Harm Reduction for Everyone: Disability, Dignity, and the Drug Supply Crisis in Ontario

Featuring Atticus Hawk, Health Equity and Disability Justice Advocate and PhD Candidate at the University of Toronto.

Ontario is in the middle of a toxic drug supply crisis, and people with disabilities are often among the most affected. To shed light on this urgent issue, Whimble founder Emma Brown connected with Atticus Hawk, a leader in accessibility, healthcare policy, and harm reduction. Their conversation touched on lived experience, frontline realities, systemic barriers, and the power of small, human acts of dignity.

How Disability and Harm Reduction Intersect

Atticus’s path to advocacy was anything but conventional. For over a decade, he was a professional cellist, performing across Canada and internationally. But even during those concerts, he was already thinking about accessibility — how to involve more people in the experience, how to help audiences connect with classical music in ways that felt welcoming rather than elitist.

When a genetic condition eventually limited his mobility, those same questions about inclusion and access carried over into new areas of his life. He shifted his focus from music to archival and information science, and later to healthcare navigation and harm reduction. His lived experience navigating hospitals, supporting sick loved ones, and learning how systems worked — or didn’t — opened his eyes to the many gaps in care.

For many, disability and drug use overlap in ways that make harm reduction a matter of survival. Yet too often, policies ignore or exclude disabled people, leaving them without proper support. As Atticus put it, “The way we treat people who use substances is a direct reflection of how we truly feel about disability.”

Libraries as Frontline Responders

One of the most striking insights Atticus shared was how libraries have become unexpected but vital frontline spaces in the drug crisis. Libraries are public, welcoming, and open to all,which also makes them critical sites where overdoses happen. Staff are responding in real time, often without proper training. Some workers resist the idea of harm reduction, saying “It’s not our problem.” But others on the frontlines see the urgency. “I can’t watch someone die and not know how to help,” one librarian told Atticus.

Providing training before crisis points doesn’t just save lives; it also prevents trauma, burnout, and costly staff turnover. Harm reduction in this context is both compassionate and pragmatic: it keeps staff supported, reduces long-term costs, and acknowledges that libraries truly are for everyone.

The Importance of Dignity and Small Acts of Care

Throughout the conversation, dignity came up again and again. For Atticus, harm reduction isn’t only about policies or naloxone kits, it’s about everyday, human gestures that signal respect.

Pulling up someone’s pants during an overdose so they aren’t exposed. Wiping skin before an injection. Holding someone’s head gently. Even angling a straw the way someone prefers. These seemingly small acts create trust and recognition in moments that might otherwise feel dehumanizing.

“Trust builds slowly,” Atticus explained. “You earn it by showing up, being honest, being kind.” For him, these tiny acts of respect echo the same principles that guided his approach to classical music: inclusion, accessibility, and connection. Harm reduction, at its heart, is about treating people as whole humans, not problems to be managed.

Challenging Ableism and Sanism in Healthcare

A powerful thread in the discussion was how ableism and sanism shape drug policy and care. Too often, people under the influence are treated as incapable of making decisions, even when they clearly express their wishes. Similarly, people with cognitive disabilities, brain injuries, or dementia are dismissed or denied pain management because they can’t communicate “the right way.”

These assumptions strip people of agency and dignity. As Atticus noted, society embraces someone disabled by a skiing accident but shuns someone disabled by substance use. Both deserve compassion and support.

Breaking these biases is key to true equity in healthcare and disability justice. Atticus stressed that everyone, regardless of how their disability came about, deserves the right to proper care, pain management, and dignity in medical settings.

Reasons for Hope

Despite the challenges, Atticus sees reasons to be optimistic. Harm reduction vending machines stocked with naloxone, needles, and even socks are popping up in high-risk areas. Scientists are finding creative ways around policy barriers. Frontline workers, such as library staff and students, are also embracing harm reduction training.

The results speak for themselves: in one class of library science students, confidence in responding to overdoses jumped from 30% to 80% after just 90 minutes of training. When people are given tools, they feel empowered to act.

“It’s those small, empowered moments,” Atticus said. “You get to say: I know how to do something. Let’s do it.”

This conversation was a reminder that harm reduction is about more than kits, policies, or statistics. It’s about dignity, compassion, and refusing to leave anyone behind. Substance use disorder is a disability and people living with it deserve care, community, and respect.

The crisis is real, but so is the hope. From libraries to labs, people are finding new ways to respond with humanity. Harm reduction is for everyone, and change begins with the smallest acts of care.

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