Daily Archives: July 14, 2017

Those years spent guarding prisoners, and later kicking down doors, changed Adamss thinking. So many of the drug users he saw had made one bad decision and then became chained to it, Adams realized. Or they had begun on a valid prescription for pain medication, after an injury, and then grew addicted. When refills grew scarce, they turned to alternatives. Many were no longer even using to get high, only to avoid the agony of withdrawal. They were teenaged, middle-aged and elderly; they were students, bankers and grocery clerks. They were businesswomen with six-figure salaries and homeless men with shopping carts. Arresting a person like this did no good, because there was always another to replace him or her and regardless, any jail sentence had limits. Afterward, Adams saw, everyone landed right back where they started.

Were not getting anywhere, he told his chief, Christopher Adams (the two men are not related), and his lieutenant. It turned out that they had already reached a similar conclusion. Until recently, Christopher Adams told me, he couldnt recall ever hearing of a heroin case. Now its every day, he said. Its a majority. Not just in Laconia. Its all over. He and his lieutenant sat down to consider what their department might do. It seemed that there were three conceivable approaches to a drug problem: prevention, enforcement and treatment. To accomplish all three would mean regarding drug users, and misusers, as not only criminals. They were also customers who were being targeted and sold to; they were also victims who needed medical treatment. To coordinate all those approaches would require a particular sort of officer.

In September 2014, Eric Adams became the first person in New England to his knowledge, the only person in the country whose job title is prevention, enforcement and treatment coordinator. I never thought Id be doing something like this, he told me. I learned fast. The department printed him new business cards: The Laconia Police Department recognizes that substance misuse is a disease, they read. We understand you cant fight this alone. On the reverse, Adamss cellphone number and email address were listed. He distributed these to every officer on patrol and answered his phone any time it rang, seven days a week. Strangers called him at 3 a.m., and Adams spoke with them for hours.

The department assigned him an unmarked Crown Victoria, and in it he followed the blips and squawks of a police scanner, driving to the scene of any overdose it reported and introducing himself to the victim, as well as any friends or family he could locate. Residents like these often shrank from the police or stiffened defensively. But when Adams told them that they werent under arrest, that he had only come to help, they seemed to sag in relief.

People who work with addicts generally agree that this moment, immediately after an overdose, offers the greatest chance to sway an addict, when he or she feels most vulnerable. Youre at a crossroads right then and there, a local paramedic told me. If an addict agreed to Adamss help, Adams drove him to a treatment facility, sat beside him in waiting rooms, ferried his parents or siblings to visit him there or at the jail or hospital. He added the names of everyone he encountered to a spreadsheet, and he kept in touch even with those who relapsed. Were they feeling safe? Attending support meetings? Did they have a job? A place to sleep?

In the nearly three years since, as overdose rates have climbed across New Hampshire, those in Laconia have fallen. In 2014, the year Adams began, the town had 10 opioid fatalities. In 2016, the number was five. Fifty-one of its residents volunteered for treatment last year, up from 46 a year before and 14 a year before that. The county as a whole, Belknap, had fewer opioid-related emergency-room visits than any other New Hampshire county but one. Of the 204 addicts Adams has crossed paths with, 123 of them, or 60 percent, have agreed to keep in touch with him. Adams calls them at least weekly. Ninety-two have entered clinical treatment. Eighty-four, or just over 40 percent of all those he has met, are in recovery, having kept sober for two months or longer. Zero have died.

On most mornings, Adams arrives at his office well before 9 to answer email. By then, his phone is already chiming. I thought when I got this position: Monday through Friday, day shifts, weekends off. Im going to see my kids and wife more, Adams said, laughing. Thats not the case. Pinned to the walls of his office, a windowless room on the second floor of the department, are pamphlets and resource guides for homelessness, peer-support groups and addiction hotlines, as well as a dry-erase board listing drug-treatment centers statewide. In December, when I visited one morning, the floor was cluttered with toys for local families in preparation for Christmas: doll sets, wireless headphones, a pillow the color of sorbet.

