1992 Times of India Regulating Liquor Sales and Smoke-Out Campaign

1992 Times of India Regulating Liquor Sales and Smoke-Out Campaign

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Titles 1992 Times of India Regulating Liquor Sales and Smoke-Out Campaign
Related Item Times of India (Bombay)
Genre alcohol
Genre cigarettes
Identifier DSC_0138.JPG
Note A Toast To Death By Clarence Fernandez and Sanjay Ranade These are the final steps in the grisly New Year's Eve dance of death, choreographed by an avari-cious liquor bar owner, to tunes written by bad administrators and venal legislators. Just under 100 people died; it could have happened anywhere else. And it often has. But for Bombay it was a first. First too, in a liquor bar licens-ed by the state government, where people thought they could drink in safety. People on the fringes of society, these - sweepers, mill-hands, dockworkers and kamathis, whose empty poverty- stricken lives demand the obliv-ion of the quick kick of country liquor, laced with anything from battery cells to French polish to methyl alcohol. The distillers of death know this. Chandrakant Pawar, the owner of the Forjett Street bar figuring in the tragedy, stretched his stocks with water, and then added French polish to give them the kick. Through the months of August to December 1991, while he did this, there was just one agency that could have stopped him: the state excise and prohibition department, which gave him his license in the first place. "There are just over 100 offi-cers, from the superintendents downwards, to monitor over 2,000 different kinds of liquor outlets in Bombay alone," says an excise officer. Backing them up in this ambitious endeavour is the Prohibition Act, which the same officer describes as "just a little book with a Rs. 100 fine for offences, or prison terms of upto six months". Even when the department books cases against the liquor barons, it has no legal advisor to help the officers arrange and pres-ent their cases. Part of the job of the superintendent of excise involves court appearances over every insignificant detail. This is the department that the government expects to crack down on adulterators who are free to add almost anything to the liquor almost anywhere along the line - from the brewery to the point of final sale. It pulls in Rs 600 crores annually as revenue for the state. On the other hand, the police, with just over 30,000 officers and men and a full-fledged vigil-ance branch, have been limited to monitoring liquor produced by unlicensed operators. "The increasing commercial activity in the city - the reclaim-ing of land to house the ever-increasing influx of people - has forced the site of illicit liquor distilleries out, like the suburbs of Charkop, Dahisar, Trombay, the Borivali National Park and the Aarey colony area, "a police offi-cer explains. The leper colonies at Trombay and Dahisar are flou-rishing hives of distillery acti-vity. At each of these two 'sister concerns', 8000 litres of liquor is brewed each day. Along with that manufactured at the other spots, this flood of alcohol enters the city in taxis, souped-up private cars, jeeps or Maruti Gypsies, and even ambul-ances when the demand shoots up during festivals. Unlicensed country liquor finds its way into licensed liquor outlets for customers, who, not satisfied with "mild" kick, expect the bar owner to provide stronger stuff. "To avoid paying the excise tax on liquor, on the other hand, the bar owner is only too ready to dilute his stock with water; then he is forced to add denatured spi-rit to strengthen the kick," an excise official sums up. Bootlegging, all over the country, is the most basic organis-ed criminal activity. In Bombay, from Varadaraj Mudaliar all the way down to Dawood Ibrahim, bootlegging has always provided the money, muscle, women and the network that allows racketeers to move onto bigger things - from protection and extortion to gold, and then narco-tic smuggling. Until finally the wheel turns full circle, and they become legitimate. As bar and hotel owners, transporters, jewel-lery merchants, film-makers, con-tractors and builders. But so long as the conflict bet-ween the two principal regulat-ing agencies - the police and excise department - continues, big money is going to win out. Linked to politicians and mini-sters, money speaks - loud and clear. THE building is by no means intelligent enough to iden-tify particles of cigarette smoke in the air and remove them but the air is free of smoke in every corner of the 22-story head-quarters of the Kumho Group. Thanks to the building's excel-lent ventilation? Or perhaps achieved with the help of fine air filters? No. These technical devi-ces serve only to purify the air of the fumes that find their way into the Asiana Building, which houses the Kumho Group's 24 affiliates, from outside. The reason the building is smoke-free is simple. No one smokes. There is not a single ash tray in the entire building - not even in toilets. They were bani-shed, along with cigarettes, by the