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This Is Ohio: The Overdose Crisis and the Front Lines of a New America
Every overdose is a policy failure. Such is the guiding element of journalist Jack Shuler’s new book, one that explores the current addiction crisis as a human rights problem fostered by poverty and inadequate health care.
Tainted drug supplies, inadequate civic responses, and prevailing negative opinions about people who use drugs, the poor, and those struggling with mental health issues lead to thousands of preventable deaths each year while politicians are slow to adopt effective policies. Putting themselves at great personal risk (and often breaking the law to do so), the brave men and women profiled in This Is Ohio–a coalition of people who use drugs, mothers, and allies–are mounting a grassroots effort to combat ineffective and often incorrect ideas about addiction and instead focus on saving lives through commonsense harm reduction policies.
Opioids are the current face of addiction, but as Shuler shows, the crisis in our midst is one that has long been fostered by income inequality, the loss of manufacturing jobs across the Rust Belt, and lack of access to health care. What is playing out in Ohio today isn’t only about opioids, but rather a decades-long economic and sociological shift in small towns all across the United States. It’s also about a larger culture of stigma at the heart of how we talk about addiction. What happens in Ohio will have ramifications felt across the nation and for decades to come.
Tainted drug supplies, inadequate civic responses, and prevailing negative opinions about people who use drugs, the poor, and those struggling with mental health issues lead to thousands of preventable deaths each year while politicians are slow to adopt effective policies. Putting themselves at great personal risk (and often breaking the law to do so), the brave men and women profiled in This Is Ohio–a coalition of people who use drugs, mothers, and allies–are mounting a grassroots effort to combat ineffective and often incorrect ideas about addiction and instead focus on saving lives through commonsense harm reduction policies.
Opioids are the current face of addiction, but as Shuler shows, the crisis in our midst is one that has long been fostered by income inequality, the loss of manufacturing jobs across the Rust Belt, and lack of access to health care. What is playing out in Ohio today isn’t only about opioids, but rather a decades-long economic and sociological shift in small towns all across the United States. It’s also about a larger culture of stigma at the heart of how we talk about addiction. What happens in Ohio will have ramifications felt across the nation and for decades to come.
304 pages, Hardcover
First published September 8, 2020
About the author
Jack Shuler
12 books32 followersJack Shuler is an author, independent journalist, and essayist. He’s the editor of Between Coasts and is associate professor of English at Denison University where he teaches American literature, Black Studies, and chairs the concentration in Narrative Journalism. With colleague Michael Croley he organizes and hosts the Between Coasts Forum at Denison University.
Shuler holds a Ph.D. in English (Graduate Center – CUNY) and an MFA in Poetry (Brooklyn College).
He is the author of Calling Out Liberty: The Stono Slave Rebellion and the Universal Struggle for Human Rights (Mississippi University Press, 2009), Blood and Bone: Truth and Reconciliation in a Southern Town (University of South Carolina Press, 2012), The Thirteenth Turn: A History of the Noose (PublicAffairs, 2014), This is Ohio: The Overdose Crisis and the Struggle for a New America (Counterpoint, 2020), and with Michael Croley, Midland: Reports from Flyover County (Simon and Schuster/Tiller, 2020).
Shuler’s writing has appeared in Pacific Standard, The New Republic, The Atlantic, The Christian Science Monitor, Salon, Los Angeles Times, Cleveland Plain Dealer, Bill Moyers and Company, 100 Days in Appalachia, Journal of Southern History, Hanging Loose, and Failbetter, among others.
Shuler holds a Ph.D. in English (Graduate Center – CUNY) and an MFA in Poetry (Brooklyn College).
He is the author of Calling Out Liberty: The Stono Slave Rebellion and the Universal Struggle for Human Rights (Mississippi University Press, 2009), Blood and Bone: Truth and Reconciliation in a Southern Town (University of South Carolina Press, 2012), The Thirteenth Turn: A History of the Noose (PublicAffairs, 2014), This is Ohio: The Overdose Crisis and the Struggle for a New America (Counterpoint, 2020), and with Michael Croley, Midland: Reports from Flyover County (Simon and Schuster/Tiller, 2020).
Shuler’s writing has appeared in Pacific Standard, The New Republic, The Atlantic, The Christian Science Monitor, Salon, Los Angeles Times, Cleveland Plain Dealer, Bill Moyers and Company, 100 Days in Appalachia, Journal of Southern History, Hanging Loose, and Failbetter, among others.
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Displaying 1 - 28 of 28 reviews
April 13, 2020
Summary: A narrative account of the overdose crisis in the United States, focusing on Newark, Ohio, a former industrial center, advocating for harm reduction and the involvement of drug users in policy decisions.
The events narrated in this book occurred in a town not forty miles from where I live in Ohio. Until the Covid-19 epidemic overtook the news, one of the most alarming recurring stories were the number of overdose deaths in our city (Columbus) and nearby cities like Newark. Five deaths in a weekend were not uncommon. In 2018, 3980 people died in Ohio due to overdoses. To put this in perspective, as I write [April 12, 2020] there have been 253 deaths from Covid-19 in Ohio. The 2018 numbers are down from a peak of over 5,000 deaths.
Jack Shuler is a narrative journalism professor at Denison University, located in the scenic college town of Granville, a few miles from Newark, the county seat of Licking County. This book is a work of narrative journalism tracing lives on the front lines of fighting against drug overdose death in Licking County--both advocates and users.
The account begins by introducing us to some central figures in this book--Trish Perry, whose son Billy has been in and out of prison, on and off drugs. Jen Kanagy is a local nurse. Eric Lee is an activist and recovery advocate. Tresa Jewell is another nurse. Chris Gargus leads a religion-based addiction treatment program called the Champions Network. They are together on a street corner distributing clothes snacks and harm reduction supplies including syringes, Naloxone, condoms, Neosporin, and other personal hygiene items--until they run out.
Shuler traces the efforts of these people over several years, from spring of 2016 to summer of 2019. We see them and others like them struggling with addiction, supporting people attempting to get off drugs in starting a new life, advocating with public health officials for programs that would reduce hepatitis A and C, make treatment programs more available, including prison diversion programs, and otherwise protect people from overdose deaths.
