TY - JOUR
AU - Spillane, Joseph F
AB - Cairo’s Qasr El Aini Hospital regularly received opiate addicts in poor health, but a startling new development in April 1929 captured the attention of Dr. Alexander Gordon Biggam, Director of the Medical Unit. Patients with a history of injecting heroin were being admitted with high fevers, and diagnored with falciparum malaria. Shocked by the prevalence of the disease, which appeared confined to networks of injection drug users, Dr. Biggam hypothesized—correctly—that the disease was being spread through contamined blood in shared syringes. “If the theory of the production of this malignant malarial infection amongst the heroin addicts is correct,” he concluded, “we are faced with a problem of considerable importance to the inhabitants of Cairo.”1 In the winter of 1932, a similar novel outbreak of malaria among injecting heroin users occupied Dr. Guy Henry Faget, an Assistant Surgeon at the United States Marine Hospital in New Orleans, a facility serving primarily merchant seamen. “If the hypodermic syringe must be accepted as a means of conveying malaria among narcotic addicts,” Dr. Faget warned, “then a new chapter in the epidemiology of this disease has been opened.”2 The “new chapter” observed in Cairo and New Orleans must be understood as a localized manifestation of an emerging global drug prohibition regime during the interwar years. Historians generally agree that a global prohibition regime, helpfully defined by Peter Andreas and Ethan Nadelmann as a globalizing of criminal laws and police action coordinated by international institutions and conventions, was largely in place by end of the 1920s.3 Formally under the direction of the League of Nations, though deeply influenced by a League non-member—the United States—a series of international agreements (most notably the International Opium Convention of 1925) established the edifice of control, based on some fundamental principles: non-medical drug use was a “moral and social evil”; commercial transactions outside the medical arena were illegitimate; and supply control and particularly the restriction of raw materials (such as opium) represented the ideal strategic policy approach.4 During this nascent period of international control, a gradual transition took place in the nature of the global drug market, from the diversion of legally-manufactured drugs with some degree of state protection, to their illicit manufacture by largely non-state actors.5 The nature and impact of this early global drug war remain poorly understood, in part because historians’ conceptual lens has limited their scope of inquiry. Examining a prohibition regime through case studies of malarial addicts in Cairo and New Orleans attends to three neglected dimensions of the global control story. First, it joins some recent scholarship in complicating the conventional sense of directionality, in which the United States exported policy globally as a means of imposing its drug-related norms on the rest of the world.6 Local policing was not simply enrolled in a global project; instead, local structures gave shape and substance to control within the framework of the international regime. Histories of the prison have led the way in demonstrating how crime control should be understood as a story of addition and pluralization, in which local forms of authority are not displaced by international governance, but adapt to globalizing standards and structures.7 Second, this account takes cities as the unit of analysis, rather than the nation-state or the formal structures of international cooperation. Cairo and New Orleans are reasonable points of comparison, not because the cities represent distinct and bounded entities, but precisely because they do not; rather, they reveal the connections and flows that extend through and beyond specific urban contexts. Cities matter not simply as reflections of universalizing tendencies in global control schemes, but because they are sites which can modify and—I argue here—amplify these tendencies, and take them in particular and punitive directions.8 Cities reveal the struggles over appropriation and control of public space, the influence of locally-contingent policy interpretation, and the impact of locally-directed policing and public health interventions. While scholars have often focused on the ways in which the rhetorical ambitions of emergent international control regimes exceeded their practical impact, in the interwar period localized action extended the practical consequences of control well beyond formal international regulatory ambition.9 Third, this account takes the body of the heroin