Brazil: Drug dealers say no to crack in Rio

Business was brisk in the Mandela shantytown on a recent night. In the glow of a weak light bulb, customers pawed through packets of powdered cocaine and marijuana priced at $5, $10, $25. Teenage boys with semiautomatic weapons took in money and made change while flirting with girls in belly-baring tops lounging nearby.

Next to them, a gaggle of kids jumped on a trampoline, oblivious to the guns and drug-running that are part of everyday life in this and hundreds of other slums, known as favelas, across this metropolitan area of 12 million people. Conspicuously absent from the scene was crack, the most addictive and destructive drug in the triad that fuels Rio’s lucrative narcotics trade.

Once crack was introduced here about six years ago, Mandela and the surrounding complex of shantytowns became Rio’s main outdoor drug market, a “cracolandia,” or crackland, where users bought the rocks, smoked and lingered until the next hit. Hordes of addicts lived in cardboard shacks and filthy blankets, scrambling for cash and a fix.

Now, there was no crack on the rough wooden table displaying the goods for sale, and the addicts were gone. The change hadn’t come from any police or public health campaign. Instead, the dealers themselves have stopped selling the drug in Mandela and nearby Jacarezinho in a move that traffickers and others say will spread citywide within the next two years.

The drug bosses, often born and raised in the very slums they now lord over, say crack destabilizes their communities, making it harder to control areas long abandoned by the government. Law enforcement and city authorities, however, take credit for the change, arguing that drug gangs are only trying to create a distraction and persuade police to call off an offensive to take back the slums.

Dealers shake their heads, insisting it was their decision to stop selling crack, the crystalized form of cocaine.

"Crack has been nothing but a disgrace for Rio. It’s time to stop," said the drug boss in charge. He is Mandela’s second-in-command — a stocky man wearing a Lacoste shirt, heavy gold jewelry and a backpack bulging with $100,000 in drugs and cash. At 37, he’s an elder in Rio’s most established faction, the Comando Vermelho, or Red Command. He’s wanted by police, and didn’t want his name published.

He discussed the decision as he watched the night’s profits pile up in neat, rubber-banded stacks from across the narrow street. He kept one hand on his pistol and the other on a crackling radio that squawked out sales elsewhere in the slum and warned of police.

The talk of crack left him agitated; he raised his voice, drawing looks from the fidgety young men across the road. Although crack makes him a lot of money, he has his own reasons to resent the drug; everyone who comes near it does, he said.

His brother — the one who studied, left the shantytown and joined the air force — fell prey to it. Crack users smoke it and often display more addictive behavior. The brother abandoned his family and his job, and now haunts the edges of the slum with other addicts.

"I see this misery," he said. "I’m a human being too, and I’m a leader here. I want to say I helped stop this."

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We're getting off topic here...

  • Coworker 1: We should buy all the drugs in the world.
  • Coworker 2: Just you and me. Just you and me.
  • Me: I'm imagining the two of you in that Indiana Jones warehouse with endless crates of drugs.
  • Coworker 2: Top. Men.
  • Coworker 1: No. You're not listening to me.
  • Coworker 2: We should own a bar.
  • Me: We should totally own a bar!
"Oh I did mushrooms on Friday in Lausanne. There was a carnival. At a certain point I realized that every person in the carnival looked freakish and deformed to me. But I thought to myself, this doesn’t make sense. Not everyone at this carnival can be deformed and out of proportion, like long torsos. And their faces looked like masks. So I was having this debate in my head about whether they actually looked like freaks or if it was just my eyes. And then a group - a GROUP - of fucking albinos walks by and I lost it. Could not stop laughing. Kept walking so they wouldn’t think I was laughing at them, but I was on drugs so approximately 75% less subtle than I thought I was being."

— A friend’s experience in Europe

(Source: sonicbloom11)