Billy, Trish's son typifies the struggle. Addicted to opioids, he nearly died and his girlfriend did from an overdose. Finally, he decides to get clean and does so for nearly a year, paying his bills, starting a painting business and hiring others. He becomes an eloquent advocate for harm reduction efforts. Then, an overdose death of a friend, and other pressures lead to a return to using, parole violations, and a return to prison.
Shuler's up close and personal study teases out the larger issues behind this book:
-The economic crisis so many towns like Newark face with the departure of industries, as people who have stayed try to eke out an existence and find hope.
-A public health crisis. Shuler argues that overdose deaths are not primarily a criminal justice issue but a public health crisis, often brought on by over-prescription of addictive opioids, scarcity of treatment options, as well as harm reduction efforts.
-Addicts have enough shame without punitive measures, and none truly want to be addicted. Harm reduction measures coupled with support that meets addicts where they are leaves the door open to getting into programs offering either drug substitutes or getting off drugs.
-Harm reduction doesn't enable drug use, which will occur with or without, but it saves lives, and saves costs of communicable diseases.
Perhaps the biggest message of the book is "nothing about us without us." Shuler seeks in this narrative to amplify the voices of those, users, former users, and advocates. Often, they are not a part of the public deliberations focused on addressing overdoses. They are seen as problems, not fellow citizens who may contribute.
One other theme that runs through Billy's advocacy and that of others is to base public health decisions not on preconceptions or on political pressure but on scientific data. The narrative approach presented this more in anecdotal form, which may be persuasive to some and not others. More of this may be found in the notes to the work, which I suspect many won't see. A postscript that makes a data-driven argument for the public health approaches advocated in this book would strengthen the book's argument. Particularly, I think there need to be stronger arguments that harm reduction does not enable, and potentially enlarge, the drug-using population, which may be the biggest sticking point in the public's mind.
Drug overdoses are not simply a Newark problem or an Ohio problem. They are a national problem that walls, wars on drugs, and incarceration have failed to address. It is a grievous problem in my state, from J.D. Vance's Middletown, to Columbus, where I live, to nearby Newark, and my hometown of Youngstown. Shuler offers a platform for those advocating a different approach for a problem that plagues all of our city's. Public health leaders have been able to mobilize significant political and civil will during the Covid-19 crisis. It is an interesting question to consider the possibilities if similar leadership and public will were exercised to address the overdose epidemic that has taken so many and has been declared a national public health emergency. Might lessons learned in addressing one epidemic be used to address another?
________________________________
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher via Edelweiss. The opinions I have expressed are my own.
The events narrated in this book occurred in a town not forty miles from where I live in Ohio. Until the Covid-19 epidemic overtook the news, one of the most alarming recurring stories were the number of overdose deaths in our city (Columbus) and nearby cities like Newark. Five deaths in a weekend were not uncommon. In 2018, 3980 people died in Ohio due to overdoses. To put this in perspective, as I write [April 12, 2020] there have been 253 deaths from Covid-19 in Ohio. The 2018 numbers are down from a peak of over 5,000 deaths.
Jack Shuler is a narrative journalism professor at Denison University, located in the scenic college town of Granville, a few miles from Newark, the county seat of Licking County. This book is a work of narrative journalism tracing lives on the front lines of fighting against drug overdose death in Licking County--both advocates and users.
The account begins by introducing us to some central figures in this book--Trish Perry, whose son Billy has been in and out of prison, on and off drugs. Jen Kanagy is a local nurse. Eric Lee is an activist and recovery advocate. Tresa Jewell is another nurse. Chris Gargus leads a religion-based addiction treatment program called the Champions Network. They are together on a street corner distributing clothes snacks and harm reduction supplies including syringes, Naloxone, condoms, Neosporin, and other personal hygiene items--until they run out.
Shuler traces the efforts of these people over several years, from spring of 2016 to summer of 2019. We see them and others like them struggling with addiction, supporting people attempting to get off drugs in starting a new life, advocating with public health officials for programs that would reduce hepatitis A and C, make treatment programs more available, including prison diversion programs, and otherwise protect people from overdose deaths.
Billy, Trish's son typifies the struggle. Addicted to opioids, he nearly died and his girlfriend did from an overdose. Finally, he decides to get clean and does so for nearly a year, paying his bills, starting a painting business and hiring others. He becomes an eloquent advocate for harm reduction efforts. Then, an overdose death of a friend, and other pressures lead to a return to using, parole violations, and a return to prison.
Shuler's up close and personal study teases out the larger issues behind this book:
-The economic crisis so many towns like Newark face with the departure of industries, as people who have stayed try to eke out an existence and find hope.
-A public health crisis. Shuler argues that overdose deaths are not primarily a criminal justice issue but a public health crisis, often brought on by over-prescription of addictive opioids, scarcity of treatment options, as well as harm reduction efforts.
-Addicts have enough shame without punitive measures, and none truly want to be addicted. Harm reduction measures coupled with support that meets addicts where they are leaves the door open to getting into programs offering either drug substitutes or getting off drugs.
-Harm reduction doesn't enable drug use, which will occur with or without, but it saves lives, and saves costs of communicable diseases.
Perhaps the biggest message of the book is "nothing about us without us." Shuler seeks in this narrative to amplify the voices of those, users, former users, and advocates. Often, they are not a part of the public deliberations focused on addressing overdoses. They are seen as problems, not fellow citizens who may contribute.
One other theme that runs through Billy's advocacy and that of others is to base public health decisions not on preconceptions or on political pressure but on scientific data. The narrative approach presented this more in anecdotal form, which may be persuasive to some and not others. More of this may be found in the notes to the work, which I suspect many won't see. A postscript that makes a data-driven argument for the public health approaches advocated in this book would strengthen the book's argument. Particularly, I think there need to be stronger arguments that harm reduction does not enable, and potentially enlarge, the drug-using population, which may be the biggest sticking point in the public's mind.
Drug overdoses are not simply a Newark problem or an Ohio problem. They are a national problem that walls, wars on drugs, and incarceration have failed to address. It is a grievous problem in my state, from J.D. Vance's Middletown, to Columbus, where I live, to nearby Newark, and my hometown of Youngstown. Shuler offers a platform for those advocating a different approach for a problem that plagues all of our city's. Public health leaders have been able to mobilize significant political and civil will during the Covid-19 crisis. It is an interesting question to consider the possibilities if similar leadership and public will were exercised to address the overdose epidemic that has taken so many and has been declared a national public health emergency. Might lessons learned in addressing one epidemic be used to address another?