user itself as a site of analysis, understanding it as the place where the global drug war was inscribed in reality, and where disease, violence, and death became part of the “unnatural” history of drug consumption.10 The specifics of control and surveillance, not the fact of their existence, animate this analysis.11 This essay focuses particularly on the concept of “harm,” which refers to the dynamic and historically contingent negative consequences which derive from specific interactions between legal frameworks, control practices, and the social structures within which drug-taking and drug control occur.12 Nancy Campbell provides a theoretical foundation for situating the study of harm, observing that “policy making proceeds as a discursive practice, but the texts and practices that emerge from it exercise material effects that shape experience and interpretation of addiction.”13 In both Cairo and New Orleans, the bodies of young, working-class men were profoundly disfigured by the conditions of illicit drug injection; the scars on their arms and the diseases they carried acted as both cause and effect of their marginalized status. Intravenous Drug Use and Needle-Borne Disease in the Interwar Era Among the most significant global transformations in drug consumption during the interwar period was the rise of the intravenous mode of administering heroin. Prior to World War I, nearly all heroin users consumed the drug intranasally; in other words, by sniffing heroin in powdered form. Intravenous use emerged during the 1920s, but accelerated rapidly during the 1930s as the primary route of administration. One of the earliest and most comprehensive studies concluded that “before 1930 there were few references to I.V. use … by 1945 it was the usual route of administration.”14 The largest single survey of the addiction literature, The Opium Problem, appeared in 1928 and scarcely mentioned intravenous administration. On the contrary, it noted users’ perception that heroin was convenient because it could be sniffed and therefore required no equipment, as opium smoking did.15 The rise of a global drug prohibition regime almost certainly provided the context for the rise of intravenous use. Supply control efforts had their effect, and the heroin available to most consumers became more expensive and more likely to be diluted (“cut”) with adulterants. Injecting heroin directly into the vein was a far more effective means of gaining the desired effect, even as the potency of the available supplies diminished. As one addict recalled, “you didn’t need no vein until they cut it.”16 In Cairo, Dr. Biggam was tempted to imagine that intravenous use in Egypt reflected a localized cultural predilection towards this route of administration, but conceded that “it is possible that they experience a greater effect from the administration of a smaller amount of the alkaloid.”17 It was not happenstance that the world’s first report of the malaria-injection link emerged from the Qasr El Aini Hospital in Cairo. The medical staff had already begun seeing drug-injectors being admitted on a regular basis, for various reasons, including overdoses (a number of which were fatal) as well as for diseases unrelated to heroin use. Staff noted addicts as “thin and emaciated and mentally very unstable,” but the new stigmata of injection were discolored and scarred veins, readily observable during any routine medical examination.18 To the Egyptian police in Cairo, intravenous users were “human wreckage” and “pale-faced semi corpses” enslaved by their drug.19 In the words of an early report from Cairo, “the occurrence of malignant malaria amongst Cairo dwellers confined exclusively to intravenous heroin addicts at once made one search for an explanation of this occurrence.”20 Interrogation of malarial patients at the Qasr El Aini Hospital elicited that they were all part of injecting networks at the city’s El Zahar quarter. Far from being culturally oriented to injecting heroin, as Dr. Biggam had imagined, Cairo’s addicts were generally reluctant or afraid to inject themselves, so much so that they spawned an entirely new job category, injectors, paid to administer injections. Doctors learned that the injectors prepared the heroin in dirty tin syringes, which were heated by a match to assist dissolution. Injectors would allow the syringe barrel to fill back with blood, and then reinject the addict, “to satisfy the addict’s demand that none of the precious drug be left behind in the syringe.”21 Egyptian police seized syringes in order for the hospital to undertake testing for malarial parasites; although none could be found, the