Cocaina: A Book on Those Who Make It

by Magnus Linton

  The notion that the industry has the ability to reinvent itself constantly is a key factor in why an alternative policy is emerging in Latin America today. When in the 1990s Washington managed to dismantle Escobar and Gacha’s routes through the Carribean — the quickest way from Colombia to the United States — it only meant that the majority of trafficking relocated to Mexico, the next-most economical route. In 1991 50 per cent of all cocaine from Colombia entered the United States through Mexico, a figure that increased to 90 per cent 15 years later, and as a result of that development, the country absorbed a large portion of South America’s organised crime. Today, the whole Mexican democratic system is under threat, and since 2006 more than 20,000 people have been killed in drug-related purges.

  Unlike the big Colombian cartels of the 1980s and 1990s, Mexican traffickers — now in control of the entire North American market — have diversified the business and today deal in cocaine and cannabis as well as heroin and methamphetamines. A slight decline in the demand for cocaine has been detected in the US market in recent years, but the gap has been filled in abundance by rising demand for methamphetamines. And when the land designated for cocaine cultivation in Colombia decreased after years of heavy herbicide spraying, cultivation in Peru and Bolivia increased correspondingly. Yet the fastest thing in the business to undergo a mutation has been human capital. The Mexican cartels, which alone employee 450,000 people, generate sales of 20,000 million USD per annum. One kilo of cocaine costs 2000 USD in Colombia, 12,000 USD in Mexico, and between 30,000 and 50,000 USD in the United States and Europe. That same kilo can cost up to 90,000 USD on the streets of New York, Madrid, London, or Sydney. The people who oversee the later stages of the exponential value curve — Mexican cartels control the US market, while the Colombian and Italian mafias cover large parts of the European — earn astronomical amounts, and thus the inflow of people willing to risk their lives on the carousel is infinite.

  ‘Wars shouldn’t be declared on what cannot be won. The story of drugs is never-ending.’ Alfredo Rangel’s conviction that the war is ‘never-ending’ and that decriminalisation is necessary — in some domains, at least — is now widely shared among former politicians and officers who have been involved in the anti-drug war but have stepped down or retired and are now able to speak freely. The major names in this category — Ernesto Zedillo, Fernando Henrique Cardoso, and César Gaviria, former Mexican, Brazilian, and Colombian presidents respectively — published a report in 2009, in which they supported the legalisation of cannabis for pragmatic reasons. (Since then Cardoso has taken it a step further, proposing the same for cocaine.) For the first time since the war on drugs began, high-profile politicians openly defended the idea not to crack down with sporadic military action, but to pull the rug out from under the mafia by structural and economic means. Although cocaine is the substance that helped to build up the Mexican successors to the Medellín and Cali Cartels, today cannabis — by far the most common of all illegal drugs — is responsible for much of the revenue to organised crime. In Mexico a significant proportion of all the resources invested in killing prosecutors, corrupting politicians, and maintaining mafia extravagances comes from cannabis, and the former presidents consider this much too high a price tag in light of the relatively limited adverse effects of the drug. A pan-American or global legalisation of cannabis, goes the argument, would move almost all production to the United States, the world’s largest consumer of both cannabis and cocaine, where it would be manufactured more effectively and closer to the market. But above all, such a measure would cut organised-crime profits in half.

