Leap of Faith

A RETIRED COP CRUSADES TO END THE WAR ON DRUGS - THROUGH LEGALIZATION

Peter Christ strolls confidently through the lobby of the Best Western
Hotel in Waterbury sporting a gold earring, shoulder-length ponytail
and black T-shirt emblazoned in bold, white letters, "Cops say
legalize drugs. Ask me why." It's a ballsy fashion statement,
considering that this afternoon, the hotel is teeming with Vermont
police officers at a day-long training session on the use of new
search-and-rescue gear. It's merely a coincidence that Christ, a
retired police captain of 20 years, is staying here during his
three-week speaking tour in Vermont on the subject of drug
legalization.

By the time Christ gets to his rental car in the parking lot, he's
engaged in a full-blown shouting match with a tall and muscular state
trooper who is wearing fatigues and a hunter-orange search-and-rescue
shirt. A 9-mm handgun is strapped to his thigh.

"We're trying to fight the mafia and the criminal element and whoever
else is involved in illegal drug activity, and you're saying, just
give up?" shouts Corporal Dan Kerin of the Vermont State Police, his
neck veins bulging. "It's bad enough that we have a problem in this
country with alcoholism, alcohol-related crime and alcohol-related
deaths. When you say 'Let's legalize all drugs,' you're just saying
it's OK to use them!"

"Don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying drugs aren't a problem. I
didn't spend 20 years in that uniform thinking that," Christ fires
back. At 58 years old and standing about five-foot ten, Christ, whose
name rhymes with "fist," doesn't seem intimidated by his younger and
larger opponent. In fact, he touches the trooper's arm several times
during their argument, a verboten move for a civilian.

"Heroin, crack cocaine, ecstasy, LSD, methamphetamine -- all these
drugs have so much potential to do harm to individuals and society
that they must be regulated and controlled," Christ says. "You don't
think they should be unregulated, do you?"

"No," Kerin answers.

"But that's what we've got right now!" Christ says. "Who sets the
purity for heroin in America? The mob. Who sets the age limit for
sales? The mob. Who sets the distribution points? The mob. Who decides
where the profits are spent? The mob. If you want to regulate and
control something, it has to be legal."

"No, no, no," says Kerin, shaking his head and backing away toward his
fellow troopers. But Christ persists, again laying his hand gently on
the younger man's arm. This time, his voice is softer, more pleading.

"Forget your peers," Christ says. "What we're doing is stupid. It
isn't accomplishing anything. It isn't going to accomplish
anything...When are you retiring?"

"In nine years," Kerin says.

"Call me in 10," Christ says, with a smile.

Christ understands and even respects the young trooper's anger, and
doesn't take it personally. Typically, he says, a cop is retired for a
year or more before he or she starts to see "the forest for the
trees." And Christ knows that his incendiary message -- that the
United States should legalize all Schedule I drugs and regulate their
sale and distribution -- flies in the face of law-enforcement
training. Nevertheless, Christ believes that, just as alcohol
prohibition was repealed in the United States, drug prohibition should
be, too.

Christ isn't waging a one-man crusade. He is co-founder of an
international nonprofit organization known as Law Enforcement Against
Prohibition. Founded just two years ago, LEAP has nearly 200 members,
all of whom are current or retired drug-war veterans: police officers,
drug-enforcement agents, Canadian Mounties, state and federal judges,
prosecutors, prison wardens, probation and parole officers, and
military servicemen.

LEAP's board of directors includes a retired British drug agent who
ran the narcotics unit at Scotland Yard for seven years, as well a
retired judge from Dade County, Florida. LEAP's advisory board
includes the mayor of Vancouver, British Columbia, a former governor
of New Mexico, a former attorney general from Colombia and a retired
New York City police commissioner. They all share the belief that it's
time to face an incontrovertible fact: The war on drugs as it's
currently being waged cannot be won. The United States has spent
hundreds of billions of dollars, lost countless lives, and imprisoned
2.2 million of its citizens for nonviolent drug offenses -- more per
capita than any other country on earth. Never-theless, illicit drugs
are cheaper, more potent and easier to get now than they were 30 years
ago. LEAP argues that ending drug prohibition will save tax dollars,
reduce the spread of disease and drug-addiction rates, and ultimately
save lives.

