Abstract
This article challenges the mainstream discourse that is often used to conceptualize illegal drug supply. In particular, it questions the assumption that drug dealers and the markets they inhabit are a social aberration, restricted primarily to social outsiders operating in socially and economically marginalized communities. Drawing on 6 years of ethnographic fieldwork with 25 “conventional” working-class “lads,” the article makes two overarching arguments. First, that the illegal drug trade is by no means confined to a subset of violent or marginalized drug distributors. Second, that the organization and structure of drug distribution networks can often be entwined into the fabric of conventional routines. The article concludes that criminological research must move toward better conceptualizing the so-called silent majority of drug dealers if we are to accurately reframe the current reductionist drugs discourse.
The illicit drug trade is big business. At an estimated US$320 billion annually (United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime [UNODC], 2005), the illicit drug economy accounts for between 0.6% and 0.9% of global gross domestic product (UNODC, 2011) and boasts revenues akin to those of Microsoft, Apple, Starbucks and the entire global film box office combined (based on gross revenues posted for 2014). With a quarter-billion people (5.2% of the world’s population) estimated to have consumed an illegal drug at least once in the preceding year (UNODC, 2015), it is also an economy that caters to a sizable consumer base. Yet despite its scale, Antonopoulos & Papanicolaou (2010, p. 3) note, “there is still dire need for research on the realities of drug markets as a whole, especially from within grounds that somehow elude the attention of mainstream drug discourses.” This article addresses this concern and challenges the dominant “reductionist drugs discourse” (S. Taylor, 2016), which positions those who consume, procure, or trade illegal drugs away from – and indeed in opposition to – mainstream society and values. The article draws upon 6 years of ethnographic fieldwork to explore the characteristics and operational realities of 25 drug dealers and traffickers who successfully operated at multiple levels of various supply chains in tandem with overarching conventional (legitimate) endeavors.
It is the article’s contention that the illegal drug trade is by no means a social aberration confined to a particular subset of “usual suspects” existing on the margins of civil society but is also interwoven into the fabric of mainstream society. Although scholarly accounts of illegal drug supply are most commonly “bound up with biographies of social exclusion and poverty” (Ancrum, 2014, p. 71), there is a small but growing body of literature that assesses drug markets situated among society’s more privileged groups, including Mohamed and Frisvold’s (2010) study of university “dorm room dealers” and Jacques and Wright’s (2015) study of young suburban suppliers. This article adds to that body of literature. It begins with a critical discussion of the dominant discourse before outlining counterweighting evidence that has begun challenging the “‘Us’…versus ‘Them’ mentality” (Hobbs & Antonopoulos, 2013, p. 45). Key findings from the current ethnography are then presented: first, by outlining personal and group characteristics and drawing distinction between them and the usual suspects of the illegal drug trade; and second, by assessing the logistical features of their respective trades, which enabled drug supply to be entwined with conventional daily/weekly routines. In presenting these data, the article will further elucidate the notion that “the cast [of drug offenders] is far more varied than prevailing images would lead one to believe” (Waldorf, Reinarman, & Murphy, 1991, p. 74).
The Dominant Mainstream Narrative: The Usual Suspects
To date, political discourse, government policy, and the media have persistently presented the illegal drugs trade as a hostile economy “removed from the fabric of mainstream society” (S. Taylor, 2008, p. 371). Drug markets have been widely depicted as unrestrained and uncivilized arenas (Boyd, 2002; Coomber, 2006), within which “evil” “others” and “outsiders” (Antonopoulos & Papanicolaou, 2010; S. Taylor, 2008) – including “alien” (i.e., foreign) organized crime groups (Hobbs & Antonopoulos, 2013), urban street gangs (Densley, 2014), or “native-born drug addicts” (Paoli & Reuter, 2008, p. 19) – prey upon an “underclass” (Buchanan & Young, 2000) of “unproductive, untrustworthy and out of control” addicts (Smith & Riach, 2016, p. 36). Such sensationalism is nothing new. From the late 1970s, the drugs discourse became highly politicized, morally charged, prone to racial and class prejudice (Reinarman, 1994; Wacquant, 2009) and was at times underpinned by methodologically flawed studies or inaccurate media reports (e.g., Goode & Ben-Yehuda, 1994).
