Cannabis Classification

In 1976 Holland relaxed it’s laws on the possession and sale of cannabis, while not legal, possession of a limited amount of the substance is only classed as a misdemeanor and the sale is allowed in certain franchises, named coffeeshops. The few remaining laws surrounding cannabis possession are now officially un-enforced, institutionally un-enforced laws in the EU equate to decriminalisation. 

Holland's capitol Amsterdam has now been the subject of intense scrutiny by both sides of the cannabis legalisation debate, local and international governments and the medical sector for three decades. But can a nation’s drug policy and the health of it’s inhabitants really be dictated by pragmatism? How you answer this question independent of background knowledge, political experience or especially acquaintance with the narcotic in question will always relate to how you view illegal substances and the users of these substances. Will narcotics always be a question of legality, prosecution and police or like the Dutch is it more beneficial to view the subject as a matter of health and disease. Of course to acquit drugs users as ill patients would correspondingly result in an increase in drug use and crime, it would be counter productive to view the want to drug oneself as an biological condition to which the user is at little fault. However when the criminal proceedings cause more harm to the users than cannabis itself many believe the system should be changed.

To start talking about the debate first it’s essential to differentiate between the varying levels and intensities of drugs. In the Netherlands there are two groups, hard and soft, with cannabis being soft and alcohol hard. However the perception of cannabis in Holland is slowly changing. As botanical methods improve over the years the drugs on sale in Amsterdam are becoming ever increasingly stronger. The average amount of THC, the hallucinogen in marijuana, is around 10% but with modern techniques like freeze extraction this can be increased to around 40%, this raises questions about the changing status of cannabis and how government approved advances in the Netherlands lead to increases in the strength of illegal drugs for sale in the UK.

Another strong argument for the prohibition in Holland is that the development of a new drug under the cannabis umbrella named skunk showing strong positive correlations to schizophrenia. You may remember back in 2007 when The Independent newspaper reversed it’s stance on drugs. Since 1997 the paper had been pro legalisation until, under the sensationalist headline “An Apology” it declared that the links between mental health disorders and this new skunk strain meant a complete turnaround was required. Sir Richard Branson, head of Virgin, was a supporter of decriminalisation campaign, said "the arrival of genetically engineered skunk has merited a new look at the situation." This was four years ago and since then cannabis has been upgraded from a class C to a class B in British law, and yet still the amount of the drug being grown in the UK is reaching incredible levels, there are now almost 20 commercial cannabis factories being found by police every day, taking the total for 2009/10 to 6,886, quite a lot more than double the 3,032 discovered two years ago, and more than eight times the annual average between 2004 and 2007. If the further criminalisation of British cannabis users leads to British crime syndicates being able to export their produce to Holland then surely it’s time to rethink our policies. 

Whether grown in Holland or imported the fact that Amsterdam is one of very few places where possession is legal does cause extensive drug tourism to the area. From experience drug tourists on the whole are not analogous to other tourists. It would be a generalisation too far to say that drug users are more prone to criminal activity than the general public, however the type of drug user that would travel across continent to get their fix seem to be of a more devout and excessive nature, and cannabis doesn’t come cheap. However the fact that the Netherlands have the ninth highest crime figures in the world according to the United Nations Survey of Crime Trends really loses it’s importance in the prohibition camp when our glorious United Kingdom with it’s policy of punishment is number two.

Marijuana can not be an issue that is legally or politically absolute without being detrimental to either the general public, the users of the drug or jeopardising the police force. This is a fact. Legalisation will lead to reduced drug crime, but an increase in health issues as drug producers advance in the strength and consequentially the potential danger of the drug, if Britain did legalise we would also see drug tourism, not to the extent of Holland but we would certainly be affected by it. The research between some strains of the drug and psychosis are all at this point exclusively observational, and we have already seen and will see again no doubt politicians polarising public opinions with epidemiological evidence that just does not exist at this point in time. 

But is the possession of a gram of weed resulting in hours of police offence processing, only for a small fine to be given really viable in a time when the force desperately needing to prioritise how they deal with crime in the face of the police cuts? Cannabis is a victimless crime. But can law really dictate what is good for the individual. Law is crafted by individuals, be they politicians or police, I want to be the last journalist to cry nanny state and talk about political correctness gone mad, but I feel that the law should have no place in concerning itself with the choices made by an individual when they affect the individual and the individual alone.

It’s ridiculous to try and convince you with a utilitarian argument especially when talking about vice but when adding up crime figures for prohibition versus a more relaxed stance it’s clear to see that although legalisation isn't the answer a compromise is in order so that this stasis cannot continue. Thorough epidemiological evidence, and the commencement of debate upon in the House of Lords along with a brief tester period ,say three months, in which only English people will not be arrested for possession of under five grams, but also arrested if smoking in a public place. This trial does seem to be the option that would wash away the stagnant waters of the halted debate and allow for some fresh insight on the topic, which is desperately needed.

So that was my first blog post! Exciting times. But anyway if I can find out how to get people to see this then please comment upon improvements or how to get other people to see this stuff as I am a slight novice where the inter-web is concerned. Think I shall post some more old school work into the empty void of the world wide web. Fresh writing soon though!

