Never Let Me Go

He has a long disheveled and dirty beard, which if he shaves will likely reveal not much of a face. When I hand him the disposable container of food, he mumbles something, which I don’t understand, even though it’s in Persian. Abbas translates it for me. 

“Thanks. I was craving Sachmeh Polo.”

Now I know why I hadn’t understood him. Pronouncing certain letters requires teeth, and he doesn’t have any left in his mouth. 

His name – perhaps as dark humor of our times – is Ghader [Able]. In the hangout, everyone calls him Ali Gaaleh. The likes of him, leaning waist-deep into in trash bins, can be seen in cities and towns across the country, in some more than others. Fraught and desperate addicts, rummaging through trash bins in search of something they can sell to pay for their drugs. Depending on our emotional state, we sense fear or angst, not knowing how we can help them or when these heartbreaking scenes will end. 

Government officials’ encouraging yet ineffective words and promises regarding curbing addiction:

Recently, while addressing a meeting at the Anti-Narcotics Agency’s headquarters, President Pezeshkian said, “The problem of addiction is one of the gravest concerns of society and the root cause of most crimes and social corruptions.” A veteran physician and a long-time member of the Health Commission of the Parliament, Pezeshkian suggested that the focus on preventing the supply of narcotics is one of the mistakes that have made in the fight against drugs in Iran. He stated, “As long as there is a demand for drugs, it will be impossible to prevent the supply of narcotics. Therefore, the solution to recovery from addiction and to the combat against the onset of addiction, must be based on controlling and reducing the demand for consumption.”

These words sound promising, but in the absence of operational and actual solutions, we are not far from the end of Pezeshkian’s presidency, and much like his predecessors, it will leave the country still struggling with the problem of addiction with the same intensity and severity as it has faced it in the past.

In the early months of this year, the mayor of Tehran – the metropolis with the highest number of addicts – claimed that after his 31-month efforts, there no longer exist any gathering places for drug addicts in the city. However, it seems Zakani has confused the forceful rounding up of drug addicts into camps with actually treating their addiction. Meanwhile, it would not be a bad idea for Zakani to visit the hangouts of addicts in Shush and Harandi squares, the Lavizan woods, the shoulders of the Azadegan highway, among other locations, to see that after leaving the camps, the addicts flock back to the same haunts from which the police gathered them.

A different and popular method of helping addicts instead of the futile government practices.

The “lords” of the city are the publicly open addicts. If the president, mayor, and other government officials, especially those at the massive Anti-Narcotics Agency, are searching for solutions to reduce the demand for drugs, they should first treat these lords, because they are the most ardent consumers of narcotics, as well as the most easily accessible. However, it seems government officials have no such plans other than their redundant and failed strategies – the best of which are temporary efforts at rounding up these known addicts, forcibly housing them in camps, and then releasing them back on the streets, where almost all return to the cycle of addiction. 

It is noteworthy that unlike government bodies, non-governmental organizations have come up with other solutions to help and treat drug addicts. One night in early fall, I accompanied the advocates and staff of an NGO that has opted for a different approach to helping reduce the demand for drugs and control addiction, to learn and report on what goes on under the feverish skin of night in the country’s capital. The report is unlikely to disturb the sleep of any government official, but if it provokes any readers, anywhere in the country, to become aware and to no longer remain passive toward their afflicted fellow countrymen and to extend a helping hand to those who are doing effective work, it has fulfilled its mission.

I don’t know how to live, I lose my Qibla when I quit.

With his dirty, callused fingers, Ghader digs into the container of lentil rice and puts some in his mouth. He continues to talk as he chews and swallows. Whenever I don’t understand him, I turn to Abbas, and he translates for me.

“Old pals have brought lentil rice tonight! May God bless them. If it weren’t for them, half the guys in this hangout would die of hunger this winter.”

Abbas, who is a former addict and having been homeless slept in cardboard boxes, has been sober for three years and five months. He asks Ghader to speak with me and answer any questions I have.

“I swear, brother Abbas is the best! He was my buddy here,” Ghader says. “Ask me anything you want. Then go and make a name for yourself with my story, get rich. And I will burn like a candle to the very end.”

“You can choose to not burn to the very end!” Abbas tells him. “If you blow at the flame, it will go out. That’s what I did. But you don’t want to do it, Ghader.”  

