Where Do They Go Now

Everyone deserves respect, dignity and the consideration. This was the ethos behind Aljeff, a Limerick City addiction support service. Unfortunately those words are out of fashion now: Aljeff’s doors were closed for the last time on December 31, 2011 and the support service has not been replaced, leaving a gaping hole in the treatment of addicts who want to go clean in the city.

Aljeff was founded in 2000 following the death of brothers Alan and Jeffery Roche. Both dealing with addiction issues, they separately took their own lives within a few days of one another. This tragic event struck a chord with the public, and with the help of their brother Tommy Roche, and his tireless campaigning on behalf of addicts, the centre was born.
Over 12 years, Aljeff has, on average, had a clientele of roughly 400 people a year coming through its doors for counselling, aftercare and guidance in sustained recovery. One of the service’s strengths was that it was provided by Limerick locals, with a personal knowledge of the people, the rifts and the gangland culture – vital ingredients in the especially difficult set of circumstances which exist in the city.
The contribution of Aljeff, according to those who availed of the service, was immense. So who has opted to cut Limerick addicts and users adrift?
It was a decision, apparently taken by the Midwest Drugs Task Force, to drastically cut funding provided to the centre by an extraordinary €260,000, which led inevitably to its closure. With no achievable means of keeping the centre open, Aljeff went into liquidation, making 15 members of staff redundant.
The HSE, under whose aegis the Midwest Drugs Task Force operates, released a statement in January 2012 regarding the closure. It offered no explanation for the cut in funding, but stated blandly that the decision had been taken by the Board of Aljeff.
“Contingency services are being organised with immediate effect to cater for all Aljeff clients,” it said, before adding: “Services for the duration of the contingency plan will be delivered by former Aljeff staff who now are working with the MWRDTF and HSE to ensure that clients are appropriately supported from Aljeff’s existing premises.”
The move to tender the service to an outside provider has since been confirmed, with suggestions that the Dublin-based Ana Liffey Drugs Project is set to take over. The HSE declined to comment on this speculation, other than to direct Hot Press to its earlier press statement.
Whatever about that, Alan Galvin, operations manager at Aljeff since 2011, believes that the closure is a major loss to the city. While Aljeff worked on the basis of a structured programme, at the heart of their modus operandi was a flexible and caring philosophy. Clients might make a small donation for the use of the services but there was no pressure on the individual to find the money. If the treatment wasn’t successful, the individual was given the option of returning and trying again. The attitude was non-judgemental. It was accessible and affordable even for people who were out of work or living in poverty.
“Everyone that came through that door was seen,” recalls Galvin. “The national services probably have a three-month waiting-list, but addiction doesn’t work on the basis of a waiting-list. You either reach a point where you need interventional treatment or you’re in that place of contemplation where you’re thinking, ‘I need to do something about this’. The human mind is a wonderful thing, but what happens next, if there is nowhere to turn, is you move on: you have a drink that evening or you use the substance that evening, and it’s all okay again. Then you roll on for another three or six months, and in that time you lose your job, you lose your relationship, you lose your kids and you’re in a place of contemplation again. Being put onto a waiting list doesn’t help.”
Aljeff administrator Sarah O’Mahony is also bitterly upset over the closure of the centre. She herself entered the facility three years ago as an addict who’d lost her home, her partner to an overdose of heroin, and her children to care. During her recovery with Aljeff, she took the HSE to court and had the voluntary care order overturned, regaining full custody of both her children. She also became involved in ‘Safety Street’, a project aimed at making children aware of the dangers of drug addiction. Sarah said her journey has been “the best thing that has ever happened to her.” Now, she fears that, not just as an employee, but as a service user, she has been left with nowhere to go.
“It’s very hard to explain what happens in a treatment centre,” she said on the day the centre closed its doors. “Aljeff was the most experienced, hard, emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on in my life, but the hardest time has been the last three months. Aljeff is closing, but there is one thing that we will all take away from here and that is that we still all have our self-respect.
“We have been given the run around,” she added. “My CE supervisors and Alan – the operations manager – have worked so hard to keep us and it felt like everyone closed their doors on us. Where am I going today? Nowhere. I’m going home to my kids. I’ve had no service provided for me.”
Sarah isn’t the only person directly affected by this sudden closure. Service user Megan O’Brien, one of Aljeff’s last clients, believes that Aljeff saved her life.
“I feel so grateful for being given the opportunity to overcome my addiction in such a safe and supportive environment – and even more privileged to have been part of the last group. We felt so special: there was a huge sense of connection in our group. We worked powerfully together and with the facilitators. I am very sad about the programme finishing and that more people in my position won’t be given the opportunity to have the same kind of help.”
With addiction and substance abuse on the rise, and services such as Aljeff being closed down, the future for those in need of treatment in Limerick – and indeed elsewhere – looks bleak. Private rehabilitation costs on average €8,000 in Ireland, and where there once was an option for those in need to apply for funding, that is now gone. On the face of it, we have failed an entire group of enormously vulnerable people.
The worst thing is that this comes as no surprise in Ireland, in 2012. How shameful is that?