As soon as he began the job, Adams researched what social-service organizations the region had to offer and drove to their offices to introduce himself. A few employees at places like these knew one another from previous referrals, but many didnt, so Adams went about acquainting them. At health conferences, he arrived to the quizzical frowns of social workers and realized that, of some 200 attendees, he was the only police officer. A network gradually sprouted around him. One morning in December, his first call was from Daisy Pierce, the director of a nonprofit organization whose doors opened two weeks earlier; Adams is its chairman. Might Adams help her get a teenager into the Farnum Center, a treatment facility in Manchester, an hour south? Adams dialed a pastor he knew, who phoned a recovery coach. For the first year and a half, I was the only transportation around here, he told me when he hung up. I would drive people down to Farnum all the time.

Next, Adams turned to a matter unresolved from the day before: a woman the county prosecutor had phoned about, asking if Adams could find her housing. Until recently, the woman had been staying at a homeless shelter, but that stay had ended and, because she was on probation, with nowhere else to sleep, Adamss fellow officers had taken her to jail, though they could hold her for only one night. She would be released that day, still with nowhere else to stay. The next 48 hours would be critical, Adams felt. Here was a person who wanted to get sober but for whom the local authorities had little to offer.

From his desk, he dialed a treatment center, then various landlords and nonprofit directors he knew. Hi, this is Eric Adams over at the Laconia Police Department. Im calling to see if you have anything. ... Then he tried calling back the county prosecutor, tapping his fingers impatiently as the phone rang. When no one answered, he pulled a cellphone from his pocket and looked through it for numbers to dial on his office phone, while scribbling notes on two different legal pads. A cup from Dunkin Donuts sat on his desk, but he hadnt had time to sip from it. After a half-dozen calls, he hung up the phone and sighed. This is the biggest problem in the area, he said. Its housing. There are only a handful of landlords that own so many properties. Adams tried to be up front with landlords, and he didnt blame them for sometimes rebuffing him, because they had to look out for their other tenants. But it meant limited options for a woman like the one he was trying to help.

He swiveled toward his computer and began scrolling through notes. Finding nothing, he rubbed his eyes with frustration, propped his elbows onto his desk and rested his chin on his hands to think. Oh! Let me try I havent talked with her in a while. He dialed another number. Hi, this is Eric Adams over at the Laconia Police Department. ... A moment later, he hung up. All right, this is the last one I can think of. He dialed again. I was wondering if you had any rentals available for a female. Oh, really? Thatd be great. He recited his email address. Thank you!

Good news?

Adams shook his head. Not for a couple weeks. He stood, pushing back his chair, and cursed. Out of the office he strode to make a lap around the building to clear his head, then returned and looked at the clock 9:40 a.m. He had a meeting at 10 at the local branch of the Bank of New Hampshire to help Pierce, the nonprofit director, apply for a new line of credit for their organization. Halfway to the door, he backtracked to pluck the Dunkin Donuts cup from his desk and sipped. My coffees cold.

On a glass table in the bank lobby lay that mornings copy of The Laconia Daily Sun. Drug Sweep in Laconia Results in 17 Arrests, its front page read. Headlines like that had become increasingly common, especially as the drugs themselves changed first to opiates, then to opioids. They werent the same thing, Adams had learned. Opiates are derived from nature, and there are only so many, drugs like morphine, heroin and codeine. By contrast, opioids though the word is now often used as an umbrella term for all these substances technically means synthetic drugs like Vicodin, Percocet, fentanyl and OxyContin, all of which were invented in a laboratory. This is why detectives sometimes encountered new opioids that were 20, 50, 100 times as potent as heroin. In a lab, you can do nearly anything. A dealer, even if he or she knows the difference, rarely bothers labeling, so a dose of so-called heroin might include fractions of nearly anything meaning, of course, that the potency might be nearly anything. Overdoses happen not just when a person knowingly ingests a large dose but also when he or she ingests a dose of unknown composition.

After the meeting at the bank, Adamss phone rang, and he vanished briefly. The call was from a woman whose son was arrested on charges of dealing meth. She wanted an intervention and hoped Adams might help. Steering toward the Belknap County jail, past homes spangled with Christmas lights, Adams admitted that he felt wary. He had already met this young man, who wanted nothing to do with him. Still, Adams would try. He never knew when an addict might begin saying yes to him. Sometimes this happened quickly: Adamss phone would ring, and it was someone he met the previous day. Im exhausted, the person would confess. Others waited a year or longer. All that time, they had hung onto his card. I think Im ready now, they said. Occasionally an addict used similar words even in rebuffing him I dont think Im ready yet a phrase that implicitly acknowledged a problem even as he or she denied one. It was the kind of sign Adams kept on the lookout for. Possibly this moment had come for the young man in jail.

