Sentencing people to diversion programs still
involves uprooting and confining them in an effort to make society ‘safer’
Confining people convicted of non-violent drug
offenses to rehab is probably better than prison. But they’re still confined Photograph:
Anthony Devlin/PA
The past few months have seen a wide
variety of political
leaders extolling the virtues of drug treatment over incarceration. Major
Republican figureheads are now on the bandwagon – perhaps none more voraciously
than Chris Christie, who recently announced
at a summit on addiction destigmatisation, “There but for the grace of God go I
– that’s how I look at addiction.” He has also offered a solution:
“When you give people the tools to save their own lives, that’s God’s miracles
happening in their own lives.”
What are those tools? One of Christie’s triumphs is a
2012 bill that allows New Jersey counties to impose
mandatory sentences to drug court – in other words, forcing non-violent
drug offenders to enter treatment in lieu of jail time, whether they want to or
not. It’s a strategy that’s been hailed
by Democrats and Republicans across the country as an ideal alternative to
incarceration for drug users. However, when it comes to crime, punishment and
public health problems, quick fixes are rarely the most effective solutions.
The drug treatment mandate is no exception.
While the shift toward mandatory treatment is
certainly an improvement over incarceration for people incarcerated for
non-violent drug offences, mandatory treatment often still involves uprooting
and confining people in an ostensible effort to make society safer. Even when
it comes to treatment programs that don’t mirror the isolation-driven practices
of prison, the mandate fuels a situation in which the state dictates what
people are doing with their time, their bodies and their life choices. And
mandates like these disproportionately dictate the choices of people of colour:
though white people are more
likely to use drugs, black people are more likely to get arrested
for them.
If we are really striving for a public health
approach to drug-related problems, addiction treatment must always be an
option, not a mandate.
Drug use is often framed as the one arena of human
health that shouldn’t involve personal choice. Quitting cigarettes is optional.
So is taking antibiotics for a nasty case of strep throat. If you’ve got cancer
and opt to forego chemotherapy, that is your decision. But if you’re a drug
user, the logic follows, there’s no way you can lead a worthwhile existence
unless you stop.
However, the vast majority of people who use illegal
substances are not
physically dependent on them – and that even some of those who did live
with dependencies still prioritise housing, food and other basic needs over
their drugs of choice, contrary to popular perceptions of drug users.
Meanwhile, treatment centres often function on
principles similar to those of prisons, confining people in close quarters and
imposing heavy surveillance and a strict schedule (and sometimes keeping them
on lockdown). Often, there are stringent limits on outside contact, though
visits are usually permitted much more frequently
than in prison. Treatment centres aren’t required to facilitate residents’
post-treatment search for housing or jobs and, as with prison, it’s difficult
to maintain relationships with folks on the outside that might prove helpful in
the future.
Even when treatment is mandated, the array of choices
at stake is often dramatically determined by social class. As with the enormous
class and race-based oppression that shapes every stage of the criminal legal
system, a treatment mandate means different levels of liberty and different
levels of disconnection, depending on your privilege and financial assets (or
lack thereof). Defendants with the economic power to do so can often choose a
high-priced, fancier rehab facility instead of the usually underfunded public
one. Doing so usually means more individualised care, more comfortable
living spaces, more nutritious food, more family involvement and more freedoms.
Meanwhile, one group of drug users is especially
underserved by policies focused on treatment as an incarceration alternative:
those who wish to enter treatment entirely of their own accord. Even as
enthusiasm rises for sending people to treatment centres instead of prison, in
many places it’s still quite expensive to get good elective care for
addiction. As a former New Jersey drug court prosecutor put
it, “The only way you can get the state to pay for drug treatment is to
commit a crime and thereafter be sentenced to drug court.” If our leaders want
to – as Chris Christie put it – “give people the tools to save their lives,”
those tools need to be made available to all people who feel their health is in
danger.
Even the most well-meaning liberals must ask
themselves: if shepherding live human bodies off to prison to isolate and
manipulate them without their permission isn’t ethical, why is shipping those
bodies off to compulsory rehab an acceptable alternative? Some studies have posited
that “quasi-compulsory” rehab might be ok, ethics-wise, as long as folks
are also given the option to go to prison. But when the choices are confinement
versus confinement, brutal caging versus gentler caging, what kind of liberty
is that?
Can freedom be boiled down to a game of
choose-your-own-cell?
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