During this period, certain groups became emblematic of the illicit drug economy in Western culture – they are what we may consider the usual suspects of the illegal drug trade. They are often, though not always, Black, minority ethnic (Alexander, 2012; Eastwood, Shiner, & Bear, 2013), or migrant groups (Boyd, 2002; Paoli & Reuter, 2008) who reside and operate in dispossessed urban communities – known pejoratively as the North American ghetto or European “sink estate.” These groups are disproportionately targeted and punished by law enforcement agencies for drug offenses (e.g., Eastwood et al., 2013; Wacquant, 2009) and are subsequently overrepresented within many Western criminal justice systems (e.g., Alexander, 2012; Paoli & Reuter, 2008). For instance, Beckett, Nyrop, and Pfingst (2006) identified significant disparities with how authorities in Seattle policed the city’s drug markets, with police concentrated overwhelmingly on Black and Latino crack markets while seemingly ignoring the predominantly White neighborhood of Capitol Hill and its thriving outdoor drug markets. They conclude that “white people who engage in drug transactions outdoors are simply not perceived as drug offenders by Seattle police officers” (p. 436; see also Wacquant, 2009, p. 62). In England and Wales, Eastwood, Shiner, and Bear’s (2013) analysis of Ministry of Justice and police force data on illegal drugs showed demonstrable racial and ethnic disparities in terms of stop and search tactics, drug arrests, court proceedings, and custodial sentences, with Black and mixed-race groups bearing the brunt of these measures despite roughly the same propensities of drug use as their White counterparts.
The dominant narrative on illegal drugs, then, is one in which subsets of outsiders are seen to threaten the normative bases of (civil) society. It is propagated by media caricaturization, biased policing practices, government policy, and, to paraphrase Hobbs (2013, p. 2), the harvesting of “low-hanging fruit” by the criminal justice system. Thus, as Caulkins, Reuter, and Coulson (2011, p. 1886) neatly summarize, “moral panic, racial prejudice, and sheer ignorance [have] fouled deliberations over the last century” in the debate about drug markets.
A Supported Narrative? The Manifestation of Drug Markets Within Empirical Literatures
To date, empirical work examining the organization of drug markets and/or the role and motives of groups and individuals operating within them has concentrated overwhelmingly on socially and economically marginalized urban populations – that is, the usual suspects (see, for instance, Briggs, 2010; Bucerius, 2007; Duck, 2015; Hoffer, 2006, among many others). This trend is by no means novel: Tewksbury and Mustaine (1998, p. 43) note that over 20 years ago, drug market research was focused on “major urban ‘drug centers’…[and] high poverty areas.” Indeed, within the criminological and sociological literatures, drug markets are commonly manifested within the context of violent and at times territorial street gangs (or street gang affiliates) operating among impoverished minority populations; this trend is true of studies from the United Kingdom (e.g., Harding, 2014; Windle & Briggs, 2015), the United States (e.g., Jacobs, 2000; Venkatesh, 2006), Scandinavia (e.g., Leinfelt & Rostami, 2012; Sandberg, 2008), Latin America (e.g., Desmond Arias, 2014; Rodgers, 2006), and beyond. By contrast, drug markets situated within less (traditionally) criminogenic environments, which cater to and are operated by more privileged demographics, have eschewed the same level of academic scrutiny (see also Page & Singer, 2010, p. 9).
Such empirical disparity is likely the result of the three key factors. First, the use and supply of illegal drugs are often tangential components of studies whose broader empirical focus concerns the social and economic inequities facing marginalized populations (e.g., Goffman, 2014; Harding, 2014; Venkatesh, 2006). Criminal activities, including the use and sale of illegal drugs, are indeed prominent features of daily life within these communities (Tonry, 1995) and are thus present in the associated research outputs. Second, dense urban centers have traditionally exhibited higher concentrations of open drug markets (e.g., Harocopos & Hough, 2005, p. 10; Paoli, 2000), which are both more visible and more accessible than clandestine closed markets, making the identification of “serious [drug] offenders” within these environments “easy” for social scientific analysis (Jacobs, 2006, p. 159). Third, the most noxious and conspicuous elements of the illegal drug trade – namely, systemic crime (i.e., market violence), problematic drug use, and its associated health risks – are concentrated in urban areas among those living in low-income homes, in social housing, and/or employed in low-skilled occupations (e.g., Reuter & Stevens, 2007; Stevens, 2011, p. 22), hence the greater empirical attention.
In short, the drug offending populations and participants examined in most relevant academic literature are the same ones who feature (disproportionately) within criminal justice figures, the media, and political discourse. By virtue of the heightened scholarly attention paid to these groups (relative to other demographics), it is possible to conclude, as Bean (2014, pp. 160–161) has, that [m]ost but not all drug markets will be in inner-city areas serving mixed ethnic and transient populations […] At the street level, whether the markets are open or closed, they invariably operate in low-class neighbourhoods with the bulk of the resident population living in poor conditions. too much of a focus on any one kind of group or market can over homogenise the image presented […] as with numerous crime statistics, the demographic evidence available may not be representative of the populations we want to know about.
