Growing up with the opium discourse in the 1980s and 90s

It is a little hazy now, but I can still recall the first time the word “opium” popped up in my life. It was during a heated debate between my grandfather and aunt in the mid-1980s when I was just a kindergartner. Grandpa staunchly defended opium’s rejuvenating effects for the elderly, waving off the typical warnings as “hogwash.” Meanwhile, Auntie’s voice shook with concern as she pleaded with him, trying to steer him away from the hazards that opium might unleash on our family. It was not until years down the road that I started to understand where my grandfather was coming from: he was part of a generation that still saw opium as something of value, especially among rice farmers, not just for a bit of leisure but also to ease the pain of ailments like osteoarthritis.

A few years later, in the late 1980s, in our neighborhood, a suburb of a northern Iranian town, we kids found an odd source of entertainment. With great amusement, we would ironically imitate not a hero or role model, but Ā-Taqi, an opium-addled character from a government-sponsored cautionary show.Footnote ¹⁷ His slurred speech, stumbling steps, hunched posture, and sluggish movements were like a symphony of dysfunction, the very image of opium’s destructive impact on the body. He was a walking billboard for disaster—ruined finances, legal troubles, public disgrace, family turmoil, and a bleak future.

The image of opium as a harbinger of doom was deeply woven into the fabric of our daily lives. School textbooks subtly blamed the failures of the Qajar and Pahlavi monarchs on their opium-induced stupor. Our muʿallem-e parvareshi, the educational mentor known for his lengthy lectures on proper youth conduct in the postrevolutionary era, frequently cited Ashraf Pahlavi, the charismatic twin sister of the last shah, as an example. Her alleged involvement in narcotics trafficking and use was held up as emblematic of the previous regime’s moral decay and political corruption. Television broadcasts often featured police and politicians urging citizens to report opium-related offenders—both dealers and users—to purge society of their “parasitic” presence and channel them into prison for rehabilitation. Reports of executions were widespread for individuals labeled sodāgarān-e marg (death merchants)—those accused of trafficking opium—with some executions even carried out publicly in the main square of our town.Footnote ¹⁸

Back in our neighborhood, I recall my uncle and his soccer pals pointing out an addict near their playing field, invoking the name of some Chinese bigwig—who I’d later learn was Mao Zedong—and lamenting the Iranian government’s failure to deliver a “final solution.” They yearned for a day when the government would resolutely “cast all opium addicts into the sea,” their words laced with a fire that sent shivers down my young spine. I conjured up vivid images of a police officer hurling Ā-Taqi from a boat into the turbulent waters, his frail limbs no match for the crashing waves.

These haunting images and sentiments were etched into my impressionable psyche. So, when the government later announced plans to send addicts to a remote island in the Persian Gulf, I was not shocked.Footnote ¹⁹ Religious preachers, parents, and media outlets all reinforced the same message, branding opium users as unproductive, pleasure-seeking, and irresponsible parasites. The sight of addicts being arrested on the streets, coupled with hushed family conversations about loved ones who had fallen into opium’s grip, only cemented this communal understanding of the drug among the neighborhood kids. Religious preachers, parents, and media all drove home the same message, branding opium users as irresponsible, unproductive parasites. The sight of addicts being arrested on the streets, coupled with hushed family conversations mourning loved ones caught in the grip of opium, only reinforced and solidified the understanding of the neighborhood kids about the drug.

During the late 1990s, as I progressed through high school, a perceptible shift began to reshape societal attitudes toward those previously condemned as ill-willed, parasitic opium addicts. At our neighborhood park, where we had grown accustomed to witnessing furtive exchanges between opium dealers and their clientele, an unexpected metamorphosis unfolded. A group of self-proclaimed addicts, who became known as the “NA guys,”Footnote ²⁰ began gathering regularly, heralding a transformative moment in societal perceptions of addiction and treatment. The changes observed at the park extended to medical facilities, as the emergence of the “Center for Substance Abuse Treatment” signs initially baffled the public.

Furthermore, the language employed by medical professionals in these centers, and more notably, the sudden influx of opium addicts seeking treatment, evoked widespread bewilderment and astonishment. Indeed, the terminology of opium use experienced a seismic shift, replacing traditional labels such as “addicts” with “patients,” “addiction” with “abuse,” “rehabilitation” with “treatment,” and “purging” with “harm reduction.” Consequently, official and increasingly medicalized discourse ceased to label opium users as parasites or lazy, instead acknowledging them as social victims or patients grappling with substance abuse.

This evolution marked a significant departure from criminalization and a turn toward medicalization, fundamentally altering the discourse surrounding addiction and its implications for society. As these shifts gained momentum, institutions adapted, and people’s attitudes toward substance use began to change, gradually supplanting the entrenched, criminalized narratives of the past.

However, one fundamental principle stubbornly endured: both criminalization and medicalization rhetoric persisted in viewing regular opium users as unproductive and incapable of generating value. Neither the condemned criminal nor the care-seeking patient was regarded as a productive workforce member. Except for the elderly or those afflicted with severe illnesses, who were categorized as inherently unproductive, every other user became subject to criminal condemnation or the “medical gaze.” The cornerstone of both narratives lies in the belief that opium’s debilitating effects on the workforce impede the national economy’s growth potential. This perceived hindrance to the generation of surplus value and the nation’s prosperity underpins both perspectives, despite the evolution of societal attitudes toward addiction and the shift toward medicalization.

Fixed motif amid fluxing narratives

In the modern era, opium has been relegated to moral ambiguity due to its perceived nonproductiveness, contrasting sharply with “drug foods” like sugar, coffee, and tea, which have been embraced for their role in enhancing labor discipline and supporting global capitalism.Footnote ²¹ This perception of opium originated not in countries like Iran or China, where opium use was widespread, but in Western rhetoric. In the nineteenth century, Western attitudes toward opium were complex and contradictory. The Western imagination oscillated between romanticizing Oriental pleasures and denouncing them as sinful.Footnote ²² This ambivalence was particularly evident in the British colonial context. Colonial administrators grappled with a significant moral and economic dilemma: how to profit from the lucrative opium trade while simultaneously protecting their own population from its addictive effects.Footnote ²³ These complexities ultimately led the West to demonize opium and seek to eliminate any uncontrollable sources of nonproductiveness from society. The discourse that emerged linked opium inextricably to the “Oriental other,” associating it with Eastern ethics and mysticism in ways that often said more about Western preoccupations than about the realities of opium use in other societies.Footnote ²⁴

However, opium discourse in Iran was shaped by different forces, articulated by the early twentieth-century modernist reformers involved in the Iranian Constitutional Movement. Although these reformers drew upon Western ideals,Footnote ²⁵ their stance on opium was far from a simple emulation of their Western counterparts. Instead, it was deeply rooted in the distinct realities of their homeland. In a nation where opium use was widespread, these reformers recognized that the eradication of the substance was not merely a public health necessity but a vital part of their grander vision of national renewal. To them, the war against opium was an existential struggle, essential to their broader perspective of a transformed Iran: to sculpt a modern state and a productive national economy from a nation plagued by widespread opium use and its debilitating effects, among other difficulties.