“That's true! Anyone who really wants to, can. I just don't want to.”

“How long you have been an addict?” I ask. “Aren't you tired of it and of sleeping in cartons?”

“I’ve been on the street for seven years. Since I was thirteen or fourteen. At first it was hashish. Then it turned into opium, opium sap, and heroin. Now that prices have gone up, I'm taking meth.”

(Abbas explains that he means methadone pills)

“How many pills do you take a day?”

“Five 40mg pills. Of course, if I can get it. If I don’t have enough for five, I’ll get however many I can.”

“How do you come up with the money?”

“I collect scrap and sell it. I scramble. I work.”

(Abbas explains that by working, he means selling drugs and stealing.)

“Why don't you quit like Abbas did?”

“I can't stay clean, brother. It's easier this way. Morning to night, I only have one problem, and that's how to come up with the money for my dope. But when I am clean, I don't know what to do? Where to start? I have no one to go to. I've been high for years, now nothing means anything to me other than to getting high. When I quit, I swear, I lose my Qibla.”

“Do you really not want to quit?”

“I want to, but I don't know how to live after quitting. You have to know how to live, and I don’t know how.” 

Abbas talks to Ghader as he eats. He tells him to call whenever he wants to be saved from his misery and itinerant life, and Abbas can take him to a camp. 

“Like you, I don’t have anyone in this world,” Abbas tells him. “I didn’t know how to live either, but I’m slowly learning. If I could do it, why can’t you?”

When we leave Ghader, I ask Abbas if he thinks delivering food to addicts can help save them from addiction and sleeping in cartons.

“It definitely helps,” he says. “How do you think I got back my life? If friends who bring food for the addicts hadn’t helped me, instead of being clean, working, and living in society like a normal person, I would either be here hanging out with these guys or dead!”

A homeless woman addict, a collector of miseries.

A homeless woman addict suffers greater angsts. For her, strangers and acquaintances alike, smell of trouble and malice. Nader, another member of the NGO who provides food for the women, says, “There are far fewer women in the addict hangouts than men. For every hundred men, there is one woman.” 

The women usually have one person in the hangouts who acts as their guardian, and they spend most of their time him. They don’t talk to any strangers without their guardian’s approval. With the help of Abolfazl, we gained permission from one the guardians to briefly talk to the woman he protects. Our conversation with Shima (an assumed name) is a series of short questions and answers. All the while, she keeps a wick burning under a piece of foil and inhales the smoke of the heroin. Her makeshift wick is a tightly rolled and twisted tissue paper. She tells me not to sit idle and make wicks for her during the interview.

Q: How old are you? How long have you been an addict? How long have you been sleeping on cardboard boxes?

A: I'm thirty-two. I've been using drugs for seven or eight years. I've been on the street for almost two years now. Earlier, too, I spent a year living in cartons, but my family came and took me to a camp, and I quit. I was clean for five months, then I started using again, and went back to the streets.

Q: What are you using now, and how much?

A: Heroin and hashish. As much of them as I can my hands on.

Q: You’re not married?

A: No. Who can find a husband? Now a days, even the loveliest girls can't find a husband! A long time ago, I was in love with a guy, but he left me. It wasn’t because of my addiction. He left because he was a jerk. He was an addict too.

Q: What do you think about these men and women who bring you food?

A: They’re alright. Other than them, everyone else who comes around is nothing but trouble. Some of the people who bring food are clearly former addicts. From what they say, it’s obvious they understand what a high and a hangover is.

Q: Do you think you can quit like them?

A: Yes, I thought about it. I think I can quit too, but then I need a job and shelter.

When our conversation ends, a woman member of the NGO approaches and starts talking to Shima. But soon an agitated and brusque man come and takes her away.

Awakening homeless addicts’ desire to recover.

I ask a member of an NGO named "End Carton-Sleeping", which is among the leading organizations assisting homeless addicts, about their view towards the menace of addiction and homelessness. 

“In my opinion, this alarming social phenomenon is not particularly complex. It is the result of a lack of connection and understanding between individuals and their disconnect with their own true nature and essence. When people lack healthy relationships with one another other and forget God, they grow distant from their true selves and develop stress and anxiety. Then they try to calm this inner angst with external things, such as money, fame, entertainment, diversions, drugs, sex, and the like. They get caught in a whirlpool of these elements.