implication that malaria was being transmitted by shared syringes seemed uncontestable. After one year, more than one hundred such addict-patients had entered the hospital for treatment, their condition “very bad,” compounded by malnourishment and concurrent physical problems.22 On October 31, 1932, Charity Hospital in New Orleans admitted a comatose man, diagnosed with malaria. He was immediately understood by the medical staff to bear the markers of injection drug use: “prominent superficial veins, pigmentation, scarring, thrombosis, puncture sites, and subcutaneous and superficial ulcers or scars.”23 The patient deserted the hospital almost immediately after being revived, with the intention of securing another heroin injection. Two days later, the man was readmitted to the hospital, again in a comatose state. He died the following day, his name unknown to history. Over the course of the next month, five more Charity Hospital patients, all injecting drug users, died of malaria. A total of forty-eight injecting drug users were admitted to Charity Hospital in the next twelve months, all with diagnoses of malaria, ten of whom died from the disease.24 As in Cairo, doctors observed that addicts with malaria were part of extensive social networks of fellow drug-takers sharing injection equipment. Inspired by the published accounts from Cairo (and contemporary outbreaks of a similar kind across the United States), doctors at Charity Hospital and at the United States Marine Hospital quickly pieced together that these cases were linked to drug-injection practices.25 These early outbreaks of malaria could not have taken place outside the context of gradually diminishing illicit supplies of heroin, the product of a maturing international control system. It is equally important, however, to understand that the particular socio-legal environments in Cairo and New Orleans left their user populations particularly vulnerable to outbreaks of needle-borne disease transmission. The Egyptian government, newly (and partially) independent after 1922, embraced the emerging international narcotics control regime with a vengeance in the mid-1920s. At the Geneva Conferences of 1924, the Egyptian delegation, led by Dr. Mohamed El Guindy, had argued with great force for the inclusion of marijuana/hashish in international control agreements, describing its “terrible menace” in highly moralistic terms not unlike U.S. anti-drug rhetoric.26 Historian Liat Kozma persuasively argues that this anti-hashish posture was not simply a reflection of ongoing British/colonial interest, but that of a strong centralizing state with a nationalist agenda and a concern for Egypt’s image abroad.27 Hashish “came to symbolize the nation’s weakness and … thus one of the ways in which the Egyptian elite looked at the lower classes.”28 Starting in 1925, the Egyptian national anti-drug crusade extended rapidly and aggressively to heroin, with a significant increase in punitive and harm-generating interventions. In 1925, new narcotics decrees in Egypt made both trafficking and possession a criminal offence and, as a result, prices for heroin more than doubled in a year.29 Thomas Russell, in charge of Egyptian drug enforcement efforts, recalled that “we had not been idle” in the years before the 1925 law, with local police already engaged in extensive surveillance of drug markets, a surveillance that produced a detailed index of addicts and dealers. Once the 1925 decree was in place, according to Russell, “within twelve months … we had made 5,600 prosecutions under it in Cairo City alone.”30 Addicts and dealers pushed the population of Cairo Central Prison a full twenty-five percent above its statutory authority, while the crackdown pushed the price of heroin nearly threefold higher. Hundreds of European traffickers were expelled from the country, and Russell recalled that the “actual vendors and peddlers who were formerly well-known and easily accessible to the public are either in gaol or too frightened to carry on.”31 In the midst of the malaria outbreak, about thirty percent of Egypt’s prison population were identified as drug addicts, most of them convicted of possession offenses or imprisoned for non-drug offenses.32 If the 1925–1929 period witnessed the take-off of an Egyptian war on heroin users, it accelerated even more rapidly during the period of the malaria outbreak. This concerted crackdown on heroin explicitly targeted users and the lowest levels of the traffic as part of an overall enforcement strategy. Russell recalled, for example, that the arrest of a single major non-Egyptian heroin connection permitted the exposure of “the