This commentary is by Benjamin Greenwood, a third-year criminal justice student at Champlain College. He was born and raised in Richford, Vermont.
I’m a Champlain College student born and raised in Richford, Vermont. Richford is a small town of approximately 2,000 people where, like most rural American towns, the opioid crisis has become a devastating part of everyday life. Addiction here is not some distant statistic; it’s an unrelenting force that has a corrupting grip on neighbors, classmates and loved ones. However, Vermont’s criminal justice policies somehow continue to view addiction as a moral failing or legal offense rather than what it is: a public health crisis. If we want to save towns like mine, we must stop criminalizing addiction and start prioritizing treatment and harm reduction.
In 2022 alone, Vermont saw a record 243 opioid-related deaths. Although the drug problem in Burlington is great, we cannot continue to overlook the ever-present nightmare of drug abuse in small towns. Burlington and other urban areas continue to gain access to care and support, while in Richford, services are scarce, transportation is limited, and the stigma is deep. People who overdose here often do so alone, far from help.
Despite this, Vermont leaders have continued to miss the chance to actually do something. In 2024, Gov. Phil Scott vetoed a bill that would have established an overdose prevention center in Burlington, calling it a “costly experiment.” The centers, which are successfully operating in New York City and other locations, provide controlled environments for substance use while medical staff monitor patients and provide safe equipment and emergency response during overdoses. These centers connect people to essential treatment and housing services while providing a vital link between the two. The veto was not just a setback for Burlington; it was a blow to every small town that might have benefited from the momentum.
Vermont’s “Hub and Spoke” treatment system is often praised for combining medication-assisted treatment with counseling and primary care. It’s a strong foundation, but one that rural communities struggle to actually use. The system depends on physical access to hubs but in places like Richford, that often requires a car, gas money, and time off work, luxuries many residents simply can’t afford. If you live in rural Franklin County and need help, you’re likely facing long waitlists, overbooked providers or a long drive to the nearest clinic.
All the while, the Vermont justice system still treats people with substance use issues as criminals who need to be punished by the full force of the law. In rural areas, we constantly rely on the police for drug-related issues because there is no one else around to call. The police are all we’ve got, and half of the time, it takes them way too long to respond. This reliance on the police leads to over-incarceration for things like drug possession or public intoxication; these actions solve nothing, and all they do is cause more harm.
It doesn’t have to be this way, and it shouldn’t be this way; we have evidence-based alternatives. Harm reduction, including needle exchange programs, safe use spaces, and wide access to naloxone, has saved lives without enabling use. Drug courts and diversion programs have helped people get clean without the trauma of jail time. But these programs must be expanded equitably, so that rural residents have the same access as those in larger cities. Addiction is a health issue, and our response should reflect that. Towns like Richford don’t need more jail cells. We need mobile treatment vans, mental health providers, peer recovery coaches, and, most of all, funding not just in Burlington but in every small community hit hardest by this crisis.
I’m not writing this because I have all the answers. I’m writing because I’ve seen what happens when nothing changes, when addiction is met with handcuffs instead of help. In Richford, we are tired, tired of being treated as statistics, tired of watching our town disappear one overdose at a time, and most of all, we are tired of losing people not just to drugs but to the silence that follows when the system refuses to care.
We don’t need more punishment; we need someone to finally fight for us, someone to finally give a damn. That’s all I’m asking for. Not as a policy expert, but as someone from a forgotten town: Please, care enough to see us, to fight for us and to fight for something better.
