LEARNING FROM THOSE WHO DO SAY NO TO DRUGS

Those who claim to know how to deal with Scotland's drug problem are lying.
Drugs experts, drugs tsars, drugs agencies - we've had them all, and the
result has been that by the age of 15, two-thirds of Scotland's children,
wherever they live, have been offered drugs.

Getting Scots to "just say no", thus destroying the drug barons' market and
therefore their interest in Scotland, has failed spectacularly. Jails,
schools, clubs, pubs, community centres, shopping precincts, churches -
there is nowhere in Scotland left to go in which you could be certain that
there would not be a user in sight.

So what now? Should we put any more faith in Dr Richard Simpson's new "harm
reduction, rehabilitation and information strategy"? Frankly, no. Dr
Simpson's intentions may be good, but the truth is that as long as cheap
drugs flood Scottish streets, so Scots will continue to snort them, shoot
them or eat them.

But not all Scots. There are Scots who say no - quite a few, actually. We
can learn a lot from them. Asking clean 15-year-olds why they do not take
drugs is just as useful as asking a similar group why they do. After
getting over their initial terror at being thought goody-goodies or, worse,
"uncool", non-drug-taking teenagers say things such as "Well, like, I don't
need to" or "It's not, like, necessary for me".

Drug-takers, it seems, perceive their lives to be blighted by a vacuum of
some sort, a vacuum they feel either the need or necessity for drugs to
fill. Non-drug-takers do not see such a vacuum in their own lives but are
willing, without question, to accept this as an excuse from their friends.
This does not mean that non-drug-takers come from stable, middle-class
families with private education and glittering career prospects. We know
that to be untrue. Rather, non-drug-takers, whatever the circumstances of
their lives, have somehow grasped and retained a better sense of their own
value and integrity, a sense strong enough to make the idea of losing
control, whether for a joint, an E or a heroin fix, a resistible temptation.

This is where the drugs debate should start, not with more information,
debates about reclassification or abstruse arguments about libertarianism.
We already have information overload.

Classification is a red herring. And as for libertarianism, the
intellectual position so beloved of politicians trying to be "cool", this
is fine when all things are equal. But apropos drugs, all things are not
equal. Peer group pressure, pushers, poverty of aspiration, sink-estate
deprivation and the moral vacuum we have mistaken for personal freedom see
to that.

Deal with these things, then talk about libertarianism. Indeed, deal with
these things and the drugs problem may just take care of itself.

THE newest Scottish Social Attitudes Survey tells us that only 10 per cent
of us go to church every week. Does it matter? Well, as one of the 10 per
cent - and yes, I admit to obliging my children to come with me, although I
know it cannot be long before the ECHR declares it to be a breach of their
human rights - you will not be surprised to know that I think it does.

Looking round the congregation yesterday, I saw businessmen, homeless men
with plastic bags, women with too many children, women with none, rich and
poor elderly couples, sad teenagers, happy students, the odd drunk, a nun
or two and some people who were, I think, asylum-seekers. For the hour we
were in church we were all equal, just people trying to raise our hearts
and minds above the mundane, above the material, above ourselves.

A weekly visit to church provides an opportunity to breathe, a chance, in
our noisy world, just to be quiet. We all need such times, not just 10 per
cent of us.

If you require any more encouragement, why not look at it this way?
Churches are the only places left in which mobile phones are never heard.
An hour a week without the Nokia tune? Just think what it could do for your
sanity.

TODAY sees a first for me. I am to present Lesley Riddoch's BBC Radio
Scotland show while she spends 24 hours recovering from a week in Ireland
charting the final death-throes of the Irish punt. I expect a good wake was
enjoyed by all, particularly the Dublin retailers who have decided to use
the euro changeover as older women use the underwired bra - ie to give
their figures a bit of a lift.

Anyhow, being rather nervous I'm bound to press the wrong buttons, forget
my own name or say something on air that was meant only for private
consumption.

The unflappable BBC production team have promised to hover like paramedics.
If you tune in, I apologise in advance for any gaffes. Tin hats on. It may
be a bumpy ride.