Epicurus
Reasonable
A little old, but still interesting. Very telling about current drug culture.
Drug dealers offered an exit to get out of game
LEONARD HAMM, the Baltimore police commissioner, could be standing on a street corner watching his officers make a drug arrest, or he might be attending a community event, walking into a barber shop, or just sitting on the front steps of his house. It could happen any time, and often does. Someone recognizes Hamm, walks up to him and says: "Commissioner, I got to get out of the game."
His officers hear it, too. At 2 a.m., when only they and the corners boys are on the street, someone will wait for the right moment, out of earshot of his friends, and say: "I got to get out of the game."
It's usually a man who says it, often one in his 30s or 40s, sometimes one in his 20s, sometimes even a teenager. They've all had their hands in marijuana, heroin, and cocaine distribution.
The O'Malley era crackdown on the most notorious drug corners, the aging of an addicted population estimated at about 40,000, and the persistence of gun violence that leaves between 250 and 300 homicide victims in Baltimore each year are factors in a perceptible exhaustion among not only the city's tired-of-being-tired junkies but also at least some of its low-level dealers.
Police officers say they hear the groans all the time.
Over the past six weeks, nearly 80 men and women (or, in about a dozen cases, their parents or grandparents) have contacted The Sun for help in finding drug treatment or a job opportunity. All reported a desire to get out of the life. They fear more prison time. They fear death.
Many of them used the same words to express themselves: "Tired of the hustle," "Tired of the street," and "Got to get out of the game."
Older drug salesmen express fear of the younger dealers, their hunger for shrinking sales territory and their homicidal tendencies.
Hite's unit has been saying what needs to be said: Get Out of the Game. Stop Killing People. Small groups of officers wear black T-shirts marked with those words, and they distribute leaflets.
The leaflets offer "an alternative to a life of crime and regret" through a new 24-hour hot line. "Are you afraid to leave home without your weapon?" one leaflet asks. "Is your supplier threatening to cut you off and up? Do you spend more time with your lawyer than your family? Does your family ask you to stay away from them?" An affirmative answer to any of those questions, the leaflet states, means it's time to find a new career.
The target group is the chronically at-risk 14- to 24-year-old male, but members of the Get Out unit often find themselves offering services to older men and women, too.
"Selling drugs is all about survival for a lot of these guys," says Hite. "We want to dismantle the idea that it's their only means of survival."
Drug dealers offered an exit to get out of game
LEONARD HAMM, the Baltimore police commissioner, could be standing on a street corner watching his officers make a drug arrest, or he might be attending a community event, walking into a barber shop, or just sitting on the front steps of his house. It could happen any time, and often does. Someone recognizes Hamm, walks up to him and says: "Commissioner, I got to get out of the game."
His officers hear it, too. At 2 a.m., when only they and the corners boys are on the street, someone will wait for the right moment, out of earshot of his friends, and say: "I got to get out of the game."
It's usually a man who says it, often one in his 30s or 40s, sometimes one in his 20s, sometimes even a teenager. They've all had their hands in marijuana, heroin, and cocaine distribution.
The O'Malley era crackdown on the most notorious drug corners, the aging of an addicted population estimated at about 40,000, and the persistence of gun violence that leaves between 250 and 300 homicide victims in Baltimore each year are factors in a perceptible exhaustion among not only the city's tired-of-being-tired junkies but also at least some of its low-level dealers.
Police officers say they hear the groans all the time.
Over the past six weeks, nearly 80 men and women (or, in about a dozen cases, their parents or grandparents) have contacted The Sun for help in finding drug treatment or a job opportunity. All reported a desire to get out of the life. They fear more prison time. They fear death.
Many of them used the same words to express themselves: "Tired of the hustle," "Tired of the street," and "Got to get out of the game."
Older drug salesmen express fear of the younger dealers, their hunger for shrinking sales territory and their homicidal tendencies.
Hite's unit has been saying what needs to be said: Get Out of the Game. Stop Killing People. Small groups of officers wear black T-shirts marked with those words, and they distribute leaflets.
The leaflets offer "an alternative to a life of crime and regret" through a new 24-hour hot line. "Are you afraid to leave home without your weapon?" one leaflet asks. "Is your supplier threatening to cut you off and up? Do you spend more time with your lawyer than your family? Does your family ask you to stay away from them?" An affirmative answer to any of those questions, the leaflet states, means it's time to find a new career.
The target group is the chronically at-risk 14- to 24-year-old male, but members of the Get Out unit often find themselves offering services to older men and women, too.
"Selling drugs is all about survival for a lot of these guys," says Hite. "We want to dismantle the idea that it's their only means of survival."