Points (n.) 1. marks of punctuation. 2. something that has position but not extension, as the intersection of two lines. 3. salient features of a story, epigram, joke, etc.: he hit the high points. 4. (slang; U.S.) needles for intravenous drug use.
A few months ago, I was packing for my fifth move since 2008. I emptied every closet, box, and drawer. With every move, I’d shed belongings— a full twelve boxes of books in move number four— so why, I wondered, am I still knee-deep in useless things?
The answer was that, in true academic fashion, I’d redefined “useless.” Turns out “keep,” “store,” and “toss” are unstable categories: I classified our household belongings entirely differently after reading the New York Times article on Marie Kondo, a home organization expert with a devoted global following.
Kondo has a best-selling book and a robust media presence, but her most famous piece of advice could be summed up in a tweet: Touch every item you own; if something doesn’t “spark joy,” discard it. I applied this method to my packing process, and a lot of things I’d been storing went out the door. (I also made a few personal archival discoveries— see below).
The process got me thinking about Americans’ warped relationship with material possessions, an entanglement that has grown more dysfunctional over the past several decades. Even as the middle class flounders, easy credit, cheap foreign labor, and larger home sizes have made it easier than ever for the average American to acquire far more possessions than he needs or can use. Since excessive, compulsive consumption factors into most definitions of addiction, it’s unsurprising that Americans’ increasingly acquisitive habits have led to cultural anxieties about purchasing (and hoarding) behavior.
If you’ve thought about jumping into the frying pan (so to speak), now’s your chance. We’re ready to mix things up on Points’s masthead, and we’re looking for a few new contributors.
But first, a bit about us: Points produces informed and accessible reflections on the history of alcohol and drugs, the web of policy surrounding them, and their place in popular culture.
In the past year, we’ve explained why marijuana is illegal, coined the term “damp feminism“, braved the comments sections of addiction-related news stories, resurrected the fight over drug-related movie ratings in the Reagan Era, explored the role alcohol and drugs played on the battlefields of World War I, asked what the Acid Rescue Squad can teach today’s health educators, made a few surprising findings in Harry J. Anslinger’s gore file, re-read the Black Panther pamphlet Capitalism+Dope= Genocide, and discovered that the urban Drug War of the 1970s and 1980s played out differently in one North Florida city.
We’re looking for fresh voices and pieces to add to that list. We’re especially interested in expanding our roster to include bloggers who work on areas outside the US and in fields closely related to the history of alcohol and drugs (e.g. sociology, anthropology, science and technology studies, criminology, bioethics, public health, etc.). Interested in adding your perspective? Just email Claire Clark (email@example.com) and Emily Dufton (firstname.lastname@example.org). Introduce yourself and pitch ideas for two pieces you’d like to publish with Points.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Points is thrilled to welcome back former editor Elaine Carey (you can read Carey’s previous posts here). Carey is Associate Professor and Department Chair of History at St. Johns University. Here, she discusses her latest book, Women Drug Traffickers: Mules, Bosses, and Organized Crime (University of New Mexico Press, 2014).
Growing up in Florida during President Ronald Reagan’s War on Drugs, I became familiar with multiple dope stories, both formal and informal. I followed the news about the Miami drug wars, and I noticed that men and women were involved in drug trafficking.
From living outside the United States for much of my childhood, I learned that women dominate the informal or secondary market. They are street vendors, maids, nannies, and prostitutes; they work off the books. Combined with those observations, women’s and gender history teaches us to ask different questions of the historical evidence. Beginning in the 1990s, I read much of the literature on drug trafficking, and I was struck by the absence of women. Women were rarely mentioned, and they were never identified as partners or bosses. If they were identified, they were lovers, or they were perceived as unreliable in the trade. My starting question was: If women dominate the informal labor market, why aren’t they involved in drug trafficking?
In 1997, I stumbled on the newspaper coverage of Lola la Chata, a Mexico City drug dealer and crime boss who controlled much of the city’s heroin trade, and I noted her longevity and success. I sought other women who were bosses. Guess what? There were many, far more than in my book. I found women bosses in the US, Canada, Mexico and many other parts of the world. They worked with their lovers, husbands, fathers, and sons. Or they built their own criminal networks that employed their children, lovers, or other family members. Until recently, scholars and policing agents either ignored or downplayed the role of women in those partnerships and organizations, which, I think, contributed to women’s career longevity.