For over a century, Iran has grappled with one of the world’s largest populations of opium users. As part of the Golden Crescent, alongside Afghanistan and Pakistan, Iran witnessed a dramatic surge in opium consumption in the late nineteenth century, catalyzed by the introduction of the opium pipe (vafur) and an unparalleled boom in opium farming and trade.Footnote ²⁶ As the nineteenth century ended, the rise in opium consumption extended far beyond its traditional roles in medicine and recreation. Opium’s reach was vast and indiscriminate. It engulfed nearly all social strata, from merchants to beggars, military personnel to clergy, and even the royal court. Its presence was ubiquitous, found in opium dens, coffeehouses, streets, bazaars, barracks, and homes. Iranian reformists of the time grew increasingly concerned by this nationwide narcotic panorama. In their eyes, opium had forfeited its age-old status as a “normative element” within Iranian society.Footnote ²⁷ Formerly treasured for its multifaceted utility—as an effective pain reliever, a profitable cash crop, a wellspring of poetic creativity, or even an aphrodisiac, and more—opium had morphed into a menacing substance, a national catastrophe, or as Azarkhosh termed it in the mid-twentieth century, a “plague of life.”Footnote ²⁸

Frustrated by how opium had seeped into every corner of society and how dependent the economy had become on it, reformists painted it as the enemy of a modern, thriving nation. From that point forward, a rare consensus shaped among Iran’s reformists and politicians—whether modernist, Islamist, or socialist. Despite their different visions for Iran’s future, they all saw opium as a major roadblock to their dreams of building a productive, industrialized, and sovereign nation rooted in law and justice. The substance’s entrenched associations with lethargy, nonproductiveness, indifference, and capriciousness starkly opposed their vision of national progress. Over the past century and continuing to the present day, the aspiration for a broad, disciplined, and productive labor force to construct an ideal society has been in continuous conflict with the unremitting sway of opium.

Hassan Sotoudeh’s analysis of opium addiction in 1940s Iran provides a compelling example of how the discourse on opium articulates the above conflict. Sotoudeh, a leading legal economist and technocrat, questioned the prevailing notion that only 8 percent of Iranians (around 800,000–900,000 individuals) were addicted to opium. Despite limited data, he argued that the drug’s impact was far more pervasive and detrimental, affecting not just the individual but the nation’s economy. By focusing on adult male addicts over the age of twenty, Sotoudeh estimated that a staggering quarter of the “active population”—the crucial labor force driving Iran’s economy—was incapacitated by opium addiction. This troubling assessment underscored the profound economic consequences of widespread addiction, emphasizing the urgent need for targeted interventions to mitigate the issue.Footnote ²⁹

Although Sotoudeh’s analysis dates to the 1940s, his articulation of the economic consequences of opium addiction represents the prevailing perspective shared by reformists both before and after his time. The echoes of his insights can be found resonating across a diverse array of media, including novels, poetry, historical texts, political pamphlets, and more. This deep consensus on the detrimental impact of opium stands in stark contrast to the reformists’ frequent divergence regarding the root causes of its rampant prevalence within Iranian society.

In this vein, Zeyn al-Ābedin Maraghei, a pioneering Iranian reformist from the fin de siècle, expressed in his widely recognized travel diary his belief that the rampant opium use among Iranians is rooted in “the very marrow of their being, which is fashioned by a proclivity for indolence and slacking.”Footnote ³⁰ In 1908, the Constitutionalist physician Adib al-Ḥukamā elevated the issue, wielding sarcasm to brand addicts as “opiated reactionaries”—willful accomplices to despotism—and “socialist voluptuaries” engaged in a covert assault on Iran’s freedom fighters.Footnote ³¹ Poet laureate Mohammad-Taqi Bahār’s verses (c. 1910) joined the chorus of condemnation, portraying opium users not merely as societal burdens, but as threats to the motherland’s very essence. Others, like the outspoken satirist poet Iraj Mirzā, went so far as to mockingly label opium users as “indolent” individuals in the “greater Jihad of life, which is indeed defecation.”Footnote ³² Yet in the mid-1940s modernist journalist Kuhi Kermāni, a disciple of Bahār, went beyond merely attributing blame to individuals for their opium use. Kuhi Kermāni dedicated an entire historical book to the subject, framing opium as a “social affliction” that threatened Iran’s modern transformation. He condemned opium dens as “centers of corruption,” portraying addicts as hindrances to developing new social and political ordersFootnote ³³—a stark contrast to the progressive Iran that Kermāni and his fellow reformists sought to construct.

Throughout the years, this perception endured across generations and political regimes, despite the evolution of antidrug policies from criminalization to medicalization and harm reduction. The underlying narrative of unproductive opium users remained constant, echoing the essence of Sotoudeh’s analysis: the inevitable link between regular opium use, unproductive labor, and detrimental effects on the national economy.

The same motif continued during the proliferated narratives produced during the reign of the second king of the Pahlavi dynasty. Health Minister Jahanshah Saleh, the architect of the 1955 policy to ban opium cultivation, lamented that, in an era when Iran was striving to embrace Western ideals and project itself as an enlightened, modernizing nation, opium persisted as “a shameful remnant of a dark Oriental past,” hindering the nation’s progress toward modernization.Footnote ³⁴ Similarly, scholars like McLaughlin, surveying Iran’s drug policy in 1976, echoed Saleh’s sentiments by attributing the country’s drug abuse epidemic to deep-seated cultural disparities.Footnote ³⁵

Yet this view was far from universal. Early psychoscientists, as Schayegh notes, proffered an alternative perspective, positing that the siren call of opium stemmed not from some intrinsic “Iranian culture,” but rather from the relentless pressures of modern life.Footnote ³⁶ Others still sought to place the origins of addiction in different quarters, attributing it either to a more nebulous notion of “diseased willpower”Footnote ³⁷ or to the social deprivations—such as life in the slums, poverty, lack of education, and broken homes—that left individuals particularly vulnerable to the lure of opium.

