Today, I stood among many at 159 East Hastings, in the heart of the Downtown Eastside, to remember and honour Trey Helten, also known as Ashtrey. We gathered in the Balmoral parking lot, a space that has witnessed both hardship and healing, much like the man we came to celebrate.

The crowd was large. People from all walks of life came—friends, community members, harm reduction workers, artists, neighbours, and those whose lives Trey had touched in quiet, meaningful ways. The number of people present spoke volumes about the depth and reach of his impact. For over a decade, Trey stood at the heart of the overdose crisis, not with fanfare or recognition, but with grit, compassion, and steady presence.

He was more than a harm reduction leader. He was a friend, a voice for the voiceless, and someone who believed deeply in the value of every person regardless of their struggles. As manager of the Overdose Prevention Society, he showed up with heart and strength. He often brought a karaoke machine to community events because he believed that even voices that tremble deserve to sing.

At today’s memorial, there were tears, laughter, stories, embraces, shared meals, and music. A talking circle offered space for people to speak from the heart. Some shared how Trey had helped them stay alive. Others recalled how he made them feel human again. There were no polished speeches, just honest reflections from a community that loved him.

Trey was also an artist. He led the creation of the massive “Land Back” mural on West Pender, a project that brought together over thirty-five artists to honour Indigenous strength and resistance. His creativity was rooted in justice, not self-promotion. His art, like his work, was always for the community.

Today reminded me that the true measure of a life is not in titles or accomplishments, but in how deeply a person dares to care. Trey cared, with courage and consistency.

This time, I also intentionally invited an open-minded Chinese pastor to attend the gathering. I thank God the pastor came. I walked alongside the pastor through the community, including a visit to the Carnegie Community Centre. It was an opportunity to see and feel the heart of this place, not from a distance, but from within. I hope and pray that more Christians, more Chinese, and more Chinese Christians will be willing to come here—not to judge or fix, but to be present, to listen, and to truly understand the people and community here.

As we continue to face challenges in the Downtown Eastside and beyond—addiction, poverty, marginalization—I hope we carry Trey’s spirit with us. He was not a distant hero. He was someone who stood close, in the midst of pain and beauty, and never turned away. That is a path we can walk too.

Let us keep showing up. Let us keep caring. Let us keep loving with boldness and tenderness, even in the most difficult places.

Rest in power, Trey. You are missed. You are remembered. And you continue to hold us together.