A direct and respectful exchange between George Esser of River City Vineyard and Nathan Colquhoun of The Sarnia Journal. They discuss their differing philosophies on harm reduction, abstinence-based recovery, and the best way to care for Sarnia’s most vulnerable residents.
Editorial Note:
Recently, George Esser of River City Vineyard submitted an opinion piece to The Sarnia Journal and other news outlets, outlining his perspective on abstinence-based recovery models in relation to local housing projects.
Nathan Colquhoun read the piece and responded directly to George, challenging his premise. George then replied to Nathan, suggesting the entire dialogue be published to foster community understanding.
What follows is that exchange, presented to model the kind of respectful, in-depth dialogue Sarnia needs as we wrestle with complex issues together.
For years, I was about 80 per cent in favor of harm reduction and 20 per cent skeptical. The concept seemed compassionate: meet people where they are in their drug use, minimizing risks without demanding abstinence. Harm reduction, as defined by Harm Reduction International, includes providing free clean needles to prevent disease spread or offering safe injection sites with medical oversight. The goal is to lessen health, social, and legal impacts of drug use, treating addiction as a health issue, not a crime.
I supported the idea of reducing harm, but the practice often fell short, enabling addiction and causing broader harm to communities.
It’s like Canada’s no-bail policy for low-level offenses. The intent is noble: a poor person shouldn’t languish in jail just because they can’t afford bail, unlike the affluent who walk free. Yet, the reality is “catch and release,” where repeat offenders cycle through without accountability, increasing crime and community disruption. Harm reduction shares this flaw. It may save lives short-term but often sustains addiction without fostering recovery, resulting in a net increase in harm to society.
As the operator of a 69-bed homeless shelter in Sarnia, I’ve seen this firsthand. Until April 2024, we allowed residents with substance abuse issues to stay, provided they didn’t use on-site or cause issues like violence. We believed providing food, shelter, and clothing would free them to address deeper issues and inspire change. But users triggered those trying to quit, through drug talk or sneaking use near the building, making our shelter a stumbling block rather than a stepping stone.
In April 2024, we went drug-free. We lost 50 per cent of our residents overnight and faced backlash from some locals, especially the ones with loved ones on the street. Yet, within three weeks, 70 per cent of those who left returned, committed to sobriety. (More returned later.) The results are transformative: we now have a 70 per cent success rate in helping clients stay drug-free and transition to permanent housing. There’s no time limit—some take up to three years—but more affordable housing in Sarnia would speed this up. We’re buying houses and converting them into group homes to bridge this gap. We conduct 400–500 drug tests annually to maintain this commitment.
Why did it take from 2008 to 2024 to make this shift? The rise of crystal meth and fentanyl, unlike earlier opioids like OxyContin, exposed harm reduction’s flaws, as they are harder to manage and trigger relapses more easily. Enabling use kept clients stuck, surrounded by the same drug culture, violence, and isolation they faced on the streets.
Our drug-free policy also slashed neighborhood complaints. We banned loitering; residents must leave the premises when not inside. We stopped handing out free coffee and snack bags, which attracted crowds and enabled unhealthy behaviors. Now, community relations are stronger, with complaints nearly nonexistent.
My 37 years of helping alcoholics and drug users have shown that harm reduction, while well-intentioned, doesn’t reduce harm overall. Jails, often proposed as “forced detox,” are no better, rife with drug use, violence, and isolation, mirroring the street environment. Instead, we need structured, drug-free programs that empower recovery. Places like Sarnia’s former Rainbow Park, an illegal encampment costing $1 million to clear in March 2025, offered no benefits for residents or campers. Tax-paying citizens shouldn’t endure disruptions from substance abuse.
Mental health support needs rethinking too. Canada’s deinstitutionalization from the 1960s to 1980s closed most facilities, leaving many vulnerable on the streets. Restoring 20–40 per cent of past capacity, with community integration, could provide care, making individuals and society safer.
Sarnia faces turmoil over projects like Indwell’s 51-unit housing on George Street and the Inn of the Good Shepherd’s approved six-storey, 56-unit Exmouth project. The issue isn’t the buildings, it’s drug use fueling community disruption and failing clients. These facilities should prioritize those committed to healing and housing, not perpetuate addiction cycles.