  However, Rangel’s perspective is more radical. As a Colombian, his focus is on cocaine, and he believes that the 6.8 billion USD the United States has invested up to now in ending coca production in the nation should have been allocated differently — or, more correctly, that the anti-drug operations have done much more harm than good. In his most recent book he outlines a three-step approach many would call naïve, but which he believes is the only way. ‘This isn’t something one country can do on its own. The issue of narcotics is regulated at the international level, and everything done from this point on must happen there. Colombia has signed a global agreement, which of course cannot be breeched, but there are things that can be done. Herbicide spraying has brought only perverse consequences — socially, economically, environmentally. It has also been counterproductive: coca cultivation has spread to every corner of the nation, and production has doubled. Consequently, I think efforts have to target a completely different link in the cocaine chain — that is, the point at which it leaves the country. This would cripple crime organisations directly, instead of the small farmers, which is important, as state attacks on the poor peasants have had disastrous consequences in terms of increasing guerrilla support. Concentrating on export routes would keep large amounts of cocaine from getting transported out as planned, which in turn would disrupt things for those working in the earlier stages: the labs would produce less, the farmers wouldn’t be able to deliver as much raw material, and many middlemen would lose their jobs. Once the oversupply is greater, the cash value on coca leaves will plummet, and then alternative crops would be able to compete with coca. But this isn’t a solution, just the first step.

  ‘The second is to make cocaine a central issue in peace talks. Drugs were never part of the peace negotiations carried out with paramilitary groups during the first decade of the 2000s, and this was a major mistake. This issue needs to be discussed, and an agreement reached; the guerrillas have to assume the responsibility for certain things, and the state for others. For instance, the FARC — in consultation with its troops and social bases — would commit itself to eliminating coca cultivation, and in exchange, the government would agree to invest heavily in alternative crops and to provide new infrastructure, subsidies, micro credits, and land reform. Today, many farmers grow coca solely because small farming here has failed, since their markets have disappeared with globalisation. They have to be given the chance to make a comeback. Obviously this is a huge issue that demands cooperation at all levels of society, but with this method I believe we can bring down production much more dramatically than has previously been the case.

  ‘Thirdly, at the international level, we need to bring an end to prohibition within the global framework of regulation. Implementing legalisation in one country without consulting other nations would be an enormous risk, not least because the country in question would be isolated and condemned. But a first step is to decriminalise consumption, at least of smaller amounts, which is exactly what is happening now in Latin America, some US states, and certain EU countries. After that, gradual steps will be taken, depending upon those results. You have to try new things. Experiment. Evaluate. Take a step back. Try something else. The problem with today’s global policy is that exactly the same methods are being applied again and again, but with the expectation that the outcome will be different. Every scientist knows that if all the circumstances are identical, it’s sheer stupidity to expect new results. A reorganisation at the global level doesn’t require a consensus in the UN, but what is important is that cocaine-producing nations, transit nations, and nations of consumption are all in agreement. Colombia is the country with the most combined experience, and if such an agreement can be reached between, say, Colombia, the US, Brazil, Mexico, Peru, and the EU, then I believe that the entire course can be changed on a global scale.’ Alfredo Rangel speaks as if he is absolutely certain that the future is on his side, but he does not deny that the transformation he advocates comes with great social risks. ‘Obviously there are many, such as the risk of a marginal rise in consumption. But with awareness campaigns and better supervision, I don’t think the number of drug abusers will increase simply because the number of those who use drugs responsibly does. If six out of ten users today have to seek help for drug abuse, it may well be that only four will need help even if there are 12 users. All you can do is to speculate
about what the risks could be, compare them with the enormous costs we have today, and then to take a stance. As far as I’m concerned, those costs cannot possibly outweigh the ones we’re already paying now, at least in the case of this country. It’s important to be pragmatic and weigh in on both the positives and the negatives.’

  Yet the prohibitionists think that legalisation would not only lead to a marginal increase in consumption but to an extreme one. The example most often used is legal drugs: despite all the difficulties in controlling today’s illegal narcotics, the fact is that these drugs yield far fewer victims than legal drugs such as tobacco or alcohol. However, Rangel is not impressed by this argument, since on that perspective the only ‘victims’ are those who have been directly created by the drug; it forgets all the victims — mostly poor people in the south — of the wars and crime structures created by the bans.

