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