More draconian than thou
Far greater minds than I have blogged recently about the Pew Center's report citing 1 in 100 Americans now in prison, so I hesitate to even approach it. But the hubster forwarded a link today to an editorial in Time (below) by the writers of The Wire, a show we have watched religiously for the past several years. I find two things intriguing about the editorial: 1) the appeal to draw from fictional characters the inspiration to enact social change and 2) jury nullification as a legitimate route for citizens to take action.
The authors put on no airs regarding their lack of authority on the subject, except that they have spun a good tale for TV that takes on real issues of race, crime, law enforcement, education, and general urban decay in perhaps one of the most accurate attempts to date. But they do evoke their characters as muses for average folks who might want to make a difference in the sad state of U.S. carceral affairs. I can't help but wonder if the same viewers the authors hope to inspire spent one hour per week on some of the corners in my neck of the 'hood would find similar sympathy for my less-than-fictional drug dealing neighbors? I don't have to turn my TV on to see "the other America."
At the same time, I resonate with the authors' assertion that politicians are not likely the best targets for citizens who want to effect change when it comes to penal policy. Even our beloved Bill is culpable for a great deal of "get tough on crime" policy in the 90s that has contributed to this trend. Neither Dems nor Republicans are likely to "get soft" anytime soon. In this respect, I'm intrigued by the idea of jury nullification as civil disobedience. It seems like it might have little impact, unless it were to become a widespread practice. How many non-violent drug offenses actually go to trial vs. plea bargaining? Within that number, how many will have juries with willing objectors? For instance, I have yet to serve on a jury for anything, ever, much less a drug trial.
I have no real expertise to speak to the law enforcement side of things, but anecdotally, having lived for 2 years on a block where open-air drug dealing was an unrelenting daily reality, the police didn't seem to be able to do much about it by continually arresting the lil' homies on the corner. Our neighborhood association regularly sends us opportunities to give "community impact" statements on offenders, many of them drug-related, and the sheer number of arrests and/or convictions for many of these individuals is staggering - yet the problem persists.
It's an interesting proposition - if I do get called for jury duty in such a case, I guess I'll have to consult my conscience...
Wednesday, Mar. 05, 2008
The Wire's War on the Drug War
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