Some of my most meaningful and impactful experiences in law enforcement came while working narcotics, not because I believed we were “winning the War on Drugs,” but because of the people I came to know through that work. Many of the informants I worked with were individuals I had previously arrested for drug-related offenses while on patrol. I was given the opportunity to see them beyond a criminal charge or a name on a spreadsheet. Understanding their circumstances, their decisions and the forces driving their addiction fundamentally changed how I understood drug-related crime. That experience offered a clearer picture of why local drug enforcement matters and how targeted interventions can reduce harm within a community.
Just before the opioid epidemic began to take a visible toll on local communities, much of my investigative focus was on prescription drug cases. That work eventually stopped, not because the behavior wasn’t harmful, but because it was viewed as a lower priority. The illegal flow of legal medications didn’t look like a traditional drug problem. At the time, to some, that reasoning seemed practical. In hindsight, the consequences of ignoring widespread, low-level prescription drug abuse are impossible to miss.
In recent years, the national conversation surrounding drugs has shifted dramatically. Substances once universally classified as illegal under federal law are now legal, decriminalized or socially normalized in many states. This evolving landscape of drug scheduling and legalization has created a growing disconnect between federal regulations and individual state laws, leaving law enforcement and the citizens it serves navigating a confusing and inconsistent framework. As laws change, so do public perceptions, with many citizens questioning not only the legality of certain substances, but the legitimacy of police enforcement efforts themselves.
That disconnect has consequences. When state-level reforms collide with federal scheduling policies, enforcement actions are increasingly viewed through a political or ideological lens rather than a public safety one. Drug seizures that were once seen as proactive policing are now sometimes framed as outdated, unnecessary or even oppressive — particularly when they occur outside of major trafficking corridors. This tension fuels public skepticism and online commentary that dismisses local drug interdiction as a waste of taxpayer resources.
If you look at major drug trafficking corridors across the United States, my jurisdiction does not stand out as a location where large quantities of illicit drugs are funneled for national or regional distribution. While we are a port city, we are not a border state or a major metropolitan hub.
Yet, like many officers in similar communities, I routinely see press releases announcing drug seizures and, just as routinely, I see the public reaction that follows. Online commentary often ranges from indifference to outright mockery, framing these enforcement efforts as a waste of taxpayer money or dismissing them as meaningless gestures that fail to disrupt “real” criminal enterprises. I recall a particular seizure involving an illegal firearm and a small amount of marijuana. When the case was shared publicly, I expected the focus to be on the firearm. Instead, the public response quickly shifted to sarcasm and ridicule over the drug charge itself.
Although misdirected, there is some truth embedded in those criticisms.
The reality is that most local law enforcement agencies are not dismantling transnational drug cartels or collapsing sophisticated trafficking networks. That is not a failure of policing. It is a misunderstanding of the mission.
The reality of American policing
I work in a police department with roughly 70 sworn officers and nearly 30 civilian staff. While that may sound substantial to some, smaller departments are far more representative of American policing than the large metropolitan agencies most people picture. Nearly half of all local law enforcement agencies in the United States have fewer than 10 sworn officers. [1] Approximately three out of four agencies employ fewer than 25 officers or deputies, and nine out of 10 agencies have fewer than 50, while roughly 70% of law enforcement agencies serve communities with populations under 10,000. [2] More than 90% of local agencies employ fewer than 50 sworn personnel and serve populations below 50,000.
These are not large metropolitan police departments operating in known drug distribution hubs. These are small agencies serving tight-knit communities, where officers are as likely to handle neighbor disputes, overdoses and mental health crises as they are narcotics investigations.
For many of us, policing is not about eradicating cartel shipments. Instead, our focus is rooted in protecting the day-to-day quality of life for the people we serve.
Quality-of-life policing is the mission
In small and mid-sized communities like mine, drug enforcement is rarely about disrupting international supply chains. It is about removing behaviors that quietly destabilize neighborhoods and erode a community’s sense of safety.
I have seen how even low-level drug activity can fuel thefts, burglaries and disputes that spill into everyday life, and how those secondary effects often generate far more calls for service than the drug activity itself. When officers intervene early — through enforcement, deterrence or targeted intervention efforts — the impact is often immediate and tangible: fewer overdoses, fewer property crimes and fewer volatile situations. Just as importantly, residents begin to feel safer in their own neighborhoods.
In my experience, reducing drug-related crime is not only about lowering statistics; it is about restoring stability and reducing the fear that keeps people from trusting their community and the institutions meant to protect it. Those outcomes matter, even if they do not make national headlines.
Supporting officers, not undermining them
For me, success in local policing is not measured by large-scale seizures or high-profile cases. It is measured by whether families feel safe using the spaces meant for them — whether children can walk on a beach or play on a local playground without the risk of stepping on a discarded hypodermic needle.
Public narratives that frame local drug enforcement as futile misunderstand both scale and purpose. Small agencies are not failing because they are not dismantling criminal empires. They are succeeding when they make their communities safer, healthier and more livable.
Criminal interdiction efforts by patrol officers, detectives and task-force partners deserve institutional support and public defense rather than dismissal. When we allow misleading narratives to take hold, we risk undermining officer morale and delegitimizing work that directly improves community well-being.
Through my experiences, I’ve come to understand the value of human life by learning individual stories, and I’ve seen firsthand the consequences of treating prescription drug abuse as insignificant simply because we are conditioned to equate legal with harmless.
The takeaway is simple: Regardless of federal–state policy discrepancies and shifting public opinion, local law enforcement should continue to support reasonable, targeted drug interdiction efforts and push back against claims that those efforts are misaligned with the mission of policing. In small communities, removing even “small-time” drugs can have a big-time impact. That impact is exactly what the public expects us to deliver.
References
1. Bureau of Justice Statistics. (November 2022). Local police departments, personnel, 2020 (NCJ 305187). U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs.
2. Small & Rural Law Enforcement Executives Association. (n.d.). The problem.