white male consumer

America’s so-called “war on drugs” is ostensibly focused on eliminating nonessential, unprescribed drug use. The reason given is the purported harm that follows. And this rationale has become accepted (to varying degrees) by most of the population. It’s a sort of benevolent prohibition; it’s the government’s way of saving us from ourselves. People accept this because of several historical realities – including a century or more of said institutionalized prohibition, a puritan religious ethos, and the uninterrupted flow of junk science telling us the dangers of all unprescribed drug use.

But the criminalization of drug use has less to do with the health of the population and more with enforcing a uniformity of consciousness. This aversion to nonstandard or altered states of consciousness is the result of a society molded out of monotheistic religious practices – practices which necessarily promote a standardized, monopolized way of thinking about life, god, and the meaning of it all. Narrow definitions of purity, clarity, and sanity rule the day. Altered states and the thought processes produced are dangerous to the status quo – particularly in regard to our religious beliefs and the moral underpinnings of our society (the rarely questioned “realities” we find ourselves living in).

The history of drug legislation in the U.S. is a history of creating Others, often along racial lines. The first significant step towards criminalization came in the late-19th century, on the west coast, in the form of restrictions on opium use. Chinese-American immigrants, fresh from finishing the nation’s major railroads, were demonized in the public sphere for their use of opium. San Francisco banned the smoking of opium in opium dens in 1875. Health concerns were not paramount; it was the moral character of white women who might be drawn in and intoxicated by the drug and associated “orientals.” (The smoking of opium in San Francisco was allowed among Chinese immigrants, but the presence of a white man would result in the arrest of all parties, according to commissioner Jesse B. Cook who served the San Francisco Police Department from the late 1880s to the 1930s).

Corroborating this racialized interpretation is the significant fact that only the smoking of opium was targeted. The drug continued to be a regular feature in panaceas; the unregulated quasi-medicinal cures created and quaffed in abundance during this period.

A Christian / Abrahamic moral argument against unprescribed drug use might go along the lines that an altered states of consciousness is in direct opposition to what we ought to strive for: purity, clarity, closeness to god. And secular individuals might very well agree with this (substituting an ultimate authority or goal in life for “god”). But although western society is modeled around monotheistic religion, moral claims alone can’t form the basis for a given law in a pluralistic, democratic society (they’re inherently undemocratic and monistic). Prohibition of nonessential drug use today can only be understood as a way of eliminating (or minimizing) alternative ways of thinking.

Tsenay Serequeberhan, author and assistant professor at Hampshire College, writes that “that which is beyond question is the solid ground on which one stands.” To question this solid ground is to question the “realities” of the day. These realities include the nature of human interaction, the purpose of our lives and how we live them, and the systems (economic, political, social) we find ourselves involved in. In short, the sort of fundamental questions usually reserved for organized religion. Altered states allow us to disconnect from the prescribed standards of the world – to remove the barriers that keep us from discovering deeper truths. Instead of faith, we’re able to discover these truths ourselves.

The 20th century brought new ills and new scapegoats to the fore. Opium was out; cocaine became attributed to blacks and to increasing their (well-known at the time) insatiable appetite for white women. Marijuana was the domain of Mexicans and jazz (read: black) musicians. The Harrison Act of 1914 required licenses to sell opiates and cocaine. Licenses quickly became difficult to obtain, which restricted legal purchase and in time created a de facto black market for opiates and cocaine.

The Marijuana Tax Act of 1937 and successive legislation, which increased the price and hassle of buying said drug legally, had the same effect as the earlier Harrison Act. Again, as with opium, the health consequences of the drug were not the main impetus for the legislation, at least insofar as the (perceived) primary users were concerned. The act was economic in nature – these drugs (and their sales) had escaped taxation till this point. But the moral decay and health of the white population also entered into it, as films like Reefer Madness so humorously portray. (Users going insane and becoming degenerate with just a wiff.) Health concerns were raised (testimony to Congress in 1937 told of marijuana use resulting in “insanity, criminality and death”), but seemed self-serving. They were used to curry support – and not a primary reason for prohibition itself.

And what of alcohol prohibition, the spectacular failure that’s broadly acknowledged as such? The 19th amendment made alcohol illicit in 1920; the 21st amendment repealed the 19th in 1933. Alcohol then and now enjoys acceptance from a broad spread of the population – creating a targeted population is difficult. And while its negative health effects match or better that of many illicit substances, its intoxicating effects are slight and inconsequential from a more metaphysical standpoint. Few have true moments of clarity while under the influence of alcohol, and fewer still have breakthroughs that stand on their own merit the morning after.

Fast forward to the ‘70s and the golden age of drug prohibition. U.S. President Richard Nixon declared a “war on drugs” and pushed through the Controlled Substances Act of 1970. In 1973 the Drug Enforcement Agency was created, giving rise to an entire establishment bent on enforcing the unenforceable.

But there was another movement afoot, the one that led to the creation of the Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) – that of the use and experimentation of drugs. Often recreational, but at other times not. The targeted drug users of the ‘60s and ‘70s were not racial Others but sociopolitical ones. There was a full-scale counter-culture underway, consisting in large part of upper-class whites. And the innovators of the subset drug scene were professors and students from prestigious universities, exploring chemicals and plants like LSD, MDMA, peyote, and psilocybin mushrooms (to name a few). They were seeking a “positive hangover.” The beat poets of the preceding decades were the spiritual (if not direct) forefathers of this research and experimentation. But unlike the beats, this new wave of (self-identified) freaks threatened the status quo, protesting war and living unconventionally in communes or on the road.