The 1979 revolution ushered in a seismic shift in every aspect of drug life. Revolutionary leaders, officials, and clergy recast addiction as an urgent politico-religious issue, painting it as a “satanic trap,” a nefarious conspiracy orchestrated by the “corrupt” Pahlavi regime and imperialist powers to corrupt Iran’s youth. Mohammad Sādegh Khalkhali, Iran’s first hākem-e shar’ (leading state prosecutor), invoked this rhetoric to justify draconian sentences against drug offenders, attributing drug distribution to “the satanic and dividing hands of Imperialism and social imperialism.”Footnote ³⁸ In this new rhetoric, opium transcended its status as a mere social ill or economic burden; it became a weapon aimed at the very heart of Iran’s revolutionary fervor. Ayatollah Khomeini, the revolution’s first supreme leader, elevated the stakes further. In a public address ten months postrevolution, he declared that “saving an addict is not only saving a person, but it also equates to saving Islam.”Footnote ³⁹ With these words, he transmuted the fight against addiction into a matter of profound religious significance. Khomeini’s subsequent unprecedented fatwa, issued just before the revolution’s first anniversary, branded drug smuggling and trafficking as haram (forbidden) under Islamic jurisprudence.Footnote ⁴⁰ In response to this reimagined threat, a new government apparatus emerged, its mission to rescue society from its misled youth. This shift in perception led to a range of policies, from harsh criminalization to more nuanced medicalization approaches, each reflecting the complex and evolving understanding of addiction in postrevolution Iran—as briefly mentioned in my childhood memories and explained in detail by scholars of the field.Footnote ⁴¹

This brief, selective review shows how, since the early twentieth century, the anti-opium campaign in Iran saw numerous explanations emerge for widespread opium use, alongside the implementation of various policies with differing rationales and levels of efficacy. Over this time, political regimes changed, new scientific disciplines entered the fray, public opinion evolved, and global addiction science underwent paradigmatic changes. Yet, among all these fluctuations, one central theme persisted unwaveringly: the enduring association of opium users with nonproductiveness. This persistent link reinforced the idea of the habitual opium user as inherently unproductive, a figure ultimately impeding economic progress. Just as all roads lead to Rome, so these various explanations converge upon Hasan Sotoudeh’s exemplary analysis.

Traces of the productive regular opium user

Production is a broad concept, with applications spanning various fields. The discourse on opium recognizes opium agencies in certain fields of production. For instance, opium has long been associated with the generation of dreams, artistic inspiration, and spirituality. An extensive body of literature exists on this aspect of production, spanning diverse fields such as literature, psychoanalysis, and history. Some notable examples include Thomas De Quincey attributing the authorship of his book to opium’s “marvelous agency”;Footnote ⁴³ Nigel Leask’s exploration of colonial objects like opium acting as “psychotropic technology” for British Romantic writers;Footnote ⁴⁴ Ankhi Mukherjee’s examination of the legacy of dream writers in the nineteenth century;Footnote ⁴⁵ and Jason Mohaghegh’s reflections on opium and its paraphernalia in Sadegh Hedayat’s seminal novel The Blind Owl.Footnote ⁴⁶ Even Edward Browne recounts opium’s role in fostering spirituality among Iranian dervishes.Footnote ⁴⁷

However, in this study, the focus is exclusively on producing value through physical labor. The discourse on opium readily embraces opium’s role in dream or artistic production, yet unequivocally rejects the notion of regular opium users as productive laborers, asserting that the substance renders them unproductive. Despite being ignored by opium discourse, there exists substantial, albeit dispersed, evidence that contradicts the prevailing discourse, suggesting that some long-term opium users are indeed productive, if not hyperproductive, in their physical labor. More importantly, significant economic sectors in Iran, and likely elsewhere, have been highly dependent on opium-induced laborers and the energy that opium releases in their bodies.

Reflecting on the historical accounts provided by RegavimFootnote ⁴⁸ and Matthee,Footnote ⁴⁹ which detail the widespread use of opium among those engaged in farming and trading the substance, a thought-provoking question arises: do those immersed in opium farming or workshops, accustomed to its effects, truly transform into unproductive bodies? What can be said about Courtwright’s documentation of Chinese chair-bearers, boatmen, and laborers who were intimately involved with opium? Or the British official’s assertion, recounted by Courtwright, that “the opium-smoking coolie is probably as reliable a workman as any in the world,”Footnote ⁵⁰ and Westermeyer’s report of a “vigorous woman” who labored “harder than two women” despite her using morning opium “pepper-upper” for decades?Footnote ⁵¹ Moreover, were the Chinese laborers using opium regularly in the early twentieth-century United States genuinely unproductive bodies?Footnote ⁵² There exists a myriad of similar cases.

In present-day Iran, this phenomenon similarly invites scrutiny. Iranian experts and authorities assert that the country contends with an above-average prevalence of opium-addicted laborers. Official Rapid Situation Assessment (RSA) reportsFootnote ⁵³ and several other accounts caution against the growing prevalence of opium use across numerous labor sectors.Footnote ⁵⁴ Agahi and Spencer further emphasize opium’s function as a work enhancer during periods of high seasonal demand, such as rice planting.Footnote ⁵⁵ In my interviews, Mohammad Bināzādeh, an activist and addiction medicine specialist, has stressed the pressing challenge of an opium epidemic within industries such as steel, oil, and fishing. Similarly, Abbās Deylamizādeh, CEO of Rebirth Charity Society, has illuminated the long-standing custom of laborers who have consumed opium for decades. Even among the urban middle class, opium discourse transcends cautionary narratives, with memories of habitual opium use of everyday figures like drivers, shopkeepers, masons, and plumbers fostering a sense of nostalgia.

In this context, it is not my intention to delve into the reasons behind the repression or silencing of the history of productive opium users. Such an endeavor would require comprehensive historical research and meticulous discourse analysis. However, it is worth briefly acknowledging the theoretical constraints that have hindered even seasoned scholars from effectively addressing this significant topic.

