The War on Drugs is Alive and Well

Close your eyes and imagine you enter an average federal prison in the U.S. What do you see? Probably old and decrepit buildings, overworked and underpaid staff, overcrowded facilities, below standard food, and much more. Now pay attention to the people in custody. Who are they? Where are they from? What crime are they convicted of? Thankfully, public data is available to answer some of these questions — and shine a light on a problem that started decades ago and isn’t likely to be solved anytime soon.

It is no surprise to anyone mildly familiar with the war on drugs and the problem of mass incarceration that today, over 40% of adults in custody at federal prisons are serving time for drug offenses, a percentage much higher than in most other developed countries. It is by far the most common type of crime for anyone in federal prison, followed by weapon, explosives and arson-related offenses at 22.1% and sex offenses at 14.2%, according to the Federal Bureau of Prisons. Drug charges, which can range from trafficking to manufacture to distribution (and in most cases, possession) are also overrepresented among nonwhite populations, as evidenced by the large number of Black people in custody, which represent almost 40% of the total inmate population at federal facilities. (In the U.S. as a whole, less than 15% of people identify as Black.) These numbers are similar in state prisons, and in the case of some Southern states, Black people represent over half of the prison population.

But to understand the root of the problem and its implications, present-day examples won’t suffice. The approach for mass incarceration and criminalized drug use started roughly in 1971, when President Richard Nixon declared drugs public enemy number one and expanded federal enforcement of drug offenses. The campaign escalated in the 1980s under President Ronald Reagan, whose administration backed mandatory minimum sentences and policies that created harsh crack cocaine penalties and widened racial disparities. These measures helped drive a dramatic rise in incarceration, with the U.S. prison population growing from a few hundred thousand in the early 1970s to over 2 million by the early 2000s. Unsurprisingly, the U.S. became one of the countries with the highest incarceration rates of the Western world, and remains as such to this day.

Overpowered by more urgent concerns such as the war in Iran and President Trump’s fierce attacks on democratic institutions, the issue has barely received any widespread coverage in recent history. And it’s understandable — long-term issues with only gradual change are far less likely to make national headlines than quick, short-term events. But this issue, which economist Anthony Downs calls the “issue-attention cycle,” often stands in the way of fixing them. Just as audiences get desensitized to hearing about death tolls once it’s been several months — or weeks — since the latest forever war started, they also become unamused when activists or researchers bring up issues like structural racism, climate change, inequality or discrimination, which often span decades without major breakthroughs to report on. But it’s precisely because the issue has barely changed in the last decade that the public should care about it.

Wonder why the U.S. still lacks political ambition to tackle mass incarceration? Follow the money. Leading for-profit prison companies — mainly GEO Group and CoreCivic, the two largest in the country — donated about half a million dollars to Republican members of Congress currently in office and $57,000 to Democratic congressmembers from 2021 through 2025. At the same time, both companies increased their share value significantly since President Trump took office for a second term, especially after signing billion-dollar contracts to build and manage immigrant detention centers and actively collaborate with the administration’s crackdown on undocumented immigrants. Clearly, it would go against the interest of the for-profit prison industry to advocate for more ambitious human rights standards — which experts say are not being met in U.S. detention centers — or clemency for people incarcerated for possessing drugs, for instance.

Nonetheless, the issue goes beyond the money. After the 2020 murder of George Floyd by a Minneapolis police officer and other high-profile incidents of police violence, a wave of initiatives aimed at reining in police powers and reimagining the criminal system emerged — though tough-on-crime narratives and rightwing populism made those wins short-lived. The percentage of Americans who think the United States is “not tough enough” on crime recently grew for the first time in 30 years, according to a 2023 Gallup poll, although a more recent poll by the same organization found a slight decrease in trust in law enforcement last year. Either way, the position of those in power across the country is clear, with both blue and red states — including California, D.C., Oregon, Tennessee, Vermont, Georgia and Louisiana — enacting harsher legislation aimed at punishing offenders with very few options for drug recovery, rehabilitation or poverty-reducing measures, which (unlike mass incarceration) have been proven to reduce crime rates significantly. It doesn’t have to be that way.

Remember the exercise at the beginning? Now you leave prison and are in the free world. Look around to people walking down the street, entering or leaving their houses, going to work or taking their kids to the park. As you reflect on the decades of failed promises to reduce drug use and crime rates by becoming tougher on crime, think of the people around you. Each one of them likely has a mother, father, sibling, cousin, friend, neighbor or coworker who is or has been incarcerated. Think of family separations, of the emotional impact, and how unsuccessful the approach has been for public safety. Do it, at least, for those who aren’t so lucky to leave their cells and meet you outside.

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