"At the end of the day, we're human": to be in community amid a toxic drug & overdose crisis
For the final piece in our “Invisibilized Intersections” series highlighting harm reduction’s intersections with Indigenous, Black, and racialized communities, we spend time with the perspectives of community members who have directly experienced or witnessed the impacts of the toxic drug supply and overdose crisis in their everyday lives. How are the impacts of the crisis being felt by people on a day-to-day basis? What does it mean to belong to different communities facing the same issue? With these questions in mind, Atak Deng speaks to his experience as a drug user and resident of Nora Hendrix Place and the Downtown Eastside, and “An Kang” shares her thoughts as a Chinatown resident and observer to many of the challenges in the neighbourhood.
On Thursday, September 10, 2026, we will be hosting an “Invisibilized Intersections” panel event to bring the perspectives of these stories in deeper conversation with each other. Visit the event page to learn more, register or join the waitlist, and for further updates: Invisibilized Intersections - event registration.
As the toxic drug supply and overdose crisis persists in the city, residents across the Downtown Eastside, Hogan’s Alley, and Chinatown communities remain some of the most impacted by the hardships it brings. As neighbours sharing the same streets in a space they all call home, there’s also a mutual recognition of the difficult reality facing everyone. Regardless of whether someone uses drugs or not, there is a collective acknowledgment that the crisis has brought countless losses and suffering in the neighbourhood. Within that shared understanding, there often still resides a sense of community between people despite their differences.
It's something Atak Deng has witnessed for himself. Deng has lived in Vancouver for nearly a decade, including as a resident at Nora Hendrix Place for the past five years. Born in South Sudan, he grew up as one of six siblings in his family before going on to leave the country not much farther into his youth, as a teenager.
“I left home because of, everybody knows, the war and the history of the war in my country,” says Deng, “That’s the reason that I separated, a lot of us, a lot of my generation, they separated, different country, they travel. So I immigrated to Canada.”
He says that decision brought many opportunities in education and other possibilities that wouldn’t have been likely if he hadn’t migrated, but it didn’t guarantee a future free of challenges. Homelessness ended up becoming one of them, which Deng says put in him in bad shape to the point where he was “struggling just to live.”
Eventually, being connected with housing at Nora Hendrix Place through Hogan’s Alley Society helped Deng overcome that challenge. But other challenges like the toxic drug supply and overdose crisis continue to impact him and others in his community.
“I personally lost a lot of people,” says Deng. “They were close to me. Sad that they left, sudden like that, you know.”
Like a monster, swallowing people
As the crisis has gone on, the losses are immeasurable. “Dozens, dozens, dozens of people, they’ve been gone,” says Deng.
At many points, Deng nearly became one of those losses. “Personally, it happened to me, I overdosed so many times. So many times. And at the end, I almost lost my mind,” he says. “But I hold off a little bit, because I thought to myself, I must be lucky, to overdose this much time — because some people never get a chance to do that, not even once.”
Returning from an overdose, an experience Deng describes as being “basically dead,” has been a grounding reminder and motivation. “That makes me think all the time, I have to quit. Because deep down I feel like, God giving me a chance to live.”
“I still use, but not like before,” he says. “I start to slow down, I start to think more about myself. My goal is to quit.” Since then, learning more about harm reduction and how else to help is also a goal for him.
“Because this thing is like a monster, swallowing people.”
Whenever there’s an overdose, Deng tries to pay forward the life-saving support that was extended to him. “I go, I run, I try to do my help, contribute, do something,” he says.
There are some moments when it’s been especially personal. “It happened to my cousin. It was here,” says Deng. “He was like overdosed more than half an hour. And then I was giving him air. Air, air for a long time. And finally he come back, after I gave up, I thought maybe he died.”
Now he continues trying to reverse as many overdoses as he can, and is interested in joining an overdose prevention team. “Because I feel like this is something I should do.”
I realized that they’re really suffering
For Chinatown seniors like An Kang, witnessing the hardships experienced by her neighbours affected by the toxic drug supply and overdose crisis is its own challenge.
(Note: Kang spoke to us for this story under a pseudonym to protect her privacy, with her chosen name of “An Kang 安康”, meaning well-being or good health; with gratitude to Carina Xu for translation assistance for this interview).
Since moving to Chinatown at the beginning of 2026, most of Kang’s connections are with other Chinese residents. She often visits the library or the Downtown Eastside Women’s Centre to enjoy activities like singing, practicing tai chi, and dancing together.
Initially, Kang found it upsetting to witness the overdose crisis, but she feels differently after learning more about it. “I just didn’t feel quite comfortable, and felt some sort of resentment against what it looks like on the streets. But then afterwards I felt some sort of sympathy towards them the more I see them,” she says.
When asked about her attitude shift, she says her mind changed after connecting with groups like the Vancouver Area Network of Drug Users (VANDU), where she often attends educational meetings.