An industrial gathering

In the 1990s, off the coast of the Persian Gulf, southwest of Bushehr Province, Iranian experts unearthed a treasure trove of gas: part of the world’s largest nonassociated gas reservoir, a direct extension of Qatar’s renowned North Field. It marked a watershed moment, a seismic shift resonating within the national and international energy market.Footnote ⁵⁶

By 1998, this discovery gave rise to the sprawling behemoth PSEEZ, which spanned over 100 kilometers and encompassed four towns across a massive 45,000 hectares.Footnote ⁵⁷ Asaluyeh County, once a humble abode for 30,000 mostly Sunni fishers and farmers, metamorphosed into a bustling gateway for dynamic trade within the PSEEZ, symbolizing a shift from “dirty oil” to “clean gas,” national wealth, and job opportunities. As Ashtiani Iraqi put it, it was not just a town anymore; it had evolved into Iran’s economic capital.Footnote ⁵⁸ In 2011, Iran’s supreme leader ramped up the national significance of the project, cheering on Asaluyeh’s dedicated workers, painting their efforts as an “economic Jihad for the cause of Allah.”Footnote ⁵⁹ Asaluyeh epitomized what Hetherington terms the “promissory nature of infrastructure.”Footnote ⁶⁰

As we entered the early 2000s, PSEEZ left an indelible mark on the region’s landscape and workforce dynamics. Two thousand non-Iranian staff and an equal number of petroleum ministry officials flooded the zone,Footnote ⁶¹ enjoying decent benefits, ranging from state-provided accommodations to secure contracts and generous compensation. However, the backbone of PSEEZ’s labor force comprised the construction workers, a formidable group of 60,000 to 80,000 individuals with diverse skill levels, bound by three-month contracts subject to renewal at the employer’s discretion.Footnote ⁶²

Aligned with the onset of the state’s neoliberal policies, the oil industry, traditionally a pioneer in constructing company towns in energy hubs, took a different turn in the postwar 1990s.Footnote ⁶³ PSEEZ significantly reflected this shift, with the oil ministry eschewing plans for family-centric towns, reserving housing solely for its officials and managers. The rhythm of life for the laborers followed a unique beat: twenty days of labor followed by a ten-day break each month.Footnote ⁶⁴ However, many laborers often forewent breaks, choosing overtime, eschewing family engagement due to opium habituation, or simply saving on travel expenses.

Comrade opium

In June 2012, near an industrial site in Asaluyeh, I first encountered Kamal amid a heated confrontation with two young laborers who had just purchased heroin. With fervor blazing in his eyes, Kamal railed against the drug, condemning it as a ticket to a parasitic existence and a forewarning of a grim future. Despite apologies from his younger colleagues, Kamal’s tirade continued unabated. He seized the heroin and scattered its powder into the air. Calming slightly, he remarked, “Here in Asaluyeh, opium lays the bricks, but heroin knocks the whole thing down.” His stance was not just anti-heroin; it was an unexpected advocacy for opium.

After the dispute, I followed Kamal to the workers’ camp. Introduced by a mutual friend, I learned that Kamal was a respected laborer who could provide insights into the daily lives of his peers. Despite his robust appearance and commanding presence, the weariness etched on his sunken cheeks and pallid complexion betrayed a stark contradiction. His eloquent speech and vigilant demeanor stood in sharp contrast to the toll of a decade entrenched in opium’s grip, marking his thirty-four years.

Entering the camp, one encountered an amateurish Persian calligraphy sign adorning a worker’s unit, proclaiming, “Opium is our comrade in tough times.” My astonishment prompted a seasoned laborer, deeply immersed in opium’s embrace for nearly a decade, to interpret its meaning. “What do you want from a comrade, huh? Someone to stick by you in this crazy life? Well, opium’s our constant companion, whether we’re grinding at work or chilling out for some leisure. It steps in for our folks, the little ones, and the missus. So, what do you want from a comrade? A bit of solace? Heck, I even spill my guts on my opium dose.”

In this enclave of shared struggles, opium reigned supreme, disregarding illegality and societal disapproval. Abundantly available and seamlessly integrated into the workers’ routines, opium was a constant presence. “There is more opium than you can shake a stick at,” remarked one worker. Whether enjoyed at night or during strenuous hours at the construction site, workers openly indulged—puffing on the substance in abandoned kiosks or welding atop towering posts.

Within the industrial realm, opium gained tacit approval, with employers and security forces often turning a blind eye or subtly endorsing its use. A security member at a refinery admitted, “Everybody respects opium here,” revealing a disconcerting reality.Footnote ⁶⁵ However, this respect extended exclusively to opium; other narcotics faced rejection. Heroin or amphetamine users were viewed skeptically; their presence met with the anticipation that they would inevitably depart the industrious community. A loader driver emphasized, “No way to leash the shisheh [Iranian crystal meth]; it turns you into its little pet.”

Studies conducted elsewhere suggest that drug-using employees are more prone to requesting time off and face an increased risk of on-the-job accidents.Footnote ⁶⁶ However, in the absence of any reliable survey, both the working community and employers here held a firm belief that opium users exhibit higher discipline and productivity.

Mouse holes

In 2002, Kamal, a farmer turned semiskilled welder, traded his rural existence for the vibrant community of Asaluyeh. Upon arrival, he secured a modest house in Nakhl-Taqi village. As Kamal formed connections with his roommates, he was introduced to the euphoria of opium. Initially apprehensive about succumbing to addiction, he hesitated before ultimately yielding to the allure of the substance. As the pungent aroma of smoked opium pervaded the dwelling, it drew the ire of neighboring residents. Suspicions mounted, and tensions escalated, culminating in an untimely eviction notice issued by the landlord a mere six months after Kamal’s arrival.Footnote ⁶⁷

In search of a new home, Kamal found himself in a contractor-built camp, joining thousands of fellow laborers squeezed into austere accommodations. Although engineers enjoyed comparatively spacious seventy-meter dwellings shared by four to six people, workers like Kamal were consigned to cramped thirty-meter quarters for an equal number of occupants. These meager lodgings, aptly nicknamed “mouse holes” by the workers, were charged with a lackluster atmosphere. Yet, they offered refuge from the unwelcoming urbanity of Asaluyeh, allowing Kamal and his cohorts to escape the tension, marginalization, and disdain that plagued their daily lives. Within the confines of these “mouse holes” opium’s euphoric embrace proved a powerful antidote to the laborers’ daily struggles. The potent substance instilled a sense of loquaciousness and heightened focus, dissolving the pervasive tension and guiding their bodies into a state of deep relaxation.

