Vaping Theology #26: When Ideology Collides With Reality

Simon Chapman’s latest blog is presented as a triumphant rebuttal of tobacco harm reduction advocates, but it reveals a deeper problem that has become increasingly common in the Australian vaping debate: the tendency to replace evidence-based analysis with caricature, mockery and selective interpretation of data.

From the opening paragraphs, Chapman frames vaping advocates as irrational zealots who “eat, live, breathe and rejoice in their nicotine addiction” and who spend their time “wailing into the night” about vaping restrictions. This framing may entertain those who already agree with him, but it does little to engage with the actual arguments being made by researchers, clinicians, consumers and harm reduction advocates.

The central issue has never been whether people can physically walk into a pharmacy. Australians make millions of pharmacy visits every year. The question is whether the pharmacy-only model has achieved its stated objectives. On that measure, the evidence increasingly suggests it has not.

Illegal vape sales remain widespread across Australia. Thousands of retailers continue to sell vaping products openly. Enforcement agencies continue to seize enormous quantities of illicit products. Meanwhile, many former vapers report returning to smoking because cigarettes are often easier to obtain than compliant vaping products. Even researchers who support strict regulation have publicly acknowledged that some vapers have switched back to smoking following the reforms.

Yet Chapman largely sidesteps this policy failure by arguing that, because illegal vape sales already exist, expanding legal access could not possibly improve anything. This is a curious argument. By the same logic, the existence of illicit alcohol during alcohol prohibition would have been evidence that legalisation was unnecessary. The reality is that the persistence of large illicit markets often indicates that legal access pathways are failing to meet consumer demand.

Chapman also repeatedly mocks the idea that broader vape access could reduce smoking rates. However, this is not a fringe theory. It is the position adopted by many respected public health organisations and researchers internationally. Countries such as the United Kingdom and New Zealand have explicitly incorporated vaping into smoking cessation strategies because evidence shows many smokers switch when lower-risk alternatives are accessible and attractive.

The New Zealand example is particularly awkward for Chapman’s argument. He dismisses it as an outlier while simultaneously acknowledging that it has one of the lowest smoking rates in the world. But when a country combines widespread vaping uptake with a historically rapid decline in smoking, it becomes difficult to simply wave away the experience as irrelevant.

Another weakness in Chapman’s argument is his reliance on national smoking prevalence comparisons while ignoring different starting points, demographic differences, policy environments and rates of smoking decline. A single variable rarely explains public health outcomes. Simply pointing out that Australia has a relatively low smoking rate does not prove that restricting vaping was responsible for achieving it.

Indeed, Australia’s smoking decline largely occurred before the pharmacy model existed. The more relevant question is what has happened since the model was introduced.

That question is becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Roy Morgan data has shown increases in smoking among young adults. Wastewater data suggest that overall nicotine consumption has increased. Illicit tobacco now accounts for a significant proportion of the market. Firebombings linked to the tobacco trade have become a recurring feature of Australian news. Government revenue from tobacco excise has collapsed far beyond official expectations. These developments may not all be caused by vaping policy, but they certainly challenge the narrative that current policy settings are working as intended.

Perhaps the most revealing aspect of Chapman’s article is the absence of any self-reflection. For years, critics warned that restricting legal access to vaping while maintaining some of the world’s highest cigarette prices would create conditions for thriving black markets. They warned that smokers denied practical access to lower-risk alternatives would continue smoking or return to smoking. They warned that organised crime would exploit the enormous profit opportunities created by prohibition-style policies.

Many of those warnings have materialised.

Yet rather than asking whether any of the assumptions behind the policy might have been flawed, Chapman continues to argue that every problem stems from insufficient enforcement, insufficient restrictions, or insufficient commitment to the existing approach.

The irony is difficult to ignore. Harm reduction advocates are often accused of ideology, but increasingly, it is Australia’s prohibitionist approach that appears ideological. When evidence emerges that conflicts with expectations, the response is not to reassess the policy but to double down on it.

A strong public health policy should be able to withstand scrutiny and adapt when outcomes differ from predictions. It should not require dismissing critics as fantasists, mocking alternative viewpoints, or selectively interpreting international evidence to preserve a preferred narrative.

The real debate is not about whether vaping is perfect. It is about whether Australia’s current approach is producing better outcomes than the alternatives.

As illicit markets expand, smoking rates show signs of reversing among some groups, and former supporters of the reforms begin expressing concerns about unintended consequences, that question becomes harder to avoid.

The longer policymakers refuse to ask it, the more Australia’s vaping policy risks becoming an exercise in defending a theory rather than responding to reality.