time when politicians such as Coun. Jennifer Clarke, who could be
Vancouver's next mayor, are advocating spending money on treatment centres
before injection sites, Wilson wonders how many more people are going to
have to die before injection sites are set up in the city.

"Dead people don't detox," he says "So, if we have a drug court, then we
need safe injection sites, too. Not one or the other-both. Fourteen months
ago, we had a 24-hour vigil asking for treatment on demand, but I didn't
see any cops or Jennifer Clarke there."

Wilson hasn't attended the drug court but was surprised to learn addicts
like Billy enjoy going to court and the treatment centre-and that they
actually like the judge. But he knows too that without safe-injection sites
or more treatment centres, the alternatives for Billy and others is
depressing: jail, a drug-induced life on the street or death.

"I hope it works, I really do," Wilson says of the drug court, "but we're
going to have to wait and see what happens when graduation time rolls
around in a year or so, then we'll see if it was worth all the money."

Judge Godfrey wouldn't discuss safe-injection sites but says Wilson's
concerns about treatment being offered to lawbreakers is valid.

"But we've got to start somewhere," she says.

"This is a pilot project. If we can prove that it works, that it's
successful, that it's cost effective... then hopefully we can expand it."

So far, for Billy, it's been worth every penny. He's considering enrolling
in a computer course, taking some counselling training and wants to
eventually counsel people like himself-if he can stay clean.

"This step I've taken now has turned my whole life around and I'm just
hoping to God I can keep to it because there's still a big struggle ahead
of me. Right now, life is good, but I'm expecting some ups and downs."