Freedom of choice and personal responsibility. That’s what America is all about, right?
It’s what separates the United States from what we perceive as overly-restrictive societies, such as those in Saudi Arabia or North Korea. It’s what allows us to wear the clothes we want, own guns, and legally buy alcohol and cigarettes.
It’s what we claim to support when we ridicule the so-called Nanny State.
And it’s what should allow us–as free and mature adults–to purchase marijuana legally if we so choose. That’s what the New York Times says, and I have to agree.
At the beginning of this year, interested by Colorado’s and Washington’s new adventures in legalization, I explained my feeling that the vast majority of pot consumers can be trusted to be responsible users.
Now, in a well-considered and important series, the New York Times has laid out its case for the repeal of the national prohibition on marijuana. It discusses the policies that would support such a repeal and the science behind it. It also points out how the current prohibition is unjust, racist, and based on the myth of a “gateway drug.”
So don’t just take my word for it. The Times is on board too. Now if only Congress would do something.
My brother lives on the opposite coast from me, and we’ve spent many holidays apart. One year, though, he visited for several weeks in December. On Christmas Eve, as things were settling down for the night, he told me he was stepping outside.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’m going in the back yard to smoke a joint.”
His casualness about it surprised me. But once the initial shock wore off, I was fine. Surprisingly fine. My brother, you see, does not fit the stereotype of a pot smoker. He’s not a hippie or some stoner who never bathes or lives on the street. He owns a house and has a steady job. He’s never had any legal troubles. He smokes marijuana to relax, get a little buzz, and feel good about life once in a while. He is a responsible user of marijuana.
I have never tried weed. There are several reasons for this, but mostly because I don’t want to tangle with its illegality. I do, however, enjoy wine. Typically, I will finish off two or three bottles a week. I drink wine for basically the same reasons that my brother smokes pot. We talked about it once, when he turned down a glass of Chianti. He said he much prefers marijuana. “Alcohol,” he said “just doesn’t do it for me.”
I worry about him, that one day he’ll be in the wrong place at the wrong time and will be arrested just for preferring cannabis to alcohol. The reasons why marijuana is mostly illegal while alcohol can be purchased at your neighborhood store are complex and in many ways irrational.
What I don’t worry about is whether he’s on his way down the slippery slope to hard-core addiction. Because, while I know he’s had some youthful indiscretions, he’s not an addict any more than I’m an alcoholic.
Alcohol has its detractors. During the Temperance Movement, alcohol was considered the Devil in a bottle, to be wiped off the face of the Earth. Further back in history, however, beginning in pre-Christian times, alcohol was considered a gift from the gods. Society’s ambivalence over alcohol has led to a mish-mash of policies and a mish-mash of proposed solutions–medical, legal, psychotherapeutic, religious–that work at cross-purposes with each other.
After the repeal of Prohibition, government has, for the most part, stepped back from trying to dictate what we can and cannot drink, and rightly so, I think. In a free society, personal responsibility should be what dictates choice.
This same ambivalence seems to be spilling over to our feelings about marijuana, as evidenced by the new legalization in Colorado and Washington. Much is made of marijuana being a “gateway drug,” a term used for a substance the use of which allegedly will lead to more problematic drugs such as cocaine or heroin. But this view is not supported by any valid science, since a correlation between marijuana use and subsequent use of heroin or other drugs has not been established, according to psychologist Jeffrey Schaler. He goes on to say that, “it might not be that there is something in marijuana that causes a move to heroin, but rather that consumers are looking for the same thing in heroin that they derived from marijuana.” Even if there is a correlation, then, it cannot be assumed that one causes the other.
In fact, most studies have found that a vast majority of marijuana smokers do not become drug addicts or move on to harder substances. I guess this means that most can be trusted to be responsible users.
I realize that many will take issue with this view. To some, substance use equals substance abuse equals addiction equals disease. For others, these conditions are not all the same, and you can have substance use without it being substance abuse. Unfortunately, it’s hard to have a rational conversation about drugs when the terms mean different things to different people and there is significant disagreement over the underlying assumptions.
The regulated legal marijuana markets in Colorado and Washington are an important social experiment. And it has been a long time coming. If successful, it could loosen the restrictions on responsible pot use in many areas, such as athletics.
