The Boat Shoe Beat: Full Measures Needed

I used to be a beat cop a long time ago.

And I’d get called out on domestic disputes all the time, hundreds probably over the years.

But there was this one guy, this one piece of shit, that I will never forget. Gordy, he looked like Bo Svenson, you remember him? Walking Tall? You don’t remember? Anyway, big boy. 270, 280. But his wife, whatever she was, his lady…was real small. Like a bird. Wrists like little branches. Anyway, my partner and I got called out there every weekend, and one of us would pull her aside and say “come on, tonight’s the night we press charges.” And this wasn’t one of those deep-down he-loves-me set-ups — we get a lot of those — but not this. This girl was scared. She wasn’t going to cross him, no way, no how. Nothing we could do but pass her off to the EMT’s, put him in a car and drive him downtown, throw him in the drunk tank. He sleeps it off, next morning out he goes. Back home.

But one night, my partner’s out sick, and it’s just me. And the call comes in and it’s the usual crap. Broke her nose in the shower kind of thing. So I cuff him, put him in the car and away we go. Only that night, we’re driving into town, and this sideways asshole is in my back seat humming “Danny Boy.” And it just rubbed me wrong. So instead of left, I go right, out into nowhere. And I kneel him down, and I put my revolver in his mouth, and I told him, “This is it. This is how it ends.” And he’s crying, going to the bathroom all over himself, swearing to God he’s going to leave her alone. Screaming … as much as you can with a gun in your mouth. And I told him to be quiet. Cause I needed to think about what I was going to do here. And of course he got quiet. Goes still. And real quiet. Like a dog waiting for dinner scraps. And we just stood there for a while, me acting like I’m thinking things over, and Prince Charming kneeling in the dirt with shit in his pants. And after a few minutes I took the gun out of his mouth, and I say, “So help me if you touch her again I will such-and-such and such-and-such and blah blah blah blah blah”.

Just trying to do the right thing. But two weeks later he killed her. Of course. Caved her head in with the base of a Waring blender. We got there, there was so much blood you could taste the metal. The moral of the story is: I chose a half measure, when I should have gone all the way. I’ll never make that mistake again.

No more half measures, Walter.

Breaking Bad

I was out weeding in my mulch bed while having a conversation with a friend and fellow traveler. He ambled about, smoking a cigarette, while I began the laborious process of uprooting the pesky invaders. Not long into my chore, we began discussing a mutual friend and the loss of their teenage son. The poor boy had died, like countless others, from a drug overdose. Then, it got me to thinking about the other people in my life, friends or even minor acquaintances, that had their lives permanently ruined or ended because of our half-ass “War on Drugs.” Like most of America’s wars of the 20th (and now 21st) century, it’s another losing enterprise in a string of halfhearted responses to seismic challenges.

So, I conducted my own inventory of the people in my life that were destroyed due to drugs. I remembered the young girl from church. She was valedictorian at her high school graduation, very pretty, and had a bright future. She died while in college, overdosed on hard drugs when her white trash boyfriend got her hooked. Then, I remembered the good ‘ole boy down the road. He was one of the best handymen in the county and the type of guy you could drink a beer with after a long day. He got hooked on dope, lost his business, and his marriage. Haven’t seen him in over a year (he still owes us for some roof repair work). His son became an addict, too. The more I thought on it, the other countless victims came to mind. From old work colleagues to school mates to bar room buddies. In under a minute, I could count maybe a dozen or so people ruined by drugs.

Why do we have to live this way? Or, why do our people have to die this way – with a needle sticking out of their arm?

Even if we excluded cocaine, marijuana, etc., we also still have a massive opioid problem on our hands. Per 2018 data, there was an average of 128 deaths occurring each day from opioid overdoses. That’s more deaths than from any other drug crisis in American history. Fatal opioid overdoses have even exceeded the American death count of the Vietnam War, and in 2017, they also surpassed auto fatalities. The costs of opioid abuse extends far beyond the unnecessary casualties and bleeds into areas such as morbidity, healthcare, markets, child wellbeing, and, of course, crime. The opioid epidemic is estimated to cost the U.S. over $500 billion annually (Council of Economic Advisers 2017).

This is a crisis you can’t just wish away or throw money at. Counseling sessions aren’t going to stop the rampage. Safe injection sites for illegal drug usage will only exacerbate the issue. Legalizing drug use (like marijuana) is only designed to dull the citizenry further and will, in fact, only increase drug use and a desire for stronger (and more deadlier) drugs (I’m in agreement with the “gateway” theory). San Francisco’s descent into liberal madness is more than a meme; a friend shared pictures he took last year of the city’s sidewalks littered with used needles and human feces. It’s real.

So, after chatting with my friend about our mutual anecdotal drug devastation, he asked me, “How do we fix the Drug War?”

“You kill the dealers and you put the addicts in work camps” I replied with a straight face.

We both gave a hearty laugh at my deadpan reaction but suddenly got quiet at the prospects of my suggestion. My friend then stated, “We’ve only been doing half measures to stop this thing. We’re going to need full measures.”

After that brief interlude we started discussing how a serious nation, unlike the modern U.S., could hypothetically “fix” our nationwide drug problem. Similar to my suggestion, Singapore’s Misuse of Drugs Act carries a mandatory death sentence for relatively small amounts of drug trafficking/possession. Even 18 ounces (approx. 1lbs) of cannabis is considered a death sentence; 15 grams (0.53 ounces) is considered “trafficking.” Now, you probably won’t be executed for that amount, but you’ll no doubt be publicly caned for it and imprisoned.

Per popular Singapore blogger Benjamin Chang:

Singapore has one of the lowest prevalence of drug abuse worldwide. Over two decades, the number of drug abusers arrested each year has declined by two-thirds, from over 6,000 in the early 1990s to about 2,000 in 2011.

Fewer than two in 10 abusers released from prison or drug rehabilitation centres relapse within two years. There are no traffickers pushing drugs openly in the streets, nor do we need to run needle exchange centres. Singapore does not have to contend with major drug syndicates linked to organised crime and these can be directly attributed to the harsh punishment.

Ultimately, you want a system that discourages truly horrifying behaviors, untimely deaths, criminality, and societal decay. It’s a simple five (5) step process in my hypothetical solution. If you sling meth: (1) you will be arrested, (2) the evidence must be clear, (3) you must have an impartial trial, and (4) if you are found guilty in a court of law – you (5, the final step) hang. Simple as. Perhaps, it’s a public execution to deter other drug dealers, smugglers, and traffickers, as well as, a grave reminder to addicts to shape up.

As for the junkies, they will, as a matter of fact, need a “work camp.” Work camp might be too strong of a phrase for liberal sensibilities, but these people need to get clean and stay clean. After they detox, they would begin with light duty, and always under supervision, and would eventually become involved in more active and physically demanding activities to build back their body and confidence. Paired with the physical activity, the recovering addict would have mandated Christian counseling. A little sunlight, fresh air, and the Bible should get these people back on track. If the addict is unable to stay off the drugs, his/her next stay will likely be much longer. However, three strikes and you’re out, permanently (if you get my meaning).

The irony of the quote at the beginning of this article is certainly not lost on me. Breaking Bad was an excellent television show. But, Walter White and Mike Ehrmantraut, however intriguing and compelling as fictional characters they may be, would no doubt face the hangman’s noose in a Free Dixie. The Drug War is a real war. Our people die everyday in this country, from hillbilly heroin in Appalachia to a hypodermic needle in a decrepit apartment in Richmond. The only way to stop it is to embrace full measures.