2 in 3 smokers wish they could stop and 9 in 10 wish they had never started. Photo: Getty
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Why we should ban the sale of cigarettes to people born after the year 2000

Someone who starts smoking at age 15 is three times more likely to die of tobacco related cancer than someone who starts in their mid-20s.

Humanity has never developed anything more deadly than the cigarette. The combination of its addictive power and devastating health effects, coupled with historical social norms and powerful advertising campaigns, killed 100 million people in the twentieth century. The World Health Organisation predicts that this continuing epidemic will kill a billion more in the twenty-first. Tobacco products cause the death of 50 per cent of their users and, for each death, 20 other people suffer from a smoking related disease. Allowing this cycle of addiction, suffering and death to continue is unconscionable.

One solution is to prohibit the sale of cigarettes to people born after the year 2000. As this generation reach 18 in 2018 they would be prevented from buying cigarettes for their lifetime in a move that would progressively phase out cigarette sales. This would have the effect of de-normalising smoking for an entire generation of children and slowly begin to reduce the harm caused by tobacco. Evidence published today in the Lancet shows the incredible effects that smoke-free legislation has had on child health, including reducing premature births and hospital attendances for asthma attacks. It’s time to apply the lessons from this evidence to the population as a whole.

This move may be unpopular among people who view banning the sale of cigarettes as a restriction of personal freedom. However, starting to smoke predominantly takes place in childhood and adolescence, as 80 per cent of smokers start in their teens. This decision is heavily influenced by peer pressure and a desire to appear more adult, rather than being dependent on rational choice. Almost 99 per cent of people think adolescents should be prevented from taking up smoking and to achieve this smoking must become socially unacceptable. This is particularly important as someone who starts smoking at age 15 is three times more likely to die of tobacco related cancer than someone who starts in their mid-20s. By the time smokers reach adulthood, the majority continue smoking to relieve the unpleasant sensation of nicotine withdrawal, rather than to gain any pleasurable effect from the nicotine itself. Addiction, by definition, cannot be an expression of free will. This is reflected in the fact that 2 in 3 smokers wish they could stop and 9 in 10 wish they had never started. If smoking were a true choice, there would be far fewer smokers in the world.

The inevitable comparison of this policy with alcohol prohibition in the 1920s is hard to ignore. However, substantial differences exist between the nature of alcohol and the nature of tobacco. Most people who smoke are nicotine addicts responding to withdrawal symptoms who wish they could stop. In contrast, the majority of people who drink alcohol do so recreationally for its pleasurable effects. Alcohol is substantially less addictive than nicotine and so a much smaller proportion of drinkers become alcoholics. If 90 per cent people who drank became alcoholics there would be total public outrage. In recognition of the harms caused by tobacco, over time there has been a supportive public response to tobacco legislation, including health warnings, advertising bans, smoke-free public places and preventing smoking in cars with children. It would be surprising to suddenly see a large proportion of the population take up clandestine smoking in response to this kind of ban, particularly as current smokers would be able to continue buying cigarettes without hindrance.

While smoking is still seen as socially acceptable in daily life and believed to be an expression of free will it is unlikely that there will be sufficient political will to call for an outright ban. However, this policy presents an opportunity to intervene for the generation who have not yet started smoking to prevent them from perpetuating the cycle of misery and suffering caused by nicotine addiction. It’s time to play the tobacco endgame and begin building the first smoke free generation.

Dr Tim Crocker-Buqué is a Speciality Registrar in Public Health Medicine

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Brexit confusion is scuppering my show – what next?

My week, from spinning records with Baconface, Brexit block and visiting comedy graves.

I am a stand-up comedian, and I am in the process of previewing a new live show, which I hope to tour until early 2018. It was supposed to be about how the digital, free-market society is reshaping the idea of the individual, but we are in the pre-Brexit events whirlpool, and there has never been a worse time to try to assemble a show that will still mean anything in 18 months’ time.



A joke written six weeks ago about dep­orting eastern Europeans, intended to be an exaggeration for comic effect, suddenly just reads like an Amber Rudd speech – or, as James O’Brien pointed out on LBC, an extract from Mein Kampf.