"Legalization of drugs is not intended to be an approach to our drug
problem in America," Christ explains during an interview in his hotel
room. "Legalization is an approach to our crime and violence problem
in America. Once we legalize drugs, then we have to start the really
hard work of dealing with our drug problem."

The biggest societal costs associated with illegal drug use are not
addiction or even crimes committed while people are using drugs,
Christ argues. In fact, 90 percent of illicit drug users in this
country are not addicts. They hold down jobs, go to school and do not
create a public nuisance. The greatest harm associated with narcotics,
he contends, is drug prohibition, a domestic and foreign policy that
funnels billions of dollars into an underground economy where deals
are brokered and scores are settled through terrorism, extortion and
gun violence. But just as the bootleggers and crime-ridden numbers
rackets were replaced with liquor stores and state-run lotteries,
Christ argues, drug lords could be disarmed with the stroke of a pen.

Christ points to a study of drug-related violence in New York City. It
found that 85 percent of those crimes stemmed from disputes involving
the sale and distribution of narcotics. Only 15 percent were
perpetrated by people who were on or using drugs at the time. Christ
has seen a similar trend unfolding near his hometown of Cazenovia, New
York. In nearby Syracuse, police recently broke up a major drug ring
that was operated by local gangs. "The trial finished two weeks ago,"
Christ says. "We've had six shootings in the last week. This is
normal. In fact, it's the way big-city police judge whether or not
they got the key people when they make an arrest. When I was a cop, we
judged our success by a decrease in violence, not an increase. It's a
bizarre twist."

Christ tells his audiences that the drug war cannot succeed because it
asks police to accomplish an impossible task: to protect people who
don't want to be protected from harming themselves. "Prohibition
doesn't work because prohibition has never worked in the history of
our species," he says. "Anything that smacks of a victimless-crime
prohibition is doomed to failure."

Describing drug addiction as a victimless crime may be a tough sell to
the friends and family of a heroin addict. But Christ suggests that
drug addicts and their loved ones would be better off if society
treated them the same way it treats alcoholics: As long as alcoholics
don't harm other people or their property, or become a danger to
others (say, by drinking and driving), the law leaves them alone.
Society provides treatment to alcoholics if they want it, often at
little or no cost. For those who don't, society provides a safe place
to purchase and use their drug. It also guarantees the drug's purity
and regulates, monitors and taxes its vendors and distributors.

"Why should the heroin addict be any different?" Christ asks. "Right
now, if you're a heroin addict and don't use and drive or hurt other
people, we still arrest you. We give you a felony conviction that
stays with you forever and you never recover from. Purity of product?
Forget it! That's why we have so many ODs."

America's drug problem is fundamentally a public-health issue, Chris
argues, not a law-enforcement issue. "When you let cops do what cops
are supposed to do, which is protect us from each other, it's a great,
wonderful, gratifying job," Christ adds. "But if you go out there and
make a drug arrest, nothing changes. You make 20 drug arrests, nothing
changes. I'm just stirring the water here and not accomplishing anything."

At first glance, Christ may come off sounding like a drug-use
advocate. He's not. One debate he doesn't engage in is that only
marijuana should be legalized because it's safer than other drugs,
including tobacco and alcohol. In fact, LEAP isn't trying to change
anyone's minds about the many dangers of drug abuse. Their goal is to
change people's minds about America's drug policies and the proper
role of law enforcement.

Nor does Christ waste his time preaching to the choir. He doesn't book
speaking engagements with medical-marijuana advocates or other
pot-legalization groups. Instead, he seeks out the people who are
perhaps the least likely to have heard his message or be sympathetic
to his cause: those who live and work on Main Street, U.S.A.

It's Wednesday afternoon at the Hilltop Restaurant in Barre and the
local Rotary Club has just called its weekly meeting to order.
Waitresses are serving heaping plates of meat loaf, mashed potatoes
and iceberg lettuce to the 30 or so assembled members, while acting
president Michael Knight makes a few announcements about unpaid
membership dues and an upcoming golf tournament that needs a fourth
player.

