The War on Drugs: Propaganda and Control
Whoops, Black History Month slipped by without a proper nod. Luckily, there’s no better time to talk about this. Let’s dive into the web of the War on Drugs and detangle its threads of control.
Weaponization of Power
Power speaks. Power matters. Power commands respect. It is a concept that can be applied and reapplied anywhere. I need power to write this article, but I need social power to be seen. But it’s not that simple—I am not given that power; I must seek it out.
Black Power did not sit well with the American government. It wasn’t just a slogan; it was a shift, a demand, a reclamation of autonomy. A shift, even slight, threatens the ideological infrastructure, leaving the government a choice: accept change or monopolize power.
During the 1960s Black Freedom Movement, wanting power suddenly became dangerous because the people who weren’t supposed to have it were claiming it.
It was a movement rooted in racial pride and political empowerment.
"Black Power means Black people coming together to create a political force, because it is through political strength that we can begin to achieve our rightful place in society," stated Stokely Carmichael, one of the leaders of the Black Power movement.
When Black Power became the rallying cry in 1966, it marked a shift. Black Americans were no longer asking for a seat at the table—they were building their own. They were political leaders, successful businesspeople, and cultural pioneers. But the U.S. government did not see this as empowerment. It was seen as an uprising.
The script around the word power began to shift. Power shifted from a symbol of progress to a term of threat simply because the wrong people—at least in the eyes of those in control—were claiming it.
And as history has shown, when those in power feel threatened, they do not play fair.
The response was swift and methodical: surveillance, infiltration, and, ultimately, criminalization.
"We're not interested in Black power and we are not interested in white power, but we are interested in American democratic power, with a small 'd.'" — President Lyndon B. Johnson, 1966.
To many Americans, these words may have sounded neutral, even unifying. But in reality, they revealed a deeper discomfort. The context of this quote must be considered. As Johnson's remarks illustrate, Black Power was a movement explicitly opposed by the U.S. government.
The Black Power movement was about Black autonomy and unity, not superiority. Black Americans were never in a position to push such an agenda. And just like that, power - when attached to Black identity was cast as something ~divisive~.
II. Richard Nixon Capitalizes on the Moment
The infamous President Richard Nixon understood how to use this shift to his advantage. His 1968 presidential campaign leaned heavily on the idea of “law and order”, a direct response to the growing unrest across America—much of which was driven by what is now known as the Civil Rights Movement.
Nixon positioned himself as the candidate who would restore stability, framing protests, uprisings, and Black radicalism as threats to democracy.
Luckily for him, he wasn’t building this narrative alone.
This meant militarizing police, manipulating the narrative, and increasing urban task forces.
"Racism is racism, and we must reject calls for racism whether they come from a throat that is white or one that is Black." — Vice President Hubert Humphrey, 1966.
This tactic may sound familiar to many readers—does the Black Lives Matter movement ring any bells?
III. Nixon’s War on Drugs: The Next Phase of Control
The Vietnam War had been dragging on for over a decade, claiming more than 30,000 American lives by 1968, while the Civil Rights Movement pushed forward, reshaping the nation’s social and political landscape.
The US was craving order, and Nixon knew how to bring it to them — initiating a new phase of control, the War on Drugs.
Arrests skyrocketed by 228% percent in two years, while drug usage remained consistent.
The Monitoring the Future annual survey reported that about 85% of high school seniors found marijuana "easy to obtain," a figure virtually unchanged since 1975.
…Perhaps the WOD was not actually about drugs at all.
But don’t take my word for it. Take it from John Ehrlichman, Assistant to President Nixon on Domestic Affairs:
“We knew we couldn’t make it illegal to be either against the war or Black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and Blacks with heroin, and then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities.”
With one policy shift, Nixon infiltrated Black neighborhoods with military power. The War on Drugs, not inherently bad at its core, became the molding of what drugs looked like in America.