A rude riff on Sarah Vine and 2 Girls 1 Cup runs aground because there are fewer people now who remember Vine than recall the briefly notorious Brazilian video clip. I realise that something that gets a cheer on a Tuesday in Harrogate, or Glasgow, or Oxford, could get me lynched the next night in Lincoln. Perhaps I’ll go into the fruit-picking business. I hear there’s about to be some vacancies.



I sit and stare at blocks of text, wondering how to knit them into a homogeneous whole. But it’s Sunday afternoon, a time for supervising homework and finding sports kit. My 11-year-old daughter has a school project on the Victorians and she has decided to do it on dead 19th-century comedians, as we had recently been on a Music Hall Guild tour of their graves at the local cemetery. I wonder if, secretly, she wished I would join them.

I have found living with the background noise of this project depressing. The headstones that she photographed show that most of the performers – even the well-known Champagne Charlie – barely made it past 40, while the owners of the halls outlived them. Herbert Campbell’s obelisk is vast and has the word “comedian” written on it in gold leaf, but it’s in the bushes and he is no longer remembered. Neither are many of the acts I loved in the 1980s – Johnny Immaterial, Paul Ramone, the Iceman.



I would have liked to do some more work on the live show but, one Monday a month, I go to the studios of the largely volunteer-run arts radio station Resonance FM in Borough, south London. Each Wednesday night at 11pm, the masked Canadian stand-up comedian Baconface presents selections from his late brother’s collection of 1950s, 1960s and 1970s jazz, psychedelia, folk, blues and experimental music. I go in to help him pre-record the programmes.

Baconface is a fascinating character, whom I first met at the Cantaloupes Comedy Club in Kamloops in British Columbia in 1994. He sees the radio show as an attempt to atone for his part in his brother’s death, which was the result of a prank gone wrong involving nudity and bacon, though he is often unable to conceal his contempt for the music that he is compelled to play.

The show is recorded in a small, hot room and Baconface doesn’t change the bacon that his mask is made of very often, so the experience can be quite claustrophobic. Whenever we lose tapes or the old vinyl is too warped to play, he just sits back and utters his resigned, philosophical catchphrase, “It’s all bacon!” – which I now find myself using, as I watch the news, with ­depressing regularity.



After the kids go to sleep, I sit up alone and finally watch The Lady in the Van. Last year, I walked along the street in Camden where it was being filmed, and Alan Bennett talked to me, which was amazing.

About a month later, on the same street, we saw Jonathan Miller skirting some dog’s mess and he told me and the kids how annoyed it made him. I tried to explain to them afterwards who Jonathan Miller was, but to the five-year-old the satire pioneer will always be the Shouting Dog’s Mess Man.



I have the second of the final three preview shows at the intimate Leicester Square Theatre in London before the new show, Content Provider, does a week in big rooms around the country. Today, I was supposed to do a BBC Radio 3 show about improvised music but both of the kids were off school with a bug and I had to stay home mopping up. In between the vomiting, in the psychic shadow of the improvisers, I had something of a breakthrough. The guitarist Derek Bailey, for example, would embrace his problems and make them part of the performance.



I drank half a bottle of wine before going on stage, to give me the guts to take some risks. It’s not a long-term strategy for creative problem-solving, and that way lies wandering around Southend with a pet chicken. But by binning the words that I’d written and trying to repoint them, in the moment, to be about how the Brexit confusion is blocking my route to the show I wanted to write, I can suddenly see a way forward. The designer is in, with samples of a nice coat that she is making for me, intended to replicate the clothing of the central figure in Caspar David Friedrich’s 1818 German masterpiece Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog.



Richard Branson is on the internet and, just as I’d problem-solved my way around writing about it, he’s suggesting that Brexit might not happen. I drop the kids off and sit in a café reading Alan Moore’s new novel, Jerusalem. I am interviewing him about it for the Guardian in two weeks’ time. It’s 1,174 pages long, but what with the show falling apart I have read only 293 pages. Next week is half-term. I’ll nail it. It’s great, by the way, and seems to be about the small lives of undocumented individuals, buffeted by the random events of their times.

Stewart Lee’s show “Content Provider” will be on in London from 8 November. For more details, visit: stewartlee.co.uk

This article first appeared in the 27 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, American Rage