My son Jesse Harvey was an advocate, a voice of reason for reform and a servant of justice, equity and recovery. Through his work bringing light to others struggling with addiction, Jesse saved countless lives, even if his own was not among them.
Jesse Harvey, left, founder of the Church of Safe Injection, waits for clients to whom to give his harm-reduction kits near Kennedy Park in Lewiston in October 2018. He provided clients a safe place to dispose of used needles, as well as naloxone and clean needles. Brianna Soukup/Staff Photographer, file
My son died of an accidental overdose, alone in his home, when he was just 28. His death is not the story of his life. The war on drugs killed my son.
Jesse was a hero; he was compassionate, empathetic and fueled by the injustice of this world. He was guided by mentors who taught him radical acceptance and restorative justice. Jesse believed everyone deserved to be treated with love and respect and wasn’t afraid to speak out when that wasn’t practiced. As friends and community members continued to die, Jesse’s values grew stronger.
The unrelenting deaths and community grief emboldened Jesse – they filled him with rage and propelled him further into his calling to be of service to those in need. In 2018, he founded the Church of Safe Injection, a harm reduction organization that started as an unlicensed syringe service program and now legally operates in five Maine municipalities. He worked to help people with chaotic substance use survive because he believed that in order to recover you have to live. And to truly live, you must feel loved and have access to basic human needs.
Not a day passes that I don’t think of Jesse. Every time I think of him, I grow more convinced that he was right: People suffering from addiction need help, not “punishment” or some false sense of “accountability.” Incarcerating people for drugs harms the people these laws are meant to help. They rip mothers and fathers away from their children and siblings away from their brothers and sisters, and brand our loved ones with lifelong criminal records simply for the act of possessing small amounts of drugs.
The numbers in Maine are particularly horrific and demonstrate that our current approach is a failure. In 2022, 716 people died of preventable drug overdose in Maine, up from 631 deaths in 2021. For three years running, Maine’s set a new record for overdose deaths. And in the first three months of 2023, the number grew by another 140 lives. These numbers are not just statistics – they are our loved ones, family members and neighbors. They are Jesse.
What we’re doing isn’t working. It’s time for change. Jesse dedicated himself to saving people from a hateful and ineffective system. Now, the rest of us have an obligation to continue his work and create a statewide approach to reducing fatal overdoses and incarceration.
This year, the Legislature is considering a critical bill – sponsored by Rep. Lydia Crafts, who lost her nephew to overdose – addressing these issues. If enacted, this bill (L.D. 1975) would give Mainers a chance to access resources that promote health, safety and community rather than maintaining punitive drug laws that have proven ineffective for decades.
I hold out hope that now is the time to change Maine’s outdated and ineffective drug laws. Instead of arresting our loved ones, let’s connect them to harm reduction programs, substance use treatment, employment, peer support and health care. I’ve learned that access to care works; meeting people with compassion and understanding works. Incarceration and shame don’t.
People who use drugs do not deserve to die. This is not a war on drugs. This is a war on people.
Until we change our approach, the casualties of this war will continue to grow.
Every day we wait, the problem gets worse and more lives and families are destroyed. The time to act is now.
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