by Paul Martin
I moved to our nation’s capital nearly three months ago to lead our policy efforts and represent thousands of bereaved families.
In that short time, one truth has struck me harder than any other: we are losing the war on urgency.
Today, fentanyl is the leading cause of death for young Americans—more than cancer or heart disease, and more gun homicides and auto accidents combined.
Yet in far too many discussions, this crisis is minimized, treated as something less than what it truly is.
I was reminded of that on Friday at an event with leading drug policy experts. For over an hour, I listened to thoughtful, evidence-based recommendations about addiction—ideas I fully endorse.
But as I listened, I noticed a troubling gap. During the question-and-answer session, I asked: “What do we do for the population that is dying who are not struggling with addiction?” By this I was referring to those who die from taking a counterfeit prescription pill.
Brian Mann of NPR—someone we should commend for his advancement of our understanding of the fentanyl epidemic—responded that the crisis should be understood through the lens of addiction, noting that those who die from counterfeit pills represent “a very, very, very small number.” He concludes his response with, “When we look at that sixty-something thousand people dying, the number of people that are in that category, it’s probably a very small number.”
Probably.
I do resonate with a reality of addiction—those using fentanyl as their drug of choice. In 2023, I spent nearly a year working with users in Española, a rural town in northern New Mexico. The way they described their new drug was harrowing, many claiming they were finally “home” because of fentanyl’s calming potency, accessibility, and the fact that a five-hour high cost less than a can of cheap beer.
But Mr. Mann’s words—very small number—baffled me. Every serious drug policy expert knows we have no reliable data on how many people die from fentanyl-laced counterfeit pills.
We do, however, have data on the death of young children. It is estimated that hundreds of children under five have been poisoned by fentanyl according to an internal study. The National Trends in Pediatric Deaths From Fentanyl, 1999-2021 – found that between 1999 and 2021, there were 5,194 fatal pediatric opioid poisonings attributed to fentanyl.
No, these daily poisonings of our children do not “draw a ton attention,” or “get lot of press coverage.”
Sadly, the opposite is true. Despite the unrelenting work in private and public sectors I’m afraid the collective sense of urgency is beginning to ebb. I’m not the only one.
Policy expert Wayne Kepner captured this reality in his recent piece “America Must Not Learn to Live with 72,000 Overdose Deaths a Year.” He wrote the following:
“Here’s what we’re celebrating: a death toll that exceeds total American combat fatalities in Vietnam, every single year. In 2015, when overdose deaths first topped 50,000, the shameful milestone was treated as a national wake-up call. A decade later, 50,000 deaths is now an aspirational target. That shift in expectations is a warning sign: the crisis isn’t getting better—we’re just getting more used to it.”
In understanding Mr. Mann’s misguided response, we should recognize a psychological phenomenon that arises when confronted with human atrocity—in this case, the unimaginable trauma of a parent who’s lost a child to fentanyl poisoning. The sheer weight of such events brings a deep, instinctive urge to deny. Renowned psychiatrist and researcher Judith Herman writes: “The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma.
My exchange with Mr. Mann illustrates this tension. Some prefer to frame the fentanyl crisis as “not so bad” rather than confront the reality reflected in the thousands of letters United Against Fentanyl has received from grieving parents.
Suppose, just for a moment, that Mr. Mann is right. Suppose that only “a very small number,” just one percent of annual fentanyl deaths, come from the poisoning of people who were not addicted. With roughly 50,000 deaths in 2025, that would still mean 500 preventable deaths—ten times the number of lives lost each year in school shootings.
Fentanyl isn’t just another drug. The crisis is not merely about addiction policy. Illicit fentanyl is a poison, often disguised in everyday form as a prescription pill—an ambush that kills people who aren’t even seeking a high. I often tell friends of mine, “Imagine your kid having a beer and dying a few minutes later from fentanyl poisoning—that’s the reality of this drug crisis.”
After September 11, 2001, Americans knew what urgency felt like. We mobilized, unified, and acted without hesitation. Yet today—while a crisis claims tens of thousands of lives every year, fueled by the Chinese government’s complicity in supplying Mexican cartels with precursor chemicals—our national conversations drift into abstraction.
It’s as if the nation has quietly decided that things are improving—or that this is simply our new normal.
People often ask me about United Against Fentanyl’s plan to end this crisis. My answer begins with the need to counter denial—not merely through more “fentanyl awareness,” but through a national awakening of conscience.
I often say, A massive crisis demands a massive response.
That’s why we launched the Walk for Lives campaign, born out of letters from parents such as the woman I reference who asked us how they can help. Our pilot event last year took place in 26 states, all on the same day. Thousands walked alongside bereaved families, hundreds of nonprofits, and dozens of elected officials. Over 20 million digital impressions told the story.
This June, these families intend to bring over 100 Walk for Lives events to 50 states, where parents will again take the stage in their communities and testify to the irrefutable horror of what the DEA has called “the most deadly drug crisis America has ever encountered.” Here in Washington in September, we’ll stand in the heart of the nation and make sure this message cannot be minimized—that hundreds of parents, every single day, will receive that phone call or open the bedroom door to learn their child is gone.
Through the resolve of the very families who grieve, Americans will step out together to declare that this crisis remains urgent—and that our growing numbness is deadly.
For me personally, I have not lost a child to fentanyl. But I’ve met too many grieving parents unwilling to declare victory; their pain is real, and their strength offers our country a chance to wake up.
We are losing the war on urgency—it’s up to each one of us to do all we can for the sake of our nation’s children.
To lead a Walk for Lives in your community or learn more click here.
