The satirical dystopian film Brazil does not — in case you haven’t seen it — have much of anything to do with Brazil, the country. But it does have something to do with Deming, New Mexico.
This week’s War on Drugs horror story takes place in Deming, and echoes the “comic,” gallows-humor motif of Terry Gilliam’s 1985 classic. In the movie, armed minions of the futuristic superstate raid your house, kill you, bag you, tag you, and then bill your family for the “service.”
In Deming, an officer stopped a motorist for rolling through a Stop sign. For some reason (so far not explained) the motorist was asked to exit his car, and, the officer claims, exhibited “clenched buttocks” — as if hiding drugs in his rectum.
So, the story goes (and it’s a frighteningly long story), a warrant to search the motorist was obtained, and he was taken to a hospital where multiple anal probes, an x‑ray, two enemas in front of multiple witnesses, and a colonoscopy yielded no evidence of drugs.
And then the suspect — “patient,” in medical terms, though the man consented to no services — was billed. You know, for the x‑ray, the colonoscopy, the enemas, and the anal probes.
Of course the victim is suing, and if the reportage is correct, that all this really happened, I hope he wins millions. The behavior of the police, the judge, and some medical personnel is inexcusable.
But it fits right in with the dystopian future America has made for itself. The War on Drugs is bringing us — has brought us? — tyranny we’d expect only from the darkest of black comedies.
Yes, it can happen here.
This is Common Sense. I’m Paul Jacob.