ramifications of the retail trade” to investigators, and “in good time our prisons, with a crowd of petty retailers.”33 Russell had actually argued for an investment in publicly-funded treatment, but had been rebuffed by the Egyptian government. Consequently, he wrote, “all one could do was to consider addiction and possession as a penal offense and condemn the victims to terms of imprisonment sufficiently long to break them completely of the habit.” Russell further observed that the frankly punitive approach that Egyptian police adopted was “often criticized by the medical authorities in England and Geneva for this apparently brutal treatment of what is really a mental and not a criminal condition, but I feel that, under the circumstances, this treatment was inevitable and even justified by the results it produced.” In explicitly racist terms, he defended extending the Egyptian approach beyond the League of Nations’ recommendations, noting that “obviously similar treatment in the case of less primitive people might have been dangerously harsh.”34 In this way, Russell and many of his contempories attempted to render as “natural” the unnatural pains of imprisonment and the attendant harms to its subjects and their communities. Intense, retail-level drug enforcement provided the context for the rise of intravenous heroin administration in Cairo. In order to keep the retail price stable enough to avoid losing clientele, dealers began adulterating heroin in order to provide the bulk that purchasers would expect. Powdered milk, quinine powder, and boracic powder all appeared as common adulterants (Russell even recounted the story of one enterprising dealer who crushed up human skulls, recovered from a graveyard, to use an adulterant.) With the potency of heroin rapidly diminishing, users took to intravenous injection, most often using syringes, though one medical report observed that “in some districts eye pipettes are used instead.”35 Use of syringes in Cairo began to give way to homemade “works” as addicts increasingly shunned the paid injectors, anxious to avoid apprehension by police who were now monitoring the injectors and arresting their clients. By 1929, Cairo’s “risk environment” had become notably worse, with the malaria epidemic the most dramatic of the harms that befell heroin users.36 Localized expression of global drug prohibition in New Orleans produced a strikingly similar set of harms. Illicit buyers and sellers of heroin had operated in more or less visible fashion on the fringes of Storyville—the city’s legendary red light district. World War I set in motion several critical developments for drug users in New Orleans. First, the federal government successfully pressured the city government at the end of 1917 to end the formal sanction for the Storyville vice district, which removed an attractive and convenient central location for illicit drug distribution. Second, in 1919, the U.S. federal government adopted a much stricter interpretation of the Harrison Narcotic Act, the foundational anti-drug legislation that originated five years earlier, with an aggressive posture toward all non-medical heroin distribution. Initially, New Orleans moved to protect the interests of drug consumers by adopting a public opiate maintenance clinic.37 The clinic, opened in 1919, appeared to have been relatively successful in assisting opiate users, perhaps too much so, as out-of-state addicts swelled the ranks of clientele. Controversy over whether the clinic was attracting undesirable non-residents ultimately doomed the New Orleans clinic, which closed in 1921.38 With the closing of the clinics, addicts in New Orleans were now decidedly targets for law enforcement measures, which inevitably increased their social marginality. As in Cairo, a combination of national legislation and local policing began to reduce reliable supplies of heroin. The 1922 Jones-Miller Act had already begun the process of sealing off the United States to licit supplies liable for diversion, through the creation of a Federal Narcotics Control Board to oversee narcotic imports and exports and strict limits on all non-medical imports; the 1925 Geneva Convention internationalized the impulse behind the Jones-Miller Act. By the end of the 1920s, long-time heroin users in New Orleans would have found supplies of heroin to be the weakest of their using careers, with prices at their highest and quality at its lowest and most unreliable; here, too, the practice of intravenous administration rapidly took hold.39 The actual trigger for the New Orleans malaria epidemic, however, was a specific decision by the New Orleans Police Department