The Misuse of Drugs Act (MDA) turns fifty today. In the half-century since its implementation, the act has perpetuated a false reality that renders a selected list of drugs the cause of society’s ills.

I use the term ‘drugs’ here for convenience, but that in itself is troublesome. Loaded with moralistic implications, it is a linguistic construction that feeds into the binary drawn between substances that are approved by the state, like caffeine, alcohol, and tobacco, and those that are not—cannabis, cocaine, ecstasy, and so on—which makes it part of the problem that the MDA represents.

That problem is the attempted eradication of certain psychoactive substances. Introduced in the wake of the global shift towards a prohibitive approach to substance regulation, the MDA is a mechanism of control that aims to govern the use and distribution of substances considered ‘dangerous or otherwise harmful’.

Defenders claim that the framework is underpinned by a scientific rationale. Some trip they must be on. The MDA is the product of an ideological crusade: emerging out of a paradigm of media-fuelled moral panic and saturated by deep-rooted discrimination against minoritised people, it was introduced to protect social norms and prevent cultural dissent. Put bluntly, it wasn’t danger to public health, but danger to the status quo that propelled the establishment into action.

James Callaghan, an exponent of the Labour Right, was the figure behind its initial introduction. Regarding cannabis as a ‘wayward habit of young non-conformists’ and heroin users as a ‘needle-cult’, he introduced the Misuse of Drugs Bill in 1970. The aim was to excavate and exterminate the rising tide of experimentation and mitigate against the perceived ‘social risks’ it entailed.

To be fair to Callaghan, he recognised—unlike certain contemporary politicians—that problems associated with drugs ‘lie deep in the construction’ of society. Nevertheless, he championed the now ingrained view that drugs are a ‘scourge’. With Labour’s electoral defeat in 1970, Callaghan did not have time to thrust the bill into law; luckily enough, the Conservatives were equally repelled by the cultural fluidity of the ’60s and the MDA became a reality the following year.

Needless to say, the framework has failed in its official objective. With drug-related deaths higher than ever and 16 percent of the British prison population incarcerated for drug offences, it is common knowledge prohibition is neither a deterrent nor a protective measure against the possible harm that certain substances pose.

I emphasise possible, because for all of the contrived hype, illegal drug use—much like legal drug use—is mostly unproblematic. It can be problematic, of course, and the lack of legal regulation is perpetuating that possibility – but those problems are not inherent to the practice, and the societal ills with which illegal drug use is associated, like crime and mental health issues, are often more accurately attributed to the perils of capitalism: deprivation, particularly, but also disinvestment, atomisation, and so on. When Keir Starmer argued that drugs are ‘sitting just behind’ issues blighting the lives of young people in his constituency, what he actually should have said is that youth involvement in the illicit market is a symptom of a society in crisis, with few well-paid jobs and opportunities.

It is equally important to recognise that the MDA is lamentable not only in respect to its failures but also its implicit success. Encapsulating selectively applied police powers like stop-and-search, the act functions to exacerbate intersecting inequalities relating to race and class. As demonstrated by the Sentencing Council, people from Black and Asian backgrounds are 1.5 times more likely to go to jail for drug offences than white people. In this respect, it is true to its camouflaged purpose: the criminalisation of minoritised communities and those considered a threat.

At the moment, the MDA and the principle it represents endures. Shaun Bailey’s call to drug test workers in London is testament to that. But the future is not as secure as certain politicians would you believe. As a multitude of countries across the Global North and the Global South have embraced various alternatives, ranging from wholesale decriminalisation to legalisation and regulation, the prohibitive model has begun to look increasingly obtuse to a growing proportion of the British population. As of 2019, 70 percent contended that the current policy is unsuccessful in its attempt to reduce harm.

The question of what next is not as simple as it may seem, however. In the bid to build a better model for drug policy, factors relating to public health, social justice, and the environment must be taken into consideration. As I wrote last year on the 49^th anniversary of the MDA, legalisation is not a magic key. In the same way that the drug war selectively targets certain communities, legalisation can be implemented in a manner that selectively benefits the privileged few.

In America, for example, minoritised victims of the anti-drug offensive remain in prison for minor offences, whilst profit-guzzling corporate giants rub their hands at the lucrative financial benefits ahead. Big Pharma is a prime example. Once predicted to lose out from the legalisation of medicinal cannabis, companies such as Pfizer and Merck now look set to enter into the market with huge returns.

Looking ahead for the UK, it is essential that the Left fights for a publicly-run cannabis market. Only then can we prevent the creation of yet another realm of exploitation. At the very least, expungement for non-violent drug crimes must be incorporated. A reformed model that fails to meet this minimum requirement belies the history of the drug war, rendering dreams of an equitable model as good as dead.

There is then the issue of the environmental impact. As with every other political problem of the present, a path must be forged that accounts for this. Looking across the Atlantic once again, it is apparent that indoor cannabis cultivation can be ‘extremely greenhouse gas emissions intensive’. However and whenever the UK legalises cannabis, this must be considered.

It is also essential that in thinking drugs we look beyond cannabis. With evident financial and medical benefits, cannabis is enjoying a moment in the political limelight, but the exclusive focus on the illogicality of its illegality is not warranted by science, and an emphasis on the legalisation of ‘soft’ drugs at the expense of ‘hard’ drugs will only perpetuate the constructed separation between state-accepted and state-shunned substances. With a drug-induced epidemic unfolding in some of the most deprived areas of the UK, wholesale decriminalisation—with a view to eventual legalisation—is critical.

Also critical is investment in state-run harm reduction measures. Take overdose prevention centres (OPCs), for example: allowing users to take drugs in safe and clean spaces, under the supervision of those trained to respond to overdoses, OPCs can save and improve the lives of those dependent on drugs. As Mattha Busby recently wrote in the Guardian, not one single death has ever been recorded in any of the 70 OPCs worldwide. In Lisbon, state-supported OPCs have recently become a reality. This is an example that the UK can look towards in imagining a drug policy fit for the present.

Ultimately, the social circumstances that engender problematic use cannot be solved retrospectively, and fundamental structural changes are necessary to tackle the issues propelling the illicit market. But a reformed drug policy can save thousands of lives and re-direct countless others. It can help to ameliorate some of the day-to-day consequences of racialised policing. It can redistribute money to communities damaged by thinly veiled discrimination. And it is an area that the Left can win. Tackle prohibition, and who knows what might follow.