________________________________
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher via Edelweiss. The opinions I have expressed are my own.
July 1, 2020
This book will make you rethink the addiction crisis and what we should do about it, and may therefore be the most important thing you read this year. Thoughtful reporting that puts real individuals and their stories back at the center of what has become a dehumanizing political issue. Shuler paints a vivid picture of how we got here and how we might move forward with greater compassion.
September 15, 2026
The question I had going into this book was: Why does it feel easier for us to incarcerate people who use drugs rather than using some sort of other rehabilitative approaches? My assumption would have been that the institution is already there fully developed and ready to use so why not use it? It sounds a lot harder to build new models and infrastructure around new research that requires a significant political and cultural investment. This question ended up being too broad for what this book was aimed at, but if I could read between the lines I would guess the author would state that a large of the answer has to do with stigma.
At one point in the book, we are taken on a tour around some places in Canada of some safe injection sites, needle exchange locations, as well as doctor’s offices that prescribe pharmaceutical grade heroin as a way of helping people to slowly come out of addiction as well as to avoid contaminated street drugs. Both the author and myself were kind of in disbelief and our midwestern puritanical heritage shocked at these sorts of interventions.
The mantra stated throughout this book is that every overdose death is a policy failure, and the statistics very plainly show that these types of interventions work at dramatically cutting overdose deaths at orders of magnitude greater than incarceration and criminalization.
I have a dozen more half formed thoughts inspired from this book, but I don’t think they’re worth typing out for now.
The one issue I do take with this book though was a seeming imbalance in focus on harm reduction policies verses recovery efforts. Harm reduction is so important in saving lives, but skipping out on recovery efforts misses a huge part of the story in people’s individual lives. Addressing root causes of poverty, destigmatizing addiction, and so on will help reduce rates of drug use and supply in the future, but the thorn in our communal side in the present are the people stuck in cycles of addiction, poverty, and homelessness right now. Is a certain quality of life still possible for people that have been left so far behind?
At one point in the book, we are taken on a tour around some places in Canada of some safe injection sites, needle exchange locations, as well as doctor’s offices that prescribe pharmaceutical grade heroin as a way of helping people to slowly come out of addiction as well as to avoid contaminated street drugs. Both the author and myself were kind of in disbelief and our midwestern puritanical heritage shocked at these sorts of interventions.
The mantra stated throughout this book is that every overdose death is a policy failure, and the statistics very plainly show that these types of interventions work at dramatically cutting overdose deaths at orders of magnitude greater than incarceration and criminalization.
I have a dozen more half formed thoughts inspired from this book, but I don’t think they’re worth typing out for now.
The one issue I do take with this book though was a seeming imbalance in focus on harm reduction policies verses recovery efforts. Harm reduction is so important in saving lives, but skipping out on recovery efforts misses a huge part of the story in people’s individual lives. Addressing root causes of poverty, destigmatizing addiction, and so on will help reduce rates of drug use and supply in the future, but the thorn in our communal side in the present are the people stuck in cycles of addiction, poverty, and homelessness right now. Is a certain quality of life still possible for people that have been left so far behind?
November 8, 2020
Both a personal and sophisticated exploration of the overdose crisis - this book takes us through a journey where ideas about what this crisis is evolve through the course of the book. At one point, in the middle of the book, the author is 'corrected' when he uses the term 'addict' on a phone call.
Incorporating harm reduction, activism, recovery, the prescription crisis and everything in between, this is the book to read if you want to have a comprehensive overview of all that is at play. Both the complexity of the current situation, and the way we have made this far more complex than it ever needed to be, are tackled; while telling many moving, personal stories along the way.
Incorporating harm reduction, activism, recovery, the prescription crisis and everything in between, this is the book to read if you want to have a comprehensive overview of all that is at play. Both the complexity of the current situation, and the way we have made this far more complex than it ever needed to be, are tackled; while telling many moving, personal stories along the way.
February 10, 2021
Not an easy read by any means.
I had to confront my own misconceptions around addiction.
I think most people should read this, even if they don't live in Ohio.
Full review here
I had to confront my own misconceptions around addiction.
I think most people should read this, even if they don't live in Ohio.
Full review here
September 30, 2020
A side of my hometown I've rarely encountered. It's difficult to hear about the suffering of so many people in town. This book challenged my assumptions about drug addiction and poverty, and I hope to be better for the challenge.
June 29, 2022
This Is Ohio by Jack Shuler is a non-fiction book about the overdose crisis happening in Licking County, Ohio and elsewhere in the state and country. It is about small towns struggling to provide help in a multitude of ways and trying to destigmatize drug addiction. It's about helping people, and one of my favorite sayings from the book, "meeting people where they are" and not leaving them there.
Well-written, compelling and thought provoking. I enjoyed how Shuler provided personal stories from the community and really investigated the drug epidemic, explaining thoroughly and exploring many options for assistance and rehabilitation. Drug addiction touches so many people's lives. This was a very eye-opening and essential read.
Well-written, compelling and thought provoking. I enjoyed how Shuler provided personal stories from the community and really investigated the drug epidemic, explaining thoroughly and exploring many options for assistance and rehabilitation. Drug addiction touches so many people's lives. This was a very eye-opening and essential read.
March 27, 2021
An important book about drugs, the people who use them, and those who try to help them. It totally changed my perspective on how to approach drug use.
March 23, 2021
An intimate portrait of a small town under the onslaught of the addiction crisis. Jack Shuler embedded himself in a tough love community, addressing the complications of addiction by bootstrapping their way. You can't help but admire the fierceness of Trish and empathize with Billy as they and their neighbors are sucked under the ocean of problems that cause and exacerbate opioid and other addictions.
Aside from on-the-ground reporting and storytelling, Shuler has meticulously researched his topic. This is a view from the inside - inside homes, courts, health departments and local governments as Shuler explores the issues and shares ways in which they are being addressed - sometimes successfully, and other times not.
