The crime of prohibition
James Baker
Issue date: 4/3/09 Section: Opinion
"How do you think he feels now? Better … or worse?" Sean Connery growls as he, with the mythical team known as The Untouchables, literally axes through a liquor raid on one of Al Capone's operations in gritty Prohibition-era Chicago.
The film embraces the legend of Eliot Ness, who's been relegated primarily to the rap references of Dr. Dre, Who-Diddly-Dee, P-Funkalicious, Miss Issippi, AR Kansas, etc., whatever. However heroic Eliot Ness's portrayal, it doesn't matter because Prohibition failed. It was violent, costly and disastrous, just like the prohibition of drugs. No matter what boss was taken to task, there was always a market, just like in the case of Don Pablo; the solution isn't with bullets.
Years ago, as I strolled through soft waves of unkempt grass along the small fence surrounding my grandparents' country cottage in Mayflower, I discovered a propane tank with a bright red cap. The next two hours I witnessed with saucer-plate eyes as the sheriff arrived to investigate my discovery. We don't hear about meth manufacturing busts like before. Now meth users get their fix on Mexican Biznack because of the outlawing of over-the-counter Sudafed - and Mexicans get their main ingredient from China.
And what of our easily forgotten neighbor south of the border? The Mexican drug war is getting its 15 seconds of sensationalized fame on cable news before focus on Latin America wanes again. It seems we're due for a 21st century Paul Revere thundering through the Riverwalk in San Antonio proclaiming the cartels are coming. Holed up in the Alamo, our brethren in Texas, clad in rustic 1800s apparel complete with the rotting, putrid carcasses of coons for hats, would suffer a heroic defeat, showing those bastards this is Amer-cuh; to which we would rally for the cause. Only, this time we'd have no idea what that cause is. To make matters worse, we're supplying those goons with their weaponry and cash. We give our enemy their guns and the cash to buy the bullets.
"He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue … that's the Chicago way!" Sean Connery harshly instructed Eliot Ness in the pursuit of Al Capone. Yes, it's also the American way, and just like in Prohibition, the violence will continue because there will always be fortune as long as we need a fix. We've poured billions in bullets into places like Colombia and Mexico, and we've gotten nowhere because we still use.
So here's the plan. The governor recently ensured that if smokers want to continue their habit, it will be costly; now some shell out more than $7 for a pack of smoky treats, aka cancer sticks. And what's taken in from the 50-cent tax increase will fund better medical care in Arkansas. If revenue from such products as Magical Moocah went to drug treatment, people would not only rehab, but the aura of illegal drugs would lose the most important component, the term "illegal," and thus, "cool."
Even pot over-consumption (earning the embarrassing junkhead moniker in Amsterdam, as associated with taking too much of any substance there, where usage went down by around 35 percent when drug laws were made lax), would be seen as a disease. No one wants to be diseased.
So if Mellow Mary was taxed as cigarettes are (Marlboro Greens are already patented), and part of the billions in revenue was poured into treatment, Shamrock Shelly and her drug counterparts would be uncool and put to good economic use by treating people and making them productive citizens and not criminals. Though my grandfather would smoke and actually find his appetite - dispelling the horrid taste of food brought on by a couple of strokes, heart attacks, etc. - a teenager could not so easily buy The Green Bean, relegated to being behind the counter alongside Camel Lights, and legality is uncool.
The cartels would unravel with legalization. States could use sales for drug rehabilitation, or in California's case, just trying to stay afloat, as Green Reaper is a $14 billion industry there. Federal money saved on defense spending reductions could help with Iraq and Afghanistan. Bulimia sufferers, cancer patients, those with glaucoma, those who are depressed, etc., could consume Blue de hue and save money on health care costs, while anyone who wants to use Lakbay Diva recreationally can pay for something taxed to hell and strictly over the counter. No need for guns or gangsters - a crop responsible for what some say is 77 percent of cartel's shipments no more.
Anyway, on Sundays, my normally productive days, I'll now be able to crawl inside a whiskey bottle and sleep off our current American nightmare because my rights are being realized; seven days a week I can buy something responsible for 100,000 deaths a year.
James Baker is a columnist for The Arkansas Traveler. His column appears every other Friday.
