One of the biggest Mr Bigs in the drugs world has come to the end of his trial over in the US and now the talk seems to be about, well, society getting even with him.
It seems that this Mr Big, ironically known as Shorty (el Chapo), one Joaquín Guzmán Loera, will taste a terrestrial version of Hell through the remainder of his life.
|Spot the crook ... Mr Big in custody in the US last year. Thanks to Wikipedia. Guzmán in US custody, 19 January 2017.|
It’s a 7ft by 12ft room that must resemble a slightly larger than normal coffin.
I wonder why
The BBC reports that the Mr Big trafficked in cocaine, heroin, marijuana and other drugs.
The allegation goes that he oversaw a network of dealers, kidnappers and henchmen, a team of assassins on his payroll.
Why, I wonder, is it society’s seeming need to get even with people like this who take advantage of daft laws?
If society, his customers, didn’t demand the goodies he sold, he could never have become perhaps more than a local, well, tobacconist. What would happen if the government here decided to ban coffee because it keeps humans awake, because it might stain their teeth?
The massive price of a cup at Nero’s or Costa would suddenly costa whole lot more. And if the chancers did it openly, they’d be pilloried, too, not dissimilarly to Mr Shorty, presumably.
|Coffin for the living ... An impression of a prison cell at the appalling Florence 'supermax' in Colorado. Wikipedia: A supermax prison cell by RicHard-59 - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=37921146|
Why, I’m not sure why, but perhaps governments found it the most extraordinary way of nabbing huge wads of money, of filling jails, of keeping those who succumb to the ‘criminality’ of drugs conscious of their 'superiors' - their politicians, of course.
And yet who are the customers in Britain? People with loads of hoot - directors, successful businessmen, the well-off who want the taste, the thrill, of extremes.
They say governments never learn. They had every opportunity from Prohibition. Now the dangerous fluid is tippled all over town, is very fashionable, and a must do or have at Christmas.
Humans! Our glorious leaders, once they have apologised in Heaven for the Br-x-t fiasco, will have to grovel before the angels, too, over continuing so keenly Tricky Dicky’s drugs nonsense.
I hope they’ll apologise for my years inside for a smuggling job that I couldn’t possibly have done, and which I believe the prosecution knew I didn’t, and which initially won me a longer term than the Lockerbie bomber was serving.
Thanks very much for visiting the blogs for my adventure book, Sailing to Purgatory.