Berkley Center

I had been traveling for the past week, so when I woke up as my plane landed, I briefly forgot where I was. Looking out from the window, rain reminded me this was London. If I was still unsure, the walk between my Tube stop and residence hall offered substantial clues. I passed several of the famous red telephone booths. It was one o’clock on a Wednesday morning, and each of the dozen or so bars on my route were open for business. Cars were driving on the left-hand side of the road. And everyone I encountered was completely drunk.

When I made it back to my hall, I found that someone had detached every toilet seat in the communal bathrooms. I do not know who did it, but I hope they wore gloves. It is a safe bet that alcohol was involved.

During a party in the basement common room of a hall near mine, someone ripped a soap dispenser off the bathroom wall. I know because I received an email about it, and the bathroom was closed (and since this bathroom was the closest one to the dining hall, the closure was particularly inconvenient). Alcohol was surely involved.

Bathrooms, or "water closets" as they are called here, are not the only victims of drunken malfeasance. Indeed, the British Medical Association notes, “The total cost of alcohol harm has been estimated as £20 billion in England, £680 million in Northern Ireland, £3.6bn in Scotland and £1bn in Wales.” This figure includes both property damage and healthcare costs.

Yet the conversation about restricting alcohol in the United Kingdom is much like the conversation about restricting firearms in the United States. Sure, most people agree that something should be done, but proposed solutions are usually met with considerable resistance. This was the case in 2013, for instance, when David Cameron’s Conservative government dropped plans to institute a minimum price-per-unit for alcohol. One Conservative MP described this move as “more about politics than policy.” That the proposal was politically untenable is no surprise. Drunken people are voters, too (after they sober up, presumably).

Distributors can obtain a license to sell alcohol for up to 24 hours per day, but one effort to curb consumption is widespread. The "Challenge 21" rule encourages retailers to ask customers who appear to be under 21 to prove they are above the legal drinking age of 18. However, I tend to doubt the effectiveness of this rule. As a 20-year-old who looks to be at most 17 (under dim light and after neglecting to shave my thin mustache), I am rarely challenged.

The morning after I had returned to London, the British folks I met were, as they usually seem to me, polite and reserved. On campus, it was hard to imagine the sweater-wearing, bashfully eye-contact-avoiding students engaging in the ten-pints-and-a-fight (sub-)culture for which there is so much evidence.

Nevertheless, when the sun goes down and a night out begins, it is always the abstainer or moderate drinker who stands out. Nobody asks, “Why are you drinking?” but rather “Why not?” A few drinks in, polite reservation quickly disappears. Like a floodgates opening, alcohol unleashes what the daylight repressed. The results are boozy first-kisses, vandalized water closets, and a multi-billion pound tab.