A Counternarrative: The Unusual Suspects
There is a small but growing body of research challenging the “‘Us’…versus ‘Them’ mentality” (Hobbs & Antonopoulos, 2013, p. 45). Adler (1993); Waldorf, Reinarman, and Murphy (1991); Hobbs (1995); and Desroches (2006) were some of the first to offer an alternative (or additional) narrative beyond that of others and outsiders. They each identify diverse sets of actors at varying stages of the illicit drug economy, from self-employed business women and men to former law enforcement personnel and servicemen. Desroches (2006) notes, for instance, that of the 70 convicted upper-level drug traffickers he studied, 50 lived “relatively law-abiding lives apart from their involvement in the drug trade […] [with] lengthy employment histories or business experiences” (p. 44). Similarly, recent ethnographic research has emphasized the prominence of otherwise conventional retail-level drug dealers who facilitate supply among their own respective suburban or “middle-class” populations, but whose involvement goes largely undetected and unsanctioned (Jacques & Wright, 2015; Mohamed & Fritsvold, 2010; M. Taylor & Potter, 2013). Such studies diverge from much of the criminological literature by depicting burgeoning drug markets far removed from the milieu of social disorganization, street violence, urban poverty, and gangsterdom. The men and women featured within these counternarratives are generally employed, educated (or else currently in education), and, predominantly, White. Whether by virtue of their race, privileged social standing, or more discreet operational practices, this “silent majority” (Mohamed & Fritsvold, 2010) of dealers and traffickers operate with ostensible impunity from law enforcement and without the same analytic attention given to their socially marginalized counterparts.
Findings from the Crime Survey for England and Wales (CSEW) and the United States’s National Survey on Drug Use and Health (NSDUH) appear to support this counternarrative. First, they indicate that general drug use is distributed fairly evenly across socioeconomic, racial, and ethnic groups (Shiner, 2009; Tonry, 1995) with the highest prevalence rates found among White university/college students (Alexander, 2012; Bennett & Holloway, 2014). Second, they demonstrate that most users acquire their drugs from friends, neighbors, colleagues, or family members, with only a minority sourcing drugs from “drug dealers” (e.g., Lader, 2015, p. 7; Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, 2010, p. 28) – or what respondents may consider archetypal “dealers” (i.e., the usual suspects). Although the CSEW and NSDUH overlook populations whose drug habits are likely to be problematic such as prisoners or the homeless (Caulkins & Pacula, 2006), their findings at the very least advocate a more nuanced assessment of drug markets than we currently have – one in which consumers, sellers, transactions, and the market exist within all strata of society. Indeed, NSDUH data reveal that rates of self-avowed dealing are also distributed evenly among racial and ethnic groups and that almost one quarter of those aged 18–25 years professing to having dealt drugs reside in households with annual incomes of US$75,000 or more (Vaughn, Salas-Wright, DeLisi, Shook, & Terzis, 2015).
In summary, the notion that drug dealers are inexorably social outsiders operating on society’s margins is challenged by both ethnographic and household survey data. This article adds to this small but growing body of ethnographic work that challenges the dominant drugs narrative. It identifies otherwise conventional working-class lads for whom drug dealing was simply another form of work to be undertaken alongside conventional activities and commitments. The article will now outline the study’s methods, before describing the groups’ characteristics and assessing the methods by which drugs were sold and thus embedded within their conventional lives.
The Study
The findings presented here originate from an extensive body of data, generated as part of a 6-year ethnography (2006–2012) of 25 males who, for the purposes of this study, are termed The Lads. The study was concerned principally with assessing their seemingly paradoxical commitment to conventional norms/ideals as well as to a deviant and often criminal lifestyle. Participants were located and recruited via the author’s social contacts, which were established during adolescence. Participants consented to the study, yet it was left to the discretion of participants whether the researcher role was made known to their affiliates. The use of one’s preexisting relations in studying drug offenders is by no means novel (cf. Adler, 1993; Jacques & Wright, 2015; Mohamed & Fritsvold, 2010) and is ostensibly one of the few means by which researchers can identify and access clandestine closed drug-dealing networks.
