Legalize Drugs
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.”