conglomerate's "Smoke-Out" campaign. "Smoke-Out is no longer a campaign," says Kim Kang-shik, the chairman's secretary. "It has taken root as a way of living." The campaign was launched in August 1986 by a 142 strong anti-smoking group, and then at the beginning of 1991, Kumho Chairman Park Seong-yawng, who set an example by giving up cigarettes, cold turkey at the start of the drive, designated the build-ing a smoke-free area. Instead of dangling a carrot before employees, however, he preferred to use a stick on those who didn't kick the habit. "While employees are vested with the right to light up, I am entitled to place them." In January 1990, the president of each affiliate was ordered to hand Park a note in which he pro-mised to take full responsibility if he or any of his subordinates failed to quit smoking at work. Park, 60, believes that resist-ing the temptation to smoke is a test of will and people who fail show that they are not qualified for a management position. In recognition of Smoke-Out's success, the Korean Asso-ciation of Smoking and Health, a private anti-smoking organisa-tion, awarded Park with a plaque in May, and on August 29 the World Health Organization gave him a metal. As in common with revolu-tions, however, the fight against smoking was not without anguish and confrontation. Blue - and white collar wor-kers alike took it as an intrusion on their privacy and when the entire building was declared a no-smoking area, some of the truly hooked strived in vain to secure even a few rooms for smoking. "A few people make conceiva-bly still smoke outside the build-ing and very few might do it in obscure places in the building," an office worker says. As they struggled to kick the habit, most of the smokers had to have substitutes such as candies, cookies or water. Some had to fight not to gain weight as a result. Climbing the stairs to the top of the building became a common weight loss programme and others went to swimming pools and health clubs. Careful evaluation of possible areas of resistance preceded implementation of the no-smoking initiative. Campaigners identified smokers, recorded their rate of tobacco consumption and educat-ed them about the hazards of smoking. The education pro-grammes ranged from videos to lectures, and the walls are still covered with anti-smoking post-ers, one of which reads: "Now, you are the only one to smoke." Employees get no extra money for quitting. On the con-trary, the new non-smokers depo-sit 500 won (67 cents) a day - the cost of a pack of cigarettes in 1986 - in a fund and cannot withdraw it until retirement, except for dividends. The fund contains over 160 million won (212,500 U.S. dollars) and is used to help pay the medical expenses of programme participants. Perhaps the biggest incentive is a general improvement in heal-th. There have been drops in days off due to ill-health and medical claims, and no one suf-fers headaches in the afternoon. Smoke-Out applies to visitors, too. "We hate to ask visitors to refrain from smoking," says Lee Won-woo, a Kumho director. "But polite persuasion invariab-ly encounters no resistance." Other companies are rapidly catching onto the advantages of a smoke-free working environment. The Korean Association of Smoking and Health puts the number of companies that have banned smoking at 600. Daewoo Engineering embraces a policy that gives pre-ference to job applicants who don't smoke despite strong oppo-sition from the smokers on the company's payroll, says Kim Jun-su of Daewoo's General Affairs Department. Pohang Iron & Steel Co. and IBM Korea have designated smoking areas, and non-smokers at IBM can ask smokers to put out their cigarettes. Hilton Hotel advises employees to quit smoking as a way to stay clean and neat in con-sideration of their place in the public eye. "Non-smokers have an advan-tage over smokers in selection as an exemplary worker," says Kim Young-suk, a Hilton employee. Some experts suggest more incentives are needed for those who quit smoking and more penalties for those who continue, and note that companies in advanced countries pay workers to abstain from smoking. Experts also believe the anti-smoking movement could hardly be more opportune as the percent-age of Koreans who smoke is already high compared to other nations and is increasing. Courtesy: Yonhap News Agency "There is not a single ash tray in the entire building - not even in toilets. They were banished, along with cigarettes" No One Smokes Here by Park Seong-ho SMOKING POLLUTES YOU AND EVERYTHING ELSE
Abstract This is an ad for A Toast to Death by Clarence Fernandez and Sanjay Ranade, and No One Smokes Here by Park Seong-ho. Clarence Fernandez and Sanjay Ranade talk about the conflict between the police and the excise department in regulating liqour sales. Park Seong-ho talks about the Smoke-Out campaign adopted by companies to reduce smoking habits of employees. The ad contains an image of a skeleton holding a bottle, and an image of a man's body smoking a cigarette, with his head being a lit up cigarette.