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In August, this newspaper ran an article about yet another clearing of tents along Hwy. 55 in Minneapolis ("Highway 55 encampment regroups; 'We've gone around in a circle,'" Aug. 22). The story concluded with an anecdote from a woman who said she had been homeless for five years because she "doesn't know how to find subsidized housing" and has an "unreliable phone." The article also mentioned that during that half decade, her husband overdosed and died.
Let's not beat around the bush, pretending to not understand what is going on here, killing these people.
The chronically homeless are dying on our streets, in our parks, on our trains. A large and highly visible subset is addicted to cheap, plentiful, lethal drugs. It was recently reported that fentanyl kills someone every day in Hennepin County. Many others among the chronically homeless are mentally ill and unable to care for themselves.
They are dying in plain sight because we refuse to acknowledge what ails them, and instead we are largely trying to "post" our way out of it. In response to a crisis killing over 100,000 Americans every year, the online activists who set the terms of our policymaking conversation have stepped up, netting tens of likes for their tweets "dunking" on the mayor.
It's rarely directly stated that, offline, in the real world, every single person in Minneapolis knows where to get fentanyl and other hard drugs — the encampments. The general public did not know how and where to buy heroin in Minneapolis 10 years ago. This is a recent development.
Addicts arrested for petty and sometimes for violent crimes are ordered to drug rehabilitation in lieu of prison, then literally walk out of facilities to Lake and Hiawatha where, for $5, you can buy a baggie of fentanyl under the train station in broad daylight a block from a burnt out police station.