BMORENEWS.com

Anthony McCarthy

ICWC

(BALTIMORE - November 15, 2008) - It was a mildly cool October afternoon and the 4400 block of Park Heights Avenue was busy. Even with the new chill in the air the young drug dealers were on their posts. Addicts, young and old and visibly half-dead, were moving in and out of the crowds getting their multiple hits. All of this action taking place while hundreds of people seeking to stay clean of their heroin, crack and alcohol dependencies, all clients of I Can’t We Can, were shuttling between the three buildings that house the offices of this faith-based, community oriented recovery program.

As I stood on the street talking on my cell phone, I watched a van with the logo and name of one of the region’s leading hospitals pull up.

A young white man jumped out of the passenger seat, opened the side door and helped an elderly black woman dressed only in a hospital gown and slippers step out. He pointed towards our organization’s door and returned to his seat and the van disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

Confused and hungry, she stumbled in and said she had nowhere to go. No family. No friends. No one. We now call her Mother Esther and she’s part of the I Can’t We Can family.

It happens every winter. People who have spent their days and nights in drug houses, smoking or shooting up what little money they have, and fighting mental demons that rob their sanity, come calling on Israel Cason and his organization.

The clients are diverse but share much in common. They are usually poor, black and without access to healthcare and insurance.

After using heroin for 30 years, Cason got sick of being sick and found himself in Philadelphia at a strict recovery program. Once clean, he decided he could share his salvation with others and founded I Can’t We Can.

When I was banished from City Hall, no one wanted me either. It was Israel Cason who took me in.

Other drug recovery programs talk about treatment on demand. ICWC is the only group to actually do it.

Our program asks only that addicts have the will to change. We also require people to find their spiritual soul. A soul is what connects all of us to humanity.

You can make mistakes, fall short and even rob and lie to your family and friends – but you still have a soul. Drug addiction can diminish that soul’s focus and purpose, but it can not destroy it.

In this failing economy, if your organization is offering services to the public regardless of their ability to pay for them, you will find yourself in trouble.

That’s what happened to the Health Education Resource Organization (HERO) and forced them to announce that they will close by mid-December. And it could easily happen to ICWC if we don’t do something and do it soon.

With only a minimum of financial assistance from city government, ICWC has relied on the generosity of individuals and other organizations that share in their mission of saving addicts.

It costs to put people through detox. There are fees associated to house addicts, feed them, get them in group therapy, mental health counseling, legal assistance and to keep them warm and safe, literally and figuratively.

Recently I have watched our bills pile up. Contributions have slowed to a trickle and our fevered calls for help to the community, to elected officials, corporate czars and to the thousands of churches that occupy every corner in Baltimore, have been met with an astounding silence.

Yes, I know what you may be thinking. Everybody is having a hard time right now.
The irony of the silence of these constituencies to me is that I have watched during my brief three months working at ICWC the sons and daughters, and the husbands and wives of ministers, politicians; business leaders and reporters stream through our doors.
Their families have begged us for confidentiality and we’ve gladly obliged. Not out of any sense of protecting their vanity or reputations, but recognizing that the goal is to help an addict find hope.

The tragedy of groups like ICWC and HERO is that it appears that the citizens of Baltimore have figured out our secret. That we are true believers in this city and in the people that others gladly discard.

I watch employees at ICWC exhibit an undying sense of hope in the human condition that causes us to show up everyday for very little pay, enormous emotional drainage and to face cynicism and selfishness when we say we can’t do this alone anymore.

What institution can absorb the more than 900 HIV positive and AIDS infected clients of HERO? What will happen in the streets of Baltimore if ICWC has to begin turning away addicts who will do just about anything to pay for their drugs?

I don’t think we truly want to know the answer to those questions.

Anthony McCarthy is a talk show host on WEAA 88.9 FM and an administrator at I Can’t We Can, Inc.

Tags: drugs, health, recovery