The gathered Rotarians, who are by and large white, male and over 50,
are a healthy cross-section of Barre's business community: shop
owners, granite dealers, bankers, real estate agents and so forth. Up
on the dais, Christ's T-shirt and ponytail contrast with the
button-down shirts, ties and balding heads scattered around the dining
room.

Christ introduces himself to the group and talks for about 30 minutes.
He doesn't give a prepared speech or use note cards -- by now, it's
old hat. He's spoken to more than 800 civic groups around the country,
including Rotaries, Kiwanis clubs, Elks, Lions and chambers of
commerce. By now, his delivery is polished, funny and at times
irreverent, but always passionate.

Upfront, Christ is honest about why he went into police work: He
wanted a job that offered him a retirement by the age of 45. He put in
20 years with the police department in Tonawanda, New York, a suburb
of Buffalo with a population of about 85,000 people and a police force
of around 100 officers. Christ admits that he never worked narcotics,
but he made plenty of drug arrests in his 15 years as a uniformed
patrol officer, and assisted on several major drug busts.

Christ also says that from his first day on the job, he never believed
drug prohibition would succeed. He always performed his job to the
best of his abilities, however, regardless of his personal views. "My
father used to say, 'You decide what you're going to do before you
take the Man's money,'" Christ tells the group. "You raise your hand,
you take the oath, you do your job. Or you quit."

At the end of his talk, Christ receives a warm round of applause. Then
he opens the floor to questions. The first one is perhaps the most
common one he gets. "You give a very convincing talk," says one
Rotarian. "But what happens to the young people once they get started
on drugs?"

Christ is ready with his response: The reason no one in this room is a
heroin addict, he says, isn't because heroin is illegal or because
it's not easily available in Vermont. It's because someone in your
life taught you personal responsibility and the importance of making
the right choices in life. "Will drug use go up if we legalize drugs?"
Christ asks, predicting the inevitable follow-up question.
"Absolutely!" he says. "Skyrocket, through the roof, unbelievable
numbers!" He's being facetious, of course. Legalizing drugs won't
create more drug users, he argues -- it would simply bring them out of
the closet.

He explains how alcohol consumption and drunk driving have both been
in decline in all age groups since the 1970s. That's not because
alcohol is less accessible today than it was 30 years ago. It's
because of shifting societal attitudes about the dangers of drunk
driving and excessive alcohol consumption, which were brought about by
better education and more public-awareness campaigns.

Later, the Rotarians sound, if not entirely sold, then at least open
to Christ's ideas. "He's very convincing," says Ron Parnigoni, a
64-year-old Barre granite broker. "He's an excellent speaker, and
there's a lot of truth to what he has to say."

Parnigoni's brother Dick sticks around afterwards to chat with the
former cop. His one critique of Christ's presentation is aesthetic.
"So let me ask you something completely different," Dick Parnigoni
says. "Why the ponytail? Because this is a pretty conservative group."

Susan Poczobut, a Barre Rotarian who describes herself as "pretty
ultra-conservative," admits that Christ "makes some good points and is
a very intriguing speaker." But she worries that drug legalization
would send the wrong message to young people. "The analogy would be
like putting condoms in the grammar schools," she says. "As a parent,
you don't really know whether you're condoning that action by giving
it to them."

But another Rotarian, 80-year-old Dick Shadroui, sounds much more
enthusiastic. "I thought it was very, very useful and very sensible
and I agree with him 100 percent," says Shadroui, a piano teacher in
Barre. "I don't think prohibition has ever worked, just like he said.
I think it should be legalized, just like I think prostitution should
be legalized."

But if LEAP's message found a receptive audience at the Barre Rotary
Club, some of Vermont's police officers who deal daily with Vermont's
drug crimes remain unconvinced. Captain Mike Jennings runs the Special
Investigation Unit of the Vermont State Police, which includes the
Vermont Drug Task Force. A 30-year veteran of law enforcement who has
seen narcotics trafficking in this state skyrocket in the last decade,
Jennings says that Christ and his group are sending a dangerous
message to the public.

"The people that make these drugs make them as potent as they can for
a reason. Many of the drugs that are out there today can be almost
instantly addictive," Jennings says. "I can't see, for the life of me,
exposing someone to that one-time chance and then setting them up for
a lifetime of addiction. And that's exactly what would happen,
especially if they were legal."