What do you think a bunch of alcohol and drug historians might find particularly interesting about your book?
While most scholars acknowledge women in the drug trade, I think many considered them mostly as addicts or low-level workers such as mules. The history of drug trafficking demonstrates that women have parallel experiences to men. Like the majority of men, they are addicts and low-level workers, but they are also dealers, partners, bosses, financiers, and traffickers. Those who rise to the top are exceptional, whether men or women. Women’s historical involvement in the drug trade complicates the metanarratives of crime, vice, and policing, but also women’s and gender history. I think the case studies allow the reader to consider how women intersect to global or local illicit markets, and I think the work leads to other questions that might be pursued by other scholars. For example, what is the role of women in money laundering?
Editor’s Note: This week, Bob Beach follows up on an earlier post about the Harry J. Anslinger papers. Today, Bob shares some of his findings from the infamous “gore file.”
In roughly four years, between 1933 to 1937, Harry Anslinger led a policy push to marginalize and strictly regulate the use of marijuana in the United States. His victory, the Marihuana Tax Act of 1937, was the culmination of bureaucratic maneuvering, public lobbying, and the use of extreme, sensationalist propaganda. These facts are not in doubt.
But what of propaganda? What is it? Where does it come from? There is no doubt that propaganda can be completely fabricated. But the most effective propaganda is rooted in some form of truth: cultural anxieties, social tensions, economic hardship. Indeed, all three of these were factors during the 1930s and it seemed like each of these elements found their way into the moral panic that was reefer madness. Continue reading
EDITOR’S NOTE: Points is pleased to welcome Tom Shroder, editor and author of the recently released book Acid Test: LSD, Ecstasy, and the Power to Heal (Blue Rider Press, 2014). Acid Test covers the history of psychedelic drug research from the 1950s through the present.
If not already clear, recent DOJ reports out of Ferguson highlight a broken system of policing and justice rather than a few rogue actors. For many the report was less than revelatory. As one local law professor put it, “it’s like being told that water is wet.” How did we get here? Were there missed opportunities along the way? How do we fix the problem beyond acknowledging a broken system in DOJ reports and in periodic commission reports?
Perhaps part of the solution can be found in commission reports, particularly if we look at change over time. Problems in policing have changed significantly; commission reports in part demonstrate such changes. For example, the NYPD’s 1972 Knapp Commission indicted specific forms of problematic policing. Corruption then was largely a “corruption of accommodation,” police officers giving and taking bribes, buying and selling protection. If anything, cops were turning a blind eye to too much crime on the streets.
Fast forward past two full decades of the modern Drug War. At the tail end of the Crack Era, the NYPD’s Mollen Commission pointed to new sets of problematic police practices. The 1994 report so much as noted in its conclusion: “Today’s corruption is not the corruption of the Knapp Commission days.” Old corruption was, “in its essence, consensual.” The new face of corruption could be characterized by, “brutality, theft, abuse of authority and active police criminality.” Undoubtedly, both forms of corruption were active on the ground in both 1972 and 1994. Nonetheless the shift in emphasis is striking and instructive. Continue reading
EDITOR’S NOTE: Points contributors Ingrid Walker and Alexine Fleck are editing a special issue of NANO (New American Notes Online) with the theme Intoxication. Their call for papers is below. Get in touch before June 1, 2015!
Intoxication is the red-headed stepchild of social and academic discourse about psychoactive substance use. Whether framed as use, misuse, or abuse, intoxication reveals dangerous human desires for social disengagement, escape, or pleasure. Even as we experience and pursue what Lee Stringer refers to as “sprees of abandon,” our acts of intoxication are fraught with social tensions related to harm to the self, others, and the community. By linking intoxication with outcomes such as addiction, disease, incarceration, and death, we rarely look at intoxication as a valuable end in itself. Yet intoxication offers a tantalizing paradox: what looks like chaos, insanity, or simply a waste of time from the outside can feel like order, transcendence, or inspiration from the inside. The etymological origins of the term itself reflect the blurred boundaries between poison and elixir. As a point between experience and perception, interiority and exteriority, pleasure and pain, and acceptance and censure, intoxication is not simply a false consciousness to be discarded.