Let’s rethink harm reduction. Supervised consumption sites prevented over 60,000 overdose deaths from 2017 to 2024, and a 2021 Angus Reid poll found 64 per cent of Canadians support it. But overdose deaths keep rising, and critics note it doesn’t curb use or address root causes, leaving non-users to bear social costs. Harm reduction, while seeming to help clients, often just enables users and creates more overall harm to society.
Hey George,
I read your recent letter, "Rethinking Harm Reduction," with great interest. I want to start by honouring your work. Your decades of service to the most vulnerable in Sarnia are a testament to your compassion. You are on the front lines of a crisis, and your desire to see people healed and housed is a mission we both share.
But I must challenge you, friend to friend, because the framework you've presented is built on a dangerous premise. Your argument, at its core, is that a model of purity (abstinence) is superior to a model of mercy (harm reduction).
You've made a case that harm reduction: which you correctly define as meeting people where they are is "enabling addiction" and causing "broader harm to communities." You've backed this with the data from your own shelter, claiming a 70% success rate for those who embraced your new drug-free rules.
I do not doubt your numbers, but I question your conclusion. Your decision to go drug-free, as you stated, meant 50% of your residents were lost "overnight." While you celebrate the 70% of those who returned, I am left grieving for the ones who didn't. What about them? Where did they go?
In your model, they are a statistical loss. In a harm reduction model, they are still clients. In a Christian model, they are the one sheep out of 99 for whom the shepherd leaves the flock.
This is where our philosophical and theological difference is most stark.
You've dismissed the over 60,000 overdose reversals at supervised consumption sites in Canada as merely "treating symptoms." George, those "symptoms" are people. They are 60,000 sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers who are still alive. A person must be alive to find recovery. Harm reduction is not, as critics claim, a "permanent crutch"; it is the non-judgmental act of keeping a person alive long enough for them to find their own path to healing.
It is the very definition of grace.
The Jesus I follow was a harm reductionist. He didn't tell Zacchaeus to stop being a corrupt tax collector before he came to his house. He didn't demand Mary Magdalene abandon her "sinful" life before he defended her. He met them exactly where they were, in the middle of their mess. He ate with them, which was a radical act of "enabling." His grace preceded their transformation.
Your model, George, sounds like the law. It says, "Get clean, and then you can have shelter. Get pure, and then you can have community." The Gospel says the opposite. It says, "Here is community. Here is shelter. Here is love. You are worthy of it right now."
You also dismiss the 64% of Canadians who support harm reduction by claiming the poll questions are biased. Is it not more likely that people see the evidence and agree that saving a life is the primary moral imperative?
The system that is failing us is not "harm reduction." The system that is failing us is the one that criminalizes poverty, isolates the traumatized, and refuses to build housing. The system is our collective failure to see the dignity in every person, regardless of their choices.
You write that your drug-free policy "slashed neighborhood complaints." This, to me, is the most telling line in your letter. You've solved the symptom for the neighbourhood—by banning loitering and stopping free coffee—but you haven't solved the problem for the people. You've just made the problem invisible. You've moved it to another park, another alley, another tent encampment.
This is the central temptation of the Pharisee: to mistake a clean sidewalk for a healed community.
I am not content to build a city where our most wounded residents are simply hidden from view. The goal is not to have a "clean" downtown. The goal is to have a healed community, and healing requires us to look at the mess, to sit in it, and to love people unconditionally.
George, your 70% success rate for the compliant is wonderful. But I'm worried about the 30% you lost, and the 50% who were turned away at the door. I believe our "success" as a community will be measured by how we treat those very people.
Let us not force the most vulnerable to prove their purity before we offer them mercy. That is not the Sarnia I am fighting for, and I don't believe it's the Gospel you follow.
Your friend in Christ, Nathan Colquhoun
Dear Nathan,
Thank you for your thoughtful response to my letter, “Rethinking Harm Reduction.” Your passion for Sarnia’s most vulnerable resonates deeply, and I honor your commitment to grace and mercy. As a friend, I value this dialogue, as it sharpens my thinking and challenges me to articulate the heart behind my work at River City Vineyard. While we both long to see people healed and housed, my experience on the front lines of addiction and homelessness has shifted my perspective from 80% harm reduction to 80% abstinence based. If I lacked this experience, I’d likely agree with you 100%, as your logic is compelling and rooted in compassion. But practice has led me to rethink what truly helps.
