Sarah (not her real name) was 15 when I first met her. A stunningly beautiful, popular young woman, succeeding in school, and who from outward appearance had the world at her feet should never have been coming to police attention. But come to police attention she did, and became a near constant feature of my early years as constable in the then Northern Constabulary.

Sarah was drinking, taking drugs and was regularly missing from home. We long suspected she was being abused by her stepfather, although there were never any allegations to investigate. Her mother would occasionally suffer pangs of guilt and phone the police only to be struck by either amnesia or silence by the time we got there. Sarah never said much about what went on at home but it was obvious alcohol was the most important thing in the house, and the inconvenience of raising a teenage (step)daughter was never going to interfere with that.

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The cursed but mythical “system” was failing Sarah at every turn. She wasn’t neglected in the sense that she had a roof over her head, food in her belly, and clothes on her back, but at the same time it was obvious she was very much being neglected. Her age, fast approaching “adulthood”, and parents savvy enough to mollify social work concerns meant she wasn’t enough of a “problem” to force more strident intervention. The depressing hand-washing of responsibility as she turned 16 was as predictable as the tides. Sarah was not going to be a stranger to the police for the foreseeable future - that was obvious.

As Sarah got older and more mature, the more acute the waste of the most important years of her life became. She became homeless, took up residence in one of the unpredictable and filthy “doss houses” in the area and eked out an existence of a life for herself. I had long left for pastures new but always kept an eye out for her name in the daily briefings that were then a feature of policing in the Highlands and Islands. A kid who should have had the chance to thrive was barely able to survive. Her death from an overdose a few years later was as inevitable as it was avoidable.

Drug overdose deaths were a big deal back then. Senior detectives investigated every death and the resources at their disposal were phenomenal. Every effort was made to identify the source of the drugs, the dealer, and associates; as much to try to bring answers to grieving families as it was to try to prevent further deaths amongst the addicted. Analysis of recovered drugs to help track the supply routes, adulterants and toxicity was routine, and persecution of dealers was always a greater priority than prosecution of users despite the popular myth and mythology to the contrary.

The horror of Scotland’s drug death numbers need no rehearsing and there is a cruel truth that most people don’t care about the death of “junkies”. Of course, they make for superb political ammunition and headlines, and provide ample opportunity for aspiring policy wonks to identify and promote new ideas, but heart-wrenching vote-winners the numbers are not.

This weekend the SNP conference heard lots of tired clichés in the blame attribution game. The Misuse of Drugs Act was a problem, although no one was quite willing to say which part of it was problematic and crucially why. So too was the criminalisation of drugs in the first place, and the lack of cooperation from Westminster on just about everything. The roll-out of the screening of drugs to help save lives was trumpeted - which is great as long as no one asks why what was routine 30 years ago came to pretty much a shuddering halt just over a decade ago. And the new kid on the block which we can expect to hear a lot more of  is how the treatment of those with drug (and alcohol, and smoking) addictions is a breach of their human rights.

The source of this nugget is a report by the Scottish Government-funded drugs death task force which at its core argues we/you/ everyone, and crucially employers should be making reasonable adjustments for those with addictions, in the same way we must for those with disability. Whilst this is the opinion of the report’s authors it has now transcended mere belief to be cited as fact.

What steps will Christina McKelvie, Minister for Drugs and Alcohol Policy, take?What steps will Christina McKelvie, Minister for Drugs and Alcohol Policy, take? (Image: Newsquest)

None of this is designed to make any real inroads into the horrendous drug death numbers, but it will provide a basis for sharing blame. The hopelessness and desperation that lies at the heart of most drug addiction will be the fault of us all – for OUR stigmatisation is the real problem. Employers who fail to adjust to accommodate the drug addiction of their pharmacy worker, nursery worker, teacher, police officer, social worker or prison officer will be as much to blame as the nearly two decades of failed government policy. The Scottish Government’s proposed Human Rights Bill contains no overt references to this but expanding disability to include addiction, as the drugs death task force recommends, will deliver an exceptional burden to all workplaces, and give tacit endorsement to public services diverting even more resource from actual service, to managing addicted employees.

Sarah sadly went on to become a statistic - her problems lay in the addiction of her parents -which she loathed and was determined not to repeat. Sarah didn’t need her parent’s addiction managed. She needed them sober. Had they been so – who knows what her future could have been.

Keeping addicts addicted will ensure there are thousands more Sarahs out there to be the stats of tomorrow. Addiction is all-consuming - the clue is in the name. It is true there is a stigma associated with addiction but the way to beat that stigma is to beat addiction. That is where the government efforts should be directed. Anything else is window dressing.

Calum Steele is a former General Secretary of The Scottish Police Federation