Within these seemingly lifeless lodgings, opium-fueled conversations, dubbed “nonsense therapy” by workers, transcended their surface-level function as a tension reliever. Although these exchanges may have appeared as mere gibberish to the uninitiated, they embodied a deeper significance as a form of “phatic labor,” a term coined by Julia Elyachar.Footnote ⁶⁸ Amid seemingly nonsensical banter, the workers strategized job prospects, devised plans to secure higher wages, and navigated challenges posed by demanding supervisors. By shrouding these conversations in the semiotics of opium-infused discourse, the workers effectively transformed their confined, opium-laden gatherings into active, productive spaces. Their crumpled bodies, huddled in the cramped flats, were reconfigured as dynamic agents of phatic labor, forging a vital cybernetic infrastructure that underpinned their collective economic survival.

Aspirational body

Despite Kamal’s sobering accounts of the grueling toil in PSEEZ, the project remained deeply enticing for his fellow villagers, many of whom harbored a strong desire to tread Kamal’s path. With few opportunities beyond small workshops or declining agriculture, their aspirations reached far beyond their circumstances. With hopeful eyes fixed on corporate giants, they sought a more stable horizon. “Asaluyeh might be tough, but we were confident in fattening our wallets,” declared Reza, Kamal’s cousin, who joined the venture three years later. Their unwavering objective: break free from the shackles of their class through intensive, short-term labor in PSEEZ.

Zooming out to the macro level, Behdad and Nomani’s research highlighted a striking “fragmentation of the workforce” in the post-2000 era, echoing a trend from 1976 to 2006. Although the Iranian working class ballooned from 3.6 million to 6.2 million, their employment share dwindled. The petite bourgeoisie and middle class expanded, leading to a diffusion of the working class across a multitude of small enterprises.Footnote ⁶⁹ The “concentration ratio” plummeted from 16.3 in 1976 to 3.1 in 2006, illustrating the profound disintegration of laborers and curtailing of laborers’ bargaining power.Footnote ⁷⁰ The postwar transformation of labor laws in Iran also had detrimental implications for worker bargaining power. Key among these changes was the exclusion of special economic zones (such as PSEEZ) and small-size workshops from crucial labor protections. As a result, short-term contracts became increasingly prevalent, with 80 to 95 percent of Iranian workers subject to these precarious arrangements.Footnote ⁷¹

Kamal’s circumstances paralleled the broader labor dynamics in the region, as workers grappled with a challenging decision that would shape their futures. Despite the absence of legal distinctions in job security between local workshops and the PSEEZ, individuals like Kamal were faced with a stark choice: remain in their hometowns for less demanding work but endure low wages, or journey to the inhospitable environment of PSEEZ in pursuit of more lucrative, yet arduous, mid-term employment. The prospect of the so-called harsh and high-paid jobs in PSEEZ held a powerful allure for the labor force, as workers were caught amid economic deregulation and an inflation rate surpassing 30 percent. Their ambition soared; after years in PSEEZ, they dreamed of outpacing inflation and launching their own business in their hometown—an aspiration once deemed impossible.

The optimism among Asaluyeh’s laborers was distilled into a straightforward formula: endure a harsh job, earn high pay, and devise a strategy to outpace the unrelenting inflation rate. The rationale was clear: confront adversity, secure competitive wages, and, within a decade, amass sufficient resources to launch an enterprise or acquire valuable assets. In their minds, it was a grueling race against inflation, and their sole objective was to muster the energy necessary to surpass its unyielding momentum—and opium surfaced as the oil for their engines.

As time wore on, the unrelenting uniformity of daily life began to erode the initial optimism felt by many workers. Boredom crept into every facet of their existence, sapping the once-vibrant hope that had accompanied their arrival at PSEEZ. The monotony of work routines and the idle hours spent in the confines of the camp blurred together, creating a seemingly endless cycle of sameness that pervaded even the most mundane aspects of their lives. From the unchanging uniforms to the never-varying tools wielded in their labor, and from the shared spaces inhabited by familiar roommates to the repetitive daily objects that filled their world, the once-novel environment of PSEEZ gradually lost its luster. It summoned daydreams of a distant utopia: leisure, a sense of family, female companionship, and urban spaces shimmering like a mirage. Visual perception was fixated on a repetitive tableau: faces blending into a flickering collage of heat, humidity, and pollution. Audio perception numbed to the industrial cacophony during uptime and a chorus of humdrum voices during downtime—a sensory haze cocooned in a monochrome world of dullness. The landscape unfolded as a dusty expanse punctuated by imposing industrial structures, machinery, and sheds, with boredom saturating every corner of the repetitive scenery. The numbing cycle of monotony echoed Kierkegaard’s “demonic pantheism,” an all-encompassing system devoid of individual meaning or purpose.Footnote ⁷²

In this milieu, opium emerges as a gateway to transcend the pervasive ennui, enhancing emotional processing plasticity by stimulating dopamine release in the brain’s reward system through opioids. This influx of dopamine counters abyssal emptiness, amplifying the allure of otherwise mundane pursuits.Footnote ⁷³ The laborers regularly mentioned those who abandoned PSEEZ, ill-prepared in the face of this boredom.

Here, opium redirects and distorts desires. Acting as a hypotensive agent, it steers users toward sweet indulgence, quelling hunger and relieving laborers of food preparation burdens. Prolonged use also decreased libido noticeably, advantageous where female companionship was sparse.Footnote ⁷⁴ Although conventional discourse on opium often asserts that it distracts users from the rhythm of daily life, in this context, opium instead acclimatizes them to the mundane cadence of production, profoundly reshaping their phenomenological experience.

Sizzling bodies

My initial encounter with Asaluyeh’s landscape occurred at midnight, as I journeyed by taxi from the airport toward the town. The pungent aroma of sulfur hung heavy in the air, an olfactory assault that foreshadowed the complex tapestry of experiences that awaited me. Amid the sensory overload, the captivating spectacle of the gas flares first captured my gaze. Against the backdrop of the darkened landscape, these brilliant fiery trails of flares appeared as beacons of promise, their luminous dance an alluring symbol of industrial progress.

As I delved deeper, however, the initial allure of these fiery sentinels gave way to a stark realization: the gas flares, lacking the requisite refining filters, perpetually spewed forth a toxic concoction of gases. The spectacle that had captivated me with awe and boundless possibility on that first night was soon overshadowed by an unmistakable atmosphere of decadence and decay.

In my interactions with local experts, I discovered that this dichotomy of emotions, the tenacious determination for progress and the oppressive weight of degradation, was a recurring theme. The environment itself seemed to foster this internal conflict, as the workers grappled with the grim reality of their circumstances while clinging to the flickering hope that their efforts might someday bear fruit.