When we arrived, Adams hustled through the drably carpeted lobby, hardly slowing before a receptionist and a guard waved him inside. A half-hour later, he returned, his face tight with frustration, and strode past me to the car without speaking. He doesnt have a problem, he told me. Thats what he said. He doesnt have a problem.

Inside, he told me, guards had brought the young man from his cell into a windowed conference room, where he recognized Adams, as Adams predicted. You know why Im here, Adams began gently.

Youre trying to be nosy, the man replied.

If you want to think of it that way, thats fine. Adams glanced at the young mans file and explained that the mans mother had called. So I wanted to talk to you a little bit. This is an opportunity for you to get some help. The young man went silent. I mean, you got arrested, Adams added, gesturing toward the file.

The man told him that he didnt do the stuff, just sold it. He didnt need help.

O.K., Adams told him, crossing his arms and leaning forward. Was the young man on any weight-loss program, then? Because when I saw you before, to now, youve lost a lot of weight. He nodded toward the young man, who was twitching uncomfortably in his chair. And youre all over the place, just sitting there.

When the man told Adams he was innocent, Adams reminded him that he was always available and slid him another one of his cards. Adams wished him well, then he asked guards to briefly fetch the woman they were holding overnight the one for whom Adams was searching for housing to check in and promise that he was trying.

Even as Adams nosed the Crown Vic out of the parking lot, he couldnt get the episode out of his head. Why wont you just say, I need this? he asked aloud, thinking of the young man. Your life is going this way. Youve been arrested. Youre homeless. Its all drug-related. He sighed. The thing I had the hardest time learning was youre not going to save everyone. That was very hard for me to accept. A common sentiment among the police was that officers interacted with just 5 percent or so of the residents they served. In certain communities, that fraction was smaller. Laconia wasnt a large town. You think, mathematically, Adams began, before pausing, why cant I? Why cant I fix this?

For several miles he steered quietly, past muddied snowbanks. It bothers me, but Ive done what I can do right now. I cant force him to want help. He turned into the lot of the department and slowed into a parking spot.

Is there such a thing as an addict you have no sympathy for? I wondered.

Adams considered this, letting the engine idle, and dropped his hands into his lap. Eleven seconds passed in silence. I dont think so, he said finally. There are reasons they are the way they are.

Adams could list, from memory, addicts who had opened their lives to him, had volunteered for treatment, had wept in relief and gratitude. Already I had met two young adults who were newly in recovery and partly credited Adams for the lives they had regained. But those werent the names that tormented him.

Inside his office, he noticed two new voice-mail messages. The first was from a woman who read of Adams in the newspaper. If you could tell me what to do? Im more than willing to do whatever I need. Adams scribbled something on a legal pad, then played the second voice mail. The same voice filled the room again, but now it broke into tears. Could Adams please tell her what to do?

Adams jotted another note, then checked his watch. Just past noon. Because he knew the work schedule of the mother of the young man he visited in jail, he knew she would be off soon and expecting his call. Shes not going to be happy, he said, mostly to himself. Rubbing his forehead, he sat down and dialed.

In so many towns all across the country, it is difficult to talk about an issue like heroin, not only because there is a stigma or because people worry about sounding impolite, but because everyone calibrates differently, based on neighbors and co-workers they see all day, how much of a problem it is or whether it is a problem at all. There were towns near Laconia diplomatically, Adams declined to name them that denied they had any drug crisis, even as the numbers they had showed otherwise. When presented with those numbers, some officials found alternative explanations. Those were residents from other towns who just happened to cross the border, they argued. This reasoning just contributed to the problem, Adams said. Between 2004 and 2013, the number of New Hampshire residents receiving state-funded treatment for heroin addiction climbed by 90 percent. The number receiving treatment for prescription-opiate abuse climbed by 500 percent. But in terms of availability of beds, New Hampshire ranks second to last in New England in access to drug-treatment programs, ahead of only Vermont. The number who still need treatment is probably much higher. In October 2014, New Hampshire became the second-to-last state in the country to begin a prescription-drug-monitoring program, leaving only Missouri without one.

