LONG BEFORE THE WAR ON TERRORISM, THERE WAS THE WAR ON DRUGS

On the occasion of America's annual birthday bash we were reminded once
again of the insidious dangers inherent in a free society. Top government
officials asked that we be especially vigilant at holiday picnics and parades.

I am not blase about the likelihood of more terrorist acts in this country,
or the twisted logic that might have driven them to attempt to spoil a
uniquely American celebration. But, frankly, I worry more about dangers
spawned at home than abroad.

As a resident of rural America I know this troubling reality: the natural
landscapes that lure some of us to the freedom of open spaces attract
others intent on abusing that freedom. The live-and-let-live culture of
rural places that tolerate racists, tax scofflaws, and rabid
anti-government groups now faces a new scourge -- meth labs. The crisis of
methamphetamine production and use is not unique to rural communities, but
as urban centers more vigorously confront the problem, it is spilling into
the countryside.

Idaho's Bonner County, where I live, is 75 miles from Spokane. The county's
meth problem is "horrible," said Sheriff Phil Jarvis. "The more proficient
they get in Spokane, the more problems we have here."

Meth is dangerous, potentially deadly, stuff. A recent shooting of three
police officers investigating a meth lab in a rural area near Seattle is a
cruel reminder of one of the many hazards involving meth.

The dangers go beyond those faced by police. Addicted parents cooking up
supplies of meth routinely put their children at risk. Participants at a
meth summit early this year in Washington state were told that up to 65
percent of the state Child and Protective Service cases involved parents
addicted to meth.

As meth use grows, so do other crimes. In Spokane, police blame the city's
high rate of auto thefts on meth use. Elsewhere, officials have estimated
two-thirds of all crimes are related to meth. Meth labs themselves are
dangerous and leave toxic chemicals that are often disposed of in abandoned
lots. Cleanup costs wind up on the taxpayer bill, and can amount to several
thousands of dollars per site.

Meth is easy to prepare (recipes are available on the Internet) and
brutally addictive. Users have reported getting hooked after one dose.
Little wonder then that use is rising.

Economic hard times only add to the meth problem, especially in rural areas
where jobs are scarce and incomes low. For the unemployed and ill-trained,
cooking and selling meth can be a desperate, if misguided, economic decision.

Lack of adequate law enforcement personnel is a common refrain, whatever
the size of the community. But it's fair to say the scattering of meth labs
in remote wooded areas puts a particularly heavy burden on rural counties.
Bonner County, for example, has 28 officers and five investigators to cover
2,000 square miles, much of it wooded and laced with bumpy private roads
and dead-end lanes.

Jarvis, the local sheriff, says the federal government is no help with the
meth problem of rural areas. "They are committed to kilo count; they want
large-scale confiscation."

Meth cooks working in homemade labs way back in the woods are more likely
to be concocting the drug for personal use and for small-scale sale or
trade, not for the drug-trafficking organizations that are the focus of
federal enforcement efforts.

In the old days, before we were called to fight the war on terrorism,
America was said to be fighting a war on drugs. Whatever happened to that
war? Did we lose it or just stop fighting it? Either way, the results are
the same. More lives shattered, more communities drained of resources.

America's real drug problem is not at our borders or in foreign countries;
it's in our homes and communities and, increasingly, at the end of a
country lane.