It was within this crucible of contrasting emotions that opium emerged as a vital lifeline for the laborers. By subtly reshaping their phenomenological experience, the substance offered a means of reconciling the seemingly irreconcilable, tempering the harsh realities of their existence while nurturing their dreams of a brighter future. As the workers navigated the treacherous terrain of their daily lives, opium became an indispensable ally, a biochemical balm that granted them the fortitude to carry on amid the twin specters of hope and despair.

Asaluyeh, a coastal strip wedged between the towering Zagros mountains and the vast expanse of the Persian Gulf, presented a climate of unparalleled hostility. Here, the very air seemed to conspire against human endurance. From March to mid-November, the mercury routinely soared past 45 degrees Celsius and humidity levels often exceeded 90 percent, creating an atmosphere that clung to the skin like a suffocating shroud. In this unforgiving realm, the human body was pushed to its limits, with hyperthermia lurking as a constant threat. Heatstroke, exhaustion, and muscle cramps were not mere possibilities but daily realities for the workers who toiled under the merciless sun. The challenges intensified for those who scaled the towering structures that punctuated the landscape. Each climb became a Herculean feat, a battle against gravity and the relentless heat that sapped strength and resolve in equal measures. The land itself seemed to wither under the sun’s assault, with annual rainfall dwindling to a mere 240 millimeters over two decades, leaving the earth parched and gasping.Footnote ⁷⁵

Yet it was not just the natural elements that assailed the senses in Asaluyeh. The air was thick with a noxious blend of industrial fumes, transforming the atmosphere into something infernal. This pollution, a toxic cocktail of gas well emissions, ammonia, and urea, wrapped the region in a shroud of contamination. The once-vibrant waters of the Persian Gulf now bore silent testimony to this ecological disaster, their marine life tainted by accumulating heavy metals.Footnote ⁷⁶

The human toll of this environmental catastrophe was equally stark. Respiratory ailments surged among the populace, with asthma cases skyrocketing and the specter of lung cancer looming large. Asaluyeh’s notoriety as one of the world’s most polluted regions—with air reportedly a hundred times more contaminated than Tehran—spoke volumes of the ecological nightmare unfolding along this narrow coastal strip.

Additionally, economic sanctions against Iran have significantly exacerbated the manifold forms of pollution that plague the region. By rapid currency devaluation and impeding access to the crucial resources and technologies required to monitor and mitigate the impact of industrial contamination, these sanctions have contributed to the ongoing ecological crisis that now engulfs Asaluyeh and its people.Footnote ⁷⁷

The convergence of heightened humidity, scarce rainfall, soaring temperatures, heat-radiating materials, and a toxic environment marred by poisonous air, contaminated soil, and polluted water has ushered in a new ecological reality, leading to a chemically altered molecular composition of the ecosystem, specifically for laborers. This transformative confluence of different factors signaled the dawn of what Murphy termed “alterlife”: a state of existence marked by an intimate entanglement of life-forms with the infrastructure that both sustained and imperiled them, a kind of “enmeshment and enfleshment in infrastructures.”Footnote ⁷⁸ As the boundaries between the natural and the man-made blurred, a symbiosis emerged—a dance of resilience and adaptation in the face of adversity.

In this harsh milieu, opium emerged as a comrade in the laborers’ fight for survival. By inhibiting the transmission of pain signals along neural pathways and subtly reshaping perception, the substance fortified the resilience of those workers using opium in this unforgiving landscape. As a biochemical response to the inescapable entrapment of life on a damaged planet, opium offered a lifeline, a means of coping with the unrelenting environmental challenges and nurturing a unique symbiotic bond between the laborers and their embattled surroundings.

Domesticated opium

In the realm of PSEEZ, opium takes on a unique guise—a “domesticated opium,” as Kamal astutely terms it: a far cry from the “flower of evil”Footnote ⁷⁹ of urban middle-class society. Consider the daily tribulations of Kamal: at the break of dawn, he awakens in a cramped camp room, inhaling the nation’s most polluted air before even partaking of breakfast. As he hurries to catch the company transport, the unrelenting sun and omnipresent toxins join forces to exacerbate the toxicity that fills his lungs. By 8:30, Kamal finds himself perched a hundred meters above the ground, welding in sweltering heat and stifling humidity. His dreams of financial stability are at odds with the unforgiving reality of his situation, and the physical demands of his work obstruct any attempts at clear thinking. Troubles with his employer loom large, and the prospect of contract extensions weighs heavily on his mind. Amid these struggles, Kamal grapples with myriad life considerations, from the longing for his distant fiancée to the urgent need to save for a house deposit.

As the clock strikes ten, the oppressive heat and humidity take their toll, and Kamal’s thoughts dissipate. The unyielding sun, pervasive pollution, and the physical strain of his work demand that self-preservation become his priority. After enduring a grueling twelve-hour shift, Kamal withdraws to the camp, seeking refuge from the day’s trials while fortifying himself for the life challenges that await.

Upon sharing this account with a seasoned worker, one might elicit a wry smile and the sage counsel: “Ah, but you’ve overlooked the ‘poppy magic,’ my friend.” The allure of a harsh and high-paid job cannot be denied, and opium has become an integral component in maintaining that allure. Kamal nonchalantly washes down opium peas with his morning tea, seamlessly integrating the substance into the rhythm of his workday, and as dusk descends, partakes in a communal opium skewer session with his roommates.

Not for every laborer, but particularly for those single individuals entrenched in austere camps enduring the arduous grind of monotonous jobs like welding, driving, concrete placing, and rebar binding in this region, opium emerges as a comrade.Footnote ⁸⁰ These tenacious individuals require bodies that can withstand a range of challenges, including humidity, scorching heat, boredom, emotional isolation, backbreaking toil, less-than-ideal living conditions, and prolonged exposure to air thick with pollutants—all the while battling against the unyielding march of inflation. Their mantra? “No midnight oil, no sweat, no toil”Footnote ⁸¹ echoes through the air when the conversation shifts to opium.

How did opium, the “flower of evil,” evolve into a comrade? When I probed Kamal on the rationale behind his encounters with opium, his response was stark: sans opium, he would have “no future” in PSEEZ. “I can only endure five hours of high-post welding, but with opium, I can soldier on for more than ten hours,” he asserted. His rationale defied my common sense of opium. His reasoning challenged conventional wisdom. I envisioned a scenario in which the sinister grasp of opium destroyed the promising futures of laborers. Yet, a closer look into the actual opium usage patterns among these workers unveiled a distinct material agency in this context.

