Absolutely stunning collection of a discourse I hadn't engaged with at all, but that anyone in labour organising, mutual aid, crisis relief, and healthcare should know about. If I'd known about liberatory harm reduction in my twenties, I would have understood my behaviours of self-harm, self-isolation, drug abuse, and attempted suicides as, paradoxically, survival tactics in an evil world that didn't want me to live. Cough syrup, acid, ecstacy, overdosing, self-starving, cutting, relationship sabotage, dissociation, delusion. I didn't know any other way. Not given the tools to thrive, I only knew survival. A desperate search for a way out, when what I needed was a way through. For years, I'd viewed these coping mechanisms as maladaptive. I now see them as deeply resilient. A form of self-preservation, rather than self-destruction. A primal yearning to make it through to the next day, no matter how. I was clinging to life by a thousand frayed threads, in a tapestry of trauma that could not sustain me. But I got out.
Liberatory harm reduction is inextricable from trans, queer, antiracist, and sex worker struggles. These struggles intersected at underground needle exchanges. The fight against HIV coincided with safe drug use coincided with community-sourced HRT. During the AIDS crisis, grassroots organisers provided clean syringes and condoms to dispossessed communities left to die by the state. Denied addiction services, hormone therapies, sexual violence shelters, housing and food, harm reductionists developed mutual aid networks. These networks didn't gatekeep services through moralistic rhetorics based in Christian conservatism, middle-class propriety, or mind-numbing bureaucratic processes. Harm reduction, like person-centred therapy, privileged client needs. If they wanted to shoot up, they were given safe ways to do so, and safe spaces to trip in. If they wanted to get clean, they were given the info, resources, and support to get there. If they were interested in harm reduction, they could go to education sessions where everyone was fed beforehand (you can't dedicate yourself on an empty stomach). Where state services withheld support from uncitizen-like subjects who couldn't keep clean, needed sex work to survive, or were homeless and jobless; liberatory harm reduction provided support as a baseline, meeting people where they were at, rather than where they should be.
Harm reduction arose from the most dispossessed in America. It came from Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, trans activists who hustled in the sex trade to provide housing for kids fleeing transphobic households. It came from the Young Lords who occupied a white supremacist hospital in South Bronx to reorganise it into an addiction clinic. It came from the Black Panthers who educated their kin to their rights against police, prisons, and courts. Harm reduction centred those living in poor segregated neighbourhoods, going to underfunded community schools, living in food deserts filled with fast food, lacking affordable vegetables and fruits, and turning to street economies to survive: sex work for money, drugs for relief and pleasure, both for community. Such communities came under attack by police, who raped, assaulted, and arrested their members; and recovery programs that shamed, pitied, and controlled them, reducing systemic oppression to individual failure. The solution was to self-organise against the twin snakes of inequality and supremacy. The petty moralism of a bourgeoisie who victim-blame those most in need of understanding, empathy, and care.
I cannot stress how much respect and love I have for liberatory harm reduction. However, there're parts of it that make me feel uneasy. It's deeply nonjudgemental, trusting that people know what's best for themselves—a harm reductionist should merely show safer paths towards what people desire. But some coping mechanisms are designed to kill us. One of my friends was a labour organiser. He died this year from a heart attack at 30. He'd begun taking anti-psychotics that made him gain weight, but he didn't change his lifestyle or diet. He ate fast food and junk food. He got a blood clot in his leg. He experienced nausea after eating food. He was prone to vomiting. By the last year of his life, he was ordering Uber Eats every night. While I understand the stress and exhaustion that leads to such a lifestyle, I don't understand how I can be nonjudgement when our coping mechanisms kill us, when they're pushed onto us by advertising giants, by corporate labs that design food to be addictive, by capitalists who make money off our pain.
Similarly, I have a hard time thinking about harm reduction in relation to drugs, because drugs have historically been used to destroy colonial resistance. Alcohol was introduced into the Americas to destroy indigenous communities. Heroin was pushed into black neighbourhoods by the CIA to destroy liberation movements. There's so much power in destigmatising drug use, in telling people that their drug use is a survival mechanism, but survival mechanisms are a pragmatics of lowerclass living, not a liberatory state or goal. My drug abuse was a form of resilience, but it was also harmful to myself and those around me. I shouldn't have felt shame, but there's a component of harm worth interrogating here. How does harm intersect with accountability? To myself and those around me? If I truly am too deep in my trauma, who will help me, rather than enable me? Who will tell me that I'm going to destroy my life, and my relationship to those I love?
I hate suicide prevention. It's authoritarian, abusive, condescending, and ableist. It presumes sanity and positivity as normal states of being in an oppressive, unjust, and violent world. It functions to return non-normative subjects to a level of productivity conducive to profit-making. It's not about wellbeing, but control. At the same time, if someone had listened to me completely in my worst despair and given me an exit bag to kill myself with, I would have never discovered that my pain was driven by complex trauma, rather than some sadboi notion of the human condition. That there were ways out, even if I could and would not see them, due to my cynicism and self-hatred.
Again, this is a stunning collection. It touches on sex work, queer punks, detox centres, indigenous healthcare, and destigmatises drug use, self-harm, and eating disorders. It's made me question my assumptions about how to "help" others, internalised from christianity, buddhism, daoism, and counselling; but there's a lot I have to process about the relations between autonomy and accountability, and liberation and intervention. It feels irreconcilable to me to be nonjudgemental and critical at the same time. There are forces out to destroy us, and they enter us and make us destroy ourselves. At what point does self-preservation turn to flourishing? Perhaps, by providing basic necessities like housing, food, healthcare, and safe spaces to chat, learn, and love, we shed our old skins and discover new bodies. The power of communal care to heal traumas that isolate us to despair and dreams of death. A new body in the shell of the old. But I'm not sure it's enough, because our desires are never fully our own. We're at the mercy of ideologies that hijack our physiologies, psyches, and cultural practices. Without self-interrogation, we can easily remain mired in harm, no matter how much we try to reduce it.
xx