The coronavirus pandemic swept the addiction pandemic aside for a year, at the same time it was exacerbating the root causes. It's time to look at these issues again as a nation, and roll up our sleeves. This Is Ohio can lead the way in that work.
Aside from on-the-ground reporting and storytelling, Shuler has meticulously researched his topic. This is a view from the inside - inside homes, courts, health departments and local governments as Shuler explores the issues and shares ways in which they are being addressed - sometimes successfully, and other times not.
The coronavirus pandemic swept the addiction pandemic aside for a year, at the same time it was exacerbating the root causes. It's time to look at these issues again as a nation, and roll up our sleeves. This Is Ohio can lead the way in that work.
November 21, 2020
This is Ohio by Jack Shuler is a work of art, at once devastating and beautiful. Drawing from three years of impeccable journalistic research, Shuler takes the reader from the corner of East Main and Buena Vista Streets in Newark, Ohio, where local harm reduction activists routinely hand out Naloxone, clean syringes, and sandwiches to people in need, to the Downtown Eastside community of Vancouver, Canada, where people bring their own drugs to use under the supervision of medical professionals at Insite, North America's first safe, legal injection facility. All of this to demonstrate one overarching point, as each activist, advocate, and ally in Shuler's story reminds us: Every overdose is policy failure. Call it whatever you want, but the loss of over 750,000 people in America since 1999 is not primarily the fault of Big Pharma or some rogue Chinese chemists, and it certainly isn't the fault of people who use drugs; rather, it is the tragic result of our society's failure to understand and provide for the healthy development of human beings. People who use drugs will do so for any number of reasons, but they don't have to die for it. And until we take a long, hard look at the devastating intersection of poverty, racial injustice, and social stigma underlying most people's experience of addiction, they will continue to do so in record numbers.
March 28, 2020
We've all been "baptized in "Just Say No," but we haven't won the war on drugs. Even if we clawed back every dime from every opioid manufacturer, we still wouldn't. Thanks to the "iron law of prohibition," many more people have died, but about the same percentage of people remain addicts. As we've pulled resources away from employment, affordable housing, and healthcare by trying to "arrest our way" into a cure, this bad policy and the resulting incarceration destroys families and communities. What really works, is the focus of this book. "This is Ohio" makes a great follow up to "Glass House" by Brian Alexander, which looked at the effects of de-industrialization on another Ohio town. Shuler should be required reading for all of those elected and appointed officials who make decisions about public health.
June 22, 2020
In This Is Ohio, Jack Shuler tackles the opioid crisis in America by showing how the crisis in our midst is one that has long been fostered by income inequality, the loss of manufacturing jobs across the Rust Belt, and lack of access to health care. What is playing out in Ohio today isn’t only about opioids; it is also about a decades-long economic and sociological shift in small towns all across the United States, and a larger culture of stigma at the heart of how we talk about addiction. What happens in Ohio will have ramifications felt across the nation and for decades to come.
September 28, 2020
Loving portrayal of local heroes in Licking County Ohio in the effort to care for and reduce harm to people who have homelessness, poverty and addiction.
June 10, 2021
Like many a book on the overdose crisis/opioid epidemic/thing we have going on in America right now, "This Is Ohio" is about heartless policy decisions, and the myriad ways that our country, states, and cities make life especially difficult for people who use drugs. To appreciate the disastrous rise in overdose deaths, Jack Shuler argues, it's not enough to talk about the substances themselves, or even to blame Big Pharma: approaching the subject fairly, and appreciating the struggles of the crisis's victims, requires us to step back and take a more holistic approach. Cities like Newark, Ohio, the once-and-still proud industrial town at the heart of this book, have simply been punished again and again in our recent history: by de-industrialization, by the ravages of neoliberal capitalism, by a justice system that has made incarceration the solution to every problem, by a hollowing-out of community organizations, by a mass refusal to treat the humans living there with sympathy.
It's all very, deeply shitty, what we've done in Ohio and in other states, but what makes "This Is Ohio" particularly valuable, and even a little beautiful, is how Shuler foregrounds not the despair or the misery in his community, but the hope, care, generosity, and righteous indignation. This is a book about heroes, and there are many of them in Newark: activists who stand on corners every weekend dispersing clean needles; support groups that meet with desperate people wherever they're at; innovative health-care teams changing how we look at drug use; workers, pastors, mothers, and ordinary men and women who are responding to a dire situation with creativity and true democratic feeling. THIS is what Ohio is, Shuler contends: not a wasteland with its best days behind it, but a place that could, and hopefully will, create a new culture of care in spite of a truly tragic past.
By putting Newark's people front-and-center, "This is Ohio" makes a pretty compelling argument for Harm Reduction-- the idea that the best way to treat the drug problem is to minimize the damages of un-safe use, even if that means making drugs "more accessible." The way we do things now-- punitive laws, endless bureaucracy, jail time, and pushing people who use drugs to the margins-- is not only cruel, but ineffective, neither deterring people from bad decisions nor preventing them from relapsing. The book advocates again and again for giving space and time for the voices of the poor and marginalized, and follows through on this advocacy by giving much of its pages to the direct testimony of Newarkians, many of whom have struggled with drug use. The simple act of letting them speak proves especially damning to the contemporary priorities of our justice system. (How could you wish endless punishment on... another fucking human?)
While reading "This is Ohio," I couldn't help but think of Matthew Desmond's "Evicted," another hybrid of journalism / literature / social science. That book made a curious decision to remove its narrator/observer from the proceedings, whereas Shuler makes a point of including himself, if only as an occasional interlocutor, in his environments. I think Shuler's way is actually a little more affecting, and manages to put you closer to these lives. I could be biased though-- Shuler was an old teacher of mine at Denison, just down the road from Newark. His classes were probably the most stimulating I took in college, because he was never content to just let literature sit there: he was constantly interrogating the texts, and the very act of reading texts, asking basically... why are we doing this? What are we getting out of this process?
The corollary, of course, is that if we're not using what we're reading to DO anything, then there indeed might not be any point to it. "This is Ohio" is a book about doing things, a book about standing up to crisis with grit, but also love. It's a necessary piece of journalism, and also a really engagingly written, emotionally stirring narrative. It's moved me to think about people and communities and struggles differently, and I imagine it might do the same to you, fair Goodreaders.