Thousands of hours were spent in the company of this network systematically observing participants as they interacted with customers and suppliers (at varying levels of the supply chain), conventional work colleagues, and family members. The author observed many elements of The Lads’ UK operations (e.g., cash and drug pickups/drop-offs, the selection of stash sites, the processing of drugs, the packaging of consignments, and the cultivation of marijuana) and traveled to Ibiza to document and interview those participants involved in cross-border trafficking and supply. Ad hoc semistructured interviews were undertaken daily, whenever further insight was needed, for example, inquiring about a customer following a transaction or asking a supplier to elaborate on their decision to change wholesalers. These on-the-spot conversational inquiries were recorded in anonymized digitized note form. Field observations and ad hoc interviews were supplemented by more structured interviews, which were audio-recorded and transcribed. These interviews lasted between 30 min and 2 hr and were designed to elicit more detailed or reflexive information from participants. For example, after noting the widespread use of (informal) credit within various supply chains, the author undertook in-depth interviews with 12 participants specifically directed toward this topic, including their experience of sourcing drugs on credit, frequency of customers getting into debt, consequences of customers falling into debt, determining creditworthiness of a customer, and so on.
As with any self-disclosed data, there is the possibility that some participants lied, distorted, or misremembered accounts provided during interview. The veracity of their statements regarding events not directly observed by the author – such as the physical smuggling activities – may thus be questioned. Where possible unobserved events were corroborated via field observations made before or after the event, by speaking to others present or involved (e.g., trade partners or suppliers) or by some other means (e.g., viewing pay-slips, business records, or newspaper articles). In addition, interviewees were made aware that they and their responses were anonymized and otherwise kept confidential.
It should be noted that participants switched occupational classifications during the course of the study, thus the accompanying descriptors provided alongside participant quotations may change depending upon the year of study.
Group Characteristics
The Lads’ cohort was the composite of several smaller overlapping social cliques that formed during adolescence and comprised 21 White British and 4 British Pakistani males. Participants resided in and operated from two North England boroughs located a short distance from each other, here referred to as Tannerstown and South City. Despite their collective, cooperative, and profitable involvement in the illegal drug trade, dealing itself was generally an ancillary feature of the group’s social interactions. The most pronounced disparities between this cohort and the drug trade’s usual suspects relates to the relative conventionality of their lives. As the following three sections will illustrate, these young men were not social outsiders affiliated to any established criminal group such as a “street gang” or “crime family.” Nor were they subjected to the same occupational insecurities and economic struggles encountered by many other sections of the former industrial working classes (e.g., Hall, Winlow, & Ancrum, 2013; Reding, 2009). The Lads were, by comparison, relatively privileged in terms of their social and economic standing and saw themselves as part of an aspiring and upwardly mobile working class (see Nayak, 2003) willing to utilize legal or criminal opportunities to better their situation. Their key social and individual characteristics are detailed below.
Family Households: Nonaffluent but Hardworking
When we were little, my mum and dad had the shop […] which was open 7-days a week […] My dad’s a grafter, man. I’d only see him in the morning when he’d take us to school. (Khalid, 25, financial advisor|cocaine retailer)
Growing up The Lads’s households tended to be stable both in terms of family structure and employment. Eighteen individuals had grown up in households with two guardians present, seven came from single-parent households. Their parents had worked in occupations that included secretarial and administrative work, bar work, work in care homes, manual work, retail, education (i.e., teachers), factory work, and factory management and civil engineering; four participants came from families who managed small independent businesses. Relative to the United Kingdom’s average, household family incomes during childhood were often low (under £30,000 gross annual earnings), though seven of the households were comparatively affluent (up to £60,000 gross annual earnings). Despite at times lacking the prestige associated with certain middle-class occupations (see Galbraith, 1992), legitimate work and hard graft were part and parcel of their parents’ lives. Drug dealing and economic crime more generally were not a source of revenue/work outwardly encouraged or endorsed. In short, the study’s participants had grown up in law-abiding households that practiced and promoted prosocial norms and values particularly in relation to how one earned a living.
Offending Histories (Prior to Dealing): “No Angels”
I don’t reckon we were ever proper-bad lads as kids, but we were no fuckin’ angels either – we all did daft shit. (Hammer, 27, human resource manager|cocaine and cannabis retailer)
Education and Work: Dealers With Respectable Résumés
Really, whose gonna look at Marshall a fuckin’ mortgage advisor driving round in his sensible car, or Bear working for [a prestigious employer, listed on the FTSE-250] living in his kush [good] apartment, or any of the lads, really, and think “yeah, those lads there, they’re dealers”? […] You can’t really get any more legit[imate]. (Cliff, 24, small-business owner|cocaine retailer and midlevel runner)
Group Characteristics: Summary
The Lads’ personal characteristics and their upbringings lie in stark contrast with much that is written about dealers/traffickers (e.g., Bean, 2014; Shammas, Sandberg, & Pedersen, 2014). They had grown up in stable and law-abiding, working-class households situated in nonmarginalized communities. They were educated (academically or vocationally), ambitious, and well integrated into “conventional” society and Western meritocratic ideology. Despite demonstrating a propensity to take risks, rule-break (the hallmarks of free market capitalism), and a penchant for recreational drug use, there was no distinctive set of childhood risk factors that could have accurately predicted their progression into the drug economy. Crucially for this article, The Lads maintained and developed conventional roles at the same time as they advanced within the illicit drug trade. How was this possible? How did these individuals commit to both the legitimate and the criminal economy? The remainder of the article addressees the logistical features of drug dealing; it will illustrate how drug dealing activities readily complemented conventional work–life routines.
