Flower of Joy

By Hendrik De Leeuw

Flower of Joy, first published in 1944, is a fascinating look at drug use and efforts to control illicit drugs in the 1930s and 40s. Author Hendrik DeLeeuw, a former investigator of narcotics for the League of Nations, describes his visits to Egypt, India, Persia (now Iran), French Indo-China, the East Indies, China, Japan, Nazi Germany and the U.S. As DeLeeuw states, it is the story of those who do not “live out their dreams but dream out their lives.” Flower of Joy provides valuable insight into drugs such as opium, heroin, hashish and marijuana, and their culture, processing, use and cultural impacts such as ritual uses, prostitution and white-slavery rings, and the addiction of children in war-torn areas.. The book also examines government efforts to control drugs on the one hand while often receiving massive profits from the sale and taxation of the drugs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phocion Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781789128826

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Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

Flower of Joy

The Use of Opium, Hashish, Marijuana and Other Drugs

By

HENDRIK DeLEEUW

Author of Cities of Sin

Flower of Joy was originally published in 1944 by Willey Book Company, New York.

• • • •

"Who sows the wind

will reap the tempest."

ICHABOD

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 4

Preface 5

I. Hashish in Egypt 7

II. The Dance of the Ouled-Naïls 12

III. Egypt’s Drug Menace 19

IV. Chandu in British India 22

V. The Fakir’s Seance 27

VI. India’s Doped Babies 32

VII. Persia, Land of Peacock and Poppy 35

VIII. Opium in French Indo-China 38

Opium Death in the Afternoon 38

IX. Saigon Interlude 43

X. French Views on Prostitution and Dope 46

XI. The Opium Monopoly in the East Indies 50

XII. Abnormal Drug Practices 52

XIII. Balinese Dagger Dance 56

XIV. Hongkong of the Fragrant Lagoons 59

XV. A Chinese Dinner 62

XVI. Macao’s Street of Happiness 65

XVII. Japanese Kultur on the Chinese Mainland 73

XVIII. Nipponese Refreshments 77

XIX. Drugging a Nation 81

XX. Drugs in Nazi Germany 88

XXI. Narcotics, Nazis and Sadism 93

XXII. Glass Houses in the United States 96

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 106

Preface

For forty years now the United States of America has been the torchbearer, both here and at Geneva, in her fight to have the opium-growing and narcotics-selling nations abolish the pernicious traffic. And today, for the first time, the USA stands a mighty good chance of winning this battle of long standing to eradicate the worldwide traffic in drugs.

It is a widely known fact that most of the colonial empires have been fed on, and financed by, drug monopolies. It is equally well known that hitherto the French, British, Dutch and Portuguese—the very ones who financed a goodly portion of their budget expenditures out of drug monopolies—have constantly hindered and often obstructed effective action.

But today some of the wiser ones—those who were smart enough to see the handwriting on the wall, such as the British and the Dutch—have finally agreed to cooperate, knowing only too well on which side their bread is buttered. In other words, they have consented not to reinstate their drug monopolies, once the Nipponese are driven out of their conquered lands. They have further promised to lend their aid in seeing to it that there would be a limitation in production by the opium-growing countries.

The Chinese Government, as vouched for by Chiang Kai-shek, will move heaven and earth to eradicate the drug scourge as soon as the Chinese soil is cleared of the Japanese vermin. As a matter of fact China has nearly stamped out the opium production, which was forced on her by other Powers. She was well on her way to see her efforts crowned with success, when Japanese invaders revived the curse, thereby enslaving and debauching their hapless Chinese victims. Paradoxically enough Jap soldiers were prohibited from using the drug at the threat of losing their lives.

The main issue before the Nations, once the sons of the land of the Rising Sun have been defeated, is to persuade the poppy growers in Mid-Eastern countries to cease opium production. Their interest has always been financial in nature, since these people are Mohammedans and by virtue of their adhering to Islamic tenets do not use the drug.