in 1933 to begin interpreting the state law against unauthorized possession of a syringe—already illegal in the city, as it was in much of the United States—to include medicine droppers and hypodermic needles.40 This was a powerfully consequential decision. Henceforth, even the possession of homemade works was now the basis for arrest by local law enforcement, encouraging the use of shared equipment as a means of reducing individual risk of arrest. Users congregated in small groups to dissolve their heroin, draw the solution into a medicine dropper with strips of paper wrapped around the dropper and a hypodermic needle attached, then inject the drug and pass the works around. Rubber bands around the dropper could be used to mark the share of the dose to which each sharing user was entitled. As one medical observer noted, “the instruments are never sterilized.”41 The New Orleans cases appear to have been particularly deadly, more so than those reported in Cairo. In part, this may reflect the tendency for jailers to keep symptomatic cases in custody, rather than transferring them to hospital care. At the U.S. Penitentiary in Leavenworth, Kansas, Dr. Clifton Himmelsbach reported on a federal prisoner received in January 1933 from New Orleans. The prisoner had last injected heroin the previous month while on a craw-fishing party with a number of other addicts. The group had shared shots with each other, despite the fact that several already had chills and fever at the time. Himmelsbach described the process: “the whole group had only one tin cup and one eye dropper, with needle attached, for purposes of dissolving and administering the solution of heroin. Swamp water was used as a diluent and no attempt at sterilization was made.” Arrested shortly thereafter by federal narcotic agents in New Orleans, he was committed to jail while awaiting trial and sentencing on a Harrison Act violation. Several days into his confinement, symptoms of malaria made an appearance, but this did not result in any medical treatment or hospitalization. As with most jailers, the onset of chills and violent shivering, chattering teeth, fever and thirst, were written off as merely signs of heroin withdrawal.42 Doctors investigating malarial outbreaks among addicts were deeply moved by the “misery and degredation” they found behind bars, as well as the hostility and suspicion with which their inquiries were met.43 It is perhaps not surprising, then, that most contemporary studies of addicts with malaria found a high degree of reluctance on the part of addicts to seek out medical treatment, “in spite” of warnings about malaria risks, “for fear of reduction or withdrawal of their drugs.”44 Clifton Himmelsbach concluded that “narcotic addicts in general should be warned of the malaria hazard and the most of transmission as a preventative measure against an epidemic”—and yet his New Orleans prisoner refused to cooperate with any inquiries, declining to divulge the names of fellow addicts with whom he had shared injection equipment, or even acknowledging the names of known Charity Hospital cases.45 Despite the best intentions of medical professionals, addicts largely “refused to come for examination … some feared legal retention and others withdrawal of heroin.” Consequently, addicts only sought treatment when cases of malaria had become so far advanced that their need for medical care outweighed their fear of legal risks, greatly increasing the likelihood of serious illness and death. These harm-perpetuating behaviors echoed the addict experience in Cairo, where most patients had already been ill between ten and fifteen days before they entered the hospital, “the great majority of them most likely avoiding admission to hospital where they fear that their drug will be cut down or stopped altogether.”46 The mortality rate for drug-users with malaria in New Orleans was fifteen times higher than for malaria cases in Louisiana as a whole.47 The dual contexts of poor access to health care, and a general reluctance of users to expose themselves to public surveillance of any kind, contributed to the substantially higher likelihood of death. Nor were mitigating efforts much in evidence. Street outreach of the kind associated with modern harm reduction efforts were nearly nonexistent, blinkering official understanding of the social worlds of injection drug users. In her compelling account of malaria’s history, historian and M.D. Margaret Humphreys defined a patient as either a person who sees a health care practitioner for a specific complaint, or as a community member who is a target of public health education and practice.48 But the