Legalize Drugs
Daily Observer
Drugs Used to ‘Help’ Instead of Hinder
S.Q.
Lapius was polishing a long black stick capped by an ivory knob carved to the
likeness of a bulldog.
“Where
did you get that?” I asked admiring its pristine contours.
“I’ve
had it for years. It’s a cane. I’ve resurrected it from an attic of stored
relics.”
“Did
you damage your foot? Has the gout
returned?”
“Nothing
like that, Harry. I decided that I
needed a walking companion, for which, these days, there would seem to be
nothing suitable than an old fashioned walking stick.”
“You
are not hinting darkly that you intend to use it as a weapon, are you?” I asked
suspiciously.
“Yes
Harry, but for defense only, mind you.”
“That
seems extreme, doesn’t it?”
“Does
it. It’s better than carrying a sword,
which is what people will probably be arming themselves with if the city
continues to be dangerous.”
“What
brought on this sudden concern for your safety?”
“Gautier. He was felled by some drug-crazed felon. Whacked on the noggin and robbed.”
“Is
he okay?”
“Of
course he is okay. Gautier is a lawyer,
a breed noted for their steel-trap minds, skulls that can be penetrated by
nothing less than amour piercing shells.
But nonetheless he suffers occasional headaches and bright lights dance
before his eyes although he says they are becoming dimmer.”
“It’s
a terrible state of affairs,” I admitted.
“Of
course it is. The government ought to start
dealing with the drug epidemic in a more realistic manner. You know, if they would look into it instead
of running away from it, some good might come of their investigations.”
“What
would you suggest?”
“For
starters, the pragmatic approach of the English seems to have a borne
fruit. They give heroin to drug addicts.
They have centers where addicts can get their fixes, for nothing.”
“That
doesn’t cure the addicts, it perpetuates their habit.”
“Yes
but it keeps them off the streets, relieves them of the burden of having to
steal enough money to buy their drugs, and thereby reduces the crime rate.”
“Don’t
you think a program like that is sort of giving a stamp of approval to drug
addiction. It might even spread the
habit.”
“On
the contrary. The habit has spread
anyway. But it does take the traffic in
drugs out of criminal hands. Of course
they should go one step further, which would be to provide sanitaria for the
addicts. Nice places in warm climates
where they could take their fixes and repose under the shade trees and
meditate.”
“No
government is going to pamper drug addicts; reward them for their dereliction.”
“Of
course not, Harry. But it’s a good idea
and would get them off the streets. As
society became more civilized, pedestrians sheathed their swords, hid them in
canes, carried canes only, and finally dispensed with walking sticks
altogether. The trend seems to be
reversing, and we are going to our weapons again. Besides, if the governments stopped acting as
if they were so afraid of drugs, they might be able to use them to good
advantage. Once they could be dispensed
legally to addicts, some might be used medically.”
“But
we do use them medically.”
“Mainly
for pain, Harry. But it occurs to me
that the use might be extended to mental anguish.”
“We
have tranquilizers, don’t we?”
“Yes,”
Lapius mussed. “But I was thinking of
drugs like LSD and its like, which might be offered in some controlled form to
the hopelessly ill, the slowly dying patients, whose bleak lives must cause nothing
but daily repetitions of mental anguish.”
“You
mean make drug addicts of the chronically ill?”
“Well,
offer them the opportunity, anyway.”
“But
Simon, you will be robbing them of their free will, their freedom of
expression. You will be obtunding their
minds. You will deprive them of the
opportunity to come to an agreement with death, to accommodate their morality.”
“Perhaps. But on the other hand it might simply hasten
the religious experience, do away with fear and self-pity, bring them to realms
of mind-expansion they never knew existed before. After all, Holmes sniffed cocaine, DeQuincy,
Coleridge, and possibly Byron, perhaps even the young Chatterton, were under
the influence of laudanum when they wrote their most inspired works. Why not offer these pleasures to patients who
are the unwilling prisoners of paralysis, bed-fast arthritics, the victims of
injury and neuromuscular wasting who realistically can hope for no release
other than death.
By
God, we’re cruel,” Lapius expostulated.
“We put them into the sterile, managed atmosphere of nursing homes where
they are ministered by strangers, and even deny them a simple dreamy pleasures
of alcohol. We do this for our loved
ones, consider how we would treat our enemies.”
Lapius
had finished polishing his walking stick.
He brandished it in the air and took a few practice swings. “There, that seems suitable. No one will threaten me tonight, not while I
have this with me. See you later.”
“Are
you going to take a walk?”
“Of
course not, Harry. Call me a cab, like a
good fellow.”