First, a bit of disclosure: I’m a lifelong non-smoker. Never even tried. I don’t express that as a matter of pride in my ability to resist or anything like it. It’s just what is. I still don’t know how or understand why I never smoked, aside from remembering I always hated the overwhelming stench. I grew up in a family where both parents smoked for most, (thankfully not all), of my youth. When my father was told cigarettes were killing him, he switched to cigars and a pipe, then eventually only to a pipe. My mother quit smoking many years before my father. I believe I was in my last year of high school when Dad quit altogether. Tragically, it was way too late. The irreversible damage had been done, and he lived, constantly out of breath, only ten more years.
I mention that because it’s the reality of my past, and because I know it affects my outlook regarding tobacco. It is my context, and we all use contexts of some sort to fashion what we think or believe.
It will no doubt come as no surprise when I say I have no regard for something called “Smoker’s Rights”, if that term means anything beyond a person’s right to do, within reason or decency, what they wish to do in the privacy of their home.
I’m reminded of a funny Saturday Night Live skit with Steve Martin, many decades ago. Martin was sitting at a table in a restaurant. A diner sitting a the next table leaned over and asked, “Do you mind if I smoke?”, to which Martin answered, “Do you mind if I fart?”
Precisely.
According to the laws that presently exist in The Village, people have the right to smoke. Okay. I get it. And even though those who choose to engage in reckless, life-threatening behaviors create blowback events for everyone else in the village, (i.e. increased insurance and medical care costs, among other consequences), I get it. The law says they have a right. But a person’s right to smoke is different from most other rights.
Generally speaking, if you are an American citizen:
You have the right to free speech. You don’t have a right to scream into my ear.
You have the right to own a gun. You don’t have a right to scare me or shoot me with it.
You have the right to vote. You don’t have a right to interfere with my voting right.
You have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. You don’t have a right to keep me from those same rights.
Get the idea?
We have united ourselves into The Village. As a group of people living within that Village, we understand and accept our need to make certain compromises at times, for the sake of peace, safety and the general well-being of all citizens. If, however, your behavior directly (or in some cases, indirectly) impedes my access to peace, safety and well-being, it’s time for your behavior to come under a bit more scrutiny.
Yes, there was a time in our nation when smoker’s so-called rights overwhelmed every non-smoker’s right to unpolluted air. Those of you born in the 70’s and later probably can’t appreciate not being forced to smell secondhand cigarette smoke literally everywhere, and every time you ventured away from home. Markets. Airplanes. Theaters. Buses. Schools. Workplaces. Restaurants. Hospitals. (I can still recall the nasty reek that poured out of the teacher’s lounge at every school I attended.) Name the venue . . . in almost every case, if it was a place where people gathered, people could and would smoke there.
Not so anymore, and for extremely good reasons. The poisons found within tobacco will waft over you, within and without, and will assault your health without pause. (Those same poisons have been found to persist on apartment and house sheetrock walls, remaining dangerous even after being washed and repainted.)
Folks, I know I may sound like a pulpit pounder, but c’mon, let’s be honest; there is nothing — absolutely no other substance in The Village — that can be compared to tobacco. We know for a fact tobacco will kill a significant number of people who use it in any of its various forms. Sure, people say, “Hey, automobiles and trucks do the same thing!”, and they’re absolutely right. But when people die in cars and trucks, we call it an accident, because that’s exactly what it is. When a car or truck departs from its intended use and operation, 99.9% of the time it’s unanticipated, unplanned and uncharacteristic. (i.e. Accident.) Not so with the use of tobacco. One of its well-known, chief characteristics is the guaranteed damage to the user’s overall health. Another is the high percentage of directly-associated fatalities from its designed and intentional use.
Again, there’s nothing like it in our Village. The stink of old, spilled alcohol may be nasty, but it won’t kill me. (And there’s more than a little research out there demonstrating health benefits from the moderate use of alcoholic beverages.) Street drugs? Give me a break. Unless I ingest them, (or get mugged by somebody who has), there’s no secondhand threat to my health. Marijuana? (Oh yeah, that’s a huge one. And let’s add cookies and milk to the list while we’re at it.)
Jeez.
In the meantime, what t’do, what t’do?
I don’t know. For the sake of consistency I should insist that adults who want to smoke in their own homes or vehicles, go for it, (no children allowed), as long as the smoke billowing out your windows and vents isn’t blowing into MY home. (You don’t have that right, remember?) If your home is rented? That’s different. If I owned the apartment, I’d either say absolutely no smoking, or require a serious $$$ deposit to decontaminate the place after you moved out. (Trust me, you couldn’t afford the $$$ deposit.)
Smoking bars and/or restaurants? Sure, why not? I don’t like the idea, but as long as it’s consensual adults making the decision to work there or frequent the joint, have at it. (Again, no children allowed.) Oh, the exhaust from the establishment will require a certified filter that guarantees no poisons escape. Expensive? Probably. Too bad. Some habits and hobbies are just that way.
The author of this article insists,
There is such a thing as a refined taste for tobacco, and enjoying it in moderation.
Well, I’ll give you that possibility.
Sadly, there’s also absolutely no way to tell when one’s refined, moderately imbibed habit has now become the name of an insidious, painful death for you, and those within breathing distance.
