No, smoke won't get in my eyes on this one. It won't cloud my perspective, either. But where there's smoke, there's fire, and right now I'm fired up over an old issue that's burning hotter than ever.

Why do we treat alcoholism and drug dependence and encourage recovery while sidestepping or ignoring that our patients and "fellow travelers" continue to poison themselves with nicotine and cancer-causing chemicals, often at treatment centers or right in front of us? Worse, what's the point of measuring successful recovery without factoring in that many people abstinent from alcohol or illicit drugs still get a buzz on cigarettes, chewing tobacco and cigars?

Three examples to drive my point:

The other day while working for the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation, I ran into a group of young people who are being treated at one of our renowned facilities. They were clustered in the "designated smoking area" in the parking lot, far from the building but still on the official property. All had a cigarette in hand or in their mouth. Not one of them was older than 25. Among them were two heroin addicts, three women addicted to prescription pain meds, two with multiple DWIs and one who is an early casualty of Colorado's legalization of marijuana. All are proof that it is never too early to overcome addiction. But they are too young to risk it all on the deadliest drug of all.

I greeted the group, introduced myself by telling them that I had been a resident of the same facility 25 years ago and encouraged them to "stay the course and trust the process," as I always do whenever I meet somebody on the same journey. They seemed genuinely pleased.

What I should have done is quote this from the American Cancer Society: "Tobacco smoke is made up of more than 7,000 chemicals, including over 70 known to cause cancer," including cyanide, benzene and formaldehyde.

Instead, I left them to their fumes while I fumed over my silence — and my organization's complicity in what they were doing.

Yesterday I had another opportunity to speak the truth. It happened when a man in front of a popular coffee hangout on the avenue of sobriety in the Twin Cities called my name. "Mr. Moyers, just wanted to thank you for all your help," he said, pumping my hand. "My parents in Illinois are so happy that I just got a year in sobriety." His message was delivered out of his smiling mouth, along with the pale blue-white smoke of a Marlboro death stick. "Today life couldn't be better."

I know where he's coming from. Whatever his drug of choice that landed him in Minnesota for treatment, he's no longer pursuing it. So his life is better, much better. "Way to go, my friend," is all I said. I didn't challenge him on his use of the drug nicotine and its implications on his "sobriety." I could have asked him, "Are you really sober?"

Finally, there is my dear friend who is 20-plus years out of his last treatment for alcoholism. He's been a secret smoker since I've known him, and I think he dips tobacco in business meetings when he can't soothe his craving with a cigarette. Last year, he was diagnosed with cancer in an area of his body that suggests smoking was a cause. With dogged determination and expert medical care, he's beaten back the cancer.

A few weeks ago, he didn't see me, but I saw him on the street near the entrance to our hotel, his phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Instantly, I understood the agony of the choice he had made, the same choice I used to make when I opted for a drink or a line of cocaine over everything else that mattered to me, most of all my health. So why didn't I run up to him, grab the death stick from his hand and say, "Let's get you some help"? Instead, I silently shook my head from afar.

It's easy to point fingers at smokers and say, "It's your fault." Society has done a good job of that. Smokers are an ostracized bunch. But that hasn't stopped most of them any more than it has stopped alcoholics and addicts. Shame rarely works when it comes to addiction to anything.

Nothing will change until we hold up a mirror to the problem and see the complete picture in this truth:

1) Treatment facilities that allow patients or clients to smoke are complicit in the problem, even if they offer smoking cessation programs as part of the treatment.

2) People who claim they are sober or "in recovery" yet still smoke aren't being honest with themselves.

I'm not a smoker, thank goodness. But when it comes to my friends, colleagues, patients and others in recovery who are, by my silence I am an enabler, and so are we all. It is time we clear the air.

William Moyers is the vice president of public affairs and community relations for the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs. His newest book is "Now What? An Insider's Guide to Addiction and Recovery." Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.