The Wire's War on the Drug War

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Wednesday, Mar. 05, 2008

The Wire's War on the Drug War

<table class=posttable align=right width=300><tr><td class=postcell><img class=postimg width=300 src=bin/wire_writers.jpg></td></tr><tr><td class=postcell><span class=postbold>Ed Burns, David Simon, and George Pelecanos at the corner of North Bond and North Patterson In Baltimore, Maryland
</span></td></tr></table>Time Magazine
By Ed Burns, Dennis Lehane, George Pelecanos, Richard Price, David Simon

We write a television show. Measured against more thoughtful and meaningful occupations, this is not the best seat from which to argue public policy or social justice. Still, those viewers who followed The Wire — our HBO drama that tried to portray all sides of inner-city collapse, including the drug war, with as much detail and as little judgment as we could muster — tell us they've invested in the fates of our characters. They worry or grieve for Bubbles, Bodie or Wallace, certain that these characters are fictional yet knowing they are rooted in the reality of the other America, the one rarely acknowledged by anything so overt as a TV drama.

These viewers, admittedly a small shard of the TV universe, deluge us with one question: What can we do? If there are two Americas — separate and unequal — and if the drug war has helped produce a psychic chasm between them, how can well-meaning, well-intentioned people begin to bridge those worlds?

And for five seasons, we answered lamely, offering arguments about economic priorities or drug policy, debating theoreticals within our tangled little drama. We were storytellers, not advocates; we ducked the question as best we could.

Yet this war grinds on, flooding our prisons, devouring resources, turning city neighborhoods into free-fire zones. To what end? State and federal prisons are packed with victims of the drug conflict. A new report by the Pew Center shows that 1 of every 100 adults in the U.S. — and 1 in 15 black men over 18 — is currently incarcerated. That's the world's highest rate of imprisonment.

The drug war has ravaged law enforcement too. In cities where police agencies commit the most resources to arresting their way out of their drug problems, the arrest rates for violent crime — murder, rape, aggravated assault — have declined. In Baltimore, where we set The Wire, drug arrests have skyrocketed over the past three decades, yet in that same span, arrest rates for murder have gone from 80% and 90% to half that. Lost in an unwinnable drug war, a new generation of law officers is no longer capable of investigating crime properly, having learned only to make court pay by grabbing cheap, meaningless drug arrests off the nearest corner.

What the drugs themselves have not destroyed, the warfare against them has. And what once began, perhaps, as a battle against dangerous substances long ago transformed itself into a venal war on our underclass. Since declaring war on drugs nearly 40 years ago, we've been demonizing our most desperate citizens, isolating and incarcerating them and otherwise denying them a role in the American collective. All to no purpose. The prison population doubles and doubles again; the drugs remain.

Our leaders? There aren't any politicians — Democrat or Republican — willing to speak truth on this. Instead, politicians compete to prove themselves more draconian than thou, to embrace America's most profound and enduring policy failure.

"A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being right," wrote Thomas Paine when he called for civil disobedience against monarchy — the flawed national policy of his day. In a similar spirit, we offer a small idea that is, perhaps, no small idea. It will not solve the drug problem, nor will it heal all civic wounds. It does not yet address questions of how the resources spent warring with our poor over drug use might be better spent on treatment or education or job training, or anything else that might begin to restore those places in America where the only economic engine remaining is the illegal drug economy. It doesn't resolve the myriad complexities that a retreat from war to sanity will require. All it does is open a range of intricate, paradoxical issues. But this is what we can do — and what we will do.

If asked to serve on a jury deliberating a violation of state or federal drug laws, we will vote to acquit, regardless of the evidence presented. Save for a prosecution in which acts of violence or intended violence are alleged, we will — to borrow Justice Harry Blackmun's manifesto against the death penalty — no longer tinker with the machinery of the drug war. No longer can we collaborate with a government that uses nonviolent drug offenses to fill prisons with its poorest, most damaged and most desperate citizens.

Jury nullification is American dissent, as old and as heralded as the 1735 trial of John Peter Zenger, who was acquitted of seditious libel against the royal governor of New York, and absent a government capable of repairing injustices, it is legitimate protest. If some few episodes of a television entertainment have caused others to reflect on the war zones we have created in our cities and the human beings stranded there, we ask that those people might also consider their conscience. And when the lawyers or the judge or your fellow jurors seek explanation, think for a moment on Bubbles or Bodie or Wallace. And remember that the lives being held in the balance aren't fictional.

The authors are all members of the writing staff of HBO's The Wire, which concludes its five-year run on March 9

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The Wire's war

Sacramento News & Review
EDITORIAL

Last week’s sentencing of Dr. Mollie Fry and Dale Schafer, as well as the ongoing discussions by the Sacramento County Board of Supervisors about issuing I.D. cards to residents with marijuana prescriptions, are the local face of the ongoing “war on drugs.”

Obviously, this “war” is as successful as the one on “terror.” Instead of a decrease in drug use and a drop in addiction rates, we see more Americans imprisoned. People like Fry and Schafer do not belong in prison. Neither do the other casualties of the “drug war.”

Californians know this. We’ve attempted to create more humane drug laws, as in the provisions of Proposition 36, allowing for treatment rather than incarceration, and our decision under Proposition 215 to allow the use of marijuana by patients with a prescription. But as the federal government and local law enforcement continue to show no respect for California’s decision to decriminalize the medical use of marijuana, it’s time for citizens to take action.

The creators of the award-winning television series The Wire recently called for an unusual step in the “war on drugs.” Noting the high rate of incarceration in America, the disparity in sentencing among races and social classes and the resources spent chasing drug convictions rather than being used making our cities safer, they’ve called for citizens to engage in “jury nullification.”

They vow that, when seated on a jury “deliberating a violation of state or federal drug laws, we will vote to acquit, regardless of the evidence presented.” Quite sensibly, they make exception for cases that involve violence. But if the defendant is charged with a drug offense—and a drug offense only—they will “nullify” the law by acquitting.

Jury nullification, an old concept in the history of U.S. law, remains the last option when the laws themselves are unjust and the government has refused to alter them. In California, this means most specifically the continued prosecution of citizens for growing, distributing and using marijuana for medical purposes. It is obscene for the government to continue prosecuting ill people for using a drug to make their lives more comfortable.

But all drug offenses can sensibly fall into the same category. If the legislative and executive branches don’t care enough about the welfare of our citizens to change the drug laws, we can refuse to enforce them.

We’ll happily convict a defendant who used guns to protect his stash or who stole from a neighbor to get her fix. But recreational use is no threat to society, and addiction is a disease better treated outside prison.

Naysayers may claim that those of us who agree to nullify will simply be eliminated from the jury pool. But if enough of us insist that drug possession, use and sale should not be a crime, we open a public discussion of our nation’s failed drug policy.

Bravo to The Wire. If drugs are it, we will acquit.