The film embraces the legend of Eliot Ness, who's been relegated primarily to the rap references of Dr. Dre, Who-Diddly-Dee, P-Funkalicious, Miss Issippi, AR Kansas, etc., whatever. However heroic Eliot Ness's portrayal, it doesn't matter because Prohibition failed. It was violent, costly and disastrous, just like the prohibition of drugs. No matter what boss was taken to task, there was always a market, just like in the case of Don Pablo; the solution isn't with bullets.
Years ago, as I strolled through soft waves of unkempt grass along the small fence surrounding my grandparents' country cottage in Mayflower, I discovered a propane tank with a bright red cap. The next two hours I witnessed with saucer-plate eyes as the sheriff arrived to investigate my discovery. We don't hear about meth manufacturing busts like before. Now meth users get their fix on Mexican Biznack because of the outlawing of over-the-counter Sudafed - and Mexicans get their main ingredient from China.
And what of our easily forgotten neighbor south of the border? The Mexican drug war is getting its 15 seconds of sensationalized fame on cable news before focus on Latin America wanes again. It seems we're due for a 21st century Paul Revere thundering through the Riverwalk in San Antonio proclaiming the cartels are coming. Holed up in the Alamo, our brethren in Texas, clad in rustic 1800s apparel complete with the rotting, putrid carcasses of coons for hats, would suffer a heroic defeat, showing those bastards this is Amer-cuh; to which we would rally for the cause. Only, this time we'd have no idea what that cause is. To make matters worse, we're supplying those goons with their weaponry and cash. We give our enemy their guns and the cash to buy the bullets.
"He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue … that's the Chicago way!" Sean Connery harshly instructed Eliot Ness in the pursuit of Al Capone. Yes, it's also the American way, and just like in Prohibition, the violence will continue because there will always be fortune as long as we need a fix. We've poured billions in bullets into places like Colombia and Mexico, and we've gotten nowhere because we still use.
So here's the plan. The governor recently ensured that if smokers want to continue their habit, it will be costly; now some shell out more than $7 for a pack of smoky treats, aka cancer sticks. And what's taken in from the 50-cent tax increase will fund better medical care in Arkansas. If revenue from such products as Magical Moocah went to drug treatment, people would not only rehab, but the aura of illegal drugs would lose the most important component, the term "illegal," and thus, "cool."
Even pot over-consumption (earning the embarrassing junkhead moniker in Amsterdam, as associated with taking too much of any substance there, where usage went down by around 35 percent when drug laws were made lax), would be seen as a disease. No one wants to be diseased.
So if Mellow Mary was taxed as cigarettes are (Marlboro Greens are already patented), and part of the billions in revenue was poured into treatment, Shamrock Shelly and her drug counterparts would be uncool and put to good economic use by treating people and making them productive citizens and not criminals. Though my grandfather would smoke and actually find his appetite - dispelling the horrid taste of food brought on by a couple of strokes, heart attacks, etc. - a teenager could not so easily buy The Green Bean, relegated to being behind the counter alongside Camel Lights, and legality is uncool.
The cartels would unravel with legalization. States could use sales for drug rehabilitation, or in California's case, just trying to stay afloat, as Green Reaper is a $14 billion industry there. Federal money saved on defense spending reductions could help with Iraq and Afghanistan. Bulimia sufferers, cancer patients, those with glaucoma, those who are depressed, etc., could consume Blue de hue and save money on health care costs, while anyone who wants to use Lakbay Diva recreationally can pay for something taxed to hell and strictly over the counter. No need for guns or gangsters - a crop responsible for what some say is 77 percent of cartel's shipments no more.
Anyway, on Sundays, my normally productive days, I'll now be able to crawl inside a whiskey bottle and sleep off our current American nightmare because my rights are being realized; seven days a week I can buy something responsible for 100,000 deaths a year.
James Baker is a columnist for The Arkansas Traveler. His column appears every other Friday.
Viewing Comments 1 - 1 of 1
neohippe
posted 4/04/09 @ 3:50 PM CST
Any police officer alive today willing to break up happy families by locking parents up for holding a plant blessed 3 days before man was even made, should be fired or better, jailed themselves. (Continued…)
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