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Tiny Frog Offers Major New Painkiller, Drug Research Finds
('The Chicago Tribune' Says Abbott Laboratories Of North Chicago
Has Just Completed Initial Human Trials In Europe Of A Painkilling Drug
Derived Fom The Poison Of A Frog Found In Ecuador, Epibpedobates Tricolor -
While The Company Is Hesitant To Talk About ABT-594, As The Chemical
Is Known, Scientists Say The Drug Is 200 Times As Powerful As Morphine,
Lacks Morphine's Addictive Problems, And Might One Day Replace It
As The Leading Treatment For Intense And Chronic Pain)
Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1998 16:05:51 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: US: Tiny Frog Offers Major
New Painkiller, Drug Research Finds
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Reply-To: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: Steve Young (theyoungfamily@worldnet.att.net)
Source: Chicago Tribune (IL)
Contact: tribletter@aol.com
Website: http://www.chicago.tribune.com/
Pubdate: 30 Aug 1998
Author: Laurie Goering
Section: 1, p.6
TINY FROG OFFERS MAJOR NEW PAINKILLER, DRUG RESEARCH FINDS
QUITO, Ecuador -- Epibpedobates tricolor seems a big name for something so
small.
Little longer than a fingernail, the tiny frog can easily hide in the heart
of a flowering plant, a bright jewel of red and green with shining black eyes.
The brilliant color is a warning. The frog's skin secretes a deadly poison,
which Ecuador's rain forest dwellers have long used to coat blowgun darts
for hunting. When the poison enters the bloodstream of a monkey or sloth,
the animal quickly dies.
Soon, however, Epibpedobates tricolor also may become a boon for mankind.
Abbott Laboratories of North Chicago has just completed initial human
trials in Europe of a painkilling drug based on a derivative of the frog's
poison. While the results have not yet been made public and the company is
hesitant to talk about ABT-594, as the chemical is known, scientists say
the drug is 200 times as powerful as morphine, lacks morphine's addictive
problems, and might one day take that drug's place as the world's leading
treatment for intense and chronic pain.
"Abbott, I think, was very lucky to be able to separate the toxicity from
the desired analgesic effect," said John Daley, a scientist at the National
Institutes of Health who initially identified the chemical structure of the
frog poison.
With many drugs derived from natural substances, such as digitalis used in
the treatment of heart problems, "nobody's been able to get rid of the
toxicity. That's usually the problem," he said.
ABT-594, however, has passed its initial human trials, which determine
whether the drug produces problem side effects in healthy users. Phase II
trials, in which the drug will be tested on pain sufferers, are being
scheduled, said Melissa Brotz, an Abbott spokeswoman.
"We'll probably try a broad brush on a few different types of pain," she said.
Years of research into compounds from rain forest plants, animals and
insects are beginning to pay off for companies such as Abbott, which
synthesized up to 500 variations of the Epibpedobates frog poison before
deciding to go forward with ABT-594.
Scientists say they expect to see a growing number of drugs coming out of
the world's tropical rain forests. What is more worrying is whether the
rain forest and its animals will still be there to provide their
potentially miraculous compounds in the future.
The tiny frog that gave birth to Abbott's new painkiller is endemic to
lowland rain forest slopes in southwestern Ecuador, near the town of Loja.
Today, less than 6 percent of the frog's original habitat remains intact.
When Daley first came to Ecuador in the late 1970s to collect samples of
the frog, he was able to take home more than 750. Within a few years, road
building and human settlement put the frog on Ecuador's threatened species
list and further collecting was outlawed.
"Human competition is their worst problem," said Maria Elena Baragan,
director of Quito's vivarium, which displays a collection of the tiny
poison dart frogs.
Today, the frog has managed somewhat of a comeback by adapting to life in
Ecuador's coastal banana plantations, where it is commonly found. The
problem is that in its altered habitat or in captivity the frog no longer
produces its poison.
Scientists have not yet determined what it is about the frog's forest
habitat that allows it to produce the vital chemical. "There just are no
studies," Baragan says. But work on some of the other 100 or so species of
poison dart frogs suggests it is probably some ant, millipede or beetle in
the frog's diet.
