At first blush, it may sound heavy-handed, and possibly even pointless: Anchorage will try to reduce the number of chronic street drunks by forcing them into detoxification and treatment.
Skeptics will naturally wonder: Doesn't that infringe on their personal freedom? And what good is it to "force" someone into treatment for an addiction, anyway?
There are good answers to both questions.
First, the personal-freedom part. Existing Alaska law allows what's known as "involuntary commitment" if the person is a threat to himself or others. That decision is handled in court by a judge, allowing a neutral third party to balance the individual's rights against the community's interest in protecting people from harm.
That standard for involuntary commitment is a reasonable one. It's one thing if people drink themselves to death in the privacy of their own homes. It's a different story when the community spends upwards of $4 million constantly picking up the same small group of chronic drunks so they don't die on the streets. That's the bill that Anchorage now pays, according to state Sen. Johnny Ellis, who helped secure funding for this new approach.
But does it do any good to force people into treatment? After all, it's pretty well accepted that alcoholics and addicts won't get better until they "hit bottom" and decide for themselves that they want to get better.
Actually, involuntary commitment may be the "bottom" that motivates addicts to get better.
A European study from 2001 reported this finding: "Civil commitment not only may save the lives of endangered patients but could also be a health-promoting measure that may sometimes allow for recovery from dependence. Unexpectedly, this measure was retrospectively well accepted by many patients, who considered the commitment decision as having been justified and useful."
That study, "Involuntary Treatment of Alcohol-Dependent Patients," covered a tiny sample and the findings may not translate directly to Alaska, especially where Alaska Natives are involved. Many of the city's chronic homeless are Native, their woes made worse by severe cultural dislocation. Treatment that's rooted in Native culture, such as spirit camps, seems more effective than traditional Western approaches, such as Alcoholics Anonymous.
It's also unrealistic to think treatment will work the first time, every time. Many a recovering addict has gone through treatment multiple times before sobriety took hold.
Nonetheless, chronic inebriates "need to have access to detoxification and treatment services through the use of the Title 47 involuntary commitment law," according to a commentary by Melinda Freemon of the Homeward Bound program in Anchorage, a program offering shelter and transitional support to those trying to escape homelessness.
Freemon notes that involuntary treatment is only one piece of a more comprehensive approach to combat chronic homelessness. She supports providing more housing where the homeless get follow-up help moving toward more normal lives, such as Housing First, Beyond Shelter and Safe Harbor.
"These programs use nationally recognized best-practices and are adapted to suit Alaska's conditions and they work," she writes.
For many chronically homeless in Anchorage, sobriety is the key to escaping the streets. Sobriety is a lifelong journey, but it has to start somewhere. Involuntary commitment may be just the prod some of Anchorage's chronic homeless alcoholics need.
BOTTOM LINE: It's a helpful step -- but it's not the whole answer to Anchorage's problem with chronic inebriates.