DRUG WAR DILEMMA

US Criticized For Discouraging Addicts From Seeking Treatment While
Collecting Evidence Against Them

Carol Bradley always talked about her desire to quit drugs, even when she
was dealing crack to an undercover federal agent and her other customers
would break into her Plymouth apartment to smoke on her couch.

Ultimately, Bradley says, she did kick her drug habit at a halfway house in
Western Massachusetts while federal prosecutors prepared a drug trafficking
indictment against her. But wiretap transcripts showed that the Drug
Enforcement Administration task force agent who made six undercover buys
from Bradley actively discouraged her from going to treatment programs,
saying they "never work."

Her unusual case highlights the debate over when treatment should enter law
enforcement's war on drugs. The federal agents and prosecutors who sought a
four-to five-year prison term for Bradley say they pursue serious dealers
who destroy the communities in which they peddle narcotics; in prison, they
argue, dealers have all the time they need to seek treatment.

However, defense lawyers and drug law critics believe Bradley's case points
to a system that is sometimes too rigid and harsh. They believe that agents
and prosecutors should encourage addicts to seek treatment, rather than
simply build the strongest possible case against them.

"It's unconscionable to have government agents discouraging addicts from
getting help so they can continue to amass evidence against these people,"
said federal defender Tamar R. Birckhead, who represented Bradley and cited
the case as exposing an Achilles' heel in the federal war on drugs.

But Gerard T. Leone, the first assistant US attorney for Massachusetts,
said that federal sentencing guidelines take into account whether a drug
offender is trying to break free of an addiction. It's not the role of the
drug agent or prosecutor to serve as a conduit for treatment, Leone said.

"If what compels someone to sell drugs is a habit and not desire for
profit, should we sympathize with them and give them a break?" Leone said.
"If there's a kid who's getting crack, I don't care whether the person
who's selling it to them has a problem."

By the time Bradley had been indicted on drug trafficking charges two years
ago, she had been living sober for nearly a year at Beacon House for Women
in Greenfield. At her sentencing in July, Senior US Judge Edward F.
Harrington - over the objections of prosecutors - tossed aside sentencing
guidelines that would have required him to send Bradley to jail for four to
five years, instead of giving her probation.

The sentence was officially based on Bradley's "exceptional
rehabilitation," but Bradley's lawyer also emphasized the undercover
agent's disparaging comments about treatment.

"This was a textbook example of someone committing a crime to support her
habit and who wanted with every ounce of her being to kick that habit,"
Birckhead said.

Meanwhile, Bradley, 37, says she has turned with zeal toward recovery; she
now does landscaping and maintenance for Beacon House, where she has lived
for the better part of three years.

She is more concerned about her upcoming move next week to a sober house in
nearby Turners Falls than about her federal case. Since age 14, Bradley
said, she has struggled with addiction to alcohol, heroin, and cocaine.
Even when faced with the prospect of jail this year, Bradley refused to
work undercover for federal agents to ensnare her former suppliers, afraid
she would start taking drugs again if she returned to her old haunts.

Bradley blames herself for the drugs she sold. "I know I was kind of
manipulated into selling because of my problem, but I did it and I was
guilty," she said. "Somebody could have bought some drugs from me and died."

Still, it vexes her that the undercover agent she knew by the code name
"Whitey" - and, as she sees it, a law enforcement culture that treats all
drug offenders the same - felt no responsibility to help her.

"Even in the condition I was in, they knew I was reaching for help. I don't
know what the rules are, but they didn't need to say that rehab doesn't
work," Bradley said recently.

A state trooper working undercover for the DEA bought a total of 9.11 grams
of crack from Bradley on six occasions between September 1999 and January
2000. He often met Bradley at her Court Street apartment in Plymouth, where
she watched football games with customers and tried to keep the beige
carpets vacuumed.

"People always said it was the cleanest crack house in town," Bradley said.

In one recorded conversation, Bradley told the agent she had just finished
25 days of rehab. Rehabitation programs "never work, don't waste your
time," the agent replied.

In a later conversation, Bradley told the agent she'd been through seven
drug detoxification programs.

"The important thing to keep in mind is that the agent is playing a role,"
DEA spokesman Anthony Pettigrew said. "He's talking in a jargon that the
target understands."

At one point, the undercover agent offers to drive Bradley to a detox
program. The agent's job, Pettigrew said, was to make drug purchases from
Bradley, not to steer her toward a drug treatment program. Still, he added,
the agent did not "in total" discourage her from seeking treatment.

By the time the war on drugs makes it to the federal court system, cases
are usually cut-and-dried. Deals are usually caught on tape, and sentences
are determined by the quantity and kind of drug. Addicts charged with
trafficking usually make a first attempt to stop using drugs only after
they've been accused of a crime.

That was not the case with Bradley. On Jan. 26, 2000, Bradley made her last
crack sale - to the undercover agent. The next day she moved across the
state to Greenfield and checked into Beacon House. That's where federal
agents found her in September 2000, when they unsealed a grand jury
indictment against her.

At an unusual sentencing hearing on July 24, more than a dozen family
members and people who knew Bradley from Beacon House packed the courtroom.
They had already flooded Harrington with letters about Bradley's impact on
their lives and their own attempts to kick drinking problems and drug
habits. Prosecutors fought for Bradley to serve at least four years and
three months in prison.

"The record shows that she was planning to combat her addiction at the same
time she was peddling narcotics," Assistant US Attorney Rachel E. Hershfang
argued. "This is not a woman who, desperate for the money to support her
addiction, made an occasional drug sale."

Harrington, however, found that Bradley had exhibited "extraordinary
rehabilitation," and prosecutors chose not to appeal his decision.

Although she doesn't expect federal agents to spend all their time pushing
drug addicts toward recovery programs, Bradley said she wishes they would
give it more thought.

Dealers in Bradley's situation might deserve compassion, Leone said, but
they also need to be taken off the streets.

"In her case, the Plymouth Police Department identified drug-related
activity that was a destructive and destabilizing influence on public
housing projects," Leone said. "Carol Bradley was part of a conspiracy that
we saw as ruining quality of life in a community."

Still, defense lawyer Martin G. Weinberg said Bradley's case reflected a
broader problem with federal law enforcement's approach to drug crime.

"The DEA's job is to apprehend offenders, not to create seductive
opportunities for undisciplined people to commit crimes they would not
otherwise have committed," he said.

And, Weinberg argued, strict federal sentencing guidelines "extinguish the
difference between the violent offender who has never done anything
positive for society and a hard-working, nonviolent, essentially decent
person who has committed a crime for which he has accepted responsibility."

Bradley's new room in Turners Falls is sparsely decorated; her friends at
Beacon House have given her a small stone engraved with one word -
"Remember" - and she has five CDs to play on her portable stereo. As she
prepares to start living independently again, Bradley said she sees hope in
her story and in a system that defied her expectations to provide another
chance.

Every night, she calls the pretrial services office in Springfield to see
if she's scheduled for a drug test. She has regular meetings with her
parole officer. If she relapses, she knows she could end up in a federal
prison.

"It could happen to anyone," Bradley said of her struggle with drugs. "I
wanted a better life, and I've found one."