"The frog without its intact surroundings is useless," said Roderick Mast,
a vice president and frog expert at Washington-based Conservation
International. "It's a wonderful conservation flagship species. You have to
conserve its entire habitat to conserve it."
Whether the frog and its habitats will be protected, however, remains in
question, in part because Abbott's new drug, a variation of the natural
frog poison, can be synthesized in the laboratory without the frog.
That ability is a blessing for native frog populations that might otherwise
be decimated by collecting for medical purposes and a curse in that their
protection is no longer key to development of the drug.
Countries such as Ecuador, which are only now working on laws to claim
intellectual property rights on the genetic variety in their forests,
generally get no share in the profits of new drugs produced from their
plants or animals.
Other countries have passed laws that patent the genetic material but not
derivatives of it, the case with ABT-594.
That has left many South American countries with little money for or direct
interest in promoting conservation of their rain forest species.
Mast calls that shortsighted and says part of the answer is for countries
such as Ecuador, Colombia, Brazil and Peru to begin strengthening their
drug industries to take advantage of their resources.
"Our basic understanding of biodiversity is pathetic," he said. "We barely
know what species are out there let alone the alkaloids they have in their
skin or what they might be good for.
"How many chemicals are out there? We have no idea. What we do know is that
we're only scratching the surface."
When the chemical structure of the Epibpedobates frog poison was determined
in 1990, Daley found that the chemical worked as a powerful painkiller but
not through the same opioid receptors targeted by morphine.
Abbott's non-toxic derivative focuses instead on nicotine receptors,
raising the possibility that other kinds of addiction might be a problem.
So far, however, the company has reported no addiction problems and early
testing in rats showed animals taken off the painkiller suffered no lack of
appetite, a normal withdrawal sign.
The drug also appears to make users alert, rather than sedating them, as is
the case with morphine.
"Abbott got the jump on everyone else on this because they have been
working on nicotine derivatives forever," Mast said. "They weren't
particularly looking for painkillers but as a good chemical company they're
always on the lookout. This popped up as something with potential."
If the drug eventually wins U.S. approval from the Food and Drug
Administration, a process Abbott says is still years away, it could
potentially snare a major share of what is a $40 billion a year worldwide
industry in treating long-term or severe pain not affected by aspirin or
other basic painkillers.
In the U.S., the company estimates 30 million to 40 million people suffer
pain that might be treated by ABT-594.
Mast calls the promising new drug reason enough to step up conservation of
rain forests, where he and others believe many other new wonder drugs lurk.
"My view is the only logical action is to conserve as much intact for as
long as possible," he said. "Otherwise, there will be nothing to study and
we could be losing something not only with economic value but with
significance to every other living thing on the planet."
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Suicide Epidemic Spreads Through Ranks Of Police ('The Houston Chronicle'
Says Hundreds Of Police Officers Across The Country Commit Suicide
Every Year, At A Rate That Is Much Higher Than Among The Rest
Of The Population, And Rising, Although Many Cases Are Covered Up
By Other Police)
Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1998 10:03:07 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: US: Suicide Epidemic Spreads Through Ranks of Police
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Reply-To: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: adbryan@onramp.net
Source: Houston Chronicle (TX)
Contact: viewpoints@chron.com
Website: http://www.chron.com/
Pubdate: Sun, 30 Aug 1998
Author: David Armstrong - Boston Globe
SUICIDE EPIDEMIC SPREADS THROUGH RANKS OF POLICE
The cover-up of how Catherine Galvin died began almost as quickly as her
life ended.
Fellow officers found the 28-year-old state trooper just after midnight on
Oct. 29, 1994. She was seated in her bed in her South Boston apartment,
propped up by the headboard. Straight ahead, on top of a dresser, a
television broadcast a late-night show.
Soon there was a swirl of police activity around Galvin's lifeless body as
dozens of uniformed officers and plainclothes detectives studied the
situation. Outside, curious neighbors and reporters gathered.
"The victim had an accidental discharge while cleaning her firearm," a
Boston police spokesman told the media several hours after her death.
Later, the spokesman said foul play and suicide had been ruled out. The
department's official report concluded: "Victim accidentally shot self
while cleaning weapon."
But Catherine Galvin didn't die accidentally.
A week later, after the glare of the media spotlight had faded, the truth
came out in the medical examiner's report: She had deliberately killed
herself, firing a single bullet from a .40-caliber handgun into her head.