Despite similar usage rates among racial groups, Black Americans faced disproportionately higher arrest rates. In 2018, 89% of the more than 2,000 offenders federally sentenced on cannabis charges were people of color.
To this day, marijuana remains a Schedule I drug, the most restrictive category alongside heroin and LSD. Yet, the hypocrisy is blatant. While Black Americans were criminalized for decades over minor possession, politicians now casually admit to using marijuana without consequence.
"You bet I did. And I enjoyed it." — Michael Bloomberg, former NYC Mayor
IV. The "Absent Black Father" and the Lasting Damage
The War on Drugs is like a silent assassin, threading itself slickly through the veins of American life.
First came the reshaping: protesters became "criminals," inner cities became targets of military force, the media painted the Black criminal into all of our shows, and all that policing led to a literal restructuring of Black communities.
Black men are incarcerated at 9.6 times the rate of white men. The mass incarceration that followed didn’t just remove individuals from society; it fractured families.
Militarized police tactics have already been mentioned in this article, but it’s worth taking a moment to truly digest what that means—because many of us are fortunate enough never to have to think about it.
Imagine this: It’s a typical night in the neighborhood—loud streets, life still buzzing outside. Inside, a home is quiet, kids asleep, a sense of normalcy. Then, a SWAT team storms in at 10:00 p.m. on a school night. A vase crashes to the floor from the shockwave of movement. Assault rifles are pointed at an unarmed family, children silently crying as they watch their father get interrogated.
All for what? Maybe there were no drugs. Maybe there were. Either way, does this level of force make sense?
Okay, now I’ll cut the pathos and just drop some data!
SWAT raids exploded from 1,500 per year in the 1980s to between 60,000 and 70,000 annually by 2010, with the majority targeting drug-related offenses.
Stop-and-frisk policies disproportionately targeted Black and Latino communities—in 2011, Black and Latino individuals made up 87% of all stops, yet 88% of those stopped were innocent.
Violence is trauma, no matter the perpetrator.
Nixon's been gone for decades, but the War on Drugs is still here, still impacting Black families and communities. As arrest rates skyrocketed, so did the rhetoric. Politicians, media personalities, and everyday Americans alike latched onto the idea that Black fathers weren’t present.
The “Where’s your dad?” joke became a standard internet narrative. I promise you, the jokes you make fun of Black communities for were hand-constructed by white hands. The politics, the media, and even language have all been manipulated to tell one narrative. And when you look at the data, it simply does not support it.
Studies have shown that when controlling for incarceration, Black fathers are just as, if not more, involved in their children’s lives than any other racial group.
And if I am wrong and the War on Drugs is simply about protecting citizens from drugs, then let’s talk about a god damn waste of money, over 1 trillion, while simultaneously, “the drug overdose death rate in the U.S. quadrupled from 8.2 per 100,000 people in 2002 to 32.6 per 100,000 in 2022.”
The War on Drugs was never about public health or crime prevention; it was about control.
V. Why Black History Month Still Matters
As this article and another Black History Month come to a close, consider why this one month holds so much power.
History has always been written by the victor. People must decide to look from a different perspective, one not controlled.
Black History Month is important because it disrupts and restructures the historical narratives that have been deliberately manipulated. It challenges the version of history the victors have written, the one embedded in our textbooks, media, and maybe even our thoughts on Black Power; if it was ever taught at all.
Yes, these systems are still in place. But make no mistake, in 2025, Black Americans have built success outside of the stereotypes forced upon them, proving time and time again that their potential is limitless—regardless of the systems designed to contain them.
Black women own 14.8% of all women-owned businesses, running over 2 million firms, with a 32.7% increase in revenue from 2019 to 2023.
Black-owned businesses generate over $211 billion annually and employ more than 1.6 million people.
These aren’t just statistics—they are proof of resilience, innovation, and power.
A system that tears down American communities, in turn, tears down America itself.
Now Dear Readers,
Chew on this, sit on it, let it stew, and then notice.
… perhaps maybe we are being told to think.
Smooch, Smooch,
Emma :)