The ivory tower of academia often provides a panoramic view of the world, but it rarely feels the grit of the gravel or the heat of the street. It is easy for Dr Yennusom Maalug, from the sanitised corridors of Pantang Hospital, to dismiss the vital work of the Ghana Police Service as “Rambo-style” theatre.
However, those who live in the lengthening shadow of the ghetto, where the air is thick with the scent of illicit substances and the atmosphere heavy with the threat of violence, know the truth. The Inspector-General of Police (IGP) is not seeking a spectacle. He is seeking a solution.
To suggest that the police should wait for a public health utopia while our youth are being swallowed by the abyss of addiction is both intellectually dishonest and practically dangerous. The law does not have the luxury of waiting for the long-term arc of rehabilitation when the immediate security of the State is at stake.
The Director’s critique rests upon a fundamental misunderstanding of the police mandate. The IGP is the custodian of public order, not the Chief Pharmacist of the Republic. While addiction is indeed a medical affliction, the drug trade is a ruthless criminal enterprise.
One cannot treat a patient if the surgeon is being held at gunpoint by a kingpin. These operations are the necessary clearing of the brush; you cannot plant the seeds of rehabilitation in a field infested with the weeds of organised crime.
Dr Maalug asks, with a touch of cynical weariness, “You arrest them, release them, and then what?” The answer is as simple as it is profound: we uphold the Law. To suggest that because a crime might be repeated we should cease to enforce the statutes is a counsel of despair.
It is the logical equivalent of suggesting that because a patient might relapse, the physician should abandon the treatment. The Police exist to provide the friction that prevents a total descent into lawlessness. Without the IGP’s interventions, these “ghettos” would not be clinics, they would be fortresses of anarchy.
There is a striking juxtaposition here between the clinical and the constitutional. The Director speaks of “public health-oriented responses,” but the Constitution speaks of the right to safety and the maintenance of peace.
The IGP’s Special Operations team is the shield that stands between the vulnerable citizen and the predatory pusher. To manhandle a suspect is a regrettable necessity of physical law enforcement, but to allow a community to be manhandled by the drug trade is a moral failure.
We must move beyond the comfortable aphorism that “addiction is a disease” and confront the reality that “trafficking is a crime.” The IGP is not “superficial” for doing his job; he is essential.
There is nothing sustainable about a society where the police are paralysed by the fear of being labelled “aggressive” while drug lords expand their empires with impunity. In any functioning democracy, enforcement is the prerequisite for rehabilitation.
You cannot have a “community support system” in a neighbourhood ruled by the barrel of a gun. The IGP is creating the vacuum of safety in which Dr Maalug’s rehabilitation programmes can actually function.
The IGP’s boots on the ground are the heavy price we pay for the peace of mind the Director enjoys in his office. We cannot trade the security of the many for the sensibilities of the few. The “Rambo” of today is the protector of tomorrow’s children.
If the Director of Pantang Hospital truly desires a solution, let him take his medicines to the field once the IGP has secured it. Until then, he should not criticise the men who get their hands dirty so that he can keep his white coat clean.
The law must be a lion if society is to remain a sanctuary. The IGP is doing the difficult, unglamorous, and vital work of defending the Republic. It is time we stopped apologising for the strength required to keep us safe.
By Raymond Ablorh