It was obvious the night of her death what happened to Galvin, two officers
at the scene told the Globe. But as she lay fatally wounded, police decided
to tell the public that what happened this October night was a tragic
accident.
The Galvin case was not an isolated one. Every year, hundreds of police
officers across the country commit suicide. They do so at an alarming rate,
a rate that is much higher than that of the rest of the population -- and
rising. One expert calls it "an epidemic."
The contributing factors are varied: stress, alcohol abuse, the depressing
grimness of police work, the frustration of office politics. And unlike
other high-stress jobs -- in medicine and aviation, for instance -- police
carry weapons that they can turn against themselves.
As in the Galvin case, dozens of those suicides are purposely misclassified
as accidents. Sometimes it's to ease the pain felt by survivors and ensure
they get better death benefits. Often, it's to protect the reputation of
the dead officer and the department from what many police officers believe
is a shameful act.
Police officers are twice as likely to kill themselves as to be killed by a
criminal, according to the National Association of Police Chiefs in Miami.
In Buffalo, one of the few in-depth studies of police deaths found that
officers in that city were eight times as likely to kill themselves as they
were to be slain in the line of duty. Buffalo officers were also three
times more likely to kill themselves than other city workers, the study
found.
The Boston Police Department has one of the highest suicide rates in the
country -- only slightly behind Atlanta, and more than double that of the
New York City, Los Angeles, and Chicago departments, according to a 1994
study of seven urban police forces by the New York City Council.
At least a dozen Boston officers killed themselves in the past 10 years, a
rate six times that of the rest of the working-age population in
Massachusetts. An analysis of computerized records of deaths in
Massachusetts from 1989 to 1995 found at least 50 law enforcement deaths
classified as suicides.
The number of actual suicides is believed to be substantially higher
because many are misclassified as accidents. In Buffalo, for instance, one
in five police deaths were suicides wrongly classified as accidents.
Yet, despite the numbers -- and the occasional media attention when a
police department experiences a rash of suicides, as New York City did in
1994 -- the death of officers by their own hand remains one of law
enforcement's most fiercely guarded secrets.
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Borderlands ('The San Jose Mercury News' Notes The War On Some Drug Users
Is Transforming The US-Mexico Border Region Around Ciudad Juarez, Mexico -
While The European Union Works To Erase Boundaries, The United States
And Mexico Seek To Control Their Common Border By Laying Down The Law -
Once-Integrated Towns Are Now Increasingly Segregated By A Border
That Was Once Regarded As A Tolerable Nuisance Rather Than A Legal Reality)
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1998 06:57:54 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: Mexico: Borderlands
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Reply-To: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: Marcus/Mermelstein Family (mmfamily@ix.netcom.com)
Pubdate: Sun, 30 Aug 1998
Source: San Jose Mercury News (CA)
Contact: letters@sjmercury.com
Website: http://www.sjmercury.com/
Author: Alfredo Corchado and Laurence Iliff
BORDERLANDS
Pressure from U.S., Mexican leaders to grapple with globalization, drugs and
immigration is transforming forever a 150-year-old way of life
CIUDAD JUAREZ, Mexico -- Once a dusty no-man's land caught in the past,
today's U.S.-Mexico border is undergoing its biggest transformation, leaping
into the global economy and leaving behind a centuries-old ``anything goes''
way of life.
From the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific Ocean, the powerful forces of
economic globalization, the explosion of lawlessness spawned by brutal drug
lords and the constant meddling by Washington and Mexico City are tearing at
the fabric of the 2,000-mile border.
While the European Union works to erase the boundaries on its continent and
introduce a common currency, the United States and Mexico seek to control
their common border by laying down the law. Families who have lived near the
border for generations are surrounded by more federal agents and new
regulations -- caught in the cross-fire of change, swinging between chaos
and hope, gloom and boom.
``We're at a crossroads, living under a microscope of sorts from both sides
of the border,'' said Gordon Cook, a political scientist and district
director of the Rio Grande Council of Governments in El Paso, where he
manages development projects for seven border counties. ``We're living under
much more stress: emotional stress, social stress and environmental
stress.''
