The White House Invited Me to an Event Celebrating Drug Overdose Prevention — Then Turned Me Away at the Door (Op-Ed)

“I have never felt so much discouragement, shame and loneliness as I did a few weeks ago when I stood at the gates of the White House with an invitation in hand.”

By William Perry, This Must Be the Place via Filter

I was homeless. I was addicted to heroin. I have spent much of my life as a prisoner and have been punished primarily for these things. And yet I have never felt so much discouragement, shame and loneliness as I did a few weeks ago as I stood at the gates of the White House with an invitation in hand.

Given these past hardships, I was able to at least somewhat understand the personal, socioeconomic, and legal factors that caused them, despite the injustices.

On October 8th, humiliated and distraught on the corner of 17th and G Streets, I couldn't even begin to process what had just happened.

The invitation had come a week earlier. It congratulated me on the hard work and dedication of the overdose prevention nonprofit I founded: This Must Be the Place. In less than three years, with almost no funding, we have distributed over 80,000 free naloxone kits across the country, resulting in over 1,500 known opioid overdose setbacks.

The CDC had just released new statistics showing that overall overdose death rates were declining. That's why the Biden administration and the White House Office of National Drug Control Policy (ONDCP) decided that recognition was appropriate for some of those working to prevent overdoses. I was one of the select few who had the honor of attending the event at the White House. At least that was the invitation.

I should have said no. This simple boy from Columbus, Ohio, had no business in Washington. But I called the one person who has never left my side and whose opinion I care about most in this world.

“Some people go their entire lives without ever seeing the White House, and even fewer are invited inside,” my mother told me. “Do it for me, do it for yourself, do it so you don’t live the rest of your life wishing you were gone.”

Okay, mom says it. By the way, the invitation required an immediate response. So I committed. I told some of my friends who I was hanging out with and they said it meant a lot to them. In a way, my invitation was theirs too.

I bought a plane ticket at the last minute. I booked a hotel in DC last minute. And I bought a suit because I wanted to show respect, even though I had never worn one in my life.

The money isn't really an important part of this story. I come from nothing, so I know how to exist with nothing. What matters is that the respect I tried to show was met with contempt.

I flew to Washington and arrived on time for the event. Only then, 45 minutes before the event began, was I informed that I would not be allowed into the White House that day.

I failed the Secret Service background check, the officials said. They wouldn't give me any more information.

I was left at the gates. However, they had not completely forgotten me, because after a short wait I was personally handed a letter signed by Joseph R. Biden himself.

“To everyone who has risen to the White House challenge to save lives from overdose: Thank you,” it said. “You represent the very best of our nation, and thanks to leaders like you, I have never been more optimistic about the future of our country.”

But I'm not allowed to enter your house.

I went to a coffee shop on K Street and cried. I called my mother. She cried with me. I am and always will be a convicted felon. I believe in forgiveness, but I'm not sure others do, no matter what their words say. Actions say more.

I went to prison for non-violent crimes involving my addiction issues. While I was away, I lost almost all the friends I had as fentanyl overdoses ravaged communities. I can never undo my misdeeds, but through This Must Be the Place, I strive to make amends to society every day.

For about a week, I thought the White House realized this.

Why should they invite me? Why would they issue a press release the same day specifically highlighting the great work of my organization and then turn me away at the door?

You knew who I was when you asked me to come.

I will not stop fighting to end overdoses in this country. I do it for the people, not for recognition – and certainly not for government recognition.

I am fully aware that expulsion from the White House is just a small flaw in the overall plan. But it serves as a metaphor for larger problems that need to be addressed. Because there are millions of people like me: taking drugs, taking time out, or trying to get over both. Our voices must be heard. If we continue to be locked out and branded less thanas I was that day, then there will be no end to our overdose crisis — and all the systemic problems that have caused, sustained, and resulted from it — there will be no end.

Perry is a social worker and certified chemical dependency counselor born in Columbus, Ohio. A former daily heroin user and survivor, he co-founded This Must Be the Place as an arts-based resource in the ongoing fight against the overdose crisis.

This article was originally published by Filter, an online magazine covering drug use, drug policy and human rights from a harm reduction perspective. Follow Filter on Facebook or Twitteror subscribe to the newsletter.

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