The War on Drugs

Who is it really waged against?

The war on drugs waged by the U.S., is usually framed as a righteous battle against the dark forces of narcotics that pervert and destroy our societies. A necessity in a world flooded with all kinds of malicious and threatening substances. An instrument to protect people and punish criminals. This war usually portrays narcotraffic through a narrow lens, where drug lords, dealers, consumers, security forces and state agents dominate the collective imagination. However, the binary framing of “good vs. evil” obscures the complex and interconnected realities that underlie narcotraffic, especially for plants such as cannabis, poppy or coca, (known in drug form as marijuana, heroin, or cocaine), where the journey from plant to drug begins far from the urban centres where they are peddled, in the lands and hands of farmers situated in the Majority World*. When we analyse these realities, we can see that the links between narcotraffic and the food system run deep.

Before we dive in, it’s worth remembering how the war on drugs came to be. It all goes back to the 1920s during the Prohibition era when a man named Harry Anslinger started working for the U.S. Treasury Department’s Bureau of Prohibition. His extreme proposals (like six months of jail time for alcohol consumption) ultimately never materialised, and a scandal in his office, which uncovered a plot between narcotics agents and drug traffickers, led to its closing. In consequence, the Federal Bureau of Narcotics was conceived, where Anslinger was named its ​​founding commissioner; this was also determined by his close relationship with Andrew Mellon, Secretary of the Treasury who also was his wife's uncle. 

Mellon held close ties with DuPont Industries and was concerned about the threat that hemp cultivation posed to the corporation’s ambitions for synthetic fibres. At the time, hemp’s fibre was used for textiles, clothing, insulation, and even biofuels. Its wide array of uses gained attention from the media, who referred to it as the U.S.’ “new billion-dollar crop”. Determined to continue pushing for harsh measures against narcotics and to tackle any obstacles in the way of Mellon’s ventures, Anslinger’s campaign against cannabis heavily relied on disinformation, fear, and demonisation to not only control drug use but also diminish capital investments in the hemp industry. 

It’s no surprise to learn how the early days of drug policy in the U.S. were just as filled with racism and xenophobia as they are today. Key to Anslinger’s success was the role of media, churning out sensationalist articles with little to no research or facts. Some of them claimed that “Hispanics raped, robbed and killed” under cannabis influence. With time, the public’s opinion on the plant was manipulated to see it as a deadly threat, feeding into Anslinger's efforts to criminalise drug use and possession. He also came after culture (especially Black culture), and he relentlessly targeted jazz artists like Billie Holiday, who struggled with heroin addiction, and banned any songs titled with mentions of drugs. 

Fast forward to June 26th 1971, when U.S. President Richard Nixon declared drug abuse to be the nation's “public enemy number one”, deploying what would become decades of multiple international policies to fight narcotraffic with a heavy militaristic approach, coupled with abstinence propaganda and the demonisation of plants and farmer communities.

After more than half a century, the war on drugs has not yielded any favourable results in halting drug production and consumption. Although forced eradication of so-called illicit crops like cannabis, poppy or coca was and continues to be one of the fundamental pillars of international drug policies like Plan Colombia or the Merida Initiative, the expansion of illicit crops continues to reach historic highs despite the astronomic funding the United States allocates to curb their growth. 

The war on drugs, and drug trafficking itself, can bring to our minds cultural references such as the "Just Say No" campaign of the D.A.R.E. project in the 80s and early 90s, million-dollar narco-series that are globally binge-watched as if they were comfort shows, or the alarming wave of opioid addiction and overdoses that currently plagues the Global Minority*. Although drugs loom large in our collective imagination, how much do we associate them with the global peasantry and the lands in which they are produced? And how can visiblising this link help us understand the deeper socio-economic and environmental factors that sustain the narcotics trade, and the true cost of the war on drugs? Who designs international drug policies and who benefits from them? Who stands to profit and who suffers? Who is this war on really?

*Minority World refers to the countries commonly labelled as “developed,” and emphasises that while these countries tend to impose their will on the rest of the world, they are, in fact, the minority. Majority World refers to the countries commonly labelled as “developing,” who in fact make up the majority of the world’s population.

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The use of stimulant and psychoactive substances can be traced as far back as 3,500 B.C. in the case of opium poppy. Since then, the human relationship with substance use has taken myriad forms; from traditional medicine to recreation to illegal economies to billion-dollar industries. Throughout history, in cases such as the Vietnam War and World War II, drugs were also used to “enhance productivity”. They spread through military battalions due to their ability to increase tolerance to extreme sleep deprivation and inhuman pain.

