The Harm Reduction Action Center (HRAC) sits at Colfax and Grant Street. A few minutes before 9:00 AM, Ruth Kanatser walks outside in the chilly air to facilitate the start of open hours. She greets participants and passersby by name. For injection drug-using participants—many of whom spent last night on the street—the warm Center is where they can use the bathroom, receive health information, exchange used needles for clean ones and obtain supplies crucial to preventing HIV, Hepatitis C, and accidental overdoses. It is where they are treated with dignity. 

Ruth recently celebrated 16 years of working with the HRAC. As the senior health educator and director of the HRAC’s syringe access program, she organizes group education and volunteer training, in addition to the clean needle exchange program. Ruth’s passion for harm reduction is personal as well as professional, making her a pillar of the harm reduction community. 

Ruth was raised by her mother in a trailer home in New Mexico. Ruth says she was a volatile child: she asked incessant questions and with this curiosity came a restlessness that sometimes got her into trouble. Ruth was charged with grand theft auto at age 10 for stealing her sister’s car and remained on probation until age 15. School was never a safe space for Ruth: bullied by teachers and students alike, she dropped out of high school, later finishing by mail while in the juvenile justice system. Despite Ruth’s tough childhood, she has always had a soft spot for those in need. 

“A good friend of the family had a baby with Tetralogy of Fallot: the babies’ hearts don’t develop correctly and they turn blue when they cry. They were driving from Los Alamos to Denver all the time for treatment. When my mom and I went to visit, he was crying a lot. He just wouldn’t stop. So I said, “Let me try.” I picked him up and he immediately stopped crying.  Apparently, that really heavily affected his mother—she felt like she could trust me…so I moved to Denver to take care of the baby. I learned more about pulse ox machines and the heart than I ever thought I would. And for at least a little while, I let her have some peace and some rest.”

While in Denver, Ruth and her friend group began using heroin. What started out as a way to be together, have deep, shared experiences, and create art, eventually escalated. She was 17 years old. She says that her work today is fueled by what she was not given when she was struggling. When Ruth finally found the Harm Reduction Action Center, she found the space she needed to start rebuilding. 

“What Harm Reduction gave me…it gave me validation that I deserved better, that I wasn’t non-human—that my behaviors didn’t actually take that away like other people said it did, that there is a framework for understanding that. It gave me a physical space…it gave me everything, absolutely everything. People need a purpose, they need to know who they are, and feel connected to a community. We are hardwired for that. People just don’t understand what it means when you take that away, when you strip people of that. My job today is providing that, and that’s a responsibility I take pretty seriously—because it saved my life.”

In telling her life story, Ruth points to a time in her mid-twenties when she decided to “steal back her life.” This looked like having a roof over her head, strengthening her marriage, getting a cat, and making her house no longer the gathering place for her social circle—she needed space to re-evaluate and rebuild.

“I had always had animals in my life. When things were so chaotic and we didn’t know whether we were going to eat, let alone where we would sleep at night, I just couldn’t. So when I was finally ready to get a cat again, that was a big deal. I spend so much of my life in service to people, but I lose my shit when animals pass away. I love animals—they exist at a higher level. I ended up taking care of a tarantula once just because I felt so bad— it wasn’t its fault that its owner died.”

A soft spot for community 

Ruth indiscriminately exudes love and acceptance. She is staunchly dedicated to human connection, acknowledging and often learning the names of each person she passes regularly on the street.

Ruth says that downtown is a scarier place than it used to be—she sees violence at levels she didn’t before. “People are angry,” she says. Ruth credits this to a widening divide: as people flock to Denver following money and industry, others are further cast out. Even with more resources for people needing help, violence thrives in a deepening chasm of inequality. Ruth’s observations are spot-on. The Denver Post reported this past summer that Denver’s violent crime rate is rising faster than any other large city in the country: the per-capita violent crime rate grew 9 percent between 2017 and 2018. 

Ruth has a trained eye for love where most would only see bleakness. 

“I saw two men fighting the other day across the street from the drop-in, virtually on the steps of the Capitol building. There’s another man sitting next to me, and we’re both watching them fight. But they weren’t throwing punches, they were wrestling. I’m watching them and I’m thinking “These are people who can’t get held any other way. This is the only way.” Two minutes later, they were done. Why did it have to get to that to get a basic need met? That’s a basic need.”

Ruth explains that a lot of her life’s focus right now is working to make sure her mother is honored in the final stage of her life. Ruth’s mother was a lifelong educator who loved Ruth unconditionally. “The home that most of [my family] remember as the safest and warmest place we have ever lived was actually a trailer. We were dirt poor, but my mother made that place a home.” 

“It’s hard emotional and literal work to maintain a high level of humanity—feeling like you are worthy of love and compassion and support. I don’t know if people always know what those things mean. I do know that it’s something that we are not taught. It’s not part of our values, necessarily. I think there’s maybe lip service—some Golden Rule and some church stuff—that tries to communicate that everybody is of value. But what do you mean “treat people the way you want to be treated”?”

In 2020, young people will continue to flood Denver for its growing industries and newness; people experiencing homelessness will continue to struggle; and winter will hit hard. In the stream of morning commuters siloed by headphones and small screens, people who are experiencing homelessness—or who don’t fit the mainstream—are met with stares or avoided. Amidst this, HRAC is a sacred space of human connection and safety. How can we expect all of Denver to grow and heal if we can’t follow the Golden Rule?

“When you say ‘I wish we helped people more,’ I ask you, ‘What does the work look like?’ Otherwise, you are just kind of out there floundering until something crashes down on you, like a catastrophic life event. I think we can do better. What is happening here, and why? Why does this take so long?”

Today, the HRAC’s work is under attack. Starting January 1st, the State Department cut 89% of the Center’s HIV-prevention funding, a whopping 25% of the total organizational budget. That funding went towards staff salaries and safety supplies proven to prevent the transmission of HIV and viral hepatitis among participants. The Harm Reduction Action Center’s work is more than good-intentioned—it works. It acknowledges the humanity in everyone, in all of us.

The morning after my interview with Ruth, I miss the 15 bus and race the two extra blocks to catch the 20. Sitting in the snowy bus shelter, I see a familiar woman in a black coat. She’s holding her 7-11 coffee, handing out dog treats, and telling me that the 7:45 came at 7:40. Damn. We chat about her birthday party, again. But this time, when I see the bus’s flashing banner in the distance, I introduce myself and ask her name. 

---

On February 1st, the Harm Reduction Action Center will move to a new location at 112 E. 8th Ave. The new space will allow the HRAC to continue to grow with the increasing need for their services. Their legacy and ongoing work will forever be felt on Colfax. “I am really going to miss sharing a part of my work day with the colorful people and the grimy charm that Colfax offers,” Ruth says. 

---