By Roney Lyndem
When I was working with families in a de-addiction center and sat with them at my counselling practice, I didn’t just listen to words—I observed and witnessed patterns.
In these patterns, I see men breakdown and crumble, children struggling with focus, mothers dreading the return home, young adults lashing out in silence or surrender and these symptoms always point to one common cause: substance abuse.
But this substance abuse is not always the kind that sparks public outrage or headlines but it is the kind that is sold legally, promoted openly, and ignored dangerously. “ALCOHOL” is a substance that is a drug that is often ignored.
This is what angers me and it is what makes the recent policy direction of the Meghalaya government so deeply concerning. On the one hand, government officials deliver strong statements about tackling drug abuse but on the other hand, the state actively expands access to alcohol through licensing, regulation, and promotion of “traditional” and foreign drinks. As a mental health professional, I find this contradiction both harmful and hypocritical. A government cannot speak of saving youth from addiction while simultaneously serving as the largest supplier of an addictive substance.
Understanding the scope of the problem requires us to look at available data—though it remains incomplete. According to the National Family Health Survey (NFHS-4), 44.6% of men aged 15 to 49 in Meghalaya consume alcohol. Among women in the same age group, around 2.1% report drinking. Meanwhile, broader studies indicate that 3.4% of the state’s population (ages 10 to 75) are current alcohol users, and nearly 1% show signs of dependency. These numbers may appear small in isolation, but in a population of over 3 million, the actual number of individuals affected is staggering.
More recently, government officials themselves have acknowledged that over 3 lakh people in Meghalaya are drug users—including nearly 30,000 women. And yet, there is no specific breakdown of how many of these individuals are addicted to legal substances like alcohol and tobacco. Even more troubling is the absence of formal data on the number of broken homes, domestic violence incidents, or school dropouts linked to alcoholism. These are not just data gaps—they are gaps in accountability, in empathy, and in public health response.
What we do know from first-hand accounts is that alcohol abuse has devastated families across Meghalaya and it is not an unknown fact that at least one member in most families struggles with addiction, either to alcohol or drugs. The ones feeling the impact like children, mothers carry both emotional and physical trauma which are usually hidden and not publicised. Alcohol abuse carries with it financial burdens which entire households are affected and in joint families, the entire members are caught in cycles of trauma. These are not fictional stories. They unfold in our villages, our neighborhoods, our homes.Despite this, state policy is to continue to normalize and increase alcohol consumption.
It seems that over the years, regulations, licensing etc are drafted and modified in such a way that allows easy sale and supply. Are the excise revenue from alcohol sales continuing to climb, the administrative choice of our government that will shape public health, youth behaviour, and cultural messaging?Isn’t it obvious that when alcohol becomes more available, more affordable, and more socially acceptable, it also becomes more dangerous—especially for young people?
Just to be aware, from a psychological perspective, alcohol and tobacco are known and treated as gateway drugs. Extensive research has consistently shown that young people who begin using tobacco or alcohol early are far more likely to progress to other forms of substance use later. These substances erode impulse control, alter developing brains, and create pathways toward dependence. Yet this critical reality is often ignored in policy decisions and public discourse.
The impact is especially disturbing in our state’s so-called ‘educational hub’. Here, surrounded by schools and colleges, one would expect protective policies that prioritize learning and mental wellness. Instead, liquor shops and tobacco vendors operate with little visible restriction. For students, this sends a clear and damaging message: that substance use is normal, acceptable—even encouraged by tradition or economics. The contradiction could not be more glaring. We ask young people to avoid drugs while surrounding them with socially sanctioned drugs, just better packaged and taxed.
This leads to a broader question—one that we, as a society, must confront. Why is there such a stark difference in how we respond to different kinds of substance abuse? When a young person is caught using heroin or brown sugar, public condemnation is immediate and unforgiving. Police action is swift. Social media erupts in moral outrage. People become vigilantes aka ‘batman’. But when someone destroys their family through years of alcohol addiction, there is silence. Why is alcohol seen as a “personal issue” but not a social issue like the other substances? Isn’t this a deeply flawed, deeply discriminatory way of thinking?
Just as violence is violence, substance abuse is substance abuse. Whether the drug is injected in secret or sipped at a wedding, the damage can be the same. And yet, dorbar shnongs, NGOs, civil society groups, students body etc who have campaigned vocally against drug abuse often say little about the role of alcohol and tobacco. Why? Is it because these substances are legally sold? Is it because the users are more socially acceptable? Is it because they also enjoy it themselves ? Or is it because the targets of condemnation—especially the young and visibly addicted—are easier to blame, arrest, and humiliate.
This selective morality must end. From a psychological standpoint, the harm is measured not in legality, but in lives affected. I have worked with students whose performance has collapsed due to alcohol exposure at home. I’ve counselled children with anxiety stemming from alcoholic parents. I’ve seen women trapped in abusive relationships with partners enabled by a state that profits from every bottle sold. And I’ve seen how the normalization of these substances makes recovery harder—because the community fails to recognize that harm is harm, regardless of packaging.
In all this darkness, there are occasional signs of progress. In Mawlyngot, a village once known for illicit alcohol production, a shift toward tea cultivation has reportedly improved social well-being and reduced family violence. Awareness programs in certain blocks now include both alcohol and narcotics as part of the same conversation. But these are isolated efforts. They do not yet reflect a unified state policy or social movement.
It is surprising that for a government that loves “data collection”, there is a lack of comprehensive data which continues to limit our understanding. How many marriages have ended due to alcoholism? How many suicides are linked to tobacco or alcohol addiction? How many hospital admissions in Meghalaya are caused by liver disease, alcohol poisoning, or tobacco-related cancer? Without these numbers, policymaking is done in the dark, done for those that bring them profit and those most harmed are made invisible.
As a counsellor, I believe it is time for all stakeholders—the government, NGOs, community leaders, and the dorbar shnongs—to face the truth with courage. If you are serious about substance abuse prevention, you cannot ignore alcohol and tobacco. You cannot build de-addiction centres for drug users while building wine shops for everyone else. You cannot preach sobriety in schools while approving the sale of addictive substances just outside their gates.
And so, I issue this challenge: If you truly care about Meghalaya’s youth, if you truly care about families and public health, then take real action. Push for a complete ban—or at the very least, a stringent restriction—on alcohol and tobacco. Enforce strict licensing laws. Shut down shops near educational and religious institutions. Fund mental health and addiction research. Educate the public about all forms of substance abuse—not just the politically convenient ones.
If you refuse to do so, then let us call this what it is: criminal negligence. A selective, moralistic war on drugs that targets the powerless while enriching the state. A system of hypocrisy that punishes the visible addict but protects the socially sanctioned one. A betrayal of public trust, health, and justice. And no amount of public campaigning will matter if we continue to tolerate the legal addictions that destroy silently. Or should we wait for more funerals and broken homes.
(The writer is an experienced counsellor and former coordinator of a de-addiction and rehabilitation centre who has worked closely with youths and families to combat alcohol addiction and is a committed advocate for mental health. He can be reached at roneymlyndem@gmail.com)
