PHILIP COHEN’S article on “antibody therapies” to treat drug addiction, or
“vice vaccines” as they are sometimes called
(10 June, p 22), interested me
greatly. In a nutshell, the idea is that it should be possible to vaccinate
people against addictive chemicals. I asked Mo Mowlam what the government’s
attitude is to such a strategy. As minister for the Cabinet Office she has
special responsibility for Britain’s anti-drugs policy.
Mowlam replied that at the moment antibody therapies are only a fascinating
area of pure research and much needs to be done before we know their
effectiveness. In particular, there are clinical questions to consider. For
example, what effect would opiate antibody therapy have on legitimate painkiller
drugs? All this is work for the National Institute for Clinical Excellence to
consider, she said.
The minister agreed that prevention is often better than cure. Accordingly,
one of the key aims of the government’s anti-drugs policy is to help young
people to resist drug misuse in the first place. The education service has a
responsibility to ensure that youngsters understand the risks of taking drugs,
and that they have the knowledge and skills to resist them. Drug education is a
statutory part of Britain’s National Curriculum, and must also cover alcohol and
tobacco use. In addition, said the minister, the government supports a programme
to encourage doctors and other healthcare professionals to help teachers
communicate the dangers of substance abuse to young people.
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Public opinion demands that every possible avenue be explored in tackling
this very worrying problem.
WITH many of my fellow MPs admitting their student-day experiences with
narcotic drugs, I feel I must relate my own recent brush with one. Betty
Boothroyd, as Speaker of the House of Commons, had chosen me to lead a five-day
parliamentary delegation to Bolivia. Unfortunately, I suffered grievously from
altitude sickness the night after we touched down at La Paz airport, some 4000
metres up in the Andes.
At 2 am I began to feel like death warmed up, so much so that I scribbled a
note to my MP colleagues telling them what to say to my wife and what to do with
my body—give it to a Bolivian university medical school, I wrote, rather
than the British university for which it is currently earmarked.
Then, hardly able to breathe, and desperately wanting to be sick but not able
to, I staggered down to the hotel lobby. I thrust the International
Phone-Medical Assistance Card that the Inter-Parliamentary Union had given me as
group leader into the hands of the elderly receptionist. He inspected it, smiled
and then pretended to phone the International Medical Advice Centre. In fact, he
sensibly phoned a local doctor, who asked to speak to me. The doctor reassured
me that I was not about to expire. “If you still need me in an hour’s time, I
will be round,” he added. “But first drink a teapotful of coca-leaf tea that the
hotel will give you, and take two aspirins.” Obediently, I agreed. The
receptionist quickly produced the tea, and said solemnly, “If it was good enough
for the Great Inca when he came to the High Andes, it is good enough for
dz.”
It was. I was able to cope with the heavy programme that faced us, including
the drug museum in the Chapare, the main drug-producing area. Whatever awful
extracts are made from the coca plant, I have to say, “Thank you medicinal coca
.”