The Behavior, Organization, and Structure of the Market
The drug markets The Lads inhabited were worlds apart from the dramatic arenas depicted in popular culture and differed markedly even from trades featured in much of the scholarly literature. A few key features help define the observed trades. First, markets were porous and individuals “oscillated” freely in and out of various supply chains (see also Adler & Alder, 1983), between distribution stages (retail/wholesale/import–export), and between substances (e.g., cocaine to ketamine) without adverse reaction from other parties such as their market competitors or suppliers. Second (and relatedly), drugs were sold and trafficked within largely nonhostile social settings (see also Coomber, 2015). Ironically, the author’s experiences with The Lads indicate that violence was more pronounced in the highly policed nighttime leisure economies of Tannerstown and South City than within these drug markets, which were largely (though not always) peaceful arenas. Third, there was little complexity in terms of the logistical tasks or risk-mitigation procedures that were employed, meaning the “work” of these dealers was straightforward, routinized, and easily integrated into conventional routines. Below are summaries of the operational and logistical features of the trade at the retail and midlevels. They demonstrate how drug sales aligned themselves alongside conventional lifestyles.
Drug Delivery Services: Retailing Illicit Drugs
I’ll finish work [17.00] and head straight to the gym with Tee [dealing partner] and them guys. Usually done around 6 [or] 6.30 [p.m.] unless we go sauna […] Soon as we’re out we’ll grab the bud [cannabis from our stash], do a few drop-offs [deliveries], grab a bit of scran [food] […] and then we’ll just be parked up chilling with all the boys […] Do a few more drop-offs whenever we get calls […] That’s basically it. I’m back home chillin’ with brew and spliff, and in bed for 11 [p.m.] for work [the next day] […] We’re getting about three-ton [£300] each a week. So nowhere near earning the same as [some Lads] but, still, it’s pretty much doubling my wage at the minute. (Abu, 22, family business employee|cannabis retailer)
“Drop-off” delivery services were the main method by which drugs were distributed at this stage of the supply chain; only three dealers permitted customer collections from their residence. As Marshall (a mortgage adviser in a high street bank, operating then as a cocaine dealer) explains: I don’t want people turning up at my house at whatever time of day. Anyway, people are going to prefer me dropping-off […] Like Domino’s [Pizza] […] most people just want it delivered right to their door.
Although there existed clear variations in consumer demographics and consumption patterns, the vast majority of customers were not “vulnerable youngster[s]” or “hardened addict[s],” but “otherwise law-abiding and hard-working citizens” (Pearson, 2001, p. 192). The following interview excerpts exemplify The Lads’ consumer base; the statements make reference to coworkers who, via everyday legitimate interaction, came to form part of their clientele (see also Curcione, 1997, pp. 243–244; Jacques & Wright, 2015, pp. 44–45). I’ve got all sorts. Decent people, middle-class people […] There’s Steve […] he’s like 37 or 41 [years old], teaches golf or is a professional golfer […] Earns pure money […] I’ve got this thing where I hide [the cocaine] under the wheel arch of his Porsche whenever he wants any […] I think that’s coz he’s got his kids on weekends and doesn’t want to make it obvious […] Most my guys are ordinary people […] just working in like 9-to-5 jobs and just want a bit of “sniff” on the weekend. There’s [a customer] who I do the taxi’s with […] [another] who’s a sparky [electrician], [another] who’s a trady [tradesman] for his dad’s [business], [another] who manages [a local pub]. There are a few [customers] who’re a bit rough. (Cliff, 26|taxi driver|cocaine retailer and midlevel runner) I had [three] colleagues [when I worked for an administration department] who’d buy [cannabis] off me all the time […] You’d have a quiet spell and then someone like Jacko would give me a cheeky little wink and ask if I was about later. I’d be like, “Yes mate, I’ll bob-on over” […] This one lady, Lauren, who was pretty senior in the office […] she’d never really “let on” to arrange anything when we were in the office, but she’d call [later asking] after a few bags for her fella [partner] once-twice a week. (Tee, 23, postgraduate student|cannabis retailer)
