Last summer, Youness (whose name has been changed to protect his identity) was excited to let loose at a reggae-dub festival at a beach on Tunisia’s Mediterranean coast.
“It’s one of the few festivals that we have in Tunisia that became almost international – these are underground guys who made their own sound system, and they bring DJs from all over the world,” Youness told TalkingDrugs.
Tunisia was once considered one of the few success stories of the Arab Spring uprisings that rocked the Middle East and North Africa in the early 2010s. After ousting dictator Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali, who led the country under one-man rule since the late 80s, Tunisia seemed to be moving in a more open and democratic direction. But as Youness can attest, the old regime’s repressive law enforcement apparatus remained a constant, pointed towards young Tunisians overstepping the bounds of consciousness.
The first day of the three day festival was going smoothly, Youness explained, with attendees enjoying the music and dancing by the sea. “The music’s running every day from morning till night, until maybe 2 AM, and after that everyone rests in their own tent, waiting for tomorrow,” Youness continued.
Having taken some acid (LSD) and ecstasy (MDMA), Youness and his friends returned to their tent to chill out and sip tea. Everyone was relaxed when suddenly what looked like a dozen flashlights appeared in their faces as police officers barged into their tent, demanding they empty their pockets. They found Youness and his friend, an engineer, both carrying two joints.
“They put us in the police car, and I was so hyped with the psychedelic on my brain, the MDMA effect, I was seeing mandalas [geometric patterns] everywhere in the back of the car,” he remembered. “I spent 24 hours in that police station, high on acid.”
The festival was supposed to be under the police’s protection. But it was ‘protection’ in a Mafia sense, and Youness, his friend, and one of the festival’s security guards were effectively being held hostage. After word spread about their predicament, the festivals’ organisers were put under pressure to pay off the cops and secure their release.
“They did this just to prove that they can, because they were not paid enough [by the organisers] – let’s say 50 dollars per person – and they wanted much more,” Youness explained.
The Tunisian delights
Besides ecstasy, a common sight at EDM nights, other popular inebriants used in Tunisia’s nightlife scene include Lyrica (pregabalin), a prescription pill with a soothing effect; cocaine; and of course zatla, or cannabis. The plant’s history in Tunisia dates back to at least the 16th century, when Spanish traveller Leo Africanus observed the locals consuming a concoction called lhasis, writing: “whosoever eateth but one ounce falleth a laughing, disporting, and dallying, as if he were half drunken; and is by the said confection marvellously provoked unto lust.”
For much of its history, cannabis was relatively tolerated in Tunisia. But in modern times, it’s followed the global trend of prohibition. In 1992, a drug ring known as the “couscous connection” went on trial in France for importing a hundred kilos of heroin a year into Paris from Amsterdam. The gang’s bagman was none other than Habib Ben Ali, the then-president’s brother, who was convicted in absentia and died in Tunisia four years later under rather mysterious circumstances.
Anxious to avoid being seen as a narco-state, Tunisia passed Law 52 that same year. It was exceedingly harsh. First-time offenders, even those caught with a single joint, had to serve a minimum term of one year in prison. No exceptions. Repeat offenders could go down for five years.
“We’re always afraid of being caught,” said Youness. “The police system is from the age of Ben Ali, before the revolution, but those practices were kept. They pay people to spy, and you don’t know who’s the spy – we’re even afraid of our neighbours.”
After the Tunisian Revolution toppled Ben Ali in 2011, the initial hope gave way to disillusionment and despair. As the job market collapsed, Tunisia’s youth took to getting high to pass the time. The number of teens aged 15-17 who smoked weed jumped from only 1.5% in 2013 to 7.9% by 2021, according to a medical survey.
State complicity
Through these changes, Law 52 remained in place. Police patrolled working-class neighborhoods and sometimes even burst into homes without warrants to round up young men they didn’t like the looks of on flimsy pretexts and detain them for up to six days without seeing a lawyer, during which time they were often beaten up and bullied into signing confessions. In practice, anyone could be arrested, for any reason.
“Even the guy who interrogated us was so shocked,” Youness recalled.“He thought that we are criminals – because in Tunisia, that’s how [we’re] seen.”
Youness explained that even having rolling papers in your pocket is enough to raise suspicion of being a zattal (“junkie”). “If they catch rolling paper on you, you need to pay the equivalent of 300 dollars, which is 1,000 dinars in Tunisia, in order to get out of jail, just for having rolling paper, not even a joint. So I was really lucky to just get interrogated, because usually when they capture people, it’s directly to jail.”
As more and more people have been arrested for low-level drug offenses, Tunisian prisons have become so overcrowded that a hundred inmates are often crammed into fifty-square-metre cells. In 2015, 28% of Tunisia’s prison population were imprisoned for drug-related offences.
“They catch people using [drugs] and they destroy their future; for example, you cannot work after being in prison,” Youness reflected.
Youness asserted that the police run the drug rackets themselves, and every major dealer has them on their payroll. The Tunisian police are widely believed to be brutal and corrupt, with many suspicious deaths in custody, and its officers shielded by impunity.
Minor reform
But the end of Ben Ali’s reign created room for Tunisians to question Law 52, and doctors, activists and even politicians such as the country’s first democratically-elected president, Beji Caid Essebsi, spoke out against it. As a result, Law 52 was amended in 2017, but only slightly: judges were now allowed to go easy on first-time offenders, especially young people and students.
Overall, the punitive framework remained intact. In 2021, the debate over Law 52 was reignited when a judge sentenced three young men to thirty years for smoking pot: five for consumption, five for possession, plus another twenty because it was in a football stadium. They were released early only after protests erupted in downtown Tunis, where several protesters were grabbed and detained by plainclothes police.
Even if a defendant isn’t actually punished with imprisonment, the time they spend languishing in pretrial detention more than makes up for it. It’s rare for drug suspects to be released on bail.
Now, the little leeway Tunisian youth may have enjoyed under the 2017 reforms are being rolled back under President Kais Saied, who is consolidating his rule in the style of Ben Ali.
“Anyone that is against [Saied], he puts them in jail, like artists, or even musicians, rappers, so it got really extreme in Tunisia lately,” Youness said.
“Before, at least if you knew where to buy it and where to take it, you are usually OK. But now, you will always be afraid that there is someone listening or watching you,” Youness said.
“The general fear is coming back to Tunisia.”
