I don’t intend on changing anyone’s perspective on tobacco in this essay. I merely want to share my outlook on the matter, and maybe lessen the dislike directed toward people who smoke, just a little.

Smokers are one of the most demonized demographics in the United States today. With campaigns like the one led by The Truth, the vilification of tobacco and cigarettes is prolific and hard to avoid. That sort of level of advertisement and vehement vilification verges on becoming propaganda. The anti-smoking ads are on television, they play on the sides of websites as you browse, and they are primarily directed toward younger audiences. The bombardment is perhaps a direct response to the tobacco ads that were directed toward children many years ago, but today’s ads are so relentless that they verge on being 1984-esque in their indoctrination of ideology. Not only are the ads effective in their fearmongering, bringing to light people who have suffered the worst of the damage tobacco can cause, but they are also beginning to be successful in getting people to actively dislike people who smoke.

I don’t think that hating people who smoke accomplishes anything. The great majority of smokers are well aware of the risks involved with tobacco, and they consent to accepting these dangers when they smoke. As long as people are aware of the unhealthiness of smoking, there isn’t anything wrong with their ability to choose to smoke. People should be allowed to do to their bodies as they please, as long as their actions don’t harm others. Active demonization of tobacco use serves no purpose other than to be hateful.

Don’t get me wrong, I know tobacco is bad for anyone’s health. It’s undisputedly a harmful substance, and I support anyone who chooses to not back the industry, or not to agree with the decisions of those who do purchase and use tobacco. By the same token, though, I don’t have a problem with people who do choose to smoke.

Maybe I’m a little biased, but for me personally, tobacco is nostalgic. Much of my family has smoked in the past, and I genuinely love the smell of tobacco smoke. It reminds me of following my family out onto the porch on holidays, while they all gathered for a pause in the evening. The rain fell to the side of us, the sky was dark, and the gray of everyone’s exhaled smoke illuminated in the glow of the porch light, against the backdrop of the stars. Everyone laughed, giddy and buzzed, as they argued over the events of things that took place decades ago and teased each other over memories past. At these times, I felt like I was in on something reserved only for adults, a special type of bonding session: connection by shared breath.

Maybe this isn’t the most ideal perspective to have on tobacco use; I’m not sure it’s a good thing that the smell of smoke has such deep, emotional ties in me. Regardless, my memories and sensory associations cannot be changed, and, really, I wouldn’t want them to be. Every now and then, I’ll smoke hookah or share a cigar with someone I love to indulge my nostalgia and connect with them on what feels like a more personal level. To me, it’s a form of communion to smoke with the people you love. It can be a way to come together for a lot of people, and there isn’t anything wrong with that.