The majority of drug transactions in the observed markets occurred at the retail level, in the private setting (usually the customer’s home), via one of these delivery service. There were few entry requirements or industry-specific skills other than the requisite social networks, a willingness to break the law (see also Hobbs, 2013) and a sound enough reputation for those requiring consignments on credit (see also Møller & Sandberg, 2015). Retail dealing was thus an attractive and comparatively profitable form of casual or supplementary work during The Lads’ early to mid-20s. Revenues funded anything from holidays and basic living expenses to university fees and legitimate business start-ups. The simplicity of these tasks, coupled with the fact customer demand fell outside regular working hours, made the role of a retail dealer simultaneous desirable – especially while in education or in jobs perceived to be low paid – yet, in the long term, wearisome. In contrast to the experiences of certain “street dealers” (Sandberg, 2008) or socially privileged “pseudo-gangstas” (Mohamed & Fritsvold, 2010), drug dealing in this context was neither glamorous nor exciting. The following vignette demonstrates the casual and mundane nature of these delivery services: Cliff and I stood outside in the cold November air as we smoked. Cliff rubbed an almost imperceptible smudge off his beloved Audi convertible – an item, as with so many of his current belongings, paid for with drug money. As evening drew close customers began placing their orders. His phone rang. He answered immediately. “Hello!…Yeah good thanks, you?…Yeah, I’m just about to head out. I’ll head round in the next hour or so, I just have to see a few people first…. Sound [cool]. In-a-bit.” Though brief in content and duration, the call was evidence of yet another sale lined up. We drove toward Cliff’s personal drug stash site, a secluded patch of undergrowth located on a long stretch of quiet country lane, before making our way to the first customer’s residence. “December’s coming up fast,” he said, “I’m gonna be busy as fuck all through the month. All me [university] assignments are due in before Christmas, and [cocaine] sales are going to start going crazy.” Cliff had dealt cocaine throughout much of his degree studies. Despite having profited from it, he had always viewed dealing as a temporary means to an end – “at the end of the day it’s just easy money,” but “I don’t want to be doing this much longer if I can help it.” He was midway through a master’s degree and hoped to secure a well-paid graduate job in his field after graduation, at which point he planned to relinquish his dealer role. The first customer of the night lived in pleasant suburban cul-de-sac. Eve was a self-employed beautician in her mid-30s. She opened her front door and invited us both in. We chatted as Cliff casually handed over 3 “grams” of cocaine. “Cheers hun. I know we owe for three already” she said, “I’ll give you 200 on Monday, if that’s alright.” Cliff nodded, “Yeah, no worries.” We stayed and talked for 5 min more before we returned to the car. “I’ve just got to head to Stevie’s [another customer], he’s heading out in the next half-hour, then we’ll go see Ric and another lad….” The evening proceeded in unremarkable fashion. Cliff and his customers talked briefly about work, upcoming holidays, and home decoration. Little was said with regard to the drug transaction taking place. Once the final delivery of the evening had been made, we headed over to Depp’s house, where five of The Lads were already “chilling”: smoking cannabis and playing the PlayStation. “Abu!” Cliff shouted over the sound of the TV, “Is it alright to grab a bag of green [cannabis] off you?”
Financial remuneration proved to be retail drug dealing’s only enduring reward. Khalid – then a financial advisor in a high street bank (and night time cocaine dealer) – explained, “Any idiot could do it. It’s just driving to someone’s gaff [house] and handing over the order.” The mundane reality of this criminal marketplace is by no means limited to this cohort; Hobbs (1995) identified similar lackluster feelings among retailers operating in similar environments. Despite the monotony of operating a drug delivery service over several years during ones “spare” time, the substantial profits ensured willing participation among this cohort during much of their 20s, until their conventional (legitimate) commitments began to pay dividends (e.g., better paid work) or take precedent (e.g., greater commitment to a personal relationship), at which point dealing as a secondary occupation became increasingly untenable or unjustifiable.
This section has outlined the procedural and logistical features of the observed retail market. As is common with closed-market traders (May & Hough, 2004), the vast majority of sales occurred in private settings between known parties (Jacques & Wright, 2015; M. Taylor & Potter, 2013). As such, the retail markets I observed were largely obscured from view of the public and law enforcement. To the casual observer, these young men were committed to, and progressively succeeding in, their legitimate endeavors.