“Ever since I joined VANDU, I’ve developed contact with more of these folks. It’s since then I’ve grown at least a little bit of understanding of them, and I realized that they’re really suffering,” says Kang. “When I went to the hospital because of pain and then the doctor prescribed me with medication, I realized these folks, they don’t get the same treatment. A lot of them just have a really, really difficult time.”
Now, witnessing the everyday struggles for survival by her drug user neighbours has instilled deeper compassion in Kang. It worries her to notice people losing consciousness or having nowhere else to lie down except in puddles of water on the street.
“I find that they’re really having a difficult time, and so that’s when I developed really a deep sympathy towards them,” she says.
Although Kang is not personally aware of anyone within her own community who uses drugs, she still feels a sense of care towards those who might need support.
“Sometimes I’ll bring cookies,” she says. “Because I’m a low-income senior, I usually go to the food bank. And then for example, sausages that I’ll get or anything that’s kind like snacks, I would get them and give it to them.”
Because at the end of the day, we’re human
Within the many layers of the toxic drug supply and overdose crisis, one piece that might not be immediately apparent is how race and culture may factor into the situation. It’s an experience sometimes easily overlooked in conversations about the crisis despite the definite need to address its impacts, such as discrimination faced by Indigenous, Black, and racialized drug users — including within the drug user community.
“I did experience it, a lot of racism,” says Deng
He’s observed this racism come up in comments such as, “This guy, I don’t want to give him drugs because he’s Black, for example. This guy, he doesn’t have money. This guy, he’s Chinese — I don’t want to give him drugs, because he’s Indian, you know. It’s sad, in the drug user community.”
But amid the crisis of the toxic drug supply, Deng encourages people to understand that drugs “doesn’t know this is Black, this is white — the drugs doesn’t know that. The drugs kill everybody.” With every life lost to another overdose, the urgency of reaching this understanding only increases.
“We need to learn how to love each other. We need to learn how to understand each other,” says Deng. “Because at the end of the day, we’re human. This should come naturally.”
That understanding can come more naturally than one might think, sometimes unexpectedly. Deng recalls his own experience of befriending someone at work after beginning with a terrible first impression.
“It’s strange and amazing, at the same time. Because we started off in a bad, really bad, start, and we end up friends,” says Deng, describing how the other person had their own ideas about him. “Saying words, jabs, giving jabs at me. Like offensive things, you know. And I was going at him, too, together. It becomes like this. I go out, I hate this guy.”
But after being assigned to work together, the time spent with each other shifted the energy between them. They went from working in silence to offering each other a drink of water when they’re tired, and other similarly small moments.
“Simple stuff like this, it just changes our thoughts to each other,” says Deng. “Then little by little, he start saying 'hi,’ and then I say ‘hi.’ We got off, going home together in the same car, and we start talking. Things just change. We become friends. He’s not the guy that I thought he was.”
For Deng, the importance of unlearning these prejudices is invaluable.
“I believe that nobody was born racist, but it’s something that we come learn in this world,” he says. “But as long as we learn about racism and hating each other, we can be taught about loving each other.”
I would do my best to help them
Being a racialized person who also uses drugs is often still a very stigmatized position, and this can be especially true within Chinese communities.
“It is in the Chinese tradition — it is something that’s coming from our bones, that in the past we’ve had this Opium War,” says Kang, referring to the trauma many Chinese people carry from those historical events. “This disdain towards drug use is in our bones. And so the Chinese community, like us Chinese here, really do worry about our next generation, worry that they will get into the drugs.”
While the experiences of racialized drug users, within Chinese communities or otherwise, isn’t familiar to Kang, she still observes language being a unique layer to the discrimination people face here. Distinct communities of people might both experience racism, but differing abilities to communicate in English can still create distance, and different barriers of discrimination, between them.
When asked what she would do if meeting a drug user in her own community, Kang’s answer is simple. “I would do my best to help them.”
“If I am to see someone like that,” she says, “Someone who’s medicating with drugs to deal with their pain or illness, I would help them call 911, I would give them food, and say if they’re cold, I would bring some clothes for them.”
It’s on us
Just like how communities aren’t a monolith in their experiences, neither is there an obvious overarching solution to address the toxic drug and overdose crisis — nor its many nuances, including around race and culture.
But a diversity of input might be the best approach to ensure a fuller reflection of experiences for everyone impacted by the crisis, and to create a community where everyone feels taken care of.
“I feel this problem or this issue, should be reflected to the health department. I think there should be a simultaneous effort happening,” says Kang. “They should be able to receive this medical maintenance treatment all the same.”
Similarly, Deng would like to see the government provide more amenities, like public bathrooms. He believes more ways to support people’s everyday needs would help, including spaces like social clubs for people to get to know each other.
Opportunities to develop a shared understanding, to be in community with each other, are key to moving forward together.
“Because some people don’t do drugs, they have one understanding only. ‘This guy is a loser, and he has no life’, and they abandon him,” says Deng. “It’s on us to make him better. Because he’s one of us. Simple.”
