Ed Ternan and Marcia Lee Taylor: ‘Just Say No’ didn’t work in 1986. In 2026, it’s dangerous

Walk into any gas station in America today and you may find kratom stacked beside the energy drinks – marketed as a natural supplement. But pharmacologically it’s closer to an opioid. California banned it outright this year. Connecticut just classified it as a Schedule I substance. New York moved to regulate it. And still, most kids have no idea what it actually is – because “natural” has become a marketing gimmick, meant to convey “healthy” benefits and downplay serious health risks.

Nicotine pouches like Zyn sit near the register, delivering more concentrated addiction than a cigarette in something that looks like a breath mint. At the dispensary next door, the cannabis products on the shelf contain THC concentrations unrecognizable from a decade ago, marketed as wellness.

This is the drug landscape of 2026. It didn’t exist when “Just Say No” was invented. It barely existed five years ago.

The old playbook – scare kids straight, tell them to say no, hope for the best – was inadequate when first lady Nancy Reagan introduced it in 1986. In 2026, it’s dangerous. Because the substances teens encounter today aren’t just more available and more normalized. They’re more lethal.

A single counterfeit pill, indistinguishable from a real medicine, can contain a fatal dose of fentanyl. Charlie Ternan didn’t know that when he took one in 2020. He was 22. He died in part because the information he needed was not where he could find it.

Still today, only 55% of teens know fake prescription pills are being made with fentanyl. Not because they’re careless – because the information hasn’t caught up to the landscape.

It needs to. And the answer isn’t another version of “Just Say No.” It’s teaching young people to say yes to something better.

We can’t do prevention honestly without acknowledging something most campaigns won’t say: Drugs work – at least as a short-term, poorly thought out Band-Aid.

People use substances for two reasons: to feel good, or to feel better. To celebrate, to fit in, to quiet anxiety, to escape stress they don’t know how to carry. These are legitimate human needs. Substances offer a temporary solution to those needs. The cost – dependence, mental health consequences, addiction and in some cases a lethal dose in a fake pill that looks exactly like real medicine – is what kids don’t fully reckon with.

Telling them to “just say no” doesn’t take into account why they might say yes.

There are other ways to feel good and feel better. They require investment – exercise, connection, purpose, creative expression, mindfulness and other actions to shore up mental health – but they carry no overdose risk and compound over time rather than erode well-being. Quick relief is tempting, but costly. Upfront effort yields lasting results.

Prevention isn’t only about restriction. It’s about redirecting and building capacity. When young people have real tools for managing stress and navigating pressure, substances lose some of their appeal.

But none of that works without honest information first. When students receive that information – through programs grounded in real prevention science rather than scare tactics – our research at Song for Charlie shows that 83% are less likely to misuse pills.

The new frame for drug prevention isn’t prohibition or permissiveness. It’s teaching kids to “just say yes” to the right things.

Yes to accurate information about what’s actually out there. Yes to honest conversations about risk, not fear-based exaggeration. Yes to open dialogue – so a kid who encounters a questionable pill knows the dangers. Yes to the habits and relationships that make substances less necessary in the first place.

Controlling supply through regulation and criminalization, though necessary, is not sufficient to protect kids from a drug landscape that has been engineered, marketed and normalized at scale. In this environment, reducing demand through education is critical. And decades of experience testing various prevention policies have taught us that the only intervention that reliably works is also the simplest: Tell young people the truth.

When young people understand the real risks of today’s drug landscape (potent, volatile, unregulated) and the motives of the corporate marketing machines behind them, they’re equipped to make real choices. That’s not a radical idea. It’s just an honest one.

Ed Ternan is the cofounder of Song for Charlie, a national nonprofit focused on educating young people and families about the new chemical drug landscape and promoting healthier alternatives to dealing with stress. Marcia Lee Taylor is the former president and CEO of the Partnership for Drug-Free Kids and founder of MLT Strategies, a behavioral health consulting firm. She has 30 years of experience in addiction prevention in the public and private sectors.