addicts of New Orleans were neither, and consequently nearly invisible to the health care system, rendering them particularly vulnerable to the ravages of blood-borne diseases. The malaria outbreaks in Cairo and New Orleans are admittedly small-scale episodes in a much longer drug war, yet they reveal important dimensions about the emerging global prohibition regime in the interwar period. The parallelism between the addict experience in both cities is a reminder that both metropolitan and colonial drug users were subject to interventions that reinforced social segregation and exclusion; blocked from status as legitimate drug consumers, or as patients, addicts occupied a dangerous and deadly risk environment.49 Egyptian elites took advantage of the global anti-drug climate to initiate harsh enforcement campaigns that led thousands of frightened users to adopt intravenous injection, and then pushed them into dangerous needle-sharing practices, even as British and League officials expressed concern at the nature of the police effort. Federal and local authorities created similar conditions in New Orleans, a reminder that for the reputed chief exporter of punitive policy, those practices were still most fully expressed in the domestic context. At the same time, the parallels between the Cairo and New Orleans cases should not be understood to mean that the emerging global prohibition regime produced homogeneous or inevitable outcomes. While “efforts to regulate cross-border traffics” certainly appear as a “harbinger of global governance,” they also reveal the continued salience of the local in producing the unnatural history of drug use.50 Historically contingent patterns of harm emerged from complex interactions of localized control practices and marginalized subject populations. As numerous studies have confirmed, enforcement energies of state actors are highly uneven in their application, tightly focused in some spaces and scarcely observable elsewhere.51 Drug wars remind us that space is constitutive, ever-changing, and strongly tied to processes of power, that space can be defined as both “foreign” and “domestic” at the same time, and that the emphasis on foreign infiltration of space has long justified certain punitive and intrusive forms of policing and punishment. Indeed, the commercial and organized nature of the illicit trades have long helped to justify new ways of organizing policing.52 Because illicit trades were understood to be transnational in nature, they implicated multiple jurisdictions and competing views of how space should be ordered. The global drug wars were born in, and reflect, an interwar era that “witnessed an increase in the number of differing territorial processes that interacted, and sometimes collided, with greater intensity than before.”53 It would be a mistake, therefore, to imagine that the interwar global prohibition regime was largely a regulatory apparatus, mostly focused on controlling raw materials, establishing manufacturing controls, production reporting, and managing tariffs and taxes.54 Historian Virginia Berridge has observed that “the international drug control machinery became a ‘gentleman’s club’ of men like” Sir Malcolm Delevinge, the influential British representative on all drug control matters for the League of Nations.55 Violent, degrading drug control environments more often associated by historians with the post-World War II context were very much evident in the urban landscapes of Cairo and New Orleans. If one measures the consequences, through the lived experience of addicts themselves, the legacies of the interwar period are troubling indeed. Footnotes 1 A.G. Biggam, “Malignant Malaria Associated With the Administration of Heroin Intravenously,” Transactions of the Royal Society of Tropical Hygiene 23, no. 2 (1929): 151. 2 G.H. Faget, “Malarial Fever in Narcotic Addicts: Its Possible Transmission by the Hypodermic Syringe,” Public Health Reports 48, no. 34 (1933): 1037. 3 Peter Andreas and Ethan Nadelmann, Policing the Globe: Criminalization and Crime Control in International Relations (New York, 2006), 21. 4 Virginia Berridge, Demons: Our Changing Attitudes to Alcohol, Tobacco, and Drugs (New York, 2013); William B. McAllister, Drug Diplomacy in the Twentieth Century: An International History (New York, 2000); Catherine Carstairs, “The Stages of the International Drug Control System,” Drug and Alcohol Review 24, no. 1 (2005): 57–65; Susan Pedersen, “Review Essay: Back to the League of Nations,” American Historical Review 112, no. 4 (2007): 1091–1117; Daniel J.P. Wertz, “Idealism, Imperialism, and Internationalism: Opium Politics in the Colonial Philippines, 1898–1925,” Modern Asian Studies 47, no. 2 (2013): 467–499. 