The Downtown Eastside addicts are acutely aware of their lack of power in any conflict with authority, be it legal or medical. “Who would believe me; I’m just a junkie” is the refrain I hear over and over again as patients complain of being beaten in jail or on the darkened streets or of being dismissed rudely by nurses or doctors at an emergency ward. Such experiences, for the addict, add more links to the chain of utter powerlessness that began in childhood.
