THE WAR ON DRUGS

First, Inhale Deeply

Washington, D.C. -- America's anti-drugs crusade is not a campaign issue.
That's too bad

IF YOU want to see money thrown at a problem to no good effect, you need
look no further than America's "war on drugs". The federal government will
spend roughly $18.5 billion on drug-control policies this year, and over
$19 billion in 2001; state and local governments annually pitch in another
$22 billion or so. By comparison, the entire Justice Department will have a
budget of about $21 billion this year.

The war also carries social costs. Among the more than 2m people imprisoned
in America, for example, over 450,000 are incarcerated for drug
offences--more than are in jail in the European Union for crimes of every
kind. Blacks and Latinos are jailed for drug offences in striking
disproportion to their numbers: according to Human Rights Watch, black men
are sent to prison on drug charges at 13 times the rate of white men.
Mandatory minimum sentences sometimes keep drug offenders behind bars
longer than violent criminals.

America's drug war also does it few favours abroad. It is unclear, for
example, whether the $1.3 billion the United States plans to pour into
Colombia (which Bill Clinton was visiting this week; see article) will ease
the country's troubles or simply aggravate its civil war. Furthermore,
America's "certification" policy -- which ties foreign aid and loans to its
southern neighbours' co-operation in the drug war -- is highly unpopular
with those neighbours, especially Mexico. Perhaps in recognition of this,
General Barry McCaffrey, President Clinton's "drug tsar", recently promised
to replace certification with something less unilateral.

But all for what? Illegal drugs remain abundant in America. In Washington,
DC alone, there are half a dozen well-known marijuana markets. Drugs have
got cheaper (see chart) and, in some cases, such as heroin and marijuana,
purer. Drug abuse among the young, which fell between 1979 and 1992, jumped
back up until 1997 and has been level since (see chart). Wholesale abuse of
crack cocaine seems to have burned itself out in the inner cities, only to
surface in rural Mississippi and Kansas.

Despite this, drug abuse and policies to fight it never raise their heads
in American presidential campaigns; except, that is, in so far as the
candidates themselves may have smoked or snorted in their misspent youths.
The fact that the subject is often too close for comfort is, of course, the
reason it is ignored. Yet the wisdom of the war on drugs is being
increasingly questioned; and, at least at state and local level, small
changes in policy are beginning to appear.

In the past four years, seven states and the District of Columbia have
passed ballot initiatives legalising the personal use of marijuana for
medicinal purposes. This summer, the governor of Hawaii approved a similar
measure passed by the state legislature. And New York's highest judge
recently ordered that non-violent drug offenders be given a choice between
jail and treatment.

This election season promises more progress. In November, voters in
Colorado and Nevada will have their say in referendums on medical
marijuana. (For technical reasons, it is the second time round for both.)
Other state ballot initiatives are bolder. Alaskans, who have already
legalised the medical use of marijuana, may decriminalise the personal use
and possession of dope by adults and regulate it much like alcohol. In
California, another of the medical-marijuana states, a ballot proposition
would mandate treatment, rather than jail time, for first- and second-time
non-violent drug offenders. And in a rare example of a national initiative,
John Conyers, a congressman from Detroit, plans to introduce legislation
that would reform sentencing laws and shift the focus of America's drug
policy away from war and towards public health.

After decades of drug wars, what explains these sudden, if modest, changes?
First, it has gradually become apparent that the war on drugs is a flop.
Second, the backing of wealthy benefactors such as George Soros, a
financier-turned-activist, has boosted drug-policy-reform groups; and this,
in turn, has spurred ballot initiatives in the states. Third, baby-boomers
who smoked and survived have come to dominate the political scene.

Finally, a few hardy souls have begun to speak out against the war on
drugs. Interestingly, many are Republicans. George Shultz, for example, who
was Ronald Reagan's secretary of state, thinks that "we have gone overboard
in devoting so much money to a penal, as distinct from a remedial or
preventive, approach." Gary Johnson, New Mexico's Republican governor,
wants to legalise marijuana and promote treatment over incarceration. And
Tom Campbell, a candidate for the Senate from California, has made his
opposition to the drug war a centrepiece of his campaign against the
incumbent Democrat, Dianne Feinstein.

Still, criticism of the drug war by public figures remains rare. Mr
Johnson, who is in the sixth year of his eight-year tenure and has no
further ambitions in politics, may sense that he has little to lose; he
also has a fair amount to gain in a state heavily populated with
superannuated hippies, though his ratings dropped when he first mentioned
the idea. Mr Campbell, who is giving up his congressional seat to challenge
Ms Feinstein, also has local culture on his side, besides the desperation
of being 20-30 points behind in the polls.

An open debate on drug policy may lead to some unusual ideological
fissures. Law-and-order Republicans -- and centrist Democrats like Mr Gore
- -- would have to battle not only their more laisser-faire colleagues, but
also staunch advocates of states' rights. As more states pass their own
drug laws, it may become more difficult for America to maintain a coherent
national policy.

Already, California's medical-marijuana law has sparked two court cases in
which the federal government has had to fight to assert its sovereignty
over drug-related matters. In one, doctors sued the government when it
threatened sanctions against them for recommending marijuana to their
patients; it was, they said, their first-amendment right at least to
discuss it with them. The trial continues. In the other case, the federal
government sued a cannabis-buyers' co-operative in Oakland to stop them
distributing marijuana to the sick. The trial court ruled that they ought
to be allowed to do so, but the Supreme Court on August 29th ruled that
they could not.

In states with looser drug policies, the enforcement of federal law may
simply become a matter of whether prosecutors have enough money in their
budgets. Already, most United States attorneys' offices do not bother
prosecuting petty drug offences.

All this shows that progress at the local level alone will not repair
America's drug policy. What is needed is a national overhaul. That has to
start with a national debate; but such a debate requires the sort of
courage that politicians seldom have. In a country where the president
himself did not dare admit inhaling, there is still an awfully long way to go.