Forced to smoke meth on Skid row
Shooting a mini documentary at one of the most chaotic and violent places I have ever been
Recently, my friend Tyler Olivera, the famous YouTube creator turned investigative journalist, invited me to work on a short documentary on homelessness on Skid Row. He and I had worked on a Portland homeless documentary together, and it got over nine million views. Its influence was undeniable. Reporters worldwide have reached out to me, asking to learn more. I have since met with local elected officials asking for my advice on what it will take to end this humanitarian crisis. So when Tyler called me up one day and suggested Skid Row, I immediately said yes!
Skid Row is in Los Angeles, California, and has one of the largest homeless populations in the United States and spans over fifty blocks. The term Skid Row has its origins in lumberjacking. Lumberjacks in the Pacific Northwest would use teams of oxen to haul cut lumber out of the forest.
Eventually, lumberjacks realized by greasing the wooden slats with animal fat, they could transport the timber faster and easier. Those rough roads over time became paved and the term skid road was born. The same lumberjacks would pitch their tents or build small shacks along the road. Those grew over time and became tent neighborhoods and Skid Road was called Skid Row.
When you arrive in Skid Row you can immediately feel the tension. As if we had a large bullhorn announcing our arrival with large red targets on our backs, nearly everyone on the streets looked in our direction the second we stepped out of our car. They did not stop watching us the entire time. Despite the homeless numbering in the thousands, it was clear that everybody knew each other. Looking around there were people everywhere screaming, fighting, walking in and out of traffic, using drugs, laughing hysterically, or crying. It was complete chaos.
The first person we met was a shirtless man named Jeremy sitting on the sidewalk smoking a substance out of a pipe. He was immediately receptive to doing an interview, but another man across the street not knowing this approached us with his fists clenched ready to strike. He too was shirtless, and was wearing leopard-striped shorts and a bandana. He was also significantly bigger and at one point stretched his arms and invited one of us to fight. After a few tense moments and a $20 protection fee he walked away and we completed the interview.
Just minutes later we encountered a gang that saw us filming and surrounded us, forcing us to run off. One man followed us for a block before finally turning around. We met a homeless lady and told her about the gangs we encountered and asked
“Is there violence out here?” she laughed and said “Boy quit playin’. Give it five minutes”
Literally a minute later we watched as a man on a scooter slapped another man who was just walking by.
Everywhere we looked it was complete chaos. We constantly looked behind us as people everywhere were screaming, crying, or laughing hysterically. We continued to talk to others but noticed because we were in a group of three we were too conspicuous. I suggested that I go out alone to get better interviews. I was dropped off and agreed to stay in regular contact. Within minutes I met a man who was happy to talk. We walked to the store first to get a few drinks. We walked around for a bit and ended up in front of his encampment, which was four tents closely grouped together with one entrance at the end. Outside was a man with a large blade acting erratically twirling it around and saying very strange things. His mood shifted every ten seconds from pure joy and laughing hysterically to being angry and paranoid and screaming at anyone he could see.
A few times he lunged at a person walking by then backed off when they looked around. I tried to engage with him and he was not interested. The man I bought a drink invited me inside his camp which at the time seemed better than standing in front of that very unpredictable person with a weapon. Getting inside required squeezing past two shopping carts piled with boxes, food, clothes, and trash then kneeling down and crawling through a five foot long tunnel of tarps. Once inside I was almost able to stand upright again. There were three other homeless that barely noticed my arrival. One was sleeping in her tent, clutching a glass pipe. Another was half asleep, leaning up against the wall. Her underwear was pulled up way high to almost the top of her belly. A man wearing a Michael Jordan jersey sitting on a chair was fiddling with a rusty electronic device. He looked up and invited me to sit next to him. I walked over several newspapers and a Governor Newson poster likely being used as a carpet. The middle aged Hispanic man I had got a drink for slid past me and sat down against the wall. I sat in the chair and the man next to me, a tall black man with a tattoo of a cross on his right shoulder, scooted his chair closer to mine till we were touching shoulders. He said “I’m Ray”. I introduced myself and made small talk. Nobody responded to it and after a few moments, there was an awkward silence. Ray pulled out a glass meth pipe and asked me if I wanted to take a hit. I politely declined and asked the Hispanic man in front of me what it was like to be homeless on Skid Row. He didn’t answer and looked back at Ray who was now glaring at me and asked again if I wanted a hit of meth. I declined again and after several more moments of silence I began to eyeball the exit.