The pressure comes from two federal governments that see this vast region --
11 million people and $150 billion in economic output -- as a strategic tool
for battling drug trafficking, controlling immigration and building an
economic engine for the next century.
Government institutions are chipping away -- for better or worse -- at a way
of life that has existed since 1848, when the current borderlines were drawn
through deserts, canyons and the meandering Rio Grande.
SMUGGLER'S BLUES
Take the experience of Rosalio, a crafty smuggler from Ciudad Juarez. For
more than 25 years, he would sneak across the Rio Grande into El Paso with
cheap cigarettes and medicine for retirees, booze for soldiers, and mangoes
for families. His versatility earned him the nickname ``Mil Usos,'' or
Jack-of-all-Trades.
These days, even the cagey ``Mil Usos'' is scratching his weathered face,
forced to end his legendary cat-and-mouse game with U.S. Border Patrol
agents, who now have more staff and use sophisticated technology, such as
satellites, sensors and infrared cameras, to control the border.
``Mil Usos'' has taken on two part-time jobs in the United States. With a
phony crossing card, he commutes every other day in an old Chevrolet from
Ciudad Juarez to El Paso, where he works as a gardener.
On his way to work, he stops regularly at a local bank, where he makes cash
deposits on behalf of his second employer, a Mexican drug lord. ``Mil Usos''
earns about $50 each time he launders $1,000. Even though the pay is better,
``Mil Usos'' says he misses his old job.
``I used to love the smell of mangoes,'' he said. ``But on the border, if
you don't adapt to change, you starve.''
The porous border has 38 official crossings and dozens of tightly knit
communities linked by history, language and a predominantly Latino culture.
For all the blurring of the border economically, neither the United States
nor Mexico has ``the political will to tear down the borders like European
nations have,'' said Z. Anthony Kruszewski, a political-science professor at
the University of Texas at El Paso and a European expert. ``There still is
much mistrust on both sides.''
To build trust, cross-border cooperation has gradually gone from informal
help during emergencies to institutional joint economic planning. Local,
state and federal officials from both sides of the border regularly sit down
to hammer out solutions to the most prickly issues -- water shortages,
pollution that knows no borders, drug trafficking, tourism and crime.
``This is truly unprecedented cooperation, and it's just beginning,'' said
George McNenney, special agent in charge of the U.S. Customs district office
in El Paso.
Meanwhile, rapid growth from trade has resulted in inner-city turmoil and
other challenges for border communities.
California border woes
Tijuana, across the border from the San Diego suburb of San Ysidro, is a
planning nightmare of rough terrain, where shanties built along hillsides
crumble in the rain. The crime rate is comparable to that of Mexico City.
Mexicali, across from Calexico, is a relative newcomer to economic
development but already is strapped with too many jobs and not enough
workers.
In the southernmost stretch of the U.S. border lies the Rio Grande Valley of
South Texas, regarded as one of the country's poorest areas.
To help combat impoverished conditions, border neighbors like McAllen,
Texas, and Reynosa, Mexico, have embarked on an unusual relationship. In it,
officials from two countries jointly recruit manufacturing plants so both
sides of the border can reap the economic benefits.
The two local governments regularly sit down and virtually operate as one
city. The result in the last 10 years: 37,216 jobs created in Reynosa and
7,155 in McAllen.
At the middle of the border are El Paso and Ciudad Juarez, which may serve
as the best example of the daunting economic, social and political
challenges that lie ahead.
On the Mexican side, the workers are younger and, as one U.S. executive put
it, ``more vibrant, with hope spelled in their eyes.''
While Ciudad Juarez is booming, El Paso is painfully coping.
More than 15,000 El Paso residents commute daily to Ciudad Juarez, many of
them to work at the large General Motors plant.
``This is probably the most strategic point to join the southern and
northern continent,'' said Lucinda Vargas, an economist at the Federal
Reserve Bank in El Paso. ``Ciudad Juarez is where the hope for the rest of
Latin America begins.
``Mexicans have been part of the world market far longer than workers on the
U.S. side,'' said Vargas, a native of Ciudad Juarez. ``I think they're
more prepared for the future than El Pasoans.''
The two sides are still years apart in overall living standards, but Mexico
is getting the lion's share of investments.
Other than China, Mexico has received more foreign investment than any other
nation in the developing world, and much of it is border-related, experts
say.
