COPS AND HARM REDUCTION HOTTIES, OH MY!

You wouldn't have expected it during any other week, but for a few
days in mid-November, pot smoke wafted throughout the hallways and
meeting rooms of the Westin Hotel in Long Beach, California.

Upscale hotels aren't typical hangouts for barefoot young hippies,
recovering addicts, or a handful of self-described "harm reduction
hotties" toting their own 12-month calendar and information about how
to minimize disease and other damage from injection drug use.

But here they were, rubbing elbows with retired police chiefs,
academics, addiction specialists, attorneys, non-profit directors,
religious leaders and formerly incarcerated prisoners.

The occasion? The 2005 International Drug Policy Reform Conference,
organized by the Drug Policy Alliance. With nearly 1,000 registrants
from all over the United States and many parts of Europe, Latin
America and Canada, the event offered attendees nearly 75 sessions
over three days, on topics such as harm reduction psychotherapy,
rogue anti-drug task forces, and cutting edge cannabis research in Canada.

The group causing the biggest buzz, by far, were the representatives
of LEAP), Law Enforcement Against Prohibition, which calls for an end
to the drug war altogether. In the three years since the group's
founding, the not-for-profit has cultivated an impressive advisory
board with the likes of former New Mexico Governor Gary Johnson;
Joseph McNamara, San Jose's former police chief; Vancouver Mayor
Larry Campbell; former Seattle police chief Norm Stamper and U.S.
District Court Judge John Kane.

Years ago, police officers would only have mingled with this crowd as
undercover agents, but here, burly LEAPers were treated like
celebrities in their own right, easy to spot because of their buzz
cuts, cowboy hats and/or extremely large lettering on their brightly
colored t-shirts: "Cops Say Legalize Drugs. Ask Me Why."

A LEAP panel discussion yielded shocking stories from the drug war
front lines. Admissions from LEAP Director and former New Jersey
state police lieutenant Jack Cole, a 26-year veteran and narc,
surprised even this drug war-savvy crowd. "We lied regularly about
the numbers of drugs we were seizing," Cole said, explaining that if
his fellow officers were lucky enough to bust someone for one ounce
of cocaine, they'd immediately look for a cutting agent to double the
amount of the seizure. And if a seizure's street value stood at
$1,500, the cops would bump it up to $20,000. "Who's to question it,"
Cole asked.

Other panelists spoke of leaving the profession because they couldn't
stomach the lies or the corruption, especially when they noticed
fellow cops striking deals with the people they were supposed to
arrest, selling and smuggling drugs, and buying cars, trips and
multi-million dollar homes with their proceeds.

Garry Jones, a retired senior lieutenant who has worked in prisons
across the country, including the federal system, recalled instances
where people would come to prison on visiting day just to buy drugs
from the inmates. "My [colleagues] were bringing drugs inside the
prisons, making big money ... There was no way to escape drugs in
prison. You couldn't do it yesterday and you can't do it today," he said.

Jones said that he was particularly troubled to see ever-increasing
numbers of African American men being locked up, often on
drug-related offenses.

In this session and many others, plenty of talk was devoted to the
plight of the poor people and people of color who make up the vast
majority of American jail and prison populations. The few formerly
incarcerated men in attendance echoed the sentiment that it felt good
to hear so many people acknowledging the seriousness of the problem.

But if there's one thing that prison teaches longtime inmates, it's
that there's no point to talking if you can't back it up. People who
have been locked up tend to have little patience for bullshit, even
if it's well-intentioned and comes from a gentle medical marijuana
activist selling colorful, close-up pictures of fat buds, or from
red-eyed college students passing joints on the hotel patio.

"Building a movement with integrity has to be about more than weed,"
says Dorsey Nunn during the conference's only session by and about
the formerly incarcerated.

Nunn, a former crack addict and prisoner, is now the program director
of Legal Services for Prisoners with Children and co-founder of an
advocacy group, All of Us or None.

"There are a lot of people advocating on our behalf," he said, "but
are we allowed to come and sit at that table with them?" Nunn's
question was straight and to the point, but the sentiment is still
relatively new within the drug policy reform movement.

Just as the drug policy reform movement has benefited from the
insight and visible presence of LEAPers, so, too, can it be made more
powerful and effective if it creates more seats at the table for the
men and women who have lived through this brutal war, and experienced
it from the inside out.