why can't we all be rockstars?

Maybe that's the question we should be asking.

Why can't we all be rockstars?

Not because we want the fame.

Not because we want the money.

Not because we want the drugs, the parties or the mythology of rock 'n' roll.

Because when some famous people got into serious trouble with addiction, they could sometimes access something ordinary people desperately need: a chance to get away, get treatment and rebuild.

Stevie Nicks has talked openly about her cocaine addiction and how she entered the Betty Ford Center in 1986. Afterward, she became dependent on Klonopin and eventually returned to treatment.

Alice Cooper has spoken about his alcoholism and crack cocaine addiction and getting sober. He has said that continuing down that road could have killed him.

Robert Downey Jr. survived years of addiction involving cocaine, alcohol and methamphetamine and eventually achieved sobriety.

Elton John has spoken publicly for decades about his addiction and recovery.

Mick Jagger survived an era of extraordinary drug use around the Rolling Stones; Keith Richards has also spoken extensively about his heroin addiction and getting clean.

These are survivors.

And then there are the people we lost.

Janis Joplin.

Jimi Hendrix.

Freddie Prinze.

Tom Petty.

And so many others.

Janis Joplin was only 27 when she died in 1970 from an accidental heroin and alcohol overdose.

Jimi Hendrix was also 27 when he died in London in 1970; the coroner found that he aspirated vomit while intoxicated with barbiturates.

Tom Petty was 66 when he died in 2017 from accidental mixed-drug toxicity involving opioids and other medications.

And Freddie Prinze — someone I had a huge, huge crush on when I was about 14 — was only 22 when he died in 1977.

I still wish I had those photographs he sent me.

A black-and-white autographed photograph.

And later a colour one.

Gone.

What I do remember is the feeling.

And I remember seeing his story on screen and being deeply disturbed by the cocaine.

💔

Then there is Marilyn Monroe.

She belongs in this conversation too — but not because we should lazily label her death a drug overdose. Her official cause of death was recorded as probable suicide. Her life nevertheless became entangled with prescription drugs, fame, trauma and enormous pressures. Her story is another reminder that a human being can be surrounded by wealth and celebrity and still be profoundly vulnerable.

And that's the point.

This isn't really about rock stars.

It's about who gets a chance.

Imagine if every person struggling with addiction could step out of the environment that was hurting them.

A safe place.

A bed.

Food.

Doctors.

Nurses.

Counsellors.

Addiction treatment.

Mental-health care.

Nature.

Gardens.

Community.

Time.

No judgment.

No sleeping on concrete.

No wondering where tonight's shelter will be.

No walking back into the same dangerous environment five minutes after being discharged from hospital.

Because what do we expect?

Someone overdoses.

An ambulance comes.

They survive.

The hospital treats the immediate crisis.

And then they may be sent right back to homelessness, trauma, poverty, loneliness and the same drug supply.

How is that supposed to produce recovery?

We have known this is a crisis for a decade.

British Columbia declared the toxic-drug public-health emergency in 2016.

Ten years.

TEN YEARS.

So I want to ask every politician — federal, provincial and municipal:

HOW DO YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT?

If this is an emergency, why aren't you treating it like one?

Why aren't governments putting everybody in the same room?

Why aren't doctors, addiction experts, people with lived experience, housing providers, Indigenous leaders, social workers, researchers, food-security experts and families working together around the clock?

Why isn't there an enormous national effort to build places where people can actually recover?

Not warehouses.

Not punishment.

Not simply a bed for the night.

Homes.

Places where people can heal.

Places with kitchens.

Places with gardens.

Places with trees.

Places where people can grow food, cook together, eat together, learn, work, make art, sleep safely and slowly rebuild their lives.

We have parks.

We have yards.

We have land.

We have empty and underused spaces.

We have people who need somewhere to belong.

And we have people dying.

So why are we still arguing about whether someone deserves help?

They are human beings.

If Stevie Nicks could go to Betty Ford, why can't a homeless young person get an equivalent opportunity to step away from the chaos?

If Alice Cooper could get treatment, why can't someone without a famous name?

If Robert Downey Jr. could have multiple chances to recover, why do we give ordinary people so few?

We shouldn't need to be rich.

We shouldn't need to be famous.

We shouldn't need to have a manager who can make phone calls.

We shouldn't need to be a rockstar.

We should just need to be alive.

And if we really mean it when we say this is a public-health emergency, then let's act like it.

Bring everybody into the room.

Stay there.

Work through the night.

Work through the weekend.

Try things.

Measure what works.

Fix what doesn't.

Build homes.

Build treatment.

Build recovery communities.

Grow food.

Give people somewhere safe to go.

Because ten years is long enough.

We don't need more funerals.

We need more survivors.

We need more second acts.

We need more people who get to grow old.

We need more people who get to say:

I made it.

Why can't we all be rockstars?