Less Is More: Wholesaling, Brokering, Importing, and Exporting Illicit Drugs
You’ll be surprised at how little I do, Mike. Honest to god mate, I put in about an hour’s work a week […] [My runner] does most the legwork. He’ll go pick it up from Henry [the broker in South City], brings it back [to Tannerstown], weighs it, bags it, gets it out [to the retail dealers], [and] collects the money in the week […] Then, I’ve got Neander who […] chases up [outstanding] debts. All I do pretty much is make a few phone calls here and there: get the orders from everyone [i.e., retailers], phone Henry, and get Cliff [and others] to do the running ‘round. (Sol, 26, warehouse logistics and small-business owner|cocaine wholesaler) [My suppliers] trust that I’m gonna pay them back and it’s the same with my customers: I don’t want to be giving it out [on credit] to some cunt who makes me spend however long chasing them up […] or having to send fuckin’ Tyson [the runner/debt collector] to have words. So as long as I know you’re safe and you’ve never shown yourself to be some spineless cunt I’ll give it you on tick [credit], and depending how well I know you I’ll give it to a pal of yours [on credit] too if you tell me they’re safe. (Rushton, 27, business investor|multidrug broker) Marshall worked as a mortgage adviser in a local high street bank and was currently being trained for a managerial role within the branch. For almost 3 months, Marshall had been moonlighting as Sol’s interim cocaine “runner,” covering the duties of Sol’s regular runner who was abroad on an extended holiday. It was Friday (the day of Sol’s logistical operation) and Marshall was dressed in his work attire having just finished work. I accompanied Marshall as he drove to the rendezvous point – a nondescript motorway services located midway between Tanners Town and South City. We pulled up alongside Henry (the broker from South City) who was parked up at a McDonalds “drive-thru.” Marshall turned off the engine and went and sat in Henry’s car. He returned 2 min later holding a small cylindrical “Pringle” crisp container, containing three “pucks” of cocaine. He placed the container beneath his seat, nodded farewell to Henry and drove off. “Right then,” he said jovially, “Let’s head back.” We arrived back in Tanners Town at around 7 p.m. and headed to a house located a short drive from the town center. The house belonged to Phil, an associate of The Lads. A set of small digital scales were already out on the kitchen worktop when we arrived. Marshall, who was now adept at weighing out the stock, quickly divided and packaged the cocaine ready for delivery. He evidently did not wish to stay for longer than was necessary and Phil’s attempts at small talk fell on deaf ears. Marshall thanked Phil, handed over a clear bag with roughly 3 grams of cocaine in lieu of payment for having used his house, and we left. Marshall delivered the consignments to a total of 14 dealers that evening – several were close affiliates, including to four of The Lads. He drove to several of their homes, spending no more than a few minutes in each or else met them in secluded car parks dotted on the outskirts of town. We had left Tanners Town shortly after 5 p.m. It was now 8.30 p.m., and Marshall’s work was finished for the day. “All that’s on tick [credit]…. I’ll get the money off them next week.” “And how much did you earn tonight?,” I asked. “This week I’m getting £750, so I can’t complain. Mad that! Considering I’m getting £1,200 a month from [the bank].” Marshall stretched and let out a loud groan. “Right then, Mikey. I’ll drop you off now, if that’s okay. I’ve been on the go all day, so I just wanna go home, get showered, get something to eat and see the missis [girlfriend] for a bit.”
