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Last weekend, a batch of ecstasy pills began circulating the Chapel Street nightclub district. These pills were laced with a combination of the drugs MDMA and GHB, and saw three dead with more than 20 hospitalised. Emergency departments flooded as unknown chemicals sent revellers into collapse.
The story, while tragic, is not new. Every few months, a new and dangerous drug invades the nightclub scene with distressing effect. Media pundits and civilians alike go on to decry the disaster: what could we have done? Why did they take the drugs if they didn't know what was in them? Why take drugs at all?
These criticisms, too, are not new.
I have worked in Melbourne's nightlife as a photographer for over six years. When you're tucked in bed, I'm on my way to work, and when you're up and traipsing to Sunday brunch, I'm a bleary-eyed mess heading home. In hundreds of weekends documenting the nightclub circuit, I've seen my share of bad pills, panic attacks and overdoses.
The prohibition of pills, like those consumed last weekend, ensures that drug users never know what they're truly taking. There are no regulations in the criminal economy. These drugs are brewed in kitchen sinks, filled with cheap toxins, and then sold at prices vastly higher than the cost of production. It's a lucrative business with devastating results.
As nightlife workers, we have a duty of care to the people in our venue. We also know that if someone is going to take criminalised drugs, you won't be able to stop them. And given their illegality, it's often too deep into the negative side effects when we're told of what they've taken, because patrons are too scared to speak up, whether due to fear for their reputations or of legal reprisal. Of the 20 or so reports from last weekend, there's no telling how many more stories went untold.
The creation of environments where patrons feel comfortable disclosing their use is key. A sensible approach floated by many is the idea of on-premises pill testing – or better, provision of self-testing kits. When revellers choose to take illicit drugs, these kits filter out bad batches by educating patrons on their contents, thus limiting the risk of hospitalisation – or worse. Many believe, however, that venues introducing testing kits might somehow encourage drug use.Partygoers fear punishment from the law, believing their confession will see them shoved onto the street or sent to the police station. This leaves frightened revellers seeing no avenue for aid, trapped in throbbing crowds, concerned for their safety and their lives.
Yet unsafe substances causing hazardous states creates a liability for venues. They want to avoid crisis for their customers and their friends. Drugs also reduce money spent at the bar on alcohol – a substance made less dangerous through legalisation and regulation – so the idea of kit testing endorsing the consumption of drugs runs contrary to their interests.
The decriminalisation, testing and regulation of these substances has proved effective in reducing complications in countries such as Portugal, where drugs have been decriminalised for 15 years. Yet it seems Australia isn't ready to take that step. If this country isn't ready to decriminalise, then the best course of action is to minimise risk.
I never want to hear of another patron at work going home after taking a bad pill, before falling comatose in their bed. Through testing kits, collaboration with the police and government, and through the assurance of shelter for our friends and peers, we can create secure and hospitable nightclub environments. So that the next time a batch of dodgy pills arrives on the scene, we'll be more than prepared.
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