NAFTA'S IMPACT
Meanwhile, El Paso made national headlines last year when it was announced
that the city had lost 5,623 jobs because of the North American Free Trade
Agreement, plus thousands more jobs overall. The average family income is
woefully low at $13,100, about $10,000 below the national average.
``NAFTA simply broke our hearts, tore families apart and killed our
spirits,'' said Maria Flores, a veteran garment worker who now heads an
organization in El Paso known as Mujer Obrera, a workers' advocacy group.
Ciudad Juarez gained as many as 50,000 new jobs, most of them in the
maquiladora industry, according to executives of the factories owned by
foreign investors.
``Maquiladoras are coming of age,'' said one young worker. ``They're now
real manufacturing plants.''
In Ciudad Juarez, unemployment is virtually non-existent, although low
salaries remain a big problem, forcing many to work overtime just to make
ends meet.
The challenge is to turn cheap labor into real paying jobs, turn chaos into
prosperity, harness the boom and nurture maturing civil societies made up of
workers from Oaxaca, Zacatecas, Veracruz, Durango -- just about any Mexican
state undergoing tough economic times.
An average of 250 people arrive each day in the sprawling city of Ciudad
Juarez, which already has a soaring population of nearly 2 million.
Still, the convergence of a more democratic Mexico, an improving labor
force, new types of manufacturing investment and higher-skilled jobs gives
them a reason to set roots and build their futures.
Along the border, a political culture that has grown up next to the United
States has flourished in part because border residents don't have to worry
about putting food on the table as much as do their relatives in Mexico's
interior.
As a new political culture emerges, the old ``anything goes'' way of life is
disappearing. And to many, that's painfully sad.
Consider Puerto Palomas and Columbus, two fast-growing communities tucked
along the northeastern pocket of Mexico's Chihuahua state and southern New
Mexico, respectively.
DEEP KINSHIP CHANGING
Puerto Palomas' population has ballooned to 9,000, thanks in part to a
healthy maquiladora industry. The growth in Columbus, population 900, is
slower, but satellite dishes, U.S. Border Patrol helicopters buzzing
overhead and more immigration agents are everywhere.
The two communities have shared a deep kinship, linked by economic and blood
lines and notoriety: Mexican revolutionary Pancho Villa invaded Columbus
briefly in 1916.
Before this border spot became a 24-hour crossing point, locals would
nonchalantly walk across on their own, especially for weddings or to take
care of their shopping, banking and postal needs in Columbus. Such services
aren't readily available in Puerto Palomas.
In fact, many of Puerto Palomas' residents were born about 35 miles
northwest of Columbus in Deming, N.M., at the area's only hospital.
In Puerto Palomas, the chatter of English is common among locals. For
decades, many of the children, with or without legal papers, attended high
school in Deming.
And why not? Having educated people would help the region and keep kids out
of trouble, locals argue. Some students went on to become engineers,
lawyers, doctors, nurses and school deans.
But these once-integrated towns are now increasingly segregated by a border
that was once regarded as a tolerable nuisance rather than a legal reality.
CHANGE IN FEDERAL LAW
The new culprit: A 1997 federal law aimed at wealthy, non-resident Asians
who enrolled their children in schools in California, especially in Silicon
Valley.
Puerto Palomas and Columbus were caught in the issue, especially 42 children
born in Puerto Palomas. This past school year, they were barred from
attending U.S. schools.
Teachers, parents and students are up in arms, demanding a solution from
Congress and a return to their old way of life.
``We're shooting ourselves in the foot,'' warned a feisty Phoebe Watson, 86,
a former local school principal who began enrolling Mexican students in her
school 40 years ago. ``All because Congress got a wild hair in their lip.
I'm absolutely devastated.''
Every morning last school year, many of the 350 children who live in Mexico
but hold U.S. nationality boarded big, yellow school buses and headed for
Deming, leaving behind a trail of dust and tears.
Dora Luz Nieto's dreams of becoming a chemist were dashed. She is one of the
students barred from U.S. schools, and the upstart Puerto Palomas high
school she attends has no chemistry courses.
``They say it's progress,'' the 17-year-old said of the changes. ``But here
on the border, we're losing part of our identity, part of who we were.''
