Crises and radical thinking on drug policy

Reform has always been a “two-steps forward, one-step back” undertaking.

It’s sad that drug policy reform must always be wrapped tragedy but alas – in the context of drugs – crisis has historically been the mother of invention.

It was in the face of thousands of overdoses and the highest HIV prevalence in Western Europe that Switzerland introduced effective heroin-prescription programmes, safe injection facilities, needle and syringe-exchange programmes and low-threshold methadone services.

Helped along by lawmakers who were not afraid to lead from the front, these policies resulted in making Switzerland’s HIV prevalence among people who use drugs one the lowest in Western Europe, at about 1.4 per cent.

In Portugal, the year the country witnessed 1,430 new HIV infections among people who use drugs (accounting 52 per cent of all new infections), the government introduced dramatic reforms, decriminalising all drugs and establishing model services for drug users.

Almost 10 years later, new HIV infections among people who use drugs dropped to 164 (15% of all new infections).

It was a similar HIV crisis in the UK in the mid-1980s that spurred the then-Conservative government to launch a number of harm reduction interventions that greatly reduced HIV among people who inject drugs.

Now, as Latin America faces its own supply-side crises with tens of thousands of drug-related killings, gross human rights abuses and overflowing prisons, governments are increasingly vocalising a desire to take bold action toward reform of failed prohibitionist policies. 

In 2009, the Latin American Commission on Drugs and Democracy – including the former presidents of Mexico, Colombia and Brazil, as well as leaders in journalism, politics, academia and literature – called for a paradigm shift in the approach to drugs. This was followed by a report by the Global Commission on Drug Policy that encouraged “experimentation by governments with models of legal regulation of drugs to undermine the power of organized crime and safeguard the health and security of their citizens.”

Subsequently, numerous Latin American governments have openly discussed forms of regulation, including government sale of marijuana or licencing private facilities.

However, drug policy reform has always been a “two-steps forward, one-step back” undertaking and while creativity is being sought in the Americas, Europe is losing some of its pioneering spirit.

Austerity, in some contexts, is a danger to gains made in HIV prevention, among people who use drugs. In Greece, the European Monitoring Centre on Drugs and Drug Addiction (EMCDDA) warned of an increase in the number of newly identified HIV cases among people who use drugs, from between 3 and 19 a year from 2001 to 2010, to 113 new HIV cases as of July 2011.

The Greek government has increased services for drug users to address the situation but the EMCDDA cautions, that “the level of activity is still insufficient to meet the demand within the injecting drug using population.”

In other cases, a nascent abstinence-agenda is trying to manufacture a bogus tension between treatment models – suggesting that providing life-saving services to drug users, like needle-and-syringe exchange programmes, is at odds with ensuring availability of abstinence-based treatment for those who want it.

Some other lawmakers may argue that services to drug users are poor investments in lean times, ignoring the fact that it is immensely cheaper to prevent blood-borne viruses and bacterial infections like HIV, than treat them.

This is the current global paradox in drug policy.

While a new approach may indeed be rolled out to reduce black market violence in Latin America and other parts of the world, a regression to old, expensive and failed ideas in Europe may revise costly and avoidable crises from the past. 

And, perhaps, inspire some fresh thinking once again.

Kasia Malinowska-Sempruch is the director of Open Society Foundations Global Drug Policy Program

A drug user injects heroin. Photograph: Getty Images

Kasia Malinowska-Sempruch is the director of Open Society Foundations Global Drug Policy Program.

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times