You challenge my drug-free policy, noting that 50% of our residents left overnight when we implemented it, and 30% of those didn’t return. You grieve for them, as do I. Our data shows a 70% success rate—likely closer to 85%, though we lowball it for accuracy—and many who left returned within a year, now thriving. Those who didn’t are not just statistics; they’re people we pray for daily. We haven’t given up on them but seek solutions that prioritize lasting recovery over temporary relief.
A pivotal moment shaped my approach. Years ago, I lived near a highway and came upon a horrific car accident. A mother and her two children—a 5-year-old and a 2-year-old—were involved. The kids lay side by side on the ground, alive but barely responsive, their small bodies still, their faces pale. My heart broke, especially for the 2-year-old, so fragile and vulnerable. I wanted to save her first, to scoop her up and will her to live. When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics chose to take the 5-year-old, explaining another ambulance was coming. I protested, “You can take both!” My heart screamed to prioritize the youngest, the weakest. They relented, but later I learned the 2-year-old didn’t survive. The paramedics, I realized, made a gut-wrenching call to save the one they knew had the best chance, given their limited resources. I felt a stirring in my spirit—a God moment—showing me that sometimes, maximizing healing means making hard choices to focus where impact is greatest. That moment haunts me but guides me still.
Addiction runs deep in my family. My father died from alcoholism’s complications. My youngest brother, sober during a fatal car accident, battled chronic addiction due to back pain. Two other brothers overcame their struggles, showing me recovery is possible but not easy. I’ve never faced addiction myself, which makes me aware I could slip into a “just stop” mindset. But I’ve seen the pain of those who can’t, and it humbles me.
Before going drug-free, only 5% of our clients moved from homelessness to stable housing and self-sufficiency. Since the shift, our wall of past clients lost to addiction—once a grim reminder—has seen no new names. Deaths from addicted behaviors are now nearly non-existent. This isn’t just data; it’s lives transformed. It was the addicted that convinced me and begged me to go drug free.
You highlight 60,000 overdose reversals at supervised consumption sites, and I don’t dispute their value in keeping people alive. But those are lives preserved, not healed. Harm reduction, like methadone programs, often stalls there. I’ve met clients on methadone who still use, with no encouragement to move toward recovery. It feels like a bandage, not a cure. Government-run detox centers, like those in London and Windsor, have capacity but are tangled in red tape—7-day or 30-day limits, endless forms, designed to look helpful while staying underused. When I tried getting clients in, I saw why: they’re built to check boxes, not to heal.
At River City, we reject time limits. Residents stay until they’re ready, within reason. We encourage and challenge them to progress, but we don’t rush healing. Our approach maximizes impact with minimal resources, unlike harm reduction, which I’ve seen harm clients and communities alike. Neighborhood complaints plummeted not because we hid the problem but because our clients are healing, not loitering or disrupting.
You frame harm reduction as grace, citing Jesus meeting Zacchaeus and Mary Magdalene in their mess. I agree: love meets people where they are. Matthew, Mark, and Luke—our addicted churchgoers—are welcomed every Sunday, fed when hungry, treated with dignity. But love also sets boundaries. If families evict loved ones for stealing or chaos, why should shelters enable those behaviors? Harm reduction, like clean needles or free coffee, often eases our conscience while leaving root issues untouched.
I’ve shared my stance with recovered addicts, and while one noted harm reduction’s initial value, they agree it falls short long-term. If Indwell and the Inn of the Good Shepherd went drug-free, more would find lasting recovery. For the 30% we haven’t reached, we’re exploring solutions, not abandoning them. My quasi-plan envisions a Sarnia where true healing—honest, boundary-setting love—replaces enabling. Harm reduction, in my experience, doesn’t deliver that.
This dialogue strengthens me, Nathan. Your heart for the poor is undeniable, and I’m grateful for your challenge. Let’s keep wrestling toward a Sarnia where every person finds healing, not just survival.
In Christ, George