Laborers eschewed opium pipes, deeming them too extravagant for their substantial consumption—no lethargic rituals in this domain. Instead, three contenders stepped into the arena: ingestion; “qolqoli” (employing an improvised hookah crafted from Coca-Cola bottles); and “Sikh-o-Sang” (heating opium on a skewer and inhaling the fume through a straw or rolled paper). Ingestion claimed the spotlight: an opium “pea” effortlessly consumed with tea or solo.

The grand mission: to forge a resilient body, impervious to challenges. A mentor assumed command to steer opium consumption in this resolute direction. Mentors were revered opium sages, maestro in both labor and opium finesse, adept at shepherding novices. Their charge: impart the art of attaining and maintaining the opium plateauFootnote ⁸² while mitigating its undesirable side effects. These sagacious mentors cautioned against premature ingestion, foreseeing the onslaught of nausea, gastric reflex, and acute constipation.

Now, step into the realm of Sikh-o-Sang, an accessible initiation in which the mentor guides novices through the art of inhaling vaporized opium from a rolled paper. In the initial stages, the novice should procure the opium directly from either the mentor or the recommended dealer. Due to variations in purity levels, opium may exhibit differing qualities when obtained from various dealers. The mentor, endowed with the discernment to ascertain opium’s purity and determine the optimal duration of baking, assumes a position of authority. As novices acclimatize themselves to the process, the mentor authorizes a gradual escalation in opium intake, progressing from a quarter to half a pill. Dietary counsel, incorporating plums, olive oil, and a long list of other remedies, aims to counteract constipation, complemented by guidance on fortifying physiological endurance through opium interaction. At a critical turning point, the journey of opium use plateaus, signaled by an adeptly calibrated dosage tailored to one’s unique tolerance. This phase occasionally encounters an impasse, entangled in the absence of a universal prescription, compounded by the novice’s reluctance to heed the mentor’s sagacious counsel.

In the early weeks, the mentor, a meticulous navigator, probes the worker’s well-being with a battery of questions, like a detailed medical check-up: “Nausea hitting you? Enough water intake? How’s your restroom frequency? Riding euphoria waves often? Is work efficiency intact? Enough sleep? Drowsiness or agitation plaguing you?” And so forth.

Mentor users tiptoe the tightrope, allowing opium quantities to dance on the edge of moderation. It all starts with a small “pea” of opium, with laborers graduating to skewers, inhaling opium whispers after lunch, rekindling consumption until evening’s embrace. Collective opium sessions, weekend dalliances with qolqoli, and post-work rituals are all meticulously regulated. Novice seekers are directed to pursue their mentor’s counsel, ensuring a sustained, functional engagement with opium even during furloughs, during which some keep the opium flame alive or dally in methadone for a few days.

This process entails mastering the discernment between prime opium and subpar varieties, understanding nuances of administration methods, adjusting opium dosages to reach the plateau, and, crucially, interpreting bodily reactions and symptoms. Once the novice learns to navigate the differing materiality of dealing with smuggled, nonstandardized opium, an unstable body, and an erratic environment, they can take control and advance. Not every laborer dares to venture into this realm, and not every enthusiast can gracefully navigate the plateau indefinitely. Some, seduced by the allure of heroin or higher doses, eventually recede from the opium and working scene. The crux lies in how the body learns to orchestrate opium’s energy in a harmonious symphony of productivity.

Kamal embarked on the opium odyssey in the village house, navigating opium seas without a mentor’s compass. Eventually, a fellow worker assumed the role of an opium mentor, guiding Kamal in refining his opium journey. He referred to this finesse as the “domestication of opium,” signifying a communal agreement in which individuals must align themselves with productive endeavors. Kamal’s roommate declared, “The opium should be your pet.” They frequently use animal metaphors in their conversation about opium: the pet of shisheh, wildly using drugs; tame it, good substance becomes extinct; feral body (transitioning from heroin to opium); the omnivorous user (indulging in every substance); and owls (late-night smokers).

In PSEEZ, opium reigns supreme, its role unrivaled by alcohol or other substances such as shisheh or heroin, deemed inadequate or even detrimental to harnessing the vigor of labor. These substances fail to “enable” long-term productive interaction with the body. Among the laborers, moderate opium use is esteemed, allowing for calculated peaks of indulgence during the sweltering months. However, as the air temperature drops, a corresponding decline in usage inevitably follows. This delicate balance of ebb and flow is carefully managed, ensuring that the benefits of opium are harnessed while maintaining the well-being of the workers throughout the changing seasons.

Cognizant of the looming departure from their comrade, opium, the notion of laboring without its potent influence appeared inconceivable to these laborers. Yet, as time passed, various paths unfolded. Some managed to traverse the plateau for years, others veered into the realm of alternative substances, and a few bid farewell to opium altogether. The future of these individuals remains uncharted, lacking precise documentation.

In later updates, I discovered that Kamal, who had taken on a mentoring role after five years of opium companionship, made a significant decision in 2021. He chose to end his association with opium and start a new phase of life. Afterward, he got married and opened a fruit shop in his hometown.

The nomadic politics of domesticated opium

Although the domestication of opium is neither officially endorsed nor explicitly prohibited, it is widely tolerated and effectively ignored by state authorities, industry managers, and medical institutions. Rather than being regulated or institutionalized, the practice exists in a grey zone—visible yet unaddressed. Within this ambiguous space, workers develop and transmit knowledge about opium use informally. It is learned peer-to-peer, passed along through social networks, and refined through direct, on-site observation. This tacit knowledge circulates among laborers not through formal instruction but through shared experience, improvisation, and the bodily demands of strenuous work in harsh environments. This domestication of opium forms a shadow infrastructure of survival and endurance, functioning just outside the reach of institutional systems while remaining deeply embedded in the rhythms of everyday labor. To identify which strata of the working class are most deeply involved in the process of “domesticating” opium, I analyzed my interviews with experts and laborers alongside data from various qualitative and quantitative studies in the field. This investigation yielded a key preliminary insight: within the framework of the four-sector economy, the practice of opium domestication is most prevalent in the primary sector. As we move across the economic landscape—from the extraction of raw resources to information- and knowledge-based work—there is a noticeable decline in this practice. It appears that the closer a laborer is tied to the land, the more likely they are to be involved in the domestication of opium.

