Pubdate: Tue, 17 Apr 2007
Source: Times, The (UK)
Copyright: 2007 Times Newspapers Ltd
Contact:  http://www.the-times.co.uk/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/454
Author: Martin Samuel
Bookmark: http://www.mapinc.org/mdma.htm (Ecstasy)
Bookmark: http://www.mapinc.org/heroin.htm (Heroin)

WE'RE FIGHTING ON THE WRONG FRONT IN THE 'DRUGS WAR'

A Problem Has Many Causes

This is my favourite drugs story. A friend of mine, a DJ, let's call 
him Mick, had a very busy weekend planned. He was playing a gig in 
Scotland on Friday and then returning for a booking at the Lakota in 
Bristol. Mick's wife (they were recently married) was up for the West 
Country trip. The Lakota had quite a reputation. She made him promise 
he would take it easy on Friday, so they could have a big night out 
on Saturday. He agreed.

Unfortunately, getting Mick to rein it in when unaccompanied in 
Glasgow is a bit like ordering Keith Moon to have only a swift half. 
The following morning he was sitting on the redeye to London, having 
not been to bed, when he found a tab of acid in his pocket, 
thoughtfully donated as part of a small shipment of uppers, downers 
and hallucinogens by the promoter. With the keen judgment of a man 
that has not slept for 48 hours and is not likely to for the next 48, 
he necked it, washed down with a glass of complimentary BA orange juice.

By the time Mick entered Heathrow's terminal one he was in an 
advanced state of mental disrepair. It was at this moment that he 
chose to telephone home. His newlywed wife, remember, was eagerly 
expecting her man (relatively) bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in 
readiness for the drive west and a night of mutual hedonism.

Instead, having at last correctly identified that he was at an 
airport of some kind, after a very long pause during which he 
appeared to be wrestling with the significance of this discovery, 
Mick asked the following question.

"Should I get on a plane to play the gig, or have I played it and I'm 
coming home?"

I love that story: the man who quite literally did not know if he was 
coming or going. I said it was about drugs but it mainly concerns the 
inability of the male species to be trusted unsupervised for five 
minutes. No one was harmed in the making of it, either. Mick went on 
to be part of a pop group that penned one of the most instantly 
recognisable hits of the past 20 years. His wife is a successful 
businesswoman. The marriage did not last but then you probably could 
have guessed this. Considering that, for instance, in the 25 to 
29-year-old band more people have tried drugs than not, you might 
have similar tales or experiences. Not a raised eyebrow in the house, 
then. And, right there, is the problem with our war on drugs. For the 
majority, chemical encounters fall in line with those of the late 
comedian, Bill Hicks. "Didn't murder anybody, didn't rob anybody, 
didn't rape anybody, didn't beat anybody, didn't lose one job, 
laughed my ass off, and went about my day. Sorry. Now where's my commercial?"

We are losing the war against drugs, a report by the UK Drugs Policy 
Commission will announce this week, which is strange because that 
means drugs are winning. Must be those smart drugs we keep reading 
about. Either that or the war is being won by people on drugs, which 
is an even greater humiliation than being fitted for a Crimplene suit 
by the Tehran branch of Mister Byrite. Imagine that. Beaten by a 
platoon full of potheads. You wouldn't want to be the general in 
charge of that mission.

We are told we have a drug problem, but we do not. We have a poverty 
problem; an education problem; an intelligence problem; a 
homelessness problem; a refugee community problem; an opportunity 
problem. We have a lousy life problem. This is then exacerbated by 
drug use. Drugs as an escape; drugs as an alternative.

There is a difference between one kid popping a pill to pep up 
Saturday night and another sitting around smoking crack all day, 
while drifting from truancy to unemployment and crime. The war 
against drugs fails to differentiate. Everybody becomes a drug user, 
as if all drugs are the same, all use is the same, all situations, 
lifestyles and choices are the same.

In 2005, a survey in Student magazine found that 75 per cent of 
undergraduates using Ecstasy in Edinburgh regarded it as a positive 
influence in their lives. Do you think the 50 per cent of homeless 
people that admitted heroin use, in a recent Home Office study, feel 
the same way?

We are told drugs are not a social problem because the figures on use 
by social class remain largely the same across every report. Yet 
problematic drug use, which is the key here, lurches wildly according 
to social status, educational and career opportunities.

A study in Scotland recorded that there were 460 hospital admissions 
per 10,000 people for drug use in the ten most-deprived areas of the 
country, that figure dropping to 20 per 10,000 for the ten 
least-deprived. Of the known drug users in Scottish prisons 953 per 
10,000 came from the 27 most-deprived council wards, against 237 per 
10,000 from the least.

The UK Drugs Policy Commission intends to find which of the 
government schemes and initiatives work. In short? None of them. Talk 
to Frank? Talk to this finger. There is UKP9 million down the tubes 
for a start. Who would want to talk to Frank? Is that brat jumping on 
the bed Frank? Then who is Frank? I bet it's that b in the Halifax 
adverts. He looks the type.

Popular logic states we need to educate young people about drugs. No, 
we need to educate them about education. We need to raise those 
standards and, by doing so, create opportunities and intellects that 
may see drugs as a diversion, but not a career, and certainly nothing 
requiring a declaration of war.

Encapsulating the malaise that creates problematic drug culture is MC 
Nuts, the ludicrous concept of Cumbrian tourism, whose rap version of 
William Wordsworth's Daffodils (I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud), is 
intended to entice youngsters to the Lake District. MC Nuts, by the 
way, is a 6ft squirrel, who raps beside Ullswater. "More than 10,000 
I see in my retina / No more than a glance then I register they're 
beautiful etcetera . . ."

And you know the irony? William Wordsworth was quite possibly high on 
drugs. Laughed his ass off and went about his day. He had a purpose, you see.
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MAP posted-by: Beth Wehrman