The city has long been associated with high crime rates, drug distribution and homelessness, and according to Jessie Burke, a community activist and co-owner of The Society Hotel in old Chinatown, that image has «really crushed us». The area, a traditional hub for homeless people and drug addicts, was acquired by her in 2013: a dilapidated 19th-century building she bought for $700,000 and invested more than $4 million in renovating it, hoping to be part of the historic district's revitalization.
Amid the decriminalization of overdoses, the spread of drug addiction reached such proportions that the city asked Burke to install a naloxone dispenser in the hotel lobby (she refused), and nightly shootouts between rival drug dealers occurred there. Despite the decrease in violence, the hotel's front doors are still locked. There are tents on the sidewalks, drug addicts napping nearby, among them people without limbs, some using pipes and burnt foil.
Burke, a former competitive fencer with a businesslike approach that reflects her Eastern background, believes people under the influence of hard drugs should not be given complete freedom.
Burke also criticizes the lack of oversight of public funds allocated to homelessness and drug treatment. She is troubled by the lack of rigorous performance measures for contracts spent as part of Multnomah County's $4 billion budget.
In December 2023, a state audit found that $264 million of Measure 110 funds earmarked for treatment services were allocated without sufficient performance data. One long overdue measure she considers is the creation of a centralized server similar to what hotels use to track vacancies — it shows how many beds are occupied and how many are vacant. Hundreds of beds remain empty in the city every night. «Small businesses can't afford to fail year after year without delivering on promises» — says Burke.
In May, Burke lost an election to the Multnomah County Board of Commissioners. At the same time, she worked as campaign manager for her friend Nathan Vasquez, the district attorney elected after promising to fight crime and aggressively pursue drug trafficking. At a victory party at an upscale Chinatown hotel, Vazquez said he intended to eliminate open drug markets and get users into treatment, emphasizing the importance of accountability and compassion.
I returned to Portland in early November, after Donald Trump's re-election. The city center was cordoned off: stores were boarded up, expecting possible clashes between police and anarchists, but no clashes occurred. While the vector in the US has shifted towards conservatism, Portland has reaffirmed its liberal reputation by electing the most diverse city council in history.
A law-and-order mayoral candidate who promised to eliminate homelessness in a year was rejected by moderate businessman Keith Wilson, who promised a more humane solution. «Portland remains a very liberal city» — confirms political science professor Richard Klukas.
Two months after the return to criminalization, the drug market situation downtown has not changed much. People continue to smoke fentanyl in plain sight and congregate in familiar places: at public libraries, at McDonald's on Burnside Street, along Alder Street, in parking lots near closed schools. After dark, drug dealers are more visible than ever: young men in hooded sweatshirts, women in pajama pants sneaking around corners with bags.
Overdoses are down slightly across the board, largely due to the use of less potent drugs. Since May 2022, the supply of fentanyl has changed: its concentration has become weaker, and locals have dubbed it a «drought».
Nearly half of the samples tested by harm reduction group Outside In contained the chemical BTMPS, nicknamed the «insect drug» because of its pungent taste when smoked. It is toxic but does not cause an immediate overdose, which experts say may indicate Mexican cartels' intentions to reduce the deaths of their customers in order to maintain profits and increase consumption.
Fentanyl production in northwestern Mexico was available to almost anyone: with a prescription, it could be made in varying degrees of concentration. In October 2023, the Sinaloa cartel banned fentanyl production, removing dozens of violators — presumably in response to pressure from U.S. law enforcement.
Analyst Victoria Dittmar of Insight Crime notes that production continues by other factions of the cartel and is moving to the states of Sonora and Baja California, where specialists under cartel control already operate. Reducing the concentration of fentanyl is a tactical move that allows cartels to reduce law enforcement pressure while maintaining profits, Dittmar suggests. Also, when starting chemicals are scarce, fentanyl is diluted with xylazine and other substances to increase volume, adding unpredictability to the final product.
One proven factor in reducing mortality is increased access to naloxone. Some believe that harm reduction measures, such as giving away free supplies or use tarps, contribute to a sense of decline in the community and make addicts more vulnerable.
But the impact of naloxone, used to neutralize opioids, is a major factor in success, says Dr. Todd Korthuis of Oregon Health and Science University. Save Lives Oregon has distributed more than 675,000 doses of naloxone in recent years, helping neutralize about 20,000 overdoses.