1997 - 1998 Mercury Center.
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Losing The War On Drugs ('Edmonton Sun' Columnist Jeremy Loome
Interviews One Of Edmonton, Alberta's Eight Undercover Prohibition Agents,
Who Admits His Job Is Futile - Loome Says Edmonton's Police,
Like Their Counterparts Across Canada, Are Flushing Millions Of Dollars
Down The Toilet Every Year For The Sake Of Tokenism)
Resent-Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1998 08:19:37 -0700 (PDT)
Old-Return-Path: (creator@islandnet.com)
From: creator@islandnet.com (Matt Elrod)
To: mattalk@listserv.islandnet.com
Subject: Canada: Losing The War On Drugs
Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1998 08:11:11 -0700
Lines: 92
Newshawk: creator@mapinc.org
Source: Edmonton Sun (Canada)
Contact: sun.letters@ccinet.ab.ca
Pubdate: Sunday, August 30, 1998
Author: JEREMY LOOME, EDMONTON SUN
Losing the war on drugs
A narcotics detective knows what's needed to win: money and lots of it
It matters little which side of the debate you stand on. When it
comes to Edmonton's war on drugs, one thing is painfully obvious:
something has to change.
Spend one afternoon discussing the "war" with any of the Edmonton
Police Service's eight undercover cops and you'll quickly reach the
same conclusion.
We'll call my contact Dave, a veteran undercover narc whose office
looks down on the hooker stroll along one of the seedier sections of
downtown. I don't care how bad you think you are or how many times
you've confidently fingered someone in a bar to a friend as "a narc",
you wouldn't finger Dave. A bum, maybe, but not a cop.
Dave knows much of what there is to know about drugs in Edmonton:
who's selling it, who's buying it and where. How the drugs get there,
how they're made in the first place and by whom.
And he knows his job is, in the long run, pointless. What he does
makes no difference in the war on drugs.
It's not the first time a local narcotics officer has taken such a
stand - Sgt. Nick Bok said much the same in a Sun interview last year
- but it reinforces that Edmonton's police, like their counterparts
across Canada, are flushing millions of dollars down the toilet every
year for the sake of tokenism.
We're there to discuss a different story, but halfway through the
interview, he gets up from his desk and puts his hands behind his
head, briefly and with a sense of frustration, as he stares out the
window.
"I could go out of this office and walk over to one of a couple of
locations not five minutes from here and bust three guys in the next
15 minutes," he says. "And there'd be three new ones there just as
quickly."
The underground world of narcotics is so far beyond police control,
said the officer, that they only specifically target wholesalers -
usually either folks with large hydroponic marijuana operations, those
importing coke and heroin, or those cooking speed in local labs.
Low-level street dealers, many of them users, are certainly no
priority. And users, despite the department's so-called "zero
tolerance" policy, don't qualify either.
He figures if you look at the war on drugs from a prevention
perspective, Edmonton's efforts are a joke. The officers could work
12-hour shifts for the next generation and still not make a dent. If
the city wants to genuinely fight drugs it will have to put the money
- and he means millions and millions of dollars - behind it. On what
they're working with right now, he says, police are having "absolutely
no effect."
But he tries to not think about that. He tries to do his job as well
as he can. The alternative is to legalize drugs. But that won't take
away their power to hurt, he says, and "I can't see much sense in
making them more available."
He recognizes many members of the public disagree with his hard-line
stand. They want drugs treated as a health issue instead of a criminal
one - legalize or decriminalize, then treat the addicts. And, Dave
concedes, it's tough to justify spending $2 million a year fighting an
unwinnable war against an opponent who will always - always - have
thousands of times your resources.
"Then again, if they were to legalize drugs we'd all be out of jobs,"
he says jokingly.
Whether to continue the war is a political quagmire, a cause that no
politician, especially at the federal level, will even take a whiff
of. There are too many pitfalls, too many divergent opinions to make a
decision that pleases most, let alone all, of their constituents. So
they simply charge ahead as if tough talk on drugs is the same thing
as tough action.
Ultimately, it comes down to this: Either we're against them or we're
not. Either we give Dave the money he really needs or we don't. It's
no wonder he's frustrated.
Someone, surely, must take a stand that's more than merely symbolic.