With some notable exceptions, getting a product off the black market and into the public eye is a good thing. At the very least, it provides greater choice for those who might otherwise turn to a substance that is less natural and more dangerous.
And I’ll raise a glass to that.
[Random Scribbles are my occasional posts of half-formed thoughts, half-baked ideas, and off-the-cuff observations.] [NOTE: Updated to add additional information 1:06 p.m. EST.]
In a recent post, I discussed how a lack of privacy is not always a bad thing. What I didn’t discuss–really hadn’t gotten to yet in my thought process–is that privacy has an ugly twin.
People who move to the big city to become anonymous often become lonely as a result. And while Facebook can make some people feel more connected, to many, it lacks the “emotional power of connecting with people in-person.”
Writer Amy Gutman has pointed out that often we live in “a culture of private suffering and isolation, a lonely and disheartening place” where we suffer indignities rather than share our needs.
Generally speaking, people are social animals by nature. Even introverts, who have a strong need for being alone, enjoy the company of good friends and loving family. Increasingly, human health experts are realizing that many physical and mental illnesses can be linked in some way to feeling lonely. For some vulnerable populations, such as the elderly, loneliness can be death sentence.
Studies have found that monkeys and rats–also social animals–that are kept in isolation can and will dose themselves with cocaine until they pass out or even die. “If we want to understand why some people become heavy consumers of drugs,” writes psychologist Jeffrey A. Schaler, “we should ask what it is in their lives that constitutes for them the emotional equivalent of being ‘in solitary.’ ”
We should all have our privacy respected, of course. But when the isolation leads to a lack of human connection, both physical and intellectual, it takes on the bleak face of loneliness.
I commute to work using public transportation. In the Washington, D.C. area, that means riding the Metro with hundreds of thousands of other people. Each business day, I spend about 40 to 50 minutes on the Metro one way, or nearly two hours total. I’ve been doing this for almost 20 years. The time adds up.
Spend enough time doing something and you accumulate experiences. You see things; you hear things; you learn how things go.
Recently while I was riding the Metro, I saw a guy inhaling from one of those compressed air cans that you get for blowing dust off your computer equipment. No one was sitting next to him, and I discovered why.
He released the gas from the canister into his lungs. Within a few seconds, he began to twitch and lean to one side. His eyes were closed and he seemed to lose consciousness for a few moments. He dropped the canister.
Before long, he would fumble around for the canister, reaching around on the floor under his seat. He’d find it and begin the process again. “Squeeeeeee” went the can as he put it to his lips.
Whatever he was getting out of this little ritual did not last long. It was a quick fix. It was a series of brief trips into a chemical-induced stupor. The chemistry that produces the canister of gas is an industrial process. There is no art or craft involved. It can be purchased relatively cheaply. It’s effects, while perhaps momentarily pleasurable, are dangerous with continued use.
I can’t say I understand what brought him to this place, where he was riding the Metro while gassing his lungs over and over again. There must have been desperation there. To turn not to alcohol or marijuana or some other natural substance for altering the brain, but to reach for a can of gas, he must have been seeking to flee some heavy stuff.
Moreover, he was not demonstrating any long-range thinking. He was all about the moment of that high from inhaling the gas. Whatever was to come after was not part of his planning.
Eventually, the can would be empty and the pleasurable effects will wear off. He’d be left with some type of hangover at best, or something worse like brain damage or damage to major organs. Cans of this stuff are pretty clear about the dangers: inhalation of contents may cause heart irregularities, unconsciousness, or death. In fact, deaths from the abuse of difluoroethane are unfortunately common.
All for a quick fix.
It was not beautiful to watch this guy huffing his can while I rode the Metro train. It was ugly and it was sad.
[Random Scribbles are my occasional posts of half-formed thoughts, half-baked ideas, and off-the-cuff observations.]
Until relatively recently, smoking was the preferred method of killing time. Having that cigarette kept your hands busy. It gave you a prop for your conversation. It provided that little bit of stimulation for your brain as you took a break from your work.
Now that cigarettes have gone out of favor in many places, I’ve noticed that a new item has emerged as the go-to gadget to fiddle with on your break: the cell phone. Or more precisely, the smart phone. Scrolling through your e-mails keeps your hands busy. It can be a prop for your conversation. It can provide that little bit of stimulation for your brain.
Of course, some folks smoke and check their phones. I guess for them, one addiction is not enough.