It's all very, deeply shitty, what we've done in Ohio and in other states, but what makes "This Is Ohio" particularly valuable, and even a little beautiful, is how Shuler foregrounds not the despair or the misery in his community, but the hope, care, generosity, and righteous indignation. This is a book about heroes, and there are many of them in Newark: activists who stand on corners every weekend dispersing clean needles; support groups that meet with desperate people wherever they're at; innovative health-care teams changing how we look at drug use; workers, pastors, mothers, and ordinary men and women who are responding to a dire situation with creativity and true democratic feeling. THIS is what Ohio is, Shuler contends: not a wasteland with its best days behind it, but a place that could, and hopefully will, create a new culture of care in spite of a truly tragic past.
By putting Newark's people front-and-center, "This is Ohio" makes a pretty compelling argument for Harm Reduction-- the idea that the best way to treat the drug problem is to minimize the damages of un-safe use, even if that means making drugs "more accessible." The way we do things now-- punitive laws, endless bureaucracy, jail time, and pushing people who use drugs to the margins-- is not only cruel, but ineffective, neither deterring people from bad decisions nor preventing them from relapsing. The book advocates again and again for giving space and time for the voices of the poor and marginalized, and follows through on this advocacy by giving much of its pages to the direct testimony of Newarkians, many of whom have struggled with drug use. The simple act of letting them speak proves especially damning to the contemporary priorities of our justice system. (How could you wish endless punishment on... another fucking human?)
While reading "This is Ohio," I couldn't help but think of Matthew Desmond's "Evicted," another hybrid of journalism / literature / social science. That book made a curious decision to remove its narrator/observer from the proceedings, whereas Shuler makes a point of including himself, if only as an occasional interlocutor, in his environments. I think Shuler's way is actually a little more affecting, and manages to put you closer to these lives. I could be biased though-- Shuler was an old teacher of mine at Denison, just down the road from Newark. His classes were probably the most stimulating I took in college, because he was never content to just let literature sit there: he was constantly interrogating the texts, and the very act of reading texts, asking basically... why are we doing this? What are we getting out of this process?
The corollary, of course, is that if we're not using what we're reading to DO anything, then there indeed might not be any point to it. "This is Ohio" is a book about doing things, a book about standing up to crisis with grit, but also love. It's a necessary piece of journalism, and also a really engagingly written, emotionally stirring narrative. It's moved me to think about people and communities and struggles differently, and I imagine it might do the same to you, fair Goodreaders.
October 10, 2024
At first I was skeptical about the scope of the book but it ended up working in its favor. Didn’t agree with everything presented but that’s alright. Interesting read anyway. 4 stars.
October 23, 2022
I think it’s important to know going into this book that it’s not a sociological deep dive into the character and efficacy of the collective action groups it discusses. It’s also not a book that speaks from the perspective of an activist—that is, it’s not a political piece with recommendations for action. Instead, This is Ohio is a piece of longform journalism designed to inform people who are ignorant about its subjects. Jack Shuler captures the best of what that medium has to offer by developing real relationships with his sources and letting his admiration bleed through the page. He has also corralled an impressive collection of reputable, scientific data on addiction, drug use, treatment, and crime both nationally and specific to Licking County. This is harder than it sounds due to the dearth of accessible data on treatment programs in Ohio’s counties. It is a testament to Jack’s hard work throughout his career that Jack has acquainted himself with all the right people to curate so much expertise on this topic. Jack is also doing something great for the opioid epidemic literature by authoring book like this with an accessible, safe, moderate tone that presents safe injection sites and decriminalization as the most viable solutions to overdose crises. I love that he lets drug users do most of the talking.
That said, there are two weaknesses to This is Ohio that I’ll offer in the spirit of constructive criticism. I offer them because I couldn’t finish This is Ohio the first time I read it. I was dealing with my mother’s own stints in and out of jail/prison on drug charges and with overdose deaths among our family and friends. I was frustrated with every addiction recovery and advocacy project I’d volunteered for in Knox County, Ohio, and despite its thoughtfulness, this book reflected some of the problems that made me despair. Thus, I wanted to save the book until I could respond to it productively. With my mother safely out of Ohio at last, I can finally do that.
The first criticism I’ll offer is that despite the compassion that Jack has for his subjects and the users in his community, the book’s narrative still “others” drug users. It’s a common mistake among those who work in recovery circles to believe that attributing things like “cursing” or “anger” to people’s socioeconomic situation is less “othering” than condemning it. It’s not, because every day lower class behavior is still treated as something out of the ordinary. This is Ohio reacts to even relatively minor bouts of cursing and anger like it’s something that Jack has to explain away in soothing tones to a middle class audience. Having grown up lower-class among users, it was jarring every time the book did it. And it made me uneasy about where the book was going, even though I know and trust Jack more than that.
Another example of “othering” that lingers in This is Ohio is its treatment of drug use itself. To Jack’s credit, the academic portions of the book distinguish between using drugs and substance use disorders (which are a distinct complex of behaviors that are destructive to those around us). But that distinction collapsed during the narrative portions of the book. I think Jack tries to be upfront about the fact it is his upbringing that initially made him flinch around needles and other paraphernalia as he researched his story. However, the fact that This is Ohio only really has voices of people involved in recovery and treatment still leaves a hint of the attitude that people wouldn’t use at all if they were “well.” (Or that using is a necessary evil for suffering people who can’t help it, rather than just a thing people do which can sometimes turn bad under the wrong circumstances. My parents used and we were quite poor, and it didn’t have much impact on my life during the nineties and early 2000’s, but it did as rural areas where I lived began to step up law enforcement against drug use.)
The final othering piece of language in This is Ohio was all the talk of “stigma.” I know that older users involved in treatment circles do often feel intensely grateful just because someone doesn’t look down on them for being a user. So I don’t blame Jack, who was following such persons with his narrative, for including so much about anti-stigma campaigns in this book. But for younger users, the idea of being considered so pitiable that they would or should be grateful for someone seeing them as human is insulting as Hell. And to the users I know, anti-stigma campaigns seem like a huge waste of money when what they want is jobs and housing now.