As the counter-culture exhausted itself (or incorporated itself into popular culture?) a new scene unfolded in the U.S. “Law and order” candidates were elected to government and cocaine came into vogue, both in the street and on Wall Street. The use of cocaine increased five fold between 1972 and 1988. Once again, America’s drug use underwent a change unaffected by prohibition – a change not of scale or quantity, but of product.

Despite (or as a result of) the failure of prohibition, it continued and was expanded throughout the ‘70s and ‘80s, till the creation of the Office of National Drug Control Policy in 1988, whose top position enjoyed the title of Drug Czar. (A position Bill Clinton subsequently raised to cabinet-level status in 1993.)

The ‘90s were another transformative time, perhaps symbolized best by exploding trailer-homes (the result of amateur chemists and methamphetamine production). Also significant was the rise of the internet and the information it made readily available. Abuse of over the counter and prescribed medications became increasingly popular, and anyone with access to a computer could suddenly find a wealth of information on home-brewing any number of intoxicants.

Today we find ourselves in much the same position. New designer drugs and research chemicals (and prescription drugs) are discovered, with a flurry of activity and usage ensuring – until the substance is scheduled by the DEA. Oftentimes, media attention explodes due to an overdose: the death of a young, promising white youth stirring public outrage.

The cost of this never-ending cycle is immense. Twelve billion dollars were spent in 2005 on waging “the war,” and an additional $65 billion was spent shuttling citizens through the legal system, and on subsequent incarceration. This “war” incarcerates more than one million U.S. citizens annually, a full quarter of that for possession of marijuana alone. A drug which, according to any number of studies, a quarter to a third of U.S. citizens use on a semi-regular basis.

The result is a ballooning of the prison-industrial complex and its population. Among countries from which reliable statistics can be had, the U.S. has the largest percentage of its population behind bars. The total cost of this failed policy, from government expenditures to the effects of jail time on citizens, is incalculable.

If the government had a real stake in creating healthy citizens, its efforts could certainly be better spent elsewhere (universal healthcare and a mandatory national exercise program to start?). And the claim that recreational drug use results in degenerate, unproductive (not to mention criminal) users flies in the face of all evidence – one needs only to point to nations with less severe drug policies (western Europe for instance) and their drug use and drug-related crime. Furthermore, if the goal truly was reduced crime or increased productivity, then U.S. drug law would not hinder those convicted by creating permanent criminal records or restricting college financial aid.

The most logical (and honest) argument in favor of prohibition is one rarely heard today. It’s the argument used more than a hundred years ago against opium-smoking Chinese immigrants. It is that unprescribed drug use and the altered states of consciousness produced are immoral and dangerous to the status quo.

Commonly held western notions of morality are almost universally rooted in the Abrahamic (read: monotheistic) religions. And the general puritanical nature of these religions is in stark contrast to the beliefs held before them. Unsurprisingly then, we have examples of mind-altering substances being used throughout the world pre-monotheism. Their use was primarily religious and introspective in nature. In the Americas alone, there has been historical use of various cacti, psilocybin mushrooms, morning glory seeds, Salvia divinorum, ayahuasca blends, and various typtamine-containing snuffs – to name a few.

“Entheogen” is a term describing a substance taken to produce an altered state of consciousness; that consciousness being sought for religious or metaphysical purposes. Less recreational, more enlightenment – in the sense of true self-awareness and understanding. This pursuit was the principle use before monotheism, and enjoyed a surge in popularity during the ‘60s and ‘70s. And this prospect of an enlightened population is the real threat of unprescribed drug use.

The danger to traditional monotheistic religion is obvious. Enlightenment through introspection avoids subjugation to a god. The threat to other established elite comes from the nature of true enlightenment.

One would have a difficult time disputing the idea that the American (ergo global) economy today is rooted in overproduction and, as a result, conspicuous consumption. Hedonism is distinct in that it’s explicitly rejected but implicitly practiced by the great majority of Americans. But a person can be cognizant of this while at the same time a willing participant. Rational self-interest can keep the best of us from acting on what we believe in.

Should that rational self-interest be stripped away (however momentarily) and our way of thinking – and therefor, our actions – can change decidedly. The altered state of an entheogen may be transient, but the effects need not be. Properly used, a “positive hangover” can be had, remaining with the user long after the physical effects have worn off. A new outlook on life, discovered in a state of mind with no baggage, commitments, or self-interest obstructing our view. And in an imperfect world, an enlightened populace risks challenging the dominant structures.

None of this is to say that all mind-altering substances hold such value. Indeed, the effects of a given drug vary enough from individual to individual (and experience to experience) to rule out identifying substances that carry such potential. This potential for self-realization comes not from the chemical, but from the state of mind it produces. Similar altered states can be created by sensory deprivation, or meditation, or sublime music. Arguably, none of these other routes are as accessible as the entheogen.

Nonessential drug use carries with it many problems, including health concerns and dependency. But the intelligent use of drugs can also be an impetus for exploration, for creativity and introspection. The chief danger, then, is that the mind-altering substance allows us to think and perceive the world differently. And to reinterpret the world is to change it.