Not everyone saw things Adamss way. In his office in City Hall, I met Laconias mayor, Edward Engler. Engler, who was cautious and businesslike, with slicked hair and a graying goatee, had been mayor for three years, though he had lived in Laconia for almost 17 and owned The Laconia Daily Sun. Over his dress shirt he wore a fleece vest embroidered with the papers logo. Engler referred to what was happening in Laconia as this so-called heroin epidemic, his tone melodramatic, raising his hands defensively above his head. Were the county seat, Engler told me. Were also the home of the regional hospital. Towns in New Hampshire are extremely close together. I think we tend to get credit for more things than are directly attributable to our residents. Though he thought highly of Eric Adams, he also felt skeptical that heroin deserved to be considered an epidemic, regardless of the statistics. When I go to a Rotary Club meeting, I dont hear people sitting around talking about, Woe is us, everybodys dying of heroin.

Might that be because, in a setting like the Rotary Club, heroin was not a topic of polite conversation?

There could be something to that, Engler admitted. Still, an overdose death was an overdose death it would appear in the news that way, and Engler would have heard of it. I dont believe there has been a huge, communitywide reaction to this. Theres not 100 people showing up at City Council meetings saying: You have to do something about this. This is terrible. The papers arent full of letters to the editor. Not at all. And I think theres a reason for that. The reason for that is Engler paused and crossed his arms since we have been in the so-called heroin epidemic in New Hampshire, I dont believe there has been an instance in the Lakes Region, in Belknap County, where we have had a tragic story involving the son or daughter of someone from a prominent family. All it takes is one, usually. Somebody in Londonderry, some girl who was valedictorian of her class, her dad was a doctor or a lawyer or something like that, overdoses and dies, and suddenly its a crisis to everyone in town.

That very week, I told Engler, while tagging along with Adams for a meeting at the high school, Id heard teachers mention a current student, a well-liked senior athlete, a team captain, whose sister had struggled with addiction and who had been open about the experience. Another member of the same graduating class, a girl whose grades ranked her in the top 10, had been walking with a friend in 2012 when a local mother, high while driving to pick up her own child from the middle school, swerved and struck them on the sidewalk. The girl survived. Her friend was killed.

The mayor was unmoved. That was oxycodone, Engler said dismissively. Here, locally, the heroin epidemic, whatever you want to call it, has not crossed over in any obvious way from the underclass to the middle, middle-upper class.

Later that week, another prospective client phoned Adams. Im at wits end, the man said. For the woman who needed housing, Adams helped track down a relative, at whose home she could stay until an apartment opened. On Friday evening, two more residents overdosed. Adams intended to visit them. Whether either one would accept Adamss card, would call him, would enter treatment, would achieve recovery, would some day relapse, Adams couldnt predict. There were no guarantees in this sort of work.

Early in his tenure, Adams made a presentation to some prominent people in the community he didnt want to name anyone and afterward, as much of the room applauded, a man approached to shake Adamss hand. As he reached out, the man said: Its a really good job youre doing. I think its great. But my opinion is, if they stick a needle in their arm, they should die.

Im sorry you feel that way, Adams said, startled. Id hope you would feel differently if it was your own family member.

But the man shook his head. That will never happen.

This sort of thing happened all the time when Adams began. Today it happened far less frequently. So many others had grown into Adamss approach: fellow officers, downtown business owners, the captain at the Belknap County jail. Police officers from around New England and even farther away had phoned or traveled to Laconia to learn what Adams was doing, and whether the model could be replicated. Other towns, independently, had been pressed by the crisis to conceive approaches of their own. Manchester had turned its firehouses into safe stations. Gloucester, across the border in Massachusetts, had a network of community volunteers. A city as large as Philadelphia or Boston could sensibly implement a PET approach too, Adamss supervisors argued; a community like that would simply need more than one officer, with each assigned to a geographical area. But the shift this required would be profound, asking departments that for so long had thought mainly of enforcement to think differently. In Adamss daily work, it was unavoidable that certain values competed. A client might divulge a crime to him, and he would be forced to interrupt her to give a Miranda warning. If there is a crime, that individual needs to be held accountable, he said. But this is where our prosecutor, our judges, come into play. Some attorneys had expressed discomfort with him and had insisted on being present when he met their clients. Im totally fine with that, he said, because its an opportunity for me to educate the attorney, to let them know what I do, how I do it, what the processes are. In a role so complicated, with so much at stake, clearly it was vital that the right officer held the job.

