Pubdate: Wednesday, January 7, 1998 Source: Globe and Mail Contact: http://www.globeandmail.ca/ Author: Robert Matas in Vancouver Related: http://www.mapinc.org/drugnews/v98.n001.a02.html SUING FOR PEACE IN THE WAR ON DRUGS After 15 years in the trenches, a constable concludes that prohibition just won't work Vancouver -- PUSHERS, addicts and the hapless victims of drug-related crime - -- they have all drawn their share of media attention. But consider for a moment the perspective of the person the public sends to the front line in the war on drugs: the police officer. Thanks in large part to Hollywood, the stereotype is that of the crusading cop who tracks down dealers against insurmountable odds and rarely appears to be troubled by the strung-out junkies encountered along the way. This image of indifference to the human cost of drug use is so pervasive that it's a shock when a real cop speaks out and expresses sympathy for those tangled up with narcotics. Gil Puder has done that and much more. Last week, he stepped out of his role as a Vancouver police constable and called publicly for the decriminalization of heroin and cocaine. In an article in a local newspaper, he maintained that drug abuse is a health issue, rather than a criminal one. But Const. Puder did not stop there. He also pointed fingers, accusing federal Health Minister Alan Rock of ducking the issue and suggesting that B.C. Attorney-General Ujjal Dosanjh "would rather talk tough and count the bodies." He wondered whether the Canadian Association of Chiefs of Police has been silent on the issue because its members have built their careers on drug enforcement. Even his own force has not escaped criticism. Last month it raided The Cannabis Caf‚, a local diner that provides customers with pipes to smoke marijuana, although it does not sell the drug. Const. Puder likens the raid to a Keystone Kops episode. "I was there," he said in an interview, "doing crowd control." The goal of the exercise, he suspects, was not just to enforce the law but to put the controversial caf‚ - -- an attraction for visitors from the United States and the rest of Canada - -- out of business. "Most of the guys just shrugged their shoulders and wondered why they were there." The article in the Vancouver Sun was written, says Const. Puder, because, after 15 years on duty, he was finally fed up. Drugs and violence have been part of his entire career. A few years after joining the police, he shot and killed an addict who was robbing a bank. In 1987, a friend, Sergeant Larry Young, was shot during a drug raid. This year he spent New Year's Day in a flop house, watching an ambulance team trying to save a junkie's life. But the incident that really hit home happened back in November. A young addict had died and he had to break the news to his mother. A recent immigrant from Eastern Europe, she was already mourning the unexpected death of her husband and now found herself all alone in a strange land. She started talking about suicide. According to Const. Puder, a police officer always finds it easier to depersonalize a situation and just do his or her job. But after this incident, he felt truly tired of repeatedly having to cope with violent death. Unfortunately, he says, no one seems prepared to address the situation. Officials agree that the drug problem finances criminal organizations, drives Vancouver's HIV epidemic, and perpetuates the petty and major crimes that swamp the courts. They recognize that prohibition of drugs has its limitations, and acknowledge that tighter enforcement has proved futile. Nevertheless, he contends, the federal government appears to be more frightened by the opposition Reform Party -- and its get-tough policies -- than it is by the drug problem. Such outspokenness on the part of a police officer is rare -- with good reason, given law enforcement's quasi-military tradition and the ever-present potential for disciplinary action. But Const. Puder insists that such tactics would not work on him. He is ready to stand up to anyone who tries to deny him his right to free speech. As for intimidation, "I'm 6-foot-4, 220 pounds, a black belt in karate and former boxer. I teach the use of force. If someone wants to meet me in the back alley, just tell me and I'll show up." But he need not worry. After the article appeared, he received hand shakes and messages of support from dozens of his colleagues. Still, he realizes that publicizing his views may not be the best of career moves. "But I'm not trying to be chief," he admitted. "I'm happy with my career." At 38, he works part-time with the force, patrolling the downtown district, and part-time as an instructor at the B.C. Police Academy and Langara College. (A specialist in the use of force, he has designed training manuals for private security programs and trains other instructors.) This arrangement, he says, is flexible and offers more time to spend with his family (he has two sons, 3 and 9). His experience, he feels, allows him to speak out on the decriminalization of narcotics without coming across as "a bleeding-heart wimp." But he'd like to see others take a more active role in the debate. "Social workers speak up. We [the police] directly interact with the issue every day. Why cannot we speak up? Are we just supposed to shut up, say nothing, just grit our teeth?" But even if he stands alone, Const. Puder intends to keep pressing his case. "This is just something that has to be kept on the front burner." Robert Matas is a member of The Globe and Mail's Vancouver bureau. Cause for concern When a member of their police force speaks out on drugs, Vancouverites have good reason to pay attention. The east side of their downtown area has been identified as the worst spot in the developed world for the rapid spread of the AIDS virus, mainly because there are so many drug addicts sharing dirty needles. Also, Vancouver is believed to have 10 times as many drug traffickers as any other place in Canada. In the past five years, about 1,470 people have died in British Columbia from overdosing on an illegal drug. The regional health unit has declared a medical emergency, and Mayor Philip Owen has stepped up law enforcement. In an effort to stem a wave of property crimes, he is moving up to 100 members of the police force from desk jobs to the streets. Copyright (c) 1998, The Globe and Mail Company