He pulled out a lighter, lit the flame slowly to cook the meth till you could see an orange glow. He was sitting close enough that I could see a vague reflection of myself in the glass pipe. He then slowly pushed it into his lips and inhaled deeply. His eyes closed and he held the smoke in for a few seconds then exhaled. He took a second hit, held it in a bit longer, turned to me and he gently blew into my face. I turned away smiling trying to maintain my composure. Ray then said, “I want you to take a hit”. I shook my head “no”. He then asked me “Are you a cop?”. He asked again, “Are you a cop?” I told him no and again refused to smoke from his pipe. Ray turned around and peeked out of a small hole in the tent and whistled. Two men immediately walked across the street and guarded the exit. He announced to the other homeless “He’s a cop”. I insisted I was not and told him just because I was choosing not to use does not make me a police officer. He again insisted I take a hit of the meth to prove to him I was not. He put the glass pipe in his mouth, lit the lighter, and took a big hit. I saw the glow of the meth as he inhaled.
He then firmly forced the pipe into my mouth. The glass was wet from his saliva and warm from the lighter. He raised his voice and said, “inhale!” I looked around for help, but the other homeless stared at me. I held my breath for a moment, but as my heart started to pound quicker I felt panic. I inhaled allowing some meth smoke into my system. I could taste the toxicity in my mouth and immediately felt sick. I immediately became angry. I no longer cared about my safety. I stood up, turned to Ray, and said
“Are you serious?”
I then realized I could prove who I was. I pulled out my phone, quickly googled my name and found my most recent NEWS story on a family I helped to house. I pressed play and angrily sat down next to the older man and we watched the NEWS story together. When it ended the man nonchalantly said “Our bad”. From that moment the tension disappeared. The two men guarding the tent walked away and the tension immediately dissipated. I told them I was leaving and crawled out. I don’t remember if I said anything to them when I was outside because I was in a daze and wanted to get away. I quickly walked a few blocks processing what had happened and fortunately Tyler and Pasha saw me in their car and picked me up. Tyler asked “What did we miss?” and then shared with them what had just happened.
I initially downplayed the incident because I was embarrassed. I have never allowed myself to get into a situation like this or have ever felt so powerless. Later that day we spoke to a local leader who was not surprised it happened. In fact, he said it was a common way to test people they have never met. He went on to say that in some ways I was lucky. Six others had died just that day in the area.
Skid Row is by far the most chaotic, dangerous, dysfunctional place I have ever been. I was surprised fentanyl has not completely taken over. It appeared as if most of the homeless still strongly preferred crack or meth. It is why of course we saw so much restlessness, ,paranoia and chaos. Something you don’t see as much with fentanyl users. It is a downer and mostly people are nodding out and walking around looking like zombies.
While it seems like the easy decision,. avoid a place like this, it reaffirms my strong belief it is where we need to spend the most time. There are people trapped in this chaos who need support, structure, and a way out. We can end this crisis in months, not years even in a place like Skid Row. Andy Bales from the Union Rescue Mission told us, it would take a “FEMA type response”. I completely agree. If we treat this like the crisis it is we could significantly reduce homelessness to a manageable level for the first time in decades.
Wow. You are courageous. Thank you for what you are doing to open our minds to this issue.
This is an excellent article. I recommend checking out Quincy Brown on Instagram (@usapastorblue), a man known to me personally when he began his street ministry on Skid Row some years ago. What he has accomplished since then is almost incredible. I know people whose lives he has personally saved. His stories, of which I’ve heard only a few, are utterly fascinating. Perhaps you could be the first to bring his perspectives to a larger audience.