Pass The Dutchie?

Back in 1982, a band of teenaged British Jamaicans had a world wide hit with a soft reggae song titled ‘Pass The Dutchie’. It was quite a silly song (I quite like reggae usually, particularly ‘Is this love?’ and ‘No Woman No Cry’) and did not really deserve much notice or to be a number one hit.

I did however go back and revisit the lyrics a few years ago and discovered somewhat to my bemusement that a ‘Dutchie’ is some sort of slang term for the sort of pipe people use to smoke pot.

Of course this is not something I would know much about. I lead a relatively sheltered life and do not approve of pot smoking or harder drugs. Nor, thankfully (at least as far as I know), are any of my family or friends the sort of people who indulge in such vices.

Footscray, mind you, has for most of the past forty years had more than a minor drug problem, which has frequently scared ordinary folk away from it. The 1990s were a time where the heroin program was pretty visible, even to naive people like me – after all, syringes made for a serious and highly visible littering problem, not only around the main shopping district but on the footpaths of just about every residential street.

I did think that the year 2000 was more or less rock bottom, and that Footscray has been recovering since then.

But I fear that the problem of hard drugs has returned. There are several people permanently camped at the south end of the Nicholson Street mall at the moment, and it is more than plausible that the cause of their misfortune is drug addiction, although mental illness or family violence could also be responsible.

Thankfully the problem of a syringe based litter problem has not returned, but that is because heroin is no longer the prevalent problem it was 30 years ago.

Last Sunday, I went for a long walk through Footscray, as I was going to meet a friend for a steak lunch at the Station Hotel and I had time to spare.

As I was walking down Paisley Street, I saw some fellow crossing the street to greet some friends. He was the sort of person who obviously, even to me, has some issues – excessively lean, weathered looking skin, tracksuit, and dragging a wheeled suitcase which contained what I assume are his worldly belongings. He was speaking in that unfiltered, manic, slightly too loud and enthusiastic manner of people who probably have been guests of His Majesty’s, and whose preferred vice is not premium red wine.

I turned to look at his friends who were sitting on the pavement in a disused doorway. I noticed that amongst them, one was holding what appears to be a white glass pipe. I assume that is what people call a crack pipe or an ice pipe.

So what can I say? Pass the Dutchie?

I try to be as non-judgemental as possible about the choices of other people, but it does sadden me that my home town is going backwards once more.