The most time-consuming and potentially hazardous tasks to be documented in this study relate to the multikilo ketamine smuggling operations of Bear and Cliff who, as undergraduates, smuggled Ketamine onto Ibiza during their summer terms. The pair drove and took ferries with their consignments diluted in large water bottles. Once at their apartment, the pair boiled off the water and the remaining residue (pure ketamine) was placed in Tupperware and stashed in isolated woodlands a short drive away. Both the physical tasks (i.e., retrieving stock from the stash on a daily basis, delivering stock to dealers on the island) and the networking necessary to develop and sustain distribution links on the island required a level of commitment quite distinct from any other of the documented operations. What is most noteworthy here, however, is how the academic calendar provided extended summer breaks that offered ample opportunity to venture outside their immediate networks/markets without disrupting their overarching pursuits. What would I rather be doing all summer (in-between academic years): working in a warehouse [during the day] and dropping off coke in the evening, or selling drugs in Ibiza where it’s mint and sunny and I can party whenever I want? It’s not a hard choice. (Bear, 22|university student|cocaine retailer/runner and ketamine trafficker)
Conclusion
This article set out to challenge mainstream thinking regarding the supply of illicit drugs. Whether propagated through negative stereotypes in the news and entertainment media (Boyd, 2002; S. Taylor, 2008), reductionist political discourse and government policy (S. Taylor, 2011, 2016), skewed targeting of law enforcement efforts (e.g., Eastwood et al., 2013), or selective use of law enforcement data (Stevens, 2007), those who consume, purvey, or trade illegal drugs are widely portrayed as risk-bearing others and outsiders (Antonopoulos & Papanicolaou, 2010; Hobbs & Antonopoulos, 2013) positioned away from, and often in opposition to, normative civil society. Using data obtained via 6 years of ethnographic research, this article has shown how the experiences of 25 men involved in the distribution of illicit drugs contrast sharply with many of the common assumptions associated with the supply of illicit drugs. The study depicts a drug trade far removed from inner-city deprivation, gang territories, violent criminal rivalries, and intensive policing. The findings reveal how within The Lads’ otherwise “conventional” social environments, the commercial selling and trading of illicit drugs proved an operationally viable, economically rational, and ultimately alluring form of work. The Lads “grafted” hard in both the legitimate and illicit economy because they wanted to better their situations – their net earnings from legal and illicit “work” elevated their wages to that of senior professionals (akin to that of senior teachers and UK general surgeons). Their continued efforts within the legitimate economy suggests that these were neither youths disaffected with empty promises of work nor nihilistic criminals bound to some kind of criminal underworld. And though their petty adolescent offending histories may indicate a propensity for risky behavior, a willingness to break rules, and for some a hard-edged entrepreneurial disposition, they were by no means an exceptionally delinquent cohort (e.g., Singer, 2014). Crucially, The Lads did not commit to drug dealing as a long-term supplementary income. Without the encumbrance of a criminal record or time-served in prison, The Lads were free to naturally age out of these criminal roles unharmed and largely unnoticed, as conventional commitments such as stable relationships and legitimate “career work” took precedence.
It may be the case that The Lads were merely one arrest or custody term away from being like those marginalized agents described in the usual suspects literature. Yet, they were each privy to a range of protective features that would have likely lessened the collateral consequences of a drug conviction, including having vocational or academic qualifications, work experience, and supportive parents who could provide stable housing if needed. The usual suspects are not marginalized populations simply because of the stringent police surveillance or punitive polices targeted toward them (see Beckett, Nyrop, & Pfingst, 2006; Eastwood et al., 2013), but because they are also likely to fare poorly in terms of their health outcomes, educational outcomes, occupational outcomes, and residential and familial stability. For the usual suspects, the use and sale of drugs are often central components of life (e.g., Briggs, 2010; Hoffer, 2006; Venkatesh, 2006). For The Lads, however, their use and sale were merely an ancillary feature of their daily or weekly routines, something to be undertaken among other conventional undertakings.
This study adds to a growing, yet still limited, body of empirical work that brings into question the widely held views of the illicit drug economy. It suggests that the “drug dealer” is not some “other” kind of citizen; their behavior is not pathological; and drug sales are not simply the forte of poor, inner-city male urbanites. Just as anyone may be an illegal drug user – from unemployed homeless “junkies” (Hoffer, 2006) to students, professors, attorneys/lawyers, and dentists (e.g., Waldorf et al., 1991) – so too can anyone become involved in the supply of these drugs, including gang members (e.g., Jacobs, 1999; Venkatesh, 2006), fast-food workers and shop assistants (e.g., Anderson, 2000), suburban middle-class youth (Jacques & Wright, 2015), working professionals (Waldorf et al., 1991), affluent college students studying in prestigious universities (Mohamed & Fritsvold, 2010), and legitimate business entrepreneurs (Desroches, 2006; Hobbs, 2013). Criminological inquiry has begun to broaden its empirical lens regarding the illegal drug trade, yet greater efforts must be made to better conceptualize this everyday (criminal) economy using a more diverse range of actors, particularly from those who form part of the “silent majority” of drug offender who go largely unpoliced and unpunished (Mohamed & Firstvold, 2010). Further broadening the empirical lens may help redress the “reductionist drug discourse” (S. Taylor, 2016) that still reigns supreme in many Western countries. Thus far, the state’s punitive approach to the illegal drug “problem” continues to be directed toward people and communities already socially ostracized and economically marginalized. The intensified policing of these groups for drug offenses exacerbates their marginality when, evidently, the breaching of drug laws is by no means ubiquitous only to those groups.
Footnotes
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This work was supported by the Economic and Social Research Council through PhD quota award funding. This was allocated by the Centre for Criminology and Criminal Justice, in the School of Law, at the University of Manchester.