This brings me to my second constructive criticism, which is that This is Ohio sorely needs to do some sociological work and distinguish between different groups of users—their social position, their tactics, and their political views. This is Ohio predominately features the voices of users who are in traditional recovery and peer support programs, or who are trying to get back into those programs despite the fact that the programs haven’t worked yet. Its initial chapters, formative for a reader unacquainted with users, constantly feature the voices of users who say that when those programs fail it’s because an addict has to be “ready.” It also features ex-users who are willing to call someone’s probation officer when that person messes up – something that is a huge taboo in the activist circles I know. Yet This is Ohio barely comments on that behavior at all. It was bizarre to me that outbursts of anger in a council meeting needed explanation by the narrative, but there was no explanation of users sometimes betraying or putting down other users.
This isn’t to say that later Jack doesn’t implicitly pay homage to a diversity of user experiences. On page 55, for example, This is Ohio acknowledges that AA or abstinence-based programs don’t work for 90% of users. Although This is Ohio doesn’t have a strong through-narrative, it takes an unusually strong tone when it condemns judges and programs connected to drug courts. And when Jack writes about groups in Vancouver to illustrate what users could have in Ohio, the tone of the activists he talks to changes significantly: At last the book’s harm-reduction advocacy feels a little bit less like advocacy for the lesser of two evils.
Yet This is Ohio doesn’t really give the same space to users for whom therapy and peer support don’t work. The two times we’re introduced to nonprofit and policymakers’ new favorite program types—requiring a person to go to a hospital three times a day for a treatment or to attend all day recovery programs that make it impossible to get a job—it’s through the eyes of users who say they’re grateful for those programs despite the disruption to their lives. Not the eyes of people fighting for freedom from condescending regimes of supervision. Not the eyes of the huge swathe of people who suffer the programs without coming out any better and make healthier lives for themselves simply because they were finally able to run away from the police in their area. I understand that people who enjoy peer support and recovery programs are working hard and I’m happy for what it’s done for them. However, I think picking a cast of people more diversely situated in their personal experiences with and political attitudes toward the existing system of handling addiction would have helped with how alienating the choice of protagonists and activist groups to highlight was to-- well, people like me.
That said, there are two weaknesses to This is Ohio that I’ll offer in the spirit of constructive criticism. I offer them because I couldn’t finish This is Ohio the first time I read it. I was dealing with my mother’s own stints in and out of jail/prison on drug charges and with overdose deaths among our family and friends. I was frustrated with every addiction recovery and advocacy project I’d volunteered for in Knox County, Ohio, and despite its thoughtfulness, this book reflected some of the problems that made me despair. Thus, I wanted to save the book until I could respond to it productively. With my mother safely out of Ohio at last, I can finally do that.
The first criticism I’ll offer is that despite the compassion that Jack has for his subjects and the users in his community, the book’s narrative still “others” drug users. It’s a common mistake among those who work in recovery circles to believe that attributing things like “cursing” or “anger” to people’s socioeconomic situation is less “othering” than condemning it. It’s not, because every day lower class behavior is still treated as something out of the ordinary. This is Ohio reacts to even relatively minor bouts of cursing and anger like it’s something that Jack has to explain away in soothing tones to a middle class audience. Having grown up lower-class among users, it was jarring every time the book did it. And it made me uneasy about where the book was going, even though I know and trust Jack more than that.
Another example of “othering” that lingers in This is Ohio is its treatment of drug use itself. To Jack’s credit, the academic portions of the book distinguish between using drugs and substance use disorders (which are a distinct complex of behaviors that are destructive to those around us). But that distinction collapsed during the narrative portions of the book. I think Jack tries to be upfront about the fact it is his upbringing that initially made him flinch around needles and other paraphernalia as he researched his story. However, the fact that This is Ohio only really has voices of people involved in recovery and treatment still leaves a hint of the attitude that people wouldn’t use at all if they were “well.” (Or that using is a necessary evil for suffering people who can’t help it, rather than just a thing people do which can sometimes turn bad under the wrong circumstances. My parents used and we were quite poor, and it didn’t have much impact on my life during the nineties and early 2000’s, but it did as rural areas where I lived began to step up law enforcement against drug use.)
The final othering piece of language in This is Ohio was all the talk of “stigma.” I know that older users involved in treatment circles do often feel intensely grateful just because someone doesn’t look down on them for being a user. So I don’t blame Jack, who was following such persons with his narrative, for including so much about anti-stigma campaigns in this book. But for younger users, the idea of being considered so pitiable that they would or should be grateful for someone seeing them as human is insulting as Hell. And to the users I know, anti-stigma campaigns seem like a huge waste of money when what they want is jobs and housing now.
This brings me to my second constructive criticism, which is that This is Ohio sorely needs to do some sociological work and distinguish between different groups of users—their social position, their tactics, and their political views. This is Ohio predominately features the voices of users who are in traditional recovery and peer support programs, or who are trying to get back into those programs despite the fact that the programs haven’t worked yet. Its initial chapters, formative for a reader unacquainted with users, constantly feature the voices of users who say that when those programs fail it’s because an addict has to be “ready.” It also features ex-users who are willing to call someone’s probation officer when that person messes up – something that is a huge taboo in the activist circles I know. Yet This is Ohio barely comments on that behavior at all. It was bizarre to me that outbursts of anger in a council meeting needed explanation by the narrative, but there was no explanation of users sometimes betraying or putting down other users.
This isn’t to say that later Jack doesn’t implicitly pay homage to a diversity of user experiences. On page 55, for example, This is Ohio acknowledges that AA or abstinence-based programs don’t work for 90% of users. Although This is Ohio doesn’t have a strong through-narrative, it takes an unusually strong tone when it condemns judges and programs connected to drug courts. And when Jack writes about groups in Vancouver to illustrate what users could have in Ohio, the tone of the activists he talks to changes significantly: At last the book’s harm-reduction advocacy feels a little bit less like advocacy for the lesser of two evils.