But Dave won't be holding his breath waiting for that to happen.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Police Under Pressure Over Shooting Of Unarmed Man
(Britain's 'Independent On Sunday' Says The Killing Of James Ashley
By Sussex Prohibition Agents Who Broke Through His Front Door
Is Becoming A Cause Celebre)
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1998 11:39:22 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: UK: Police Under Pressure Over Shooting Of Unarmed Man
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Reply-To: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: Martin Cooke (mjc1947@cyberclub.iol.ie)
Source: Independent, The (UK)
Contact: letters@independent.co.uk
Website: http://www.independent.co.uk/
Pubdate: Sun, 30 Aug 1998
Author: Jason Benneto, Crime Correspondent
POLICE UNDER PRESSURE OVER SHOOTING OF UNARMED MAN
IT WAS just after four in the morning on 15 January that a unit of armed
police officers burst into a two-storey flat near Hastings, East Sussex. In
one of the cheap rented rooms lay James Ashley, 39, sleeping alongside
Caroline Courtland-Smith, a 19-year-old student.
Mr Ashley woke to the noise of the front door splintering. As he stood naked
next to his bed, he was shot in the chest by a police marksman and died
despite attempts to revive him.
This week came the unprecedented announcement that an inquiry would be
conducted by a neighbouring force into the conduct of the case by Sussex's
chief constable and three of his senior officers. Meanwhile, a criminal
inquiry could lead to charges against five other officers who have been
suspended.
The morning after the shooting, Paul Whitehouse, the Chief Constable,
defended the actions of his officers. "We were running simultaneously an
operation to track down drug traffickers and also two men who had attempted
to a murder a man by stabbing him. One of them in particular was thought to
be armed and dangerous, and an armed operation was used to arrest him."
At first, the case seemed open and shut. Ashley, it quickly "emerged", had
served two years in jail in 1993 for the manslaughter of a man he punched
during a pub fight. He was a dangerous criminal, the media were told.
But then things started to go wrong for Sussex Police and the fatal shooting
of a Liverpudlian is rapidly becoming a cause celebre.
Sussex Police's version of the events leading to the death of a dangerous
man started to unravel days after the raid: Mr Ashley was unarmed, the only
weapon found was an air pistol, only a tiny quantity of cannabis was
recovered. The three men arrested were later released uncharged.
In May, the Police Complaints Authority took the unusual step of announcing
that, far from being a suspect for an attempted murder, Mr Ashley had
probably saved a life by restraining a knife-wielding attacker fighting
another man.
At the end of May, the inquest into Mr Ashley's death heard that
investigators were being hampered because police officers had been unable to
remember crucial facts about the incident. There were also allegations of
misrepresentations of "intelligence" by senior officers.
Four of the suspended officers are being investigated for allegedly
providing misleading information that led to the armed raid by the Special
Operations Unit. The raid was part of an operation against a gang of cocaine
traffickers. Mr Ashley was suspected of being a courier, although he had no
convictions for drug-dealing.
Indeed, Mr Ashley's lifestyle suggested he was anything but a big-time
criminal. When he moved south to Hastings eight years ago, he easily blended
in among those living in the dilapidated and fading grandeur of the former
Victorian resort which has a large number of unemployed residents, and more
than its share of crime.
Mr Ashley was living in a block of flats next to The Club M - a private
drinking club frequented by middle-aged men - in St Leonards, once an
affluent town adjoining Hastings, but now run-down and neglected, and was a
regular in several of the local pubs and had spent the day before his death
drinking at The Club M - hardly life in the fast lane.
He was mourned not only by Caroline Courtland-Smith, but also his long-time
girlfriend, Debra Crook, Despite the betrayal, she placed an announcement in
a local newspaper declaring: "No one loved him as much as I did."
Witnessing her lover being shot dead has also had a devastating effect on Ms
Courtland-Smith, according to her solicitor. She has left college and is
said to have suffered a breakdown. She intends to sue the police for
damages.
Mr Ashley's family in Liverpool is also preparing to make a legal claim
against the police for the loss of life and use of lethal and excessive
force. The family has already brought a complaint against the Chief
Constable for allegedly trying to sully Mr Ashley's name, but it was
rejected by the Sussex police authority.
