The Bumper Sticker War

During my morning drive time (9:15 to 9:30) our local public radio station does a call-in show where a topic is introduced and they let as many people respond as can fit into that time slot.

One topic this week that stuck in my craw was “Are we losing the war on drugs?”

Most callers weighed in on the affirmative. Most opinions blamed a simple lack of resources, since the government had been throwing most of its time and money and manpower into fighting terrorism and illegal aliens. And, as this was NPR, after all, most people blamed Republicans, and mostly Bush.

Then a caller said that he went to Wal-Mart to buy STP for his engine and was carded. He asked why and the cashier replied that it was on the list of substances that were considered “huffables,” and could only be purchased if you were eighteen or over. This includes some types of glue, aerosols and the like. The moderator – instead of mouthing the usual clichés about how kids have always been looking for new ways to get high, etc. – mused what it was about our culture, about our lives, that makes young people feel so dismal that they want to put some toxic substance in their bodies so they can spend a few minutes not thinking.

And that’s exactly what my mind grasped onto.

Now, I can’t speak from a position of someone who has never done illegal drugs. I tried a few, when I was young and stupid, hated the way they made me feel, and never did them again.

But I’m still entitled to an opinion. And we’re losing the war on drugs – losing it dismally – because in the typically American fashion, we’re doing it all wrong. OK. We did all right shaming or scaring a lot of people into quitting smoking, we did a fairly decent job cutting down new cases of HIV. But our approach to illegal drugs is completely whacked. “Just say no,” was a pollyanic polemic that become nothing but a big fat hypocritical joke. You were just supposed to say no to drugs while it was available on every street corner, every playground, every party. I’d go to clubs where people were doing blow in restrooms, hell, even in dark corners of the dance floor. “This line’s for Nancy,” I actually overheard one of them say.

What the powers-that-be should have said – and this was brilliant on part of the anti-smoking marketers – is that drugs make you ugly. Not that they’ll kill you, because in your teens and twenties you’re immortal of course, but that they’ll make you ugly, and no one will want to have sex with you.

That’s what they should have said. Public service announcement writers out there, are you listening?

But this way we have in America of dealing with our large and thorny problems is not to think them through to their source – hell, that costs too much money and takes too long and requires intelligence and common sense, for Christ’s sake – is to slap a pretty band-aid on it and call it done. Put it on a bumper sticker. Just say no. Mission accomplished. You can’t bring your knitting needles on the airplane. You can’t buy gas tank additives without proper identification. And put the Sudafed behind the counter so the meth-heads can’t buy it but put the condoms right up front.

All problems solved in thirty minutes or less.

What they don’t want to say is that life can be hard. And some parts of life are harder than others. And sometimes it’s easier to light up a joint than think about your ex-boyfriend or the pile of bills you can’t pay or listening to your parents arguing. Some people are better at dealing with it sober than others. Some people have mental health issues that either go unrecognized or untreated, and through the use of illegal drugs are only trying to medicate themselves. Not that I’m excusing it, but this is reality.

And part of this reality, as the drug lords are fond of saying, is that if there is demand, there will be supply. Poverty-stricken countries have quickly learned that if they grow the raw materials to fuel our boredom and pain, they can make more money than, say, if they grew food.

We’re treating the whole damned drug thing like Prohibition, and we all know how well that turned out. It created a black market, it caused gang wars and needless death.

When a well-regulated legal market would not only take the kingpins out of the equation, but create extra tax revenue for the government. Look what legalized prostitution has done for Nevada. Created a huge tourism market, at least.

And that’s only a part of the solution.

The other part has to do with the demand. Yes, people have been looking for ways to get high since the first cave dweller left the barley meal out in the sun too long. Each generation has its drug of choice. But if you use Maslow’s pyramid as a theoretical guide, getting high should come after you have the basic needs of survival – after your belly is full and you’ve got a roof over your head and the work of the day is done. That is, slay the mastodon and then you can have a hit of the peyote. And it seems this is now more than ever turned on its ear. That for some people, getting high is part of survival. A way to get through the day.

And I can totally understand it. I’ve lived through days like that. Wanted to take something just so I wouldn’t have to think. So what makes some people stronger than others? What separates the crack addict on the corner from the kid huffing STP from the guy dropping Zoloft? Education? More opportunities? Better health insurance?

Though I doubt anyone has ever sold his or her body for a hit of Prozac.

I don’t know. I don’t know if anyone will ever have the answer to every part of this question. Or the tenacity to try a comprehensive solution. Because basically we’re all just humans, and humans want to avoid pain.

And how attractive it would be to have a solution to our pain in thirty minutes or less, in a pill, in a bumper sticker slogan, in a pretty band-aid slapped over our open wounds.

Well. Now that that mission is accomplished, what’s say we crack open a few Tecates and go down and build a fence around Mexico?