Liam Kennedy holds a PhD in sociology from the University of Toronto. He studies crime, deviance, and punishment.
As the body of former Toronto mayor Rob Ford lies in city hall for public visitation, we need to address our collective hypocrisy for how we treated the man's problems while he was alive.
In the days following Mr. Ford's admission to smoking crack cocaine, many notable politicians, members of the news media, and citizens called for him to step down or take a leave from his mayoral duties and to get help for his addiction.
At the time some regarded his behaviour as disgusting, embarrassing, and unforgivable (this is just a small sample of the pejorative adjectives employed). Mr. Ford, as we know, refused to resign and it took an additional six months and news of another crack video for him to enter a rehabilitation facility seeking treatment for his substance abuse.
In the intervening period he was mocked for his weight and lack of grace, sophistication, and overall polish. And, because he failed to follow an extremely narrow pathway to recovery set out for him, he was repeatedly condemned for his lack of contrition, humility, remorse, and honour.
Those labelled addicts, so this line of thinking goes, should be ashamed of their behaviour and the harm it has caused to those around them, should repent for their misdeeds, and should seek redemption through recovery (often treated as synonymous with a stint in a treatment facility). In the eyes of many, Rob Ford's decision not to follow this pathway rendered him subject to ridicule and shunning. For a city – and country – that prides itself on tolerance and diversity, sympathy and empathy were in remarkably short supply.
Today, his courage, determination, and dedication to the city of Toronto are being commended by prominent political figures. Former prime minister Stephen Harper referred to him as a "fighter," a sentiment shared by others. In other words, many of the same qualities for which he was reviled in 2013 and 2014 are being celebrated now in the wake of his death at age 46, more than a year after first being diagnosed with a rare form of cancer.
For his part, Toronto Mayor John Tory, recalled that Rob Ford was a "profoundly human guy." This humanity was lost far too often during the discussion of Mr. Ford's substance use. Too many of us were much too quick to moralize the issue, to attack Ford for his apparent connections to individuals involved in the drug trade, and to proclaim that his addiction could be fixed with a short stint at a Muskoka rehabilitation facility or a vacation in Florida.
Only now, after his death, do we feel sorry for him and his family? Now he is worthy of sympathy? That strikes me as pretty disingenuous. Mr. Ford's death should give us pause.
We should all take some time to acknowledge our hypocrisy, to remember our shared humanity not just when someone "battles" cancer but when they struggle with addiction (or mental illness or poverty or discrimination or domestic violence), and to move forward with reasoned approaches to the complex issue of drug and alcohol abuse. The current debate about opening three safe injection sites in Toronto is a positive sign on this front, perhaps marking a shift from an unsuccessful law-and-order approach that criminalizes drug users and towards harm reduction.
While this discussion is a reason for optimism, let's refrain from patting ourselves on the back for our progressiveness until we start treating all individuals with substance abuse problems with compassion and understanding.