When all is said and done most, if not all, of the opium growing countries are dependent upon us, the United States, in one way or another. They owe their salvation to us. The British, French and Dutch will furthermore owe the recapture of their overseas possessions to us, at the very expense of our money, blood, men and efforts. So one of the things they will have to do for us is to abolish on the one hand the growth of the poppy, and shift from poppy to food growing, while on the other hand they must abolish the manufacture of opium, morphine, heroin, cocaine and other dream-stuff derivates, except under special license for medicinal purposes.

Representative Judd, not so many months ago, presented the opium problem to Congress, and clearly pointed out that most of the opium growing countries are dependent on us and should be encouraged to change their practices. His resolution subsequently was presented to President Roosevelt with a request to urge this kind of reform on the British, French, Dutch, Portuguese and Chinese Governments. It is to be expected that all will adhere to the suggestion, not only for their own but also for their peoples’ good.

HENDRIK DE LEEUW

I. Hashish in Egypt

I REMEMBER so well the day of departure. A slowly rising sun, soft and not too warm, began to shower its radiant beauty. The air was balmy and filled with an exquisite fragrance wafted out from Nice and Monte Carlo in the Riviera. Odd sensations flicked through my heart as I was about to leave that familiar old port once more for a dash to the Orient.

The small tender chugged merrily through the waves, conveying us from Marseilles to the liner of the Chargeurs Reunis.

There they were again, the old lighthouses, the basins and docks, the galaxy of queer craft propelled by aquatic teamsters, the lateen-rigged, piratical boats with their prows splashing against the azurine sea. On the right I spotted the Abbaye de Saint Victoire, to the left the Corniche Road and the Alpes Maritimes and over all like a great cloud of molten gold the sun’s early rays cast their sublime and benign exhilaration. And while all about me chatter buzzed and droned I looked back once more to catch a faint glimpse of the Church of Notre Dame de la Garde—a beacon, a savior and a boon to sea-faring men—as it stood guard, a lofty pinnacle on a fortified summit. It was to all this loveliness atop limestone hill and cliff that we were now bidding adieu.

The tender was seething with ill assorted, excited humanity. Many of the passengers were dolefully bidding farewell to their native land, the land the French love so passionately and proudly. A sudden sob, a handkerchief quickly lifted, a man turning aside shamefacedly to conceal his tears, a young girl on her way to her fiancé in Cochin-China, bound for a new and strange life, the elderly engineer tweaking his moustache to conceal his emotion. One and all peered longingly for a last glance of la Belle France. And in their eyes the same question: Will I see my homeland once more?

Little by little all became lost in a jumbled blend, until it was all over....Three blasts—there came a rattling of the chain and hawser and the hull of the French vessel rode the seas and France’s coast line, Marseilles and its Corniche faded into the mists. With an au revoir to Marseilles we were Saigon bound.

Followed in quick succession the Straits of Boniface, between Corsica and Sardinia, the Aeolian islands, Straits of Messina, then a slow monotonous sail by the gray, dull and barren hills of the Coast of Africa and at last we were in Egypt.

It was early evening when our ship slid into Port Said harbor. Searchlights trembled over the water in which thousands of small lights were twinkling. Chains rattled in the hawsers. Ladders were lowered. Shouting and gesticulating Levantines and a conglomeration of other colorful nationals came on board. It did not take long for the upper deck to become a bedlam of snarling and yapping men, traders and money changers. Young boys climbed to the top decks, a weather eye on the passengers’ coins, and dove with consummate grace and ease from that great height into the shark-infested waters.

Suddenly in the midst of this Eastern scene, there was a light tap on my shoulder and an English voice greeted me. I looked up into the smiling face of my old friend, Major Dunwoodie of the Egyptian Secret Service. It was a finely chiseled, clear cut face, the face of a man of action, a fighter. We had first met, the Major and I, some years ago in Geneva, and I wondered what strange sights this man had seen since then for the lines of his mouth were firmly drawn, his eyes had a wariness that had not been there before. All these years, while I had been roaming the corners of the globe, this man had spent in one fixed purpose. There is always a curious sense of relief to the traveller when, out of a seething mass of strangers, he encounters the face of a friend. Floating in that vague unreal dream which is the core and fascination of travel, it is a home-coming in miniature.

