The war on drugs is wrong, both tactically and morally. It

The words of Larry Elder — “The war on drugs is wrong, both tactically and morally. It assumes that people are too stupid, too reckless, and too irresponsible to decide whether and under what conditions to consume drugs. The war on drugs is morally bankrupt.” — strike with the force of a prophet condemning folly. He does not speak softly, but with the voice of outrage, declaring that this so-called war on drugs is not a war against substances, but a war against freedom, dignity, and the intelligence of human beings. Elder pierces through the veil of government policy and shows us the truth: that a war waged in the name of virtue can itself become a source of injustice.

To call the war on drugs “wrong tactically” is to unveil its failure in practice. For decades, governments poured treasure into prisons, militarized police forces, and campaigns of fear, promising to rid society of drugs. Yet the result was not victory but deeper wounds: overcrowded prisons, ruined families, and black markets growing stronger in the shadows. Elder shows that tactics without wisdom are worse than useless; they create the very evils they claim to destroy. Like a fire fought with oil, the war on drugs spread the flames instead of extinguishing them.

But he does not stop with tactics. Elder strikes at the very moral foundation of this war. To assume that people are too foolish to govern their own bodies is to deny them their humanity. It is to treat citizens not as free men and women, but as children to be punished by the rod of the state. A government that strips people of choice in the name of protection does not elevate them — it enslaves them. Thus he calls the war “morally bankrupt,” for it is built not on trust and dignity, but on arrogance and control.

History bears witness to his words. Consider the Prohibition era in the United States, when alcohol was outlawed with the promise of protecting society. Instead, crime flourished, corruption spread, and ordinary citizens became outlaws overnight. In the end, the law was repealed, and the experiment declared a failure. The war on drugs is but a new Prohibition, dressed in different garments, repeating the same mistake: trying to legislate morality by force rather than by freedom and responsibility.

And what of the human cost? In neighborhoods across America and beyond, families were torn apart as fathers, mothers, and sons were locked away for nonviolent offenses. Communities of the poor and marginalized bore the heaviest burden, while the powerful profited from prisons and enforcement. This is why Elder’s words burn with moral fire: the war on drugs did not save society — it fractured it, creating a harvest of despair in the very places it claimed to heal.

The deeper meaning of his teaching is this: true morality cannot be enforced with chains and guns. It can only be cultivated through wisdom, compassion, and responsibility. To teach people how to live wisely is noble; to force them into obedience through punishment is tyranny. Elder calls us to recognize that liberty means trusting individuals with their own choices, even when those choices carry risk. Freedom is not safety — it is the right to bear the consequences of one’s decisions.

The lesson for us is clear. We must resist policies that treat citizens as fools and instead cultivate responsibility, education, and compassion. In our own lives, we must recognize the dignity of others to make their choices, even when we disagree with them. And when governments seek to wage wars against their own people under the guise of protection, we must raise our voices, as Elder has, to say: this is not justice, but moral bankruptcy.

Thus let his words endure: “The war on drugs is morally bankrupt.” They are a summons to tear down the walls of false wars and build instead a society of responsibility and freedom, where dignity is honored, truth is spoken, and justice does not masquerade as oppression. For only in such a world can both liberty and morality truly live.