Bay Area Asians part of growing drug problem
Methamphetamine, or 'meth,' is now the drug of choice of Asian Americans there.
Home
 SAN FRANCISCO — Mike Konishita has the voice of someone who has been on the front lines of confronting substance abuse for a long time. It’s the voice of fatigue. Tall and wiry, jet-black hair combed straight back, he’s a third-generation Japanese American, born and raised in San Francisco. An addict for almost 35 years, he’s dealt with drug abuse and its consequences as both counselor and user for most of his life. “Clean” for the last 13 years, he oversees the intake and outreach programs at Asian American Recovery Services, a culturally sensitive nonprofit substance abuse and treatment center founded in 1985 when drug use was surging among the city’s growing Asian-American community. “Methamphetamine is now the No. 1 drug of choice among Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders in the Bay Area,” Konishita says. Called “shabu” or “bato” in the Philippines, and “ice” in its purer, more potent form, methamphetamine has long been the drug of choice among Bay Area Filipinos, many of whom first acquired the habit in their home country. Intake data for AARS show that preference for methamphetamine among Asians overall has climbed from No. 5 to No. 1 in the last four years. A recent report by the Sentencing Project titled “The Next Big Thing — Methamphetamine in the United States” — widely publicized in the national media — debunks the “meth epidemic” as a myth created by irresponsible reporting. But it also identifies select areas — such as San Jose and Phoenix — with higher rates of use, suggesting that each locality sets its own pattern. In San Francisco, where Asian Americans make up at least 33 percent of the population, law enforcement officials agree with Konishita’s frontline assessment that meth use is spreading — largely off the community radar. “I don’t know that anyone saw it coming in the Asian community,” says Jeff Adachi, public defender for the city and county of San Francisco. Adachi adds his own perspective on its appeal. “Unlike downers more closely associated with Asians, meth pulls you out of your shell rather than sink you deeper. It immediately makes you feel larger than life.” “It’s cheap and the high lasts longer,” Konishita explains. “Also, you can produce it in your own kitchen using the microwave. Ephedrin (the base chemical in meth) can be purchased in bulk south of the border — a $200 investment can be flipped for about $4,000.” Stigma has a lot to do with why Asian American meth use has not yet surfaced as a pressing problem, either in public debate or in the Asian language media. “I’m still the black sheep of the family, even after 13 years of being clean,” Konishita confides. “They want to save face in the community, so they only invite me to funerals and weddings." Another reason for its low profile is that, unlike other illicit drugs, young people are not the primary users. “Young people still prefer alcohol, (marijuana) and cigarettes, though overall meth use in this group is rising,” says David Mineta, associate director of AARS. “It’s older people who are more inclined to use meth.” And it isn’t just men who are using. Almost 50 percent of Konishita’s intake patients at AARS have been women in the last year. “Some women use meth to control their weight. At home there’s pressure from the family to succeed, to be beautiful, to be thin,” says Denise Villegas, a case worker for AARS in Daly City. Konishita believes mental health is the major problem and substance abuse the secondary problem among the meth users he sees. “Without adequate therapy for the individual and the family, there can be no solution,” he says. He talks about his own long and intimate experience with meth and heroin to underscore how intertwined the issues are with family dynamics. Konishita spent most of his childhood in San Francisco’s Sunset District, surfing, getting into fights over racial slurs, and doing drugs. “I smoked my first joint at age 9 at Playland at Ocean Beach. At age 12 I sniffed glue and drank alcohol. At 13 I dropped acid. From 15 to 17, I started using meth and then it was on to heroin,” he says. “Mom was into pills and alcohol. She was a manager at an insurance company and oversaw about 20 women. Dad smoked cigarettes and worked 24/7 overseeing the valet service at every major hotel in San Francisco. He was real sharp.” Konishita spent just enough time in high school to ace his tests. Drafted to fight in Vi?t Nam, drugs proved his back door out of the Army. “I took meth and popped pills, and got 4F’d (a military code meaning unfit for service). My senior year, 10 classmates from my high school enlisted for the war and nine came back in body bags.” Never completing college, he worked a variety of jobs to support his wife and two kids. His drug addictions persisted, alienating him from his wife and children. His low point came in 1991, when his father passed away. “For 12 days I was at his bedside. I watched him go slowly. Before he died, he asked, ‘Who’s going to take care of you when I’m gone?’ Then he kissed me on the cheek and told me, ‘I love you.’” Konishita spent the next two years on the streets of downtown San Francisco, selling drugs, panhandling, eating out of garbage cans. “I wanted to die and it was taking too long. I tried to overdose but I would always wake up. I shared needles with guys whom I knew had AIDS because I didn’t give a damn.” Eventually arrested for possession, he was referred to the recovery program, where he spent 28 months coming clean and confronting the emotional scars that accompanied his long-time drug addictions. When I was getting clean I had a confrontation with my children. They roughed me up pretty bad, and then told me that they still loved me, that I was still their father. I realized you need to look at the past so you don’t pass it on.” A poster in Konishita’s office displays “before and after” pictures of men and women addicted to meth, 20 years added to a face, arms and legs covered in open sores caused by constantly injecting directly into a vein. Some of the sores are so large they cover half an arm or half a calf. Konishita rolls up the sleeve on his shirt and reveals a long, vertical scar that runs down his upper arm. “See how it’s healed?”
Powered By Nguoi-Viet Online

This article has been moved here