I embarked on my first pilgrimage to Medjugorje in June 2019 seeking nothing more than a bit of rest and a break from my routine. However, what I encountered was far beyond anything I could have imagined—so profound that I hesitate to even put it into words for fear of sounding irrational. Yet something extraordinary did happen. Upon returning to Glasgow, one phrase kept echoing in my mind: ‘You keep talking, we keep dying’. This haunting message became the driving force behind a campaign that has shaped my work and life ever since.

Over the past five years, the charity I work for, Faces and Voices of Recovery UK, has increasingly focused on urgent advocacy efforts. While we continue to celebrate recovery from addiction through our events, we have also taken a more active role in holding the Scottish Government accountable for the serious deficiencies in their drug and alcohol services and policy infrastructure, and established the UK’s first-ever addiction advocacy case worker service.

Despite substantial investment in harm reduction strategies such as substitute prescriptions, heroin-assisted treatment, and needle exchanges—what the industry often refers to as 'treatment'—there remains a stark lack of support for detox, community and residential rehab, and abstinence-based services…which are the services the public typically associated with the word ‘treatment’.  I believe this imbalance is a significant factor contributing to the alarming rates of drug and alcohol-related deaths.

Just recently, the Scottish Health Minister Neil Gray admitted that the government intends to allocate only 140 rehab beds for the entire country. This provision, they claim, is intended to serve 1,000 individuals annually, based on the unrealistic assumption that each stay would be limited to a mere six weeks. To suggest that 140 beds could address Scotland's severe drug addiction crisis is more than inadequate—it’s an outright scandal. Six weeks might barely scratch the surface of addiction recovery; it is far from sufficient to address the complex, deep-rooted issues that individuals face. True rehabilitation requires extended, intensive care and ongoing support, which this minimal provision utterly fails to deliver.
This gross underestimation by the government is not just a failure—it’s a deep betrayal of Scotland’s citizens. Rehabilitation isn’t a quick fix; it’s a long-term process that demands substantial investment in time, resources, and care. By setting such a low target, the government is effectively declaring that the lives of those struggling with addiction are not worth the necessary commitment.
The broader picture exposes a systemic failure in Scotland’s approach to addiction treatment. The focus appears to be more on managing numbers than on genuinely addressing the crisis. The idea that 140 beds could suffice in a country where 50,000 people are in addiction treatment each year is a damning indictment of the government's scant seriousness in tackling this issue.

When we call for more balanced investment, we often face fierce opposition, with some accusing us of being anti-harm reduction. But nothing could be further from the truth. Our goal is not to dismantle harm reduction but to ensure that every person struggling with addiction has access to the care that best suits their needs. The conversation should not be about choosing between harm reduction and abstinence/recovery, but rather about ensuring that both are available in a way that truly meets the needs of those we aim to help.

Exposing the industry’s shortcomings has undoubtedly stirred up a lot of anger towards me. I knew that speaking out would cause discomfort, but I underestimated just how deep the backlash would be. Yet, the truth needed to be brought to light. Challenging the status quo and highlighting the failings of a multi-million-pound industry that for too long have been overlooked is never easy, especially when it disrupts the comfort of those who profit from the existing system. I understand that my actions have made me a target for criticism and resentment, but my focus has always been on the greater good—advocating for those who are often forgotten and pushing for the changes that are so desperately needed. Particularly when the most vulnerable, living in our poorest communities, are dying in the greatest numbers. In Scotland, people in the most deprived areas are more than 15 times as likely to die from drug addiction compared to those in the least deprived areas.
Throughout this journey, my faith has been my steadfast anchor. There were moments when I felt so overwhelmed by the challenges I faced that I sought refuge in daily mass, drawing on the comfort and protection that only my faith could provide against the abuse and character attacks I endured. In those difficult times, we poured our energy into drafting what is now known as the Right to Recovery Bill—a response to the misleading narratives and divisive arguments that have obstructed meaningful progress in addressing Scotland’s addiction crisis. Although initially overlooked by some political parties, the bill was eventually embraced by the Tories and has since gained significant support. It is now poised to be debated in the Scottish Parliament, offering a crucial opportunity to ensure that both harm reduction and recovery-focused services are enshrined in law.

I have returned to Medjugorje on four occasions, including one deeply blessed four-week visit. My most recent trip was just last month, when I brought my son and his two flatmates to the Youth Festival. During those first few days, I experienced a profound sense of relief, as if a heavy burden I had carried for five years was being lifted. For years, I had felt compelled to fight and educate as many people as possible about this issue, but in Medjugorje, it felt as though that obligation was easing. It was a strange sensation, almost difficult to trust because the burden had been so heavy and the journey so lonely. I sought counsel from various spiritual directors, and they all agreed that I was no longer required to fight with the same intensity as before—that I could choose when and how to continue, rather than feeling it was my sole responsibility.

I often reflect on my first visit to Medjugorje, particularly the moment when I attempted to climb Apparition Hill for the first time. Overcome by the heat and discomfort, I decided to turn back and abandon the climb. As I began my descent, a beautiful young woman stopped me, visibly shocked by my decision to turn around, especially since she informed me that Our Lady was about to appear to one of the visionaries. For a brief moment, I wondered if she might be a bit mad, but I politely offered my excuses, explaining that I was too hot and sore, and turned to continue my descent.

Just then, she asked if she could ask me a couple of questions. The next thing I knew, a very large camera was suddenly in my face, operated by a strikingly handsome young man whose features were partly obscured by the camera. (Until that moment, I had never been asked to speak on camera) The beautiful woman then asked me two questions: why I had come to Medjugorje, and what I was prepared to do. The words that came out of my mouth felt as though they were spoken by someone else. I found myself begging our Lord to allow me to serve him, fully aware of my unworthiness.

At the time, my response surprised me, but now, looking back on how far I’ve come both spiritually and in this campaign and what happened next  I see clearly that God works in mysterious ways. Every time I’ve been asked to speak in front of a camera since that night on Apparition Hill, I think of the beautiful young man and woman from that moment, and somehow despite my fear and inadequacy, I always find the words to respond.  My relationship with Our Lady and Our Lord has deepened, evolving into one of trusted friendship and comfort. I continue to beg for the opportunity to serve, knowing that the burden I’ve carried is, thankfully, lifting and that others are stepping forward to share in this work.

As I reflect on this journey, I realise that it has been as much about my own spiritual growth as it has been about advocating for change. With the burden easing, I hope others will join me in carrying the weight, allowing us to continue this important work together.