In an empty conference room on the first floor of the department, I met a young man named Chadwick Boucher, an early client of Adamss. The two men hugged when they saw each other, and then Adams disappeared upstairs to make calls while Boucher and I spoke. He was 27, though he had the calm demeanor of someone two or three times as old. As early as middle school, Boucher began sneaking his parents liquor, partly to fit in with older boys he admired, he told me. Soon he added marijuana. He played hockey then, and played well invitations came from showcases in Boston and scouts from Division I colleges, including the University of New Hampshire, a national power. Instead, Boucher quit. It was too much pressure. He finished high school and moved in with a friend, who introduced him to OxyContin.

What followed was difficult to align into a neat chronology. He bounced from one friends apartment to another, from Oxy to Percocet and finally, when pills grew scarce, to heroin. There was a criminal distribution charge, probation, two treatment programs that he abandoned, feeling as though he didnt belong. There were short-term jobs tending bar or waiting tables, collecting paychecks before inevitably being fired. Suddenly he was high behind the wheel of his fathers Cutlass not in the road, but in a driveway startling awake to the police rapping on his window. Then he was at the Laconia police station, in a room with a plainclothes officer named Eric Adams.

He opened his arms to me, Boucher recalled. It had felt bizarre, sharing the truth with a cop. But things had changed so quickly. Most of his family had stopped returning his calls, and all his friends had vanished. The only people around him now were strangers who shared his addiction, and he didnt like or trust them. The difference in meeting someone like Adams was obvious. He cares about my well-being, Boucher said. I needed that.

Adams wanted him to call every day, so Boucher called every day. Then every week. He entered another treatment program, and this time he graduated. He was now nearing a year sober. He owned a business and was caught up on his bills. He lived up the road in an apartment and had friends again, some of whom were in recovery, too. They made a point to talk openly about it, to keep an eye out for one another. Some he referred to Adams. He knew that recovery demanded his full attention, that it probably always would. If he lost anything else in his life an apartment, a business he lost that one thing only and could do without it. If he lost his recovery, he would lose everything, all at once.

I asked Boucher how he preferred to be named in this article by only Chad? Or would he prefer anonymity? But he shook his head. It was important to him to be honest about who he was. He hoped this would send a message to other addicts and to those who encountered them. Its important that people know theres a way out. Recovery from addiction was an achievable thing and, having discovered this fact, having discovered Eric Adams, Boucher intended to share it. The news might save lives. He knew it was possible that a business client might discover his unflattering past, that he might lose an account or two. Ive come way too far for that, he said.

Benjamin Rachlin is the author of the forthcoming nonfiction book Ghost of the Innocent Man: A True Story of Trial and Redemption. This is his first article for the magazine.

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A version of this article appears in print on July 16, 2017, on Page MM22 of the Sunday Magazine with the headline: You Know Why Im Here.

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A Small-Town Police Officer's War on Drugs - New York Times

CHIANG RAI: Malaysia has expressed its appreciation for Thailand's prompt action in arresting Malaysians suspected of being involved with drug syndicates, as the two neighbouring countries vowed closer cooperation in their war on drugs.

Bukit Aman Narcotics CID director, Datuk Seri Mohd Mokhtar Mohd Shariff said Malaysia too had managed to derail attempts to smuggle 55 tonnes of kratom or ketum (recreational drug derived from the Mitragyna speciosa Korth tree) and 22 kg of cocaine into Thailand in recent years.

"Drugs is a global problem and to wage successful war on drugs, we need to have cooperation and exchange of intelligence information," he told the media after attending the 38th Malaysia-Thailand Meeting on Narcotics Law Enforcement Cooperation, here, today.

The Thai delegation to the meeting was led by the Office of Narcotics Control Board (ONCB) secretary-general, Sirinya Sitdichai.

