Zero tolerance is about more than law enforcement

The most recent rendition of the illicit drugs debate has organised itself around the zero tolerance-harm reduction dichotomy. Zero tolerance is presently the federal government’s preferred response to illicit drug use; harm reduction is the alternative policy.

The zero tolerance v harm minimisation debate rightfully enjoys a high place on the political agenda - we’re talking about billions of taxpayers’ dollars at a very sharp end of social policy. But this is one debate that could do with a lot more clarity.

The harm reduction camp has been very successful to date in painting a wholly misleading picture of zero tolerance. This is mostly thanks to a sustained disinformation campaign propagating a clear and simple message: zero tolerance is about arresting and imprisoning people, and sneering contemptuously at their maladies.

This harm reduction critique enjoys an increasing number of champions. Dr Alex Wodak is perhaps the most vociferous in deriding zero tolerance for its focus on “criminal and legal sanctions at the expense of health and social programs”. And this sentiment seems to have become received wisdom in the media.

Until recently, the entire harm reduction critique has rested on the claim that government spending on illicit drugs is heavily skewed toward law enforcement. The President of the Royal Australasian College of Physicians, for instance, thinks that “virtually all of the money, 84 per cent, 85 per cent of the money, is spent on supply reduction”.

This is the story harm reduction likes to tell about zero tolerance - all crackdowns and no rehab. It has been effective in helping harm reduction advocates stake an exclusive claim on treatment and prevention. But the facts of the matter are very different.

To begin with, about 60 per cent of the federal government’s $1.4 billion “Tough on Drugs” strategy has been spent on prevention and rehabilitation, with the balance on law enforcement. And the recent $150 million illicit drugs Federal Budget commitment is split 25:75 in favour of treatment and prevention.

So it is with great sincerity that, in the company of Salvation Army missionaries, John Howard can wax lyrical about “extending the hand of Christian help and friendship to people who are addicted to drugs”.

And even when accounting for all government spending - beyond just federally funded programs - expenditure on illicit drugs is quite balanced. It was estimated (PDF 414KB)by a very reputable research group that law enforcement represents about 56 per cent of all spending on illicit drugs across all levels of government in Australia.

So while influential, the harm reduction critique is just wrong. It is simply not the case that zero tolerance is a law enforcement-oriented strategy.

These days, harm reduction advocates are well aware of all this. They know that government spending actually favours treatment interventions. And now, with the facts of the matter widely known, many of them are grudgingly acknowledging it.

But they explain it in their own way, and their explanation is contained in that old chestnut, “hypocrisy”. It is logically inconsistent, we are told, for zero tolerance to invoke the goals of rehabilitation and prevention.

Exactly why zero tolerance should so logically be “irreconcilable” with treatment is left unsaid. So it’s worth having a closer look at the logic of zero tolerance.

For a start, let’s remember that the definition of the term “tolerance” simply means allowing something to be done without prohibition. It would be safe to assume, one would think, that “zero tolerance” refers to just the opposite: strict prohibition.

Zero tolerance in the illicit drugs context, then, implies no more or less than a blanket prohibition on illicit drug activity.

Now there is a lot of room under this banner for both law enforcement and health interventions. Anything, really, is permissible, so long as it doesn’t breach one inviolable principle: under no circumstances should public money be spent in a way that helps people use illicit drugs, or turns a blind eye to the “illicit” in “illicit drug use”.

There is certainly nothing here that precludes the government providing, as the Prime Minister puts it, “treatment opportunities for those wanting to kick their habit”.

Programs that seek to wean people off heroin with a diet of methadone, for instance, uphold the inviolable principle - they strictly proscribe heroin use. As do strategies that seek to prevent people acquiring a habit. As do programs that divert arrested drug users away from courts and prisons and into treatment and rehabilitation.

Now of course, there are some interventions that a zero tolerance policy must logically rule out. Any proposal to manage “refractory” heroin users with a diet of prescription heroin is clearly off the table. As are medically supervised injecting rooms. As are drug testing facilities at rave parties and nightclubs.

All these interventions share one defining characteristic: they trade-off the principle of prohibition for the pragmatism of making illicit drug use safer. Zero tolerance rails against them not because they have no role for law enforcement, but because they violate the inviolable principle for practical ends. For advocates of zero tolerance, these ends simply don’t justify the means.

It is no accident that the story of zero tolerance as a law enforcement-oriented strategy is central to harm reduction. Without it, harm reduction would have very little to distinguish itself as the alternative policy - it is left only with its preparedness to sacrifice principle for pragmatism.

But this distinction is a point of value, not fact. And harm reduction prefers to debate from a platform of evidence, not morality. Its advocates will argue ad nauseam that “the evidence” shows tolerating a little bit of drug use reduces a lot of harm. This may indeed be so, but it ignores the fundamentally moral character of the entire debate.

Zero tolerance’s principled stand on illicit drug use is on the same moral plane as “we do not negotiate with terrorists”, “torture is not acceptable under any circumstances” or “we will not license euthanasia”. Sacrificing such principles is likely to avoid many undesirable consequences: hostage executions, terrorist attacks, slow and painful deaths.

But many accept that these prices are worth paying to be true to their ideals - this is why we talk about people “making tough decisions”. These sorts of moral evaluations are the very definition of politics. And in the final analysis, their outcomes are based on an ethical consensus, not a scientific one.

It is disingenuous to reduce the illicit drugs debate to “law enforcement v treatment”, so unless we are arguing over whether to violate the inviolable principle - to cede to the inevitably of illicit drug use and introduce palliative responses into our policy repertoire - we’re not really arguing at all.