  He also believes the idea that consumption would increase dramatically is far from given. ‘One can never be sure. But there have been attempts we can learn from. In Portugal, consumption of all drugs was decriminalised and abuse didn’t go up but down. In the Netherlands, cannabis was legalised and consumption increased, but not to the extent expected. And much of the increase was, and still is, owing to all the tourists who go there to buy legal marijuana. If you look at the number of people who abuse drugs, there is no correlation between the increase in consumption and the number of abusers. There are so many other variables involved: tradition, culture, poverty, level of education, social maladjustment, spread of organised crime, and what kind of awareness campaigns the politicians carry out. Drug abuse is an extremely complicated social issue, and you can’t expect to have the same results in every country. Every society reacts differently to decriminalisation, and must respond with different social and educational measures.’

  Sometimes it sounds as if he believes that a global or semi-global legalisation is inevitable, but this isn’t the case. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ he says. ‘On the contrary — I think it will take time for such an approach to receive wide support. It’s important to recognise that general truths don’t automatically generate the same outcome in all environments. While it’s certainly true that drugs cause violence and corruption, it doesn’t necessarily mean that more drug trafficking will always lead to more violence. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. In Colombia, violence and corruption escalated on a par with production, but in more recent years both violence and corruption have actually fallen, while drug trafficking hasn’t. Today, Colombia produces more cocaine and fewer murders, whereas before we had less cocaine but a much higher homicide rate. There’s no direct connection. What has happened is that the mafia has changed, evolved. The drug traffickers have learned that it’s a bad idea to declare war on the state, since such wars can never be won. They have learned to use no more violence than is absolutely necessary, no overly demonstrative violence. This is a new phenomenon. A phenomenon of the future.’

  He shoves his hand between two buttons on his shirt as he takes in the view. Bogotá’s chaotic mixture of skyscrapers, cranes, highways, and low buildings sparkle in the light, and in the distance the mountains in the south provide a visual border to what everyone knows is guerrilla territory. Still. Rangel is aware that many intellectuals in Colombia support his views on this topic, but also that he is heavily criticised in one respect. Some of the books he has published tend to convey the notion that Colombia just has one problem — narcotics. That legalisation would not only eliminate a great deal of the world’s organised crime, but also lead to peace in Colombia. Yet in that respect he is not supported by many academics.

  ‘Peace may be too much to expect,’ he says. ‘But violence and misery would never have reached such levels here had it not been for drug trafficking. In the early 1980s the FARC had 900 soldiers, but because of the drug industry that figure grew to 18,000. I believe the number could have been stopped at around 4000 had it not been for cocaine. We would have just a fifth of the guerrilla problem we have today, a problem which is a gigantic scourge. In terms of the paramilitary groups it’s all more complicated, since they were set up almost exclusively with drug money. Add to that the war between the two, which created unprecedented violence and so many internal refugees. And that’s just the armed conflict. To that should also be added all the other types of crimes generated by drugs. My response is that a Colombia without the drug industry would be an entirely different country. A completely different nation.’

  IN A CORTÈGE of cars with tinted windows, Juan Manuel Galán, son of Colombia’s own Kennedy clan, watches the buildings roll by while he wonders what his assassinated father would have said about his son’s present stance on drugs. ‘I can’t speak for him, but if he’d seen the historical balance sheet I think he’d have been all for a change of focus. The battle has to be fought with the weapon that will do the most damage to the mafia — we have to get at their money. My stance is all about focus. We’ll fight them more, not less.’

  Juan Manuel Galán was introduced to the Colombian people on 18 August 1989 when, at 17, in a moment of passion just a few hours after the assassination of his father, he grabbed the microphone during the live television broadcast and pleaded to his father’s successor, soon-to-be-president César Gaviria, ‘Please, save Colombia!’ The nation was in shock yet again, though Colombians were becoming increasingly accustomed to these unwelcome surprises. Once more, a left presidential candidate heading to a certain victory had ended up in a pool of blood as he was about to cross the finish line. Many leftists drew their own conclusions; some joined the guerrillas, others abandoned politics, and thousands went into exile.