Reid Elder, an UberEats driver who actively monitors the drug situation in Portland, says he has contributed «hundreds» of life-saving doses of naloxone in two years. He and his partner Elena Perez work downtown every night, receiving overdose calls and arriving before paramedics to administer first aid. Sometimes they hand out snacks and hand warmers, encouraging people to seek help. He notes that social services are too passive and need more persistence, «It takes more effort to get people off the streets».
On a Friday night, we stopped by a 34-year-old black man named Squints, who has been standing on the same corner of Chinatown for four nights. It's 42 degrees outside, and he's shivering under a blanket and a wet sheet of cardboard. Elder offered him a ride to the shelter, but he declined and asked for a lighter. A week later, Squints agreed to go to the hospital, where they found fentanyl foil under the blanket. After surgery, he was back on the streets.
Later, around 10 p.m., we stopped at 13th and Taylor Street, where the detained dealer was being loaded into an ambulance. He tried to flee but was apprehended by a member of the Central Biker Squad, a ten-man police unit dedicated to fighting the drug trade, and was found in possession of 50 grams of compressed fentanyl, $1,126 in cash and a revolver.
Police did not question the detainee, but Officer Cristina Serrano, who speaks Spanish, said that «more than 90%» of the street vendors are illegal Hondurans working under contract for Mexican cartels. Some don't even realize they are committing a crime and continue trading. They usually give assumed names, avoid the courts, and move to other states to avoid extradition.
A man with a fentanyl load and a gun could get away with little or no punishment. Under current conditions, Serrano said, he could have gotten out in a few hours if there was no weekend and no judge on duty. Otherwise, he would have had to spend a couple of nights in jail and the police — all the next day — would be dealing with paperwork, leaving the city center without patrols.
The Hondurans would return to the same neighborhood before midnight, as if checking to see if there were any gaps in the system.
The next morning, I ask Central Precinct Chief Brian Hughes if there are any impediments to the sale of fentanyl in the city. «None — and they know it. It's part of the business model. There needs to be more risk» — he replies. While the new HB 4002 law has allowed police to apprehend and investigate supply chains, the city still lacks enough jail space and resources to fight crime. There are only 785 police officers in the state, and the number needed is a minimum of 1,100. Some officers are retired, others are in training and are still months away from being on the job. «Right now, we're too few» — Hughes states.
He is more optimistic that alternative methods can be used to reduce crime. If drug users have no outstanding warrants and are not a threat, they can be dropped off at an outreach center where they will be screened and referred for treatment. The center, operated by Baltimore-based organization Tuerk House, is open 24 hours a day and houses 13 people. A permanent 50-bed sobering center with involuntary detention and medical care is scheduled to open in 2027.
In Portland, the CDC released preliminary data showing a decline in overdose deaths — the first time in many years. The reasons for this are not entirely clear: some believe it has to do with international pressure on precursor manufacturers, others with increased law enforcement and drug seizures. Soon after, a massive operation took place, seizing 44 pounds of fentanyl and detaining 46 suspects, including Honduran nationals, on suspicion of cartel ties.
President Trump has declared war on drug cartels, promising attacks in Mexico and stepped up fighting. But experts say such measures are unproductive when fentanyl is cheap and easy to transport.
Despite the dire situation, experts believe that domestic measures are the most promising route. Domestic efforts to prevent, treat and increase access to neutralizing drugs are making significant improvements. In Oregon, the situation is evolving naturally: the decline in deaths coincides with the advent of fentanyl, and continued prevention, treatment and social support efforts, experts believe, will help reduce future tragedies.
Proponents of decriminalization point out that Oregon has not given it enough time to have an effect. A new study shows that drug possession did not increase deaths, and the increase is linked to the flow of fentanyl. Measure 110 increased access to treatment and prevention, giving many a chance to break the chain of addiction. Community organizations are staffed by people who have been through addiction and know how to help others. «Everyone here is on the same page. We keep the momentum going and move forward» — says community relations manager Mejia.
Back at the coffee truck in Old Town, I met Travis, an exhausted addict who asked for help detoxing. «I can't live like this anymore» — he says. Volunteer Tommy Richmond is calling to arrange a place for him to get out of the program. If he agrees, the state will pay rent and support, and he can start a new life.
He fears relapse, but admits that the disease of addiction is his worst enemy. «I've learned that I'm a killer of my life. But I'm fighting back by seeking help and doing what you're doing now».
Recovery Works, a cozy home for detox and treatment, has been a lifesaver for many. One of those stories includes Bruce Ferguson, who after a number of attempts escaped and relapsed, but continues to struggle. His experiences and pain are a reminder that recovery is a long journey that requires patience and support.