The domestication process does not originate in laboratories or textbooks, nor is it a product of state-sanctioned institutions. It emerges in a symbiotic relationship with the body and opium, sensitive to a range of materialities such as climate, job requirements, personal mood, body chemistry, diet, opium quality, consumption duration, and environmental pollution. These materialities merge to form a time-bound assemblage, a dynamic interplay of forces that shape and transform the practice of domestication. Rather than being a formalized science, the knowledge of how to use opium productively is built through hands-on experimentation and embodied trial-and-error. This practical, adaptive process is not taught in classrooms but emerges directly from workers’ interactions with their environment, their tools, and their bodily limits. It is neither a science focused on universal principles, nor one that seeks to understand the specific by mastering the general. Instead, it resembles the craft of blacksmithing, in which each encounter brings forth a different iron and a different hammer, demanding flexibility and constant adaptation.

Domestication science emerges “outside” formal institutions, lacking systematic transmission and embracing wild mutation. Unlike state-oriented addiction science such as psychology, criminology, and medicine, domestication resists linear accumulation. It favors palpation, tactile interaction, and tangible experience with matter over repeatability, accumulation, and systematic knowledge. According to this science, workers do not treat their bodies or opium as fixed entities. Instead, they understand both as flexible and responsive to different work conditions, opium quality, and environmental factors. Altering one element can result in changes to the entire assemblage’s characteristics. In contrast to Michel Foucault’s concept of the “medical gaze,” in which physicians shape a patient’s narrative to fit a biomedical framework by filtering out perceived irrelevant details,Footnote ⁸³ domestication defies linearity; what is irrelevant now can become significant tomorrow. Domestication remains adaptable and responsive to fluctuations in the material agency of opium, the body, and the environment. It recognizes their interconnections and the potential for constant transformation that channels the opium energy toward productivity. Drawing from Deleuze and Guattari, it is a “nomad science”—a rhizomatic practice that eludes conventional classification and traces an elusive, nonlinear history.Footnote ⁸⁴

In PSEEZ, where workers from diverse regions converge in pursuit of harsh and high-paid jobs, the domestication of opium gives rise to a unique form of social organization. Unbound by traditional unions or preexisting structures, and dislocated from their families, these workers forge connections through their shared engagement with the substance. This leads to the formation of a production-oriented organization, a “collective” of human and nonhuman actors, one that defies the traditional state apparatus, offering a glimpse into the potential for alternative, emergent forms of social organization.Footnote ⁸⁵ Unlike “addiction discourse” marked by law, police, medicalization, rehabilitation centers, and so forth, domestication happens in a non-delimited and nonpartitioned space resembling a “hydraulic model, … inseparable from flows, and flux is reality itself.”Footnote ⁸⁶

This dynamic interplay between the substance and the body unfolds beyond the confines of the state apparatus, giving rise to new bodies and a reconfigured opium: a testament to the transformative power of the domestication process. Driven by the need to extract productivity from a substance typically deemed unproductive, the workers embark on a transformative journey that reshapes their multifaceted web of relationships.

Nevertheless, this is no romantic ideal. Domestication operates within a neoliberal, deregulated labor landscape, wrestling with what Latour calls “the reactions of the terraqueous globe.”Footnote ⁸⁷ External to state law, it aligns with capitalism’s imperatives, sustaining wage relations and capital circulation. On a macro scale, it hastens labor deregulation: whereas activists seek protective laws, domesticated opium enables workers to endure without them. Far from fostering collective ideals, it hinges on radical individuality—each laborer’s solitary pursuit of resilience.Footnote ⁸⁸ In PSEEZ, this nomadic narco-science embodies Latour’s “wicked universality”: the universal erosion of ecological stability, labor protections, unions, and bodily autonomy outside capitalist logic.Footnote ⁸⁹ Opium’s domestication, while empowering survival, reinforces the very systems it navigates.

Junkie infrastructures

Opium is “enacted” to enhance the body’s capacity to navigate challenges, with laborers serving as a linchpin in the facilitation of petroinfrastructure production. Domesticated opium itself transforms into an infrastructure, a “matter that enables the movement of other matters”;Footnote ⁹⁰ domesticating narco-science is an energy-dispatching science. The energy generated by the mediation of opium in laborers’ bodies must be dispatched to infrastructure building.

Here, opium is no longer viewed as a “social plight.” Instead, it emerges as a tolerated and even encouraged vice that generates value by turning the laboring body into a hyperproductive force. The intersection of opium and production sparks profound questions about the political economy of labor and value. Kamal’s story echoes this sentiment: without opium, he might weld twenty pipes a day, a specific surplus value claimed by the employer. Yet, with opium in the equation, the welder’s output jumps to thirty pipes, generating an additional, unpaid surplus value. This raises intricate queries about “socially necessary labor time,” “surplus value,” and the “organic composition of capital.”Footnote ⁹¹ These inquiries gain complexity when contemplating the potential diminishment of a laborer’s active work years because of opium consumption or medical expenses needed to restore physical well-being.

The laborers’ “domestication” of opium, in essence, translates opium energy into infrastructure. As Iranian officials proudly promote one of the world’s largest gas networks, spanning 480,000 kilometers and serving 30 million subscribers, do they also recognize the significant role opium has played in the development of gas excavation and refinery infrastructures? Do they acknowledge the embodied energy of opium in this achievement?Footnote ⁹² What about the end users of PSEEZ’s products? And those overseas benefiting from petrochemical innovations? The confident answer seems to be “No.”

The prevailing rhetoric surrounding opium, shaped by the “translation” of the unproductive body and strengthened by the discourse on addiction, hinders the representation of opium-induced laborers. This limitation is not solely because laborers contribute to capital production but is exacerbated by the geographical distance of their work from urban areas, rendering them somewhat invisible to the “medical gaze” and societal eyes. The bodies of laborers, drivers, miners, and farmers can easily be rendered “invisible” or simply depicted as a “damaged body” without acknowledging how the energy of opium transforms into infrastructure. It implies a concealed history in the opiated labor relationship, overshadowed by the prevailing discourse on addiction.

Exploring the narrative of the assemblage of opium, labor, and infrastructure in PSEEZ unveils a story that invites us to examine infrastructures and objects in contemporary history through the lens of opium energy. It prompts us to question the degree to which opium is “congealed” within them. Does the assertion, aligning with Marx’s perspective that “capital is dead labor,” prompt an inquiry into the extent to which various forms of capital embody the energy of opium? To what extent does capitalism rely on narco-capitalism and narcotic labor?