An initial inquiry by Kent Police resulted in the suspension of Pc Chris
Sherwood, the officer who pulled the trigger, and four others - a
superintendent, an inspector, a detective inspector, and a police
constable - who are now expected to charged with providing misleading
information. Kent's Assistant Chief Constable, Barbara Wilding, said the
operation was flawed and shambolic.
Such criticism led to the announcement of the second inquiry, into the
conduct of Mr Whitehouse, his Deputy Chief Constable, Mark Jordan, and
Assistant Chief Constables Nigel Yeo and Maria Wallis who will be questioned
by a team led by Hampshire Chief Constable, Sir John Hoddinott.
Once the two inquiries are completed - the first by the end of September,
the second by the end of the year - the Crown Prosecution Service will
consider whether to bring charges. Whatever the outcome, difficult times
loom for Sussex Police.
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Labour Accused As SAD Boss Quits (Britain's 'Sunday Times'
Says David Macauley, Director Of Scotland Against Drugs,
The Anti-Drugs Agency Established By Scotland's Four Political Parties,
Will Resign This Week To Protest The Labour Party's 'Lack Of Political Will'
In Tackling The Problem)
Date: Mon, 31 Aug 1998 11:26:41 -0700
From: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org (MAPNews)
To: mapnews@mapinc.org
Subject: MN: UK: Scotland: Labour Accused as Sad Boss Quits
Sender: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Reply-To: owner-mapnews@mapinc.org
Organization: Media Awareness Project http://www.mapinc.org/lists/
Newshawk: Martin Cooke (mjc1947@cyberclub.iol.ie)
Source: Sunday Times (UK)
Contact: editor@sunday-times.co.uk
Pubdate: Sun, 30 Aug 1998
Author: Lucy Adamson
LABOUR ACCUSED AS SAD BOSS QUITS
THE director of the anti-drugs agency set up by Scotland's four political
parties will resign this week in protest at Labour's "lack of political
will" in tackling the problem.
David Macauley said the government was projecting "mixed messages" to young
people about the dangers of substance abuse and was more interested in
sustaining a "drugs industry" of health workers rather than dealing with
the problem.
Scotland Against Drugs (SAD) was formed two years ago in a cross-party
initiative by Michael Forsyth, then the Tory Scottish secretary, and is
chaired by Sir Tom Farmer, the chairman of Kwik-Fit.
Earlier this year, the government cut the agency's funding and redefined
its remit to focus on work with existing government drug agencies.
Companies such as Marks & Spencer and ScottishPower, which support
community projects run by SAD, are understood to be concerned about the
change.
The agency had been split over whether to concentrate on an
abstinence-based policy or to encourage health projects which maintain
addicts on prescription drugs. Macauley said more should be done to educate
young children.
He criticised celebrity events at Downing Street, particularly the
reception with the Gallagher brothers from the pop group, Oasis, who have
condoned drug use.
"Scotland has one of the worst drug problems in the western world, a fact
this government seems to ignore," he said. "Through our own tolerance of
the problem we allow dealers to target our children."
Earlier this month, teenager Julia Dawes, a fitness instructor from Perth,
died after taking ecstasy at a nightclub. In January, Allan Harper, a
13-year-old from Cranhill, Glasgow, became Scotland's youngest victim of
heroin.
There have been 64 drug-related deaths in Strathclyde this year, a figure
which has already surpassed last year's total.
A Scottish Office report on government-funded drug action teams (DATs), due
out in September, is likely to criticise their "unaccountability" and call
for structural reform.
Macauley believes the creation of a Scottish parliament offers an
opportunity to tackle the problem, but said lack of will across the
political spectrum "offered little hope".
He was highly critical of DATs. "They seem to be continually in a loop of
strategy and very light on solutions. When will we stop counting the
problem and start acting on it?" he asked.
He said he felt his resignation had been forced after feeling restricted in
the comments he could make. "The campaign has effectively been consigned to
the backwater of fundraising. I have to be passionate and believe I can
make a difference but I don't feel I can do that because I feel restrained
in what I can say," he said.
Macauley believes he can be more effective from outside the campaign: "My
regrets are that I am letting down the people who have done so much to help
us throughout the country, but I was charged to represent the person in the
street."
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[End]
to the 1998 Daily News index for August 27-September 2