5 Berridge, Demons; Kathryn Meyer and Terry Parssinen, Webs of Smoke: Smugglers, Warlords, Spies, and the History of the International Drug Trade (New York, 1998). 6 Issac Campos, Home Grown: Marijuana and the Origins of Mexico’s War on Drugs (Chapel Hill, NC, 2012); Elaine Carey, Women Drug Traffickers: Mules, Bosses, & Organized Crime (Albuquerque, NM, 2014); Paul Gootenberg, Andean Cocaine: The Making of a Global Drug (Chapel Hill, NC, 2008). 7 Claire Blencowe, Julian Brigstocke, and Leila Dawney, “Authority and Experience,” Journal of Political Power 6, no. 1 (2013): 1–7; Peter Zinoman, The Colonial Bastille: A History of Imprisonment in Vietnam, 1862–1940 (Berkeley, CA, 2001); Daniel V. Botsman, Punishment and Power in the Making of Modern Japan (Princeton, NJ, 2005); Florence Bernault, ed., A History of Prison and Confinement in Africa (Portsmouth, NH, 2003); Mary Gibson, “Global Perspectives on the Birth of the Prison,” American Historical Review 116, no. 4 (2011): 1040–63. 8 Jennifer Robinson, “Cities in a World of Cities: The Comparative Gesture,” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 35, no. 1 (2011): 1–23. 9 Daniel Gorman, The Emergence of International Society in the 1920s (New York, 2012); Erez Manela, “A Pox on Your Narrative: Writing Disease Control into Cold War History,” Diplomatic History 34, no. 2 (2010): 299–323. 10 Jamie Peck, “Geography and Public Policy: Mapping the Penal State,” Progress in Human Geography 27, no. 2 (2003): 222–232. 11 Jennifer Luff, “Covert and Overt Operations: Interwar Political Policing in the United States and the United Kingdom,” American Historical Review 122, no. 3 (2017): 727–757; Sarah Hodges, Contraception, Colonialism and Commerce: Birth Control in South India, 1920–1940 (London, 2008); James Windle, “Harms Caused by China’s 1906–1919 Opium Suppression Intervention,” International Journal of Drug Policy 24, no. 5 (2013): 498–505. 12 Robert J. MacCoun and Peter Reuter, Drug War Heresies: Learning From Other Vices, Times and Places (New York, 2001). 13 Nancy D. Campbell, Using Women: Gender, Drug Policy, and Social Justice (New York, 2000), 23; Caroline Acker, Creating the American Junkie: Addiction Research in the Classic Era of Narcotics Control (Baltimore, MD, 2002); Scott Burris, Martin Donoghoe, Kim M. Blankenship, Susan Sherman, Jon S. Vernick, Patricia Case, Zita Lazzarini, and, Steve Koester, “Addressing the ‘Risk Environment’ for Injection Drug Users: The Mysterious Case of the Missing Cop,” Milbank Quarterly 82, no. 1 (2004): 125–156. 14 John A. O’Donnell and Judith P. Jones, “Diffusion of the Intravenous Technique Among Narcotic Addicts in the United States,” Journal of Health and Social Behavior 9, no. 2 (1968): 120–130. 15 Charles E. Terry and Mildred Pellens, The Opium Problem (New York, 1928); O’Donnell and Jones, “Diffusion of the Intravenous Technique,” 125; Bingham Dai, Opium Addiction in Chicago (Shanghai, 1937); Alexander Lambert, “Report of Committee on Drug Addiction,” American Journal of Psychiatry 87, no. 3 (1930): 433–538. 16 O’Donnell and Jones, “Diffusion of the Intravenous Technique,” 126. 17 Biggam, “Malignant Malaria,” 148–149. 18 Richard Davenport-Hines, The Pursuit of Oblivion: A Global History of Narcotics (New York, 2001). 19 Thomas Russell, Egyptian Service: 1902–1946 (London, 1949), 223–224. 20 A.G. Biggam, “Malignant Malaria,” 149. 21 Russell, Egyptian Service, 224–225. 22 A.G. Biggam and M.A. Arafa, “Observations on a Series of Cases of Artificially Induced Subtertian Malaria with Special Reference to the Effect of Treatment by Plasmoquine Compound,” Transactions of the Royal Society of Tropical Medicine and Hygiene 23, no. 6 (1930): 591–607. 23 Harry Most, “Falciparum Malaria Among Drug Addicts,” American Journal of Public Health 30, no. 4 (1940): 408. 24 James A. Bradley, “Transmission of Malaria in Drug Addicts By Intravenous Use of Narcotics,” The American Journal of Tropical Medicine and Hygiene s1–14, no. 4 (1934): 319–324; Margaret Humphreys, Malaria: Poverty, Race, and Public Health in the United States (Baltimore, MD, 2001); Arthur L. Beeley, “The Conquest of Malaria: Its Nature and Social Significance,” Scientific Monthly 38, no. 3 (1934): 223–230. 25 Bradley, “Transmission of Malaria in Drug Addicts By Intravenous Use of Narcotics,” 319–324; L. McKendree Eaton and Samuel M. Feinberg, “Accidental Hypodermic Transmission in Drug Addicts,” American Journal of Medical Sciences 186, no. 5 (1933): 679–683. 26 James H. Mills, Cannabis Britannica: Empire, Trade, and Prohibition, 1800–1928 (New York, 2003). 