Mokhtar who is due to retire soon, said the arrest of suspected Malaysian drug traffickers by Thai authorities showed the efficiency, transparency and sincerity of its enforcement agencies.

He said the Malaysian authorities, meanwhile, would not let the country be turned into a place to import, export or produce drugs.

The Thai authorities made two significant arrests last April when it nabbed two Malaysians suspected to be responsible for several successful attempts to bring hundreds of kilogrammes of drugs into Malaysia.

The two men, Johor-born "Mr T" or "Malaysian Iceman" as the Malaysian media referred him and "Mr G" from Penang were arrested at Hatyai Airport and Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi Airport after extensive surveillance by the Thai authorities.

Meanwhile, Sirinya thanked the Malaysian authorities for their effort in foiling attempts to smuggle 55 tonnes of kratom and 22 kg of cocaine into Thailand.

Thailand, according to him, had requested assistance from Malaysia on the latter's expertise in fighting kratom, as it had more experience in dealing with the problem.

He said both countries faced problems related to drug smuggling and needed closer cooperation to ensure the success of their drug-fighting efforts.

This year's meeting was purposely held in Chiang Rai, situated in northern Thailand and which sits on the edge of the "Golden Triangle", a famous drug-producing region. Bernama

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Malaysia, Thailand vow closer cooperation in war on drugs - The Sun Daily

In an era when it seems Democrats and Republicans can agree on hardly anything, many agree on the need for corrections reform. Its expensive to keep people in prison, and prison itself can have corrosive, lasting effects that are disproportionate to a productive post-prison life, the thinking goes.

So for a while now, at the local, state and national levels, policy makers have taken tentative steps toward imprisoning nonviolent and other low-risk offenders for shorter terms in hopes of lowering costs and improving outcomes without compromising public safety. Michigans state population peaked at over 51,000 in 2007; the following year, a report by the Citizens Research Council of Michigan noted that spending on corrections took 20 percent of the states general fund and employed nearly a third of its workforce, and that the inmate population grew through a period when the crime rate fell by more than 42 percent.

Today, the state prison population is around 43,000, and while the debate on how to control corrections spending continues, bipartisan discussion continues to seek consensus on how these expensive institutions can be safely downsized.

That trend is now being challenged, at least in the federal system, by U.S. Attorney General Jeff Sessions. In a directive to U.S. attorneys in May, Sessions reversed a course laid in 2013 by his predecessor Eric Holder, which directed U.S. attorneys to refine their charging practices, so as not to trigger mandatory minimum sentences for low-level, nonviolent federal drug offenders.

Sessions move restored the previous policy, which required federal prosecutors to charge the most serious, readily provable offense, many of which trigger long sentences.

The U.S. Bureau of Justice Statistics reports that roughly half of all federal prisoners are drug offenders, and Sessions move to reverse the Obama-era policy was widely seen as restarting the governments so-called war on drugs. Sessions, in announcing the change, said drugs and crime go hand-in-hand and drug trafficking is an inherently violent business, where debts are collected by the barrel of a gun. The reversion to previous policy was a key part of President Trumps promise to keep America safe.

In his statement, Sessions told U.S. attorneys they deserve to be unhandcuffed and not micro-managed from Washington. ...It is simply the right and moral thing to do.

A return to the war on drugs, if mimicked here in Michigan, could have wide-reaching impact on the state prison system, and on the taxpayers who pay for it.

Roughly 2.3 million people are behind bars in the U.S., spread among local jails, juvenile and immigration detention, and military, state or federal prisons, according to the Prison Policy Initiative, which advocates against mass incarceration.

In Michigan, the most recent available data, from 2015, reports that about one-third of the states 40,000 prison inmates are incarcerated on drug charges. At a per-capita cost of $35,000, that works out to $116 million per year (though its worth noting that most imprisoned on drug charges have at least another conviction, anything from violent assault to a less-serious property crime).

So what is likely to happen as a result of this new wind blowing through Washington? Whats the result if its duplicated in Michigan?

Maybe not much

Think of the war on drugs as a long train speeding down the track. Holders directive had the effect of pulling back on the throttle, but a train takes a long time to slow down, let alone stop, and the new policy was in place for only about three years.

