Field of death: Art project highlights drug crisis’ impact on tradespeople
The drug crisis is really a men’s mental health crisis, says Ron Kerr, the artist and city councillor behind a visually staggering project
By Alexandra Keeler | 4-minute read
Fifty thousand flags blanket the north end of Tyee Spit in Campbell River, B.C. — a staggering visual memorial to the lives lost in Canada’s opioid crisis since it was declared a public health emergency in 2016.
Called the Blue Hat Memorial Project, the installation spans nearly the length of a football field. It features 36,000 blue flags to represent the men and boys killed by toxic drugs, and 14,000 purple flags for women and girls.
“The actual installation does something you can’t do by just reading [about it],” said Ron Kerr, the artist behind the project. Kerr is also a city councillor in Campbell River, a city of 38,000 on the northeast coast of Vancouver Island.
“You’re visually seeing it, and it’s going right to your heart and creating an emotional response,” he said.
The installation’s name is a reference to the blue hard hats worn by newcomers or trainees on blue-collar job sites. Kerr says one of his aims is to draw attention to how the drug crisis has acutely affected working-class men. Between one-third and half of the individuals who died of opioid poisoning worked in the skilled trades, according to public health data.
Kerr, who has worked closely with tradesmen as an artist and advocate in men’s peer support groups, describes many of these tradesmen as “functional addicts” — employed, seemingly stable individuals who privately use drugs to manage pain or depression without others noticing.
“They are doing drugs at home or in their garage, and people don’t even know that they are [because] they’re functional, they’re working,” he said. “They’re able to control their depression or occupational injury through opiate drugs.”
Tradespeople are especially vulnerable to developing substance use disorders due to the physical demands, long hours and high injury rates associated with their work. Many use stimulants to stay alert or opioids to manage pain or cope with isolation in remote jobs.
“There is an expectation to get out the next day and get to work, no matter how you’re feeling,” said Kerr. “Self-medication is the easiest way to do it — a slippery slope from Tylenol to prescription drugs.”
A 2021 survey by the Construction Industry Rehabilitation Plan found that one in three B.C. construction workers reported problematic substance use. More than two-thirds screened positive for PTSD.
Loneliness is another major driver. Experts say men often avoid seeking help due to stigma, leading to further isolation.
“The opposite of addiction is connection,” said Kerr. “Men don’t have a place to go when they can’t deal with their issues, so they self-medicate.”
A pattern flipped
When Kerr first launched the installation in August 2024, he and a team of volunteers initially planted only blue flags. But in response to questions like, “Where are the women?”, he added purple flags this year.
“It was a blending — to give them their due,” he said.
Kerr’s installation sits on the unceded territory of the Liǧʷiłdax̌ʷ people, including the Wei Wai Kum Nation, a nation of nearly 1,000 people.
Wei Wai Kum’s chief, Chris Roberts, told Canadian Affairs he does not want the project’s focus on men to overshadow other key trends.
In B.C., Indigenous people die from drug poisoning at nearly seven times the rate of the general population. And within many Indigenous communities, the gendered pattern is at odds with national trends: women are dying at even higher rates than men.
“The opioid crisis has significantly affected my community as well, and it continues to — we are overrepresented as Indigenous people,” Roberts said.
“In our case, the gender split is much more balanced,” he added.
‘Inadequate recovery’
Currently, Campbell River — the overdose epicentre of northern Vancouver Island — has only one aging recovery centre.
“[The city is] a hub for the whole North Island, but we have very little in terms of recovery,” said Kerr. “[There is] just one inadequate recovery centre in a 50-60 year old house with tiny rooms.”
Kerr is critical of how B.C. has implemented harm reduction strategies. He says policies such as drug decriminalization and safer supply were launched without the recovery infrastructure needed to make them effective.
“[Portugal] legalized drugs too, but the most important thing was that they provided the recovery services for them — they went all in,” said Kerr. “In this province, they just haven’t spent the money and time on doing that.”
Kerr also worries too many resources have gone to safer supply programs, without offering drug users a way out.
“When you get a person in full-blown addiction, and you’re giving them all the drugs they need, the food they need, and the clothes and shelter, what’s going to stop them from carrying on?” he said.
Kerr wants his installation to draw attention to the need for more recovery-oriented solutions, such as treatment centres and housing. In particular, he points to a lack of affordable or free housing for people to live in after initial recovery.
“What you need is a good, clear off-ramp,” said Kerr. “They need to have recovery options that are either affordable or free so they can get off the road that they’re on.”
Chief Roberts agrees. Wei Wai Kai Nation is currently converting the former Tsạkwạ’lutạn resort into a 40-bed healing centre that will combine medical care with culture-based recovery.
“We’ve made investments to acquire properties and assets where people can go and reconnect with the land, the territory and their identity as a Ligwilda’xw person,” Roberts said.
Kerr says he will consider the Blue Hat Memorial a success if it leads to more funding and momentum for these types of recovery-oriented services.
The Blue Hat Memorial remains in Campbell River until the end of April. But Kerr, who previously re-created the installation in Nanaimo and West Vancouver, says he remains committed to doing more projects.
“I’ve got no expectation of senior government to come along and do this without a groundswell of grassroots people saying ‘we need this,’ and pushing government to do it,” said Kerr.
“I’m going to keep having the installation until that happens.”
This article was produced through the Breaking Needles Fellowship Program, which provided a grant to Canadian Affairs, a digital media outlet, to fund journalism exploring addiction and crime in Canada. Articles produced through the Fellowship are co-published by Break The Needle and Canadian Affairs.
One of the many nasty aspects of "safer supply" is it does what drug discourse has done since the 1960s: it recodes failure as rebellion. You're not a spiraling addict, you're a rebel and society just doesn't get you, man.
It gives you not just a substance but a narrative about your life that seems "liberating" but in fact is just mind poison and in the long run cruel: it encourages you to keep signing up for choices that will destroy you utterly. But along the way you can think "I'm a wild man, society can't harness me"
You can see how this message would appeal strongly to men, and how if you wanted to destroy society you'd play it for them in popular culture over and over.
Interesting. We do not hear much about the working addicts. The focus is on the largely unemployable addicts that are on the streets.