27 Liat Kozma, “Cannabis Prohibtion in Egypt, 1880–1939: From Local Ban to League of Nations Diplomacy,” Middle Eastern Studies 47, no. 3 (2011): 443–460. 28 Kozma, “Cannabis Prohibtion,” 457. 29 Cyrus Schayegh, “The Many Worlds of Abud Yasin; or, What Narcotics Trafficking in the Interwar Middle East Can Tell Use about Territorialization,” American Historical Review 116, no. 2 (2011): 296. 30 Russell, Egyptian Service, 225. 31 Russell quoted in Davenport-Hines, The Pursuit of Oblivion, 229. 32 Ibid. 33 Russell, Egyptian Service, 251. 34 Russell, Egyptian Service, 234. 35 Biggam and Arafa, “Observations on a Series of Cases,” 591. 36 Tim Rhodes, “The ‘Risk Environment’: A Framework for Understanding and Reducing Drug-Related Harm,” International Journal of Drug Policy 13, no. 2 (2002): 85–94. 37 Amund Tallaksen, “The Narcotic Clinic in New Orleans, 1919–21,” Addiction 112, no. 9 (2017): 1680–1685. 38 Tallaksen, “The Narcotic Clinic in New Orleans,” 1683. 39 In New Orleans, the discursive link between addiction and race was not well established in the interwar period. Most of the malarial addicts were white males, and the perceived connection between heroin and African American users in the city would not emerge until the post-World War II period. For more, see: Amund R. Tallaksen, “Junkies and Jim Crow: The Boggs Act of 1951 and the Racial Transformation of New Orleans’ Heroin Market,” Journal of Urban History 45, no. 2 (2019): 230–246. 40 Bradley, “Transmission of Malaria”; Mark Parts, “Disease Prevention as Drug Policy: A Historical Perspective on the Case for Legal Access to Sterile Syringes as a Means of Reducing Drug-Related Harm” Fordham Urban Law Journal 24, no. 3 (1997): 475–532. 41 Eaton and Feinberg, “Accidental Hypodermic Transmission,” 679. 42 C.K. Himmelsbach, “Malaria in Narcotic Addicts at the United States Peniteniary Annex, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas,” Public Health Reports 48, no. 49 (1933): 1465–1472. 43 Milton Helpern, Autopsy: The Memoirs of Milton Helpern, the World’s Greatest Medical Detective (New York, 1977). 44 Milton Helpern, “Malaria Among Drug Addicts in New York City,” Public Health Reports 49, no. 13 (1934): 479; Eaton and Feinberg, “Accidental Hypodermic Transmission,” 679. 45 Himmelsbach, “Malaria in Narcotic Addicts,” 1471. 46 Biggam, “Malignant Malaria,” 151; Most, “Falciparum Malaria Among Drug Addicts”; Samuel R. Friedman and Sevgi Aral, “Social Networks, Risk-Potential Networks, Health, and Disease,” Journal of Urban Health 78, no. 3 (2001): 411–418. 47 Bradley, “Transmission of Malaria,” 319. 48 Humphreys, Malaria, 113. 49 David Herzberg, “Entitled to Addiction? Pharmaceuticals, Race, and America’s First Drug War,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 91, no. 3 (2017): 586–623. 50 Pedersen, “Back to the League of Nations,” 1092. 51 Cyrus Schayegh, “The Many Worlds of Abud Yasin,” 304; Erika Lee, “Enforcing the Borders: Chinese Exclusion along the U.S. Borders with Canada and Mexico, 1882–1924,” Journal of American History 89, no. 1 (2002): 54–86; Willem van Schendel, “Spaces of Engagement: How Borderlands, Illegal Flows, and Territorial States Interlock,” in Illicit Flows and Criminal Things: States, Borders, and the Other Side of Globalization, eds. Willem van Schendel and Itty Abraham (Bloomington, IN, 2005), 38–68; Eric Tagliacozzo, Secret Trade, Porous Borders: Smuggling and States along a Southeast Asian Frontier, 1865–1915 (New Haven, CT, 2005). 52 Mara L. Kiere, For Business and Pleasure: Red-Light Districts and the Regulation of Vice in the United States, 1890–1933 (Baltimore, MD, 2010), 69–88. 53 Schayegh, “The Many Worlds of Abud Yasin,” 305. 54 Kathleen J. Frydl, The Drugs Wars in America, 1940–1973 (New York, 2013), 5. 55 Berridge, Demons, 135. © The Author(s) 2021. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of the Society for Historians of American Foreign Relations. All rights reserved. For permissions, please e-mail: journals.permissions@oup.com. This article is published and distributed under the terms of the Oxford University Press, Standard Journals Publication Model (https://academic.oup.com/journals/pages/open_access/funder_policies/chorus/standard_publication_model)
TI - Global Drug Prohibition in Local Context: Heroin, Malaria, and Harm
JF - Diplomatic History
DO - 10.1093/dh/dhab044
DA - 2021-07-16
UR - https://www.deepdyve.com/lp/oxford-university-press/global-drug-prohibition-in-local-context-heroin-malaria-and-harm-tCvLtkMFy6
SP - 1
EP - 1
VL - Advance Article
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DP - DeepDyve
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