“We are trying to reestablish the destroyed connection of homeless addicts with life. Reestablishing these connections is not an easy task. These people have no connection with anything but drugs, and they do not trust anyone. Our way of connecting with them and shinning a light of life on them is through food delivery. Through this lens, many gain a fresh image of life and a desire for recovery awakens in them.”

People are effectively working, officials must offer support.

Another activist of grassroots groups providing food to addicts discusses the solution to such social harms. 

“When the president himself says that government-initiated efforts and approaches to controlling and reducing addiction have not worked, the task is clear. The solution is for society to get more involved and for officials to support people's work instead of making hollow promises.

“The problem is the workload, the excess of needs, and the lack of financial resources and facilities for social organizations. The truth is, many people do get involved and help, and if the government and institutions such as the municipalities and welfare organizations get as involved as the people, the omen of addiction will not have a chance to spread across our society in this manner.

“If officials trust in the work of the people and allocate a percentage of the huge resources and budgets spent by government bodies on combating social harms to NGOs, and monitor spending, much better results can be achieved. State and municipal governments can provide us with buildings and equipment so that we would not need to rent them. I'm sorry to say this, but many government organizations and agencies, with all their pomp and circumstance, which are doing the least bit to help reduce addiction, are actually creating obstacles for non-governmental organizations. For example, they require us to have permits from the Ministry of Interior to distribute food. But getting those permits is a herculean task. They tell us not to deliver food in the middle of the night, when in fact that is when the addicts gather in their hangouts. 

“Those officials who turn us away when we ask them for help, should show us one addict who would say, I quit and stayed clean with the help of a government program, or a municipal plan, or some project initiated by the Anti-Narcotics agency!”

Nothing works except love.

Mrs. Z. B. is among those working for NGOs that assist homeless addicts. She herself was once among them and has been free from addiction for more than eight years. In her words, she is on the path to recovery.

I ask her how long she has worked with the NGO and what they do. 

“It has been more than five years. We do not only provide food to homeless addicts. If they voluntarily decide to quit, we also cover their camp expenses and provide essential health services such as contraceptives for women. Homeless women addicts are extremely vulnerable. I think a separate agency should be established at the Welfare Organization to assist them. We believe this will help them to not fall back into the cycle of addiction. Our message is very simple. We were like you, but with each other's help we were able to quit and return to society. You too can do it.

According to her, feeding homeless addicts initially helps them simply survive, to not have the need to steal and commit crimes for a meal. In addition, this small kindness opens a window for them to connect with us, people who were like them and made changes in their lives and beliefs and took steps towards recovery. This gives them hope that there are people who can help them quit their addiction, and some will gradually become inclined to take that first step. 

I ask her what percentage of the addicts she helps volunteer to quit their addiction.

 "About five to ten percent," she says.

“What led to your success in quitting?”

"I believe it was God's miracle. I also owe my salvation to these young people who were once addicts and who now come to the aid of addicts. They didn't just feed me, they showed me that despite being an addict and homeless, I'm still a human being and that I can change. Twelve-step recovery programs, such as the Narcotics Anonymous (NA) program, have also been a guiding light in my life during my recovery.”

I ask her what advice she gives women suffering from the same predicament.

“I learned to not give them advice, because it has no effect on them, and it makes them defensive. I just offer them food, and if they want to talk, I sit with them. If I say anything, it is to never despair of quitting and reassure them that we will never abandon them.”

“You may not believe it,” she continues, “but I constantly tell them ‘you are still young and beautiful.’ I want them to have hope in their hearts that they are worthy of love and affection. I believe that if anything can save them, it is love without prejudice and without hypocrisy. I try to show them that even though they are damaged, and fragile, I believe in their humanity, and I love their human face, because love is powerful and nothing and no one can do anything against the scourge of addiction except love.”

* * *

I see a book on the dashboard of Mrs. Z. B.’s car. 

“Is it about addiction, homelessness, and the like?”

“No!” she replies. “It's a novel by the Japanese writer Kazuo Ishiguro who won the Nobel Prize for Literature.”

She gives me the book and says, “I've read it, now it’s yours.”

I looked at the cover. It’s titled, Never Let Me Go.