The commodification of drugs has mutated the relationship between humans and substances. But various Indigenous and peasant communities have managed to safeguard and maintain the medicinal and spiritual traditions of various plants that, under their cosmovisions, are as sacred as life itself. However, their cultures, practices, and identities are threatened by violent anti-narcotics policies. 

When we look at the contexts of regions such as Asia, Africa, or Latin America, the so-called war on drugs seems to be more like a war on people. If we draw parallels between plant-producing communities in South Africa, Myanmar, Colombia, or Mexico, we will notice that farmers are cornered on their own land by those who demand their labour, extract from their territory, and obliterate their sources of sustenance to expand the drug business. 

Coupled with the industrialisation of agriculture, which loops farmers into debt spirals and subsidies, the selling price of poppy, coca, or cannabis is significantly higher than those of food crops, making it a stable enough source of income that slowly expands and eats up the land. The arrival of drug economies in rural areas can even wipe out their very currency, establishing markets where bills and coins simply become obsolete. It’s a pattern we see in producer countries around the world — peasant communities are ultimately forced to purchase goods and services with cocaine paste, kilos of cannabis, or opium extract.

In the face of state failure to build sustainable crop substitution programs and legal market opportunities, drug-related corruption permeates the highest military and political circles in different producer countries, leaving peasants on their own against the behemoth of narcotraffic. Those who refuse to grow illicit crops always face the same consequences; forced displacement, torture, or death. These terror tactics, usually carried out by cartels, paramilitary groups, militias, and death squads are often designed to impose territorial control and protect the interests of those who profit not only from narcotics but from different illicit economies. Peasants’ freedom of choice is completely taken away, forcing them to clear their plots to plant coca, poppy or cannabis to maintain their land, their lives and their livelihoods. They have no say in what to grow, how, or where. 

To halt crop production, some U.S. policies demand countries to constantly spray and ultimately drench illicit crops in herbicides like Round Up or Kilo Max. Yet, time has shown that plants continue to sprout over and over regardless. Under this merciless rain of carcinogens, hundreds of crops, from corn to rice to cacao to coffee to wheat are wrongly (some claim deliberately) targeted and washed by the lethal spray of helicopters and jets. 

In addition to killing crops, aerial spraying is responsible for poisoning people and waterways, acidifying soil, and draining ecosystems of their biodiversity. In these violent conditions, many peasant and Indigenous communities have no choice but to flee to new territories as their land drowns in toxicity. Their culture and identity are then scarred by the forced exodus from their homelands, severing them from their relationships with each other and the environment.  

It is no coincidence that in illicit crop hotspots, we can also find settlements of illegal mining, oil exploration, extensive cattle ranching, or vast cash crop monocultures. Drug trafficking, as well as the activities that adjoin it, is an extractive economy, and as such, it relies on banishing people's agency. 

Despite the harshness of counter-narcotics violence, peasant movements and Indigenous organisations in illicit crop production territories have fought side by side for decades for dignified working conditions, sustainable crop substitution models, and their active inclusion in the discussion and decision-making on drug legislation in their countries. Ultimately, farmers stand at the frontlines of the war on drugs, and their stories of struggle and resistance shed light on its often-overlooked layers and devastating impact on our food systems.

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This is part one of our new series on the war on drugs. In upcoming newsletters we will explore the different realities that cannabis, coca and poppy farmers have had to face throughout history — from Myanmar to Bolivia, South Africa to Colombia, we will unpack their long-fought journeys and challenges ahead. We’re also eager to unpack the systemic oppression that the war on drugs has disproportionately waged on people of colour the world over, and how this violence can and has bled into and reshaped the globalised food system.

If this topic has sparked something in you, or if any questions have come to mind, please share them with us in the comments. What is it that particularly makes you feel curious about the war on drugs and its links to food systems? Are there any stories, podcasts, films or sources we should look into? We would love to hear from you. 

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We are excited to continue delving into different topics with the depth and nuance that this platform allows, and any reflections and feedback you share with us are deeply appreciated and considered for the growth of this publication, Offshoot. It’s also hard to grasp how our writing has (we hope) impacted the mindsets, work or curiosities of our readers, but if our pieces have stayed with you, in any scale or form, we would love to know. Please, email us at info@agrowingculture.org!

1. Thin Lei Win’s recent newsletter, where she analyses highlights of the World Health Organisation report for the European region, shedding light on corporate control across the globalised food system and the illusion of choice. 

2. “Sacred sustenance”, an article by Valerie Segrest for Yes! Magazine that centres the essential role of Indigenous food sovereignty for systemic change.

3. “Food From Somewhere”, IPES-Food’s new report, which underlines the importance of close-to-home ‘territorial’ food markets to not only feed the world in the face of shocks but also to sustain cultures and communities away from corporate captures.

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