WE WERE somewhere around the 1970s on the edge of the Acid Wave when the drug war began to take hold. The politically typical thing to say today is that the so-styled "War on Drugs" is without foreseeable victory -- and how unfortunate, really. Almost without exception, however, America regards its beloved war as one worth fighting. And it is, to an extent. But the tactics need some adjustment to accomplish anything beyond the current, hopeless stalemate. The most crucial step to changing America's atrociously flawed drug policy is to reevaluate our rules of engagement, so to speak. If we don't, we continue along a path to nowhere, entrenched in a war with endless enemies and no peace in sight.
If you reread my first paragraph, you will hopefully notice the absurd way martial analogies pervade even casual discourse. We are fighting a war. Drugs are the enemy. Enemies must be killed, etc. The militant analogies swell further when politicians rant about "an all-out offensive" against "public enemy number one," as Nixon did during the dope-sodden 1970s. Such unthinking saber rattling strangulates thoughtful debate, it removes the tactics from rational discussion (we are at war, mind you), and it brands anyone with a different opinion a dissenter and, therefore, a traitor
As my horrific first paragraph no doubt suggests, the limited lexicon from which we draw our descriptions of American's drug problem cripples our ability to deal with it. The height of ignorance and inarticulacy, of course, being American policy regarding marijuana.
American media and politicians hone tactics to excuse illogical, senseless, even blatantly racist public policy -- you've all seen it -- they eagerly "declare war." By issuing haughty proclamations, politicians submerge the issue in a climate of fear and images of struggle, and they adjust their accountability accordingly.
When drug addiction becomes worthy of (often unjust) imprisonment rather than treatment, the consequences are lumped under the disgraceful terms, "collateral damage," or a "casualty in the war on drugs." In other words, the terminology regarding the drug war has outlived its usefulness. We need new vocabularies, and thus new policies.
There is no longer (nor was there ever) the need for certain statutes -- mainly the intense prosecution for marijuana violations -- that originated during the time when "Reefer Madness," a propaganda film portraying marijuana as the impetus for rape, murder, domestic violence, and schizophrenia, was considered insightful medical commentary.
As it happens, the city of Denver recently legalized possession of modest amounts (under one ounce) of marijuana. And they have done so, shockingly enough, without a scourge of dope-crazed rapists and killers. Perhaps they dodged a bullet there, but I think the Denver example is evidence that drugs aren't all equally detrimental to society, and therefore they do not all deserve to bear the same consequences (or cultural taboo, for that matter).
Specific, less dangerous drugs like marijuana ought to be considered similarly to less stigmatized substances -- cigarettes and alcohol, for example. Though even that exaggerates its dangers.
This column is far too brief to discuss the minutia of marijuana legislation, but allow me to clarify this point with some statistics. According to the National Council on Alcohol and Drug Dependency, more than 100,000 Americans die each year as a result of alcohol consumption. Additionally, in the United States, there are an average of nearly 360,000 tobacco-related deaths annually. These are astonishingly high numbers for two substances that are legal, albeit well regulated.
Compare those casualty rates with those of marijuana. Statistics on the matter of marijuana-related deaths range from zero to around a dozen or so, but nearly every reputable source is loath to attribute any deaths to the supposedly madness-inducing weed. Alcohol and tobacco kill more people annually than atomic weaponry ever has. Judging strictly by the numbers, we always seem to miss the real weapons of mass destruction.
During war, as President Bush parrots frequently, one is either "with us" or "against us." Obviously, anyone who challenges American lawmakers or their war making knows precisely to which side he or she belongs. Hence, war analogies. It makes disagreement treasonous and skepticism seditious. An effective strategy, you must admit.
It seems a bit curious that while marijuana is outright banned, alcohol and tobacco dwell comfortably on nearly every college campus. Which is okay, even great. But our standards for regulation ought to have some ringing of justice and fairness. Other states will be well served to move, however gradually, toward the progressive example of decriminalizing legislation set by Denver. By finally matching punishment with the gravity of the crime, we might finally be able to declare victory in a war against a more fearsome foe, stupid wars.
Dan Keyserling is a Cavalier Daily associate editor. He can be reached at dkeyserling@cavalierdaily.com.
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