Yet This is Ohio doesn’t really give the same space to users for whom therapy and peer support don’t work. The two times we’re introduced to nonprofit and policymakers’ new favorite program types—requiring a person to go to a hospital three times a day for a treatment or to attend all day recovery programs that make it impossible to get a job—it’s through the eyes of users who say they’re grateful for those programs despite the disruption to their lives. Not the eyes of people fighting for freedom from condescending regimes of supervision. Not the eyes of the huge swathe of people who suffer the programs without coming out any better and make healthier lives for themselves simply because they were finally able to run away from the police in their area. I understand that people who enjoy peer support and recovery programs are working hard and I’m happy for what it’s done for them. However, I think picking a cast of people more diversely situated in their personal experiences with and political attitudes toward the existing system of handling addiction would have helped with how alienating the choice of protagonists and activist groups to highlight was to-- well, people like me.
December 11, 2020
Jack Shuler does a masterful job of taking the reader into a community in Ohio that was, and is, suffering from the drug crisis in this country. 'Dreamland' by Sam Quinones and 'Dope Sick' by Beth Macy are two other books that I highly recommend as companions to this well researched book by Shuler. We meet a group of people and actually share their experiences as addicts and families of addicts. This book was written over a period of time so we see some of the people in the book relapse and your heart breaks for them. This book does come up with some ideas for solutions to the drug crisis; things that some of the characters in the book have tried that seem to work. The problems they face in getting government to assist them is well covered. I came away from this book with a different outlook on the drug crisis and how to attack it so, to me, that made the book a valuable read. Anyone who has been affected by the drug crisis, or knows someone who has, will find this book enlightening. The people in this book are real and very much like people you know or come across each day. Take the time to pick this one up; you won't be sorry.
March 21, 2021
I Need to think much more about harm reduction
February 24, 2025
This Is Ohio: The Overdose Crisis and the Front Lines of a New America" offers a raw and unflinching look at the devastating impact of the opioid epidemic on a single state, providing a microcosm of the broader crisis gripping the nation. While the specific focus is Ohio, the stories and experiences shared resonate far beyond state borders, making it a crucial read for anyone seeking to understand the complexities of this ongoing tragedy.
The book excels in its humanization of the crisis. It goes beyond statistics and headlines to introduce readers to the individuals caught in the epidemic's web: the addicts struggling with addiction, their families torn apart by loss and desperation, the first responders battling overwhelming odds, and the community members trying to pick up the pieces. By giving voice to these diverse perspectives, the author paints a vivid and heartbreaking picture of the crisis's multifaceted nature.
One of the book's strengths is its exploration of the systemic factors that have contributed to the opioid crisis. It delves into the economic decline of many Ohio communities, the overprescription of pain medication, and the influx of cheap heroin and fentanyl. The author doesn't shy away from difficult questions about accountability and the failures of policy and institutions. However, it avoids simplistic explanations, acknowledging the intricate interplay of social, economic, and personal factors that fuel addiction.
While the book is undoubtedly a sobering read, it's not without glimmers of hope. It highlights the efforts of individuals and organizations working to combat the crisis, from harm reduction strategies to community-based treatment programs. These stories of resilience and compassion offer a counterpoint to the despair and provide a sense of possibility amidst the devastation.
However, the book isn't perfect. At times, the sheer volume of heartbreaking stories can feel overwhelming, and readers may experience a sense of "compassion fatigue." Additionally, while the book explores some potential solutions, it doesn't offer a comprehensive roadmap for addressing the crisis. This is perhaps understandable, given the complexity of the issue, but some readers might be left wanting more in terms of concrete policy recommendations.
Despite these minor shortcomings, "This Is Ohio" is a powerful and important book. It serves as a vital reminder of the human cost of the opioid crisis and a call to action for greater understanding, empathy, and effective solutions. It's a must-read for anyone concerned about the future of American communities and the ongoing struggle against addiction.
The book excels in its humanization of the crisis. It goes beyond statistics and headlines to introduce readers to the individuals caught in the epidemic's web: the addicts struggling with addiction, their families torn apart by loss and desperation, the first responders battling overwhelming odds, and the community members trying to pick up the pieces. By giving voice to these diverse perspectives, the author paints a vivid and heartbreaking picture of the crisis's multifaceted nature.
One of the book's strengths is its exploration of the systemic factors that have contributed to the opioid crisis. It delves into the economic decline of many Ohio communities, the overprescription of pain medication, and the influx of cheap heroin and fentanyl. The author doesn't shy away from difficult questions about accountability and the failures of policy and institutions. However, it avoids simplistic explanations, acknowledging the intricate interplay of social, economic, and personal factors that fuel addiction.
While the book is undoubtedly a sobering read, it's not without glimmers of hope. It highlights the efforts of individuals and organizations working to combat the crisis, from harm reduction strategies to community-based treatment programs. These stories of resilience and compassion offer a counterpoint to the despair and provide a sense of possibility amidst the devastation.
However, the book isn't perfect. At times, the sheer volume of heartbreaking stories can feel overwhelming, and readers may experience a sense of "compassion fatigue." Additionally, while the book explores some potential solutions, it doesn't offer a comprehensive roadmap for addressing the crisis. This is perhaps understandable, given the complexity of the issue, but some readers might be left wanting more in terms of concrete policy recommendations.
Despite these minor shortcomings, "This Is Ohio" is a powerful and important book. It serves as a vital reminder of the human cost of the opioid crisis and a call to action for greater understanding, empathy, and effective solutions. It's a must-read for anyone concerned about the future of American communities and the ongoing struggle against addiction.
February 14, 2021
Ohio is a hot spot… in this case, a hot spot for drug addiction and the opioid crisis. Shuler’s in-depth reporting fills us in on causes, outcomes and the fight to bring some resolution to this mess. He’s changed names and locations to protect those who are fighting on the front lines, but that does not take away from the urgency of their stories. We don’t hear much about this in the news these days… our time and attention are taken up by Covid and other more “pressing” issues, but the people who are trying to fight the good fight can’t stop because a large portion of government agencies and representatives are unwilling or unable to counter big pharma and the consequences of it’s systemic money-first attitude. This is a social issue – poverty, lack of medical care, negative opinions about those caught in the web of opioid addiction, and mental illness are all at the forefront in this struggle. This is a crisis and our inadequate civic response just won’t cut it. If we want to save people’s lives, we have to act… and act now. If you care at all, read this book for your own awareness. You may just find a way to help.
I met this book at Auntie's Bookstore in Spokane, WA
I met this book at Auntie's Bookstore in Spokane, WA
February 15, 2023
There are plenty of books about the problems of “drugs.”
