The DEA Museum in Arlington, Virginia, offers a unique glimpse into how the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) justifies its controversial role in the war on drugs. But does this museum tell the whole story? Helen Redmond from Filter shares her eye-opening visit, exposing misleading narratives, historical inaccuracies, and the agency’s overlooked legacy of harm.
DEA’s Hero Narrative: A Closer Look
The DEA presents itself as the ultimate protector against drug trafficking, but Redmond questions this portrayal. Her motivation to visit? To witness the misinformation and propaganda used to justify the war on drugs—a war she knows causes immense harm.
Harry Anslinger: The Father of Drug Wars?
One exhibit focuses on Harry Anslinger, the Federal Bureau of Narcotics’ first commissioner and a key architect of modern drug policies. The museum paints him as a no-nonsense enforcer who protected American families. However, Redmond highlights Anslinger’s dark side: a racist tyrant whose policies targeted Black and Brown communities, criminalized jazz artists like Billie Holiday, and spread false claims about marijuana’s dangers.
A Museum Experience Wrapped in Security
Entering the museum means navigating guards and metal detectors, setting a tone of enforcement rather than education. The lobby features a striking wall of photos titled Faces of Fentanyl, showcasing overdose victims. Yet, Redmond argues the exhibit redirects blame from enforcement agencies, ignoring how DEA policies exacerbate overdose crises.
Opioid Crisis: A Tragic Consequence of Enforcement
The museum outlines the opioid epidemic’s three waves—prescription opioids, heroin, and fentanyl—but glosses over how DEA crackdowns led to the rise of potent, unregulated drugs. Since 1999, over one million overdose deaths have occurred, with 111,000 in 2022 alone. Redmond links these deaths to the DEA’s flawed prohibition strategies.
Misinformation in Educational Materials
Pamphlets like Preventing Marijuana Use among Youth & Young Adults perpetuate outdated myths, linking marijuana to mental illness without evidence. The museum also clings to the outdated Controlled Substances Act, which classifies cannabis alongside heroin as a Schedule I drug—despite its proven therapeutic benefits.
Propaganda for the Youngest Visitors
Redmond criticizes exhibits designed to indoctrinate children, like Become a Junior Special Agent workbooks and DEA-themed Barbie and Ken dolls, complete with guns and cash. These attempts to normalize the DEA’s narrative echo the discredited DARE program.
Blaming Drug Users: A Pinball Perspective
An interactive pinball-style exhibit blames drug users for societal issues without acknowledging the destructive impact of prohibition. Redmond argues that legal regulation, rather than enforcement, would prevent many harms, including environmental damage from practices like coca crop spraying.
Global Operations, Local Consequences
While the museum highlights DEA agents’ global work, it omits stories of corruption and abuse. Notably absent is the case of Daniel Chong, left in a DEA cell for five days without food or water, and DEA agents in Colombia partying with traffickers.
Gender Diversity or Tokenism?
The DEA showcases women in leadership, such as former Director Karen Tandy. Yet, Redmond points out that despite such milestones, DEA operations continue to fuel violence, with cartel power struggles and industry instability.
Missing Narratives: Racism, Corruption, and Reform
Key omissions include the DEA’s role in racial profiling and mass incarceration. Redmond notes how agents implicated in corruption—like Jose Ismael Irizarry, who laundered millions—remain unaddressed.
Can the DEA Change? The Final Question
The museum ends by asking visitors how they can be “agents of change.” Redmond offers a bold answer: abolish the DEA. For her, real progress requires acknowledging the DEA’s role in perpetuating harm and shifting towards harm-reduction policies.