KUSH- THE ULTIMATE KILLER DRUG, MUST GO! The Shadow Factories: When Justice Turns Blind to Those Who Can Pay? Ask Lielalay News!

Editorial : @lielaylaynews.com

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The Shadow Factories: When Justice Turns Blind to Those Who Can Pay

There exists in our beloved Sierra Leone a theater of the absurd so profound, so morally bankrupt, that it would make even the most cynical observer weep. Picture, if you will, our police officers, those whom we have entrusted with the sacred duty of protecting our children, chasing barefoot addicts through dusty streets like hounds after wounded prey. See them descending upon marijuana plantations they have known about for years, their boots crushing earth already trampled by a hundred previous raids. Watch them haul away trembling young men whose minds have been enslaved by a drug so vicious that Americans call it the zombie poison, a substance that transforms vibrant souls into empty eyed specters wandering our streets like ghosts in their own lives.

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But here, beloved Sierra Leone, here is where the tragedy transforms into farce, where justice reveals herself not blindfolded but with eyes wide open, carefully calculating who can pay and who cannot. In Kenema, the hunter became the hunted when those very officers sent to arrest kush addicts were themselves discovered inhaling the devil’s breath. Can you imagine the scene? Can you feel the bitter irony that must have hung in that air like smoke itself? The shepherds devouring the flock, the physicians spreading plague, the guardians becoming the very monsters they swore to vanquish.

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This kush, this modern pestilence, does not discriminate. It respects neither badge nor uniform, neither wealth nor poverty. Once it touches your lips, once it enters your lungs, it sinks its claws into your very soul and refuses to let go. This is why we must ask ourselves: Why do we focus our fury on the addicted rather than the architects of addiction? Why do we imprison the sick while those who manufacture sickness operate with impunity?

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Walk with me now through the corridors of power during those APC days under the late President Kabbah. See the parade of pharmacies sprouting like weeds after rain, each one selling medicine as casually as market women sell groundnuts. But these were not medicines, they were mirages, counterfeits, dangerous imitations that gave false hope while delivering slow death. And who permitted this carnival of corruption? Government officials with outstretched palms, men and women who sold their nation’s health for briefcases stuffed with blood money.

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Now turn your gaze to those high walls, those fortified compounds where foreign businessmen conduct their operations behind barriers that might as well be the walls of medieval castles. What kingdoms do they rule behind those fences? What laboratories bubble and brew in those shadowed spaces? Our police, so eager to handcuff street addicts, suddenly lose their courage at these gates. They develop a curious blindness when approaching these premises, a selective amnesia about their duty to search wherever criminality may hide.

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In England, where some of us now reside, we shop alongside Indian families in Peckham and Brixton. We stand shoulder to shoulder in supermarket aisles. They sell vegetables and fish just as Sierra Leonean traders do. They are neighbors, colleagues, friends. But in Sierra Leone, a different dynamic emerges, a separation so complete, an isolation so deliberate, that one must ask: What requires such secrecy? What enterprise demands such distance from the community?

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Our investigation has revealed a truth that should shake every Sierra Leonean to their core: while we obsessed over London shippers (who, credit to them, now conduct thorough inspections), we ignored the elephant in the room. We failed to ask the fundamental question that any true detective must pose: Who benefits most from proximity to the crime? Who possesses both the means and the motive? Who operates with such confidence that they need not fear the knock of justice at their door?

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Wherever money flows quickly, you will find opportunists gathered like flies on honey. This is the immutable law of human greed. And so we must demand: Why are there no unannounced raids on these foreign owned factories? Why do our police not exercise the same aggressive tactics they employ against powerless street addicts when approaching these fortified business compounds? Is justice truly blind, or does she merely close her eyes when enough money crosses her palm?

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Sierra Leone, we stand at a crossroads. Down one path lies the continuation of this charade: police arresting victims while manufacturers prosper, families paying bribes to retrieve their addicted children from cells, and those high walls remaining forever unsearched, forever protected. Down the other path lies accountability, genuine investigation, and the courage to pursue justice regardless of who must face it.

The question is not whether these shadow factories exist. Our investigation has confirmed their presence. The question is whether we possess the moral courage to demand their exposure. Will we continue to content ourselves with punishing the powerless while the powerful operate with divine immunity? Will we keep chasing ghosts through streets while the real demons manufacture poison behind fortress walls?

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I say to you, Sierra Leone: Rise. Demand that your police serve justice, not convenience. Demand that raids be conducted not just where it is easy, but where it matters. Demand that every factory, regardless of who owns it, face the same scrutiny. Our children are dying not because we lack laws, but because we lack the will to enforce them equally.

The time for selective justice has passed. The time for convenient blindness has ended. Let those walls come down. Let those factories open their doors. Let the light of investigation shine into every dark corner where this poison is manufactured, regardless of whose profits it protects.

For if we do not act now, if we do not demand accountability from all, foreign and domestic, powerful and weak, then we are not merely failing our addicted youth. We are failing the very idea of Sierra Leone itself.

The choice is ours. The moment is now. History is watching.

@lielaylaynews.com