The words we use matter. Be it “junkie” instead of “addict”, or “she had a few drinks” versus “she took drugs”, the words chosen shape the emotional response.
The callous attitude that wants us to maintain criminal penalties for petty drug possession is not one premised on practicality or reasonableness. It is an ideological belief bathed in emotion that sees drug users as impure and addicts as a sub-human scourge who block the way into Brown Thomas.
For these people, a young person having their stomach pumped from excessive alcohol intake is “a naïve teen that went too far”, while a 24 year-old sitting in a field listening to their favourite band caught smoking cannabis is a “criminal” to be put in handcuffs, humiliatingly escorted out of the venue by police and given a criminal record scarring her life prospects forever.
It’s a bizarre, wholly ineffective and disproportionate response to curbing harmful levels of drug use
This is the reality of criminalising possession that many overlook. It’s a bizarre, wholly ineffective and disproportionate response to curbing harmful levels of drug use. I’ve worked at the last two major music festivals in Dublin this summer and I can tell you that the prohibition on underage drinking bears no influence on a sixteen-year-old’s decision to drink damaging quantities of alcohol. Should they all be treated as criminals too? Should we, as a society, see them as crooks to be punished or as young people vulnerable to peer pressure and making mistakes?
A criminal record is for life. Believing in decriminalisation is not about being pro-drugs. It’s about looking past ideological constraints and rationally examining what is the best means of managing drug use.
In Portugal, decriminalisation has resulted in a decrease in drug-induced deaths and an overall decrease in drug use among 15 to 24 year-olds. The writer of a widely-discussed article in the Irish Times had legitimate concerns about a culture of excess that young people are often exposed to. His idea that “#Livingmybestlife” is indicative of wider problems is misguided. I’m sorry to inform him that an overindulgence of hashtags is not indicative of an overindulgence of hash.
Perhaps, instead of blaming the culture of excess on a youthful catchphrase “#livingmybestlife” (who actually says that?), we could address the real problem: the constant assault of advertising, from our phones to the plethora of posters plastered across our streets, prompting us to “treat ourselves”, to “buy 12 for the price of six”, or to “live life to the fullest”, manipulating and exploiting our insecurities and desires. Is it not plausible that these slogans play a greater role in this culture of excess than the government’s official position on weed?
His idea that “#Livingmybestlife” is indicative of wider problems is misguided. I’m sorry to inform him that an overindulgence of hashtags is not indicative of an overindulgence of hash
We’ve seen this kind of regressive emotional response a 1,000 times before. The patronising call to “think of the children” and smear young people as out-of-control maniacs is typical of a moral panic. In 1972, Stanley Cohen’s seminal work Folk Devils and Moral Panics demonstrated how media in the 1960s were dramatically amplifying the deviance of the youth subcultures like mods and rockers to present to their readers with an enemy who falls outside the core values of society and poses a threat to social order itself.
Stoking the flames of moral panic and decrying how decriminalisation will be seen as a free pass to engage in dangerous drug use may sell newspapers, but by attempting to obstruct much-needed reform, it will also destroy lives.
