He Faces a Hard Road Filled With Potholes

It must seem like quite an accomplishment to Mike Hernandez. It’s been 60 days without drugs or alcohol for a man who spent most of the last few years under the influence of one or both. A man who cannot remember exactly when it started, but knows the addiction would have killed him if he hadn’t been stopped.

But, in truth, he’s merely out of the blocks with a good start. The race to beat drugs is a marathon, and he has yet to complete a mile.

He may have the best of intentions and an iron will. And he seems to be taking recovery seriously enough, promising regular drug tests, with a public accounting of the results.

But staying off drugs--coping with the pressures of rehab under the unrelenting stare of a disapproving public--will likely be the biggest challenge Mike Hernandez has ever faced. Certainly tougher than any political opponent.

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I don’t want to scare you, Mike, but the view from the streets doesn’t look so good.

In fact, almost every recovering addict relapses now and then--it’s a frustrating but often inevitable part of the recovery process. The goal sometimes, one therapist told me, is just to put more and more time between each “slip.”

Only about three of every 15 cocaine users who enter treatment complete it without relapsing at least once, a recent Rand Corp. study showed. Two of those three who stay clean during treatment will return to cocaine after rehab ends.

Hernandez has already admitted he’s scared. Recovery “is a tough, day-to-day thing,” he told KCET’s “Life and Times.” “And I’m going through rehab in a glass bowl.”

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Ross Trigueros knows the challenge Hernandez faces. A former heroin addict, he spent 12 years on the road to recovery--relapsing three times. He knows every detour, pothole and dead-end along the way.

For the past four years, he’s run the East L.A. Rehabilitation Center, a residential treatment program where hard-core addicts try to break their dependence on alcohol, heroin, cocaine and pills.

He’s got plenty of sympathy for Hernandez, he says. And a little advice:

Stop talking about your “illness.” Stop comparing it to cancer and diabetes. Start working on your character instead, and try to root out the defects that led you to drugs.

Drug addicts are sick, he says, but they can only recover through “100% character improvement.”

“It’s like I get lonely, I can go to the nearest bar and solve it. Or I can go sit and watch a football game. Or I can go down to my church and get busy helping out. . . .

“Whatever choice I make says something about my character. And what the addict has to do is pick up those character qualities that will free him from addiction--honesty, loyalty, humility. . . .

“What Mike has to do is get it out of his character that once it gets dark he can do whatever he wants to do.”

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There are several things about the sad saga of Hernandez’s fall that trouble me:

His determination to remain on the City Council while he’s literally fighting for his life seems to smack of either arrogance or naivete.

His constant references to his “illness,” his “predisposition,” his “alcoholism,” sound to me like excuses from a drug addict still in denial.

And while I wish him the best, I can’t join the chorus applauding his courage for owning up to his addiction and seeking treatment.

The man was arrested, caught on videotape buying and using cocaine not once but several times. Drug residue and paraphernalia were found in his council office and his city-owned car.

Sounds to me like a man with little choice but to ‘fess up to his drug and alcohol problem. That’s common sense, not courage, in my book.

Maybe holding on to his council seat is simple common sense, as well. As one of his council colleagues told The Times, “Here, he’s making $98,000 a year with a great medical plan. He ain’t giving it up. . . . “

Still, if he does manage to kick his addiction and rebuild his credibility in his district, the entire city may gain a better understanding of just how difficult the roller-coaster ride of rehabilitation can be.

“What the public has to understand is that rehabilitation takes time,” Trigueros said. “And relapse doesn’t mean failure. If we don’t allow him to fall and get back up, then recovery means nothing.”

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One week from today, Hernandez goes before a judge to plead guilty to drug possession and begin a treatment program expected to last at least 18 months. He’s a symbol now to the community he serves, and what he stands for--failure or redemption--will be decided by his conduct in the coming years.

Despite my misgivings, I’m pulling for him. But I think he’d better keep this in mind:

It’s like running a marathon, Mike. Long and hard, with times that will test your endurance and your resolve. You could have chosen to run it alone, to exorcise your private demons away from the public’s prying eyes.

But you’ve accepted a higher profile, agreed to carry a community on your shoulders in a very public trek. That’s a heavy burden, one that will weigh you down and may make a difficult race even harder to win.

And if you fall with that very precious cargo, a whole lot of people are going to be hurt.

* Sandy Banks’ column is published Mondays and Fridays. Her e-mail address is andy.banks@latimes.com.