The announcement this week that Renys will close its Portland location is the latest in a troubling series of departures along Congress Street.

Over the past year, we’ve lost Coffee By Design, Starbucks, Broken Arrow, Local 188, Three Sisters Deli, Soakology, Mr. Tuna and Golden Lotus Restaurant. More than a dozen ground-floor storefronts now sit vacant along what was once a thriving corridor. Landlords can’t find tenants to fill their spaces — and the reasons for Renys’ closure makes it painfully why. These closures are not isolated incidents. They are indicators of a downtown in crisis.

As the executive director of Mechanics’ Hall, I work in the heart of Portland’s Arts District. Nearly every day, my team and I witness the human impact of that crisis — people experiencing addiction, mental illness and homelessness without access to the support they need and in visible distress, overdosing, vomiting, passed out on the sidewalk. This is no longer shocking. It is daily.

My small staff cleans up used needles and human waste to ensure that our historic building remains safely accessible to the library patrons, artists, community members and tenants who rely on it. We keep watch from our windows or front door when we’re concerned someone outside may be a danger to themselves or others so that we can call for help if needed. At the advice of my doctor, I received a hepatitis C vaccine due to my exposure to used needles. We’ve also hosted Narcan training for our team and tenants. While we are adapting to this reality, we cannot accept it as normal.

A recent New York Times investigation laid bare how the opioid crisis in Maine has evolved. Overdose deaths in the state remain high, with fentanyl still the leading cause, but methamphetamine use is surging. The combination of meth and fentanyl is harder to treat and more likely to result in long-term psychiatric harm. Public health experts report that many individuals on the streets are experiencing extreme psychosis and long-term cognitive damage. We all know these conditions are not solved by arrest or short-term shelter. They require comprehensive care and stabilization.

The economic and human consequences of this crisis are becoming impossible to ignore.

So I ask, urgently but respectfully: What is the city of Portland doing? Where is the emergency-level response? Where is the clear plan for addiction and mental health services? Where is the leadership?

Fewer people feel safe walking along Congress Street. Businesses are reporting slower sales. Tourists — our key summer economic engine — are noticing what residents see every day. The system is not working for anyone: not for those in crisis, and not for the people and small businesses trying to make downtown Portland work.

My city-savvy 11-year-old won’t walk the single block from his violin lesson to my office at Mechanics’ Hall alone — not because he lacks compassion for those in crisis, but because he understands, even at his age, that the type of drugs on our streets cause humans to be unpredictable, and that makes him feel unsafe. On a recent walk together from his class to my office, we witnessed a man passed out along Casco Street, clearly unwell and without the mental or physical support he so desperately needs. He saw me stop to check if the man was “OK.” These experiences are two sides of the same failing system. Neither my son nor the man on the street should have to live this way.

Last year, out of growing frustration, Mechanics’ Hall and Portland Downtown came together to form The Arts District Solutions Group. This group, comprising nonprofit arts leaders, developers and business owners, initiated direct conversations with the city not only to discuss incentives for landlords to fill empty storefronts but also to raise awareness of the crisis and bring together the people and agencies that might be able to find solutions. We also reached out to social services and other community organizations to foster broader collaboration. Are we the ones who should be doing this work?

Other cities are investing in real solutions. Albuquerque, New Mexico, deployed a civilian-led “Homeless Assistance Response Team.” Burlington, Vermont, pairs clinicians with police for crisis response. Providence has expanded its Housing First model, recognizing that stable housing is a prerequisite for recovery. These programs share a clear principle: combining public health expertise with nonpunitive approaches rooted in Housing First strategies. Portland has the capacity — and increasingly, the models — to replicate these solutions. What it seems to lack is the will to commit resources, coordinate action and implement them at scale.

For our part, we will gladly lean into the role that cultural leaders have long played in times of crisis: by telling stories that build compassion and remind us that those who are suffering are not just statistics but human beings. We will continue to activate our space and streets through artist-led projects, window installations and other events and open our doors to anyone who wants to gather for honest, community-driven conversations. We will meet this painful moment with empathy for all sides, holding space for both the deep harm being experienced and the collective care we know is possible.

Portland has earned national acclaim for its vibrant culture, diverse food scene and stunning coastline. But those accolades mean nothing if we ignore the reality on our streets. We must act now — not just to preserve our city but to protect all of its people.

The Arts District is at a tipping point. And we are dangerously close to letting it fall.