The vending machine, that glorious marvel birthed from the Industrial Revolution, propelled modernism into the ethical grey area we wrestle with today. It offers convenience, choice and anonymity. No longer ubiquitous on the American landscape, the candy machine indulged any kid, on impulse, a range of confections, vetoed by parents, for the spare change in your pocket. But the devil had greater designs. My first cigarette was not pinched from my mother’s purse but was purchased at an Esso station one block from my school. In 6th grade, I went for a brand I could spell, Pall Mall. I was already familiar with the candy version and the double alliteration clinched the deal and with a quick pull of the lever you got a fresh pack and matches. No questions asked. Candy, comic books and cigs, all before I hit puberty, the modern world of choice, convenience and anonymity was upon me.

Fast-forward sixty-five years and the death-dealing vending machine is now a lifesaving dispensary. Not only can you get energy bars, fresh fruit, and condoms, but if you go on over to the Beacon Center for Infectious Disease at 4800 Riverbend Road you can pick up some Narcan and a bottle of Ensure free of charge.

We are in the grip of a nationwide opioid addiction. Fentanyl-related deaths claim over 75,000 victims yearly. Strategically located vending machines near counseling centers are one way to address this problem. Access to needle containers, drug test strips and Narcan does not promote drug use but is an evidence-based intervention that helps to curb the effect of an overdose. The machines are funded by settlement money from the pharmaceutical industry. If you have a family member or a loved one in the throes of addiction you can save a life. This does not replace treatment or long-term care but is a vital aid on the road to recovery. The stigma of addiction keeps many from seeking help. Accessing Narcan without a physician referral is one way to intervene in a meaningful way. That these vending machines are needed just underscores the scope of the crisis.

Is this the world I want to live in? Hardly, but it’s the world we have. I’m done with candy bars and smoking and though I feel the nostalgic tug for one last Snickers bar and a smoke at the Horn and Hardarts Automat, I will applaud any vending machine that keeps a neighbor alive.

Jim Vacca, jamespvacca1@gmail.com

Boulder Community Health’s new harm reduction vending machine is part of a growing approach to addressing the opioid crisis, with similar machines already implemented in communities across the country. Stocked with naloxone (Narcan), fentanyl and xylazine test strips, gun locks, safe containers for needle disposal (but no needles, as far as I know), and nutritional support, this machine is designed to save lives — especially for those at risk of overdose.

A good friend of mine lost her teenage son to an overdose after he unknowingly took fentanyl-laced Xanax. Maybe if a vending machine like this had existed back then, he could have used test strips. Maybe he would still be alive.

Sadly, stories like his are not uncommon — and that’s why harm reduction programs matter. The data on this is solid when it comes to two key points: harm reduction programs save lives by effectively preventing overdoses, and they help a subset of users seek treatment. In one study from Seattle, individuals who used syringe exchange programs were five times more likely to enter treatment for substance use disorders, with 28% of new users entering treatment compared to 8.7% of those who never participated — findings that have been consistently reproduced across different communities.

Do I still have concerns? Absolutely. While BCH’s machine doesn’t distribute needles (only safe containers for disposal), improper disposal and public safety remain valid issues.

We’ve faced this before with Boulder’s syringe exchange program, The Works, which sparked controversy after reports of needle litter in public parks, including an incident where a child was pricked by a discarded syringe.

I’m also skeptical about the broader claim that harm reduction doesn’t encourage risky behavior, mainly because of a lack of data. I reviewed the Seattle study often cited by proponents of this argument, and while users of syringe exchange programs are five times more likely to seek help (assuming we have enough resources in Boulder County to support them), there’s little evidence on how the remaining 72% fare. It could follow a K-shaped curve — helping some toward recovery while unintentionally enabling harmful patterns in others. The only facts we have are that these programs reduce overdose deaths and encourage a subset to seek help. We don’t yet know whether the rest improve, stay the same or get worse.

I don’t oppose this vending machine — I believe we need it. But harm reduction is just one part of a broader, forward-thinking strategy. That means prioritizing safe disposal, ensuring accountability, and integrating treatment pathways. Saving lives and addressing community impacts are not competing priorities. Boulder can — and should — commit to both.

Hernán Villanueva, chvillanuevap@gmail.com

This is a tough one. Who doesn’t want to reduce harm? I don’t want people to die. But I also don’t want to enable drug use. “Harm reduction” is frequently coupled to drug-use normalization and drug-use enabling. Narcan enables safer use of fentanyl. Does safer use increase usage? I wrestled with these questions while scrambling on the First Flatiron with a friend who strongly advocates for harm reduction.

It was somewhat ironic that we were in the midst of another activity that I had thought of as addictive and dangerous. Hence, we started with the definition of addiction. We agreed it was detrimental behavior either to the individual or to adjacent people in which the individual, on some level, knows it is bad behavior, yet cannot stop. With that definition, I concluded that scrambling wasn’t an addiction. A lifetime of scrambling causes no harm (provided you don’t die), but a lifetime of drug addiction causes horrible pain for the individual, their family and the communities where they reside.

But with our definition of addiction, addicts can’t stop using. Hence, the availability of Narcan is not a factor in their level of use. They will use it regardless. If there is any increased drug usage, it should be minimal. Yet, I still didn’t like the idea. I believe strongly in personal responsibility. Addicts made their choice. They can seek help but most don’t. The vending machines are paid for by BCH’s PILLAR (drug addiction program), but PILLAR gets part of its funding from the City of Boulder. I don’t like the public funding it.

My friend suggested, “What if the users had to pay for the supplies in the machine?” I discovered that I was fine with that. I’m a Libertarian, after all. And, thankfully, just last year, the FDA approved the over-the-counter sale of Narcan nasal spray. So, stock the harm-reduction vending machines, but put a price on it, either in dollars or via a mandatory counseling session. These drug users are adults. They buy or obtain their drugs and food. They can do the same with these products. We shouldn’t be treating them like children, but as long as we do they will act like children.

What seems to go hand-in-hand with harm reduction is the idea of removing the stigma of drug use so that drug users are accepted and respected. I’m okay with that as long as they function like social drinkers. But when they become homeless addicts they need to be treated like alcoholics. In that case, we want more stigma, not less.

Bill Wright, bill@wwwright.com