  The country now knew that whoever dared to organise a political project (whether a political party or a strong trade union, or something else entirely) would sooner or later get murdered. The dead bodies were counted in their thousands and all hope for a better future seemed lost; but when the pimply teenager, who, a few hours after his father’s brutal death, had enough insight to call for reconciliation, the entire nation took him into their hearts. He symbolised a ray of hope. Some thought that perhaps — perhaps — there might just be some sort of peace in store for the future after all. Many years down the road. With a new generation in power. In different times.

  Since that day Juan Manuel Galán, his brothers, and his mother have been to Colombia what the Kennedys were to the United States after John F. Kennedy’s assassination in 1963. Today, the family is a symbol of a liberal, enlightened, and progressive political tradition. In Congress Juan Manuel — he is a senator and all his brothers are politicians — continues to fuel their father’s furious battle against the nation’s violent landowning elite, and whenever a Galán takes the floor, he does so with a very special moral weight. All Colombians know it was Luis Carlos Galán’s vehement struggle against cocaine that led Escobar to assassinate him, as part of an alliance with Galán’s political adversaries. This is exactly why so many people became disillusioned when Juan Manuel, the son of the biggest opponent of drugs, came out as yet another Latin American politician in favour of legalisation.

  ‘I changed my mind when I began studying the issue more scientifically,’ he says. ‘And the first thing you have to admit is that there are no simple answers. There’s no magic wand you can simply wave. But it’s important to come up with an alternative to prohibition. Of all the 40 billion dollars spent on fighting drugs each year, 38 billion go to repressive measures, to hunt down and punish those who live on this business. The mere thought about the sort of good that money could do for prevention and treatment instead is very appealing.’

  Juan Manuel Galán is one of those — Noam Chomsky being another — who think that there is no actual war being fought against narcotics, but that the war on drugs has increasingly become a rhetorical tool to serve other purposes: territorial control, defence of religious values, the war on terror, and the undermining of socialism. If it were really about drug
s, Galán says, there is plenty of evidence to show what really gets results, and almost all of it has to do with prevention, rehabilitation, and reducing poverty.

  Critics such as Galán and Chomsky base their conclusions on a vast number of studies, but on one major investigation in particular: ‘Controlling Cocaine’, carried out by the RAND Corporation in 1994, in which four methods to curb drug use in the United States were analysed. The most effective measure, by a significant margin, was prevention and treatment, followed by the much more costly policing, and third, the even more exorbitant implementation of stricter border security. Most demanding in terms of resources but least effective were operations carried out in other countries, such as herbicide spraying in Colombia. Nevertheless, the United States continues to channel its resources in opposition to these results: the majority of funds go to the latter options, the least to the former.

  The fact that most of this continues — even under Obama — may, according to Chomsky, be because the actual goals of the war on drugs differ from those expressed publicly. When this is taken into account, the argument goes, the fact that these methods repeatedly fail to achieve their purported objectives does not matter, since they succeed in the way they were actually intended. So why, if Chomsky is correct, is the resistance to the war on drugs not more evident among those governments, many of them socialist, that do not exactly share the same concerns as Washington?

  One response relates to economic power. In 1986 the US Congress passed a resolution on ‘decertification’, which means that Washington can punish nations that fail to comply with the White House’s stance on drugs by raising tariffs on agricultural products, putting a stop to air traffic to the country, or voting against loans and aid to the neglectful nation in question in the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank. When Colombia was decertified in 1996, the country fell into a deep recession and took a decade to recover, and in 2009 Bolivia was punished by drastic increases in tariffs on Bolivian goods aimed for the US market — a measure estimated to have resulted in the loss of 25,000 jobs. When in 2001 the Jamaican government appointed a commission to study the possibility of decriminalising cannabis, it concluded that arresting thousands of citizens for using it was causing more harm than that caused by marijuana addiction itself, but the US Embassy in Kingston made it clear that the White House would not tolerate such legislation — and, following the threat of decertification, the recommendations from the study were scrapped entirely. The paradoxical consequence resulting from this North/South dynamic is that the US government has more power over poor, developing nations than over its own states, many of which have already effectively legalised cannabis.