I would take a big guess that countries like Cambodia don't spend too much time and money on making RC's(?) illegal.
BTW, most prisoners in Norway don't have all that luxury you mention. A few even have to share room with another prisoner. But, yes, many have nice cells with flat-screen TV's etc.
Yeah apparantly although the laws against drugs are severe in Cambodia (no death penalty, but possible life), "law enforcement is lax". I mean we're talkiing about the Golden Triangle where huge quantities of heroin pass through daily. I couldn't find any info on the legality of RCs there though, The problem with Asia (with the exception of maybe Japan) though is that if they do decide to prosecute you, you're in hell, as the jail system is nightmarish and procedural justice lacking.
Norway jails have been recognized as by far the mos "humane" in the world. Their "hardest" prison (Bastoy Prison) is really just a summer holiday camp. No cells, nothing like that, the prisoners have their own keys to their rooms in wooden cottages, and come and go as they please. There's a picture online and it looks like a friendly lodge. All the prisoners help with the farm work, sunbake next to the ocean in Summer, have saunas, play tennis, heaps of fishing. Food "ranges anywhere from chicken con carne, to salmon, fish balls and shrimp."
According to CNN "plenty of people would pay for a holiday like this". The prison governer says: ""If we have created a holiday camp for criminals here, so what? what's the point of punishment, except for leaning toward the primitive side of humanity?"
Also for illegal drug manufacture (no distinction made as to type) and distribution is a fine and/or two years prison. "Aggravated drug felonies" have a max. 10 years. If "considerable quantity" is involved then the punishment can range from 3-15 years.
So yeah Pickard could've had MAXIMUM 15 years at a lovely holiday camp instead of rotting in one of the worst jails in the Western world with 23-hour lockdown.
EDIT: Some more info on life in Norways Bastoy prison (where Breivik is likely to end up one day):
'Welcome to the world's nicest prison,' CNN, John D. Sutter, 24/05/2012
'There are few rules here. Prisoners can have TVs in their rooms, provided they bring them from "outside" when they're sentenced. They wear whatever clothes they want: jeans, T-shirts. One man had a sweater with pink-and-gray horizontal stripes, but that's as close as it got to the jailbird look. Even guards aren't dressed in uniform, which makes conducting interviews tricky. It's impossible to tell an officer from a drug trafficker.
A common opening question: "So, do you live here?"
Everyone at Bastoy has a job, and prisoners must report to work from 8:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. weekdays. Some people garden; others farm. Some chop down trees and slice them into firewood (It's hard not to think about the wood chipper scene in "Fargo" when you see inmates filleting tree trunks with an enormous circular saw). Others tend to a team of horses, which are used to cart wood and supplies from one part of the island to another. Everyone moves about freely during these tasks. Guards are sometimes present, sometimes not. No one wears shackles or electronic monitoring bracelets.
The idea is for prison to function like a small, self-sustaining village.
For their work, inmates are paid. They get a stipend of 59 Norwegian kroner per day, about $10. They can save that money or spend it on odds and ends in a local shop. Additionally, they get a monthly stipend of about $125 for their food. Kitchen workers -- that's another inmate job -- serve Bastoy residents dinner each day. For breakfast and lunch, inmates use their stipend to make purchases in the local shop and then cook for themselves at home. Many live in small houses that have full kitchens. Others have access to shared cooking space.
The goal, Nilsen said, is to create an environment where people can build self-esteem and reform their lives. "They look at themselves in the mirror, and they think, 'I am s***. I don't care. I am nothing,' " he said. This prison, he says, gives them a chance to see they have worth, "to discover, 'I'm not such a bad guy.' "
In locked-down prisons, inmates are treated "like animals or robots," he said, moving from one planned station to the next, with no choice in the matter. Here, inmates are forced to make choices -- to learn how to be better people.
Prisoners, of course, appreciate this approach.
Kjell Amundsen, a 70-year-old who said he is in jail for a white-collar financial crime, was terrified when he rode the 15-minute ferry from the mainland out to Bastoy.
On a recent afternoon, he was sweeping up in a plant nursery while John Lennon's "Imagine" played on the radio. "I think it's marvelous to be in a prison this way," he said.
He plans to keep up the task after his sentence ends. "I'm living in a flat (when I get out), but I am convinced I should have a little garden," he said.
Bastoy Prison functions like a small village. Everyone has a job, including chopping firewood.Some prisoners get schooling in a yellow Bavarian-style building near the center of the island. On a recent afternoon, three young men were learning to use computer programs to create 3-D models of cars. All expressed interest in doing this sort of work after their prison terms end.
Tom Remi Berg, a 22-year-old who said he is in prison for the third time after getting into a bar fight and beating a man nearly to death, said he is finally learning his lesson at Bastoy.
He works in the kitchen and is seeking training to become a chef when he's released. He also plays in the prison blues band -- Guilty as Hell -- and lives with his bandmates.
"It's good to have a prison like this," he said. "You can learn to start a new page again."
If escaped, please call
The prisoners are required to check in several times a day so guards can make sure they're still on the island. Nothing but 1½ miles of seawater stops them from leaving; they'd only have to steal one of the prison's boats to cross it, several inmates said.
An escape would be relatively easy.
Prisoners have tried to escape in the past. One swam halfway across the channel and became stranded on a buoy and screamed for rescuers to help, prison officials said. Another made it across the channel by stealing a boat but was caught on the other side.
Many, however, don't want to leave. If they tried and failed, they would be forced to go to a higher-security prison and could have their sentences extended.
When inmates come to his island jail, Nilsen, the governor, gives them a little talk.
Among the wisdom he imparts is this: If you should escape and make it across the water to the free shore, find a phone and call so I know you're OK and "so we don't have to send the coast guard looking for you."
This kind of trust may seem shocking or naïve from the outside, but it's the entire basis for Bastoy's existence. Overnight, only three or four guards (the prison employs 71 administrative staff, including the guards) stay on the island with this group of people who have been convicted of serious crimes. If guards carried weapons (which they don't) it might encourage inmates to take up arms, too, he said.
Further complicating the security situation, some inmates, toward the end of their terms, are allowed to leave the island on a daily ferry to work or attend classes on the mainland.
They're expected to come back on their own free will.'