Shuler goes down a new road to explain this problem. He focuses on young people in a few cities and towns in Ohio, a state that we don’t thing of as a place for drugs. While Cleveland has problems, the book takes us to some very small towns where drugs are used all th time.
If Ohio has drug problems, other states have it too.
The books subtitle, “The Overdose Crisis and the Front Lines of a New America” challenges us to find new way to ‘do something’ of this problem.”
He divides the book After a few about his major way to problem, Shuler uses three parts of the book: The Heart of It Al, Movement, and uses the sentences of what we need to
The labels of the chapters also give the reader some sense of what she will experience in the book: “The Cavalry’s Not Coming,” “Rainbows and Unicorns” and, the best one: “Ever Overdone Is a Policy Failure.”
The book doesn’t show a way to the answer. But it gives us a way to start.
Shuler goes down a new road to explain this problem. He focuses on young people in a few cities and towns in Ohio, a state that we don’t thing of as a place for drugs. While Cleveland has problems, the book takes us to some very small towns where drugs are used all th time.
If Ohio has drug problems, other states have it too.
The books subtitle, “The Overdose Crisis and the Front Lines of a New America” challenges us to find new way to ‘do something’ of this problem.”
He divides the book After a few about his major way to problem, Shuler uses three parts of the book: The Heart of It Al, Movement, and uses the sentences of what we need to
The labels of the chapters also give the reader some sense of what she will experience in the book: “The Cavalry’s Not Coming,” “Rainbows and Unicorns” and, the best one: “Ever Overdone Is a Policy Failure.”
The book doesn’t show a way to the answer. But it gives us a way to start.
January 12, 2025
It's encouraging to read a book like This Is Ohio. For a book on social issues, it's unique to focus on the humanity of the issue. We rarely see that at all. Once in a while I'd see a show like Dopesick (yes, show, because I haven't read the book) and get upset and that's about it, but a book like This Is Ohio puts me on the map of my own town and think about the same issue.
This book sheds light on people who are hurt and vulnerable, and for the most part forgotten. It also sheds light on you and me, not necessarily as people who can "save" them, but more as people with wounds that need to be healed as well, but who could also lend a helping hand.
For the people outside of Ohio or the overdose crisis, this book may look like a flashlight: only for a limited time and space. However, it uncovers many unsung heroes who are lighthouses to those who are lost.
This book sheds light on people who are hurt and vulnerable, and for the most part forgotten. It also sheds light on you and me, not necessarily as people who can "save" them, but more as people with wounds that need to be healed as well, but who could also lend a helping hand.
For the people outside of Ohio or the overdose crisis, this book may look like a flashlight: only for a limited time and space. However, it uncovers many unsung heroes who are lighthouses to those who are lost.
January 8, 2022
A hard look at the drug/addiction crisis through the lens of a the people who do use/previously used and are now fighting for change in a town in Ohio. I appreciated how the author humanized the issue by letting people tell their own stories/centering people who previously used drugs. I feel like many books on opioids/other drug addictions center family members, advocates, or researchers who don’t have personal experience. This book challenges people to see the world more complexly—people who fight for change and do a lot for their community will also mess up, relapse, and need grace. This book also introduced me to different kinds of interventions, such a needle exchanges, that I hadn’t read much about.
January 21, 2024
Whatever's being done about the overdose crises is clearly not working. People are being jailed, judgment is being cast on them, and they continue to die.
This book shows a few alternatives through the eyes of some of the people working to reduce harm and change the way we perceive addiction and those affected by it. The personal stories are powerful, with many ups and downs, showing the path to recovery is not simple and definitely not straight. And some of the solutions may seem to contradict everything we've been taught about addiction - that it's a moral failing, that addicted people need tough love, that they need to be put in jail.
The book gets a little preachy at times, but it also gives plenty of food for thought.
This book shows a few alternatives through the eyes of some of the people working to reduce harm and change the way we perceive addiction and those affected by it. The personal stories are powerful, with many ups and downs, showing the path to recovery is not simple and definitely not straight. And some of the solutions may seem to contradict everything we've been taught about addiction - that it's a moral failing, that addicted people need tough love, that they need to be put in jail.
The book gets a little preachy at times, but it also gives plenty of food for thought.
October 20, 2025
I thought this was a great book about an honestly devestating (and ongoing) moment in Ohio history. People that do not view drug users as people first, and that also view drug use as a moral failing will not like this book and will disagree on most points the author makes. Excellently goes into harm reduction and how community helps everyone. Highly recommend if you enjoyed Chasing The Scream or High Price.
July 12, 2021
I was very pleased by how human this book was. It addressed the stigmas that are often ignored when looking at the “addiction problem “ when in reality the “problem” is made up of people who are deserving of care and help.
December 23, 2021
Another book on the opioid crisis. this one is more hopeful and humanizing of the people involved than most books on this grim topic. The fact that users are people really comes through.
February 8, 2021
What sets this book apart, in my opinion is that Jack Shuler relies on 2 types of experts: the experts we all typically think of - researcher, mental health professionals, addiction specialists, etc. He also relies on his own extensive research on addiction, overdose, harm reduction, and more. He visits places that are doing the work of harm reduction and keeping people who use drugs alive because they are deserving of the dignity and care that we all deserve.
What draws me most to this book are the central characters of the book: Trish, Lesha, Allen, C.J., Eric, Billy, Dennis, Tresa and so many more, who, in spite of policies that put up road blocks at every turn, keep working to make their community a better place to live. If they can do the work in Newark, others can do it their communities, too. "Hope is not magic. Hope is work," as Shuler quotes activist DeRay McKesson. We need to be reminded that together, we can do the work. That we can hope. That we can change the policies that hold back our progress. Shuler reminds of that.
What draws me most to this book are the central characters of the book: Trish, Lesha, Allen, C.J., Eric, Billy, Dennis, Tresa and so many more, who, in spite of policies that put up road blocks at every turn, keep working to make their community a better place to live. If they can do the work in Newark, others can do it their communities, too. "Hope is not magic. Hope is work," as Shuler quotes activist DeRay McKesson. We need to be reminded that together, we can do the work. That we can hope. That we can change the policies that hold back our progress. Shuler reminds of that.
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