I recently came across a poster that read “BC NDP stands for needles, drugs and poverty.” At first glance, it looked like a sharp political statement. But the longer I sat with it, the more it felt like something else. Not an argument, not even a critique, but a reduction. Three words were asked to carry the weight of human suffering, social failure, and political responsibility all at once.

Drug toxicity, addiction, and poverty are not abstract concepts or partisan inventions. They are lived realities. They belong to people with names, histories, families, and stories. People I encounter in neighbourhood cafés, community spaces, churches, and on the street. When these realities are compressed into a slogan, the complexity disappears, and with it, the people themselves.

The presence of needles or drugs in public spaces is often used as proof that a government supports addiction. Yet harm reduction policies emerged in response to a public health emergency where lives were being lost at an alarming rate. One may reasonably question their effectiveness or implementation, but to frame them as ideological endorsement misses the context that gave rise to them in the first place.

Poverty is also folded into the slogan, as though it were a simple by product of political will. In reality, poverty is shaped by housing costs, wages, migration, mental health, family breakdown, and global economic pressures. These are forces far larger than any single party or election cycle. To turn poverty into a partisan accusation is to avoid the harder work of understanding how deeply rooted it is.

What troubles me most is how language like this reinforces stigma. When addiction and poverty become political symbols rather than human conditions, it becomes easier to judge, dismiss, or dehumanize those who live with them. Stigma may rally supporters, but it does not heal communities, save lives, or create safety.

Healthy democracies depend on disagreement and debate. But meaningful debate requires honesty, care, and a willingness to wrestle with complexity. When we rely on slogans instead, we may feel we have said something powerful, while actually saying very little at all.

If we truly want fewer overdoses, safer neighbourhoods, and less poverty, we need more than posters. We need conversations grounded in evidence, compassion, and responsibility. We also need a commitment to seeing our neighbours not as political liabilities, but as fellow human beings.