The language he is using was the language that was in place for all U.S. attorneys offices prior to the Holder policy, said Blanche Cook, a Wayne State University Law School professor and former U.S. Attorney. It not as if this is new. Its not a radical notion.

The most serious, readily provable offense is language that U.S. Attorneys have been following for decades, and federal mandatory minimum sentences go with that, Cook said.

Theyre called mandatory for a reason.

However, she said, federal prosecutors have discretion in how they craft and pursue cases. But they also all know they serve at the pleasure of the president, and no one wants to lose a job because they werent carrying out the chief executives judicial policy to the presidents liking.

You have a lot of latitude, but you dont want to get on the presidents radar for the wrong reason, Cook said.

A spokesman for the Department of Justice in Washington declined comment for this story.

A setback for reformers

Kevin Ring, president of Families Against Mandatory Minimums, a national advocacy group, said he was disappointed with the Sessions reversal. He said its clear tough sentencing doesnt reduce crime.

The group was part of the effort to repeal Michigans 650-lifer law, which Ring called one of the worst in the country. The statute, passed in 1973, imposed a mandatory life sentence on individuals arrested with 650 grams or more roughly 1.5 pounds of heroin or cocaine. By the time it was repealed 25 years later, it had snared such high-profile defendants as White Boy Rick Wershe, the focus of clemency efforts for years, and Tim Allen, the actor who today is the voice of the Pure Michigan tourism ad campaign. (Both men cooperated with law enforcement, but Wershe remains behind bars, while Allen served two years in federal prison before being paroled.)

Charging decisions that trigger mandatory minimums are counterproductive to their stated aim, Ring said.

They were (supposed to) reduce crime and drug use. But no study shows it reduces crime; its swiftness and surety of prosecution, not sentences, that does that, Ring said. Michigan and other states, including New York and Rhode Island, have reformed these policies, and crime rates continued to fall.

That question is that rare issue where many on both the left and right are in agreement. None other than the conservative American Legislative Exchange Council has come out against mandatory minimums, along with more traditionally liberal groups like the ACLU.

Which brings up the question of how states are handling the same problem.

Tough on crime, and (probably) running for governor

In Michigan, as divided along partisan lines as any state, corrections reform is a bipartisan issue, or was. In 2015, a bill sponsored by Republican Rep. Kurt Heise of Plymouth sought to institute presumptive parole, where low-risk inmates in the state prison system would be paroled at their first available date.

Groups from the Mackinac Center for Public Policy (on the right) and the ACLU (on the left) agreed it was a sensible reform that would ease the burden on corrections by releasing inmates at an earlier date than they might be under the old system.

It died in the Senate, after being opposed by Michigan prosecutors and state Attorney General Bill Schuette, who has made a tough-on-crime stance part of his growing public profile. Lately, Schuette has also focused on opioid-related criminal activity, announcing the formation of a new Opioid Trafficking and Interdiction unit that will focus on illegal traffic in legal opioid painkillers, as well as heroin.

And while affairs at the state level are not connected with Sessions reversal, Heise, now supervisor of Plymouth Township, said they are the same problem in a different place.

Whats happening at the federal level is the disconnect we have in Michigan: A tough-on-crime attorney general against a legislature trying to pay the bills, and finding out that increased incarceration doesnt pay off, Heise told Bridge.

Look at the cost of corrections, (and ask) what are we really getting out of increased incarceration? The feds will come to the same conclusion we came to in Michigan, Heise said. Within the party, we will see the same debate and discussion in the Trump Administration.

A Michigan House Fiscal Agency analysis of the bill stated it would save the state money, eventually, by slowing prison population growth over a number of years, roughly 1,300 prison beds, a savings of roughly $30 million annually.

Legalized pot up in smoke?

Marijuana remains illegal under federal law. Under the Obama administration, a 2009 guidance memo allowed states where voters or legislators chose to legalize it to do so without federal interference. That was one factor enabling marijuana laws to spread to 29 states, either as medicine or a strictly recreational drug.

Sessions memo said nothing about marijuana, but hes said plenty about it in other settings, most notably that good people dont smoke marijuana, and that allowing people to use it in a medical context in lieu of opiates, for example, amounts to trading one life-wrecking dependency for another.

