Every tragedy ” Vagator, Anjuna, Curchorem ” triggers action. Raids increase. Surveillance tightens. Awareness programmes multiply. But if we pause and look closely, what is being presented as action is often just repetition. The same formats. The same content. The same assumptions. And ultimately, the same outcomes.
Take the recent hyped High Court-driven awareness push. It was positioned as a serious intervention. On the ground, it translated into a mandatory online session for educational institutions and some other cosmetic programmes which did not have any substance. Students were gathered in halls, attendance ensured, and a speaker addressed them on the NDPS Act ” sections, provisions, punishments. And somewhere in that moment, the gap became painfully obvious.
Young people do not engage in substance use because they are unaware of the law. They do so within a complex mix of curiosity, peer influence, emotional distress, identity struggles, and exposure. None of this is addressed in a legal lecture delivered to a hall full of students who are already disengaged. This is where our awareness model collapses.
It is not curated. Not for age. Not for context. Not for lived reality. A 12-year-old, a 16-year-old, and a college student often sit in the same room, receiving the same content. Different developmental stages, different risks, different pressures ” but one standardised presentation. The result is predictable. The younger ones don’t fully understand. The older ones tune out. And everyone leaves unchanged. Yet, the system records it as success.
The Goan feature mentions over 500 awareness programmes conducted. But the real question is not how many sessions were held. It is how many actually made a difference.
The format itself is part of the problem. Large halls, mass gatherings, minimal interaction. It looks efficient. It looks scalable. It looks like reach. But prevention does not work like that. Real engagement requires smaller groups, safe spaces, conversations, and trust. None of which can be built in a room where hundreds are expected to sit quietly and listen.
And then there are the public displays of action ” rallies, T-shirts, caps, pledges. Crowds marching with slogans, hands raised in collective promise. It creates visibility. It creates a sense of movement. But beyond that moment, what shifts?
These efforts are not inherently wrong. But when they become the primary response, they turn into optics. They allow us to feel like something is being done, without actually doing what is needed.
At the same time, another trend is emerging ” the shift towards surveillance-heavy responses. The recent developments at BITS Pilani Goa Campus are a case in point. Following a student death, the campus has moved from an open environment to one marked by heightened monitoring ” hundreds of CCTV cameras, strict entry and exit checks, parcel inspections, and constant oversight. It sends a message ” zero tolerance. But it also raises a critical question: is surveillance the answer to vulnerability?
Because while monitoring may restrict access, it does not address intent. It does not resolve emotional distress. It does not build resilience. It does not create support systems. At best, it contains behaviour within a controlled space. At worst, it pushes it underground.
And that is the risk. When systems move towards control without understanding, they often end up managing symptoms rather than solving problems. This is where Goa’s approach needs serious introspection.
We are oscillating between two extremes ” symbolic awareness and strict enforcement. Between mass lectures and high surveillance. Between rallies and raids.
But where is prevention? Because prevention is neither a one-time session nor a security protocol. It is a sustained, structured, and deeply human process. It requires age-specific engagement ” different conversations for different stages of adolescence. It requires trained facilitators who understand youth behaviour, not just laws. It requires integrating mental health, relationships, digital exposure, and coping mechanisms into programmes. It requires building trust ” something that cannot be achieved through authority-driven lectures.
Most importantly, it requires continuity. The feature clearly points out that drug use is no longer confined to tourist belts. It has moved into villages, into local communities, into everyday spaces.
This should have triggered a shift towards community-based prevention.
Even when young people slip into substance use, the pathway to support in Goa remains weak. Limited facilities. Stigma. Lack of youth-friendly services. Families unsure of where to go. Interventions delayed until crisis. So the system ends up doing two things ” ignoring early signs and reacting late. By then, the damage is already done.
This is not a lack of effort. It is a lack of direction. Because right now, Goa is doing a lot.
But it is not doing the right things in the right way. We have programmes, but not programmes that work. We have reach, but not relevance. We have control, but not connection. And that is the gap.
So the question we need to ask ” honestly, urgently, and without defensiveness ” is simple:
Are we actually preventing, or are we just performing prevention?
Because if awareness still means one lecture for all, if intervention still means gathering students in halls, if response still means rallies and surveillance, then we are not moving forward.
We are just getting louder. Same slides. Bigger crowds. Higher surveillance. But the same outcomes. And that is a reality Goa can no longer afford to ignore.