This issue of NANO seeks to move critical attention beyond one-dimensional discourses that frame intoxication in terms of criminality, disease, or excessive indulgence. NANO’s guest editors hope to inspire a multi- and interdisciplinary conversation about the possibilities and realities of intoxication that have been less explored in academic and public discourse. Further, we invite contributions that uncouple intoxication from what has been an almost-essentialist relationship with addiction. In particular, we seek contributions that examine or theorize intoxication from new or unusual perspectives.
In a period of decriminalization and changing public policy, how might we re-conceptualize intoxication to better understand its attraction, value, and expressions? What are the critical aspects of intoxication overlooked in the social construction of these experiences? What might we discover about intoxication if it were understood as a performance, an embodiment of subjectivity, or a sanctioned way of transcending social boundaries?
In this special issue, we seek critical reflections or multimodal notes (up to 3,500 words) that sketch new ways of understanding intoxication. Topics may include, but are not limited to, intoxication as:
- social or political activity
- spiritual ecstasy
- cultural expression
- intentional hedonism
Direct questions to the Special Issue co-editors: Alexine Fleck email@example.com and Ingrid Walker firstname.lastname@example.org. For questions about video, audio, or image usage, please contact NANO: email@example.com. NANO uses modified MLA (Modern Language Association) formatting and style.
Submission style guidelines: http://www.nanocrit.com/submissions-information/style-guide-nano/
Keywords: Each author is asked to submit 5 keywords to accompany their submission.
Schedule: Deadlines concerning the special issue to be published in NANO:
- June 1, 2015: Submission deadline
- September 2015: Comments and peer review complete
- October 2015: Pre-production
We look forward to receiving your contributions.
Readers of Points may be familiar with the Society for U.S. Intellectual History, or S-USIH, the ever-expanding group of historians and scholars who study the history of America’s intellectuals and their effects on politics and culture.
This year, S-USIH will be hosting its annual conference in Washington, D.C. Scheduled from October 15-18, the conference’s theme is “Problems and Their Publics,” and it seems a perfect fit for members of ADHS and the scholars, readers and writers who make up Points.
Alcohol and drugs historians have long lamented the archival limitations of studying past substance users. Substance users typically enter the historical record through retrospective oral histories, the archives of hospitals or prisons, or popular books and media. All these sources have shortcomings: oral histories are riddled with the errors of human memory, institutional archives are usually limited to clinical and criminal records, and popular culture is distorted by sensationalism or artistry. As Bob Beach, Miriam Kingsberg, and Joe Gabriel have argued on Points’ pages, finding the “user’s perspective” is historically difficult.
I’d like to introduce researchers to another point of access to the past: Robert Straus’s Escape from Custody: A Study of Alcoholism as Reflected in the Life Record of a Homeless Man (Harper & Row, 1974), a classic text that offers a uniquely detailed portrait of one man’s chronic alcohol use in mid-twentieth century America.
Editor’s Note: This week, Bob Beach continues his discussion of evidence in the archives. This essay is based on his recent trip to the Harry J. Anslinger Papers at Penn State University.
I know he was simply doing his job, but it was a strange experience. This was not my first archive trip. But when the gentleman in charge of the Harry Anslinger papers collection at Penn State approached, by way of introduction, I couldn’t help but notice that he was sizing me up, almost like a bouncer would size up a potential nightclub patron who looked much too young. Perhaps I should have worn a tie.
In an almost accusatorial tone, he wanted to know why I was there, what I was looking for in the collection, what my motives were. He gave me a brief lecture on the importance of accurate note-taking and documentation. After a few minutes talking to him, he realized that I was a serious researcher and would not pose any threat to the collection. But he shared vague war stories about people that have been through the collection, some of whom misrepresented the collection as a whole, and some who stole documents to add to personal collections to add ammunition to what seems like a never-ending war on our first drug czar. Continue reading