And a letter released in mid-June reveals Sessions is gunning for weed, too, asking Congress to overturn the Rohrabacher-Farr amendment, a 2014 law that officially keeps the federal government out of state affairs on this issue.

Sessions argues that the Justice Department needs the authority to combat an historic drug epidemic and potentially long-term uptick in violent crime.

In Michigan, a drive to fully legalize recreational marijuana is in its early stages, aiming for a ballot initiative in November 2018. (An earlier effort failed to reach the ballot due to a dispute over the age of some signatures on petitions.)

Josh Hovey, spokesman for the Coalition to Regulate Marijuana Like Alcohol, formed to help pass the Michigan ballot measure, said he isnt worried.

The bottom line is, were paying close attention (to the issue), and think theres strong momentum across the country for more responsible marijuana laws, Hovey said. Were hopeful the momentum will carry through to the Administration, and they will think twice before they overturn (state laws).

Polling suggest strong support for fully taxed, legal marijuana in the state, with 58 percent of likely voters saying theyd approve it in one recent poll.

Fuller prisons

Todd Perkins is a criminal defense attorney in Detroit who has seen many clients go through the federal courts both under the old system and after the Holder memo. He sees the change by Sessions as hostile to people of color.

The war on drugs has not been successful, Perkins said. It was predicated on race, and has punished, unfairly, various sectors of society, predominantly African Americans and other minorities.

Besides studies showing sharp racial disparities in drug prosecution, and differences in sentences (since mitigated) for those possessing or selling crack or powder cocaine, Perkins contention is backed up by at least one key admission.

John Ehrlichman was President Nixons domestic policy adviser and a key player in launching the presidents war on drugs, declared in 1971 when Nixon called drug abuse Americas public enemy number one.

In an interview given in the early 90s, but not published until 2016, 17 years after his death, Ehrlichman is quoted as saying the war on drugs was intended to demonize the antiwar left and black people.

After the Holder-led policy change in 2013, Perkins said, his clients in the federal courts who were lower-level, nonviolent offenders still got prison time, but less of it, he said.

Some punishment has to occur, Perkins said. But at the end of the day, we dont need to lock people up for long stretches if they dont deserve it.

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Reviving war on drugs could carry big costs in Michigan - Petoskey News-Review

Left: Keith Humphreys, Right:EkowYankah

Opioid addiction and related deaths disproportionately affect both poor, rural white communities and middle class, suburban white communities. Also, many addicts are introduced to opioids through prescription drugs, which seem to be more socially acceptable than say, crack cocain. Despite the similarities between the spread of opioid addiction and that of crack in the 80s and early 90s, public opinion and public policy in response to the two have been profoundlydifferent.

Todays mostly white opioid addicts are considered part of a public health crisis, and maybe rightly so. But black cocaine addicts in urban ghettos were met with an all out War on Drugs, which is still being waged today with huge social consequences. What is at the root of this double standard, and how does it color our own perceptions ofaddiction?

Detroit Today host Stephen Henderson talks with Keith Humphreys, psychiatry professor at Stanford University and former policy advisor at the White House Office of National Drug Control Policy. He also speaks withEkow Yankah, law professor at the Cardozo School of Lawat Yeshiva University, who says that how we respond to addiction is based on our perceptions of theaddict.

Our intuitions and our empathy in the drug wars is too often tied up with who we imagine the addicted are and what race we imagine them to be, says Yankah. Time will tell if this kind of rhetoric is combined with more humane and more thoughtful drug policy or if we just tie our drug policy ever finer to punishing those we always want to punishanyway.

By those Yankah means marginalized populations who are often associated with drug crimes and abuse. Humphreys echos thissentiment.

If you look at American history, he says, weve had repeated examples where some group that is the target of prejudice has substance use problems and society really cracks down The cultural narrative when its in those groups is that they deserve these problems because theyre immoral, theyre weak, theyre pleasure seeking, and therefore the response of government should be punitive. And we havent seen that with this much more white epidemicWe wouldve repudiated all of them if they were minorities, but because theyre not, people arecompassionate.

To listen to the full show, click the audio player above.

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Opioid Crisis vs. the War on Drugs: A Double Standard? - WDET