Hello, de Leeuw, I saw your name on the passenger list, he said cordially. I have a spot of work to do now but once that’s over, let’s dine together.

With pleasure, I answered.

We were standing near the rail of the ship. Below us small craft resembling waterbugs flitted alongside, amidst a chorus of voices and shrieks of sack-clothed, breech-clouted men on the coal rafts. I heard again that queer sing-song of the ragged Arabs, known so well to many world travellers, as they began to gird themselves to the endless toil. I noticed that Major Dunwoodie constantly looked over my shoulder towards the top deck. He seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Suddenly we heard a loud outcry. At the edge of a coal raft four men were engaged in battle. An officer and some assistants from a nearby dory were grappling with a man who was writhing and hitting them with his hands and feet, while seemingly out of nowhere other seamen bobbed up and were fishing auto tires and inner tubes out of the water.

My attention was caught by an Arab or Levantine, whose hands, gleaming like bronze in the glare from the pots of yellow fire on the coal rafts, held a package as he leaned over the rail. He glanced around furtively but as we were standing in the shadow he did not see us. Believing himself safe from observing eyes he stealthily dropped the package over the rail into the brine.

Quick as a flash Major Dunwoodie shouted a command to the top deck. A diving boy, his beautiful body poised for action, shot out into the air in a clear arc. His outstretched arms cut into the water so lightly and gracefully that there was a barely perceptible splash and ripples as he disappeared under sea. In a few moments his head bobbed up above the surface and like a retriever he held the package in his mouth.

Quick work, I said to Major Dunwoodie.

But he had disappeared. So had the slinking figure in the darkness. Hearing a commotion, I ran to starboard. There, standing on guard, were three harbor policemen. A man, whom I recognized as a fellow passenger, was pleading innocence, while three Arabs who had also been apprehended were gesticulating and talking volubly. A big haul of narcotics had been made by the harbor police. A rich Levantine dope peddler and three of his accomplices had been apprehended. I recognized the slinking figure of a moment ago. He looked dejected, ill fed, ill clothed, and I pitied this poor specimen of humanity for I knew that a long prison term awaited him and that he could expect no help from the ring-leader. He had-risked years of his life for a few sous and lost. The fat, pompous Levantine, his prosperous paunch shaking with rage, protested his innocence in three languages. His agonized, plaintive denials rang through the ship.

The Levantine had acted for a gang of dope smugglers who, in turn, were in league with the bum-boat men. Almost the entire band had been rounded up in the harbor, while a quantity of drugs, cleverly concealed in the automobile tires and tubes, had been fished out of the water and confiscated. The head of the ring, however, was still at large in Cairo.

A veil of secrecy was cast over this whole affair with all the speed and skill of which the Egyptians are past masters. In a few minutes all was calm once more. But as I stood there on that ship it was as though a dark and sinister hand had touched me, as I envisioned a subterranean traffic that extended its slimy tentacles from Europe and the Near East to every town and hamlet in far-off Asia—a hand that stretches around the entire world. For the craving for drugs knows no barrier, race or creed.

I knew that Egypt had lately become the target of a large band of smugglers, who not only flooded Egypt with cocaine but with other high tension drugs as well. I knew that Major Dunwoodie had spent years of his life fighting the drug traffic in the East. Suddenly my interest was aroused. Hastily calling a boy, I collected my luggage and decided to stay in Egypt. There would be other ships to take me on to French Indo-China. In Port Said there always are. I wanted to see the workings of the drug habit in the land of the Pharaohs.

A few hours later when I again met my friend he had changed from his tweeds to formal evening clothes. He was tired but there was a triumphant look which had not been there before. As we sat sipping apéritifs on the terrace of the Hotel Continental, looking over the harbor of Port Said, he told me that in Egypt more than half a million people, out of a total population of fourteen millions, have become addicted to the use of drugs, other than hashish. He had a report to make the following day to Sir Russell Pasha, the energetic Director of the Central Narcotics Division, and invited me to meet him the following evening in Cairo, where he promised to show me the effects of the drug