Jennings says that arguing for an end to drug prohibition by citing
the experiences of alcohol prohibition is a flawed argument,
especially when alcohol remains the most abused drug in the world. And
he points to the recent experiences with marijuana decriminalization
in Canada and the UK. In those countries, he contends, overall drug
use is on the rise.

Jennings readily acknowledges that the war on drugs can't be won with
law enforcement alone, but must be waged on several fronts
simultaneously: through public education, prevention, drug treatment
and counseling. "I think people listen to [Christ's] simple concept
and think it makes sense," Jennings says. "But it doesn't make sense
in the long run. I think he's got the wrong idea."

But other professionals who deal with Vermont's drug addiction
problems suggest that perhaps it's time to begin this dialogue. Bob
Bick is director of adult behavioral health services at the Howard
Center, Vermont's largest not-for-profit substance-abuse treatment
facility. Bick readily acknowledges that drug prohibition has been an
abysmal failure.

"We've criminalized a whole generation of people for nothing more than
consuming a substance or substances which, in fact, are
physiologically no more harmful than alcohol," he says. By making
certain forms of drug addiction illegal, he says, "We have essentially
created a trap door into criminal behavior. If you're a criminal by
virtue of your drug use, then ripping off somebody's radio or stealing
their car might not be that big a jump."

That said, Bick isn't convinced that across-the-board legalization is
a viable alternative. He says that the most readily available
intoxicant, alcohol, continues to be the state's most abused
substance, resulting in medical and societal costs that far exceed all
other illegal drugs combined. Nevertheless, it's worth noting that in
the last 40 years, the percentage of people who develop
substance-abuse problems has remained relatively constant, while the
types of drugs being abused has fluctuated. "If we could get to the
point where it's as easy to get treatment as it is to get the
substances that people are abusing," Bick concludes, "we'd be in a lot
better shape than we are now."

Not surprisingly, LEAP's staunchest critics tend to work, like
Jennings, within the law-enforcement profession. "I know some police
chiefs who think that I'm the closest thing to evil that's ever
existed on this planet because I'm talking about legalizing drugs,"
Christ admits. "I had a DEA agent say to me at an event about five
years ago, 'You know, you really piss me off. You're telling me that
my whole life is a waste? You're telling me that everything I've done
for the last 15 years has been a waste of time?'"

His answer? Your life is no more a waste than the soldier who serves
his or her country with honor and distinction while fighting an unjust
war. Christ first envisioned LEAP as an organization modeled after the
group, Vietnam Veterans Against the War. "With those vets, you can
disagree with their position on the war, but you can't call that group
cowards or traitors," he says.

Other cops have thanked him for having the courage to challenge the
prevailing drug-war orthodoxy -- especially when they're not in a
position to speak out publicly for fear of professional reprisal.
Christ hasn't heard of any LEAP members who have been harassed for
their involvement in the group. Nevertheless, LEAP offers a "stealth
membership" for those who want their support to remain anonymous. For
his part, Christ believes he never would have been promoted to
lieutenant or captain had he spoken out publicly against the drug war
the way he does now.

Interestingly, Christ doesn't shy away from the question: Have you
ever used drugs yourself? Yes, he says. But he won't elaborate on what
he's tried or whether he still uses them today. "My personal attitude
about it is, you are responsible for your actions," Christ says. "Drug
use, bad upbringing, or whatever else is no excuse for bad behavior."

But Christ laughs at the suggestion that his interest in this movement
is based on some desire to use illegal drugs himself. If I wanted to
use drugs, he says, the fact that they're illegal doesn't make them
any less accessible.

Christ's passion for this work -- and he usually doesn't get paid for his
speaking engagements -- is based on a bigger picture: Drug prohibition is a
linchpin issue that touches all aspects of public life in America: health
care, criminal justice, education, taxation, corrections, foreign policy.
Remove that linchpin, he says, and all the other pieces fall into place.

"My self-interest is to live in a society that doesn't do this to
other people," he says. "My self-interest is to my old profession,
which I have a lot of respect for, and letting them do what they're
designed to do, and getting them out of this quagmire we've gotten
ourselves into."