Country Life

To commence our journey I think it’s fitting we should start off where I live, in the village of Billingborough. However it’s difficult to give you a feel of the place without first giving you it’s setting, and what a setting it is. Lincolnshire is at times a beautiful and enchanting place to live. Catch the county in the morning when the air is crisp and the birds out and it’s easy to understand why aesthetically it’s one of England’s hidden gems. It’s lack of house, hill or high-rise allows for uninterrupted views across the fens, without any distractions the mix of hues in the vista can be freely appreciated. Using Dulux as a guide (which is always fun) I think a mix of Natural Hessian, Putting Green and a cross between Striking Cyan and Mineral Mist for the sky can all be visible out of my window as I write this. I would be doing my county a disservice as well if I forgot to mention it’s inhabitants, though more at ease with fertiliser and pesticide than frappuccinos and parties they are a pleasant bunch, always ready with a helping hand and a kind smile and never short on conversation on either control of maize blight or the hunting ban (my comments about the barbaric nature of killing for sport were greeted with stony silence at the local and led to a locked door that night for fear of a Straw Dogs-style incident). However, it is completely indisputable that for the duration of a young boy’s teenage years, life in Lincolnshire is fucking shit. Now I have many opinions (as well  you know, my handsome, popular, regular readers) and my first intention for the opening to this column was to talk about Lincolnshire, and how it's unspoiled holistic lifestyle made me the man I am today. Then I realised it would only be about 250 words long, mainly compromising of different colours describing the views. But the profanities crept in, sorry dear reader but the idyllic setting of my formative years was neatly surmised by my neighbour of many years John Hall, (who may I say sports the most incredible moustache I have ever seen on a man) when he said there were only two other Halls in all of Lincolnshire “ Bugger ‘all and feck ‘all”. So hold on, here comes the vitriol.....

When talk of the county revolves around the extension to a small corner-shop in Grantham, a town twenty miles away vilified by the Crap Towns book because “the most exciting thing to come out of Grantham is the A1”, you know that life is slowly passing you by. Now I know it’s quite a common trend in our lovely British humour to disparage the places where we live or lived, but seriously, the lack of, well anything of merit or anything to write about at all that would not drive you to put down this book out of sheer apathy does lead one to a “come friendly bombs and fall on Lincolnshire” rage. I mean let’s be honest, I’m a man of both simple pleasures and mindedness, I don’t want a Starbucks or a local vintage clothing shop, Billingborough’s lack of pretension was one of the few things I enjoyed, I wanted a slide, a half decent chinese and somewhere I could buy fags. What I actually got was grief from what appeared to be the cast of Deliverance. And I don’t mean Jon Voight or Burt Reynolds. It would probably be quite nice to live in a village with those two, sitting in the pub with them hearing tales of Mission Impossible and whatever the hell Burt Reynolds has been in. 

During my formative, hormonal, fluff-covered-chin years the village’s lack of amenities or transport links to Bourne (a nearby town with a large Sainsburys I liked to frequent, an insane metropolis for me) meant that I spent most of my time in my typical male teenager room, all darkness and strange posters. But I don’t think it’s affected me too much, just let me turn down my Smiths record, my microwave meal for one is almost ready. But I hear you cry for tales of Billingborough! Well here you are dear reader. 

Billingborough has a population of nearly exactly 1000, and has done for as long as I can remember. This is probably due to the fact that no one leaves and no one enters. My house being on the crossroads and overlooking the main stretch of road allowed me to view everyday people doing what I could only wish to do, drive on past. It was of brief consolation that the cars driving past would most likely be going to either Sleaford or Grantham, nearby towns not renowned for the genetic variety of it’s inhabitants, if you know what I mean. If not let me try to clear it up by saying Sleaford and Spalding are two big, happy families. Literally. 

My bedroom window also allowed me a perfect view of the  local pub, The George and Dragon and through the pane of glass I could see every night the stumbling, slack-jawed inhabitants of the village drink themselves to oblivion merely to forget they were fortunate enough to live in Billingborough. Tempting though this was, cynical inner monologues were my drug of choice. It was not uncommon to view this blogger as a young boy strolling the streets of the village, imagining himself as an Alex Delarge figure, plotting his teenage takeover of the world, targeting the co-op first, while in reality merely mumbling to himself and oiling his crossbow, without the necessary bolts after them being confiscated by his well-meaning parents ( mum, if you’re reading this- shooting you in the neck was an accident, I swear) (and if it wasn’t an accident then maybe you shouldn’t have taken away my Playstation controller, eh? ). Billingborough was the perfect setting for all your humble narrator’s criminal mastermind tendencies and fantasies, I was king of the town, I ruled this joint..... until I came home one day to see my the few friends I had in the village swiftly exiting my garage with my bike, you little shits. Who’s laughing now though Dennis Stevens? Me, while I sip that lovely middle class smoothie that we all love these days whilst tapping away at the new Mac, or you, serving time at her Majesty’s pleasure, and I don’t mean invited to the royal wedding. More long teenage brooding and bitterer internal ramblings turned to jottings. But don’t worry dear readers, I was no Manson in the making. It actually turns out that on certain websites cynical, outrage-filled blogs are actually devoured by the readers, would you credit it?